But her mother’s Are you all right? wouldn’t leave her mind. Her mother worried so much when she didn’t know where her daughters were. Of course, she also worried when she did know where they were. But Greta couldn’t stand making her worry if she didn’t have to. It was selfish and cruel.

So she wrote back to her mother. I’m fine. I’m in New Orleans. You don’t have to worry about me.

The responses came immediately. So immediately that for a moment, Greta thought she’d sent the text to the family thread rather than just her mother.

Adelaide was first: You’re in New Orleans? What are you doing there?

Then Tillie: Who do you know in New Orleans? Do you have someplace to stay?

Then Maggie: oooh, new orleans is supposed to be so rad. where r u staying?

Sadie did not reply.

Rolling her eyes, she switched over to the family thread. Everyone must be over at her parents’ house as usual.

yes, i’m in new orleans. i’m fine. it’s great here. i’m staying for a month.

Replies of a month?, a MONTH?, for a month!!??, and Wait, you’re gonna be gone for a whole month??! followed quickly thereafter, and Greta sighed.

They reached Truman’s door, and Horse stood respectfully outside it, in case Greta was still having a conversation.

“You’re very strange, do you know that?” she asked him.

He blinked slowly and cocked his head, as if to say You’re not the most normal yourself, you know.

***

The next morning, Greta and Horse set off for their morning walk early. After her exhausting day of travel, Greta had crawled into bed at 9:00 p.m. and woken up just after 6:00 a.m., feeling deliciously rested and excited to explore.

“Take me to a coffee shop, please,” she instructed Horse, just in case he really did understand.

After a few blocks, a coffee shop came into view.

“What the hell, man,” Greta muttered at Horse. “This is eerie.”

Horse just crossed the street excitedly.

“Hey, it’s a Horse,” said a man in coveralls on a ladder, fiddling with the rain gutter outside the café. “Where’s Truman?”

“You know him?” Greta asked.

“Sure. Comes in all the time.”

“Oh, uh, I’m Greta. I’m staying at his place for a bit. I’m from Maine.”

She was unnerved by the recognition, something she’d thought she’d left behind in Owl Island.

“Welcome,” the man said, sweeping his arms out as if to encompass the whole city.

“Thanks. Er, can Horse go in there?”

“Sure,” he said, as if there was no reason a large dog wouldn’t be welcome in an eating establishment.

Greta got her coffee as well as a treat for Horse, handed to her with a wink by the barista, who also clearly knew the dog.