by Leslie Pike
You’d think I could just shut the door, but oh no. Tried it. The whining, the scratching, and eventually, the barking is more annoying than letting her join me. So now, she expects the open invitation. Her expression reminds me of an overeager volunteer at some college orientation. ‘Let me show you how cool this place is! New places to explore! You’re gonna love it here!’
This change in scenery and company is considered a great adventure to a dog who lives to engage the world’s population. The fact Hunter isn’t warming up to her like almost every other human being does is just a minor detail. She is so fucking sure that they will be friends; it doesn’t occur to the dog the cold freeze will last. She keeps bringing him the ball, regardless of the fact it’s never thrown. Life is good when you’re living in Cali’s world. Talk about rose-colored glasses.
But good isn’t without challenges. This bathroom scene is just a minor one. The thing is, I’m not new at this. It’s been three years since I brought her home from the pound, and my Cali skills have been honed. First off, never go into the bathroom without a ball. As long as I can throw, she’ll fetch. That buys a pocket of alone time.
This is a small bathroom off the hallway, so it’s going to be difficult. If I can bounce it off the wall right outside the door, it could take a hard left into the living room. Reaching over the counter, into the sink, I retrieve the ball. Cali’s eyes light up with purpose. Her tail hits both sides of the bathroom door. Slap, slap, slap. No. It’s more like Godzilla’s tail. Boom! Boom! Boom!
“Okay, girl, see if you can find this one.”
I eye the exact spot on the wall that looks like the rebound point of impact. Cali is on alert. The tight space is making her excited movements comical—a St. Vitas Dance thing. I pull back and let the ball fly hard. It hits my target and speeds out of the line of sight and down the path, hall to room.
The dog takes off like a bat out of hell—a sixty-three-pound bat with a mission to save humanity from lost balls. Nails scratch on wood floors as a good grip eludes her. Then I hear a loud heavy thump when dog meets object. Something topples and crashes to the floor. Sounds of broken glass punctuate the moment. Silence. Then the clicking of nails as Cali quickly moves away. Oh fuck.
I wrap up my business and pull up my jeans, zipping as I exit. “You okay, girl?” I call, rounding the turn.
My eyes light on the scene. Cali approaches with the tennis ball between her teeth. Happy as shit. There’s a half-broken daisy atop her head, and water drips between her eyes and off her nose. Doesn’t matter to my girl. It’s a satisfied, proud look she wears. ‘I got the ball, Dad! It was lost, and I expertly recovered it!’. She lays it at my feet like the treasure of Sierra Madre.
Before me, I see the results of my “game.” The side table made of wrought iron is on its side. The vase of garden flowers a neighbor brought is in a thousand shards on the floor. Water runs lazily underneath the recliner. Kim mentioned the uneven floor, and here’s proof.
Outside I hear Hunter approach and the front door swing open. His blue eyes survey the damage.
“Hey. Look what I did,” I say, chuckling.
Hunter’s eyes settle on Cali. “You mean what she did,” he says in low tones.
He never calls her by name. But I won’t push it. Let the kid grieve in his own way.
“No. It was me. I was trying to bank a shot off the hallway wall. Cali just did what I knew she would, what comes naturally. Anyway, where’s a towel I can use to wipe this mess up? And bring me the vacuum too. There’s lots of glass here.”
He throws the basketball in his hands to the couch and moves to the hall closet.
“By the way, where does your mom keep the toilet paper? I looked everywhere.”
Opening the closet door, he turns back to me. “Right here. It’s our pantry.”
Shit. Thought that was for coats. Hunter takes out the vacuum cleaner. “It’s where we keep this too.”
He goes a few feet to the hall cupboards and takes out a big towel.
“Hey, you ready for some barbecue today? Probably watermelon or ice cream too. Fireworks.”
He gives me a blank stare.
“What? Not feeling it?”
He starts cleaning up the water as I move the recliner.
“Not really. Can’t I stay here? You could go. Mom lets me stay by myself.”
