Summer Blowout

by Claire Cook

  “Give some extra money to the girl,” the mother of the bride said when the father walked in again. He reached into his pocket and handed me some pretty big bills, so I decided not to be too insulted.

  My work here was done. Often the photographer showed up to stage some fully made-up shots of the wedding party pretending to get ready, but at least I’d been spared that one today. They must have decided to meet the photographer at the wedding. I started packing up my case. The matron of honor hung up her phone, then walked over and looked out the window. She whispered something to her father and blew a kiss in the direction of the wild little kids.

  The bride picked up Precious and tucked her under one arm. One of the bridesmaids offered her the bottle of wine. She grabbed it with her free hand and took another long gulp. The bride’s mother smiled at herself in the mirror over the bed and started heading for the door, and the bridesmaids followed.

  The father of the bride reached into his pocket and pulled out his wad of bills again. He peeled off some good ones and handed them to me.

  It sounded like he said, “The babysitter will be here in a minute.” But it also might have been, “The lady slipper will steer in a cynic.”

  Either way, before I knew what hit me, the wild little kids and I were alone.

  7

  “CALL SOCIAL SERVICES,” MY MOTHER SAID. “WAIT, I’ll get you the number for the Child-at-Risk Hotline.”

  I’d gone into the bedroom to make the phone call to my mother. I stuck my head back into the living room to peek at the kids. They were kind of cute when they quieted down. They were both sucking their thumbs while they learned to make Simple Stovetop Mocha Pudding. Watching the chocolate melt in the double boiler was pretty mesmerizing in high definition, and it was also interesting to note that you should always turn off the heat before you stir in the vanilla. Craig’s kids had loved to cook at that age.

  “Bella,” my mother’s voice said in my ear. “Are you still there?”

  “Oh, sorry,” I said. “I don’t know. If I did that, they’d probably want some of the money back.”

  “You took money to watch them?”

  “Well,” I said. “It’s not like I had much of a choice.”

  “Bella,” my mother said. “Did you or did you not find two abandoned children?”

  My mother was such a social worker sometimes. “Never mind,” I said. “So, what else is new? Where were you last night?”

  “Out with a friend,” my mother said. “So, do we or do we not have a crisis here?”

  I walked over to the bar area. There was a nice, big fruit basket, so I helped myself to an apple. “Not,” I said.

  “Okay then. Wait, I have another call coming in. Listen, I’ll give you a call later, okay? Love you.”

  “Love you, too,” I said to dead air. I closed my phone. I sat on the edge of the bed and looked out the window. I ate my apple. The bridal suite had a great view of Marshbury harbor. It looked like everybody with a boat was heading out to enjoy this perfect late August day.

  I finished the apple and checked the clock radio beside the couch. The bride was probably walking down the aisle right about now. With luck, the wine hadn’t worn off yet, since it would be a shame to start dry heaving on the altar. I wondered if the groom really had strep throat. I wondered if he was wearing pants.

  I could feel myself just about to start strolling down memory lane to the foggy past of my wedding. I definitely didn’t want to go there, so I took a deep breath and shook it off. I looked out the window again, hoping to see some sign of the babysitter, not that I had any idea what she, or even he, might look like.

  The cooking show must have gone to a commercial, because the wild little kids ran into the room and started jumping on the bed and screaming at the top of their lungs. Still, no one banged on the door or called to complain. The bridal suite must be practically soundproof. I wondered if they advertised it that way.

  All that yelling was starting to give me a headache. I did some quick math and decided I’d stayed here long enough to have earned the extra cash.

  “Hey,” I said. “How about some makeup before we hit the road?”

  THE WILD LITTLE KIDS WERE buckled in the back of my Volkswagen bug, and I was driving really slowly, since I was pretty sure that technically they should still have been riding in car seats.

