Melanie Travis 06 - Hush Puppy (13 page)

“She is!”

“I wouldn’t be averse to offering her a trial period in your classroom. Say, a week?”

“Terrific. Thank you! Faith will be thrilled.”

“And she will communicate that fact to you?” Russell asked dryly.

“Definitely.”

I guessed he wasn’t a dog man. Maybe Faith could change his mind.

“Quietly, I hope?”

“Very quietly,” I assured him. “Can we start tomorrow?”

“Why not?” said Russell. “It’s not as if things could get any worse.”

I couldn’t wait to get home and tell Faith the good news.

On the way, I stopped at Hunting Ridge Elementary to pick up Davey and his best friend, Joey Brickman. Joey lives down the block from us; and his mother, Alice, and I have been friends since we started making play dates when the kids were six months old.

Picking the boys up rather than waiting for the bus shaves half an hour off their ETA. Usually they spend that extra time playing, but today I had other plans. Davey and I dropped Joey off at home, swung by and picked up Faith, then headed north to Redding, a picturesque town in upper Fairfield County, that also happens to be where Sam Driver lives.

“Great,” said Davey when I told him where we were going. “I like visiting Sam’s house.”

He should. Over the nearly two year span that Sam and I have known one another, Sam’s house has changed a great deal, morphing from a well-appointed bachelor pad to a home that is definitely kid-friendly. Occasionally I complain that Sam is spoiling my son, but since I suspect he enjoys the indulgences as much as Davey, I try to keep the grumbling to a minimum.

Sam’s house is a contemporary, perched high on a hill. In a month or two when the leaves have come back on the trees, it will be invisible from the road. Sam enjoys having his privacy. Aside from the mailbox next to the road, there’s nothing to mark the steep, unpaved track as a driveway. Once you reach the house, however, the view is spectacular; and large windows in every room bring all of nature’s beauty indoors.

“Does Sam know we’re coming?” Davey asked, as I parked beside the garage.

“No. I thought we’d surprise him.”

I climbed out and looked around. Sam’s Blazer wasn’t there. And though I could hear Sam’s Poodles barking from inside the house, no one seemed to be responding to their announcement of our arrival.

“I don’t think he’s home.” Davey’s mouth drooped into a pout. “You should have called him like I did.”

Just what I needed to make me feel worse, lessons in etiquette from a six-year-old.

“He works at home, so he’s usually here when he’s not traveling,” I said. “Let’s wait a few minutes and see if he comes back.”

Faith jumped out of the car and began to chase around the front yard. After a day at home alone, she had plenty of surplus energy to run off. Hearing the dogs inside the house, she ran to the front door and jumped up to look inside.

“Let’s go in,” said Davey. “I know where there’s a key.”

I did, too, but all at once I wasn’t sure I wanted to use it. A week earlier I wouldn’t have hesitated to make myself at home; but suddenly everything felt different. Our relationship seemed to be shifting like sand beneath my feet. Things I’d taken for granted, I now found myself questioning. Things like whether or not I’d be welcome prowling around Sam’s house when he wasn’t there.

“Here it is!” Davey cried, turning over a rock at the edge of the yard. “I told you I could find it.”

“Davey, we can’t just invite ourselves into Sam’s house.”

“Sure we can.” My son raced toward the door. “That’s why Sam left us the key.”

It was no use explaining that Sam hadn’t left the key specifically for us. Davey was already using it to open the lock. A moment later, Faith’s weight pushed the door inward and Sam’s three adult Standard Poodles came spilling out into the yard.

Sam’s breeding and showing operation is much smaller than Aunt Peg’s, but he’s been involved with Poodles for more than a decade. While he lacks her experience, he matches her in dedication; otherwise, Peg never would have trusted him with Tar. I could hear the puppy barking, still inside the house. No doubt Sam had left him crated while he was out.

Faith joined in the play with the three older Poodles. Two, Raven and Juniper, had finished their championships while Sam was still living in Michigan. The third, Casey, he’d had in the ring when we’d met two summers earlier. Fortunately, the three black Standards knew us well enough to obey when Davey and I called them back into the house.

