It is Stacy’s birthday. It’s hard to fathom, but she would have turned twenty-two today. If it hadn’t happened, she would have been out of college. By now, Stacy would have had a fantastic career. She talked about becoming an archaeologist or a doctor. At ten, anything seemed possible; at thirteen, the choices were unlimited. Maybe she would have been engaged, or traveling through Europe with friends. Maybe all the things that everyone else’s child accomplishes by twenty-two would have been celebrated today. Maybe fifteen wouldn’t have marked the end of all dreams.

Buddy sits in what has become his place of choice, a corner of the kitchen where he’s out of the way and yet able to keep his eyes on her. It’s only when she’s done in the kitchen, heading off to make the bed or get the laundry together, that he settles on the couch to wait for the next event. Today, he follows her to the bedroom, sits in the doorway. Alice stuffs a tissue in the pocket of her jeans. Good dog. He’s watching her, little tipped ears cocked and listening as she breathes in one sigh after another. She sits on her bed and fights the urge to crawl back in, to draw the covers over her head and stare at the filtered light. Ed is out doing who knows what. Anything so as to not be in their house today. Anything to avoid her.

Maybe she should have arranged to work today, so that for a few hours she would have been forced to talk with people, hear the sound of voices other than those occupying her mind, reminding her of all that is lost. That’s what she should have done, but she looked at the schedule and never thought to ask for a different one. It’s hard enough on Sally to arrange the cobbled-together schedule so that everyone, part-timers and volunteers, gets what they want.

Buddy woofs softly from his place in the doorway. It’s an interrogatory woof, as if to ask her, Are we going to do anything today? He cocks his head, clearly wondering why she is sitting there. Even the dog knows that she never sits down until the last task is done. He woofs again, this time a little more insistently, a little more I need.

“Do you need to go out?”

The dog responds by standing up, shaking himself from the tip of his nose to the tip of his tail. Excited by her words, he does his little two-step prance.

“Okay.” Alice lets go of the blanket she’s balled up into her fists. “Let’s go.”