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

Her eyes scanned the room, landed on booth four, then on the bench outside, visible through the window.

“Excuse me,” she said, approaching the counter. “Are you Linda?”

“Yes,” I replied, cautious.

“I’m Rachel,” she said. “Clara’s daughter.”

Air left the room.

We had spent weeks dancing around the question the internet had shouted in all caps: WHERE IS continue reading …