Dingo's Recovery

by Genevieve Fortin

  Joyce. Amanda was looking forward to spending time alone with her again. She didn’t know what they’d eat for dinner or what they’d talk about, but she knew she’d have a good time.

  She was just five minutes early when she finally made it to the address Joyce had given her. She smiled at the sight of the home, a two-story house with sage green siding. It was secluded, set approximately one hundred feet from the street and almost entirely hidden behind large trees. Amanda had difficulty believing she was merely a mile from downtown Bangor.

  She made her way to the front porch and rang the doorbell, her heart pounding at the thought of seeing Joyce. Her host quickly opened the door, looking as elegant as ever. She wore white Capri pants, a black camisole, and a silk scarf in shades of gray and pink. Amanda recognized the silver bracelet she’d worn before. Her makeup was light but enhanced her dark gray eyes. She was breathtakingly beautiful.

  “You made it,” Joyce said, looking for something over Amanda’s shoulder. “Where’s your car?”

  “I walked.”

  “Up that hill? And not a drop of sweat,” she added as she scrutinized Amanda’s face. Amanda felt much warmer in that instant than she had walking “up that hill.”

  “It’s not that bad.”

  “Not for you, of course,” Joyce teased. “Well, come in. Welcome to Dingo’s domain.”

  Amanda chuckled and followed Joyce inside. “Something smells delicious.”

  “It’s the chicken grilling,” Joyce explained as she walked to the kitchen, where she focused her attention on the boneless chicken breasts cooking in a non-stick grill pan on the stove. “I need to finish cooking the chicken so it can cool off a little before I finish our meal later. I’m making a summer salad with three kinds of lettuce, grilled chicken, watermelon, feta cheese, and cucumber. I hope you’ll like it.”

  “I’m sure I will. It sounds yummy.”

  “Every time we’ve shared a meal together before we always ate fried food. I thought I’d cook something fresh and healthy for a change.”

  “Great idea. Can I do anything to help?”

  “No, I already cut and prepared all the ingredients and they’re waiting in the fridge. I just need to finish this chicken. I could have used the outside grill, but I haven’t used that thing in three years because I’m scared to change the gas tank. It was Evelyn’s toy.”

  “I could help you with that sometime.”

  Joyce turned to her long enough to offer a grateful smile and say, “Thank you,” before she returned to her task.

  Joyce was taking the fully cooked chicken off the stove when they heard Dingo yodel. Amanda thought the sound might have come from upstairs. “Where is he?” she inquired.

  “He’s up in my bedroom, in his crate. He usually sleeps on his bed in the living room when I’m home, but I figured he’d be too excited to see you and would want to follow us around.”

  “Oh, poor little guy. Can we go get him? I don’t mind carrying him around if I need to.”

  Joyce scoffed a laugh. “What? You practically forced me to start using that evil crate and now you go soft on me with that ‘poor little guy’ stuff?”

  “Oh, I still think the crate is a great idea. But not while I’m here.” They both laughed and Joyce playfully hit Amanda’s thigh with a dish towel that was sitting by the stove.

  “All right, Miss Double Standards. Go get him while I put the chicken away and serve us some wine. First door on the left at the top of the stairs. He’ll be happy to see you.” Amanda smiled and started walking toward the stairs, her heart bouncing up and down with exhilaration. Spending time with Joyce in the privacy of her home felt so natural, so comfortable and, most of all, so enjoyable.

  She walked upstairs and opened the door to Joyce’s bedroom. It surprised her. She recognized her friend in the minimalist, uncluttered character of the home and the room, as well as in some of the artwork hanging on the walls. The traditional shades of brown and beige of the decor, however, didn’t seem to fit with Joyce, the Creative Child. The outside grill was not the only thing that still remained of Evelyn, she decided. The decor had to be a result of her tastes, not Joyce’s.

  When she reached the crate, Dingo was standing up, his tail wagging furiously. He looked pitiful wearing his Elizabethan collar.

