The realization that I want to know everything about her is as explosive as one of my earliest science experiments. I can only gape at her, seeing the pained expression on her face, the smudges of dirt, the mud on her jeans. The hurt in her eyes when she finally glances at me.
“You can’t walk the dogs tomorrow if you’ve sprained your ankle,” I tell her.
“I don’t know if it’s sprained,” Rachel shoots back. “It’s fine.” She takes a step and winces.
“You should check it out,” I insist.
“Well, maybe I will.” Her expression has settled into one of annoyance. I know this because it’s the way I looked at her when I first met her.
It’s different now.
“Let me help with the dogs tomorrow.”
I honestly don’t know who is surprised more: Rachel, Bexley, or myself. “The ones you have to walk,” I add in case she doesn’t understand.
Idon’t understand. How am I possibly going to walk five or six dogs when I can’t bring myself to go near them?
“What?” Rachel laughs, but there’s no humour in it. “You’re not going to do that.”
“If I say I’m going to help, I will.”
“He will,” Bexley echoes with a sigh of resignation. “I’m not sure how, but he will. Now, do you need help getting inside?”
My sister takes the dog leash as I help Rachel to the door. She fits nicely against me, my arm tight around her waist.
It takes a moment for me to let her go after she unlocks the door.
“I’ll be here at noon tomorrow,” I tell her. “Will that work? Do you have an assigned time that you pick them up?”
“Are you sure about this? There’s five dogs and—”
“It will be fine,” I interrupt because the more she protests, the more I begin to question my offer. “You just need to tell me where to pick them up.”
“I’ll have everything ready tomorrow. Thank you,” she says with a rueful smile.
I nod and back away, holding her gaze until she shuts the door.
“Why didn’t you talk to her?” Bexley demands. I can only shake my head. “You can’t talk to her and you’re going to walk her dogs? Dogs, as in plural?”
“She’s hurt. I have to help her.”
“No, you don’t, but you’ll do it anyway. But brother dear, have you forgotten that you’re afraid of dogs?”
I had, until that very moment. But I don’t let my sister see the uncertainty in my eyes. “I’ll figure something out.”
13
Rachel
I don’t believeBoen is really going to take over my dog-walking gig until he shows up at exactly noon on Monday.
With a gaggle of teenagers in tow.
“These are a few of my students in my AP Chemistry class,” he explains as one of them, a very handsome jock-type with a rogue-ish smile, takes Rusty’s leash.
“I hope you’re getting extra credit for this,” I say, feeling embarrassed by the attention and how soft my insides are when I see Boen.
I wanted to go over and talk to him last night, but my ankle stopped me. Thanks to Mrs. Gretchen’s expert advice, I think it’s only twisted. I’ve been icing it, and it’s wrapped in an old scarf, which is the closest thing I have to a tensor bandage. It feels a lot better. I’m sure I could have managed to do the walk, but I really wanted to see how Boen managed the dogs.
