Must Love Dogs (15 page)

“I’m immune to your sweet talkin’. It’ll never work on me again.” Dolly picked up her pocketbook from the coffee table. She stood up, handed him her coat. He helped her into it, leaned down to kiss the pinky top of her head. “There is not a blessed thing you can say to convince me you weren’t out runnin’ around with some floozy tonight.”

My father put his arm around Dolly, escorted her through my front door. Looked back over his shoulder as he closed it. Wiggled his eyebrows at us, then winked.

*

We were all clumped around Mother Teresa. Bob was the only one not scratching some part of her body. “Thanks, Michael. Where’d you find Dad?” I asked from my station behind Mother Teresa’s right ear.

“I didn’t. He just came home. I told him what was going on and we hopped in my car.”

“So where was he?”

“He didn’t tell me. I figured Carol would get it out of him later.”

Mother Teresa noticed Bob’s inattentiveness and leaned forward to nudge him with her nose. He moved back slightly, tucked his hands behind his back. “Big dog you got there.” Nobody said anything. “I’m not exactly a dog lover,” he added.

“Dogs always know who loves them,” John said. “What a good girl you are, Mother Teresa.” He knelt down, picking up the pace on the front of her chest. “Are you planning to show her?” he asked Michael. “I’ve done a bit of research in that area.”

“My wife would like to show her, all right. Show her the door.” Michael shrugged. Tonight there was no sign of the crooked smile that reminded me so much of Mom. “Which reminds me …. Sarah, any chance Mother Teresa could stay with you for the rest of the weekend? Phoebe and I need a break from her. Bad.”

“Sure. Want me to follow you home to get her stuff?” I was having a hard time picturing Bob and John actually leaving. It might be easier to just go somewhere myself for a while.

“Uh, as a matter of fact, her stuff is in the car. I was kinda counting on you to understand. Thanks. I’ll go get it.”

“Need a hand?” asked John. “Does she sleep in a crate?”

Michael stared at him. “Yeah, we use a small U-Haul trailer.”

John looked hurt. Michael noticed. “Sorry. No, she sleeps pretty much wherever she chooses. I’ll just go get her food and dish and toys. And her other leash in case she eats this one.”

*

Mother Teresa was chewing on a stuffed doggy toy, a pig that squealed every time she bit down. I yawned loudly. “Well, thanks a lot, everybody. I’ll talk to you all later.” Michael headed toward the door. Neither Bob nor John made a move.

Michael owed me and he knew it. “Okay, guys, on the count of three, we’re all leaving.”

“I’ll call you tomorrow, Sarah.” Bob blew me a kiss from the door and walked out with Michael.

John hesitated. Walked back in. I kissed him on the cheek. “Thanks for driving all the way down here, John,” I said.

Bob stood in the doorway. “Cheater,” he said to John. “Didn’t you hear her brother say we were all leaving together?”

When Mother Teresa and I were finally alone, I filled her water bowl and put it on the kitchen floor. Made a place for her with an old blanket at the foot of my bed. Went into the bathroom, washed my face and brushed my teeth. Spent a little extra time putting on moisturizer. Wondered what George from Hanover must be thinking. Wondered if I’d call him back. It had been a long time since I’d had much to wonder about at the end of a day, and I had to admit to myself that it felt pretty good.

When I returned to my bedroom, Mother Teresa was lying on my bed, her head on one of the pillows. I stood beside her, scooped both hands under her furry body and shoved. “Don’t even think about it,” I said. “That’s my side.”

Mother Teresa and I slept late. We ate a big breakfast, went for a long walk on the beach. I brought a tennis ball, threw it as hard as I could along the rocky expanse of sand. Remembered Billy Jr. and Michael saying to me when we were kids,
If you don’t practice, Sarah, you’re always gonna throw like a girl.
I practiced, but I still threw like a girl. I never quite grasped that flick-of-the-wrist thing.

Mother Teresa didn’t seem to mind. She bounded after the ball again and again, as if each time were her first. Sometimes she brought it back to me; sometimes she let me chase her for it. On the way home from the beach, we stopped at Surfside Variety for a couple of spring waters. I taught her how to drink from the bottle. She was a natural.

We’d been pretty much sitting by the phone ever since. Phoebe called around two. “Thank you so much for taking the dog, Sarah. Can you stay for dinner when you bring her back tomorrow?”
Sorry
, I wanted to say,
I’d really like to. But I’ve fallen madly in love and I need to spend every waking moment with…. And, by the way, you’d better start being nice to my brother or else.

