Markie refused to take it. “A lot of Jesse’s time?” she said.
She couldn’t believe it—now the woman expected Jesse to walk her dog for her? And then it hit her. Her brain, caffeine deprived, wasn’t processing quickly. Of course the woman wasn’t there to show off her new dog.
“Ohhhhh no,” Markie said, backing away from the woman and the leash. “No, no, no!”
“Mais, do you not now agree he needs something to occupy his time?” Mrs. Saint asked. “Or someone who will love him like this?”
She nodded to the dog, now licking Markie’s hand, hitting all the spots between her fingers before moving on to her wrist and then her forearm. She had given up trying to keep them under her armpits, since it only made the dog jump up and bark, and her head couldn’t take either.
“I love Jesse,” Markie said, and even in her compromised mental state, it sounded as ridiculous as Mrs. Saint’s expression conveyed. Man’s best friend is not his mother.
“And also this,” Mrs. Saint said, holding out her other hand to offer a folded piece of paper.
The dog’s records, Markie assumed. She was curious, nothing more, so she took the paper. But when she opened it, she saw a to-do list, a dozen or so jobs to be done around Mrs. Saint’s house. The words “Help Frédéric with” preceded at least half of the tasks.
“I know he has a father,” Mrs. Saint said, raising her hands in defense. “It is only that Frédéric has been saying he could use some help. He would pay Chessie for the work, of course.”
“Frédéric would pay?” Markie didn’t know why she was asking about this detail, since she wasn’t about to let her son spend a minute on the other side of the fence.
“Och, I mean of course I would pay him,” Mrs. Saint said, as though one thing were the same as the other.
Markie waited for an explanation, but Mrs. Saint turned, pretending to check on something at the door. When she turned back, Markie handed her the list.
“No. Absolutely not. Jesse has enough on his plate with schoolwork and friends.”
“But surely you do not still like these friends?”
Markie was about to lie when Mrs. Saint added, “Frédéric saw.”
“Saw what?”
Mrs. Saint pressed her lips together and lowered her chin slightly. Let’s not do this, she seemed to be saying.
“So Frédéric was at your house at three in the morning?”
Mrs. Saint lowered her chin again—this wasn’t about where Frédéric spent the night. But she fake-checked the door again, and while her head was turned, she said in a thin voice, “He saw the graffiti at the pharmacy. When he was there first thing, for the paper. He spoke to Ben and found out who.”
Liar! Markie wanted to scream, but her head wouldn’t permit it. Mrs. Saint turned back from the door, but she wouldn’t make eye contact, and instead, she glanced from the leash, which she held in one hand, to the list in the other, and extended both again.
Markie ignored both items and basked in the glow of victory. I’ve caught her! She wanted to push the woman on this, this Nosy Parker who was always so eager to push everyone else on everything. But the dog had tired of licking her and was now back to running circles around her, trying to get her to chase it; and Markie, sensing another round of barking coming on, cradled her head in anticipation. She needed the dog to stop, and she needed coffee—those were her priorities. Mrs. Saint’s secret relationship with Frédéric would have to wait.
She turned to the kitchen, waving a hand vaguely in her neighbor’s direction to let her know she was done talking. She was headed for the coffeemaker when a thumping on the basement stairs created a new assault on her brain, and a second later the door burst open, and Jesse stood in the opening wearing only jeans, his hair a mess, glasses clutched in one hand.
“I thought I heard barking,” he said, in a voice that showed he knew that couldn’t possibly be what he heard.
He pushed his glasses on, peered around the kitchen and family room, and spotted their visitors. “Oh, hey! It was barking!”
The dog, on hearing the new voice, barreled through the kitchen toward the boy, and before Jesse could prepare himself, it leaped up, planting its front paws on his chest. The skinny teenager was no match for the running dog, and he toppled over backward, landing hard on his nonexistent rump. All Markie could see of her son was his jeans and bare feet as the dog stood over him, its tail wagging furiously.
She heard panting and licking, and “Hey! Hey! Stop!” and prepared herself for the moment when Jesse recovered from the shock and started complaining, maybe even cursing, about the unexpected assault. She wouldn’t blame him for being angry, and she glared at Mrs. Saint herself, ready to add a few choice words to her son’s. The dog was out of control. It was a wonder Jesse hadn’t hit his head and gotten a concussion or stumbled farther backward and all the way down the stairs.
But Jesse’s protests gave way to giggling, and soon his hands appeared on each of the dog’s sides as he first patted its fur, then buried his hands in it. The dog’s legs folded as it lay flat on top of the boy who, still laughing, lifted his head off the floor and peered over the animal’s back at Markie and Mrs. Saint. This exposed his neck, which the dog immediately attacked with its long tongue, sending Jesse into hysterics.
His “Stop! Stop!” was the same fake protest Markie had many times heard before, when he was a little boy, begging her and Kyle to stop tickling him while at the same time hoping they would keep it up. His hands moved up the dog to the crest of its back, where they joined, his fingers interlacing as he hugged the animal close. Markie could see his head moving side to side as he burrowed his face into the dog’s fur.
She dreaded turning back around and facing Mrs. Saint, who would surely be smiling smugly, waiting for Markie’s concession that the older woman did indeed know what was best for Jesse. She gritted her teeth and faced her neighbor, and she was shocked to see that the old woman’s eyes were glassy, not triumphant, and her lips, which didn’t seem to know if they should form a happy arc or a regretful one, trembled from one shape to the other. She was looking at the boy and the dog, but at the same time, she seemed to be looking through them to some other place and time.