Chapter 3
Chapter Three
By nine-thirty that evening, Gayle was sitting alone in her apartment above the shelter wondering if leaving the puppy with Corey had been a mistake.
Listening to the faint barking coming from the kenneled dogs downstairs, she was replaying the entire interaction in her mind like a detective searching for clues.
What did she actually know about the man? He was a band director and he'd caught a puppy. He had kind eyes and had offered to help without hesitation.
None of that meant he was responsible or that meant Presti would be safe.
Gayle pulled up her contacts and stared at Corey's number. She'd told him she'd do a home visit. That was the standard procedure. She always checked out foster homes, usually before placing an animal. She should call him. Suggest coming by tomorrow.
Except it was nine-thirty at night, and he probably thought she was unprofessional enough without calling him now.
She set her phone down and picked it up three times over the next hour, finally forcing herself to set it across the room so she'd stop reaching for it.
This was ridiculous. He'd made a good impression. The school had called to vouch for him. He seemed genuinely interested in helping. Just because one person had disappointed her in the past—just because Daniel had left the moment things got complicated—didn't mean this man would.
She was projecting. She knew that. It was one of the things her therapist had pointed out before Gayle had stopped going. She had a tendency to assume people would leave, so she kept them at a distance first. Safer that way.
Except Presti wasn't at a distance now. Presti was with a stranger in a condo Gayle had never seen, with no guarantee of safety or care.
By the time morning came, Gayle had made a decision. She'd do the home visit today. Just to check. It was standard procedure, after all. Nothing unusual about it.
The problem was that Corey's address was on the other side of the island, and it was a Saturday, and she had seventeen dogs and five cats to care for, and the formerly pregnant cat had had a rough night with her new kittens.
She could do it this afternoon, Gayle thought. After the morning feeding.
She was in the middle of scrubbing out a kennel when Miss Doris appeared in the shelter doorway, basket in hand.
"Morning, dear," Miss Doris called. "Brought some banana bread. You look like you haven't slept."
Gayle straightened, brush in hand, and tried to smile. "We’re still pretty busy."
"Mmm." Miss Doris set the basket on the desk and walked back to where Gayle was working. "I heard you took in a foster puppy yesterday. From the high school."
Of course she had. Nothing happened on Palmar Island without Miss Doris finding out about it within hours.
"News travels fast," Gayle said, not particularly surprised.
"The band director is Corey Roberts, isn't it?" Miss Doris asked. "Pleasant young man. Lives alone, keeps to himself mostly. Teaches music beautifully. My friend Betty’s grandson is in his class."
Gayle busied herself with the kennel, not wanting to discuss this. "The shelter was full. I didn’t have a lot of options."
"So you finally asked for help." Miss Doris's tone made it sound like a significant accomplishment.
"He offered," Gayle corrected. “There’s a difference.”
"Is there?" Miss Doris moved to lean against the kennel door. "From where I'm standing, you had a problem, and instead of trying to solve it alone, you accepted assistance from someone willing to give it. That seems like growth to me."
Gayle felt something prickle behind her eyes. "I'm checking on them both today. Making a home visit."
"Of course," Miss Doris said, but there was something knowing in her smile. "Can't be too careful."
"I can't," Gayle agreed firmly. "Presti's safety is my responsibility until he's adopted."
"And if the band director proves to be a responsible foster?" Miss Doris asked gently. "What then?"
"Then I'll know Presti is safe, and I can stop worrying."
"Will you?" Miss Doris's voice was soft but pointed. "Or will you find something else to worry about?"
Gayle didn't answer. She turned back to the kennel, scrubbing with more force than necessary.
"You know," Miss Doris continued, "there's a difference between being careful and being afraid. And there's a difference between being responsible and carrying the weight of the world alone."
"I'm not afraid," Gayle said, which was only partially a lie.
"Aren't you?" Miss Doris's compassion was almost worse than criticism would have been. "You do such important work here, dear. But you can't save every animal by yourself. And you don't have to."
Gayle's hands stilled in the water. "Someone has to."
"No," Miss Doris said gently. "Someone has to care. But the caring can be shared. You don't have to do everything alone."
She left before Gayle could respond, taking her wisdom and her knowing smile with her.
