Halfway home, I realized I’d forgotten the screws. I went back the next day. Lily just smiled. The next day it was a saw blade, then caulk, then hinges for the door, and finally Lily said, You know, you’ve come in every day this week, and I said, Do you want to see what I’m building? And she said, You live out on that separatist land, right? And I said, Do you want to come over? And she said, Yes. At the Land Trust, I led her toward my bed, which was really just a camping mat rolled out on the floor, but she pulled me the other way, out behind the cabin. She led me to that utility sink, no legs on it, half sunk in the mud. It’s big enough for two, she said, and she laughed. She insisted that we stand in it while we finally kissed and kissed and took each other’s clothes off one piece at a time, those giant overalls filling half the sink, her hair hiding her dark nipples, the line of down descending her belly, and I followed that line and what I found was ready for me and so deep, and we did make it to the camping mat, eventually. But for a long time, what we liked best was to find funny places to do it in, places that would make us laugh until it felt too good to laugh, the utility sink being only the first of them.

I left without saying goodbye to her. That last long day, I fixed the oil leak on the truck, got it down off the blocks. I mucked out the duck shed, even though it was mostly frozen. I hacked away at the shit-covered ice. I spread fresh straw. I fed the ducks scoops of corn. “Lay,” I commanded, knowing they weren’t likely to do so for another month at least. Next, I hauled armfuls of firewood onto the porch. Helen came out to watch me. “What are you doing?” she asked. “Where are you going?” But I knew she knew. “This is the green stuff,” I said. “Dry it around the stove before you use it. You don’t want creosote buildup.”

Then I took a load of firewood up to the camper. I let the wood fall, thumping against the tin wall. Inside, I heard Lily stir. What was I supposed to do, goddammit, visit her in a dream? I stacked the wood, pulled a tarp over it. I stood outside the camper door, listening. She turned over. Exhaled. I never knocked. I didn’t say goodbye to Lily. But all the same, I let her know I was leaving.

LILY