Tommy pulled over, set the brake, and climbed down with a Milk-Bone already in his shirt pocket.
Luis, who had by then become fully invested in the dog’s recovery, leaned out of the passenger door with an expression Tommy pretended not to notice.
Evelyn held out an envelope.
“You’ve caused a scandal in my life, Mr. Elkins.”
Tommy took the envelope.
“I hear you’re home.”
“I was informed you have been running my dog like another county department.”
Tommy smiled.
“He’s cooperative most mornings.”
She looked at Buster, who was busy accepting the biscuit.
“He always did like a man with a schedule.”
There was money in the envelope. Tommy knew it before he opened it. He also knew he would not keep it.
“Can’t do that,” he said, trying to hand it back.
Evelyn refused.
“You can open it first.”
Inside, folded around the bills, was the note Karen had mentioned. Tommy read it standing in the road while the diesel engine idled behind him.
It said: He waited for the truck every Monday. I suppose now he was waiting for the right man too. Thank you for keeping him in his own life until I could get back to it.
Below that, Evelyn had signed her name and then added, in smaller letters: Spend the money on biscuits if you’re going to be stubborn.
Tommy laughed. Darlene later said that when he laughed describing that moment, he sounded fifteen years younger.
He gave the money back anyway.
But he kept the note.
By midsummer, life on County Road 18 had settled into a new normal. Evelyn’s lungs improved. The portable oxygen tank appeared less often. Home therapy gave way to short, slow walks from porch to mailbox with Buster ambling beside her. Karen returned to Kentucky after arranging more local help. Walt resumed his usual level of neighborliness, which meant grumbling from across the road while quietly taking in any package left too close to the rain.
Tommy no longer visited twice a day. He did not need to.
Yet some pieces of the routine remained.