“Oh, no!” she gasped. East heard Glory and stopped and turned to her. “Oh, no!” uttered Glory again. And she dug her flashlight out of her backpack and started searching the area for what was missing.

But it was nowhere to be found.

“What’s wrong?” asked East. He saw her flashlight beam dancing on the snow, and when he shone his Maglite on her, he saw her frantically searching the area around her campsite.

“Glory?” he called, rushing back to her. “Are you okay?”

Glory was emitting strange grunts and groans and gasps as she searched.

“What’s wrong?” repeated East.

“My heart!” called Glory.

“Huh?”

“My heart!” Glory repeated, clutching at her chest, her breathing labored.

East wondered if she was having a heart attack—even though she seemed far too young to be having a heart attack. “Where is it?” gasped Glory, searching more frantically.

Glory shone her flashlight on East and was about to ask him to help her find what she was looking for when she gasped, “Oh! You have it!”

“Huh?”

Glory was pointing at something East was holding. “In that bag, it’s in that bag!”

East looked to where Glory was pointing and saw that he was holding the brown paper sack in the crook of his arm—again. And wondered how on earth it had gotten there. He didn’t know that when he hugged Glory, it had become lodged between their bodies again, and another imperceptible transfer had occurred.

“Please give it back. Please, I need it!” Glory demanded, struggling to breathe.

“Yeah, sure, here,” said East, going to Glory and offering her the bag—which she grabbed and held close.

“Thank you,” she said, greatly relieved, her breathing starting to normalize.

“You’re welcome,” said East, completely bewildered.

Glory looked back up at the sky. And tried to make like nothing had happened.

And East stood and stared at Glory. And wondered if he had heard her correctly. Had she just said that her heart was in that bag?

Glory felt East’s eyes on her and kept looking at the sky, hoping that East would go away so she wouldn’t have to explain what she had just said was inside the brown paper bag she was clutching.

But East wasn’t going away. He was staring at her. And trying to make sense of what had just happened. And—even though he knew it wasn’t any of his business—he couldn’t help but ask, “Um … I’m sorry, but, did you just say that your … heart … is in that bag? Is that what you just said, that your heart is in—”

“Yes,” interrupted Glory. He had already asked the question once, and there was no need for him to repeat it.

East thought long and hard about Glory’s answer. And then finally remarked, “It’s heavy.”

It was. But Glory chose not to let East know that she concurred, and said nothing. Because she was too busy trying—and failing—to find a way out of having to explain what she knew she was going to have to explain.