I tickled her, and she laughed. Who had she talked to at the pool and what about? At the same time, I didn’t want details. Between my mom’s cancer and my job, I ached to keep things light. To focus on pleasurable things like Heather’s smile, her laugh, sex. “So, the pool was a success?” I said.

“Emily liked it, yeah.”

It had only been two hours in the car, but talking with Emily, entertaining her, keeping calm while her emotions fluttered, well, it was exhausting. What a relief to get rid of them. They could be needy, both of my girls. As Heather had backed out of the driveway with Emily, their swimsuits and towels in a bag, it felt like I’d dropped my heavy hiking rucksack. My shoulders lightened. I could breathe easy.

And I knew Heather. She hadn’t wanted to hang around here, following Emily from room to room, searching for dangerous objects before Em found them. Heather wasn’t keen on unpacking. She’d much rather sit poolside, steeped in her thoughts, while Em entertained herself in the water.

So, it had been a win-win.

“It was good here too,” I said. “Sawyer and I talked a bit while we unpacked.” It had been fun. Popping open a beer can, blasting classic rock, unpacking with Sawyer. The kid was so easy. Quiet. Every fifteen to twenty minutes one of us cracked a joke, but then we left each other alone. Our conversation wasn’t incessant or cumbersome like it was with Emily or Heather.

It had been a good day. No, a great day. “And I feel good. The physical work of unpacking. All the green, the wide-open space, the random gust of cow manure.”

“Oh, shut up.” She laughed, tilting her head back and opening her mouth. I loved watching her shell crack.

“Dead serious,” I said. “The smell of cow shit reminds me of being a kid.” I rolled onto my back, tucked my hands behind my head. “It is the smell of no responsibilities. Of summer baseball. Of fishing. Of hanging out at the general store at dusk.”

It was the truth. Today something nostalgic and ancient stirred inside me. Like a bear near the end of winter, rolling over in his dark cave, sensing it was almost time to get up and flex his muscles, to trap fish, to feed.

This town was umami to me, such a complex mix of flavor. Some of my best memories were here. Hunting with Dad, Mom ruffling my hair, making me cookies after school. She had taken care of me so completely—fed me, washed my clothes, put my shoes in the closet—it was embarrassing.