One Door From Heaven

would be good socializing if he asked for a Kleenex and then faked a huge funny horn-honk of a blow to amuse her.
        Before Curtis can decide this thorny question, Ms. Tavenall throws her tissue in a waste can, rises from her chair, blinks back her tears as best she can, and says to Noah, "The other issue may be more difficult. It's not simply a matter of writing a check."
        "His aunt and uncle have legal guardianship," Noah says, "but I'm pretty sure they'd be willing to relinquish it. They parked him in that care home after his parents died, and they never see him. He embarrasses them. I think the issue will be… financial."
        "Bastards," she says.
        This somewhat shocks Curtis because he has until now been under the impression that she is too much of a lady to know the meaning of such words.
        "Well," she continues, "I've got good attorneys. And maybe I can pour a little charm on these people."
        "You?" Curtis says. "Oh, Ms. Tavenall, call me a hog and butcher me for bacon if you couldn't drown them in charm anytime you wanted."
        She laughs, if a little oddly, and tells him that he's a lovely boy, and he's just about to reply to the effect that he never was the sassy-assed, spit-in-the-eye malefactor that some have accused him of being, when Jilly races into the study with a white rag in his teeth, pursued by Rosie and Old Yeller.
        Apparently, Jilly felt left out when the game was tug-rope-for-two. He's found this rag and has somehow convinced his playmates that it is a better toy. Now they must have it, must have it, must, must, must.
        "Jilly, here!" Ms. Tavenhall commands, and Jilly at once obeys, wiggling with delight as he approaches his mistress. "Give me that, you silly pooch."
        Denied their must-have, the three dogs plop onto the carpet, panting from their play, grinning at one another.
        "Since the congressman proved to be what he proved to be," Ms.
        Tavenall explains to Noah, "I've been throwing out a lot of things. I certainly don't want any mementos. Jilly must have snatched this from the trash."
        The rag isn't a rag, after all, but a T-shirt. On it are printed four words and an exclamation point. The dot of the exclamation point is in the form of a small green heart.
        Reading the words on the T-shirt, remembering the man from whom Old Yeller had stolen a sandal along the interstate highway in Utah, Curtis says, '"Love is the answer.'"
        "It's true, I suppose," Ms. Tavenall says, "even when it's said by people who don't mean it."
        Rising from his chair, Curtis Hammond shakes his head. "No, ma'am. If we're talking about the answer, then that's not it. The answer, the whole big enchilada, is a lot more complex than that. Love alone is an easy answer, and easy answers are what usually lead whole worlds into ruin. Love is part of the answer, sure, but just part. Hope is another part, and courage, and charity, and laughter, and really seeing things like how green pine trees look after a rain and how the setting sun can turn a prairie into molten gold glass. There are so many parts to the answer that you couldn't possibly squeeze them all onto a T-shirt."
        TIME PASSES as always time does, and the caravan settles one late-spring afternoon in a campground near a lazy river, where willow trees stencil filigrees of shadow on the purling water.
        As dinnertime approaches, they bring blankets, hampers loaded with delicious things, and numerous dog toys to a grassy bank, where frogs sing and butterflies dance in sunlight as ochery as old brass.
        Polly brings her Diana, a beautiful black Labrador. Cass has her Apollo in tow; he's a handsome yellow Lab.
        Here is Noah with a big old goofy mutt named Norman, and the cocker spaniel, Ladybug, is the sister-become of Richard Velnod, alias Rickster.
        Aunt Gen, Micky, and Leilani are accompanied by Larry, Curly, and Moe. These three golden retrievers are actually female dogs, but Aunt Gen chose the names.
        Larry, Curly, and Moe were all obtained through golden-retriever rescue organizations. In the past, all three were abused, neglected, abandoned, but they are happy dogs now, with lustrous coats and quick tails and soulful eyes.
        The other dogs were all rescued from pounds, and their pasts are filled with suffering, too, though you wouldn't know it to watch them chase balls, leap for Frisbees, and