Den pushed himself up a bit more, and moved over. A searing pain jolted from his side, and he flinched a little, but he moved anyway to give Rory more room on the bed. It occurred to him again that she looked different. A bit more worn. Older. Den felt very sorry that whenever he saw her, he noticed that she was older. That wasn't something you were supposed to always notice about family.
His throat closed up. He swallowed. What Rory was asking were fair questions. She deserved and needed to know it all. She deserved and needed a great storyteller who could paint an entire picture for her, but then make her feel better about seeing it. Instead, Rory had him.
“Dog.” Den said. It had come out of nowhere, and it had come fast. Den should have seen it. It had been a great dane once. But it had just come so fast. And then it was on top of his dad, and Stacey was screaming, and Dennis had shot it, but then it was too late. Den should have seen it. But it had just come so fast. “He lasted 8 days. Then...” Den didn't go any further. He broke eye contact and looked down at the floor.
Den had been the one to shoot him. When all the symptoms popped up. When it became very clear. He'd had to pry Stace off. Drag her from the room. She'd banged on the door until someone took her away. 'Grandpa! Grandpa!' rang in a loop in Den's ears. She'd loved her grandfather. He called her 'Duchess.'
Afterwards, she'd flung her arms around Den's neck, and buried her head in his shoulder. She wouldn't let go. She cried for a whole day and a night. She wouldn't eat anything unless Den hand fed it to her. He'd rocked her back and forth, and kept brushing back the same strand of hair, while he talked in her ear for hours until his voice became too hoarse to understand and she knew everything in the world that he did. Then he'd croaked on. Then in the morning, she suddenly let go. She looked Den in the eye for the first time since she'd started whimpering and told him she was ready. That was the last time she ever cried. She was a tough little girl, that Stace. They hadn't had flowers, so she'd drawn some.
Den forced himself to look at Rory again. He wanted to be done on that tack, but there was one more thing. “He wanted....” Den said, then stopped. “He wanted you to know he was proud....He was proud.”