Against the Paw

by Diane Kelly

  “Where’d you get that mower?” Frankie called from the back door when she and Brigit returned a half hour later. “Nineteen fifty?”

  I ignored her jab and the chuckle that followed it. “How’d it go?”

  “Great!” she said. “Until she stopped to sniff a fire hydrant and I tripped over a curb.”

  “Ouch.”

  She waved a dismissive hand. “That’s what knee pads are for.”

  Brigit pushed past Frankie and trotted out into the yard. She proceeded to gulp down the entire contents of her water bowl and flopped down in the shade, happily exhausted.

  “Thanks for taking her,” I told Frankie.

  “Thank you for getting me a date tonight.”

  Seth had found a friend for Frankie and the two of us planned to double-date that evening. I hoped Frankie and Zach would hit it off. Frankie deserved to have a nice guy in her life.

  At eight that night, Seth picked me and Frankie up in his Nova, leaving Blast behind at our house to keep Brigit and Zoe company. We left the Animal Planet channel on for their entertainment. Every time the chimp on the screen chittered, Blast cocked his head, his ears pricked, trying to make sense of the unfamiliar sound. So cute.

  “Zach’s going to meet us at the VFW,” Seth said as he leaned the front bench seat of his Nova forward so Frankie could slide into the back.

  “The VFW?” She paused at the door, frowning. “Isn’t that for old farts who want to relive their glory days over beer and shuffleboard?”

  I’d had the same thought. I’d just had the sense not to say it out loud.

  Seth took the slight in stride. “Sometimes. But other times, like tonight, they bring in a band. It can be a lot of fun.”

  “If you say so,” she replied, skepticism lacing her words. She gathered up her skirt and slipped into the back.

  We made small talk as we drove over to the VFW hall on White Settlement Road, not far from the military reserve base. Seth’s army buddy Zach was waiting in the lot when we arrived. He was tall, as requested, standing at least six feet two. He had a trim but muscular build. He wore black boots, jeans, and a long-sleeved gray shirt rolled up to the elbows. Like Seth, his hair was cut in a short, military style. But where Seth’s hair was blond, Zach’s was dark brown.

  Frankie stuck her head over the seat, virtually salivating, the same thing the dogs did when we pulled into a fast-food hamburger joint. “Is that him?”

  “Yep,” Seth replied.

  “Daaang,” Frankie drawled, grinning. “I should’ve had you set us up sooner.”

  While Seth climbed out of the driver’s side, Zach stepped forward to help me and Frankie out of the car. His good manners earned him another ten points in my book.

  Seth put a hand on my lower back and introduced us. “Zach, this is Megan.”

  “Great to m-meet you,” I said, taking his hand.

  “Same here.” Zach turned to Frankie, cocking his head to eye her blue hair. “You must be Frankie.”

  She gave him a smile and shook his hand as well.

  As two more cars pulled into the rapidly filling lot, Seth took my hand. “We better get inside so we can get a good table.”

  Frankie and Zach followed us into the building. On a low stage up front, the band was setting up, its lead singer stepping to the microphone for a mic check. His voice boomed through the speakers. “Testing one, two, three.”

  We weaved our way through the crowd and snagged one of the few remaining tables near the back corner.

  “First round’s on me,” Seth told Zach before turning to Frankie and me. “What sounds good?”

  “Fuzzy navel,” I said, taking a seat on the backside of the table.

  Frankie dropped into the seat to my right. “Make it two.”

  While the guys went to get our drinks, we looked around the place. It was a typical bare-bones multipurpose room with a scuffed parquet floor and pine-paneled walls, the kind of unpretentious place that made you feel relaxed and comfortable. Along the wall near the entrance stood a couple of vintage arcade games, Pac-Man and Galaga. Three dartboards hung on the wall a few feet farther down. All three were in use. Set back a few feet were a Ping-Pong table, an air hockey table, and two pool tables.