“Thanks, Phoebe. Can I bring anything?”

*

“John Anderson.”

“Oh, my God, you didn’t say ‘Yellow.’ ”

“It’s one of a couple of habits I’m trying to break.”

“I think I kind of miss it.” John didn’t say anything. I waited to be sure. “Um, I’m just calling to say thank you for last night. It was so nice of you to drive all the way down here. I really appreciate it.”

“Not a problem. I was happy to do it.”

I waited for John to start chatting. He didn’t. “Have you come up with any new anagrams?” I asked.

“Not really.”

“Mother Teresa is staying with me this weekend.”

“I know.”

“She’s really fun. We went to the beach. Now we’re just kind of hanging around.”

“That’s nice.”

“Are you mad at me?” I asked pitifully.

“Well, if you want to know the truth, last night you didn’t seem very date-delayed…”

“It was a-a fluke, a momentary surplus. I mean, Bob Connor lives in Dolly’s trailer park and the guy on the phone was someone who answered my ad ages ago and I just called him back because I couldn’t get out of my room, and Michael is my brother….” Why was I sounding so defensive? Why did I have to explain anything to John Anderson?

“Listen, Sarah, you don’t have to explain anything to me. It might be a good idea to figure it out for yourself, though. Anyway, thanks for calling, but I have to be somewhere in about half an hour.”

I hung up without answering.
It might be a good idea to figure it out for yourself though
, I mimicked silently.

*

I dialed Bob Connor’s number. It rang and rang. No answer, no machine to decide whether or not to leave a message. I called my father, thinking I could kill some time yelling at him for last night.
Billy Boy’s not home right now
…… I hung up. I tried Lorna. She wasn’t home either.

I checked to make sure my answering machine was still plugged in. Pushed the play button even though there was no blinking light. Nothing. Went outside to check the mail. Bills. And an invitation to change my life by changing my credit card. Somehow, I thought it might take more than that.

“We’re becoming one-dimensional,” I said to Mother Teresa. “We can’t spend the rest of our lives waiting for boys to call.” She didn’t seem to disagree, so we jumped back in the car and wound our way to the Southeast Expressway. “Where should we go?” I asked.

Wanna try Puppy Paradise
? I imagined her replying. I confronted the fact that I was not only talking to a dog, but answering for one. Decided it was the least of my problems.

“Great idea, Mother Teresa. Let’s do it.”

Most of the leaves had fallen off the trees. They rustled around our ankles as we walked a lap around the fenced-in area, giving it a once-over. A large dog jumped up, placed his forepaws on the horizontal bar of the chain-link fence to get a good look at Mother Teresa. “You can do better than that,” I whispered. I started to sing, just loud enough for the two of us to hear, that old song about being nothing but a hound dog. Mother Teresa gave me a look not unlike the one Carol would have given me.

“Yeah, I know, Elvis does it better,” I admitted. “I’m way off-key.” I opened the gate, stood back to let Mother Teresa go in first. She circled around behind me. “Oh, all right. Follow me. But you can’t spend your whole life waiting for the other person to go first.”

We sat on our old green bench. Slim pickings for humans today, only slightly better for dogs. At least the dogs weren’t all half of a couple. The hound came up for a sniff. His owners, a man and a woman nauseatingly clad in matching Boston College sweatshirts, called him from across the length of wood chips. We sat for a few minutes, watching a little fluff-ball cocker spaniel puppy roll around delightedly. Broken bits of leaf clung to its coat.

A gorgeous Newfoundland trudged over to us, black fur glistening, tail wagging. After a few minutes of indecisiveness, Mother Teresa followed him off to the big red plastic tunnel. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” I whispered. I laughed a little too loudly.

So this is desperate
, I thought. Sitting alone, absolutely alone, on a park bench, making crude comments to a dog that doesn’t even belong to you. I watched as a nice-looking guy leaned over to say something to the Newfie. I waited and, sure enough, an even nicer-looking woman came around the corner to take his hand.

*

“Is this George?”

“Who’s calling, please?”

“Um, this is Sarah. You called me last night.”

“Umm-hmm.”

