Must Love Dogs

by Claire Cook

  “All right,” I said, though even I knew it could be trouble. Bob Connor was the parent of a child in my class. He’d already made mincemeat of my flagging self-esteem with a casual reference to another woman. But there was just something so….so….okay, so hot about him.

  *

  “Can I please tell you the June story?” Bob Connor asked. “Every time I try, you walk away.” Bob and I were sitting on the couch. Dolly had relocated to my kitchen to scramble some of my eggs.

  “Your personal life is your business, not mine.”

  “What an interesting thing to say to a man who’s sitting on your couch at ten thirty on a Friday night. At your request. Although, I must say, that’s quite the chaperon we have in the other room.”

  “I have not one iota of interest in what the two of you are doing out there. So take me off your chaperon list,” Dolly yelled from the kitchen. “I am here for one reason and one reason only. To make sure that big- talking, double-crossing father of yours knows that I’m on to his shenanigans. The day that Dolly can be snowed by the likes of Billy Hurlihy is the day….”

  We waited patiently for her to finish. Instead, she let the sentence hover in the air. Bob and I looked at each other, wondering what to say now that we knew Dolly was listening. “So, how about those Patriots,” Bob said loudly. “You think they have a chance at the playoffs?”

  We could smell that the eggs were done. We listened as a fork jabbed a plate repeatedly. “You hungry?” I whispered. He caught my eyes with his and nodded, and I felt that little jolt again. This was all simply too much for a woman in my weakened condition. I tried to remember sex. I traced it back through two years alone to when I was married to Kevin. And had to admit that the best sex I’d had in the last couple of years of my marriage was with the handheld shower massage turned to pulse while Kevin was out of town on business. I would edge the lip of the bathtub with candles and play soft classical music. It was always great. I knew exactly what I wanted.

  “You gonna eat all those eggs, Dolly?” Bob yelled.

  “If there’s any left, you two just help yourself. After all, it’s a free country. But don’t think I’m serving you.” I started to giggle. Bob picked up a pillow, held it playfully over my mouth. Managed to twist me sideways a little, then started pushing me backward on the couch. I grabbed the pillow from him, hit him over the head with it and jumped to my feet.

  “I am absolutely famished, aren’t you?” I was so glad I’d changed my clothes before he got there. I was wearing perfectly faded jeans with a soft blue V-necked sweater and I knew I looked good. Not June good, but good. I wondered briefly if I wanted to hear the June story or not.

  He reached out a hand. “Help me up?”

  I extended my hand to him, then pulled it back just before he touched it. “Right. I’m about to fall for that one……

  “Whaaat?” He widened his big green eyes as he cocked his head to the side. He really had that boyish thing down. It would probably get old after a while, but at the moment it was pretty compelling.

  Chapter 15

  Carol never knocks. She doesn’t say hi or how’s it going, either. She just starts talking as she walks right into my house, as if she’s simply picking up where she left off last time.

  “Sarah, you remembered to give Dolly the new boa, didn’t you?” Carol didn’t seem the least bit surprised to see Dolly in my kitchen.

  The three of us looked up from our plates of scrambled eggs. Carol and Bob checked each other out. Carol gave Dolly the briefest of hugs, then held out her hand to Bob. “Hi, I’m Sarah’s sister, Carol. You must be one of Dolly’s sons.”

  “Or I could be courting your sister,” Bob said. “Besides, Dolly would have had to give birth to me when she was three or four years old. If that.” Dolly and I both beamed at him. He had a definite talent. Still shaking Carol’s hand, he said, “Hi. Bob Connor. A pleasure to meet you.”

  “Did you answer Sarah’s ad?” Shit. Carol seemed bound and determined to ruin this for me.

  “What ad?”

  I stared hard at Carol. Her psychic abilities were apparently limited. “Oh, nothing,” I said in Bob’s direction. “I was just trying to sell some old stuff.” To Carol, I said quickly, “Bob’s son is one of my students.” Carol’s face showed far more surprise than was necessary. She gave Bob an encouraging smile.

