Page 58 of Chasing Creed

As she got out of the truck, she decided to grab a couple of jars of jam from Granny El’s secret stash. The memory left her wanting to be surrounded by the aroma of steaming fruit.

Sara used her phone’s flashlight, something she hadn’t dared turn on during her journey across the pastures. No one could see her here. Inside the barn, under the hayloft was a trapdoor covered with straw and dirt. The old woman had shown it to Sara long ago.

“No one else knows about this place,” she’d told Sara then waved her birdlike hand and added, “Not that they’d care. Iris had no interest in what I do.”

Wooden stairs descended into a cellar. The space was small and cramped. Thick wooden shelves held Mason jars lined up in long, straight rows. Sara hadn’t been down in this space for years, and now she wondered how Granny El had managed climbing the narrow, steep stairs while carrying her basket of jars.

Sara sent a stream of light over the dozens and dozens of jars before landing on one of the labels: SARA’S WILD GRAPE JAM. She swept the light to the next jar: SARA’S WILD RASPBERRY JAM. Row after row: SARA’S PLUM JAM, SARA’S MULBERRY JAM. Jar after jar, no matter the fruit, they were labeled for Sara. All of them were written in Granny El’s distinctive block printing. The old woman had wanted to make sure they were for Sara.

She dropped to sit on the bottom step. The exhaustion of the night had drained every ounce of adrenaline. It had left her feeling hollowed out. Somewhere in the dark, in the clumps of cornstalks or in the massive branches of the cottonwoods and river maples, she had lost another piece of her spirit.

But this…even from beyond death, Granny El had managed to remind her that someone had once cared about her. Thought about her. Loved her.

She pushed herself to her feet. She wanted to take all of them with her because she knew she might never return. Her fingers wrapped around a wild grape. She slipped it into her pocket and started to leave. Stopped and turned back. She picked up a mulberry. Pocketed it. Chose a wild raspberry. No more room in her pockets, so it went under her arm. The phone flashlight in one hand, she grabbed a plum and then climbed back up the narrow stairs. With the side of her boot, she kicked and swept the straw to cover the trapdoor again.

By the time she got to the house, she felt calmer. Buoyed by Granny’s memory.

Until she walked inside.

Shadow didn’t greet her. There was no sign of the dog anywhere.

And suddenly, all the weight of the night, all the dark, shocking actions of what she had to do came down heavy like a sledgehammer between her shoulder blades.

But worse was a deep, visceral pang of sadness.

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Sara walked slowly from room to room. Her eyes searched while her heart thumped and her stomach continued its nosedive.

Of course, the dog had bolted. She was scared. Alone and still hurting. All those feelings suddenly fresh in Sara’s mind. How could she have left her? Why was she surprised? Somewhere, somehow the frightened dog must have clawed her way out and escaped.

Sara checked under the bed. In the closet. The back porch again. The kitchen pantry. The bathroom. In the living room, she felt her legs wobble. The five-mile walk through pastures and fields and woods had drained her so completely. And now this.

She crashed to the floor on knees that refused to hold her up anymore. She buried her face in her hands. Hands that still had blood on them.

It was too much for one person to bear. All alone. She couldn’t do it. So many days. Too many hours. Alone. With no one to care if she lived or if she died. Threats and sacrifices. Punishment with no reward. A lifetime. She couldn’t even cry about it anymore. She was so completely empty.

A sound startled her. A low-pitched whine. A familiar whine.

Sara sat up. Her head pivoted while her eyes scanned over the two rooms that were adjoined by a large arched doorway. Though she’d taken down the garland and other decorations during her clean-up and remodel, she couldn’t bring herself to put away the Christmas tree. It felt too much like Granny El’s presence. And that’s exactly where the sound was coming from.

Ornaments on the tree bobbed. Movement then a shuffle and a scuff came from behind, but Sara still couldn’t see the dog in the dark corner.

“Hey.” She kept her voice calm and even. She stayed rooted in place, though her first crazy impulse was to rush over. She’d probably scared the poor dog with all her running around and slamming doors.

“I’m sorry,” she told her. “I’m not very good at this. I didn’t mean to leave you for so long. I really am sorry.”

And maybe the apology was more than just for the dog. Maybe it was for all the others she’d let down. Maybe it was for taking the path she’d chosen. It was too late to go back. Too late for regrets. And too late to stop.

She waited. Let the dog come to her. She’d wait all night if she had to. But it didn’t take long, and the dog was there. In front of her. Her nose inspected the blood on Sara’s sleeve. She sniffed the mud on her pant legs. While her nose moved over Sara’s clothing, Sara’s eyes examined her own handiwork, pleased there was no fresh blood anywhere on the fur.

Then for the first time, it hit her. How much she and the dog were alike. Fighters. Survivors. But there was something else. Something bigger than fighting. Bigger than surviving. They might both be loners, but it wasn’t by choice.

What was it the man at the gas station had said?

“Best dog ever. Loyal to a fault.”

This dog didn’t want to be alone. She’d proven that when she jumped through the glass cutout to run after Sara. She wanted to belong to someone. Even now. Even after her previous owner was gone. Even after she was battered and left for dead herself. Even after Sara had left her for so many hours, the dog didn’t think she’d return.