Around the Bend (26 page)

“He sings?” Harvey turned toward me, a twig in his mouth, as proud of himself as the first caveman to discover fire.

“Uh-huh. Better than me.” Matt grinned again, traces of the earlier emotion gone. “All that, Dave and Vinny taught him, over the years. Harvey took to it, like the proverbial duck.”

“How did you come into the picture?”

“Well, I didn’t stay in insurance for very long. I’m not the kind of guy who likes being stuck in an office all day, filling out paperwork. By the end of the convention, I knew insurance wasn’t the field for me. All those men in one room, getting excited about policy riders and risk management.” Matt mocked a yawn.

I laughed. “They are like that, aren’t they? Trust me, accountants are exactly the same.”

“So that’s the secret to you then. Throw out a few tax returns and next thing I know, you’re doing the limbo?”

“Not exactly. But I do like when things add up.”

“And what happens when something doesn’t?”

“I keep gnawing away at it until it does.”

“This, you know, might never add up. Not entirely.”

“Yeah, I know.” I looked out over the water and drew in a breath. “It’s got the people factor, the one thing that doesn’t fit nicely into Excel.”

“You’ll figure it out, Penny,” he said, the confidence in his tone inspiring a little in me, too.

I didn’t want to like him, to be attracted to him, but I was. He was the first man in years who had seen something in me other than my ability to calculate numbers.

“Thanks,” I said, and meant it. “Anyway, I interrupted your story.”

He nodded, sensing my shift back to business. “When I got back home to New York, I had lunch with a friend of mine who’s a book agent. I was looking for a job like that, where you weren’t stuck in a cubicle and every day represented something new. Books didn’t excite me, but it got me to thinking about Harvey, about the possibilities with the dog. So I hooked up with Dave again.”

The sun was nearly gone, leaving little flecks of gold reflecting off the water. We pivoted to turn back, both unconsciously picking up the pace a little. The temperature had dropped and I wished suddenly that I had brought along a jacket.

Nevertheless, for my first dinner out with a man in a long time, it had been fun—if I discounted the conversation subject. Matt was an enjoyable person to be around, and someone who had made hot sandwiches and a meandering walk seem like a five-star restaurant.

And, he’d done something else I hadn’t expected or
sought—made me feel wanted. Like a woman, not just a wife or an employee or a dog owner. A real, honest-to-goodness woman who attracted him.

That was heady stuff, and I put it on the backburner for now.

“Why did Dave hire you as Harvey’s agent? You had no experience.” How could Dave have hired someone who had opted for this career on what amounted to a whim? If it had been me, I would have put Matt through the job interview from hell, complete with personality tests and a fully vetted résumé.

Dave had operated on feelings, I operated on facts.

Yeah, and look where that had gotten me. Completely oblivious to the facts of my life.

Matt shrugged, a boyish grin on his face. “Dave thought I could be something, so he gave me a shot. We hunted up a trainer and before you knew it, Harvey was in business. In the beginning, he was doing bit things here and there, appearances at nursing homes, a few commercials and a couple times he doubled for dogs on other shows. Then he was in a movie and that was his first big national break.”

“Did Dave make good money at this?”

Matt nodded. “After a while. It took time to build up Harvey’s name and reputation. But once Dave made it his full-time job, the dog’s career took off.”

I stumbled.
“Full-time job?”

Regret washed over Matt’s features. Clearly, he realized he’d let slip another detail, that again, I didn’t know. How many secrets was I going to uncover? How far would this go before I could finally feel I knew what I needed to know, to go back to my life? Or would it keep unfolding for years, a continued pile of Band-Aids stacked one on another, trying to mask a massive betrayal?

“But, I thought he still worked at Reliable Insurance. I saw his car there all the time.”

“He, ah, kept an office in the same building as the insurance company where he used to work,” Matt said.

“So I wouldn’t put it together.”

“Yeah.”

“Wow.” The sandwich I’d eaten earlier now sat like a heavy rock in my stomach. “Guess that cements my status as Clueless Wife of the Year. I had no idea, because he still got together with those guys. I went to the office Christmas party with Dave last year, for God’s sake.”

“Dave was the kind of guy who kept his friends. You know how he was. Everybody liked him.”