  Though it resembled a typical rec room found at any community center, the flags and photos on the wall pegged it as a gathering place for members of the military. There were photos of servicemen and -women in uniform taken over many decades and in many places, ranging in time from as far back as the 1930s, and ranging in geography from Afghanistan to Zaire. Some were serious photos of units in uniform saluting the camera. Others were candid, quirky snapshots, including one of a female soldier hanging upside down from the long gun of a tank and another of three male soldiers playing in an inflatable kiddie pool in the middle of the desert. In one photo, a soldier was throwing a Frisbee for his military dog. I surmised that, like police work, serving in the military could be dull at times. Troops, including K-9 troops, had to find their fun where they could.

  A flyer tacked to a bulletin board announced a memorial service for a military pilot from Fort Worth who’d recently lost his life when his plane crashed while attempting an airdrop of ammunition to Syrian rebels. So sad. I turned to see Seth staring at the flyer, a faraway look in his eyes as he disappeared inside himself. No doubt the pilot’s death reminded him of other deaths, some of which he’d witnessed. I reached over and took his hand in mine. While he didn’t look my way, he pulled my hand upward in an unconscious gesture, holding it briefly to his chest as if it could help to soothe the heartache. I hoped that, in some small way, it could.

  The band spent a few seconds warming up on their instruments and launched into their first song, a cover of the Aerosmith classic “Sweet Emotion.” The overhead lights dimmed, while the colored lights aimed at the stage illuminated.

  After a trip to the bar, Seth returned with a fuzzy navel in each hand, Zach carrying a pitcher of beer and two mugs. Once they’d poured their beers, Seth raised his glass in a silent toast. We all four tapped our glasses together, though the sound was inaudible over the music.

  We sat and sipped our drinks for a few songs before the band segued into “Mony Mony,” which drew everyone from their seats and onto the dance floor. We remained there for a dozen more songs, including Lynyrd Skynyrd’s “Sweet Home Alabama” and Bon Jovi’s “Livin’ on a Prayer”. When the band excused themselves for a ten-minute break, we returned to our table.

  Zach turned to Frankie. “So, what do you do?”

  “For a living?” she replied. “I stock groceries at night. For fun? I play roller derby.”

  “Stocking groceries, huh?” Zach took a sip of his beer. “So what’s the long-term plan? You going to school, too? Or planning to go for a management position?”

  Frankie laughed and gestured to her hair. “Do I look like management material to you?”

  “I suppose not,” he said, smiling back at her. “But surely you’ve got some end game in mind.”

  Her eyes darkened and she looked down at the table for a moment. When she looked back up, her face was pensive and her voice feeble. “I guess I haven’t really figured out what I want to be when I grow up. Sometimes I feel like I’m just spinning my wheels.”

  Frankie might not be the most accomplished of women, or the most ambitious, but she had many good qualities going for her and I hated to see her feel hurt or insulted, even if it was unintentional. Besides, the conversation had become awkward, and good roommates had each other’s backs. “Spinning your wheels?” I repeated. “Good derby pun, Frankie.”

  Zach and Seth chuckled. Frankie’s face relaxed and she cut me a grateful look.

  Seth eyed Frankie. “As tall and tough as you are, you should join the fire department. We could use a woman around to cook and clean up after us.”

  The quirk of his mouth told us he was joking, yet we females weren’t about to let his comment go unaddressed. Frankie balled up her cocktail napkin and t
hrew it at Seth, pegging him in the forehead.

  I narrowed my eyes at him. “If I had my baton on me right now, I’d give you a nice whap.”

  He arced a hopeful brow. “Promise?”

  Frankie took a sip of her drink and returned her attention to Zach. “Were you in the army with Seth?”

  “We were active duty at the same time,” Zach said, “but Seth was in ordnance and I was a paratrooper so we never crossed paths. We met doing reserve duty.”

  Zach had been a paratrooper? I wondered if he knew Garrett Hawke. Chances were probably slim. After all, the army was huge, with nearly half a million active-duty personnel. Yet how many of those lived in Fort Worth? A much smaller number. And of those, how many were paratroopers? A much smaller number still. It was possible, right?

