Chapter 4: Northern California

Somewhere in Northern California, in the dark, Avery fell asleep in the passenger seat and Elena drove alone through the redwoods. She had her window cracked. The air was cool and smelled of something ancient — the kind of alive that predates everything. The trees on either side of the road were tall enough that the headlights didn't reach their tops, and she felt, briefly, like driving through a cathedral built by something that had no interest in being worshipped. Avery's head was tipped slightly toward the window. He'd always been able to sleep anywhere — car trips, airports, once famously at a very loud birthday party. She'd been envious of it at the time. Now it just looked like something she'd missed. She thought about what he'd said in Oregon. *I couldn't even be properly angry at you because I understood.* She thought about the five years. Not abstractly, but specifically — the first six months when she'd thought about calling him constantly and never had. The way she'd learned to fill the shape he'd left. The night she'd run into a mutual friend who'd mentioned his name and she'd excused herself to the bathroom and stood with her back against the cool tile wall for longer than was strictly reasonable. You couldn't explain that to people. How you could miss something and refuse to go back to it at the same time, and how both things could be completely true. Avery shifted in his sleep. Half-woke, looked over at her. "You should wake me if you get tired," he said, voice rough. "I'm fine." "You always say that." "I'm usually fine." He watched her for a moment, eyes soft with sleep, the trees moving past behind him. "Elena," he said. "I don't want to lose another five years." She kept her eyes on the road. Her hands were steady on the wheel. "I don't either," she said. In the dark of the redwoods, that felt like enough. For now.