“Especially the women.”

A wry grin crossed Matt’s face. “I didn’t know about the other wife, Penny. I really didn’t.”

“He never mentioned he was married?”

“Oh, he did. When I first met him. He talked about you.”

Me
. Maybe there had been a time when, for Dave, I had been enough. That he had been happy in our marriage, that I hadn’t imagined all of those days out of some desperate attempt to hold on to a fictional world. “What did he say?” I wanted to slap myself for grasping at that straw.

“He loved you, Penny, that I could tell.” Matt cleared his throat, the male part of him seeming uncomfortable with this whole discussion of emotions, particularly those in another man’s heart. “I don’t think he intended for it to become what it did. Remember, he kept it all from me, too. It wasn’t just you. I never met Susan or this Annie you asked about. I only heard about you.”

“But you heard
something
about Annie. I know you did. I
saw it in your face when I asked you in the lobby. And you wrote her a check. What for?”

Matt’s attention went to the road, as if watching the cars zooming by would provide some clue to how he was supposed to proceed. “With Annie, you’re going to have to meet her yourself. I don’t know—and that’s the truth—what her relationship with Dave was, but there was something there, I’ll acknowledge that. Dave only mentioned her once, when he needed that check expedited to her address. I didn’t ask questions. I was Harvey’s agent, not Dave’s counselor.”

He was telling the truth, of that I had no doubt. I thought of my list, sitting squarely in the front pocket of my purse. I hadn’t crossed off a single thing yet. Every question I asked seemed to lead to even more of the same.

I left it in my purse. The list could wait.

I nodded. “Thank you for being honest.”

“I don’t know much else,” he said, his tone apologetic, as if he wished he could just hand me everything Dave had kept to himself and be done with it. “I don’t know where Harvey stayed in between performances, either. I never asked, because Dave seemed to have it all under control. All I did was set up the gigs, process the contracts and the money.”

The money. The practical side of me sprang to life. The last thing I needed in probate court was another surprise. “How much money?”

We paused at the last juncture of the path, Harvey panting a bit with all the excitement of his outdoor adventure. “Last year, Harvey made just under a half a million dollars.”

I nearly choked instead of inhaling. “One dog can make that much?”

“He keeps pretty busy. Does movie work, commercials and print ads. You probably saw him in that dog food one?”

I shook my head. “I had no idea Dave made that much.”

“He didn’t keep it all. He made donations to shelters all over the country. I guess he didn’t want to see any other dogs end up on the streets like Harvey had.”

A bittersweet smile crossed my face. “That’s Dave. The bleeding heart with his wallet open.”

Matt ran a hand through his hair, displacing the dark brown waves. “I don’t know if you’ve thought about the future or not, but Harvey does have a pretty full schedule ahead of him. I haven’t canceled or confirmed anything. I didn’t know what you’d want to do.”

I remembered the tour outlined in Dave’s notebook. Six cities, starting in June. An
Oprah
appearance just before that. I was okay with doing the dog show, as some sort of karma payback for whatever side of the marriage fault line was mine, but after that, I was done. And in a weird way, I wanted to prove I could do it. That I could be something other than a wife so boring, my husband had started up an extracurricular life.

“I can’t throw my life aside to go travel the country with a dog, Matt. I’m only here for this one event, to get Harvey through the Dog-Gone-Good Show. While I’m here, I wanted to find out what else my husband was doing behind my back.”

“I’m not asking you to take Dave’s place. I understand this is hard for you. I just want you to think about it for a couple days. Maybe, if you want, you can designate someone else to be Harvey’s guardian, and then the show can go on, so to speak.”

Give Harvey to someone else. Let another person tour the country with the dog, taking all ringside performances off my
shoulders. It was the solution I’d been seeking, yet a part of me resisted the idea.

What was I thinking? That Harvey and I would become the canine and human equivalent of Barnum & Bailey? I shook off the thought.

“That’s a great idea, Matt. Can you find someone else?”

A flicker of what looked like disappointment ran through his eyes. “Sure. I’ll get on it first thing.” Then he led the way up the path back to the hotel’s convention center.

Thinking about giving Harvey up hit me with an odd sensation, as if I was packing off a piece of myself. A piece I’d just discovered, between the trip down here and the conversations with Matt.

