Last Chance Book Club(27)
Author: Hope Ramsay

“Mom, you said you knew how the dog got out?”

“I have a theory that your grandmother let him out. Not intentionally, but nevertheless.”

Todd frowned. “Which grandmother?”

“Both of them are here, but Grandmother Katie Lynne probably has a key to the house.”

“Aunt Katie Lynne is here?” Dash asked.

“Yes, and she’s brought my former mother-in-law. They’ve come to take me back to Baltimore, but, don’t worry, Bill Ellis has sworn not to let them do that.”

“Is Dad here?” The expectation in the kid’s voice slayed Dash.

“No, hon, he’s not.”

The boy’s mouth trembled, and he turned and jogged away from them. “I’m going to look for Champ,” he announced.

Savannah was about to say something when Dash interrupted her. “Let him go. He’s okay. He’s more okay than you think.”

“I’m not so sure. I think—”

He pulled her back. “Give him space. One day he’ll figure out that his daddy’s not worth the tears he’s shed over him. But he’ll never figure that out if you make false promises. Sometimes a kid just has to work through the pain.”

She stared at him. “I guess that’s right.”

His heart kicked. “Did your momma make false promises?” he asked.

She shook her head. “I guess she didn’t. Did yours?”

“My momma left when I was nine months old. My granny used to make promises, but she died when I was six. Gramps was never sober enough to talk much.”

Dash didn’t know why he said these things. He never spoke about his past. But then Savannah already knew almost everything there was to know.

“I wanted more for Todd,” she said.

“I’m sure you did. Sometimes life sucks, but things are looking up. We’re going to sign your boy up for football, and before you know it, he’ll feel a whole lot better.”

“We won’t do any such thing. Football is rough. Have you read the recent stuff about—”

“Honey, your boy is tougher than you think. And Davis High needs his talent.”

“He’s only twelve.” She looked over her shoulder as if she were checking to make sure no one had followed her from the Baptist church.

“What is it? Are the grannies following you?”

“I don’t think so. But Bill might be.”

“Oh.”

She let go of a long breath. “Bill wants to marry me.”

Dash’s stomach double-clutched. He didn’t know why he was so surprised; after all, he’d been bracing himself for this news for a couple of weeks now. “When did this happen?” he asked, proud of himself for keeping his emotion from sounding in his voice.

“Just now. He proposed in front of everyone in the spectators’ tent. I told him no, of course. But he didn’t exactly listen, and the church ladies were egging him on. You know, Dash, sometimes Bill can be awfully dense. Not to mention boring as sin.”

“Honey, sin is not boring. Take it from me.” Something heavy lifted from around Dash’s heart. She’d told Bill no? In front of everyone in town?

Dash stopped walking and turned toward her, just as she turned toward him. And for an instant, he got the same rush that occurred every morning when they bumped into one another or when they sat at the kitchen table drinking the day’s first cup of coffee. They didn’t even have to say anything; the current of connection was right there, vibrating like a deep bass string, low and hardly loud enough to hear.

“I can help you out with your Bill problem,” he found himself saying.

“You can?” Her voice was soft, almost a murmur.

“Yes, ma’am. You could come to the street dance with me tonight. I think, if we danced all night, everyone would get the message that you’re not all that interested in Bill.”

She stared at him, her lips parted, her sun-kissed cheeks turned a little pinker, and her eyes closed. She took the deepest breath and blew it out. “I can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

She opened her eyes. “Because dancing is dangerous.”

He grinned. “You think?”

“I know dancing is dangerous,” she said. “I met Greg at a Delta Chi dance. He swept me off my feet. And three years later, when I realized the mistake I’d made, I swore on a stack of Bibles that I was never, ever going to another dance again.”

“Wow. That bad, huh?”

“You have no idea. And unfortunately, I didn’t heed my own good advice. I’ve had two more serious relationships with guys who were jocks. And I met them both at dances. They both turned into a-holes within eighteen months. A girl can take only so much. So I have given up dancing… again.”

“Well, that’s a shame, because everyone goes to the Easter street dance. It’s a barrel of wholesome family fun.”

“Family fun?” she said.

“Yeah, Savannah, it’s a community thing. I doubt that it’s anything like a fraternity dance. Like, for instance, the booze will be limited, and we don’t have a whole lot of frat boys in Last Chance. In fact, I don’t think we have any. Good ol’ boys, sure, but no frat boys.”

“My weakness isn’t frat boys. It’s jocks.”

His gut dropped like he’d just hit the first dip on a monster roller coaster. She had a weakness for jocks. And he had a weakness for royal blondes.

He should fight that but he was weak and tired. He wanted to give in.

So he gave her a smile. “Well, honey, it’s up to you. But if you want to get rid of Bill, you’ll need to go to the dance and make sure to dance with every eligible man in sight, except him.”

“You think that would solve my Bill problem?”

