Cal looked at me and said, “I was thinking . . .” And before he said it I finished his sentence with: “. . . that we’d hike back.”

Cal nodded, and October said, “You guys are cute. But it’s going to get dark soon.”

“Not that soon,” Cal said. “And it wouldn’t be the first time we hiked in the dark.”

“We were never very good at knowing what time the sun was going to set.”

“Besides,” Cal added, “I could blindfold Harp and he could still get us home from here.” Cal looked at October. “Can we?”

She rolled her eyes and playfully smacked him in the arm. “I’m not your mom. Do whatever you want. Just don’t call me to come and pick you up if you get lost.”

We walked October to the car, and I promised her we would most definitely not get lost.

Cal gave her a long, deep kiss and said, “You’re dope.”

We had to walk down the street a ways to catch the beginning of the trailhead. It wasn’t even seven o’clock yet, and that meant we had plenty of decent light left. As long as we kept up a good pace, we’d have a mile or so in the dark, but we’d be on the fire road to October’s house by then and, like Cal said, I could hike that trail in a blindfold and still make it home.

Instead of reminiscing, which is what we’d been doing most of the evening, Cal and I talked about some of the things we had coming up. I was excited about the birdcage and described it to him in great detail. He, in turn, told me how much he was looking forward to his upcoming show at the Greek Theater in Berkeley. It was a couple months away, already sold out, and would be the last performance of the tour.

“I really want you to be there,” he said. “You’ll come, right?”

“Of course,” I assured him. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

By the time we hit the Gravity Car Fire Road, I could tell Cal had something on his mind. He’d gone quiet and his eyes were pointed at the sky. Anytime Cal was feeling contemplative, he stared at the sky.

Further down the trail, he climbed a small embankment and watched the lights of San Francisco twinkling in the distance. A moment later, his eyes glazed out on the view, he said, “Harp, can I talk to you about something?”

“Sure.”

He picked up a long, narrow stick and poked at things in the dirt. “It’s about October.”

My jaw tightened. For a moment I said nothing. Then, “What about her?”