Hot Dog (26 page)

I looked back into the ring, snapped another photo of Davey and Willow, and let him ponder the wisdom of that answer.

“All right, maybe you come up now and then,” Bob tried again. “What's the big deal? It's not like I say anything bad about you. Is that what you're worried about?”

“No. I'm just surprised that you talk about me at all. Pam's your new girlfriend. I'd think the last thing she'd want to discuss is your ex-wife.”

“You'd think so.” Bob shook his head slightly. “But to tell the truth, I guess maybe she's a little . . . fixated. Like, since you're the woman I married, that makes you special. She's always trying to figure out what made our relationship work.”

“It didn't work.” I leaned over the rail to take another shot. “Isn't that the point? If our marriage had worked, you wouldn't be with Pam.”

“Yeah, but for some reason, that's not how she looks at things. She's curious about you. That, and probably a little jealous.”

“Really.”

“I know, it's silly. I've told her that myself. But she says that since you're the mother of my son, you and I are always going to have some sort of karmic connection.”

I thought about that for a minute. “What exactly is a karmic connection?”

“I have no idea. And I was kind of afraid to ask. Sometimes Pam goes off on these tangents . . . Let's just say, I've been known to tune her out a time or two.”

It didn't sound as though Pam's and Bob's relationship was heading in a karmic direction. Or maybe that was just me.

“Anyway,” I said, “Stop telling her about my life, things like Dox being stolen. The whole world doesn't have to hear about this stuff.”

“I don't even think we talked about that.” Bob was beginning to sound irritated. “It's not like we spend all our time discussing you. Maybe Davey mentioned it to her.”

“Davey? When would he have talked to her?”

Bob shifted his gaze back to the ring. Pam had brought Davey into the middle and was slipping a halter over Willow's bridle. She attached a lunge line to one inner ring, then sent the pony back out onto a circle.

“You know, last night,” he said. “After we went to the movies.”

“I thought that was just you and Davey.”

Bob shrugged, but the gesture looked too elaborately casual. Like maybe we were heading toward something he didn't want to discuss. “We all went.”

“And afterwards?”

“What are you asking, Mel?”

“Did you take Pam home after the movie?”

“Not exactly.” Bob was squirming now. He knew I wasn't going to like what he had to say.

“When exactly did Pam go home?”

“Ummm . . . This morning. About half an hour ago.”

That was what I'd been afraid of.

“M
om, look!” Davey cried from the center of the ring. “I'm trotting.”

That announcement saved his father from the scathing outburst he deserved. At least for the moment.

Our son was indeed trotting in a small circle. He was working on posting, too, although what he seemed to have accomplished was mostly a rhythmic, leg-swinging, bounce. One small hand held the reins. The other clutched firmly at the front of the saddle.

“Good job,” I called back, taking three pictures in quick succession.

Bob began to clap. Pam grinned in appreciation. Willow, with the patience of a saint, simply trotted on.

Over in the shade by the barn, Faith and Eve, accompanied by the Jack Russells, flopped down in the grass to watch the proceedings. Pink tongues lolled from all four mouths. Beside me, Bob was beginning to relax. Thanks to Davey's distraction, he thought he'd dodged the bullet. No such luck.

“What were you thinking?” I asked calmly.

His gaze flickered my way, then retreated. “When?”

As if he didn't know.

“I can't believe you would let a woman sleep over when Davey was staying with you. Has this ever happened before?”

“No, never. And you don't have to worry. Davey didn't mind.”

I stared at him incredulously. “Of course Davey didn't mind. You're his father, you're a grown-up. He thinks you know what you're doing. He's not supposed to be watching out for you, Bob. You're supposed to be taking care of him.”

“I know that.” Guilt shaded his tone. “Look, maybe it wasn't the best idea. Hell, it wasn't even my idea.”

“Don't try and tell me it was Davey's.”

“Actually, it was Pam's. She was sure you'd think it was okay.”

Based on what? I wondered. Pam didn't know me well enough to have any idea what I might or might not think was okay.

