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I fidgeted. “Guess so.”

“What did you mean, you were sorry for the letter?”

I chewed my inner cheek, wishing I’d never been so stupid as to think a few words on a page would help anything. “I didn’t mean to cause you more pain. I just wanted⁠—”

My voice ceased to operate, my throat too tight for words. I glanced at her face, my gaze dragged there out of some sense of obligation. I owed it to this woman to look her in the eye.

“I’d like to talk more about the letter, actually,” she said. “When’s your next day off?”

“Um, Wednesday, I think.”

Pauline had given me a schedule. I’d glanced at it briefly. I pulled it out now, for something to distract me more than anything else. Nodded. “Yeah, that’s right.”

“Good. You’re buying me lunch on Wednesday, then.”

I jerked my head up. “Wait, what?”

“Yeah. We need this. Both of us. Don’t you think?”

I gaped at her, unsure I was hearing right. “Uh, um, I don’t⁠—”

“Just say yes, Joey. You owe me that.”

My mouth snapped shut. She was right. I’d told Kit I’d do anything for him. The same was true with Dakota. Even more so, because the harm I’d done to her was exponentially higher.

I nodded. “Okay.”

“Now, get your butt over to the dog food aisle. Get me three five-pound bags of the Iams, ring me up, and carry them out to my minivan, will you?”

I was happy to set my confused emotions aside in favor of practical action.

I grabbed a cart, loaded it with the bags—wondering briefly why she wouldn’t just buy one large bag—and rolled it over to the register. Pauline emerged as I prepared to ring it up.

“Dakota! I didn’t hear you come in, sweetie. How are you?”

“Good. Pogo is a black hole who eats too much.” She shrugged. “What can you do?”

I rang up the first bag, and Pauline stopped me. “No, no, dear. We ring these up as one fifteen-pound bag so that Dakota can get the bulk rate.”

I paused, unsure how to undo what I’d done.

Pauline leaned over, voided out the charge I’d rung in, and corrected it with a few manual button taps I hadn’t learned yet. “There we go. All good.”

It occurred to me suddenly that she must buy the smaller bags because they were easier to unload at home.

I ran Dakota’s bank card, feeling guilty for taking her money, even if it wasn’t for me. When we got out to the parking lot, I lifted the bags into the back of her lime-green minivan.

Dakota slid open the side door, hit a button, and a lift lowered to the ground. She released Pogo’s leash and said, “Up!”

Pogo hopped into the van ahead of her. He was well-trained. Or maybe he was a service dog? I didn’t know. I closed the back door.

“All loaded up.”

“Thanks.”

Dakota rolled her chair onto the lift, hit the control for it to rise, and then wheeled deeper into the van, empty of all seats except for the front two.

“Do you, uh, need any other help?”