Welcome to Dog Beach (13 page)

“Calvin?” I ask.

Bennett nods and goes back to his eggs. We divide up the customer calls and agree to meet at Oscar's around ten,
when we always pick him up. The other dog owners can bring their pets to Dog Beach around ten thirty, and we can figure out their needs.

Bennett leaves early so he can go check out the sign-up sheet for the lifeguarding class. Then it's just Micayla and me, finishing our breakfast. Micayla keeps saying how overwhelming this dog-sitting thing is and how she didn't expect to have a job this summer. I need to change the topic, because she's starting to make me feel stressed. The thing is, I don't understand why she's suddenly so crazed with all of it.

Everyone was so excited yesterday. I don't understand what happened.

“So what else is new?” I ask her. I realize this sounds so dumb, since I spend pretty much all day with her, every day, but I wanted to change the topic.

“Huh?”

“I mean, like, I dunno, have you heard from your home friends? Did you get your last report card? Who are your teachers going to be next year?” I look down at my plate. It suddenly feels strange to make eye contact with her.

She moves her chair back from the table a little bit. “My stomach is starting to hurt.” She takes a sip of water. “You're asking me too many questions.”

We're the kind of friends who can always be honest with each other, but I wish she hadn't said that. No one likes someone who's pushy and makes them nervous. Maybe I did ask too many questions.

I stay quiet and finish my muffin and try to think of something funny to say, but nothing comes to me. When you're friends like Micayla and I are friends, you can usually read each other's mind. But I guess I messed up.

I look into Micayla's hot chocolate mug. “Yours looks creamier than mine.”

“I think I got an extra marshmallow.”

Micayla and I used to do this all the time when we were little—compare our hot chocolates, count the marshmallows in each mug, see how the color changed as we drank it. I don't know why we did it, or how it started, or why it was even a game, but somehow it made drinking the hot chocolate even tastier.

That's pretty much how everything is with Micayla—she makes every game more fun, every meal more delicious.

I think back to what Mr. Brookfield said about thinking about the past too much, and how it's important to also focus on the present and the future. But the past is comforting, and the future seems overwhelming.

Focusing on the present is probably most important anyway. And that's good, because we have a lot to focus on with this new dog-sitting business. It may not have a name yet, but it has a ton of potential.

“You guys might want to hand out a form,” Mason
Redmond tells us. We're all standing around Dog Beach, watching Oscar and waiting for our other clients to show up. It sounds silly to refer to dogs as clients, but I'm not sure what else to call them.

“Like for the owners to fill out, with the dog's name, their owner's number, any special information you might need to know,” he continues. “Or I guess you could put it all in your phones.”

“That's a genius idea!” Micayla yelps. “Save paper, and we'll have it handy! With a folder, we could forget it or lose it or something, but we guard our phones with our lives.” I'm glad to hear her enthusiastic again, after our awkward breakfast at the Dollhouse Café. Maybe she was just having a bad morning.

Bennett laughs. “That's kind of embarrassing to admit, Mic.”

“It's just society these days,” Mason adds, like he's some old grandfather and not a kid who is exactly our age. “We're so focused on technology and disconnected from—”

“Well, thanks for the advice, Mason,” I interrupt him, because he'll go on and on about something for hours, and I see Marilyn Monroe coming.

“From now on, can you please pick her up?” Amber asks us, looking exhausted. “I'll pay extra; I just can't schlep her here and then schlep Hudson to music class.”

I want to remind her that the whole island is only five miles long and seven miles wide, but I don't think that would really help her much. Plus, I'm used to her frazzled state of mind. I feel really good when I can calm her down and make her feel better.

“Amber, we're going to be taking on some new clients, so we're reorganizing our schedule,” I tell her. “We should be able to pick up Marilyn Monroe. By the time we return her to you, we'll let you know how the rest of the week will go.”

She smiles and looks down at her stroller to see her sleeping toddler. “Thank you for being so organized.” She sighs. “Guess we missed Seagate Toddler Jam. But at least I can sit outside and enjoy my coffee in peace.”

Amber leaves and Marilyn Monroe runs around happily, her red bow in her hair just perfectly. Oscar comes over to greet her, and they bark at each other for a few minutes.
I'm starting to get the sense that Oscar may have a crush on Marilyn Monroe—it's the way he follows her around but doesn't get too close, and the way he looks for her all the time, even when he's not with her.

It's like Micayla and Mason Redmond.

Rascal and Atticus arrive a few minutes later, even though the owners don't seem to know each other. The woman who brings Rascal is wearing yoga pants and a tank top and keeps running in place even as she talks to us. “I'm Andi, nice to meet you.” She smiles. “Rascal is my mother's dog, but she's recovering from a hip replacement and can't walk much now,” Andi says, panting in a similar fashion to Rascal. I notice this and cover my mouth to stop myself from cracking up. “So, if you could pick him up and watch him for a few hours, and then bring him back to 328 Seashell Place, that would be great. I teach yoga and have a very busy schedule.”

“We can handle that,” Micayla says, petting Rascal's head.

“Great. Thanks.”

Micayla puts Andi's information into her phone while I introduce myself to Rascal. His fur is so smooth and silky and as black as can be—it looks like velvet. He's happy digging in the sand, but before we know it, he's off and running and swimming in the water. We get a little freaked out at first, but Mason assures us that Newfoundlands are good swimmers.

