“Mara,” she said.

“Yes?”

“The thing with Lenny—”

“It doesn’t matter,” said Mara. “That was a different world.” Thinking of Lenny made her think of cameras. There were no cameras here now.

“I want to explain.”

“I had no right to be angry. I was just scared.”

“I didn’t want to do it.”

Mara felt cold. “He made you?”

“I don’t know,” said Ashley. “I just kind of went along.”

“That doesn’t sound like a choice.”

“I could have quit the show,” she said.

“Yeah, but you needed it.”

“Yeah,” said Ashley. She burrowed deeper into Mara’s arms, and Mara hugged her close.

“He used condoms,” she said.

“What a gentleman.”

“Nobody said survival was comfortable.”

Mara hesitated. “Maybe it should be.”

“With your boyfriend,” said Ashley. “Do you like it?”

“I used to,” said Mara. “It’s not his fault. He wants me to feel good. I just don’t love him anymore.”

“Do you need love? For sex?”

“Not always. But with him I did.”

“And with me?”

“I don’t need it,” she said. “But I do.”

“Do what?”

“You know.”

“You love me?”

“Yes, I do.” It was easy to say.

“Thank you,” said Ashley, and Mara kissed her hair.

33

Two nights later, in the evening, they sat at the table and played chess by candlelight. Bullfrog played white and Ashley played black and Mara flitted between them, pointing out moves and making up rules for the parts they didn’t know. Bullfrog was down to four pieces. He hesitated, then passed, and Ashley flicked over his king. He leaned back and put his feet on the table. “Your game, Mara.”

She was too nervous to sit down. “I’ve been thinking,” she said. “I think we should leave before winter.”

“Leave here?” said Ashley.

“Yes.”

Ashley picked up the king and set him back on his feet. “I’ve been thinking the same thing.”

They didn’t leave right away. But their days changed. No more chopping firewood or tending the traps. They went through every inch of the cabin and laid out the inventory, everything they had. For clothing: jeans and flannels, a sweater, a raincoat, one down jacket, boots that didn’t fit any of them right. Bags of cornmeal, canned staples. Snares and arrows, sutures and salt. There were no backpacks. Whoever had made this place did not plan to leave.

He should have packed crates of chocolate, Mara thought. Pounds of spices. Cinnamon, turmeric, powdered cream. More books, slippers, a guitar. Toys and paints for his son. He did a lot right, but that was where he went wrong. He planned to struggle to stay alive. If Mara ever made a place like this, it would be less about struggling and more about forgetting you needed to.

She folded the blankets into lopsided packs, rolling them tight and making shoulder straps out of rope. The blankets would give them something for warmth, at least, and help them carry food along the way. Maybe ten days’ worth of food, if they didn’t eat much, but they were used to that by now. Who knew how long they’d have to travel? They would take the canoe as far as possible. Maybe they’d meet hunters in the woods. Maybe they’d walk for a day and find a road.