“What Harley said.”
Kwan beamed at Harley, and Nicky rolled his eyes a little my direction, but he finished it off with a smirk.
We all spent some time opening boxes, half of them full of things that Harley and the kickball team had gathered from items that our friends and family weren’t using anymore. The only thing that brought some arguments was the kennel. Kwan wanted it to stay out where he could see it, and eventually we put it at the foot of his bed.
“You can’t sleep in here every night,” I told him sternly, half afraid we might find him in it again the way we had when I’d first met him.
“I just want to be able to go in if I want,” he said and wistfully brushed a hand over it. Harley went over and murmured something to him, and they ended up putting a blanket and pillow in there too, one that matched the bedding. I suspected that was Harley’s doing as well but didn’t ask. It was clear Harley had this part of the move handled.
All said and done, Kwan’s kitchenette, which was separated from the rest of the clean living space by a low counter, was completely outfitted, and he even had matching silverware and plates. The tiny space was what I guessed they’d call shabby chic. There were clean lemon-yellow painted sections of brick breaking up black panels that glittered like the veneer outside. It had the bizarre effect of making the room seem larger.
Harley was just getting ready to help with the bathroom, which only held a shower stall, toilet, and sink, when I snagged him by the elbow and drew him aside.
“We have an appointment, pretty kitty.”
He eyed me suspiciously, wiping his hands on his jeans, like maybe they were dusty from the boxes. “For what? Where?”
“We have to go, but we’ll stop back here tomorrow.”
“Okay,” Kwan said, poking his head back into the living area from the bathroom. He smiled and waved and then abruptly disappeared, probably because Nicky dragged him back inside.
“Fine,” Harley said with a small sniff. He didn’t generally enjoy surprises, but I couldn’t wait for this one. We took the elevator down, and I hurried him out of the building to my car where it was parked along the street. I was so happy I could just about bust. We got into the car and buckled, and I was glad the traffic wasn’t very heavy as I pulled out into the flow of cars.
“What is going on?” Harley drawled.
“You’ll see.”
He let it go, though I could practically feel him drilling a hole in the side of my head with his laser glare. We drove out of the city but toward the west, in the opposite direction we usually took to go home. He was good for about thirty minutes, tapping his fingers on his knees and avoiding a full-out interrogation, but when we hit the edge of the city, he broke.
“Where are we going?”
“Shh…,” I said and then snickered. “You’ll see.”
About five minutes later I could tell he was about to bust, and I was relieved as I pulled into the drive for the farm we’d been headed toward all along. We drove past a sign that said Golden Acres with a small wooden carving of a golden retriever under it. Harley stared at the sign and then spun in his seat toward me as I slowly maneuvered along the winding, rutted path toward an old farmhouse not much different than ours, only done up in blues.
“Do you remember that time we asked Kwan what kind of dog he was, and he said a retriever?” I cut Harley a look, and he held his breath.
“Yes.”
“And you know how you’re super sad about him leaving?”
Harley crossed his arms and glanced out of his window. “I’m not.” But his tone said otherwise.
I parked near the house, and like I’d asked, Matilda Maywood was already waiting on the front porch. At her feet sat an eight-week-old puppy. He was the calmest, fluffiest, and cheeriest in the lot, she assured me, and the elderly lady beamed as Harley and I approached the porch. She was dressed in pink overalls covered in mud at the knees and had her steel hair up in a bun. I’d paid her three times the going rate for retrievers just because she’d spent so much time with the dogs to make sure this puppy was the most laid-back. He danced a little on his paws, but sure enough, he sat firmly on his little butt and wagged his tail as we approached, rather than trying to race toward or away from us the way most puppies his age would.
“He’s ready, Brad,” Matilda said with a happy warble. Harley stood still beside me, feet rooted to the spot, eyes wide as dinner plates, his hands over his mouth.
“You didn’t,” came out muffled.
I didn’t bother answering because yes, I had. I bounded over and sank down until I was eye level with the pup. His little tongue shot out and he whined at me. I held out my hands and he bolted toward me. I picked him up and turned toward Harley.
He shook his head and stepped back a little.
“He can’t….” He dropped his hands to glare. The late-afternoon sun shone in his beautiful brown eyes and painted him flawless and perfect. My heart hitched. “Kwan’s my friend and I’m going to miss him,” he whispered just loud enough for me to hear, and a teary gleam was bright on his eyes.
“We’ll visit all the time, and this little guy is definitely different.” I held the warm little puppy up next to my cheek. He smelled like he’d been bathed, and he wiggled and grunted. “If you really don’t want him, I already told Matilda that she can keep the money and find him a different home. He’s adorable. Anyone would want him.”
“I would not keep that money,” she said with a laugh and swatted at my shoulder. “He has all of his papers. I know his parentage further back than necessary, too, if you want to show him.”
