Page 22 of Tempting as Sin
The dog invaded her field of vision first. It trotted right on by, then looked around, taking it all in with such a cocky air of assurance, it made her smile. Because this dog had absolutely no reason to be assured. It was a huge, hulking mess. Fuzzy brown body, some black showing on its blocky head and oversized paws, and one ear sticking up and one hanging down. Even from here, she could see the burrs in the furry tail, and its pink tongue was lolling all the way out of its mouth.
No collar that she could see, but this was averyhairy dog. She couldn’t even tell if it was male or female.
She swiveled towards it, abandoning seedlings and mulch. “Well, hey, there,” she said, keeping it soft. The dog was thirsty for sure, it looked like the most stray animal there ever was, and nothing about it spelled “vicious.” “You look like you need a nice drink. Hmm? Drink?”
“Chuck!” she heard from behind her, the voice shrill with alarm. “Come back here!”
Lily turned around. A skinny boy of about eight had ridden halfway up her driveway. As she watched, he jumped off his old blue bike, letting it fall to the ground. His jeans were too short above his bare ankles, his bike was too big, and his tennis shoes were faded black. He glanced at her, then away again, took a step backwards instead of forwards, and called again. “Chuck!”
The dog, who was in the middle of peeing on one of Lily’s apple trees—he was male, as it turned out—uttered a “woof” and looked at the boy, his tail waving. The boy edged closer, and Lily said, “Looks like the two of you could use a drink of water.”
“Nah,” the boy said. “He’s not supposed to go into somebody’s yard. This guy kicked him, before. Chuck. Comeon.”
The dog started moving back towards him, then detoured to Lily. When he got there, he sat at her feet, cocked his head to one side, and panted.
Thirsty, dusty, and unkempt as could be. A quizzical expression, a comical face, and the softest eyes.
Lily looked from the dog to the boy, who was hovering like he was prepared to run. She said, “I need to water my seedlings. If I go turn the hose on, would you hold it for the dog, and then put a little water on these plants for me? Get the dirt around them wet, but not right on the plants, OK?” She had soaker hoses, but that didn’t matter. She didn’t look at boy or dog again, just took off toward the side of the cottage and turned the stopcock. When she risked a peek back, the boywasholding the hose for the shaggy animal, who was lapping the water up like it was more than necessary. She went inside fast and grabbed two glasses, and after a moment of hesitation, the chicken sandwich plate she’d fixed earlier so she’d remember to eat something, and brought them out.
She found the boy watering around the seedlings. Carefully.
She headed over to the bed next to the one he was working on so she wasn’t too close, sat on the rough, triangular seat at the corner of the raised bed and said, “That looks just about right. Go turn off the hose, will you? Then come hang out with me a second. I need a break.”
More hesitation, then he did it, and she felt like she’d tamed a squirrel. No, a fawn. That was what he reminded her of, with his long, thin arms and legs and the wariness in his brown eyes. She poured him a glass, and he looked at it dubiously and asked, “Is it lemonade?” Not convinced at all.
“Nope,” she said. “Just cold water with a lemon sliced up into it, and a little mint. It’s my favorite. Check it out.” She took a long drink, and after some more hesitation, he did the same. Chuck, who’d taken a detour to check out the goats, touching noses with them through the fence and wagging his tail in a friendly fashion, came over, too, and flopped onto the ground beside the boy.
“School’s just out, huh,” Lily said after a minute. “The beginning of freedom.”
“Yeah, I guess. Your goats are cool. They’re really small.”
“They’re Nigerian dwarf goats. They give a lot of milk, though. You’d be surprised. It’s a good thing I live out of town, because they can be noisy. It’s a long ride up this road, though, especially without your buddies. Here.” She held out half the sandwich. “I can’t eat the whole thing.”
The boy took it, tore it carefully down the center, and gave half to the dog, who wolfed it down in one bite. “I’m going to ride down fast afterwards, is why. Nigeria is in Africa. Are the goats from Africa?”
She wanted to ask where his helmet was, but she knew the answer. Nowhere. Instead, she said, “No, that’s just the breed. But good job knowing that. That’s a nice bike you’ve got.”
The boy said, “Yeah, it’s pretty cool. I got it for free, too. Somebody left it when they moved out of their trailer. I didn’t steal it or nothing—anything. They were gone. The tires were kind of flat, but Ms. Swan showed me how to fix them with duct tape.”
Lily reached a hand out and gave Chuck a scratch behind his ears, the floppy one and the sticking-up one. His fur felt dusty, and up close, she could see the mats in the hair in his ruff. She patted his side, but couldn’t tell how hefty he was under the hair. She said, “Very cool. I didn’t know you could do that. Who’s Ms. Swan?”
“My teacher. I mean, she was. Not anymore, because she’s only for third grade.”
“She sounds nice.”
“Yeah. She has black hair. It’s really shiny. Black swans are rare. If she was a princess, she’d be a swan who was in disguise. Or a princess in disguise as a swan. Except it wouldn’t really be a disguise, because it would be an enchantment. She rides her bike to school, too, even though none of the other teachers do that, and she wears shorts sometimes. Brady Hall told her that his mom said she shouldn’t wear shorts, but she just laughed and said, ‘Fashion is my life,’ like she didn’t care. And she does cool projects, like science. We did sprouting seeds one time, and then you got to take your bean home when it was a plant.”
“How did your bean do?”
The boy shrugged. “My grandma threw it away. She said it was a weed, but it wasn’t. It was a bean.”
“I’ve got beans coming up. Come check them out.” She led him over to the third of her beds, the one with the forest of crossed poles, and Chuck jumped to his feet and followed them. “The plants will climb up the stakes,” she explained. “But look.” She crouched down and poked gently at the soil. “Here’s one just starting to come up. I love it when they do that, poke their heads out of the ground. It always seems so brave. Does it look like your bean?”
“Kind of.” The boy was doing some poking around himself, but carefully. His fingers were of the same long, thin, nearly delicate variety as the rest of him, although surely he was tall for eight. And he reeked of cigarette smoke.
“Different variety, maybe,” Lily said. She gave Chuck another pat and asked, “How long have you had this big boy?” She hardened her heart against the answer. If any dog’s condition had ever telegraphed, “Call the Humane Society,” it was Chuck’s.
The boy shrugged again. “I don’t know. He’s just been coming around for a while.”
