Page 89 of Finding Forever

Eric knelt on the ground beside the big German Shepherd, stroking his back and sighing when Sherlock stayed where he was. “Time is probably the only thing that will heal him. He wanted to go to the hospital with you.”

“I didn’t know.”

“You were unconscious.”

“Did he think I’d died?” I whispered.

Eric’s slow nod tore at my heart. “I should have realized what was happening. He was quiet at the kennel, too.”

Mom came inside with Jonathan’s suitcase. “That’s everything out of the truck. Can I get you a drink, Eric?”

He looked at Sherlock. “Thanks for the offer, but I need to get Sherlock home.” He placed an orange polka dot cushion on top of the table. “Would you be able to move the table beside Riley once we’re gone?”

“Of course, I can,” Mom said. “You know you can always spend time with us. It’s been a traumatic time for everyone.”

I could swear I saw tears in Eric’s eyes. “Thank you. I have to do some writing, but I’ll stop by before I go to bed. If you need anything, let me know. Come on, boy.”

Sherlock’s head swiveled toward Eric. For a moment, I didn’t think he was going to obey. But years of training overrode what he really wanted to do. For all his size and sharp teeth, Sherlock was the biggest softie I’d ever met.

“Bring Sherlock to see us tonight. It might make him feel better.”

This time, I knew I saw tears in Eric’s eyes. I didn’t want to embarrass him by asking if he was okay in front of Mom, but I’d make sure I asked him tonight.

sixty-four

RILEY

Three nights later, I sat on the top stair of the veranda, soaking in the twilight. It was my favorite time of the evening, the window between day and night, when nature showcased all its majesty in a tapestry of vibrant color.

I smiled, remembering how long it took to find the right shade of orange for my last landscape. Without some creative mixing of colors, the painting would have been flat and lifeless, a mere shadow of what nature intended.

Carefully, I stretched my injured arm, repeating the exercises the hospital’s physical therapist showed me. It would take a long time to heal, but it would happen. At least Chapman’s bullet hit my right arm. If it had been my left, I wouldn’t have been painting for weeks.

Since I’d been home, Eric had kept mostly to himself. I wanted to talk to him, to see if he was okay. But every time he came over, he made sure Mom was in the room. I was worried about him. I knew he was busy writing and editing, but even so, it was unusual for him not to join us for lunch or dinner, or at least spend more than five minutes in the cottage.

Sherlock, on the other hand, never left my side. Mom found an old blanket in the back of the linen closet, and that was all the encouragement he needed to set up his daytime routine opposite me. He snoozed when I slept, then leapt to attention as soon as I went for a short walk. He was more relaxed than he was, but he still had a long way to go.

“Would you like a glass of orange juice?” Mom asked from the doorway.

I turned to her and smiled. “That would be wonderful.”

She tilted her head to the side. “You know, you could go and speak to him.”

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

“If he’s okay, there’s no point worrying about him.”

She had a point. Except I knew Eric wasn’t okay. But if I asked him what was wrong, I’d have to deal with what he said. And I wasn’t sure if I was ready for that.

“I had a call from our lawyer today.”

My eyes widened. “What did he want?”

“Someone’s interested in buying the cottage. They’ve approached our neighbors as well.”

“Why would they want…” I frowned. “Don’t tell me they want to build a resort or an apartment complex?”

“Nearly. A retirement village. Our lawyer emailed me the plans. It would have croquet lawns, an indoor pool, restaurants, and an events center.”

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