I thought maybe it was a bat, but it was midafternoon.

“No,” Bear said, and took my shoulders, hard. “Don’t,” he said.

Buddy kept on barking. I heard the clamp of his jaws each time. The bird battered itself against the glass.

“I can get it,” I said again. I’d liked the feel of the bird in my hand for those few seconds, before it realized it was free. Before it took off.

Bear put his hands on the sides of my face. “Shannon,” he said, stern. “What happened?”

My stomach turned. “What?” I asked. “I don’t know what you mean,” I said. I tried again to get past him and into the house.

Bear started to walk me backward up the gravel path. “Buddy,” he called, sharp. “Come.”

I had to fight to get his hands off me, but I found that I couldn’t. He was stronger than I thought, and determined. “Let me go,” I said.

I thought, maybe they’re gone. Maybe the house is empty and a bear has come through, ransacked the cupboards, the stinking refrigerator. I thought of her traveling on foot through the trees with Birdie on her back, disappearing into Canada. Changing her name.

My father had been in jail for fifteen years. No one had told us when he might get out. I wondered what she knew.

I ducked under Bear’s stiff, outstretched arm and made for the doorway, past the still-barking dog.

At first sight, the house was a mess, but nothing more than normal. Shoes and clothes on the floor and dishes on the table. There was a high cloud of cigarette smoke, and underneath that, a dark and metallic smell. Not like food. Not even rotting food. It smelled like blood.

There was blood on the walls, the cupboards, the ceiling, and a puddle on the floor, with the drag of a body through it.

I couldn’t breathe, my throat sore and contracting. I ran from the house back outside, fell to my knees and vomited up everything I’d eaten. It was so violent I could barely take a breath back in. I opened my eyes wide, like I was drowning, and sat up, arched my back, wheezing in air, my chest tight and panicked.

“Shannon,” Bear said behind me. The dog was still barking, but he had circled over to me and my vomit and was sniffing us both out.

I gasped for breath, my nose flaring.

It came back to me all at once: the feel of smoke, burning my eyes, constricting my airway, the desperate crawl through the farmhouse while the beams fell, flaming. “Mom,” I yelled, and in my head I heard my little-kid voice, calling for her, but I was saying it now. “Mom,” I called.

“Shannon,” Bear said again, in the same voice he used on the dog. I half expected him to say, “Come,” and for me to do it.

The trails were wet and cold, even in the sun. A couple of runners called out to us from the path. They’d heard me scream. They saw me on my knees in the gravel.