Part 7 – The Keeper of the Album
By the following week, Franklin rarely left his recliner. His cane leaned unused against the wall, and his steps from chair to bed became fewer each day. He spoke less too, though when he did, his words carried weight, like stones placed with purpose.
Lucas found himself filling the silences. He cooked, fetched water, and ran errands down to the country store. He carried wood for the stove, though the summer air still hung thick and hot. And when Franklin drifted into sleep, Lucas sat nearby, turning the pages of the photo album in the dim light.
Each photograph seemed sharper than before. The sepia hound beside the wagon in 1911. The black shepherd sprawled on a porch in the seventies. Maybell, his father’s golden retriever, curling around a boy who looked startlingly like Lucas himself.
Different dogs, different times — but always those eyes.
Lucas whispered into the stillness, “You’ve always been here, haven’t you?”
Sadie, stretched on the rug, lifted her head at the sound. She padded over, placing her chin on the boy’s knee, as though answering yes.
Lucas stroked her ears. “Grandpa thinks it’s forgiveness. I think it’s… more. Like you’re making sure we don’t forget.”
Her tail brushed once against the floorboards.
That afternoon, Franklin stirred from a doze. His voice was thin, but steady. “Lucas, bring me the album.”
Lucas set it in his lap. Franklin’s hands trembled as he flipped through, page by page. He paused at Daisy’s photo, his thumb brushing the edge.
“Every one of them carried me through something,” he murmured. “Hard winters. Lost jobs. Nights when grief nearly swallowed me whole. And each time, I thought it was chance that another came along. But now… now I see.”
He looked up at Lucas, eyes glassy but bright. “The album isn’t about the dogs, boy. It’s about the bond. The kind that stitches one life to another, no matter how many years pass.”
Lucas swallowed hard. “I’ll keep it safe. I promise.”
Franklin’s hand closed over his. “And when it’s your turn, you’ll add to it.”
The boy blinked. “Add?”
“You’ll know when.” Franklin’s breath caught, a cough shaking him. Sadie rose at once, placing her paws on the arm of the recliner, her muzzle brushing his chest. Franklin steadied under her touch. “See that? She won’t let me slip before it’s time.”
Lucas pressed his lips together. “What if… what if she has to leave too?”
Franklin smiled faintly, stroking Sadie’s fur. “Then she’ll come back. She always does.”
Later that night, Franklin’s fever rose. Lucas sat on the edge of his bed, a cool cloth in hand, unsure if he was doing it right. Franklin’s breathing rattled like an old truck climbing a hill.
Lucas whispered, “I think you need a doctor.”
“No.” Franklin’s eyes opened, sharp despite the fever. “Not yet. I don’t need strangers poking and prodding. I need you. And her.” He nodded toward Sadie, who stood guard at the foot of the bed.
Lucas bit his lip, torn between fear and duty. He wanted to argue, but Franklin’s hand gripped his wrist with surprising strength.
“You can do this, boy. Trust yourself.”
The words steadied him. Lucas dipped the cloth again, pressing it gently to Franklin’s forehead.
Sadie sighed and lay down, her eyes never leaving the old man.
The next morning, Franklin was too weak to get out of bed. Lucas made oatmeal and carried it upstairs, though his grandfather only managed a few spoonfuls. Afterward, Lucas sat by the window, staring out at the hill. The oak tree stood tall against the bright sky, its roots hiding the buried box and the secrets of Daisy’s collar.
He wondered if the tree could feel time the way they did — if it remembered the hands that had carved the stone, the voices that had whispered prayers into its bark.
Sadie brushed against his side, breaking the thought. She padded to the door and barked softly, then looked back at him.
Lucas frowned. “What is it?”
She barked again, more insistent, and trotted toward the stairs.
He followed her down into the living room, where the album still rested on the table. Sadie nosed it, then looked at Lucas.
“You want me to open it?”
She wagged once.
Lucas sat cross-legged on the rug and opened the album. The photographs stared back, page after page of eyes that felt too familiar. When he reached the last photo — the one of himself as a toddler — Sadie placed her paw directly on it.