“Why did she think that?”

“Well, you know . . .”

“No, I don't.” I looked into the ring. Pam had brought Davey in off the circle and was unhooking the lunge line. The lesson was ending. “What are you talking about?”

“Because of Sam and all.”

Maybe I was just dense, but I had no idea where this was going. “What about Sam?”

“He's been known to spend the night at your house, hasn't he?”

There were so many things wrong with that question that for a single, startled moment I almost couldn't think how to respond.

“That's totally different,” I sputtered. “In the first place, Davey and I have both known Sam for several years. Whereas you and Pam have been seeing each other for what, a couple of weeks?

“And in the second place . . .” I realized my voice was rising precipitously and paused to regain control. “How does Pam have any idea what Sam and I do when we're alone?”

“Two weeks can be a long time when you're with the right person,” Bob said piously.

Did you notice how he hadn't answered my question? So did I.

Pam was walking to the gate with Davey and Willow. When they went through and headed toward the barn, she paused, no more than half a dozen feet from us, and fumbled with the latch.

As if the latch mattered when there was nobody in the ring. Not only that, but I'd never seen Pam fumble with anything before. I wondered how much she'd already overheard, but I didn't particularly care. The fact that she was listening was not going to shut me up.

“Think about what you're saying, Bob. It's ludicrous. Two weeks isn't even long enough to know whether you're with the right person or not. And when you find out that you aren't, what's Davey going to think? Are you going to let the next girlfriend stay over when he's there? What about the one after that?”

“Now you're the one who's being ridiculous.” Bob scowled. “You're taking one little thing and blowing it all out of proportion.”

Davey was waiting by the barn to dismount. Lips curved in a small smile, Pam slipped through the gate and moved on.

“It's not a little thing—”

“She told me you might do something like this.”

That semi-shriek drew me an over-the-shoulder glance, but Pam didn't stop walking.

“She thinks you're too attached.”

Only a moron could have made a comment like that with a straight face. I gave him the glare he fully deserved.

“Of course I'm attached to Davey. He's my son.”

“Not Davey,” Bob corrected. “Like I said a minute ago, she thought you'd be all right with that.”

“Then who are we talking about?” Slowly comprehension dawned. “You? She thinks I'm too attached to you?”

A faint blush began to crawl up Bob's cheeks. I took that as affirmation.

“And that's why I mind women sleeping over at your house?”

“Something like that.”

“Let's get something straight.” I reached out with one finger and poked him in the chest.

Bob looked surprised. Frankly, so was I. He took a step back which gave me a fleeting, and totally unexpected, sensation of power. Briefly I was tempted to poke him again and see what would happen but I resisted.

“What you do on your own time is up to you. You can have a girlfriend, a dozen girlfriends. You can sleep with every woman in Stamford for all I care. But when you're with Davey, I expect you to behave like the moral, upstanding citizen we're trying to raise our son to be. No shoplifting. No dancing naked in the streets. And no bringing a succession of women into and out of his life.”

Bob looked wounded. “I would never shoplift.”

I wondered if I should take that to mean that he would consider dancing naked in the streets.

“You know what I'm talking about.”

“Yeah,” he admitted. “I guess I do. And you're probably right.” He pushed away from the rail and began to walk toward the barn. Faith and Eve, who'd been watching us, got up, shook out, and prepared to follow. “I'll tell Pam we have to cool things off for a while.”

“Good.” Then mollified by his concession, I tried to soften my stance. “It's only until I figure out what's going on and Davey comes back home. After that you can throw yourself an orgy if you like.”

Bob waited for me to catch up. “If I do, will you come?”

“Fat chance. While you're enjoying yourself I'll be sitting at home, setting a good example for the next generation.”

“Yeah.” He sighed. “That's what I thought.”

 

 

Inside, the barn was cool and shady. Davey, with Pam's help, had untacked the pony. Willow was standing in the aisle munching on a carrot that my son was feeding her from his flattened palm.

“Here, Mom.” Davey handed me a piece. “You try.”

