Hound Dog & Bean (4 page)

H.D. had heard the so-called dog whisperer explain this, and the particular episode he’d watched advised that you not let a dog stop and sniff and pee over and over. That was the last time H.D. ever watched the show. In his opinion, the man was full of shit. Why would you do such a thing to a dog? It was cruel. Did the man know nothing about
canis familiaris
? Dogs “saw” the world through their noses. They actually didn’t see all that well. But their noses! A dog had 300 million olfactory receptors in their noses, compared to humans, who had about six million. They could detect a teaspoon of sugar in two Olympic-size pools worth of water. People thought dogs peed on things to mark their territory, but that wasn’t what was really going on. The places dogs peed were the equivalent of community bulletin boards.

When Sarah Jane left her urine, she was leaving a message that said something like, “Hi! I’m a dachshund and Yorkshire terrier mix! I am female, I’m three years old, and I have had puppies, but I am not in heat.” All that and more. So who was he to keep Sarah Jane from reading the community board? Or for leaving her message for other dogs? As far as H.D. was concerned, Sarah could piss as many times as she wanted.

It must be remarkable to have such a sense of smell, H.D. thought. It was said a dog could smell emotions. Even cancer. He was sure it was how dogs seemed to instantly like or dislike a person. It made him ashamed. While Sarah Jane had liked the little girl in the OshKosh B'Gosh overalls, she’d begun to shiver and quake around her father.
I should have known. I wasn’t paying close enough attention
.

A lot of people, including the so-called dog whisperer, thought of dogs as wolves. They weren’t wolves. Dogs were what mankind had bred them to be for over a hundred thousand years. The perfect companion for man
.

And yes, H.D. liked them a whole lot more than people.

Maybe I should adopt Sarah Jane
.

He hadn’t had a dog since Ramses died. His passing had so broken H.D.’s heart, he hadn’t thought he could take in another dog for a while. But Sarah Jane? She was pretty special. Maybe that’s why nobody had adopted her yet. Maybe she was supposed to be with him. The corners of his mouth flicked upward.

It was a nice idea.

But….

Maybe he should wait a little longer, a few more days.

He never knew who might show up, and it might be just the right person. Who was H.D. to stand in the way of destiny?

I
T
SHOULD
have come as no surprise to Bean to find out he and Mrs. McKenna weren’t the only guests at his parent’s house. Sloan, her son, was there as well.
Big
surprise.

“Dean?” said Bean’s mother cheerfully. “You remember Sloan? He was one year behind you in school.”

Yes, Mom
, he thought to himself.
Just like you said yesterday. What you
didn’t
say was that he was coming to dinner
.

Bean smiled and took Sloan’s offered hand and gave it a shake. “Sure,” he said. “I remember.”

Sloan smiled a clearly uncomfortable smile.

So you didn’t know about this either
.

“It’s nice to see you again,” Sloan said. “What’s it been? Like fifteen years?”

“Something like that,” Bean replied and let go of Sloan’s hand.

“You’ve changed,” Sloan said. “You were short and skinny as hell if I remember.”

Bean nodded. “That was me.”

Bean’s mom jumped in. “Little Dean didn’t really come into his own until he was… was it around your twenty-first birthday?”

“Just before,” Bean answered.

“Well you’re certainly not little
now
,” Sloan commented.

Jeez
, is
he flirting?
Bean hoped not. It wasn’t that there was anything wrong with the guy. There wasn’t. In fact, he was nice-looking, with creamy white skin, dazzling green eyes, a broad chest, and thick red hair (along with a few dozen freckles). But Bean had never been partial to gingers. He had no idea why. Somehow, he just always thought redheads should be women, not men. Julianne Moore, Amy Adams, and Nicole Kidman were beauty and sensuality personified. David Caruso, Ron Howard, and Conan O’Brien? Not so much. Stupid, and he knew it, but there you were.

“I brought beer,” Bean said. “Want one?”

A look of relief washed over Sloan’s face. “You have
no
idea.”

“No,” Bean said with a laugh. “I think I
do
.” He held up a brown paper bag. “Follow me.”

