Thirteen
With the sun beating down mercilessly and the water from the hose icy cold, Travis had a hard time keeping Moby in one place. The short leash didn’t seem to help much; Moby hated baths, which struck Travis as ironic, considering how much the dog loved to chase after tennis balls thrown into the ocean. On those occasions, Moby would bound through the waves, dog-paddling with fury, and showed no hesitation about shoving his head underwater for a better grip if the tennis ball bobbed away from him. But if he noticed Travis opening the drawer where his leash was kept, Moby would seize the opportunity to explore the neighborhood for hours, usually returning long after dark.
Travis had grown used to Moby’s tricks, which was why he’d kept the leash out of sight until the last instant, then hooked it to Moby’s collar before he could react. Moby, as usual, had given him his best “how could you do this to me?” expression as he was being walked around back, but Travis had shaken his head.
“Don’t blame me. I didn’t tell you to roll in dead fish, did I?”
Moby loved to roll in dead fish, the more foul-smelling the better, and while Travis was parking his motorcycle in the garage, Moby had trotted up happily with his tongue hanging out, acting proud of himself. Travis had smiled for only an instant before the stench hit and he noticed the disgusting chunks embedded in Moby’s fur. After giving Moby a tentative pat on the head, he had sneaked inside to change into shorts, tucking the leash in his back pocket.
Now out back, with the leash secured to the deck railing, Moby danced from
side to side, trying and failing to avoid getting even more wet than he already was.
“It’s only water, you big baby,” Travis scolded, although truthfully, he’d been spraying Moby for almost five minutes. As much as he loved animals, he didn’t want to start shampooing until all the . . . debris had been rinsed away. Dead fish parts were disgusting.
Moby whined and continued to dance, tugging backward on the leash. When he was finally ready, Travis set aside the hose and poured a third of the bottle of shampoo on Moby’s back. He scrubbed for a few minutes and rinsed, then sniffed the dog and winced. They went through the process two more times, at which point Moby was despondent. He fixed his eyes on Travis with a mournful expression that seemed to say, Don’t you realize I rolled in fish guts as my personal gift to you?
Once Travis was satisfied, he brought Moby to another part of the deck and secured him again. He’d learned that if allowed to roam immediately after a bath, Moby would return to the scene of the crime as quickly as possible. His only hope was to keep him secured so long that he forgot about it. Moby shook away the excess water and—realizing he was stuck—finally lay down on the deck with a grunt.
Afterward, Travis mowed the lawn. Unlike most of his neighbors, who rode their lawn mowers, Travis still used a push mower. It took a little longer, but it was not only decent exercise, he found the repetitive back-and-forth nature of the activity relaxing. As he mowed, he kept glancing reflexively toward Gabby’s house.
A few minutes earlier, he’d seen her leaving the garage and hop in her car. If she’d noticed him, she hadn’t shown it. Instead, she’d simply backed out, then headed down the road toward town. He’d never met anyone quite like her. And now she’d invited him to dinner.
He didn’t know what to make of that, and he’d been trying to figure it out ever since dropping her off. Most likely he’d simply worn her down. Lord knows he’d been oiling that wheel ever since they’d met, but as he mowed, he found himself wishing that he’d been a bit more subtle about the whole thing. It would have made him feel better about her dinner invitation, knowing that it hadn’t been coerced somehow.
Wondering about all of this was new to him. But then again, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d enjoyed himself so thoroughly with a woman. He’d laughed more with Gabby than he had with Monica or Joelyn or Sarah or anyone else he’d dated in the past. Finding a woman with a sense of humor had been the one piece of advice his father had given him when he’d first begun to get serious about dating, and he finally understood why his dad had considered it important. If conversation was the lyrics, laughter was the music, making time spent together a melody that could be replayed over and over without getting stale.
After finishing the lawn, he dragged the mower back to the garage, noting that Gabby still hadn’t returned. She’d left the garage door cracked open, and Molly wandered out into the yard, then turned around and headed back inside.
Back in his kitchen, Travis downed a glass of iced tea in one long gulp. Knowing better but not caring, he let his thoughts drift to Gabby’s boyfriend. He wondered if Kevin was someone he knew. He found it odd that she’d said so little about him and that it had taken her so long simply to tell him his name. It would be easy to attribute it to something like guilt, except for the fact that she had shied away from the topic from the beginning. He didn’t know what to make of it, and he wondered what the guy was like or what he had done to make Gabby fall in love with him. In his mind’s eye, images floated past—athletic, bookish, somewhere in between—but none of them seemed exactly right.
Noting the time, he figured that he could get the parasail boat back to the marina before showering and getting ready. He retrieved the boat key and headed out the back slider, untied Moby, and watched as Moby raced past him down the steps. Stopping at the edge of the dock, Travis motioned to the boat.
“Yeah, go ahead. Get in.”
