Leda talked about the beach’s sand and how it looked white from afar but stubbornly clung to everyone’s skin in a faint galaxy of black and silver. Leda talked about writing a children’s book, or really—she corrected herself—the book was writing itself, flowing through her, and that everything positive from her life was pouring directly onto the page. What was positive? Sarah couldn’t help but ask, but Leda didn’t answer. Instead she devolved into aphorisms—nothing that made particular sense, nothing that Sarah would ever remember. There was a dawn walk with Leda to the top of a cliff. They sat in meditation. When Sarah opened her eyes, morning had shattered the oyster sky and Leda was already standing. They drove to a farm down a narrow dirt road. They got out of the truck and stretched. The clear white, lavender, yellow light—the light itself, the way it shone on Leda, the way it suggested, well, grace—it kept making Sarah weep. You’ve got to stop crying, said Leda, while swatting flies off a goat she adored. The Leader (whom Sarah never met) had made an arrangement with a local farmer. The Members tended his farm in exchange for plenty of goat milk. Sarah wanted to know why he needed so many people tending his small farm, and if maybe there was more to the exchange, but she never had the nerve to ask.

“CAN’T A MAN take a fucking piss?”

“Of course,” she said, startled now, even scared. “I’m sorry.”

He bent down to pick up a blanket. The way he moved reminded her of people in ski boots: motion stunted but also filled with intent. He might have been a former athlete. He looked rougher than that, but she could picture it. He shook out one of the cruddy blankets.

“It’s okay,” he said, in a surprisingly conversational tone. “I’m just kidding. Really. I was kidding. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“I wasn’t scared.”

“Yeah, you were. You were.” He gave a crooked smile. “Hey, you did invade my campsite.”

“It’s right here on the path. You might want to consider pitching your tent somewhere more private next time.”

He interlaced his hands and stretched them out in front of him. “Ever been here before?”

She shook her head. “It’s beautiful.”

He shrugged, looking her over. “It’s all right.” She didn’t want to catch him in the act of looking so she remained focused on the water. “You get into some kind of accident recently?”

She instinctively covered her face with her hand.

“You fought with someone? You got into it?”

“Right.” She sort of laughed.

He didn’t laugh at all. “Someone hurt you?”

“It wasn’t—I mean—”

“Someone hurt you.”

She nodded slowly.

“I’m sorry to hear it.”

“Oh. Well, thanks.”

He nodded. Put his hands in his pockets.

She hurried to fill the ensuing silence: “So what else you got?”

“About what?”

She laughed. “Me, I guess.”

“You have a husband,” he said without hesitation.