“That’s good news.”
Reese hugged her back, then slumped at the table. Denise crossed to the refrigerator and pulled out a pitcher of orange juice.
“I can make waffles for breakfast,” she told him as she poured. “What do you think?”
He grinned. “That would be great.” He took the glass she offered and thanked her. “Grandma, do you know there are lots of kids at the hospital?”
“Yes.” She collected ingredients. “There’s a whole floor for children. It’s called pediatrics.”
“I guess I knew that.” Reese frowned. “Kids get sick, too, but it was weird to see them there. A lot of them are really, really sick and have to stay there a long time. If they have cancer or something.” He reached for his glass. “One of the nurses told me.”
Denise felt an instant protective need to shield him from life’s unpleasantness, then reminded herself that learning about other people’s hardships often helped a child to understand compassion.
“It must be very hard for them and their families,” she said.
He nodded. “Plus it’s summer and they can’t be outside playing.” He put the glass back on the table. “Do you think I could visit a couple of the kids? Ones who don’t have any friends close by? Maybe we could play a computer game or something.”
Pride filled her. Not only in Reese, but in Kent for getting it right with his son. “I’ll talk to your aunt Montana. She takes therapy dogs to the hospital regularly. She’ll know who to ask.”
“Sweet.”
He grinned at her and at that moment, he reminded her so much of her boys when they were his age. Kent might have hideous taste in women, but he was a wonderful father. At least his ex-wife hadn’t been able to take that away from him.
THE FOOL’S GOLD LIBRARY had been built around 1940. It had been a WPA project, complete with carved columns and twenty-foot murals. Montana loved the library. She loved the sweeping stairs leading to huge carved double doors, the stained glass windows, and the ever-present scent of old dusty books.
Before going to work for Max, she’d had a job at the library. She’d enjoyed her work and had been offered a full-time position. Even though she’d known she probably should have accepted, a voice inside had told her that her true passion might lie elsewhere.
Fortunately, Mrs. Elder, the head librarian, was the forgiving sort. When Montana had approached her about starting a summer reading program using therapy dogs, Mrs. Elder had been enthused.
They were starting small, with a single dog and three students. The premise was simple. Kids who had trouble reading worked with a tutor for half an hour. The tutor went over the vocabulary list, and made sure the students understood what the words meant. Then the students read a book aloud to a dog.
Montana had chosen Buddy. Not only was he gentle and supportive, he tended to worry. Montana had noticed children responded to doggie concern with reassurance. But any kind of reassurance required a little bit of confidence, something the students who couldn’t read tended not to have.
Mrs. Elder introduced Montana to a skinny boy about Reese’s age. “This is Daniel.” The librarian smiled at the boy. “Daniel, I’d like you to meet Montana and her dog Buddy.”
The boy glanced at her, his eyes barely visible through his long bangs. “Hi.”
The word came out more like a sigh than a greeting and Montana figured he wasn’t excited about spending a warm summer afternoon in the library.
Mrs. Elder nodded at them and left.
They were working in one of the small rooms off the main library. As Montana had requested, there were several beanbag chairs and large pillows on the carpeted floor. When a child was reading to a dog, it helped for everyone to be at eye level.
Montana sat on a beanbag chair and patted the one next to her for Daniel. “Buddy is very excited to hear the story. I was telling him about it earlier, and he can’t wait.”
Daniel slumped onto the floor, then rolled his eyes. “Dogs don’t get excited about books.”
“How do you know?” Montana asked. “Buddy isn’t having a very good day and stories make him feel better.”
“You can’t expect me to believe that.”
“Of course I do. Look at him. Does he look like a happy dog?”
Daniel dutifully turned toward Buddy. As always, the dog’s expression was one of concern, as if he had the weight of the world on his shoulders.
“He does look kind of sad,” Daniel admitted. “But reading isn’t going to help. Dogs don’t care about stuff like that.”
“Really?” Montana picked up the two books Daniel had carried in. She held them both out to Buddy. “Which one?”
The dog lifted his left paw and tapped the book on the left.
Montana handed that one to Daniel. “See, he has an opinion.”
Daniel’s eyes widened. “Whoa. I’ve never seen anything like that.” He turned to the dog. “Buddy, you really want me to read you this story?”