What the Dog Ate (20 page)

She told him about her family; how
Mom had owned a gift shop, and that they all lived on the East Coast now. She
told him her dad was an engineer and realized this was her chance.

“But he died when I was pretty
young; I’d just started college.”

“I’m terribly sorry to hear that.”

“Well, it was a long time ago. I can’t
believe he’s been gone more than twenty years.” She poked a thick tuft of grass
with the toe of her white Ked.

“I can imagine. I bet it feels like
yesterday.”

He seemed not to have noticed she’d
just said she’d been in college twenty years ago; when she looked up, his eyes
studied her face.

Now she didn’t care about their
ages either. She thought about her dad; wished she could talk to him about her
career, Dave, everything.
Would he be disappointed in me?

“Hey, lady, is this your dog?” an
irritated voice called out.

She spun and saw Kona, his legs and
head plastered in mud, tongue hanging out the side of his mouth, and then
noticed the corresponding splatter-pattern of mud on the man’s khakis.

“Ohmygod, Kona.” She ran toward
him, fumbling with the clip on the end of his leash.

“Your idiot dog got into a broken
sprinkler head over there and shook mud all over me.” He gesticulated wildly
and pointed at his Jackson-Pollacked pants.

“I’m so sorry. I’ll give you my
address; you can send me the dry cleaning bill.” She tried to snap Kona’s leash
in place while another muddy mutt tackled him. The two dogs tumbled into her,
streaking her legs and pink plaid Bermuda shorts with dirt. A wall of wet dog
smell hit her.

“Kona! Bad dog.” He dropped to the
ground, in happy exhaustion; he panted heavily. Slobber dripped off his lolling
tongue onto her shoe.

“I can throw these in the damn
laundry; but I was supposed to go somewhere, and now I’ve got to go home
first.” He swore and set off for the parking lot at a clipped pace. “Thor,
come!” he yelled to a German shepherd in the distance.

As with Brian and the schnauzer’s
mother, all Maggie could do was call out another apology to the man’s hunched
back.

“We’re not making any friends here
today are we?” she said.

“At least these two are getting
along.” He pointed at Kona who still lay at Maggie’s side. Peaches had
approached and they sniffed one another, broad black nose to pointed, pink one.

“I guess that’s something.” Maggie
looked down at her dirty legs and dog. “We’re a mess. We’d better go home.”

“I’m sorry this was a bit of a
fiasco.”

“It’s my fault. I should have been
paying attention to Kona. He can get a little out of control. Maybe next time
we could take them to Dog Beach in Del Mar.”
Was there
going to be a next time?
“Everyone expects to get wet and dirty there.”
Oh God, did I suggest we get wet and dirty next time we go out?

“Or next time we could leave them
home.”

“It’s tough to have a doggie
play-date without the dogs.”

“I thought perhaps we’d have a real
date, maybe after your shift on Thursday.”

“Oh, a real date. Of course. Duh.”
Maggie smacked herself in the forehead with her palm in the universal sign of
“oh-dopey-me,” realizing too late her hands were as filthy as her legs. “Good
one,” she rubbed her forehead with the inside of her wrist, which was not much
cleaner.

“Let me help you out there.” Brian
moved closer to her and tilted her chin up with his right hand as he wiped the
splotch of dirt away with his thumb. “There you go. You’re perfect.”

Maggie felt a surge of heat at the
touch of his hand and bent down to fuss with Kona’s collar to hide her red
cheeks.

Brian and Peaches walked them to
her car. Maggie opened the passenger door and pulled out an old towel. She
started at Kona’s haunches, cleaning the mud off as best she could.

“So, how about Thursday after your
shift at the museum?” Brian asked. “We could go for that drink I owe you, or
maybe get a late dinner—”

 “No!” Maggie yelled and tried to
hold Kona by his back legs, which she still had wrapped in the towel, but he
was too strong. Hearing one of his favorite food words, he charged Brian, leapt
up and hit him squarely in the groin with his muddy paws.

Maggie scrambled to pull a
Milk-Bone out of an emergency stash she kept in the glove compartment. Out of
the corner of her eye, she saw Kona continue to jump at Brian, who was doubled
over and groaning. Peaches had backed away and, from a safe distance, yapped
nonstop.

