My Boyfriends' Dogs (8 page)

I plastered on a smile and strolled up to them. “Here's your ice, Went.”

He took it from me. “Thanks, Bailey. This looks great.” He sipped at the grape juice melting in the paper cone. “You and Tahlia know each other, right? This is her little sister, Amy, who loves otters.”

I nodded at Tahlia, then focused on the little sister. “Hi, Amy. So you're a big otter fan?”

“I like penguins better,” she said.

“Wrong zoo for you, huh?” I commented.

“We better get back,” Tahlia said. “See you around.” This she said directly to my boyfriend.

Went and I moved on and explored the recesses of the Larkfield Zoo. Everything was fun with Went. I felt like I'd never seen camels before Went and I saw them together. Or monkeys or elephants. He made everything better.

But wherever we went, the Tahlia scene was repeated, only with different players. By the monkey cages, Went ran into someone named Cheri, who acted like she and Went were long-lost friends. A backpacker with one long braid down her back struck up a conversation with my boyfriend while we were waiting for the lions to come out of their cave, and the girl had never met Went before. There was a freshman from Millet at the elks' pen, a sophomore from Larkfield at the picnic tables, and a perky zoo worker at the petting zoo.

The afternoon grew hotter, so we ducked into the reptile house to cool off. An older man was there, talking to a pack of Boy Scouts and giving anecdotes about the reptiles. Went and I tagged along and listened to the life cycle of the rattlesnake and the mating habits of the cobra.

Then we came to the geckos. “Now, this is a Madagascar day gecko,” the old man explained. “Unlike other types of geckos, the Madagascar day gecko mates for life. If his wife dies, like this guy's here did, the poor fellow wanders around for the rest of his life, a dejected widower. He's a one-woman gecko.”

I moved in closer so I could see this loyal, loving gecko. It was a light green lizard, with reddish-brown spots that made a thin line down his back. He didn't have eyelids, so his eyes looked sad and surprised, like he was constantly searching for his dead wife and horribly surprised when he couldn't find her. If I'd run across this poor gecko out in the free world, I would have scooped him up and taken him home with me.

We followed our Boy Scout troop back to the snakes and listened to our guide tell tales of the poisonous cottonmouths. When the group moved away from the water moccasins, Went slipped his arm around me and drew me with him around the corner and into a dark recess where we were by ourselves.

I looked up at him, his face a shadow. “What are you—?”

He held his finger to his lips. “Shh-hh.” Then he touched my lips with his finger and moved in closer. We faced each other, and Went smoothed my hair, his hands tracing the line of my scalp, then moving to my neck, then my shoulders. My whole body trembled as his fingers trailed down my arms. His arms closed around me, wrapping me in himself. I didn't breathe. I couldn't. Slowly, he lowered his head until our lips were touching. He kissed me, like he'd done several times before. Only this time, he kept kissing me, his lips pressing harder, moving against mine. And then tongue. Lots of tongue. At first, I didn't get it. But then I did. I really did. And his hands. I wasn't sure how you score it, but I think I was being taken to second base.

When we stopped, Went was grinning.

I was glad it was dark in our little nook. I must have looked like a gecko caught in the headlights. A Madagascar day gecko, a one-man gecko who had found her man.

“I adore geckos.” I was curled on my bed at midnight, recounting to Mom my zoo day with Went.

Mom had brewed herb tea for us and brought it to my room. She sat cross-legged on the foot of my bed. “Geckos. So you've said.”

“Did I tell you they mate for life?”

“You did.” She sipped her tea. “You really like Went, don't you, honey?”

I thought about Went, his strong arms pulling me to him. His smile. His kiss. “Mom, I think I love him.”

Mom choked on her tea, spilling some on my bedspread. She dabbed at it with the hem of her nightgown. “Bailey . . .”

Mom and I had always been able to talk about everything. “Be happy for me.”

“I am. Honest. I think it's great that you're getting to know Went. You haven't known him very long, though, right?”

“How long does it take to fall in love?”

