by Juliette Fay
“Uh, yeah . . .” he stammered.
But Chrissy didn’t wait for his answer, stepping forward to take Aunt Vivian’s small weathered hand in her own smooth lotioned one. “Vivian, I still can’t thank you enough for the magic you and the Garden Club worked on the median near our house a couple of years ago.”
There was a second or two when Aunt Vivian’s gaze seemed vague, and Sean guessed that she had no memory of the magically transformed median. But she smiled politely and said, “I’m pleased to accept your compliment on the club’s behalf,” and slid her hand from Chrissy’s.
George had sidled up to Aunt Vivvy and begun to growl again. “Shush now,” she told the dog. George leaned her head toward Chrissy and sniffed tentatively.
“Thatsa girl,” Chrissy purred. “Figure me out. You’ll get the picture soon enough.”
She asked a series of questions about the dog: where did it come from, what were its likely breeds, any information about prior masters, and the like.
“She was left at Man’s Best Friend Animal Shelter and was about to be euthanized,” said Aunt Vivian. “There was no other information.”
“A rescue dog.” Chrissy gave an approving nod. “German shepherd and Labrador mix, I’m fairly certain,” she told them. “Such a wonderful combination of protectiveness and loyalty. Now that she’s calm, is there somewhere we can all sit and discuss George’s needs?”
They moved into the living room, and Kevin wandered out of the den to join them. The first thing Chrissy wanted to know was who regularly walked the dog. Sean and Kevin glanced furtively at each other.
“No one walks the dog,” Aunt Vivian said matter-of-factly. “The dog prefers to be with me, and I am not entirely mobile.”
“Ah,” said Chrissy, nodding sagely. “You are the queen.”
“Pardon me?” A slight edge of irritation rose in Aunt Vivvy’s voice.
“Every domesticated dog needs a master, one person she’s ultimately devoted to. But George is not a small, inside kind of dog. She’s a large dog with muscles that require a thorough daily workout. If her master can’t provide that, then we need to involve an additional person who can. I call this the English Monarchy Scenario.”
“You are suggesting that George needs a prime minister.” Aunt Vivvy’s gaze swung almost imperceptibly toward Sean.
A prime minister, he thought. That’s pretty much what the whole freakin’ family needs.
“Exactly,” said Chrissy. “Now. My understanding from you, Sean, is that your plans are . . . ?”
“In flux,” he said.
“I’m sorry, but that’s just not going to work for George.” Chrissy said it as if to apologize for disappointing news. Sean mentally high-fived himself. “She needs someone who’ll be in her life for the duration,” Chrissy went on. “Isn’t that what we all need? At least one person we can rely on to be there for us no matter what?” Her voice went just a little quavery, as if referring to something raw and unhealed in her own life. Sean wondered how a woman like Chrissy had ever hitched her wagon to a jackass like Ricky Cavicchio.
Chrissy sighed. Then she glanced over to Kevin, who’d been watching this scene play out like a reality TV show—entertaining but with an outcome on which he had absolutely no impact. “Kevin,” she said, a certain amount of pomp creeping into her tone, “would you be willing to be George’s prime minister?”
“Uh . . . sure.” He looked confused. “Wait, what?”
“It’s just like England,” Chrissy explained. “The queen—your aunt—is the beneficent figurehead, the emotional leader of her people. You are the man of action, the one who calls the shots and gets things done!”
Vivian Preston’s laser gaze turned toward her youngest nephew and she said, “I’m quite certain you’re up to the task.”
* * *
There was a search for the dog’s leash, which was suspected to be in the garden shed out back. Kevin grumbled to himself as he and Sean dug around empty planters and bags of potting soil. Finally he said, “I don’t want to be the prime minister! I just want to be a kid!”
Sean put down the bottles of Roundup and turned to Kevin. “I know,” he said. “But I kinda need you on this one. I don’t know how long I’m going to be around, so I’m really not the right guy for the job.”
“Yeah, I know,” Kevin muttered. “Flux.”
It stung. Just as it was meant to.
