“And I should go help William wash up before he falls asleep in a pile of books.”
Neither of us moved.
Jolly let out a long, suffering sigh and dropped his head to his paws.
“Goodnight, Kayla.”
“Goodnight, Ben.”
I walked back across the yard at a normal, adult pace. I did not touch my mouth. I did not look back.
But by the time I reached the deck, I was smiling so hard my face ached.
Inside, William was on the couch with a stack of picture books and a granola bar, already in his pajamas.
“Mom, I picked four books. Is four okay?”
“Four is perfect, buddy.”
He looked at me, head tilted.
“You look happy,” he said.
I sat beside him and pressed my lips to the top of his head. “I am happy. Because of a lot of things.” I wanted to tell him about Ben and Jolly and the assembly, but I knew better. We needed one hundred percent confirmation first, just in case. “Now, which book first?”
He held up a well-worn copy of a book about a dog who saves a farm.
“This one.”
I took it from his hands, opened to the first page, and started to read.
Chapter 12
Kayla
William had been vibrating since we got in the car.
Maybe not literally, but close. He sat in the back seat with his seat belt pulled tight across his chest, his feet drumming against the underside of his booster, his hands gripping the straps like he was on a roller coaster that hadn’t started yet. He’d barely touched his breakfast. He’d put his shoes on the wrong feet twice and hadn’t cared either time.
“Mom. How much longer?”
“Five minutes. Same as the last time you asked.”
“That was a really long time ago.”
“That was forty-five seconds ago.”
He pressed his face to the window. The morning was sharp and bright, a Colorado day where the sky looked scrubbed clean and the mountains stood out against it as if someone had cut them from blue paper. We were taking the same route we took every school day, past the same houses and the same trees and the same mailboxes, but William waswatching the road like we were driving into uncharted territory.
“Do you think Jolly will remember me?”
“Buddy, you played with him through the fence just a few hours ago. He remembers you.”
“But it’s different at school. Everything looks different, and there’s a bunch of kids. What if he doesn’t know it’s me because I’m not at the fence?”
“Dogs don’t work that way. Jolly knows you, knows your scent. He’ll know you anywhere.”
William considered this. His feet kept drumming. “What if the other kids scare him?”
