Good Boy, Jack

By Karen Viera

Desperation

Amy Keene is an exhausted wife, mom and manager doing her best to juggle everything until her lazy but lovable husband, Jack, brings home a puppy. In desperation, she decides to use the dog training techniques on…her husband.

Training

CCR training stands for Command, Consistency, Reward. Amy will attempt translate the method  to change Jack, but only if she can survive being taught by the pompous dog behaviorist, Jean Luc, who invented it.

Guilt

The guilt of keeping it secret lets Amy's imagination run wild as her subconscious tries to work through if the effort of training Jack is worth the results. Her inner voices take on a life of their own through Busi, Babe and Knit-Picker, who rule her fantasies and dreams.

Truth

'The truth will set you free.' If the truth comes out about training Jack, will she lose the family she has worked so hard for? That's what Nana, Amy's train wreck of a mother-in-law, wants to make happen at any cost. Or will Amy finally be honest with Jack and have the marriage she desires?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Karen Viera
• Release date: Feb 14, 2020
• ISBN: 9781734611915

Book preview

Chapter 1

I take you Jack, to be my awful husband, to clean and cook for from this day forward, for laundry or for dishes, for all the errands and all the bills, in messiness and laziness, until death do us part.

Amy Keene fiddles with her wedding ring as she stares through the windshield of her minivan at her suburban, cookie cutter home.

It’s picture perfect with green grass, manicured shrubs and the sun gleaming off the recently cleaned windows. This is the American dream: a house, a husband and kids. So why am I mourning the silence I’m about to leave? What will be the greeting as I walk through the door? Hi honey, I missed you so much. Mom, I'm so happy you're home. Mommy, I love you more every day.

No.

It will be the same as always. What's for dinner? Mommy, can you fix this? Mom, why isn't my favorite t-shirt washed? Mommy, Mom, Mum, Mama. It never stops. One day I counted, Mom was said twenty-seven times in an hour. TWENTY-SEVEN!

Dad never gets asked for anything. Except can they change the channel.

At forty-one, Amy could be beautiful if she tried but all she gets is long enough to brush her teeth and put her boring brown hair in a ponytail.

It’s unseasonably warm for the first Monday of December in Walden, a suburb of Boston.

How long can I sit in the driveway unnoticed? I’m sure the ice cream is melting, and dinner needs forty-five minutes to cook. Then there’s homework and bath and dishes and Christmas is less than four weeks away.

Amy takes a deep breath before she gets out of the car. She straightens her beige uniform and gathers her purse, the dry cleaning and as many grocery bags as she can carry. She turns and nearly trips on a sprinting beagle. The dog leaps into the back of the minivan with the remaining grocery bags. Amy quickly lets everything she is holding slide to the ground when she sees the beagle dive into the bag with the deli meat. She struggles to pull the dog out but finally gets a good grip on it. She holds the dog in her arms.

No collar. No leash.

Amy looks down the street to see a grey haired, portly woman making her way in their direction. She holds a leash and collar in her hand.

Looks like you’re in trouble, Amy says.

The dog responds by licking her cheek.

Amy moves in the woman’s direction, meeting her halfway.

Thank you for catching her. Second time this week she’s slipped her collar, the woman says, out of breath.

Looks like you have your hands full with her, maybe it’s time for a new collar. Amy hands the dog to the woman.

The woman looks at all the stuff Amy needs to bring in.

You sure have your hands full and you stopped to help me anyways. Someone must have raised you right. The woman waves the dog’s paw at Amy and goes on her way.

Amy looks down to see the dirt smears on her uniform from the beagle’s paws. It was just the right thing to do, she mutters.

Amy picks up her stuff again and trudges to the front door. She struggles with her overloaded arms to open it.

Hi, can I get some help? she calls out.

The only response is a football commentator mumbling from the family room. The crowd cheers.

Amy drops the dry cleaning on the bench in the foyer along with her purse. I have groceries in the car. Hello? she bellows.

Jack backs out of the family room not taking his eyes off the TV. There's only 4:03 left on the clock.

He still hasn't turned his head to look at her.

And I have a cargo space full of melting food. It's on DVR, put it on pause. Amy walks into the kitchen and puts the groceries down. She comes back to find Jack in the same exact spot.

He only becomes more handsome with age.

She glares at his profile. Even with his tousled blonde hair and fading tan, it’s still his blue eyes that always entrance her. Jack finally turns his head toward her, a stricken look on his face.

