14. Alexei #3
“I don’t care if it was feathers.”
Maggie crosses her arms. “You're bein’ ridiculous.”
Jules plants one hand on his hip. “You climbed a ladder thirty minutes ago.”
Maggie peeks at me, clearly considering her answer. “I climbed three steps,” she says finally.
“You climbed four. I counted.”
“I hate all of you.”
“Excellent,” Jules says cheerfully. “That means the intervention is workin’.”
I look toward the ladder leaning against the building. “Maggie.”
“Oh, for heaven's sake.” She releases an exaggerated sigh. “It was four steps,” she says defensively.
I simply stare at her.
She throws both hands into the air. “Fine. Nobody let the pregnant lady do anythin’. I'll just sit in the corner and supervise.”
“Good,” Jules and I say simultaneously.
Maggie points accusingly at both of us. “I really hate y'all.”
Jules beams. “Love you too, honey.”
A volunteer approaches carrying paperwork.
Maggie turns toward her. “I can still answer questions,” she mutters, taking the forms.
“No lifting,” Jules calls after her.
“No ladders,” I add.
She waves one hand dismissively without turning around. “I heard both of you the first seventeen times.”
Luka quietly laughs.
I ignore him.
For the next twenty minutes, I walk through the shelter with Jules while crews continue working around us.
Smoke damage has already been removed from most areas.
Fresh drywall covers entire sections of the building.
New kennels are being installed near the rear treatment room.
Volunteers organize donations in temporary storage areas while animals housed on-site bark and meow in protest at the constant activity.
Maggie eventually notices something. She stops beside me near the adoption office and slowly turns in a circle.
“Alexei.”
“Yes?” I ask, already knowing where this conversation is headed.
“Why are there so many contractors here?”
I stay silent.
Her eyes narrow. “Oh no.”
“Maggie.”
She points toward the crews installing drywall. “You did somethin’.”
“I accelerated the timeline.”
“Alexei,” she says slowly.
“The shelter will reopen as quickly as possible,” I explain.
She stares at me. “You hired all these people?”
“Yes.”
“All of them?” Her eyes widen.
“Yes.”
“How many crews is that?”
I consider the question. “Five.”
Jules walks past, carrying paperwork, and snorts. “Seven. There are seven crews.”
I ignore him.
Maggie continues staring at me. “You hired seven construction crews.”
“The shelter is important,” I reply.
Understanding dawns across her face, and I know she sees the truth. This was never only about reopening the shelter. It was always about her.
I reach for her hand. “Maggie.”
She squeezes my fingers. “You really are impossible.”
“I’m aware.”
She laughs shakily before she leans against me.
I wrap an arm around her shoulders and guide her toward a quieter section near the administrative offices.
Her expression turns serious the moment she sees mine. “What happened?” she asks.
I close the office door behind us. “The fire investigation was completed this morning.”
Fear flashes across her face. “Alexei.”
“It wasn’t accidental.”
She goes perfectly still.
I tell her everything. The battery pack. The donated towels. The fake donor information. The intentional fire. By the time I finish speaking, all color has drained from her face.
“Oh my God,” she whispers as she lowers herself into a chair. “Oh my God.”
I kneel in front of her. “Maggie.”
“I accepted those donations,” she says, shaking her head. Her voice breaks on the last word. “I carried them inside myself.”
“This isn’t your fault.”
“I should've questioned it.”
“You run an animal shelter,” I tell her gently.
Tears fill her eyes. “I should've noticed somethin’.”
I take both of her hands in mine. “You run an animal shelter,” I repeat. “Trusting people isn’t a crime.”
She shakes her head again. “The animals. Jules. The volunteers.” Tears slide down her cheeks. “People could've died because I didn't ask enough questions.”
I pull her into my arms. She comes willingly, burying her face against my chest while I hold her tightly.
“No,” I say against her hair. “Someone chose to target this shelter. That responsibility belongs to them.”
She cries silently for several moments. Then the office door bursts open.
“I hate to interrupt this emotional breakthrough,” Jules announces, standing in the doorway with obvious exasperation, “but Mr. Pickles has stolen a hardhat and is refusing to negotiate.”
Maggie immediately pulls away and wipes at her face.
“What?” she asks.
Jules points toward the hallway. “Apparently orange is his color.”
Twenty seconds later, we discover Mr. Pickles trotting triumphantly through the shelter wearing an oversized construction hard hat while three contractors attempt to catch him.
Maggie bursts out laughing.
I don’t. Mostly because Mr. Pickles appears alarmingly fast.
An hour later, Maggie and I leave to collect Ivy from dance school.
Ivy spots us waiting near the entrance and breaks into a run.
“Maggie!” she cries.
Maggie kneels just in time to catch her. “Hey, baby girl.”
“It was the best day ever,” Ivy announces breathlessly.
She chatters happily about her entire day as we walk toward the SUV. School was wonderful. Lunch was wonderful. Recess was wonderful. Dance was wonderful.
She speaks continuously for the entire walk.
“Mia got braces and Sophie brought pictures of her hamster and Miss Hannah says my turns got better and Miss Elena knows karate.”
“I know karate too,” Maggie says, opening Ivy's door.
Ivy blinks up at her. “Do they teach karate at animal shelters?”
Maggie presses a hand to her chest. “Well, now my feelings are hurt.”
Ivy tilts her head. “You seem more like a dog biscuit expert.”
Maggie laughs as I help Ivy into her seat. “That might be true.”
“I know,” Ivy says matter-of-factly.
I hide my own amusement as I help Ivy into her seat and fasten her harness.
Satisfied with her assessment of Maggie's skills, Ivy nods once. Then she reaches into her dance bag and removes a brightly colored flyer.
“Oh!” She thrusts it toward Maggie. “I almost forgot.”
Maggie reads it. “Dance recital rehearsal,” she says.
“In three days,” Ivy says excitedly. “Miss Hannah says everybody has to come because we're practicing on the real stage.”
“I’ll be there,” Maggie promises.
Ivy turns toward me. “You too, Papa.”
“I will attend.”
Ivy smiles brightly.
As Luka drives us home beneath the fading afternoon sun, Ivy continues talking while Maggie listens patiently beside me. I rest a hand on Maggie's thigh and let myself listen.
They’re safe.
That’s all that matters.