When only Artie got back into the cab, Mack merely opened one eye. He isn’t a big fan of the guy, but that’s mostly because of the stink of his cigarettes and the fact that the man ignores him. Mack is more accustomed to having Justine’s males be friendly, sometimes even presenting offerings. Good stuff, like rawhide chews and squeaky toys. This guy just talks and smokes and, once in a while, gets too close to Justine. That’s when Mack will find a reason to squeeze himself onto Justine’s lap. No need to show teeth, just be there, a reminder that he is in charge, that she is his person.

Artie lights up another cigarette, not even rolling the window down to release the smoke. Mack tucks his nose deeper under his tail, his jack-in-the-pulpit ears turning like miniature radar detectors to catch the sound of Justine’s feet on the pavement. Artie drums on the steering wheel, fidgets with the arrangement of knickknacks on the dashboard, cranks down his window, and ejects the butt of his cigarette. “Goddamn. She’s pushin’ me.”

Mack keeps still. He wishes Artie would be quiet so that he can listen better for Justine. The dog lifts his head to sniff the air as the window goes down, but the cigarette stink is an impenetrable barrier, obscuring even the fresh air outside, and Artie’s head blocks his view. She’ll come. Justine will be back. She always comes back.

The first day that he lived with Justine, he learned that lesson. A mere baby, a pup of few weeks, he’d been taken away from his mother, his littermates, and the only human hands he’d ever known. He was boxed and carried to Justine. When she took him up and rubbed her inadequate human nose against his pointy one, he fell in love. And then she left him, putting him back in the box that would be his cave, his home, until he outgrew it. Then she came back and let him out. Fed him, cuddled him on the couch, named him. He never worried about her absence again.

Mack is startled back into full awareness as Artie hollers a stream of tongue language that Mack doesn’t recognize word for word, but he gets the meaning. The man is angry. There is no one here for him to be angry at, unless he’s angry at him, so Mack shrinks even more into the dim closet of a bunk. Suddenly, Artie starts the truck, and the rumbling vibration of the big engine fills the air. The gears grind and the truck moves forward. Justine isn’t here. Maybe Artie is going to find her. Mack’s soft whine is shadowed by the sound of the diesel engine. They pull away from the other trucks and shoot down the TA access road. In a minute, they are back on the highway. Justine is not there.

2

“You don’t have his plate number? I can’t have every truck with a green cab stopped before it leaves Ohio. I’m sorry about your dog. If the guy gets pulled over, we can maybe get the dog.”