“Hey,” said Sean defensively, “this might actually work out for you. If you’re George’s prime minister, she has to obey you. That’ll be a whole lot better than having her threatening to take a chunk out of you every time you walk in the door.”
Kevin tugged the leash out from behind a bag of Holly-tone, rolled his eyes, and left Sean standing in the shed.
Sean was not invited to any further involvement in George’s training—or as Chrissy said, Kevin’s training—which surprised and disappointed him. The dog thing was all well and good, but his original intention was to have more time with Chrissy. This, like so many other things these days, wasn’t working out as planned. He watched from the porch as she helped Aunt Vivvy down the steps to the yard.
“Now, Vivian,” Chrissy went on. “We are about to conduct a peaceful transfer of power. George will worry that a coup is taking place, so it’s your job to assure her that you approve of Kevin’s authority.” Sean had to stifle a laugh. He’d never seen anyone try to inform his aunt of her duties, and she looked none too thrilled about it.
Chrissy instructed Aunt Vivvy to show George that she was handing the leash to Kevin. They did this several times. To Sean’s surprise, George studied the motion with great attentiveness. Then Aunt Vivvy was instructed to take Kevin’s hand and guide him to pet George. The dog started to growl but Chrissy corrected her with the chtch! sound.
Sean watched Kevin’s face change from fear to interest as he patted the dog. “She’s soft,” he said.
Once it was clear that the dog would put up with Kevin’s touch, Chrissy said, “Vivian, would you please explain to George what’s happening, and what you expect from her?”
“Pardon me?” Aunt Vivvy’s annoyance was abundantly evident, but Chrissy either didn’t see it or chose to ignore it.
“You need to explain to her—in words—that Kevin is now in charge of her daily tasks and that you expect her full compliance.”
Aunt Vivvy shot an irritated glance up to Sean on the porch. He offered an apologetic shrug, but what could he do—interrupt the Oath of Office? At that distance he couldn’t hear every word, but coaxed along by Chrissy, Aunt Vivvy muttered something that boiled down to “Do as you’re told and don’t intimidate Kevin.”
Then they walked together up and down the driveway, ambling slowly to accommodate Aunt Vivvy’s pace. George seemed to tolerate Kevin’s holding the leash and his fingers’ wandering into the soft fur behind her ears when they stopped for further instructions. Then it was time for what Chrissy called an “I’m the Boss” walk. Aunt Vivvy and Sean watched from the porch as Chrissy and Kevin power-walked down the street with George, Kevin skipping every few steps to keep up.
“That seemed to go pretty well,” said Sean.
“I’m surprised she didn’t make me tap him on both shoulders with my scepter,” Aunt Vivvy said drily. She turned and went into the house.
Chrissy and Kevin were gone for quite some time, and Sean went in when he heard the phone ring. It was Cormac, canceling their standing night at The Pal. Barb had an appointment, and she wanted Cormac with her. Sean didn’t ask what kind of appointment, but he assumed it had something to do with their fertility issues.
“But hey,” said Cormac, “how about coming over for dinner Thursday night? Barb says it’s been too long since she’s seen you.”
“Great.” Sean was a little disappointed, though. He’d been looking f
orward to talking about Chrissy tonight. Not that there was all that much to say. But still, it was fun to imagine that someday there might be. It gave Sean an idea. “Guess who’s here right now.” And he told Cormac about Chrissy and the dog training. “What if, um . . . Any chance maybe I could bring her along on Thursday? I mean she’s probably not available, but if she was . . .”
“Absolutely! It’ll be a mini-reunion. I know—I’ll call Dougie and Cavicchio and we’ll make it a party!” Cormac laughed dementedly at the idea.
“You’re an idiot, you know that?” But Sean couldn’t help but laugh, too. A more awkward assembly of characters was hard to imagine.
When the power-walkers finally returned, the prime minister looked sweaty and tired and went immediately to the den to watch TV. George trotted upstairs to Buckingham Palace. Chrissy’s skin glowed. “That was great!” she gushed. “Wasn’t it? Didn’t you think it went just super?”
