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husband, Brian,
the most. He had been a wonderful partner and a great father. They had both
always been so proud of Brenden, but cancer took him before he had the chance
to see his son graduate and become a doctor.
    They had always been a wonderful
family. Brian in the insurance business. Mora substitute teaching, just because
she loved it. Brenden, the perfect son. And Bridget, happily married and now
living in Washington with their two grandchildren and her political lobbyist
husband.
    Mora hated setting the table and
eating alone on nights like this. She ached with the memories of wonderful
conversations she and Brian used to enjoy while they ate a late dinner as the
kids did their homework.
    Death robs you
of so many things, she thought, but it's the intimacy of love
shared with another that is the cruelest part of loss.
    Tonight she left the door to the
deck open so that the warm June air could flow through the house. Like her son,
she loved natural things. Even in her cooking, she used nothing but fresh
ingredients. For this meal, she had prepared handmade linguine with clams in a
white sauce, along with a pear salad with Stilton and lightly battered
zucchini—all things she knew her son loved.
    She was surprised he hadn't arrived
for dinner, but she figured maybe he got confused and forgot it was Thursday
night.
    That's what love
will do to you , she reminded herself. He's head over heels in love with
Lindsey. I wish I could slow him down. She's a lot of wonderful things but not
necessarily for my son.
    Deciding that she might as well go
ahead and eat alone, she sighed and seated herself at the table, feeling sorry
enough to remember that her husband was dead, and her son—well, her son just
hadn't shown up. She was alone, but not lonely, because Gus sat across from
her.
    Gus was an extraordinarily
brilliant, enthusiastic, loving West Highland terrier who had the capacity to
care for the entire family, with a special understanding that made everyone
feel that he or she was the most important person in his life. He was Brenden's
playmate when the young man was home, creating fun and diversion from the
intensity of medical school. He was Mora's constant companion as she did her
housework and tended her exceptional garden. And when Brian had become sick,
spending most of his time in bed under hospice care, it was Gus who had never
left his side.
    Mora remembered the dog's black
eyes, pleading that his master might get well. She recalled many things about
those bad days, but two related specifically to Gus. How the night after the
funeral the dog took his position sitting opposite her in Brian's chair, never
trying to take any food from the table— just sitting upright, stoic, trying to
fill the space for his lonely mistress. And it was Gus who took possession of
Brian's favorite sweater, the one he had worn so often while lounging at home
on weekends. Mora had let him have it, and Gus never slept without it.
    "Okay, Gus, I guess it's just
you and me for dinner. Brenden must be having an exceptionally good day."
    The telephone jarred her out of her
reverie. Picking it up, she looked at the number and realized it wasn't
Brenden.
    "Hello?"
    "Hello, Mrs. McCarthy? It's
Spider, I mean, Charlie."
    "I know who it is,
Charlie." Mora laughed. "If you're looking for Brenden, he's not
here."
    "Oh, he told me he was having
dinner with you tonight."
    "He was supposed to. Have you
spoken to Lindsey?"
    "No, ma'am, but I'll call her.
If he comes in, have him give me a call, would you, Mrs. McCarthy? I'd love to
borrow his motorcycle tomorrow if I can. I have to be in Aspen for some
dry-land training for ski patrol, and it's always fun to borrow Brenden's
bike."
    "That's where he went,
Charlie. I mean, that's where he was today. Climbing the Bells."
    There was the slightest pause on
the other end of the line.
    "And you mean he's not down
yet?"
    "I don't know. I don't know,
Charlie. Should I be worried?" Mora asked, the tension rising