The Dance Read online

  Zippy. Her beautiful little beagle. She’d never forgive Penelope for stuffing her in the backseat of her crammed Fiat and moving her across the country with her. Brooke was more broken-hearted over losing Zippy to the state of California than about losing Penelope.

  Now, a year later Brooke still teared up whenever she tripped over Zippy’s bowl. She couldn’t bring herself to put it away. Her grandparents urged her to adopt a new dog right away, but Brooke couldn’t imagine loving another as much as she did Zippy.

  Brooke stared into the stray’s deep, anxious soulful eyes, unable to digest how someone could abandon her on the side of a busy highway. “Poor girl. You’ve had a bad romp through life so far, haven’t you?”

  The dog squirmed and whined. Dark tears stained her auburn fur.

  Pepe bowed down to pet her. His white hair blew around in the brisk wind, adding a few extra years to him. Pepe was a handsome man who always carried a fun-loving, Santa Claus energy, complete with rosy cheeks and a white moustache and beard. He cared deeply for animals, and would not let this poor little girl suffer alone. “I brought her in our house, and Ollie already tried to attack her.”

  Ollie, a seventeen-year-old smoky gray cat with celery-colored eyes, ruled her grandparent’s house.

  “I suppose she can stay with me until we can find her a forever home.”

  The dog shivered despite sporting a full body of red matted fur. She nuzzled her cold nose against Brooke’s hand.

  “I have the feeling she already found her forever home.” Her nana hugged herself, already cradling that look of love every doting grandmother carried in the soft crinkles of her sparkle.

  “Do you want to stay with me for a little while?” Brooke asked the dog.

  She brightened and perked. She shook, and her matted fur rose from its pin curl nest, sending a whiff of stagnant pond water through the air.

  “We’re going to need an awful lot of shampoo to get you cleaned up.” Brooke plucked one of the many leaf clippings buried in her random tufts. “That’s okay because I’ve got plenty.” Brooke scratched behind her ears and she woofed a sharp, high-pitched approval.

  “This is going to be good for all of us,” Pepe said, placing his hand on Nana’s lower back. “Our bee yard will never be the same again.”

  “Our new mascot,” Nana beamed. The flecks of gold in her wise eyes twinkled through the fresh moisture.

  Brooke grabbed the leash and the dog stood up, wagging her crooked tail. “You need a name.”

  “Ruffles?” Nana asked.

  Brooke shook her head. “Too obvious.”

  Pepe stared at her, cupping his chin with his free hand. “Red?”

  Nana poked his side. “Talk about obvious, silly goof.”

  Suddenly, a bee buzzed past them, veering over to the sugar water near the patio’s edge. It circled back around and buzzed around the dog’s head before losing interest and seeking out its sugary treat.

  “Bee,” Brooke said. “How about if we call her Bee?”

  “Bee.” Nana applauded. “How wonderful.”

  Pepe cleared his throat. “How is that not obvious?”

  The dog nudged Brooke’s hands again. “It’s fitting.” A surge of maternal love pulsed through her. “Bee,” Brooke sang out, trying out her new name.

  Bee leaped and pranced in a circle.

  “I like Red better,” Pepe said, “but, I guess Bee will do.”

  “Bee, do you want a bath?” Brooke clapped her hands.

  Bee’s ears perked, and she yelped.

  “A bath it is.”

  Suddenly, Bee took off toward the back door and Brooke chased after her.

  What could possibly go wrong?

  ~ ~

  Bee. Oh dear Bee.

  With her exuberant charm and downright stubborn appeals, Bee turned Brooke’s life upside down and inside out.

  Bee, albeit the queen bee of cuteness, was a royal terror.

  On her latest incident, she had chewed through the bathroom door to try and get to a friendly couple who had stopped by to purchase honey. “Just give her time,” Nana said. “You were rough around the edges when you were a little one, too. She just needs you to have a little patience with her.” Nana adjusted her sunhat and peeked up at the trees, pretending she didn’t notice Bee attacking her lilac bushes out of her peripheral view.

