LongBench v2 / 672464aebb02136c067d73e6 / Narrives: 1. […

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    "doc": " \n The Unsinkable Greta James is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author\u2019s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.Copyright \u00a9 2022 by Jennifer E. Smith, Inc.All rights reserved.Published in the United States by Ballantine Books, an imprint of Random House, a division of Penguin Random House LLC, New York.BALLANTINE and the HOUSE colophon are registered trademarks of Penguin Random House LLC.Hardback ISBN 9780593358276Ebook ISBN 9780593358283International edition ISBN 9780593499092randomhousebooks.comBook design by Dana Leigh Blanchette, adapted for ebookCover design: Elena Giavaldiep_prh_6.0_139334769_c0_r0 \n ContentsCoverTitle PageCopyrightEpigraphBeforeChapter OneSaturdayChapter TwoChapter ThreeChapter FourChapter FiveSundayChapter SixChapter SevenChapter EightChapter NineMondayChapter TenChapter ElevenChapter TwelveChapter ThirteenTuesdayChapter FourteenChapter FifteenChapter SixteenWednesdayChapter SeventeenChapter EighteenChapter NineteenChapter TwentyChapter Twenty-oneChapter Twenty-twoChapter Twenty-threeChapter Twenty-fourChapter Twenty-fiveChapter Twenty-sixChapter Twenty-sevenThursdayChapter Twenty-eightChapter Twenty-nineFridayChapter ThirtyChapter Thirty-oneSaturdayChapter Thirty-twoSundayChapter Thirty-threeAfterChapter Thirty-fourDedicationAcknowledgmentsAlso by Jennifer E. SmithAbout the Author \n We set out to be wrecked.\u2014J. M. BARRIE,The Boy Castaways of Black Lake Island \n Chapter OneGreta is standing at the window of a hotel in West Hollywood when her brother calls for the third time that day. Across the street, there\u2019s a billboard with a sleek white yacht surrounded by turquoise water, an ad for a new kind of beer, and something about it\u2014that feeling of being adrift\u2014makes it easier to say no when she finally picks up the phone.\u201cCome on,\u201d Asher says. \u201cIt\u2019s only a week.\u201d\u201cA week on a boat.\u201d\u201cIt\u2019s a ship,\u201d he corrects.\u201cIt\u2019s the last thing I need right now,\u201d Greta says, turning from the window, where the light outside is dreamy and pink. She\u2019s just come from a photo shoot for the cover of her second album, which has been pushed to July. If it were up to Greta, she would\u2019ve moved it back even further, but apparently, that\u2019s no longer an option. Instead, she\u2019d been summoned to Los Angeles to spend three days in a warehouse surrounded by flashing cameras and frowning studio execs in suits and sneakers, the pressure to get this right all over their faces.It\u2019s been two months since she last performed live\u2014not since the week after her mother died, when she fell apart onstage\u2014but everything else has continued to march ahead, the business part of things still grinding forward mostly without her.On the desk, next to the hotel stationery, there\u2019s a plate of chocolates with a note from the hotel manager that says, We\u2019re so happy you\u2019re with us. Automatically, Greta thinks of her mom, who no longer is, whose absence feels so breathtakingly final that even this is enough to make her heart drop.\u201cWhy don\u2019t you go?\u201d she says to Asher, trying to imagine spending all that time on a boat with her dad. The Alaskan cruise had been her mother\u2019s idea. It was all she talked about for nearly a year, right up until March, when an artery ruptured in her head and the whole world seemed to stop.Now it\u2019s only a month away. And her dad is still planning to go.\u201cWe can\u2019t let him do this alone,\u201d Asher says, ignoring her question. \u201cIt\u2019s too sad.\u201d\u201cHe\u2019ll hardly be alone,\u201d Greta says as she wanders into the bathroom. \u201cHe\u2019ll have the Fosters and the Blooms. They\u2019ll take care of him.\u201dShe stares at her reflection in the mirror, her face still made up from the shoot. Red lips, white skin, green eyes lined with charcoal. Her dark hair, usually so wild, is now sleek and tamed. She sets the phone down on the sink and switches to speaker, then twists the tap and begins to scrub it all off.\u201cHe\u2019ll be a fifth wheel,\u201d Asher insists, his voice bouncing around the bathroom. \u201cIt\u2019s depressing. One of us has to go with him.\u201d\u201cRight,\u201d Greta says. \u201cYou.\u201d\u201cI can\u2019t.\u201dShe straightens again. Her skin is now pinkish, but she looks more like herself, which is always a relief. She grabs a towel and pats at her face. \u201cThe thing is,\u201d she says, picking up the phone again and walking back out into the room, where she flops onto the bed, \u201che actually likes you.\u201d\u201cGreta,\u201d he says, impatient now. \u201cYou know I can\u2019t do it.\u201dShe knows this, of course. Asher has a wife and three girls under the age of five. He has a job with a boss and a regular work week, an HR department, and a set number of vacation days, which mostly get used up when the kids are sick. He hasn\u2019t been on a plane in years.Greta\u2019s already been on three this week.She sighs. \u201cWhat are the dates again?\u201d\u201cEnd of May, beginning of June.\u201d\u201cI\u2019ve got to be in the city for Gov Ball on the fifth,\u201d she says, almost indecently relieved to have a legitimate excuse, no matter how much she\u2019s dreading it. But this does nothing to deter Asher.\u201cLucky for you,\u201d he says, \u201cit gets back on the fourth.\u201d\u201cYou know this isn\u2019t just any show. It\u2019s important.\u201d\u201cMore important than Dad?\u201d\u201cThat\u2019s not fair.\u201d\u201cIt\u2019s not like I\u2019m asking you to choose,\u201d he says. \u201cYou\u2019ll be back in New York in time to do your thing. And I\u2019ve heard Alaska is beautiful this time of year. Still a little cold, maybe, but that was just Dad trying to save some money\u2014\u201d\u201cAsher?\u201d\u201cYeah?\u201d\u201cI don\u2019t think I can do it.\u201d\u201cSure you can. You love the water. Remember that time we took the canoe out on\u2014\u201d\u201cYou know what I mean.\u201dHe goes silent for a moment, then says, \u201cIt wouldn\u2019t just be for him, you know.\u201dAnd that\u2019s what finally gets her. \n \n Chapter TwoGreta stands beneath the wide shadow of an enormous ship, wondering how such a thing could possibly float. It\u2019s a hotel on rudders, a skyscraper tipped on its side, a monolith, a beast. And it\u2019s her unlikely home for the next eight days.The name of the ship is painted across its broad white side. It\u2019s called the Escape, which is the only thing so far today that\u2019s made her want to laugh.Hundreds of people are milling around her, fancy cameras dangling from their necks, all of them eager to climb aboard and begin their Alaskan adventure. To the left, the city of Vancouver disappears into the sky, which is now silver, heavy with the threat of rain. Greta was here once for a show, but as with so many of the places she travels to, her views were pretty much limited to the inside of a music venue.\u201cIt\u2019s got eleven decks,\u201d her dad says, stepping up beside her with a map of the ship. He\u2019s wearing a too-thin windbreaker and a baseball cap he got for free when he opened a new bank account. It\u2019s been three months now since her mother died, and for the first time in his life, he looks every inch of his seventy years. \u201cAnd eight different restaurants. Four of them buffets.\u201dIf her mom were here, she would\u2019ve said: Wow! She would\u2019ve said: I can\u2019t wait to try them all. She would\u2019ve squeezed his arm and beamed up at the ship, all eleven decks of it.But Helen isn\u2019t here. It\u2019s only Greta, who still can\u2019t believe that Asher managed to talk her into this.\u201cCool,\u201d she says, an attempt at enthusiasm, but it obviously falls flat, because her dad simply gives her a resigned look and returns to his map.This was supposed to be a celebration, a fortieth-anniversary trip; they\u2019d been planning it for nearly a year and saving up for it even longer. Last Christmas\u2014a full five months ago now\u2014Helen gave Conrad a calendar with photos of glaciers, and he got her a new fleece to replace her old one, worn and thin from years of gardening in it. They bought a pair of binoculars to share, the kind that hang heavy around your neck, and every time there was an article about Alaska in the newspaper, Helen would clip it out, put it in an envelope, get a stamp, and then mail it\u2014actually mail it\u2014to Greta with a Post-it note that said \u201cFYI,\u201d as if she were going too.That new fleece\u2014light blue and impossibly soft\u2014is in Greta\u2019s bag, which is currently being carried aboard the ship. Her mother never ended up wearing it. She\u2019d been saving it for the trip.The ship\u2019s horn blows, and the line to board moves ahead. Behind her, the other four adults\u2014even at thirty-six, Greta can\u2019t help thinking of them this way\u2014are already making plans, debating between the casino and the musical for their first night out. They\u2019re longtime friends of her parents\u2019 and each couple has their own reasons for being here: the Fosters both recently retired and the Blooms are about to turn seventy. But everyone knows the real driving force was Helen, whose excitement about this trip was so infectious, she somehow talked them all into it.A steward walks past, and Greta watches him pause and take a few steps back in her direction. He points at her guitar case, which she\u2019s had slung over her shoulder since they stepped out of the taxi.\u201cWould you like some help with that, ma\u2019am?\u201d he asks, and she tries not to flinch at the ma\u2019am. She\u2019s wearing a short black dress with Vans and sunglasses. Her hair is tied up in a messy bun at the top of her head, and there\u2019s a leather jacket draped over the arm not carrying the guitar. She\u2019s not someone accustomed to being called ma\u2019am.\u201cThat\u2019s okay,\u201d she says. \u201cI\u2019ll hang on to it.\u201dHer dad grunts. \u201cYou couldn\u2019t pry that thing from her even if she fell overboard.\u201d\u201cI don\u2019t blame her,\u201d Davis Foster says as he comes up behind them, holding a map of Vancouver over his bald head as it starts to drizzle. \u201cIt\u2019d be a real shame to lose it.\u201dGreta has known the Fosters since she was twelve, when they moved in next door. They were the first Black family on the block, and Greta had immediately fallen in love with their youngest son, Jason, who was two grades ahead of her. Nothing ever happened until much later, when they both found themselves living in New York, and even then, it was never serious, mostly just when they were both between relationships. None of the parents ever had a clue, which was by design. If they had, they probably would\u2019ve started planning the wedding a long time ago, which is the very last thing either Greta or Jason would ever want.Davis nods at her guitar case. \u201cI bet it\u2019d be worth a fortune on eBay,\u201d he jokes, and his wife, Mary, gives him a whack across the chest. He doubles over in mock pain. \u201cI was kidding.\u201dMary is tall and slender, with dark brown skin and a pixie cut that makes her eyes look huge. Right now, they\u2019re fixed on Greta. \u201cWe all know it\u2019s worth a lot more in your hands,\u201d she says, and there\u2019s something protective in her gaze. Right from the start, Mary and Helen had been instant friends. Davis used to joke that they should call the little garden path between their houses the black hole, since the moment one of them crossed over for a visit\u2014a bottle of wine in hand, always\u2014they were as good as lost. At least for a few hours.Now Greta can almost feel Mary\u2019s determination to look out for her. It\u2019s comforting, like her mom is still here in spirit.\u201cYou know what you should do?\u201d Eleanor Bloom says in her faint Irish accent, looking all lit up at the thought. She\u2019s wearing a designer raincoat, and her long silvery hair is perfect, as always, even in spite of the dampness. \u201cYou should play a little show at sea. It would be brilliant to see you perform.\u201d\u201cI don\u2019t know\u2026\u201d Greta says, though of course she does know: there\u2019s no way she\u2019s playing on a cruise ship. Not ever, if she\u2019s being honest, but especially not now.\u201cI saw there\u2019s a variety show on the last night,\u201d Eleanor continues, undeterred. \u201cAnyone can sign up. I\u2019m sure they\u2019d be absolutely gobsmacked to have a real professional turn up there.