your feet, Daniel.”
”Thanks for the library work, Walt.”
”You told us to finish our dinner,” Walt replied with a faint grin. “We finished it.”
I walked into cell 114.
Rafael was sitting on his lower bunk. He looked up, let out a long breath, and closed his paperback.
”Took you long enough,” he murmured, but his eyes were shining.
Then, from beneath the lower shelf, a scarred brown-and-white muzzle emerged.
Rusty had a white medical wrap around his left hind leg, but his ears perked up the moment he saw me. He limped forward, his tail beating against the steel locker with a steady, rhythmic thud, and pressed his scarred snout squarely into my open palm.
I dropped to one knee, wrapped both arms around his broad chest, and buried my face in his scuffed fur.
”Hey, boy,” I whispered. “I’m right here. I’m right here.”
That evening, I
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