A dog sprawled beside her, methodically dragging its tongue between legs splayed wide. Light slivered through an opening in the curtains. Beyond, a slice of jagged skyline. Mountains. The dog detached its face from its nether regions and leapt to its feet, tags jingling. Lola read them again. “Bub.” Mary Alice’s word. Mary Alice’s dog. It was real. Mary Alice was gone. Lola unzipped the sleeping bag and pushed herself upright, wove a path to the bathroom, swigged water, squirted toothpaste into her mouth and swished. Pain banged away behind her eyes. She tried to remember the last time she’d eaten. The bag of pretzels on the plane so laughably small she’d counted its contents. Nothing since. The dog keened at the door. Lola kicked out of her slippers, stashed her cash and other essentials in their assigned places in her clothing, and pulled on her boots, yanking the laces tight. She cracked the door. The dog shoved past her, the force jerking the knob from her hand. It hiked its leg against the tire of her rental car and pissed an endless stream.
