Tracy Kelleher - Family Be Mine

“So when did you acquire this…this…beast?” Ben asked, opening with what Hunt surmised was a sideways gambit.

Hunt glanced at Ben before returning his attention to Fred. The “beast” raced along the winding paths fronting the flowerbeds, scattering pine-bark chips and beheading several black-eyed Susans.

“For your information, Fred happens to be a dog, a one-year-old dog, and I picked him up today when I was driving by the animal shelter.”

“Well, if you say he’s a dog, I guess I’ll have to believe you. But he looks more like a big tail attached to an unidentified flying object.”

Fred chose that moment to leap a hydrangea bush with a single bound. He made it about halfway before losing air and crashing into the branches. Ben winced. Fred bounced out and looked around. His tongue hung out, practically reaching his knuckles. His eyes were bright and eager.

Ben shook his head. “All I can say, you’re a braver man than I to risk bringing a new puppy to your mother’s garden.”

Hunt turned. His hands were thrust into the pockets of the khaki pants that hung from his slim hips. He had finished his rounds of chemotherapy three months ago, but his weight loss was still apparent. Not that he had ever been heavy. But the lanky physique that had proved ideal for skiing and tennis and wearing a custom-made tuxedo with debonair flair, now resembled an undernourished teenager’s. The bulky fisherman’s knit sweater only accentuated his sunken chest. And the baseball cap he wore barely concealed his stubby hair, thinner and curlier than the thick blond waves he once had.

“It’s not a question of bravery,” Hunt said in response to Ben’s remark. “I brought Fred here because my house doesn’t have a fenced-in yard.” That was true. His ultra-modern in-town dwelling might have a rooftop pool, a state-of-the-art sound system, and a well-stocked wine cellar, but it lacked even a single blade of grass.

He went back to admiring the dog’s antics. “Besides, Mother won’t know. She’s in Manhattan, attending the opening of a new exhibit at the Met.” Those of Hunt’s social ilk only ever used the shortened form of the Metropolitan Museum of Art.

“And you think she won’t notice when she gets back?” Ben watched as Fred finally gave up the chase and plopped down in a sunken reflecting pool. The mutt lapped the water, then raised his head and panted. Water dribbled from his corrugated black lips. He looked very wet, very tired and very proud.

Ben laughed.

Hunt shrugged. “I’ll figure out something. In the meantime, I keep reminding myself that I am her only son and heir.”

Ben walked over to the pond and looked more closely. “At the same time you might try reminding yourself that your mother’s prized water garden used to be in that pond.”

Fred burped. He waggled his narrow bottom on what was once a rare species of water lily.

Hunt winced.

Ben straightened up. “Although I don’t have the name of an exotic-plant specialist on speed dial, I’m not without some equally powerful resources. Lucky for you, I think I know how to smooth this over.”

Hunt raised his eyebrows doubtfully. He had an inkling his friend was about to show his hand.

“Oh, ye of little faith.” Ben pulled out a pamphlet from the back pocket of his jeans.

Hunt looked at it. “Don’t tell me. Some little idea of my mother’s?”

“What did you expect? She drove out to my place a few days ago and showed me the course listing for the new session of the Adult Education School. She thought you might be interested, and I agreed it was a good idea.”

“She scared you witless, didn’t she?”

Ben held up his hands. “Completely. Still, in my defense, after she left I stuffed the pamphlet in a pile of junk mail, never intending to talk to you about it. But now, given the circumstances….” He nodded toward Fred. A water lily pad adorned his forehead.

Hunt flipped open the front cover and read the introductory remarks in mocking tones,

“Dear Grantham Community Members,

Welcome to the twenty-sixth year of the Grantham Adult School! As in years past, we are delighted to offer a wide range of classes to meet the needs and interests of the community. Our instructors include noted scholars from Grantham University, as well as artists, artisans and business experts residing in the area. Above all, we at the Adult School believe that education does not end with a diploma. Hence, our motto, Education: the Wellspring of Life.

Iris Phox, President

Grantham Adult School”

Hunt snapped the booklet shut. “As I recall, those very words practically made you gag not all that long ago.”

“Yeah, I admit that’s true. But think what it did for me. When I finally went—okay, not entirely on purpose—to Katarina’s class, I found the woman I love, got my relationship with my son back in order, and acquired a whole new set of friends and family. That’s what I call adult education!”

Hunt slipped his hand in his pants pocket and pulled out his BlackBerry.

“Who are you calling?” Ben asked.

“Oprah. Your story needs to be told to a larger audience.”

Ben rolled his eyes. “Okay, okay. I know it sounds hokey. But that doesn’t mean it’s not a smart thing to do. I mean, look at you. You just hang around doing nothing. You’re not interacting with anyone except…except some mutt whose social skills leave more than a little to be desired.”

“I presume you are referring to my friendship with you?” Hunt joked.

“All right, I asked for that. Not all of us were born on the right side of the tracks.”

Hunt knew that Ben’s declaration grossly understated the harshness of his childhood years.

“But say what you will, at least I’m working my butt off to earn an honest living,” Ben continued.

Hunt rubbed his cheek. “I thought you were okay with me taking a leave from work. If you’ve changed your mind, then you’re free to get a new partner.”

“Jeez, Hunt, I don’t want a new partner. And I’m perfectly okay with you taking time off. What I’m not okay with is you taking a leave of absence from life. I mean, to tell you the truth, I just don’t get it. When you were first diagnosed with lymphoma and had to go through all that wretched treatment, you were amazing, more than amazing. I still can’t believe how you insisted on coming in practically every day while you were undergoing chemo, let alone dealing with the stress and worry. But now that it’s behind you, you’re a wreck. Logic tells me it should be the other way around.”

Hunt frowned. “There’re those people who can’t cope with the prospect of death. For me, it’s the prospect of living that’s got me stymied.”

“Well, just get out there and join the human race. If I can do it, you can! I mean, we all know how hopeless I am when it comes to remembering names and making polite small talk.”

“Let alone impolite small talk.”

Ben pointed at his friend. “See! You’re witty even when you’re not trying! My God, you could practically charm a doorknob!”

“And don’t think I haven’t.”

“So think how many more doorknobs are out there awaiting your unique talents.” Ben noticed the dog in his peripheral vision. “Besides, if what I’m saying doesn’t convince you, I’m pretty sure Fred here will.” He nodded in Fred’s direction. “Don’t look now, but I think you’ll find there’s something shiny hanging out the side of his mouth, something finlike.”

Hunt rushed over to the reflecting pool. “Holy crap, Fred!” He slapped the pamphlet he was still holding against his pants to get the dog’s attention. “That’s one of Mother’s prized koi. She’s going to kill you.” Fred bit down proudly. There was a noticeable crunch.