\u201d\u201cAll the performers are professionals, honey,\u201d her husband, Todd, says in his usual mild-mannered way. Other than his wife, Todd\u2019s main passion is birds; he spends his weekends out in the marshes looking for egrets and other waterfowl. Once a year, his birding club takes a trip to some far-flung place that he views only through a pair of binoculars, but he\u2019s never been to Alaska before, and a field guide to the state\u2019s birds has been tucked under his arm all morning, already full of dog-eared pages. \u201cThey get pretty good people on these ships,\u201d he tells Eleanor. \u201cComedians, magicians, Broadway dancers.\u201d\u201cBut not rock stars,\u201d Eleanor points out. \u201cNot people like Greta James.\u201dShe says this last part like Greta isn\u2019t standing right there beside her, smiling politely, like she\u2019s talking about someone else entirely: Greta James the guitarist, the indie singer-songwriter with a cult following, as opposed to Greta James, daughter of Conrad and Helen, who learned to play guitar in the open garage beside the shelves of tools, with only Asher\u2019s gerbils\u2014banished from the house because of the smell\u2014as an audience, and who now feels like a kid again as she waits to start this bizarre sort of family vacation, a poor replacement for the most important member of the group.Across the way, she spots a man heading toward the end of another line. In a sea of older couples and young families, he sticks out. He has a trim beard and a square jaw and he\u2019s wearing glasses that are either incredibly nerdy or incredibly hip; it\u2019s hard to tell which. When she notices that he\u2019s carrying an old-fashioned typewriter\u2014cradled under one arm like a football\u2014she wants to roll her eyes. But then she sees him clock her guitar case, and there\u2019s nothing to do but exchange slightly sheepish smiles before he disappears into the crowd.\u201cJust think about it,\u201d Eleanor is saying, and Greta turns back to her.\u201cThanks, but\u2014\u201d\u201cThis is small potatoes for her these days,\u201d her dad says, arching an eyebrow. He doesn\u2019t say it like it\u2019s a compliment.There\u2019s a brief silence, and then Eleanor\u2014trying not to sound deflated\u2014says, \u201cI suppose you\u2019re right. It was only a thought.\u201d\u201cNot at all,\u201d Greta says, shaking her head. \u201cI just\u2026I don\u2019t get a lot of time off, so\u2026\u201dWhat she doesn\u2019t say\u2014what none of them say\u2014is that all she\u2019s had is time off lately.Mary fixes Greta with an admiring look. \u201cI remember you practicing away in that garage all those nights\u2014\u201dDavis lets out a booming laugh. \u201cYou were god-awful, kid. But you were certainly determined. Gotta give you that.\u201d\u201cThat\u2019s just it,\u201d Eleanor says, turning back to Conrad. \u201cHow many people actually grow up to do the thing they dreamed of when they were young? You must be so proud.\u201dConrad\u2019s eyes drift over to meet Greta\u2019s, and they stare at each other for a long moment. Eventually, he nods.\u201cYes,\u201d he says. \u201cWe\u2019re very proud.\u201dWhich is a double lie. He\u2019s not. And there\u2019s no we anymore. \n Chapter ThreeThe room is so tiny, she can sit on the edge of her bed and touch the wall. But Greta doesn\u2019t mind. She\u2019s spent the last fourteen years in New York City, where space is a luxury, so she\u2019s well versed in the art of living compactly. The bigger problem is the absence of any windows. By the time she booked the trip, all that was left were interior cabins. So while Conrad\u2019s room has big glass doors that open onto a veranda, Greta\u2019s looks more like something out of a minimum-security prison: small and beige and just barely functional.Seven nights, she thinks. Only seven nights.She sets her guitar on the bed beside a thick black binder. Inside, there\u2019s a day-by-day itinerary of the trip. They\u2019ll be at sea for the rest of tonight and tomorrow, cruising the Inside Passage (the inside of what, she has no idea); after that, they\u2019ll travel on to Juneau, Glacier Bay, Haines, Icy Strait Point, and then spend another full day at sea as they return to Vancouver.There are separate laminated pages for each port of call, filled with recommended tours, lists of restaurants, suggested hikes, and points of interest. There\u2019s also a fairly ridiculous amount of information about the ship itself: floor plans and menus, instructions for making spa appointments, detailed descriptions of each club and bar, every lecture and game night. You could spend an entire week deciding how to fill your week.Greta snaps the binder shut. It won\u2019t be long now until the ship sets sail, and she doesn\u2019t want to be burrowed inside it like a mole when it does. If she\u2019s actually going on this trip\u2014which it would seem, at this point, that she is\u2014she\u2019d at least like to witness the beginning of it.After all, that\u2019s what her mom would have done.Outside, there are a few people bundled on Adirondack chairs beneath the low Vancouver sky, but most are dotted around the edges of the ship, peering either out at the city or at the hunched gray mountains that loom across the water from it. She finds a spot between an elderly couple and a group of middle-aged women in matching pink sweatshirts that say Fifty Is the New F-Word. They\u2019re laughing as they pass around a flask.Greta leans on the rail and pulls in a deep breath. The harbor smells of brine and fish, and far below, dozens of tiny figures are waving up at them madly, as if they\u2019re about to set off on a dangerous voyage instead of an eight-day all-inclusive cruise with four buffets and a water slide.A few birds circle above, and the breeze is heavy with salt. Greta closes her eyes for a minute, and when she opens them again, she can sense someone staring at her. She turns to see a girl\u2014probably no more than twelve or thirteen\u2014standing a few feet down the rail. She has light-brown skin and black hair, and she\u2019s staring at Greta with a very specific kind of intensity.\u201cHi,\u201d Greta says, and the girl widens her eyes, caught somewhere between excitement and embarrassment. She\u2019s wearing pink Converse sneakers and skinny jeans with holes in the knees.\u201cAre you\u2026Greta James?\u201d she asks, her voice full of uncertainty.Greta raises her eyebrows, amused. \u201cI am.\u201d\u201cI knew it.\u201d The girl lets out a surprised laugh. \u201cWow. This is so cool. And so weird. I can\u2019t believe you\u2019re on this cruise.\u201d\u201cHonestly,\u201d Greta says, \u201cneither can I.\u201d\u201cI\u2019m obsessed with your album. And I saw your show in Berkeley last year,\u201d she says, the words tumbling out in a rush. \u201cDude, you can shred. I\u2019ve never seen a girl play like that before.\u201dThis makes Greta smile. She hadn\u2019t been expecting much overlap in the Venn diagram of people who go on Alaskan cruises and people who go to her shows. She fills good-sized venues and her songs are played on the radio and she has fans all over the world; she\u2019s even been on the cover of a few music magazines. But she\u2019s rarely recognized on the street outside of New York or L.A. And hardly ever by anyone this young.\u201cDo you play?\u201d she asks the girl, who nods enthusiastically. There\u2019s no sheepishness about it, no modesty: the answer is simply yes. She plays.Greta remembers being that age, already full of confidence as she started to realize that a guitar was more than just a toy, more than even just an instrument. Already, she knew it was a portal, and that she was talented enough for it to take her somewhere.Her dad was the one who\u2019d bought that first guitar. Greta was only eight; it was supposed to be for Asher, who was twelve, but even then he had little interest in anything but football. It was acoustic and secondhand and much too big for her; it would be years before she\u2019d grow into it. Some nights, when Conrad got home from work, he\u2019d stand in the open mouth of the garage, the tip of his cigarette burning bright as he watched her try to work out the notes like a puzzle. When she landed on the right ones, he let the cigarette dangle from his lips while he clapped.That was back when he loved that she played. When music was still a subject without controversy for them. Every night after dinner, he\u2019d put on an old Billy Joel album while they did the dishes, the two of them singing over the sound of the faucet to \u201cPiano Man\u201d while Helen laughed and Asher rolled his eyes.The girl picks at the peeling paint on the rail. \u201cI\u2019ve been trying to figure out \u2018Birdsong,\u2019 actually,\u201d she says, referring to a not-particularly-popular track off Greta\u2019s EP, a choice that makes her like this kid even more.\u201cThat\u2019s a tricky one.\u201d\u201cI know,\u201d she says. \u201cWay trickier than \u2018Told You So.\u2019 \u201dGreta smiles. \u201cTold You So\u201d was the first single off her debut album, which came out a couple years ago, and it\u2019s her most popular track by far, having achieved a level of success where people tend to know it even if they\u2019ve never heard of Greta James.\u201cNot into the mainstream stuff, huh?\u201d she says to the girl, who gives a solemn nod.\u201cI prefer the deep cuts.\u201dGreta laughs. \u201cFair enough.\u201dA horn blares once, then twice, and everyone on the deck startles and looks around. The engines have begun to stir, the water churning as the ship vibrates beneath their feet. Somewhere, invisible speakers crackle to life.\u201cGood afternoon, passengers,\u201d comes a slightly muffled voice. \u201cThis is Captain Edward Windsor. I want to welcome you all aboard and let you know that before leaving port, we\u2019ll be holding a safety briefing. Please collect your life jackets and proceed to your muster station.\u201dThe girl glances around at the receding crowds. \u201cI guess I should go find my parents. But it was really cool to meet you. Maybe I\u2019ll see you again?\u201dGreta nods. \u201cWhat\u2019s your name?\u201d\u201cPreeti.\u201d\u201cNice to meet you, Preeti,\u201d she says. \u201cI\u2019ll look for you when I want to talk shop, okay?\u201dPreeti\u2019s face brightens at this; then she gives a wave and hurries off.By the time Greta grabs the life jacket from her cabin and arrives at her assigned spot for the muster drill, her own little crew is already assembled. Her dad frowns at the way she has the vest slung over one shoulder. He was a naval officer during Vietnam, stationed on a patrol boat in the western Pacific, and he doesn\u2019t mess around with this sort of thing.Around her, there\u2019s a sea of bright orange; everyone is wearing their life jackets, even Davis Foster, who is six foot seven with shoulders so broad it looks like a child\u2019s pool toy has gotten caught around his neck. Greta lifts hers over her head, fastening the clips and hoping there are no other unexpected fans nearby. The last thing she needs is a picture of this.\u201cWhile it\u2019s doubtful you\u2019ll ever encounter a real emergency, it\u2019s important to be prepared,\u201d says a man who introduces himself as their station captain.Behind him, Greta can see the tops of the orange-capped lifeboats fastened in a row along the edge of the ship like ornaments on a tree. The man\u2019s voice is even-tempered as he lays out all the worst-case scenarios, the many calamities that could\u2014unlikely though they may be\u2014befall them on this floating city. It\u2019s the same way the doctor had spoken after her mother\u2019s aneurysm, when Greta\u2014stuck at the airport in Berlin, where she\u2019d just played a festival for tens of thousands of people\u2014had insisted on talking to him. Her mom was in a coma by then, and the disconnect between the awful things he was saying and the calm way he was saying them was so jarring it made her want to throw her phone clear across the gate.\u201cIf you should see anyone fall over the side,\u201d the man says, his voice almost cheerful, \u201cplease throw them a life buoy, then shout \u2018Man overboard\u2019 and inform the nearest crew member.\u201dA ripple of laughter spreads across the assembled passengers as they make whispered guesses about which of them will be the first to go over. Davis grabs Mary\u2019s shoulders so suddenly she lets out a yelp. Eleanor reaches for Todd\u2019s hand as if to anchor herself, but he\u2019s busy watching a small iridescent bird flit past what little sky is visible between decks.