  “Hi, there, little man. I see your mommy’s been listening to the mean vet, huh? Poor you.” She opened the door, removed the large plastic cone over his head, and took Dingo in her arms. The dog licked her cheek in appreciation. “Let’s go eat some chicken, okay?”

  When she got back to the kitchen with Dingo in her arms, Joyce was waiting for her with two glasses of wine. “Wait, I’ll put him down. I don’t think he’ll run very far from me.”

  “Fine, you’re the vet. I trust you know what you’re doing.” Joyce grinned. As soon as she put Dingo down, he lay by her feet and Joyce handed her a glass of wine. “It’s pinot grigio. I hope you’ll like it.”

  Amanda took a small sip and enjoyed its subtle sweetness. “Delicious,” she confirmed, to her host’s relief.

  “Great. We’ll go savor it on the patio, but first I’d like to show you something. Will you follow me?”

  “Of course, we’ll follow you.” Amanda placed her glass on the counter and picked up Dingo again, ready to follow Joyce, who giggled as she watched Amanda’s interaction with the basenji.

  She followed her through French doors into the living room, where she spotted Dingo’s bed. She took a peek at the patio and the magnificent view of the Penobscot River before reaching another set of French doors. When Amanda entered the smaller room beyond them, she gasped.

  Although it was much smaller than any other room she’d seen so far, this room’s pure white walls and the abundant light coming through a single large window made it look bigger. It was devoid of any furniture except for a small wooden table where paint and brushes sat and a large easel where an incomplete painting of Dingo waited. Other finished paintings were hung on the walls while others were simply sitting on the floor, leaning against one wall.

  “So this is your room,” she said, putting Dingo on the floor after she heard Joyce close the French doors behind them.

  “My room? What do you mean?”

  Amanda hesitated before she explained. She didn’t want to offend Joyce, but it was too late to back out now. The words had escaped her mouth and betrayed her thoughts the minute she’d entered the only room in the house in which she recognized Joyce’s essence. The Joyce she knew. “I mean, it seems to me like of all the rooms in this house, this room is the one that’s really you. Am I wrong?”

  Joyce smiled and sighed at the same time. “No. In fact, you’re absolutely right.” Her eyes glistened with tears even as she kept smiling. She seemed grateful Amanda had identified this particular space as hers. “It used to be Evelyn’s office. I cleared everything out and painted the walls. Now it’s my art studio. No one else has seen it yet. You’re the first,” she finished in almost a whisper.

  Amanda instinctively understood the importance of Joyce’s statement. She was showing her part of the essence she’d been working so hard to rediscover in the past several months. She was sharing her truth with her before anyone else. It was a privilege she wanted to honor. “Thank you for showing me. It’s a beautiful space. And I love your art. You’re a very talented Creative Child, you know.”

  “Oh no, I’m just playing. But it’s important to me,” Joyce said, leaning against the French doors. Amanda felt her watching her every move as she took a closer look at the paintings.

  She didn’t know anything about art, but she liked the simplicity of Joyce’s watercolors on white background. Her art was almost childlike or cartoonish, yet some elements were surprisingly realistic. The color splatters added an element of surprise that made her style unique. As she went through the portraits of Dingo and a few other animals, she felt like she was discovering another part of Joyce, a part she’d chosen to share with no one else but her.
The thought filled her heart with pride.

  She laughed when she got to the painting of Dingo wearing his black bandage with a small red fire hydrant sticker, the first bandage she’d done for Dingo. “I painted that the first day we met at the clinic,” Joyce explained as she moved closer to Amanda and looked over her shoulder.

  Joyce’s proximity mixed with the realization that their first meeting was somehow immortalized in that painting of Dingo gave Amanda chills. “I love it. I think it’s my favorite.”

  “You should have it, then,” Joyce whispered tenderly, her breath tickling the small hairs on the back of Amanda’s neck, under her ponytail.

  Amanda was sorely tempted to lean backward against Joyce, to have her take her in her arms in that intimate moment, but she managed to resist her impulse. “Oh no, Joyce, I didn’t say that so you would give it to me. You’ve put so much work into it.”

