"More of a fishing man."
"Ah, good man."
"Haven’t done it in a while, though. Spend most of the time working on the house nowadays."
A crash came from the living room, and we all looked over. Scout had knocked into the side table, sending a magazine sliding to the floor. Daisy pounced on it immediately.
"Daisy, leave it," I called. She ignored me completely.
Dad shook his head, almost smiling. "Elena says you found those puppies at a work site."
"I did. Brought them to her clinic. She saved them."
"And you kept one."
"Scout. The quiet one." Caleb glanced toward the living room where both dogs were now sprawled by the fireplace. "Seemed like he needed someone who'd let him be."
Dad looked at me, then back at Caleb. "That how you two ended up together? The puppies?"
"That's how it started." Caleb's eyes found mine across the table. "Kept finding excuses to bring Scout in for checkups."
I felt my face flush. "He brought him in once because he’d sneezed three times."
"Could've been getting sick."
"He was fine."
Dad laughed. "Sounds about right."
We finished eating. Dad refilled our wine glasses, asked about Caleb's other projects. Caleb asked about Dad's woodworking, whether he still used the workshop out back. The conversation kept flowing, easier now.
Outside, the rain was getting heavier. Wind picked up, bending the trees visible through the kitchen window.
"It's really coming down," I said.
Dad nodded. "Supposed to get worse."
Caleb looked toward the window, then at me. "Might need to wait it out."
"Stay as long as you need," Dad said. "No sense driving in that."
I stood to clear plates and Caleb helped. We moved around each other in the small kitchen while Dad stayed at the table with his wine, watching us with something in his eyes that I couldn't quite read.
Then someone knocked.
We all stopped. The dogs lifted their heads.
"Who the hell is out in this?" Dad frowned.
The knock came again—urgent, insistent—and I walked to the door.
Carol Reeves stood there, soaked completely through. Hair stuck to her face, cardigan dripping, slippers covered in mud. She looked small. Lost.
"Margaret?" Her voice shook. She thought I was my mother. "Is Matthew here? There’s a storm and I can't find my boy."
CHAPTER 32: ELENA
Ididn't move.
