“Thank you for coming.”
She eased away, and we stood there, two women who still didn’t quite know how to navigate this but were trying anyway.
Sofia launched herself from my shoulder and to my mother, who laughed. The emberkit settled, leaning against Mom’s neck.
“Hello to you too,” she said, stroking Sofia’s spine. The emberkit purred.
“She missed you,” I said.
“I missed her too.” Carol’s fingers traced the spikes along Sofia’s spine. “I’ve been reading about emberkits. Did you know they bond for life once they choose someone? That’s quite a commitment for such a small creature.”
“She takes everything seriously.”
“She does.” Mom peered around. “Could you show me the progress you’ve made?”
“I’d love to.”
We walked around the building and toward the enclosures, Sofia riding Carol’s shoulder. Brovish fell into step behind us, close enough that I knew he was there but far enough to give us space.
Abagail’s twins had grown. They romped near the fence, their wool sleek and their horns starting to show the first hints of a curve. The larger one spotted us and bounded over, bleating.
Mother crouched, extending her hand. The twin sniffed her fingers before butting her head against her palm.
“They’re so much bigger,” she said.
“They grow fast. Another few months and they’ll be ready for adoption.”
“Will it be hard to let them go?”
“Yes, but that’s the point. They’re here to find their forever homes.”
My mother stood, brushing dirt from her knees. “Your father would be proud of what you’ve built here.I’mproud of what you’ve built here, of the life you’re living.”
The words landed hard in my chest. I’d been bracing myself for criticism, not this.
“Thank you,” I said, all choked up.
We kept walking. She asked questions about the fizzlings’ discharge patterns, whether the mirrormoose had adjusted, and if I’d seen Cooper. By the time we reached the garden sitting area, my shoulders had dropped from where they’d been hovering near my ears.
We sat on the bench in the garden where Brovish and I had claimed each other four months ago. A full circle moment. The bloombacks grazed nearby, their flowers shifting from pale pink to soft gold.
Carol reached into her bag and pulled out a worn leather journal and held it out to me.
My hands recognized it before my brain did. Dad’s field journal, the one I remember him writing in when I was little.
“I took this when I left,” Carol said. “I shouldn’t have. It wasn’t mine to keep.”
The leather was soft from years of handling, the pages yellowed on the edges. Dad’s handwriting covered the inside, his familiar scrawl that always looked like he’d been in too much of a hurry to finish forming his letters properly.
“Why did you take it?” My voice came out hoarse.
“Because I couldn’t let go of him completely. I needed to be able to read his words. He talks about me in a way he never saidout loud. About you. Even after everything fell apart between us, I still…” She stared down at her hands. “I kept it because it reminded me of who he’d been before things got complicated. The man I’d fallen in love with, the one who wrote about animals like they were friends.”
I opened the journal to a random page, finding an entry about a difficult calving. Another about a dog who’d been hit by a car and survived. Mom baking bread and them eating hot slices slathered with butter, laughing while they did it. The three of us having a picnic in the meadow behind my old house. Page after page of his life, work, and voice.
“You should have it now,” Carol said. “You’re the one carrying his work forward.”
I flipped through more pages, my vision blurring, and stopped on an entry dated about twenty years ago.
