"And your mother knows the dog may be alive? You said she drove you here on the thirtieth."
Dessa looked down. Her hand moved on the dog's ruff.
"Yes sir," she said.
"And what did she say?"
It was a long time before the girl answered. When she did, she said it to the dog.
"She said if he was alive, and somebody found him, to let him go to somebody that could keep him. She said we can't keep a dog in the motel. They'll put us out. She said we can't feed us, much less him." She took a breath. "She said, Dessa, I asked God for a roof. I didn't ask Him for a dog."
The office was quiet again. Out in the building the barking had stopped. Toomer could hear the cat-shaped clock on her wall ticking, and the box fan in the lobby, and Adelaide Prioleau breathing, very carefully, in and out, like somebody counting.
"Then I don't understand," said Pinckney Prioleau. "Forgive me. I don't. If your mother has said—"
"Mr. Prioleau," said Toomer.