\u201cA purple martin,\u201d he whispers excitedly, fumbling with his binoculars. But they get tangled in his life jacket, and by the time he lifts them, the bird is gone.Greta tugs at the straps of her own vest and looks around. Down the row, she spots the guy she\u2019d seen earlier with the typewriter. As she watches, he lifts his phone to take a picture of this, the safety briefing, of all things. When he lowers it again, she can see him typing and wonders who he\u2019s sending the photos to. Then she wonders why she\u2019s wondering this.\u201cYou\u2019re not listening,\u201d her dad says under his breath, giving her a nudge, and when the guy glances in their direction, Greta feels like she\u2019s about twelve years old. But he only smiles, and then they both turn their attention back to the station captain, who is still detailing all the ways they might possibly\u2014but not probably\u2014find themselves in peril over the next eight days. \n Chapter FourDespite all the talk of buffets, her dad made reservations for the group at the most formal restaurant for their first night, a dimly lit sea of white tablecloths surrounding a dance floor. Out the window, the light is soft and hazy. The sun doesn\u2019t set until after nine here, and dusk takes its time, moving leisurely from orange to pink to gray.\u201cSo, Greta,\u201d Eleanor Bloom says as their drinks arrive. She\u2019s wearing an elegant black pantsuit and has already had her hair done at the salon. It always seemed to Greta that Eleanor was a bit too glamorous for their little corner of Columbus, Ohio. She\u2019d met Todd decades ago on a trip to New York City with her girlfriends from Dublin. He was there for an insurance conference, and she was sightseeing, and they got caught in a rainstorm in Times Square. Greta always wondered how a man like Todd\u2014incredibly kind but extremely boring\u2014had managed to inspire someone like Eleanor to move across an ocean for him. But apparently her first husband had been a nightmare, and in Todd, she found a steadiness that gave her the space to shine. Which she usually does. \u201cHow are things with that adorable boyfriend of yours?\u201dGreta takes a long sip of her wine, trying to decide how to answer. It\u2019s been nearly three months since they broke up, just after her mother\u2019s death, but even so, the boyfriend part throws her off-balance. As does the word adorable. There are a lot of ways to describe Luke\u2014brilliant and edgy, sexy and infuriating\u2014but adorable isn\u2019t really one of them.\u201cWe\u2019re actually\u2026\u201d she begins, then stops and takes another quick sip of wine. \u201cWe sort of decided to\u2026\u201d\u201cThey broke up,\u201d Conrad says with forced joviality. \u201cDidn\u2019t you guys get the email?\u201dGreta feels the heat rise to her cheeks. She hadn\u2019t realized he was upset about that. The split had happened shortly after the funeral, and neither of them had been in a state to talk about much of anything then. But she\u2019d wanted him to know, and to hear it from her, before Asher mentioned it. So she\u2019d sent him a quick email.He hadn\u2019t written her back, and neither of them had talked about it since.\u201cI\u2019m sorry to hear that,\u201d Mary says as she reaches for a dinner roll, her bracelets jangling. Greta has never met anyone who can say as much with her eyebrows as Mary Foster, and right now, they\u2019re raised sky-high. \u201cI know your mom really liked him.\u201dThis is not remotely true, but Greta appreciates it all the same.Her parents met Luke only twice. The first time, at the New York City launch party for her debut album, she\u2019d chickened out and introduced him only as her producer, worried that if they knew he was more than that, they\u2019d hate him for a thousand different reasons: the cigarette tucked behind his ear and the sleeve of tattoos on both arms, the drawling Australian accent and the way he sneered whenever someone talked about a band he considered inferior.\u201cWe\u2019ve heard so much about you,\u201d her mom said that night, smiling gamely as she shook his hand. \u201cAnd the album is wonderful. You two make beautiful music together.\u201dLuke hadn\u2019t been able to help himself; he\u2019d burst out laughing. Even now, Greta can picture the look on Conrad\u2019s face, the dawning disappointment as it all snapped into place.The second time, things were more serious between them, and she brought Luke home to Columbus over the Fourth of July. For two days, he did everything right: he collected candy with her nieces at the town parade, helped her mom decorate the American flag cupcakes (adding an Australian one for good measure), and brought her dad a bottle of his favorite scotch. He even found a way to ask Conrad about his job selling ads for the Yellow Pages without seeming to imply that this line of work had perhaps outlived its usefulness.On the last morning, she found him out on the patio, attempting to fix the broken barbecue, and as she watched him bend over it the way he usually stood over the sound board in the studio\u2014tweaking and adjusting her songs until they became as close as they could to the way she heard them in her head\u2014she was surprised that something so mundane could still be so attractive.But afterward, as they sat waiting for the plane that would take them back to New York, he put his arm around her shoulders. \u201cI can\u2019t wait to get home,\u201d he said, and when she murmured in agreement, he tipped his head back with a sigh. \u201cIf that were my life, I think I\u2019d off myself.\u201dThis, of course, is the exact same thought Greta has every single time she goes home. It\u2019s the same thought that kept her picking at her guitar most nights in the freezing-cold garage when she was younger, the one that propelled her to a college two thousand miles away in southern California, then catapulted her straight to the opposite coast afterward.It\u2019s what\u2019s driven her all these years, the fear of all that\u2014of getting stuck, of standing still, of being ordinary. And it\u2019s what\u2019s kept her going, in spite of the wall that rose up between her and her dad, another brick for every aspect of her unconventional life, every decision that carried her farther from Ohio, from a nine-to-five and a mortgage and a white picket fence, from the way her brother\u2019s life has unfolded\u2014which is to say, the way most lives unfold\u2014first a steady job, then marriage, then parenthood, all of it sure-footed and predictable.But to hear Luke say it\u2014Luke, who drinks only out of mason jars and wears a knit hat even in the summer, who can light a cigarette in the wind and recite the lyrics to all of her songs\u2014was too much.\u201cIt\u2019s not so bad,\u201d she said, watching their plane appear out the window, inching toward the accordion-like jet bridge. It always struck her as extraordinary that the distance between Columbus and New York could be covered in just a couple short hours. Most of the time, it felt like the two places existed in entirely different universes.Beside her, Luke sat up a little. \u201cYou can\u2019t be serious,\u201d he said, his accent getting thicker, as it always did when he said something snarky. \u201cI can\u2019t even picture you living there when you were a kid. Never mind now.\u201d\u201cI\u2019m not saying I\u2019d want to\u2014I\u2019m just saying it\u2019s not so bad.\u201d\u201cWhat? The suburbs?\u201d\u201cNo,\u201d she said. \u201cComing home.\u201d\u201cThere are fifteen thousand kilometers between me and my parents,\u201d he said with a smirk, \u201cand that\u2019s still not enough.\u201dShe didn\u2019t know it then, but that was the first loose thread.From across the table, Mary is still watching her expectantly.\u201cIt wasn\u2019t meant to be,\u201d Greta tells her.\u201cWell, that,\u201d her dad says, \u201cor you didn\u2019t want it to be.\u201d\u201cConrad,\u201d Mary admonishes him in the exact same tone that Helen would\u2019ve used, and Greta gives her a grateful smile. But it\u2019s not a surprise. And it\u2019s nothing new.She turns to her dad, whose collar is wrinkled now that her mom isn\u2019t here to iron it for him. He\u2019s looking at her the same way he\u2019s been looking at her for twenty years: like she\u2019s a math problem he can\u2019t quite work out.\u201cWhat?\u201d he says, like he isn\u2019t trying to pick the same fight they\u2019ve had about a thousand times. It\u2019s not about Luke. It\u2019s not even really about her settling down, though that\u2019s part of it. It\u2019s that the life he wants for her is fundamentally different from the life she wants for herself, and music is the boat that\u2019s forever carrying her away from it.\u201cYou didn\u2019t even like him,\u201d Greta says, and though her voice is light, there\u2019s something unmistakably steely underneath it.\u201cBut you did,\u201d Conrad points out. \u201cSo I don\u2019t really understand what happened.\u201dWhat happened, she wants to say, is that her mom died. What happened is that Helen went into a coma, and the world turned inside out.But that\u2019s only part of it, of course. That\u2019s the cause.Here\u2019s the effect:Greta had been in the middle of a show at the time, a sixty-minute set at a music festival in Berlin, and when her brother kept calling and calling, Luke was the one to pick up her phone. By the time she\u2019d finished playing, he\u2019d booked her a flight to Columbus.\u201cJust me?\u201d she asked, the shock of it coursing through her as she stood with him backstage afterward, still sweaty and jangly from the show, still trying to absorb the news.He looked surprised by the question, which was ridiculous. They\u2019d been together for two years by then, and this, she\u2019d assumed, is what people do in situations like these; this is what it\u2019s supposed to mean to have a partner.\u201cWell,\u201d he said, running a hand through his hair. The next band had come on, and outside the tent, they could hear the dull roar of applause. \u201cI mean, it\u2019s a family thing, right? I wasn\u2019t sure you\u2019d want me there.\u201dShe stared at him. \u201cSo, what, you\u2019re just going back to New York?\u201d\u201cNo,\u201d he said, and at least he had the good sense to look embarrassed. \u201cI figured as long as I\u2019m here, I might as well stay for the rest of the festival.\u201dThat, she wants to say, is what happened.Or, at least, that was the start of it.Luke might have lit the match, but Greta was the one who burned everything to the ground a week later. She can\u2019t say that to her dad, though. So instead she says, \u201cIt\u2019s complicated.\u201dConrad raises an eyebrow. \u201cNot really. It\u2019s the same thing that always happens. You date someone for a while, then get bored and break it off.\u201d\u201cIt\u2019s not that simple, Dad.\u201d\u201cI\u2019m sure it\u2019s not.\u201dGreta swirls the wine in her glass, aware that they have an audience of four, each of whom is looking increasingly uncomfortable. \u201cLife sometimes gets in the way.\u201d\u201cThat\u2019s because your life isn\u2019t conducive to relationships.\u201d He picks up his menu and addresses the list of entr\u00e9es. \u201cThey don\u2019t just happen. You have to make room for them.\u201dShe grits her teeth. \u201cI like my life the way it is.\u201d\u201cAs you should,\u201d Davis says from across the table, and when everyone turns to him, he shrugs. \u201cWell, it\u2019s true. Her life is objectively pretty awesome.\u201dIn his twenties, Davis had played piano in a jazz trio, and he has a million stories about the old days in Chicago, late nights full of whisky and music with friends. She knows he loves his life now\u2014he has a wife he adores and three grown kids who happen to be fantastic, and until a few weeks ago, when he officially retired, he was the neighborhood\u2019s favorite postman\u2014but there\u2019s always a certain look he gets when they talk about Greta\u2019s career, something just south of envy and just north of wistful.When the waiter arrives, they place their orders and hand over their menus, and Greta thinks it\u2019s over. But then Conrad, who has mostly been staring into his scotch glass, turns back to her.\u201cYou know I only want what\u2019s best for you, right?\u201d he asks, and he looks so old right then, so unhappy, that Greta almost says, Right. But she finds she can\u2019t.\u201cNo. You want my life to look like Asher\u2019s.\u201d\u201cI want you to be happy.\u201d\u201cYou want me to be settled,\u201d she says. \u201cThat\u2019s not the same thing.\u201dMary pulls back her chair and sets her napkin on the table. \u201cYou know what? I think we\u2019re gonna take a spin around the dance floor.\u201d\u201cBefore dinner?