Mason parked the truck at a row of Dumpsters, two for trash and one for recycling. “Europe, huh? Sounds nice.” He slipped the truck into Park and switched his wipers to low. “You can stay here, if you’d like. I’ll call out to you if I see anything.”
Tess unbuckled her seat belt. “Thanks, but they’re my bags. I’ll Dumpster dive.”
They headed over in the drizzling rain together. As Mason peeked behind the Dumpsters, a cat dashed out from underneath and ran off down the street.
“Poor kitty.” The way Tess looked after it was proof of the kindness in her heart he didn’t need after seeing her with Millie.
“Feral cats are pretty good at taking care of themselves. It’s the dogs you see around here that get to me.” Mason picked what seemed like a clean spot and lifted the first lid. It was cleaner than he’d imagined and a quarter full with tied bags of trash, a computer monitor, and a silk plant that showed more dust than green foliage.
“True,” she said, moving to the adjacent Dumpster with him and peering in. She had stepped close enough that he caught a whiff of her scent—soft, sweet, and subtle. It mixed with the stink of the Dumpsters, confusing his nostrils.
When the recycling bin proved empty as well, they loaded back into the truck and Mason continued cruising through the backstreets and alleys around the park. On the fifth stop, they surprised a dog who’d been hanging behind the Dumpster under the cover of a roof overhang. Mason was surprised to see it was John Ronald.
The magnificent animal dashed away about the distance between home plate and second base, then turned and stood in the rain, watching them with pricked-at-attention ears. Mason whistled loudly. The dog, who Mason guessed was part Husky and part something big and long-legged, responded with a single wag of his tail.
“That,” Mason said, “is my dog. He just doesn’t know it yet. Or maybe he does and he’s still trying to deny it.”
Tess looked from Mason to the dog and back to Mason. “He’s watching you like he knows you, that’s for sure.”
Mason wished he’d thought to bring some treats along in the likely event they’d run into him. He’d been in a hurry to get back to Tess, and he’d only been thinking of the guy in the statue head. He’d grabbed a pair of running shoes he didn’t wear often and a couple of muscle drinks, the only thing he had in his empty refrigerator, and had dropped them off the second time they passed near the park.
Mason whistled again, but after a few seconds, probably determining that he was empty-handed today, the dog turned and trotted away, his long legs making fast tracks. Mason would put him at seventy or so pounds, eighty if he wasn’t overly lean like he was.
“Not today, huh, John Ronald,” Mason said under his breath.
Mason noticed Tess studying him harder than she had since she’d told him to lay off his attempts to recall Millie—since she’d called him imposing.
“What do you mean, ‘your dog’?”
He shrugged. “He’s a stray who hangs out near my building. We’ve had a few moments, but I haven’t been able to get close enough to catch him. If I ever do, I intend to keep him.”
Her mouth opened a fraction of an inch, calling Mason’s attention to the fullness of her lips. Despite the rain having slowed to a dull drizzle, it was still cold and wet, only she didn’t seem to notice.
“And why John Ronald?”
Judging by the incredulous look on her face, Mason’s best guess was he’d either done something impossibly wrong or impossibly right.
Hoping it was the second, he opted for the truth, letting it fall out in a display of rare vulnerability.
“The first night I ever saw him, I was up in my loft. It was last winter, late February or early March, and the moon was full. I told you, I’m on the sixth floor. I have a decent view of the street below. After I spotted him, I stepped out on my balcony to watch him. The white patches on his body and above his eyes stood out in the moonlight, and I could have sworn that he was looking up at me even before he stopped walking. I was afraid if I went downstairs and outside, I’d scare him off, so I dropped him some hot dogs and he ate them. He even caught a few before they hit the ground.
“When I ran out of them, I headed downstairs and outside as fast as I could. I think he knew I was coming. He was already at the end of the block, but he was looking my way like he was waiting for me but needed the distance to feel safe. He watched me for a while, but then he turned and left like he did just now.”
He shrugged, thinking of all the interactions he and the dog had had since that first night. “I leave him food on the street under my balcony. Sometimes he leaves me things too. Odd things. A dead crow once, but trash too. I know it’s him, because I spotted him carrying a hat once. By the time I got downstairs, he was gone. The hat was waiting for me by the door.”
Fresh tears appeared on her lower lids. She blinked them away without shedding them. “But why John Ronald?”
“Because calling him Tolkien didn’t feel right.”
She dropped his gaze so quickly, Mason knew she’d gotten the confirmation she’d been looking for. “Not all those who wander are lost.” It was such a quiet whisper on her lips that Mason almost wasn’t sure he’d heard it. It was so quiet, he suspected it wasn’t even meant for his ears.
She shook her head as if she’d just figured out something she didn’t quite believe. He was about to ask for clarification when she turned away from him and stalked abruptly over to the
