As my legs pumped the pedals on the way home, I revisited telling Mom about the date. But her words about a parent powwow that could result in a tightening up on my whereabouts spooked me. Maybe she’d forget the thought occurred to her. I decided to play it safe and keep quiet.
I really hoped she and Dad didn’t have some talk about me being less free to come and go as I pleased. If they did, this dating thing could get real complicated.
CHAPTER 27
I was 99 percent sure this was a bona fide date and Pete was going to pay, but I brought the rest of the pet-sitting money I hadn’t spent on the bike, just in case. Plus, I didn’t want my dad to “accidentally” borrow it like he had the eighty dollars I’d slaved to earn for an Oklahoma costume.
I need not have bothered. Pete paid for everything, and I mean everything.
He insisted we get all kinds of snacks, saying in his best Texas Oil Man drawl that he’d recently come into some money. I felt terribly spoiled.
Until disaster struck.
A popcorn husk got stuck between two teeth. There is no graceful way to take care of that problem while sitting next to your boyfriend even if the movie theater is dark. It might have been my first date, but I knew digging around in my mouth like a dentist would not be attractive. I excused myself to the restroom. A vaguely familiar skinny girl reapplying black lip gloss and eyeliner suggested using the rubber band I had tied my hair back with as floss.
Note to self: Never, ever go on a movie date without dental floss, because hair bands are too gross a substitute except in cases of dire emergencies.
When I slipped back into my seat, I realized Pete’s arm was already on the back of it. If that didn’t make it hard enough to concentrate on the movie, Pete reached with his other hand to hold mine. I wished for an Arctic blast to keep my hand from sweating since I’d ignored the advice of my coverless teen magazines.
It had recommended dusting your hands with cornstarch before a date, but I figured it would just wear off on my bike trek. I need not have worried. Every time a tense action scene of the SEALs saving somebody came on, Pete let go and cheered, giving me a chance to wipe my hand on my pants.
On screen, the Navy SEALs hunted terrorists, and I found some of my nervousness draining away as I got caught up in the excitement and tension on screen. As the final scene played out, I was relieved that not only had the United States SEAL Team prevailed, but I hadn’t done anything klutzy like spill popcorn all over or dump my soda in Pete’s lap.
“Gabby,” Pete whispered.
I turned. Pete’s face was maybe two inches from mine. I nearly recoiled from the surprise of it, but his hand tightened on mine, and I suddenly got butterflies in the pit of my stomach.
Was Pete about to kiss me?
He closed his eyes. His face got closer and closer, lips mere millimeters from my own. I was pretty sure we were going to kiss, and I was terrified, thrilled, and totally unprepared.
I closed my eyes and hoped for the best. His lips touched mine. They were warm and drier than I expected. A lot drier than dog kisses.
Wow.
Sort of.
I mean, it was the first time I’d been kissed on the mouth by a boy that wasn’t my brother or Mark Harrison from the second grade. It was pretty quick; at least I thought so, but with your eyes closed and your mouth covered by a boy’s lips, you lose track of time. Those teen magazines ought to warn about that.
Then I realized my eyes were still closed, so I opened them. Pete was looking at the screen, but I could tell he was smiling.
I wondered if I should have kissed him back. Or maybe I did but didn’t know it.
Your first kiss was supposed to be all fireworks and swooning, right? A milestone on the adolescent expedition to adulthood. And I had no idea if I’d blown it or not.
CHAPTER 28
“Poco, you have it easy. Me, I’ve got big problems,” I said as the tiny Chihuahua danced around my legs. “How come dogs can kiss anyone, anytime, and even if you have bad breath, you are totally unselfconscious about it?”
There was something absolutely unfair about the whole kissing thing. I was sure dogs didn’t agonize about smooching so much they found themselves unable to talk afterwards.
I felt so awkward when Pete and I walked out of the movie that I had pretended I had to leave right away to pet sit. It wasn’t until I was three blocks away that I realized I hadn’t even thanked him or considered the possibility that Pete might feel like I took off because I didn’t like the kiss. Or him.