Lucas stared at her. “You’re saying… it’s me now? My turn?”
She held his gaze, steady and unwavering.
His chest tightened. He was only fifteen. He didn’t know what it meant to carry such a weight. But as he looked into Sadie’s eyes, something steadied inside him.
He whispered, “Okay. I’ll keep it. I’ll remember.”
Sadie lowered her head to his lap, as though sealing a pact.
That evening, Franklin called him upstairs again. His voice was faint, but clear. “Bring the album.”
Lucas obeyed. Franklin rested the book on his chest, too weak to hold it open himself. Lucas turned the pages for him.
When they reached Daisy’s photograph, Franklin’s lips moved. “I see her in my dreams. Not the way she died… but the way she lived. Running through grass. Barking at shadows. Saving me again and again.”
His eyes brimmed with tears. “Promise me, Lucas. When I go, you’ll take her to the hill. Let her see the stone. She’ll understand.”
Lucas’s voice shook. “I promise.”
Franklin smiled faintly, closing his eyes. “Good boy.”
Sadie hopped onto the bed, curling against his side. Franklin’s hand found her fur, even in sleep.
Lucas sat there in the dim room, heart pounding, the weight of the promise pressing into his chest.
For the first time, he realized the truth: this story was no longer just about remembering the past. It was about carrying it forward.
Later that night, Lucas crept back to the living room. He opened the album one more time, tracing the photos by lamplight. He stopped at Daisy’s picture, then glanced at Sadie, who lay watching him with patient eyes.
He whispered, “I don’t know how to be strong enough.”
Sadie tilted her head, ears pricking.
Lucas closed the album gently. “But maybe I don’t have to be. Maybe I just have to keep walking beside you.”
Sadie wagged her tail once, as if to say he was finally beginning to understand.
Upstairs, Franklin stirred in his sleep, murmuring names long gone. Lucas climbed the stairs quietly, peering into the room. The old man lay still, Sadie’s warmth pressed to his side. For a moment, in the moonlight, it looked as if two shadows lay across the bed — one of Sadie, and another of a dog crouched in red dust, ears sharp, guarding him still.
Lucas shivered but did not look away.
Because for the first time, the sight didn’t scare him.
It gave him hope.
Part 8 – The Longest Night
The July heat pressed heavy against the farmhouse, thick even after sunset. Crickets whined in the grass, and the air smelled of honeysuckle gone almost too sweet. Lucas sat on the edge of Franklin’s bed, watching the rise and fall of his chest. The old man’s breaths were shallow, uneven, each one sounding like it had to be fought for.
Sadie lay stretched across the foot of the bed, her nose tucked near Franklin’s ankle. Her eyes never closed.
“Grandpa?” Lucas whispered.
The old man’s lids fluttered. “Mm?”
“You need a doctor.” The boy’s throat ached around the words. “I can drive down to town and call one. Please.”
Franklin’s head rolled weakly against the pillow. “No. Doctors can’t fix what’s already spent. Don’t waste the time.”
“But I don’t know what to do.” Lucas’s voice cracked. “I’m just a kid.”
Franklin’s hand lifted, frail and shaking, and found Lucas’s. “Not anymore.” His eyes, though cloudy, still pierced. “You’ve got her. She’ll show you.”
His hand slipped away, falling back to the sheet. His breaths slowed again.
Lucas sat frozen, fear burning in his chest. He looked at Sadie. “What am I supposed to do?”
The dog rose and padded to the window. She barked once, sharply, then looked back at him.
Lucas frowned. “What—outside?”
She barked again, more insistent, pawing at the sill.
Lucas hesitated, torn between staying by Franklin’s side and obeying the dog. But something in Sadie’s eyes — that same unblinking steadiness he’d seen in every photograph — told him this mattered.
He slipped downstairs, Sadie bounding ahead. The night air hit him warm and damp as he stepped onto the porch. Fireflies drifted low over the yard. Sadie trotted into the grass, looking back once to be sure he followed.
“Where are we going?” Lucas whispered.
She led him toward the barn, then up the narrow path to the hill. The oak tree loomed black against the starlit sky.
