Porkie was not a scruffy black-and-white dog with playfully perked ears like the one on the front of the kibble bag. I actually had no idea what kind of dog he was. He had the smashed nose and curled tail of a pug, but his coloring was darker than I thought pugs typically were. He was also very short. Maybe that was a pug characteristic. I wasn't a dog person. I knew just enough about them to know that Porkie was hideous.

"He's been beside himself," said Edith, giving the creature a sympathetic frown. She placed a cup of coffee in front of me, then took a seat across from me, picking up her own cup with a sigh. "Poor thing didn't eat for days. I thought I was gonna have to take him on in to the veterinarian. He went to school here, you know. Lon Berger's youngest boy. He come back after college."

I raised my eyebrows and nodded as if I knew the Bergers. "Oh, really? That's great. Great when kids stick around in their hometown."

"It is. It is. So many of the younger generation are moving away. So many houses for sale. I just don't understand it."

"Well...I didn't even know Granny had a dog," I said. I slipped my fingers through the handle of the mug and cradled it, although Edith kept her house so warm I didn't know how she could stand hot coffee. I turned slightly in my seat and looked down at Porkie where he lay on a folded blanket, a makeshift bed.

"Oh, yes, yes," said Edith. "It's been a few months now since she brung him home. From the rescue, you know."

I nodded. "She mentioned she might go look."

"They got on famously. She used to bring him to bridge with her and he'd just sit at her feet and watch us play. And he's a good dog. Quiet. Good at making his piddles outside, you'll be glad to know. You're going to keep him, aren't you?"

I turned back around to regard my grandmother's friend, my stomach dropping. I hadn't thought that far ahead. I didn't even know how to handle my grandmother's house, let alone her dog. What would I do with a pet? I could hardly keep my shit together at the best of times.

Would I have time? Dogs needed a lot of time, right?

What is going to be eating up all of your time these days, Tab? Your boyfriend? Your job?

"Please tell me you'll keep him," Edith persisted. "Oh, Ruth loved him so much, and it would break her heart for him to go back to the pound. She chose him special because he's a senior dog. She didn't want him to live the rest of his days in a little cage."

"Of course." I sounded breathless, and I hoped it was not plain how overwhelmed I was at this new wrinkle in the balled-up newspaper my life had become. The thought of breaking my grandmother's heart by sending her frail, senior dog back to live the remainder of his days in a lonely cage at the pound was too much. "How could I not? Sending him back would be unthinkable."

Edith visibly relaxed. She slid her hands across the table and folded them around mine. My hands were cold; hers were warm, wrinkled, her fingers thin, her knuckles knobby and shiny. "Good. That's good. I would keep him, honey, but I just can't cope with the hair. I've run clear through two boxes of tissues since he's been here. I'll get you his things. I had to bring some of his food, and his toys and whatnot."

The way she said that last word—hhwatnot—reminded me of Gran, too. The whole place did, actually: I got the sense that Edith had lived in the house for many, many years, had lived a lifetime or two within its walls. Maybe she'd had children here, raised a family. Where were they, I wondered?

Had they left her behind?

She got to her feet. I slid back in my chair, uncomfortable. "Can I help?"

"Oh no, no." Edith moved slowly, and when she leaned over, her thin blouse stretched taut, revealing the ridge of her spine. "I've got everything right here. Now, it's none of my business, but if you're thinking about an estate sale, you'll let me know, won't you? I can get you the information for the folks who helped my friend Dorothy manage everything when she decided to downsize. She had a big old farmhouse, five bedrooms, and moved into a little apartment in town. You wouldn't believe the amount of stuff she had to go through! This was well after she lost her husband. He never was very good about managing his diabetes. She kept on him about listening to the doctors, but I told her: You can lead a man to water, but you can't make him drink."

I nodded again like I understood, torn between amusement and appreciation at Edith's friendly demeanor and her metaphor, which was uncommon, but kind of worked. She spoke to me as if I had lived in her neighborhood for decades, almost as if I knew the people in her world as well as she did. "I would appreciate that very much, actually. I've only just gotten started, but finding an estate agency is on the list."