Atticus's owner stays around for a little while and plays with him, and then he tells us that Atticus appears lonely at
home and needs to make some friends. “I don't know what it is,” the man tells us. “I just get the vibe that he's bored.”

We turn around and watch Atticus sprinting across the sand and into the water and playing with Rascal. It almost looks like they're purposely splashing each other.

“Are you on Seagate all summer?” I ask. “What's his life like at home?”

Bennett cracks up and elbows me. “You sound like my mom, Rem! You can be a doggie psychiatrist.”

I start laughing too, and even Atticus's owner chuckles a bit.

“I'm a literature professor, and we rented a house for the summer, just Atticus and me, but I'm busy working on my new book,” he tells us. “I'm Paul, by the way.”

We all introduce ourselves, and I start to wonder—is Atticus lonely? Or is Paul the lonely one?

Are all owners' problems reflected in their dogs?

I'm too embarrassed to say any of this out loud, but maybe Paul should be bringing Atticus here to meet other dog owners, and they'd both make friends.

“How'd you find out about us, Paul?”

“My neighbor is Amber, Marilyn Monroe's owner.”

We nod.

“She mentioned some kids who were watching dogs, and I figured it would be good for Atti.”

Atticus and Rascal hit it off right away, almost as if they've been waiting their whole lives to meet and be friends. I start
to wonder if the yoga lady and Paul would make good friends too.

Bennett, Micayla, and I finish putting the dogs' names and owners' contact information into our phones, and we spend the next few hours running and playing with them.

Marilyn Monroe usually sits and waits for other dogs to come to her. She likes to hang with me, and sometimes I think she's asking me to go to Daisy's, just the two of us, like we did that one time. I get that sad, missing-Danish feeling, but I don't have much time to feel bad. I'm hanging out with four dogs right now, and my best friends.

I'll always miss Danish, but I can't think about it all the time.

Oscar is the kind of dog who hangs out with everyone, checking on Marilyn Monroe every few minutes, visiting the Maltese duo, swimming with Atticus and Rascal every now and then.

It's only been a few hours, but all the doggie personalities are coming through.

I sit back on the bench for a few minutes and take it all in. We actually have a dog-sitting business. We still have to set our prices, but I almost don't care if we get paid.

It seems so strange and so amazing, I don't even know what to really think about it.

Off to one side, I see Micayla talking to Mason Redmond. They're actually chatting and she's not running away. I see Oscar going up to Marilyn Monroe every few minutes, and it's
seriously cute, but I wonder if she's starting to get annoyed. She turns away from him every now and again.

I look around for Bennett and see him throwing a Frisbee to Rascal, while Atticus tries to get into the game too.

Bennett talks to them like they're people, not dogs. “Atticus, hold up a minute, pal.”

I'm watching them and Bennett doesn't notice, so I keep watching and laughing as Rascal brings the Frisbee back over and over again, and Atticus jumps up on Bennett's legs to get it out of his hand.

Bennett's cargo shorts are hanging low, and he keeps pulling them up. He's wearing the T-shirt from last year's Seagate Sandcastle Contest, and I don't know what it is exactly, or why it's happening now, but I feel like I'm seeing Bennett, my Bennett, my best friend for life, in this whole new way. Like all the times I saw him before, it was a blur, or I didn't look closely enough, or I didn't notice him at all.

It's like the narrow wooden table in the foyer of our Seagate house. It's been there forever, and I never paid any attention to it. But the other day I lost my keys and I was searching everywhere. I discovered they had fallen and were underneath that wooden table.

I was so grateful to find the keys that I looked at the table more closely and realized it has all these pretty designs on it. My mom told me that Grandma and Grandpa found it lying on the sidewalk one day. They brought it in, cleaned it up, and then carved their initials in the bottom—
MB
+
SB
.

It had been in our house all this time, and I never knew that.

Bennett feels like that table right now, only better and more special and more lovable.

I want to run up to him and tell him that, tell him the whole thing about the table, because I really think he'd understand. But I can't. I'm worried the words would come out weird, and I wouldn't make any sense.

So I stay back on the bench and continue to take it all in.

It doesn't take long for us to settle into a schedule.

I go pick up Marilyn Monroe and Atticus, since they live on the same street and they're the closest to me. Micayla picks up Rascal, and Bennett picks up Oscar, and we all meet at Daisy's before we walk over to Dog Beach.

On the days that I watch Hudson and hang with Marilyn Monroe in the mornings, Micayla and Bennett take care of the other dogs and then we meet them there.

Sometimes we get pancakes at Daisy's, and the dogs spend time together, drinking water and eating treats. Sometimes we just pick up lemonades to go.

Either way, it's a routine. And I like routine.

The days speed by, taking care of the dogs—we're with them every weekday morning and sometimes afternoons too. We also have a few new clients.

Buttercup, the yellow Lab, is here for the next two weeks. She's part of a family with two parents and two kids, and they're always taking day trips. They go to explore the lighthouses on all the islands and also take ferry trips to Connecticut and Massachusetts. So when they're on a day trip, we get Buttercup for the whole day. She's sweet and playful and is just the friend Marilyn Monroe needed.