Leda had been able to braid hair so elaborately that in high school she started charging for it. She ate frozen waffles out of the freezer, claiming they tasted better that way. She would dive off any rock, cliff, or board without hesitation. When she shaved off her long hair, when she went swimming in the icy Atlantic in December on a dare, when she stood up to a teacher who accused her of cheating, Sarah and Matthew had thought she was brave. And she was brave, no question. Leda was brave. Even after she became addicted to heroin. Maybe especially then. The things she did. The places she went. When Sarah said this at Family Day during one of the several excruciating Family Days Matthew and she went to—Florida, Arizona—people acted as if she were Susan Sontag saying the men who flew planes into the World Trade Center weren’t cowards.

Sarah ascended the stairs of the precinct, repeated the same information to several people, signed papers, and accepted her bag. Everything but her wallet and phone was still inside: now-useless keys, hardcover book, lip gloss, Advil, tampon, coral lip and cheek tint, even the pamphlet about scheduling a mammogram that she’d been using as a bookmark.

She said thank you.

She walked out.

The longer she walked, the farther away she had to hold the bag. It may as well have transformed into a live serpent right there in her hand. She remembered a friend coming back from Japan and marveling at the beauty of that country, the citizens’ pride, how efficiently life unfolded. According to this friend, there weren’t public garbage cans, as it wouldn’t have occurred to anyone to discard their waste in public. How wonderful, Sarah had agreed, but secretly she’d thought, How oppressive. How terrible to feel so constantly responsible. How unfailingly small and tidy and good could a person possibly be? She was glad for the wire can on the street corner. She dropped in her bag with all of its contents and kept walking.

Hi, Leda had said during the last phone call, the one that had brought Sarah to Baja. It’s me.

Please, please. Please just tell me where you are.

She’d expected Leda’s refusal, just as she’d expected some tears. But there were neither. Leda said she was sorry for causing any pain. She said she was ready for a visit. Sarah took down the information and was on a plane to Baja the next day.