Part 5
The next sentence took longer. Ruth wrote that Graham had told her a pickup was arranged, then added that she had accepted his assurance without speaking to anyone else or looking in the bus. She crossed out a line about how busy the yard had been. The officer could ask her about the work if it mattered.
By the time she had finished, Tuck was awake. He stood beside her chair with his nose near her elbow, waiting for the short evening walk the veterinarian had allowed. Ruth put the unsigned pages in a folder and took him outside before the light went.
He wanted the strip of grass along the neighbor’s fence. They took so long getting there that Ruth had time to notice where her own window screen was sagging, a repair she’d meant to do since June. At the grass, Tuck stopped to smell one patch thoroughly. She let him finish instead of guiding him toward a more convenient place.
On Thursday, she met Moss to go through the account. The officer asked her to separate her recollection of the open bus Friday afternoon from Graham’s later claim about the windows. Ruth changed one sentence. She read every page before signing, and Moss gave her a copy without congratulating her.
Ruth drove home with it on the passenger seat. She had spent years dropping Graham’s paperwork in the office on her way past, making problems smaller while he dealt with something else. At the turn for the yard, she stayed on the road toward her house.
He called that evening. She told him she had given her statement and what she’d said about his promised pickup. For several seconds she could hear the television in his living room, a commercial he must have forgotten to mute.
“You make it sound like I lied to you.”
“You told me there was somebody coming.”
“I was going to find somebody.”
She stood by the workroom window. On the sill was the last strip of turquoise vinyl from the Sutter order, too small for a seat but too good to throw away. Graham asked whether she had included her own promise to Owen.
“Yes. All of it.”
He didn’t speak for so long that she checked the screen to see whether the call had ended. Then he said he needed the yard keys back. She put them in an envelope after they hung up, with a copy of her final invoice, and left them at the tire shop the next morning.
The invoice was still unpaid. She had no idea when he would settle it, and she would have to chase it herself if he didn’t. What troubled her that night was the stool he had made: she kept putting her foot on the rail and remembering how he had brought three different pieces of wood because he didn’t know which height would suit her.
On Saturday, after Moss had finished documenting the bus and said the bed could be collected, Lou brought it over. The auction crew had started moving the remaining vehicles. He put the bed on Ruth’s porch and asked where she wanted the last repaired cushion taken.
“I’ll deliver it,” she said.
Lou looked at her. “I’ve got the car here.”
She almost said it was no trouble. Then she went inside and carried the cushion out to him, wrapped in clean paper, and asked him to get the delivery sheet signed. He tucked it into the back and told her Tuesday would be easier if she packed Tuck’s things before Owen arrived.
The blue bed needed washing before she could repair it. When it was clean and dry, Ruth worked at the old turquoise patch rather than replacing the whole cover. One edge had pulled away, leaving a line of needle holes she could follow by touch. Tuck slept across the doorway while she sewed, making her get up and walk around the table whenever she needed another tool.
She sent Owen a picture of the repaired seam. He replied that he’d always wondered how much bus nineteen was still in that bed. Ruth looked at the message for a long time before answering that this was probably the last piece.
Monday’s follow-up appointment went well enough for Dr. Navarro to keep the plan for Tuck’s return in place. Owen was there, with his sister waiting in the car. The veterinarian spoke to him about continuing care and the limits that remained, while Ruth sat with the lead resting across her knees.
When the appointment ended, she handed Owen her notes. They were arranged by day, clipped together, with the clinic number written at the top of every page. He turned them over in his good hand and asked which parts were instructions from the veterinarian and which were things Ruth had found useful.
She took a pen out and marked the difference.
Tuesday arrived with rain that stopped before lunch. Ruth packed the food, the medications and instructions from the clinic, the two beds, and the bowl. She folded the damp dish towel and left it on the counter. She put the follow-up date in Owen’s folder, then checked it against the appointment card instead of trusting that she’d remembered.
There was still time to tell him she could keep Tuck longer.
She used it to finish packing. When Lou’s wagon pulled up, Tuck got to his feet and waited at the screen door. Ruth put on his harness before opening it, feeling for the fastener through the thick fur without hurrying.
Owen came up the walk in a loose shirt with the left sleeve rolled above his dressing. He had a narrow strip of bruising still visible at his wrist. Ruth began to ask whether he should carry the food, then saw Lou already taking the bag from the porch.
“Where’s his lead?” Owen asked.
It was looped around her hand. Tuck stood close enough that his shoulder touched her knee, looking between the two of them. Owen held out his good hand, palm open, and waited.
Ruth slipped the loop off her wrist. She placed it in his hand without giving him another instruction, then knelt to smooth the fur caught under the harness. Tuck nosed her cheek once, wet and impatient to smell the air beyond the porch.
“Go on,” she said.
Owen took him down the walk at the dog’s pace. At the wagon, Lou stayed back while they gave Tuck time to look inside, then helped when Owen asked. Ruth remained beside the porch rail with both hands resting on the damp wood.
Owen turned before getting in. “Sunday? If you want.”
She nodded because she didn’t trust the first answer that came to her. Lou shut the hatch, and Tuck’s face appeared in the side window above the blue bed. The wagon moved away without the dog looking back again.
Inside, Ruth found herself stepping around the place where the water bowl had stood.
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