  I leaned forward, resting my elbows on the table. “Any chance you know a retired paratrooper named Garrett Hawke?”

  “The name sounds familiar,” Zach said. “What’s he look like?”

  “Tall,” I said. “Ripped. Brown hair. He walks with a limp.”

  “A limp?” Zach said. “I think I know the guy you’re talking about. He was part of Charlie Company out of Fort Hood, same as me, but he got out a few years earlier. I played pool with him here once.”

  “He’s a member of the VFW?”

  “This guy wasn’t,” Zach said. “He came with a friend. He didn’t qualify to join.”

  “Why not?”

  Zach took a sip of his beer. “He got hurt during training. Made a bad landing, permanently jacked up his knee, and received a medical discharge. He never went overseas.”

  Surely Zach was talking about someone else. After all, at Thursday’s neighborhood watch meeting, Garrett Hawke had specifically stated that he’d served in Iraq, hadn’t he? Sure he had. The crowd had applauded him for his service. Besides, it probably wasn’t unusual for a paratrooper to end up with a permanent leg injury. After all, they came in for landings at fairly high rates of speed. And my description of Hawke as tall, ripped, and brown-haired could probably apply to a lot of guys in the military. Soldiers tended to be physical men, like Seth and Zach, who were in good shape and prided themselves on their strength.

  Frankie stirred her drink with the short red straw. “What do you do for a living now that you’re out of the army?” she asked Zach.

  He leaned back in his chair. “I work in shipping at the Miller Beer plant south of town. Got ten men under me. I give skydiving lessons on occasion, too.”

  Frankie eyed him with an expression of unfettered attraction and awe. “What makes a person jump out of a plane? You must be a little crazy.”

  I’d wondered the same thing when I’d first learned that Seth had volunteered to dismantle and defuse bombs and IEDs.

  Zach smiled and lifted a noncommittal shoulder. “I don’t know. I guess I’m just the type of guy who likes a thrill.” He stuck out his elbow and nudged her. “What makes you play roller derby?”

  “I don’t know,” Frankie said, mimicking his words with a grin. “I guess I’m just the type of girl who likes a thrill.”

  “Feel like having your sexy ass kicked in a game of pool?”

  “Only if you do.”

  “You’re on.”

  The two of them stood and left the table.

  Once they’d gone, Seth turned to me, reaching out to toy with one of my long locks.

  “Did you ever meet Garrett Hawke?” I asked. “The guy with the limp?”

  “No,” he said. “Why? Who is he?”

  “He’s the president of the Berkeley Place Neighborhood Watch.”

  “The guy you mentioned? The one who threatened to take matters into his own hands?”

  “Yeah.”

  Seth cracked his knuckles. “Need me to take care of him?”

  “Thanks for the offer. But he’s really not that bad.” Not to mention that the problem might actually be me, feeling overly sensitive about the minor bruise he’d inflicted on my ego. “Besides, I can handle Hawke on my own.”

  “All right. You can fight your own battles. I get it.” He tugged teasingly on my hair. “But I know there’s at least one thing you need me for.”

  A hot blush rushed to my face. “Shut your mouth.”

  Seth laughed softly when he noticed the color in my cheeks. “Summer’s almost here.”

  “That’s true.”

  His green-eyed gaze roamed over my face, lingering on my lips before returning to my eyes. “Let’s go camping or something. Just you and me.”

  Of course I knew that “just you and me” would include our dogs, as well. It went without saying. Seth planning to spend Mother’s Day with me and my family was a significant step forward, but a vacation would be an even bigger step for me and Seth. Spending all of that time alone together could make or break a relationship. But it was a step I was ready to take. As much as I enjoyed having a roommate for the companionship and bill-splitting, it made it more difficult for Seth and me to have privacy. Call me old-fashioned, but I wasn’t the type of woman who could enjoy intimacy knowing her roommate was in the house and might overhear. “I’ll put in for vacation. Let’s compare our calendars tomorrow.”

  Seth offered me a look so hot it could melt the ice in my drink. “The sooner,” he said, “the better.”

