“Please.” She keeps her hand tight on her husband’s arm. “It’s not far.”

Mack has been running around us, his excitement almost like that of a little kid at Christmas.

We open our car doors at the same time. “Mack, in.” Panting from his crazy, happy run, Mack looks at me and then at them. The confusion is clear on his face, his little eyebrows giving him a perplexed expression. A question of loyalty.

“Mack, in.” He doesn’t obey. It can’t be that a few weeks without class has turned my award-winning dog into a slacker. He utters a soft whine, and it hits me: Mack needs to say good-bye too.

*   *   *

“It’s the right thing to do, Justine.” Mitch pats my knee.

“So why do I feel like a villain here? Mack is my dog, my companion. I do understand how they could get attached, but really, folks, enough is enough.”

The Cutlass pulls ahead and we follow. It is too easy to read the lettering on the headstone where they were standing when we arrived. The chrysanthemums are beautiful, but they don’t obscure their daughter’s name. And the brevity of her life.

“It’ll be okay. They’re grown-ups.” Mitch covers my hand and I bunch my fingers together so that we don’t end up holding hands. “Besides, from what you’ve told me about Mack, you can certainly understand their feelings.”

All I understand is that I have Mack fur on my vest and he’s in another car, disappearing into a garage bay.

*   *   *

Inside, Alice grabs a grocery bag and starts putting in dog food, Frontline, heartworm pills, three stuffed bears, four squeaky toys, and a bowl decorated with tiny hydrants. She moves quickly, as if the touch of each object burns.

“Really, you don’t have to give all this to me.”

“What do I want with it?” Her voice has that glottal thickness to it of a woman on the verge of tears. “Ed, will you see what’s in the living room?” She sets the bag on the floor, as if the weight of it is too much.

Ed comes back with another chew toy. “This is all I can find.” Alice takes it out of his hand and adds it to the plastic bag.

Mack shoves his nose in the bag and hauls out a stuffie, which he begins to thrust at me. I know this game, a gentle tug-of-war, and I grab the end of the toy, pulling hard against his resistance. When I let go, Mack doesn’t continue the game with me, but shoves it into Alice’s hand. She tugs back, but her eyes are on me. Mack lets go and Alice clutches the toy like a baby.

Mitch stands close by and Mack is sniffing him all over, trying to figure out who this new man is.