Page 45 of Carver’s Craving

Parent felt most likely. Mother? That was my best guess and the assumption I’d work under until I found some other proof. Because those jotted notes matched the handwriting. Although sometimes the legibility was worse than others. Age? Stress? Certainly, for me, my handwriting quality decreased when I was under pressure.

Hence really disliking school.

My phone said I was good for another couple of hours.

I checked on the dogs—found them fast asleep—and returned to the bedroom. I set an alarm and continued to dig through what I’d found. Still not completely understanding. Yet still fascinated.

When the alarm sounded, I jolted. I’d been so far down the rabbit hole that I’d lost track of time. I pulled out the picture I’d taken and did my best to put everything back in its place. Seriously, no one’s going to notice. This stuff has no logic. That was true. Some of the stray pieces could, loosely, be connected to some of the composition. A few pages were clearly one distinct song. A damn good one. Well, the lyrics, anyway. The notes needed some work.

Everything was tucked away and I was on the couch watching a cooking show, when Carver arrived home. He was dusty, dirty, and obviously a little worse for wear.

Poppin flew off the couch to greet him while Walter poked his head over the arm of the couch and laid his chin on it—so he had a perfect view of his dad.

Carver grabbed Poppin’s leash.

“I did that about fifteen minutes ago.”

His face fell.

Damn “I, uh, just thought you’d be tired. Dinner’s warming.”

“Oh.” He rubbed his forehead. “Thank you. I just…I’m not used to anyone helping me.” He hung her leash back on the peg. “I’ll take them out before bedtime.” He bent to untie his laces. As he did, he gave Poppin scritches.

I petted Walter. “He’ll be here soon, buddy.”

Carver chuckled. “He’s far more patient than my girl.” He toed off his boots, then hung his coat on the peg. Far away from the other coats. Then he made his way into the room and crouched before Walter. “Hey, my boy. Did you have a good day?”

Walter licked his hand.

To that, Carver chuckled. “Yeah, okay. I’ll take that.”

“His love language?” I grinned.

“Yep. Back in ten.” His knees cracked as he rose. He winced. Whether because of pain or because he didn’t want me to hear it, I wasn’t certain. Still, he was gone before I could comment.

Poppin followed him while Walter turned, shifted a few inches, and placed his snout on my jeans-clad thigh.

“Oh, I’m okay because you can have me and not have to move? That’s okay—I’ll take affection wherever I can get it.” Also because a lot of time had passed since I’d had a connection with someone. Even a bit of grace from an animal felt…precious.

Carver reappeared in plaid pajamas, socked feet, and pulling on a cardigan.

I arched an eyebrow. “Is that how you walk the dogs?”

“Sometimes. The longer walk is when I get home. The final visit outside is just a quick pee. Then a longer walk in the morning.”

I squinted. “Didn’t you do a longer walk on Saturday night?”

“Yep. Because it was Saturday. I don’t like to do a bunch of activity before bed on a weeknight. I start winding down and try to get into bed at a reasonable hour.”

“Ah.” I gently disentangled myself from Walter and rose. “I made scalloped potatoes, asparagus, and will heat up some of the leftover ham. Oh, and I made a sandwich for tomorrow. Just add mayo or mustard before you head out.”

Carver blinked. “Uh…thank you.”

I grinned. “My pleasure. Do the dogs need to be fed?”

Poppin started to dance around my feet.

A chuckle came from Carver. “They each get one scoop. You can’t miss which container is their food. I’ll start dishing out the human food.” He moved toward the oven.