When little Josie had her second temper tantrum in a fifteen-minute span – it was a little before nine – Allison scooped her into her arms and gave Laird the look, the one that said it was time to go so they could get the kids in bed. Laird didn’t bother arguing, and when he stood up from the table, Megan glanced at Joe, Liz nodded at Matt, and Travis knew the evening was at an end. Parents might believe themselves to be the bosses, but in the end it was the kids who made the rules.
He supposed he could have tried to talk one of his friends into staying, and might even have gotten one to agree, but he had long since grown accustomed to the fact that his friends lived their lives by a different schedule from his. Besides, he had a sneaking suspicion that Stephanie, his younger sister, might swing by later. She was coming in from Chapel Hill, where she was working toward a master’s degree in biochemistry. Though she would stay at their parents’ place, she was usually wired after the drive and in the mood to talk, and their parents would already be in bed. Megan, Joe, and Liz rose and started to clean up the table, but Travis waved them off.
“I’ll get it in a while. No big deal.”
A few minutes later, two SUVs and a minivan were being loaded with children. Travis stood on the front porch and waved as they pulled out of the driveway.
When they were gone, Travis wandered back to the stereo, sorted through the CDs again, and chose Tattoo You by the Rolling Stones, then cranked up the volume. He pulled at another beer on his way back to his chair, threw his feet up on the table, and leaned back. Moby sat beside him.
“Just you and me for a while,” he said. “What time do you think Stephanie will be rolling in?”
Moby turned away. Unless Travis said the words walk or ball or go for a ride or come get a bone, Moby wasn’t much interested in anything he had to say.
“Do you think I should call her to see if she’s on her way yet?”
Moby continued to stare.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought. She’ll get here when she gets here.”
He sat drinking his beer and stared out over the water. Behind him, Moby whined. “You want to go get your ball?” he finally said.
Moby stood so quickly, he almost knocked over the chair.
It was the music, she thought, that proved to be the clincher in what had already been one of the most miserable weeks of her life. Loud music. Okay, nine o’clock on a Saturday night wasn’t so bad, especially since he obviously had company, and ten o’clock wasn’t all that unreasonable, either. But eleven o’clock? When he was alone and playing fetch with his dog?
From her back deck, she could see him just sitting there in the same shorts he’d worn all day, feet on the table, tossing the ball and staring at the river. What on earth could he be thinking?
Maybe she shouldn’t be so hard on him; she should simply ignore him. It was his house, right? King of the castle and all that. He could do what he wanted. But that wasn’t the problem. The problem was that he had neighbors, including her, and she had a castle, too, and neighbors were supposed to be considerate. And truth be told, he’d crossed the line. Not just because of the music. In all honesty, she liked the music he was listening to and usually didn’t really care how loud or how long he played it. The problem was with his dog, Nobby, or whatever he called him. More specifically, what his dog had done to her dog.
Molly, she was certain, was pregnant.