Tom attempted a shrug, but his Parkinson’s made it look like a twitch. He opened his mouth to speak. Betty waited, knowing it took time for Tom’s thoughts to become words.

“Don’t know why a fifteen-year-old girl would want to spend time with a useless old man.”

“She doesn’t come for you—don’t flatter yourself. She comes for me—the Silver Bitch of Silver Beeches, the Cher of care, the—”

“—Diva in Depends,” concluded Cynthia making a stealth entrance in her electric wheelchair. “I think Ruby comes here to escape the pressures of adolescence. We don’t judge her or demand anything.” Now in her nineties, Cynthia had been a professor of psychology and the habit of analysis was engrained. Once tall and slim, illness and age had reduced her frame to sparrow-like fragility, but her mind was scalpel-sharp.

Betty drew attention back to herself, pulling aside the sofa cushion behind which she had hidden a bottle of whisky. “Shall I be mother?”

The others nodded. Betty poured a measure into the mugs lined up next to the electric kettle on a side table.

“Save some for Enid,” Cynthia said. “Has someone gone to fetch her?”

“Katya!” Betty sang out in a voice still strong enough to reach across the entrance lobby to the reception counter. A plump middle-aged woman rose into view.

“She don’t want to come. She say she want to sleep.” Katya remained standing, her eyes narrowed on the bottle. “You gonna get me into trouble.”

Betty gave a tinkling laugh as she hid the whisky again. “Would you like some, Katya?” Katya snorted and sank from view.

“I’m worried about Enid. She’s showing signs of clinical depression.” Cynthia had wheeled her chair close to the other two to clink mugs.

“Shall we stage an intervention?” Betty asked eagerly.

Cynthia gave her a withering look. “Enid hasn’t adjusted to institutional living. She still longs for her independent life even though she knows that’s no longer possible.”

“She misses her dog,” pronounced Tom.

Ruby loved her bedroom, her cave. She’d painted it herself—dark grey-green, like a slow-moving river—and filled it with house plants and interesting rocks she’d found. The only clear space was her desk, a game console in the center. The image on the screen shimmered. Ruby had reached the third island in Legend of Altena. Her avatar was almost blinded by the light reflected off waterfalls and dripping leaves. She needed to step carefully into this new level; it posed greater challenges than the previous islands.

“Ruby, didn’t we agree no games until you finished your homework?” Her mother stood in the doorway, a tight smile betraying her frustration.

“And didn’t we agree you wouldn’t come into my room unless invited?” Ruby responded, mimicking her mother’s deliberate calm. “I’ve finished my homework.”

“Technically, I’m not in your room. I’m in the hallway.” Why did every exchange with Ruby sound like a verbal tennis match? “Isn’t it time for you to walk Prince?”

Her concentration was broken anyway. She clicked out of the game, grabbed a jacket and pushed past her mother. Prince, the dog she was looking after for their vacationing neighbors, was a show dog, pedigreed Bouvier de Flandres to the fifth generation. Although pampered and fussed over by his owners, Prince’s stoic personality reflected the best traits of the breed. He was easy money, compared to the babysitting jobs Ruby had held before.

The neighbors’ house was twice the size of Ruby’s family bungalow, and the dog occupied his own suite running the width of the back of the house, including a utility room with sink and refrigerator. Prince had his choice of sofa or two dog beds, and a basket full of chew toys and balls which he disdained.

Prince greeted Ruby with a slow downward dog pose. She collected the leash from the utility room and stuffed a few treats in her pocket. At five o’clock in mid-March, there was still plenty of daylight left for a walk across the park to Silver Beeches. Dinner was served to residents at six, so she would have time to say hello to Granddad if he was hanging out near the entrance.

Prince was not a playful animal. He allowed other dogs to sniff his butt and circle around him, and occasionally, when off leash, obliged another herding breed with a brief chase. This evening their progress across the park was sedate—no squirrel distractions—for which Ruby was grateful. Prince weighed almost as much as she did. If he made a break for it, she would be pulled off her feet.

