Dog Beach Unleashed

by Lisa Greenwald

  “Exactly.” She’s listening to me. Claire’s actually listening to me. I’ve been trying so hard to figure out a way to help, but my dad was right. Listening and being there for her was the best way.

  “You could run the Kids Complainers Club!” I pat her on the arm. “It has a great ring to it. Doesn’t it?”

  “Will you join my complainers club? Even though you don’t have divorced parents? It can be for anyone who wants to complain about anything.” She laughs a little bit, as if she can’t really take it seriously yet. I’ll admit, it does sound a little funny.

  “I’d love to, dahling,” I say in a fake British accent for no reason at all.

  “Very well, dahling,” Claire mimics.

  We walk hand in hand for a minute before Claire says, “You need to get home for your swimming lesson. We passed your house five minutes ago.”

  I look around and realize she’s right. I was so engrossed in our conversation that I totally forgot where I was and where I was going.

  “Good luck,” she says. “I hope you learn to swim.”

  “Ha-ha.”

  As I walk alone to my house, I can’t help but smile. Because even though Claire is going through a bad time right now, I was able to help her a little bit. And that makes me feel happy. Claire even seemed happier, too.

  Little bits of happiness are better than no happiness at all.

  Bennett is waiting for me by the pool when I get home.

  “Took you long enough,” he groans.

  I look around, because I’m not sure if my parents are home or not.

  It seems he can read my mind. “Your parents went to Frederick’s Fish to get tuna steaks to grill tonight,” he tells me. “I’m staying for dinner.”

  “Okay, then.” I laugh.

  It seems Bennett knows more about what’s going on around here than I do. Maybe I shouldn’t tell him how I feel if he’s staying for dinner. My parents are probably buying a tuna steak for him as we speak. I think of a million more reasons why now is definitely not the time to tell him.

  “So, let’s see your strokes,” he says, leaning back in a lounge chair, his hands behind his head. He’s wearing a baggy blue bathing suit and a Seagate Island Pizzeria T-shirt. He looks as if he has no intention of getting into the pool. I can’t decide if I want him to or not.

  “Strokes?” I ask. “I basically do the doggie paddle.”

  “Well, you can’t join a swim team on the doggie paddle, babe,” he says, and I crack up.

  “Babe?” Since when does he call me babe?

  Bennett laughs at himself, and I shake my head at him.

  “I guess I can attempt the crawl. Tell me what you think.”

  I walk over to the other side of the pool, pull off my cover-up, and jump in. Once I’m in the water, I realize that I am not embarrassed for Bennett to see me in my swimsuit anymore.

  “The key to a good crawl is making sure you reach out your arms as far as you can,” he tells me. “Like you’re trying to reach and scoop something out of the water.”

  I start at the end of the pool near the diving board and try to do my most perfect crawl stroke to the other side. I stretch out my arms all the way and turn my head from side to side. As I’m swimming, I’m not thinking about anything else, only breathing and kicking and moving my arms. For a second I almost forget that Bennett’s watching.

  But then I reach the other side and pop my head out of the water. And there’s Bennett, standing an inch away from me, his toes on the edge of the pool.

  “Good job,” he says. “But it needs some work.” He sits down and dangles his legs in the water. “You need to scoop your hands a little more, not slap them down,” he tells me. “It’ll make the whole thing smoother and more graceful.”

  I nod. I don’t know if he’s going to get into the pool or stay there and give me more advice on how to improve my stroke.

  As always, it’s the not knowing that’s hard.

  I tie my chlorine-y hair into a ponytail, and Bennett plops into the water and sinks to the bottom of the pool.

  “Here, watch me,” he says when he pops back up.

  And then he takes off in a fast crawl—so fast, I bet he could train for the Olympics.

  “See how I turn my face?” he asks when he gets back to me. “You only need to turn it to the side a little, not lift up your whole head. I’m going to be a tough coach. Because I know you can do it.”

  I can’t help it. I burst out laughing. Bennett is suddenly Mr. Tough Swim Coach! It’s too much.

  “Hey!” He splashes me as hard as he can. “I’m only trying to help.”

