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The time she spent at the shelter was nearly up when she realized that she hadn’t seen Brand since their arrival. She spotted Siphiso and asked him about it.
“Oh, Mr. Brand? He’s still with Trevor.”
“Still? He’s been there all this time?”
“He asked if he could sit with him.”
“What do you mean, sit with him? Like, in the pen?” Her voice raised in alarm, and Siphiso smiled.
“No, he’s just sitting outside the pen, talking and talking. Trevor moved a little closer.”
“He did?”
“Just a little.” Siphiso grinned happily.
“Oh gosh.” Lia’s hands went to her mouth. It was the only reaction Trevor had shown to anyone in months. Immediately she worried. What if Trevor chose to trust Brand? What if Brand simply upped and left one day and Trevor felt abandoned again? She wasn’t sure if she should encourage this. But maybe it would pave the way for Trevor to open up to other people.
She hastened to Trevor’s pen and found Brand sitting flat on his butt, facing the pen, back against the wall with his legs drawn up and his arms resting on his spread knees. He was still talking. His voice sounded hoarse, and he seemed to be discussing a movie with the dog. An animal movie. One that she recognized.
“‘Baa-ram-ewe, to your own self be true’ and I shit you not, mate, those fuckin’ sheep moved for him. Nice and neat like, straight into their pen. It was pretty cool.” He stopped talking abruptly and tensed when Trevor tensed, the dog sensing Lia’s presence before Brand did. His eyes lifted to hers, and he grinned sheepishly.
“Are you telling him about Babe?” she asked disbelievingly, and he wrinkled his nose self-consciously, melting her heart.
“We’ve already worked our way through a couple of real dog movies.”
“Such as?”
“The one where the three dogs get lost and have to find their way home.”
“I believe it was two dogs and a cat.”
“I didn’t want to upset him by using the C word,” he said lightly.
“I see.”
“And the one about the huskies that get left behind and have to fend for themselves. But in my version, all of the dogs were rescued.”
This was so unexpectedly sweet. Lia wasn’t sure what to make of it. He kept his voice low and soothing while he spoke with her, even though Trevor had withdrawn and crept back to his corner, his eyes wary as they watched her every move. Lia took her cues from Brand and kept her own voice quiet while she spoke.
“Are we leaving?” he asked, and she nodded. His eyes went back to Trevor, and he heaved a sigh before struggling to his feet. She reached over to help him, but he shook off her hold. Surprising, considering he always seemed to actively seek her hand whenever he wanted to get out of chairs.
“I’ll see you tomorrow morning, mate,” he promised Trevor.
Naturally everybody at the homeless shelter knew Lia and wanted to chat with her. Sam was starting to comprehend that she was considered something of a saint by the good citizens of Riversend. It pissed him off a little, because they all seemed to want something from her. Even when she was in the middle of one thing, they were already buttering her up to do the next thing.
He’d noticed it with the old folks—yes, she was there to play the piano twice a week, but then there were all the requests that she fetch things, bring things, fix things, make things. At the animal shelter, they’d asked her to organize a fund-raiser, some kind of annual fete that apparently only Lia could do right. At the library, after she’d finished reading to the kids, the librarian had asked if Lia would mind baking—not buying or just bringing, but baking—confectioneries for the next adult-literacy class. Lia, of course, had said yes. Because Lia seemed incapable of refusing anybody anything. Anybody except Sam, of course. She was quite comfortable telling him no.
Now he watched, increasingly irritated, as the man they called Oom—which apparently meant “uncle”—Herbert asked Lia if she would mind terribly fetching another few boxes of donated goods from the Catholic church. Lia’s face lit up with a warm smile.
“Of course I don’t mind,” she said sweetly, and Sam’s teeth gritted in annoyance. It was none of his business—after he left they would continue taking advantage of her because she allowed it. If she enjoyed being the town’s general lackey, then far be it for him to intercede.
A lanky guy, about Sam’s age, wearing a sweater-vest, a tight-looking bow tie, and a pin-striped short-sleeved shirt, approached Lia as she was sorting through some of the clean blankets that had been donated to the shelter. Sam, who was standing to one side, not helping, not interfering, and not really talking to anyone, immediately stood upright, his gaze sharpening as he took in every aspect of this newcomer. He didn’t like the proprietary way the man was looking at Lia, and he liked it even less when the skinny bastard touched her. Not just touched her—encircled his bony hand around her arm before she even knew he was there. The shock on her face spurred Sam into action, and he was beside her in three seconds flat.
