I remembered the day Oliver and I came to see this location that would soon serve as my storefront. The town of Oakmont was quaint, classy, and affordable. On one side of Allegheny River Boulevard sat huge potted plants and wrought-iron benches that invited passersby to sit and enjoy the row of contiguous shops, each with a unique and inviting facade. Carved pumpkins sat in clusters in front of Annie’s Antiques; a scarecrow stood sentry beside the door of a A Cut Above the Rest. Across the brick street was a narrow strip of grass where railroad tracks carried the occasional freight. Trees hung with plastic ghosts offered shade and colorful foliage for shoppers, hiding the view of the cliff face that plunged down to meet the river that had almost swallowed me and Cody. Oakmont was the perfect blend of vintage homeyness with a modern update. A perfect match for me.

Home was only a five-minute drive from town, a fifteen-minute stroll. With three kids at home, I had wanted something close enough to allow me to pop in on Debra and Joe when they watched the kids, in case they needed anything. After more than a decade of being a stay-at-home mom, I had wanted something for myself. With no real job experience, my choices were limited, until my passion for entrepreneurism and pets evolved into an idea. From that idea the boutique was born. I traded our minivan for a conversion van, transforming it into a traveling dog-grooming service where I drove into low-income areas every Wednesday to offer free pet grooming. Even amid a struggling economy, the pandemic, and our family hardships, thanks to my innate business acumen and Oliver’s marketing expertise I had managed to keep my business afloat.

After the last employee left for the night, I flipped over the Open sign to Closed then locked the front door of my doggie boutique. I exhaled all of the anger and impatience and sadness as I finished my day of customer greeting, dog grooming, floor sweeping, and forgetting.

Animals were my preference to people most days. Dogs never argued or complained, and their biggest demands were for basic needs and petting. They were loyal, supplied endless love, and knew when to give you space. They understood the word no. When it came to showing love and compassion for helpless critters, though, that word wasn’t in my vocabulary.

Take today for instance, when a strange woman rapped her knuckles on the entrance door almost thirty minutes past closing. On the sidewalk I saw a white husky puppy on a leash, its lolling tongue creating wet smudges on the glass.

I unlocked the door and opened it a crack. “Can I help you?” I asked.

The woman’s eyes settled on the bandage taped to my forehead. I self-consciously covered it with my hand.

“Car accident,” I said.