Part 10 — Where the Road Ends
Walter awoke to birdsong.
Not the sharp cry of crows or the restless chatter of sparrows, but the soft coo of mourning doves and the high, lonesome call of a whip-poor-will—music only the early morning knows how to play. The sky was still holding onto its last shreds of darkness, painted in blues and quiet promise.
He hadn’t meant to fall asleep. Not here. Not like this.
But the bench beneath the apple tree had held him through the night. The flannel blanket, once Samson’s, was now draped over his shoulders. And beside his boots, curled tight against the dew-covered grass, lay the amber-eyed dog.
Still there.
Still watching.
Walter blinked at the horizon, as if looking for something just beyond the edge of the visible world. The wind touched his face like the hand of a friend.
“I had a dream,” he murmured.
He wasn’t sure if he was speaking to the dog or to someone else—someone just out of reach.
“I was on the porch. Margaret was rocking in her chair. Samson was young again. She looked up, smiled, and said, ‘Took you long enough.’”
He smiled at that, slow and steady, the way an old man smiles when all debts have been paid.
Rising with effort, he stood beneath the apple tree one last time.
The truck waited at the edge of the drive, rusted and dignified like a loyal steed. Walter looked back at the land—the orchard, the fading fence lines, the footprints only he could see—and gave a single nod.
“Thank you,” he whispered. “For all of it.”
Then he turned to the dog.
“You coming?”
The creature looked at him, head cocked. Then it rose and followed, matching his pace without a sound.
They drove out of Bellewood slow, like a man who wasn’t leaving, just letting the place rest.
At the fork in the road near the river, Walter pulled over.
The water still flowed like it always had—cool, clear, stubborn against time.
He walked to the edge and scattered the last of Margaret’s ashes into the current. They swirled and danced before vanishing into the endless blue.
As he turned back, he whispered, “Now you’re everywhere.”
The dog waited by the truck, tail flicking gently in the breeze.
Back on the road, Walter didn’t head north or south. He didn’t have a direction now. Not really.
He just drove.
Past the schoolhouse. Past the hill. Past the old general store and the diner where Ruth might be pouring coffee soon.
And as the town shrank in the rearview mirror, a new morning bloomed before him.
He didn’t know where the road would end.
But for the first time in years, he wasn’t afraid of where it might go.
Because now, the cab wasn’t empty.
Now, he carried everything that mattered with him.
Love.
Memory.
And a dog at his side.