To make matters worse, Amos jumped all over me for being thirty minutes early. I pondered investing the cash I hadn’t needed at the movie for a watch. I inwardly giggled at the thought of asking Raff to recommend a good place to get one secondhand.
It was starting to lightly drizzle, so Poco and I jogged back to the Wrangleys’. I could hear Amos walking around upstairs and decided to get out before he had the chance to find fault with something else. I hopped on my bike, wishing I could take the shortcut through the tiny alley since I had dressed to impress, not to stay dry.
I tried to hurry into the Bakers’ so the water running off of the roof over the side door didn’t completely soak me. I hadn’t noticed earlier that the gutters were in such bad shape. Of course, nobody notices gutters until they fail. Then it’s too late. As I wiped my feet, I could hear Pixie whining.
Is she okay? Are the puppies coming? Are they here?
I felt a spark of excitement and glanced at her food bowl. The food was still untouched, and a puddle of what looked suspiciously like dog vomit was under the kitchen table. Pixie entered from the hallway, shivering and whining. She stopped halfway to me to pant like she’d just finished a marathon. She turned in a circle twice, then came and nosed my hand.
This isn’t normal dog behavior. The puppies are coming!
Pixie started to squat, then paced a bit, and looked like she might squat again. I quickly clipped the lead onto her collar, opened the back door, and stepped into the storm. Cleaning up the vomit would be bad enough. There was no way I was going to clean up anything else.
I hoped Pixie would quickly do her business, especially since the drizzle seemed to be turning into a full-fledged downpour. The greyhound was in no hurry, unfortunately. I was turning up my collar when Pixie nearly jerked the leash from my hands.
I was not about to lose the leash. I grabbed it tightly with both hands. Bad move. Pixie twisted around to face me and then scooted backward.
In the process, she slipped her collar.
My heart rate increased.
This wasn’t good. It wasn’t good at all.
CHAPTER 29
I lunged to grab Pixie but stumbled in the wet grass. Pixie seized the opportunity and made a beeline for the shed. I chased after her.
I was too slow.
The back end of the pregnant animal disappeared under the toolshed.
I sloshed over, calling to Pixie. The shed looked like it was on its last legs—literally. The wood looked rotted and the roof patched. The front end was propped off the ground about eight to ten inches on crumbling cinder blocks, but the back end was not just touching the ground, it looked like it had sunk in.
I squatted down, rain plastering my red hair against my face. I had to brush it away to peer under the shed. I couldn’t see much, but something moved around, and I heard whining.
“Come on, girl. That’s no place to have puppies,” I coaxed in my best syrupy sweet voice. “Let’s go back into the nice, warm, dry house.”
Instead of heeding my words of wisdom, Pixie stopped moving and might have lain down. It was too dark to tell. The rain was turning the bare earth spots into micro swamps. Cold water was sliding down my back where it had wormed its way under my collar.
The shed wasn’t large, but if Pixie was dead center, I would have to lie flat to get ahold of her. That meant getting my date clothes slathered in mud. It was a disgusting thought.
Plus, what if she tries to bite
?
Mrs. Baker had warned me that after the puppies came, Pixie might try to bite if I got too close. I wondered if that might apply before or during the whelping process. Whelping was going to go on my list of least favorite words ever.
The clouds unleashed their stuff, and I was thoroughly soaked. I decided to get a stick and try to gently poke her out. I couldn’t find a stick, so I ran back inside to retrieve a broom or mop. I also grabbed a couple of dog biscuits and shoved them in my pocket, thinking maybe I could tempt her out with those. The food bowl seemed to laugh at my idea, but it was all I had.
The sky had darkened even more in that fragment of time. I stared at the side of the shed, planning to sweep the mop handle from the back forward, to dislodge Pixie from her doggy spa. I tried the first time without really looking since I didn’t want to kneel in mud, but squatting just didn’t provide any leverage. I couldn’t tell if her hole was so deep I’d passed over it, or if I was missing her entirely.
