Elsewhere(64)

Liz shakes her head. She hasn't cried and she doesn't feel particularly sad. Not that she feels happy either. In truth, she hasn't felt much of anything aside from a general tightness in her belly, as if her stomach is making a fist. "No," Liz replies, "not sad exactly."

"What is it, then?" Owen asks.

"I'm not all that sad," Liz says, "because Sadie hadn't been Sadie for a while, and I knew this would happen eventually." Liz pauses, trying to precisely articulate her feelings. "What I am is a mix of scared, happy, and excited, I think."

"All those things at once?" Owen asks.

"Yes. I'm happy and excited because it's nice to think of my friend somewhere on Earth. I like thinking of a dog, who won't be called Sadie, but will still be my Sadie all the same."

"You said scared, too."

"I worry about the people that will take care of her on Earth. I hope they'll be nice to her, and treat her with good humor and love, and brush her coat, and feed her things other than kibble, because she gets bored always eating the same thing." Liz sighs. "It's such a terribly dangerous thing being a baby when you think about it. So much can go wrong."

Owen kisses Liz gently on the forehead, "Sadie will be fine."

"You don't know that!" Liz protests. "Sadie could end up with people who keep her cooped up all day, or put cigarette butts in her coat." Liz's eyes tear at the thought.

"I know that Sadie will be fine," Owen says calmly.

"But how do you know?"

"I know," he says, "because I choose to believe it is so."

Liz rolls her eyes. "Sometimes, Owen, you can be so totally full of it."

Owen's feelings are hurt. He doesn't speak to Liz for the rest of the car ride home.

Later that night, Liz weeps for Sadie. She weeps so loudly she wakes Betty.

"Oh, doll," Betty says, "you can get another dog if you want. I know it won't be Sadie, but..."

"No," Liz replies through her tears. "I can't. I just can't."

"Are you sure?"

"I'll never have another dog," Liz says firmly, "and please don't ever, ever, ever mention it to me again."

A month later, Liz changes her mind when an aged pug named Lucy arrives in Elsewhere. At thirteen years old, Lucy had finally died peacefully in her sleep, in Liz's childhood room. (Liz's possessions had been boxed up years ago, but Lucy never stopped sleeping there.) From the shore, Liz watches Lucy, slightly arthritic and grayer in the face, waddle down the boardwalk. She waddles right up to Liz and wags her loosely curled tail three times. She cocks her head, squinting up at Liz with bulging brown eyes.

"Where've you been?" Lucy asks.

"I died," Liz answers in Canine.

"Oh right, I tried not to think about that too much. I just pretended you went to college early and didn't visit very often." Lucy nods her sweet wrinkly head. "We missed you a lot, you know. Alvy, Olivia, Arthur, and me."

"I missed you guys, too." Liz lifts Lucy up from the ground and holds the heavy little lapdog in her arms.

"You've gained weight," Liz teases.

"Only a pound or two or maybe three, no more than that," Lucy answers. "Personally, I think I look better with a little heft."

"Multum in parvo," Liz jokes. It's Latin, meaning "much in little." This is the pug motto and a favorite joke of Liz's family because of Lucy's tendency to gain weight.

"Liz," Lucy asks, squinting up at the sky, "is this upthere? Is this . . . heaven?"

"I don't know," Liz answers.

"It isn't 'down there,' is it?"

"I certainly don't think so." Liz laughs.

The dog gently sniffs the air. "Well, it smells a lot like Earth," she concludes, "only a bit saltier."

"It's good that you can speak so well now," Lucy whispers in Liz's ear. "I have so much to tell you about everything and everybody."

Liz smiles. "I can't wait."

"But first, let's get something to eat, and then take a nap. And a bath, then a nap. Then something else to eat, and maybe a walk. But then definitely something else to eat."

Liz sets Lucy on the ground, and the two walk home with Lucy chattering away.

Amadou

On the same day Liz retires from the Division of Domestic Animals, a man she knows very well, but has never before met, stops by her office. The man looks different in person than he did through the binoculars. His eyes are softer, but the lines between his eyebrows are more pronounced.

"I am Amadou Bonamy." He speaks precisely, with a slight FrenchHaitian accent.

Liz takes a deep breath before answering. "I know who you are."

Amadou notices the balloons from Liz's retirement party. "You are having a celebration. I will come back," he says.

"The party is for my retirement. If you come back, you won't find me again. Please come in."

Amadou nods. "I recently died of cancer," he says. "It was lung cancer. I did not smoke, but my father did."

Liz nods.

"I have not driven a cab for many years. I finished college at night and I became a teacher."