“I talked to Uncle Jim,” he said. “Your mom’s a little better today. I’ll take you out to the farm. But take a shower first. You reek.”

Only after I went inside did I remember that I hadn’t spoken to anyone back in San Miguel since I’d left. I set the sleek little phone on the dressing table and stared at it for a solid minute before picking it up, punching in the numbers, and pressing the call button. I listened to the crackle of static and the beeping of the international tone. At last, the answering machine picked up, and I heard Teddy’s voice on the recording. I left a message: The journey had been uneventful. I’d seen my mother. I didn’t know how much longer she had—maybe a few days, maybe a week, maybe more, but not much. I did not say how strange it felt to be back in the carriage house, to see Arch and Vanessa, to slip right back into my old life—different for sure, but similar enough to make everything since feel like a lost weekend.

I showered and shaved. I was still unsettled, even alarmed, by the sight of myself in the mirror. I dressed and ran a comb through my damp hair, stuffed the little phone and the keys into my pockets, and hastened down to meet Arch. He insisted that I drive. We stopped at a diner on the way out to the farm, for coffee and eggs.

“I always thought if you got into politics that you’d set your sights higher,” I said.

“It’s not about my sights. It’s about the city.”

“Arch,” I said. “It’s me.”

“I’m serious. A lot has changed since you lived here. People are moving to Nashville in droves. The economy is booming. Estimates suggest that the population of Middle Tennessee is going to grow by a million people over the next twenty years. A million. The traffic’s already a nightmare. Can you imagine what it will be like with a million more people here? And where are they all going to live?”

“In whatever all those cranes are building?”