“Can’t I call just to talk to my own daughter?” she asked.

I stifled a groan and looked skyward for support. The only thing that told me was that it looked like rain. Sigh. “Of course you can. How are you?”

“Wonderful. Thank you for asking.”

No one said a word. Usually, I’d try to fill a silence. Not anymore.

“So how are the gang dogs, dear?”

“Not gang dogs, Mom: Our Gang. You know very well what the name of this place is; it wouldn’t kill you to say it right every now and again.”

“Fine. Our Gang. Does anyone have rabies yet?” she asked, her tone icy.

I groaned. “Honestly, Mother.”

“You sound like a hippopotamus, Chloe. Why are you groaning? Have you been eating too much dairy? You know what that does to your system—”

“Mother.”

She just continued, “—and what it does to your insides.”

“Mother. Hey. Mother.”

“No one wants a gassy girlfriend—”

“Mother!” I yelled, finally breaking through. No slouching now, I was fully at attention and pacing. “I wasn’t groaning because of dairy, for God’s sake, I was groaning because . . . Oh, forget it. What did you need?”

“What did I need?” she asked, her tone even cooler now that I’d snapped at her.

“Yes, you called me, remember? I’ve got things to do because we just picked up our first dog today, and—”

“We? Who is we?” she asked, changing to search mode. Now she was out for intel. “Is that that young man I just heard you talking to?”

Damn, she was good. “The young man you’re referring to is Dr. Lucas Campbell. And there is no ‘we’; he was just helping me out.”

“Dr. Lucas Campbell, a doctor? I’m impressed. How did you meet him?”

“He’s a vet, Mother.”

“He was in the army?” she asked.

“Vet as in veterinarian.”

“Oh.”

“His family’s animal hospital is one of the local supporters for Our Gang,” I told her, dashing her hopes of a cardiothoracic surgeon son-in-law. “He went with me to pick up my first rescue dog this morning. A beautiful pit bull named Sammy Davis Jr.—isn’t that a funny name?”

“Well, I’m glad to hear you’ve got a man around to help you, other than that Lou character. But I hope you’re being careful when you’re out crawling the streets, Chloe. You never know who could be out there, just looking for a pretty girl like you to—”

I laughed. “I’m pretty sure the meanest street in Monterey is the one without a Starbucks. Although there’s a strip mall without a Pilates studio that’s looking a little ragged,” I joked.

She sighed. “Chloe, Chloe, Chloe.” I could tell she was shaking her head. “What are you doing up there?” she asked quietly.

“I’m not getting into this again,” I said, trying like hell to keep my voice calm. My mother could irritate me faster than anyone on the planet, but a raised voice from me meant she won. When I was Chloe with the Program, I rarely questioned her. Chloe Who Crawls the Mean Streets of Monterey, however, questioned her frequently.

I admit, I’d been the one to let her manage things in my life longer than was probably healthy. It wasn’t her fault that her tiara princess had course-corrected and “rebelled,” but it was her fault if she refused to see that I wasn’t coming home anytime soon. And it was my fault if I continued to allow her to affect me so. It was a balancing act—one that we were both learning.

“I saw Charles at the club yesterday,” she said. “He brought a woman there—a date. We barely spoke, though he usually asks questions about you. He’s moving on.”

“That’s good. He should move on. That’s what I’m trying to do too—and your mentioning Charles every time we talk isn’t helping,” I said, feeling anger heat my cheeks. “I’d love it if you never mentioned him again, okay?”

Silence. Well, partial silence. Remember, her eye rolls are audible.

“Fine,” she allowed after a moment.

“Fine,” I agreed.

More silence.

“Did I tell you Molly Adams is getting married? To a congressman, can you believe it! I ran into her mother at the market the other day.”

I listened for another few minutes until I begged off the phone and paced around the house, thinking about my mother being happy there was a man around to help me. Pffft. I was grateful to Lucas, of course; he was a huge help. But the way my mother said it, it was like I couldn’t do a thing without needing some help. Pffft.

Pffft.

As I was pfffting, I looked out the front window, my gaze settling on my car. A gift from my parents when I graduated high school, I’d driven it ever since. Sporty, fun, fast, and a little preppy—I loved that car.

But it wasn’t right for me anymore. I couldn’t have picked up Sammy Davis Jr. this morning without Lucas and his truck. As it was, I couldn’t even haul more than two industrial-size bags of Dog Chow. The car was perfect for San Diego Chloe. But Monterey Chloe needed something different.

Grabbing my keys and my purse, I jumped into the car, dropped the top, and headed down the hill for my last joy ride.

“You did what?” Lucas said, when I came sailing in through the front door of the clinic that afternoon.

“I bought a new car! Come see, come see!” I pulled him through the waiting area by the hand. “Hiya, Marge!”

“Hiya, sugar!” she called back, smiling big when she saw me holding Lucas’ hand. I dropped it quickly, holding the door open for him instead.

“I don’t understand. Why did you get something new?” he asked, his face curious.

“The convertible wasn’t practical anymore—not with what I’m doing now. And I didn’t want to have to call you every time I needed to go get a dog. Not that I don’t appreciate it, but I needed something bigger. Something more in line with my new life here, more outdoorsy,” I explained, practically skipping through the parking lot.

He couldn’t help but laugh at my excitement, and followed me through the cars toward the back. “You went by yourself?” he asked.

I shrugged. “Sure, why not?”

“I would have gone with you, you know.”

“Why would I need you to go with me?” I asked, then did my best Ta-Da Pose. “Ta-da!” I sang out, pointing to my new car.