Amy, football is about momentum. He moves in closer to seduce her with his every word. Building the intensity with the rush of team spirit that drives us past the one-yard line. He pulls her tight to him, his lips almost touching hers. You can't pause that.

Amy lowers her eyes to stare at his lips. She breathes in the moment. You can Jack, but you won't.

Chris, their three-year old spitting image of Jack, appears in the family room doorway.

You'll help mommy, right? Amy pushes away from her husband and smiles at her son.

The crowd cheers on the TV.

Chris throws his arms above his head. Touch down! he yells.

Jack mimics Chris by throwing his hands in the air. What time is it? Jack gets a devilish grin.

Spike the ball! Chris yells excitedly.

Jack scoops Chris up and runs into the family room to bounce Chris on the couch cushions. Chris rolls off the couch and they do a father and son touchdown dance.

As always, Mommy is on her own, Amy mutters, shaking her head.  She props the door open on her way out to get more groceries, and a housefly buzzes her head on its way inside.

Jack mutes the TV and stops all movement. He scans the room knowing he heard something.

What daddy? Chris jumps up and down.

The hunter knows when his prey is near. Jack moves as if stuck in slow motion.

Chris giggles and imitates him.

They do a perimeter search of the room. Then, suddenly they spot the fly at the window. Jack places Chris in front of the window. Don't blink or he'll escape. Keep an eagle eye on him wherever he goes. I will get what we need.

Jack and Chris share a conspiring look.

Chris moves his head in circles as he follows the path of the fly.

Jack watches Chris adoringly then bolts into the foyer. He flings the closet door open. He tears it apart throwing cleats, hockey sticks, soccer balls and more on the floor. He pauses, there on the bottom in the back, is the handle. He pulls it out and the entire pile of junk comes tumbling out.

What the heck! Really, Jack? Amy says as she tries to maneuver through the junk on the foyer floor without dropping any groceries.

Jack triumphantly holds up the electric fly swatting racquet. I'm on it.

That's what I'm afraid of, Amy replies, stomping into the kitchen.

Jack shrugs off Amy’s comment. He enters the family room low and slow.

Chris is in the center of the room spinning in circles.

Where is it, buddy? Jack asks.

I don't know, Chris says, dizzy and falling to the floor.

The hunter has patience. He must first track the beast, Jack announces in a hushed nature channel voice. He spots the fly and stalks it around the room, racquet poised for the kill. Then the hunter corners the prey.

The fly lands on the wall.

Chris is intently watching Jack.

Charge! Jack swings wildly, missing on purpose.

Chris rolls on the ground with laughter.

Jack grins. He does his exaggerated hunt for the fly again, until it lands on the back of the couch. Jack slams the racquet down on the fly.

Zap.

The hunt is over.

Make sure you throw the dead fly out and you get to clean up the mess in the foyer. Amy stands in the doorway with her arms crossed.

Help daddy clean up the mess? Jack looks hopefully at Chris.

Chris shakes his head no and grabs the remote. My turn TV. Chris plops on the couch and tunes out his parents.

Wonder who he gets that from? Amy spins on her heels and leaves the room.

Jack holds the dead fly up by the wing. Guess it's just you and me.

Twenty minutes later, after Amy finishes putting the groceries away by herself, she trudges back into the foyer to see the mess in the same spot. Jack! Amy hears a muffled response. She kicks the soccer ball in frustration.

No playing ball in the house! Chris shouts from the family room.

My own rule used against me!

She bends over to pick up the mess.

Jack silently sneaks up behind her and grabs her ass. She jumps, dropping everything.

I told you to pick this up, she fumes.

I was gonna do it. But since the closet is almost empty, why don't we take advantage of it. He gives her his ‘sexy eyes’ look and starts humping her leg.

Chris is in the next room, she stalls, pushing him away.

Right on cue, Chris comes looking for them.

I wanna fly. Chris puts his arms up for Jack.

Do you want to fly or do you want to crash land? Jack lifts him up airplane style.

No crash! Chris giggles.

Oh no, we've hit bad weather! We're in a tailspin! Jack spins around with him. We're going down. Jack zooms him into the family room and bounces him on the couch. He tickles Chris who laughs so hard he can barely breathe.

Amy picks up more stuff and throws it in the closet. She grumbles under her breath, Don't worry, I'll pick it up. I love being ignored when I ask for help.

