She stopped at a small convenience store called “Roush’s Bait Shop,” which sold more beer than bait. There was a group of old men huddled around the ancient coal stove inside, smoking and chewing the fat, just like at her dad’s service station. They all knew Hannah, of course; before she quit smoking she used to join them on many a cold, snowy day. Owners Fred and Fanny Roush were working behind the counter. Fred was running the register and Fanny was deep frying fish and chips for a lunch order. Fanny motioned Hannah back around the counter. “Hi, honey,” Fanny said. “The fella who reported the dog said it had a collar but no tags, and was real friendly like. It’s hanging around the roadside picnic spot between here and Fleurmania.” Hannah thanked her but declined the free order of french fries Fanny scooped up for her. Her stomach felt queasy. She bought a package of hotdogs to use to catch the stray.