  I took a look at them in the rearview mirror. They weren’t exactly fit for a wedding reception in those striped polo shirts, but at least the makeup dressed them up a bit. They’d both giggled a lot when I airbrushed them, especially the little boy. I’d gone easy on the rest of the makeup though, so they wouldn’t turn out looking like those awful little beauty pageant kids.

  I took a left at the end of Front Street. The tricky part was that I didn’t actually know where the reception was. This might have been problematic in a town bigger than Marshbury, but there were only three possibilities, so I knew we’d find it eventually. Unless, of course, they’d gone out of town, but I wasn’t going to let myself think about that.

  I looked at the wild little kids in my rearview mirror. “How’re you doing back there?” I asked in that stupid voice even people who know better use when they’re talking to kids.

  Neither of them said anything. “Good to hear,” I said in the same voice.

  I banged a right on Beach Rose Road and headed for the yacht club. I pulled into the parking lot and drove right up next to the function room. I put the car into park, took out my keys, and kept one hand on the door. I stood on my tiptoes to look into the window. Nothing.

  “Five bucks says we’ll get it on the next try,” I said when I got back in the car.

  “Ten,” one of the wild little kids said.

  “Well, what do you know,” I said. “You’re verbal.”

  That got them screaming again. I rolled down my window, hoping some of the noise would escape. I thought about putting down the convertible top, since it was such a nice day, but I was afraid I might lose one of them if we hit a bump. I wanted to get rid of the wild little kids, but I also wanted to hang on to the money. They might want a partial refund for damaged children.

  We backtracked, then took a left onto Inner Harbor Lane. The parking lot at the Olde Marshbury Taverne was packed. “Bingo,” I said.

  “I win,” one of the wild little kids said behind me.

  I pulled the car as close as I could to the front entrance. I left my window open a crack for air circulation and locked the car carefully. Locking kids alone in a car was probably illegal, but in my defense, abandoning them at the wrong wedding most likely was, too.

  “Be right back,” I said.

  Almost the first person I saw was the matron of honor. “Excuse me,” I said. “But the babysitter never showed….”

  She looked over her shoulder. For a minute there, I thought she was going to make a run for it, but she turned back around again. “Two more hours,” she said. “How much?”

  Even I knew it would be bad for my self-esteem to head into Saturday night as a babysitter. “Sorry,” I said.

  She shook her head and followed me out to the car. The kids started screaming again when they saw her.

  The matron of honor didn’t thank me. I don’t think she even noticed the great complimentary makeup job I’d done on her wild little offspring. She just reached into my car and unbuckled them, then started dragging them into the reception.

  “You’re welcome,” I yelled after her.

  The door to the Olde Marshbury Taverne opened, and the father of the bride emerged. He was holding Precious straight out in front of him, and he had a pile of money tucked between one hand and the dog. He walked right over to me and said something about the Board of Health. Or possibly it was the Whore of Wealth.

  And then he gave me Precious, still in her cornflower blue taffeta dress with the brooch. “Sleep it,” he said.

  Or maybe it was, “Keep it.”

  PRECIOUS WAS STANDING UP on my makeup kit, which I’d pl
aced on the passenger seat of my bug, so she could see out the window. We were both pretty bored, so I offered her a drink from my water bottle. She didn’t spill a drop. I had no idea dogs could be water bottle trained. After I checked carefully for moving cars, since we didn’t have a leash, we went for a walk around the parking lot so she could pee again. It might have been my imagination, but she seemed grateful for the opportunity, and for a while there, I thought we were starting to bond.

  Then I decided she’d probably want to do the first thing I always did after I got home from a wedding: take off the stupid, uncomfortable dress I was wearing. So I leaned over to unfasten the brooch on her dress. She growled at me.

  “Whoa,” I said. “Don’t get testy. It was only a suggestion.”

  After that, we just checked each other out for a while. I had no idea what kind of dog she was, since I knew nothing about dogs. She looked kind of like a flying squirrel, except for the ears. She had the ears of a fruit bat. I wonder what she was thinking about me. Maybe she thought I had ears like a fruit bat, too.

