The dog waited until I crouched down. Only then did he lower his head and place the object at my feet.
It was a stuffed rabbit.
The toy had once been gray, but dirt and age had turned it a dull brown. One ear had been chewed nearly in half.
I knew that ear.
My hands began to tremble.
“Where did you find this?”
The dog simply stared at me.
I picked up the rabbit. The fabric was stiff with dirt, but beneath it I could still recognize the familiar shape.
Ethan had slept with this rabbit almost every night of his childhood.
He had carried it from room to room, taken it on car trips, and refused to sleep without it. The toy had disappeared when he was six, during the months when Marlene looked after him several days a week.
I had searched everywhere.
I had emptied boxes, opened closets, and dug through the garage until my knees hurt. I had cried over that rabbit because, at the time, I could not cry over anything else.
