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| Mile Marker 42 |
He was halfway through his usual route, hauling a load of produce north through three counties, when his headlights caught a flash of white fur near Mile Marker 42.
The dog stood just beyond the shoulder.
Still.
Watching.
Jacob eased off the accelerator.
“Wrong place to be hanging around, Sikes.”
The dog didn’t move.
Jacob checked his mirrors, then the clock on the dash.
10:47 p.m.
He was already running twelve minutes behind.
By the time he glanced back, the dog had disappeared into the darkness.
The next night, Jacob saw him again.
Same stretch of highway.
Same mile marker.
Same dog.
This time, the animal stood closer to the road.
Jacob frowned.
“That better not be somebody’s idea of a joke.”
The dog stared at the truck as it passed.
Jacob watched him shrink in the side mirror.
On Thursday, the dog was there again.
Jacob sat forward in his seat.
“No way.”
White coat. One ear standing straighter than the other.
Definitely the same dog.
He thought about stopping.
Then he pictured the schedule on his clipboard, the delivery window, the dispatcher who had already reminded him twice that month about late arrivals.
“Somebody around here owns you,” he muttered.
He kept driving.
But for the next thirty miles, he thought about the dog.
By Friday night, Jacob was looking for him before Mile Marker 42 came into view.
Nothing.
He felt oddly disappointed.
Then his headlights swept across the shoulder.
There he was.
Only tonight, the dog wasn’t standing still.
He was pacing.
Forward.
Back.
Forward again.
Jacob slowed.
The dog barked once.
Then twice.
“Come on,” Jacob said. “What are you doing out here?”
The dog turned toward the tree line.
Then looked back at him.
Jacob felt something tighten in his chest.
“No.”
The dog barked again.
Jacob drove another hundred yards.
Then he sighed.
“Oh, for crying out loud.”
He pulled onto the shoulder, switched on his hazard lights, and climbed down from the cab.
The night air was colder than he expected.
The dog waited near the ditch.
Up close, Jacob could see that he was older than he had thought. Gray around the muzzle. Mud on his paws. No collar.
Jacob crouched.
“Come here, boy.”
The dog took two steps toward him.
Then turned and ran into the woods.
Jacob straightened.
“You have got to be kidding me.”
The dog stopped about twenty feet inside the tree line and looked back.
Jacob glanced at his truck.
Then at the dog.
“I’m not following you through the woods.”
The dog barked.
Jacob looked toward the highway.
Cars hissed past in the distance.
He rubbed a hand over his face.
“Five minutes.”
The dog disappeared between the trees.
Jacob followed.
The ground sloped downward behind the highway. Branches caught at his jacket. Wet leaves shifted beneath his boots.
Every few yards, the dog stopped and waited.
“You better know where you’re going.”
The trees opened onto a narrow dirt lane.
At the end of it stood a small house Jacob had never noticed from the highway.
One porch light burned.
The dog ran toward the house.
Jacob slowed.
Something about the place felt wrong.
The front door stood partly open.
“Hello?”
No answer.
The dog rushed inside.
Jacob hesitated only a second before following.
“Anybody home?”
A television flickered in the living room.
The dog barked from somewhere down the hall.
Jacob found the man on the kitchen floor.
He looked to be in his seventies.
One arm was stretched toward the counter. A broken coffee mug lay nearby.
Jacob dropped to his knees.
“Sir? Can you hear me?”
The man’s eyes opened slightly.
“Sikes?”
The dog pushed his nose against the man’s shoulder.
Jacob pulled out his phone.
“Don’t try to move.”
The ambulance arrived twenty minutes later.
Jacob stood on the porch while paramedics carried the man out.
One of them paused beside him.
“You did good finding him.”
Jacob looked at the dog.
“I didn’t.”
The paramedic followed his gaze.
“Well, somebody did.”
The dog sat at the end of the porch, watching the ambulance.
Jacob folded his arms against the cold.
“What happens to him?”
“Looks like a stroke,” The paramedic said. “We will know more later.”
Jacob looked through the open doorway.
The house was quiet.
Too quiet.
“Does he have family?” Jacob asked.
“Don’t know.”
The ambulance pulled away.
The dog remained on the porch.
Jacob checked the time.
He was now very late.
He was going to hear about it for sure.
He sat on the top step.
The dog came over and rested beside him.
“You’ve been trying to get somebody to stop, haven’t you?”
The dog placed his head on Jacob’s knee.
Jacob sighed.
“Good boy.”
He scratched behind the dog’s ear.
“I get it.”
Jacob called the hospital the next afternoon and learned the man’s name was Harold Bennett. He had suffered a mild stroke.
If he had remained on the kitchen floor much longer, the outcome might have been different.
Jacob asked about the dog.
“His name is Sikes,” the nurse told him. “Apparently Mr. Bennett has been asking about him nonstop.”
Jacob smiled.
“That figures.”
Harold’s daughter, Renee, arrived from Nashville that weekend.
When Jacob returned to the house with a bag of dog food and found her standing in the yard, she hugged him before he could say hello.
“Thank you.”
Jacob stepped back, embarrassed.
“Your father’s dog is the hero.”
Renee looked at Sikes.
“So are you.”
She wiped at her eyes.
Jacob glanced toward the house.
“He lives out here alone?”
“For three years.”
“Three years?”
“Since my mother died.”
Renee looked down.
“I kept asking him to move closer to me. He kept saying he was fine.”
Jacob gave a short laugh.
“People say that when they don’t want you asking questions.”
Renee studied him.
“You sound like you know something about that.”
Jacob looked toward the highway beyond the trees.
“I do.”
___
Jacob began stopping once or twice a week when his route allowed it.
At first, he told himself he was checking on Sikes.
Then Harold started saving coffee for him.
“Truck-stop coffee will kill you before the highway does,” Harold declared.
Jacob took the mug. “You always this cheerful?”
“Only with people I like.”
Jacob smiled.
Harold was quiet for a moment before settling into the chair beside Jacob.
Sikes settled close against Harold’s leg.
“Renee finally wore me down.”
Jacob looked at him. “About what?”
“Moving.”
Harold rubbed a hand over the dog’s head.
“She wants me in Tennessee. Says if I move to Nashville, she can keep an eye on me and still give me room to breathe.”
“Are you going?”
Harold looked out toward the trees.
“I told her I’d go.”
Jacob’s smile faded slightly.
“When?”
“End of the month.”
Sikes leaned against Harold’s leg.
Jacob nodded. “And I’m guessing he’s going too.”
Harold looked down at the dog.
“Wouldn’t get far without him.”
Jacob nodded.
“You know,” Harold said, “I prayed that night.”
Jacob looked at him.
“Lying there on that floor, I couldn’t reach the phone. Could barely move.” Harold’s gaze drifted toward the distant highway. “I remember thinking, Lord, just send somebody.”
Sikes thumped his tail against the porch.
Jacob laughed softly. “He sent him.”
Harold looked at Jacob.
“He sent both of you.”
Jacob said nothing.
He glanced at Sikes.
The old dog looked pleased with himself.
Later that night, Jacob drove north again.
As Mile Marker 42 came into view, he instinctively slowed.
The shoulder was empty.
No dog.
No barking.
No reason to stop.
Jacob smiled anyway and rested one hand on the steering wheel.
“Okay, Lord,” he said softly. “I’m listening.”
Then he drove on.
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