“It might. Of course, if you danced every dance with me and then were seen riding off to the Peach Blossom Motor Court in my Caddy, that would probably do it too.” The words escaped his mouth before he’d fully thought them through. Taking her to the Peach Blossom was a deep fantasy that he’d played out in his head a few times late at night. But it would be crazy to do something like that; the fallout would be toxic.

“C’mon, Dash, I can’t do something like that. It would ruin my reputation.”

“Aw, that breaks my heart, princess.” He made a big show of putting his hand over his heart, but in truth, he was glad she had put an end to this fantasy talk about the no-tell motel. There was a real possibility that Savannah could break his heart if he let himself fall for her.

She laughed. “C’mon, Dash, I’m not ever going to break your heart. We hate one another.”

“Do we?” His question was more earnest than he meant it to be.

“I’m sure we hate one another,” she said, but she didn’t sound very convincing.

The dog came into Zeph’s arms. He’d been waiting on it down in the playground by the elementary school. The poor thing was confused.

“Hey there, boy, you got yourself into a heap of trouble today.” He gave the pup a scratch behind the ears. Its hind end wagged.

“You don’t belong to me no more. You know that, don’t you?”

The dog smiled and wagged.

Zeph waited, sitting on a bench by the school yard. He saw the boy heading this direction. Todd was walking, head down, a picture of misery with a bloody nose and a swollen eye. The boy reminded him of Gabe when he was a little boy.

That was unsettling and painful, especially since the ghost behind him didn’t like it whenever Zeph remembered Gabe. So Zeph tried hard to forget that boy. Of course, Zeph didn’t know how to forget. Zeph didn’t know much of nothing. Except how to work wood, and catch fish, and care for the strays that came the ghost’s way.

The boy continued to walk toward Zeph in that slump-shouldered way that boys sometimes get when the world makes them weary.

“Hey, Todd, over here,” he hollered.

The boy stopped and looked up. His face changed. He came running up to the bench and fell to his knees. He wrapped his arms around the dog in a big, old hug. “I’m sorry,” he said over and over again. “I’ll never yell at you again.”

The dog licked his face and tried to clean his nose.

The boy rested his banged-up face on the dog’s neck. “It wasn’t your fault.”

And then he started bawling, and Zeph let him cry. Sometimes that was just the best thing a body could do. The ghost was peaceful. The ghost knew all about crying.

When the boy was ready, Zeph gave him a smile. “Son, this dog is your responsibility now, you do know that?”

The boy nodded and sniffled. He ran his hand over the dog’s back. “I’m sorry, Champ,” he whispered. “It wasn’t your fault. Grandmother must have let you out.”

Zeph shook his head. “Well then, see, you don’t have to take the blame for Champ. You’ve been doing a good job of caring for him. I like the name you gave him.”

“Thanks. Cousin Dash wanted to call him Boulder Head.”

“Good thing Champ is your dog and not Mr. Dash’s. You know a dog lives for ten years or more. So it’s important to remember that you can’t just abandon Champ when he’s naughty, or you’re tired of him.”

The boy looked into the pup’s big brown eyes. “I won’t ever abandon you, Champ. Ever.” The boy’s chin quivered. And with good reason. Zeph hadn’t seen any daddy around. This boy knew what it felt like to be left behind.

So did the ghost.

“You love this dog, and he’ll love you forever. Until the day he dies. He won’t ever leave you. He won’t ever disappoint you when it comes to the important things. Now, you have to remember that he’s just a little puppy, and today he got himself into trouble. But it wasn’t really his fault.”

The boy nodded. “And it wasn’t my fault either, was it?”

“No it wasn’t. You go on home, and you just keep loving him the way you’ve been doing. He’ll take care of you for life.”

The boy wiped blood and snot from his nose. “Who are you?”

“I’m Zeph Gibbs. You tell your momma that I’ll be by the theater sometime next week to take a look at the woodwork.”

“You’re the one who gave her the cat. That cat hates the dog.”

Zeph smiled. “Don’t I know it. That cat hates just about everything, boy, except your momma and catching mice.”

Zeph stood up. “Well, I gotta be going now.”

He turned and strolled through the ball fields where Luke and Gabe had once played. The ghost was restless. He wanted to return to the swamp and the woods.

The grannies drove Aunt Miriam home. And since they drove, they beat Dash and Savannah back to the house on Baruch Street. Savannah walked through the front door to find Mom pacing across the Persian rug in the front parlor like a caged lion, while Claire sat regally in the side chair looking disgusted.

Mom stopped pacing and put her hands on her hips. As always, Mom had turned herself out to the nines in a tan linen pantsuit with an unconstructed jacket over a chocolate brown silk tee. Mom always dressed in professorial beige, and her ash blond hair, cut in a chin-length pageboy, never frizzed or moved or changed in any way. If she were to take a ride in Dash’s convertible, every strand would stay perfectly in place.