  I checked my watch. I decided that if I watched Precious for another half hour or so, I would have earned that last batch of bills. It seemed to me that there were two ways to look at things. One was that for a take-charge kind of person, I was allowing far too many things to get dumped on me. The other was that I might have no husband and no life, but I sure was making some good money today.

  I reached around in the bottom of my shoulder bag and found my cell phone. I switched it from silent to ring. I looked at the screen. “Wow,” I said out loud. “Two whole messages.”

  Precious looked over with real interest, I thought, so I held out the phone so she could hear them, too.

  The first one was my mother. “Just checking in about those semiabandoned children of yours,” she said. She sounded awfully perky.

  I wondered what she’d say if I told her that I now had a semiabandoned dog. She’d probably just offer to get me another phone number. My mother had a number for everything.

  “I’m tied up for the rest of the weekend, honey, but Tuesday night is free if you’re open.”

  I shook my head at Precious. “Can you believe that’s my mother?” I whispered. “How can you be too busy for your own daughter?”

  “And Bella,” my mother’s voice continued, “I think you should change your voice mail message. I know you’re trying to be funny, but the truth is it sounds angry and bitter.”

  “But I am angry and bitter,” I said to Precious. It was kind of nice having someone to talk to.

  “Talk to you soon. Love you.”

  “Nice message,” Sean Ryan’s voice said suddenly. “I’ll try you again later.”

  “Ohmigod,” I said to Precious. “That was Sean Ryan.”

  My phone rang. I looked at it. Then I looked at Precious, and I could have sworn she nodded.

  I pushed the green button. “Hello,” I said.

  “Hi,” Sean Ryan said. “It’s Sean.”

  “Sean,” I said slowly, as if I were trying to place him. “Oh, right. The college fair guy. How’d you get my number anyway?”

  “Uh, caller ID?”

  There were no secrets anymore. It seemed like my best bet might be to just keep my mouth shut.

  “I guess I should have checked for a message first, but I was happy to see your name, so I just pressed Call.”

  Precious jumped over onto my lap. She climbed her way up me until her paws were on my shoulders. She licked my cheek. I giggled.

  “Am I amusing you?” Sean Ryan asked.

  “No,” I said. “It was someone else.”

  Now he wasn’t saying anything.

  “Listen,” I said. “I just wanted to ask you a few questions about kits. Maybe I could buy you a cup of coffee one of these days? At a public restaurant?”

  “Sure,” he said. “As long as it’s well lit.”

  “Okay,” I said. “What town do you live in?”

  “Marshbury.”

  “Me, too,” I said. The thing about small towns is you only think you know everybody who lives there.

  “Okay,” he said. “How about Starbucks in ten minutes?”

  “Isn’t that kind of sudden?”

  He laughed. “It’s just that I’m not sure I could handle another phone call with you. Did anybody ever tell you you’re not exactly easy to talk to?”

  “No,” I said. I looked at Precious and rolled my eyes.

  8

  “WHAT IS THAT?” SEAN RYAN ASKED.

  “A dog,” I said. I’d put Precious in my shoulder bag so I could sneak her into Starbucks, and she was peeking out around the zipper. I was afraid the dog-in-the-purse thing might make me look like an aging Paris Hilton, which was kind of creepy, but I couldn’t really think of an alternative. I probably should have brought her back into the Olde Marshbury Taverne first, but I didn’t want to have to give any of the money back.

  So I figured I’d just let her take the ride with me and kill some more time. It couldn’t possibly take more than a half hour or so to find out about kits. Then, when we got to the Starbucks parking lot, I’d tried to leave her in my car, but she looked so sad I just couldn’t do it to her.

  “I meant what kind of dog,” Sean Ryan said.

  “No idea,” I said.

  Sean Ryan shook his head and smiled his crooked smile. “Moving right along,” he said. He held the door to Starbucks open for me.

  “Thanks,” I said.

