"Deep in the Heart" First Three Chapters

“Deep in the Heart” -- First Three Chapters

Chapter One

Registration Day, Friday, August 25,1978

Dash was feeling lucky that day. He was excited about his last semester at UT Austin. An eye-opening summer of travel in Europe had shown him what he wanted to do in life. If he had known he was about to meet the love of his life, he might have bought a lottery ticket. As it was, he felt lucky enough that he wasn’t worried about having waited until the last hour of the last day to register for fall classes.

It was the heat of the day in late August as Dash approached the library, a little out of breath, his t-shirt clinging to his ribs. He locked his bike to a post and hurried into the air-conditioned chill of the building, where he joined the line that snaked back and forth across the lobby.

“Sorry,” said a bright feminine voice behind him. “Is this where one registers for classes?” She had a smooth British accent.

He turned to see a slender young woman with a narrow oval face framed by straight black hair that brushed her shoulders.

“Oh, register. Yes.”

“Thank you,” she said, rewarding him with a cool smile.

“Are you new?” He scanned her trim figure, thinking he was being discreet until he met her blue eyes, which she rolled at his appraising glance.

“Yes and no,” she said with a smile that, it seemed to Dash, forgave his appraisal.

“Is that how you play Twenty Questions in England?” Dash cast about for ways to keep the conversation going.

“I wouldn’t know,” she said as she surveyed the line. She met his eye and smiled again. Her small, even teeth were bright white.

“With that accent, if you’re not from England, you must have gone to a boarding school in Europe. You don’t look like a missionary kid, so I’m guessing oil business?” His gaze caressed her delicately sculpted ear. The line behind them grew, urging them closer together, and he felt the warmth of her proximity. He was smitten.

“What gave me away, Mr. Holmes?” She laughed, a shiny, clear laugh that Dash hoped he would hear many, many times.

“Your huaraches,” he said, nodding at her delicate feet in store-bought huarache sandals with crepe soles. The line moved ahead, and he let her move closer, setting his foot next to hers. His huaraches, bought on the nearby street market, were hand-woven, with soles made of used tires. “Your huaraches probably cost four times what mine cost, and the shoes always give the culprit away. I think Sherlock Holmes actually says that, somewhere.”

“You may be right.” That laugh again.

He looked her in the eye, but found himself drawn to her mouth, with its musical curve. He extended a hand. “I’m Dash. Short for Dashiell.”

“Dash,” she repeated, as if tasting it on her tongue. “Are you in a hurry?” She laid her hand in his.

“Austin isn’t really a place for people in a hurry. That’s why I’ll be leaving soon.”

“And where are you going, in such a hurry?”

“I am going to Germany to study comparative literature,” he replied, with a certainty he didn’t really feel. "Ludwig Maximilian University in Munich is my dream.” There was a silence that he wanted to fill. “What’s your name?”

“Marlene,” she said, pronouncing it Mah-leh-neh.

“Where are you from, Marlene?” He was careful to mimic her pronunciation.

“I’ve lived in Munich since I was a kid.”

Dash thought her accent shifted slightly, sounding more German, as though her boarding school education had laid a veneer of British atop her native tongue that wore off when the topic shifted to Germany.

“Did you go to Ludwig Maximilian University?” Dash couldn’t conceal his envy. “Did you enjoy it?”

“I will finish next spring. This –” she gestured at the scene around them “—is a sort of exchange. Just one semester.”

“Slumming it, right?” In his mind, he set a countdown clock. He had sixteen weeks to pursue this striking and intriguing girl.

“Slumming?” She looked mystified. “Oh! Yes. Like ghettos. Slumming it. I shall remember that expression.”

They moved ahead again, and it was Dash’s turn.

“Oh, go ahead, Marlene, please,” he said, taking a short step back to let her pass.

The service counter was staffed with students, who were pulling computer punch cards from the rows of boxes behind them, each box a course and each card a seat, as students stepped up with their wish lists. Dash overheard Marlene talking to the girl behind the counter, listing the courses she wanted. He was thrilled when she selected a German literature course that he also intended to take. Armed with her packet of punch cards, Marlene turned to him with a smile.

“Well, Mr. Holmes,” she said. “I’m sure we will meet again.”

“I know we will,” he said. “I’m taking that German Lit course, too. But don’t rush off.” He was elated when she turned to continue the conversation.

