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Now he mostly lay on the floor—or the back seat of his pickup truck, in this case—and watched the world drift past.

He didn’t rush to the door when Wes picked up the leash. He tolerated, rather than demanded, affection.

Trauma, the vet had called it. A natural stress response. Dogs could shut down after something horrific just as easily as humans could. Sometimes they came back from it. Sometimes they didn’t.

Wes’s fingers tightened on the steering wheel. He didn’t need one more thing to feel guilty about. He hadn’t been there to protect his parents and he hadn’t been able to protect Kodi.

Their route took them past his mother’s care center. He’d been telling himself for days that he would stop by as soon as he could but he had been too busy with repairs at Stanley’s house.

What was the point of being this close during the holidays if he didn’t visit while he had the chance?

He signaled and turned into the parking lot.

He still found it depressing, walking through those doors, bracing himself for whatever version of his mother he’d get that day. Chatty or sleepy, clear or hazy.

It was hard to reconcile the woman who had baked Christmas cookies for the entire neighborhood with the one who sometimes forgot how to work the zipper on her own sweater.

But that wasn’t a good excuse for not visiting. She was his mother and he loved her deeply.

“Want to visit Grandma?” he asked Kodiak as he parked.

The dog lifted his head, ears pricking slightly. His tail gave a slow, half-hearted thump against the seat. It wasn’t his old, joyous wag, but it was something.

Kodi was gentle with his mother. Always had been. From the moment Wes first brought him to see her in Portland, the dog had moved more carefully, more slowly, as if he somehow understood that this woman needed a softer approach.

The staff of her previous care center had fallen in love with him on sight and had given Wes written permission to bring the dog inside whenever he visited. That permission had continued here in Shelter Springs.

Everyone was invariably kind to Kodi. Something about this tough-looking Malinois with the limp and the sad eyes seemed to bring out the best in people.

When Wes walked into the welcoming entry, the first person to greet him was Ellen Webber, the facility director. Garlands and white lights framed the reception desk behind her, and a cheerful wreath hung on the wall. A large Christmas tree with glossy ornaments dominated the space.

“Wes!” she said warmly. “How lovely to see you. And Kodiak. Hi there, handsome.” She leaned down to rub Kodi’s ears. “I wish I had a treat for you, but I’m all out.”

Kodiak blinked at her, tail giving another small wag.

Ellen was about his mother’s age. He remembered her at backyard barbecues and book club nights, laughing with his mom over a glass of wine.

It had to be strange for her, he thought, to see Susie like this every day, knowing the woman she’d been.

“Hey, Ellen,” he said. “How’s my mom doing today?”

“She’s had a wonderful day so far,” Ellen said, beaming at him. “It’s such a joy having her here, Wes.”

He tried to take comfort in knowing his mother was surrounded by old friends here.

“This morning she spent time working on our indoor hydroponic garden,” Ellen went on. “And at lunchtime we made little cotton-ball snowmen. I think she might be in one of the classrooms right now, if you and Kodi want to head back.”

“I don’t want to interrupt her,” he said automatically.

“You won’t,” Ellen assured him. “We always encourage families to join any activity our residents enjoy.”

He hesitated. While he was tempted to go back to Stanley’s house and the projects that awaited him, he was here to see his mother and it seemed wrong to take the easy excuse.

“Where do I go?” he asked.

“Down this hallway, then just past the cafeteria,” Ellen said, already moving. “I’m heading that way. I’ll walk with you.”

The facility was bright and surprisingly homey, even on a cold December afternoon. Skylights dotted the ceiling, letting in soft natural light. Potted plants lined the windowsills, and framed prints of wildflowers, the lake and local mountains hung on the walls instead of sterile, generic landscapes.