After dinner, we will go to town and call my family again. We will stop by the police station and ask about my car. I will have my clothes from the line. And that will be that.

“I’m sorry I got lost on my walk,” I say cheerfully. I direct my gaze at Alice and smile.

“I didn’t realize there were bears. That’s so scary,” I say. “Do they ever come up to the house? I’ve heard they can be very aggressive when they want food.”

Alice looks to the man who nods. Only then does she answer.

“One time they went through the garbage. But it might have been raccoons. They like the garbage too. And they’re so big!”

I don’t feel like talking, but I want to be polite. I make my eyes grow wide with amazement. “We have big raccoons where we live,” I say. “My husband put a lock on the garbage cans to keep them from coming. They gave up after a while.”

The man’s phone sits on the kitchen counter near his wallet. I glance at it now. I have to remind myself that there is nothing to check until we get back in range. Still, it reminds me that he tried to call and no one answered.

It was hard to believe without seeing the phone log. I didn’t even have to ask him—I think he knew how unbelievable it was.

I’ve been missing for twenty-four hours. They should be glued to their phones. They should answer every call—even the robocalls now. Wouldn’t they? Wouldn’t they answer every single call? Even though my husband doesn’t love me. Even though my daughter hates me. They would be desperate to find me. This sickens me, this thought of my family in despair.

And now another thought—maybe they don’t know I’m missing. Is that possible? That they haven’t even noticed I’m gone?

I struggle to make conversation.

“I saw smoke when I was lost in the woods. Are we close to the neighbors?” I ask.

Alice shrugs like she has no idea. I believe her. My kids never knew how far things were unless they got there themselves, by foot or by bike.