“Step up, Sherlock,” the girl behind the counter said. “You’re not last in line, you know.” She had strawberry blonde hair, and her sardonic smile revealed slightly crooked teeth that gave her an authentic air.

“Sorry,” Dash said, pulling a sheet of paper out of his backpack. He listed the courses he wanted, and the girl went to retrieve the punch cards.

“Okay,” she said when she returned. “I think you’ll enjoy that Art History class. Great teacher, and I hear the TA is super helpful.” She smiled that toothy smile at him.

“I’m looking forward to it,” he said. He turned to Marlene. “I loved the museums in Germany and France, but I always felt there was so much I didn’t know.”

“But the German Lit class is full, I’m afraid,” the blonde girl added. She handed him the bundle of cards.

“Oh my gosh,” said Marlene. “Did I take the last seat?”

“Well –” Dash, momentarily at a loss for words, suppressed his annoyance. Trying not to glare, he looked at Marlene and thought her expression suggested she felt the awkwardness of the situation, although she didn’t offer to surrender her punch card.

“Someone will drop it,” he said, mostly to reassure himself.

He took the bundle of cards and turned to join Marlene.

“You were so chivalrous,” Marlene said as they waited to hand their cards to another student worker, who fed them into a computer terminal and printed out the tuition bill. “Do you have time for a coffee?”

“That would be great.” Dash was pleased at the prospect of spending some more time getting to know her. His round, gold-rimmed glasses fogged as they left the air-conditioned building, but he could see her smile at him, and his annoyance melted in the heat. Dash pulled the key to his bike lock from his pocket as they approached the post where he had secured his bike, but he found a different one locked there. He looked around, thinking he was looking in the wrong place.

“What’s the matter?” Marlene asked.

Ignoring her, he bent down and picked up a heavy padlock that was lying on the ground, its hasp chewed through by a bolt cutter.

“Son of a bitch!” he blurted out, his voice rising in anger as a flush spread across his cheeks.

“What’s the matter?” she repeated.

“My bike,” he said. “I locked it here, but it’s gone.” He gritted his teeth.

“Are you sure it was here?”

“Yes,” he barked at her. “See? This is my lock.” He brandished it at her. “That’s what I needed,” he said. “I need that damn bike to get to class. And work.”

“Maybe we should have coffee another time,” Marlene said, stepping back as though to leave. Through his anger, Dash saw her expression turn reticent in the face of his outburst. “Auf Wiedersehen,” she said with a wave as she turned and joined the flow of students moving along the mall.

“Goddammit,” Dash said under his breath, clenching his fists. So much for feeling lucky, he thought.

Chapter Two

Home Sweet Home

At that moment, he saw Wally, his best friend since childhood, coming toward him, her red corkscrew curls catching the dappled sunlight.

“Wally!” he called out to her.

“Dash-dot-dot!” Wally cried, jumping up and locking her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck. The light cotton skirt of her halter dress swirled around her hips. “I haven’t seen you for so long! My mom told me you were in Europe? You gotta tell me all about it.” She was tiny, a good foot shorter than Dash, and seemed to float weightlessly in front of him, her face inches from his. He returned her warm smile and put his arms around her waist, his anger fading as he greeted her.

“It was great,” he said. “I learned so much.” He set her down. “Being back sorta sucks, though. Someone stole my damn bike just now.”

“Oh, that sucks out loud. How are you going to get around?”

“They say walking is good exercise.” He drew a breath. “How is your registration day?”

“Not exciting like an undergrad’s. I don’t get to just take courses that I think would be fun. The first semester of law school is laid out with no choices. But it’s still exciting to see a path that leads to a future, finally, y’know?” She furrowed her delicate little brow, biting her lip. “Anyway, that’s what my mom says.”

“I think it’s a great program for you, Wally. You’ll make a great public defender.”

“So, should I pick you up at your place later so we can go out to your folks’ for dinner?”

“Oh, shit.” He glanced at his watch. “I’d forgotten about that. Do we have to go?” Dash avoided his parents’ house.

“I know what you mean.” She chuckled. “My parents are down from Dallas, and I promised my mom I would be there.”

“Well, okay. I’ll do it for your folks, Wally.” Their parents were best friends since college. “Pick me up around five-thirty? I’m just gonna go by the bookstore so I can tell my old man how much I’m going to need.”

“Yeah – see you then.” On tiptoes, Wally kissed Dash on the cheek and then stepped back into the flow of foot traffic.

