June’s face tightened around her smile, and her eyes looked an apology at me. Her mom turned to the stove, and her dad wandered to a bar cabinet at the side of the room. Glasses tinkled as he pulled two out. “Martini, George?” he offered, his tone bright as though he were very deliberately overlooking a gaffe I had made.
I turned with creaking slowness (looking back, I’m sure my mouth was unhinged) and looked again at the beast in the yard. It was, indeed, a dog.
That was how I made Edward’s acquaintance.
* * *
After we had started supper, Edward announced his desire to join us by standing full height against the glass of the sliding door and pawing, leaving large muddy prints almost like streaky tire tracks. He licked sloppily at his jowls, and two ropes of saliva flew onto the glass with an audible plop, then slid down in twin trails with exquisite slowness, masking the area behind a kind of mottled, frosted white.
June’s mom smiled hard in my direction and raised her eyebrows so high that her forehead took on a corrugated appearance. “George, dear,” she said, raising her voice as Edward started up a baying sort of howl. “Would you like some more peas? These are my Junie-bug’s favorite!”
I considered her for a while, probably an inappropriate length of time. She was so put together with her neatly frosted hair and her trim and sporty clothes…and yet, she had to be completely insane. Had to be, right? How else would one explain the strenuousness with which she denied the existence of the monstrous dog not fifteen feet from us, making a racket loud enough to shake the water in our water glasses?
“No, thank you,” I said, my voice faint even to my own ears. My tone must have alerted June to my growing dismay because her hand appeared on mine. She squeezed my fingers.
“Mom, geez, who cares about peas?” she said. “George doesn’t want to hear about that.”
“Oh, excuse me,” Carol said, pressing a genteel hand to her collarbones.
“No, it’s fine,” I said. “I don’t mind hearing about the peas. I just…well…” I glanced pointedly back toward Edward, who was now body-slamming himself against the door, rattling it in its frame. “What about him?”
Unfortunately, June’s dad was standing at his makeshift bar at the time, and it looked as though I’d been indicating him with my meaningful glance. He swayed gently as he poured straight vodka into a martini glass and sipped it. He smacked his lips with satisfaction and said, “Aaahhh.”
“BOB!” June’s mom yelled.
Bob jumped as if goosed, and half his drink splashed down his arm. He looked around to us with blank incomprehension.
“Come back to this table IMMEDIATELY!” Carol said. “You’re making George uncomfortable.”
“Oh! No…no,” I said, realizing that she’d thought I meant Bob. “I meant…what about Edward? What about the dog? Should you, I mean, are you going to let him in?” I thought the thing would quiet down once he was inside.
Bob blinked owlishly and then turned to look at Edward behind the glass. The dog panted, his tongue dripping. “Edward!” Bob said, his voice a jovial chortle. “What are you doing out there?” He ran the door open on its track.
“Bob, NO!” Carol shouted and leapt up. She threw her arm out, her hand held palm out in a ‘stop’ gesture. “Don’t let him–”
Too late. Edward burst through once the opening was just wide enough to accommodate his bulk. He hallumfed and bayed again and then sat on his heavy, overly furred haunches, panting with obvious joy at Bob. I started to smile, satisfied that my idea of having the dog inside would calm the noise and distraction of the evening.
“There, now,” I said as soothingly as I could. I patted Carol’s arm to let her know everything was fine and she could resume her seat. “Isn’t this much nicer? Without him pawing at the–”
Carol’s and June’s eyes widened with the same exact expressions of alarm. Confused, I started to stand. That’s when Edward landed on me, slamming me face-first into the dish of peas.
* * *
The ride back to school was a long one. June drove, as I felt slightly impaired, my left eye swollen and irritated. From the salt in the peas, no doubt.
June drove with solemn concentration, both her hands on the steering wheel. When we were almost to her dorm, she cleared her throat. “George,” she said. Her voice was level and calm, but it was the calm of someone just barely holding her feelings in check. “I want to apologize for tonight.” She pulled smoothly to the curb at her building and did not, I noticed, turn the ignition off. She took her hands from the wheel but only to lower them humbly into her lap, where they curled together like small, tired animals. “It was just a disaster. I’m so…so embarrassed.”