“I’m going to find a snack,” said Davey, heading toward the kitchen. The quartet of Poodles followed hopefully behind.

I went in the other direction to Sam’s bedroom, where I knew I’d find Tar’s crate. A Poodle show coat is a fragile thing. It takes years to grow and requires hours of maintenance on the part of the owner. One careless slip—a puppy left to play unattended with boisterous, older dogs—can cause holes and mats that will keep a Poodle out of the ring for months. Most Poodle owners leave their show dogs crated when they’re not watching them, which includes when they’re asleep. Hence the crate in the bedroom.

Though I could hear Tar whining eagerly at my approach, I still hesitated in the doorway to the room. I’d been in Sam’s bedroom many times, but this was the first time I’d felt like an intruder. Worse, I was half-tempted to look around for telltale signs that Sheila might have been there.

No doubt about it, I thought irritably, my maturity level was hitting an all-time low.

Tar’s scratching at the door to his crate got me moving. I crossed the room and flipped the latch. The puppy sprang out, an energetic ball of black hair and flying topknots. Tail whipping back and forth, he leapt over the bed and dashed into the hall. I heard him skid briefly on the hardwood floor, then he was gone. I hoped Davey would think to open the back door that led to Sam’s big covered run when the puppy reached the kitchen.

There was, of course, no black negligee draped across the pillow. Nor were there any extra toiletries in the bathroom. Since I didn’t touch anything, I figured I wasn’t exactly snooping—more just having a friendly look around. I did notice, however, that the message light on Sam’s answering machine was blinking.

Probably business calls, I told myself. Or maybe a puppy buyer checking to see if he’d had a litter recently.

Nothing that would interest me.

Nothing that Sam would mind if I heard.

We were planning to get married, weren’t we? Didn’t that mean we wouldn’t keep any secrets from each other? I walked over to the night table beside the bed and hit the replay button.

“You have two messages,” said the tinny voice, followed by a beep.

“Sam, it’s me.” Sheila’s voice didn’t sound tinny at all. Even on the machine, it was lush and sultry. And even after all this time, she clearly expected Sam to recognize it. “Call me, would you?”

A second beep brought Sheila back. “Sorry,” she said. “Just checking in again. I have a little problem I’m hoping you can help me with. Whenever you get a chance. I’ll be waiting . . .”

Angrily, I pushed the button and sent the tape spinning backward. I’ll be waiting, my fanny!

I’d known women who made a career out of being helpless, who seemed to think that it flattered a man’s ego to let him always be the one in charge. But from what both Sam and Aunt Peg had told me about Sheila, the driven career woman, she didn’t seem like the type. So why was her life suddenly so full of little problems that nobody but Sam could solve?

I muttered under my breath all the way to the kitchen. Davey was there, munching on one of his favorite shortbread cookies and drinking a glass of milk. “I let Tar outside,” he said. “Otherwise, he was going to pee on the floor.”

There’s nothing that warms a mother’s heart like the knowledge she’s raising a sensible child. “Good thinking.”

“Do you think Sam will be back soon?”

“Probably.”

I could afford to be confident. I knew Sam wouldn’t leave his Poodles unattended for too long. Indeed, barely five minutes had passed before the dogs all sat up and pricked their ears.

Davey pushed back his chair, grabbed two cookies, and ran to the door. I followed more slowly. Since I’d listened to Sam’s messages, the light on his machine was no longer blinking. If I wanted, I could simply leave things at that. Sheila would certainly call back, and I wouldn’t have to admit that I’d been checking up on him.

The idea had appeal, in a sneaky, underhanded, sort of way. But as anyone who’s been raised by nuns can tell you, the specter of sin looms large in the psyche ever after. Instead of hiding my indiscretion, I found myself blurting it out the moment Sam walked through the door.

“What a nice surprise,” he said.

He was wearing corduroy pants and a soft, faded, denim shirt, with a down vest thrown on top. His dark blond hair had been ruffled by the wind. In short, he looked terrific. I didn’t have any difficulty at all understanding why Sheila kept calling.