  “You haven’t seen Dad tonight, have you, Carol?” I asked casually. “Dolly’s waiting here for him.”

  “Gee, no,” she answered nonchalantly. “Well, I just stopped by to say hi. Good to see you, Dolly. Nice to meet you, Bob. We’ll all have to go out together some night soon. Uh, Sarah, there’s something I want to show you. It’ll only take a minute, I promise.” She turned and walked out of the kitchen.

  “So, Dolly,” I heard Bob say as I followed Carol. “I’ve been meaning to ask you, are you wearing that hat in case it rains and there’s a leak in the roof? Or just because it looks so damn good on you…”

  Carol pulled me into my bedroom. She tucked her chin-length hair behind her ears and nodded her head a few times. “Okay. Michael and that foolish dog are driving around looking for Dad. Christine’s at the house, calling every possibility she finds in his address book. It’s a longer list than even I would have thought. So, how’re you holding up at this end? Oh, by the way….” She pointed toward the kitchen. “Not bad.”

  Carol was in her glory. Ever since we were kids, she loved having a crisis she could be in charge of. “Gee, Carol, you’re so good at this stuff. How ’bout if you talk Dolly into going with you?”

  “No way. She’s yours till we find Dad. Just sit tight and I’ll be in touch.”

  “You don’t think anything could have happened to him, do you, Carol?”

  “Do you?”

  We looked at each other. “Nah,” we both said, remembering a lifetime of Dad’s escapades. Carol left as abruptly as she’d come. When I returned to the kitchen, I found Dolly washing the dishes, and Bob drying. It was kind of cute, really.

  Minutes later, a knock at the door startled us all. Dolly threw her sponge in the sink. “Just let me at him.”

  Bob grabbed her wrist. “It’s Sarah’s house, Dolly. She should answer the door.”

  Dolly patted his cheek with her free hand as she moved past him. “Dolly might give you some real competition for this boyfriend of yours if you don’t watch out, missy.” As soon as she was out of view, Bob put his dish towel over his mouth and widened his eyes in terror.

  “I don’t know. I think you and Dolly might make a simply adorable couple. And the older woman/ younger man thing is really in right now. If you’d like, I could leave you two alone for a while.”

  “Keep that up, Ms. Hurlihy, and you’re the one who’s going to be left alone with Dolly.”

  “Oh, please. Anything but that.” We smiled at each other.

  Somehow, John Anderson’s voice was coming from the other room.

  *

  “Excuse me, is this Sarah Hurlihy’s residence?” John Anderson was asking Dolly.

  “It is, it is. Come right on in, honey bunch, and make yourself at home. Let Dolly take your coat.” She raised her voice. “Company! Of the male persuasion!”

  “John,” I said when I finally managed to walk toward the door. “What are you doing here?”

  “I was worried. First, someone” — he glanced quickly at Dolly and then back at me — “hung up on me. I waited and waited for you to call back. Finally, I called you. Repeatedly. The line was always busy. I wasn’t sure if your phone was off the hook, and I suppose it seems silly now, Sarah, but I was worried about you.” He smiled sweetly. I could tell he’d rehearsed this speech during his drive south from Boston. About an hour’s drive, I figured.

  “But how did you find me?”

  “Drove to Marshbury. Found a phone book. When I had the address, I asked directions at a gas station.”

  Bob made an entrance from the kitchen. He was still holding the dish towe
l. “You asked directions? I thought real men never ask directions. What’s it like?” Bob grinned and moved to stand as close to me as possible. I waited to see if he would pee a circle around me to stake his claim. Instead, he draped an arm across my shoulder and stuck out his other hand to John. “Hi. Bob Connor.”

  “Oh, I am so sorry, Sarah. I had no idea you’d have….” John blushed right to the tips of his ears. He reached for Bob’s hand, shook it silently. Bob shook back with extra vigor, clearly enjoying himself.

