Part 2
The tall man glanced toward the street, then back at Grant.
“You got a badge under that coat?”
“No. There are cameras on both those buildings, though.” Grant indicated the marina office and the rental shed without taking his attention off the men. “And the park patrol’s due before the office closes. You can leave on your own, or stand here explaining why you won’t.”
A low sound came from Deacon’s chest.
The shorter man shifted behind his friend. “Listen to this guy. Carries his dinner around in a sack and figures he owns the place.”
Grant looked at him.
The man rubbed his palms down his jacket. A motorboat started at the dock, coughing once before settling into a steady idle.
“Arlo,” the tall one said. “Come on.”
He made the invitation sound like a decision he’d reached before Grant arrived. He even managed a small smile for the woman.
“Good luck finding a buyer.”
Arlo stepped backward onto the loose corner of the cardboard. It folded around his boot, and his other foot slid into a shallow puddle. He caught himself with an awkward sideways hop.
“Cheap garbage,” he muttered, kicking the sign clear.
The tall man caught his sleeve and steered him toward the parking lot. Neither hurried until they were past the restroom building.
Grant stayed where he was. Deacon followed their departure with his ears pointed forward, and the woman kept her hand on his shoulder until they reached a dark pickup.
Only when its doors closed did she exhale.
“Victor and Arlo,” she said. “I wish I’d never learned either name.”
Grant retrieved the sign, shook off a little water, and propped it against the fence.
“I’m Grant.”
“Tessa. Bellamy.” She glanced down. “And this is Deacon.”
“I heard.” He bent his knees, lowering himself without extending a hand toward the dog. “Your partner takes his job seriously.”
“My dad picked the name before we ever had a dog. Said any shepherd of his ought to look like he knew who’d been sleeping through church.”
A tired smile appeared and vanished.
Deacon eased himself back onto the grass. Tessa supported nothing, but kept her palm close to his ribs until he was settled.
Grant looked at the cardboard.
“Do you want him to leave with somebody?”
“No.” She answered before he finished, then pressed her lips together. “I want him somewhere warm. Those aren’t quite the same thing.”
He waited.
“My mother brought him home years after Dad died. He’d been in a shelter almost a year. People would come to his run, and he’d look at the wall. Nobody wanted a dog who wouldn’t come say hello.”
Deacon’s ear flicked beneath her fingers.
“Mom went back three afternoons. Just sat there. The third day, he finally turned around.” Tessa rubbed a small patch of fur between his ears. “She said everybody kept asking him to prove he wanted them. Nobody was giving him time to find out whether he could trust them.”
Grant glanced at the old dog’s feet. The nails were worn evenly. Someone had taken care of him for a long time.
“I won’t put him in another run,” Tessa said. “I know the people there would try. But he’d think we’d done it to him again.”
“So you came here.”
“People walk dogs here. People with houses.” She looked embarrassed by the simplicity of it. “I thought somebody might understand that he isn’t unfriendly. He just needs a little time. And soft food. And a floor that isn’t cold.”
A drop fell from the tree onto her sleeve. She brushed it away and watched the wet mark spread.
Grant picked up his groceries. Through a small tear near the top, he could see the corner of the bread bag.
“Have you eaten today?”
“I’m all right.”
He didn’t answer. After a moment, she looked away.
“Yesterday. Breakfast.”
“And him?”
“He had chicken.” Her voice sharpened. “A woman left some behind the thrift store. It was wrapped. There wasn’t anything wrong with it.”
“I wasn’t saying there was.”
She touched the cracker packet in her pocket, then tucked it farther down.
The utility cart rattled past the upper path. The couple by the docks folded their umbrella and headed for their car. Without the few people who’d been scattered across it, the park looked much larger.
Grant shifted his weight off the hip that had begun to ache.
“Where will you go when they close the park?”
“There’s an awning behind the church thrift shop. I used to stay near the donation bins. The lady who worked there knew Mom.”
“Used to?”
“She’s in Madison with her husband. Cancer treatments.” Tessa looked toward the street. “The new manager doesn’t want anyone sleeping out there. I can’t blame him. He’s trying to run a store.”
Grant studied the parking lot. The pickup had gone, but Victor had looked back before climbing inside. Grant knew that look. He’d seen it on men who could endure being wrong more easily than being embarrassed.
“I’m not taking your dog,” he said.
Tessa’s fingers closed around the leash.
“But my apartment’s close. It’s dry. You can both get warm.”
She moved back a fraction, and he immediately stepped aside so she had an unobstructed view of the path.
“You’d have your own key,” he continued. “You can keep your things beside you. Pick where you sleep. I’ll stay by the door.”
“I don’t know you.”
“That’s true.”
The answer seemed to trouble her less than reassurance would have. She looked at his groceries, then at the dog, then at the route up to the street.
“If you decide you want me out of the apartment, I’ll go down to the landing. You won’t have to argue.”
“Why would you do that?”
Grant looked at the damp place where Deacon had struggled to stand.
“He got up for you. You put your hand on him before you thought about yourself.”
Tessa rubbed her forehead with the back of her wrist. For a moment, she kept her eyes covered.
“I can’t pay you.”
“I didn’t ask.”
“I don’t want to be somebody’s good deed.”
Grant glanced down at his sagging grocery sack. “You may be overestimating how well I’ve planned this.”
A small laugh escaped her. She looked almost offended with herself for making it.
Deacon lifted his nose toward Grant, sniffed once, and rested his chin on Tessa’s shoe. She bent over him, thumb moving along the old scarred edge of one ear.
The marina lights came on behind her. Somewhere across the parking lot, a worker pulled a chain through the boat-launch gate.
Grant left the choice with her. He adjusted his grip on the groceries and waited while she listened to the chain settle against the metal posts.
At last, Tessa picked up the cardboard. She folded it carefully, printed side inward, and slipped it into her bag.
“Tonight,” she said. “We’ll come tonight…”
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