Walking the Dog

by Linda Benson

  Monday morning I miss her again. I’ve got to be there at eleven a.m., and Sophie doesn’t leave for the animal shelter until around nine thirty. That’s if she still goes up on her regular schedule. Monday, when I get done with my shift at the senior home, I ride by the apartments again. I even look up the road that leads to the shelter, but I don’t see Sophie anywhere. I miss talking to her, and I wish I knew how she was.

  My new community service is actually okay. Some of the old people are kind of funny, cracking jokes that are so ridiculous you can’t help but smile. One of them says she goes to the moon every night when she sleeps. Maybe she does, who knows?

  I read to Frank every time I go. Frank’s an all-right guy. Used to be a construction foreman, he tells me. He had pipelayers, ditchdiggers, grade checkers, and dump truck drivers all working for him. And he’s run lots of equipment. Backhoes, excavators, dozers. It’s hard to imagine this guy stuck in his wheelchair doing all that, except when he starts talking about it. Then his face gets twitchy with excitement, and his eyes light up.

  “Do you need to know math?” I ask him. “To work those jobs?”

  “Well, math always comes in handy, when you’re shooting grade or measuring distance off the plans. But you can run almost any kind of equipment if you’ve got a steady hand and half a brain.”

  That’s good. I might not know much math, but I know I’ve got at least half a brain. I’m not sure how we get on the subject, but I end up telling him about walking dogs at the shelter.

  “That seems like a fine thing to be doing,” he nods. “How come you quit?”

  I duck my head and don’t look him in the eye. “My parents wanted me to do this instead,” I mumble.

  “Oh, I see,” he says. But I’m not sure that he does.

  “It was because of Sophie.”

  “Sophie? Was that a dog?”

  “No, not a dog,” I laugh. “A girl.”

  Frank rolls his eyes. “Oh, my,” he says. “Not even in sixth grade yet, and you’ve already got girl problems. What were you doing—sneaking around together when you shouldn’t have been?”

  “No.” I feel my back tense. I don’t really like joking about it. “We weren’t sneaking around at all. Sophie’s my friend.” End of discussion.

  He holds up his hands in apology. “Okay,” he says. “Sorry.”

  I pick up the book again and turn to the page where we left off last time. The Call of the Wild is about a big dog who gets stolen and then sold to work in Alaska. “This is a pretty good story,” I admit while I find my spot.

  “Yeah, one of the best,” says Frank. He closes his eyes and gets comfortable, waiting for me to begin. “I miss having a dog.”

  It’s sad, I think. All those lonely dogs up at the shelter, and all these lonely people in here. If somebody was really smart, they’d build an animal shelter right next to the senior home, and they could just open the doors between them and let everybody have a nice visit. I wish Sophie was here. She would love to hear this plan. I can almost hear her laughter in my head.

  Chapter 24—Trouble

  I WAVE GOODBYE TO FRANK and the silver-haired ladies I’m getting to know. The automatic sliding door opens, and I step outside into glaring sunshine. I shade my eyes and glace toward the bike rack where another bike is parked next to mine. It’s beat-up and red, like my aunt’s old bike. I’m trying to piece this together in my mind when I notice movement under the shade of a big elm tree. The movement becomes a person standing up and walking toward me. It’s Sophie.

  “What are you doing here?” I say.

  “I followed you this morning. I’ve been waiting for you.”

  “All this time?”

  She nods.

  “How come?”

  “’Cause I don’t want to go home.”

  “Why not? Did something happen?”

  “No. Not exactly. It’s just—”

  And then it dawns on me. The green pickup. “Is he here? That guy?”

  Sophie nods her head. She shifts from one foot to the other, looking over her shoulder, nervous as a wild deer. “Jack. He showed up last weekend, and I hid in my room. My mom told him he couldn’t come in the house. But he’s been calling every day, begging my mom to let him see her.”

  “And what does she say?”

  “She told him no. I heard her. But then he tried to sweet-talk her, and I could tell she was thinking about it. This morning he just showed up at the door again, and my mom invited him in for coffee. I took off really fast on my bike. She probably thinks I’m up at the animal shelter, but I didn’t go there. I don’t want to be anywhere they can find me.”

