🐾 Part 5 — Echoes from Tallahassee
It was Saturday when the call came.
Danny was fixing the porch steps—one board at a time, sweat dripping down his back despite the morning breeze—when his phone buzzed in his pocket. Unknown number. Florida area code.
He almost didn’t answer.
But something in his gut stirred, and he hit accept with a dusty thumb.
“Hello?”
A pause. Then:
“Dad?”
Danny froze. The hammer slipped from his hand and thudded against the wood.
“Ethan?”
“Yeah. Sorry it’s been a while.”
His son’s voice had changed—deeper, with a weariness that only came from being away too long. A man’s voice now, not the teenager who’d driven off with a U-Haul and a scholarship.
Danny wiped his brow, sat on the edge of the porch.
“You okay?” he asked.
“I’m good. School’s almost done. Internship at the firm’s been solid. But… that’s not why I called.”
Danny’s chest tightened. “What’s going on?”
“I saw a video. Online. A piece about retired military dogs. Featured a Malinois named Charlie. Said he was part of a classified program. Showed a clip. Dad… was that him?”
Danny swallowed.
“Yeah,” he said. “He’s with me now.”
Silence.
Then Ethan’s voice cracked slightly.
“I remember him. He used to sit outside your bedroom door after you came home. Wouldn’t leave your side.”
Danny looked over.
Charlie was there now—curled near the newly installed step, head resting on crossed paws, eyes closed but always listening.
“Yeah,” Danny said. “He still does.”
There was another pause. Then Ethan said quietly:
“I want to come visit.”
Danny blinked.
“You sure?”
“I am. I’ve been thinking about it for a while. You sound better… different. Like maybe you’re coming back.”
Danny’s eyes burned.
“I’d like that, son.”
“I’ll bring some of those cookies you like. The lemon ones.”
Danny chuckled.
“Hell, I’ll cook you breakfast. Real eggs. Bacon. None of that turkey stuff your mom used to buy.”
“Deal.”
They hung up, and for a long time, Danny just sat on the steps, staring at the trees.
Charlie came up beside him, nudged his hand with a warm nose.
“You heard all that, huh?” Danny murmured.
Charlie licked his knuckles once, then lay down again.
That afternoon, Danny drove into town.
He needed groceries, a new filter for the A/C, and—reluctantly—a few test strips. He hadn’t checked his sugar since that low reading last week, and something in his body had felt… off.
At the store, he paused by the frozen aisle, staring blankly at a box of waffles.
His vision blurred.
The edges of his sight went soft, like fog creeping across a windshield.
He blinked, swayed.
A hand grabbed the edge of the freezer door for support.
Then it passed.
He steadied himself and took a breath.
“Banana. Now.”
He muttered it aloud like an order. Found one near the checkout, peeled it with trembling fingers, and bit down hard.
It wasn’t just a skip-meal moment. This was different. He felt… slow. Unsteady.
When he got home, he tested again.
56.
Low. Lower than last time.
He sat on the edge of the tub and let the meter fall to the floor.
Charlie nudged the door open and walked in.
Sat beside him. Looked up.
Danny smiled weakly.
“You know before I do, don’t you?”
Charlie thumped his tail once.
Danny stared at the dog, realization dawning.
“Wait a minute,” he whispered. “That first time… you didn’t just shadow me. You knew.”
The dog didn’t respond.
But something in his gaze confirmed it. He had smelled the change. The same way he’d smelled RDX and ammonium nitrate on the roadside outside Fallujah.
“You’re still working,” Danny said. “Even now.”
That evening, the sunset hit different.
Gold streaks poured through the trees, lighting the porch in a warm orange glow.
Danny grilled two chicken breasts, one without seasoning. He set Charlie’s on a chipped blue plate and placed it beside his water bowl.
As they ate, Danny felt the tug of something he hadn’t touched in years:
Hope.
Not the fireworks kind. Not big or loud.
Just the steady kind. Like the sound of a dog’s breathing beside you at night.
The next day, Maybelle brought over a pie. Blueberry.
Charlie sniffed her hands and let her scratch behind the ears—a high honor.
They sat on the porch, eating in slow bites.
“You seem lighter,” she said.
Danny nodded.
“Ethan’s coming. First time in years.”
May smiled.
“I’m glad. That boy always had your eyes.”
They sat in silence a while longer. The wind stirred the leaves. Charlie dozed, belly full, paws twitching in a dream.
May glanced down.
“He’s aging.”
“Yeah.”
“But he’s not done yet.”
Danny looked at her, surprised.
“He still thinks he’s got one more mission.”
Danny followed her gaze to the dog, to the twitch in his paw and the little wrinkle of focus even in sleep.
“He’s not wrong,” Danny whispered.