  THIRTY

  JUVENILE DOGLINQUENTS

  Brigit

  Megan had left her at home with Blast and Zoe … unsupervised.

  Time to party, doggy style!

  Given that Megan had been less than generous with her food and treats lately, Brigit decided to take matters into her own hands … or paws. Besides, no party was complete without snacks, right?

  Brigit trotted into the kitchen and sniffed around the cabinets, exploring her options. One cabinet contained only canned and bottled food. Nothing a dog would want to snack on. The next cabinet, the one under the sink, contained cleaning supplies, the smells of bleach and disinfectant causing a slight burn in her nostrils. She moved on to the third cabinet.

  Bingo was his name-o.

  The cabinet contained a package of Oreos, the rest of the bag of Doritos Frankie had shared with her earlier in the week, and a box of cheddar-cheese-flavored crackers.

  Here we go.

  Brigit pawed at the cabinet door. When moving her paw in one direction didn’t work, she tried moving it the other way. Aha! The cabinet door opened slightly for a moment, but closed again a moment later. She swiped at the cabinet again, this time shoving her nose into the opening before it could swing shut again.

  She nudged the door open, moved forward so that her body blocked it, and looked back at Blast who stood in the doorway, watching. She sank her teeth into the box of cheese crackers and pulled it out of the cabinet. As she turned to go back into the living room, her wagging tail smacked the cabinet door and it closed with a whap.

  The two took their treat onto the couch to enjoy, tearing at the box with their teeth and claws until the crackers spilled out. Zoe ventured over and sniffed at the crackers pouring out of the box, but turned up her nose at them. Cats. So finicky.

  Brigit and Blast polished off the box of crackers in two minutes flat. Remembering that she’d been chastised before for eating people food without permission, Brigit decided it would be best to eliminate the evidence, so she ate the cardboard box, too.

  Not bad. Not bad at all.

  THIRTY-ONE

  PHONE BONE

  Tom

  He might not be able to peep for a while yet, but maybe some phone sex would suffice for the time being. He’d never resorted to calling one of these chat lines before, but desperate times called for desperate measures.

  There was a prerecorded message informing him that the call would cost him $3.95 per minute. Steep, but given all his pent-up frustration he figured he wouldn’t have much staying power and could reach satisfaction in twenty dollars or less. It seemed a small price to pay.

  When the recording ended, a woman answered, her voice b
reathy and low. “Hi, there,” she purred like a sex kitten. “With whom do I have the pleasure of speaking?”

  He was disappointed not only by her perfect grammar, which reminded him of Mrs. Snyder, his frumpy high school English teacher, a cock block if ever there was one, but also by the incessant murmuring in the background. Ugh. This phone sex thing was no different than those other telemarketing places, was it? At least phone sex hadn’t been outsourced. This woman spoke unaccented English so he’d be able to understand her. Then again, the thought of an Indian woman with long dark hair kind of got him going. He felt a twitch of interest inside his boxers.

  “I’m … Tom,” he said. After all the comments at the neighborhood watch meeting about the “peeping Tom,” it was the first name that came to mind.

  “Well, hello, Tom,” the woman said. “You sound like you’re ready to have some fun.”

  “I sure am,” he replied.

  “How would you like to start, Tom?” the woman asked.

  He’d been hoping she’d be the one to kick things off. “Uh … you’re the expert,” he replied.

  “Okay,” the woman said. “What kind of women do you find attractive, Tom?”

  “Tall ones,” he said. He’d always liked the thought of long legs wrapped around him. “Women with long, dark hair.”

  While another woman moaned in the background, the woman on the other end of his line issued a seductive giggle. “Tall with long, dark hair? Oh, Tom, it’s like you can see me through the phone.”

  He doubted the woman actually looked like his fantasy lover. But given that she was all he had for the time being, he was willing to play along.

  She began to issue instructions to him, ways to prepare himself for what she assured him would be the experience of a lifetime.

  “Could you hold just a second, Tim?” she asked.

  “It’s Tom,” he reminded her. Mrs. Snyder had never been able to remember his name, either.