I bit the proverbial bullet and dropped to my knees. My pants had been pretty well soaked through, but I felt the squishy mud squirting from beneath me until my left knee painfully discovered a piece of crumbled brick.
Ouch!
I peered through the murk and gloom. I positioned my mop handle for another sweep when the shed shifted. The back end sank at least half an inch and pressed the mop handle into the ground. I had to jerk it to get it out.
Time for Plan B.
I lay flat in the mud. I called and coaxed. It rained harder.
I reached under as far as I could, holding out a biscuit. Pixie only whined in reply. The shed shifted again, getting dangerously close to my outstretched arm. I yanked it out.
I used my hands to shield my eyes and looked carefully. The back end was definitely sinking. Maybe the dog had dug underneath it or maybe it was the derelict condition of the shed, but for whatever reason, the structure was sinking into the soft ground underneath it.
I’d have to crawl under and grab her. From the front, where there was the most space.
What if the shed slips further, trapping you like it almost did the mop handle?
My mind conjured up the unwelcome image of the Wicked Witch in The Wizard of Oz, boots sticking out from under Dorothy’s house that had fallen on top of her and killed her. I shivered, only partly because of the cold and wet. I did not want to end up like the Witch.
Nobody will come looking for you until your mom gets home at 10:30. You’ll be either crushed to death or drowned by then.
If you don’t do something, Pixie and the puppies will drown or be smushed.
Call for help.
That just might work.
I gauged the distance the shed had sunk and figured I had three minutes to make a phone call.
In other words, I didn’t have a second to spare.
CHAPTER 30
I raced inside, heedless of the mud I tracked in, and snatched the phone off the wall. I hurriedly dialed my house.
Please let my dad be home. Please let him answer.
After ten rings I hung up and tried Becca’s. Even if we weren’t exactly on speaking terms right now, she’d never let the pregnant Pixie and the puppies drown. Maybe her dad would come help me or at least tell me what to do.
But no one picked up. It went to the answering machine.
I slammed the phone down. Time was running out.
In desperation, I dialed one of the only other numbers I knew by heart—Pete’s number. Lana answered on the fourth ring.
I had no time for pleasantries. “I have to talk to Pete. It’s an emergency,” I yelled.
Lightning flashed outside as the storm worsened.
“Sure . . .” Lana said in a teasing sort of voice.
I didn’t have time for this. The rumbling thunder served to remind me of that. “Lana, I’m not kidding. It’s about a dog in danger!”
I hoped she’d tap into her own feelings about when Fluff had disappeared and take me seriously. She did.
“Pete! Phone! It’s Gabby.”
I let out the breath I didn’t know I was holding as Lana’s voice became muted. I wanted to yell and tell her to stay on the line, not to leave me alone like this. I realized I was starting to panic and willed myself to stay calm, to breathe, to think.
“Gabby?” Pete’s voice sounded surprised, hopeful, and confused all at once.
“Pete, listen. I need your help.” I quickly gave him a rundown of the situation.
“Can you prop the shed up?” He sounded too tentative, too unsure.
“I don’t think so. Help me. I don’t know what to do.”
“You need an adult.”
“I know,” I said desperately, staring at the back door. “But there aren’t any available right now, and Pixie and the puppies . . .” I choked on the rest of the sentence.
“My parents are gone and Lana can’t drive,” Pete said in an earnest voice.
At least he’d grasped the seriousness of the situation, but I needed much more than that if Pixie and the pups were to survive.
“Gabby, hang tight. I’ll ride my bike over. As fast as I can. Don’t do anything dangerous ’til I get there.”
“Okay,” I said, wondering as it slipped out if I was telling the truth. I gave him the address and ended with “Hurry!”
I hung the phone up and rushed back outside. I dropped down, heedless of the cold mud. Rain was pouring down, and I couldn’t be sure if Pixie was still under the shed.
