And what? Why? To have done something memorable, or important, or probably get arrested. Quietly, Harry said, “Where are the glaciers?”

“I don’t know.”

She sat forward in her seat a bit, rewrapped her blanket close around her shoulders. We were pretty far up the mountain. “Shouldn’t we have seen them by now?”

I shrugged, helpless. “I don’t know.”

We passed a shuttle parked by an overlook. It had its roof open, and there were tourists hanging out, resting their folded arms on metal that must have been freezing cold.

Harry licked her lips. I could almost hear her tongue moving, we were so close together in that car. “Did you look up if they were still here?”

“No,” I said. “Did you?”

She shook her head slowly. “We would know, if the glaciers here had melted. Right?”

I blinked at her, confused. How on earth would we know that?

“Maybe they’re farther up the mountain. Maybe you can see them from farther up the mountain.” Her voice going just a little shrill, finding a brief common note with the wind.

“Maybe.”

We passed more tourists, clustered in their bright jackets on ledges. We passed little waterfalls and streams and a wall that wept snowmelt, which was in fact called the Weeping Wall. I’d heard you could rent cabins here. I wished we’d gotten a place to stay overnight. I wished I had come alone, so I could focus on this singular emotion, just me and this place that looked like a different planet because it looked so much like earth in picture books. Harry had said she wanted to go somewhere green. “Even if we don’t get to see glaciers,” I said, “it was worth it to see all this.”

Harry’s mouth was a somber pink line. “Definitely.”

The wind made a sound like we were pulling something out of it that it wanted to keep. “They can’t just be gone,” Harry said. “Can they?”

“I don’t know.”

There were occasional pockets of ice, muddy and melting. And there were wide, discolored swaths of rock, where ice had been and was gone, had left its ghost on the earth. I pointed these out to Harry. She bit the heel of her hand.

“It’s called Glacier National Park,” she said. “Shouldn’t they have to say if there are no glaciers?”

And, “That can’t really have already happened.”

And, “It’s not fair. That something can just already be gone.”

“No.” My hands were tight around the wheel. I felt full of the kind of mourning that comes with moving away from home, even though it was Harry who was moving away from home, and I was going back.