  “Fine. I’m sorry.” I’m still laughing on the inside, but I control my giggles. “Thanks for your help.”

  We go over the crawl a few more times, and then he says he wants to move on to the sidestroke.

  “The crawl is enough for today,” I tell him. “I need to master that one first.”

  He nods. “Fair enough. Want to see my double flip off the diving board?”

  “Of course I do.”

  And just like that, things feel normal again. As if nothing has changed between us.

  I want to tell him that he’s still my best friend, but my dad comes outside and starts grilling, and my mom is pouring us strawberry lemonade.

  Everything feels perfect again. I don’t want to mess it up.

  Lester continues to run away every chance he gets. At this point, I’m pretty sure it’s a game to him. I see a little twinkle in his eye when he does it.

  “Lester,” I say, pulling him to the side, away from the other dogs. I feel like I’m a teacher and he’s a student. I try to speak in a calm voice. “Let’s have a heart-to-heart.”

  Maybe I’ll be a dog psychiatrist myself one day.

  I get him to calm down, and we sit next to each other, his paw on my knee. “You can’t run away like that.” I look into his big, droopy, cocker spaniel eyes. “Don’t you understand that it’s dangerous?”

  He stares at me. I rub his sandy-colored fur.

  “Lester, please, just give me some kind of signal that you understand me.” I wait for a bark or a raised ear or even a tail wag. But nothing. And then he takes off again, sprinting toward the white fence at the edge of Dog Beach.

  “Lester!” I yell, and I run after him.

  I catch up to him and put him on his leash; he’s left me no other choice.

  He spends the rest of the day with his leash tied to one of the legs of my lounge chair.

  As he lies there in the sun, the other dogs periodically come to check on him. Ritzy, especially. And his ears perk up whenever she comes close.

  Maybe that’s why he was running away? Because he wanted to see if I’d come after him and find a way to keep him close by? It seems strange, but I think we all get this way on occasion.

  Sometimes we want to run away to see if people will come rescue us.

  I think about Lester running to Novel Ideas and curling up under that bench, with Mr. Aprone’s soft music wafting through the air. Something must comfort him as he sits there and watches the people go in and out of the store. Something makes him feel safe, as if he’s not so alone.

  That’s how I feel about Seagate. I feel safe here. Relaxed. The world can feel so big and scary sometimes. We all need a place where everything feels okay.

  “So, did you tell Bennett?” Micayla asks me while the Improvimaniacs are practicing with the dogs. It’s pretty nice having them around. The dogs love them, and it means we get a little break from tending to them. It’s a win-win for everyone.

  “Not yet.” I explain the swim lesson and the tuna steaks for dinner.

  “You’re chickening out,” Mic says.

  “Am not.”

  “Yes, you are. Just do it. It’ll be a huge relief.”

  I know she’s right. But it’s weird that Micayla seems so concerned about this. Almost too concerned.

  “I’ll do it. Okay? Sheesh.”

  Micayla and I co
ntinue this almost-fight for a few seconds, and then we both start laughing. The kind of laughing where we can’t stop, where our stomachs hurt, where a little bit of spit comes out of our mouths and lands on our shirts. Gross but true.

  “What’s so funny?” Calvin asks. “Did you guys see what we just did?”

  We shake our heads.

  “We had a pretend wedding for Tabby and Oreo. Josh asked us to throw out random words for the Improvimaniacs to play off of for the next skit. So I threw out divorce, and they started with Tabby and Oreo having a fight, but then it turned into a flashback of their wedding.” He starts laughing after he says it, but then his eyes turn sad; it’s as if halfway through he realized what he was saying. As if it took his heart a few seconds to catch up to what his brain was thinking.

  I laugh, too. But it’s too late. I know it is. I see Calvin’s sad eyes.

  “Anyway, it was funny,” he says softly and quickly, as if he wants to end this conversation before it really has a chance to get started.

  “Sounds like it,” I say. I go to put a hand on his shoulder, but I pull away before it lands there. I know that Calvin wants me to act happy, not concerned. I guess that’s what makes him feel safe—staying in a happy place. So, for that moment, I do.