After a stop in the university bookstore, Dash walked to the house where he rented a room, a yellow clapboard ranch just a block north of the campus. By the time he got there his back was sweaty where his backpack pressed against it and perspiration was blooming on the front of his shirt. The front door was unlocked, as usual, and he stepped into the foyer and headed upstairs.

He was surprised to find a handwritten note taped to his door. Since arriving home the previous evening, he hadn’t seen his roommates, but he recognized the handwriting. Beto’s name was on the lease and the utility accounts, so Dash’s heart sank as he stepped into his room. He had paid his share of the rent and utilities through the end of August so he wouldn’t have to look for a room when he got back, and he was keenly aware that he would owe Beto a hundred dollars in just six days.

His room was hot and sticky because they didn’t run the air conditioning to save money. He dropped his bag on the bed, startling Lumpy, his long-haired yellow tabby cat, who sat up with a start, then stretched and yawned. He hopped off the bed and rubbed against Dash’s ankle as Dash squatted to pet him.

“Did I wake you, Lumpy?” The cat never answered, but Dash knew he didn’t mind – that’s why they call it a ‘cat nap,’ after all. “I’m so sorry.”

The note was short, and his heart sank some more as he read. The landlord had not renewed their lease because he wanted to tear down the house and build apartments. Dash was homeless in just six days. On the plus side, he wouldn’t owe Beto a hundred dollars.

Dash stood and peeled the sweaty t-shirt over his head, then kicked off his sandals and pushed his jeans and boxers over his hips. He grabbed the limp towel draped over the small armchair in the corner and went into the bathroom across the hall. Lumpy trotted after him and took up position in a corner, the tip of his tail tapping the floor.

“What are we gonna do, Lumpy?”

The cat looked at him with lidded eyes.

“I appreciate your confidence, buddy, but finding a place this late in the game is gonna be tough. We may need to move back in with Mom and Dad for a couple weeks.”

The cat’s tail tapped the floor.

“True, there are more mice down here. But there’s plenty of birds up there.”

He laid his glasses on the toilet tank and stepped into the shower. He stood in the cool flow, enjoying the relief from the heat. He stepped onto the tile floor and paused, relishing the cooling effect of the water drying on his skin. He towel-dried his hair, a wiry, curly chestnut mop that he brushed as best he could.

Dash dressed and Lumpy followed him outside. He crouched in the shade of the house to pet Lumpy while he waited for Wally to arrive. He and Wally were more like brother and sister than just childhood friends. In fact, their mothers joked that their curly red hair made them look like twins.

Dash thought about Marlene. He had walked off the plane smitten with Germany, and then Marlene had appeared, her sophistication and worldliness seeming to embody Germany. He had never felt so attracted to a woman. And then she had walked away.

“But how can I get her to pay attention to me, huh, Lumpy?” The cat purred, his eyes closed, luxuriating in Dash’s caresses. “She’s so elegant and together. How can I get her to notice me?” He ran his hand through his hair, still damp from the shower, and scratched his bearded chin. “Yeah, I guess you’re right that I could use a shave and a haircut.”

He was interrupted by the clatter of Wally’s ten-year-old Volkswagen bus. “Hey, Dash.” She leaned out the window as she stopped at the curb. “Ready for the trek out to the sticks?”

“Nope.” He stood and approached the car. Lumpy sat in the grass, his tail twitching, and watched him go. “I sorta dread going out there, but it’s a chance to give my father my tuition bill and tell him how much I need for books.”

He climbed into the car, noticing just in time the rusty holes in the floorboard.

She put the car in gear and pulled away from the curb.

He ran his hand over the scarred metal dashboard. “Wow. If cars could talk, eh? What’s his name?”

“You and naming vehicles, Dash. I just call it ‘my van.’”

“Oh, he’s gotta have a name.” He thought for a moment. “Buster. He’s a bus, and he’s busting his ass to carry you around town, and he’s all busted up. You should call him Buster.”

“Buster, huh?” She snickered. “How are your folks doing these days?”

“Y’know.” Dash looked away, not really trying to conceal from his friend how painful the question was. “It’s a train wreck that everyone but them can see coming.”

“I can hardly wait.”

“How are your folks? Weren’t you in Dallas recently?”

“I stopped in Dallas for a couple of days last month on the way back from California, just to load up my stuff. My mom is driving me nuts about settling down. Ever since my marriage to Clint fell apart, she thinks I’m at risk of dying a spinster’s death in the poorhouse. My year in Big Sur really flipped them out. They thought I’d joined a cult, or something. Now that she’s got me back in school, she thinks she can just tell me what to do.”