  I stepped out of Bob’s one-armed embrace, and walked over to kiss John on the cheek. His light brown hair felt soft and silky against my forehead, slightly damp. He must have taken a quick shower before he left. He was wearing jeans and a deep olive sweater that made him look more handsome than I remembered him. In the reflection of the outside light, his eyes looked almost golden. I noticed that his lower lip was slightly, adorably chapped. “Thanks for coming, John,” I said. “What a nice thing to do. Um, come in.”

  “No. No. As long as you’re fine, I’ll just be running along. I didn’t think you’d have quite so much company. I’ll talk to you soon, okay?”

  “Really. Come in. Please.”

  John was holding the doorknob, half in and half out of my doorway. Dolly leaned past him, scanning the street for signs of my father. “Listen, baby cakes,” she said to John as she leaned back in. “Make up your mind. You’re in or you’re out. We can’t keep heating the whole outdoors.”

  *

  Bob Connor and John Anderson sat at either end of my couch. I imagined them as the ingredients that would combine into one perfect guy, not too sweet or too spicy, too coarse or too fine, too risky or too safe. Then I imagined them both split down the middle, lengthwise, with half of John welded together with the opposite half of Bob. Too messy, I decided, not to mention hard to find clothes for.

  Dolly maneuvered past the coffee table and Bob’s feet and sat down between Bob and John. She untied her bonnet and took it off, pulled both ends to pleat it like a fan. Folded it in half once, then twice more, snapped it into its clear plastic case, put it away in her picnic basket purse. We followed each step as if it would lead us to conversation.

  “Be right back,” I said, escaping into the kitchen. I looked around to find something to fix for us, to delay my inevitable return to the other room. I managed to unearth a cardboard box filled with individual servings of instant cocoa. The packets were a little hard. I bent them back and forth a few times until they softened.

  I found four mugs, and realized that if a fifth person arrived, we’d have to share. Or use the wedding- present cups and saucers. As I blew potential crumbs out of each mug, I read: favorite teacher, i luv my teacher, teach peace and virginia is for lovers. I dusted off a tray I found tucked between the stove and a cabinet. Kevin and I used to call it our breakfast-in-bed tray.

  “Go fish,” Dolly was saying to John as I placed the tray in the center of the coffee table. I sat on the floor, across the coffee table from the couch. Bob scanned the mugs, put his cards down and picked up Virginia is for lovers. He took a sip, then pretended to read it for the first time. He opened his eyes wide in an exaggerated look of surprise. “I think it’s a sign,” he mouthed. He put the mug down, crossed his hands over his heart and pumped them up and down. I rolled my eyes at him, and hoped John hadn’t noticed.

  “Deal you in, Sarah?” John asked. I couldn’t read his expression.

  “Sure,” I answered. Since playing go fish required only partial concentration, I found my thoughts drifting. Bob picked up his mug again and I wondered why I’d bothered to save it from the trip Kevin and I took to Virginia Beach. Four years ago? Five? It was July, hot and sticky even in coastal Marshbury, and by the time we made it through the ever-changing maze of signs and arrows to Logan Airport, we were ready to kill each other.

  Kevin had chosen Virginia Beach. It was his turn. The year before, we’d gone to a small island off the coast of North Carolina. We’d driven in our rental car along U.S. 17 from the tiny Wilmington airport, past clusters of tar paper shacks and rows of tobacco. Isn’t this charming? I said. I hope it gets better, he said.

  Eventually, we traveled over a narrow causeway to a small paradise called Ocean Isle. We met up with my family at a secluded house at the far end of the sandy white beach. Three stories, two decks, plus a gazebo with a Jacuzzi. Everybody was there — all six brothers and sisters and their spouses, all the nieces and nephews. Mom was still alive then; she’d been sick for so long that we were all temporarily lulled into thinking she’d live forever.

  Dad was on his best behavior, content to play poker and Monopoly with his children and grandchildren, to walk to the docks to finagle a deal on more pounds of shrimp than we could ever eat. Kevin was the only one who couldn’t settle down. How far is Myrtle Beach? he asked. Isn’t there anything to do around here? Anyone want to go for a drive? Nobody did, and Kevin never really forgave me or my family for that.

