Four generations of Alice’s family before her. And one after. Their daughter. All here.

Alice thinks of Ed’s warning about approaching strange dogs. This one isn’t so strange, except for his eyes. He is now fully engaged in rump wagging and whining for more roast beef. He prances on tiny Muppet paws, making little chuffing noises of hope. His plumy tail gracefully waves in the warm September air. He’s an unusual color, deep gray, with a white ruff and black streaks here and there in his coat, like someone with a wet paint brush got too close. He looks like a miniature Lassie painted all the wrong colors.

“Ed’ll kill me for sure.” Using the last piece of beef, Alice entices the dog to the sliding door on the passenger side of the van and opens it up. “Get in.” As if he expected nothing less, the dog hops right onto the middle bench, turns around three times, and curls up. Alice slams the door shut and goes around to the driver’s side. A car passes her, slowing down to see if she needs help. It’s their next-door neighbor, Mr. Fry. Alice waves him on. No problem here.

Not yet.

* * *

The woman gives him meat. From her fingers. He wants a slice of the cheese he can smell in its plastic wrapper, but she doesn’t offer him that. As a dog, he seldom gets to choose. Usually, things are just the way they are. Out now. Eat then. If offered meat and cheese, take both. Maybe there is choosing in where to bed down for the night—in his bed or in Justine’s. Snooze on the couch or in front of the sliding glass door where the sun beats in at noon on cold days. But other than that, Mack has never made a deliberate, meaningful choice in his life. Even living with Justine wasn’t a choice. It wasn’t his choice that she disappeared.

When the woman talks to him, Mack feels soothed, a little of the anxiety smoothed over by a woman’s voice. He is lonely. He’s never spent more than a few hours alone. No one is here to tell him what to do, and he is nervous. Justine hasn’t come, and he’s been here, in this down-stay spot, for what even a dog knows is a long time. So when this woman speaks sweetly to him, calling him “doggy,” Mack knows that he has a real choice. If he jumps into the van, he is leaving Justine behind. She won’t be able to follow his scent. But if he stays here, waiting for her to find him, he will die.

He stands at the open door, nerves making him yawn.

“Go on, then, hop in.” The woman’s voice is gentle. Maybe she knows where Justine is and is taking him there. With that thought, Mack leaps into the car.

12

“Alice, this is not a good idea.” Ed leans over to place both palms on the kitchen table, pressing his weight against the surface. The dog stands in the center of the room, tongue lolling out, almond-shaped eyes focused firmly on Ed’s face. Ed can’t decide if the gaze is friendly or judgmental; the odd eyes study him, minute flickers of movement at Ed’s changes of expression, as if they’re having a subtle conversation without words. When Ed straightens up, the dog’s muzzle lifts, his blue-and-brown focus penetrating. Little smudgy circles of black against the silvery fur of his forehead act like tiny eyebrows, giving him a quizzical expression that is very nearly human.