The old car strained bravely on the long climb into the hilly suburbs. Finally, the road leveled out and Wally pulled onto the grass in front of Dash’s parents’ house, perched above the narrow road. As they got out of the car, Dash heard the buzzing of the cicadas and felt the embrace of the humidity. He tried but couldn’t resist the sense of being home.

Chapter Three

Royce

The front of the house was mostly glass, and the living-dining area had an expansive view of the city and the rolling hills that surrounded it. They found Dash’s parents, Louise and Royce, along with his older brother Mick and Wally’s parents Vivi and Griff, in the living room. The group all had drinks in their hands, ice cubes tinkling, and stood in a rough semicircle facing the windows, watching the daylight fade over the city.

“Where the hell have you been, Dash?” asked Royce, before tipping his glass to his lips and draining its contents. “Dinner’s gotten cold.” He was a tall, lanky man with tortoiseshell glasses and a bald pate. His jaw set but his gaze a little vague, Dash heard the liquor in his voice.

“I think it’s still plenty warm, Royce,” said Louise. She laid her arm over Dash’s shoulders and tousled his hair. She was shorter than Dash, but her full-bodied chestnut hair, which was just starting to go grey, made up the difference. “We haven’t seen our little boy in almost three months, and I want to hear all about his adventures.”

“Don’t they want a little drink first?” Royce held up a plump green bottle of Tanqueray gin.

“I don’t really need anything,” Dash said.

“Thanks, Uncle Royce,” said Wally. “But dinner smells delicious, Aunt Louise. I’ve been looking forward to one of your home-cooked meals all day!”

“Always ready for dinner, this one,” said Vivi with a throaty laugh. Petite and curvaceous, she had bee-stung lips that evoked a youth spent at the center of men’s attention. She exhaled a plume of cigarette smoke.

Wally glared at her.

“Isn’t it wonderful to see them together, Louise?” Vivi ignored Wally’s glance. “I’ve always thought they belonged together, haven’t you?”

“They make a cute couple,” Louise said, laying one cool palm on Dash’s cheek.

“How’s my princess?” Tall and patrician, with a nose perfect for looking down, Griff held out his arms to his daughter. “How is your program starting off?”

“It’s so exciting, Daddy.” Wally threw herself into her father’s embrace. “The courses look –"

“Now if we can just get young Dashiell situated.” Royce cut in. He swirled his drink and ice, then took a sip. “What do you think, Dashiell?”

“Well—” Dash started to reply.

“Let’s eat, before we drink too much,” Louise called out, with a pointed glance at her husband. She ushered the group into the kitchen, where she had laid out an Italian buffet.

They sat around the dining table in the front room. It was dusk in the hills, but night had fallen over the city, a string of bright pearls in the darkness. Royce pulled the cork on a tall bottle of Chianti, poured himself a glass and handed the bottle around. Once everyone had wine, Royce held his glass up. “To our kids. May we fuck them up less than our parents did us.”

Vivi and Griff chuckled. Dash, Wally and Mick looked at their plates. Louise glared at Royce. They all drank.

“Seriously, Dashiell,” Royce said as he cut into his lasagna. “What’s the plan?”

“I’m going to graduate after this semester and apply to Comparative Literature programs in Munich and Berlin for next year,” Dash said. “I know it’s a long shot, so I’ll apply to graduate programs in the U.S., too. I think I can start in January.”

“Comp Lit.” Royce snorted. “Comp Lit. Do you know how many tenure-track positions are available in a given year for new Comp Lit Ph.D.’s?” He looked at Dash but didn’t wait before continuing, “Neither do I, but it’s a lot fewer than there are new Comp Lit Ph.D.s.”

“Well,” Louise cut in. “Our boy will just have to be the best and smartest, like he always is.” She reached over and patted Dash’s hand.

“He’s the smartest guy I know,” said Wally. She patted Dash’s other hand.

“Being smarter than the potheads in California isn’t going to be enough,” Royce snapped. He drained his glass and began to work the cork out of another bottle of Chianti.

“He’s just trying to close the circle for you, you know.” Louise protested. “He knows that’s what you wanted to do, and he wants to fulfill your legacy.”

Royce passed the wine around the table. Mick and Griff refilled their glasses. Wally handed Dash the bottle without topping up her glass, and Dash handed the bottle to his mother.

