Lauren, tired out by it all, is unconscious before we reach the house. I put lotion on our bites, touching her sleeping skin with care. A line of vivid red pustules runs up her calf and into the crook of her knee, but that’s it. We ran before any real damage was done. The young feel pain intensely, I think, because they don’t know yet how deep it can go.

Morning, and it’s time to say goodbye. Lauren clings. “I love you, Dad.” Her breath is wet in my beard. “I don’t want to go.”

“I know.” I can taste her tears on my lips. Feeling rises like an ocean swell. It’s so strong I have to close my eyes. “I’ll see you next week,” I say. “Don’t worry, kitten. You be good now. That will make the time go quickly and you’ll be back before you know it.”

Each one of her sobs feels like I’m being hit with a wrench.

I sit on the couch and listen to the music and feel just miserable. After a time I feel the lightest touch of whiskers against the back of my hand. A silken head pushes into my palm.

Olivia has come out of hiding and she knows that I need her.

I walk out to the woods with a gallon jug of pyrethrin. The forest is different during the day. Scattered light lies on the ground like handfuls of thrown grain. A deer pokes its face out from the foliage, dark eyes wide, then flees. I soon see why, as I pass the orange-juice-hair man with his dog. The dog grins at me like always. It remembers that time Olivia tried to get out. Then I overtake a family hiking in matching red jackets. I think they’re fighting. The children’s faces are small and serious; the dad looks tired. The mother strides ahead as if she’s alone.

I walk on past the place where I would normally leave the path for the clearing, and then sit on a stump to wait. They pass in silence. The father nods at me. They are definitely fighting. Families are complicated.

When their red jackets have vanished into the sunlit trees I circle back to the clearing. The groundsheet is still there. It lies wrinkled on the leaf mulch like the skin of a dead monster. Ants march busily across. It can’t stay here. It might draw attention to this place. I take a long stick and poke the groundsheet together, into a kind of pile. Then I hook it up and drop it into the trash bag I brought with me.