Lucas’s stomach knotted. “Why here?”
Sadie circled the stone marker with Daisy’s name. Then she sat, fixing her gaze on Lucas.
He stood trembling, his flashlight beam shaking across the grass. “I don’t understand.”
Sadie gave a low whine, then lay down beside the stone, her body curved protectively around it — the same way she curled around Franklin’s bed.
And suddenly Lucas understood.
This wasn’t about the past. It was about the promise.
Franklin had said: When I go, take her to the hill. She’ll understand.
Sadie was preparing him.
Lucas dropped to his knees in the damp grass, tears blurring the stone’s rough letters. “I’m not ready,” he whispered. “I can’t do this without him.”
Sadie pressed her muzzle against his shoulder.
Lucas buried his face in her fur. “Then don’t leave me either. Please.”
For a long time, they stayed like that, boy and dog, under the oak. The night hummed with crickets, the air heavy with sorrow and something older than grief.
At last, Sadie stood and nudged him back down the path, toward the house.
When they reentered Franklin’s room, the old man still breathed, but faintly, like wind dwindling through reeds. Lucas sat back beside him, Sadie curling close again.
“Grandpa,” Lucas whispered, voice trembling, “I’ll keep the promise. I’ll take her to the hill. I swear.”
Franklin’s lips twitched, almost a smile. His hand lifted weakly, finding Sadie’s fur one last time.
“Good boy,” he murmured, barely audible. “Good girl.”
His hand fell still.
Lucas’s breath caught. For a moment he couldn’t tell if his grandfather still lived. He leaned close, desperate, until he felt the faintest stir of breath against his cheek.
Not gone. Not yet.
But close.
The hours stretched like years. Lucas dozed fitfully in the chair, jolting awake at every change in Franklin’s breathing. Sadie never moved, her body tense as if she held the line between worlds.
When dawn finally touched the windows, Franklin opened his eyes again. They were cloudy, but soft.
“Lucas,” he rasped.
The boy leaned close. “I’m here.”
“You’re the keeper now. Album’s yours. Don’t let the story end.”
Lucas’s chest heaved. “I won’t. I promise.”
Franklin’s gaze shifted to Sadie. “Take her up the hill… when it’s time. She’ll lead you.”
“I know.” Lucas’s voice broke. “She already did.”
A faint smile touched the old man’s lips. His eyes closed again.
And this time, Lucas knew it was for the last stretch of the road.
That evening, as the sun bled orange across the fields, Lucas sat alone in the living room. The album rested on his lap. He traced the cover with trembling fingers.
The house was too quiet. Every creak of the floorboards, every tick of the clock echoed. Franklin slept upstairs, but Lucas knew it was sleep only in name.
Sadie came to him, resting her head on the album. Her eyes searched his, steady and calm.
Lucas whispered, “What happens when he’s gone?”
Sadie’s tail swept once. She pressed harder against the album, nudging it open.
Lucas turned the pages until he reached the empty last sheet. The space waited, blank, expectant.
His throat tightened. “You mean… I’ll have to put something here?”
Sadie blinked slowly.
The boy’s heart pounded. He wasn’t ready to think of that. But deep down, he knew: every generation added to the story. And now it would be his turn.
Tears blurred his vision. He closed the album and hugged it to his chest.
“I’ll do it,” he whispered. “I’ll carry it. I’ll keep you both alive.”
Sadie licked his hand gently, sealing the vow.
That night was the longest of his life. He sat beside Franklin’s bed, the album on the nightstand, Sadie lying watch at the old man’s side.
The breaths grew slower. Shallower.
Lucas reached for his grandfather’s hand, holding it tight. “I love you, Grandpa.”
Franklin stirred faintly, lips moving. Lucas leaned close.
“Some souls never leave,” the old man whispered. “They just… come back wagging.”
And then his hand fell slack in Lucas’s.
The room went still.
Lucas bowed his head, tears breaking loose. Sadie pressed against him, whining low.
But even through his grief, the boy felt it — a warmth that filled the room, as though Franklin’s words lingered in the air itself.
Some souls never leave.
He held onto that.
Because now, he would have to.