Leland sat on the edge of the bed with his dog in his arms. He wanted for just a moment to smell her breath, and when he realized he couldn’t, he bit down on his lip again, until his whole body shook with it.

He might have sat that way for an hour. It was hard to measure time. There was that strange throb of giant engines all around him, and a mechanical percussion that was terribly like a heartbeat.

When he couldn’t take it anymore, he brought his canvas duffle bag onto the floor, and lowered Nanette into it, careful that she wouldn’t hit her head. Her brother sprang up with the sound of the zipper, shaking himself, and diving to the deck. He wagged his tail furiously, eyes darting from Leland to the hand on the zipper. Leland paused.

“You should say goodbye, maybe,” Leland whispered.

Boy took a couple of small, prancelike steps forward, tail beating against the bulkhead, and then he sniffed his sister’s chest, and gave a quick lick to her lips, and jumped away.

Leland gently finished closing the bag. The moment he put the strap over his shoulder and stood, Boy erupted into furious barking.

“Quiet,” Leland said.

He didn’t stop. He was pressing into his front paws and barking upward, snout pointing at the bag, as insistent as if there were an enemy in the camp.

“I know,” Leland said, “I know. Quiet.” But he could never make this dog mind him, that he knew. So he turned on his heel and left the room, locking the door and putting one foot in front of the other.

…

There was music coming from the foredeck, and, mindlessly, he wandered away from it. He wanted to be alone the moment he put Nanette to rest. So he went to the aft deck.

There was one woman standing against the railing. He could see her outline in the moonlight. She was bundled up against the cold. Behind her, the moonlight spilled across the water, sparkling like a promise of jewels. He stood for some time, quiet, unsure of himself. He wanted more than anything for a moment of kindness. He stood on the deck, shuffling his feet and projecting dire human need so loudly she seemed to sense him, and turned around. Embarrassed to be caught looking, he nodded at her.

He stepped closer. She was young, just a girl; her hair might have recently been in braids. But it hung straight and long and black around a serious face he thought he’d seen before. She was looking at him in an evaluative way that made him uncomfortable.

“Hello,” he said, clearing his throat. He hadn’t spoken to another person in days, he realized, and surfacing into company so abruptly made him want to leave.