Her gaze flew to the ceiling. She was quiet for a full minute. “I guess you're right. It doesn't take very long to feel like you're in love.”

I knew she'd understand. Mom and I didn't just look like sisters. We could talk like sisters, like friends. “Were you thinking about my father?”

She nodded, then reached over and sort of stroked my hair. “You have his hair, you know. Your father was something else, Bailey. Probably still is. But there's a lot more to real love than feeling like you're in it.” She sighed and stared into my eyes. “Your dad and I felt it all right. Maybe that's why I want you to be careful.”

“Mom. We're not doing anything we have to be careful about, okay?” She and I had had “the talk” more than once. Mom had a way of saying what most mothers probably say to their daughters—don't have sex until you're married. But the way she said it made it sound like a “do” instead of a “don't,” like sex was handcrafted by God. And if I used it the right way, then sex would be this beautiful thing waiting for me to share with one man for the rest of my life. So I shouldn't waste it on anyone else. That way, I'd live happily ever after with my husband—like Madagascar day geckos.

“I didn't mean
that
—although I do mean that, too,” she added quickly. “The no-sex rule is still in play.”

“Agreed.”

She stared into her mug as if she could read tea leaves. “I'm just saying . . . it won't be easy since you feel like you do, but you need to be careful with love, Bailey. Once it gets physical—you know, kissing . . . touching—it can take over and take you where you weren't planning to go. That's all.” She gulped her tea. “I don't know about you, but I'm going to bed.”

 

I didn't hear from Went Sunday, so when he came over with Adam Monday morning, it was all I could do not to fling myself into his arms. We fell into a steady routine after that, beginning with our glorious walks to school. On Thursday it started raining halfway to school, and we ran, hand in hand, laughing while rain drenched us. Before we got there, Went stopped and held me. We kissed in the rain and could have been starring in our own romantic movie. My times alone with Went were magical.

It was just that other people got in the way. Once we were at school, I had to share my boyfriend. Even though Went and I were clearly together, it didn't stop Carly and Meagan and a dozen other girls from playing up to him.

“I hate the way he ignores you when Carly or the Dave Crew come around,” Amber complained. It was Friday, and we were eating lunch with Went, but he'd moved to the end of the table to talk to Dave. Carly just happened to be there, too. They were all so loud the cafeteria police kept giving them the evil eye.

I leaned across the table so Amber could hear me. “He can't help it if people like him so much.” I glanced at Went. He looked hot in jeans and a yellow polo shirt, with this wooden-bead choker necklace that only he could have gotten away with in Millet, Missouri. “Can you blame them for wanting Went?”

“Nope,” Amber answered. “But I can blame
him
for cutting you out like this. Soon as those guys are around, he treats you like he could take you or leave you, and he chooses to leave you.”

“He's not like that, Amber,” I insisted. “He's different with me.” I whispered across the table, “Amber, he loves me.” He hadn't said it, not in those words. Neither had I. But when we were together, that's what it was. Love.

Amber fixed me with her big blue eyes. “Bailey, you know he sees Carly. And Meagan. You have to know that.”

I tried to swallow, but the peanut butter stuck in my throat. I'd heard rumors about Went and Carly. I hadn't heard about Meagan. “Don't believe everything you hear.”

“Have you asked Went about him and Carly?”

I shook my head. “I trust Went.” What we had was so full, so deep. He couldn't possibly have had that with anybody else. “Love is about trust.”

Amber shoved her trash into her bag. When she looked at me again, I could tell she was struggling to control her words. “So, tomorrow's Saturday. Do you and your boyfriend have a date?”

I grinned, doubly pleased that I had a good answer. “We do.”

Amber looked surprised. “Seriously? Well, good. Good for you, Bailey.”

“We're refinishing a couple of Mom's tables for her. It was Went's idea. He feels like he owes Mom for taking care of Adam.” Turned out Adam couldn't hold it during a whole school day. Mom had been coming home to walk the dog during her lunch hour. “She asked me to ask you to come, too.”

“Me? Why me? I've never refinished anything.”

“Yeah, but you're artsy, and we're not.”

