Page 90 of We Are Just Us

KIERAN: Just got back from Devon and Patti’s. I have a cat’s worth of hair damage and leftover soup.

Three dots.

RORY NEIGHBOR: I have questions about the first part of that sentence

KIERAN: Long story.

RORY NEIGHBOR: Come over. Bring the soup.

Kieran looked at the text. At the porch light. At Rory’s front door, twenty feet from his own.

He grabbed the soup and went.

TWENTY-SEVEN

More than a week without Hank had become its own kind of phantom ache.

Kieran kept expecting to hear the jingle of his collar, the scratch of paws on the hardwood, the soft whine that meant I need something but I’m being polite about it. Every time he came home, his brain forgot for one split second and expected both dogs to greet him at the door.

Then he’d see only Mabel, tail wagging but eyes searching, and the reality would settle over him again.

They’d done everything. Flyers plastered on every pole within a five-mile radius. Calls to every shelter, every vet, every animal control office in the county. Posts on neighborhood apps and lost pet forums.

He’d even posted on his Substack, a departure from his usual tone, no jokes, but a photo of Hank and a simple plea: If you’re in the San Diego area and you see this face, please reach out. He’s a springer spaniel, brown and white, answers to Hank. He’s anxious and probably scared and I just need him home.

The responses had been overwhelming. Readers he’d never met sharing the post, sending tips, offering to help search.

But it hadn’t worked yet.

Rory had been gone for three days at a work conference in Santa Cruz. He’d texted every morning and every night, checking in, asking if there’d been any updates.

There never were.

Kieran threw himself into writing, anything to avoid staring at the empty dog bed.

Thursday afternoon, he was at a coffee shop when his phone buzzed.

RORY NEIGHBOR: Conference ends tomorrow. I have a question.

His fingers tightened around the phone. He typed back quickly.

KIERAN: Okay…

Three dots appeared, disappeared, appeared again.

RORY NEIGHBOR: How do you feel about camping?

Kieran blinked at his screen.

KIERAN: Like…in a tent?

RORY NEIGHBOR: Or under the stars. I’m flexible.

KIERAN: Why?

RORY NEIGHBOR: I was thinking about Joshua Tree this weekend. Middle of nowhere. No distractions. I know it may not be the weekend for it, but there’s a meteor shower Saturday night. Figured a guy with Orion tattooed on his arm might want to see the actual sky for once. I’ll even let you be in charge of cooking.

Kieran stared at the messages, his thumb hovering over the keyboard.