“Could you keep him controlled in the public side of visitation?”
“Yes.”
Mercer told her he was not promising anything.
Carla understood.
Over the next several days, what began as a request form became a small logistical project involving people who were careful not to call it that. The sheriff's office approved a short non-contact visit on a quiet weekday afternoon, provided the dog remained on the public side of the secure partition. Carla agreed to bring Rufus personally. A visitation booth at the end of the row would be kept empty.
Megan received only the basic approval.
She was told she would get a few minutes.
Through the glass.
That was enough to make the previous night almost sleepless.
The next afternoon, Megan was escorted into the visitation area wearing the plain institutional clothing she had worn every day for two months. Her hair was tied back carelessly. She had no makeup, no jewelry, no possessions except the nervous habit of rubbing her thumb over the side of her index finger.
She stood behind the glass.
For several seconds, nothing happened.
Then movement appeared on the other side.
Carla entered with Rufus.
The dog did not immediately understand what he was seeing. The room was unfamiliar. The floor smelled wrong. Fluorescent lights hummed overhead. Glass, metal, disinfectant, strangers, doors—nothing about the place resembled home.
Rufus looked toward Carla first.
Then toward the booth.
Megan lifted one hand.
The change in the dog was subtle enough that someone not watching closely might have missed it. His head rose. His ears changed position. His body became still.
Then he moved toward the glass.
Megan had imagined this moment repeatedly during the previous twenty-four hours. In some versions Rufus barked. In others he wagged wildly. Once she imagined that he would not recognize her at all, and that possibility frightened her enough that she forced herself to stop imagining.
Reality was quieter.
Rufus came directly to the partition and looked at her.
Megan's face collapsed almost immediately.
She pressed her palm against the glass.
Rufus brought his nose close to it, sniffing at a surface that gave him almost none of what he wanted. Megan lowered her face until her eyes were nearly level with his. Tears gathered before she could stop them.
She tried to smile.
That made it worse.
Rufus raised one front paw.
The movement was not theatrical. He had not been trained to place a paw against glass. He simply shifted his weight, lifted the paw toward the barrier, and rested it against the surface in front of him.
Megan moved her hand.
For several seconds, her palm and his paw lined up on opposite sides.
There was glass between them.