Part 6
Ethan did not make fun of the notice. That was the first reason I let him in.
The second reason was that Peanut wiggled until Lily took him, and Judge followed them into the living room with the weary tolerance of a celebrity allowing photographs. Within two minutes, the animals had settled on opposite ends of the rug, Peanut delighted, Judge offended but present.
Ethan read my letter, then his, comparing phrases.
“Same wording,” he said. “Different species. Peanut’s accused of excessive vocalizing in common areas.”
“He barks twice with a rest period.”
“Ms. Palmer believes in preventive government.”
I smiled despite myself.
He looked around my condo, not nosy, just observant. “Can I suggest something without sounding like the guy who shows up and fixes problems nobody asked him to fix?”
“That depends on whether you use the phrase ‘actually, what you should do.’”
He raised one hand. “I value my life more than that.”
Lily laughed from the floor.
Ethan suggested a few practical changes: a better-fitting harness for Judge, a covered litter setup in the laundry closet, a tall window perch so he could watch the courtyard without trying to conquer it, and a routine that gave him predictable outdoor time without letting him roam. He did not make it sound like I had failed. He made it sound like a puzzle with workable pieces.
“I can build the perch,” he said. “No drilling into anything structural. Removable. Ms. Palmer won’t know unless Judge files paperwork.”
I should have said no. I had known this man less than two weeks. I did not need him in my condo with tools and kindness. But Lily was looking at me with hope again, and Judge had just allowed Peanut to nap with one paw touching his tail.
“Fine,” I said. “But I’m paying for materials.”
Ethan nodded. “I was going to insist.”
That Saturday, my living room filled with wood, brackets, measuring tape, and the quiet competence of a man who knew how to make things fit. Noah came to help and spent most of the afternoon pretending he had not come mainly to see Lily. My niece pretended not to notice, which fooled no one, least of all Judge.
Judge supervised from the back of the couch. Every time Ethan measured near the window, Judge leaned forward as if inspecting workmanship. Ethan began asking his opinion.
“Too high?”
Judge blinked.
“Agreed. Higher.”
By evening, the window perch was finished: a wide, carpeted platform level with the sill, sturdy enough for Judge’s considerable authority. Ethan also installed a set of removable steps leading up to it. Judge approached, sniffed the edge, placed one paw on the platform, then climbed up and sat facing the courtyard.
Lily clasped her hands. “He likes it.”
Judge looked away, which meant yes.
For one full week, things improved. Judge watched birds instead of plotting escapes. Peanut visited for short, legal, supervised appointments. Lily studied at the kitchen island while Noah quizzed her with flashcards over video calls and tried not to blush when I walked by. Ethan and I shared coffee twice in the courtyard during animal walks, both of us careful not to name what was forming.
Then Chicago pressed harder.
Martin wanted an answer by Friday. The travel schedule worsened. Four nights away most weeks. Some weekends. “Temporary intensity,” he said, which was corporate language for a life becoming smaller in every direction except work.
On Thursday evening, I missed Lily’s first lab orientation because a client call ran long. I arrived home at 8:30 to find her at the kitchen island, backpack still on, eyes red.
“I waited,” she said.
The sentence was not an accusation. It was worse. It was plain fact.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “The call—”
“I know. Work.”
“Lily, I really am sorry.”
She nodded. “I just needed someone there who already knew me.”
That undid me more than anger would have. I stepped closer, but she backed away, not dramatically, just enough to show me the space I had created.
Judge jumped down from his perch and walked to her side.
The storm began an hour later.
Rain hit the windows hard enough to blur the city lights. Thunder rolled over the building in long, low waves. Judge hated thunder. He did not hide, but he paced from window to door, uneasy under all that fur. Lily had shut herself in her room. I sat at my laptop, staring at an email to Martin that still contained no answer.
At 10:17, someone buzzed from downstairs. A delivery driver with groceries for 4B had the wrong unit number. I let him into the building, irritated by the interruption, and stepped into the hallway to point him toward Ethan’s father’s door.
Thunder cracked.
Peanut barked from 4B.
Judge shot between my ankles.
“Judge!”
I grabbed for the leash hanging by the door, missed him, and saw only the flash of his tail as he rounded the hallway corner toward the service stairwell. The delivery driver, startled, had propped the stairwell door open with a crate while bringing bags up from the landing.
By the time I reached it, the door was swinging against the wall.
Rain blew in from below.
“Judge!” I called down the stairs.
No answer.
Lily came out of the condo behind me. “What happened?”
I did not have to say it. She saw my face and ran past me.
We found his collar on the second-floor landing, caught on the edge of the old metal handrail. The breakaway clasp had done exactly what it was supposed to do.
The little silver tag hung from it, bright under the harsh stairwell light.
JUDGE
Claire Bennett
Apartment 4A
Beyond the landing, the service door stood open to the storm…
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