Once Upon a Summer

by Brooke Moss

  “I’m here, Gail. Are you hurt?”

  “Not me.” Her pale face is sweaty and white, her red hair in a windblown tangle. “But I think Snowball’s broken a leg or something worse.” She looks up at Dave pleadingly. “Can you take us to the vet after the car is towed?”

  “Yeah.”

  “By the way, I’m sorry I was rude to your… friend.”

  “Huh?”

  “I snapped at her. Was Aren her name?”

  “Arianna, but…” Dave’s heart hitches. This is such bad timing. “That’s the least of your worries right now. Can you stand?” She nods. He reaches down and helps Gail very slowly and gently to her feet, guides her to his tow truck and hoists her up into the front cab. Only then, does he lean in to study Snowball’s leg, and determine where the blood’s coming from.

  “Not as dire as it seems,” he reports. “Just lots of blood from a medium sized cut.”

  “Oh, thank heavens. I thought she might be dying,” Gail exclaims.

  Dave finds an unused shammy towel in his glove compartment. He wraps it tightly around Snowball’s injured leg and knots it to keep her from gnawing at it. Snowball whines but stays still. She seems to know Dave’s helping her. “Vet first and then, tow your car to the garage?” Dave asks Gail. “Your call.”

  “Yes, vet first. I owe you one,” she says.

  “Nope. But hey, the next time you see Arianna you could tell her what you told me—you didn’t mean to snap at her.” Gail nods, with a hangdog look in her eyes. “I’ll get the car on the flatbed as fast as I can,” Dave explains. “At least, now we know Snowball can handle the wait.”

  “Thanks,” Gail mumbles, clutching her dog tightly.

  Dave jumps out. He struggles to get Gail’s mangled sedan securely chained. Then, he switches on the lift and monitors the wreck’s rise to the flatbed. When it’s fully on and chained on all corners, he takes a few moments to greet the tow guy for the other car. Then, he clambers back into his truck and heads to Dr. Callister, the local vet.

  ***

  I pack the freshly baked muffins in foil. Out back, I pick a handful of daisies and pop them into a small canning jar with a smidgen of water. Men like flowers too, right? Dave can spruce up his office with them. In the garage, I find a small cardboard box and load the items. This way they won’t go flying around if I hit a bump in the road.

  “Wow! It smells like a bakery in here. Ooh, can I have a muffin?” asks Tinsley, dressed in another one of her colorful skirts.

  “Go for it. You look nice. Where are you off to?”

  She takes a big bite of muffin and licks her lips. “Lyric and I are headed over to Caleb’s to practice the Palooza song and… whatever.” She breaks out in her sly smile. “Where are you off to?”

  “My car’s ready. I’m taking these muffins over. It’s the least I can do for Dave.”

  “I bet.” Tinsley winks.

  “I’m planning to leave Bart here in my room. So, if you get back before I do, can you walk him?”

  “Of course. Have fun. Don’t get distracted by deer or porcupines on the road,” Tinsley cracks. We hug and then, she heads outside to her car.

  Alone, I take time with my makeup, applying rosy blush on my cheeks and the same shade of lipstick. Sexy lavender eye shadow goes on next, to match my violet colored top. I pair this with a necklace that looks like amethyst gems but was a hella cheaper at Kohl’s.

  Next I feed Bart and treat him to an energetic walk. “I can’t take you, buddy, but you’re getting some nice treats!” Back in my room, I ply him with a new bully stick and a Kong ball loaded with peanut butter. He sniffs them and grabs the bully stick. This should keep him busy until he falls asleep for a long nap.

  I hurry out to the rental car. It has served me well. But breathing in its stale cigarette odor, I am glad that today is the last day I’ll need to drive it. I look forward to driving my own patched up Rogue. Mostly, I look forward to seeing Dave and surprising him. As I drive, the yummy scent of blueberry muffins betters the cigarette stink. I can’t help but recall that fateful day.

  The horror and shock of the crash, which made my legs shake, my gut clenching when I realized something was seriously wrong with the steering. My immediate pull toward Dave—his strong, reassuring presence, his rugged, chiseled looks, his easy affection for his dogs, and for my little beagle, too. Our conversation, his ocean-blue eyes, and his mention of the ‘dog thing at the lake’.

