There is another silence. I lean toward the wall, press the charger cord deeper into the phone. Wait.

“I hope so. That’s why I need you here.”

I fled that house as soon as I could, bitter and heartbroken. And yet I am going back, dutiful daughter to a man who turned his back on me when I needed him most.

“Tomorrow. I get into Boston at about nine-thirty. I’ll grab the first bus to New Bedford I can and be there maybe around noontime.”

“Good.” She never says hello and she certainly doesn’t say good-bye.

It doesn’t escape me that I am faced with making a choice. My desire is to find my dog. My self-imposed obligation is to go to my father. In both situations, timing is going to be everything. I could abandon my journey to New Bedford and focus on finding Mack, except that I hold on to a childish hope that, in showing up, in facing my father, I might get an apology, an acknowledgment that what he did to me when I was seventeen was wrong. I’m not sure if I want him to have the opportunity to clear his conscience; or is it more that I want the opportunity to forgive him? Ever since Adele called, I have run little dramatic scenes in my head. Deathbed hand-holding, my father begging my forgiveness for betraying me so long ago. My saying something that would bring us both peace. Some might call it a desire for closure. I guess so. You can’t live most of your life with anger your primary emotion.

I pull the phone-charger cord out of the wall and coil it around the plug. I have a half-full battery now, so at the very least I can keep dialing Artie. By this time, he must be close to his destination. It’s been over seven hours since he abandoned me and stole my dog. Without stops, going seventy—my math fails me again and I can only imagine that the distance between us is growing minute by minute and a thirteen-hour bus ride will never catch me up to him.

Fully armed with a recharged phone, I dial Candy. When she answers in her usual businesslike “Candy’s Place, proprietress speaking,” I almost burst into tears. With Candy, you always get the feeling she’ll fix the problem, whether it’s the leak under the sink or a customer complaint, a staff member’s broken heart or the need to get an ordinance against sticking advertising flyers under windshield wipers voted in. “Oh Candy, I’m in a fix.”

She listens without interruption. There’s a pause before she weighs in, a gentle, thoughtful pause. “Okay. Let’s see what we can do.” I lean back against the wet apron of the sink and allow a flutter of relief. “I’ll make a call or two, see if I can find out where Artie is going. You get on that bus and keep your phone on. Once we know where he’s going, we can call and have him held up there.”