Part 5 – Wind at His Back
The rain started as a whisper on the windshield.
Walter sat in his car outside the pharmacy, watching droplets trace their way down the glass like tiny uncertain travelers. He gripped the steering wheel with stiff fingers, reading and rereading the pink slip in his lap.
“Insurance claim denied.”
He didn’t need to read the rest. He knew the words by heart: preexisting conditions, limited coverage, not deemed medically necessary.
He leaned his head back and exhaled slowly through his nose. The ache in his back was worse today. His right hip throbbed like a second heartbeat. They’d given him a sample patch — a trial. But to afford a monthly supply would mean skipping groceries or the electric bill. Again.
He glanced at the rearview mirror. A long crack split it from corner to corner, like a road that had nowhere left to go.
“Used to be,” he muttered, “you worked forty years and they didn’t forget you.”
He closed the visor mirror. The eyes staring back at him were lined and weary. The face of a man who’d driven thousands to jobs and school and church — and now couldn’t afford to sit comfortably for more than fifteen minutes.
But still, Sunday was coming.
And so was Benny.
The morning air had a sharper bite that week. Walter parked in his usual spot and sat with the engine running for a minute, savoring the last of the heat before braving the cold. He rolled his shoulders carefully. Each motion a small act of defiance against age.
In the passenger seat, a thermos, two crackers, and a folded paper — the drawing Eli had left last time. It showed Benny wearing the brass bell, with Walter beside him holding a crooked cane that looked suspiciously like last week’s walking stick.
A smudged blue heart floated above them. No words. Just that.
Walter tucked it into his coat pocket.
He made it to the bench with effort. Every step sent a dull buzz up his spine, but he walked slow, steady. As he approached Rose’s grave, he paused.
Something was different.
A small bouquet lay at the base of the headstone — fresh. Yellow wildflowers, maybe from the hill behind the cemetery.
He knelt with a grunt. A small card peeked out.
“For Rose. From Eli.”
Walter touched the stone, fingers trembling.
“She always liked surprises,” he whispered.
Moments later, he heard them — the familiar shuffle of Benny’s paws, the soft crunch of Eli’s sneakers. He turned.
The boy gave a little wave. Walter waved back.
“You’re early,” Walter said.
Eli shrugged, then sat cross-legged on the bench, pulling out a new sheet of paper. Benny settled beside Walter with a long sigh.
Walter reached into his coat, pulled out a dog brush.
“I thought you might like this,” he said, running it gently through Benny’s coat. The fur came loose in little tufts, soft as dandelions.
“You’re losing your winter coat, old man,” Walter whispered. “But not your charm.”
Eli smiled faintly at that. The boy’s eyes were bright today — focused. He sketched with quick, sure movements.
Walter sat back, exhaling.
“I got a call this week,” he said. “City bus union sent me a letter. Said I’m not eligible for full retirement benefits. Something about changed rules and missed re-enrollment deadlines.”
He chuckled bitterly. “I missed one email and now I can’t get enough coverage for my medicine. Funny, huh?”
Eli stopped drawing. He looked at Walter, then down at the sketchpad.
“I’m not telling you for pity,” Walter said quickly. “Just… sometimes you gotta say things out loud so they don’t eat you alive.”
He looked down at Benny.
“You know something? This dog here — he never complains. Could be limping, wheezing, can’t even make it up the hill some days, but he never whines.”
He smiled, stroking Benny’s back.
“Just keeps showing up. Like someone’s waiting.”
Eli turned his pad around. This time the drawing was of Rose’s bench, but empty. The trees above it had faces — kind ones, with closed eyes. In the branches, a single bell hung, like an ornament.
Walter stared.
“I’ll be damned,” he said softly. “You got a poet’s soul.”
They sat in silence a long time.
The wind picked up. Walter pulled his coat tighter. Benny shifted, curling closer to Eli’s feet.
Walter’s fingers trembled. Cold or nerves — he wasn’t sure. “You think people come back?” he asked suddenly.
Eli tilted his head.
“I mean… after. Do you think they linger? Watch over the ones they loved?”
The boy looked up at the tree above them, then nodded slowly.
Walter wiped at his eyes.
“I hope so. Because sometimes it feels like I’m still driving her somewhere. Like the route ain’t done.”
The boy stood and gently placed a crayon drawing on Rose’s bench. This one showed all three of them — Walter, Benny, and Eli — sitting on a bus. The sign on the front read: “One Last Stop.”
Walter swallowed the lump in his throat. “That’s a fine name for it, kid.”
He meant to say more, but just then Benny gave a soft, strained whine and shifted in discomfort.
Walter leaned in, worried. “You okay, buddy?”
Benny blinked slowly, tail giving the faintest wag. But his breathing was shallower than before. Each inhale a bit more effort.
Walter placed a hand gently on his side. “You tell me when it’s too much. You’ve earned that.”
Eli knelt beside him, stroking the dog’s ears.
For a long moment, the wind was the only sound.
Then Walter said, barely audible: “If this is our last stop… I’ll ride it all the way with you.”
And Benny, with the strength of memory more than muscle, let his head fall gently against Walter’s knee.
Continue Reading Part 6 – A Bell Between Them