The dog was waiting beside the headstone.
“You knew, didn’t you?” I asked.
He stood slowly.
For the first time, he did not keep his distance.
I began walking, and he fell into step beside me. His fur brushed my knee as we left the cemetery and followed the sidewalk through town.
He led me past the closed bakery, past the laundromat, and toward a low building with a faded sign.
A storage facility.
I had driven past it countless times without ever noticing it.
Inside the office, a thin man in a green cap looked up from his coffee.
“Can I help you?”
“I’m looking for a storage unit,” I said. “It may be under my sister’s name. Marlene Callahan.”
He typed for a moment.
“Unit 34,” he said. “Paid on time for six years.”
My heart began to pound.
“Can I see it?”
He hesitated. “Your sister is the only person listed on the account.”