Dogs were verboten inside the assisted living facility. Ruby tied Prince to a tree in Silver Beeches’ forecourt with instructions to sit and stay. Before signing in, she checked that Granddad was in his usual place. Two of the old ladies he hung out with were there too.

Betty, the loud one, spotted her first. “Here she is—our link to the world of the living!”

Cynthia was quieter. “How’s life?”

Ruby dropped a kiss on her grandfather’s head and took a seat next to him. “I can’t stay long. I’ve got a dog tied up across the parking lot.” She saw Betty and Cynthia exchange a conspiratorial look.

“What kind of dog?”

“A big black one—a bouvier. I’m pet-sitting for a week while the owners are in Barbados.”

Cynthia wheeled into the lobby to stare across the forecourt.

Betty asked, “Is it a nice dog?”

Puzzled by the old women’s interest, Ruby looked to her grandfather.

“She wants to know if it’s well-behaved…gentle.”

“Yeah, I guess. Why?”

Cynthia returned. She pulled close to the others and spoke in a murmur. “I’ll go up to Enid’s room. Betty, you and Tom go to the garden entrance. Let Ruby in and show her the back elevator. Everyone will be heading for the dining room. The coast will be clear.”

“What are you talking about?”

“We’re staging an intervention!” Betty’s gleeful stage whisper drew shushes from the other two.

A week later, the three friends gathered for Happy Hour in a subdued mood. Enid’s cancer had returned with a ferocity destined to defeat any treatment, even if she hadn’t made clear in her healthcare directive that she only wanted palliative care.

“Is her family coming?” Betty asked.

“She doesn’t have anyone,” replied Cynthia. “Her dog was her family.”

Tom exhaled a wet sound and Betty handed him a box of tissues. “Well, at least she has Prince for comfort. He’s better than morphine.”

On that first surreptitious visit, Prince had known exactly what was required of him. He jumped onto the bed and arranged his seventy-five pounds around the hump under the covers. Enid opened her eyes, felt the familiar warmth of a canine body, and smiled. Cynthia, who had accompanied Ruby and Prince into Enid’s room, explained they could only stay through the dinner hour. “But you’ll bring him back?” Enid croaked.

Enlisting Katya’s reluctant help, the friends had smuggled Ruby and Prince in each evening after the residents made their way to the dining room, leaving the corridors empty. Katya’s role was to ensure that Silver Beeches’ manager—the Camp Commandant, as Betty called him—was either off-premises or fully distracted while the dog visited. But now Prince’s owners had returned from vacation, and Ruby’s pet-sitting gig was over.

“I tried to persuade them to let me continue walking Prince over here in the evenings. I said I’d do it for free—told them it was a service project for school, but they weren’t interested. They’ve got Prince on this whole program prepping him for a big dog show in New York. They’re taking him to North Carolina this weekend to a trainer. They won’t even let me take him out in case he gets into a dogfight or something.”

“It’s okay, sweetheart. You did your best. We’ll just have to find another solution.” Cynthia’s mind was already working on a scheme, but she waited until Ruby left for home before sharing it with the others. “Enid may not last through the weekend. We don’t have time to find a suitable replacement for Prince—as if there could be a replacement. Betty, pour another round while I explain what I’m thinking….”

Three heads, one improbable silver-blond and coiffed, the others shades of unkempt grey, leaned close together. Katya watched them over the reception desk. They’re plotting something, she thought, but even Betty spoke too quietly for her to hear their words.

“So we’re agreed?” Cynthia obtained nods from Tom and Betty. “Ruby mustn’t be involved. If the plan comes apart, we’re the ones held accountable.” The dinner bell sounded, and they made their way into the dining room. Betty smiled sweetly at Katya as she passed.

Ruby was alone in the house, immersed in the sixth level of Legend of Altena when the doorbell rang. She ignored it. The bell rang again, accompanied by a muffled bang against the door. Irritated, Ruby paused the game and stomped through the house to open the door.

“Granddad! What are you doing here?”

“I thought I’d check out this game you’re playing.”

“But how did you get here?” Ruby leaned around him to look up the street. A grey sedan was idling at the curb.