  “Hey, Remy.” Mrs. Pursuit comes over to my table at Daisy’s.

  Marilyn Monroe and I are having breakfast before we meet the others at the hotel.

  It may be rainy again, and our moods may be dampened, but that only means we need Daisy’s even more.

  “Hi.” I look up from my cinnamon-roll pancakes.

  “Great turnout at the meeting the other day, huh?” She smiles. “I was very pleased. And I’m excited that you want to help.”

  I stare at my pancakes. Would it be rude to continue eating while she talks? My food is getting cold. And soggy. I hate soggy pancakes.

  “Would you like to sit down?” I ask her.

  “No, no, that’s okay.” I take that to mean it’s fine for me to eat another bite. “I have a stack of fliers here, advertising the carnival and looking for people to run booths.”

  I nod. I know it’s rude to talk with food in my mouth.

  She smiles and finally decides to sit down. “So, any chance you could hand out these fliers to people while you’re out and about today?”

  I look at the window. Maybe she doesn’t realize that it’s raining. Maybe she’s not worried that her fliers will get wet.

  “Sure,” I say when I’m done chewing. “No problem.”

  On my way to headquarters, I hand some fliers out, and people seem excited about the carnival. I tack some up on the local bulletin boards, too.

  Maybe it’s the cinnamon-roll pancakes, or maybe it’s that Mrs. Pursuit asked for my help, but I’m energized. The rain can’t ruin this summer on Seagate! Claire seems happier lately, and right this moment, everything feels as if it’s going to be okay.

  Marilyn Monroe practically skips into the old Seagate Hotel.

  But overhearing a conversation stops me when I’m halfway inside.

  “She likes you,” I hear Micayla say.

  “She does?” Calvin asks.

  Uh-oh. I know what they’re talking about. I know who they’re talking about.

  “I wanted you to know. Remy’s pretty shy about saying what’s on her mind,” Micayla says. “And she’s kind of dragging her feet.”

  Micayla’s shy about saying stuff, too. I can’t believe she’s doing this!

  “Well, uh, thanks for letting me know.” Calvin’s voice gets quieter.

  I know what that means. Bennett must be nearby.

  I hear a loud belch and then, “Yo, my people!” It’s Bennett, of course. “Are you guys coming to help?” he asks. “The dogs are bored. And frankly, so am I!”

  “We’re coming. We’re coming,” Micayla groans.

  “I feel bad for Bennett,” she says quietly to Calvin.

  I can’t see her face. Or Calvin’s. But I can’t believe she’d talk to Calvin about this. I feel as if I can never trust her again.

  For a few days, I ignore the conversation I overheard, because I don’t know what to do about it. Why would Micayla talk to Calvin behind my back?

  The Centennial Summer celebration is in a few days, and it’s way more fun to focus on that.

  So many people signed up to perform that Mrs. Pursuit wants to have a run-through at the stadium to make sure everything goes smoothly. And she asked if I could be around to help out. We got special permission to bring the dogs there, as long as we promise to clean up any messes. But I know that our dogs won’t cause any problems.

  The days in our rainy-day headquarters were getting pretty boring for them, and since watching people perform is fun for people, I figure it’s gotta be fun for dogs, too. But at this point, what they really need is a change of pace.

  “Guys, you need to behave,” I tell the dogs. They’re all sitting in a row like perfect little angels. I know it won’t last, though. They’re behaving now because I gave them treats as soon as we arrived. “We won’t be here all day. Just the morning. Okay?”

  I wait for responses.

  Marilyn Monroe and Tabby bark as if they’ve understood, but the rest of them just stare at me with their big eyes, their tongues hanging out. It’s hot today, for a change, and I don’t think they’re quite used to it.

  The performers arrive, and I think they’re a little shocked to see so many dogs and kids but so few adults.

  “We’re, um, here for the run-through,” an older guy tells me, confused, probably thinking he’s in the wrong place. His son is with him. I think they’re new to Seagate this summer. “We’re a father-son juggling duo.”