  “How’d you know where I was?”

  “I’ve seen you riding by,” she says. “I followed you a couple times before, but you didn’t see me. What is this place?”

  “An old people’s home. My parents are making me do community service for the rest of the summer so I’ve been helping out here, pushing people around in their wheelchairs and stuff. Mostly I read to an old guy.” I point back over my shoulder. “His name’s Frank.”

  “Oh.”

  Sophie’s eyes keep flitting back and forth into the street. Just below her hairline I see a vein throbbing. It makes the scar on her forehead stand out angry and red.

  My stomach rumbles. It’s a long time since I wolfed down that bowl of cereal this morning. Sophie’s probably hungry, too. What should I do? It would be great if I could just take Sophie home and have Mom fix us a sandwich or something. Not like that’s gonna happen.

  I have another idea though. “Hey, want to have lunch in here with me?”

  “I guess.”

  “Come on.” This is kind of like a movie. Hiding out in an old folks’ home. “Get your bike.”

  Sophie follows me through the entrance doors, pushing the old red bike so no one will spot it from the street. The lady at the registration desk has her back to us, filing some paperwork. We walk around the corner and Sophie leans her bike against a wall. I’m not exactly sure what to do next, but at least Sophie is safe in here.

  We wander past the dining room and poke our heads inside. Stringbean lady, whose name is actually Rose, looks up in surprise. “Are you still here?” she asks. “Don’t you usually go home about now?”

  I glance around, trying to figure out what to say. Suddenly I spy Frank being wheeled by an attendant to the same table where he has breakfast.

  “Hey, son,” he says, motioning us over. “Is this the young lady you were telling me about? Your friend?”

  “Yes, sir,” I say, kind of loud. “This is Sophie. She’s my partner from the animal shelter. We were walking dogs up there all summer.”

  “Oh, that’s just wonderful,” coo some of the old ladies. “Are you two staying for lunch?”

  I shuffle my feet, not sure how to make this happen. Will it cost money to eat here? Rose looks at us, clearly expecting an answer.

  Frank jumps right it. “Darn tootin’ they’re staying,” he says. “And they’ll be my guests. Put it on my bill.”

  Rose doesn’t answer, but she nods to another helper who brings two more chairs up to Frank’s table and begins setting us a place.

  I look at Sophie. I hope she likes the food in here. It reminds me of cafeteria food from school. Not exactly appetizing. “Is this all right?” I ask.

  She nods, rubbing her stomach. “Yeah. I didn’t have any breakfast, and I’m starved.” She seems to relax a little now that she’s inside. She pulls a chair up to Frank’s table and looks at me expectantly.

  Frank, with some effort, pushes halfway up from his wheelchair and extends his hand across the table. “Sophie, is it?”

  She stands up as she reaches for his frail hand and nods. The vein in her temple has stopped trembling.

  “Pleased to meet you, young lady.” His eyes are kind as he holds Sophie’s small hand in his. “Frank Griswold.”

  Chapter 25—The Whole Story

  THEY BRING US SOME KIND of stew
for lunch. It looks like beef, but it could have been any kind of meat, with no gravy, some soggy potatoes, and pukey-looking vegetables. I eat a few bites and push the rest around my plate. I look over at Sophie, but she’s shoveling it right down. I don’t know whether she likes it, or she’s just really hungry.

  I’m feeling a little antsy because I know my parents will be expecting me home. How long can Sophie and I hang out here? Frank finally finishes his lunch, and I stand up quick.

  “Ready to go back to your room?” I ask.

  “That’d be fine, son,” he says.

  I’ve had enough lunch, and besides, Frank’s got a phone in his room.

  Sophie takes one side of the wheelchair and helps push. She shoots me one of her halfway smiles. It’s only been a couple of weeks, but it seems like a long time since I’ve seen that smile.

  “So you like dogs, do you?” Frank asks Sophie as we wheel him down the hall.

