I feel the weight of another human body. Cody has climbed into my bed, pressing herself up against me as if she were a much smaller child. I roll over to wrap an arm over her, brush her hair away from her face. I feel the moisture under my fingers. “It’s all right; it’s over.”
What Cody has been enduring is beyond belief. The ultimate in a parent’s inventory of things to fear for her child. Made to keep a secret so heinous that it nearly destroyed our relationship. A secret that nearly cost her her life.
“Mommy?”
I love hearing that babyish name once more. “What, honey?”
“I don’t feel relieved. I still feel like I have to lie.”
“That will pass. By tomorrow even. It’s like you’ve been wearing a cast, and now that it’s gone, you still feel it.”
“What if he gets out on bail?”
“He won’t.” I don’t know that for sure; a good defense lawyer can come up with anything, so it is possible, but for now, Johnny Mervin—my guest Tom Blair—will cool his heels in jail.
She snuggles into me and I nearly weep with the joy of it.
* * *
Mingo isn’t easy to spot because he blends in with the other workers, yellow hard hat, reflective vest, protective glasses. He’s ripping the plywood off the windows of the boarded-up house where he once almost died.
Adam lets Chance and Dawg out of the car, and Dawg runs over to greet his boy with a full body wag. Adam sits in the Jetta for a minute, taking in the scene, gathering himself.
Mingo lifts his face from his dog’s lapping tongue and nods in Adam’s direction. Adam climbs out of the car, walks toward the boy.
Mingo puts out a hand. “Mr. March, what brings you here?” He tugs Adam into a homeboy hug, a gesture that gives Adam an unexpected sense of connection, of acceptance.
“Skye needs to talk to you.”
“Ain’t got nothing to say to her.”
“No. She’s got something to say to you.”
Skye gets out of the Jetta. It’s clear that she’s nervous about this meeting, and that she’s struggling to get the words of her apology out. In the end, she simply takes Mingo by the hand and says, “Come back.”
* * *
Cody’s phone tings with an incoming text. Molly. Her usual threat. Im telling
And that’s when it finally hits Cody—she’s truly free.
She texts back: Go ahead Here’s her number Maybe I’ll be doing the telling
The silence is sweet.
* * *
I took in a great breath of human. It was a smorgasbord of human emotion, and the four people didn’t seem to mind my extensive examination of them. I tested for the usual symptoms of unrest and, happily, found none. Except hunger. They were worshiping at the grill, and the lovely scent of meat and cheese upheld the other scents, framing them in a happy cloud. The people laughed. I love that sound, and if I had one wish for canines, it would be that we, too, could make that sound. Instead, I whip my tail from side to side, and grin. Dawg is doing much the same, and both of us know that life is good, very good, when our people are happy. When they tell us that we’re good boys. Such good dogs.