The Walkers’ fifteen acres sit on the peak of the mountain, surrounded by views to the south and lush color-changing trees to the north, east, and west. Graham likes to go on walks into the wooded part of the property, around the lake that sits peacefully on the edge of their land, remote and unbothered. Probably eight of the fifteen acres they have are woods, and those are Graham’s favorite parts. Not the house or the pool or the hot tub or tennis court. The woods.

“There are bears around here but I’ll protect you,” Graham had said during our walk the first time I ever visited the compound. He put his arms around my shoulders like that was all it would take to ward off a hungry beast. The animal would be so intimidated by Graham’s flexing biceps that it would run in the opposite direction.

In reality, I’d be the one protecting him. Or feeding him to it. That just depended on the day.

I’d been face-to-face with a black bear before. Everyone knows they’re more afraid of humans than humans are of them. Being attacked by a black bear would be rarer than getting attacked by a cow. Only one of the two allows you to die with a little dignity, though.

We had black bears around the farm when I was growing up. Once a week, my mother would fill a spray bottle with cayenne pepper and water and make me walk the perimeter of the land, spraying the ground and the lower half of the trees. It was mostly to keep them from scavenging for food out of the compost and the garden and the chicken pen. When I was eight or nine, I was kicking a rock along the path, spraying in the line of the rock’s passage, and I looked up to see a bear, not three feet from me, the rock underneath its paw like a soccer ball. If I hadn’t looked up, I would have bumped right into it.

We were both frozen still, staring at the other. All I remember thinking was stop, drop, and roll, instructions for if you’re caught on fire, not for when you’re close enough to a wild bear to see its pupils dilating. Stop, drop, and roll. But that was stupid fucking advice.

“Go away,” I said, matter-of-fact, like I was reasoning with one of my brothers over who should get to use the bathroom first. “GO AWAY!” I yelled it a second time, my voice echoing through the trees to sound like two or three people were demanding the animal leave. But it worked. It scurried away so fast, I was sure it wasn’t coming back.

But I’d let Graham protect me. Sure. My little Manhattan-bred fiancé. The idiot would probably stop, drop, and roll.