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the roads I drove for so many years, until we arrived
at Beeches Avenue and parked outside my house. I already felt a pang of
nostalgia.
    You’ve
haven’t been away long, Tiff, you sappy idiot.
    I
had not let go of Royal but Jack and Mel scrambled to grab him. Out of the
truck we went, plastered all over him. His steps lagged as he walked the path
to my door. Did he dread going in when he would not find me there?
    Then
why come?
    Royal
took a key from his pocket, opened the door and his mouth stretched in an
unconvincing smile. His voice dropped to a low croon. “Hey, Mac! Mac-boy!”
    Mac-boy? Jack mouthed.
    Those
tears which were not there made my eyes swim. Royal came to tend to my boy, perhaps
the bravest thing I’d known him do. Entering my house without me there, risking
a chunk out of his ankle, for my sake, took guts.
    “I
can’t watch,” said Mel as Royal went along the hall to the kitchen.
    He
peeped around the doorframe. “Hey, Mac.”
    My
little man-hater—well, Mac does not discriminate: men, women, anything with
legs; an ankle is an ankle, whether it wears pants, boots or hose—sat under the
kitchen table. He cocked his head, perked his ears and walked to Royal with his
tongue lolling in a big doggy smile.
    Royal
went to his knees and scratched Mac behind his ears.
    Shocked,
I released Royal’s aura. “Well I’ll be damned.”
    After
half a minute of scratching, Mac scuttled to the pantry and eyed the door
expectantly. Royal went over there, got Mac’s bowl off the shelf and scooped
kibble from the bag. He put the brimming bowl on the floor and Mac dived in.
    “I
should have known.” I puffed out a breath. “All these years . . . cupboard
love.”
    Jack
said, “The little beast has learned a new appreciation of your guy now he’s the
one handing out the chow.”
    “Don’t
be upset,” Mel said.
    I
scowled. “I’m not upset.” Not biting the hand which feeds you didn’t mean Mac
changed his loyalties.
    “No,
not you. Your face crunches up like that naturally.”
    I
made my forehead smooth and headed for Royal. He stood with Mac, waiting for
him to finish his food, which didn’t take long. Royal took the bowl to the
sink.
    I
sank in a crouch. “Mac. Come on, baby.”
    Mac
snuffled at the floor for invisible crumbs.
    “Guess
he can’t hear you, Tiff,” Mel said softly.
    My
boy sometimes sensed Jack and Mel, but not me. How much of this being
incorporeal could I stomach before I lost my mind? I couldn’t comfort my man,
couldn’t touch my dog. I wanted to curl over on the floor and beat it with my
fist.
    “He
can’t possibly taste anything he eats, it goes down too fast.” Jack folded his
arms. “His taste buds must have atrophied by now.”
    Mac’s
head jerked up. A threatening rumble developed in his belly. With a snarl, he
flung his stocky body at Jack.
    I
happened to be in the way and my lad went through me. Although I felt nothing,
I still cringed.
    Royal
spun to face us. “Jack? Mel?”
    After
a second, Jack stuttered, “What? Did you. . . ? He. . . .”
    I
couldn’t get a word out either.
    “He
must be desperate,” Mel said.
    Why
did Royal say their names aloud? He never acknowledged their presence,
now he called to them.
    Jack
tore to Royal. He clasped his hands as he looked into Royal’s face. “I’m here,
honey-pie.”
    I
chortled. “Back off, Jack. He’s taken.”
    Royal’s
wide shoulders sagged and he shook his head, a wry smile twisting his lips. He came
across the kitchen to Mac and stooped over. “I have to get going.” He stroked
one of Mac’s ears, then the other. “You must go outside for a minute.”
    Royal
went across the kitchen, raised the pet door and opened the back door, for
although Mac used the pet door to come inside, he refused to go out through it.
Mac trotted outside and Royal shut the door.
    He
sat at the kitchen table, a faraway look in his eyes until Mac trundled back in.
Royal jumped up and snagged the towel off the peg by the