In June, Jenny and Willa drove north to hike in the Catskills, taking a route Jenny and her father had hiked many times during her childhood. Wildflowers were in bloom, the air hot and fragrant. She and Jenny wore boots with long pants, tape around the ankles, and before starting out, Jenny sprayed Willa with insect repellent. Jenny had suffered from Lyme disease several times.

Willa struggled on the steep trails. Jenny was endlessly patient with her, waiting for her to catch up when she lagged behind, while she snapped pictures of early summer flowers, or stopped next to the trail to pee, or tried to record the sounds of birds you only hear in the woods.

After the hike, they descended out of the mountains in Jenny’s car, and forty minutes later stopped in a town named after the mountains. A quiet place with old buildings. Some had been renovated. Shops and restaurants opened, people appeared on the street. Willa didn’t find the town charming or whatever it was supposed to be. The new facades meant that the people who had previously lived in the town had been forced to leave. She and Jenny went into a bar, sat at one of the rough-hewn wooden tables, and ordered burgers. Willa felt old and out of shape. She let the fries on her plate go cold. The bar filled with people, and soon all the tables were occupied. The lights dimmed, and the volume of the music increased. Willa leaned over the table.

“If I needed to,” Willa said, “could I come stay with you at the cabin?”

“Of course.” Jenny waited through Willa’s silence. “Is something wrong with you and Luke?”

They didn’t talk about him usually because Jenny didn’t ask. Marriages didn’t interest her. “No. Not really,” Willa said.

“You know you have me,” Jenny said. “And my place. Whenever.”

Now Jenny must think she and Luke were having problems, and they weren’t really. They weren’t having problems, but they weren’t happy, passionate. They weren’t having a good time, and it was too early on to have stopped. She wouldn’t tell Jenny this. “Yeah, I don’t need it,” Willa said. “I’m just asking because it’s nice to know you have backup.”

“All right. I’m your backup. I’m cool with that.”

“You’re not just my backup,” Willa said.

“Do you have sunstroke?” Jenny asked.

“It’s the house, I think,” Willa said. “I don’t like it. There’s this little room across from our bedroom. It’s where a normal person would put a nursery. Luke keeps calling it the office. My office. He doesn’t need one. But what do I do with an office?”

“How about a studio?”

“That makes me feel like I could start my little hobby again, and it’s too depressing.”

“Stop thinking about it so much,” Jenny said. “Why does it have to be torture? You should do it if it makes you happy.”

Willa cringed.

“What?” Jenny said. “I don’t get it. It’s too complicated or something?”

A man walked by the window of the bar. Willa noticed him because he hadn’t flowed by the way other people did. Walking through a dream, which happened to lead him across her view. His hand pressed against the glass to steady himself and he disappeared, leaving behind a white smear. Willa got up from the table and walked out onto the sidewalk. The sky burnished the tops of the buildings and made people in the distance into shadows. She moved to get a better look at the man. She watched his back, walking much faster, almost charging. The way he walked frightened her. She would normally avoid a person like him.

“Are you angry?” Jenny said from behind her.

“No,” Willa said. “I thought I saw Justin.”

“Where do all these people come from?” Jenny said.

There was no breeze, and the air smelled of cigarette smoke and people, their hair and lotions and perfumes. Bits of conversation, annoying voices, distracted her. Jenny disappeared back into the bar. Willa walked away from it, but only a few feet. Jenny joined her a moment later, and they walked together.

“It was probably him,” Jenny said. “Does he still live over in Hudson?”

“I don’t know,” Willa said. “He must, but I don’t know for sure.” She counted in her head, back to the previous summer. She hadn’t seen him for a year.

By the end of the block, she knew it was Justin. He hadn’t cut his hair or shaved. He wobbled, sickly and dangerous. People avoided him and laughed when they were out of his reach. She hurried around a small group of smokers. When Willa reached him, she couldn’t bring herself to touch him.

“Hey,” she said. The man turned around.

He didn’t recognize her, or acted like he didn’t, and for a minute she worried about her ability to know if someone was her brother or a man who resembled her brother. Justin’s nose gave him away. His clothes were stiff and ripped in places. His beard hair gleamed in the sun. He wouldn’t speak. If she heard his voice, she would know. Jenny’s hand slid over her shoulder, and Justin suddenly hurried away. He left a sweet, oniony smell behind: the smell of fields. Willa followed.

“Maybe you should leave him alone,” Jenny said, also following.

“What’s he doing?” Willa said.

They were now away from the crowds and on a street lined with rickety but pretty houses, all with tiny front yards and modest gardens. The land sloped downward. Ahead of them, Justin stumbled over the uneven sidewalk. All this time, she’d pictured him living with Shivam. She assumed they’d moved in together. She hoped he’d gotten his new life, whatever that meant. She’d been angry at him occasionally, at the foolishness of wanting to cut ties with her. He’d been so strong the last time she saw him and in his letter, telling her he didn’t need her. Before that, he’d needed her so much.

“Justin,” Willa shouted, and heard the sadness and begging in her own voice, which surprised her.

Justin stopped and turned around.

They caught up to him. Jenny hung back, but Willa wished she would take charge. Jenny would know how to handle this. Nearby, a woman walking a golden retriever stopped to watch them. Willa caught her breath. Justin glared at her with impatience. He wanted to be away from her, and it knifed through her. Sometimes, in the past, she’d wanted to be away from him herself. Was this how it felt to him?

“I’m not going anywhere with you,” Justin said.

“Where are you staying?” she said. “With Shivam?”

“None of your fucking business.”

“Why didn’t you call me?” she said.

“I told you I don’t want you in my life.” He didn’t shout. His words were soft, almost shapeless. A year ago, she’d sat by the river with him and had hurt him.

“This is ridiculous,” Jenny said. “Justin, you’re coming with us.”

He turned away from them and started walking again.

This time, Willa grabbed his arm without thinking.

“Leave me alone, you fucking cunt!”

She did. She left his arm alone, and even though she’d already let it go, he wrenched it back. He walked faster than before, heading off to wherever he lived. Maybe he didn’t live anywhere. She hated to think of him sleeping in a park or in a shelter. Where was Shivam?

She turned around and saw Jenny waiting for her a few houses away. They walked back to the car without saying anything, but Jenny put her arm around her as she cried. Once they were on the New York State Thruway, Jenny touched Willa’s knee and Willa smiled to show she was all right. She would think of what to do, or she would do nothing, she would forget him. He’d looked so horrible, so angry. The tears wouldn’t stop coming.

“I should have forced him to come with us,” Jenny said.

“You couldn’t have,” Willa said. “Nobody could.” It occurred to her that she hadn’t fully watched him walk away. She might never see him again and already she couldn’t remember what that last moment had looked like, when he turned away.