I feel for the kid. I do. But I’m not starting that. There’s just a small window of opportunity for me to establish any sort of authority. It’s the only way to protect him. Good thing he’s still young, and I have a chance. Kim will kill me if I fuck this up.
“No. We go together or not at all.”
He thinks about what I’ve said and comes back with his way of making the day palatable.
“Can we take the bike?”
“Not today, buddy. Because Cali is coming with us. But I’ll talk to your mom tonight and get her permission for you to be a passenger. If she says yes, we’ll buy you a good helmet. Tennessee law, you know.”
“I have a helmet.”
“Okay. We can get you your own leather jacket. Sound good?”
“I guess.”
I’m not really expecting any sort of excitement.
“Then maybe we can take off for an overnight camping trip in the mountains.”
I thought it was a good offer. I imagined he’d be kind of happy thinking about the idea. Instead, his face drops.
“Never mind. She’s never going to say yes. I have to be sixteen to ride on a Harley.”
“Don’t be so sure. I know my sister. Have a little faith, guy. Look at Cali. We need to be like her. She’s in the middle of a shitshow, and she thinks it smells like roses.”
An hour later, I make the last turn onto Wes and July’s street.
“I don’t like to talk much, so just let me sit there quiet, okay?”
Hunter’s words land with a thud. Poor kid. He’s so fucking wounded.
“Okay. I hear ya. But I need your help with the dog. She’s going to be in hog heaven with the other animals I expect to see. She might go chasing some strange boy dog action.”
“Girl dogs don’t do that much,” he says as if educating me.
“This one does. Just like some girls I’ve met do.”
Now that’s the first smile I’ve seen on the boy. Okay. I’m going to run with that.
“You’re what, thirteen?”
“And a half.”
“Oh, man. You’re at the perfect age.”
The guffaw proceeds his words. “For what? Bad things to happen?”
I glance at his face. He’s completely serious.
“No. There is no right age for that. It’s always hard to take, no matter how old we are. I’m talking about the good stuff. Girls.”
Now I’ve embarrassed him. A barely noticeable shake of the head signals his response.
“No,” he mumbles.
But there’s no conviction behind his denial.
“No, what? You don’t like them? You think they’re annoying? Or no, as in you haven’t talked to many yet?”
“That last one, I guess. I don’t want to talk about it.”
We pull up as close to the house as I can get. There’s lots of cars and bikes parked on the street and in the long gravel side approach to the Silver’s home. I put the car in park and shut the engine. Cali starts whining and pacing from the backseat.
“Listen, Hunter. It takes time to get comfortable talking to girls. It happens to all of us guys. But believe me, it’s worth it. You’ll see. And when you do, think of your Uncle Maxen, who gave you your first how to handle women tip.”
He looks at me with anticipation of my hard-won wisdom.
“If you ask them ‘what’s wrong,’ and they say ‘nothing,’ they are lying.”
I open my palm like I’ve just passed on the greatest secret of the ages. An expression of disappointment crosses his face.
“That’s it? That doesn’t even make sense.”
“Just re
member you heard it here first. Now let’s get something to eat. I’m hungry.”
We get Cali on a leash, and I take a firm grip as we walk to the house. Already the smell of food and the sound of guests talking and laughing, kids playing, is turning Cali into a crazed party guest. Following the side path to the backyard, we meet up with July. She carries an unfurled flag on a pole.
“Hi! I’m glad you came, guys! Hello, Hunter. Nice to see you again.”
Hunter would rather be anywhere but here. If he could melt into the ground, he would.
“Hi.” He manages to eke out the one-syllable response.
“Thanks for having us,” I add.
“This must be Cali. Hello, baby.”
She pats the dog on her head and resumes walking. “I’m going to hang the flag, and then I’ll join you in the backyard. Wes and the boys are in the pool. Grab yourself a plate, and make sure you try the French Nicoise salad. Dominique made a family recipe.”
