Chapter Ten
Enimton
AKA
Ashen
We left the trail and stood by our cars.
I didn’t want the day to end. The near mugging had changed something.
I hadn’t thought twice about stepping in front of Helen.
The knife? Didn’t shake me. Losing her—her laugh, her warmth, the way she saw Ashen—had been unthinkable, a clarity that cut through the fog of my life.
I’d risked everything without hesitation, and that scared me.
There was no going back.
Not that I wanted to.
She said, “We’re right next to a small town. It’s not far if you’re still up for walking. We could get a drink or an ice cream at one of the shops.”
“That sounds perfect.”
We walked side by side out of the parking lot and onto a sidewalk. I moved to the outside, closer to the traffic, in a protective, old-fashioned move my father would have never done with my mother, but it felt right.
Main Street wasn’t bustling, but there were a few shops open. We wandered through a secondhand thrift store, strolled past a smoke shop, and looked into windows of a few places neither of us had enough interest in to enter.
We paused outside a pet store, puppies tumbling in the window, their yips muffled by glass. “Want to go in?” Helen asked, her voice soft, like she sensed I needed cheering.
I shook my head, my gaze on a fluffy pup chewing its own tail. “No. Those pups will find good homes. If I ever did get an animal, it would be one that needed saving.” The words slipped out, raw, and I regretted them instantly.
For a moment it sounded like I yearned for one. I didn’t.
She blinked, pulling out her phone, her fingers quick. “There’s a place just a few blocks away,” she said, scrolling. “Willow Creek Animal Shelter. They have visiting hours—you can sit with the dogs to socialize them. Want to do that?”
“No. I don’t like to see things in cages.” What joy could there be in visiting something that felt as trapped as I did?
Her eyes met mine, curious but gentle, and my chest tightened. “I think the point of the visiting hours is to give them time outside of their cage.”
I frowned.
Oh.
Framed like that, my feelings on the matter flipped like a coin tossed in the air, before landing on: “Yeah. Let’s go.”
The shelter was tucked behind the Main Street, its brick building plain but warm. Inside, the air smelled of urine and cleaner, and the sound of barking filled the space, each kennel holding a dog—some pacing, some curled up, all caged.
Bile rose in my throat.
A volunteer, her gray hair pulled back in a tight bun, greeted us. “Here to meet the dogs?” she asked. I nodded, my throat constricting. Helen’s presence beside me was the only thing keeping me there.
“What kind of dog would you like me to bring out?” she asked.
Both Helen and I shrugged. When Helen didn’t offer a further response, I said, “I don’t have any dog experience.”
She nodded. “Okay.” Then led us to a small room with a worn couch, and a minute later, she brought in a golden retriever, her face white with age, her eyes wise and kind. “This is Sparkles,” she said, patting the dog’s head. “Her owner died. No training needed—she’s just grateful for attention.”
The woman motioned for us to sit. When we did, Sparkles shuffled over, resting her head on my lap as I knelt. Big, loving canine eyes locked on mine. My hand sank into her fur, soft and warm, and something in me cracked open.
“I thought I didn’t like dogs,” I admitted to Helen, my voice low, almost ashamed. “But I like this one.”
Helen’s eyes softened, but she didn’t push, just sat beside me, her hand brushing Sparkles’s back.
“She likes you too,” she said softly. “Maybe you need a dog in your life.”
I looked down at Sparkles, her head heavy on my lap, her eyes full of trust I didn’t deserve. “I’m not allowed one,” I said, the words slipping out before I could stop them.
Her frown was instant, sharp, and I clammed up, regret burning my throat. Too much. Why’d I say that? The Gravestones’ rules—no pets, no freedom, no life of my own—were a point of shame for me.
Sparkles looked up at me with such understanding it felt like she could see my broken soul . . . and somehow, it didn’t scare her.
It’s not your fault that you’re here, Sparkles.
I wish I could take you home with me, but I live in one of the few places you might enjoy less than here.
You didn’t choose this place.
I didn’t choose my family.
But here we are.
So . . . what do we do?
I don’t want this to be my life or yours.
I want out.
I stroked Sparkles’s ears, my heart making a silent vow: If I do this, things might get worse before they get better. I can’t take you with me today, but I’ll come back for you. I swear.
Sparkles wagged her tail and simply continued to look up at me with adoration.
Too soon, our time was up. The woman returned to retrieve Sparkles. When she led her out of the room, I followed her. “Excuse me,” I said.
She turned. “Yes?”
“Has anyone shown interest in Sparkles?”
Her lips pressed together before she said, “No. She’s too old for most people. I’d take her home with me if my house wasn’t already overflowing with dogs I’ve rescued. Sadly, we’re a kill shelter and her time is almost up.”
My hands fisted at my sides. “How much would it cost for me to convince you to take her home with you until I can come back for her?”
Her mouth opened and closed. “I can’t—”
“How much? A hundred? A thousand? Two thousand? Ten? Name your price and I’ll get it to you. I want her, I just need a little time.”
The woman looked down at Sparkles then back up at me.
Her eyes shone with emotion. “I don’t work here because it’s easy or because I agree with their policies.
I hate that not every dog who comes here finds a home or has a happy ending.
You don’t have to pay me, but I do need something from you because the harsh truth is that sometimes not leaving here is a better choice. ”
I had to take a moment to process that. It was harsh and felt wrong, but she obviously cared about the dogs at the shelter. What did she need from me, if not money? “What do you want?”
“The reason you can’t take her today.”
I rubbed a hand over my eyes. “My current living situation doesn’t allow for dogs, but I intend to move very soon and will make sure there is a space for her where I land.”
After a moment, the woman said, “Okay. I’ll give you my information and time to make that move. She’ll come home with me tonight. My husband will roll his eyes because we really can’t afford another pet, but I believe you.”
She grabbed a piece of paper from a desk near her and wrote her contact information on it. I placed it in my wallet, shared a last look with Sparkles, then watched them walk away. When I turned back, Helen was watching me intently.
Had she heard the exchange? I wasn’t sure.
“You’re moving?” she asked quietly.
I stepped closer to her. “Yeah, but not to anywhere we couldn’t continue to see each other.”
She searched my face. “We shouldn’t talk about it here. Would you . . . how would you feel about coming back to my place?”