The man wanted to stop her. Because he really wanted to know why this woman was at his house. But he couldn’t come up with anything to say to make her stay.

Fortunately, he didn’t have to come up with anything to say. Because the woman had stopped herself and had turned back to the man and said argh in a voice that made her sound like a pirate-chicken. And then, in her own non-pirate-chicken voice, she continued, “I was just so sure…”

The woman didn’t finish the sentence and the man wanted to know what the woman was so sure of and so he asked, “What?”

“Ugh,” she grunted. “I was just so sure he’d be here. When his parents passed away, he kept the house, I heard. He lived here. He stayed here, I thought. He was one of the ones who stayed.” The woman stared at the house and wondered where in the world Daniel was now. And then added, “I didn’t stay. I went away.”

“Most people do,” said the man ruefully. And he was telling the truth. Intelligent, aspiring people like this woman had been encouraged to leave northern Maine. And bring their intelligence and aspirations with them. Which is too bad, because places like northern Maine could use the intelligence and aspirations that the people who went away took with them.

“Yeah,” agreed the woman. “And I guess he went away, too. I never thought he would. I guess I lost track. I wish there was something you could keep people in for when you need ’em, you know?” She opened her purse and pointed inside. “Oh, there he is, perfect!” she said as if she were a Muppet or a cartoon character, hoping he’d think she was being funny and/or understand what she was saying.

But he didn’t. Think she was funny. Or understand what she was saying.

Then she laughed, hoping he’d laugh.

And he didn’t. Because he really didn’t know what she was talking about.

And then it was quiet.

And the northern Maine quiet made the woman realize how much noise there was where she lived.

And how much noise there was in her head.

And she realized that she needed to get back to a place where there was more noise outside her head than there was inside her head. So she grabbed her wheelie suitcase and turned to go.

But something inside her made her stop. It was that lightness again. It made her feel like she needed to be there—with this man. So she slowly turned to him. And looked lost.

“Are you all right?” asked the man.

“Yeah,” lied the woman. “It’s just … cold.”

The man actually thought it was pretty mild for a midwinter night in Almost, Maine. It was nineteen degrees. So he didn’t agree with the woman. But he didn’t tell her so.

“It doesn’t get cold like this where I’m from,” added the woman. And then she smiled. Even though she didn’t feel like smiling.