Arun raised his eyebrows. “Did you?”

“Of course she told me. And I would’ve noticed anyway. You think she could hide that?” The words sent a crack of pain down my neck. We’d drifted so far apart. I’d failed to recognize creative euphoria in my own partner, living beside me in the middle of nowhere for three months. What was wrong with me? I cleared my throat, trying to sound natural: “Can I ask you something?”

Arun nodded, watching with concern.

“Why don’t you want to raise kids?”

Egg white shone opalescent on his chin. “You want to know?”

“Of course.” Nothing he’d say would change my mind. I’d heard all the arguments. I’d made them myself—global health, overpopulation, climate change, career surrender, drudgery. I hated chores. I hated shopping. I only liked one in a hundred kids—those were tricky odds. I didn’t want kiddie barfing diseases. I didn’t care about advancing my genes. I didn’t want Maggie’s body to change. I didn’t want to read a book about parenting. But everyone said once the kid was born, you were happy.

“No one would admit they made a mistake,” he said. “By having a kid, I mean. There’s too much investment.”

“Yeah, yeah.” I’d thought of that.

“That’s not why I’m scared, though.”

I should’ve ended the conversation—Maggie was waiting—but I had to ask. “Then why?”

“My nephew,” he said, “lives in Queens. When he was four he escaped his bed. He opened the front door and stood outside until a bus stopped. He got on the bus and rode into Manhattan.”

“No.” Arun exaggerated all the time for laughs.

“He did.” Arun set his empty glass on our steamer trunk. “My brother and his wife were asleep. They think the bus driver was high, but I bet everyone thought Sunil was with someone else. He rode over the Queensboro Bridge and into Midtown. He got off at Lincoln Center. Seriously.” Arun wore that hurt look he got when he feared we didn’t believe him. “Later people said they wondered about the kid. But no one did anything.” He rolled his eyes. “New Yorkers, man. No offense.”

Arun had forsaken New York to live as a pure Westerner. “Hey,” I said. “I’m in Wyoming now.” If I’d found that kid I would’ve scooped him up and ferried him to safety. I would’ve made him laugh in my arms until his parents claimed him.

“Anyway,” Arun said. “This lady found him.”

“Phew,” I said.

“No.” His face darkened. “It’s not good.”

Arun never talked about his family. His parents were nasty to him and, I suspected, abusive. Part of his love for Laramie was that there were only two planes a day into town. You saw one dangling in the sky and knew your visitor was on board. No one could sneak up on you out here.

“They went to a play.” Arun frowned. “I guess it had some weird stuff. A man dressed as a wolf, some naked kid, a stone people handled. It was a festival entry—the script isn’t published. I’ve checked. I’m sure you would’ve loved it.”