He threw his hands up, then picked up his toiletries kit, walked toward what Amy assumed was the bathroom, intelligently avoiding a fight.

She called after him. “I’m sorry. I think I’m a little carsick.”

“Move my stuff and lie down. Do you want me to unpack your suitcase?” he called from the bathroom.

Amy didn’t move anything, but sank into a Blackwatch plaid easy chair and leaned back, closed her eyes.

Phil came back from the bathroom and the sound of him moving things around, opening and shutting drawers, caused Amy to open her eyes. He stood next to the bed pulling clothes out of her suitcase.

“Where is the gerbil cage?” she asked.

“What?”

“It smells like a gerbil cage.”

Phil sat at the edge of the bed and laughed. “It’s a cedar bathroom.”

He shifted to point down the hall and a pile of her clothes fell off the bed.

She stood, bent to pick up her clothes, turned to the hewn-log dresser and opened a thin drawer, laid her shorts and shirts neatly in it, then squished them down to close the drawer.

“They would fit easier one drawer down,” Phil said.

She began to tell him she knew how to take care of herself, that she didn’t need to be told what to do. And then she wondered, really wondered, if she actually did know how to take care of herself.

She looked up at him in the mirror over the dresser, glanced away then back at herself, the way her eyes squinted, the green dull and muddy compared to Eliza’s bright eyes. The neat and pulled ponytail she’d made at home sprang loose, not in sweet curls or straight pieces of golden sun like Eliza’s, but in frizzy tufts, dust balls. She smoothed her hair—a futile attempt.

It was a colossal mistake coming here. Things could only get worse, a downward spiral. She wanted to go home.

She turned to the bed then flopped facedown, half on the pile of neatly stacked clothes courtesy of Phil, and buried her face in the pillows—pure down pillows.

“Down,” she mumbled through the plaid.

“Did you bring your allergy pills?”

“I hope so.”

“I’m sure I have some.”

She turned her head. “Always taking care of me.”

He tousled the back of her already puffed hair and went to the bathroom to look for the lifesaving antihistamine that would ward off the effects of mold, mildew and down. If only it could ward off memories.

She wanted to go home. She wanted to unload the dishwasher, tidy the living room, read the paper, go grocery shopping, fold the laundry, work on her class lesson plans. The sleepless nights of the week joined with the one beer and she began to doze off, float above the room.

“Ame . . . here’s some water, your allergy medicine.” Phil rubbed the back of her neck.

“I want to go home.”