Page 30 of Bluebell Promises

“They need us,” Ben said gently. He looked nervous, his cheeks taut.

Wren waited. It wasn’t far from her mind that he’d come here for a reason.

“Listen, I know who Pierre belongs to,” he said finally.

Wren took a dramatic breath. This was it, the moment she’d been dreading. Ben was here to take her dog away. “That’s wonderful,” she lied.

“It’s complicated,” Ben said. He explained what had happened: an older woman named Nelly had come into the vet clinic and immediately had a medical emergency. “I went over to her house to check on things, and I saw a photograph of her and Pierre. I learned his real name, too.”

Wren tried to smile, although her heart ached. “What is it?”

“Do you really want to know?” Ben asked.

Wren nodded.

“Pudding,” Ben said.

For a little while, with her eyes only, Wren followed Pierre-slash-Pudding’s jaunt up and down the sand. Her heart felt mushy with sorrow. She told herself that this was for the best, that she didn’t know what life was going to throw at her next, that she couldn’t very well take on a dog at the same time she took on a baby. But still.

She told herself not to cry. But within a minute, she gasped with sorrow and put her face in her hands. “I’m sorry,” she groaned. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

Ben touched her shoulder. “It’s sad. You and Pierre have a real connection.”

Wren’s shoulders shook. “Yes, but the thing is…” She trailed off for a moment. “For years, I was a traveler above everything else. I knew not to make too many connections. I knew not to get invested in too many things. I simply couldn’t carry all of those things around! Now, I’m making connections left and right, and they’re destroying me. It’s like I’m getting weaker as I age.”

“You aren’t weak for wanting connections,” Ben whispered.

But Wren couldn’t be dissuaded from that belief. She sniffed, then bent down and called for Pierre. “Pudding!” she said first. But the dog only came when she switched back to Pierre, which she thought was odd. Pierre hurried over, smiling, and she hugged him. “Your owner is all right,” she told him. “Nelly’s all right.”

Ben sighed. “She isn’t back from the hospital yet.”

Wren’s chest tightened. She stood back up. “When she gets home, we’ll go see her together,” she said.

Ben looked surprised. “You don’t have to do that. I’m happy to deal with this. Honestly.”

But Wren shook her head. “I want to meet her. I want to tell her that her dog’s been a lifeline for me. I think she deserves to know that.”

Two days later, Ben called Wren to tell her that Nelly was home and ready to see her dog again. “Her son is not happy about the dog coming over,” Ben said, laughing over the phone. “But it’s difficult to describe human-animal love to someone who can’t possibly understand it.”

Wren knew that was true. They decided to meet directly at Nelly’s place at four that afternoon. Scott Winston, Nelly’s son, had told Ben that that was usually when his mother woke up from her nap. “She’ll be more awake than at any other time during the day,” Scott had explained.

Wren walked Pudding-slash-Pierre to Nelly’s place, watching his gait to see if he sped up excitedly when they neared the house. But Pierre did nothing of the kind. Ben was already waiting for her on the sidewalk in front of the house, and he admitted that he didn’t think Pierre got very many walks from Nelly, as she wasn’t very mobile. It meant Pierre might not know the surroundings very well.

“Maybe I can come over and walk him sometimes,” Wren suggested timidly. “I mean, for as long as I stick around in Bluebell.”

“I’m sure something like that can be arranged,” Ben said.

Together, they walked up the steps and knocked on the door. Scott Winston answered the door wearing a loose pair of sweatpants and a white T-shirt with a band’s name written on it. Wren didn’t recognize the name, but she recognized the scowl on Scott’s face, as it felt entirely like Ivy’s. He was a worrier, just as she was. He was trying to do the right thing.

Scott led Ben and Wren down the hall to Nelly’s bedroom. “She used to sleep upstairs before my father died,” Scott explained. “But she can’t make it up the stairs anymore.”

Wren wondered if Pierre the dog had ever been upstairs at all, or if he’d remained down here, living in Nelly’s smaller and smaller reality, until he’d gotten lost.

When Scott opened the door to Nelly’s bedroom, Pierre bolted through the crack and sprang up on the bed. Wren lurched with fear, nervous that the little dog would hurt Nelly in some way. But it was soon clear that “Pudding” knew exactly how to handle his mistress. He was on her bed, directly beside her little body, licking her face and hands. Nelly smiled and giggled like a much younger woman. “Oh, Pudding, you old scoundrel,” she said.

Wren liked the woman immediately.

“Mom? These are the people who found Pudding,” Scott said, gesturing for Ben and Wren to sit at the side of the bed. Scott remained standing by the door, as though he wanted to monitor the situation.