So much for my life spreadsheet.

I headed down the makeshift hall that led to the performance area for the Dog-Gone-Good Show, Harvey at my heels, his little body a tightly wound spring of anticipation. I stood there, waiting while the AV people attached a mike and battery pack to my jacket, and wondered if it was too late to back out.

I’d called Georgia an hour before, panicky and ready to run. “You’ll be fine, Penny. Think of it as giving the valedictorian speech back in high school.”

“Only using a dog instead of three-by-five cards?”

Georgia laughed. “Yeah.”

My high-school delivery had been made to humans, not canines. And I hadn’t been expected to make my speech, then roll over and play dead. “I don’t know, Georgia. This is more your kind of thing than mine.”

“How do you know? You’ve never really done anything that took you out of your bubble.”

“I took a road trip with my husband’s second wife. I’m holding a dog who can play soccer.”

“And I bet you also have a list in your back pocket, with a whole schedule planned out for Harvey’s day in the sun.”

“It’s in my sleeve, for your information, not my pocket. Besides, I have to have an outline. He has this complicated routine and—”

Georgia sighed. “Penny, let go of the lists. Let go of the pier, jump in the water.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Live a little on the edge, or maybe let Harvey take the lead and see where that gets you. It won’t kill you to do something totally improvised, you know.”

“I’ve done that before. It didn’t work out so well.”

“One mistake doesn’t have to turn you into Control Cathy.” Georgia sighed. “I love you, Penny, but you’re about as spontaneous as a pickle.”

It was time to go. I’d said goodbye to Georgia and a few minutes later, found myself herded down the temporary hall, then left to wait among the Airedales and shelties. Nervous canine and human energy filled the space.

I could do this. And I wasn’t the only one who thought so. I sucked in some confidence, then straightened. And prayed.

The program started, the announcer brought out the first competitor, and a shushed quiet fell over the group, broken only by the outside sounds of the announcer and the occasional burst of applause from the audience. Beside me, one man prayed, another woman popped one Tic Tac after another as if they were candy and a second woman incessantly rubbed the furry fuchsia hair of a troll doll between two fingers.

And then, along came Cee-Cee.

The poufy poodle and her pushover owner crowded into
the waiting area, taking up more than their fair share of space. “It’ll be okay, Cee-Cee,” her owner soothed. The poodle danced in place, whining and shaking, which made her pink tutu shimmy, like a dog stripper. “Shh, shh, baby.”

That only served to wind Cee-Cee up more. The dog wheeled around, straining against its leash, poking its pointy manicured nails into everyone within stepping distance. I scooped Harvey off the floor, yanking him out of hyper pink-bowed puffball range.

Vinny had given me a mini tuxedo for Harvey to wear, which made him slippery in my arms. I’d thought the dog would resist, but he submitted to the little suit jacket and tie, obviously familiar with costuming. Harvey wriggled against me, nearly as worked up as the other dogs. Clearly, he sensed what was about to happen and was looking forward to it.

At least one of us was filled with anticipation instead of the overwhelming need to flee. I tamped it down. Doing this, I knew, would be good for me. Might even be…liberating.

After all, hadn’t I married Dave, seeking to find that side of myself? Then I’d gone and stuffed it in the cedar hope chest with my wedding dress.

“And now, Harvey the Wonder Dog!” the announcer called, with all the drama of Rod Roddy.

Tension double-knotted my stomach, tempered with a flush of excitement. It was too late to back out now. I glanced over my shoulder and saw Vinny standing against the wall, red faced and breathing heavily. Pink lotion dotted the eruptions on his face. He flashed me a wavery smile that spelled clear relief he wasn’t the one going out among the dogs and people.

I could do this, I repeated in my head, over and over again.
Then I moved forward, Harvey trotting along, right in step with me. A couple of Vinny’s helpers had set up Harvey’s course in the few minutes between dog acts. I glanced around, seeking a friendly face.

Third row up sat Susan, next to Jerry. She sent me a little wave, Jerry gave me a thumbs-up. Behind them, Matt simply nodded, a confident smile on his face. For some reason, that simple gesture inspired an internal burst of can-do spirit.