“I never would’ve believed it,” said Sean, trying not to stare at the glistening plane of dampness below her collarbone. “You cast one heck of a spell over the three of them.”
She grinned coyly. “Thanks for believing in me. You have no idea how much I need the encouragement.”
She seemed utterly fearless to him—issuing commands and achieving compliance from his aunt and her murderous dog as if she were born to be saluted. But he knew that how people seemed on the outside was often very different from how they felt on the inside. And he was honored to be privy to her secret insecurity.
She told him she’d be returning on Thursday to continue working with Kevin and George, and he told her about the invitation to dinner at Cormac’s.
“Cormac McGrath,” she said, tapping a finger against her full lips as if it would jog her memory. “He was that really . . .” she waved her hands up above her head.
“Yeah, he’s pretty big. Great guy—he owns the Confectionary. And his wife is very nice,” he said. “I know you’ll like her.”
“Of course! Cormac’s Confectionary. Why didn’t I put two and two together?” She laughed. “So . . . I’ll see you Thursday?”
“I’ll be here.”
She gave his cheek a little peck and walked to her car.
CHAPTER 20
When she came back on Thursday and learned that George hadn’t been walked, Chrissy gave Kevin and Sean a bit of a talking-to.
“Remember how we said George needs vigorous daily exercise?”
“Yeah . . .” Kevin looked away and chewed at the inside of his cheek.
“Daily means every day, not just when you feel like it.” Chrissy smiled as she said this, but it seemed incongruous with her tone. She looked up at Sean. “You really have to take more responsibility for reminding him.”
“Absolutely,” said Sean. “I think we’re all just getting in a groove with this whole thing. But we’re definitely on the upswing. Right, Kev?”
Kevin shrugged and tried to clip the leash on George’s collar. The dog set off a warning growl.
“Chtch!” hissed Chrissy, and the growling stopped. “See, this is what I’m saying. Consistency, consistency, consistency. It’s just like with kids. If the rules only hold some of the time, they’ll never behave.”
She had Kevin do a short walk on his own with George, just up the street and back. “Exercise is the number one thing we need to provide our dogs,” she continued to chide Sean. “Without exercise they get all moody and sluggish—just like people! You wouldn’t let Kevin sit around watching TV day after day, would you? Of course not.”
In fact, that was exactly what Kevin had been doing. For weeks. Ever since the teenagers had chased him out of the woods he’d gone from an outdoor kid to an indoor kid. A wave of guilt washed over Sean. He’d felt so proud of himself for taking Kevin on the camping trip, but it had been one day of fresh air and exercise amid many days of wandering the wasteland of TV.
When Kevin came back, Chrissy accompanied him on a longer walk, and Sean went inside to make a phone call.
Frank Quentzer didn’t have any further weekend trips planned for the troop until the end of August. “But there’s camp. I didn’t mention it because it’s a lot to take on when you’ve only been a scout for a week.” The troop was going on their annual week-long trip to Camp Yawgoog, a scout reservation in Rhode Island, he told Sean. There was swimming and hiking and rifle shooting, innumerable badges to be earned and campfires to be built. It sounded perfect.
Frank seemed hesitant. “Has he ever been away from home without a parent before?”
He’s lived half his life without a parent, Sean wanted to say. The kid’s practically on his own as it is. He told Frank he’d get back to him after talking with Kevin.
* * *
“Can you come, too?” Kevin asked warily.
“I’d like to,” said Sean. A break from the family drama sounded pretty appealing. “But things are a little dicey around here. Deirdre’s practically living at the theater these days, and I don’t think it’s a good idea for me to leave Auntie Vivvy alone for a whole week.”
“But I’d have to go alone?”
“Hey, it’s not like you’d be bushwhacking through the frozen tundra by yourself.”
“You don’t bushwhack through frozen tundra,” Kevin muttered. “There’s no bushes to whack.”
“The point is you’d be with Mr. Quentzer and the troop. You’re okay with those guys, right? Bodie and Ivan and everyone?”
