was nice, walking the dog together as a family. Sometimes Peaches walked between Greg and Liam, holding both their hands, feeling truly content.
Tonight the moon was full, the air crisp with the onset of fall and sweetened by the smoke from lit fireplaces. Peaches tried to take Liam’s hand but he was looking at his feet, his hands jammed into the pockets of his hoodie.
“Greg, has Liam told you about the girl he’s tutoring? She’s Roy Clarke’s daughter.”
“Her name is Shy,” Liam said. “Shy Clarke.”
“She sounds like a comic book character,” Greg observed.
Peaches laughed. “Totally.”
Liam glared at them. “Maybe she’s faking being bad at math because she’s really an evil nuclear weapons specialist about to take over the planet.”
“It’s possible.” Greg chuckled, and for the thousandth time Peaches marveled at the fact that she’d married someone even less mature than she was. Greg was happiest when watching old Bill Murray comedies like Groundhog Day or Caddyshack, winning at Connect Four, or figuring out how to teach his kindergarten students the words to totally inappropriate songs like “Fight the Power” and “Margaritaville.”
Their nighttime walks usually followed the same circuit: over the Gowanus Canal bridge on Union Street, down to Clinton Street and over to Cobble Hill Park, up Henry Street to Kane, past the schoolyard of Peaches’ school to Court Street, on to Union Street and then home. Sometimes Big Boy caught a scent and took a detour. Tonight, he decided to veer backward on Kane Street. He stopped at the corner of Kane and Strong Place, peed on the neatly landscaped bushes outside the pretty brick house on the corner, did an about-face, and shuffled on.
“Mom,” Liam moaned. “That’s the wrong way.”
“He knows,” Peaches said.
Humoring their beloved old dog, they continued down Kane. At Cheever Place the entire family stopped short.
“Whoa. Someone’s having a good night,” Liam said.
“How do you know what that smell is?” Peaches demanded playfully. When she’d asked Liam about pot before, he’d acted like he’d never heard of it. She turned to Greg. “Am I wrong to be suspicious? How does he know?”
Greg kissed her forehead. “Everyone knows.”
“Kids smoke weed in the bathroom at school all the time,” Liam explained. “Not me, per se. Other kids.”
“Uh-huh.” Peaches inhaled deeply and peeked down the dimly lit street, still feeling playful. “Let’s go spy on them.”
* * *
Mandy’s head was heavy on Stuart’s shoulder, but it was a pleasant heaviness. He couldn’t remember if he’d ever been this high. He felt almost ecstatic.
“We don’t even have to move. We can stay here ’til the sun comes up.”
“Mmmm,” Mandy responded.
A family was walking their huge dog down the street. The woman’s hair was a pretty strawberry blond that glowed gold beneath the street lamps. Their dog’s fur was the same color. Stuart watched them get bigger and bigger. It was her—Nurse Peaches, with a couple of guys and a gigantic hairy animal.
“Hey,” Stuart called out a little too loudly. He wanted to say something more formal and stand up and shake everyone’s hand and give the dog a biscuit and be charming, but Mandy’s head was so heavy and he was pretty sure it was safer to stay put. His mouth and face were not functioning very well.
Nurse from school comes by my crib
Tongue don’t work, I can’t ad lib!
“Nice night,” Nurse Peaches called back brightly. “Guys, this is Stuart Little, and um—”
“Mandy, the mother of our child,” Stuart said biblically.
Mandy didn’t stir. She was either asleep or completely comatose.
“Their son goes to my school. We’ve been de-liceifying. Good times!”
Peaches was overcompensating. How had she missed Stuart’s address when she’d searched for his number? If she’d known he lived on Cheever, she would never have allowed Big Boy to drag her there.
Stuart wavered on the step. Should he invite them in?
“I’m Greg.” The dude who must have been Peaches’ husband raised his hand. He was wearing dark denim overalls, a brown bucket hat, and Doc Martens. He was either very punk rock or very weird. “You’re that Stuart Little?”
Stuart nodded slowly. He closed his eyes and then opened them again. “I guess I am.”
“He is,” Peaches verified. “Liam,” she added, addressing the tall, blond teenager hiding deep inside his hoodie, “Stuart is a famous musician.”
“Nice to meet you,” Liam’s mouth said.
The dog pleaded with his sad eyes. He wanted to go smell things. He wanted to go poo and pee.
“We’d better keep moving,” Peaches said. “Big Boy makes some pretty huge poops. I don’t want him to mess up