Guessed you must be building something back there. Harold didn’t elaborate on what he had been constructing, simply saying, sorry if the fence doesn’t look as good as new. It’s an old fence, anyway, Ethan assured him.
Thank you again. Harold nodded and turned to leave. As Ethan closed the door, he found Claire coming in from the backyard, her cheeks flushed from the cold.
Was that Harold I heard, she asked, unwinding a scarf from around her neck. Ethan nodded. Our fence blew down again.
He fixed it himself. Claire hung her scarf on a hook by the door and smiled faintly. It’s been a while since we’ve gotten together with Harold.
We should invite him to dinner as a thank you for fixing the gate. Ethan hesitated. I don’t know, Claire.
We still need to go through some of these reports from the police about the new leads for Joshua. I’d rather focus on that during dinner, not when we have company. Claire’s expression softened with a mixture of sadness and gentle reproach.
Ethan, we’ve become so isolated and lonely over these eight years. When was the last time we invited someone over? Years ago? Ethan didn’t answer immediately, knowing she was right. They had gradually withdrawn from social connections, their search for Joshua consuming every aspect of their lives.
Harold, too, Claire continued. Look at how private he’s become after his wife and son died in that house robbery ten years ago. Can you imagine living all alone for years? He must be a lonely man.
She paused, placing a hand on Ethan’s shoulder. It might be good to sit down and have dinner together. We’ve all gone through similar experiences of loss.
Maybe we could form a new bond. Ethan considered her words, his gaze drifting back to the stack of documents on the table. Perhaps she was right.
Perhaps they both needed this small step toward normalcy. All right, he finally said. I’ll go invite him for dinner tonight.
Claire’s smile was worth the concession. It had been too long since he’d seen genuine happiness on her face. Ethan zipped up his jacket and stepped outside into the crisp winter air.
The snow crunched beneath his boots as he crossed the street toward Harold’s house. It was a modest two-story home, similar to most in their neighborhood, though somewhat less maintained. The paint was peeling in places, and the snowfall had been left untended, piling up in recent years.
When he reached Harold’s front door, Ethan knocked firmly and waited. After a minute with no response, he knocked again, louder this time. Still nothing.
He was about to turn and leave when he heard sounds coming from behind the house, a dull thudding noise, like someone hammering. Ethan rounded the corner of the house, his boots sinking into the deeper snow of the backyard. Harold, he called out.
It’s Ethan from across the street. The sounds led him to a small wooden structure at the far end of the yard, an old dog kennel that had been there for as long as Ethan could remember. Harold was crouched inside it, seemingly adjusting something.
At the sound of Ethan’s voice, Harold froze momentarily before carefully backing out of the small structure. Ethan, Harold said, sounding slightly breathless. Sorry, I didn’t hear you knocking.
No problem, Ethan replied, noticing how quickly Harold had straightened up and positioned himself in front of the kennel. I’m surprised you’re still keeping that old doghouse. It’s been years since you had a dog, hasn’t it? Do you want help tearing it down? Harold’s response came with a slight stutter.
Aye, it’s a reminder of Rex. He was a good dog. I like keeping it around.
Ethan nodded, understanding the sentiment. People clung to different reminders of those they’d lost. Harold gestured to a partially built larger structure nearby.
Actually, I’ve been thinking about getting a new dog. I’ve been working on that for a few weeks now. Wanted to complete it this morning.
Ethan’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. Seriously? You’re still working in this weather? That’s impressive, Harold. I used to breed dogs myself when I was younger.
More of a hobby than a job, really. What kind of breed are you thinking about? I haven’t thought much about it, Harold replied, seeming more relaxed now that the conversation had shifted. Maybe a puppy or a mid-sized dog? Well, Claire and I actually wanted to invite you to dinner tonight, Ethan said.
But if you don’t mind, I could help you finish that new kennel this morning, and we could go find a dog together afterward. I know a local breeder in the area. Harold seemed to consider this for a moment before nodding.
I’d appreciate that. I should be able to finish this in a few hours, and dinner sounds nice. Thank you.
As they talked, Ethan noticed Harold occasionally glancing back at the old doghouse. There was something odd about his neighbor’s behavior, but Ethan couldn’t quite place what it was. Harold had always been a private person, especially after his tragedy…
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