The Six Rules of Maybe

she said, and stood. She held a marigold released from its pot in her hand. The loose dirt fell between the fingers of her gardening gloves, the roots of the plant as exposed and white as her own arms in that plaid sleeveless shirt. SPF 45, I was sure. Jeffrey and Jacob were as white as she was too. A ray of sun likely never touched their skin except on the days Mr. Pete-Robbins was in charge. “Yes, he’s fine. I did call his daughters last night. Unfortunately, Mr. Weaver was walking around disoriented.”
    Ha—she saw him naked too. I guess I wouldn’t have to be the someone to call for help after all. Ally Pete-Robbins had beaten me to it.
    “Is he okay?”
    “They brought him to the doctor. He had tests all morning. Perfectly fine. A case of Restless Leg Syndrome, but otherwise in perfect health. My aunt had it too, and my uncle had to sleep on the couch or he’d be up all night! Of course, Mr. Weaver only has his dog.”
    “Corky,” I said.
    “Thank the Lord, the doctors said Mr. Weaver might just be depressed.”
    “Really?” Depression didn’t seem like something to thank the Lord for.
    “Retirement,” Ally Pete-Robbins said, as if this explained things.
    “Ah,” I said.
    “A loss of purpose. Nothing to get up in the morning for. Nothing to look forward to.”
    “Okay, thanks.”
    Ally Pete-Robbins smiled at me. It was a smile that said how glad she was that we both cared like we did. How glad she was that we were together on this. The smile worried me. I really couldn’t stand Ally Pete-Robbins.
    “Slow and straight or fast and bouncy?” Jacob asked.
    “Slow,” Jeffrey said, as Jacob pitched a ball as wild as a kayak on the waters of the Strait of Juan de Fuca during a storm.
    I heard barking in the backyard. Hayden was there, in his shorts and no shirt, chasing Zeus around Mom’s flowerpots on the patio. Hayden lunged, and Zeus skirted him sideways. Then he clapped his hands and called Zeus’s name firmly. Our old big metal tub sat in the center of the lawn, filled with sudsy water.
    “You get fired already?” I called.
    “Short day. Juliet’s upstairs sleeping.” He was out of breath. His back was shiny with sweat. “Damn dog. I hate that dog.”
    This made me smile. He loved Zeus in the most permanent way. “Bath?”
    “He smells like a wet rug. I’m worried your mom might want him kicked out or dry-cleaned.”
    “Want me to try?”
    “Might as well,” Hayden said. He rested with his hands on his knees, catching his breath.
    I clapped my hands. “Zeus! Come here!” I tried to sound as excited as possible. Zeus just sat there on the far corner of the lawn, his tongue hanging out. He wasn’t having any of it. He looked like he was having the best day of his life.
    Hayden lunged again and Zeus took off and made two furious laps around the yard, his ears tight against his head from his racehorse speed. He hoped to break the sound barrier, to be the fastest dog on earth. I headed him off over by the hibachi, where he was cornered. He was no match for the two of us. Hayden leaned down and picked him up, all of his big dog self gathered up in Hayden’s arms, Hayden’s muscles straining at the effort, Zeus’s skinny legs hanging down.
    “Teamwork,” Hayden puffed, as he set Zeus into the tub. After all that running around, Zeus didn’t protest or try to jump out. He was flexible about this sudden change of plan. He actually just sat there with his best manners as Hayden poured water over his head with a measuring cup.
    “You forgot how much you loved this. You love this, remember?” Zeus sat quietly. His hair was all wet and flat. Hayden poured more water slowly over his back.
    “So what was all that running around about, huh? You made mecarry you. It was humiliating for both of us.”
    Silence.
    “He loves it,” I said.
    “Big fool,” Hayden said. “Can you give me a hand? If you don’t mind getting wet?”
    “Sure.”
    “That soap—” Hayden gestured with his chin to a plastic bottle near his bare feet. I grabbed it. “Just squirt it right on him.”
    I did. I kneeled beside Hayden. I put my hands in the warm water, soaped them along Zeus’s back. His solid self felt so good. I rubbed my fingers in the hair on his butterscotch-and-vanilla chest, where my fingers bumped into Hayden’s under the water. My arm against his. I felt a shutter click of stop-action—an awareness of his slippery fingers, his wet arm. There was silence except the sound of