Kevin’s face went tight with anxiety. “What if I don’t like it?”
“It’s camping—you love camping!” Sean knew he was overselling, which was confirmed by Kevin’s you-don’t-get-it look. “Okay, listen,” he said. “I know it stinks not being able to go up to Jansen Woods anymore. But you can’t sit around here watching TV all day. It’s just . . . bad for you. So if you don’t want to go to Boy Scout camp, I think we’re going to have to come up with some serious limits on TV watching. It’s your choice.”
Kevin gave a resigned huff. “Will you come and get me if I don’t like it?”
“Absolutely.” He dearly hoped he wouldn’t have to load Aunt Vivvy and George in the decrepit Caprice and hazard a five-hour round-trip, but if that’s what it took . . .
Kevin’s face softened into a wry grin. “And you’ll be George’s prime minister every day—not just when you feel like it?” he said, mimicking Chrissy’s rebuke.
Sean laughed. “You got it. I’ll wear that beast out.”
* * *
Sean took the Caprice over to the car wash and ordered up “the works”: interior, exterior—everything down to Armor All on the tires. It still looked like a bucket of bolts. He considered meeting Chrissy at Cormac’s to avoid having her sit on the cracked vinyl seat, but he’d already offered to pick her up.
“What a gorgeous antique!” Chrissy said when he opened the passenger side door for her in front of her triple-bay garage. “You should take it to one of those auto refurbishers so you could drive it in parades.”
Why in God’s name would I ever do that? was the first thing that came to mind. “That’s a thought,” he said. “I’ll bet my aunt would love that.” But she wouldn’t. She would find it self-indulgent and undignified, and he knew it.
On the ride over, Chrissy asked about Cormac and the Confectionary and to be reminded of his wife’s name. It was clear that she wanted to make a good impression, and the thought of it—her hoping to fit in with his friends—made the air seem to vibrate with his good fortune. Chrissy Stillman was sitting next to him in his car. He was taking her somewhere important to him. Every mile was a teenage fantasy.
“Cormac!” Chrissy threw her arms around him like an old friend when he opened the door. “Gosh, it’s great to see you again.”
Cormac grinned, his eyes flicking almost imperceptibly to Sean. “Good to see you, too,
Chrissy. Been a lot of years.”
It wasn’t lost on Sean that Cormac had seen her at the Confectionary any number of times, and she simply hadn’t recognized him despite his conspicuous stature or the fact that his unusual name was on the sign. But Cormac was on his best behavior, and Sean was grateful.
Sean gave Barb a hug. “Hey, picture taker,” he murmured in her ear, and she gave him an extra little squeeze. He introduced her to Chrissy, who greeted her warmly and complimented her on the earrings and necklace with the hearts and little pink gemstones. “I got one of my girls the same set a couple of years ago! Target, right? Or was it Walmart?”
“Um . . .” Barb’s smile lost a couple of watts. “Target. I just thought they were cute.”
“They’re adorable. And such a bargain.”
The four of them sat in the tiny living room on the squishy sofas with their drinks.
“I love your house,” said Chrissy. “It’s so cozy. You can really find each other in a place like this. Want to hear the dumbest thing? At our house we actually had an intercom installed. It’s so embarrassing, needing a gadget to find your kids.” She sipped her drink. “Or your husband. Actually, I practically needed LoJack to find him.” She gave a bitter little chuckle.
Barb’s and Cormac’s eyes found each other. Barb stood up. “Let me just check on that roast,” she said, and headed for the kitchen.
Chrissy watched her take the five steps toward the stove. “See, this is nice,” she said. “Barb can check on dinner and she doesn’t even have to leave the conversation.”
The three of them reminisced about high school—teachers they remembered, the few friends they’d had in common. “And can you believe Dougie Shaw is a cop?” Chrissy said. “That kid was certifiable. You remember him in the wedding dress at the homecoming game? Seriously, I can’t believe he didn’t end up in a mental ward somewhere.”
“Oh, he just had a score to settle with your ex-husband,” Cormac said affably.
