We pull into his complex and I park in front of his building.
Bear chews on the inside of his cheek, making his mustache twitch. "A lot of things."
"Like what?" I know I’m pushing, but I can't help it.
I want to know more about him. I want to know everything. I see it all bubbling away inside him, unexpressed as if he just doesn’t know how to let it out.
"I've done bad things, Noelle."
I twist in the seat to face him. "Are you going to hurt me?"
He frowns. "Never."
I shrug and smile. "Okay, then. I believe you. I feel it. I know it's true. I told you, already; I'm not scared of you."
"If you knew what I’d done…"
I swallow hard. “Gloria, she…she didn’t mean to, but she sort of let it slip that you had a murder conviction. That's what she was so scared of that day we met."
Bear growls a sigh. "Manslaughter and armed robbery."
"I don't really know the difference."
A shrug. "Degrees of severity and levels of intent."
"Will you tell me about it?"
He frowns at me. "You really wanna know?"
“Yeah, I do."
At that moment, Panzer whines in his throat and gives a soft little whuff.
"He's gotta go, I think. Need to walk him."
“Okay. We can walk and talk."
We get out, and Bear gathers the leash, food and water bowls, and the small bag of kibble and deposits it all on the bottom step leading up to his unit.
Leash in hand, Bear pats his thigh. "Fuss."
Instantly, Panzer, who was waiting in the backseat with the door open, bounds out of the car, leaving it rocking on its springs, and halts at Bear's right leg.
"Gosh, he'sreallywell-trained, isn't he?"
Bear nods. "Very."
We amble unhurriedly along the narrow strip of grass between the parking lot and the road circling the complex; after a few hundred feet, Panzer lifts his leg to piddle on a maple sapling. A few feet farther down, he squats to drop a dookie the size of a chihuahua. Bear digs a plastic bag from his pocket and scoops it up, twists the bag a few times, turns it inside out to put another layer of plastic around the yuck, and ties it off.
We continue on in easy silence—I can tell, somehow, that Bear is thinking about what to say, so I give him the space to think.
Ahead, a fat raccoon waddles away from the fenced-off dumpster; Panzer's whole body tightens, quivering, ears flicked upright and swiveled forward, tail stiff, but he doesn't leave Bear's heel, a soft whine his only protest.
"Braver Hund, Panzer," Bear mutters, once the raccoon is out of sight.
The dog looks up at him and whuffs quietly.
"He's amazing," I say. "I thought for sure that raccoon was dinner."
