Page 61 of Until Landon
“You told me he loved fostering, right?”
“He did. But he needs fostering himself. That’s almost what you’re doing. I don’t know if he has it in him at this point. It might be too much responsibility. And the other two dogs, they might make this one more skittish.”
“I can’t stop picturing her face. She is lost in every sense of the word. I think giving Ronnie a purpose would be so beneficial to him. There’s all kinds of love bottled up and it needs somewhere to go. As for the B Boys, I’m betting they will be an advantage. The way through for the dog. Plus, what is Biscuit going to do when Barney is gone?”
His eyes change with my question. Like he hadn’t thought of it before. I have. Biscuit and I are going to be lost. I would bet Barney and Landon might too.
“Oh. They named her Dolly.”
“I guess we can ask him. Wouldn’t hurt to mention it.”
“And we can tell him if it doesn’t work out, I will foster the dog when I’m done here. How’s that?”
His eyes look tired. Lids close. Open. Close.
“That’s good, babe.”
“Let’s go to sleep. You’re beat, sweetie.”
“Okay. I’ll get the light.”
Reaching over, he turns off the bedside lamp, and we snuggle back into the holy place. His hand glides over my back. Quiet seconds pass, and just when I am about to close my eyes, he speaks.
“Love you,” he says softly.
“I love you too, Landon.”
It is as natural as anything I have ever said before.
The wide bed becomes the sky, and it feels like we are clinging to a cloud. As she flies by, the Song Sparrow sings.
CHAPTERFIFTEEN
Landon
Standing in the hallway, wrapped in her arms, I mention the obvious.
“I love everything about you.”
Before she can answer, Dad’s voice sounds from the kitchen.
“You talking to me, sweetheart?”
He likes messing with us. Every day. I encourage it, because the mood is changing and I’m not about to put a stop to it. Kim’s cell rings and I motion her ahead.
As we walk to the front of the house, I see my father assembling eggs and chicken sausage links for breakfast. The Milton’s All Grain bread is waiting to be toasted.
“What the hell are you doing up so early?”
“What do you mean? This is my regular routine. Up at seven, eight o’clock. Get to the day.”
He knows what I mean. It has been awhile since it was anywhere near regular. I am not about to argue the point. It’s another sign of healing. Not just physically, either.
“Morning, sunshine,” he says to Kim.
“Morning, Ronnie. I’ll have scrambled.”
“I’m making over easy.”