  “Did Jared tell you?” Sophie grins. “I guess they’re my absolute favorite animal.”

  “Better than horses?” Frank asks. “A lot of girls your age are nuts about horses.”

  “Horses are pretty. But I like dogs best,” she says. “’Cause I think they understand you. And they can protect you.”

  Too bad Sophie doesn’t have a dog for protection. To keep that Jack guy away from her. Sophie seems to get more and more relaxed the farther we get from the front doors. But I’m getting more and more nervous because I really need to call my mom.

  “Can I use your phone?” I ask as we enter Frank’s small room.

  “Sure, son. Help yourself.” He points to the phone by his bed.

  I punch in the numbers, and I’m relieved when she answers right away. “Mom? Is it okay if I stay a little longer at the senior home?” I glance at Frank and lower my voice. “We’re right in the middle of a chapter, and Frank wants me to finish.” That’s another white lie, but I can’t tell my mom about Sophie being here. There’s no way she’d understand, and I’d get in more trouble.

  “Aren’t you getting hungry?” asks my mom.

  “No. I ate lunch here with Frank.” That much is true.

  “Okay, but I want you to come home right after you finish, all right?”

  “Will do.” I hang up the phone and stand there, not sure what to do next. Sophie sits gingerly on the edge of the extra chair, her hands twisting in her lap.

  Frank watches us both. “Okay, you two. I know something’s up. This old nose can just smell it.”

  Sophie and me exchange glances. She wiggles in her chair.

  “So why don’t you let old Frank in on it? Why in the world would two young people like you spend the afternoon hanging around this place instead of being outside doing something fun?”

  I look over at Sophie again, and she shrugs her shoulders. “It’s a long story,” I say.

  “That’s fine,” says Frank. “I like stories. And I’ve got all afternoon. Take as long as you need.”

  Sophie doesn’t say anything. Not one word. And I have no clue where to begin.

  “Does this have anything to do with walking those dogs?” asks Frank.

  “No,” I say. “Not exactly. Well, that’s how we met. Walking Lester.”

  “Who’s Lester?”

  “A dog,” I say. “From school.”

  “That was my grandpa’s name too,” says Sophie, in a tiny voice.

  “It was?” I say. “Cool, I didn’t know that.”

  “You remind me of him a little,” Sophie says to Frank.

  “All right, now we’re getting somewhere,” says Frank. “We have a dog named Lester, and a grandfather named Lester. What else?”

  Me and Sophie both look at each other. “There’s Jack,” I say.

  “And who is Jack?”

  “Jack is a bad dude,” I spit out, “who just got here from California which is why Sophie can’t go home.”

  “Okay. Maybe you better tell me the whole story. Start at the beginning. I believe we need to get to the bottom of this.”

  Sophie’s face is all froze up like she’s trying to keep everything inside. I move over and sit on the bed next to her. “Tell him,” I whisper. “Maybe he can help.”

  Somebody’s got to help Sophie.

  Maybe it’s because Frank is easy to talk to or maybe because he looks like her Grandpa Lester. But between the two of us, we manage to explain how Sophie and her mom moved up here to get away from Jack. Sophie tells Frank a little about what happened to her. Not everything—she doesn’t even talk to me about that. But she lets out a little. How she fell. How she got the scar. How her mother covered it up.

  “Wasn’t anything ever done to this man?” Frank gets more and more riled up as the story spills out. “Sounds to me like he ought to be in jail.”

  Sophie just ducks her head.

  “What are things coming to in this world?” He shakes his head, his mouth in a tight line. “Does anyone else know about this? Or have you been keeping all this to yourself, young lady?”

  Sophie doesn’t say anything for a couple of seconds. “Jared knows,” she says, finally. “And Mr. Gannon.”

  “Who’s Mr. Gannon?”

  “From school,” I pipe up. “He’s the counselor.”

  “Okay, good. Now let me think for a minute. I’d like to let you kids just stay here, but it’s really no place for youngsters. And Jared, I know you need to get home. Maybe Sophie can stay at your house where she’ll be safe until we figure out what to do. Why don’t you call your mother and have her come pick the both of you up. Then we can get the police involved or something.”