  I smile and breathe in the clean Pocono air. It won’t be long now. I pass Betty’s Nail and Hair Emporium and the vintage silver RV with the Permanently Closed sign. My heart begins to pound when I round the last bend and pull into Jensen Auto Body.

  I park the Ford sedan in the same spot as when I first rented it. I get the cardboard box out of the trunk and walk to the front office. Looking through the windows, I don’t see Dave, though he could be in the garage, working on someone’s car. My car isn’t parked out front either. Maybe Dave is still putting last minute touches on it. Why hasn’t he called me?

  Just before I open the office door, I have a wave of jittery doubt. There could be a reason he hasn’t called me to set up the exact pickup time. Maybe there was a delay in the repair. I should’ve called first to check.

  Too late for that.

  Dave is nowhere in sight. Instead, it’s the young, freckled young man named Bobby. I put the cardboard box down on the tall counter and ask for Dave. “He’s not here at the moment, Ma’am.”

  “Are you sure? David Jensen, the owner.”

  The guy’s face crumples into an irritated frown. “Yeah,” he grumbles, “I should know who my father is.”

  “Your… what?”

  “My dad.” Now the guy is staring at me as if he’s examining a bug under a microscope. It’s a look that forbids another question.

  “Oh, okay.” For a moment, I lose all capacity to think, to plan. Then, I blink my eyes a few times and force myself out of it. “Um, well, I came here to pick up my car. It was being repaired.” This Bobby guy is still frowning.

  “The Rogue Sport,” I remind him.

  “Ah!” His eyes change from blank to receptive. “I changed your tire up the road about a week ago.”

  I’m not ready to be light and friendly. My heart is bleeding. I’m even slightly nauseous. “Here,” I say, plunking down the rental car keys and my credit card. “For the rental payment and the insurance deductible.”

  He prints out two receipts and I sign them. Then he says in a cordial tone to match my coldness, “I’ll pull your car out to the lot, M’am.”

  As I get in my Rogue and try not to cry, Bobby speaks, “Did you want to leave my dad a message?”

  I shake my head and roar away.

  Uh, yeah! Like, why didn’t you tell me you had a son? How many more effing kids do you have? Why didn’t you tell me you were married? Why the hell are you breaking my heart right now?

  ***

  It’s all I can do to keep my eyes on the road and steer straight ahead. I’m not going to get so upset I have another fender bender. But it’s a struggle. My bright morning mood has dimmed to dark night, and all of this while the sky is blue as a robin’s egg and the sun plays off the leaves, spinning them into emerald-gold.

  Tinsley’s still out when I pull into 500 Lakeview. Good, I don’t want her to see me this sad. I don’t want the humiliation of explaining. I stumble into the cottage and pull myself together enough to get Bart out for another walk. He’s still a puppy. As such, he can’t hold his pee for hours. He’s been a good little beagle, only chewing on the rim of the trashcan, and just about an inch of it.

  When we’re back inside, I flop down on the bed and let it go, crying ugly tears. Ones that soak the sheets and make my eyes red and puffy. Sweet, little Bart licks the tears from my face, and goes on licking until I’m a soggy mess. I grab him and coax him down to my side. No more face kisses, but cuddles are welcome.

  This is part of why I got a puppy. They stay while oth
ers abandon and disappoint. They never talk back, lie or withhold truths. They sense a person’s moods and address them perfectly with no thorny debate.

  They are loyal.

  I get up and put on my pajamas. It’s beddy-bye for me in the afternoon, with dinner in bed later if I ever get back an appetite. Like, cold beans in the can.

  I’m just starting to think this Dave thing through when Tinsley clacks up the porch stairs. The screen door slams behind her as she waltzes in. Bart lets out a single lazy bark and then buries his head in my hip again.

  “Arianna?” she calls.

  I don’t have the gumption to call back.

  “Where are you?” she calls again. “I see your car. I know you’re in here.” With one loud warning knock, she opens my door and stands hands-on-hips, surveying the scene like a mom cop. Kleenex balls litter my bed like errant hailstones, my clothes and pocketbook are scattered on the floor. My blankets are in a wrinkled heap.

