After shrugging on clothes he makes his way out to the bright streets. Unlike usual, the city to him seems ungainly and dirty, bombarded by light. People huddle about like refugees, moving quickly. There’s an ugliness to it all he hadn’t noticed—beggars on the side of the street, the sweat on people’s brows, the towering bland artifices of buildings, the grime on the glass, the wilted leaves of the trees. It doesn’t seem threatening or beautiful, just sad and overcomplicated.

Ambulation takes him all the way down to the location of the church where Carmen and he had gone to the Following Brothers of Christ meeting. It looks small and unimposing in the morning light and indeed, seems incredibly normal. In the cold, dim interior, Kierk’s steps echo as he descends into the basement, where there is a long hall.

“Hello?”

Finding the room where Carmen and he had snuck into the meeting, Kierk pauses at the doorway. Inside is what looks like a children’s playroom. Blocks and toys are strewn around, with some children’s books lying open to pages of illustrations. There are drawings and hand paintings on the wall, even a little cubby for shoes.

Kierk backpedals, checks the room next to it, which is a small storage closet. This had definitely been the room.

There’s a clattering as a janitor dragging a bucket and mop descends the stairs.

“Hello, sir,” he nods to Kierk.

“Hey . . . What happened to this room?”

The janitor peers in from the hall, as if looking for the source of what Kierk found disturbing.

“ ’Scuse me sir?”

“It was a meeting room.”

“It’s a playroom. For during the service. And for bible study. Parents bring their kids.”

“Is it used for anything else?”

“You looking for something?”

“Yes, the Following Brothers of Christ. They had meetings here. Right here.”

The janitor shakes his head. “Not anymore they don’t. They move, city to city. Stay for a while, preaching. Then they move on.”

“What?”

“They’re gone. Just a daycare now.”

“Where’d they go?”

Janitor looks at him strangely. “I don’t know. Why would I know? What’re you looking for anyways?”

Kierk lets out a breath. “I have no idea.”

“Then stop looking,” the janitor says, clattering away into the depths of the church.

The greenery of Washington Square Park is baking into yellow. Kierk doesn’t want to go home and face what he has to face, so he’s here. At the center of the park, by the fountain, he notices the girl with the dog he’d seen before, the one who’d reminded him of Alice, the PhD student he’d known back in Madison who became homeless.