Welcome to Dog Beach (21 page)

“Claire!” I finally interrupt her. “How could you let her escape?”

“Let her escape? I was using all my power to hold her back.” She glares at me and does her signature Claire eye roll, but then I see that she really does feel bad. “I'm sorry, Remy. It was an accident.”

I look at Marilyn Monroe. “Any apologies from you, my dear?”

She lets out her little whimper and tries to jump up my leg. I guess she wants me to pick her up. She needs me to comfort her—even though she's the one who acted poorly. Oh well. I can't say no to that face.

On our way back, we see Mason Redmond and Micayla on the bench outside Sundae Best, and Marilyn Monroe tries to break away from us as soon as we see them. She is pretty strong when she sets her mind to something, I'll admit that.

When we get closer, Marilyn Monroe hops up onto Micayla's lap.

Micayla says, “She must've smelled me. I guess she's been missing me as much as I've been missing her.” I'm not sure if Micayla is talking to me or to Claire, but I nod anyway.

We tell her and Mason the whole story about the debacle of Marilyn Monroe breaking into Mornings. They don't seem as shocked or amused as they should be.

“You didn't come to Dog Beach today.” I look at Mason and notice that he and Micayla are sharing a cherry chip sundae
in one cup with two spoons. I wonder if that's his favorite flavor too. If it is, they're meant for each other. I don't know anyone else who likes cherry chip besides Micayla.

“I took the day off,” he says. “My boss said it's okay.”

“I see.” Mason is pretty much his own boss, and he finds this joke very funny.

Claire's just standing next to me, not saying anything—for once.

“Well, I guess we'd better get Marilyn Monroe home,” I say. “We're pretty tired from all the stress.”

“Okay. Well, bye!” Micayla says, all cheery. I have no idea what she's thinking. All these days have passed, and we haven't talked. I never found out about the tour of Seagate Schoolhouse or the new girl Avery Sanders knew who's also going to school there. I haven't heard how the Mason Sundae Best thing happened. Maybe it was because he took my suggestion. Maybe not. I want to tell Micayla about Bennett and me, and what Claire said, and how I feel about him in general, but clearly now is not the time. We leave Micayla and Mason and take Marilyn Monroe home.

“Well, today has certainly not been boring!” Claire says. She's carrying Marilyn Monroe in her arms. We can't trust her to walk alone anymore today. “Most exciting day on Seagate all summer!”

“Yeah. For you.”

“What does that mean?” she asks.

“You're not the one with all these emotional obstacles to
overcome,” I say. “And now I'll never be allowed a chocolate croissant from Mornings ever again!”

“First of all, rein it in, Drama Queen Remy. And second of all, I'm sure Beverly will forget by next summer.”

“You think?”

“Totally,” Claire says.

After we bring Marilyn Monroe back to her house, I walk home quietly, thinking about the day. Tonight's my mom's August book club meeting, and Dad is back from the city, so I'm excited for a quiet night with him.

I realize I was at Sundae Best today but didn't even take the time to get ice cream. I must've been really distracted to forget about ice cream.

I sit down on the rocking chair on our front porch before heading inside for dinner. Maybe Claire's right. I wish we hadn't trashed Mornings, but it was actually kind of funny. It distracted me from the Bennett embarrassment. It was an exciting day, and a little excitement never hurt anyone.

“Funny seeing you here,” Mr. Brookfield says,
zapping me out of my thoughts. I look around and wonder what he means. I'm on my own front porch. Dad and I had a nice dinner together, but all I could think about was getting outside again.

“Huh?”

“I'm kidding, Remy.” He winks. “How are things?”

I shrug. “Fine, I guess.” I don't feel like getting into any major discussions right now. “Going for an evening stroll?”

He nods. “Of course.”

Mr. Brookfield comes to join me on the porch. He starts to tell me all about his Seagate routine—a walk in the morning and a walk at night, with all sorts of things in between—when I start to feel uneasy again.

As exciting as it was, I'm starting to feel guilty about all
the trouble Marilyn Monroe caused. I should have stayed back with her, not Claire. And maybe I shouldn't have brought her there in the first place. Marilyn Monroe is awesome, but she's not Danish. She's her own dog, and maybe she's just not Mornings-ready yet.

I don't care what Claire says: I have to tell Amber. I can't keep this huge thing from her and let her find out the hard way, when she's craving a chocolate croissant and a fresh-squeezed OJ and she's turned away without even knowing why. Beverly will probably scream at her and embarrass her, and Amber hates to be embarrassed. She'll be forced to sell her Seagate house and she'll be miserable for the rest of her life.

I guess there I go being Drama Queen Remy again, as Claire would say.

“Doggie Day Camp going well?” Mr. Brookfield asks. He always calls it that, even though I'm not totally sure that's what it is. We should have picked a name right away. If you go too long without naming something, it just goes unnamed. Or people call it what they want to call it.

I nod my head yes. I don't feel like talking. Everything that might come out of my mouth will sound sad or frustrated.

“I heard someone talking about you the other day,” Mr. Brookfield says. “I was on my morning walk and two of the ladies from the Seagate Singers were sitting on a bench after practice, gabbing about the group of kids who take care of the Seagate dogs. It was very sweet.”

I nod again.

“I'm awfully proud of you, Remy. For all the work with the dogs, and the way you've welcomed my Calvin and my Claire.” He looks at me. I try to smile. But then the tears just start pouring out of my eyes.