Hmmm. Think I just got my first tip from a new ally. We make our way along the side of the house and around the corner. The backyard could be a scene from a movie about the favorite American holiday. Families swim, and children play. I count three different barbecues scattered across the big yard. And dogs. There’s four running around, and another two stretched out on the grass, chewing something good. One annoyed cat rests atop a garden table, surveying the situation. Is that a parrot on that guy’s shoulder?
“Maxen!”
Our attention is pulled to the far side of the pool, where Wes greets us with a raised hand. It takes a few beats before I recognize him. He’s a decade older, and out of the only gear I’ve seen him wear. There’s no leather vest or black boots. Regardless, he’s still Wes. Dripping swim trunks and dark sunglasses don’t hide the Harley hat sitting on the table next to him. Or the tattoos. It’s the baby he’s holding that completes a new expanded image of the man. The whole picture looks … well, kind of nice. Maybe I’m getting soft.
‘Come on.” I motion Hunter to follow.
“There he is! Maxen, it’s good to see you again!” Wes says, greeting us and handing the baby to a woman who looks remarkably like her. She’s happy to have the opportunity to hold the child and starts dancing. I’d guess she’s the grandma and the man sitting on the chaise the grandfather. Handsome couple. Even the tall holiday hat the man wears doesn’t take his cool away.
Wes and I do the man hug, followed by a handshake.
“It’s been awhile,” I say. “Good to see ya, man. This is my nephew, Hunter. Hunter, this is my old friend, Wes.”
“Hey, Hunter. Is your uncle teaching you how to ride? You’re a teenager, right?”
That question gets Wes an instant fan. Two really. Hunter feels like a man, and I see a spark of the old kid. The happier version I always knew. It gives me hope this will someday pass. Maybe we all will have a chance to reset our lives.
“These are July’s parents, Asher and November.”
“Nice to meet you.”
“There’s food and a pool—your choice. Then come sit. Fill me in on what’s been happening in your life,” Wes adds.
I turn to Hunter. “Want to swim?”
A shake of his head confirms what I already know. He’s going to stick by me as long as possible.
“My boys, James and Dean, are in the pool. They’re causing some kind of trouble you might want to join in on.”
Hunter stays silent.
“Let’s get ourselves some chow,” I say.
“Let your dog loose, and we will save you two some seats,” November says.
As I unhook the lead on Cali’s leash, I can feel her excitement. Here we go.
“Don’t get in the planters, girl,” I call to the backside of my dog. She’s off and running toward the pack as we head for the buffet.
“Hungry?” I ask Hunter.
A non-verbal response is all I get. One nod. That will have to do for now. Guess I should get in the pool with him after we eat. I scan the yard looking for Dominique. She won’t be hard to spot. The rockin’ body she attempted to camouflage with a boxy lab coat and high-necked blouse didn’t stand a chance. I saw it all. What I hope to see today is a bikini that confirms my suspicions. And how long is the hair? She had it coiled into a tight knot. I didn’t mind it; her neck is beautiful. The skin, soft-looking and tempting to imagine feeling.
But I don’t see her, so I check out the women with kids. Don’t know if the son is three or thirteen. I’d guess she’s in her early thirties. Does she think a guy my age is too old for her?
Shit. Forty isn’t old. And I’m not trying to marry the girl. I just want to make a friend. That thought checks itself immediately and says I’m really trying to get in her pants. But without hesitation, my subconscious weighs in. That is not entirely true. There’s something special about this one, and you felt it.
The food is laid out like a Southern feast. The table heavy with choices that make my mouth water. I haven’t seen half these dishes in a long time. There’s a different vibe in California. It’s more hamburgers and hotdogs there. More sushi and tacos. It’s the food I grew up with, but not the one I prefer. This spread is more to my tastes. I got accustomed to it when I lived in Tennessee with Donna. Didn’t realize I missed the food so much but looking at it confirms it’s true.
