Chapter 9
My favorite pastime used to be daydreaming with Arlo. I thought he was just the dreamiest thing ever, an unkempt version of Ryan Gosling with long hair. Arlo painted us a pretty picture for the future.
NYC is where we should be, babe. We can backpack around like they do in Europe until we find a loft. We’ll paint and sell out art shows.
He made it sound so romantic and extravagant. My reality looked nothing like our daydreams, I thought begrudgingly, as I stood in this crotchety lady’s yard with a bag of poop in one hand while wrangling a yappy dog in the other.
“Get still,” I ordered, but Poe didn’t listen. Probably because he couldn’t hear me over all his dang yapping.
“Stop riling my baby up like that,” Mrs. Arnold snapped. “Just put him in his stroller.”
I hadn’t even gotten out of her yard yet for the hour-long walk, and by walk I mean pushing this rat of a dog in a stroller, because this was her way of getting out of paying for a leash permit.
At least he’d done his business before we got started.
No way was I going to get stuck paying the three-hundred-dollar fine for no leash.
A few Internet searches and YouTube videos was all it took to figure out what all I needed to become a dog walker extraordinaire. Luckily, this job didn’t require a resume or background check. Just two abled legs.
Within days after posting a flyer, I had a full schedule of fun dogs and nice owners.
Well, except for Mrs. Arnold, who claimed to be a relative of the late poet Edgar Allan Poe.
I knew all about the Poe history on Sullivan’s Island.
It’s been said that the famed poet didn’t too much care for his time here, but that didn’t deter locals from sprinkling tributes to him all over the island. Street names, a library, a restaurant.
“Are you listening to me?”
I gave her a bored look. “What was that?”
“I said don’t take Little Poe on the beach. The sand is the devil to get out of his hair.” She flicked her liver-spotted hand. “Just keep him in his stroller.”
“Yes, ma’am.” I used my elbow to open the trash bin at the end of her driveway and slung the little blue bag inside. I didn’t take into consideration how crappy this job was going to be.
“But take him on the nature trail. He likes that.”
“Sure thing.” I placed Poe in the stroller and zipped the covering. He immediately started yapping again, sounding like one of those clown horns, honking over and over again. “Let’s go, Little Poo.”
“Poe, dear. His name is Poe. After my cousin. The famous poet.” She nodded her head in a way that had me nodding along with her.
“Yes, ma’am. That’s what I said.”
Frowning, Mrs. Arnold lifted her hand to her ear and fiddled with her hearing aid.
Messing with the old bat was quickly becoming my favorite thing.
That’s what she got for trying to lowball my fee, saying twenty an hour was highway robbery.
I’d like to see her survive on my wage. She lived in one of the grandest homes on the island.
With rich yellow paint and dark-gray shutters, there was no missing the grandeur of The Gold-Bug.
Fittingly named, I supposed, since the woman was clearly obsessed with the works of her famous poet cousin.
“We’ll be back in an hour.” Forcing a smile, I turned the fancy dog stroller and started down the sidewalk.
“With how much you’re charging me, he could stand for a longer walk than that!”
I ignored her and kept trucking it. I didn’t mind the dog walking.
The exercise and fresh ocean air had been good for me.
Plus, the dogs made me laugh, something I hadn’t done genuinely in a long time.
Yesterday, Beau, a French bulldog who wore a blue bucket hat, had a bad case of gas.
Each time he let one rip, it startled him.
The stout dog would look up at me like it was my fault, making me crack up.
And then there was Jazzy, the giant gray-and-white Bernedoodle with ice-blue eyes.
Scared of her own shadow, she insisted on walking behind me on our morning walks.
They all seemed to be genuinely happy to see me each time I showed up and that did wonders for my low self-esteem.
It had been a long time since I’d received a welcoming reaction from anyone.
After carting Poe around the island, I dropped him off and picked up Winston. Goofy and affectionate, the golden retriever weaseled his way into becoming my favorite rather quickly. Winston’s owners were adamant about him being a goldendoodle, but I saw no doodle in him.
Winston led me to the beach and the big lug splashed us both while trotting along the edge of the water.
Laughing, I put a little tension on the leash. “Slow down, silly.”
Winston did a little shimmy and bit at the receding water.
