Ayanna nodded. Throughout the night she had tried church, getting help, calling her father, offering to take her out to eat, anything. Opal had laughed away the suggestions. None of those things mattered. Here, she had pointed at the door, was something she could see. Something she could do. They had slept next to each other in the dirt, refusing to touch one another. Ayanna spent a few minutes awake, remembering how there was a time when listening to her mother breathe at night, moving in and snuggling close, was enough to make everything bad feel miles away. Her mother’s breathing was even. She still slept on her side, facing right. Ayanna handed Opal her tote bag and water bottle, taking only her wallet, keys, and phone from it. There were snacks, aspirin, tampons. Ayanna shut her eyes. Opal stood up. Ayanna refused to watch her die. Her fingers dug into her knees. The sun was a kiss on her upturned face.

“Be safe,” Ayanna said.

“Olivia,” Opal called. “Olivia.” She called the name over and over until it sounded like a melody. Ayanna opened her eyes. Opal was through the door, standing still. The long indigo grass came up to her waist. Ayanna watched as her mother grew smaller and smaller. In her head, she traced Opal’s path. There would be the berry bushes. The hill to climb that would let her gaze upon the silver mountains. She hoped her mother would do what she couldn’t and find Olivia. And if not that, maybe she would walk all the way to the mountains. Discover the secrets hidden up high, or at least get to relish in how beautiful all that blue must look from a higher elevation.

Maybe they would find each other as spirits.

The door shut. Ayanna did not think she would ever see her mother again. When she tried not to hate Opal, Ayanna liked to think about the time when her mother had taken her alone to watch a women’s soccer match. Olivia had been sick. They’d eaten popcorn together, hugged when the National Team scored their first goal, and when they were five up because they played together like a ludicrous eleven-headed being, running and moving together in awesome sync, they’d agreed this was beautiful. They’d judged the people around them who kept saying the women should be better sports and go easy. The memory did not help Ayanna to cry. When the door opened again, hours later, it was the golden path, where again it was snowing. Cold air blasted out the door, but it felt good to Ayanna against all that heat, like lingering in a grocery-store freezer door pretending she was indecisive about ice cream. She walked over to it and turned her back on it. Let it soothe her. For the first time, from the golden path she heard nothing, smelled nothing. Ayanna knew she could no longer stay.