Chapter 5 - The House at Boone Creek
Samuel Carter lived ninety minutes south of Louisville in a white farmhouse surrounded by sycamore trees.
Arthur barely spoke during the drive.
I knew what frightened him.
Not losing Boone legally.
Losing him emotionally.
“What if he wants to stay?” Arthur finally asked.
“He’s a dog, Arthur.”
“That doesn’t answer me.”
“No.”
I reached across the console.
“It doesn’t.”
When we arrived, Samuel was waiting on the porch.
He used a walker now.
His white hair was thin.
His shoulders stooped.
But when Boone climbed out of our car, Samuel straightened.
“Boy.”
Boone stopped.
Samuel opened his arms.
“Come here, boy.”
Boone ran.
Arthur turned his face toward the window.
I pretended not to notice him wiping his eyes.
Samuel buried both hands in Boone’s fur.
For several minutes, nobody spoke.
Then Samuel looked at Arthur.
“You’re his man now.”
Arthur blinked.
“I’m sorry?”
“He loves you.”
Samuel smiled.
“I can tell.”
Arthur approached slowly.
“He saved your granddaughter.”
“Yes.”
“And now he saves me.”
Samuel looked at Boone.
“Sounds like him.”
Inside the farmhouse, Samuel showed us the old collar.
He showed us photographs.
Boone as a young dog.
Boone sleeping beside Lily.
Boone sitting in the passenger seat of Samuel’s truck.
Arthur studied every photograph.
Then Samuel handed him the collar.
“No.”
“Take it.”
“I can’t.”
“You can.”
Samuel closed Arthur’s fingers around it.
“He had one life with us.”
Then he looked at Boone.
“He has another with you.”
Arthur swallowed.
Samuel added, “Don’t waste it feeling guilty.”
That sentence followed us home.
But while we had been in Boone Creek, something else had happened.
The restaurant story had spread online.
Not because we posted it.
Someone else had.
By the time we returned to Louisville, my phone had forty-three missed notifications.
Arthur’s daughter had called six times.
The restaurant had released a statement.
And a video from the dining room had been viewed hundreds of thousands of times.
The final ten seconds showed Arthur looking at Diane and saying:
“He’s the reason I can sit here. You’re the reason I almost left.”
Arthur stared at my phone.
Then at me.
“I think our quiet anniversary is officially over.”
He had no idea.
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Because the next morning, there was someone standing at our front door.
And she was holding an envelope addressed to Arthur.
