Part 4
Louise described an ordinary working partnership: Marian Holt brushed Gus every morning, checked his paws before each session, and kept a notebook of how long he worked and when he seemed tired. He had never performed tricks for the children. He lay on a rug. If a reader stopped, he waited. If a child wanted to show him a picture, he looked in the general direction of the page.
“He never cared how long a word took,” Louise said.
The archive box held nine years of photographs. Children changed from one to the next. Gus’s muzzle grayed. Marian’s shoulders curved. In every picture, a book rested somewhere near his front paws. Eli sat beside the visiting-room door, listening.
“Did kids ever laugh at him?” he asked.
“Sometimes they laughed with him. He snored.”
“That’s different.”
“Yes,” Louise said. “It is.”
Marian had withdrawn Gus from the program when her own health made weekly visits impossible. She died after a short illness six months later. Her nephew, the executor of her estate, told the library he had rehomed Gus with a family outside the county. For a while, he sent photographs that made the arrangement look respectable. Then the messages stopped and Marian’s house was sold.
Probate records led Animal Services to a rental property nearly three miles outside town. The blue tether still fastened to a yard stake matched the color, width, and torn weave of the length Alvarez had collected. Marian’s nephew had left Gus with a man who visited only sporadically, and each man blamed the other.
“Can they take him back?” Eli asked.
“No,” Alvarez said. “Marian’s nephew never legally transferred ownership. As the estate’s authorized representative, he signed a surrender this morning. When the hold ends Friday, Gus stays with us. The neglect investigation is separate.”
Gus had crossed nearly three miles before reaching Market Street. No one knew whether he had been headed for the library or had simply followed the road into town. Louise did not pretend he had navigated by memory. She only rested one hand against the glass and said, “I’m glad he arrived somewhere familiar.”
By the following Monday, Gus had gained a pound and a half. He could rise without assistance on the rubber mat, though his hindquarters trembled. He permitted Dr. Shah to examine his mouth while a technician fed him small pieces of chicken. His infected tooth still had to wait until he was stronger.
That same morning, Eli could not read his page to the whole class. At lunch, he asked his teacher if he could try again with her and two other students. He made it through three sentences and stopped, but he had been the one to request the second attempt.
Gus also began anticipating Eli’s visits. Erin told herself he recognized a routine, not one particular child. Still, at four o’clock he often lifted his head toward the hall before Eli entered. When Eli sat down with a book, Gus chose the same place beside his chair.
The shelter’s foster coordinator asked Erin if they would consider taking him now that the hold had ended and legal custody was clear. Erin said they needed time.
At home, she opened a spreadsheet. Prescription food, medication, blood tests, dental care, an orthopedic bed, a ramp for the back steps. The shelter’s senior-dog fund would cover the dental procedure and approved foster expenses. After adoption, the prescriptions, monitoring, and emergencies would be theirs. Erin worked four days a week managing the front office at a physical-therapy clinic. Their mortgage was manageable because of Daniel’s life insurance, but the numbers still worried her.
Gus’s age frightened her more. He might have one good year. He might have four. Either way, Eli would love him, and then there would be another body missing from the house.
On Wednesday night, Erin found Eli asleep in Daniel’s chair with the animal-story book open on his chest. He had placed a pillow on the rug beside him, as though measuring whether a large dog would fit.
Erin carried the pillow back to the couch. At the kitchen table, she emailed the foster coordinator.
Thank you for considering us, she wrote. After thinking carefully, I don’t believe our family is ready. She pressed Send before she could revise it.
The next afternoon, while Eli washed his hands in the shelter lobby, the coordinator turned to Erin. “I received your email. We’ll keep looking for another foster, and you’re both still welcome to visit.”
Eli turned off the faucet. Water ran from his fingers.
He did not argue until they were in the car.
“You said we needed time.”
“I took the time.”
“You took it by yourself.”
Erin gripped the steering wheel. “I’m your mother. Some decisions are mine.”
“Because of money?”
“Partly.”
“I could help.”
“You’re nine. Helping is not paying for bloodwork or leaving work when he’s sick.”
Eli stared through the windshield. “Then why didn’t you tell me the real list?”
Erin had shown him none of the costs or warnings, then blamed him for not understanding them. She kept both hands on the wheel and watched the wipers clear the same strip of glass.
“He’s old,” she said. “You’ve already lost your dad. I don’t want to bring someone into this house who might leave you soon.”
Eli’s mouth tightened. He turned toward the passenger window.
“Dad died even though we loved him,” he said. “I don’t wish we hadn’t.”
Erin closed her eyes. Since Daniel died, she had moved his shoes out of sight, stopped making his Sunday pancakes, and discouraged Eli from reading in his chair. Each decision had seemed small and practical at the time.
“I got scared and made the choice without you,” she said. “I’m sorry.”
Eli waited.
“Tomorrow we’ll ask if it’s too late. This time, we’ll read the whole list together…”
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