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The exhaustion in his voice nearly knocks the breath out of me. “You sound awful.”
“You always know how to flatter a man.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I. I look worse than I sound, which is a personal attack on my entire brand.”
A laugh slips out of me before guilt can smother it. For a heartbeat, I’m back in our cramped shelter office with his iced coffee sweating rings onto the desk while he complains about paperwork and pretends not to love every animal in the building.
“The shelter?” I ask because I can’t wait any longer.
His voice changes. “Police cleared us around three. The worst of it is cleaned up. I sent the volunteers home after they gave statements.”
My fingers grip the phone tightly. “And the animals?”
“Scared, but okay. Two volunteers came back this morning to help. Claire and Denise.”
“Bless them.”
“Amen.” He exhales, and I hear the scrape of a chair, like he’s sitting down. “But we’ve got a problem, honey.”
My stomach sinks. “Volunteers?”
“A few already called sayin’ they need time.”
I close my eyes. I can’t blame them. Lord knows I can’t. But the shelter runs on people who show up because they care, and if fear keeps them away, everything starts falling apart fast.
“And donations?” I ask.
“Too early to tell.”
That scares me the most. Second Chance Savannah is always just one big vet bill away from trouble. If donors start thinking of the shelter as a place of violence instead of rescue, we could lose the progress we worked so hard for.
“I’m comin’ in,” I tell him, pushing away from the kitchen island and pacing toward the nearest window. Ivy doesn’t take her eyes off me.
“No, ma’am.”
“Jules.” I stop walking and pinch the bridge of my nose.
“Maggie.”
“I can’t just sit here.” Frustration rises with every word. Outside, another security guard crosses the lawn, which makes me even more irritated.
“You watched somebody die yesterday.”
The words silence me. I drop my hand from my face.
His voice gentles. “You take one day. Stay with Ivy. I’ve got the shelter.”
I stare out the window toward the gardens, chewing on the inside of my cheek.
“What about meds?”
“Handled.”
“Morning walks?”
“Handled.”
