When the old keeper forgot one latch, the 400-pound silverback reached through the steel

in the back, a drain clicked. Winston’s breath came through the steel in slow, warm bursts, and Tom’s hand rested over the old silverback’s fingers as if he were afraid even that small contact might be taken if he shifted wrong.

“I know,” Tom said.

Winston gave the low, uneven call we had heard on the worst mornings.

Tom closed his eyes. “I know what continue reading …