Chapter 4
I woke up at five the next morning.
The house was quiet.
Too quiet.
No Buddy scratching at the door to go out.
No Noah’s laughter from the living room.
Just silence.
I got dressed and went downstairs.
Ryan was already at the kitchen table.
He had his laptop open.
Maps of Blackman were spread across the table.
Coffee was already made.
“I mapped out the neighborhoods,” he said without looking up. “Blackman has about twelve thousand homes. If we split it into sections, we can cover the main roads in three days. The side streets will take longer.”
I poured a cup of coffee.
“Good.”
“I also called every vet clinic and animal hospital within twenty miles. Gave them Buddy’s description and microchip number. Told them to call immediately if he comes in.”
I sat down across from him.
He looked terrible.
Dark circles under his eyes.
His shirt was wrinkled.
He hadn’t shaved.
“You didn’t sleep,” I said.
“Couldn’t. Kept replaying it in my head. Me handing her those papers. Noah crying on the porch.” He looked up at me. “I keep thinking—what if I’d just said no? What if I’d told her to get out of my house three years ago when she first asked to move in?”
I reached across the table.
Paused.
Then put my hand on his.
“We can’t go back,” I said. “We can only go forward.”
Noah came down the stairs ten minutes later.
He was still in his pajamas.
His eyes were puffy.
The first thing he did was look at Buddy’s bed.
Empty.
His face crumpled.
But he didn’t cry.
Not this time.
He just stood there, staring at the empty space.
“Mom,” he said. “Today’s the day we find him, right?”
“Right, baby.”
He nodded.
Like he was trying to convince himself.
“Okay. Let’s go.”
We ate breakfast in silence.
Peanut butter toast.
Noah picked at his.
I could see the fear in his eyes.
The what-if.
What if we never found Buddy?
What if his new family loved him more?
What if Buddy forgot him?
I wanted to tell him it would all be okay.
But I couldn’t.
Not when I didn’t know if it was true.
We left the house at seven.
Ryan had printed fifty flyers.
Buddy’s face was on each one.
REWARD: $500.
NO QUESTIONS ASKED.
PLEASE BRING OUR BOY HOME.
We split up.
Ryan took the northern part of Blackman.
Noah and I took the south.
We drove down street after street.
Subdivision after subdivision.
Rows and rows of identical brick houses.
White trim.
Two-car garages.
Perfect lawns.
Any one of them could have Buddy.
Noah sat in the passenger seat, scanning every yard.
Every time we passed a dog, he’d lean forward.
“Is that him?”
“No, baby. That’s a lab.”
Five minutes later.
“Mom—look!”
A golden retriever trotted across a yard.
My heart jumped.
Then I saw the collar.
The size.
“Not him, Noah. This one’s bigger.”
His shoulders slumped.
“Sorry.”
I reached over and squeezed his hand.
“Don’t be sorry. You’re doing great. We’ll find him. I promise.”
We stopped at every gas station.
Every grocery store.
Every library.
Taped flyers to bulletin boards.
Asked every cashier if they’d seen a golden retriever with a white chest patch.
Nobody had.
By noon, we’d covered half our section.
My throat was dry.
Noah hadn’t complained once.
But I could see he was fading.
“Let’s get lunch,” I said.
“I’m not hungry.”
“You need to eat. Buddy would want you to be strong when we find him.”
That worked.
We pulled into a McDonald’s.
I ordered him chicken nuggets and fries.
He ate three nuggets and pushed the rest away.
I was about to suggest we call it a morning when my phone rang.
It was Ryan.
“Lindsey,” he said. His voice was tight. “You need to get over here. Now.”
My heart stopped.
“Did you find him?”
“I found something. Just get here. I’m at the corner of Veterans and Burnt Knob. There’s a Shell station. Meet me in the parking lot.”
He hung up.
“Dad found something,” I told Noah.
His face lit up for the first time all day.
“Buddy?”
“I don’t know. But we’re going to find out.”
I drove fast.
Too fast.
When we pulled into the gas station, Ryan was pacing by his car.
He was holding his phone.
“What is it?” I said, jumping out.
Noah was right behind me.
Ryan held up the phone.