Her voice broke on the last word, touching my heart. I took in the moonlit line of her delicate profile. Her lashes were so long that they put small, fluttering shadows on her cheeks. She was such a sweet, beautiful girl. We’d been dating for four months by then. I already knew that I loved June well beyond anything I’d ever felt for another girl. I picked up one of her hands and cradled it to my heart.
“June,” I said, “I love you; you know that.”
A small smile put a gentle curve on her lips. She nodded and cut her eyes to me but then quickly away. “But?” she said in a joking tone that still didn’t mask her apprehension. She thought I was about to break it off with her, and she had decided on bravery over tears. What a girl!
“June…will you marry me?”
Her hand twisted in mine, her fingers gripping me with an almost panicky tightness. She turned in the seat to face me more fully. She had started to tremble; I could see it in the minute shake of the ruffled collar on her blouse. A pulse beat at the base of her throat. “George…what…what did you say?”
“Not right away, of course; we have to graduate, get jobs. Get things figured out. But someday…and soon…what I’m asking is: will you be my wife, June?”
She fell against me, crying and laughing all at once. I reached across her to turn off the ignition.
“We’ll get engaged for now,” I said into the fragrant warmth of her hair. “And then in about–what?…a year, do you think?–we’ll get married. Do you think your parents will approve?”
“Oh yes, of course,” she said, her voice muffled against my shoulder. “Of course they will!” Then she said something that I didn’t quite catch, but it sounded like:
“They’ll just be so happy to get rid of Edward.”
I didn’t think I could have heard her right. No. She couldn’t have said that–I must have peas in my ears! Edward wasn’t even really her dog anymore, for goodness’ sake. After all, she’d been away for four years. They couldn’t possibly expect her to take on that monstrosity…could they?
I decided that the question didn’t even need to be asked. It could not possibly have been what she said, and I didn’t want to ruin the moment by bringing it up and embarrassing her further with a miscommunication about that beast.
Did I ever come to regret that decision?
Sometimes.
* * *
I bought June a modest diamond–all that she would allow; she was, thankfully, a practical girl–and then we turned our attention to graduating. We had discussed moving in together before the wedding but had decided against it. A lot of people were doing that back then; ‘living in sin,’ as it were. It wasn’t the fifties anymore, and we didn’t feel bound by the old conventions. But neither were we hippies, so we each kept our respective off-campus apartments. Although, we weren’t shy about staying over at each other’s places. We weren’t that old-fashioned.
We usually stayed at my apartment because I was between roommates, and depending on my prospects after graduation, I had thought about keeping it that way. There was something much more grown-up about living by one’s self, the college drinking and buddy-buddy tomfoolery put aside.
So, after a movie one Friday night, I asked June if she’d like to stay at my place. She blushed and dropped her eye
s. I was confused and a little taken aback–had I proposed something untoward? She’d already stayed over several times. But her reaction was enough to make me backpedal.
“We don’t have to…I mean…you wouldn’t have to sleep over or anything,” I said and swallowed. I’d been feeling so adult, and now in my bewilderment I felt sixteen again. “We could just have a nightcap. Or a coffee or something.”
“Oh, George, no…it isn’t that…it isn’t that I don’t want to, you know, stay over,” she said fumblingly. “It’s just that…well…I have Edward, and I really can’t, you know, just leave him for Sarah to take care of.”
Sarah was June’s roommate–that much cleared the lines in my mind right away. But who the hell was Edward?
“Who the hell is Edward?” I asked. It had been months since the disastrous dinner at her parents’ house, and though we’d seen them several times since, it was always at a restaurant. I had somehow made Edward disappear from my mind; can you blame me?
