“How did you get into my house?” I asked.
He swallowed. “Angie said you kept a spare key under the flowerpot on the windowsill outside.”
I pointed toward the door. “Get out. You are not welcome. Haven’t you done enough?”
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One girl started crying. The others looked wrecked, like they hadn’t slept since the day Angie passed away. But none of them moved.
Then the blond girl stepped forward and said softly, “We’re here to fulfill Angie’s last request.”
That stopped me. “Last request?”
Why had my daughter left strangers a wish she had never shared with me?
“We’re here to fulfill Angie’s last request.”
“Please,” the blond girl said. “Just come with us.”
My feet moved on autopilot as the kids led me toward the living room. Then I saw what they had brought and froze.
A golden blur launched off the rug and collided with my knees, all soft fur, warm weight, and a tail beating wildly against my legs. Then he lifted his face, and I saw the tiny cleft in his right ear.
“Oh my God,” I gasped. “Benji? Is that you? How is this possible?”
He climbed against me, whining and wriggling, licking at my hands as if he had been waiting months to do exactly that. I dropped to my knees and wrapped both arms around him so tightly he made that happy little grunt he used to make when Angie hugged him too hard.
