Chapter 2 - The Promise I Never Wanted to Make
I opened the door before I could reconsider.
Max rushed outside.
"Max!"
He crossed my lawn, leash dragging behind him.
Mr. Laurent had just reached the driveway.
The moment he saw the dog, he stopped.
Max ran directly into him.
For a thirteen-year-old Labrador with stiff joints, it was the fastest I had ever seen him move.
Mr. Laurent dropped one suitcase.
"Hey, buddy."
He knelt.
Max pushed his entire body against him.
The old man wrapped both arms around the dog.
I stopped several yards away.
This goodbye didn't belong to me.
The transportation driver waited beside the van.
Nobody hurried him.
Mr. Laurent buried his face against Max's neck.
"You be good."
Max licked his cheek.
"Come on."
Mr. Laurent tried to smile.
"You've got to help me out here."
Max's tail thumped against the driveway.
He thought they were going somewhere together.
That was the unbearable part.
Dogs don't understand eviction.
They don't understand debt.
They don't understand why medical bills can turn a home into an address that no longer belongs to you.
They understand routines.
Smells.
Voices.
The sound of a familiar car.
And people.
Especially people.
Mr. Laurent looked at me.
"Don't let him be scared."
"I won't."
"Promise?"
"I promise."
He kissed Max's forehead.
Then he stood.
I took the leash.
Mr. Laurent picked up his suitcase and walked toward the van.
Max followed.
I held tighter.
The old Labrador pulled.
"Max."
Mr. Laurent reached the van.
The door opened.
Max whined.
The sound was low and confused.
Mr. Laurent climbed inside.
The door closed.
Max pulled harder.
Then the van started moving.
He barked.
Once.
Twice.
Then he lunged toward the street.
I caught the leash with both hands.
"Max!"
The van drove away.
Max dragged me to the edge of the yard.
Then he stopped.
He watched until the vehicle disappeared around the corner.
For several seconds, he didn't move.
Then he sat.
And waited.
I stood beside him.
"Come inside."
Nothing.
"Max."
His ears remained pointed toward the empty street.
I crouched.
"He's gone."
Max glanced at me.
Then looked back toward the corner.
I eventually coaxed him indoors with a piece of chicken.
He ate it and immediately returned to the door.
The shelter was expecting us at ten.
At nine-thirty, I found his leash.
Max stood excitedly.
My stomach twisted.
He thought we were going to find Mr. Laurent.
I drove three blocks.
Then Max stood in the back seat and looked through the rear window toward our neighborhood.
I pulled over.
For ten minutes I sat behind the steering wheel.
Then I turned around.
"Tomorrow," I whispered.
I hated myself for the relief I felt.
Tomorrow became the next day.
Max barely touched breakfast.
Around noon, a delivery truck slowed outside.
Max struggled upright.
His tail moved.
The truck continued.
His tail stopped.
That evening, somebody walked past wearing a dark jacket.
Max rushed to the window.
Not him.
By the third day, Max had learned to wait at my front step.
Rain had started before dawn.
I tried bringing him inside.
He refused.
So I sat beside him beneath the porch roof.
"You're stubborn."
His eyes stayed on the street.
"Did he teach you that?"
Max sighed.
I rubbed his chest.
"You know I'm supposed to take you somewhere."
His ears twitched.
"I made a promise."
He rested his chin on his paws.
I thought about Mr. Laurent.
Was he wondering whether Max was frightened?
Did he assume I'd already taken him to the shelter?
Was he lying awake imagining a kennel?
I didn't have his new phone number.
The move had happened too quickly.
I had only the facility's name, written on a piece of paper he had left with Max's veterinary records.
Cedar Grove Assisted Care.
I found the number.
My finger hovered over it.
Then stopped.
What would I say?
I broke my promise?
Your dog is still waiting outside?
I couldn't make myself do it.
That night, Max slept with his nose against the threshold.
I put a blanket beside him.
At 2:16 a.m., I woke to a sound.
Whining.
I came downstairs.
Max was dreaming.
His paws moved slightly.
Then he woke.
