It was a few years after we became friends that she told me her brother was moving to New York. I’d never met him, despite how close Ellie and I were – New York is strange like that. You can know everything about someone and never meet their family. Our apartments are too damn small. The first time Davis and I kissed, two months after his move, on the linen sofa in Ellie’s apartment, I thought, How lucky am I? I was in awe of this man, who’d grown up like that but treated me like this.

When I had no choice but to admit to myself that he’d become abusive, I half wanted to laugh. Such clichés, the two of us. He had become his father. And I, desperate to find a new family, had dived headfirst into a romance that was chock-full of red flags, even early on. It never failed to amaze me how he and Ellie had turned out so differently. She drowned the fire of her childhood, with yoga, talk therapy, wine. Davis, on the other hand …

Davis always had the embers going, ready to stoke with a little kindling – suspicion, jealousy, me.

I headed out before noon, stopping at the grocery store to stock up on things that were easy to cook for one, then followed a winding road past wooded stretches and an old church with stained-glass windows into downtown Woodstock.

I parked on a side street, in front of a run-down house and a trickling creek. The place was verdant, fertile. I followed the road to the main strip, and an open square filled with a circle of silver-haired ladies banging on drums. The smooth stone sidewalks were packed with people; I spotted Brooklynites up for the weekend, a roaming pack of high school kids and a sweet older couple strolling hand in hand. I walked on, past peace signs nodding to the town’s eponymous festival, clothing shops selling comfort shoes, and street vendors hawking moonstone rings. Mountains loomed behind brightly colored storefronts, and an artsy flag hung over a thrift shop. The place was idyllic. A dream.

I stopped in a pet shop to get some chew sticks for Dusty, then ducked into Schoolhouse, a restaurant down the block. I took a seat at the counter, and while I waited for a menu, I surveyed the spot. Reclaimed wood, antique lighting, craft beer – one of those places you always find in quaint small towns.

Behind the counter, a chalkboard menu listed the offerings, and a bulletin board held the usual fliers. Advertisements for guitar lessons, information on upcoming town halls, and a PSA on bright orange paper.

PRACTICE SAFE HIKING!

Always go with a buddy.

Pack plenty of food and water, flashlights, and extra batteries.

Remember to sign in and sign out EVERY TIME.