“Can we stop somewhere so I can get some food, please?” she muttered, amused at the huge dog’s single-mindedness. Horse gave a whuffle and threw his head as if asking her to follow him. When they turned the next corner, she found herself outside a barbecue joint with an order window.

Greta stared at the restaurant and then at the dog.

“Can you…understand me?” she said.

Horse blinked his soulful eyes solemnly, and Greta had the distinct sensation that he was saying yes.

“Okaaaaay,” she said, more to herself than to Horse.

She ordered a pulled pork sandwich and ate it as they walked. The meat was tender, the sauce tangy and rich, and the slaw a perfect creamy crunch.

Greta congratulated herself on making an excellent decision and rewarded Horse with a bit of meat. He plucked it up from her palm, licked his thanks, and then led them toward home.

Greta had been disappointed to see that Truman didn’t have a single plant in his house. Now, though, she could see that the neighborhood had enough plants for her to stare at that she wouldn’t have withdrawal. In fact, given the weather, she couldn’t wait to explore the tropical varieties that she never got to see in Maine.

“Tomorrow, we’re gonna go on a garden walk,” she said. “And you’re not leading the way.”

Horse barked in understanding, and Greta nodded and finished her sandwich. Exhausted, she happily followed Horse back toward what would be home for the next month.

Her phone buzzed with the twenty-billionth text she’d gotten from her sisters since leaving Owl Island that morning. When she’d turned her phone on after the plane landed, they’d cascaded onto her screen in a waterfall of meddling.

You didn’t seriously leave town, did you? her twin had written.

oh dang, did u peace out? right before CHANUKAH???, Maggie had texted. respect for this out of character chaos energy actually, then a GIF of a building crumbling to rubble.

Tillie had written simply Are you ok???

The rest of the texts were variations on this theme, except for Sadie’s single missive, which simply said: Seriously? You ran away? Are you five?

When she’d gotten to that one, Greta had set her phone on Do Not Disturb, shoved it deep in her bag, and ignored it for the rest of the journey.

This text was from her mother and had somehow circumnavigated her Do Not Disturb orders. Typical.

Did you leave town? Your sisters are telling me you left town. Where are you? Are you all right? Then, as if unable to resist, another text that said, It’s Hannukah!

Greta pocketed her phone and let Ramona’s words fill her up. Boundaries. She needed to set boundaries with her family, or this would go on the whole time she was here, ruining it.