  “Excuse me, Miss?” a man in a white shirt said about two seconds later. “But we don’t allow dogs in here. Board of Health.”

  “Are you sure you don’t mean Whore of Wealth?” slipped out before I thought it through.

  “What?” Sean Ryan and the man in the white shirt said at exactly the same time.

  “Never mind,” I said. “Okay, I’ll wait outside. Can you get me a grande mocha latte with skim milk and extra whipped cream?” I asked Sean Ryan. “I have money,” I added.

  “You’d better,” he said.

  WE DECIDED TO WALK THE BEACH while we drank our coffee. The tide was out, and people were packing up and heading home to start dinner. Precious was having a great time, running ahead of us, then circling back to make sure we were still around. Every once in a while she’d stop and dig in the sand, or roll over on her back and wiggle around in some seaweed. Technically, she should have been on a leash, according to several prominently displayed signs, but if anyone said anything, I figured I could just stick her back in my shoulder bag.

  “You’re right,” Sean Ryan said. “She does look a little bit like a flying squirrel. I’d guess half terrier, and maybe half Chihuahua. And probably eight pounds, soaking wet.”

  “Every anorexic’s dream,” I said. “Okay, let’s talk kits.”

  Sean Ryan sat down and patted the sand beside him. I sat down about three feet away. He reached over and drew a line in the sand between us, and I laughed. Precious ran over to us and started digging a hole.

  Suddenly, I had a mouthful of sand. While I was spitting it out, Sean Ryan picked Precious up, turned her around, and put her back down again. The sand started flying in the opposite direction.

  “Thanks,” I said. I put my teeth together and sand crunched between them, so I drank the rest of my latte, hoping that would help. “Okay, so how exactly did you end up test-marketing a guidance counselor’s kit?” I asked.

  He pushed his coffee cup into the sand so it wouldn’t tip over, and leaned back on his elbows. “Well, the guidance counselor was a friend of mine back when I lived in Vermont, and he got in touch with me again when he came up with the idea.”

  “You used to live in Vermont?”

  “Yeah, Burlington. Great place to live. Until you get divorced. Anyone you’re trying to avoid, you’re going to bump into every Friday night on Church Street. We didn’t have any kids, so long story short, I couldn’t wait to get out. You know, fresh start and all that.”

  Talking about former lives was so d
epressing. Blah. Blah. Blah. It was too bad people couldn’t just shed one life and move on to the next one. No explanations, no old stories. No having to think about what went wrong and how excruciatingly painful and embarrassing it was. No need even to think at all. Just strip off one life and step into the next one.

  Sean Ryan cleared his throat, and I jumped. “How long ago was that?” I asked.

  He pushed himself back up and took a sip of his coffee. “About five years now.”

  “Did you ever throw a rock at her car?”

  Sean Ryan kind of spit and snorted at the same time, and a fine spray of coffee covered us both. “Holy crap,” he said. He rubbed both hands over his mouth. “Did anybody ever tell you you’re dangerous?”

  He reached into his pocket and pulled out a handkerchief. He handed it to me.

  “I was just asking,” I said. I dabbed at the parts of my face that felt wet, then gave it back to him.

  He reached over and wiped a spot of coffee off my forearm. Maybe there’s just something sexy about a guy who carries a handkerchief, but I had this sudden crazy urge to lean forward and kiss him. There is nothing like a good kiss on the beach.

  I pulled my arm away fast. His handkerchief dangled like a white flag.

  Sean Ryan shrugged and started dabbing at the dots of coffee on his own arms. “I’d have to say I’m not really a rock-throwing kind of guy,” he said.

  “Don’t be so superior,” I said.

  “Okay,” he said. “Antifreeze. In her coffee. But I only thought about it a couple of times.”

  “But you didn’t actually do it?”

  “I’d be in prison, wouldn’t I?”

  “Not if you were good at covering it up,” I said.

  “You really threw a rock at your ex’s car?”

  I nodded.