Macy,

I’ve been wanting to get in touch with you, but I haven’t been sure what to say. I don’t know if your mom told you, but I came on the Fourth because my grandmother had a stroke, and she’s been deteriorating ever since. We’re very close, as you know, but even so dealing with this, and the very real possibility that she may not make it, has been harder for me than I expected. I was disappointed to hear that you quit the info desk, and while I have a few ideas on the subject, I’d like to know, in your own words, what it was that precipitated that decision.

That’s not really why I’m writing, however. I guess with everything that’s happening in my own family right now I feel like I’ve had some added insight into how things must have been for you in the last couple of years. I think I was hard on you about the info desk earlier this summer, and for that I apologize. I know I suggested that we be on a break until I return, but I hope that whatever happens we can at least stay in contact, and stay friends. I hope you’ll write back. I’d really like to hear from you.

I had read it twice, but it still didn’t really make sense. I’d thought that quitting the info desk would be the final proof he needed that I would never be the girl for him. Now, though, with the prospect of loss hovering over him, he seemed to think the opposite. If anyone understood, I could see him reasoning, with that even, cool logic, it was me. Right?

“No,” I said aloud. My mind was spinning. A week and a half earlier it had seemed like my life had changed for good. That I had changed it. But now it was all slipping away. I was back to being my mother’s daughter, and with this, it seemed maybe I could be Jason’s girlfriend, too. If I didn’t take action, somehow, by the fall everything that had happened with Wish, and with Wes, would be smoothed over, forgotten, no more than a dream. So that night, after I’d wiped the counters down and put away the leftovers, I picked up my yoga mat, told my mother I’d be back by eight, and broke her rules, driving off to Sweetbud Road.

I pulled in to the still signless road, and dodged the hole unthinkingly, glancing at the heart in hand as I passed it. I was looking at everything, surprised that it didn’t seem all that different until I realized it had only been about ten days since I’d last been there.

First I pulled into Wes’s driveway, but his truck was gone, the house dark. I walked around the side of the house to his workshop. There were more pieces than ever grouped in the yard: I saw angels, a few large whirligigs, and one piece that was medium sized, barely begun, with only the frame of a stick figure with some brackets attached to the back.

On my way to Kristy’s, I slowed down in front of Delia’s house, peering through the front window. I could see Pete walking with Avery in his arms, rocking her, and Delia beyond him, stirring something on the stove as Lucy sat at her feet, stacking blocks on top of each other. I knew she would have been happy to see me, but instead I just watched them for a second, feeling sort of sad. It was as if everything had closed up and grown over my absence, like I’d never been there at all.

When I pulled in the driveway of the doublewide, I could see the light of the TV through the window. As I got out of my car and started up the steps, Bert came out of the front door. He was in khakis and a collared golf shirt that looked to be polyester, and he reeked of cologne. I actually smelled him before I saw him.

“Hey,” I said. I was trying not to wince. “You look nice.”

He smiled, obviously pleased. “Got a date,” he said, hooking his fingers in his pockets and leaning back on his heels. “Going out to dinner.”

“That’s great,” I said. “Who’s the girl?”

“Her name’s Lisa Jo. I met her at the Armageddon social. She’s, like, an expert on the Big Buzz. Last summer, she went out west with her dad and recorded evidence of it.”

“Really.” A female Bert. I couldn’t even imagine.

“Yup.” He hopped off the step and started down the walk. “See you later.”

“Bye,” I said, watching as he cut through the garden, down the winding path that led back to his house. “Have fun.”

I pulled open the doublewide door and called out a hello, then stepped inside. There was no answer, and I glanced down the hallway to Kristy’s room: the door was open, the light off. Looking the other way, I saw only Monica sitting on the couch, staring at the TV.

“Hey,” I said again, and she turned her head slightly, finally seeing me. “Where’s Kristy?”

“Out,” she replied.

“With Baxter?” She nodded. “Oh,” I said, crossing the room and sitting down on the ottoman in front of Stella’s chair. “I thought maybe she’d be in tonight.”

“Nope.”

It was just too damn ironic that, in desperately seeking conversation, I’d ended up with, of all people, Monica. What was even sadder was that I stayed where I was, making various stabs at it anyway.

“So,” I said, as she flipped channels, “what’s been going on?”

“Nothing.” She paused on a rap video, then moved on. “You?”

“I’ve been grounded,” I said, a bit too eagerly. “I mean, I still am grounded, technically. I’m not supposed to be here . . . but I got this email from my boyfriend, and it kind of flipped me out. It’s just . . . I feel like everything’s changing, you know?”

“Mmm-hmm,” she said sympathetically.