Love You More(46)

As we head toward the checkout line, she glances up at me. “Thank you, Billie,” she says. “I’m glad Mom picked you to be her best friend.”

“Me too, Feebs,” I say.



* * *



— Our next stop is the Pewaukee Public Library. Inside, the scent of dusty paper and cool air wraps around me like a memory. Erin and I spent summers here—biking over, sweating through our tank tops, cooling off amid stacks of books.

I trail my fingers along the spines, thinking I can’t remember the last time I read for pleasure. A Jodi Picoult novel—Mad Honey—catches my eye. Erin devoured Jodi’s books. I wonder if she read this one. I tuck it under my arm.

Phoebe reappears, holding two books.

“What’d you get?” I ask.

She holds up The Incredible Journey and How Dogs Love Us.

“Noticing a theme here,” I say.

She grins. “Yes. Can we stop by the Humane Society next?”

“Your wish is my command,” I say.



* * *



— When we walk into PAWS of Pewaukee, a middle-aged woman with silver hair greets us. Her name tag reads Sarah.

“How can I help you?” Sarah asks.

“Could we visit the puppies, please?” Phoebe says.

“Of course,” Sarah says.

Phoebe knows the routine, surveying all the pups before selecting a few she’d like to hold.

Sarah brings them over one by one.

As Phoebe cuddles with them, she peppers Sarah with questions about each puppy’s history and personality.

At one point, Sarah crouches beside Phoebe. “I know you asked about puppies, but would you like to meet some of the adult dogs? We have some really sweet ones who’ve been waiting for homes.”

Phoebe nods. “Yes, please.”

We follow Sarah to a row of kennels where the dogs watch us, calmly and silently, like they’ve learned not to get their hopes up.

Phoebe says hello to every dog, but I can tell her heart is back with the puppies.

Then she meets Hank, a beagle mix with honey-colored fur and white spots on his back and paws.

“Oh my goodness. He’s so cute!” Phoebe says as Hank comes to the front of the kennel, staring up at her with alert, soulful eyes.

“Can I pet him?” she asks.

Sarah nods and opens the kennel door as Phoebe drops to her knees.

Hank rushes into her outstretched arms, licking her face as Phoebe giggles. Their connection is instant, the kind that reminds me of those reunion videos—soldiers coming home after months away and their dogs going nuts with joy.

“Oh, Hanky,” Phoebe says, her voice going high and tender. “You’re so perfect!”

Sarah smiles down at them. “He likes you.”

“Really?” Phoebe asks.

“Yes. He’s usually a bit shyer. He’s been through a lot.”

“What happened to him?” Phoebe asks as Hank rests his chin on her leg, still wagging his tail.

“His owner passed away,” Sarah says.

Phoebe freezes. Her eyes lift to mine, wide and glassy. She doesn’t have to say it. She thinks it’s fate.

“Do you think Gram would let me have him?” she whispers.

“Sweetie, I don’t think Gram can handle a dog.”

“What about Mick? Maybe he’d want a second dog. Can we call him?”

“You can ask him—just remember he might have to say no,” I say, pulling out my phone and tapping Mick’s name.

“Everything okay?” he asks without saying hello.

“Yes. Hi. Phoebe has a question for you,” I say, putting the phone on speaker.

“Hi, Mick,” Phoebe says. “We’re at PAWS. There’s this dog named Hank. He’s so cute, and he needs a home. Can we please get him?”

“I don’t know, Feebs,” Mick says. “We have a lot to figure out. This might not be the right time to adopt a dog.”

“Can you at least meet him? I know you’d love him.”

“I’ll try,” he says. “Billie, can we talk for a sec?”

I take the phone from Phoebe, step away, and say hi.

“You’re killing me,” he says with a laugh.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to sandbag you. I can break it to her gently—”

“It’s not out of the question,” he says. “But I think we need to tackle a bigger custody issue first.”

“I know,” I say. “I’ll tell her.”

I hang up and walk back over to Phoebe and Hank, bracing myself.

“What did he say?” she asks.

“He doesn’t think it’s a good idea right now, but we can check back—and if he still hasn’t been adopted, we can reconsider.”

She swallows, then presses a kiss to Hank’s head. “I hope I get to see you again,” she whispers. “Hang in there, little buddy.”



* * *



— After Phoebe and I pick up lunch at Chick-fil-A, we return to the house and find Joan asleep on the sofa, HGTV blaring. The remote is still in her hand. I pull it free, mute the TV, then tuck a blanket around her legs.

Phoebe sets one of the chicken sandwiches and a bag of fries on the coffee table. She places a lemonade on a coaster, straw included.