Aregularcollar. The kind any kid’s dog would wear.
William had walked the aisle twice, considered every option with the gravity of a surgeon selecting instruments, and chosen a blue one with little silver stars.
He’d looked up at Ben. “This means Jolly’s mine now?”
Ben nodded solemnly. “It means he’s yours.”
William had put it on Jolly himself, right there in the store, his small fingers working the buckle with careful concentration. Jolly had stood perfectly still for it, tail going, that permanent grin aimed up at the boy fastening the collar around his neck.
I could see it now from the deck, that blue collar with the silver stars catching the light every time Jolly sprinted after the ball.
The tennis ball sailed wide. William laughed and chased after it, Jolly trotting beside him, and they disappeared around the side of the house in a tangle of boy and dog. Ben and I grinned at each other, until we heard a car parking in the driveway.
Ben looked up toward the sky like he was begging for help from above. “Here we go.”
I smothered my laugh as we both walked around front.
Briggson climbed out. He was carrying a bag from the hardware store and wearing the expression of a man who was here under duress and wanted that on the record.
“Hey, Briggson.”
“Garrison.” He held up the bag. “You said you needed a three-quarter-inch socket wrench. The hardware store had one, so.” He thrust the bag forward. “Here.”
“Thanks. I appreciate it.”
“Don’t appreciate it. I was already there.”
These two. The love/hate relationship was strong. Constantly communicating like men who’d rather chew glass than admit they actually cared about each other.
Briggson stood in the driveway with his hands in his pockets, not leaving but not committing to staying, and his eyes tracked across the yard to where William and Jolly had appeared. Jolly was on his back in the grass. William was rubbing his belly with both hands and narrating a story that seemed to involve pirates.
“Dog looks good,” Briggson said.
“He’s doing great. Retirement suits him.”
“Obviously.” The word was dry but not sharp. He watched William for another second. “Kid’s good for him.”
“For sure.”
I barely refrained from rolling my eyes. Brevity as a love language.
Briggson nodded once. He was turning back toward his car when Ben said, “How’s Mia?”
The pause was small. Barely there.
“Better. She’s in a program. Thirty days in, got sixty more.” He didn’t elaborate. Didn’t need to. “She and my sister have been talking almost every day.”
“That’s good, Seth.”
The first name landed between them. Briggson looked at Ben for a moment, and whatever passed in that look was the kind of thing neither of them would ever discuss and both of them would remember.
“Yeah,” Briggson said. “It is.”
He left with as little fanfare as he’d arrived.
The afternoon wound down the way Saturday afternoons did now. William and Jolly in the yard until the light started to change. Me on the deck with my sketchbook, half working, half watching. Ben moving between whatever project he’d assigned himself and the kitchen, where dinner was slowly taking shape.
His phone rang while he was at the stove. He checked the screen, and that slight lift appeared at the corner of his mouth. The one reserved for Donovan.