They passed through the living room on their way, and there sitting on the couch was Mrs. McKenna. Bean was relieved to see she looked pretty darn good. Not jaundiced, no deep circles under her eyes, and she had all of her hair, which was thick and red and obviously where Sloan got his. Bean stepped over and gave her a hug and asked how she was doing.

“It’s a good day,” she said, smiling. “How are you?”

“Fit as a fiddle.” He grinned.

Eyes twinkling, she said, “Indeed you are.” And then winked at her son.

Bean glanced Sloan’s way and saw that his face was bright red. Embarrassed.
At least
I’m not the only one
.

“We’re going out on the deck to have a beer,” Bean said, holding the paper bag up once more.

“Or thirty,” he heard Sloan mumble, and Bean bit his tongue to keep from laughing.

“Have fun you two,” Mrs. McKenna called after them.

“But remember, your father is out there,” Bean’s mother added.

For God’s sake, Mom. Please shut up. What do you think we’re gonna do?

Bean’s dad wasn’t on the deck. The closed-top grill was, though, with smoke flowing out the vents and a wonderful aroma filling the air.

“Sorry about that,” said Sloan. “I think our moms were—”

“Playing matchmaker?” Bean offered.

“I could
die
. I am
so
sorry.” Any color that had left Sloan’s face was returning with a vengeance. He was redder than his hair.

“Don’t apologize,” Bean said. “
My
mother was in on it.”

“I guess I should just count my blessings and be happy Mom’s finally okay with me being gay. It took
me
long enough.”

“Oh?” Bean asked and pulled two bottles of beer from his bag.

“I always knew, mind you. But I was in college before I
really
had sex with a guy. Before that it had only been teenage-boy stuff. No big deal. But after Cooper I knew. But I had had all this pressure to continue the family line and all that bullshit, me an only child and Dad long gone. So there I was, a junior in college, engaged to be married, when her brother seduced me.”

“Wow,” Bean replied and tried not to laugh. He opened a beer and handed it over.

“Yup. And that was the end of any impending marriage.”

Bean opened his own beer. “Because you knew you couldn’t go through with it?”

Sloan sighed and closed his eyes. “’Cuz she caught us in bed.”

Bean shook his head. “Fuck me.”

“That’s exactly what he was doing when she walked in on us.” Sloan flinched. “Did I say that out loud? Holy-shit-oh-my-God….”

Bean did laugh this time.

“Can we rewind? Erase the last minute or so?”

“I’m not sure what you mean,” Bean said, taking pity on Sloan. “You were saying you feel like you should count your blessings that your mom is okay with you being gay.”

“Thank you, and yes,” Sloan replied.

“My mom marches in parades,” said Bean. “She doesn’t even seem to be all that concerned about grandchildren, which I have no intention of giving her. She’s only asked me once or twice since I was, like, sixteen.”
Not that she’d have any time for them
, he thought.
No. Don’t go there.
“Give me a dog anytime.”

Sloan sighed sadly. “You’re lucky. That’s all my mom wants. She says, ‘They did it in
The New Normal
. Get a surrogate!’” Sloan shook his head. “Even if I got a girl pregnant today, chances are Mom wouldn’t live long enough to see any kids.”

“I’m sorry,” said Bean. His heart went out to the man. He opened his mouth to reply, and realized he had no idea what to say. Bean’s mother wasn’t dying. He hurt even thinking about it.

Sloan shrugged. “Life isn’t always fair. At least I have her for a while.”

Bean nodded and gave Sloan what he hoped was an encouraging smile. He raised his beer. “To having your mom around for a while.”

Sloan’s eyes filled with emotion. “To every single minute,” he replied, and they clinked bottles.

They both jumped at a not-so-subtle clearing of a throat, and when they turned, they found Bean’s father stepping through the sliding glass doors that let out onto the deck.

“Whoa, Dad,” Bean said. His eyes widened in surprise. His father, who was fastidious about his appearance, had several days’ growth of a graying beard. “What’s with the scruff?” he asked.

“Hmmmm?” his father said absently. He reached up and touched his face and seemed almost surprised to find the beginnings of a beard. He looked at Bean. “Well, hell. I’m retired. I don’t have to shave every day anymore if I don’t want to. What’s your excuse?”

Bean touched his own face—his thick but trimmed beard—then shrugged. “Part of the look of a barista? It’s a thing.”

