Read What the Dog Ate for Free Online Page B

baseball; there’s no crying at Adam Sandler movies and
there’s no crying at ballgames.
    She took advantage of her momentum
and gathered a load of whites. She couldn’t put it off, having pulled on her
last clean pair of underwear that morning.
    Something caught her eye as she
shoved clothes in the machine. A dress sock of Dave’s hid between the washer
and dryer. Even after her purging, reminders of him lurked everywhere: the
switch plate in their bathroom, cracked because he’d tightened it too hard;
their dark leather sofa (she’d wanted the sage green velvety one, but Dave
hated it; she’d had to settle for velvet throw pillows); the monolithic TV in
their bedroom (she’d have let him take it if she hadn’t been so angry; she
planned to put it on craigslist). Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to sell the
house; escape the memories. Easier though to just trade places with that sock;
crawl into a dark nook.
    I’m reduced to
feeling jealous of a sock .
    She threw it in the trash and
started the washer. She leaned against the cool metal machine, gathering energy
for the trek back to the sofa. Kona peeked around the corner with his favorite
stuffed rabbit in his mouth, eyes wide with the hope of a game. The corners of
Maggie’s mouth flitted upward, a brief happy blip on the radar of her face.
    She squatted down and he offered
her the rabbit. She tugged at it gently. “I’m sorry I’ve been ignoring you,
Buddy. How about a walk?”
    His ears perked up. She didn’t feel
like it—out the window to the west San Diego’s “May gray” afternoon clouds
rolled in off the ocean, matching her mood—but she felt guilty. Kona would race
around the yard now and then, but mostly he moped around the house with her.
    Although it was cloudy in the west,
the sun still shone in the neighborhood. She hunted for her sunglasses, but
couldn’t find them. An old pair would have to do. She grabbed her Padres cap
off the shelf of the closet, pulled it low, and they headed out.
    She heard kids screaming “not it!”
in a backyard; the whir of a lawnmower. The cut-grass scent wafted toward them.
Maggie normally loved this type of quintessential spring Sunday. But today she
searched the western sky, ready for the clouds to smother everything in a damp blanket.
    As they walked past the oleanders
bordering his property, Maggie saw her neighbor, an old man in a seersucker
shirt and plaid Bermudas, stop short with his mower, watching them.
    “Hello Mr. Gunderson. Hello, Pip.”
She greeted the poodle who sashayed over and rubbed noses with Kona through the
fence.
    Mr. Gunderson opened his mouth. He
seemed flustered. Was it possible he knew about Dave, was he going to say
something?
    I don’t want to
talk to this man about my personal life . She tugged at Kona’s collar,
but he sniffed furiously at the fence post. Damn dog. Knew
we should’ve stayed home . An abundance of pee-mail must have built up in
his absence from his route, and Kona seemed determined to catch up on all of
it.
    “You, um...” Mr. Gunderson pointed
at her, then moved his hand, with its gnarled tree root fingers, to his straw
hat and tipped it at her. “Enjoy your walk.”
    Kona added a reply to the post and
pulled Maggie in search of further correspondence.
    Odd. Thought he
was going to say something more .
    The Freedmans, who lived across
from her, drove past in their minivan. Mrs. Freedman pointed and her husband
turned to look at Maggie.
    What the heck? She walked behind Kona, distracted. Wait a minute; I bet
they all know. They must have seen That Woman coming and going while I was away .
Maggie imagined that skinny stick, mincing up to the door in a mini skirt and
cropped T-shirt that read, “I’m just here for the adultery.” For God’s sake, Dave, the neighbors knew before I did! I bet
they’ve all been gossiping about what a fool I am .
    Once home, Kona headed to his water
bowl; Maggie went to the powder room to wash her hands. In the mirror,