  As a beekeeper, Brooke should’ve had patience. She should’ve coexisted with life, undeterred by its sudden and complex challenges and open to the beauty of its wild flow. At least that’s how her grandparents drifted through life.

  She tried to keep calm in those first few weeks. Even a speck of patience would be great, she’d whisper up to the rafters in her living room. Her prayers went unanswered. Bee continued to drag her through puddles, chase toads, and knock over trays of honeycomb.

  “She doesn’t know any better. Give her time,” Nana kept saying.

  Brooke gave her time alright, but not without clenching her fists and muttering an alarming amount of curse words.

  “She needs exercise,” Nana pointed out one day. She shoved the Dog Bible in front of Brooke’s face. “Look. See, right here. It states so. She needs exercise. She’s too intelligent and needs a release for all that pent-up energy.” Her nana wiggled her hips and flexed her biceps. “A little exercise. That’s it.”

  “Exercise? She runs around the apiary all day long, terrorizing the squirrels and bunnies.”

  “She needs a brisk walk, not a romp around the backyard.”

  She trusted her nana. After all, she managed to help raise her into a conscientious member of society. Brooke didn’t smoke, do drugs or land in jail. In fact, if she ran into her nana on the street, she would buy a magazine subscription from her. She would purchase a timeshare from her without much question. Her nana was that trustworthy and believable.

  “I’ll try.”

  Nana tilted her sunhat and shimmied one more time before tending to her seedlings.

  Armed with something productive and practical, Brooke latched onto the exercise idea, even purchasing a new collar and leash, a pouch for doggy cookies, and biodegradable poop bags.

  On a beautiful early spring morning, they set out. The sun peeked up over the tall and mighty maple trees. Their branches leafed out in fresh spring greens. Birds filled the air with jovial chirps. Bee pounced along happy as anything, stopping every two seconds to piddle and kick dirt on her mess. “You’re so cute, little Bee.” Brooke bent over and cooed her. She inhaled a thankful breath, banking on that wise decision to let her out and enjoy the tickle of grass on her paws and the excitement of inhaling the pungent scents left behind by others before her.

  She stood up on that good note, and then Bee stiffened.

  In the distance, a jogger headed toward them. As he neared, Bee wagged her tail.

  “Oh, you want to say hi?” Brooke steadied her grip on the leash. “Maybe he’ll be nice and stop. We have to be patient as Nana would say,” she whispered.

  Bee leaped around in a circle, challenging Brooke’s grip.

  “Okay, easy does it.”

  The man approached and Bee growled.

  He smirked, checked behind him, and headed across the street.

  Bee’s growl escalated into an all-out demonic assault. Brooke fought for control over her leash, but Bee pulled her along for the wild chase. The man turned over his shoulder and terror spread across his face.

  “Bee, stop,” Brooke yelled.

  Brooke’s panic forced Bee into attack mode. Where did the cute, docile dog who slept in bed with her and ate from the palm of her hand go? Bee lunged forward with all her fifty pounds of muscle, flinging slobber every which way.

  She tossed Brooke around like a ragdoll, focused only on catching the man who had broken out into a sprint. He disappeared over a guard rail and into the woods.

  Bee stopped, perked her ears and huffed. Snorting and hacking, she paced in front of Brooke. Then, a leaf blew by her and she chased that, c
homping at the air and barking a ferocious warning.

  Brooke chased Bee all the way home, hanging onto that leash for dear life. Her breathing didn’t return to a healthy pace until she arrived back at her house and locked the doors.

  Later that night, Nana sat on the adjacent recliner in her living room. She gazed at Bee. “What an adorable face.”

  “An adorable monster face,” Brooke said, coddling her on the couch. Bee snored and tucked her head into Brooke’s lap. “What am I supposed to do with her?”

  “I’ll check the Dog Bible for answers. Though, she’s not a monster. She’s just scared. Just a little more time and she’ll be fine.”

