“Hey.” I looked up to see Clark standing in the doorway, wearing khaki shorts and a dark-red T-shirt. His hair looked wet and I could see comb tracks through it. “Sorry that took so long,” he said, as he crossed the room toward us. “I was pretty disgusting after cleaning up, so I took a quick shower.”
I nodded, trying not to get distracted by the way he smelled—like some combination of Ivory soap, fresh towels, and mint gum. Clark, in his more casual clothes, was making me all that much more aware that I was still in the dress, now ridiculously creased, that I’d worn for our date. “So Dave and Maya called,” I said, making myself look away from him. I tried to focus on the dog—his eyes were still closed, and he was breathing heavily. “They’re in New Hampshire, but they said to call if we need help.”
“Oh,” Clark said, his face falling. He adjusted his glasses. “So . . . okay.” He looked down at Bertie and twisted his hands together, and I could see how scared he was at the thought of staying here alone with him.
“But I can stay,” I said, making my voice light and easy, like this was no big deal. “You know, so we can take shifts.”
Relief passed over Clark’s face immediately, before it was replaced by something closer to worry. “Are you sure?” he asked. “I hate to ask you to do that.”
“You didn’t,” I said. “I offered.” A moment later, though, I suddenly worried that he didn’t want me there. It would make sense—who wants to keep hanging out with someone they had a bad date with, especially when there’s no possibility of kissing at the end of it? “But if you don’t want me to,” I started haltingly, “I mean—”
“No, no,” Clark said, so quickly that I knew he wanted me to stay. Probably his panic at being left alone with Bertie was overriding any awkwardness about spending more time with me. “It would be great if you could stay. I mean, if you don’t mind.”
“Not at all.” Even as I said it, I was wondering what I was doing. I pushed myself to standing carefully, pulling my dress down. “I’m just going to get his water dish.”
“Great,” Clark said, nodding, then looking at the dog. “I’ll keep an eye on him.”
I headed toward the kitchen, unlocking my phone as I walked. I started to compose a text to my dad, letting him know what was happening—I had a work emergency. Sick dog needs to be watched over tonight. Will be home in a.m.—when my phone beeped with an incoming text.
BRI
Andie, you okay? Why did you need a vet? What’s happening? We’re about to take off here—should we wait?
PALMER
Where even are you? We thought you’d be back by now.
ME
Dog sickness emergency.
So I’m at Clark’s—definitely not coming back tonight
TOBY
PALMER
I’m sorry, Toby—what was that?
TOBY
!!
BRI
Yeah, I’m not sure I entirely understood what you were trying to convey there.
TOBY
I shook my head as I looked at the texts, wondering if Toby was, like me, becoming aware of how hard this was going to be to keep up all summer.
ME
Guys, stop messing with her.
Gotta go—I’ll text tomorrow!
PALMER
Send updates!
BRI
Seconded
TOBY
PALMER
Didn’t quite get your meaning there, T.
I smiled as I dropped my phone back in my pocket, knowing this might go on for a while. I picked up Bertie’s water dish, filled it with fresh water, and then dropped in a few ice cubes, in case that made it more appealing.
Then, carrying it carefully, I walked back to the laundry room. Clark was sitting cross-legged next to Bertie, patting his head every few seconds. “Any change?” I asked as I set the water bowl down in front of the dog. Bertie raised his head slightly, glanced at the water, then closed his eyes again.
Clark shook his head. “The same,” he said. “But he’s not shaking anymore, so that’s a good sign, I think.”
I nodded as I sat down on Bertie’s other side, tucking my legs beneath me and smoothing my dress down. I met Clark’s eye over Bertie’s head, and then we both looked away again. I told myself firmly that it would be fine as I ran my hand over the hair on the dog’s back. We could just watch the dog. It wasn’t like we had to talk or anything.
? ? ?
It turns out there’s only so long you can sit in silence and stare at a sick dog. And that amount of time is apparently twenty minutes. “So,” I said, when I absolutely, positively couldn’t stand the silence for a moment longer. “You’re from Colorado?”
Clark looked at me over Bertie and gave me a half smile, the kind you give when you’re being polite, not because you’re happy about something. I looked in vain for the dimples, but it seemed they only emerged for the real thing. “I am,” he said. He didn’t say anything else, and as silence fell again, I took a breath to ask a follow-up. I really didn’t even care what it was. I’d see who could recite all the state capitals faster. I just couldn’t take the quiet anymore. But before I could say anything, Clark went on. “I was born in Steamboat Springs, but when I was eleven, we moved way out to the country, almost to the Wyoming border.”