I held my hand out flat, like Davey's. Deftly Willow whisked the carrot away with her lips. Her dark brown eyes, every bit as expressive as Faith's or Eve's, watched me as she chewed. I reached up a hand and stroked the side of her jaw. When my fingers climbed higher to just below her ears, she leaned into the scratch, just as the Poodles would have done.

“What comes next?” I asked.

“When it's hot out, Willow will get a bath after I ride. But now she just gets to go outside and eat some grass until she's ready to go back in her stall.”

“Do you do that part?”

Davey nodded. “I'm supposed to have a grown-up with me, though.”

I looked around. Both Pam and Bob seemed to have disappeared. I wondered if he was taking the opportunity to tell her that his ex-wife had just laid down the law.

Meanwhile, Davey was gazing up at me expectantly. I didn't know much about ponies, but I couldn't see how hard it would be to make one eat grass. Wasn't that something they just did naturally?

“Let's go,” I said.

Willow didn't need any prodding to follow us outside. Though Davey was supposed to be the one leading, the palomino pony marched smartly over to a shaded area between house and barn. Reaching a patch of lush spring grass, Willow dropped her head and began to graze. Even the fact that the Poodles had come with us and were sniffing around the area didn't seem to bother her.

“So how are things going?” I asked Davey. He was holding the end of Willow's cotton lead rope, but aside from making sure that it didn't get tangled in her legs, little seemed to be required of him.

“Fine.”

“Are you enjoying being with your dad?”

“Sure. Dad's lots of fun. Only . . .”

I waited and let him figure out how he wanted to phrase his thoughts. After a minute, Davey's slender shoulders rose and fell with a sigh. “It'd be nice if sometimes we could do things with just the two of us.”

“And not Pam, you mean?”

“She's kind of been hanging around a lot. I guess Dad really likes her.”

“What about you? Do you like her?”

“She's okay.” Davey snuck me a glance, and I realized he was concerned about hurting my feelings.

“It's all right for your dad to have other women friends,” I said slowly. “Just like it's okay for you and me to see Sam. Bob and I are always going to be your parents, and we're always going to be friends with each other. Nothing's ever going to change that, right?”

“I know. You've told me that like a million times, okay?”

I'd tell him a million and one times if that's what it took to keep my son feeling secure in his parents' love.

“Anyway,” he continued, “Pam's pretty nice. It's just that she acts like she wants to be my best friend. She asks all sorts of questions about my life and school, and I know she doesn't really care about that stuff. She's just trying to impress Dad.”

“I don't think you're going to have to worry about Pam anymore,” I said. “I had a talk with your dad. He's not going to be spending as much time with her while you're staying with him, okay?”

“Okay,” Davey agreed.

I had no idea how to tell when a pony was ready to go back to its stall. Luckily, when Davey and I started walking toward the barn, Willow picked up her head and came along. We'd almost reached the barn when Pam came striding out through the open doorway.

Her shoulders were stiff, her features angry. She reminded me of the way her Jack Russells had looked when Faith and Eve arrived, minus the wagging tail. I guessed that meant Bob had had a talk with her. My impression was confirmed when Pam tossed a scathing glance in my direction and kept walking.

“Thank you for the lesson,” Davey said politely.

The trainer didn't even break stride. Nor did she acknowledge that he'd spoken.

My son stared after her. “I think she's mad,” he whispered.

“Don't worry. She's not mad at you.”

“Who's she mad at?”

Bob has impeccable timing. He appeared in the doorway.

“I see you talked to Pam.” I tried to sound sympathetic, but, unlike Jill Prescott, I'm not good with fake emotion.

“She'll get over it.”

“Get over what?” Davey asked.

“Thinking that the world revolves around what she wants.”

The sound of a door slamming hard made us all turn and look at the house. Pam had gone inside. It looked like it was time for us to leave.

Bob didn't seem to mind. “Let's go get some lunch,” he said.

As usual, food sounded good to me. “Am I invited?”

“Always. Don't you know that?”

Lunch it was.