And then they looked back down at the shoe.

And tried to figure out where it had come from.

But couldn’t.

And then Phil held the shoe out to Marci.

And Marci took it.

And looked at it.

And then looked at her husband.

And then looked back up at the sky.

And then looked back at her husband.

And then looked back at the shoe.

And then sat down on the picnic bench and pulled her skate off.

And checked the sky one more time.

And looked at the shoe one more time.

And then slipped it on.

And looked back up at the sky.

And then looked to her husband.

And wondered what in the world was happening.

And then she slowly stood up and started gathering their things—her skates, Phil’s skates, the thermos—and shoved them into the hockey duffel bag. Then she shouldered the duffel, grabbed her totebag and the Coleman lantern, and made her way up to the Sierra, and tossed the duffel bag and her tote onto the backseat of the truck. Then she switched off the lantern and watched the flame die and set it on the floor in the backseat.

And then she got in the truck and waited for Phil to join her so they could go home.

But Phil didn’t join her.

She rolled down her window and leaned out and called, “Phil.”

And waited for an answer.

And didn’t get one.

So she rolled up the window and grabbed a flashlight out of the glove box and made her way back down to the picnic table and shone her light on Phil. Who had been staring out across the lake, past the illuminated makeshift ice rink and out into the darkness.

“Phil. Come on.”

But Phil didn’t come on.

Instead, he took his keys out of his pocket and held them out to Marci without looking at her.

And Marci stared at them.

And she felt a heaviness in her stomach. And it made her feel awful.

But then that strange lightness filled up her insides again. And it made her feel hopeful. And brighter. And unburdened.

And she took the keys from Phil.

And made her way back up to the Sierra.

She stopped and turned to Phil and jangled the keys once to let him know she was going—and maybe to ask him if he really wanted her to go.

Phil didn’t respond.

So Marci got in the Sierra, flicked off the flashlight and tossed it onto the passenger seat.

And then she started the truck.

The sound of the engine roaring to life filled the silent night. And the headlights flooded the ground and illuminated the spruce and hemlock and fir and pine trees. And Echo Lake Road.

Marci gave Phil one last chance to change his mind and join her in the truck.

But Phil was still staring out across the lake.

And not changing his mind.

So Marci revved the engine and drove up Echo Lake Road toward the Road to Somewhere/Nowhere.