Four Good

There was an old, run-down course one town over from where we grew up, and it was a frequent spot for our early dates. “Of course,” I say. “I wonder if you’d be able to beat me now that you’re older?”

“Ha! Very funny. I think you mean you wonder if you’d be able to beat me now,” he says, laughing. “I used to win all the time.”

“Your memory must be going bad with old age,” I say, glancing over at him, instantly struck by how good-looking he is. Sometimes, I’m too wrapped up in memories to really see him clearly, and other times, his attractiveness takes me by surprise, like it did just now. He looks especially good when he’s laughing.

“Maybe we can go there this week and see who’s really better at mini golf,” he says.

“Much as I would love to beat you again, I don’t think they’re open this week. Their schedule is usually hit-or-miss in the off-season, and I haven’t seen any signs of life there lately.”

“That’s too bad,” Jay says. “I guess you get to live with your delusions a little longer.”

We’re still laughing and joking when I pull into my driveway. Instead of going to my door, I lead us directly to Sheila’s. “I need to pick up my dog from my neighbor,” I tell Jay right before I knock, triggering Trixie’s squeaky bark.

When Sheila answers the door, I see the surprise in her eyes when she spots Jay, but she covers it quickly.

“Hi, Sheila, this is my ex-husband, Jay,” I say before turning to Jay. “Jay, this is my friend, Sheila. I’m not sure if the two of you met last night at the party?”

“No, we didn’t,” Jay says, holding out his hand to shake hers.

“Hello, Jay. Christine’s told me about you.”

He cringes, but keeps smiling. “It’s been a long time,” he says quickly, with good humor in his voice. “I’ve been trying to show Christine how much I’ve changed.”

My neighbor smiles back, but arches a brow with suspicion. I watch her assess him, and I can tell she’s impressed by his physical appearance, if nothing else. I haven’t talked about Jay much, but what I have told her wasn’t that flattering. Jealousy, immaturity, fights.

“C’mon in,” she says, stepping back and opening the door wide. Little Trixie is bouncing back and forth just inside the entry, seemingly ready to attack, until Sheila tells her to lie down.

“Oh, no, I don’t want to bother you. I’m just coming by to spend some time with Roscoe and Bea before I’m away again tonight. Any chance he could stay with you again?” I ask, giving her a sheepish grin.

“No problem,” Sheila says, looking unfazed. “You know how much Trixie loves him.” Sheila calls Roscoe to the door, raising her voice, undoubtedly to wake him from a nap. “Just bring him by when you’re leaving. I’ll be here,” Sheila says, as Roscoe ambles out to meet me.

As usual, my dog wags his tail when he sees me, but when he spots Jay, he starts whipping it back and forth so vigorously that I’m afraid someone’s going to get hurt.

Jay crouches down, offers his hand for sniffing, then rubs Roscoe behind the ears, just the way Roscoe likes it.

“Looks like someone has a new friend,” Sheila observes, before telling me she’ll see me later and closing her door.

I introduce Jay to Roscoe, and Roscoe rolls over onto his back, offering up his belly to Jay. I let them spend a couple of minutes getting to know each other before we walk over to my house. “Do you have any pets?” I ask Jay. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen my dog fall in instant love with someone like he seems to have done just now. He’s not an unfriendly dog, but he’s usually not very interested in new people.

“No. I’d love to have a dog, but I travel too much. Plus, I don’t have a yard.”

As if on cue, Roscoe detours off the sidewalk, and we wait while he relieves himself on the lawn before going into my house.

31

Can’t get enough

“I’ll give you a tour,” I say, “but you can see almost everything from here.” Down the short hallway, I show him the guest bedroom, guest bath, and my bedroom, only sticking my head in the doorway, not taking him inside.

I lead him back into the living room, gesture toward the kitchen, and show him the backyard through the sliding door. “It’s nothing fancy,” I say, “especially compared to the beach house you’re staying in, but it’s cozy, and it’s mine.”

“It’s great,” Jay says, sounding like he means it. “I like your furniture and how you’ve decorated.”

“I don’t feel like I put much thought into the decor; I mostly just pick up things I like when I see them.”

“Well, you have a good eye,” he says.

With the official tour over, Jay explores the living room on his own, looking at objects on the shelves, inspecting my books and the pictures on the wall. Roscoe follows him, shamelessly begging for more belly rubs.