“Edward the dog,” she said and mock-slapped my arm. “He’s here because Mom and Dad are traveling to my aunt Peggy’s this weekend. Didn’t I tell you?”
Two things here, one: no, she hadn’t told me, and two: (note this because it’s important) she said ‘the’ dog, not ‘my’ dog…you see the difference, of course. The dinner came back to me all at once. My left eye even started to sting a little.
“You could come in,” she said. “Sarah won’t mind. As long as, you know, you don’t stay the night or anything.” Her color deepened, and she dropped her gaze shyly. How could I tell her no after that? Besides, the dog couldn’t possibly be as bad as I remembered. That night was blown out of proportion because of nerves and bad timing…that’s all.
Sarah met us at the door with a haggard, horrified look on her face. My stomach dropped right down to my Florsheims.
“I’m so glad you’re back,” she said and drew June inside, ignoring me. Then she stepped out onto the porch, and I could see she had a small bag in one hand and her purse slung over her arm, as though she’d been waiting by the door for June to get back. “I’m going to my mother’s for the weekend. It just suddenly came up. She…she just…she needs to…okay, so…see you on Monday, then. Maybe Tuesday. I’ll c-c-call first and see if…if your parents got home safely. From their t-t-trip. Okay. B-b-bye!”
She clattered down the steps, and for one frightening moment, it seemed she might fall, but she righted herself and addressed June once more–she still hadn’t registered my presence. She kept backing down the sidewalk, even as she talked. “Edward is in the bathroom. I fed him and…well, okay, then! Bye!”
The last ‘bye’ came from halfway down the sidewalk, and then she turned and ran, her bag banging against her thin knees.
June turned to me, her eyebrows quirked up in perplexity. “She seemed…gosh. She was awfully…” She opened the door wider for me, and a closed–deliberately closed, I thought–cast fell over her eyes as though she were censuring herself. Then she smiled, and it was bright but strained. “I sure hope her mom is all right!”
At her voice, a long, sad ‘barrooooo’ came floating to us through the darkness of the apartment. June flicked on the lights. I looked around with apprehension, afraid the apartment would be in complete disarray as her parents’ house had been that fateful night. But I was marginally encouraged, as everything seemed to be in its place. Well, with the exception of a broom lying in the hall near the bathroom door. That was most certainly out of place. It lay in a shadow so I couldn’t be sure, but the end of it looked strangely patterned…almost…chewed. But June whisked it away into the hall closet before I could get a better look.
Edward barooed again, and it sounded tired and sad, a defeated old dog locked away when all he wanted was the company of his mistress. I wondered how long Sarah had had him in there. It seemed rather cruel.
June turned to me, her smile actively, effortfully bright. “Okay with you if I let him out of there? He’ll just howl the whole time if I don’t, and…Jerry might complain.”
Jerry was the middle-aged man who lived in the apartment above June and Sarah. He was a meek guy with such an obvious crush on both girls that I didn’t think there was anything they could do that would make him complain.
“Of course,” I said. “Poor old fellow’s probably been in there a while, huh? That’s the impression I got anyway, from Sarah.”
June’s smile turned grateful, and she sighed. “Yes, that’s what I thought, too. But I didn’t want to say anything. Edward is my responsibility, after all, not Sarah’s.”
I had a bad twinge when she said ‘my responsibility’ but decided that she just meant for this weekend…while her parents were away, she was responsible. That’s all. Plus, she seemed guilty about leaving him in Sarah’s obviously questionable care.
“He’s fine,” I said and squeezed her arm reassuringly. “Tell you what; I’ll run him on outside, and then we’ll watch some television. How does that sound?” I was calculating past the television watching; after all, Sarah had left and said she’d be gone the entire weekend. June and I had the apartment enticingly to ourselves. That may have clouded my judgment.
“Oh, would you?” June said. “Edward would love a walk! And he’s a little too strong for me…I’ve been turning him out in the yard…it’s fenced, so.” My stomach dropped a little. I hadn’t known we had that option. Then June went on, “But he’d love a walk!”
