Page 91 of We Are Just Us

Camping. In the desert. With Rory.

His brain started cataloging concerns. Hank was still out there. What if someone found him while Kieran was gone? What if there was an update and he wasn’t here to respond?

KIERAN: Can I think about it? I want to, but I don’t know if I can leave while Hank’s still missing.

RORY NEIGHBOR: Of course. No pressure. Just let me know.

Kieran set his phone down and stared at his laptop screen without seeing it.

He wanted to go. God, he wanted to go. But the thought of being hours away, unreachable, while Hank was still lost seemed like abandonment.

He packed up his things and headed home, the decision weighing on him.

The call came that evening, as the sun was starting to dip toward the horizon.

Kieran had been making dinner…or trying to. The tortillas were warming, the meat was browning, and he was attempting to chop vegetables without losing a finger when his phone rang. He almost didn’t answer.

“Hello?”

“Hi, is this Kieran Doyle?” a woman asked on the other end.

“Yes, that’s me.”

“This is Sarah from the Rancho Coastal Humane Society. I’m calling about a dog we have here—a springer spaniel? Liver and white, male, no collar but he’s microchipped. The chip came back registered to you.”

Kieran set down the knife. His hands were shaking.

“Hank?” His voice came out strangled. “You found Hank?”

“If that’s his name, then yes. He showed up in someone’s yard this morning in Solana Beach. Been hanging around all day. The homeowner finally called us.”

“Solana Beach? I live in Encinitas!” Kieran said. “Is he okay? Is he hurt?”

“Totally fine. A little dirty, maybe a bit thin, but no injuries. How he got that far without getting hit by a car is beyond me. Can you come pick him up?” Sarah asked. “We’re open until seven tonight.”

Kieran looked at the stove, the half-cooked dinner, the mess on the counter.

“I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

He turned everything off, grabbed his keys, and was out the door before his brain fully caught up with his body.

The Humane Society was a low concrete building tucked behind a strip mall, and Kieran practically ran inside.

Sarah met him at the front desk, a woman in her fifties with kind eyes and a name tag that matched her voice.

“Mr. Doyle?”

“Yes. Where is he?”

“Follow me.”

She led him through a door into the back area where the kennels were. The smell hit him, antiseptic and wet dog and something faintly sad.

And then he heard it.

Barking. Hank’s bark. High-pitched and insistent and unmistakably his.

“He’s been doing that since we brought him in,” Sarah said, smiling. “I think he knew you were coming.”