  In the weeks following, Bee’s behavior around strangers turned into a dramatic mess. Inviting visitors to the backyard apiary became an arduous task that required lots of peanut butter filled bones, baby gates, and if it were even possible, the patience of twenty beekeepers. God forbid a visitor rang her doorbell. The fangs emerged, front paws circled into a frenzy against the window, and drool splattered everywhere, creating mini lakes on Brooke’s wooden planks where beautiful decorative plants once sat.

  Life with Bee changed everyone’s routine. Even the mailman had to readjust to accommodate the furry beast who lived in the carriage house at the end of the tree-lined driveway. He could no longer dawdle with Pepe in the garage and talk carpentry because Bee’s high-pitched bark threatened anyone’s eardrum within a one-mile range.

  Her exercise, the very exercise that she required to shed the pent-up energy, went from an hour-long brisk walk to absolute zero.

  Bee needed walks. The backyard grew smaller as her attitude grew larger.

  So, Brooke experimented with a new plan. They began an early morning exercise routine. Early morning meaning before the sun had a chance to rise.

  Bee behaved like a champ.

  Amazing how many spider webs formed across the sidewalks at four in the morning. Brooke didn’t mind because Bee loved the peace that dawn offered. Her tail wagged when she’d sniff a rose bush and her ears relaxed along with her easy stride.

  Most notable, Bee walked right by Brooke’s side without as much as a tug. They were two happy-go-lucky beings exploring the untouched neighborhood under the misty reflection of the different phases of the moon with the tree frogs as their most audible companion.

  Brooke understood the risks of solo walks in the dark. She carried her pepper spray like a well-armed security guard, finger already on the trigger. Of course, not too much on the trigger. She’d done that once many years earlier and blinded herself. Besides, no one in her right mind would be up at that hour.

  What a perfect solution.

  At four in the morning, only the newspaper delivery guy challenged their serenity when he’d weave through the streets driving his beat-up Corolla, flinging newspapers on the front lawns of subscribers. Bee would hear the loud muffler from a block away and go on patrol, sniffing the air, whining, and then barking like crazy the second she’d see his car come into view.

  Brooke yanked on her leash, shushed her, stood in front of her to block her view, and waited until the man drove off. She managed to calm her, further stoking her confidence that she had found a viable solution.

  Well, viable for about a week.

  One morning, all hell broke loose.

  Brooke and Bee were walking down the dark street when Bee began to growl. Brooke dug her feet into the ground and leveraged against a tree. “What’s wrong, Bee?” Brooke twisted around to get a better scan of the street. “What are you growling at?”

  Bee got louder and sounded more ferocious.

  Brooke tensed, bracing herself for the all-out war.

  Suddenly, she heard clack-clack-clack and smelled a cigarette. She squinted in the darkness and jumped when she noticed a man walking up the dark sidewalk on the opposite side of the street. He wore flip-flops and nothing but a pair of shorts. He puffed away on a cigarette, mumbling nonsense. Bee launched herself on her hind legs and spun on the end of her leash, knocking Brooke down to the grass and dragging her across the sidewalk and into the street.

  The man ignored them, shuffling up the street toward a block of townhomes before disappearing. Bee, the little scrapper, huffed and puffed, foaming at the mouth. Anyone in his right mind would have bolted. At least she didn’t have to worry about being attacked by the man. Brooke only had to concern herself with incidentals like road burn and potential dismemberment. Bee would protect her to the end if need be.

  Hours later, while checking on her bees in the apiary, she told Nana about the incident. “The guy looked like a zombie. He didn’t even know we were there.”

  Her nana just shook her head. “I know someone who knows someone.”

  “Huh?”

  “I’m just saying that I have solutions too.”

  “Are you hiring me a hitman?”

  “Something much more efficient, dear. I’ve been doing my research, and it’s time for a change of plans.”

  “You scare me when you start researching things too much.”

  She just laughed.

  The last time Nana researched something, Brooke ended up with a pantry filled with glassware and a dumpster filled with all her plastic containers. “You’re kind of scary when you start brainstorming.”

  “There’s a woman who is known as the dog whisperer of the east coast. She trained with that man from television.”

  “The dog whisperer?”

  “She’s got a school very close by.”

  “Can you imagine me taking Bee into a school full of people and dogs?”

