I used to run five times a week; I even did a half marathon every year. There’s been no running since May died. Mourning has become my full-time job; I’d forgotten that running is a cure. My body protests the sudden onslaught of movement but celebrates it at the same time.

I don’t stop until I’m at the other side of the island. It’s not a long distance, maybe only a mile, but in that short time I’ve cleared away the fog and outrun my self-pity. The sweat dripping from my forehead and trickling down the inside of my T-shirt is cleansing, as though emotion has been released through my pores.

Squatting down on the rocky shore, I splash some cool lake water onto my face, let the water lap up onto my running shoes, wait for my breath to slow. Every muscle in my body is singing, and a warm calm has arrived after the sudden explosion of endorphins.

I stand up, ready to run back, and notice that another, more discernible path runs away from the shore and right into the forest. It actually looks like it might have been used recently; the ground is well worn, and nothing grows across it. Following it into the trees, I expect to find remnants of a bonfire, discarded beer cans, maybe condoms. Evidence of young people who realized the island was deserted and made it their personal outdoor party spot.

The path ends in front of a tree about fifty feet in. Right away I notice a small cross made out of sticks, stuck in the ground at the base of a tree. It looks like a child made it, so maybe it was part of some game May and I played when we were younger. There are bound to be surprises, things forgotten after so many years.

Nonetheless, I give the cross a little kick, just hard enough to send it into a pile of leaves a few feet away. Religion’s never really been my thing, but since May’s car accident my indifference to it has developed into full-blown resentment.

It was the cards I got when people found out she’d died: distant family members who had never even known her telling me she was in God’s hands now or that I should trust in God and his plan for May. It did nothing to console me, only made me angry.