“Ready?” she says. “You wanted to go on a walk, right?”

“Oh, um. Yes.” I try not to use exclamation points in my voice or get overexuberant and risk popping whatever bubble of goodness is happening. “We could go get some food. And I’ll bring my camera in case we find good places for pictures.”

I hope that sounds nonchalant.

“Yeah, maybe,” she says absently.

“Your hair looks super cute today,” I say.

She doesn’t respond.

I swing my camera bag over my shoulder, slide my shoes on, and we’re out.

We cross the asphalt jungle, pass all the RVs, and start passing shops and apartments. Ruth keeps walking. I see some fast food places, but Ruth doesn’t stop.

It takes me one block to realize that Ruth knows where she’s going. Without any discussion, I am following her somewhere. I have no choice because I’m supposed to stick with her. I don’t ask, because I know that she will do what she wants no matter what I say. How nervous do I need to be about this? She keeps an eye on her phone’s map and maintains our forward heading.

After several more blocks, I finally say, “Want to stop for food somewhere?”

“Let’s keep going,” she says.

I follow her farther and farther away from the RV park. I so badly want to ask her where we’re headed, but she’ll just tell me again to keep going. I’m starting to get scared.

But we’re on a walk, technically. This could be my chance, and I still have my camera. That is something happy that my mind can hold fast to.

I follow Ruth but keep my eyes open for Something New photo ops. I look down side streets and around corners of buildings, and the search takes some of the edge off my nerves.

New Orleans doesn’t disappoint. Down the far end of a street to our right I spot a wall with a giant pink NEW ORLEANS sprayed in bubble letters across the bricks.

Absolutely perfect.

“Hey,” I say, nodding toward the sign. “Look, let’s go take pictures.”

My chance for a matching jumping shot, I think. Or at least something close.

Ruth is looking at the map on her phone.

“No, we’re going straight,” she says.

“We can come right back. I just want … that big pink sign over there, see? It’ll be quick, just a few pictures.”

“No, we’re going this way.”

“Ruth, come on, it won’t…”

“No.”

The intersection is empty, and she crosses the street. Away from the sign.