  “I can’t do that.”

  “Why can’t you do that?”

  I look over at Sophie, feeling guilty. “My parents are mad at me already because they didn’t want me hanging out with Sophie.” I look at Sophie, and her face twists. “For no stupid reason at all,” I say, getting mad just thinking about it. “And then they found out we’d been walking dogs at the shelter, and they made me stop. Which is how I ended up coming here to work because they made me. I can’t take Sophie home, they can’t even know she’s here, or I’ll get in more trouble.”

  “Well, that makes no sense whatsoever.”

  “That’s what I think too.” I’m not sure what I should do. But I know Sophie needs my help, and I’m her friend. I scuff my toe against the floor of Frank’s room, thinking. “Maybe you can help talk to my parents, explain the story to them. Maybe that would help. They really don’t trust me much anymore.”

  “I’ll do what I can, son.”

  I dial our number again, and my mom picks up. My voice cracks. “Mom?”

  “Jared, what is it?”

  “I…uh. We have a problem, here. Someone needs my help.”

  “Okay,” she says slowly. “Who needs your help?”

  “Sophie,” I say. It feels good to say it. It needs to come out, even if I get in more trouble. “Sophie needs my help. She’s here at the senior home. We’re both in Frank’s room.”

  “Jared, what exactly is going on?” My mom sounds a little frantic now.

  My tongue feels tied up in knots. How can I possibly explain it all to her?

  Frank motions to me, and I bring the phone over to him. He looks so feeble sitting there crammed into his wheelchair—I’m not sure how he can help. But his voice is still strong.

  “Mrs. Westin? This is Frank Griswold. Your boy, Jared, has been kind enough to come down here and read to me. Yes, he’s a good kid. But we have a situation here, and we need your help. Could I have a few minutes of your time? Good. Hang on just one moment.”

  Frank motions to us. “Why don’t you kids go down to the lunch hall and ask Rose for two chocolate puddings. I know she’s got some dessert locked up somewhere down there. Tell her it’s from me. That gives me a chance to talk to your mother. In private.”

  Pudding? That sounds pretty good. Sophie goes out first and heads up the hall. As I shut the door behind us, I can hear Frank talking to
my mother.

  “We have a young girl here who’s scared out of her wits. I was hoping you might be able to help.”

  I swallow hard. Maybe, just maybe, this will work.

  Chapter 26—Chocolate Pudding

  I HEAR PETEY FIRST. He’s racing a million miles an hour down the hall past the rooms where most of the old people have settled down for their afternoon naps. My mom is right behind him, trying to shush him and corral him at the same time. I stand up from the table in the lunch room and flag my mother down.

  Petey sees me and gallops in. “Hey, no fair. You got chocolate pudding,” he cries, seeing my dish. “I want some.”

  “You want some of mine?” Sophie’s on the other side of the table. Pete spots her and makes a mad dash.

  “So-phie,” he cries out, throwing his arms around her in a hug. She hugs him back just as my mom enters the room.

  Mom has a different look on her face. Kind of puzzled, but not mad, not angry. Frank must have told her what was going on. “Hi, Jared,” she says. “I’ve come to give you a ride home. And Sophie too if she’d like to come for the afternoon. You could both throw your bikes in the back of the van.”

  I watch Sophie to see how she reacts to this. She’s concentrating on the last bite of her pudding and doesn’t respond.

  “I’m Jared’s mother. Julie Westin.”

  I start to say something. Like, Sophie, this is my mom. Or, Mom, this is Sophie. But I can’t get the words out.

  Rose steps into the room just then, tidying up the remains of lunch. “May I help you?” she asks. “Are you here to see someone?”

  “I’m Jared’s mother,” she says. “Frank Griswold phoned me.”

  Rose nods her head. “Well, if you’re here to see Frank, Jared can show you where his room is. We’re just closing the dining room to get ready for the evening meal.”

  “We were just leaving.” My mom takes Pete by the hand. Sophie stands and looks around as if unsure what she should do.