“You should have let me know you were coming,” he said. “I’d have been sure to be here.”

“We’ve only been here a few minutes. Just long enough to let the dogs out, and um . . . listen to your messages.”

Confession may be good for the soul, but Sam didn’t seem unduly impressed. “Was there anything interesting?”

“Sort of.”

Maybe something in my tone alerted him. Sam turned to Davey. “I left a couple bags of groceries in the car. Do you think you could bring them in?”

“Sure!” My son’s still at that wonderful age when being asked to do something confers a sense of responsibility. He hasn’t yet come to think of helping out as work.

“Sheila called you,” I said when he’d gone outside. “Twice.”

“And?”

“And what?”

Sam looked perplexed. “So what’s the problem?”

“You don’t find the fact that your ex-wife keeps calling you a problem?”

“No.”

“Maybe you should.” I heard my voice rise. One or two more decibels, and I’d be well on my way to shrill.

“What?” asked Sam. “What am I missing here?”

“Sheila is throwing herself at you, is that so hard to see?”

That made him grin. “That’s crazy. Even if Sheila was still interested in me,
which she isn’t,
this is hardly the way she’d try to get my attention.”

Men can be so oblivious it’s pathetic.

“She told Aunt Peg your divorce was a mistake, that she’d come here to tell you she’d changed her mind.”

Sam shook his head. “In the first place, Sheila came to New York for a job. And in the second, even if she had changed her mind, don’t you think I have any say in the matter? Do you really think so little of me as to believe that all another woman has to do is call and I’d go running?”

Put like that, I had to admit I was the one who sounded pretty pathetic. Still, stubbornness is one of my best traits. “Sheila’s not just any other woman.”

“Quite right,” Sam agreed. “She’s the source of the largest failure in my life. I can see why you’d assume I’d be in a hurry to try that again.”

For once I was silent, letting his words sink in. The longer the notion rolled around in my head, the more sense it made. “I guess you’ve made your point,” I said. “I’ve been acting like an idiot.”

“It’s not that bad.” Sam closed the space between us and wrapped his arms around me.

“Yes, it is.” The words were muffled, as I mumbled them into his shirt.

“You’re determined to argue, aren’t you?”

I tipped back my head. “Unless you can think of something better for us to do.”

He could, and we did. At least until Davey reappeared.

“So that’s why you sent me outside,” my son said disgustedly. He was carrying one bag and dragging another behind him.

“No, it wasn’t,” said Sam, looking down over my shoulder. “We don’t mind if you watch us kiss.”

“I don’t
think
so,” Davey muttered, passing us by and heading for the kitchen.

Sam watched him go. “Isn’t he a little young to be developing an attitude?”

Only a nonparent can afford to be that naive.

I stepped back out of his arms. “Kids grow up pretty quickly these days. Think you’re up to the challenge?”

“I imagine I can handle it.”

I imagined he could, too. Sam would be a great father. Already in the two years he’d known Davey, he’d been more of a positive influence in my son’s life than Davey’s real father had.

The more I thought about that, the more I realized how stupid of me it was to be jealous. Sam was right. What Sheila might or might not want was immaterial, so long as Sam was happy being part of our family. Taken in that light, it looked like I was the one who had some growing up to do.

When I reached the kitchen, Davey and Sam were putting the groceries away. Tar had been let back inside and was watching with thinly veiled annoyance as Faith chewed one of his bones. Sam’s other Poodles were sacked on the floor. The scene was so homey it almost made my eyes tear up.

“Sorry I was fresh,” said Davey.

“What?”

“Sam said I was fresh,” Davey repeated. “He told me I had to apologize.”

“He did, did he?”

My son nodded.

“Well, he would know. Sam’s pretty smart. Thanks for the apology. By the way . . .” I glanced over at Sam, ready to demonstrate my new, mature attitude. “You probably should call Sheila back. She sounded pretty desperate.”

“Sheila’s good at that,” he said. “It won’t hurt her to wait. Besides, I’ve got more important things to tend to. Who’s staying for dinner?”

“We are!” Davey cried happily.

It sounded like a plan to me.