“Get out of here,” he says. “Pick some fruit. I got her.” He pushes me toward a tree.

So I pick fruit and watch them out of the corner of my eye. A man in overalls, who smells of peanut butter and has a braid in his hair, hauls our oranges inside the barn to be juiced. We are sent to see the goats. There are twelve of them. All with ‘M’ names. I take photos of Kit feeding the goats. And then he makes me feed them, and he tells me he won’t leave until I touch one and mean it. I try to mean it. I try so hard that Melanie the goat jumps on me, resting her two muddy hoofs on my chest.

“Kit!” I yell. “Get her off me!”

Kit shoos Melanie away, and I give him a dirty look. That was funny, and I’m having fun. We go to the barn next where they give us two giant glasses of orange juice full of pulp. We sit on red rocking chairs, and watch the orange grove simmer under the sun, while Kit feeds Annie. I offer to do it, but he tells me to relax.

“What color would you say these chairs are?” I ask him. He raises an eyebrow.

“Red?”

“Yes, but what type of red? Think a box of crayons.”

He folds his lips in as he thinks.

“Chili pepper red.”

“Yes,” I say. “Exactly.” I’m thinking of the crayon he handed me in my dream. The one that was blue.

When we leave I can’t think of a profound moment in our day. There were goats, and laughter, and chili pepper red rocking chairs. There was a diaper blow out, an orange juice stain on my shirt, and a small disagreement on how to strap Annie into her chair. There was an illusion of a family. A lie. A temporary thing that would later break my heart. But, for now, my heart is in Kit’s truck, beating wildly in my chest, aching-with all of the love I have for these two.

Della wakes up the next day.

She is mostly confused. She asks if she can stay at my apartment for a while after she leaves the hospital so that I can take care of her.

“I don’t live here anymore, Dells,” I say gently. “Remember? I live in Washington now. But I can stay at your house with you.”

“Kit is from Washington,” she says. “Have you met him?”

“Yes. Do you need more water?”

I stroke her hands, and brush the tangles from her hair. She moans and closes her eyes like it’s the best thing she’s ever felt. She mostly wants me in the room with her, insisting that Kit be the one to leave when she needs something. Kit and her mom take a step back, placing my seat next to her bed, urging me to be the one to answer her questions.

“Do I tell her about Annie?” I ask.

“Let’s give her some time to catch up,” her doctor tells me. “Her brain is adjusting. We don’t want to overload her.”

So, I tell her about Washington. The deepness of the Sound, the rolling hills in Seattle that burn the hell out of your glutes when you walk up them. I describe the champagne bar that serves you strawberries coated in rhinestone sugar. I tell her about the homeless guy who gave me a cigarette and complimented my imaginary socks. And what it feels like to stand on the top deck of the ferry with the silvery air licking your face and neck until you close your eyes at the intimacy of it. When I am done telling her, there are tears in her eyes, and she reaches up to touch my cheek with her pale hand.

“I’m so glad you’re so brave,” she says. “I wish we all could be that brave.” I look away, tears in my own eyes. Brave, I am not. And then she says something that makes me lose it.

“You remind me so much of Kit, Helena.”

I stand up, excusing myself to the restroom. When I turn around, Kit is in the doorway watching me. I never heard him come in. I wonder how much he heard, and then I don’t have to wonder because as I walk past him he grabs my hand and squeezes.

It’s soon after that when she remembers we aren’t on the best terms. It comes when Kit and her doctor tell her about Annie, and the emergency hysterectomy. I stand against a wall in the back of the room, my head down and my hands clasped at my waist. I’ve never felt so exposed, or hated myself as much. I feel her eyes move past the doctor and Kit and focus on me. I’ve been holding her baby, feeding her baby, loving on her baby while she wastes away in this hospital room. All that’s left to come is her resentment. But I’m ready for it, and I don’t blame her.

“Where is my baby?” she asks, tears in her voice.

“They’re bringing her now,” Kit says gently. She starts to sob, and I mean really sob. I can’t take it. I leave the room and run downstairs. In the lobby, I all but collide with Della’s mom, who is carrying Annie toward the elevator. Annie smiles instantly when she sees me and starts kicking her legs. I can’t deal with this right now. I give her mom a weak smile and head in the opposite direction. It hurts. I want to hold her. She’s my Annie. She’s not my Annie.

Kit comes home around ten o’clock. He doesn’t have the baby with him.

“Her grandmother took her for the night,” he tells me. “I wanted to have the chance to talk to you.”

I sink into the couch, tucking my legs underneath me. I am prepared. My heart armored. He leans against the wall, folding his arms across his chest. He won’t look at me, which is never a good sign.

“You don’t have to give me some speech. I get it. I was looking at flights right before you walked in the door.” All of my fear turned to anger. Why had I done this? Why had he let me? I should have just come to see Della, stayed a few days, and left. Now, I know every curve of that little girl’s face, and I won’t ever be able to forget.