Even though in only a short hour or so the beach would be swarming with vacationers, we basically had the beach to ourselves. I angled my head and listened to the melody of rolling waves, tinkling of seashells and hermit crabs in the surf, chirping seagulls, and the wind humming all around.
“You hear that, Winston? Olla used to say this is the original beach music soundtrack.”
“Ruff!” Winston darted toward a seagull, yanking me along with him.
“Whoa, you goofball!” I laughed, pulling back on the leash to slow him down.
Where my stroller duty with Poe was more of a lazy stroll, Winston gave us both a good workout and by the time we started back up the path that led to the road, I was right winded.
I patted him on the back. “I wonder if your people will miss you if I happen to take you home with me.”
Winston shook, sending bits of sand and water in every direction, and looked up at me with a goofy grin on his cute face, as if daring me to kidnap him.
I laughed. “Don’t tempt me. They would miss you and probably send my butt back to jail.” I gave him one more pat, straightened, and continued along the path. “Let’s go.”
The always-cheery dog let out a low rumble.
“What is it, boy?” I looked around to see what had his hackles raised just as a lanky guy stepped onto the path in front of us.
“Sassy? Is that you?”
Wearing Grandma’s oversized straw hat and giant sunglasses, I was half tempted to pretend to be someone else.
Winston released another growl, so I cautiously tightened my grip on his leash.
Ignoring the dog’s warning, Deaton stepped closer and angled his head to get a better look at me from underneath the hat. “It is you!”
“What are you doing here?” Laughing nervously, I tugged on the leash to move Winston behind me, but he wouldn’t budge.
“My old man’s buddy owns a house on the island, down by the point.” He jabbed a thumb over his shoulder. “He needed a house sitter. I knew you were here, so I thought it would be fun to hang out with you for the summer.” Deaton shrugged. “Say, why didn’t you ever call me?”
I studied him for a moment. In the month since I’d last seen him, Deaton had gotten a haircut and had put on a little bit of weight. His hollow cheeks were no longer so hollow and the dark circles underneath his eyes were gone. He looked good, healthy. “Uhh . . . I lost your number.”
Deaton’s lips turned into his signature devilish smile. “Sounds like a line from a song. Here, let me see your phone.” He held his hand out.
“I left it at the house. Sorry.”
“Okay. Well, the house I’m at is that giant orange one, can’t miss it. Come by and see me.” He reached to pet Winston but quickly recoiled when Winston growled.
“I better get this one home.” I began walking forward, making it clear our little run-in was over.
“Why are you acting so weird? It’s just me.” Deaton motioned toward himself. “Didn’t you miss me at all?”
I huffed a faint chuckle and shook my head. “I’m sorry. It’s just . . . seeing you like this out of the blue surprised me.”
“I hope it’s a good surprise.” His lips pouted out.
“Oh, most definitely,” I teased. “Seriously though, I have to get going.”
Deaton gave me and Winston a wide berth as we passed him, nearly stepping on the sea oats lining the sandy path. “We should get together for a drink or something.”
“Can’t. I’m an alcoholic,” I answered without slowing down.
He laughed, as if that were funny. “I meant coffee. Or we could get a bite to eat.”
“I’m really busy right now. Sorry!” I skedaddled before Deaton could respond. I frowned down at my hairy companion as we reached the sidewalk. “It’s going to be a long summer.”
Winston ruffed in agreement.
I dropped Winston off and headed home a little worse for wear. I would probably have a sore neck tomorrow from continuously looking over my shoulder the entire way home. I didn’t consider Deaton bad, just trouble, and I couldn’t afford to invite that around me.
As I approached my yard, I heard the newly familiar taps of a keyboard from next door.
Well, more like pounding. The guy assaulted his laptop daily.
That rapid-fire TAP, TAP, TAP! Henry had a desk set up under his covered patio and hadn’t moved from that spot very much in the last few weeks.
We pretended not to notice each other most days since our botched coffee date, so I hurried inside to keep it that way.
I went to the kitchen and checked my to-do list for the day. I marked off dog walking and tapped the pen against the second chore. Supplies scavenger hunt. I knew Olla had all sorts of useful material I could use, so after getting myself cleaned up, I started in her sewing room.