“We’re close to what?” asked Karen. They sat together on the sofa, which was covered with hair and grit like always. Karen was tall, Lily was short, Karen pale, Lily rosy, Karen long, Lily round. Karen had just turned forty-one, Lily was thirty-three. From where I sat, they looked like nothing so much as conjoined twins.

“Were you including me in that thing?” I asked Karen. “That thing about sticking around to fight together?”

“There’s no room for fighting with you,” Karen said. “You don’t think you know everything. You know you know everything. Which is probably one reason you’re alone.”

“Karen,” said Lily.

“It’s fine, Lily,” I said, keeping my voice light to hide where she’d hurt. “It’s true what Karen says, I do know a lot of things. I know that partnership doesn’t suit me. So what?”

“But you’re not alone, Helen,” Lily said, her eyes filling with tears. “You’re with us.”

“I’m with you and I’m alone,” I said.

I wanted to help. But there’s no helping some people. Why tell Lily and Karen how soundly I slept, while the two of them hissed back and forth on the other side of the partition? I certainly didn’t envy them. I certainly didn’t miss my boyfriend. Not anymore. You spend your life figuring how you’ll reckon with death, with losing everyone that matters to you, including yourself. You partner up to get some comfort, but there’s no comfort. Instead, you have someone else’s naked fear to contend with as well. Some people are forgiving of that fear in their partner, and some people are forgiving of that fear in themselves. But no one is both. Karen and Lily didn’t want to hear what I knew: when you’re alone, you’re not creating that terrible equation, one plus one.

Now that Rudy was camping on the pipeline, I had a VIP pass to his slimy teeth, crusty socks, unruly body hair, sweat-stained long underwear, crushed beer cans. I left Karen and Lily squabbling on the sofa and found Rudy chain-smoking next to his sleeping bag, bootlaces loosened. The Greek drama pendant lay on the grass next to him, smiling and frowning up at the sky. “Work’s canceled,” he said. “I’d rather be in the nursery today. Are you going to help?”

“Until Perley gets home from school,” I said. “Then he’s helping me collect acorns. We’ve still got another barrel to fill before winter.”

“You’re eating acorns again? Hard times,” said Rudy.

“They actually taste good, you know. You should try them,” I said.

“I know how they taste, you fucking carpetbagger,” said Rudy. “My grandpa used to eat them. Good isn’t how I would describe it. Just because the old-timers did it doesn’t mean it’s made of gold. Old-timers did lots of stupid shit, just like everybody else.”