Too good to be true.

Someone bought these shoes brand-new for a crap ton of money, and then changed their mind and dumped them here. Why?

Blisters? They trip you up and let you fall? If these shoes truly were so special, so good, they would not still be here, waiting for me to find them. Someone who deserved them, who knew their true worth and had reasons to wear them, would have found them and taken them home by now. It was too good to be true.

I put them back on the shelf but kept and carried the paper price tag with the rest of the blackbird nest. Most nights when I can’t sleep, I lie staring into the dark and think about those shoes.

I was honing my avoidance skills like a petulant first grader and feeling more sorry for, and sick of, myself every minute.

I was tired. I’d managed to not interact with Francine the night before and woken up to a note from her about an early-morning doctor appointment, my lunch made and waiting in the fridge, and five voice mails from Joellen that I was choosing to ignore. They were there on the phone, her voice probably waiting to tell me I should let Francine adopt me, and why wasn’t this my dream in life, and what was wrong with me, why couldn’t I just give in.

Once at Salishwood, early, I checked in with Jane and then literally hid in the trees, atop the granite boulder, to avoid talking to Sean. The buses pulled in, and then:

“Muiriel!” Zola came running and scrambled up the boulder to me.

“Zola! What is up, miss?”

She held on tight as always but was unusually quiet. I left her alone about her mom, asked her nothing about where she was living.

“Should we go look for fox poop?” I said instead.

I held her hand, and we walked to meet the rest of the kids at the trail. Spring was finally warming into summer. Deer and rabbits and snakes were out and about in the forest. Rain left the soil and trees and seawater clean and alive, a relief to breathe it all in. Sean led the hike and left me alone to be the jerk I insisted on being. I let myself be occupied with the forest and with Zola all the way into the woods and back out, until we came into the clearing at the lodge, and Zola dropped my hand to wave at someone small with unruly, curly hair who was talking to Jane.

“Muir,” Zola squealed, “look! Why is she here?”