Ginette stood still in the darkness for a moment.

And felt a great peace overcome her.

And then felt that strange lightness fill up her insides again.

And it seemed to force her to look skyward.

And she did.

And when she did, she saw the narrow swath of stars framed by the pointy treetops.

And—she saw the northern lights.

Which were what she had told Pete she wanted to see after they had shown his parents what they were doing their science projects on.

And she was in awe as she watched the aurora dance in the sky—yellow, red, white, and green. And even blue and purple.

And then the lightness inside her—which seemed to be one and the same as the lightness above her—compelled her to continue on her way to wherever she was going.

And when she redirected her focus from the sky to continue on her way—she realized that she wasn’t where she had just been.

She wasn’t in the woods anymore.

She was in a snowfield.

Facing the observatory.

At Skyview Park.

And she was on the trail that she and Pete had taken when Ginette had taken Pete to Skyview Park to see if they could see the northern lights—after Pete had held her hand in front of his parents.

And she wondered how this was possible.

A tesseract, maybe.

Or a wormhole.

Or some other sort of bending of time and space.

Whatever the case—Ginette had moved through space and time in an extraordinary way.

And she was back at the observatory.

And she didn’t quite understand how that was possible.

But she didn’t care that she didn’t quite understand.

Because she realized that now she could go and see Pete and get the explanation she was looking for.

If he was still there.

She looked toward the observatory platform. And, against the bluish glow of the wide-open snowfield, she could make out the silhouette of the bench—and the silhouette of a person sitting on the bench.

It was Pete—she hoped.

He was still there—she hoped.

Ginette started walking toward the bench.

And wondered how long she had been gone.

It felt like forever.

And a moment.

Both at the same time.

As she approached the bench, the northern lights continued to hover above.

And Pete, who was, indeed, still sitting on the bench, saw them.

And watched them dance and shimmer in the sky above.

And then he stood up because they seemed to require him to do so.

And he wished that Ginette had been there with him to see them. And he hoped that—wherever she was—she could see them.

And then he wondered where she was.

And he looked west, toward where Ginette had gone when she had left him.

And Ginette quietly approached the bench.

And watched Pete as he wondered.

And looked up at the glorious celestial phenomenon. And said, “I didn’t actually think we’d see ’em.”

Ginette hadn’t spoken loudly or anything, but the sound of her voice contrasted starkly with the quiet night and made Pete jump a little. He turned toward the sound of the voice, and, even though he knew it was Ginette’s, he was still surprised to see her standing on the other side of the bench, looking up at the northern lights.