“Get out,” I said as soon as I opened my eyes. He left without complaint.
I took my time to dress, then went downstairs to check out the basement. Clay followed me. I tried to ignore him as I looked around. There wasn’t much to see. The washer and the dryer were right by the steps, and there were a few utility shelves against the walls for storage.
With nothing else to do, I decided to take advantage of my idle time by sunbathing. I walked back upstairs and went to my room to change. After our talk the day before, Clay didn’t attempt to follow me.
The second time wearing the suit was a little less nerve-racking. I didn’t stare nervously in the mirror and eye all the pale skin glaring back at me. Instead, I appreciated the vivid coloring on the suit. Rachel had good taste.
Intent on finding the beach towels Rachel had used, I opened the door and stopped short at the sight of Clay. His huge dog head moved up, then down, as his eyes traveled the length of my body. I flushed, slammed the door, and changed back into shorts and a tank top. I opted to cut the grass, instead.
Clay sat on the porch and watched me push the mower back and forth. When I moved to the front, he followed. He was never in the way, just always there. After I went back inside to read, he did disappear for a bit. He had apparently taken my complaint about his hygiene seriously and had chosen to shower again. I hoped he would make it a daily routine.
Since he’d bathed and given me privacy as I’d asked, I had no reason to complain when I went to my room that night and saw him lying on the foot of the bed. However, when I woke Wednesday morning with him lying next to me, I did complain. Lividly.
“Now, just hold on,” I whispered with a scowl. “You’re a dog. Act like one. Fur stays at the foot of the bed.”
He grudgingly moved to his place at the foot of the bed, watching me the whole time.
“Don’t give me your doleful eyes. This is your choice, not mine.” As soon as I said that, I recalled his talent for misinterpretation which had caused this co-ed housing in the first place. “Not that you’d get to sleep next to me in your skin either. So, don’t even think about it. If you don’t like the end of the bed, you can always sleep on the floor.”
After getting the paper, I scoured the classifieds for a beater car and found two promising ads. Both required a long walk. I fetched my bag, tucked the folded newspaper inside, and grabbed the house keys.
Clay beat me to the door. I scowled down at him. He stared back at me. After a moment, he shook his neck, jangling his tags. Defeated, I clipped on his leash. He negotiated well without using a single word.
I used my cell to call the number for the first ad. The man sounded a bit brusque as if my planned visit inconvenienced him. Shrugging it off, I led Clay to the address. A rusty car parked on the front lawn with a “for sale” sign affirmed I had the right place. Clay and I walked toward the car.
A man called hello from the open garage and made his way toward us. As he neared, his demeanor changed, and I inwardly groaned. He introduced himself as Howard and looked me over with interest. Clay moved to stand between us, his stoic presence a good deterrent.
Howard talked about the car for a bit, going through the laundry list of its deficiencies. Then he popped the hood so I could look at the engine. In the middle of Howard’s attempt to impress me with his vast mechanical knowledge, Clay sprang up between us. Howard yelped at Clay’s sudden move and edged away as Clay placed his paws on the front of the car to get a good look at the engine, too. I fought not to smile at the man’s stunned expression. At Clay’s discreet nod, I bought the car, not bothering with the second ad.
No matter what errand I wanted to run during the week before classes started, Clay insisted on tagging along. On Friday, when I drove to the bookstore, Clay rode a very cramped shotgun and waited in the car while I made my purchases. Later, he sat in the hot car again while I bought some basic school supplies.
However, Monday, when I tried leaving for my first class, I put my foot down. He bristled and growled and tried to follow me.
“Your license only wins you so much freedom. Dogs aren’t allowed on campus and definitely not in the classroom.”
Thankfully, Rachel had left first and didn’t hear me scold him.
I tried to leave again, but he stubbornly persisted. Finally, exasperated, I reminded him that he slept on my bed because of my good grace. He resentfully stepped away from the door.
After the first week of classes, I didn’t have time to mind Clay’s constant attention. Maxing out at eighteen credits, desperate to get the general requirements out of the way so I could delve into clinicals sooner, I spent much of my day on campus in a classroom or in the library. When I actually found myself at home, I spent my time studying. I’d known when signing up for the courses that they would occupy all of my time and prevent me from having much of a life. Other than the fact I couldn’t get a part-time job while taking the overload, I hadn’t minded the commitment.
Even though I ignored him, Clay still stayed close to me. I realized how bored he’d grown when I came home and found one of my books on the couch, the bookmark on the wrong page. The next day, I took pity on him and brought back some books I thought might interest him. The one I thought particularly clever, about flora and fauna of North America, I included to remind him of home. He eyed the titles dispassionately. The day after, a bookmark nestled between the pages of two of the books.
I woke up one morning with a single-word note on my dresser. It simply said “mechanics.” The first stack of books lay next to the note.
I turned to glare at Clay, who still lounged on the end of the bed.
“So you can write words to me, just not speak them?”
He blinked at me.
“Whatever. You’re going to get caught creeping around the house at night.”
Later that day, I returned the books on forestry and wildlife and checked out several books on mechanics. For fun, I threw in a do-it-yourself book for home repairs.
The second Friday after school began, I sat on my bed with the door to my room closed. Clay lay in his usual spot beside me, his eyes devouring the words of his current book. He’d spent enough time reading next to me that I’d grown used to our system, a nudge when he needed a page turned. Trying to turn the page with his nose hadn’t worked out well for him or the first book.
When he nudged me, I turned his page without looking up from my own book. When he did it again, I lifted my head. He read fast, but not that fast. He briefly met my eyes then turned toward the door. Just then, I heard the front door open, and I froze at the sound of Rachel’s voice.
“...and this is where I live. Please have a seat, and I’ll change quickly. My roommate and our dog should be around here somewhere.”
“No rush,” a man answered. “Our reservations aren’t until six.”
I turned wide eyes to Clay. Rachel had brought a man home? I didn’t have time to think about it further because she knocked on my door. I wanted to ignore it, but instead, quickly closed the book in front of Clay.
“Come in.”
Rachel walked in still wearing her scrubs. Her smile and flushed cheeks spoke volumes, as did the way she tactfully closed the door behind her.
“There you are. Come meet Peter.” She walked close and leaned in so she could whisper more. “Don’t kill me, but he has a friend without a date tonight, and I said I had a friend without a date tonight...please come with.”
I groaned quietly. “Don’t do this to me, Rachel. This won’t end well, and you’ll probably never forgive me.”