Then, Geannie’s collection. The third bedroom, at the end of the hall. Hernan’s old room, really. The door was halfway open and a rumpled sleeping bag lay in the middle of the floor. As I stared at it, trying to understand what it meant, Krystal leaned against the doorjamb behind me and folded her arms. When I turned to face her she shrugged. “I can’t sleep in the beds,” she said. Then, a little defensively, “I sleep on the couch downstairs, too.”

I didn’t know what to say. She was blocking my way out of the room, so I had to look around at all the stupid Beanie Babies, the blue carpet Hernan had chosen years ago when it was still his room. How Geannie had loved them. How much love lived in this room.

Krystal’s mouth did this quivery thing and she shrugged again. “I just miss them sometimes, I can’t help it.”

I stared at her, wanting to slap her. Wanting to drag her to the ground and punch her nose into her throat.

“Don’t you, Bonnie? Don’t you ever miss them?”

I went to leave but she didn’t move, so I moved her. I pushed her to one side to get through the door, and was pleased to find that it was like flicking paper, that she felt like nothing.

She might have stumbled or fallen but I wasn’t sure, I was walking out of the house. I was getting into my pickup truck. I was getting the fuck out of there. I drove home and thanked god it was Friday. I didn’t answer my phone when it rang. I showered, got something to eat, put on some Three’s and let the DVD loop until I fell asleep.

December arrived. When my lottery winnings were first transferred to my accounts I stared at the number, feeling nothing. But overall my sense of an ending intensified. I had already started touring potential properties for my project. The real estate agent would meet me in the county seat, which was halfway between where I lived and the wilderness, and we’d go exploring in her car.

The final property I toured was at the top of a minor mountain that lay in less inhabited territory, miles out from the nearest large town, and about two hours away from my trailer. To get to it we had to drive up a narrow, twisting road that would be harrowing to navigate in all seasons, particularly in winter, and at the end of it was a two-mile driveway that led to the front doors of the main house.

Where the long driveway met the road the land flattened out, acres of it. Trees grew thick at the edges of the property and thinned closer to the main house, giving way to open fields. The land was surprisingly level at the top, despite the fact that my ears popped as we drove. The nearest neighbors were miles and miles away. A small village of about 150 people sat near the foot of the mountain on the other side, just as the mountain ceased its incline, but that, too, was at least five miles away from the property, and was the closest hint of civilization.