\u201d Davis asks with a frown.\u201cYes,\u201d she says firmly, and the Blooms both stand up as well.\u201cUs too,\u201d Eleanor says, grabbing Todd\u2019s hand. \u201cTime to cut a rug.\u201d\u201cIt\u2019s a waltz,\u201d he says, but he follows her out to the dance floor anyway, leaving Greta and Conrad behind.For a second, they just look at each other, and then at the now-empty table\u2014the napkins strewn across bread plates, the lipstick-stained wine glasses\u2014and Greta almost laughs. Instead, she clears her throat and says, \u201cLook, I know you want me to be more like Asher, but\u2014\u201d\u201cThat\u2019s not\u2014\u201d\u201cCome on,\u201d she says, more gently now. \u201cMom\u2019s not here to play referee anymore. The least we can do is be honest with each other.\u201dHe sighs. \u201cYou want me to be honest with you?\u201d\u201cYes,\u201d Greta says with some amount of effort.\u201cOkay.\u201d He swivels to face her more fully. The light behind him is soft and indistinct, and in the reflection from the window, she can see Davis twirling Mary on the dance floor. She forces herself to look back at Conrad, who has her same green eyes, her same inscrutable gaze. \u201cYou know your mom was your biggest cheerleader\u2014\u201d\u201cDad,\u201d Greta says, her throat going thick, because even though she\u2019d been the one to bring her up, it feels like he\u2019s cheating somehow, invoking her mother like this. \u201cDon\u2019t.\u201dHe looks surprised. \u201cDon\u2019t what?\u201d\u201cThis isn\u2019t about her,\u201d she says. \u201cIt\u2019s about you and me.\u201d\u201cThat\u2019s my point,\u201d he says, shaking his head. \u201cI know she understood this whole music thing better than me, but she was concerned about you too.\u201dGreta works to keep her expression neutral. She doesn\u2019t want him to see how much this stings. She\u2019d given up on him a long time ago, had accepted the fact that he didn\u2019t think much of her dreams. But her mom did. And that had always been enough.\u201cYou don\u2019t know what you\u2019re talking about,\u201d she says.\u201cShe was your biggest fan,\u201d he says, looking suddenly very faraway. \u201cBut she worried too. About you being alone and traveling so much and trying to stay afloat in an industry that\u2019s so uncertain. Maybe she covered it better than I do, but it isn\u2019t\u2014it wasn\u2019t just me, okay? It was her too.\u201dGreta sits very still, letting the words wash over her. After a few seconds, Conrad leans forward, the look on his face starting to slip.\u201cI\u2019m sorry,\u201d he says. \u201cI didn\u2019t mean to\u2014\u201d\u201cIt\u2019s fine.\u201dThe song ends, and there\u2019s a smattering of applause from the diners. Conrad clears his throat. \u201cWe were never great without her, huh?\u201d\u201cNo,\u201d she says. \u201cWe weren\u2019t.\u201d\u201cIt\u2019s even harder now.\u201dShe nods, surprised by how quickly her eyes have welled up.But it\u2019s true. Everything\u2019s harder now.\u201cI\u2019m glad you came on this trip, though,\u201d he says, and in spite of herself, Greta laughs. Conrad tilts his head to one side. \u201cWhat?\u201d\u201cI was literally just thinking that I shouldn\u2019t have come.\u201d\u201cWell,\u201d he says with a shrug, \u201cI\u2019m glad you did.\u201d\u201cAre you?\u201d she asks, looking at him carefully, but then the Fosters and the Blooms return to the table, still laughing from their adventures on the dance floor, and the waiter arrives with their salads, and the sky outside darkens another shade, and the ship sails on into the night, and it isn\u2019t until later that Greta realizes he never actually answered the question. \n Chapter FiveAfter dinner, Greta returns to her room, where she sits cross-legged on the bed, her guitar balanced on her knees. The others have gone to try their luck at the casino, but the thought of all those chiming slot machines is too much for her at the end of a day like today.She holds a pick between her lips as she tunes the old wooden Martin. She rarely travels with this one; it\u2019s bulkier than the lean electric guitars she mainly uses when she performs. But she\u2019s had it forever, and there\u2019s a comfort to it, like a worn book, well used and well loved. She bought it in college, scraping together tips from her waitressing job at the local Olive Garden, every basket of breadsticks inching her closer. And though she now has literally dozens of guitars\u2014most of them slim and sleek and powerful, more acrobatic and explosive in sound\u2014she still finds herself reaching for this one often, each note vibrating through her like a memory.She plays a single chord, the sound bright as a match in the small confines of the cabin. Then a few more, until she realizes she\u2019s veered into the beginning of \u201cAstronomy.\u201d She lifts her hands abruptly, as if she\u2019s touched something hot, and the silence rushes back in like the tide.It\u2019s more specter than song at this point. She\u2019d started writing it on the flight back from Germany, still reeling from the news about her mom\u2019s aneurysm. She tried to sleep, but couldn\u2019t. She tried to drink, but her hands were shaking too badly. Out the window, the sky was completely black, and the absence of stars felt ominous. Her stomach churned.She closed her eyes and thought about the glow-in-the-dark stars on her bedroom ceiling back home, the way her mom used to point up at them after reading her a story. The memory felt hopeful somehow, and she pulled out her notebook and began to write, trying to push back the darkness with each line, her own kind of prayer.By the time the Atlantic was behind her, she had a full page of lyrics and the ghost of a melody. It was a song about charting your course and finding your way, but it was really\u2014like all songs\u2014about something more personal than that, about lying in bed with her mom when she was little, talking and dreaming and telling stories beneath those glow-in-the-dark stars.It wasn\u2019t finished. But it had felt like the start of something.She just didn\u2019t yet know what.This time, when she begins to play, she\u2019s more deliberate. She picks out the opening notes of \u201cPrologue,\u201d the first single off her upcoming album, the song she\u2019s meant to debut at Governors Ball next weekend. It\u2019s an entirely different sort of tune, fast-paced and full of heat, and even on an acoustic guitar, it fills the room.She knows this is the way back, this song. It\u2019s her chance at redemption. But already it feels like a relic, something she wrote in a different lifetime, when her mom was still alive and Greta was still full of confidence.There\u2019s a knock on the wall to her left, and she goes silent. She waits a few seconds before trying again, softly this time. But the next knock is more insistent. With a sigh, Greta sets the guitar on the bed beside her, grabs her mother\u2019s fleece from the hook on the back of the door, and steps out into the hallway, suddenly desperate for air.Outside, the night is still suspended in twilight, everything misty and gray. Greta walks along the promenade deck until she finds a quiet spot. She leans out, her eyes watering from the wind. Far below, the ship kicks up a white froth, and the waves ripple out until they get lost in the fog. Tomorrow, they\u2019ll spend the whole day on this boat, stuck at sea until they reach Juneau the following morning. It feels like a long time to wait.\u201cAll I keep thinking about is the Titanic,\u201d someone says, and she glances down the railing to see the typewriter guy again. He\u2019s wearing a waterproof jacket, trim and green with a hood, and his brown hair is mussed from the wind.\u201cThe ship or the movie?\u201d\u201cDoes it matter?\u201d he asks with a smile. \u201cNeither ended particularly well.\u201dThey\u2019re both quiet, peering out at the deepening sky. Greta is about to push off the rail and head inside when he looks her way again.\u201cThis is kind of weird, isn\u2019t it?\u201d\u201cWhat?\u201dHe shrugs. \u201cI don\u2019t know. Being out here like this. On a ship. At night. Just bobbing around in the middle of the water. There\u2019s something lonely about it.\u201d\u201cIs there?\u201d she asks, and for some reason, this makes her think about the time she got a bad flu in her twenties and her mom flew out to take care of her. For three days, Helen made soup on the janky stove in Greta\u2019s tiny apartment, and they sat on the couch in pajamas and watched movies as the radiator hissed and the snow pinged against the window. One afternoon, when she thought Greta was sleeping, Helen called Conrad to check in, and in that foggy, thick-headed place between sleep and awake, Greta heard her lower her voice. \u201cI know,\u201d she murmured. \u201cIt\u2019s times like this when I wish she had someone too.\u201dUntil that moment, it hadn\u2019t occurred to Greta to feel lonely.She\u2019d just returned after seven months of touring, opening for a band she\u2019d admired since she was sixteen\u2014the whole experience quite literally a dream come true\u2014and in all those days of travel and nights onstage, all the quotidian acts of her life had been shed: regular phone calls to her parents, texts to friends, even the fling she\u2019d been having at the time with Jason Foster. When she\u2019d returned, her brain was still sparking and firing, overcharged by those months filled with fans and frenzy, and she\u2019d spent the next few weeks in the same gray hoodie and leggings, moving from her notebook to her computer to her guitar in a burst of creative productivity. She\u2019d never been happier.But suddenly she could see things through her mom\u2019s eyes: how she\u2019d come home to an empty apartment and had no one to take care of her when she got sick. It didn\u2019t matter that Greta hadn\u2019t actually asked Helen to come; she would\u2019ve been fine ordering soup from the diner downstairs and resting up until she was better. And it didn\u2019t matter that she could afford a bigger apartment now if she wanted one; it was that this place she\u2019d lived in for so many years felt like home. Her life wasn\u2019t this way by default; it was this way because she liked it this way.She turns back to the guy with a shiver. His eyes are still on the water.\u201cI\u2019ve been reading a lot about Herman Melville lately\u2026\u201d He pauses, glancing over at Greta uncertainly. \u201cMelville was\u2014\u201d\u201c \u2018Bartleby, the Scrivener,\u2019 \u201d she says, and his eyes light up.\u201cWow,\u201d he says. \u201cMost people go right for Moby-Dick.\u201dShe nods at the water. \u201cToo obvious.\u201d\u201cAnyway,\u201d he says, looking pleased, \u201cI was reading about when Melville first went to sea. He was only nineteen, which seems so young now, and he wound up on this merchant ship that sailed from New York to\u2026actually, you know what?\u201d He laughs. \u201cThis is the part where my six-year-old would tell me I need to recalculate.\u201d\u201cRecalculate?\u201d\u201cLike on a GPS,\u201d he says sheepishly. \u201cWhen you go down the wrong road, and it starts recalculating your route. I have a tendency to take the long way.\u201d\u201cThat\u2019s not always a bad thing,\u201d she says, and he scratches at his beard, which is trim and flecked with gray at the edges. He\u2019s handsome in a deeply wholesome way, clean-cut and earnest, and though he can\u2019t be more than a few years older than her, he seems like an adult with a capital A, like someone who has his shit together, like the guys she sees in holiday photos from college friends she\u2019s mostly lost touch with because their lives are too different.He walks over and sticks out a hand. \u201cI\u2019m Ben, by the way. Ben Wilder. As in Laura Ingalls.\u201dIn spite of herself, Greta laughs. \u201cYou must have sisters.\u201d\u201cDaughters,\u201d he says with a grin, and her eyes automatically flick to his hand. He\u2019s not wearing a wedding ring. \u201cAnd you are?\u201d\u201cGreta.\u201d She pauses, debating about the last name, then decides it doesn\u2019t matter. He won\u2019t know her. She can tell just by looking at him that he listens mostly to Dave Matthews and Bob Dylan. Maybe a little Phish in college. \u201cJames,\u201d she says finally.\u201cAs in Bond,\u201d he says with a knowing nod.\u201cAs in Bond,\u201d she agrees.The lights above them flicker on as the sky settles into an approximation of darkness, and in the distance, they can hear the rise and fall of voices from one of the ship\u2019s many bars.\u201cYou know,\u201d Ben says, \u201csailors in the British Royal Navy used to get a ration of rum for every day they were at sea. It was safer than the water. And good for morale.