Riley was wearing a tank top, and Helen was struck by the woman’s tattoos. She was covered in designs, all in black ink only, ranging from delicate to bold: an eye, a fish, a pentagram, a crystal ball, a winged horse. She had a black snake in a perfect circle on the back of her neck, its tail tucked into its open mouth, just visible under her angled bob.

Helen saw Nate looking at the tattoos and knew he didn’t approve—he couldn’t understand why anyone would want to do that to their body. Helen had toyed with the idea of getting a tattoo once, back when they were first together, but Nate had advised her against it, warning that she’d be sure to regret it at some point.

“I think we owe you a beer,” Nate said.

“Sounds great! And I’ve got a little weed if either of you are interested,” Riley said.

Nate shook his head. “None for me thanks, but I’ll go grab some beers.” He gave Helen a raised-eyebrows you’re not really going to do that, are you? look that helped her make up her mind.

“I’d love some,” she said, sitting down on the front steps of the new house beside her new friend. Riley produced a joint and a lighter from her bag, lit the joint, took a hit, and handed it to Helen. Helen inhaled the smoke, let it seep into her lungs. She looked out across the yard to the tree line, to the path that led down to the bog. She was sure she could smell the bog, the dampness and earthy scent of peat, when the wind blew in their direction. It was as if the wind from the bog was telling her: You are meant to be here.

And: I chose you.

She hadn’t smoked pot since college, but it seemed like the right thing to do—part of who the new Vermont Helen was. She felt loose and relaxed for the first time in days.

She imagined the shit she’d get if her friend Jenny back in Connecticut could see her now—Embracing your hippie self, Helen? First step weed, second step unshaven armpits, then you’re commune-bound for sure. And if Jenny had any idea Helen believed she’d seen a ghost—her old friend would be up here in four hours, shoving Helen into her Land Rover to go back to the safe predictability of life in Connecticut. An intervention, she’d call it.

Helen imagined having a dinner party with Jenny and Riley—pictured Jenny staring at Riley’s tattoos, piercings, and blue bangs. Helen got a little thrill out of the idea of introducing them, showing off Riley like an exotic pet—look at my new friend, look at my new life.

Riley’s skin seemed almost alive to her. “I’ve been thinking about getting a tattoo,” Helen found herself saying.