Why don't you have Jared pick that up? It needs to be cleaned out and it's mostly his stuff, Jack says from the doorway.

Call him downstairs, Amy snaps.

He's not home.

Tell me you remembered to pick him up? Do I have to do everything? Amy urgently throws the rest of the stuff in the closet and jams the door closed.

Relax. Someone offered to do it for me, he says, averting his eyes.

Who? Amy demands.

Chapter 2

A 1988, red, rusting Camaro with T-tops comes to a screeching halt in front of the high school. A plume of cigarette smoke escapes out of the door first, next is bad bleach blonde dyed hair teased as high as it can reach, followed by a black tank top cut too low for the boobs that would sag if it wasn't for the miracle of the push up bra. A leopard print mini-skirt completes the tiny outfit showing off her long, thin sixty-four-year-old legs. She saunters around the car in her three-inch heels and leans against the passenger side.

No, not Nana! Jared moans to himself. The seventeen-year-old junior, who was average in every way including his brown hair and acne, did not want this to be how he was known at school.

Is that your cougar, I mean your grandmother? Sean, a popular senior on the football team, snickers at Jared.

Jared silently begs the cement to open and swallow him whole. Nothing happens.

You coming or what? Nana crushes her cigarette under the toe of her stiletto shoe.

Jared’s feet have never moved so fast in his life as he rushes to the driver's door.

Nana looks Sean up and down. She makes sure Sean gets a full view of her tight, aged ass as she does her best sexy chick version of turning and sliding into the passenger side of the car. Nana blows him a kiss.

Gross. Sean turns away.

Jared stomps on the gas before she even closes the door.

~~~~~

How could you! Amy whispers angrily. She grabs her purse. You know how undependable your mother is. I bet Jared is still waiting outside the school wondering why no one bothered to pick him up. It was your turn to take him driving, how hard is that?

Why is it so hard for you to understand that when I am not at work, I don't want to schedule my every minute? Work is work. Home is called something different for a reason, Jack whisper fights back.

I get that, but you know how I feel about her. I don't want her teaching Jared anything, never mind how to drive, Amy says, as she searches for her keys.

She offered. What was I supposed to say? Jack notices Chris has come into the doorway again, wearing an uncertain look.

No, Jack, you say no thank you, Amy says in a gentler tone, as she picks Chris up.

She's helping. In exasperation, he plunks down on the bench.

Yes, you to be less responsible. You don't need help with that. You do a great job of it on your own. Amy heads for the door with Chris.

Always the same argument, don't you ever get tired of it? Worn out, Jack leans back and closes his eyes.

Always the same situations, yes I am tired of it, Amy fires back at him. Something has to change.

~~~~~~

Jared slams on the brakes. He and Nana pitch forward as the car squeals to a halt at a stop sign. You're supposed to be teaching me. He's nervous someone else will see him. In this car. With her.

You're doing great for your first time. Nana readjusts her boobs.

I've driven two other times. Jared adjusts his mirrors.

I remember my first time. Barry Jenkins, quarterback on the football team. He was always hot and sweaty after football practice. I used to wait for him under the bleachers. Nana smiles at her memory as she reapplies her bright red lipstick.

I will teach myself. Put your signal on to turn into traffic. Jared puts on his blinker and rechecks his mirrors.

Oh, I would always give him the signal. Go, baby go, Nana says to herself.

Jared pulls out into traffic and a Mercedes blares the horn at him as it tries not to hit the Camaro.

Nana doesn't seem to notice.

It's all about timing. My friend, Cindy, had been dating him for 3 months and nothing. Sometimes, you just have to take control, put your foot on the gas... Nana closes her eyes.

Jared pushes the gas pedal to the floor. He so badly wants to cover his ears but instead he wrings the steering wheel to death with his hands.

Oblivious, she continues rambling

-and just enjoy the fast ride. Let me tell you when I grabbed his-

~~~~~

Package, the one I asked you to mail yesterday. You didn’t do it. I always end up doing everything, like now. I don’t know why I keep expecting you to help me. Amy opens the front door and stomps along the flagstone path Jack put in two years ago.

Maybe some of your expectations are ridiculous, Jack counters, as he follows her out.

That's because your effort is non-existent, Amy fumes.

Really?! If you weren’t always so busy knit-picking at everything I don’t do, you’d remember the kitchen I remodeled and the storage I built in the garage? Or don't I get credit for those? Jack puts his hands