Analemma whined as she sniffed around the kitchen, and I realized she was looking for Joan. Then she started to lick the tomatoes off the floor. “Analemma!” I cried, and she looked up guiltily for one second before going right back to what she was doing. I told Aunt Tammy I had to go and pulled Analemma by her collar out of the kitchen.

Steph was standing in the living room, looking at the mess. “This is a lot,” she said. “Do you need some help?”

“I’ll have to deal with it later,” I said. “I have to take Analemma out.”

“I can come with you.”

I felt a surge of relief that embarrassed me, because I didn’t want to be clingy but I also didn’t want to be alone. “Okay,” I said.

Downstairs at the front door I clipped on Analemma’s leash and took her outside. Once we were in the yard she relaxed and started nosing at the plants. Steph followed us out, and then we all went down to the street.

“We don’t have to go far,” I said, opening the gate.

There were only a couple of streetlights down here, spaced fairly far apart, so the woods were quite dark. Analemma was a deeper blackness against the pavement. I looked up, wondering if I’d be able to see any stars, but they were blocked by the leaves overhead. I could only see a fraction of the moon.

We paused by a curb that seemed to be particularly fascinating to Analemma, and while she smelled every inch of the ground, my thoughts went back to my grandmother in the hospital. She had looked so lost and confused, as if she were no longer Joan West at all.

I didn’t realize I’d started shaking until Steph put her arms around me. “It’s okay,” she told me, her voice muffled in my hair. Her hands stroked my back gently. “It’s okay.”

—

It took us a while to clean up the tomato remains. I told Steph she could go home but she said she wanted to help. We worked together in silence. My clothes were already stained, so I did most of the cleaning in the kitchen while Steph wiped up the footprints on the living room floor. Analemma had left paw prints on the floor of my room, too, but she must have licked off most of the tomato because her paws were clean.

By the time we were finished, it was almost two in the morning, and I was covered with even more tomato stains than before. Analemma had fallen asleep in her bed in front of the cold woodstove, emitting faint, regular snores.

“To be a dog,” Steph said, smiling.

“If only.” I rubbed a hand over my face. “Thanks for helping.”

“No problem.” Steph tapped a finger against her own face. “Uh, you might want to check yourself out in the mirror.”