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“I can’t.” It was true. He couldn’t do anything except breathe the sublime air in her neighborhood.
But air, no matter how intoxicating, couldn’t keep him going forever, and definitely wouldn’t scoot Mary farther along the path he wanted her to travel.
Lancelot could, though. For one of the few times in his mostly goody-goody canine life, he forgot about decorum, and he took off for the sheer joy of making Guinevere try to catch him. Coming to the end of his leashasecondlater,heandhissolidlittlebodydidn’t have the oomph to take two humans down with him. Van gave the process a little help.
It took long moments to topple toward the ground. Van enjoyed every nanosecond because Mary was coming down just right, getting closer with every sliver of time and coming into position to tumble on top of him, where he could cushion her fall.
Finally, they made it to the ground. His left hip didn’t like it much, but the rest of him thought it was friggin’ wonderful.
“Did anything rip? Are you going to ask me to roll over on top of you?” he asked with hope in his heart.
“Am I — Roll — On top — ” Mary sputtered. “No!”
Some bushes rustled a few hundred yards ahead and over on the left. He spied Mrs. Kazinski and her kamikaze purse, skulking off toward the right. She was sneaking up on a young tough. He in turn was sneaking up on a distracted young mother, who was too busy fussing over her infant to watch her purse.
Van’s protective instincts kicked in immediately, but he made himself wait to see whether he was needed. After all, he’d have to give up everything he wanted in the world right now — Mary in his arms — to rescue someone who might not need rescuing at all.
He wanted to learn how to give people credit for being able to save themselves. And maybe the juvenile delinquent would survive his encounter with Mrs. Kazinski without Van’s help. She did temper her blood-thirstiness with mercy sometimes.
And Mary — could she possibly be melting against him?
He spared a minuscule fraction of his attention to keep an eye on Mrs. Kazinski.
She circled around the young tough to take her stance directly ahead of him. She planted her feet wide and gave her lethal purse a warm-up swing around her head. She mouthed some words silently, probably so Mary wouldn’t be distracted, but Van could hear them ringing in his head: “You varmint! I’ll teach you to bring your nasty tricks and wicked crimes into our neighborhood!”
The bushes rustled again. No, it couldn’t be. But yes, it was. Aunt Cynthia and Brock, hurrying off in the other direction to intercept a pair of twenty-somethings strolling hand in hand on the path toward the spot Van needed all to himself and Mary. It would be so easy for her to get spooked before he closed this deal with her.
Aunt Cynthia spoke to the couple. They smiled at AuntCynthia.TheyglancedatVanandMary,andthe smiles took over their faces. The young man gave Van a wink and a “yessss!” fist in the air. He and the young lady turned around to stroll off in the other direction.
Van looked back at Mrs. Kazinski in time to see her young tough tear off as though all the demons of Hades were on his trail. As, indeed they were. Or, make that he was. Mr. Kazinski was tottering in the boy’s direction, brandishing his brass-handled cane.
VanturnedallofhisattentionbacktoMary,certain that his guardian angels would make sure the two of them weren’t interrupted, not by varmints and not by casual passers-by and not by anyone else.
Marytriedtowiggleoutofhisarmsandputatleast one knee on the ground so she could lever herself up.
“Oh, yes,” he said, “your knee … Just a little more over to the right … ” A certain portion of his anatomy stood to attention to welcome her knee with fervor.
“Oh,” Mary said, “I didn’t mean … ”
“Honey,” he breathed, “please keep on not meaning to do everything you’re doing.”
He felt something warm and wet on his face, and was about to celebrate his victory when he realized it was Pepe doing the kissing.
“Lancelot,” he hollered.
The next touch on Van’s face was cold and wet. Lancelot’s nose. Lancelot’s apologetic touching of nose to face. His brown, mournful eyes made a promise.
“Are you sure?” Van muttered.
Lancelot whined his objection to being doubted. Guinevere garumphed.
“Okay, I’m relying on you guys.”
Van tossed Lancelot’s leash away and gently detached all the other leashes from Mary’s hand.
“But — ”
“It’s okay, baby. Lancelot and Guinevere have promised to stay close and keep the puppies in line. We can trust them.”
