“Not helping,” I whisper.
When I drag the suitcase into the hallway, Bear follows.
And then he does the thing that breaks me.
He sits on it. Right on top of the suitcase.
Like a small furry bouncer.
Like:absolutely not.
I stare at him.
He stares back.
His eyes are too smart.
My throat closes.
“Oh, Bear,” I whisper.
I crouch down and wrap my arms around him, burying my face in his fur.
He’s warm. Solid. Home.
My chest heaves once.
I hate that this is happening.
I hate that leaving feels like tearing off skin.
"You stay here, okay?” I whisper into his fur. “Someone has to keep him company.”
Bear licks my cheek like he’s forgiving me.
I pull back and wipe my face quickly. Then I stand and grab my phone, because I need to do one more thing.
I walk into the kitchen and open the drawer where he keeps random things—rubber bands, spare keys, pens that sometimes work and sometimesdon’t.
I pull out a sheet of paper.
My hand trembles as I flatten it on the counter.
Bear pads into the kitchen behind me and sits down near my feet, watching quietly.
“Don’t look at me like that,” I murmur, though there’s no strength in my voice.
I pick up a pen.
But is there anything I can write that will make this better?
I start.
I can’t do this anymore.
No. Not right.
I scribble it out.
