IT WAS A LONG WALK TO THE TRAIN STATION, LONGER THAN I’D anticipated, especially while still hungover and wearily lugging my duffel bag. By the time I arrived the train—the only one for hours—had come and gone without me. This felt absurd. I hadn’t really expected it to happen, though I knew I was running late. It was too absurd to leave and then have to go back. So I didn’t. I picked a big house with no car in the driveway and sneaked around to the backyard. It was easy; all the houses had hedges instead of fences.

How long had it taken me to get from the house to the train station? Take in how long an hour is. How much space fits inside a length of time. The pavement, in fresh repair, still all wet and shiny from the previous night’s rain. All the square green lawns, perfectly preened. The cool wet wind. The fat man standing outside his house smoking, watching me curiously. The escaped family dog, trotting toward me, then sensing my mood, running away.

I felt like I should’ve been going over something in my mind the way I did as a child when I argued with my mom, but I found myself unable to really think about Lonnie at all. I sat down in a lounge chair next to a covered pool. I dialed my dad’s phone number, not expecting him to answer, but his voice came through clear on the other end after two rings.

“Ella,” he said. “How are you, Smalls?”

He sounded fine. He sounded normal, and for some reason that made my throat start to close up.

“Dad.” I choked. “You’re okay?”

“It’s going to take more than that to finish me off,” he said. “They say I gotta quit smoking, but I’ll survive.”

I was crying now, tears falling down my face, but I tried not to let my voice give me away. “I told Wendy I didn’t have the money to come home, but that was stupid. I want to come home.”

“You don’t have to come back for me, Smalls. I’d love to see you, but why don’t you get a ticket the next time you have some time off work. Don’t waste your money on those last-minute tickets, the way they jack the price up is criminal. Don’t let them take you for a ride. I’d feel guilty.”

“I’m still going to come home soon,” I said. “It’s been too long. I owe you.”

“You have to live your life. I remember what that’s like. Maybe one of these days I’ll get out there to visit you.”