The shed was still sinking, and time was running out.
I looked around for something to stick under the dilapidated structure, something that wouldn’t sink into the mire.
Nothing.
I remembered hearing about a lady who lifted a Volkswagen off her husband when the jack holding it up collapsed, trapping him underneath. Something about adrenaline giving you superpowers. It was worth a try.
I took a wide stance, squatted like the Russian weightlifters did, reached under the front of the shed, and tried to flip it over. My feet only sank deeper into the mire. Mud oozed over the tops of my dress boots.
Where are Russian weightlifters when you need them?
An idea as bright as lightning flashing above and just as fast zoomed through my mind.
The SEAL lifted weights. Huge weights. I bet he could bench a gazillion pounds.
My brainstorm gave birth to hope.
SEALs did all sorts of dangerous stuff.
They were heroes. They saved people. Amos could save Pixie!
Reality slammed down and burst the bubble of hope. My SEAL was a grouchy, disabled mess.
But, at the moment, he was all I had.
CHAPTER 31
If necessity was the mother of invention, desperation was the father of bravery. Sometimes you had to go with what you had.
I raced out of the yard, across the street, sideways through the narrow alley, and up the Wrangleys’ steps in a time that would have earned me an A in PE for life. I banged on the door with one hand while I fished for the key ring in my pocket.
He was just here fifteen minutes ago. He never leaves. Please don’t let this be the one time he ventured outside.
The door swung open just as my fingers closed on the keys. I nearly fell flat as I stumbled into the entryway. Amos stared at me like I was Looney Tunes, and only then did I think about what I must look like: a rain-soaked, muddy mess—maybe even like a homeless person.
The irony wasn’t lost on me, but I had other, more important things to think about. Like what I was going to say.
“There’s a dog trapped under a shed. It’s sinking into the mud. Going to have babies any minute now. Have to get the shed up. I need you to come.” The words jumbled and tumbled together.
Amos continued to stare at me like I had escaped from Virginia Beach Psych. “You’re dripping mud all over,” he finally said.
I opened my mouth, ready to blast him about the insignificance of a little mud in the grand scheme of things, but I stopped my
self in the nick of time.
“I’ll clean it up. Later. Right now we have to save Pixie!” I gasped, still trying to catch my breath.
“What do you expect me to do?” He unfolded his arms and pointed at his bandaged leg. His face spoke volumes.
I might as well have requested that he fly to the moon and bring me back a cheeseburger.
“Please. The shed is sinking. I can’t get my dad or anyone else. You were a SEAL. You used to save people. You can do . . . something!” I sucked in a shaky breath, on the verge of tears.
“Sorry, I can’t help you.” He pointed again at his leg and tapped his cane. As he turned away, he called over his shoulder. “Don’t worry about the mud. I’ll get it.”
Time. There was no time. No time for this. Without thinking it through, I grabbed his arm and yanked. He wasn’t expecting it. He whirled, and I saw something cold and akin to fury cross his face as he jerked free. I thought he might hit me. Then the fire bled out of his eyes and his gaze was merely stony.
Words jumped out of my mouth, like stampeding cattle. I was so red-hot mad I didn’t try to stop them. “You could at least try. I’m going to. You’ll feel like a real jerk when you find out I drowned or got crushed under the shed while you lay around feeling sorry for yourself.”
The words might as well have been a hand slapping him across the face. Like runaway cattle, there was no calling them back. His eyes blazed again with an angry fire.
I didn’t care. I glared back for two seconds, and then charged out the open door.
I leaped off the porch and prepared to dash back to the Bakers’ when I heard him call after me.
“Not so fast! I don’t know where this crisis is.” He’d said the word “crisis” sarcastically, but I didn’t care. He was hobbling down the stairs, his flip-flops slapping the soles of his feet.
He was going to help, I realized.
Thank goodness, he was going to help.
CHAPTER 32
The Disappearing Dog Dilemma (The Gabby St. Claire Diaries) Page 9