Gayle stood in front of the half-clean kennel, her hands dripping, her chest tight. She thought about handing Presti to Corey. It wasn’t easy for her to trust a stranger with an animal that had come to her needing safety. Part of her still worried that she'd done it without fully vetting him first.
At two o'clock, she finished her afternoon tasks, locked up the shelter, and headed for Corey's side of the island.
The condo complex was older but well-maintained, situated in a quiet neighborhood with mature trees and weathered siding. She parked in front and sat in her truck for a moment, trying to organize her thoughts.
Except her heart was racing like she was about to confront someone, not conduct a routine check.
She climbed out of her truck and walked up the exterior stairs to unit 2B. She could hear music coming from inside—something classical, maybe Mozart—and underneath it, the sound of a puppy whining.
Gayle knocked.
The door opened almost immediately, and there was Corey, looking disheveled in a way that was somehow endearing.
"Gayle," he said, surprise evident in his voice. "Hi. I wasn't expecting you today."
"I know," she said, suddenly feeling foolish. "I should have called. I just wanted to do the home visit and make sure you and the puppy are doing okay."
"Of course. Come in."
She stepped inside, and Presti's whining immediately became excited barking. The puppy came tearing around the corner at top speed, his entire body wiggling as he launched himself at Gayle.
"Hey, buddy," she said, catching him before he could knock her over. Presti immediately tried to lick every inch of her face, and despite her anxiety, Gayle found herself smiling.
"He hasn’t been this excited all day," Corey said, and there was something in his tone that made Gayle look up.
He was watching them with an expression that was hard to read. Warmth, maybe. And something else she couldn't quite name.
"Has he been good?" she asked, standing with Presti still wriggling in her arms.
"Perfect. Slept most of the morning, played for a bit, ate well." Corey gestured toward the living room. "He's been pretty content."
Gayle set Presti down and looked around, noting the water bowl in the kitchen, the crate in the corner, the toys scattered on the floor. Everything looked appropriate. Safe. Well-managed.
She felt some of the tension in her chest ease.
"You set up a crate," she said.
"You recommended it," Corey replied. "I stopped by the pet store this morning and got supplies. Food, toys, everything I thought he'd need."
Gayle moved through the apartment, checking for hazards. No exposed wires, no toxic plants, no small objects he could choke on. The space was small but clean, and everything was arranged with clear thought to the puppy's safety.
Her worry—the anxiety that had kept her up most of the night—began to feel silly.
"He seems happy," she said finally.
"I think he is." Corey was watching Presti, who had returned to gnawing on a frozen toy. "I'm still figuring out the schedule, but it seems to be working."
Gayle turned to look at him. "This is unexpected."
"What is?"
"You. Doing all this." She gestured at the crate, the setup, the evidence of genuine care. "Most people who offer to foster don't actually follow through like this."
Corey's expression shifted to something that might have been hurt. "I told you I'd help."
"I know, and I appreciate it. I just..." Gayle struggled to find the words. "I've had people offer before. And then life gets complicated, and they change their minds, and the animals end up back at the shelter anyway."
"I'm not going to change my mind," Corey said quietly.
Gayle wanted to believe him. She wanted to believe that good things could be straightforward and that people meant what they said. But experience had taught her differently.
"It's just a few weeks," she said, more to herself than to him. "Until we find him a permanent home."
"Right," Corey agreed, but there was something in his eyes that suggested he was thinking about more than just a few weeks.
Presti suddenly abandoned his toy and trotted over to Corey, pressing against his legs and looking up at him with complete adoration. Without hesitation, Corey crouched down and Presti climbed into his lap, settling there like he'd found exactly where he belonged.
"He really likes you," she observed.
"The feeling's mutual," Corey replied, scratching behind Presti's ears. "He's easy to like."
Gayle found herself thinking about what Miss Doris had said. About the difference between being careful and being afraid. About carrying the weight of the world alone.
"The home visit looks good," she said finally. "You've done everything right."
Corey looked up at her, and their eyes met for a moment longer than strictly necessary.
"Thank you," he said. "For trusting me with him."
"Thank you for helping," Gayle replied, before turning to leave. The animals at the shelter still needed her care.