Tom drove slow.
They both rolled down their windows and shouted Stevie’s name.
You couldn’t get to the park without driving downhill. Tom took the hill cautiously, riding the brakes. It was a controlled slide. Cherry held her breath. They spun slowly sideways when they got to the bottom.
It took a minute or two for Tom to work the car back in the right direction.
“Stevie!” Cherry called out the window. She was crying again. “I can’t believe I left the door open. I never leave the door open.”
“You thought she was with me.”
“Because she didn’t come to the door when I walked in. She always comes to the door.”
“She was probably upstairs. She goes straight up to look for you as soon as I let her off the leash. If the baby gate is open.”
“Stevie!” Cherry called.
Tom pulled up next to the park. “Should we get out and look?”
“Yeah,” Cherry said. She opened her door.“Stevie?”
“Stevie!”
“She might have gone the other way,” Cherry said, stumbling over the curb. “She likes the Dalmatian’s house.”
“She might have,” Tom said, pulling gloves out of his pockets.“Stevie!”
It was a sprawling park, with pathways that wound through tall fir trees. There were picnic tables and a playground at one end, and a basketball court at the other. Everything was blanketed in three days of snow, and no one had shoveled the trails. Snow was coming in over the tops of Cherry’s rain boots.
“Jesus,” Tom said.
Cherry looked up. Another car was coming down the hill—in a much less controlled slide. It careened toward Cherry’s Subaru, then spun and jumped the curb.
Tom broke away from Cherry, jogging toward the car.
The driver was already trying to back up. His front wheels were spinning in the snow. Tom ran to the front of the car and leaned over to push, throwing his weight against it. His boots slid back. The tires whistled. Cherry thought of John Henry and locomotives. She wondered if she should try to help.
The car finally lurched backwards. Tom followed it, still pushing. Then he stood up and watched the driver steer back onto the road. The man waved at Tom.
Tom raised his hand.
He looked back at Cherry and called out, “Button your coat!”
Cherry buttoned another button. Her fingers were so cold that she could hardly feel the hole.
Tom was walking back to her.
“What if Stevie got hit by a car?” she said when he was close enough to hear her. “They wouldn’t even be able to see her.”
“She has a black head,” he said again. “And remember, she doesn’t have any trouble getting around in this weather. She was made for it.”
Cherry nodded.
Tom was standing next to her now. He took off his hat and held it out to Cherry.
She took it and wrung it between her fingers.
He motioned at her head.
