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"David's always complaining about the lack of good employees."
"Tell him to offer minimum wage. Then he'd really complain. Even high school kids don't want to clean the cages anymore. They say it's gross."
"It is gross."
Beth laughed. "Yeah, it is," she admitted. "But I'm out of time. I doubt if anything will change before next week, and if it doesn't, there are worse things. I do enjoy training the dogs. Half the time they're easier than students."
"Like mine?"
"Yours was easy. Trust me."
Melody motioned toward Ben. "He's grown since the last time I saw him."
"Almost an inch," she said, thinking it was nice of Melody to notice. Ben had always been small for his age, the kid always positioned on the left side, front row, of the class picture, half a head shorter than the child seated next to him. Zach, Melody's son, was just the opposite: right-hand side, in the back, always the tallest in class.
"I heard a rumor that Ben isn't playing soccer this fall," Melody commented.
"He wants to try something different."
"Like what?"
"He wants to learn to play the violin. He's going to take lessons with Mrs. Hastings."
"She's still teaching? She must be at least ninety."
"But she's got patience to teach a beginner. Or at least that's what she told me. And Ben likes her a lot. That's the main thing."
"Good for him," Melody said. "I'll bet he'll be great at it. But Zach's going to be bummed."
"They wouldn't be on the same team. Zach is going to play for the select team, right?"
"If he makes it."
"He will."
And he would. Zach was one of those naturally confident, competitive kids who matured early and ran rings around other, less talented players on the field. Like Ben. Even now, running around the yard with his Super Soaker, Ben couldn't keep up with him. Though good-hearted and sweet, Ben wasn't much of an athlete, a fact that endlessly infuriated her ex-husband. Last year, her ex had stood on the sidelines of soccer games with a scowl on his face, which was another reason Ben didn't want to play.
"Is David going to help coach again?"
David was Melody's husband and one of two pediatricians in town. "He hasn't decided yet. Since Hoskins left, he's been on call a lot more. He hates it, but what can he do? They've been trying to recruit another doctor, but it's been hard. Not everyone wants to work in a small town, especially with the nearest hospital in Wilmington forty-five minutes away. Makes for much longer days. Half the time he doesn't get home until almost eight. Sometimes it's even later than that."
Beth heard the worry in Melody's voice, and she figured her friend was thinking about the affair David had confessed to last winter. Beth knew enough not to comment on it. She'd decided when she'd first heard the whispers that they would talk about it only if Melody wanted to. And if not? That was fine, too. It was none of her business.
"How about you, though? Have you been seeing anyone?"
Beth grimaced. "No. Not since Adam."
"Whatever happened with that?"
"I have no idea."
Melody shook her head. "I can't say that I envy you. I never liked dating."
"Yeah, but at least you were good at it. I'm terrible."
"You're exaggerating."
"I'm not. But it's not that big of a deal. I'm not sure I even have the energy for it anymore. Wearing thongs, shaving my legs, flirting, pretending to get along with his friends. The whole thing seems like a lot of effort."
Melody wrinkled her nose. "You don't shave your legs?"
"Of course I shave my legs," she said. Then, lowering her voice, "Most of the time, anyway." She sat up straighter. "But you get the point. Dating is hard. Especially for someone my age."
"Oh, please. You're not even thirty, and you're a knockout."
Beth had heard that for as long as she could remember, and she wasn't immune to the fact that men--even married men--often craned their necks when she walked past them. In her first three years teaching, she'd had only one parent-teacher conference with a father who came alone. In every other instance, it was the mother who attended the conference. She remembered wondering aloud about it to Nana a few years back, and Nana had said, "They don't want you alone with the hubbies because you're as pretty as a tickled pumpkin."
Nana always had a unique way of putting things.
"You forget where we live," Beth offered. "There aren't a lot of single men my age. And if they are single, there's a reason."
"That's not true."
"Maybe in a city. But around here? In this town? Trust me. I've lived here all my life, and even when I was in college, I commuted from home. On the rare occasions that I have been asked out, we'll go on two or three dates and then they stop calling. Don't ask me why." She waved a hand philosophically. "But it's no big deal. I've got Ben and Nana. It's not like I'm living alone, surrounded by dozens of cats."
"No. You've got dogs."
"Not my dogs. Other people's dogs. There's a difference."
"Oh yeah," Melody snorted. "Big difference."
Across the yard, Ben was trailing behind the group with his Super Soaker, doing his best to keep up, when he suddenly slipped and fell. His glasses tumbled off into the grass. Beth knew enough not to get up and see if he was okay: The last time she'd tried to help, he'd been visibly embarrassed. He felt around until he found his glasses and was up and running again.
"They grow up so fast, don't they?" said Melody, interrupting Beth's thoughts. "I know it's a cliche, but it's true. I remember my mom telling me they would and thinking she didn't know what she was talking about. I couldn't wait for Zach to get a little older. Of course, at the time, he had colic and I hadn't slept more than a couple of hours a night in over a month. But now, just like that, they'll be starting middle school already."
"Not yet. They've got another year."
"I know. But it still makes me nervous."
"Why?"
"You know . . . it's a hard age. Kids are in that stage where they're beginning to understand the world of adults, without having the maturity of adults to deal with everything going on around them. Add to that all the temptations, and the fact that they stop listening to you the way they once did, and the moods of adolescence, and I'll be the first to admit that I'm not looking forward to it. You're a teacher. You know."
"That's why I teach second grade."
"Good choice." Melody grew quiet. "Did you hear about Elliot Spencer?"
"I haven't heard much of anything. I've been a hermit, remember?"
"He was caught selling drugs."
"He's only a couple of years older than Ben!"
"And still in middle school."
"Now you're making me nervous."
Melody rolled her eyes. "Don't be. If my son were more like Ben, I wouldn't have reason to be nervous. Ben has an old soul. He's always polite, he's always kind, always the first to help the younger kids. He's empathetic. I, on the other hand, have Zach."
"Zach's a great kid, too."
"I know he is. But he's always been more difficult than Ben. And he's more of a follower than Ben."
"Have you seen them playing? From where I'm sitting, Ben's been doing all the following."
"You know what I mean."
Actually, she did. Even from a young age, Ben had been content to forge his own path. Which was nice, she had to admit, since it had been a pretty good path. Though he didn't have many friends, he had a lot of interests he pursued on his own. Good ones, too. He had little interest in video games or surfing the Web, and while he occasionally watched television, he'd usually turn it off on his own after thirty minutes or so. Instead, he read or played chess (a game that he seemed to understand on some intuitive level) on the electronic game board he'd received for Christmas. He loved to read and write, and though he enjoyed the dogs at the kennel, most of them were anxious because of the long hours they spent in a kennel and tended to ignore him. He spent many
afternoons throwing tennis balls that few, if any, ever retrieved.
"It'll be fine."
"I hope so." Melody set aside her drink. "I suppose I should go get the cake, huh? Zach has practice at five."
"It'll be hot."
Melody stood. "I'm sure he'll want to bring the Super Soaker. Probably squirt the coach."
"Do you need some help?"
"No thanks. Just sit here and relax. I'll be right back."