“Uber!” Tom was proud of himself. “Betty showed me how. I downloaded the app and put in your address.” He was leaning on two sticks and panting from the effort of negotiating the path from the driveway.

“Come in. Mom’s at work, but she can drive you back to Silver Beeches when she gets home at five.”

Once settled in the living room, Tom’s breathing returned to normal. “This game—can I play it with you?”

Ruby frowned. How to explain video gaming to an eighty-year-old? “So, it’s just for one player. You have an avatar—” Ruby saw the old man’s blank look—“That’s you in the game. And you’re on a quest for Altena—”

“Who’s Altena?”

“You don’t know. It could be a person or a place or…anything. You find out when you reach the last island. Each island is a level. You have to learn things and master skills to advance. I’m on the sixth island. When I get through the seventh island, I’ll find Altena. At least, I’ll know what Altena means. It’s hard to explain—”

“Show me.”

While Ruby went to her room to fetch the game console, Tom checked his phone. Betty hadn’t messaged yet, but it was no hardship for him to spend more time with his granddaughter.

Fifteen minutes later, Ruby was still unsure whether Tom had grasped the game’s concept, but as she demonstrated, talking her way through the choices she was making, she made a breakthrough. “Yeah! I see how to get to the seventh island now! Granddad, just give me a minute.” Ruby went silent, eyes on the screen, hands busy on the controller. Tom looked at his phone again.

“I don’t understand. I’m on the seventh island but there’s nothing. No tasks, no challenges—just this.” She gestured at the screen. A wildflower meadow, the breeze lifting the grass, birdsong, and children playing. “I don’t know how to advance. There’s no path.”

“Perhaps Altena is about waiting and watching, just letting things happen.” Tom smiled at his granddaughter. “A bit like Silver Beeches.”

“But—” The front door opened, interrupting Ruby’s protest. “There’s Mom.” Ruby stood up as Tom’s phone pinged with an incoming message: Mission accomplished.

“Hello, dear. Could you give me a ride back to Silver Beeches? Ruby and I’ve had a great time—gaming, you call it?—but I don’t want to be late for dinner.”

Cynthia took the leash from Betty at the garden entrance. “How did it go?”

“Piece of cake! Prince isn’t much of a guard dog. The hardest thing was trying to fit him in the back of the Uber. I gave the driver a big tip and five stars.”

Cynthia and Prince rode the elevator to Enid’s floor. The hospice nurse opened the room door at Cynthia’s knock.

“She’s been waiting for this,” the nurse murmured, making space for the wheelchair at Enid’s bedside. The dog climbed up between the wall and the small figure in the bed and lay down, resting his huge head next to hers on the pillow.

“Is she conscious?” Cynthia asked. The nurse nodded and indicated Enid’s face: a smile spread across the wasted features. “How long?”

“Hours, maybe days. She’s peaceful, that’s the main thing.”

“Well, we have dog food, and someone will be here every few hours to take him outside for a pee.” Cynthia stroked her friend’s hand. “As long as she has, he’ll be here.”

The next morning was a Saturday and Katya’s weekend off. Betty was surprised to see her as she emerged from breakfast.

“How’s Enid?” Katya asked, loading her question with significance.

“Hanging on. She passed a quiet night.” Betty responded, steering Katya into the empty library. “Is everything okay?”

“You seen this?” Katya thrust her phone at Betty who squinted at the screen.

“I don’t have my glasses—”

“Says dog worth twenty-five thousand dollars stolen!” Katya jabbed at the phone. “This dog!” The photo showed Prince ready for the show arena, his coat poofed out, his magnificent head held high.

“Mmm, sweet puppy,” Betty cooed and turned to leave.

“Is a reward!” Katya’s voice rose.

Betty spun around, gripped the wrist holding the phone to steady herself, and hissed into Katya’s ear. “If you want a job on Monday—in fact, if you want to work in the care industry ever again, you’ll go home and mind your own business. Capisce?” Pleased with her mafioso impression, she left the library without a backward glance.

Enid passed away at two a.m. on Monday morning. At seven a.m. an early jogger found a dog, off-leash but clearly not a stray, ambling across the park. “Show dog found” was the first item on the local online newsfeed.