Step—by step—by step.

One—and two—and three.

As they stumbled on, Lady trotting by their side, her mind loopily thought back to the vague time after Vincent’s death, the way so many people had commented on how well she was doing, but how one co-worker had asked bluntly if she’d encountered a Dark Night of the Soul, to which she’d shrugged and wondered What does that even mean? She understood it now. And she was in it. Her dark night was actually in a dark night, and no, she was not okay.

As if in response to this thought, Kit said, “Hang in there. Talk to me. You doing okay?”

“Ah, that’s why I did this trip,” she murmured by way of answer. She halted and pointed up at the Milky Way, at the swan, Albireo. Now she knew: Because she and Vincent had connected when they traveled, and in order to truly let him go, she needed to feel connected to the best moments with him, so as to really tell him and her guilt goodbye. It was the better way to go. To consider the best moments, not the bitter ones. But simultaneously, she needed travel to connect with her own independent self, to say hello to herself, the most genuine version of herself. She said, “To break into other people’s lives until I found mine.”

“Okay, cool,” he whispered back.

“And it’s easier because I’m white. We’re white. Do you know what that gives us?”

She could feel him pause, then nod.

She started to cry. “I haven’t had to walk across deserts. Or worry when police pulled me over. And you haven’t either. To inhabit my true self, I need to recognize these things. I’ve been breaking into homes. I need one person on the planet to know that I’m doing this illegal thing. And you’re it. And I need someone to know that I was trying to be courageous, but also, I was always taking so much for granted.”

She thought he’d object or wave away her comment, but he did not. He was nodding, murmuring, Right on, lady. Cool, cool. Keep walking, friend.

—

Dart and the Grey Goose reflected in the moonlight like a lighthouse, an odd beacon of light in the desert. The hoots of the owls and the sounds of coyotes no longer startled or scared her—her nervous system was overloaded—and Kit and Lady were with her. She was shaking hard now, though, and Kit had his arm around her waist, both propping her up and trying to keep her warm. He’d put his winter cap on her head, and his jacket on her shoulders, though she didn’t quite remember when that had happened.

Her mind floated. To big things, important things, things to distract her from the pain. Like, she hadn’t cared so much about the United States–Mexico border situation—the proximity principle and all. Chicago was so far away. She wondered how humans could better tune in to issues beyond their purview? And do more about the things they clearly saw? Like, children in schools being shot. Like the destruction of the planet. Like the rights of women fading away.

She needed to go someplace other than her hurting body. Than this cold night. So she also touched the greenstone necklace for comfort. Vincent’s engagement ring, of sorts. He’d bought it from a Māori co-worker in New Zealand, whose father made them. Next to it, he had put a thick, small key, which he’d said he found on the property he was living on, and that he found particularly beautiful, but that since it didn’t fit anything, he’d…well, taken it. He thought it was as pretty as the stone itself—after all, an old key was a piece of art.

But the greenstone and key were more than an engagement ring. They were also meant to mark the loss of their baby. Though being on birth control, she’d gotten pregnant on one of their early dates, and before she knew of the pregnancy, he’d left for New Zealand on a long-planned trip. She’d emailed him—one of the first emails of her life, this being in the ’80s—and told him of the pregnancy, unsure whether to get an abortion or not. He confessed to having a lover there and being unsure himself, and both agreed it had been just a fling, and yet, now there was this…situation. A baby.

She’d waited for her brain to decide—and then nature decided for her. Right at the two-month mark, she miscarried, which was a relief and extraordinarily physically painful and somehow very, very sad. Contradictory strong emotions blasting her all at once. She was twenty-two at the time, alone, in college, with a dead father and a mother she wasn’t very close to, so when Vincent arrived with a proposal and a necklace, she said yes. When she told him there was no baby, he proposed again, and again she said yes. And she’d worn it since, touching it whenever she needed it, such as now. Because even if love had dissipated, and even if the commitment to marriage had perhaps been born of fear more than true connection, it all had originally felt so hopeful and real.

She thought, I want to love again. I want to hope again.

She thought, I want the world to be better for everyone, for women and children, for people of all countries, I want better solutions.

She thought she heard a voice from the dark, a whisper. “Just do something. Any good thing. Keep going.”

—

In the trailer, she mumbled “Thank you” as she climbed into her sleeping bag in bed and Kit said, “No problema,” but she had been thanking the universe, Lady, herself, and, sure, Kit too. She turned on her side and stared at Kit’s filthy jeans, since that’s what was in her line of sight. He was moving around Dart quickly. First, propping her up by bear-hugging her and pulling her upward and leaning her against the trailer wall, then heating water, putting a cup of tea into her hands. He was rewrapping her head and then unzipping the bottom half of the sleeping bag and pulling off her socks and checking her feet, then massaging them, then bundling them up with new socks with hand warmers jammed in. He was pouring dog food into a bowl for Lady. He put a sandwich into her hand, and when she didn’t eat it, he tore off a hunk and pressed it to her lips until she started chewing.

“You want medical attention? I can drive you. The wound—well, it’s not the gash I imagined, given how much you bled. It’s not too deep, but it’s long. Like, super long. Maybe about four inches. Dang, lady.” His voice was soft and he kept on chatting, perhaps to calm them both. “Starts at your hairline, goes back toward the crown. You have all this hair in the way. It’s hard to see. But it’s stopped bleeding, I do think you’ll be okay.”

But they both knew what he was also saying: If you’re fine, I prefer not to go into town, so she said, “If I need to, I’ll take myself in the morning.” Then, “Kit, how old are you, anyway?”

“Thirty-nine.”

“You look younger.”

“That’s what people say.”

“You’re a grown adult.”

He nodded, confused. “Just like you.”

“You been doing this for years, or is this a new thing?”

“New.”

“Because you got to a place in life where you knew you needed to do more?”

He nodded. “You could say that.”

“Just how much trouble are you in?”

He groaned and sat back. “I’m trying to figure that out myself. I know I need to take responsibility, but also, I need to say that what I am doing is right. I will say this. I’m sorry I left. I just didn’t want to put my…”

“Sister.”

“Yeah, my sister. In jeopardy. I don’t want to go to prison, though I will if need be, I guess. But one thing I can’t do is put her in danger. She’s only bringing me food. She’s got two kids! So I needed time to think through a plan. I went to this…predesignated site we have where I leave an empty cooler and she leaves me a full one. Believe me, I wanted to come back and hang…I wanted to stay. With you. You seem like kinda a nut, an interesting and intriguing woman…And this sucks, being out here alone! I’m not a natural at it. It’s not like I’ve got a long history of backpacking in the wild! I’m just figuring shit out, man, and I could use some company. I’m lonely. But I just couldn’t do that to my sister…”

“I get it,” she mumbled. “She’s one of your keys.” She reached her hand up to touch her bandaged head, if only to make sure her head was really there. The pain roared, and she remembered that she’d hoarded some antibiotics and so dug them out of her backpack, took one, and then got up to pee and change her pad. Then, she got back in bed and closed her eyes.

A firm hug.

A shower.

A real meal.

A more comfortable place.

Heat.

She wanted all this—for herself, for Kit, for everyone.

She reached out to touch Kit’s arm. “I’m so glad you found me.”

“What if I hadn’t, Kat? I was camping out there. I heard this noise. Scared the shit out of me.”

“Well, this wound is not going to kill me.”

“No,” he said.

“If a cut this size was on my arm, I’d just bandage it.”

“Yeah, me too.”

“It just bled a lot because it’s on my head.”