“What’s going on?” I say. “Where are we going?”

“Come on, Penny. We’ve already gone over this. It’s time.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You know you can’t stay there alone forever,” he says. “It’s too dangerous for you to be alone.”

“I’m fine,” I say. “I like being alone.”

“You’re not fine,” he says. “If I hadn’t found you, you could have…”

With one hand, he reaches for a folder full of papers that’s sitting on the armrest between us. He looks from the road down to the folder and back to the road again. He slips a piece of paper from the folder and sets it on my lap. It’s a photo of an old house surrounded by trees.

“You’re lucky. Most people in your situation don’t have options. He gave me all the paperwork before he died. It’s lucky he prepared for this. You both did.”

“What do you mean?”

“That you planned where you’d go. He said you picked this place because of all the nature. He wanted you to stay in the apartment for as long as possible, but when it was too much—”

“Too much?”

“When it was too much for you to cope with on your own, that’s when I was to take you here. Don’t you remember? The two of you decided this years ago.”

“Where?” I ask, looking at the photo again. I don’t recognize it. I don’t remember deciding anything. “A house? An old-age home? I don’t need that. I’m not helpless. I’m not sick.”

“It’s not an old-age home. It’s a long-term-care residence. It’s supposed to be really nice. Very small. Quiet. They’ll look after you.”

“He never said anything to me about this. Not a word. I would remember if he had. Neither did you. Why didn’t you tell me sooner? You should have warned me. I don’t want to leave the apartment. It’s my home. Why didn’t he tell me about this?”

“He told me this was your choice, Penny.”

I feel a sharp pain where my head had hit the counter.

“It’s actually very sweet, and if you hadn’t planned it and made a deposit, you’d be in trouble now. You’d probably be on a waiting list somewhere.”

“I don’t want to be taken care of. I want to be left alone. You should have told me, given me some time to prepare.”

“Penny, I did. I have. I’ve mentioned it a few times.”

I turn away.

In the side mirror I peer into the back seat. Two bags, several boxes, my canvases: the essentials. Years and years, all boiled down to that. I feel hot. I try to lower the window, but the button won’t work. I look to my left, at Mike’s profile, but he won’t make eye contact. He stares at the road, straight ahead.

After leaving the city, I let my head fall against the window in silent protest, watching as the eight-lane highway turns to four, then just a two-lane road. Out here the terrain is more hilly, mountainous. Tall trees line either side of the road. Hills and sky and clouds. It’s all the trees I notice the most. There are so many. They’re different from the ones in the park near my apartment. Such tall trees here. Trees that are much older than me. I’d have to cut into them and count the rings to confirm how old they are.