Ed takes the leash from the assistant and says, “What’s the matter, boy? Did you think we’d vanished into thin air?” Ed is kneeling, his face buried in the dog’s ruff. “We aren’t going anywhere. Don’t you worry, fella.”

Alice has her cell phone out. It’s not fair to keep this dog from his rightful owner any longer.

Ed is still on his knees. Alice reaches out and presses her fingers against him. “Jen? It’s Alice.” Alice keeps her hand on Ed’s back as she listens. “Tell them we’ll be home in a couple of hours.” Alice snaps her phone shut. “Buddy’s owner is with Jen. They’re waiting for us.”

Ed doesn’t speak, and she keeps her hand on him as he gets to his feet. The dog keeps his herd-dog eyes on their faces, looking from one to the other.

Back in the car, Alice fastens her seat belt. “It’s all right, Ed. Really.” She gathers Buddy up close to her. “We have no choice in the matter.” She can imagine the anguish this woman, this Justine, has been enduring. She knows something about loss, oh yes, she does. The feeling is fresh inside her, building up to a deadweight. But this time, she won’t blame Ed.

They make their way out of the park and back through Northampton. Ed takes the slower route home, skipping the highway and the Pike, making it a true Sunday drive through a countryside just beginning to show color. Buddy is between them, snoozing contentedly, happy to be back in the car with them.

“Ed, do you think we stop so I can water the mums”—then Alice says something that she’s never uttered before—“on Stacy’s grave?”

Ed is silent for half a mile. He strokes Buddy’s side, curling his fingers into the fur. “Sure.”

*   *   *

Buddy keeps his head in Alice’s lap, but his back feet are across Ed’s. He sighs, happy not to be lost. Reunited with Ed and Alice, riding in their car, going somewhere, going home. Alice tickles the inside of his ear; Ed plays with his feet when he’s not gripping the wheel. They are talking quietly, not sadly, but with a little inflection that tells Buddy they aren’t fully content. One word keeps coming out of their mouths, each time with a reverential softness: she. “When she…” “She used to…” “Did she ever…” “Do you remember how she…”