Dog Beach Unleashed (5 page)

Bennett takes off his muddy shoes and rolls up his pants, then takes a seat on the floor next to me.

“So, how's Lester?” I ask, and I offer him a piece of my sandwich.

He grabs the sandwich as if he's starving. “He's still his adorable cocker spaniel self. But his owner-mom said he's gotten a little mischievous.”

Bennett takes off his sweatshirt, and a little sliver of his stomach shows for a few seconds. I look away.

“Mischievous? That's interesting. Lester's smart,” I say. “He always knew where we kept the extra treats.”

Calvin joins the conversation as he comes down the stairs. I didn't even realize he was listening. “I love that dog,” he says. He's holding an ice pack to his forehead, half of one eye covered with a bandage. “I think he was my favorite of all the dogs last summer.”

Calvin sits down on the floor next to Bennett, and my first instinct is to go over and hug him. But that seems crazy. Me hugging
Calvin
. I don't know where this impulse is coming from. I look at him with his cut face, sitting there looking so
sad. I wonder how he feels about the whole situation with his parents. He hasn't said much.

Later that day, Bennett and I walk home together. Micayla's mom picked her up at Mr. Brookfield's because they're going out for a family dinner at Frederick's Fish. Claire stayed quiet the rest of the afternoon, and I felt bad about it. She seems so sad.

I kept trying to think of things to say to her. Comforting things. Helpful things. But nothing came to me. I couldn't even say the sun was shining or tell her how great her tan was going to be.

“Are you okay?” Bennett asks as we're walking.

We've been quiet the whole time, which is unusual for us. My mind just keeps flopping back and forth between Claire's situation and being alone with Bennett—and the urge I had before to give Calvin a hug.

It's impossible to focus on making conversation when you have that much on your mind.

“Yeah. I'm fine.” I look down at my Pumas. “Why?”

“You just seem quiet. I don't know. Like something's wrong.”

“Nah. I'm fine.” I don't feel like talking now. That's all I really know. But I don't feel like dealing with the silence, either. So I try to think of something to talk about. “Hey, maybe I will take you up on that swim-coach thing,” I say. “If it ever stops raining, I mean.”

I don't know why I say it. I'm not even sure I want to try out for the swim team. And I know I don't want to wear a bathing suit around Bennett every day. But sometimes when I can't think of what to say, I say the craziest thing possible.

Maybe Bennett could help me help Claire.

That sounds funny. Help me help someone else. But maybe that's what I need to do. Ask Bennett. He's helpful; he always has good advice. He's always so calm and relaxed. I need someone strong to lean on if I'm going to be able to help Claire.

“Really?” Bennett seems surprised, too.

“Yeah, I mean, you're on your school's swim team, and I want to get better, and, I don't know . . .” My voice trails off.

“Sure. Sounds great.”

We get to my house and say good-bye, and Bennett tells me his mom is making fish kebabs for dinner if I want to come over.

“I'm gonna eat with my parents,” I tell him. “Thanks anyway.”

“Okay. See you tomorrow, Rem.”

Over the course of the year, Bennett and I did this thing where we'd e-mail each other what we ate for dinner. It started because my dad made this really gross dinner he called Scramble. It was chopped meat mixed with sweet ginger sauce and green beans.

Totally disgusting.

So one night I e-mailed Bennett a picture of it. I didn't think he'd believe that it really existed.

After that, he started e-mailing me pictures of his dinner.

We called it the “Dinner Diaries.”

And in a way, it helped me feel close to him. Close to his life outside Seagate. Even when the photos weren't of anything exciting—boiled hot dogs or spaghetti with butter.

But then one day I wanted to stop doing it. It felt weird knowing about his home life in Boston.

I liked Seagate Bennett. I liked that, in a way, he only existed in the summer. In this special place. And the more I talked to Bennett during the year, the more nervous I got. I worried that there was this whole other part of him that I didn't know and wouldn't like in the same way. I worried about being more than friends and what that meant. I worried about what it would be like to kiss him.