\u201d\u201cI bet.\u201d\u201cI think I\u2019m gonna go for one. You\u2019re welcome to join.\u201dShe hesitates. But only for a second. \u201cI should probably get back.\u201d\u201cOkay,\u201d he says with a smile. \u201cThen I\u2019ll see you around, Bond.\u201d\u201cHave a good night, Laura Ingalls.\u201d \n \n Chapter SixGreta wakes in the dark, the only light coming from the glowing red numbers on the alarm clock, which reads 3:08 A.M. She\u2019s used to this moment of confusion, the first few seconds after sleep when she has to think hard to remember where she is, which hotel room in what time zone. But the absence of windows and the rolling of the ship beneath her makes this all the more disorienting. It\u2019s been twelve hours now, and this is the first time she\u2019s truly felt like she\u2019s at sea.She reaches for her phone, squinting as the screen brightens, and sees she has a text from Luke: Got my jacket. Left the key.That\u2019s it. No goodbye. No sign-off. Just: the end.She doesn\u2019t really blame him. It had taken her weeks to even respond to his request for his favorite leather jacket, which he\u2019d forgotten the day he came to pack up his things and which she\u2019d been secretly hoping he might let her keep. For a while, she\u2019d taken to wearing it around the apartment. It still smelled like his cigarettes.Now she stares at his name on her screen, debating whether to simply delete the whole contact. But she doesn\u2019t. Instead, she toggles back and lets her finger hover over the entry for Jason Foster.She hasn\u2019t heard from him since the day of the funeral, when she\u2019d fled the reception downstairs and found him in her old bedroom, running a hand along her first guitar, the one her dad had bought all those years ago. They hadn\u2019t seen each other in a long time, almost two years, and it had never occurred to her that he\u2019d come home for the service. As she watched his dark hands trace the curve of the instrument, moving slowly across the swirling mahogany, she felt goosebumps rise on her forearms. It was almost like he was touching her instead.Greta\u2019s mom had died exactly twenty-four minutes before her plane hit the tarmac. After listening to the voicemail from Asher, she\u2019d sat with her head pressed against the cool of the window, her heart clenching like a fist inside her chest, until a flight attendant laid a gentle hand on her shoulder, and she\u2019d realized she was the last one on the plane.At the moment, Luke was still in Germany. He\u2019d tried to get a flight back when she told him, but a bad storm had swept in just after she left, grounding most transatlantic travel, and everything had been booked for days. Already, he\u2019d missed the funeral, which her father had insisted on scheduling as quickly as possible, and it was becoming obvious that he was going to miss being there at all. It didn\u2019t matter that he\u2019d sounded devastated when he called to break the news to her. She wasn\u2019t even really upset about this. There were other things, too many to count. Even so, she knew this would be the one she\u2019d never forgive.And now Jason was in her room. Jason Foster: the first boy she\u2019d ever loved, and the man she returned to after every failed relationship.They had rules about this sort of thing. They never officially dated, and they never used each other to cheat. There were no strings attached and no expectations. This was fun and satisfying, nothing more. And it worked for both of them: Greta, who was always traveling and could never seem to commit to anyone for the long haul, and Jason, who was always working and had never wanted anything permanent.But now her boyfriend was stranded overseas, and her mother had just died, and everything was a mess.And mostly, he was there, and Luke wasn\u2019t.Neither said a word as they walked toward each other, but Greta remembers, in the fog of grief and exhaustion and shock, thinking how inevitable it felt right then. There was a moment to tell him about Luke\u2014a moment to consider Luke, period\u2014and then that moment passed, and Jason\u2019s arms were around her, and there was nothing more to be done about it.Afterward, they lay in her old twin bed and stared up at the glow-in-the-dark stars. Jason let his head fall to the side, peering at her childhood bookshelf. He reached over to pull out a fraying paperback, and she put a hand on his arm.\u201cWhat?\u201d he said, turning back to her with a lazy smile. \u201cYou worried I\u2019m gonna find your diary? I bet it says \u2018Greta Foster\u2019 all over it.\u201dShe rolled her eyes. \u201cYou wish.\u201d\u201cOh, come on,\u201d he teased. He had a new haircut, faded on the sides, that made him look younger, and something about seeing him here in her childhood bed\u2014with that self-assured grin and those dimples that used to make her go wobbly\u2014made her feel like time was elastic, like all her teenage fantasies were suddenly coming true. He tickled her hip, and she shivered. There was laughter in his voice when he whispered in her ear: \u201cYou wanted to marry me from the day the moving truck rolled up. Admit it.\u201dGreta shook her head. \u201cNo way.\u201d\u201cAdmit it.\u201d\u201cFine,\u201d she said with a smile, relenting. \u201cMaybe a little. But then I grew up.\u201dHe dropped his head back onto the pillow, looking up at the stars with a thoughtful expression. \u201cDo you ever wonder where we\u2019d be if\u2026\u201d\u201cWhat?\u201d\u201cIf we\u2019d gotten together for real.\u201dGreta looked over at him, too surprised to answer.\u201cLike, would we have ended up back here, do you think?\u201d\u201cIn Columbus?\u201d she said. \u201cNo way.\u201dHe smiled. \u201cI don\u2019t know. Sometimes I can see it. A little house in the neighborhood. Kids playing tag until dark, the way we always did. Family dinners. Barbecues out back. The whole deal.\u201dShe knew he was just musing, that on this of all weekends, the air was thick with nostalgia. But it was still jarring to hear. Jason was the only person Greta knew who had been equally anxious to get away from this place, this kind of life. In high school, he\u2019d thrown himself into his work with a single-minded determination that had eventually carried him to Columbia, where instead of taking a breath, he\u2019d redoubled his efforts, graduating at the top of his class. Later, he became the first Black CFO at his hedge fund, a position he\u2019d worked twice as hard as his colleagues to get, all those smug white guys whose dads were clients or who played golf with people who were. But it wasn\u2019t just a job to him. And New York wasn\u2019t just a place to live. They were dreams he\u2019d dreamed on the front stoop of the small yellow house next door to where they were lying in bed right now. And he\u2019d gone and made them real.\u201cYou would never leave the city,\u201d Greta said, still trying to get her head around the idea of it. \u201cWould you?\u201dHis brown eyes were intent on hers. \u201cMaybe under the right circumstances,\u201d he said. \u201cWhat about you?\u201d\u201cI don\u2019t know,\u201d she told him, unsure whether they were talking about geography or something more. Her mind was a muddle, with the reception carrying on below and the plastic stars glowing above. She felt like kissing him and she felt like running away. She felt like crying and she felt like escaping. She didn\u2019t know what she felt. She hardly ever did.\u201cWe should probably get back,\u201d she said eventually, and he looked disappointed but rose up onto his elbows anyway.\u201cYou\u2019re probably right,\u201d he said with a nod.They made their way downstairs one at a time, after smoothing shirts and straightening hair and unmussing everything that had been mussed. Greta was only a few steps into the kitchen when her dad waved her over. He was already talking to Jason, who gave her a knowing smile.\u201cDid you see who\u2019s here?\u201d Conrad asked, clapping Jason on the shoulder. In only a few days without her mom, he already looked different\u2014pale and grizzled\u2014but she could tell he was trying to make an effort, to fill the role that Helen usually did when they had people over. \u201cSo nice of you to come in for this, son. I know it would\u2019ve meant a lot to her.\u201d\u201cI wouldn\u2019t have missed it,\u201d Jason said with a solemn nod. \u201cShe was one of my favorite people.\u201d\u201cYou\u2019re still in banking, right?\u201d Conrad asked. \u201cI know you two run in pretty different circles, but do you ever see each other in the city?\u201d\u201cNot for a while,\u201d Jason said at the exact same moment Greta said, \u201cSometimes.\u201d\u201cI\u2019m not nearly cool enough to hang out with a rock star on a regular basis,\u201d Jason continued, all dimples and charm. \u201cI imagine there aren\u2019t a lot of suits at your shows.\u201dGreta raised her eyebrows. \u201cYou\u2019d know if you came to one.\u201d\u201cThey\u2019re always sold out,\u201d he said with a grin.\u201cLucky you know someone then.\u201dTheir eyes were locked now, and Greta nearly forgot her dad was standing there until he lifted his bottle of beer. \u201cOh,\u201d he said, turning to her. \u201cLuke called a little while ago. He finally managed to get a flight, so he\u2019ll be here tomorrow morning.\u201dGreta dropped her eyes to the floor, though she could feel Jason watching her. \u201cGreat,\u201d she managed to say, her voice very small, and then her dad headed off to help Asher with the food, and it was just the two of them again. She braced herself for whatever it was he might say, but he only reached out and took her hand in an overly formal way.\u201cI\u2019m really sorry about your mom,\u201d he said, pressing her fingers tightly for a beat, and then he turned around and walked into the next room, leaving her alone in the kitchen.That was the last time they spoke. For the rest of the day, he avoided her, and when Luke finally showed up the next morning\u2014bleary-eyed from his long trip\u2014Jason had already flown back to New York.Greta sets her phone down, then picks it up again. It\u2019s after six in Ohio, which means her brother will be up with the kids. She starts to call him, then remembers she\u2019s at sea with limited service and types out a text instead: SOS. Twelve hours down. A million to go.It only takes a few seconds for his reply to arrive: Four out of five of us have strep throat. Wanna trade?Greta writes back, It\u2019s not easy being the favorite, which is what she says whenever he complains about his life, the life her dad so desperately wishes she had too. But her heart isn\u2019t really in it right now because, honestly, strep throat sounds only marginally worse than her own situation.Another text comes through: How\u2019s Dad?Same as always, she replies.I\u2019m glad you\u2019re there.Me too, Greta types, then deletes it. The truth is, she\u2019s glad he has someone. But she suspects they both wish that someone wasn\u2019t her. Instead, she writes: Hope you guys feel better soon.He signs off with a Bon voyage!, and Greta swings her feet off the bed. She sits there in the dark for a few minutes, listening to the sounds of the ship, and then she reaches for her guitar, hoping her neighbors are asleep this time.Quietly, she begins to play, her fingers moving quickly from string to string. When she was younger, her teachers always tried to steer her back to the melody when she veered off course, not realizing that\u2014for her\u2014the experimentation was in fact the point. Even now, critics often struggle to describe exactly what her music is: indie or rock, pop or folk. The truth is, it\u2019s a little bit of all of them, and also nothing like any of them. It\u2019s a sound all her own.Her eyelids begin to grow heavy again. A lullaby, she thinks, pressing her palm flat against the still-vibrating strings so that the music ends with a quiet thump. Then she places the guitar carefully into its case and crawls back under the covers.When she wakes again, the clock says 9:21 A.M. She was supposed to meet her dad at the Overboard Buffet twenty minutes ago, so she ties her hair into a messy knot at the top of her head and dresses in a hurry, throwing on leggings and black boots and a jean jacket over the Pink Floyd T-shirt she slept in. Before leaving the room, she grabs a pair of sunglasses out of habit, slipping them on as she steps out into the hallway.She rides the elevator up with a couple so old they both have to hang on to the gold bar that runs along the inside. The woman\u2014who is small and stooped, with brown skin and deep wrinkles and a wispy halo of silvery hair\u2014stares at her hard, then raises a finger to point at Greta\u2019s face. \u201cYou\u2019re very pale,\u201d she says with a frown.Greta nods, because this is true enough. She takes after her mother, whose parents were both from Scotland. She has the same dark hair as Helen did, the same scattered freckles across the bridge of her nose, and the same pale complexion that\u2019s been described as porcelain in so many magazines, her brother jokes that people must think at least one of their ancestors was a toilet.