  “If you love it, it’s yours. Art is meant to be shared, you know. If anyone should have this painting, it’s you. Please, take it. It would mean a lot to me for you to have it.”

  Amanda turned to Joyce and saw that she was sincere. “Okay, thank you very much.”

  “You’re welcome.” They held each other’s gaze for a few seconds. As they did so, Amanda saw something she hadn’t seen before in Joyce’s eyes: an intensity that she found both seductive and enigmatic. Just as she thought Joyce might be leaning toward her, though, she suddenly straightened up and the mysterious expression in her eyes was instantly replaced with the joyful sparkle she was more familiar with. “Okay, ready for that wine now? We should go drink it on the patio so we can enjoy the view. Come on.”

  Amanda picked up Dingo and followed her almost regretfully. The art studio had exposed a part of Joyce she wanted to see again, bringing them to a new level of closeness she hoped could be duplicated outside of the room.

  Joyce and Amanda sat quietly on two chaise lounges on the patio, admiring the view. Joyce was working on her second glass of pinot grigio while Amanda was still sipping on her first. Dingo lay on the patio between them. Joyce had thought she might have to place him in his dog pen, but he’d shown no desire to explore the yard yet, content to sleep between their chairs.

  They’d talked about her art, Dingo, the kind of trees found on her property, the neighbors, everything and anything. There had been comfortable silences they hadn’t felt compelled to fill, allowing themselves to get lost in the view of the river. Like Dingo, Joyce was content. Or almost.

  She kept glancing at her watch, hoping Barbara hadn’t been able to convince Heather that dinner with her aunt might be more fun than any plans she’d already made for this Saturday night. She was enjoying Amanda’s visit even more than she’d thought and she wanted it to go on forever. Just the two of them. And Dingo, of course.

  Then again, if she remained alone with Amanda, she might be tempted to kiss her, as she’d been tempted earlier in her art studio. Sharing her special room with Amanda, inviting her in, had been akin to inviting her into her soul—and she’d fitted perfectly there, in her space and in her heart. In that moment, she’d wanted to get even closer. She’d managed to stop herself from kissing Amanda then, but she didn’t know if she could find the strength to do it again.

  It was becoming all too clear to her that her feelings for Amanda went beyond friendship. She had to put that attraction back where it belonged, hidden deep inside her, before she got hurt or before she put Amanda in an awkward position. Amanda deserved to find love with a nice woman her own age. She didn’t deserve the unwanted advances of a woman old enough to be her mother. Joyce had to find a way to stay away from moments like the one they’d shared in her art studio.

  By six thirty Joyce thought Barbara and Heather might not show up, and she was getting hungry. “I should go inside to finish the salad,” she told Amanda. “Do you want another glass of wine?”

  “No, thank you, but I’ll come in with you to help.”

  Before they could move from their seats, Joyce heard the sliding door open and she cringed in anticipation. “There you are,” she heard her sister say. “We rang the doorbell, but when there was no answer I figured you might be back here.”

  Joyce heard Amanda gasp with surprise and saw her straighten up in her seat, instantaneously nervous. She swallowed, took a deep breath, and stood up. It was too late to change her mind. Now was the time to play her part.

  “Barbara? What are you doing here?”

  Heather followed Barbara through the sliding door. She was wearing tight jeans and a blue tank top that showed off her perfectly perky thirty-year-old breasts. Blond hair flowed freely below her shoulders. Tan skin and light blue eyes completed her heartbreaker looks. “Mom said you invited us for dinner. Oh, I see you already have company.”

  Joyce recognized the smile Heather sent Amanda’s way as soon as she noticed her. Barbara was right. All it took for a woman to become Heather’s prey was to be attractive, and Amanda more than met that condition. “I did invite you for dinner. Tomorrow.”

  “Mom?” Heather questioned her mother.

