Part 2
Nolan copied the name onto an envelope and propped it against the coffee maker. Then he photographed the lettering and sent the picture to the site office with a request for help identifying the owner.
By Thursday, nobody had called him back. Gusset, meanwhile, had taken possession of a sock, a pencil, and one of Nolan’s old gloves.
Nolan discovered the collection while replacing the towels in the basket. The puppy sat nearby, watching the inspection with an expression of profound satisfaction.
“You planning to open a store?”
Gusset picked up the sock.
“I know that one’s mine.”
The puppy carried it to his boot and let it fall.
Nolan had kept the house in order for years. Books stood flush with the shelf edges. His service photographs and letters stayed in a tin box in the bedroom. He could reach for anything in the dark and find it exactly where he’d left it.
Now the kitchen mat was dragged into the hall, and someone had chewed the corner of a grocery list. Nolan had also begun saying things aloud that would have made no sense a week earlier.
“That’s a chair. You don’t need a running start.”
Gusset tried anyway. His front feet slid off the cushion, and he landed on the carpet, immediately checking behind himself for the cause.
Nolan bent to pick him up, hesitated, and sat on the floor instead. The puppy scrambled into his lap.
He’d taken time away from extra shifts to arrange care. His regular work would continue, but when the scheduler asked about the weekend, Nolan had said no before preparing a reason.
At the follow-up appointment, Dr. Vera Alden watched Gusset attempt to untie her shoe. She was fifty-six, with straight gray hair tucked behind her ears and a square watch she consulted while counting his pulse.
“I see his schedule is full,” she said.
“He’s collecting things.”
“Common at this age. Expensive if you leave your good shoes out.”
She examined the paw, separating the toes gently. The irritated area was healing. His hydration had improved, and he’d gained a little weight.
“Keep him off abrasive ground for now. No construction debris. Finish the care instructions we gave you.”
Nolan nodded, watching her hands.
“The owner search?” she asked.
“Found a name on the hard hat. I’m waiting on the office.”
“Keep reporting him through the proper found-animal channels, too. If someone’s looking, we want them to have a way to reach you.”
He’d filed the report and left contact information with the clinic. Vera reviewed what else he could do, then looked up from the chart.
“And you? Are you sleeping?”
“Sure.”
“How many hours?”
“Enough to get through the day.”
“That’s an answer about work.”
Nolan shifted his stance.
Vera set down the pen. “A puppy requires somebody who notices small changes. You can’t do that well if you’re running yourself empty.”
“I’m taking care of him.”
“I can see that. Include yourself in the arrangement.”
Gusset had begun nodding off while seated on the table. His nose dipped, touched the towel, and jerked back up.
Vera steadied him with one hand. “This patient seems willing to demonstrate.”
On the way home, Nolan stopped for food. He came out with a proper dog bed, a moss-green collar, a leash, and a rubber toy with grooves Gusset could chew.
At the register, the clerk asked whether he’d had a puppy before.
Nolan looked at the heap on the counter. “Is it that obvious?”
At home, Gusset ignored the bed until Nolan laid the old towel inside. Then he climbed in and began rearranging everything with his nose.
Nolan placed the helmet beyond his reach. The puppy’s interest in the used glove, the towel, and Nolan’s socks made him reconsider that hard shell. It had smelled familiar enough for Gusset to sleep inside it.
He checked his phone again. Still no answer from the office.
Over the next several evenings, Nolan left work when his shift ended. Before entering the house, he removed his dirty boots and put his work clothes where the puppy couldn’t reach them. Gusset learned to wait at the kitchen doorway while dinner was prepared, although his interpretation of waiting included moving each foot several times.
Once the paw improved, they walked a few quiet blocks. The dog investigated storm drains, fence posts, and the undersides of benches. A windblown leaf escaped his first pounce. He spun after it, missed again, and looked up at Nolan.
“I didn’t do it.”
At home one Friday, Nolan opened a maintenance manual while Gusset brought over the rubber toy. Nolan rolled it across the room. The puppy chased, seized it, returned halfway, and stopped to work on a loose tuft in the rug.
“Delivery’s to the chair,” Nolan told him.
Gusset continued chewing.
Nolan lowered the manual. He’d expected the dog to understand a task nobody had taught him. He got down on the carpet with a few bits of food and started over.
For the next quarter hour, a return of even two steps earned praise. Gusset occasionally forgot the toy altogether and came back with nothing, delighted by his own success. Nolan praised that, too, before showing him again.
When he finally glanced at the clock, he’d missed the program he sometimes left on for background noise. He closed the manual and put it on the shelf.
The next night, rain struck the bedroom window in uneven bursts. Gusset slept near the dresser until thunder rattled the glass. At the second crack, he rushed to Nolan’s feet.
Nolan lifted him onto a folded blanket, but the puppy kept trembling. He slid down to the floor and held one hand against the narrow back.
Another low rumble passed over the roof.
For a few seconds, the sound belonged to somewhere else. Nolan heard radio static, Pat’s voice breaking through, then a command spoken sharply enough to cut through every other noise.
He pressed his palm flat against the floorboards.
The rain continued. There was a dresser beside him. His boots stood against the wall. Gusset was breathing fast against his leg.
Pat had been planning that Saturday. Seats, food, how early they should arrive. Nolan could remember discussing whether a little girl would sit through a whole game, and he couldn’t remember what he’d eaten the day he got home.
“I went as far as I could, Pat,” he said.
Gusset nudged his knee.
Nolan wiped his face with the heel of his hand, then stopped trying to keep it dry. He sat through the rest of the storm with the puppy tucked against him.
“You’d have encouraged all his bad habits.”
A sleepy sneeze answered him. Nolan laughed once, unsteadily, and rubbed the folded ear.
In the morning, he opened the curtains before making coffee.
A few days later, he arranged to meet Frank at a diner near the site. The older man was already in a booth, turning a spoon between his fingers. There was sawdust in the stitching of his vest.
Nolan slid the photograph of the helmet across the table.
Frank didn’t pick it up.
“Mateo Salcedo,” he said.
“You could’ve told me that the night I found the dog.”
“I know.”
Nolan waited while a server filled their cups.
“He’s thirty-four,” Frank continued. “Labor crew. One of the subcontractors. Sent money to his mother down in Guatemala whenever he could.”
“And the puppy?”
“His. Called him Destello. A little flash of light.” Frank’s mouth softened. “Dog couldn’t pass a pile of leaves without throwing himself into it.”
“I’ve been calling him Gusset.”
“Sounds like something you’d do.”
“Where’s Mateo?”
Frank rubbed the side of his cup. “Curtis says he finished a shift and quit. Nearly a month ago now.”
Nolan leaned forward. “Do you think that happened?”
“No,” Frank said. “I don’t…”
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