Page 74 of The Marriage Game

I laugh, lightness flooding me. It’s been such a hard season, but we’re healing, and that’s such a good feeling.

Max grins over at me before turning back to Walter. “Alright, boy, since we don’t have any treats, I guess we're going to have to do this the hard way.” He gestures for me to hold the door then steps forward and studies the dog. “What do you weigh, fifty, sixty pounds? I think I can manage that.” He does a little bicep flex for me, and I take an appreciative look.

“Superman’s got nothing on you, Mr. Bernard,” I flirt.

“Oh, did you hear that, Walter?” Max approaches the dog. “She’s quoting that annoying Charlie Plath song Hannah used tobe obsessed with. I only allow original pickup lines to be used on me, Mrs. Bernard.”

“It’s Charlie Puth, not Plath,” I correct with a laugh. “And I’m pretty sure he didn’t coin that phrase. Anyway, I’m not the one who needs to do the picking up here—you are. Picking up the dog that is.”

“Look at you getting cute with the puns.” Max rubs his hand together, stepping directly in front of Walter. “Don’t worry,” he says to him, “we’ll keep things nice and dignified.”

I snort as he smoothly bends into a squat, wraps his arms around the dog, and straightens back up with Walter cuddled in his arms like an oversized teddy bear.

The look on Walter’s face is priceless. It very clearly says: what happened to nice and dignified, mister? But then Max tells him he’s a good boy and his tail wags once more. He even slurps his tongue over Max’s chin. A pang of sadness strikes as I remember all of the times Max did this with Goldie during the last few months of her life because she couldn’t make it up the stairs anymore but still wanted to sleep in our room.

Max may call me a dog whisperer, but the only reason Goldie ever listened to me in the first place was because he trained her too. He’s the real dog whisperer. Those two had a special relationship.

“Here we go, boy,” Max says soothingly as he turns and steps into the building. Walter starts to wiggle a little bit when he realizes Max is taking him inside, but once the door closes behind us he stops, looking around his new environment.

“Are you going to carry him up the stairs or do you think he’ll follow us if you put him down?”

“There’s not really anywhere else for him to go,” Max replies, lowering the dog back to the ground and patting him on the head. “What a good boy,” he enthuses. “Come, boy,” he adds,starting up the stairs and patting his leg to encourage him to follow along.

Now that he’s over the forbidden threshold, Walter is once again ready to do as we say. He trots up the stairs after us, making us both laugh with the jaunty set of his steps.

We make it to the landing outside of the third floor hallway, and Max swivels on his feet to face me.

“Alright, so I’m going to go to the room–people can see me, since I am supposed to be in the room after all. Once I’m inside, open this door and let Walter through. Hopefully everyone notices him pretty quickly–”

“And that’s when I make my move and escape into your room without any of them being the wiser,” I finish. “Got it.”

Max nods. He gives me a waggle of his eyebrows and a grin, then disappears down the hall, head down. Walter yips–seeming to want to go with him–but I quiet him, watching Max through the tiny window in the door. Nobody on the other end of the hall seems to pay him much attention, meaning this whole thing may have been for naught, but better safe than sorry.

Anyway, I have to admit…this whole charade has been kind of fun. Exhilarating in a way that my everyday life hasn’t been for some time.

It makes me realize that we should really try and build in more time for fun, both as a couple and as a family.

I put my hand on the door handle to open it, noting with amusement that Walter is practically vibrating with his desire to be through the door. “Go get ‘em, boy,” I whisper, then open the door and let him through.

He takes off down the hall, only instead of going toward the group of people he goes directly to Max’s door–whining and pawing on it like he knows exactly who’s inside.

I groan, even as panicked laughter bubbles up inside of me. I did not foresee this complication in our plan. It’s really not ideal, but it is sort of funny.

I wonder what Max is thinking. It’s probably killing him not to let the dog inside the room. For as good a trainer as he was with Goldie, he is a softie at heart. He frequently used the compliment sandwich with Goldie:(sweet voice) you are a good girl, (stern voice, angry eyes) but that was very naughty, (sweet voice once more) but you’re still the sweetest girl around.

Of course, all of the couples gathered outside Dorothy and Mick’s room start to notice the ruckus down the hall.

I can’t hear much because of the door, but I can see their looks of concern and curiosity. Loud shouts of Walter’s name start to arise, and, mercifully, he stops pawing at the door at the sound of his name. He cocks his head, seeming to consider between the two choices: continue to see if the nice man who cuddled him and told him good boy will let him in or go see all of the people calling him over.

He gives the door one last paw for good measure, but then turns and heads for the group of people.

Whew!I wait until he reaches the group, relieved to see all of the faces gathered focused on him. I take a deep breath then slowly open the door before doing my best impression of Usain Bolt and dashing across the hallway. Max must’ve been watching for me through the peephole, because the door opens without me having to knock even once and I tumble inside, my momentum sending me careening straight into his chest.

He doesn’t seem to mind though, on the contrary he wraps his arms tightly around me and gives me a squeeze.

“Mission successful,” he whispers into my hair.

“James Bond’s got nothing on us,” I reply a little breathily, earning myself a chuckle from him.

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