She turned the knob on the bathroom door and opened it inward a mere five inches. “Edward? I’m home, sweetie. I’m–” A nose appeared and muscled the door out of June’s hand. It slammed back against the bathroom wall as Edward barreled out and into the hallway.
He was even uglier than I remembered. His head was huge and blocky, his jowls hanging, his eyes rheumy. The fur around his neck was a tangled black mane, and then it receded to short, short fur until your eyes got to his hindquarters–there, the hair burst up again, like a cresting wave to fall in disarray over his tail and legs.
He bypassed June entirely and whammed his front feet into my stomach, whining with excitement. At least he wasn’t growling. At least, at the very least, he was not a vicious dog.
I made a quite doglike ‘woof’ sound as the breath left my body. Edward seemed to take that as an invitation to play, and as I leaned over, hands on knees trying to recover, he bounded upwards, catching my jaw with the cinderblock he carried between his shoulders. My teeth would have clacked had it not been for the interference of my tongue…which I bit with enough force to make everything go temporarily white.
Distantly I heard June say, “Edward, no! Down!” and then, “George? Are you all right? Honey?”
Eventually the white began to fade, and as it did, Edward came into view. He was lying below me, wagging his tail and gazing up at me with sloppy adoration as June wrestled with his collar. But Edward would not be budged. The most she was able to manage was to drag him a scratching two inches before her strength gave out. “Edward!” she said, and it was a wail of despair. “Please, Edward! Leave George alone!”
I stood, then, to reassure her, but she took one look at me and screamed. Her hands flew from Edward’s collar to mash themselves together at her mouth.
I said, “June? What is it?” as Edward, alerted by June’s scream, leapt up and scrambled on the hardwood floor, trying for purchase. He barooed again and, finally getting traction, headed for the front door and the source–in his limited capacity to reason–of June’s distress.
Unfortunately, I was between Edward and the front door.
But, no matter, he merely whammed into me with the force of a padded train. Once he’d gotten me into a more accommodatingly prone position, he ran right across me. One of his back feet even managed to find its way into my mouth.
I sat up, gagging, but just a little, less than I would have thought, anyway. I think I was too much in shock right then, too beat down to react properly to the indignity of a dog’s foot in my mouth. I ran the back o
f my hand across my chin, and it came away slick. Dumbly, I looked down at my hand to see that it was smeared with blood. Had that come from Edward’s foot? I questioned myself, dazed into incomprehension.
June knelt by my side. “Oh, George! Are you all right?” She half-lifted, half-pulled me into a seated position.
I blinked at her. I do believe I was swaying.
“Ewar’s cuck hith footh,” I said. The words came out in a weak, slurry whisper. She looked at Edward, who was gnawing at the front doorknob, growling. A faint trail of bloody paw prints led from me to him. One more print–the brightest, bloodiest one–was on my chest, another on my thigh.
Comprehension dawned on her face.
“No, George,” she said. “Edward isn’t cut…it’s you who’s bleeding. That’s why I screamed, you see. Originally, I mean, when Edward’s head hit your chin. I guess…you must have bit your tongue?”
I nodded and swayed some more. Now I could feel the hot, sore spot on the edge of my tongue. Yes, I’d bit it all right.
I got myself into the bathroom and cleaned up. My tongue was sore but, thankfully, no longer bleeding. There was nothing I could do about the blood on my shirt and pants.
I stared at myself desultorily in the pitted mirror over the sink. “Buck up, old man,” I told myself. I smiled, but my smile was rather gruesome with my blood-darkened gums. I rinsed my mouth and tried again. Better. I gripped the sink and rested my weight onto it.
I was wrung out as though I’d just gotten over a long and debilitating fever. Aches had started up in my back and along my side. It may have been my imagination, but it seemed as though I still had a trace of dog foot taste in my mouth. Blech. I searched for toothpaste and lacking a toothbrush, used my finger.
More Good Dogs: More Stories About Good Dogs and the People Who Love Them Page 9