“Don't be proud of me,” I say. “Marilyn Monroe broke into Mornings today and pulled a whole covered tablecloth off. And Micayla's mad at me. And nothing is really as great as it seems.”

“What are you talking about?” he asks in his jokey voice, like I'm overreacting.

I tell him the whole story about making Claire and Marilyn Monroe waiting outside Mornings and how Marilyn Monroe just couldn't wait anymore.

“I see” is all he says after that. He's not joking anymore. He's not saying anything at all. Maybe he's waiting for me to continue.

“And I was mean to Micayla. She waited so long to tell me they were becoming year-rounders, and I got so upset that she didn't tell me that I didn't even pay attention to how she was feeling about it. And now things are just strange and angry between us.”

Mr. Brookfield sighs and sits back in his chair, like he's about to say something wise. “It happens. My best friend Morris and I once went a whole year without speaking.”

“Really? Why?”

“It's hard to remember, Remy. Something about a poker
match and a beef stew and being late for a fortieth birthday party.” He smiles. “Eventually we made up. If a friendship is meant to stand the test of time, it will.”

“I guess it's like anything else,” I start. “An everything-happens-for-a-reason kind of thing.”

When I don't say anything else for a few seconds, Mr. Brookfield asks, “And what about Bennett? I haven't seen you two together much lately.”

I think hard about how I'm going to answer that, but in the end I just say, “I can't talk about it.”

“I understand,” he replies. “You don't need to say anything else.” I should give him more credit for understanding the way an eleven-year-old thinks. I'm pretty sure he gets it.

I'm glad he doesn't think I need to say anything else, but all of a sudden, I feel so much lighter. I feel relieved. Maybe that's why Claire always says what's on her mind. It's better that way. You don't have to carry these heavy thoughts around with you all the time.

“Things will work out, Remy,” Mr. Brookfield says, tying his shoelace. “They always do.”

“Thanks. I think I feel a little bit better.” I smile.

“Good. I'm glad.” He stands up. “Now I must be finishing my evening walk before it's time for my morning one! Good talking to you.”

I sit outside for a few more minutes and then realize that I was on cleanup duty for dinner. I only planned to be outside for a minute or two, but then Mr. Brookfield came by, and
now those dishes have been sitting in the sink for a little too long.

I go back inside and load the dishwasher, and then I hear a knock on the door. I'm having déjà vu from last month's book club night, when Mom was out and Bennett found Oscar. I put down the stack of dishes and go to the door. And it's not actually déjà vu, but it does seem to be a repeat of last month.

Bennett's at the door.

“Can I talk to you?” he asks.

My heart starts flipping around like a fish desperately trying to get back into the water. I peer back into the kitchen and yell, “Dad, I'll be on the front porch for a minute.”

“Again?” he asks from the living room. He gets up and sees Bennett in the doorway. “Oh, um, okay.”

“Did you find another lost dog?” I ask Bennett when we're alone on the front porch.

It takes him a second to get what I'm talking about, but then he laughs.

“No. I just feel like we haven't hung out that much since I went on that trip with Calvin. And I'm kind of worried—what's up with you and Micayla?”

I look at him to make sure he's being serious. He usually makes jokes out of “girl fights.” But tonight he came over here all on his own. That makes me think that this fight with Micayla is more serious—if even Bennett noticed it, it must be bad.

“I've been hanging out with Claire. And Micayla is hanging out with some year-rounders, I guess. And Mason Redmond.” I pause and wonder if I should say what I'm about to say. “You said it yourself that it's okay to have other friends. Didn't you?”

“Remy. Come on.”

“What?” I ask, not looking at him.

He sits down on the little bench on the porch. I stay standing, because I don't know if I can handle sitting that close to him right now. I'm too nervous. “Obviously it's okay to have other friends, but you don't just get into fights with your best friends and not make up,” he says. “That's really not like you, Remy.”

I don't know what to say, so I just keep quiet.

“I told Micayla I was coming here. I told her the same things I told you,” he says. “It's freakin' annoying that you two are being babies, so I had to stop it.”

“Mediator Bennett!” I say, trying to lighten the tone of this conversation. I finally sit on the edge of the bench with him.

“Well, yeah, and also I have to bail on dog-sitting in two days. Calvin and I signed up for the tennis tournament.”

“You finally have a tennis partner,” I say. Bennett loves tennis, but Micayla and I never got into it. He's been trying to find a partner for the tournament for years now. I guess I'm happy for him. About that, at least.

“So I need Micayla to get back into the business. We can't both bail on you.”

“Well, that's true.”

I wonder if I should say anything else, about how he knows that I have all these mixed-up feelings for him. Or maybe he's already forgotten about that, or he doesn't want to talk about it because he doesn't think of me like that.

But I can't bring it up. It doesn't feel like the right time, and I'm way too nervous to talk about that kind of thing. When I can't think of anything else to say, I bring up Mr. Brookfield's scream and how we're still obsessed with it, and also about the other teams participating in the tennis tournament. Just average Seagate stuff. But it feels like there's a cloud hanging in the air between us, not allowing us to have a comfortable conversation. And also, one minute I want to give Bennett a hug, and the next minute I want to push him off the porch.

I'm disappointed about Bennett bailing on dog-sitting, but I'm happy for him about the tournament. And I'm happy that he came over to talk to me.

I decide not to bring up what Claire told him. I think back to what Mr. Brookfield said before about that fight he had with Morris about beef stew and how it lingered on for a whole year. I can't let that happen with Micayla. I have to fix things with her before I tackle anything else.