“Fulfill my legacy.” Royce scoffed. “He just thinks he’s smarter than me. Has it occurred to him to wonder why I changed course?” He turned to Dash. “The reality is that the humanities are a hobby for housewives these days. Not a career. Not anymore.” He took a swallow of wine. “Help me out here, Griff. Am I wrong?”

“Well.”

Coming to Griff’s rescue, Louise cleared her throat. “I see that everyone enjoyed the lasagna. Please help yourselves if you’d like more.”

Mick stood up and went into the kitchen. When no one else made a move, Vivi reached across the table and squeezed Wally’s hand.

“Good girl,” she said. “Stay strong.”

Wally withdrew her hand.

Griff took a generous swallow of red wine and looked at Dash, his head cocked back. “We are building an international management program, Dash. You’d be perfect for that, with your German and French.”

“Thanks, Uncle Griff.”

“Thanks, Griff.” Royce slurred at his old friend. “It’s great if you want to make the same widgets day in and day out and count the beans at the end of the month.”

“The world needs widgets.” Griff shrugged.

“Anyway, Dash, how are you going to pay for studying at a German university?” Royce demanded, his eyes gamboling gently in their sockets, looking at Dash but not really seeing him. The belligerent edge in his voice carried a whiff of gin and red wine.

“Well,” Dash said slowly. Even knowing his father as he did, even allowing for his drunken state, Dash was surprised by Royce’s vehemence. Royce had been covering his tuition and sending him a hundred dollars each month to pay for books and offset rent; Dash had been working almost full time to cover all of his other expenses. He was counting on this arrangement to make his dream strategy workable. “There’s no tuition in Europe,” Dash continued, “so I was hoping you would be able to send me a stipend for living expenses, at least until I figure out a job, anyway.”

“How about a bite of something sweet to top off the meal?” Louise interjected. Dash wondered why she didn’t work harder to defend him. Story of my life, he thought, my father grinds me down and my mother can only try to distract him, like a rodeo clown protecting a fallen bull rider. Dash followed the crowd into the kitchen.

“What is this, Aunt Louise?’ Wally said, tapping a spoonful of what looked like pudding onto her plate. “It looks wonderful.”

“Leave it to my little girl,” Vivi said with a hoarse chuckle. “Nobody appreciates dessert more.”

“Isn’t it lovely?” Louise replied. “It’s called tiramisu. I read about it in Gourmet magazine.”

“You can’t just work in Germany, like you can here, you know.” Mick, broad shouldered and muscular, with the haunches of someone who exercised vigorously and the paunch of someone who hydrated with beer, picked up the conversation when everyone had sat back down. Mick had gone to law school as their father wanted and worked for a large German sporting goods company.

“Well, I think my language skills will set me apart.” Dash took a bite of the creamy pudding.

“Germans all speak English,” observed Mick. He dandled his empty glass.

“You can’t say something encouraging?” Louise demanded as she refilled her glass. There were four empty bottles already on the table.

“Goddammit, anyhow, Louise.” Royce exploded, slamming his fist on the table. The silverware rattled, the wine rippled, and Wally, Griff and Vivi, unaccustomed to Royce’s outbursts, jumped in their seats. “It doesn’t do him any good to have a fantasy instead of a plan,” Royce reached for the red wine and topped up his glass.

“But you don’t have to undermine him in front of our friends.” Louise’s voice rose. She turned to Vivi. “Well, Vivi, that’s probably our cue.” She stood, her wine glass in one hand, picked up her cigarettes, and stepped back from the table.

Vivi did likewise and the two women left the room.

“What do you say, Dash,” Wally said, clasping Dash’s hand. “Wanna head back into town?”

He nodded and pulled the tuition statement out of his back pocket.

“Oh, uh, Dad?” Dash said, knowing the moment wasn’t exactly right. “Could I talk to you a second?”

“Auf Deutsch?” Royce said, with a sneer that hoped to grow up to be a smile. He glanced around the table, waiting for an appreciative chuckle at his bon mot. When none came, he continued, “Sure.” Royce took a sip of wine. “Talk.”

“It’s just,” Dash unfolded the sheet of paper, smoothing it as best he could on the table. “I registered for my fall courses today.” He held out the paper.

“I’m not paying that anymore, Dashiell,” Royce said. He was looking at Dash, but his eyes seemed to swim. “Time for you to get serious. On your own dime.”