I made a simple, quick hand movement that Vinny had taught me when we had run through Harvey’s routine yesterday, working in the ballroom in two separate sessions, to give Harvey a breather in between.

Harvey saw the signal and took a seat at my feet. “Harvey, are you ready?” The mike on my lapel broadcast the statement to the audience. I put my hands up and out, Harvey’s response cue.

He shook his head no. The audience roared with laughter.

“Don’t you want to work?” Hands up and out again. Harvey repeated the no.

“Do you want to play instead?” This time, I moved one of my hands up and down, just a flicker of movement, but Harvey’s attentive eyes saw it. He responded with an emphatic nod. Now the crowd was really laughing.

Wow. This was actually working. I, Penny Reynolds, Accountant of the Year two years running, was standing in a ring with a dog and putting on a show. I conjured up my inner Julia Roberts and moved on.

“Too bad, Harvey,” I went on, “because we have work to do. Are you ready?”

I made the movement again, but timed it to delay the
response a moment, as if he were thinking about it. He gave a yes again, eliciting more laughter and applause as Harvey got to his feet and came along with me.

We reached the first station set up for his routine. I picked up the first prop, a copy of Walt Whitman poems, something that seemed apropos of Dave and all his years of self-exploration.

Harvey stood at my feet, waiting for his cue. “You’re all dressed up. Do you have a party to go to?”

At my signal, he did his yes.

“Then it’s time for a little training in the social graces. Get ready.” He plopped his bottom on the carpet, then waited while I balanced the book on his head. “Show me your good posture.” A quick flick of my index finger upward, and Harvey carefully raised his little body up, balancing on his hind legs, keeping the book in place. The audience clapped and whistled.

Who knew I could become Greta Garbo with a Jack Russell terrier as my co-star? Every time he listened to me, and did what he was supposed to, I was stunned.

I slipped Harvey a piece of kibble, then moved on to the next stop, painfully aware of the hundreds of eyes watching us. No wonder Vinny got stage fright. Between the heavy, silent anticipation and the pressure of so many spectators, it was enough to give
me
hives.

A lump of nerves formed in my throat. I swallowed, but that only moved the lump to my gut. I refused to feel the nerves. I could do this. And I would. “Okay, Harv, here we go,” I whispered to him, then stood to address the audience. “Great job with your social graces. But I hear that Chihuahua you like over there—” I pointed in the direction of a dog
waiting in the wings for her turn to go, adding a flourish to my movements “—wants more than a date. She needs a
hero.
”

With a dramatic whoosh, I yanked a red cape off a small chair, then held it in front of me. “Let’s see how you are in the defensive arts. Time to bullfight.”

At the last word, Harvey backed up, scraping his rear paws against the carpet, à la the fiercest bull in Pamplona. He lowered his head nearly to the carpet, swinging it left, then right. He scraped his paws again, let out a snort, then charged forward, running through the red fabric, just as I jerked it away.

The crowd hooted and clapped. Laughter rang from the walls.

I smiled, elation soaring inside me. This was the Penny I’d always wanted to be—a woman confident in her own skin. In that moment, I knew a part of me had been changed forever—

And in a damned good way this time.

Harvey spun, retook his bull position and repeated the trick. When I gave him his treat, I noticed a gleam in his eye. The dog was eating this up.

We moved on to the banana trick, then to his obstacle course. He clambered up the A-Frame, across a skinny beam, down a set of steps and then across a zigzagged board in record time, stopping at the end to pounce on a springboard that sent a ball up a pole. It bounced against a bell at the top, ringing like a carnival game.

He caught his dog-food reward midair, leading me nearly as much as I was leading him. His eyes were bright with excitement, clearly in his groove. I felt that way, too, more than I ever had in the office.

We headed to the musical station, where one of Vinny’s helpers pressed the button on a CD player, sending music through the room.

“If you want to impress the girls, Harvey, you need to learn how to dance. How about a cha-cha?”

Harvey rose on his hind legs and spun around, dancing on his back feet, pawing at the air with his front feet. He dropped down as the chorus began and raised his little snout, releasing his own soulful version. I sneaked a peek at my card outlining his routine, then returned my attention to the dog. “Great job, Harvey.” I tossed him another nibble, then flicked my finger to get him to move to the next trick.