If our friendship was year-round, if we talked all the time, that meant it was something deeper. And that seemed scary.

Maybe spending time with him for the swim lessons would help me understand how I felt.

I needed to find out.

After a few more rainy days, the weather took
a turn for the better. We told all our clients to meet us at Dog Beach at ten in the morning so we could officially start the summer of doggie day care.

“You're going to be reunited with your friends,” I tell Marilyn Monroe on the walk over. Truthfully, I think she's been a little bored. We all have. Rainy Seagate isn't as fun as sunny Seagate.

Her tail wags as soon as I tell her; she starts to walk a little faster.

Calvin and Claire are already at Dog Beach when Marilyn Monroe and I get there.

Claire's eyes are red. And Calvin greets us in an extra happy tone, as if he's trying to convince us of something.

I keep thinking about Claire's sad statement:
We were a
family once.
It's so simple and yet so complicated at the same time. I don't know what their future will be.

“Claire, I'm here if you want to talk,” I whisper. I should have said it to both of them, but Calvin has never really opened up to me about anything before, so it seems like a strange thing to say to him, too. I still feel odd about my urge to hug him the other day.

“Actually, can we?” She perks up a bit. “Let's walk over to the water together.”

Marilyn Monroe traipses along with us even though I take her off her leash. I'm convinced she understands what's going on. She's kind of like Danish in that way—my old dog who passed away two years ago. Danish always seemed to show concern when someone was sad, along with the many other human characteristics she had.

“What's going on?” I ask Claire.

“Well, it just stinks. The whole thing stinks. At first my mom told me she and my dad were going to try to work things out. But now it seems like they're not.”

My shoulders tense up. “What do you mean?”

“Well, my dad just got his own apartment in Manhattan.” She pauses, sniffling. “That's how I know.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. We found out today. My mom was talking to my grandfather at the kitchen table this morning, and I overheard them. It's only a two-bedroom. Calvin and I will have to share a room when we're there, or one of us will have to
sleep on the couch.” She rubs her eye with a sleeve of her sweatshirt. “I wonder how long she was going to wait to tell me. So now I'm not talking to her.”

It seems as if Claire wants to say more, so I stay quiet and wait for her to continue.

“I didn't even want to come to Dog Beach today, but there wasn't anything for me to do at my grandfather's house, and I didn't want to let you down. I don't really want to do anything, but I also don't want to be alone. I can't even explain it. My brain is like a bowl of oatmeal.”

We get to the very edge of the sand, and the water washes over our feet. “Well, I know this won't really help things, but I'm glad you're here.”

I reach out to give her a hug, and she puts her head on my shoulder. “It's just so unfair. I mean, they always fought and stuff, but I didn't think it would come to this. I thought we'd always stick together.”

“Well, is there a chance it's just a separation?” I ask. “It may not be permanent.”

“It's permanent.” She rubs her eyes some more. “I keep thinking it's a nightmare, and I'll wake up and it will be okay. Back to the way it used to be.”

I nod.

“I want to pretend it's not happening. Am I making any sense?”

“You are,” I say. “You really are.”

She looks grateful for the reassurance. “I'm not the kind
of person who gives up. So I figured there would always be a way to work it out,” she says.

“You're
not
the kind of person who gives up,” I tell her. “You're really not. But I guess you don't have control over this.”

I think that's the hardest thing in life: not having control over something. Lately, everything seems to be changing, and there's nothing I can do about it.

“And Calvin seems okay with it,” Claire says. “He acts like he doesn't care.”

“Well, I mean, maybe—”

Our conversation gets interrupted when Paul and Andi arrive with Atticus and Rascal. The dogs sprint onto the sand and start wagging their tails as soon as they see Marilyn Monroe. Soon all three of them are running back and forth on the beach, as if the moment they've been waiting for has finally arrived.