“Wh-?” Dash was nonplussed. He searched his father’s face, finding only the flush of red wine in his cheeks. Dash felt tears spring to his eyes. Without his father’s money, he would have to find two hundred dollars within three weeks, in addition to the hundred he would need for rent in just one week. He didn’t have that much in the world, and he had no job. He felt emotion well in his voice and struggled not to cry in front of the others. “But … I don’t have the money….”

“You had enough money to jaunt around Europe for three months,” his father snapped. “I told you I’d back your tuition and books and offset your living expenses. I never offered to pay for trips to Europe. And I never promised to pay indefinitely. Four years is long enough.”

Griff studied his wine, cradling the glass and swirling the liquid as though evaluating its color. Mick inspected his hands, folded on the table in front of him. Wally looked from Dash to Royce and back, her brow creased in concern for her friend.

“But –” Dash bit back tears of humiliation and anger. “I’ll have to drop out.” His voice was hoarse with emotion.

“You need to face facts, Dashiell,” Royce said. He took a swallow of wine. “You need to stand on your own two feet.”

“But it’s nothing,” Dash said. “You’ll bill ten times that much before lunch tomorrow.”

Royce was avoiding Dash’s eye now and took a sip of his wine. “That’s not the point, Dashiell.”

“And my allowance?” He regretted the words as soon as they were out of his mouth.

“On your own two feet means just that, Dashiell,” Royce sneered.

“You asshole!” Dash stood, and his chair tipped on its back on the floor. The others around the table were silent. “You asshole!” He shouted, slapped his hands on the table and leaned toward his father. “I’ll have to drop out of school! I won’t be able to rent a place next week! I’ll be homeless. Is that what you want?”

“What I want.” Royce’s tone was low, almost menacing. “What I want is for you to study something practical, like pre-law. Go to law school. That’s a practical career. And a noble calling.” He glanced at Griff, then slowly stood and leaned forward on his hands, his face a few inches from Dash’s, his jaw set. “In fact, here’s an idea. I’ll pay your tuition and books and double your allowance if you’ll switch your major to pre-law and apply to law schools.”

A brittle silence settled over the room. Louise had heard the confrontation and stood in the doorway to the dining area, holding her breath, Vivi a step behind her.

“Keep your fucking money.” Dash struggled to keep his voice from cracking with emotion. “I don’t need your help.” He turned on his heel. As he stepped out onto the stoop, he realized that he was homeless, both figuratively and literally.

A black silence followed them into Wally’s car. Wally released the hand brake, and the car began to roll down the slope. She moved the gearshift to second and released the clutch, and the car’s engine turned over with a lurch. As they crossed the low bridge that would take them back to town, she glanced in concern at Dash, who sat in the passenger seat, his shoulders sagging, his eyes red and welling with tears.

“What are you going to do?”

“Find a job.” Dash sniffled. “Maybe I can pull tuition money together by September 13th.” It’s one thing, Dash thought, that his father had become increasingly mercurial in the past few years. But to cut Dash off like that, so crudely and without warning. It was so unexpected, and it upended everything. His stomach churned and his thoughts with it. If I drop out, when will I be able to finish school? How can I ever connect with Marlene? How can I get to grad school? How can I get the hell out of Austin?

“Wow. That’s barely two weeks.” She slowed as the approached a red light, and when it turned green she downshifted and accelerated again. “I was going to Barton Springs tomorrow. Want me to drop you downtown?”

“That would be great.” Just talking about taking action was making him feel less helpless. “And a place to live. Our landlord didn’t renew our lease.”

“Well, you can crash at my place, you know.” She looked at him with a grin. “It’ll be like playing house when we were kids.”

Dash didn’t recall Wally being a beautiful young woman filling out a cotton halter dress during those games.

They rode in silence the rest of the way. By the time they stopped in front of Dash’s house, it was late, and the house was dark and silent.

“Thank you.” He put his arms around Wally’s neck and hugged her.

“I love you, Dash,” she breathed into his ear.

Lumpy darted out from under the shrubbery and accompanied him up the stairs. He shucked off his clothes and stretched out on the bed with just a sheet over him. Lumpy curled up near his feet, purring gently. What a day. Unable to get a course he really wanted. His bike stolen. Marlene walking away. Kicked out of his house. Cut off by his father. It occurred to him that he was lucky he didn’t have a dog. Lumpy had his nine lives, but a dog probably would have died.

Anchor 1