Maybe all three. All I know is, I felt compelled to come.

“I must be really bored.” With that, I start the engine and take off, the truck dipping and bumping through the potholes.

I catch a glimpse of Roy watching after me in the rearview mirror.

And I swear I see him smile.

“What’s this for?” I survey the wooden crate, brimming with Roy’s wooden figurines, that sits on the edge of the porch the next morning. Beside it are the dinner dishes I left last night, washed and stacked.

Roy shifts on his feet. The milk pail dangles from his good hand. “You said you’re goin’ to be at that farmers’ market today, right?”

“Right,” I say slowly.

“And you think people might wanna buy these things?”

“I do.” I’m not sure if a farmers’ market is the best place, though.

His weathered face furrows. “I won’t be able to build anythin’ for another month, at least. I need to make some money.”

Roy’s asking for my help. And, by the clench of his jaw, he’s having a hard time doing it.

“How much should I sell them for?” I ask somberly.

I catch an almost inaudible sigh escape him. “Whatever you think you can get.” He turns and trudges toward the barn.

I pull out one figurine, then another, marveling at the detail. “Have you at least signed them?” I ask, turning one over.

“Signed ’em?” He stops, his face twisting. “Why the hell would I do that?”

“Because these are art pieces!”

“They’re not art. They’re just wood,” he mutters, as if the very idea is deplorable.

I roll my eyes. “They should be signed.”

“Then sign ’em!”

“You want me to sign them?”

“I don’t care who signs ’em. I ain’t signin’ shit.” He disappears into the barn.

“Wait here, okay?”

“Yeah, sure.” Mabel’s eager eyes wander over Roy’s property. “Where’s Oscar?”

The wolf dog was at his usual post this morning to greet us when we reached the garden. Once Mabel knew he wasn’t there to maul us, she became curious, then enamored. “I don’t know. I don’t see either of them. Be back in a minute.”

I grab the wooden crate from the seat between us and carry it to Roy’s front porch. I had planned on leaving it there for him to find in the morning, and yet now that I’m here, I feel compelled to knock.

Moments later, the door creaks open and Roy stands before me in a two-piece pajama set, scowling.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize it was so … late?” It’s only eight. The sun is nowhere near the horizon and won’t be for hours. “We just got home from the farmers’ market.” I can’t keep the wide grin from my face as I fish out the envelope of cash and thrust it forward. “We sold all but two of them.”

Roy’s eyebrows arch as he thumbs through the wad of twenties. “Huh … You were right.”

“I can sell more next week, if you want. Lord knows I’ll have more strawberries to get rid of.” And Roy has hundreds of these to offload.

After a moment, he nods, his frown still on the money.

“Okay, well, I’ll leave this on your counter for you?” I edge in past him to set the box on the counter, next to the full bottle of painkillers. “Where are the dogs, by the way?”

“Out huntin’ for rabbits, probably. They’ll be back soon.”

“Lovely.” I cringe, pushing out the visual of that poor animal’s outcome. “I left Mabel in the truck so I should go—” My last word falters on my tongue as I spot the portrait of Roy and his family back in its place, on the trunk beneath the window. That wasn’t there last night.

My eyes flash to Roy, to see him watching me, his face hard. Daring me to say something. As if I’d make that mistake again. “So, I’ll see you in the morning.” I move for the door, noting the rifle propped against the wall next to it. Good grief, Roy. I shake my head.

“Her name’s Delyla.”

I stop. The name spoken in the silence of this house is deafening.

“She’s a few years older than you. Thirty-four, I think. Maybe thirty-five.” He studies the floor. “I can’t even remember anymore. It’s been so long.”

“That’s a pretty name.” My pulse pounds in my ears, the urge to ask him what happened overpowering. But I bite my tongue. “Have a good night, Roy.” I hold my breath until I duck out the door, and then I let out a long, shaky breath. A smile stretches across my lips.

Mabel’s head is bowed, her earbuds in, her attention glued to her phone. As per usual lately, it seems.

I take the stairs down, a slight spring in my step as my gaze drifts over my surroundings—the tidy stack of wood, the chicken coop, the heap of rusted trucks, the collection of water jugs and propane tanks, the brown bear in front of the barn door—

Every muscle in my body locks instantly, except for the one that controls my jaw.

My mouth drops open to scream.

No sound escapes.

Don’t scream, I remind myself, clamping my lips together as my heart pounds. I steal a panicked glance toward Mabel, who happens to look up then to see my face. Her brow furrows in question.

“Bear.” It’s not loud, almost a whisper.

She must read the word on my lips, because her eyes begin frantically searching, spotting it only moments later.

The bear lets out a deep, rattling growl that makes every hair on my body stand on end. It swats at the ground with its paw in warning. It’s too close.

I am too close.

“Calla …?” Mabel calls out with alarm, yanking the cord for her earbuds.

“Close your window and stay in there,” I warn, my voice taking on an odd, unfamiliar tone. Walking toward the truck would mean getting closer to it, and so I edge backward slowly, toward Roy’s house, hoping it’s not too late, that I’m not already too close.

I stumble as I try to climb the steps backward on shaky legs, and the bear takes several charging steps forward.

My breathing stops altogether, and cold calm settles over me as it moves in. This is it.

A horn blasts through the air, once and then a second and third time. Mabel is slamming her palm on the steering wheel in a desperate attempt to distract it. It seems to work, swinging the bear’s attention to the pickup truck as it sidesteps to get away from the sudden and menacing sound from another direction.

I use that time to clamber to my feet and rush up the stairs.

Roy’s front door flies open. “What the hell is goin’—” He sees my face, must see the terror, because he reaches inside and grabs his gun. “He’s back again, is he?” He steps out onto the porch, sounding more annoyed than anything. “Get behind me.”

I do as told without question as he searches out and locates the pacing bear. “I’ve given this thing enough goddamn chances.”

A flurry of wild barking erupts from somewhere within the trees then, growing louder by the second as Oscar and Gus charge in, Gus in the lead.

“Heel!” Roy shouts, but the dogs don’t listen, each taking a side as they approach the bear. It’s more than twice the size of either wolf dog, and yet they herd him back toward the barn door, teeth bared with threatening snarls. The bear roars and swats, its lengthy claws slicing the air as they dive at its haunches before darting out of reach. It’s only a matter of time before the bear connects.