\u201cMake sure you wear sunblock,\u201d the woman continues. \u201cJust because the sky is gray doesn\u2019t mean it can\u2019t get you.\u201d\u201cWill do,\u201d Greta says as they come to a stop on the lido deck and the couple starts to shuffle out of the elevator. \u201cThanks for the tip.\u201d\u201cYou don\u2019t want to look like me when you\u2019re eighty-nine,\u201d the woman calls back over her shoulder, and Greta smiles.\u201cI should be so lucky.\u201dAt the restaurant, she spots her dad and the rest of the crew across the buffet. They\u2019re sitting at a table in the corner beneath a painting of a grizzly bear, their plates already empty. Her dad holds up a champagne flute when he sees her, and Todd slides another in her direction as she pulls out a chair. He\u2019s already got his binoculars around his neck, ready for the day.Greta frowns at the glass. \u201cIsn\u2019t it a little early?\u201d\u201cI thought you were a rock star,\u201d Davis teases, and when Greta takes a sip, she can feel it fizz all the way down her throat.\u201cWhat\u2019s the occasion?\u201d she asks.\u201cWell,\u201d Mary says, beaming, \u201cwe got an email from Jason this morning.\u201d\u201cWhich is an occasion in and of itself,\u201d Davis jokes, and Mary looks so excited she doesn\u2019t even bother to roll her eyes at this. Instead, she lets out a happy laugh.\u201cThey got engaged last night!\u201d she says, and when it\u2019s clear that Greta still isn\u2019t sure what\u2019s happening, Mary widens her eyes. \u201cJason and Olivia.\u201dFor a moment, Greta just stares at her. She\u2019s never even heard of Olivia. Beneath them, the ship lists, and she can feel the champagne sloshing around in her empty stomach. She has to concentrate to keep it from coming back up again.\u201cWow,\u201d she says finally, trying to arrange her face into something resembling a smile. \u201cThat\u2019s\u2026wow. Congrats. To both of you.\u201d\u201cMother and father of the groom,\u201d Mary says, smiling at Davis, who grins back at her. \u201cIt has a nice ring to it.\u201d\u201cSpeaking of rings,\u201d Eleanor says, her face brightening at the thought, \u201cdid they send a photo?\u201d\u201cI couldn\u2019t get it to download,\u201d Mary tells her. \u201cBut apparently he bought it at a flea market, so who knows\u2026\u201d\u201cWell, she said yes,\u201d Conrad says. \u201cWhich is the important thing.\u201dMary lets out a happy sigh. \u201cThat\u2019s true. She said yes.\u201d\u201cHow long have they been together?\u201d Greta asks, trying to sound like a vaguely interested childhood friend rather than someone who has been sleeping with their son on and off for the past decade.\u201cOh, must be about a year now,\u201d Davis says. \u201cShe\u2019s a nice girl. You\u2019ll like her.\u201d\u201cI\u2019m just happy he\u2019s finally settled down,\u201d Mary says, and for once, Greta doesn\u2019t even care about the look Conrad gives her, which plainly suggests she might think about doing the same. She\u2019s too busy trying to get her head around it: Jason Foster is getting married.For all her years of teenage pining, and all the chemistry they discovered later, she never really imagined herself with him in that way. Not for real. Jason works on the forty-second floor of a huge international bank. He wears suits every day and takes black cars to the office and always preferred to stay at his place, which is sleek and shiny and has white carpeting so pristine that Greta was afraid to drink red wine there. Her life\u2014the small, cluttered apartment with its wilting plants, the months of travel and the late evenings in bars with random musicians, the nights she wakes up with a tune in her head and sets the room aglow with her phone screen as she tries to capture it\u2014that\u2019s never been for him. They never would\u2019ve worked.Still, she feels a gut punch at the thought of him marrying someone else. It occurs to her that if they\u2019ve been together for a year, that means he was surely with Olivia that day Greta found him in her old bedroom. She knows she\u2019s not above reproach herself; she was with someone too. But they were on the decline, whether or not Luke realized it yet. Jason, on the other hand, was ramping up to a proposal. And in the Horrible Person Olympics, doesn\u2019t that make him worse?It\u2019s a particularly strange kind of loss, when something you don\u2019t think you even want gets taken away from you. Greta feels the sting of it, a dull hurt rising from someplace inside her she hadn\u2019t even known was there. She thinks maybe it\u2019s sadness, a tiny sort of grief; but if she\u2019s being really honest, it\u2019s probably something closer to embarrassment, or maybe even jealousy, though for what, she\u2019s not entirely sure. She doesn\u2019t want that life. Not now. And not with him. So then why should this news unsettle her so much?Her dad is saying something to her, and she blinks at him. \u201cWhat?\u201d\u201cWe\u2019re gonna hit the spa,\u201d he repeats, standing up. \u201cWe\u2019ve all got appointments at ten.\u201d\u201cFor what?\u201d she asks, surprised. Her dad is a beer guy. A fishing guy. A sit-around-and-watch-baseball guy. Greta has never in her whole life known him to go to a spa; in fact, the idea of him walking around in a fluffy robe is about as strange as if he\u2019d shown up to breakfast in a clown costume.\u201cSome kind of massage,\u201d he says, glancing over at Todd, who is wearing a brand-new hat with the logo of the cruise ship on it. \u201cIs that what\u2019s happening? These guys made the appointments. I have no idea what I\u2019m getting myself into.\u201d\u201cYou\u2019ll love it,\u201d Eleanor assures him as she digs through her purse for a tube of cherry-red lipstick. \u201cIt\u2019s just what you need to relax and take your mind off things.\u201dConrad\u2019s smile freezes slightly, but he nods. \u201cI\u2019m hoping it\u2019ll help my back, anyway.\u201d\u201cDid you want to come?\u201d Mary asks Greta. \u201cWe weren\u2019t sure. We figured you might want a break from all of us old folks.\u201d\u201cI\u2019m okay, thanks. I\u2019m gonna grab some breakfast, and then I can meet up with you later.\u201d\u201cHere,\u201d Conrad says, sliding a piece of paper over to her. It\u2019s a list of daily activities, and he\u2019s circled several of them in blue pen. \u201cWe\u2019ve got the spa at ten, then lunch at the Admiral at noon, then there\u2019s a talk I want to see at two, and bingo at three\u2014\u201d\u201cBingo?\u201d Greta says skeptically.He ignores this. \u201cThen we\u2019re supposed to be passing some sea lions around six, so we\u2019ll head out to the promenade deck to catch that.\u201d\u201cAnd hopefully some marbled murrelets too,\u201d Todd adds with enthusiasm. \u201cThey\u2019re often found in these parts.\u201d\u201cAnd hopefully some marbled murrelets too,\u201d Conrad agrees in a slightly placating tone. In all the years they\u2019ve been friends, Todd has had little success in recruiting the others to his favorite hobby. \u201cThen dinner tonight at Portside, and the piano bar for a nightcap.\u201d\u201cWow,\u201d Greta says, staring at the list. \u201cThat\u2019s quite the itinerary.\u201d\u201cYou can come to as much or little as you want,\u201d he says, standing up from the table. \u201cTotally up to you.\u201d\u201cHere.\u201d Mary hands her a booklet with the daily schedule of activities. \u201cSee what sounds good to you, and meet us wherever, okay?\u201dGreta nods. \u201cSure. Enjoy the spa.\u201dWhen they\u2019re gone, she sits alone at the table with a cup of coffee, staring at the painting of the grizzly bear. One of its giant paws has a silvery fish pinned under it, the river streaming around them. The fish is wild-eyed and flailing, even in stillness, and Greta starts to feel queasy again. She forces herself to look away.The booklet on the table is thick, with two neat staples along one side. She flips idly through the photos and descriptions of various events\u2014the jugglers and magicians, hypnotists and mimes, lecturers and historians\u2014until she recognizes a familiar face. Right there on page 11 is a picture of Benjamin Wilder, bestselling author and associate professor of history at Columbia University.For some reason, this makes her laugh. He looks so serious in the photo, so professorial, with those thick-rimmed glasses and an expression of great concentration. Beneath the picture, there\u2019s a bio that\u2019s mostly about his internationally bestselling novel, One Wild Song, which apparently tells a fictional version of the story of Jack London, the author of The Call of the Wild and White Fang, among other works. She glances over at the itinerary her father had marked up and sees that the two o\u2019clock lecture is called \u201cJack London: An Alaskan Perspective.\u201dShe hadn\u2019t been planning on joining them for much besides the sea lions. But when she stands up to go to the buffet, she tucks the booklet into the pocket of her jacket, just in case. \n Chapter SevenIf her dad is surprised to see Greta waiting at the door to the auditorium, he doesn\u2019t show it. He\u2019s still pink-faced from his morning at the spa, and the deep groove between his eyebrows\u2014which has taken up residence in the months since her mom died\u2014has all but disappeared.\u201cHow was it?\u201d Greta asks when he walks up. \u201cRelaxing?\u201d\u201cActually, yes,\u201d he says, raising his arms in a stretch. He\u2019s wearing a navy golf jacket zipped up all the way, and his mostly white hair is still damp from the shower. Her eye is drawn, as it always is, to the hook-shaped scar on his chin, from a fight he\u2019d broken up during his bartending days. When she was little, Greta used to trace it with her finger. Now she sees how much the map of his face is crowded with other lines too. \u201cMy back feels amazing,\u201d he says as he lowers his arms again. \u201cWhat are you doing here?\u201dShe holds up the itinerary. \u201cYou gave me your schedule.\u201d\u201cI know,\u201d he says, looking around at the crowd outside the auditorium. Beside them, there\u2019s a poster with the name of the talk and a picture of Ben\u2019s book, which features a snowy landscape and a distant team of sled dogs. \u201cBut you\u2019ve never really been the lecture type.\u201d\u201cI only avoid lectures from you,\u201d she teases, and to her surprise, this makes him laugh. \u201cBesides, we\u2019re stuck on the ship all day. What else am I gonna do?\u201d\u201cYou say that like it\u2019s a sailboat. They\u2019ve got everything here. Why don\u2019t you try the casino? Or go shopping at one of those stores in the atrium?\u201dGreta stares at him. \u201cIs that what you think I like to do?\u201d\u201cI have no idea what you like to do,\u201d he says. \u201cExcept play guitar.\u201d\u201cWell, I tried that already, and my neighbors weren\u2019t too pleased.\u201dHe rolls his eyes. \u201cPlease try not to get kicked off the ship, okay?\u201d\u201cWhat could they even do?\u201d she asks. \u201cSend me off on a dinghy?\u201d\u201cI don\u2019t know, but let\u2019s not find out.\u201dOver his shoulder, she sees the Blooms and the Fosters, all looking equally refreshed, and when the doors open, they file into the auditorium behind a decent-sized crowd, pretty much all of them in their seventies.Mary leans over to whisper to Greta as they take their seats. \u201cHave you read it?\u201d she asks, gesturing at the image of Ben\u2019s cover, which is being projected on a screen at the back of the stage. \u201cWe did it for book club. It\u2019s beautiful.\u201d\u201cI\u2019ve never even read Call of the Wild,\u201d Greta says, her eyes wandering around the room, which is more than half full. This is where they hold the big shows at night, the dancers and comedians and magicians that pull in large crowds, so it\u2019s actually not a bad turnout, though already an elderly man is snoring behind her. It sounds like a buzz saw, but his companions either don\u2019t notice or aren\u2019t bothered by it.A thought occurs to her, and she turns back to Mary. \u201cWhen?