Only By Your Touch by Catherine Anderson

missing, and when I went searching, I’d find you outside, sitting under that old tree beside his grave. All that winter and the following summer, you kept vigil. At times I wondered if you’d ever get over it.”
    “In ways, I never have.”
    “I hope little Jeremy doesn’t take it that hard. His heart was in his eyes today while he was petting that puppy.”
    “It’s out of our hands now, Mom.”
    “No, never that. As long as there’s life, there’s hope.”
    Ben stared into the darkness.
    “There’s nothing quite so beautiful as a child and dog, running and playing together on a sunny day. Just imagine, being able to make that happen.”
    His throat felt so thick, he could barely reply. “You’re tired, Mama. Why don’t you go along to bed?”
    “Yes, very, very tired.” She moved closer to rest a hand on his shoulder. “I love you, Ben. Do you know how much?”
    He stroked her frail wrist with his thumb. “I love you, too. Never doubt it.”
    “I don’t. What breaks my heart is that you no longer love yourself.” Ben could almost feel the sadness emanating from her. “As a mother, I’ve countless regrets, but the one that haunts me most is that I let him do this to you.”
    “You shouldn’t blame yourself. You did all you could.”
    “Did I?” She let the question hang there a moment. “It’s always easier to say we’ve done all we can, isn’t it? But it’s seldom true. We can always do more—ifonly we find the courage.” She tightened her grip on his shoulder. “Seeing you like this would break your grandfather’s heart. He was always so proud of you, and he tried so hard to teach you to be proud of yourself. Where has your pride gone, Ben? Why do you deny what you are?”
    “I’m not denying anything. Look at me.”
    “You wear the trappings.” She fingered the beaded thong around his neck. “I know you’re trying. I see you touch the medallion sometimes—to remind yourself, I think. ‘I am Shoshone.’ But those are only words, Ben, and the medallion is only a stone passed down to you by your grandfather. ‘Wear it with pride,’ he said. You were only seven years old the night he died, but he saw in you the man you’d one day become.”
    “And I’ve failed him. Is that what you’re saying?”
    “No, Ben. You’re failing yourself. And that’s the heartbreak of it, don’t you see? You’ve closed the door to your soul.”
    She drew away from him then, becoming part of the shadows again. He could hear her slippers shuffling over the tile as she left the kitchen. Long after the sound of her footsteps faded away, he sat there with his head bent, listening to Rowdy’s laborious breathing. He’d heard the death rattle too many times not to recognize it now.
    With a trembling hand, Ben reached out to stroke the puppy’s fur, thinking of Jeremy. In ten or twenty years, would the child look back and remember this time in his life with an ache in his heart? Even worse, would he eventually become like Ben, afraid to let himself love again?
    The thought made Ben ache with regret and myriad other emotions he couldn’t sort out or analyze. He allowed the weight of his hand to rest on the puppy’sheaving rib cage. Images of Jeremy and the dog running and playing together drifted slowly through his mind, like the turning pages of a picture book. His mother was right; there was nothing more beautiful than a child and dog romping together in the sunlight. And what a joy it should be to have the power to make that happen.
    Just once , Ben thought. How could it hurt if he did it only once? He closed his eyes, let the tension drain from his body, and curled his fingers over the puppy’s wasted body.
     
    When Chloe’s shift was over, she decided to drive home with her window down. Whispering Pines, the subdivision where she lived, lay ten miles west of town, a pocket of private land surrounded by national forest and countless small lakes that attracted fishermen. At this late hour