  “Tomorrow? Are you sure?” Barbara said as she grabbed her cell phone and checked her calendar to confirm, exactly as she’d said she would when she’d shared the details of her plan with Joyce. “Oh my god, you’re right,” she continued as she turned her phone toward Heather. She was playing her role perfectly.

  “For Christ’s sake, Mom,” Heather said with less exasperation than Joyce had expected, most likely because of Amanda’s presence.

  “I’m so sorry. I was sure it was today. We can go and come back tomorrow if you want,” Barbara went on.

  “Don’t be silly. There’s more than enough for four,” Joyce offered, hoping her answer didn’t sound too wooden.

  “I can go,” Amanda chimed in timidly as she rose from her chaise lounge.

  “Absolutely not,” Joyce protested before she physically stopped Amanda by briefly catching her hand. “No one’s going anywhere.” She smiled at Amanda, hoping to relieve some of the panic she saw in her face.

  Amanda’s smile was hesitant, but when she finally expressed her agreement with a subtle nod, Joyce proceeded to make introductions. “Amanda, this is my sister, Barbara, and my niece, Heather. Ladies, this is Amanda, Dingo’s vet and my dear friend.”

  “Nice to meet you, Amanda,” Barbara said as the three women shook hands properly. The game officially started and it was leaving Joyce’s stomach in knots. Heather started to chat with Amanda and Joyce realized that Barbara’s little scenario was unfolding exactly as she’d planned. Amanda obviously had sparked her niece’s interest.

  Amanda, however, didn’t seem to share her enthusiasm. The arrival of two women she didn’t know seemed to have made her extremely nervous. Joyce had expected that that would be the case. She’d even expected that she’d feel guilty for making her social anxiety flair up. She had not been prepared for her own physical reaction to causing Amanda such distress. She felt nauseous, disgusted with herself. She deeply regretted her part in her sister’s scheme now, but there didn’t seem to be any other choice than to go through with it. “Well, I’ll go inside and finish the salad,” she announced. “Barbara, will you help me?”

  “I’ll help,” Amanda offered, following Joyce.

  “We’ll all help,” Heather added, refusing to let her quarry get away so easily.

  “Great,” Joyce agreed.

  She let the two younger women inside first and resisted the urge to vomit when Barbara proudly winked at her. She turned away and started to walk in, but Barbara held her back with a hand. “Are we really having salad? Just salad?”

  Joyce didn’t try to hide her frustration when she sighed, especially since Amanda and Heather were already in the kitchen and couldn’t hear her. “Yes, we’re having salad. If you’d come tomorrow, you might have gotten filet mignon. But today, we’re having salad.” She then childishly stuck her tongue out at her sister, which didn’t make her feel better.

 
* * *

  “I brought dessert,” Barbara announced. She stood up from the table and walked to the kitchen.

  “I’ll go make the coffee,” Joyce added before she joined her sister. Amanda made a move to follow her, but Heather immediately asked her another question about her work at the clinic and she was forced to stay behind to answer.

  The two of them had sat directly across from one another, and Heather had monopolized Amanda’s attention during the entire dinner. Joyce knew that was the point of the evening, but she also couldn’t help but notice Amanda didn’t appear to be as comfortable as she’d been when she was alone with her. She’d been tempted to reach out and place her hand on Amanda’s arm to comfort her several times, but held off after deciding that there had been no sign of the kind of severe anxiety that Amanda had experienced at the fair and the casino.

  There was definitely some discomfort in her body language, however, and in the brief, polite responses she made to Heather’s endless questions. She did answer her, though, and she even laughed nervously at some of Heather’s jokes, which Joyce interpreted as some budding interest on Amanda’s part. Heather’s charms would take longer to work on Amanda, but they might succeed in the end.

  “It’s going wonderfully well, don’t you think?” Barbara whispered to Joyce with Machiavellian pride once they were alone in the kitchen.

  “I guess so, but Amanda isn’t really herself with Heather yet. She can’t relax,” Joyce answered as she scooped coffee beans into her fancy Swiss coffee machine.