\u201d she asks with more urgency than intended. \u201cWhen did you read it for book club?\u201dAt first, Mary looks confused. But then it clicks and she gives Greta\u2019s hand a sympathetic pat. \u201cYour mom loved it too,\u201d she says with a smile.When Ben walks out, Greta sits forward. He\u2019s wearing a tweed blazer with a blue-and-white checkered shirt underneath, and he spreads his arms wide and grins at the audience.\u201cWow,\u201d he says, looking delighted by the size of the crowd. \u201cI guess we have a lot of Jack London buffs on this ship, huh?\u201dThe audience chuckles at this.\u201cHow many people here have read The Call of the Wild?\u201d Ben asks, and quite a few hands go up. His eyes comb the theater, and when he notices Greta, he pauses for a second, looking surprised. She half-raises her hand, deciding she must\u2019ve at least seen the movie at some point. Mary gives her a sideways look, and Greta shrugs.\u201cHow about White Fang?\u201d Ben asks, pulling his eyes away from her, and Greta lowers her hand as several new ones go up. \u201cOkay, great. That\u2019s not bad. But I have a feeling I\u2019m about to stump you all. Who here has read The Cruise of the Dazzler?\u201dThere\u2019s a ripple of laughter when people twist around to see that there are no longer any raised hands. Ben stares at them in mock astonishment.\u201cC\u2019mon, folks. That was one of his first novels. The Cruise of the Dazzler. Very important for our purposes here today, since you should all know that I\u2019m planning to be the dazzler of this cruise.\u201dOn the other side of her, Eleanor lets out a bark of a laugh. \u201cCorny but cute,\u201d she says, leaning in to whisper to Greta. \u201cJust my type.\u201dBen introduces himself but he doesn\u2019t linger on his own story. Instead, he moves right into talking about Jack London\u2019s perilous journey through Alaska at the height of the Klondike gold rush, and all the writing that came out of those long wintry months in the Yukon. Greta had expected it to be kind of boring, listening to him discuss the importance of the stories in a historical context and the problematic aspects in a modern one. But it\u2019s not. He\u2019s not Billy Joel at the Garden; he\u2019s not Springsteen at Asbury Park. But he\u2019s a good speaker, and he brings the past to life in a way that keeps everyone\u2019s attention. Which is no easy feat, given that it\u2019s probably nap time for half the audience.When it\u2019s time for questions, he calls on a woman in the front row who is waving her hand so hard it looks like she\u2019s trying to hail a cab. \u201cHow long did it take you to write your book?\u201d she asks, then sits back in her seat, satisfied.\u201cOh,\u201d Ben says mildly. He adjusts his glasses, then gives her a smile. \u201cWell, I suppose you could say it took most of my life, since I\u2019ve been thinking about Jack London since I was a kid. But as for the actual writing, maybe a couple years. I had done a lot of the research already, just from a lifetime of interest.\u201d\u201cBut it\u2019s fiction,\u201d says a man sitting a few rows down. \u201cSo that\u2019s got to be harder. You had to make the story exciting too.\u201dGreta finds it amusing that so many of the questions about his process are similar to the ones she\u2019s asked again and again in interviews, and she can tell that his answers\u2014like hers\u2014are somewhat canned at this point. But still, everyone is leaning forward with genuine interest, waiting to hear what he has to say, and it occurs to her that they must have read the book. All of them. For some reason, this comes as a surprise.When the talk is over, her dad starts to head out along with the Fosters and the Blooms. \u201cDon\u2019t want to be late for bingo,\u201d Mary says as she scoots past Greta\u2019s knees. \u201cYou coming?\u201dGreta glances at her dad, trying to gauge whether he\u2019d like her to, but to her relief, he\u2019s already walked off with Davis and Todd.\u201cDon\u2019t worry,\u201d Mary says. \u201cWe\u2019ll keep an eye on him.\u201dShe\u2019s about to get up and follow them out, already wondering how she\u2019s going to fill the rest of the day, when she sees Ben still standing in the front, talking to a small crowd that\u2019s gathered to ask him more questions. His jacket is off and his sleeves are rolled up, and he looks utterly delighted to be discussing his favorite subject. It occurs to Greta that he might be the only other person on this entire ship that isn\u2019t on their way to either bingo or the kiddie pool right now, and so she stays behind, propping her feet up on the back of the seat in front of her.When the last person finally leaves, he gathers his papers and swings a messenger bag over his head. He\u2019s halfway up the aisle when he notices Greta still there in the back, and his face brightens.\u201cHi,\u201d he says, moving along the row to sit one seat away.She smiles. \u201cYou were pretty good up there.\u201d\u201cWasn\u2019t my first rodeo,\u201d he says, but he looks pleased. \u201cDid you stick around to ask more questions? I\u2019m not sure I would\u2019ve pegged you for a Jack London fan.\u201d\u201cI\u2019m not,\u201d she says so quickly that he laughs.\u201cNot yet.\u201d\u201cI think I was the only one in the whole room who hasn\u2019t read your book.\u201dHe waves this away with a grin. \u201cIt\u2019s highly overrated.\u201d\u201cI\u2019m sure it\u2019s not.\u201d\u201cWell, then clearly you\u2019re also the only person who didn\u2019t read the Times review,\u201d he says, his brown eyes dancing. \u201cThey called it \u2018overblown and self-important.\u2019 \u201dGreta laughs. \u201cTrust me, I\u2019ve seen worse.\u201d\u201cIt\u2019s okay\u2014so did Jack London.\u201d\u201cYou must really like the guy,\u201d she says, \u201cto spend that much time with him.\u201dHe nods. \u201cI always thought I\u2019d write a new biography, but most of that ground has been covered, and I realized I was less interested in the facts than the story. So I decided to make it a novel.\u201d He looks around at the auditorium. \u201cI didn\u2019t expect any of this, though.\u201d\u201cHow could you?\u201d Greta says with feeling. \u201cYou hope for it, maybe. But the odds are always so long. It\u2019s like winning the lottery.\u201d\u201cExactly,\u201d he says, clearly relieved to be understood. \u201cI spent two years chipping away at the book, mainly just to amuse myself. When I was done, I showed it to a friend in the English department, and he slipped it to his agent, and everything happened pretty fast from there. All this stuff is still really weird to me. Interviews, book tours, festivals\u2026\u201d\u201cCruise ships.\u201d\u201cNo, I was definitely counting on the cruise ships. I mean, why else would you write a book?\u201d He smiles, then shakes his head. \u201cI shouldn\u2019t joke. I\u2019m actually sort of embarrassingly excited to be here. I\u2019ve never been to Alaska before.\u201d\u201cReally? Not even a research trip?\u201d\u201cNope. I woke up every morning at four o\u2019clock to write, and worked until my kids were awake. There definitely wasn\u2019t time for a research trip. Or money. But now I\u2019m finally on my way.\u201d He pauses and looks at her sideways. \u201cSo what about you?\u201d\u201cWhat about me?\u201d she asks, peering up at the ceiling.\u201cWhat do you do when you\u2019re not cruising?\u201d\u201cI\u2019m a musician.\u201d\u201cNo way,\u201d he says, raising his eyebrows. \u201cWhat do you play?\u201d\u201cGuitar, mostly.\u201d\u201cRight! I remember now.\u201d He mimes carrying a case, and she realizes it was only yesterday that she\u2019d seen him with his typewriter. \u201cAnd you do it for real?\u201dShe knows what he\u2019s asking: whether it\u2019s a job or a hobby. It\u2019s what most people ask when she delivers this piece of information. It used to bother her, especially when she was younger and still grasping for a sense of legitimacy. But now there\u2019s a kind of satisfaction to it, well-earned after so many years of working and hoping and striving, of playing in front of crowds of eleven people in basement bars and opening for bands with far less talent and far more fans. There were successes along the way, of course, and a fairly steady sense of momentum, but Greta didn\u2019t truly break through until a few years ago, and it\u2019s different when it happens in your thirties, when you\u2019ve got more than a decade of effort under your belt. So to her, this is what making it feels like: it\u2019s not the albums or the crowds or the money. It\u2019s getting to say\u2014clearly and straightforwardly, without asterisks or qualifications\u2014that yes, in fact, this is what she does. She\u2019s a musician. Simple as that.Over the years, she\u2019s gotten all manner of condescending responses: I\u2019d love to get to play guitar all day and Man, wouldn\u2019t it be nice to do something fun instead of work and Wow, you can really support yourself doing that? The fans, of course, are different, and there are more of them every day. But she\u2019ll never fully understand why skepticism is most people\u2019s first reaction. Maybe it\u2019s jealousy. Or maybe it\u2019s something deeper than that, a kind of resentment for having the audacity to be living her dream when theirs had to be left behind.But when she answers Ben, he looks slightly awestruck.\u201cWow,\u201d he says. \u201cThat\u2019s\u2026possibly the coolest thing I\u2019ve ever heard.\u201dGreta smiles at this. A few seconds go by before she realizes they\u2019re both just sitting there, as if waiting for something.Finally, he clears his throat. \u201cSo, um, were you sticking around because you had a question?\u201d\u201cYes,\u201d Greta says, standing up. \u201cDid you want to get that drink now?\u201d \n Chapter EightAs they walk out of the auditorium, Ben stops to take a picture of a grand-looking staircase that winds down toward a lower level. A minute later, he pauses again, snapping a shot of a random sculpture of a sea otter.Greta looks at him sideways. \u201cHave you been commissioned to photograph the entire boat?\u201dHe laughs. \u201cThey\u2019re for my kids. I\u2019d prefer to send postcards, but they\u2019re way too impatient for that.\u201d He takes one more of the view out the window, the stripe of blue water and the spruce trees behind it. Then he slips the phone back into his pocket. \u201cOh, and it\u2019s a ship.\u201dGreta shrugs. \u201cSame thing.\u201d\u201cNot really,\u201d he says. \u201cShips have at least two decks above the waterline. This has eleven. Plus it weighs a lot more than five hundred tons. And its only form of propulsion is an engine, so\u2026\u201dShe gives him an incredulous look.\u201cSorry, I\u2019m a nerd,\u201d he says at the exact same time she says, \u201cYou\u2019re such a nerd.\u201dThey cross the lido deck, where the smell of chlorine is thick against the fogged-up windows and a water aerobics class is underway, dozens of swim caps bobbing in the turquoise water. As they walk out into the atrium\u2014a bustling area full of shops and restaurants, as if they\u2019re not at sea at all but rather in a suburban mall somewhere\u2014Preeti, the girl from yesterday, comes wandering out of an art gallery. Her face lights up when she sees Greta, and she yanks out her earbuds and hurries over.\u201cHi,\u201d she says, giving Ben a cursory glance, then turning back to Greta. She holds up her phone. \u201cI told my friend Caroline that I met you, but she doesn\u2019t believe me. Do you think we could take a selfie so I could send it to her as proof?\u201d\u201cSure,\u201d Greta says, glancing over at Ben, who looks understandably baffled by this.He nods at the phone in Preeti\u2019s hand. \u201cWant me to take it?\u201d\u201cUm, no thank you,\u201d she says, narrowing her eyes at him. \u201cI mean, it\u2019s a selfie, so\u2026\u201d\u201cSo we\u2019ve got it,\u201d Greta says, trying not to laugh at the look on his face. Preeti punches a few buttons, then holds the phone out, and Greta bends so their faces are close together. She gives a practiced smile just before the flash goes off, then straightens again.\u201cProof,\u201d she says as they examine the photo. Greta\u2019s eyes look greener in the light, and her dark hair is wavy and loose. She\u2019s not wearing any makeup, and her face is characteristically pale. Beside her, Preeti is grinning and flashing a peace sign.