A rush of despair rocks Ed with its suddenness. His whole life is calibrated by seasonal machinery. He thinks of that song: Is that all there is? Some singer with a sexy, husky voice. He can only recall that single line in the chorus, and it orbits through his mind: Is that all there is? Is that all there is?

Ed pulls himself upright. It’s only from bending over that he’s gotten these weird feelings. There’s nothing wrong. It’s fine. Mostly, day-to-day life is fine.

Suddenly, the dog is beside him, the silly squeaky toy gripped in his teeth, and he’s shaking it furiously, as if it’s a rodent. The thing squeaks like a mouse, so the pretense is pretty understandable.

“Hey, you wanna play? Gimma that thing!” Ed pries the toy out of the dog’s mouth and plays a little hand-to-hand keep away. The dog actually looks like he’s laughing and he rears up like a pony, catching the hydrant in midair as Ed tosses it.

The dog drops the toy at Ed’s feet, looks up with expectation, and then sits. “You’re such a good boy. Are you my good boy?” Ed swoops down and gives the dog a hug, burying his nose in the white fur of his ruff. “Who’s a good boy?”

*   *   *

At the top of the stairs, Alice watches Ed play with the dog. She hears the baby talk and thinks that his friends would think that Ed had lost his mind. He doesn’t look the baby talk type. But he is. When she couldn’t soothe the baby, Ed always could. Stacy held close in big arms, against a wide chest, a whispered lullaby. “If that mocking bird don’t sing, Daddy’s gonna buy you a diamond ring.”

Who’s my little baby girl?

*   *   *