The woman seemed to pity East when she learned the origin of his unusual name. “Oh,” she said with a wincing smile. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. You didn’t name me.”

The woman smiled, conceding East’s point.

“And—anyway—I like my name,” continued East.

“Well, good.”

And then the woman congratulated East on his recent birthday.

And East thanked the woman and appreciated her thoughtfulness.

And then the woman—who had completely forgotten why she was where she was—asked, “So … Easton, huh?”

“Yup.”

“Yeah, I passed a sign for there on my way here, and, by the way, where is ‘here’? I couldn’t find it on my map.” The woman pulled her cerulean gloves off with her teeth again and pulled a map out of her jacket pocket.

“Um … well—”

“Where am I?” asked the woman, unfolding her map.

“You’re in unorganized territory. Township 13, Range 7.”

East went on to explain that over half of Maine’s land area—an area the size of the states of Vermont and New Hampshire—was unorganized territory. Back when the country was being put together, surveyors went out and started mapping the wild places. And those wild places were divided into townships that were about thirty-six square miles each. Almost was one of those townships.

The woman looked on her map for this “Almost” place, but East warned her, “It’s not gonna be on your map, ’cause it’s not an actual town, technically.”

“What do you mean?”

“See, to be a town, you gotta get organized, and we never got around to getting organized. So we’re just … Almost.”

“Oh.”

“Plus, we’re almost in Canada.”

“Okay.” The woman nodded.

“And almost not in the United States.”

“Okay.”

“So … Almost.”

“Okay.” Appropriate name, supposed the woman.

And she wondered what in the world this “Almost” place was.

And then decided that she needed to get back on task and said, “Okay, well—I’m just gonna do what I need to do, here, if that’s still okay?”

“Oh, yeah, sure,” said East, and he reminded the woman again to let him know if she needed anything and the woman said, “Thanks,” and East turned to go. And as he did, the woman added, “And my name’s Glory, just so you know.”

East turned back to the woman and felt that strange lightness fill up his insides again and said, “Hi, Glory.”

And Glory said, “Hi.” And felt the strange lightness fill up her insides again, too.

And Glory didn’t quite know how to deal with the lightness she was feeling and suddenly directed her focus back up to the sky.

And East didn’t know how to deal with the lightness he was feeling, either, so he turned and started to make his way back to his house.

And he felt a deep, strange sense of loss as he did.

And so did Glory.

And then Glory realized that she was feeling a sense of loss because she had actually lost something.

Or was missing something.

And then discovered that the small brown paper sack she had been carrying was no longer in her possession.