“Right,” she admitted.

“Right,” he echoed. “But Wyoming has different laws. You know why? Dick-fucking-Cheney, that’s why. Let’s look at the options available to a person in Wyoming.” Micah held up one finger. “Get hooked on opioids and end up on the street or dead.” He held up a second finger. “Become a debilitated member of society on disability.” Now, he held up three fingers. “Knock off Dick Cheney.” He grinned at her. “Or . . . order a package from us and hurt no one else. Perhaps not technically legal by Wyoming’s outdated laws, but definitely right, right?”

She didn’t respond as she considered his argument, which did seem to make sense.

“The same has been true throughout history. Slavery was legal for centuries, but not right. Women didn’t have the right to vote in this country until they fought for it. Gandhi stood up to the British and was thrown in jail. Just a few years ago, marijuana was illegal and now the laws are changing everywhere. We’re ahead of the curve, Sero. Don’t you want to be on the right side of history?”

She did, of course. That was why she had come to the Sanctuary in the first place, to live in a better way, according to higher ideals. It was legal to pillage the earth, after all, even profitable, but it didn’t make it right.

Micah pulled a lighter from the pocket of his jeans and lit up the joint. “Besides, the cops don’t give a shit about weed now that it’s legal. They’re more focused on the tons of cocaine smuggled over the border. Trust me, I’ve got friends on the force.” He held out the joint and Sero took it from him, allowing herself a long drag and the satisfaction of helping their cause.

* * *

The next day, around noon, Sero saw Micah in the kitchen, coming in from his long morning run. Apparently, he’d had competitive times in several marathons in his twenties, though he never boasted about it.

“All done packing up the first shipment,” she said.

“Great,” Micah said, guzzling a can of coconut water. He touched her shoulder as he walked past, and she felt a tingling heat sensation as his hand trailed down her back. Since they’d begun sleeping together, he sometimes touched her like this, but always subtly, never drawing too much attention. “I’ll drop it off this afternoon. Want to come along? There’s a feedstore near the shipping office; you can get that new lead rope you wanted for Buddy.”

“Sure,” Sero said. “I’d love to.”

They spent an entire glorious afternoon together, trying out a new smoothie bar, strolling around, buying supplies for Buddy. When they arrived at the shipping office, there were no parking spots out front, so Sero offered to carry the bin of packages inside while Micah waited in the car, double-parked on the street. Afterwards, as Micah drove back to the Sanctuary, Sero found the contentment she’d felt all day begin to dissipate. She loved being alone with Micah and hardly ever had the chance—only two or three nights a week in his bedroom. The other days, she missed that connection. And having so many other people around the house had started to feel stifling. Her time alone was limited, between meditation, yoga, group circle, shared meals and chores. Even with seven bathrooms in the house, there were busy periods with thirteen people trying to shower and brush their teeth, and sometimes the hot water ran out for those at the end of the line.