A Gift to Remember by Melissa Hill Page B

Luigi. In his late fifties, her landlord was wiry and thin, with close-cropped grey hair under a battered red
and green chequered cap.
    Bailey, now finished with his business, rushed to sniff around Luigi’s legs.
    Already dressed in his apron and cook’s whites for the long day ahead, Luigi immediately had the Husky jumping up and down at something in his right hand.
    ‘I’m . . . I’m dog-sitting for a friend,’ Darcy mumbled, aware that her landlord would likely give her an earful for harbouring a temporarily orphaned dog. ‘Is that
OK?’ she added tentatively.
    Much to her relief, he chuckled. ‘Would I be offering him a piece of pepperoni if it wasn’t?’
    So that was what Bailey was practically leaping to the height of the second floor for. Luigi doled out a few fragrant slices of the rich, red meat one at a time, backing toward the front stoop
and sitting down until the dog was resting against his leg, happy and full.
    ‘Is that good for him?’ Darcy asked, reminding herself to head straight to the Pet Care section at work that morning to get a better sense on what to expect from Bailey’s type.
She didn’t want Aidan Harris’s pure-bred canine to have clogged arteries by the time he got him back.
    Her landlord shrugged, his salt and pepper moustache twitching. ‘It’s been my breakfast since I was about knee-high, and look at me now.’
    ‘Thank you,’ she said distractedly, remembering she didn’t have anything even remotely resembling dog food in her kitchen. Another thing she had to worry about.
    Darcy hadn’t even had her first cup of tea and already she was exhausted.
    They both walked inside, Luigi to the pizzeria and Darcy back up the stairs; Bailey full of pepperoni and straining at the leash, again eager to get wherever he was going as fast as
possible.
    A shadow filled the second-floor landing, and Darcy was surprised to see Mrs Henley standing at the window in her pink slippers and fluffy housecoat.
    ‘Morning,’ she said, looking down at Bailey. ‘I see your friend’s already done his business.’
    Darcy blushed, unsure of the rule on letting a dog pee all over a fire hydrant. ‘Boys will be boys,’ she chuckled nervously.
    Mrs Henley nodded, her grey hair curled tightly against her head. ‘Aren’t you working today?’
    ‘Yes,’ Darcy sighed, looking down at Bailey as he nosed around the door of Mrs Henley’s apartment. It was open just a hair’s breadth and the sniffing inched it open
wider. Darcy noticed that unlike her stuffed-to-the-gills living room, the inside of her neighbour’s was as sparse and spare as a hospital room.
    Mrs Henley stood back, her mouth a thin slit but her eyes definitely warmer than usual. ‘If you’re leaving him here, I could keep an eye on him if you like.’
    Darcy was floored. ‘Thank you, but I couldn’t possibly . . .’ But still she had mixed emotions about Mrs Henley’s offer. On the one hand, it would make her day, not to
mention her life, a whole lot easier, and her apartment potentially a whole lot safer, but on the other she was responsible for Bailey for now, whether she liked it or not.
    ‘Nonsense, dear,’ said the old woman, colour rising in her cheeks. ‘It’s been years since I cared for anyone, let alone a dog. I rather welcome the challenge. And like I
said before, I know a little thing or two about taking care of dogs. He’ll be in good hands with me.’
    Before she could think about it for too much longer, Darcy handed over the leash. ‘Well, if you really don’t mind, thank you – it would save my life, I can’t exactly take
him to work – and I’ll pick him up directly after my shift, I promise,’ she continued, babbling. She looked again at her neighbour, taken aback by the complete change in
temperament Bailey seemed to have brought about. ‘I really appreciate it, Mrs Henley.’
    ‘It’s not a problem, and please,’ insisted the old woman, struggling to keep Bailey from dragging her