She looked at the question. Then crossed it out neatly with one straight line and closed the notebook.
Something rustled in the crate. One of them gave a soft little whine, more out of habit than need. Eleanor sat at the table and looked at the wall. Then she thought of Daniel. No clear reason, no obvious trigger. He simply appeared in her mind the way overdue tasks sometimes do—the kind you’ve meant to get to for a long time and keep putting off.
She didn’t pick up the phone. But she couldn’t think about anything else either. On Tuesday’s list of chores, a line appeared that had never been there before. Eleanor wrote her lists in the evening: water the garden, finally fix the gate hinge, buy baking soda. Then she picked up the pen again and wrote at the bottom: call Daniel. Period. Closed the notebook.
In the morning she read that line, drank half a mug of tea, read it again. Gray was racing an old mitten around the crate, which Eleanor had tossed in there yesterday for lack of a better toy. Quiet lay beside him pretending none of it concerned him.
Eleanor picked up the phone, found “Daniel” in her contacts—the number had been entered three years ago when he changed phones—and set the phone back down on the table. She got up, washed the dishes. Wiped the sink. Hung up the towel. Came back. Picked up the phone again.
Seven rings. Eleanor counted.
— Hello? — Daniel’s voice was sleepy, a little rough, though it was nearly ten in the morning.
— It’s Grandma, — Eleanor said.
He was silent for about two seconds. Eleanor could hear him, on the other end, probably sitting up in bed.
— Grandma, hey, — he said. — Everything okay?
There was caution in his voice, carefully covered but still there, like a floorboard creaking under a rug: if she’s calling first, something must be wrong. That was the logic they both knew.
— Everything’s fine, — Eleanor said. — I just called.
The silence on his end lasted exactly long enough to say he didn’t believe her. Eleanor heard that silence as clearly as if he had spoken.
— I found wolf pups, — she said. — Been raising them for almost two weeks.
That was not what she had meant to say first. But it was what came out.
Daniel came awake immediately, the way people do when the news turns out not to be about illness, money, or the roof.
— Wait, — he said, and from the sound of him he had gotten up and started moving somewhere. — What do you mean, wolf pups? Alive?
— Alive, — Eleanor said. — Two of them. Found them in a sack hanging from the chokecherry by the creek.
— Grandma… — He clearly didn’t know where to begin. — Those are wild animals. They’re going to grow up. Isn’t that dangerous?
— I know, — Eleanor said. — I’ll turn them over to a rehab center. Waiting list is six months.
— So you’re doing this for six months? — Daniel asked. Not accusing. Genuinely startled, the way people sound when a fact opens up in front of them unexpectedly.
— Apparently, — Eleanor said.
It was one of her old work words, the kind she used to use in bookkeeping when a line item was still under review. Daniel used to mimic it when he was younger, stretching out the word and wrinkling his nose. This time he didn’t. He just went quiet for a moment. The silence was different now from the one at the start of the call. Not wary. Just quiet.
— I’m working on my thesis, — Daniel said. — It’s rough.
He offered that on his own, without her asking.
— What’s it on?