We load our plates and make our way to the tables along the back edge of the pool, where Wes has corralled two chairs next to where he sits with some friends. I recognize a few of the guys from the Club.
Across the yard, July steps into the pool and sits on the steps. She holds the baby Wes had when we walked in. It must be theirs. A sunbonnet on a diapered baby is fucking cute, drawing other women’s attention immediately. They paddle to the child and coo their greetings.
The kid has the floor, or in this case, the lap. This whole thing could have never happened—the scene erased by a tragedy that almost took away this happy family. A stable marriage, the baby, and the two boys having never been born. All the lives affected by one man’s evil intentions. A shiver runs down my spine.
Chapter Three
Dominique
Where are you? Maxen and Hunter arrived. Get your butt over here!
I scan the text before getting into the Mazda. We’re running too late for me to start a conversation with July. We talked late last night. When she told me the entire story of her kidnapping and rescue by Wes and friends, I was stunned. How did I not know this before?
She said it was important to get past reliving it over and over, so she seldom talks about it. Over the first few years, and with therapy, she processed the trauma. Having Wes by her side was all the healing needed, and when the children came, July learned to put it behind her.
I’ve always thought my friend was strong, but I had no idea the extent to which her strength was tested. Learning Maxen and his friends came to help made me happy. Compassion seems to be a strong suit for him.
“Did you bring your inhaler? What about McFly’s collapsible bowl?” I say to my child as we buckle our seatbelts.
I’m beginning to notice the first signs of eye-rolling. Oh no, he didn’t.
“Don’t do that when I tell you something, Bing. What did I say that was so distasteful to you?”
He turns and faces me. “Mom! You ask me the same questions every time. At some point, you have to know I’m going to remember without you telling me.”
“I’ll make you a deal. I won’t keep asking, and you won’t roll your eyes at your mother. It’s disrespectful. Deal?”
The compromise satisfies, and it shows on his adorable face. There’s still that unkempt mop of sandy-colored hair and the mischievous grin. The freckles are my favorite. But thirteen has changed him. The boy is leaving the room as the man enters. Just the thought tugs at my heart.
It’s been he and I for nine years now. Becoming a single mother of a three-and-a-half-year-old was life’s most dramatic plot twist. The circumstances will be etched in my mind forever. But today
is for fun, so I shake off the cobwebs of the past.
“There’s going to be a kid at Wes and July’s that I want you to meet. He’s about your age, I think.”
“How do you know him?”
“I don’t know much. He’s the son of one of my clients. She was in a car accident, and their dog was killed. The uncle is taking care of the boy until his mom gets out of the hospital.”
An expression of compassion crosses his face. “That sucks.”
Here’s one of those moments that give parents pause. I’m not thrilled with the language, but the fact he feels empathy outweighs his choice of words. He’s getting older. His expressions are changing. Sometimes a little rope goes a long way.
“His name is Hunter.”
“The dog’s?”
I chuckle at the question. “No. The boy. Maybe you can make him feel more comfortable. He won’t know anyone, and you’re good at making friends.”
“I’ll show him the bikes Wes has.” As the thought occurs to him, his eyes light up.
“Make sure you have permission to get anywhere near those. Those bikes are …”
“Mom! I’m not ten years old! Give a man some credit!”
That’s Bing’s latest go-to response when he wants to make his mother laugh. I don’t disappoint.
“Okay, big man. I hear ya.”
McFly barks as we turn onto July’s street. His opening bark is usually his last. Bing and I have come to the conclusion McFly is merely acknowledging he’s arrived. It happens whenever we take him somewhere familiar. It’s a statement. A punctuation.
Parking under the shade of a sprawling Oak half a block away from the house, I check the mirror.
“Do I look all right?”
When there’s no response, I glance at my child. That’s definitely a smirk.
“What?”
“Who’s going to be here?”
“Well, Ken is meeting us here in a few hours.”
“You’ve never asked me if you look good for him.” One finger points in my direction and makes little circles. There’s no words accompanying the gesture. An eyebrow raises.
