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“Hey, Mom.” Rhys was at the passenger door, opening it and holding out a hand to help his mother out.
Corbin nodded hello and then quickly glanced away. Once again, panic snatched at his heart with sharp claws. Could he do this? He’d chosen a life of solitude: it was just him and his dogs now. Was he really prepared to immerse himself in someone else’s family for weeks?
The dogs, of course, had spotted another target for their affections, and launched themselves over the front seat and poured out behind her like oil. All three of them piled onto Rhys, who began to scream with delight.
He knew he was being rude, not getting out, not saying much, but the anxiety and pain were paralyzing. Mauvaise decision, he thought. This was a mistake. He sat there, however, watching Melanie, Rhys, and the dogs romp on the ratty, unkempt lawn, not wanting to spoil their fun. When the dogs were tired, he made a signal, and obediently they retook their positions at the back of the cab.
Melanie came to his window and placed a hand on his forearm. “Thank you again, Corbin,” she said with heartfelt sincerity.
He discovered he could barely speak. There was nothing he could say, and besides, his tongue felt thick and heavy, as if he’d bitten into something he was allergic to and it had swollen. All he could do was nod and say, “A demain.”
As he backed down the drive, Rhys stood there, waving.
Corbin drove back to his empty house.
