When I came back I knew where I was before I even opened my eyes. I could smell the street and the forest, the asphalt, the rotting scent of trash in the bins. Garbage day. I knew what I would see when I opened them. And there I was, like I knew I would be, in front of the yellow house with the green trim, the blinds down, the emptiness of it seeming to echo out into the street, and all through the world.

Maybe Chihuahua lady is dead. Maybe it’s her ghost that keeps making me go to her house. I am imagining it now. My eyes blank and gone, her gray, transparent hand taking mine, leading me to that spot on the sidewalk in front of her house, making me go there again and again until I realize—what?

The only way to end the stress is to figure stuff out with Lauren. So I have to ask the bug man the question. I’ve been trying to lead up to it carefully, but things are getting out of hand. I have to figure out what Lauren is. What they are, I guess.

In the meantime, I have made a decision: I can’t keep putting my life on hold for my daughter and my cat. I have to do something for myself occasionally, or I’ll be unhappy, and an unhappy parent isn’t a good parent.

So I have a date tomorrow. Something to look forward to!

OLIVIA

I have to wait a few days before I can speak to her again. Ted always seems to be around, drinking and singing along to sad songs. When I row through the freezer door she doesn’t answer.

Three nights later, he goes out. He’s whistling and his shirt is clean. The door closes behind him and the three locks thunk into place. Where is he going?

I count to one hundred, to give him time to get far away, or to come back for his wallet or whatever. The lady on the record player moans quietly about her home town. I race to the kitchen and scratch on the freezer.

Are you OK? I am rowing in distress. Are you there?

“I’m here.” Her voice is faint under the record. “Is he really gone?”

Yes, I said. He had a clean shirt on. That usually means he’s on a date.

“Gone hunting,” Lauren says. She hates it when he dates. Now I know why.

So, I say, stalking up and down. Let’s go through our options. Can you shout for help?

“I do,” Lauren says. “Or I used to. But no one came. The walls are thick. I don’t think much sound gets through. You have cat ears, remember? I started to think that even you would never hear me.”

Hm, I say. You’re right. Cross that off the list.

“What’s the next option?” she asks.