  “She’s the dog whisperer. I’m sure she’s got better ideas than wandering around the dark streets at four in the morning.”

  Brooke lifted a hive cover to check for the honey levels. “The man didn’t attack us. Bee would never allow anyone near me.”

  “What if he carried a gun? Then what?”

  Brooke had no logical comeback.

  The next morning, Brooke took one step outside in the dark and shivered. The hair on her arms stood at attention. The moon hung like a warning in the sky. The scene mirrored an amateur horror flick, the kind where werewolves hid in the bushes waiting on prey. The bushes rattled near the stairs of her carriage home. Out popped a raccoon. He just stared at her, one frightened soul to another. Bee didn’t even notice. She busied herself with squatting over her petunias and peeing.

  A breeze blew by and skimmed across her skin. She shivered again. A funny vibe coursed its way through her. What if that man with the stinky cigarette and noisy flip-flops still walked the dark streets; this time with a gun behind his back and a pair of handcuffs that he wouldn’t hesitate to use? What if he hurt Bee with that gun, and dragged Brooke off into the woods that lined the neighborhood? No one would know. She’d die alone in the woods, and her grandparents would sit in their rocking chairs on their porch and wonder what ever happened to her, their only granddaughter.

  She wouldn’t put them through that.

  She circled back around and into her house.

  She’d rather risk second degree leash burns on her hands than be raped and murdered under an oak tree. “We will attempt a daylight walk.”

  Bee’s ears perked.

  “I’m counting on you.”

  A few hours later, she braved the sunrise with Bee, wearing gloves, despite the balmy morning air, and a pair of well-treaded boots in case she had to plant herself in the ground once again.

  They set out on the empty street, two eager beings waiting on someone to surprise them. Three minutes into their jaunt, Bee’s tail erected, ears perked, and panting began. They rounded the corner, and Brooke saw a woman and a Retriever in the grassy field a few hundred yards away. Her heart bucked and she yanked up on Bee’s leash. Bee went berserk.

  Brooke ended that three minute walk by pulling on Bee’s leash with every last fiber of energy she could muster. She dragged her up the street back to their peaceful yard where wackos wearing flip-flops and woman wa
lking happy dogs didn’t threaten to choke her precious, over-protective furbaby.

  As Bee calmed down on the wooden floor an hour later, Brooke called her nana. “I need this dog whisperer’s number.”

  “Fantastic dear. I’ve got it right here.”

  Brooke reached for a pen. “Okay, what is it?”

  “I just have the school name. It’s called The Inner Circle School.”

  “Do you have a name for this dog whispering genius?”

  “Yes, it’s Jacky. Jacky Applebaum.”

  Chapter Three

  “Hey cutie pie,” Marie said to Sophie, balancing her cell on her shoulder. She tossed her dog, Zen, a puppy cookie.

  “Auntie Marie, I’m glad you just called me,” Sophie said. “Withdrawals began to set in.”

  “It’s nice to be loved. Maybe you can give Jacky a lesson. She’s been avoiding me, you know, dodging my phone calls and not answering my text messages. You know I don’t text unless I have to.”

  “Hmm.”

  “What is she doing? She’s tossing that kettlebell around in the basement, I bet, right?” Marie drew a quick breath of air. “I’m telling you, she’s going to drop that thing on her foot one of these days and I’m going to stand before her with an I told you so grin on my face. I don’t know why she doesn’t go to the gym by the Giant supermarket like everyone else.”

  “Are you finished?” Sophie asked.

  “I could go on.”

  “You’re crazy, Auntie.”

  “That’s not news to me, young lady.”

  Sophie laughed. “I hope when I get older, I turn out just like you.”

  “No. You don’t want to. I’m lucky my ankles still hold me up when I climb out of bed in the morning, and I just discovered a white hair growing out of my nostril. Well, I didn’t discover it. Auntie Hazel pointed it out.”

  “How is Auntie Hazel?”

  “Oh, don’t get me started on her. Did you know she used to belong to an acapella group back in her college days?”

  “She may have let that slip once or twice.”