Confession by Carey Baldwin Page B

start-­up loan the bank had given her. She had just enough funds remaining to pay office rent and live frugally for six months.
    If she was careful.
    If she didn’t take on any unnecessary expenses.
    No doubt she could scrape up the money for pet food and a doggie bed, but judging from Chica’s debilitated yet expectant condition, the vet bill alone could run thousands of dollars, and that was definitely more than Faith could afford.
    Biting her lower lip, she rose and looked down at Chica. Chica gazed up at her with a hopeful, please-­choose-­me face—­the doggie version of the look Tommy usually wore—­it was the kind of heart-­melting expression that went to work faster than a hot match on a tick’s rump.
    If push came to shove, she supposed, she could always look for a second job. She’d moonlighted in the ER to pay bills during med school, and she knew hospitals always needed someone to work the graveyard shift. If her loan ran out before her practice took off, so be it. She could manage perfectly well.
    Mrs. Bledsoe, on the other hand, was a single parent with too much on her plate already. She couldn’t be expected to take on another hungry mouth to feed. Especially when that hungry mouth had puppies on the way.
    Tommy’d gone back to crying in his hands. His whole body shook with muted sobs.
    â€œI’ll take Chica,” Faith said, and immediately felt right and warm inside.
    Mrs. Bledsoe’s eyebrows shot up. Her jaw dropped ever so slightly. “Why on earth would you do a thing like that?”
    Faith shrugged, then winked at Tommy. “I could use a good watchdog, and besides, sometimes I get lonely all on my own.” That last bit sort of slipped out, and she realized there was more truth to it than she’d like to admit. “It’d honestly be swell having someone to come home to at night.”
    The expression on Mrs. Bledsoe’s face went from disbelief to confusion, as though she couldn’t quite figure Faith out. “But, I don’t think this dog—­”
    Faith tapped her chin with her index finger and addressed Tommy. “Of course, I’d need someone to help me with Chica. Someone who could maybe walk her for me while I’m at work. Someone who could keep an eye on the puppies when they’re born and help me find them good homes.”
    â€œPuppies!” Tommy yelped. “I knew there were puppies. I just knew it. I can walk Chica. I can help with the puppies.” Tommy bounced on his toes, then flew around the yard in a circle, arms out, airplane style, before coming in for a landing back on the sidewalk and hugging Chica’s neck.
    â€œWe’ll have to get her healthy first, of course. Until the vet gives me the okay that she’s safe and disease-­free, I’ll handle everything. But, if your mother says it’s okay, Chica will still be your dog. You found her. You named her, and its only right you help make decisions about her toys and her diet. She’ll live over at my house, but you can visit anytime you want. As long as it’s okay with your mom. We can’t forget your mom’s the boss.”
    â€œI-­I suppose that would be all right.” Mrs. Bledsoe eyed her sideways but raised no objection, and even helped Faith load Chica into the backseat of her Toyota. She’d have to hurry if she was going to make it to the vet before they closed for the night. “I’ll let you know what the doctor says, Tommy.”
    As Faith pulled into the street, she smiled, knowing Tommy was back to sitting on the sidewalk watching the game of tag across the way, his hopeful, prepared expression in place. Out of her peripheral vision, she saw Mrs. Bledsoe put her hand on her son’s shoulder, then lift the corner of her apron and swipe her cheek.
    In the backseat, Chica started to pace. The weak kitten noises she’d been proffering changed first to low growls,