11. Willa #3
Mandy walked her slowly, talking softly, pausing to hug Rue, to kiss her cheek.
Tom pulled out his phone and took photos. Lisa smiled, leaning against his side.
Everyone was happy except Fern. I saw it first and reached out for Traig’s arm.
He turned.
Fern stood motionless at the fence, watching Rue walk away. Her flowers slowly turned gray, a color I’d never seen before on a bloomback.
Traig lifted his tablet with shaking hands, opened Fern’s file, and scrolled to my original observation. He read it, looked at Fern, and stared down at the tablet again. “You were right about the bloombacks. You’re right about everything. I’m sorry. For not telling you. For not believing.”
His words hung in the air between us, too big to fit inside my chest.
You’re right about everything. He was sorry.
Not “you might be right” or “the information supports your belief,” or “I still want to handle things the way I always have.”
You’re right.
He’d relabeled an entire supply room rather than admit I’d seen something he’d missed. And now he was standing here, in front of a family who wanted to take Rue home, saying it out loud. Trusting, believing, and choosing me.
I wasn’t used to being heard without fighting, to having my observations valued. I wasn’t sure anyone had ever changed their mind because they trusted me.
“What do we do now?” he asked.
He asked it like he genuinely didn’t know.
I watched Fern, her gray flowers stark against the green of the enclosure.
Rue walked happily with Mandy, oblivious.
“We can’t let them take her,” I said. “Not without Fern.”
“You’re right. We need to fix this. We’re not letting Rue go anywhere without Fern.”
We.
Like it was obvious. As if there was never a question that we’d do this together.
The ache climbed my throat.
I was falling for someone who said we like it was the simplest thing in the world.
We approached the family together.
“We need to talk about something we’ve just confirmed,” Traig said.
Tom and Lisa turned, giving each other confused looks.
Mandy joined us, keeping one hand on Rue’s neck.
“Is something wrong?” Lisa asked.
“We believe Rue and the other bloomback, Fern, are bonded,” I said. “It’s not just friendship or herd behavior. They need each other.”
Traig pulled up his tablet and showed them the data. “When we separated them for a medical examination weeks ago, Fern stopped eating for two days. Her flower color changed. She wouldn’t graze.”
He gestured toward the enclosure.
“Today, when Rue left with Mandy, Fern’s flowers turned gray. We’ve never seen that before. It indicates severe distress.”
Mandy’s face fell. She glanced between Fern and Rue before turning to her parents.
“I didn’t know,” she whispered. “I didn’t know I was hurting her.”
Lisa put an arm around her daughter’s shoulders.
“You weren’t,” I said gently. “You couldn’t have known. We didn’t know until today.”
Mandy wiped her eyes. “But now we do.”
“It’s new information,” Traig said. “We’ll include it in both their files.”
“We’d like to offer you two options,” I said. “You can adopt both bloombacks as a bonded pair, or your application can stay on file if the situation changes.”
Mandy looked at her parents. “Mom, Dad, we have the space. Please.”
Tom ran a hand through his hair. “We’d need to check our budget. Make sure we can handle two.”
“Of course,” I said. “Take your time. There’s no pressure.”
Lisa’s gaze moved between Rue and Fern. “They really need each other?”
“Yes,” Traig said.
“I don’t want to hurt Fern,” Mandy said, turning to her parents. “If they love each other, they’re already a family, like us.”
Tom pulled out his phone, typing. “We'll talk it over. Check the set-up and budget. Can we let you know in a day or two?”
“Of course,” I said.
Mandy kissed Rue’s forehead before leading her back to the gate.
I opened it.
Rue stepped inside, and Mandy removed the collar and leash, stepping back.
The moment the gate closed, Fern’s flowers rippled, gray turning pale lavender. Pale lavender turned to deeper purple sprinkled with pink and yellow.
Rue’s went from coral pink to brilliant salmon.
They didn’t make a sound, but they didn’t need to.
Traig and I stood out front as the family drove away. When they were gone, he pulled out his tablet and typed.
After a moment, he turned the screen toward me.
He’d added bonded pair to both files and changed the adoption status to must be placed together. He’d also added a note: Behavioral bond confirmed by observation and response to stress. Separation not recommended under any circumstances. Assessment credit: Willa Enford.
Pressure pushed up beneath my ribs.
“You didn’t have to add my name,” I said.
“Yes, I did. You saw what I couldn’t, and that matters. You matter.”
We went back inside the building together, a team.
Traig set his tablet on the reception desk and picked up the cookie container now empty except for crumbs.
He opened it anyway, staring at the bottom.
“I’ll make more,” I said.
His gaze lifted. “You will?”
“If you want.”
“I want.”
The way he said it made me forget we were talking about cookies.