Moby jumped into the boat, his tail darting to and fro. Travis followed him in. Minutes later they were cruising down the creek, the wake leaving a trail that pointed them in the right direction. Passing Gabby’s house, he stole a look at her windows, thinking again about their upcoming dinner and wondering what would happen. He was, he realized for the first time in his dating life, nervous that he might do something wrong.
Gabby made the short drive to the grocery store and pulled into the crowded lot. It was always packed on Sundays, and she ended up parking in the far corner, making her wonder why she’d driven the car in the first place.
Slinging her purse over her shoulder, she got out of the car, located a cart, and entered the store.
She’d spotted Travis mowing the lawn earlier, but she’d ignored him, needing somehow to feel more in control than she actually was. The nice, orderly little world she’d created had been thrown out of whack, and she desperately needed some time to regain her composure.
Inside, Gabby made her way to the produce section, where she collected some fresh green beans and the makings for a salad. Moving quickly, she located a box of pasta and some croutons, then headed toward the rear of the store.
Knowing that Travis liked chicken, she put a packet of breasts in the cart, thinking that a bottle of Chardonnay would go well with them. She wasn’t sure whether Travis liked wine—she somehow doubted it—but it sounded good to her, and she scanned the limited selection for a winery that she recognized. There were two offerings from Napa Valley, but she chose something from Australia, thinking it sounded a little more exotic.
The checkout lines were long and moving slowly, but at last she made it back to her car. Glancing in the rearview mirror, she caught an image of herself and paused for a moment, staring at herself as if through someone else’s eyes.
How long had it been since someone besides Kevin had kissed her? As much as she’d tried to forget that little incident, she’d found herself returning to it over and over, like a forbidden secret.
She was drawn to Travis; she couldn’t deny that. It wasn’t just that he was handsome and that he made her feel desirable. It had something to do with his natural exuberance and the way he’d made her feel a part of it; it was the fact that he had lived a life that seemed so different from hers, yet they still spoke the same language, a familiarity that belied the short period they had known each other. She’d never met someone like him before. Most people she’d known, and certainly everyone in her PA class, seemed to live their lives as if marking off goals on a score sheet. Study hard, get a job, get married, buy a house, have kids—and until this weekend, she realized she’d been no different. Somehow, compared with the choices he’d made and the places he’d traveled, her life seemed so . . . banal.
But would she do it differently if she could? She doubted it. Her experiences growing up had formed her into the woman that she’d become, just as his experiences had formed him, and she didn’t regret them. And yet, as she turned the key and started the engine, she knew that wasn’t the question that mattered. As the car idled, she realized the choice before her was this: Where do I go from here?
It is never too late to change things. The thought frightened her even as it excited her. A few minutes later, she was heading toward Morehead City, feeling as if somehow she’d been given the chance to start over.
The sun had drifted across the sky by the time Gabby got home, and she spotted Molly lying in the marsh grass, her ears perked up and tail thumping. She trotted toward Gabby as she opened the rear door, greeting her with a couple of sloppy licks.
“You seem almost back to normal,” Gabby said. “Your babies doing okay?”
As if on cue, Molly began wandering that way.
Gabby reached for the bags and brought them inside, setting the groceries on the counter. It had taken her longer than she’d anticipated, but she still had enough time to get things started. She set a pot of water on the stove and set the burner on high for the pasta. While it was heating, she chopped the tomatoes and cucumbers for the salad. She cut up the lettuce and mixed
the ingredients together with a bit of cheese and the olives Travis had introduced her to the day before.
She added the pasta to the water with a dash of salt, unwrapped the chicken, and began to sauté it in olive oil, wishing she could have done something a bit fancier. She added a bit of pepper and other seasonings, but by the end, it looked almost as boring as it had before she started. Never mind, it would have to do. She set the oven to warm, added some broth to the bowl along with the chicken, and set it inside, hoping that would be enough to keep it from drying out. She drained the pasta and put it in a bowl in the fridge, planning to add a little flavoring to it later.
In her bedroom, she laid out some clothes and headed into the shower. The warm water was luxurious. She shaved her legs, forcing herself not to rush so she wouldn’t nick herself, washed and conditioned her hair, and finally stepped out and dried off.
On the bed were a new pair of jeans and a beaded, low-cut shirt. She’d chosen her outfit carefully, not wanting to dress too formally or casually, and these seemed just right. She dressed and then slipped on a new pair of sandals and a dangly pair of earrings. Stepping in front of the floor mirror, she turned from side to side, pleased with the way she looked.
With time running out, she set out some candles throughout the house and was adding the last of them to the table when she heard Travis knocking. She stood straight, trying to compose herself, then made her way to the door.
Molly had wandered up to Travis, and he was scratching her behind the ears when the door opened. He found himself unable to turn away. Nor could he find his voice. Instead, he stared wordlessly at Gabby, trying to sort through the jumble of emotions that began to crowd his heart.
Gabby smiled at his obvious discomfiture. “Come in,” she said. “I’ve just about got everything ready.”
Travis followed her inside, trying not to stare as she walked ahead of him.