Part 6
During the first month, Darren boiled bottles, washed blankets, and recorded the puppies’ weights. Poppy learned to walk and immediately began going where she should not. Finch developed a preference for sleeping inside Darren’s boots.
Haven produced enough milk once her nutrition improved, though Elena warned that recovery would take time. There were no alarms and no frozen doors. There were vaccinations, feeding schedules, muddy pawprints, and small decisions repeated until Haven stopped watching every exit.
Kepler supervised with diminishing patience.
Darren went to Elena’s clinic on Thursdays to repair kennel gates and move supplies. He did not enter Thomas’s office or ask when she would open it.
One afternoon, Elena found him replacing a loose hinge outside the locked door.
“You could have done that from inside,” she said.
“I wasn’t invited inside.”
She tested the hinge. “Rebecca trained you better than you admit.”
“She used louder methods.”
By early March, Poppy and Finch were large enough to race through the cabin while Haven corrected them with one lift of her lip. The puppies could soon be placed separately, but Darren’s foster application included all three.
Elena read it twice.
“You know keeping siblings can complicate training.”
“I’ve arranged separate classes, individual walks, and time apart.”
“You also know your house will never be clean again.”
“I’ve revised my standards.”
She looked toward the kitchen, where Finch had dragged a towel through his water bowl.
“Not far enough.”
Darren smiled before checking whether the feeling was safe.
On the first Sunday in March, Elena planned to meet him for breakfast at ten after stopping briefly at the clinic. At ten fifteen, Darren looked at the clock. At ten thirty, he called once and reached voicemail.
Fear offered him a complete story: icy road, overturned car, hospital corridor, another person gone while he waited somewhere else.
Kepler watched from the doorway.
Darren put down the phone and breathed until the cabin returned around him. Then he called Elena’s clinic manager rather than driving blindly into town.
“She’s here,” the manager said. “She left her phone charging at the front desk and went into Thomas’s office around eight. I just checked on her. She lost track of the time and asked me to tell you she’s sorry. She needs another hour.”
“Is she all right?”
“She says she is.”
Darren thanked the woman and stayed home.
Elena arrived shortly before noon carrying a cardboard box and a loaf of bread. Her eyes were swollen, but her step was steady.
“I meant to open one drawer,” she said before Darren could speak. “Then I found his lunch bag behind the desk. My phone was outside, and two hours went by. I should have called you before I went in.”
“Did you want me there?”
“No. But you deserved to know I was safe.”
Darren nodded. “I called the clinic.”
“I know.”
“I stayed here.”
Elena looked toward the box in her hands. “Thank you.”
Inside lay a stack of photographs, Thomas’s favorite pencil, and a blue railroad signal lamp with a brass base.
“The equipment can go to the clinic’s training room,” she said. “The old manuals are going to Silas. I kept these.”
Darren touched neither the box nor her.
“What do you need?”
“Breakfast.”
He took the skillet from the cabinet.
Elena sat in Rebecca’s chair with Rebecca’s blue mug between her hands. Darren cooked eggs, burned one edge of the toast, and carried both plates to the table.
They spoke about Thomas. They spoke about Rebecca. Neither name made the room smaller…
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