Ed boots it up and finds YouTube on the Web. He doesn’t even log on to Alice’s new account, just types in “dog dancing,” and public videos crop up, a long line of “dancing” titles, including theirs: “Dog Dancing with Buddy.” Ed is annoyed at Jen for not safeguarding their privacy and keeping this one-and-a-half-minute clip inaccessible. The nerve. These kids nowadays think that everything should be out there, available to all. The fact that it pops up almost at the top just means that more people will see it. But Ed isn’t looking for Buddy’s clip. He scrolls down slowly until he comes to the image of the other Sheltie.

The light from the monitor glows like a lamp in the rain-gloomy room. This is a neutral space. A bed is set up for the rare overnight visitor, but otherwise it serves, as it always has done, as a sewing room, a computer room, a room where they keep off-season clothing in the good-size closet. North-facing, it is never as bright as the other bedrooms. Because they have this room, they never had to change a thing in Stacy’s room. All the bits and pieces that belonged to her that had drifted into other parts of the house have long since been moved back to her room. The torn athletic shorts, now mended, are in the bureau drawer. All the tiny patterns Alice used to make toddler clothes and the remnants of homemade Halloween costumes are all packed away. There is nothing of their daughter in any room except her own.

*   *   *

They called it “depression.” A common-enough word. A meteorological word, a financial word. An emotional word. Apparently, a treatable word with the right drugs. Drugs for a child.

Drugs that came with a booklet of contraindications.

*   *   *

Ed clicks on the image of the dog that looks like Buddy. A showy announcer’s voice booms, “Introducing Justine Meade and her wonder dog, Maksim.” At first, there’s only the woman, a tall, lithe-looking woman dressed in a stretchy white suit with sequins sparkling in the lights. The Beatles’ familiar song “Help” begins and she mimics loneliness. Suddenly, the dog, her dog, races into the spotlight and teases her into action. He leaps and spins and literally sails up and over her back. At the end, the announcer repeats their names: “Justine Meade of Seattle, Washington, and her Sheltie, Maksim. Good job, Justine and Mack!”

Buddy is sitting behind Ed, looking every bit like he wants to watch this video, too. His ears are on the alert and he keeps his eye on Ed, waiting for some signal, waiting for some action. Ed looks at the still image of the dancing Sheltie. Both of the dog’s eyes are visible. Unmistakable.

“Mack?”

*   *   *