51

They take the Cutlass because Buddy can sit between them. As they pass the cemetery, for once he doesn’t whine, but instead flops down and puts his head in Alice’s lap. She strokes his ears gently, thoughtfully, not saying anything to Ed, too much needing to be said.

They take the Pike, then get off on Interstate 91, heading north. Ed seems to have a plan, so Alice watches the scenery go by and lets him be in charge. It takes too much energy even to wonder where they’re going. Ed exits at Northampton, asks her if she wants to stop for lunch. She shakes her head no. They continue through town slowly, dodging a constant gauntlet of collegians crossing the wide main street.

It is too much like losing Stacy, and that is a blasphemous thought. How can losing a child in any way be equated to giving up a dog? But the sorrow is there, the same taste of loss. The same weighted limbs and difficulty keeping the breath in her body. She shouldn’t have allowed herself to want Buddy. She should have pushed him away. She should have kept Ed away. But Buddy has joined them back together. After being broken shards, cutting each other with every glance, the sense of being cup and saucer again has been good. If Buddy goes, when Buddy goes, what will become of that newly repaired bond?

Their route takes them through the Smith College campus and beyond, past Cooley Dickinson Hospital, until they enter Florence and Alice realizes where they are going—to Look Park. It has been years since they visited the park with its little zoo and the miniature train that circles around it. They spent many a summer Sunday at Look Park, swimming and walking the trails, picnicking on a basket stuffed with their favorite picnic food—cold chicken and potato salad, Jell-O salad, and, at Stacy’s request, Ring Dings for dessert. They’d visit the zoo twice, once to say hello and once to say good-bye. A dime bought a handful of feed for the goats. Once one of the goats knocked Stacy down, but she got up, dusted herself off, and announced that the goat was sorry and wouldn’t do it again, then asked if she could have more feed.

“Do you remember how Stacy would always call out ‘Look! Park!’ when we saw the gates?” Ed signals to get in line at the entrance. There are hundreds of cars; even for a spectacular September Sunday, that seems like a lot.

“I remember. She never got tired of the joke.”

Ahead of them is a van hauling a small trailer holding a big wicker basket. “Hey, Alice, I think I know what’s going on.”

“I think you’re right.”

“The balloon festival. We always promised Stacy that we’d let her go up in the tether ride, just as soon as she got big enough to see over the edge of the basket.”

“How come we never did that?”

“Got busy with other things, forgot about it. I don’t think we’ve been here since she was eleven.”

They are talking about Stacy. They almost never speak of her. Only the strangled admission of missing her on those days when the grief rises like the immutable tide. Never like this, conversationally.

Ed finds a parking spot on the edge of the field and they sit for a few minutes, watching the balloonists set up. Each group has what seems like acres of silk stretched out on the ground. Oranges, yellows, black, and lime green—the hues are like a giant’s spilled paint box. Ed squares his ball cap on his head. “Come on.”

Buddy trots along beside Alice, obviously excited to be in a new place. He keeps looking at her to make sure she’s there, then puts his nose to the ground to sniff up the myriad scents of new people, dogs, and dropped hot dogs. Ed leads them to a booth advertising tether rides.

“Really, Ed?”

Ed wraps an arm around her shoulders, squeezing her close. “Yes, really. We always said we would, and now we are.”

“We said we’d take Stacy.”

“And we are.”

“What do you mean?”

“We have to believe that she is always with us. Wherever we are, whenever we speak of her, or don’t speak of her, she’s still with us. She’s here because we remember her being here. We’ll take her with us on that promised balloon ride because we will both be thinking of her.”

*   *   *

Buddy is enjoying himself immensely. This place is laden with new scents. He’s greeted two dogs, both very interested in him. Nice guys, also leash-restricted, but not discouraged from saying hi. Buddy thinks that maybe this is a dance place. Even though it is outside, the people and the dogs here all have that special excitement that emanates from people and dogs doing fun things. Alice and Ed are slipping him treats as they wander around. They are touching, and the worry that Alice showed earlier has subsided, although he can still smell it. They stand still for a long time as one of the objects on the ground begins to move. Buddy growls, but the people don’t seem afraid, so he stands quietly as they ooh and aah as the thing slowly grows huge, making a constant roar. It is finally upright and a stranger takes Buddy’s leash out of Alice’s hand. Unbelievably, Ed and Alice climb into the object, which isn’t a car and isn’t a truck, but it roars with a breathy violence that makes him think of Artie. Buddy locks eyes on Alice, who calls out to him, “Be a good boy.”

Gradually, Ed and Alice rise into the air, so high above him that he can’t see them anymore. At once, the sense of being lost descends on him and he whines softly, all the while keeping his eyes on the balloon.

Ed and Alice didn’t tell him down-stay. Didn’t tell him to be quiet. They handed his leash to this stranger and left him. He can’t see them, can’t smell them, and can’t hear them. He is surrounded by these objects with their noise, by strangers and confusion. The nervousness and fear that living with Alice and Ed has made go away suddenly grip him and he can only bark, a sharp volley of panic.