“Listen, George. I’m really sorry about last night. The truth is, I hardly ever have company. I live alone, at least I have since my divorce, but last night my father’s girlfriend showed up and wouldn’t leave, and then some other, uh, people. And, anyway, you must have a completely inaccurate picture of me at this point.” I waited to see if he was still on the line. “George?”

“Umm-hmm.”

“So, how old are your kids? I love kids.”

“You know, there are a lot of crazy people out there, and I’d like to think you’re not one of them, but in the meantime, let’s not talk about my kids, okay?”

*

“All right, I’ll let you wear the boa, but you have to promise me you’re not going to eat it. Okay?” I wrapped Dolly’s original pink feather boa twice around Mother Teresa’s neck, and tucked the ends out of the way so she wouldn’t be tempted. “Okay, now we have to find something for me.” I located the silver mules in my closet, slipped them on. Looked for something to go with them. Settled for a long knitted scarf, light gray with white snowflakes. “I know I’m pushing the season, but the colors are good together.” The scarf must have been a wool blend, because it felt scratchy where it touched my skin. I hiked the neck of my cotton T-shirt up a little higher.

I lit some candles, even though it wasn’t quite dark yet. Lay on my back on the bed, closed my eyes and reached over to start the tape. Had to reopen my eyes to find the right button. “Okay, this is it,” I said to Mother Teresa. “Let’s pick a winner.”

Seven thirty-three a.m. October 18. Almost five weeks ago.
Good morning. My name is Lennie. I’m a little nervous on this….because you’re only the sixth ad I’ve answered. The other five did not….there was no….chemistry….it didn’t pan out….obviously. Consequently, if you’d like to give me a call, I’d appreciate hearing from you. I’ve been a little depressed lately. It would be nice to have someone to talk to. The number is 617-555-1812. Many thanks.

I scratched Mother Teresa’s current favorite place, just above her nose. “I guess I should be a better person, but I barely have enough energy for my own depression.”

Ten-forty-one p.m. October 17.
Hi, there, my name is Ben. I’m in my mid-forties, totally toned, very, very fit, handsome, blue eyes, a good complexion, five-foot-seven, about a hundred and ninety pounds, give or take. I’m very captivated by dogs. I’m also into wines, into growing herbs. I make my own sprouts, too. Mostly alfalfa. I’m professional, successful, and I think you’d really like me. So, give me a call. 978-555-9658.
Mother Teresa sighed, burped loudly. “You’re absolutely right,” I agreed. “We are not, either of us, that desperate.”

I pushed the off button. Clasped my hands behind my head, and flopped back down to my pillow. Mother Teresa leaned over and lapped my face, sighed again, then tucked her nose between her paws on the other pillow.

I forced myself to a seated position, picked up the phone again. I dialed Bob’s number. I imagined laughing with him about how he’d forgotten to call me.
What is it about you guys
, I might say as if I found it amusing,
that whenever you say you’ll call, you never do?
Austin answered on the third ring. I hesitated. Should I ask for his dad? Most likely, he’d tell the whole class on Monday.

“Who is it, Austin?” I heard a female voice say in the background. “Hello?” the voice said into the receiver. I didn’t say a word. By the second hello, I was sure it was June. I hung up quietly.

I flopped back down on the bed, synchronized my breathing with Mother Teresa’s. We stayed like that for a while, one big gulp of air for me to every four of hers. Twenty-four hours ago I had so much hope, and now I was so discouraged. It certainly hadn’t taken me very long to end up back at square one. Maybe it was my fault for wanting things too much. “My whole life,” I said to Mother Teresa, “my family has always said don’t get your hopes up or you’ll jinx everything. I really hate it when they’re right.”

I almost forgot about my Monday morning before-school meeting with Kate Stone. By the time I remembered, three sips into a cup of coffee, it was too late for breakfast. My stomach rumbled as I sat in Kate Stone’s office watching her nibble on minuscule pieces of a blueberry muffin she broke off one by one, between sentences. I concentrated, with great difficulty, on what she was saying.

“Let me summarize. You’ll keep Irish Step Dance. Reinstate Swing Dance if the teacher gets the final doctor’s okay in time. And you’ll add Indoor Games Potpourri. And Never Too Young to Cook.” She wiped her hands on a paper napkin, picked up a red marker, wrote “Winter Offerings” at the top of a fresh sheet of the pad she used for staff meetings. “We’ll open this up at today’s meeting to see if there are any takers. Otherwise, I’ll leave you to your own devices to come up with instructors. Can do?”