As I cook, I think about the day before. After I called 911 and answered all their questions, I ran back down the path toward the general store and the parking lot. I knew there was nothing else I could do. More than anything, I was jogging because I was cold. The air was chilly in the morning, and I was wearing wet shorts and T-shirt. My shoes squished water with every step.

When I approached the store and could see the paramedics loading the girl into the ambulance, I stopped and then crept into the trees, climbing up the mountainside, looking for a place to lay low.

I wasn’t sure why I’d hidden.

I’d liked Hannah from the moment we started talking. But in my mind, some kind of warning bell was going off. Like the feeling before my last encounter with Marco, my old partner, some sixth sense said to me that I should refrain from stepping out into the spotlight.

Maybe it was that Hannah is a journalist. I don’t see how what happened could be much of a news story. Maybe a brief blurb on page four. But still I don’t quite trust Hannah, which I realize is a strange contradiction—I like her, but I don’t trust her.

I think it comes down simply to the fact that I’m someone who wants—no, needs—to stay hidden. Hannah is someone who works in the public eye, whose job it is to reveal what’s hidden. I don’t want the world to know where I am or even who I am.

I set my steaming omelet down on my table and pour myself a glass of orange juice. I eat quickly, voraciously, and feel better immediately. Now all my worries about yesterday seem like paranoia.

It is a cloudy day, nothing like the clear, beautiful weather yesterday, and the gloom of the sky seeps through the windows and gives my house a depressing air. I still need to make a trek up to Lake Aloha before the weather turns too cold. But today just isn’t an inviting day to do it.

Nevertheless, I don’t want to be cooped up all day. I check the time and see that I could make it to the afternoon spinning class at the gym. I might run into Hannah, but I don’t quite feel the same worry I did the day before. That had just been the old Logan, the cautious Logan, the guarded Logan. The Logan who had to look over his shoulder all the time.

Now, with a fresh mind and full stomach, I think it wouldn’t be so bad to run into Hannah.