Darby shook her head in disbelief even when she’d heard it from me. “Screwed up how? Just because you were drinking?”

“It’s a long story,” I said. “Trex can explain it to you.”

“If you ever come back … be sure to stop by and say hi.”

I smiled. “I will.”

A man older than my father, who dressed like a Baptist preacher and smelled like cheap aftershave, offered a contrived smile before taking my backpack. The cowlick on the top of his white hair was misbehaving, despite what looked like a quarter cup of gel he’d combed through it.

I waited for him to open the door, but he opened the trunk and threw in my bag. I opened the door myself, thinking the sticky carpet and trash tucked in the back of the passenger seat was the perfect ride for a woman who’d just left county jail.

The two and half hours to Estes Park seemed especially long when having to breathe in the smell of mothballs and possibly a fart or two. When we reached city limits, the driver turned his head while still keeping his eyes on the road.

“Do you have an address?”

“Lone Tree Village. Building F.”

He sighed. “Do you have an address?”

“Hang on,” I said, looking through my phone. “Thirteen-ten Manford Avenue.”

The driver poked at his GPS and then sat back, resuming his mission to ignore me.

We passed through a part of town I was unfamiliar with, and then turned onto a side road, driving for another two minutes. The Lone Tree Village sign made me feel excited for half a second, but then I remembered most of the things I’d taken from my parents were still at the Alpine barracks, and all that I had was inside my backpack.

The driver drove straight to the back where Tyler’s building sat. He rounded the back and then pulled into the first free parking space he found.

I stepped out onto the asphalt and waited for the driver to fetch my backpack. He handed it to me and turned for his door.

“Excuse me?” I said, following him.

He turned, annoyed. “It’s been taken care of.”

“Oh,” I said, watching him open the door and sit behind the wheel. I took a step back when he reversed, watching him drive away and then looking up at building F.

111 was upstairs, so I climbed the first set, turned at the landing, and climbed another. Some of the clay-colored slats of the vinyl siding were missing, but it was in a nice neighborhood and the outside lawn was manicured—not that I was in any position to be fussy.

I pulled Tyler’s key from my pocket and twisted it in the bolt lock. The mechanism clicked, and my heart began to pound. Standing in front of Tyler’s apartment, preparing to enter his personal space for the first time without him there, felt wrong.