A conversation about possible hypothermia ensued, Chance assuring them she only needed rest. Calliope ignored everyone and warmed the girl with water heated over the fire, rewrapping her bandage properly this time with supplies from the medicine cabinet.

Mara explained that she and Buick had stayed behind in case the girl returned. Calliope nodded absently, disinterested in their whereabouts or any other conversation. She bundled Eunjoo in blankets and watched the girl sleep fitfully.

* * * *

The sun was setting again. It felt like perpetual sunset since everything had fallen apart, crossing that bridge. Chance brought a plate with a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and goldfish crackers to the armchair where Calliope was curled, watching Eunjoo intently. Calliope shook her head, her hunger having turned into nausea and indigestion that made the thought of eating unbearable. “You have to eat, mujer. You can watch her and eat at the same time.”

“Is it just me or are the days shorter?” She nodded toward the vaulted windows in Tía’s living room, glass, ceiling to floor, overlooking the backyard and the desert hills beyond, swathed in the purplish haze of dusk.

“It’s not just you.” He pressed the plate toward her. “Come on, I made it special for you.”

Though she wanted to cover herself with a blanket and fall into a sleep as deep as Eunjoo’s, deeper maybe, Chance’s smile was contagious. “Yeah, what’s so special about it?”

“Extra peanut butter. It’s magic.”

She half smiled, rolling her eyes dramatically, and accepted the sandwich. The smell of the peanut butter washed away her nausea. Hunger overtook her, and she bit into the sandwich as if it were the first food she’d ever eaten, ate greedily, swallowing it down more quickly than she should have, the roof of her mouth sticky, her throat thick. “Water.”

“I’ve got you covered there, mujer.” From his flannel pocket, he pulled a juice box, handed it to her, and sat on the armrest as she slurped the entire contents of the box within seconds. He laughed. “Feel better?”

She nodded, picking at the goldfish piled on the plate. From his pocket, he pulled the figurine he’d been whittling. She asked, “What else you got in there?”

“My whole life, mujer. I carry it with me.”

“You sound like my husband.”

“He Indian?”

“No, New Mexican. From Española.” She wanted to ask Chance about his wife. His daughter, in the dancehall of the dead. But she couldn’t form the words.

He handed her the figurine, and she sucked in her breath when she realized what it was.

“How’d you know about the coyote? You made this before Eunjoo got lost …”

“Had a funny feeling Coyote needed to show himself.”

“Would you have killed it?”

He shrugged, sighed. “Sometimes sacrifice is necessary. The Zuni don’t kill anything, not even birds, without asking permission. I would never kill anything lightly, not even that trickster Coyote.”