He didn’t move even though the CD had ended. Instead, he started singing again after eating his dog snack. I tried it again, hoping he’d get the hint.

Nothing but a badly warbled “Star-Spangled Banner.”

“Harvey, let’s play along,” I told him, the verbal cue that was supposed to get him to move on to the toy piano.

Harvey kept up his singing.

“Harvey, let’s play along,” I repeated. Nervous tension twisted my intestines. It had been going so well. What was going wrong?

Harvey dropped down, looking at me expectantly. I gestured toward the toy piano. “Play along, Harvey.”

He leaped up onto his hind legs and did the spin again, pawing at air, letting out little yips as he did.

Oh, hell. It was all going wrong now. I slipped my note card all the way out of my sleeve, then realized the notes for this trick were on the back. Curse me and my wordiness. I flipped it over. “Piano—Play Mozart,” I’d written.

I’d given him the wrong command. I glanced over at the trio of judges, their faces set in frowns, all traces of humor long gone. Apparently Harvey’s singing was only amusing for the first twenty seconds.

“Harvey,” I said, mentally praying that he would pay attention, get a clue, rescue this situation, “playing along doesn’t mean playing to the crowd, you big ham.”

He lowered his head between his paws, doing
contrite
better than the best Oscar winner.

I’d been talking to the dog, forgetting that my comments would be broadcast to the audience. Their eruption of laughter told me they saw this snafu as a joke. Even the judges stifled a grin. Harvey’s cutup reputation had saved us. And, so had my own spontaneity. Who knew I had a spontaneous side at all? “Harvey, show that little Chihuahua how you can
play Mozart.”

He let out a bark, then hurried over to the piano, plunking out a tune with his tiny nose. On the sidelines, Vinny’s helper added a concert CD for accompaniment. With his tux and serious nose playing, Harvey was a hit.

When he finished, I gave him two treats, for saving our butts, then signaled for the next trick. “Time for you to get some rest, Harv. That way, you’ll be fresh for your date tonight. Let’s
take a nap.”
He raced forward to a tiny bedroom scene, pulled the dresser drawer open, yanked out a dog-bone-decorated nightshirt and delivered it to me. I slid the shirt over his tuxedo, then sent him off to climb into the tiny bed.

“Get some shut-eye,” I told him.

He leaned over and turned off the push-button nightstand light with his paw, then feigned sleep. The audience hooted with laughter and I saw a twitch of what could have been a smile on Harvey’s face. With every trick, Harvey’s enjoyment had increased exponentially with the audience’s response.

He was a ham, but an adorable one.

For me, it felt as if I had hit my stride, if that was even possible in a situation so outside my normal frame of reference. I’d found a balance between being prepared and having to improvise. In an odd way, it was liberating.

Even fun.

Harvey’s entertaining spirit had become a part of me. As scary as it was to change, even a little, I drew it in, and shot the dog a smile.

Harvey reached the end of his new routine, where he was supposed to engage in a gunfight with me. It was the part that had me most worried, not because I thought I might do any harm to the dog with the unloaded toy pistol, but because it was so new to Harvey, he’d stumbled a bit in practice with Vinny.

I slipped a cowboy hat onto his head, telling him quietly to keep it on. The dog glowered at me from under the brim, hating the head appendage. Vinny had warned me, but I hoped Harvey would at least cooperate for a short skit.

“Oh-oh, Harvey. Seems that Chihuahua has another suitor.” I gestured again toward the miniature dog, now flanked by a poodle. “What are you going to do to be her hero?”

The last word keyed Harvey to retrieve a small wooden box from the table, drag it over to me, then sit down and let out a woof. I picked it up, opened the lid, then lowered it to Harvey’s level. “Choose your weapon.”

He fished one out with his mouth, then sat back again, a little woof escaping past the plastic handle. The audience chuckled. I bit back my own laughter. The dog that had seemed to be my nemesis had started to grow on me.

I pulled the second one out and put the box to the side. “Gunfight at the OK Corral? Are you sure?” I did the finger
flick again and he nodded his head, even more emphatically than before.

The people surrounding us cheered and clapped. I couldn’t have been more proud if it had been Georgia sitting there on her haunches.