“Kona, here, treat!” She tossed the
offering on the ground and he devoured it.

Brian groaned again. “What just
happened?” he asked through gritted teeth.

“I’m really sorry.” Maggie put her
hand on his shoulder and bent down to search his face. “Are you OK? I’m so
sorry. He’s just got these trigger words that make him go nuts.” She rattled off
the forbidden words in Pig Latin. “I always spell those words, or say them in
Pig Latin.”

Brian looked at her as he began to
unfold. He grimaced as he supported himself on the open car door. “I’m going to
need to hear those again, when I can think straight.”

“I would’ve warned you before, but
I didn’t think they’d come up. You can’t say those words unless you have a
t-r-e-a-t at the ready.”

“I see... I guess.” Brian looked
down at the streaks of brown on his tan shorts.

Maggie offered him a semi-clean corner
of the ratty towel she’d been using but he held up a hand to refuse.

“We’d better get going.” He bent,
tried to stifle a groan, and picked up Peaches.

“Of course. Yeah. OK. I’m sorry
again. This was... fun.” Maggie gave up on the idea of rubbing Kona down
anymore. She draped the towel over the passenger seat. “Get in Kona.” She
tugged his leash and he leapt into the car. “I’ll see you Thursday?” She
wondered if they were still on for their date. “At the museum,” she added
lamely. “Bye.”

Brian held up his free hand. She
thought it felt more like a dismissal than a wave.

She smiled and mouthed goodbye
again as she backed out. She watched him in the rearview mirror as she drove
off; saw him look down at his shorts and shake his head.

She turned to Kona. “You totally
blew that. We could still be out there, having fun. Instead, you’re going home
for a bath. He’ll probably never ask us out again. I’m sure he thinks you’re a
beast, which you are! And thinks I’m a terrible dog owner.”

Kona just smiled at her.

As Maggie climbed the museum steps
Thursday afternoon, she chewed the inside of her lower lip. Would their date
still be on? She doubted it.
And who could blame him? My
dog nailed him in the balls on our first date. Not exactly an enticement to go
on a second one
.

Still, just in case, she’d put on a
bit more makeup than usual and dressed up. There was no uniform for the museum
staff or volunteers, but they did have a “black, gray or white only” dress
code. Maggie usually wore black pants and a white blouse with flats (and got
very annoyed whenever Vanessa wore red;
Come on, red?
That’s not even close. And she’s the volunteer coordinator; she should set an
example!
), but today she wore her steel-gray dress and black peek-toe
pumps.

Inside the still museum, she saw
Brian talking to Vanessa at the information desk.

“Great, you’re here,” Vanessa said.
“I need to do something in the back.” She hurried away while Maggie locked her
purse in the drawer under the desk.

Maggie stood up. Brian had said a
quiet hello when she’d walked in, but now he just looked at her.

“I’m really sorry again about
Saturday,” she said. “I realized after, I should have offered to buy you some
new shorts. I hope—”

“It’s OK. I soaked them when we got
home and washed them, twice, and they’re fine.”

“Oh. Good.”
Is
he going to say anything about our date? Or rather our cancelled date?
She rushed to fill the silence. “We tried to train him to not do that, but then
we started the whole Pig Latin thing or spelling. It was just easier. And
then... we got used to it.” She shrugged.

“You could hire a trainer.”

“Yeah, I’ll think about it.” Maggie
had thought about it. Many times. But she loved Kona as he was—an exuberant,
dive-in-with-all-four-feet, carefree spirit. She didn’t want to inflict her
rule-obsessed, buttoned down ways on him. He was the bad boy yang to her good
girl yin. She’d allowed, no
wanted
, him to be her
wild thing, her alter ego.

“Anyway, enough about Kona,” he
said. “Let’s talk about Kona’s mom and how pretty she looks.” Maggie blushed,
excited that maybe he wasn’t as angry as she thought. “I hope you’re dressed up
like that for our date.”

“Oh, well, I wasn’t sure...”

“Did you think I’d cancel over some
muddy shorts?”

Well, yeah,
that and the fact that my dog tried to neuter you
.

He didn’t wait for her to reply.
“As far as I’m concerned, we’re still on for d-i-n-n-e-r.”

Maggie smiled and they made plans
to meet out front after closing.