“True.” Amber had seen Mom and me fail at enough decorating and fashion attempts to know the Daley girls had missed out on the art gene.

 

On Saturday, Mom forced herself to abandon the garage sales and work on refinishing what she already had. Amber showed up before we finished breakfast. She and I went to work in the garage sanding the old table Mom had salvaged from Grove while Mom drove to the hardware store for stain and varnish. When Mom got back, Amber and I were still sanding, with the music blaring. Went still hadn't shown.

“He better get here soon,” Mom warned. “I don't know how to stain that thing.”

“Thing?” I repeated, wiping sawdust off my forehead with the back of my hand.

“Masterpiece,” Mom corrected.

“It's a cool table, Big D,” Amber said. “I was thinking I could stain these grooves a darker color, here around the edges.”

Mom inspected the scrolls carved into her prized table. “Great idea, Amber. I hadn't even noticed that etching. A dark stain would really bring it—”

“Hey, everybody!” Went called, squeezing sideways between two dressers to get into the garage. “Don't tell me you started without me.”

Seeing Went still electrified me. I loved the way he looked in his old jeans, with paint splatters and holes in the knees. “You made it!” At the sound of my voice, Adam barked and made a run at me. I stopped sanding and greeted the little dog. I missed him when he was at Went's.

Went strolled over to our work area. “Mrs. Daley, this table is sweet. You must have a great eye for antiques. Can't believe anybody would throw this away.”

Mom brightened. “You like the table? Really?”

“Are you kidding? When we're done with it, you'll be able to sell this baby to the highest bidder.” He squatted down by Amber and examined the table leg she was sanding. Amber backed away. “We ought to fix this leg first, I guess.”

“This leg's wobbly, too,” I pointed out, wanting to be part of this operation.

“Do you have a Phillips screwdriver? I might need glue, too.” He sat on the garage floor and wiggled the table legs.

Mom got out the toolbox. “Take your pick.” She smiled at him, a real smile—maybe for the first time since he'd been coming to our house.

It meant a lot to me for my mom and my boyfriend to get along. “We really appreciate your help, don't we, Mom?”

“Bailey's right. Thanks, Went.” Mom put her hand on his shoulder.

Went smiled over at her. “My pleasure, Mrs. Daley.”

“He can't keep calling you Mrs. Daley,” I objected.

“Some of Bailey's friends call me Big D.” Mom elbowed Amber, who was silently sanding. “You'd have to ask Amber where they came up with the name, though.”

Went shook his head. “I don't think I could call you
Big
D. How about ‘D'?”

The rest of the day, it was “D” this and “D” that, as Went fixed the broken furniture. He stained the garbage-pick table, two other tables, and an oversized dresser. We worked and talked and listened to the radio count down the top singles.

Mom dashed into the house and came out with her own CD player. “My turn,” she announced.

“Not the Beach Boys, Mom,” I complained. Her player held five CDs, and four of the slots always went to the Beach Boys.

“Are you kidding?” Went put down his rag and wiped his hands on his jeans. “I love the Beach Boys!”

“Makes sense,” Amber commented. “Very California.”

“I wore out my
Pet Sounds
album,” Went said.

“No way!” Mom punched on her first CD—
Pet Sounds
.

“Go to track seven,” Went commanded.

Mom did. After two notes, she shouted, “‘Sloop John B'! I love this one.” Mom started snapping her fingers and tapping her feet. Went danced up and took her hand. Then, as if they'd rehearsed it, they broke into this cool rock 'n' roll routine, with Mom twirling under Went's arm, then both of them making a bridge and spinning under it.

“Go, Big D!” Amber shouted.

I clapped. Adam barked. Our neighbors across the street looked up from lawn trimming to see what was going on. Went and Mom danced the whole song, finishing with a dip that had Mom inches from the floor.

“Whoa,” Mom said. “That was fun. But it used to be a lot easier.”

“You are one terrific dancer, D,” Went said, shaking his head. “It was a privilege to rock with you.” He bowed and went back to refinishing. But they both sang along with the Beach Boys for the rest of the album.