“You know I don’t have it, or didn’t you just see me pay Al?”

I don’t have my knights with me, so I end negotiations. “You are a piece of work. Get out of my sight.”

I stand aside as Artie guns the big engine and laboriously emerges from the open bay. Cranking through the gears, he makes his way to the exit and pulls away.

I need to get back on the road. Paul and Adele will be gnashing their teeth at my absence. I’m sure they’ll want her car back sooner rather than later. But there is something else I need to do. Before I pull out from between the rigs, I call Tony. He’s never met this grandfather, but he needs to know that he’s lost one.

Typically, his phone goes to voice mail. Is this the kind of message you leave on voice mail? In this case, it is. “Tony, your grandfather died today. Peacefully, I think. I don’t know the plans yet, but I guess I’ll be heading home soon.”

I should point this car west. But I don’t have my duffel, and I don’t relish being accused of being a car thief. I find the eastbound Pike entrance and collect my ticket. Even before I reach sixty-five miles per hour, I have to pull over onto the shoulder. Cars whiz by me and Adele’s car is shaken by the backwash of a semi like a mini earthquake. How in God’s name could Mack have survived this?

I am awash in tears, snot runs down my nose, and I bury my head in my arms, hoping that no well-meaning Samaritan knocks on my window. What would I say? As a human being, I should say that I’m crying for my father, for his merciful death. But I’m not weeping for that. I am weeping for Mack, for his loss, for imaging the worst death right here on this road.

The car rocks violently with the rush of traffic. I have no tissue and I’m reduced to using my sleeve to wipe up the mess. I fumble in Adele’s glove compartment and find some Kleenex. I am choking on the fear that my dancing dog is dancing in heaven.

Chapter 39

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