  She ventures in a few steps. “Arianna, are you okay?”

  “No!” I yell.

  She barges in the rest of the way and sits on the edge of the bed. Lyric has wandered in, too. She sniffs Bart and then lets out a series of yips. He doesn’t budge. So, she climbs up and settles in next to him. “Want to tell me what happened?”

  “No,” I mutter into my pillow.

  “I think you should, it will make you feel better.”

  “Who says?” I sound like a spoiled brat. I force myself to sit up and look at her.

  “Geez, you look horrible.”

  “Thanks a lot.”

  “Tell Auntie Tins all about it. Look, you’ve certainly heard many of my sob stories. Like the guy who barfed on my good shoes and I had to go wash and polish them myself?” She snickers. “Or the boy toy I spent all my money on, buying him expensive lunches?”

  Despite myself, I laugh. And laugh. It’s such a relief I have a hard time stopping. My tears of hilarity pour over my sad tears in runny lines.

  “Okay, okay,” I say, “I’ll tell you.” Tins holds out the Kleenex box. I take one and blow my nose. “I went to get my car, and remember how excited I was to surprise Dave with all of those muffins and flowers?”

  “Yeah.” Her jaw hardens in a Bracing for Grim News look. “So?”

  “When I went there Dave wasn’t there. A guy named Bobby was there.”

  “What’s so awful about that?”

  “He said he was Dave’s son!”

  I know I’m not blowing things out of proportion when Tinsley cringes. “Oh, yuck. I feel your pain,” she growls.

  “Uh, yeah,” I hiss. “So Dave is married! The cheating bastard.”

  “That would be bad.” Tinsley nibbles on a fingernail. “But, wait a minute, Miss Jump to Conclusions. How do you know Dave isn’t divorced? How do you know his wife didn’t do a disappearing act or God knows what else?”

  I look down at Bart and Lyric, peacefully snoring, and sigh wearily. Oh, for a dog’s life. “I don’t know, Tins.”

  “Well, hello! Would it change things if you knew he was divorced?”

  “He never told me any of that. He never gave me the chance to say forget it, or even consider it. He just withheld it all. And maybe, he is a cheater, Tins.”

  “Maybe. Maybe not. He might’ve kept quiet about his past because he was embarrassed or he didn’t want to scare you aw—”

  “Why are you defending him?” I yell. “He should have told me something as important as the fact he has a son, or for all I know, a whole tribe of offspring!”

  She glares at me. “Did you tell him about Van?”

  “No. But I never had kids with Van. I never married Van. I was only with the A-hole for two years.”

  Tinsley shrugs. “That’s not chicken feed.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Bad simile. What do you want out of me? Perfection?”

  When we launch back into our cackles, I sense I’ll pull through this.

  “Hey, if you want,” Tinsley says, “I can ask one of his friends what the deal is. I’m heading out again soon to see Caleb at the lake. I met Merry over there when I took Lyric swimming. And, a guy named Toby.”

  “No way, Tins! You are not my personal assistant or spy.”

  “I’m not?”

  She’s so hopeless, we break into another giggle round.

  “No!” I say when I gather the breath to speak. “Abso-flipping-lutely not! Don’t worry. I’m not a quitter. I’ll go to the Palooza tomorrow for Bart. He’s trained hard and I wouldn’t take that away from him.” I stare at Tinsley and hold her gaze until she knows I mean business. “But no asking questions for me, understand?” She nods reluctantly. “Not to Dave, Merry, Gail, Toby or Ed or anyone down at the lake beach. I need to figure this out on my own.”

  “Scout’s Honor,” she says and does a hokey salute. “You good now?”

  “Yeah, I just need to take a long nap.”

  After this, I feel bolstered enough to scarf down some soup and feed and walk Bart one more time. But when Tinsley heads out, my mood sinks again.

  If Dave is married and cheating, I’ll kick his ass. But even if he has a better explanation, I worry that my crush is floating in a pink summer bubble and isn’t realistic or durable for the long run.

