When a Scruffy Little Dog Refused to Let an Old Woman Disappear

We were hungry to matter to someone.

Three weeks after we first followed Barnaby through the snow, Clara’s daughter walked into the diner.

We didn’t know who she was at first.

She looked like someone who’d taken a red-eye flight and then ran straight from the airport—mid-fifties, sensible coat thrown over a wrinkled sweater, hair pulled back in a hurry.continue reading …