I wave goodbye and head off, pleased at Dane’s reaction.
When I get to my car, I fuss Queenie for a bit, then lift her onto the back seat and clip her collar to the dog seat belt. Chatting to her as Iget in the front, I drive the short distance back to Sunrise Bay, my window down, enjoying the breeze and the view of the Bay of Islands on my right.
As I go past the farmstead, though, I notice something that wasn’t there this morning. Quickly checking my mirror so I don’t cause an accident, I break and pull over to park by the fence. Telling Queenie I’ll only be a moment, I get out of the car.
A large sign stands out the front. I ordered it shortly after buying the farmhouse. I didn’t know it was arriving today—Cullen or Isaac must have taken delivery and organized its erection.
I stand in front of it, my lips curving up. At the top is a set of two dog pawprints next to two human footprints in a double circle—the new badge of the center. Beneath that, in dark blue, are the words ‘People and Animals Wellbeing Society.’ We discussed whether Animals needed an apostrophe and decided not as it’s a title not a phrase showing possession. And anyway, Cullen still insists it stands for People Are Wonderful Suckers, because we all keep adopting animals we’re not supposed to.
The words are written on separate lines, so the first letters, contrasted in red, are an acronym of the word PAWS, and then underneath it says ‘Animal-Assisted Therapy Center.’ Across the sign is a temporary laminated banner that states ‘Opening soon’.
It’s probably time I stopped calling the place the Hemsworth farmhouse. It’s now officially the PAWS Center.
I lean on the fence, thinking about my father. He set up his own law firm with a couple of colleagues and brought me up to believe that running your own business was about leaving something solid behind, something you could be proud of. Something your family could be proud of too.
Would he be proud of me?
I wonder if I would have worried about that less if I wasn’t an only son. I have a sister, Kath, but she’s a lot older than me. Mum nearly died giving birth to her, and doctors warned her not to have another baby. Then, fifteen years later, I turned up. Mum always said I was a gift from God as she was in her forties when she got pregnant, implying my birth was a miracle, as if I was born to do something spectacular. No pressure, then.
But if I’d had an older brother, maybe he would have redirected Dad’s intense focus, the way Aragorn drew Sauron’s gaze in The Lordof the Rings from Frodo to himself. Perhaps Dad would then have left me to follow my own path, without me feeling him constantly watching me, judging me.
Then I feel a wave of shame. He was a good father, and it’s not fair to blame him for wanting me to do well in life. It’s my fault if I’ve fallen short of his expectations, professionally and personally.
Despite being pleased with the sign, as I look at it I feel a twinge of unease. My dream is beginning to take shape. It’s no longer an idea—it’s real. Visible. And it’s not just about me anymore. Other people are getting involved. Their livelihoods will depend on whether the center sinks or swims.
With that comes the uncomfortable truth that if I fail, there’s nobody else to blame.
I go back to the car and get in, then turn and ruffle Queenie’s fur. She licks my hand and stares at me with those big brown eyes, so like Beth’s, offering a love that’s simple, uncomplicated, and unconditional. I really need that right now.
I drive home wondering when my life became this serious, and whether I’m ready for it.
Chapter Seventeen
Beth
At five thirty, I walk out of the Ark after a long and busy day and curse under my breath as I see Jude exiting the building at the same time. I’ve kept to the clinic all day, eating my lunch in Ward Seven while I worked, but I know I can’t avoid him forever.
He sees me and pauses, then walks over. “Hey.”
“Hello.” I force a smile onto my face. “Busy day?”
“Yeah, actually.” He looks tired. “Archer came in to pick up Queenie.”
“Oh, how did that go?”
“Good. She has a sweet nature. She’ll make a great therapy dog.”
“I’m glad.”
He hesitates, his eyes meeting mine, and for some reason the thought springs into my head that he’s going to ask if I want to go to dinner or something.Don’t, I think, panic rising inside me. I don’t want to have to turn him down.
His gaze searches mine, and I think he must see something of what I’m thinking in my eyes, because in the end he just gives a small smile and says, “Have a great evening,” and he walks off, along the drive.
I head back to the cottage, my vision blurring. God, this is so awful. But it will get better. Every hour, every day, I’m healing, and it won’t be long before I can think about him without it hurting so much.
When I get to the cottage, I let myself in and stand listlessly in the living room. It’s hot, and I haven’t yet been to the supermarket, so I don’t have any food. I need to walk down to the village and get some necessities. But instead I sit in the shade of the umbrella at the table outside, close my eyes, and let the sea breeze blow gently across my face.
Eventually, I open my eyes and pick up my phone. I shouldn’t text Archer. I’ve told him I want some time, and I’ll be sending mixed messages if I keep contacting him. I have to be careful of the rebound factor. I don’t want to use him because I’m lonely and sad. That’s not fair to him.
