Vera and John had told me this was a fairly easy climb, but I wasn’t exactly in the habit of hiking, and besides, my head still ached from the night before, the exercise only exacerbating it. They walked ahead easily, pointing out butterflies and chipmunks and other wildlife to each other, and to me.

‘You okay?’ Vera turned, perching a hand on her hip. She had a light sheen of sweat on her forehead, whereas I was covered in it. ‘Want some water?’

I nodded. The bottle she’d loaned me had long ago been emptied. She held the spout up to me, and I leaned down, drinking, as if she were the momma dog and I was the suckling puppy.

John knelt to tighten his laces, then stood. ‘I hope we aren’t tiring you out,’ he said. ‘We’re used to hiking now, and Vera here’s a runner, but I guess you probably don’t get much of that in the city. Apart from those goddamned subway stairs.’

I was too tired to laugh. I finished drinking, and Vera offered the spout to John, but he shook his head. ‘Okay, big, strong man,’ she said. Then, turning to me: ‘It’s the Wisconsin in him.’ She laughed and he did, too, and I remembered how he’d used a similar line only last night. They were perfect for each other – weren’t they?

Water sloshed in my stomach; my insides felt like jelly. ‘You guys should go ahead,’ I said. ‘I don’t want to slow you down.’

‘You’re not,’ John said, though we all knew it was a lie.

A prick of heat in my chest. I didn’t like the thought of them waiting; it would only add to the pressure to pick up the pace, and I hated feeling rushed. ‘Go. Just wait up at the summit, and we can hike down together.’ My voice rose the slightest bit. ‘I’d rather be able to go at my own pace.’

They exchanged a look.

‘Seriously.’

Vera bit her lip, but her determination waned. ‘Take the CamelBak, at least.’ She shimmied out of it and handed it to me, then linked her hand in John’s. Quickly, they disappeared out of sight.

I’m not sure how much farther it was to the summit, but it felt like it took me ages to get there. Wet leaves and mossy rocks tripped me, my calves ached, and my breath came in short, angry bursts. My stomach seemed ready to empty itself at any moment, and my soul craved the safety my mother had once offered: protection from the dangers of hikes, the fear of being found, angry men swearing at me for daring not to be a local, the ache of loneliness I’d come to know too well.