The Summer of Riley (13 page)

I had brought some of his favorite Puppy Treat biscuits, and one by one I pushed them into the carrier. But he ignored them.

“Here’s something else.” I took his chewed-up, bald, stained tennis ball from my pocket. It wouldn’t go through, of course, so quick, quick, before Riley knew what was happening, I unlatched the gate, dropped the ball inside, and closed it again fast. It fell in front of him. He nosed it, then looked at me. I think he was remembering the dog days when I tossed it for him in the yard, the way it rolled, the way we’d both chase after it and wrestle and tumble together in the silky weeds and grass. I think he was remembering. I longed to open the gate again and
hug him, but I didn’t dare.

I heard Stephen coming then, and I said, “Goodbye, Riley.” That’s what I tried to say.

Stephen touched my shoulder. “Time to get him on board, William. Grace and your mom have gone to find a baggage guy with a cart.”

When they came back, we helped the baggage man lift the carrier onto a cart that was like a chunky little truck. He drove it toward the terminal and we hurried along behind.

Riley was parked by the counter. Lots of people stopped and admired him and asked where he was going and things like that. I looked straight ahead through the window, at the big jet that was waiting by the gate.

Grace, said, “I bet he’ll be the best dog Mr. Corona has. He’ll be totally unsurpassed.”

I nodded.

Mom gave the counter man Riley’s papers that show he’d had his shots, and she filled in the forms that tell who was dropping him off and who was picking him up.

I looked around then and I saw Dad, shouldering through the people waiting to check in. “Traffic jam on the freeway,” he muttered and came straight to
me, sliding a hand between the back of my collar and my neck. I remembered when he used to always do that.

“You were nice to come,” Mom told him. “It’s a long drive from where you are.”

Dad shrugged.

The luggage guy asked the ticket guy, “All set?” and when he nodded, he said, “Off we go, then, pup. Are you all traveling with him?” he asked us.

“No,” Mom said. She held my arm and Dad stood real close. Grace was crying. They all started muttering, “Good-bye, Riley. Good luck.” Things like that. Everyone sounded weepy.

I didn’t say anything because Riley and I said our good-byes already.

We stood, the five of us, in a sad little huddle, watching as Riley was driven away.

W
e were eating supper when Rudi Corona called to tell us Riley had arrived. “Is he okay?” I tried to make my voice sound ordinary, but it was hard.

“He’s more than okay. This dog has some appetite.”

I smiled, remembering.

“I’ll be in touch to let you know how he’s doing,” he said, and I thanked him.

We got an e-mail later that week. “He’s learning fast. And he gets along well with the other dogs.”

“He’s not going to be sent back,” I told Mom, and that was wonderful, of course. But it hurt, too. Riley was over for me. And when something’s over, it hardly ever comes again. You just have to go along with it.

Summer was almost over, too. In my mind I called
it the summer of Riley because he had filled it up. In less than a week, it would be Labor Day, and soon after that, school would start. I wouldn’t see Ellis or Duane in school, of course. But for sure I’d see them in town. Ellis might be embarrassed and leave me alone. Or he might be meaner than ever. With Ellis Porter, there’s no way to tell. And that was something else I wasn’t looking forward to.

“I’ve been thinking,” Mom said the next morning. “Let’s have a Labor Day party. We’ve had such a mixed-up summer. But now we’ve got something to celebrate.”

“Good. Maybe Grace will play the flute.” I stuck my finger in my throat and pretended to barf.

“We’ll have to spruce up the yard,” Mom said. “The serving table can go on the porch and small tables on the grass. Let’s hope it doesn’t rain.”

I looked out of the kitchen window at the porch. One side of it was totally taken up by the giant roll of butyl liner. I looked beyond it at the hole in the grass that would never be anything but a hole. Our fishpond was over, too. And I had to accept that. But knowing that I had to didn’t mean that I’d be forgetting Grandpa, did it? I never, ever would. Just like
accepting that Riley was gone didn’t mean I’d forget him.

“I’ll call Pete’s Hardware,” I told Mom. “Pete said he’d come for that butyl liner anytime. That’ll free up the porch.” I paused. “Do you think Dad would help me fill up the hole?”

Mom’s voice was soft. “You know he would.”

But in the end it was Stephen who helped me because Dad had gone to Colorado to spend the holiday with Phoebe and her parents. But Stephen was okay. Already I knew he was going to be a part of our family … not a dad to me exactly, because I still had a dad. But a good friend. And that was okay, too.

The party was a blast. A detonation, Grace called it. Tons of our friends and neighbors came, and they seemed really glad about the new news of Riley.

There was no Peachie. No Sultan to look curiously over the fence, pushing out his head to have his nose petted, scarfing little secret forbidden treats.

Things wouldn’t be the same when they came back because so much had changed. But I could work on it. I knew Peachie would want to, too.

When the party was over and Mom was saying
good-bye to Stephen out at his truck, I sat by myself at the kitchen table. The refrigerator looked bare with no red X-marked calendar. I slid my feet back and forth across the rug where Riley used to lie. Nothing else of him here except memories. He was gone.

Mom had made tea for her and Stephen. I picked up her cup, tipped it over on its saucer, and turned it three times in the way that makes the leaves settle just right.

I peered inside and instantly saw a dog running, ears back, tongue lolling. “Riley,” I whispered.
“You’re happy.
You’re totally unsurpassed. The tea leaves never lie.”

I felt free and happy myself.

No matter that Mom says you see only what you want to see in the tea leaves. No way! I peered into the cup again and smiled.

I believe.

Peachie had the Sultan’s head in her lap. There was foam on his mouth and Grace was wiping it off with one of Peachie’s gloves.

“I’m sorry, Peachie,” I began.

“Don’t you bring that dog anywhere near my horse,” Peachie said over her shoulder. I’d never heard nice Peachie so filled with rage. “Get him out of here.”

“But … is the Sultan going to be all right? Can I—”

“Go away. Take that dog out of my sight.”

I backed off.

Neither Peachie, nor Grace, nor the Sultan watched us go.

“What did you do that for?” I whispered fiercely to Riley. “That was bad, bad, bad.” I shook the leash every time I said “bad,” jerking on his neck.

Riley stared up at me, squinchy eyed.

“You’re going to be in trouble,” I told him. “Big, big trouble.”

B
LACKWATER

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