Page 67 of The Lovely and the Lost

In the light of the moon, the woman begins digging. She half buries first one rock, then another. Girl’s fingernails claw at the grass beneath her. Her body writhes, but she still can’t sit up. She can’t run.

No. This can’t be happening.

Thisneverhappened.

The world shudders with that realization, and suddenly, I’m standing beside my younger self and watching—watching the dark-haired woman and the writhing child, and I know that this isn’t a memory. It’s a dream—just a dream—but still, I can’t turn away. I can’t stop watching the dark-haired woman as she completes the Circle and stands to examine her work.

Her eyes meet mine.

“Someone’s coming,” she whispers. “Hide.”

I bolted up in bed. A glance at the clock told me that I hadn’t been asleep for more than an hour. The sun was still shining outside. Jude and Free were nowhere in sight.

Except for Silver, I was alone.

My canine guardian was asleep beside me, lying on her side. I laid a hand on her head, stroked it down the length of her body, the dream lingering in my mind. I forced myself to sort through the tangle ofnowandthen, imaginaryandreal, and at some point, I realized that Silver wasn’t moving.

She wasn’t responding to my touch.

Her chest wasn’t rising or falling.

She’s not breathing. That thought stilled the breath in my own lungs. “Silver.” I said her name quietly at first, then louder. I cupped her head in my hands. I petted her, and I told her that she was a good girl, and I waited for her to wake up.

Wake up, Silver. Please—

I’d known objectively that she was old for a German shepherd. I’d known that she wouldn’t be with me forever. But not now, not like this—

“She’s gone.” I wanted to take back the whispered words. Saying it made it real, and I needed it not to be real. I needed her to wake up. I needed to save her, the way that she had saved me.

That day in the ravine. The weeks and months that followed. Every nightmare, every morning when I woke up—

I didn’t cry. I couldn’t, because Silver wasn’t there to put me back together, to lick my face and nudge my neck and let mebreak.

She was gone.

I curled my body around hers. I held her, the way a man dangling off a cliff holds on to the side. But I couldn’t hold on forever. Slowly, I wrapped my oldest friend in a sheet from the bed. I carried her down the stairs, struggling under the weight, but unwilling to let myself even think about dropping her. If it killed me, I’d get her out of this house.

I’d get her outside.

I laid her out beneath the tree where I’d slept my first night. I knelt down next to her. I told her, again and again, that she was brave, that she was good, that she was perfect.

You were mine.

I wanted Jude and Free, but most of all, I wanted Cady. I wanted someone who’d loved Silver as much as I had, who’d loved me as fiercely and as steadfastly as the faithful dog had—day after day, year after year, even when there was nothing in me to love.

“How old was she?” Gabriel knelt beside me, his eyes on Silver’s body, his voice gentler than I’d ever heard it.

“Twelve. Almost thirteen.”

Gabriel was quiet for almost a minute. “Doesn’t make it any easier,” he said.

I shook my head. Someday, it would be Saskia—and NATO and Duchess and every dog I loved, unless something killed me first.

“Do you want to bury her?” Gabriel asked me.

No.I didn’t want to put Silver in the ground. I didn’t want to pile dirt on top of her. I didn’t want to say good-bye.

I forced myself to nod. When Gabriel fetched a shovel, I took it from his hands, and I wouldn’t give it back—not even when my fingers began to blister from digging and my palms began to bleed.