May wonders never cease.
“Lake monsters are very formal, it’s true,” Seth says.
“Do you call him Dave or David?” June asks, and Rusty sighs, like she’s being very patient.
“I’ve never met him, I don’t call him anything,” she explains. “But his name is Deepwood Dave.”
“What’s he look like?” June asks. “Have you ever seen him? Does he surface often, and what does he do when he does? How does—”
“Let her answer,” Silas says. “You’re not at a press conference, you can ask one question at a time.”
“Sorry,” June says.
“Dave is blue and green and wavy for camouflage,” she says. “I’ve never seen him, but I’ve heard a lot about him, and he breathes water so he doesn’t need to surface very often. Plus, he’s crepuscular so he usually sleeps during the day.”
I stand a little taller at crepuscular, because that’s my kid.
“He’s what?” Silas says.
“It means that Dave is mostly active around twilight,” Levi says. “Like deer.”
“Ah,” says Silas, nodding solemnly.
“I brought my viewing equipment,” Rusty says, very seriously. “And I also brought my bathing suit, in case my dad decides I can go in the canoe?”
That last part’s directed at me as she looks over, lemonade in one hand, eyes big and pleading.
“We’ll see,” I say, and as soon as she looks away, Charlie nudges me in my ribs. I don’t love the idea of Rusty — small, delicate, fragile Rusty — going on the lake in a boat, but I also know I might be overprotective. Besides, she got her cast off last week and has been begging to go swimming.
“Is Dave a dangerous sort of monster?” June asks casually.
“Well, he’s got big teeth but they’re only for defense,” Rusty explains.
June frowns.
“From what?”
“Other monsters,” Rusty says, like it’s obvious.
“How many monsters are in Deep—”
“Eli!” Levi calls suddenly, and everyone turns.
“What?” Eli calls back from where he and Violet are leaning against the railing, laughing with my mom about something.
“Is that your dog?” Levi asks, nodding at the driveway.
“We don’t have a dog,” Violet calls, coming toward us.
Everyone on the deck turns, and sure enough, there’s a dog casually trotting up the driveway, between the cars.
“Does it belong to one of your neighbors?” Levi asks, brow furrowed.
“I don’t think so,” Eli says.
At the end of the driveway, the dog sits, looking up at us. It’s black and white, medium-sized, slightly shaggy. It’s got no tags, there are grass and sticks stuck in its fur, and as I take a step closer, I realize its paws are filthy.
“She’s hungry,” Levi says, and hands me his beer. Before I can react, he’s already down the stairs, carefully approaching the dog, crouching with one hand held out.
The dog sniffs his hand carefully. Suspiciously. Levi doesn’t move a muscle, letting it get all the information it wants while the rest of us watch from the deck.
“I hope it’s not rabid,” Violet mutters.
“If it was rabid, we’d know by now,” Eli says.
Then the dog licks him, its fluffy tail thumping on the grass, and Levi scratches gently behind one ear. When that goes well, he scratches behind the other. In a few seconds he’s got her head in both hands, scratching away, a look of total doggie bliss on her face.
“So basically, he’s Snow White,” June says, still standing on the porch. “Animals just seek him out to love him?”
“He’s only Snow White if the dog does his dishes,” Charlie says.
“That part always grossed me out,” June admits, still watching Levi and the dog.
Now he’s on his knees and the dog is going nuts, wagging her tail so excitedly that the back half of her body is moving from side to side.
“When the animals licked the plates and acted like they were clean?” I ask. “Yeah, that was gross.”
“It just made me want my own forest pets, so they’d do my chores for me,” Charlie admits.
“Yeah, same,” Silas says. “Who cares how the dishes get clean?”
“You’re gross,” June says, still watching Levi. “Animal spit isn’t clean.”
“It’s clean enough.”
On the ground, Levi’s still scratching the dog with one hand, the other holding one of her front paws while he frowns. Then he puts it down, stands, gives her another vigorous scratch, and comes back up the stairs to the deck.
“Eli,” he says. “Have you all got a first aid kit anywhere? She’s got a deep laceration on one paw and I’m afraid it might get infected.”
“Under the bathroom sink,” Eli says.
Levi nods and goes inside. Down below, the dog stands, alert.
Then, tentatively, she comes up the stairs to the deck. She sits on the top stair, and we all look at her uncertainly until June sighs, puts her beer down, and walks over.
“Hey, girl,” she says, kneeling a few feet away and holding out one hand, just like Levi did. “You were supposed to stay down there, you know.”