  “Great.” I smile. “Just take a seat on the benches over there.”

  He gives me a quizzical look.

  “Mrs. Pursuit is running late, so I offered to help get things started.” She’s pretty much always running late.

  “Got it,” he says.

  When all the performers are there, and the dogs are quiet (for the moment), I stand up and make an announcement. “Thank you all for coming. Mrs. Pursuit just wanted to do a quick run-through so everyone knows the order and how much time they have onstage.”

  Lester tries to run away, but Bennett grabs him and ties his leash to one of the stadium columns.

  “Okay, Mari, keep an eye on everyone,” I whisper into her ear, and she pops up to lick my cheek. I’ve designated her to be the babysitter of the bunch. I’m not sure how she feels about it and not sure it will work, but these things are always worth a try.

  “First up, we have Larry Park,” I say. “It says here you’re a classical pianist.”

  Uh-oh. I should have looked more closely at this list. There’s only one piano on Seagate, and it’s in the senior center on the other end of the island. Maybe someone can go and get it before the carnival, but it’s too late now.

  I’m about to apologize for this when I see Larry Park carrying a portable keyboard to the front.

  “I came prepared,” he says, and I relax. “It’s unusual, but I consider myself a classical keyboardist. I rarely play on a regular piano anymore.”

  “That’s … great,” I say, perplexed but relieved.

  He continues. “I live in a tiny studio apartment in Brooklyn most of the year, and I’m here in the summer. No room for a real piano. Life is all about making do with what you have.”

  I think about how true this is, and it makes me smile. I need to remember that, when things seem impossible, there’s always a way to make do with what you have.

  Larry sets up his keyboard and then tells everyone that he’ll be playing a Bach Invention in C-sharp major.

  The music is upbeat and happy, and I wish he could play for the rest of the day. He’s really talented.

  Halfway through, though, things start to get crazy. Not with Larry Park or his music.

  It’s Lester.

  The cocker spaniel starts singing along with the keyboard
!

  I try to quiet him down, but Lester won’t stop singing. Not barking or howling, but singing. He sits up really tall and arches his neck and holds his muzzle up toward the sky. And then he sings. Really sings. As if he’s part of Larry’s performance. It almost seems as though Larry Park is Lester’s accompanist.

  “Ssshhh, Lester,” I hear Micayla whisper. The cocker spaniel looks at her for a second, but he doesn’t stop. He doesn’t even seem embarrassed. And, yes, dogs can get embarrassed. I’ve seen it before.

  But Lester is a natural performer.

  Larry keeps playing, and thankfully he’s a good sport about it. He even seems to be enjoying Lester’s performance.

  When he’s done, Larry says, “I’d like to add that dog to my routine.”

  We all laugh.

  “I’m not kidding.” He smiles. “I think we’d work well together.”

  “Um, okay, well, thanks so much. We can certainly put you in touch with his owner.”

  Larry nods. “Sounds great.”

  It seems as if Lester has been waiting all summer for Larry Park, for this moment and this music.

  A few singers follow Larry. A drummer. An acoustic guitarist who plays a Beatles medley. And our favorite Seagate band, Saturday We Tennis, complete with a bass and cello. But nothing gets Lester to sing like Larry Park’s classical music.

  Obviously Lester’s very sophisticated.

  The more I think about it, the more I realize that I can relate to Lester and his mad dashes for freedom. Maybe I’ve been running away, too. I’ve been running away from how I really feel about Calvin. And I’ve been running away from telling Bennett how I feel about staying just friends.

  Maybe we’re all running away from something. Maybe some things are just too complicated to focus on.

  The rest of the group works overtime taking care of the dogs while I keep track of how much time everyone needs for his or her act.

  Finally it’s the Improvimaniacs’ turn. And even though I’ve seen them practicing, I’m excited to see them on an actual stage.

  Since the doggie day care staff are the only ones left (most of the performers had other places to be), we get to throw out words to help the guys get started with their improv act. Calvin says, “Dental floss,” and they end up doing a whole routine about a crazy dentist who uses chocolate instead of toothpaste.