Listen! (9780062213358) by Stephanie S. Tolan

looking, not reading, till a photo stops her. It is a beaver, crouched in the water at the edge of the lake among some sort of leafy plants, its wet fur slicked back, silver water drops scattered along its back. It holds a piece of green plant in its front paws, its eyes staring straight off into the distance as if it has stopped eating to consider something.
    It is not a picture her mother could have taken when Charley was with her. As hard as she tried, she was never quiet enough for that. If a beaver heard the slightest sound, a twig breaking, a sigh or a cough or a sniffle, it would be gone with a resounding crack of tail against water. Charley doesn’t know how her mother stayed quiet enough. She never made a blind for herself, never hid from the animals she photographed. She just sat still and waited.
    â€œâ€˜To understand any living thing,’” the quotation on the facing page says, “‘you must creep within and feel the beating of its heart.’—W. Macneille Dixon.”
    Creep within and feel the beating of its heart . Yes. That’s what Charley wants to do with Coyote.
    The rain is still drumming on the roof, and she thinks of Coyote huddled under the Davises’ picnic table, taking what shelter he can from the rain. The Davises are probably home by now, probably have Sadie inside where she can be drying off. There is nowhere for Coyote to go to get dry. What is he feeling? What is he thinking? Do dogs think?
    She closes the book. Creep within and feel the beating of its heart . Impossible. She can’t even feel her own.

13
Miracle
    I t is early afternoon. Charley has eaten her lunch at the table on the gravel terrace down by the lake, where it is shady. While she ate, Sadie lay at her feet, hoping for a piece of sandwich. Coyote stayed under the camellia bush next to the terrace, as close to Sadie as he could get without getting too close to Charley. She has saved some crusts from her sandwich and now that she is finished, gives one to Sadie and throws the other to Coyote. He jumps up and backs away, as if it is a stone she’s thrown, but when Sadie starts over to get his crust, he snatches it before she can get near.
    Charley hears Bethanne Davis calling for Sadie from across the lake. Sadie’s ears prick up, but she keeps her eyes on Charley in case there are any more treats. “Sorry, girl,” Charley says. “That’s all there is. Guess you’ll just have to go home.”
    Bethanne calls again, and then Mrs. Davis whistles, and Sadie heads down to the water. She stands for a moment before starting across, her big, gold plume of a tail waving gently as she tries to decide whether to stay or go. When Bethanne calls once more, she jumps forward into the water and starts swimming.
    Coyote follows her to the lake, as always, and stands with his front feet in the water, watching Sadie swim. When she is about halfway across, he whines, but doesn’t start after her. She gets all the way across, climbs out of the water, shakes herself, and runs up the hill. Still Coyote doesn’t move. He will go any minute, Charley thinks. Of course he will. Much as he hates swimming, he always follows Sadie eventually.
    But he doesn’t. He stands awhile longer, looking toward where she has disappeared, and then turns around, goes back to the camellia bush, and lies down. Sadie has gone home and Coyote has stayed. He’s made a choice. Between Charley and Sadie, he’s chosen Charley.
    At first she doesn’t move. She is afraid if she does anything, makes even the slightest sound, he will realize what he’s done and take off.
    Liver . She needs to get him some liver, reward him for staying. Slowly, carefully, looking away from him every minute, she eases herself out of the chair and starts up to the house. “Good dog!” she says as she goes, her voice as low and soothing as she can make it. “Just stay there. Good old