  After all, I’m a city girl, and I’ve never, ever lived in the country. My new business would fail here. There simply aren’t enough people who would pay top dollar for pet portraits, which, as Gail pointed out, is an annoying hipster trend. Besides, Dave is clearly a country guy who admits to having tons of negative impressions of big cities. Would my friends beyond Tinsley accept Dave? Would his friends ever accept a city girl who has a bourgeois business for spoiled, rich pet owners?

  My phone rings. I don’t answer. Then, it pings. I read the text. It’s from Dave. My heart jumps into my throat.

  Thanks for the muffins & flowers. Sorry I missed you. You at home? Want a visitor?

  I lay there alternately seething and aching. I can’t deal with any more drama or pain. I don’t have it in me. Maybe we can talk at the Palooza tomorrow. My mom always told me to sleep on things. I need sleep. It takes me half an hour, but I finally text back a simple response.

  Not today. Sleeping.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  The minute Dave drops Gail off and gets in cell phone range, he tries to call Arianna. No answer, so he leaves a message. “Hey, it’s Dave, sorry it took me a while to call but I had an emergency tow. Gail’s car was totaled. Luckily, she’s okay. Headed back to the shop now. So, as soon as I get back, you can pick your car up and let’s hang out. Call me when you get this or I’ll try you again. Can’t wait to see you.”

  Dave drives the loaded flatbed to Jensen’s. Bobby comes out between customers to help get Gail’s car off.

  Bobby whistles through his teeth. “Dang, Gail really had a bad one.”

  “Yeah, and it was up on Fisherman’s Road.” Dave shudders.

  “Geez, I know how you hate that road,” Bobby says as they walk to the office. “Oh, by the way, some lady was asking for you. She had quite the attitude.”

  “Who?” The dread Dave’s felt about Fisherman’s Road grips him all over again.

  “The lady with the Rogue. She came and picked it up. Was asking for you. Got kind of mean.” He swings around to the other side of the counter. “She left this.” He slides a cardboard box toward Dave.

  When he sees the muffins and flowers his gut sinks. Did she bring this to surprise him? “Thanks, Bobby.” He slides the cardboard box back toward his son. “Help yourself. Muffins in there.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “Out to the lot. I have to make a couple of calls.” Dave walks out to where the rental cars are parked and sits on the stone ledge. He’s tempted to drive over to Arianna’s, though instinct tells him she may not like that if she’s upset. The last thing he wants to do is to pressure her to the point she pushes him away. He texts instead. And waits. And waits.

  Not
today. Sleeping.

  Nothing else.

  Something is definitely wrong. Dave’s skin prickles. Is this all about him not calling her in the morning? Something tells him it’s more. She knows he runs a tow business and he’s on call practically 24/7. For her to blow up about that would be unfair, melodramatic. She doesn’t seem like a drama queen. Is it about their city/country conflict? About Gail being snappy to her? He wracks his brain but comes up empty. He shoves down his growing anxiety before it flames into a full-blown panic attack.

  He’ll have to wait until tomorrow. The Pooch Palooza.

  It will be long effing twelve hours.

  ***

  By the time we arrive at the lake beach, the Palooza is in full swing. There are tents set up and colored lights strung every which way. Bearhug’s lively country rock is booming and the sales booths are so crowded it’s hard to navigate through them. All kinds of dogs are walking with their owners, most of whom I’ve never seen before. This event sure is popular. Bart strains at his leash and barks at the various dogs that pass wanting to greet them all. I wish Bart’s enthusiasm were contagious. I’d like to catch some of it.

  Tinsley, too, is clearly itching to get to her new guy. “Do you mind if I run on ahead?” she asks. “Caleb’s waiting for me.”

  “No, go enjoy. I’ll catch you later.” I watch as she and Lyric snake through the crowd and disappear. Tinsley says she’s only signed Lyric up for the swim contest. I’ve signed Bart up for the Baying and the Agility course. I may as well get them done, because I’m not sure how long I can stand to be here. If Dave and I are not meant to be together, I don’t want to prolong the misery of being on the same beach with him.

  Someone taps my shoulder. I spin around to see Merry and Clara. “Hey, how’s it going?” she says, her round, welcoming face beaming. A pang of jealousy hits me. She’ll stay friends with Dave long after I leave this place. I shake off the feeling.