His father snorted. He turned to Sloan. “Well, look at you! You’ve grown!”

“Some time ago, Mr. Alexander.”

“Call me Big Dean,” Bean’s father said. “You’ll really make me feel old otherwise.”

Sloan shrugged. “Ah…. Okay.”

“Hell! You’re a man now, right?”

Bean shook his head. “For some time now, Dad. Like he said.”

“Sure, sure….”

Big Dean walked to the grill and opened it. Inside the chicken sizzled, and if the air had smelled good before, now it was positively mouthwatering. He took tongs and flipped the various pieces. “Just about done,” he said and began brushing the chicken with melted butter from a tiny cast-iron skillet in the corner of the grill.

It’s good none of us are fat
, Bean thought.
And hopefully our cholesterol levels are all good!

“Hope I wasn’t interrupting anything when I came out here,” said Big Dean and gave them both a knowing look.

Bean held back a sigh. “No, Dad. We were just having a beer. Want one?”

“What are you drinking?”

Bean showed his father his bottle, an unfiltered wheat from Boulevard, a local brewery and one of the largest in the Midwest. The man frowned. “Don’t you have any
real
beer? Got a Bud in that bag?”

Bean grimaced. “No, Dad. And that’s not ‘real’ beer.”

His father shook his head. “Yeah, yeah. Says Mr. Fancy Coffee himself. You two go ahead and drink that stuff. I’ll get me something out of the refrigerator.” He nodded, turned around, and left them on the deck.

“I like your beer a lot,” Sloan said and gave Bean a big smile. His eyes were wide and pretty, and there seemed to be all kinds of things swimming in them.

Please don’t be flirting
, Bean thought. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt this guy’s feelings. He seemed to be nice, but Bean wasn’t
looking
to get into a relationship. It had nothing to do with Sloan having red hair either. Bean wasn’t that superficial. If he met the right guy, then fine. But setting people up never worked. They couldn’t date just to please Sloan’s mom…. And speaking of his mom, God, was this even the time for Sloan to get involved with someone? Didn’t he have enough on his plate? Sure, it would be nice for him to have someone to lean on, and maybe Bean could be a friend. But a lover? A boyfriend? That was something else again. He couldn’t turn on an attraction he didn’t feel.

Say something. Anything.

“Thanks,” he replied. “I like my beer too.”

They clinked bottles again and drank in silence for a while.

“So your dad is retired?” Sloan asked.

Bean nodded. “He was a prosecutor for the Missouri court system.”

As if on cue, Big Dean came back out onto the porch with a big platter. “I think we’re probably ready,” he told them and checked the chicken with a long fork. “Yup. Looks good.” He began to pull the meat off the grill and arrange it on the platter he’d brought. “Why don’t you two go in and tell Mother it’s time to eat?”

D
INNER
WENT
well enough, considering the parents weren’t getting the hint. They even made sure Bean and Sloan sat together, and failed to put the wing in the dining room table so everyone was knocking elbows. Was Sloan pulling away or was that a thigh pressed up against his own, Bean wondered—and worried about as well.

Funny, then, when Sloan pulled him back out onto the deck. The sun had set and there was only the light coming through the double glass doors to allow them to see. Was this meant to be romantic? Intimate? Was he going to try something?

“Look, Dean. Ummm. I hope you don’t mind, but I gotta share something with you. I kinda got the idea you were flirting with me, and I’m flattered. Really. And I don’t want to hurt your feelings, but you know, I’m not really looking to get into a relationship right now. Mom is worried about me being alone, and she’s trying to set me up, and she should know setting people up never works. This isn’t the day of arranged marriages where people learn to fall in love, you know?”

Is this happening?
Bean thought, amused at the irony of the situation. Here he’d been worried about Sloan’s feelings for him, and there weren’t any.
Do I have an ego or what?

“And my mom…. She’s dying, you know? I can’t even think about getting involved with anyone. I am going to need all the time and energy I have in the next few months, or however long I have with her.”

Bean nodded. He didn’t say anything. What was there to say? That Sloan was repeating his earlier thoughts almost word for word? Tell Sloan that he wasn’t Bean’s type? Be insulting?

“And…. Well, don’t get me wrong, Dean, but… you’re not really my type.”