“Gotcha. I can stay. I live so far west of town I’m sure the storm missed my place.”
“Good.” Looking satisfied, Gregory turned back to Maya. “How much farther is it to Tommy’s?”
“Just down there. I can see the house. Praise the Lord! It’s still standing.” She could tell that her boss was having to work to keep hold of the struggling boy’s arm.
“Whoa, kid. Hold your horses. I’ll let you go in just a second.”
“Charlie!” Tommy kept yelling. “Charlie. Charlie, where are you?”
Maya looked up and down the street, hoping against hope that the black-and-white mutt would suddenly appear. Very little was moving other than the refuse that flapped in the trees and lay draped over every bush and signpost, as if naughty teenagers had arrayed it like toilet paper in a prank. Sadly, this was no childish practical joke. This was harsh reality.
Green-painted shutters had been ripped from the quaint Otis home and there were spaces on the sloping roof that were clearly missing patches of asphalt shingles. Other than that, the house looked in pretty good shape, especially compared to some of the others they’d seen so far.
Gregory released the boy and Tommy raced ahead, vaulting a low hedge that bordered the backyard of his foster parents.
Holding Layla close, Maya paused to watch. A dog house lay on its side with a chain tether still attached. The rest of the yard was deserted. Charlie was nowhere to be seen.
Tears came to her eyes as she heard the child start to sob. His loud weeping immediately drew Beth and Brandon from the house and they fell to their knees to embrace him.
At least Tommy was safe, Maya thought, thanks to the quick actions of Gregory Garrison. And this was probably only one of the many happy reunions occurring all over the area.
She’d never thought to pray for an animal before but considering the heartbreaking agony the poor, lonely little boy was in, she couldn’t see a thing wrong with doing so now.
“Father, thank You for saving us,” she began to whisper. “And please help Tommy find his dog.”
At her ear, hugging her neck tightly, she heard her three-year-old add, “Amen.”
Middle-aged, slight portly, Brandon Otis was the first to approach and offer his hand to Greg. “Thanks for bringing him home. We were pretty upset.”
“I can see that,” Greg said, noting a slight tremor in the man’s grip. “No sign of the dog?”
Brandon shook his head. “Nope. None.” He leaned closer and lowered his voice to add aside, “That’s the least of my worries. Beth doesn’t say much but I think her old ticker is acting up again. Wouldn’t be surprised after what we just went through.”
That took Greg aback. “Your wife is ill?”
“The only times it bothers her is when she’s stressed, like now. And having Tommy’s dog here hasn’t helped. We just didn’t have the heart to refuse to let him bring it.”
“How is that a problem?”
The older man huffed in disgust. “We had a fight just about every night over bringing Charlie inside. We always said no, but half the time he ended up sleeping in Tommy’s bed with him anyway. Poor Beth had more laundry from this kid than a dozen of the ones we’d fostered before him.”
“I had just assumed Charlie was your dog.”
“No way. Beth’s allergic. The only reason we gave in was because the authorities swore Tommy would be lost without it.” He gestured. “I even built a dog house with a tie-out chain. See? Not that Charlie spent much time there.”
“Tommy was riding a bike downtown when the storm hit. Charlie was with him then. Afterward, we couldn’t find him and we’d hoped he’d wandered back this way.”
“Nope. Sorry. Haven’t seen hide nor hair of him.”
Disappointed, Greg left Brandon and stepped over the low hedge into the Otises’ backyard. As he approached, Beth stood, wiped her eyes and went to join her husband, Maya and Layla.
The boy was sitting on the grass with his face in his hands, oblivious to the wet ground, when Greg crouched next to him.
“I’m sorry,” was all Greg said. That was apparently enough.
Tommy looked up. His eyes were red and his face puffy and tear-stained. He paused a moment to stare, then got up and threw his arms around Greg, catching him by surprise and nearly bowling him over.
“Nobody cares,” the boy wailed.
Astounded by the intense reaction, Greg nevertheless recovered enough to embrace the child and try to comfort him. He was in way over his head. He didn’t know how to handle kids, what to say to them or how to help. He just knew that Tommy’s suffering was touching his heart with a depth of feeling he hadn’t known existed.
As soon as the child’s sobbing lessened enough that he could heed spoken assurances, Greg said, “I care. And so does Ms. Logan.”
“Charlie’s my—my only friend,” Tommy stuttered, sniffling. “He’s my best buddy. We go everywhere together.”
“Then I know he’ll come back if he can,” Greg said sympathetically.
The boy’s blue eyes widened. “What if he’s hurt like my mama and daddy were? They never came back.”
“There are going to be lots of people out looking for ways to help each other in the next few days and weeks, son. I’m sure someone will find your dog. And we’ll look especially hard for him, just like we promised.”
“You—you will? Cross your heart?”
Greg made the motion that went with the question as he replied, “Yes. Cross my heart.”
In truth, he felt as if his heart was breaking for this sad, lonely child. Remembering his own youth he could readily identify with Tommy. There had been no one in his young life at the Garrison estate who had understood him except his mother, and when she’d died he’d been so bereft that no words could describe it. Although he’d still had a father, Dan had become even more withdrawn than usual, leaving Greg feeling totally isolated.
In those days, if he hadn’t had some animals to tend, to talk to without censoring his thoughts and words, he’d have been as forlorn as Tommy was now.
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