And they were both wondering how they could make right what seemed to have gone so wrong.

Pete thought about running after Ginette and catching up with her so he could explain his theory on what it means to be close—and tell her why he had shared it with her.

It was an epiphany—one that had come to him because Ginette had told him that she loved him. When she told him that, Pete felt like he had been whooshed away from her all of a sudden. And he felt farther away from her than he had ever felt—but also closer to her than he had ever felt, both at the same time.

And when he told Ginette that he loved her, he felt like he had been whooshed even farther away from her. But he also felt even closer to her than he had ever felt.

He wondered if maybe he should have just said that—that, after they had professed their love to each other, he felt farther away from her—and closer to her—than he had ever felt.

She probably would have understood that.

And she probably would have stayed, if he had said that.

But that wasn’t what he had said.

Instead, he had said—when Ginette was sitting right next to him with her head upon his shoulder—that she wasn’t actually close to him at all; that she was actually about as far away from him as she could possibly be.

And that seemed to have driven her away.

Which was understandable.

Pete shook his head sadly and sighed and checked his watch. It was a Timex. With a Twist-O-Flex band. It used to be his dad’s.

It said 8:43.

Ginette had left him just over an hour ago.

She was home for sure.

Pete thought about going home himself.

But then that strange lightness filled up his insides again and seemed to compel him to stay where he was.

So he sat back down on the bench. And stayed.

Even though he knew he wouldn’t be able to sit there for 1.38 years.

And Ginette turned around and kept walking, annoyed that she had let herself hope she’d see Pete rushing toward her to explain himself and his kooky theory.

And that strange lightness inside her compelled her to keep going west—even though her mind kept telling her to stop and go home.

It was a little before 9 p.m. when the potato field she was walking beside gave way to the woods.

A homemade sign welcomed her to the wilderness: PAVEMENT ENDS. FUN BEGINS.

Ginette had always wanted to meet whoever had made that sign.

And she left the well-plowed, paved road behind.

And went into the woods.

As she did, she was overwhelmed by the lightness inside her, which was still compelling her to go west.

She walked for a while through a tunnel of evergreens. Fir, spruce, cedar, pine, and tamarack trees stood sentry along the Road to Nowhere, as if they were escorting her to wherever she was going.