  The trip to Virginia Beach was Kevin’s way of showing me. How to have fun. How to do things right. How not to be with my family. We stayed in a chain hotel near the boardwalk. The public beach was loud and crowded. Kevin rented a surfboard and I tried not to get sunburned while I read, assaulted by boom boxes on all sides. We played strikingly similar games of miniature golf at Shipwreck, Around the World, Jungle Lagoon.

  Finally, because Kevin wouldn’t go, I traveled by myself to Assateague Island to see the wild ponies. The next day I drove to Newport News to the Mariners’ Museum. Bought a miniature gondola and a Chinese sampan to show the kids at school. By the end of the week, Kevin and I had entered a new phase of our marriage. We were polite. We talked only when necessary.

  “Sarah, your turn.”

  “Oh. Sorry.” I had drifted away so completely. I wasn’t even sure who had spoken. I might not have had many coping skills, but I sure knew how to detach from an uncomfortable situation. I looked at my cards. “John, do you have any sevens?”

  The phone rang. Dolly and I both jumped up. She was closer to the hall table I’d placed it on, and I was kind of tired of bailing out my father at this point. So I let her go. I sat back down. Smiled reassuringly at John. Gave equal time to Bob. “So,” I said.

  “Go fish,” John said.

  Dolly yelled from just around the corner, “Telephone for Sarah Hurlihy! It’s another bo-oy! Heavens to Betsy, girl, you’re on a roll!”

  Chapter 16

  “I shouldn’t have called this late. I’m sorry, I thought you’d live alone. What is it, a boardinghouse?”

  Oh, my God, I thought, it must be George from Hanover. Or, worse still, maybe Ernest Hemingway had caller ID. I hadn’t factored that in. “Who is this?” I sat down hard on the straight-backed chair beside the little telephone table in the hallway.

  “My name is George? You called me earlier? You sounded really depressed, and you said you’d be up late, so….”

  “Sarah, honey….” Bob was leaning over my shoulder, aiming his voice at the telephone receiver. “Are we out of champagne, or is there another bottle in the fridge?” I elbowed him. Hard. He made a loud kissing sound.

  “Who was that?”

  “No one. Listen, things are a little crazy around here. Can I call you back tomorrow?”

  Before I could hear George’s answer, Mother Teresa

  careened around the corner, lapped my face, then grabbed the receiver with her mouth.

  “Mother Teresa! Drop it! Right now!” Michael said as he came down the hallway right behind her.

  “Good girl, Mother Teresa. Give it to me,” I said.

  “Mother Teresa,” John said, coming around the corner with his arms out. “Remember me?”

  By the time I got the phone back and wiped away the drool with a paper towel from the kitchen, all that was left of George from Hanover was a dial tone.

  *

  All of a sudden, my father stood in the doorway, wearing an old plaid yard jacket over a dress shirt and slacks. It l
ooked like a quick change to me. I tried to remember what he was wearing when he was here earlier tonight. A sweatshirt and sneakers?

  “Dolly, my darlin’ angel, what kind of trouble have you been causin’ these children?” My father was still standing in the doorway, a sign that he was pretty sure it wasn’t going to fly.

  Dolly had the couch to herself at this point. “Don’t hand me any of that darlin’ angel jazz, you two-timing gigolo.” Michael, Bob, John, Mother Teresa and I were kind of lurking in the hallway behind the couch, not wanting to miss the show, but not wanting to attract Dolly’s attention.

  “Come on, Dolly, honey. Don’t blow your pretty little top. I rode over with Michael just so you could drive me home. You must be beat to the socks and I wouldn’t mind piling up a few z’s myself.” My father smiled his most charming smile, reached out a hand from the doorway.

  “Not me. I’ve just been sitting here all night with nothing to do. I’ve had nothing but rest. Not much chance of you being able to say the same would be my best guess, Mr. Billy Hurlihy.”

  My father took a few steps toward Dolly. “Nothing like a jealous woman to make a man feel wanted.”

  “You stay right there.”

  He kept walking toward her. “Did anyone ever tell you the madder you get, the prettier you look?”

  “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.

  *