Part 5 – What They Leave Behind
They didn’t leave all at once.
The Council dispersed slowly, like smoke after a candle’s gone out.
Petal was the first to step away. She waddled to the garden hose and dipped her beak in a shallow puddle there, then circled back, as if unsure she should be going. Lorraine watched her pause at the corner of the porch, quack once—softly—and disappear behind the flowerbeds.
Smokey stayed longer.
He circled Toby once, nostrils wide, hooves landing carefully on the soft ground. Then he lowered his massive head and exhaled into Toby’s fur. Lorraine heard it—a sound like wind being handed over. Then the pony turned toward the fence.
Pete Rourke, his owner, stood waiting with a halter in hand, his ball cap pressed against his chest.
“He just wandered over on his own yesterday,” Pete called, voice catching. “Didn’t even eat. I figured he had a reason.”
Lorraine nodded.
“Thank you,” she said, though she wasn’t sure if she meant the pony or the man.
Smokey walked back through the gate with slow, deliberate steps. He didn’t look back.
Lorraine turned to Eli.
“Let’s go get the shovel.”
The boy nodded.
He didn’t ask where.
He already knew.
—
They chose the spot beneath the sugar maple—Toby’s favorite place in summer. The tree had roots like old knuckles, and its branches leaned gently toward the bench, as if bowing in respect.
Lorraine dug first, slow but steady. Eli joined her after the second shovelful. Blue sat nearby, batting at the dirt clumps like toys. Occasionally, the kitten would stop and look toward the bench, then resume as if trying to stay busy.
When the hole was deep enough, they carried Toby on a wool blanket Lorraine had once used for winter picnics. It smelled faintly of pine and laundry soap.
She kissed his head.
Eli did too.
And together, they lowered him into the earth.
“I don’t have a prayer,” Eli said quietly. “Not one that’s, like… real.”
Lorraine smiled.
“You don’t need a perfect one.”
The boy closed his eyes and whispered something Lorraine couldn’t hear. She didn’t ask. She just placed one hand over his as they filled the dirt back in.
It took a long time.
Not because the task was hard.
But because it was final.
—
By late afternoon, the grave was smooth. Lorraine brought a wooden marker—an old fence post she’d sanded down during last fall’s storm season. She carved one word into it with the tip of a kitchen knife.
TOBY
That was enough.
She placed one of her husband’s garden stones at the base. Painted years ago with a faded daisy, the colors soft now but still there.
“Do animals know they’ve died?” Eli asked suddenly.
Lorraine looked at him.
“I think they just know they’re done being tired.”
The boy nodded, as if that answer made sense in the only way it needed to.
They sat on the bench together.
The kitten crawled into Lorraine’s lap this time, purring low and steady.
The wind stirred the leaves.
Lorraine whispered, “I used to think grief was loud. Now I think it’s something that settles.”
Eli leaned against her arm, silent.
That’s when they heard it.
A soft rustle. Something moving under the porch.
Lorraine stood first, stepping down to look.
Petal emerged—grumbling softly, carrying something in her beak.
It was a small strip of flannel. Toby’s.
The piece she’d wrapped him in during his last days. Petal must’ve pulled it free before they buried him.
She dropped it at Lorraine’s feet and backed away.
Then turned and waddled back to her perch under the swing.
Lorraine bent down, picked it up. Held it for a moment.
It was still warm.
As if it had been passed between hearts.
“Should we bury it with him?” Eli asked.
Lorraine shook her head.
“No,” she said softly. “He gave it back.”
She folded the fabric gently and placed it on the bench beside her. Like a reminder.
Or a promise.