Dawn glints in the cracks of the foliage above. As Henry opens the door, crisp morning air rinses the sour stink from the cab but not off him. He drapes a washcloth around his neck and makes his way down a winding footpath through the woods leading to the river. If this park wasn’t a two-gallon drive from Junior’s school, they would spend more nights here. On top of the slim chance of getting caught trespassing after hours, it’s so isolated that the DNR doesn’t bother padlocking a concrete shed with stainless steel basins for the night. A rare 24–7 bathroom. Don’t bother cleaning it too often either, but privacy and running water are a fair trade for disinfectant. Inside, it’s dim and damp and reeks of wet leaves and tart urine. No mirrors, no toilet paper, and today no hot water knob. Broken off since their last visit. The stripped, exposed bolt won’t turn in his grasp, so he splashes frosty water over his face and neck until his skin prickles firm and numb, before soaking the washcloth for Junior.

Back outside, his muscles go as taut as his skin. He is not alone. A presence, someone watching. He swallows his breath as he creeps along the path, peering between trees to scan the parking lot. The truck waits alone. Behind him, still nobody. He tells himself to quit being so paranoid. Get it together. Breathe in, and then a fierce bleat sends him jumping.

A crow announces itself with a caw. It slaps out of the branches and into the sky. Next thing he knows, he’s craned his neck and begun jogging after its airborne trail toward the river. The bird’s beak stabs straight forward, never dipping to check for its own reflection in the water’s surface. By the time Henry gets to the muddy banks, the crow has flown so far it’s a freckle, shrinking off to someplace Henry can’t but wants to follow. He crumples to his knees, panting, his chest blistering. Abandoned. Earthbound. Landlocked. His breath and temperature cool according to the river’s flow. Its churn is soothing, inviting, and so—this time absolutely certain he’s alone—he screams.

Motion resumes. The river is flowing, the crow keeps shrinking, and Henry is still right here.

When he turns the engine, the gas gauge needle floats up only to sink back into the red. He turns the heat on full blast. Drapes the soaked washcloth over the vents. As it heats up, he leans back, nudges Junior. Says it’s time to get ready for school.

“Mommy?”

“Just Pa.”