Since the summer tourist season was
over, the museum was nearly empty. At seven Vanessa told Maggie to go ahead and
take off. Maggie called Brian and said she was ready to go.

“Have a good evening.” Vanessa
smiled a Cheshire Cat grin as Maggie headed out to wait for Brian on the steps.

“Yeah, uh, goodnight.”
Odd. Vanessa looked as if she knew what was up
.

She wondered if there were rules
against museum employees dating the volunteers, but then convinced herself it
was fine since she wasn’t an employee. Still, if things worked out, it could be
awkward around the staff; and even worse if things didn’t.
You’re
getting ahead of yourself again. The journey. The journey
...

Brian came out, pulling on his
blazer, and suggested The Prado, since it was so close.

“Perfect,” she said. “It’s one of
my favorite restaurants.” They set off across the park in the fading light. “I
just realized I never told you what I do for a living.”

“I already know.” She looked at
him. “You caught me. I asked Vanessa about you.”

That explains
the grin
.

“Oh, did you now? And what did she
tell you?” She pretended to be annoyed, but wondered what Vanessa might have
said. Had she told him her age, her marital status?

“She told me you’re an accountant.
And a huge help, both in the gallery and in the back.”

“That was nice of her.” She waited
a beat. “Did she tell you I’m getting divorced?”

“Yes, she mentioned that.”

“And that didn’t... scare you off?”

He leaned towards her. “Apparently
not. Besides, why should that scare me? Lots of people are divorced.”

“I know, but, it’s not final yet.”

He asked her if there was any chance
of reconciliation, and she assured him there was not.

They walked on; the only sound that
of their footsteps on the cobbled walkway, echoing off the buildings.
Good grief. Heard of small talk? Couldn’t you comment on the
Spanish architecture or something? Maybe point out the topless babes holding up
the Casa de Balboa? No, you dive right into the
big
talk.
Monstrous freakin’ talk
.

“So, it’s just a matter of
finalizing everything on paper?” he asked.

“Yeah. I’ve got several weeks to go
on the six-month waiting period. And I need to sell the house.”

They reached the restaurant and he
opened the heavy wooden door for her.

After they were settled at their
table and had ordered dinner and martinis, a Lemon Drop for her, “dirty” for
him, she planned to change the subject, but he picked up where they’d left off.

“That must be hard to come to terms
with, the end of such a fundamental part of your life. Not to mention moving
out of your house.”

“I’m dealing with it.” She waved
her hand as if shooing a fly. “Let’s talk about something else. I think I’m
revealing a little too much baggage here, aren’t I? Like steamer trunks full.”

“We’re not high school kids on our
first date; everyone our age has baggage. Besides, I like it that you’re so
open. You don’t play games like some women I’ve dated.” The way he said it,
Maggie wondered if he had a specific woman in mind.

“When you say people ‘our’ age, you
do realize I’m a lot older than you, right?”

“I wouldn’t say ‘a lot.’ When we
first met, I thought you were mid-thirties, but then I figured from what you
said about your dad the other day that you must be thirty-eight or so.”

“I’m forty-one. I’ll be forty-two
at the end of December.” She waited for shock to register on his face but he
was impassive, fishing the olive from his martini. “How old are you?”

“I turned thirty last month.”

Thank heaven
his age starts with a three and not a two. Still
...

“Don’t you think almost twelve
years is kind of a big difference?” she asked.

“It’s just a number. Besides, my
mother’s been saying I was ‘going on thirty-five’ ever since I turned four. And
since forty’s the new thirty that actually makes you younger than me.”

“That’s some kind of crazy math
you’re doing there.”

“Tell me, do you really feel
different now than you did at thirty-five? Or thirty even?”

“You’ve got me there. I don’t. In
fact, I have to keep reminding myself what my age is. Sometimes I honestly
forget I’m over forty.” She forced herself to stop staring at his full lower
lip. She sighed and said, “In a way, getting divorced makes me feel younger
too. I thought I’d be on this... set path by now. But instead, I’m starting
over; questioning my career; needing a new place to live. Like a kid out of
college.” She took a drink of her sweet, citrusy martini. It was like a liquid SweeTart.
Is this the drink of a grown up? I need to develop a taste
for gin and tonic
.