“I just got a call. From a woman who saw one of our flyers. She lives in the Brookstone subdivision. She says her next-door neighbors adopted a golden retriever yesterday. Three years old. White patch on his chest. Good with kids.”
Noah grabbed my arm.
“Is it him? Mom, is it him?”
I couldn’t breathe.
“Did she say the address?”
Ryan nodded.
“Fourteen twenty-three Cedar Creek Lane.”
He looked at me.
His hands were shaking.
“It’s him, Lindsey. I know it is.”
We drove to Cedar Creek Lane.
My hands were sweating so bad I could barely hold the wheel.
Fourteen twenty-three.
Fourteen twenty-three.
I repeated the numbers in my head.
The house was a two-story brick with a white front porch.
A swing hung from the ceiling.
Two pink bicycles were on the lawn.
And in the backyard, behind a white picket fence—
A golden retriever was running.
He had a tennis ball in his mouth.
He ran to the fence and dropped it.
Barked once.
Then he looked up.
Right at our car.
Noah screamed.
“BUDDY!”
He threw the door open before I even stopped.
“NOAH—WAIT!”
But he was already running.
The dog’s head snapped up.
He froze.
Then he started whining.
Scratching at the fence.
Noah reached the gate and threw it open.
Buddy launched himself through the yard.
He hit Noah so hard they both fell over in the grass.
Licking his face.
His whole body wagging so hard his whole back end moved.
Noah was crying and laughing at the same time.
“I missed you I missed you I missed you—”
I sat in the car, frozen.
Tears streaming down my face.
He was alive.
He was okay.
Ryan was beside me now.
He had his hand over his mouth.
I could see his shoulders shaking.
Then the front door opened.
A woman came out.
Mid-thirties.
Brown hair in a ponytail.
Jeans and a T-shirt.
She was holding a leash.
She looked at Noah and Buddy.
Then at us.
Her face fell.
“You must be the Carters,” she said.
I got out of the car.
Ryan followed.
“I’m Lindsey,” I said. “This is my husband Ryan. And that’s our son Noah.”
The woman nodded.
“I’m Sarah Jenkins. My husband Mark is at work with the girls. Look—about the dog. We had no idea. The shelter said he was a stray. That nobody wanted him. If we’d known he had a family—”
She stopped.
Swallowed.
“I’m so sorry.”
I looked past her.
At Noah and Buddy.
They were still on the grass.
Noah was talking to the dog like he’d been gone for years.
Then I looked at Sarah.
She looked like a nice woman.
A good mom.
She’d done nothing wrong.
And now I was about to break her heart too.
“We need to take him home,” I said softly.
Sarah’s eyes filled with tears.
“I know. But—can you just give us a minute? The girls are going to be home from school in an hour. They love him already. Last night, he slept in my youngest’s bed because she had a bad dream. I don’t know how to tell them he has to go.”
I felt Ryan stiffen beside me.
I knew what he was thinking.
Two little girls.
Just like the shelter woman said.
Seven and five.
Who was going to comfort them when their new dog was gone?
But then I looked at Noah.
At my son.
Who’d cried himself to sleep two nights in a row.
Who’d sat on a porch for an hour holding his dog because nobody else would.
And I knew.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “Truly. But that dog belongs to my son. And we’re taking him home. Now.”
Sarah’s face crumpled.
“Can we at least call my husband? He drove an hour to get him yesterday. He’s going to be devastated.”
Before I could answer, Ryan spoke.
“Call him,” he said.
I turned to him.
“Ryan—”
“Call him,” he repeated. “We’ll wait. It’s the least we can do.”
I looked at him.
Then at Sarah.
“Fine,” I said. “But we’re not leaving here without him.”
Sarah nodded and went inside to make the call.
I walked over to Noah and Buddy.
The dog looked up when I approached.
His tail wagged faster.
He crawled out of Noah’s lap and came to me.
Put his head on my knee.
I scratched his ears.
“Hey, boy,” I whispered. “We’re going home. Okay?”
He licked my hand.
Like he understood.
Noah stood up.
His face was glowing.
“Mom, he remembered me. I know he did. He knew my voice.”
“I know, baby.”
Ten minutes later, a car pulled into the driveway.
A man jumped out.
He was in work boots and jeans.
May you like
Angry.
“Where is he?” he said. “Where’s our dog?”
