She slips her warm hand back in mine and we continue our walk. As I stare up at her, I can’t help but be proud of all she knows.

“We should get off the main road,” Ash says, watching me curiously.

I sigh, pulling myself out of my memory. “Town is a block that way,” I say, pointing to my right. And an unexpected sadness washes over me. Even though I’m so close, I can’t go there, not unless I want all of Pembrook following me down the street like a St. Patrick’s Day parade. “But we can’t take the streets, even the back streets. I would run into at least ten people I know. We’ll have to take the woods.” I look down at my scuffed, mud-stained boots and his shiny laced ones. “Will you be okay in those?”

“More than okay,” he says. “Since there’s no snow, we won’t leave much in the way of tracks; the woods are ideal.”

I take my duffel bag from his shoulder and lead him through the forest—a route I’ve taken so many times that I could narrate every twisted trunk and bent limb before we got to it. Our steps are mostly silent, even though I don’t anticipate running into anyone. In all the years I’ve lived here, I’ve only ever seen hikers in these woods in the summertime.

Our breath billows out in front of us in white clouds and I run my gloved fingers over a gnarled trunk that I nicknamed Mr. Henry as a child because I swore it had a face like my English teacher. As we get closer to my property, I pick up my pace, anticipation fueling my steps. I suddenly have this urge to run to my house, fling open my door, and call for my dad. And as that desire gets more insistent, my chest begins to ache. Will I ever do that again? Will my dad and I ever come back here?

“Do you want to talk about it?” Ash says, and there is none of his usual charm, just a kind offer.