“We weren’t.” Calliope’s face and neck flushed, though she’d said she wasn’t embarrassed. Talking about it felt trite, lessened it somehow. But she didn’t have anyone else to confide in, so she continued. “I love him.”

Mara smiled, said playfully, “I could tell.”

“I also feel monstrous, a terrible person, like I’ve abandoned my child. My whole family. My husband …” She sighed, unleashing the burden she’d held in for all these months. She probably should have been whispering, or not saying anything at all. But she couldn’t stop herself, it felt so good to say aloud. “Maybe that was over a long time ago, and I was too scared to see it. How I relied on him to feel normal or capable. It’s not really Andres I’m upset about. Though I miss him too.” She hadn’t said his name in months, hadn’t allowed herself even to think it very often. Andres had been steadfast, had done everything for her. Maybe that was part of the problem. She relied on him too strongly. She sat down on the grass beside Amy’s grave, pulled a long blade, split it into three strips and began to braid it. “I asked Chance to come back with me.”

Mara raised her eyebrows, let out a low whistle. “Is that fair to him? We don’t belong here, but doesn’t he?”

“He says he belongs with me.”

“What do you say?”

“I told you already. I love him.”

Mara murmured something that didn’t quite resemble assent, but perhaps curiosity. She took another rolled cigarette from the clay ashtray, struck a match, and lit up. Night insects formed a shrill choir again. Finally, Mara said, “You didn’t leave by choice, honey. You were ripped away from everything you loved with that damn flash of light, just as I was ripped away from my beloved Trudy. So you fought hard to survive, and you have. And you’ve made do. You can’t fault yourself for making your happiness where you are. That’s what we do. All we can ever hope to do.”

Mara crouched down beside Calliope in the grass, so spry and nimble for such an aged woman. She was likely Wowo łashhi’s age and even perhaps Bisabuela’s when she passed on to the Spirit world, yet Mara seemed much closer to Tía’s age. They made such a sweet couple.

Though Calliope couldn’t imagine their crossing at Chaco not working for what that would mean for herself—never holding her son again, a thought so terrifying she couldn’t even fully form the possibility in her mind—she also hoped Mara would get back to Trudy.

What would it be like on the other side? If they could get through.