Page 25 of The Locksmith's Promise

And buying him his first guitar, a guitar I would teach him to play.

I could picture it as crisp and clear as a big screen movie playing on a loop in my mind.

And where would Maggie be in all this? At their home? Waiting for me to drop him off after my weekly visit?

No.

My entire system revolted against the thought.

I came back to Moose Lake ready to take anything Maggie would give me. And if leaving was all she wanted from me? I’d have given it to her.

But not now.

Not now that she’d given me the world.

The sudden silence brought me back to the present.

I gave myself a brisk mental shake. “Tell me about Jeff,” I coaxed.

Jumping to his feet, he ran around the coffee table and dropped to his knees to peruse the bottom level of their bookshelf.

Like a proud mom, Corwin pulled out a photograph album and bounded back to the couch to show me Jeff’s progression from a bedraggled bit of scraggly fur to the fluffball stretched out on the couch cushion between us without a care in the world.

“Last summer, Mom and I, we volunteered at an animal shelter close to our house. Jeff was there.”

I knew the answer, but I wanted to hear it from him.

I wanted Maggie to hear it from him.

To remind her of what she’d once wanted, what we’d dreamed.

To show her the players were all in place.

If she’d only roll the dice.

It was too soon to expect anything from her, but the curveball she threw already made me yearn to rewind time. The thought of losing more agonized me.

“Was she already named Jeff?”

He shook his head. “What was Jeff called, Mom?”

Maggie left her seat and puttered around, tidying things that didn’t need tidying and checking on the tiny plants in her greenhouse. The place was small, and there was nowhere for her to go to escape.

Which was a bonus for me.

“Minnie,” she answered stiffly, avoiding my eyes.

“Yeah,” Corwin agreed. “Minnie.”

“But Mom said it had to be Jeff. Said she had a dream about a dog named Jeff and wanted it to come true. Right, Mom?”

“That’s right, baby,” she choked out, her cheeks flaming.

“It’s good to have dreams,” I murmured.

“Do you have dreams?” Corwin asked.

“I’ve had the same dream forever,” I replied, noting Maggie’s stiff posture. “I’ll tell you about it some day.”

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