For one beautiful second, his tail wagged.
He had heard me and expected someone else.
When he saw it was only me, his head lowered.
That hurt more than I expected.
I sat on the floor.
"Sorry, buddy."
He moved closer.
I put my arm around him.
And suddenly I was crying.
Not loudly.
Just quietly, into the fur around his neck.
"This isn't fair."
Max licked my hand.
The dog who had lost everything was comforting me.
By morning, I knew I couldn't keep delaying.
I opened the county shelter's website.
There were photographs of adoptable dogs.
Young dogs.
Puppies.
Dogs with bright eyes and descriptions like energetic, playful, loves hiking.
Then I looked at Max.
Thirteen.
Arthritis.
Missing one tooth.
He needed medication twice daily.
He didn't want hiking.
He wanted Mr. Laurent's porch.
My phone rang.
It was work.
"Elodie, are you coming in?"
I had completely forgotten the time.
"I need another personal day."
A pause.
"You've already taken two."
"I know."
"Is everything okay?"
I looked at Max.
"No."
Another pause.
Then my supervisor softened.
"Take today."
"Thank you."
I hung up.
At ten-thirty, I called the shelter.
A woman answered.
I explained Max's age.
His circumstances.
His medical needs.
She was kind.
That almost made it worse.
"We can accept him," she said.
"Would he be adopted?"
"We'd evaluate him."
That wasn't an answer.
"He's thirteen."
"I understand."
"What happens if nobody adopts him?"
Silence.
Professional silence.
Careful silence.
"We do everything we can for animals in our care."
I closed my eyes.
"Thank you."
"Would you like to schedule surrender?"
I looked at Max.
He was staring through the glass.
A sedan had turned onto our street.
Max stood.
The car approached.
His tail wagged.
It passed.
He slowly sat again.
"Ma'am?"
"I'm here."
"Would you like an appointment?"
My throat tightened.
"No."
I ended the call.
Then I said the words aloud.
"No."
Max looked at me.
I crouched beside him.
"I'm not doing that to you."
His tail tapped the floor once.
I laughed through tears.
"Don't get excited. I have absolutely no idea what I'm doing."
That was true.
Keeping Max solved only half the problem.
Mr. Laurent was still at Cedar Grove without him.
And I couldn't simply bring Max there.
The facility didn't allow pets.
I could adopt Max myself, perhaps.
But that meant Mr. Laurent still lost the companion who had slept beside him every night since Claire died.
I went to the kitchen and made coffee.
On the counter sat my laptop.
I opened it.
Then I searched for Cedar Grove.
Pictures appeared.
A large brick building.
Landscaped grounds.
Clean rooms.
Positive reviews.
But one sentence mattered.
NO RESIDENT PETS EXCEPT APPROVED SERVICE ANIMALS.
I leaned back.
Max rested beside my chair.
"Well, that's annoying."
He sighed.
Then I noticed another result.
A small residential care home eight miles away.
Pet-friendly.
I clicked.
The monthly rate appeared.
My stomach dropped.
Too expensive.
I checked another.
And another.
Every possibility seemed to end with a number Mr. Laurent could never afford.
Then I remembered the envelopes on his table.
The debts.
The house.
The two suitcases.
This wasn't a problem solved by moving one dog.
It was money.
Always money.
I looked toward the hallway.
For nearly five years, I had been saving for something.
Not a vacation.
Not a new car.
A personal project I'd wanted desperately: enough money for a down payment and renovation costs on a small property where I hoped someday to build a quieter, more independent life.
I had sacrificed for it.
Skipped trips.
Kept my old car.
Worked overtime.
Transferred money into savings every month.
I opened my banking app.
The balance appeared.
I stared at it.
Then I looked through the window.
Number 112 stood empty across the street.
A thought entered my mind.
It was ridiculous.
Financially irresponsible.
Complicated.
Maybe impossible.
I should have dismissed it immediately.
Instead, I opened the county property records.
And what I found about Mr. Laurent's house made me sit completely still.
May you like
Because number 112 had not yet been sold.
And suddenly the impossible idea in my head became just barely possible.
