She opened her eyes right away, and while the imperturbable facade was still visible, there was something underneath it, something I strove to name, but the only word that came close to what I observed was “amusement,” and that might as well have been an emoji. I had no idea how to interpret it.

I’d come with a pipedream plan: I was going to tell October about my art project, and she was going to think it was brilliant and want to work on it with me. But once I was in the chair, that topic didn’t seem right.

“You wanna know something?” I said, adlibbing. “I still keep a list of words on my phone.” I readjusted my hands so that I had a better hold. “Whenever I stumble across a good one, I add it to my file. There’s over a hundred now. And every time I add one, I think, I wish I could share this with October.” It happened again. A subtle shift. This time in the grip she had on my fingers. Her skin was alive. It felt everything. “It’s true. Whenever I’m trying to decide how I feel about something, I think of you. I try to see it through your eyes. I do it with songs, with art, with coffee shops and cheeseburgers and current events. You’re my filter and compass for everything. Anyway, I added a word this morning when I was talking to Eli, and it seems relevant. “Heliotropism.” It’s the tendency of plants to turn or lean toward the light in order to grow. I’m convinced the concept applies to humans too.”

I recalled something Cal had texted me the night before. A meme that said if you stare into someone’s eyes long enough, your heart rates will synch up, and I decided to test that. I wanted to sit with October, to be with her without talking, the way we used to do at work. I refocused my gaze and didn’t say another word, and October stayed with me, our twin eyes in sync, our chests aligned. I breathed when she breathed, and I imagined that her breath was filling my lungs and mine was filling hers. It was exciting. Intimate. And when the chime went off a few minutes later, I let go of her hands but didn’t let go of her eyes, not until I stood to leave.

I exited the exhibit, walked up the maple steps and into the main lobby. Then I wandered out the front door and back to my truck, all the while thump thump thumping my hand against my chest, to keep the rhythm going, so as not to lose the beat of her heart.

TWENTY-EIGHT.

I’d stopped having conversations with Sam during my time in Montana. I can’t say why for certain, but I guessed it was because I had no references for him in that environment, no memories. I couldn’t feel him there at all. Likewise, I was a catastrophe when I got to Whitefish, and it’s hard to look for, let alone see, magic in the world when you’re broken inside. Beyond that, I allowed for the possibility that Sam was so disappointed in my pusillanimity, he’d thrown in the towel.