They're exactly like the kids on Seagate Island. Waiting all year for the summer day when they're reunited with their favorite friends.

“So, these two are all set,” Paul tells us. “We put some extra treats in a little baggie on the bench, but they should be good to go. There's also some dry food in there if they seem to be starving.”

“Got it,” I reply.

Everyone else arrives in the next five minutes: Potato Salad the collie, Tabby the beagle, and a new Portuguese water dog named Oreo.

“Sorry I'm late. I had to bring Asher's lunch to him at camp. He forgot it.” Bennett runs onto the sand, carrying his flip-flops. He's such a good big brother. “So, everyone's here?”

“Everyone's here!” I smile. “Well, except Lester.”

As I look at all the dogs on the sand, it feels as if summer has finally started. As if all the days that led up to today were just practice.

“Do you have room for one more?” a plump lady with bright orange hair and a smallish dog on a leash calls out to me. I'm sitting on the sand with all the dogs around me; we look as if we're about to play a game of duck-duck-goose. Or I guess we could call it dog-dog-person.

I stand up, and she introduces herself.

“I'm Sylvia Adler. We just arrived on Seagate, and I heard all about your doggie day care, Remy. My husband and I bought a place down by the lighthouse, and we're very busy with renovations and construction. It's hard to have a dog around when you're knocking down walls.” She shakes her head. “I've just been so worried about Ritzy. She could get sick from the dust!”

“Sure. We'd love to help.” I look over at Bennett, Micayla, Calvin, and Claire, and they're sitting with the dogs now, petting them and chatting. The dogs are in good hands, and Claire looks much better than she did before. It's amazing what dogs can do for someone's mood. Even a few seconds with a dog makes you immediately calmer and more relaxed.

“Tell us a little bit about your dog.” I motion for the others to come over, so I can introduce them. I think it's really important that the owners meet all of us.

“Her name is Ritzy, short for Ritz-Carlton, my favorite hotel.” She smiles. “I'm a world traveler, and it's the only hotel I'll stay at. Anyway, you can call her Ritzy, or RC. She's a Jack Russell terrier, and she's very friendly and smart. She gets along well with other dogs, and she loves a good tummy rub.”

“Who doesn't, right?” I laugh, and Sylvia nods. She's clearly a braggy dog owner who thinks her pup is better than anyone else's. But I can't really fault her for that. Ritzy does look pretty cute and very well-behaved. It wouldn't surprise me if Ritzy's been taking doggie etiquette lessons.

The Jack Russell sits up perfectly straight, as if she's trying to impress us. Her brown ears are perked up, waiting for me to tell her something very exciting.

Ritzy's owner thanks me and says she needs to get home. “I'd better get back to my contractor. He's driving me crazy.”

Bennett organizes a Frisbee game, and Ritzy joins in as if she's known all the other dogs forever.

Right then, Lester arrives. Mrs. Decsini drags the cocker spaniel across the sand like he's a kid who doesn't want to go to school.

“Lester!” I exclaim, already sensing that he needs a little extra TLC.

“Hello, Remy,” Mrs. Decsini says. “He's having a tough summer. I don't know what's bugging him lately.”

“Really? I'm sorry to hear that. Tell me about his year.”

She stops to think for a second. “His year was fine. Nothing unusual. Lots of good times with his best doggie friend, Turbo the poodle. We took him to all the kids' sporting events. Everything was great.” She shrugs. “Oh, except for one thing. We tried to give him some of his old toys for Christmas. Usually we go all out, but it was an expensive year.” She looks sad all of a sudden. “We even had to sell our piano to complete some necessary home renovations.” She looks at me and shrugs again. “I have no idea why I'm going into any of this. But anyway, for Christmas, we wrapped up his old things, toys he hadn't played with in a while.” She shakes her head. “He totally knew. He even growled at us. Come to think of it, that may have been when his mood changed.”