She didn’t respond.

The weather app on my phone said the high temperature in Guerneville was fifty-three degrees, and before I left I threw on my fleece pullover, overkill in Mill Valley, which was unusually balmy that morning, but it would be necessary under the shade of the redwoods.

When I got down to town, I parked in the lot behind Mill Valley Market and ran in to get matches, a newspaper, and some wood to start a proper fire at the picnic site. I had some incense too, and planned on burning it with the postcard as an offering to Sam.

I took the bag of supplies back to my truck, dropped it on the seat, grabbed my thermos and the book I was reading—a weird memoir about a man who had moved from Manhattan to the Rocky Mountains to follow his lifelong dream of raising alpacas—and walked the two blocks to Equator.

The notoriously slow-moving line was long, and I considered going to Peet’s Coffee across the street instead, but I wanted breakfast, and Peet’s didn’t serve good breakfast, so I stood there and read about alpacas while I waited. Besides, there was an old Pearl Jam song playing over the speakers in Equator. Pearl Jam had been Sam’s favorite band at the time of his death, and since it was a Sam-themed day, that felt like a sign for me to stay.

I didn’t see her until I was about to place my order. She was sitting on the bench all the way to the right, against the wall of windows, drawing in a small sketchbook. A coffee cup sat beside her pencil case on the tiny round table in front of her. She was wearing flared jeans that looked like they were from the 1970s, a rainbow-striped sweater, and sandals that she’d kicked off onto the floor. Her legs were crisscrossed underneath her.

My hand shook as I handed my thermos to the girl in the gothy purple lipstick behind the counter. I vaguely heard the girl ask me if I wanted the single origin or the Equator blend, and I’m pretty sure I said single origin. I wasn’t completely out of my head though, because I had intended to grab one of the prepackaged cups of yogurt for breakfast, but I asked for an egg sandwich instead; because that would be made to order, it would take a while, and I’d have to stand directly in front of October’s table to wait for it.

I dropped my change into the tip jar, approached the table, and stood there hoping October would feel my presence and look up, but she was too engrossed in what she was doing. From upside down it looked like she was drawing a leopard, but it also could have been a skyscraper.

“Hey,” I said.

Her head rose quickly, her eyes wide, her look askance. I watched her closely, to catalog any emotions she might choose to reveal, but she went Switzerland on me again.