Part 9
“They could. They could also require training or issue a reprimand. It depends on the findings, and whether there have been other incidents.”
Claire watched a cyclist waiting at a crossing.
“I don’t want someone losing a job because I gave a report.”
“The review concerns her decisions. Your report isn’t what put her there.”
“I want her to understand. Would firing her make that happen?”
“Not always.”
“Then how does she learn it?”
Daniel drove through the next intersection without an answer. Claire lowered the window another inch.
At home, she let him carry her backpack inside and went to find her book.
On Saturday, he was examining a harness for the coming week’s operation when an unfamiliar number appeared on his phone. He nearly let it ring out.
“Mr. Donovan? It’s Patricia Haskett.”
He set the harness on the bench.
“Yes?”
“I took your number from the parent sheet. I won’t keep calling. There’s one thing I wanted to tell you.”
The practiced smoothness was missing from her voice.
“Go ahead.”
“I watched Claire on Wednesday.”
Daniel waited.
“My planning period overlapped it. I went into the back of the auditorium, where I didn’t think the children would see me. I stayed for the whole presentation.”
A vehicle passed on the road beyond the open garage.
“I’ve taught for fourteen years,” she continued. “I’ve listened to a lot of children speak about their families. Claire’s presentation was remarkable.”
Daniel moved a loose strap away from the edge of the bench.
“What do you need me to do with that?”
“Nothing. I needed to say it without adding a defense.”
He listened to her breathing on the line.
“She knew her material. She understood why she’d chosen it. I kept hearing her and remembering how certain I was that she hadn’t.”
“She can tell her own story.”
“Yes. I should have known that.”
Mrs. Haskett paused.
“I’m not calling for reassurance. Watching her doesn’t cancel what I did. But I finally paid attention. I thought you should know.”
Daniel looked at the harness.
“I learned about that night in the auditorium too,” he said. “The hours she counted. She’d never told me.”
The teacher remained quiet.
“None of us hearing it made it true. It already was. She needed enough room to say it.”
For several seconds, there was only the faint sound of the connection.
“I see that,” Mrs. Haskett said.
They ended the call without another explanation.
Daniel left the harness on the bench. Kestrel came through the dog door and sat against his leg. Daniel put a hand along his neck, and the dog pressed closer until Daniel had to brace a foot.
The recovery assignment had been scheduled for weeks. Before the final preparations started, Daniel sat down with Claire and told her what he could.
A family counselor who understood working-dog households had given him advice when Claire was five: children noticed the preparations. Keeping the explanation small didn’t make the bags, calls, and equipment disappear. Since then, Daniel had given Claire a plain account before he packed.
She listened this time with her cup between her hands.
“Days?”
“Probably eight. Possibly ten.”
“The recovery work you mentioned?”
“Yes.”
“And the location’s still one of the things I don’t get?”
“That’s right.”
Kestrel lay on the cool floor beside the refrigerator, watching them.
“Ruth can stay here,” Daniel said. “The Kelleys also offered, if you’d rather have more people around.”
“Aunt Ruth.”
“I’ll confirm it.”
Claire turned her cup.
“At least we got Wednesday done.”
“I asked them to schedule the entire operation around your report.”
She looked up.
“They probably didn’t let you do that.”
“Not even a little.”
She smiled, then ran a finger along the handle.
“Be careful.”
“I intend to.”
“That sounds less solid than a promise.”
“It’s the answer I can give you.”
She looked toward Kestrel.
“He’s going.”
“Yes.”
“Both of you back.”
“He’s come back every time.”
Claire nodded and turned her chair away from the table.
Daniel spoke before she reached the hall.
“About counting the hours. I wish you’d told me.”
“You had work.”
“I’d still have wanted to know.”
She sat facing away for a moment, then turned back.
“I wasn’t counting because I’d decided you weren’t coming home.”
“What was it, then?”
“I knew you were. I wanted to get to when you were here.”
Daniel rested his hands on the table.
“That’s what the counting was for,” she said.
“I’ll call when I’m able.”
“I know you will.”
She went to her room. Kestrel watched her doorway until it closed, then raised his eyes to Daniel.
“Yes,” Daniel told him. “I was listening.”
They left before daylight on Thursday, with Ruth asleep in the guest room.
Claire had requested early departures when she was six. Seeing the vehicle leave could spoil the hours that followed. She preferred waking with her aunt in the kitchen and a note beside her cup.
Daniel wrote the estimated time away and the family liaison’s number. He warned Claire that Ruth might attempt to add herbs to foods that had previously survived without them. She should inspect supper carefully.
Then he added a few lines about the presentation. He’d heard all of it, including what she hadn’t told him before. He loved her.
He placed the note where she would find it.
Outside, the neighboring houses were dark. Kestrel climbed into his compartment, made one turn, and lowered himself onto the bedding. Daniel closed the door without letting it slam.
The rest of the team would be assembling at the facility east of town. He drove toward the first light above the foothills and kept his eyes on the road…
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