Edith retrieved a large Ziploc bag of kibble from underneath her kitchen sink. She had also put Porkie's toys under there in a basket. I pictured her taking out a toy or two every evening for a twenty-minute play time before putting them away again and getting ready for bed.

She took a grocery bag from a fabric tube-shaped holder hanging on a cupboard. As she began to gather Porkie's things into it, she said, "Well, I'll get you the information. I made a note of it, you know, when Dorothy told me what a good experience she'd had—it might be useful for the kids to have when I go. Though my oldest son will probably just scoff and find a better deal elsewhere." She chuckled.

I was struck by her casual reference to her own mortality. I didn't know what to say, and the moment for saying anything passed. I sipped my coffee and glanced at Porkie. He did not seem to feel as awkward as I did.

Edith set the bag of Porkie's things in front of me and patted my hand. "I'll just be a minute—got to go into my office."

"Thank you, Edith. You're an angel." I didn't believe in angels in a spiritual sense, but I believed wholeheartedly in the human kind—people who made other people's lives a little easier, who spread compassion and goodness, who took care of others. I could tell that Edith was one of those people. I was sincerely grateful to her. "Honestly—you've been so kind. It makes me very happy to know that my grandmother had a friend like you."

Edith paused, looking me in the eye with a slow, warm smile. She touched my hand again, folding her thin fingers around mine and giving them a squeeze. "Well. She was a real lady, sweetheart, and very easy to love. I'll just be a minute."

I sat with Porkie in Edith's kitchen for a few minutes, drinking my coffee and stealing glances at the dog whose guardianship I had unexpectedly inherited. Porkie was quiet and calm, almost detached. He had come with Edith to greet me at the door upon my arrival, but after a cursory sniff and some tail wagging, he had returned to her bed and laid down. Since then, he had twitched his ears or glanced our way occasionally, but he was otherwise...well, morose.

Edith's footsteps returned, and she handed me a folded piece of paper on which she had written Hillcrest Estate Services, a telephone number, and a street address. No email, but it was worth a shot Googling them later.

"Thank you," I said again, slipping the paper into my pocket. "I really appreciate the recommendation. I wouldn't have even known where to start."

"That's not uncommon in your situation. Don't you worry." She retrieved the coffee pot and stopped to fill both of our cups. "Do you have any questions?"

"Questions? No, I don't think so." At least, not yet—and hopefully the estate services people could help me figure out what to do next regarding Gran's belongings. Did I have any other questions? Taking care of the dog couldn't be that complicated, could it?

"Just if you're curious about anything, I'm an open book. I was there with her until the police arrived."

My stomach had dropped, leaving me breathless and confused. "What?"

She looked up at me with a tight twitch of a frown. "Oh, honey. Do you know that I found her?"

I stared at her. Her expression softened with sympathy as she sank back into her chair. "I'm sorry. I thought that you knew. We hadn't heard from her, is all, and so I drove on out to see if she was okay. And I found her there at the house."

"You did?"

"Yes. It was a very sad business. It always is." She gave me a warm, sympathetic smile. "But she went in her sleep, and that's all anybody can hope for."

"I'm so sorry, Edith. It must have been so scary."

She shook her head, lifting her coffee to her lips. "Perhaps a little, but these things happen. It comes to all of us, in the end. I think a part of me knew what I would find that day. It really wasn't scary at all. I just stayed with her so she wouldn't be alone."

My eyes blurred with tears.

"Oh, now, don't cry," Edith said softly. "I just thought it would be a comfort to you to know. That's all."

"It is. It really is."

"You may think I'm batty," she continued, "but I believe Ruth was sitting with me that afternoon. Just sitting and waiting for help to come. Of course, I knew that she was gone, but even still."

I didn't know quite what she meant. I could picture Edith sitting next to Gran's bed, waiting patiently and quietly for the police to arrive. Did she mean being with Gran's body had felt like they were waiting together? "You mean...her...spirit?"

Edith nodded. "Yes, her spirit. I could feel her there, just waiting with me. I had myself a cry, you know—and I would swear to you, Tabitha, that I felt her hand on my shoulder."