\u201cI was always trying to get her to listen to your stuff,\u201d Preeti says as she sends it off, \u201cbut she\u2019s basically only into, like, Taylor Swift\u2014which is fine, if that\u2019s your thing\u2014but after that video of you went viral, she finally\u2026\u201d She stops, and her eyes, which have been on her phone, flick up to meet Greta\u2019s with a slightly panicked expression. \u201cSorry, I didn\u2019t mean\u2014\u201d\u201cIt\u2019s fine,\u201d Greta says lightly, though her face is warm. She shouldn\u2019t feel as thrown as she does. Just because she\u2019s on a boat in the middle of nowhere doesn\u2019t mean anything has changed. It doesn\u2019t mean people aren\u2019t still talking about it. But this is the first time anyone she doesn\u2019t know\u2014anyone outside her team\u2014has talked about it to her. And now, suddenly, here it is. Right out in the open.Preeti\u2019s eyes are still wide. \u201cI wasn\u2019t\u2014\u201d\u201cI know,\u201d Greta says, trying not to look at either one of them: Preeti, who is mortified, and Ben, who is deeply confused. \u201cIt\u2019s fine. Don\u2019t worry about it.\u201d\u201cOkay,\u201d Preeti says after a moment. She looks like she wants to say more, but instead she holds up the phone a little awkwardly. \u201cWell, thanks for the selfie.\u201d\u201cOf course,\u201d Greta says in a too-bright voice. \u201cI\u2019ll see you around, okay?\u201dWhen she\u2019s gone, Greta begins to walk again, and Ben trots to catch up to her. \u201cWhat was that about?\u201d\u201cNothing,\u201d she says, shaking her head. \u201cWhich bar do you want to try?\u201dHe\u2019s still looking at her sideways. \u201cSo you\u2019re, like, someone people know.\u201d\u201cDon\u2019t be too impressed. I\u2019m pretty sure she\u2019s the only one on this whole ship.\u201d\u201cYeah, but you have fans.\u201d\u201cSo do you,\u201d Greta says as she heads toward the first bar she sees, which\u2014inexplicably\u2014has a tropical island theme. There\u2019s a Jimmy Buffett song drifting from inside, and the entrance is lined with fake palm trees. She starts to head in but turns when she realizes Ben isn\u2019t following her. \u201cWhat?\u201d\u201cWho are you, really?\u201d\u201cI told you,\u201d she says. \u201cI\u2019m a musician.\u201d\u201cLike a pop star or something?\u201dShe frowns. \u201cDo I look like a pop star to you?\u201d\u201cI guess not.\u201d\u201cLike I said, I play the guitar,\u201d she says with a shrug, but something about the encounter with Preeti has made her wobbly. She thinks about Gov Ball next weekend, and her hand closes around the phone in her pocket. She feels a sudden urge to call her manager, Howie, and tell him to forget the whole thing. That she\u2019s not ready yet. That it\u2019s too risky to go back out there before she is.But she hasn\u2019t even told him she\u2019s on this trip. She hasn\u2019t told anyone: not her publicist, not the label, not her agent, not even her best friend, Yara, a keyboardist who is out touring with Bruce Springsteen and would understand better than anyone why she\u2019s avoiding them all.For several days now, there\u2019s been a steady drumbeat of emails and text messages about the festival and the launch of the new single. The subject lines include requests for local radio appearances and sit-downs with music journalists. Strategies for how to frame what happened in March and \u201creset her image.\u201d Suggested talking points and timelines.Greta hasn\u2019t read any of it.It\u2019s so unlike her. She\u2019s not usually the stereotypical version of a rock star her dad seems to think she is: consumed by the lifestyle and leaving the business part to others. She cares too much for that. She writes her own tracks and handles her own licensing, shows up early for sound check and spends hours and hours in the studio. When she\u2019s onstage, it\u2019s supposed to look effortless. Not just the way she plays\u2014the massive guitar riffs and thrilling crescendos\u2014but also the way she appears to the audience: powerful, incendiary, captivating. All those things are true. But they\u2019re fueled by a relentless work ethic and a deep desire to keep getting better, to keep making music, to keep people listening and showing up and buying albums.Now, of course, that\u2019s all gone out the window. Both the image and the work ethic.Now all she wants to do is get a drink and pretend none of this is happening.Inside, they find seats at the bar. There are brightly colored flowers everywhere, and the bartenders are wearing Hawaiian shirts. A blue surfboard leans up against the wall.\u201cAll very Alaskan,\u201d Ben says once they\u2019ve ordered their drinks: a margarita for him and a strawberry daiquiri for her, because what else do you order in a place like this?\u201cYeah,\u201d Greta says, looking around, \u201cthis is definitely getting me in the mood to visit a frozen tundra.\u201dBen looks amused. \u201cIt\u2019s hardly a tundra. We\u2019re going to be seeing some of the most interesting landscapes in Alaska. In the world, really.\u201dTheir drinks arrive, and she plucks the small paper umbrella out of hers. \u201cYou\u2019ve clearly done your homework.\u201d\u201cYou haven\u2019t?\u201d\u201cThis was sort of a last-minute decision for me.\u201d\u201cA last-minute Alaskan cruise?\u201dGreta hesitates a second, debating whether to be honest, then says, \u201cIt was supposed to be my mom here with my dad and their friends\u2014not me.\u201d She takes a sip of her daiquiri, which is much too sweet. When she lifts her eyes again, Ben\u2019s smile has fallen. \u201cIt\u2019s okay,\u201d she says quickly, even though it\u2019s not. Not at all. \u201cIt happened a few months ago.\u201d\u201cThat\u2019s not very long.\u201d\u201cNo,\u201d she agrees, \u201cit\u2019s not.\u201dHe taps a finger against his glass. She can see the faint line where his wedding band had once been.\u201cIt\u2019s nice you can be with your dad,\u201d he says, and she nods.\u201cThey\u2019d been planning this trip for ages, and he still wanted to come. So my brother asked me to keep him company.\u201d\u201cWhy you?\u201dShe shrugs. \u201cBecause he has three kids and a day job.\u201d\u201cAnd you\u2026\u201d\u201cHave very few daily responsibilities and a zillion frequent-flier miles.\u201d She takes a long swig of her drink. \u201cIt\u2019s fine. I wouldn\u2019t even mind it, honestly, if it didn\u2019t mean a whole week with my dad.\u201d\u201cYou guys don\u2019t get along?\u201d\u201cNot really.\u201d\u201cWhy not?\u201d\u201cBecause I don\u2019t have three kids and a day job.\u201dHe stares at her. \u201cSeriously?\u201d\u201cThat\u2019s part of it.\u201d\u201cWhat\u2019s the other part?\u201d\u201cLet\u2019s just say I\u2019m not exactly the favorite.\u201dBen opens his mouth to say something, then closes it again.\u201cWhat?\u201d\u201cNothing,\u201d he says. \u201cIt\u2019s just\u2026I have so many questions for you. I\u2019m not sure what to ask first. I don\u2019t want to overwhelm you.\u201dGreta smiles. \u201cI\u2019m not easily overwhelmed.\u201d\u201cOkay. So your dad\u2014\u201d\u201cWait,\u201d she says, lifting her glass, which is now empty. \u201cI do need another drink first. In fact, I may need several.\u201d\u201cFair enough.\u201dShe swivels in her seat, facing him more fully. Their knees are almost touching, but not quite. \u201cDo you have another lecture today?\u201d she asks, and he shakes his head. \u201cSo you don\u2019t have anywhere else to be?\u201d\u201cNo,\u201d he says. \u201cWhy?\u201d\u201cI think we should get drunk then.\u201dBen laughs. \u201cI don\u2019t think so.\u201d\u201cWhy not?\u201d\u201cI\u2019m here for work.\u201d He glances around as if someone might overhear them. \u201cI\u2019m representing Columbia.\u201d\u201cAnd, what, you\u2019re worried someone might approach you with a question about The Call of the Wild that you\u2019ll be too shit-faced to answer?\u201dHis expression shifts, and he leans forward, eyes glinting. \u201cDude. I could drink a whole case of beer and still be able to tell you every detail of Jack London\u2019s life.\u201dGreta motions for the bartender to bring them another round.\u201cProve it,\u201d she says. \n Chapter NineSomewhere around their third or fourth drink, Greta runs to the bathroom, and when she gets back, Ben is staring at her with a strange expression.\u201cWhat?\u201d she asks, and he holds up his phone.\u201cI just looked you up.\u201d\u201cUh-oh,\u201d she says in a playful voice, though every muscle in her body has gone tight. \u201cThat sounds ominous.\u201dShe searches for traces of pity\u2014some sign that he\u2019s seen the video\u2014but instead his expression is full of wonder. \u201cYou\u2019re kind of a big deal,\u201d he says, holding out his phone, as if she\u2019s asked for proof. On the screen, there\u2019s a picture from a Rolling Stone shoot she did when the first album came out. She\u2019s wearing a sleek black dress, and her dark hair is piled high on her head, and something about the makeup or the lighting makes her look like she\u2019s all angles. Her eyes are huge, greener than they should be, and there\u2019s a challenge in them.He obviously hasn\u2019t gotten very far in his googling. This is the photo most often used of her, the first to come up in any search. But looking at it now, all Greta can see is how nervous she was underneath, how much she was sweating beneath the heat of those lights, the slight irritation around the corners of her mouth, a result of the photographer\u2019s repeated pleas for her to look at him without looking at him, whatever that was supposed to mean.\u201cYou\u2019re kind of a big deal too,\u201d she says as she settles back onto the stool beside him.Ben shakes his head. \u201cIt\u2019s not the same.\u201d\u201cOf course it is. You\u2019re a bestselling author. And you get to do what you love.\u201d\u201cI don\u2019t love it,\u201d he says with a shrug. \u201cNot the way you do.\u201dShe raises her eyebrows. \u201cHow do you know? You just met me.\u201d\u201cI watched you play,\u201d he admits, nodding at his phone, which is now resting on the table between them. Even with a beard, he can\u2019t hide his blush.\u201cYou did?\u201d\u201cYeah, just for a few seconds. But you\u2019re really good.\u201dShe begins to wave this away as she so often does, like it\u2019s no big deal, like it hardly even matters. But then she changes her mind and nods. \u201cThank you.\u201dThe bartender returns, and they order another round, and some appetizers too. It\u2019s nearly five now, and the bar is crowded all around them. It\u2019s almost alarmingly easy to forget they\u2019re on a ship off the coast of Alaska, and the fact of it seems stranger and stranger to Greta every time she remembers.\u201cSo how did you get started?\u201d Ben asks, leaning an elbow on the bar. \u201cIs this what you always wanted to do? Do you play any other instruments?\u201d\u201cBen,\u201d she says.\u201cYeah?\u201d\u201cYou don\u2019t have to interview me.\u201d\u201cWhat if I want to interview you?\u201d He\u2019s smiling a little, his eyes trained on hers.She takes a long sip of her drink. \u201cYou don\u2019t love it? Really?\u201d\u201cWhat?\u201d\u201cWriting.\u201dHe shakes his head. \u201cI\u2019m not one of those people who\u2019s been making up stories since they were a kid. I kind of backed into it.\u201d\u201cBy being a professor?\u201d\u201cBy being a huge nerd.\u201dShe laughs. \u201cThose aren\u2019t the same thing?\u201d\u201cVery funny,\u201d he says, narrowing his eyes at her.\u201cBut you\u2019ll write more?\u201dHe shrugs. \u201cI\u2019m under contract for another one, but I\u2019m having a hard time getting started.\u201d\u201cWhat\u2019s it about?\u201d\u201cHerman Melville.\u201d\u201cRight,\u201d she says. \u201cWhales.\u201d\u201cAmong other things.\u201d\u201cSo what\u2019s the issue? He\u2019s just not Jack London?\u201dShe expects him to laugh again, but he doesn\u2019t. Instead, he looks somber. \u201cI don\u2019t know. Maybe. I mean, I got my first copy of Call of the Wild at an estate sale when I was ten. My parents were buying a rocking chair, and when the guy found me reading it in a corner, he told me to keep it. I must\u2019ve read that thing a hundred times. I loved it so much I wrote my college essay on Jack London, how I wish I had his spirit of adventure, how I\u2019d never been more than fifty miles from my family\u2019s farm and was ready to make my own way in the world. Turned out to be my ticket out of there.\u201d He runs a hand over his beard, his eyes on the window behind them, where a layer of fog sits lightly atop the water. \u201cWhen people talk about the way books can shape you, it always makes me laugh, because yeah, of course they do. But with me, it isn\u2019t a metaphor. My life would quite literally be completely different if I hadn\u2019t found my way to that book. Or, I guess, if that book hadn\u2019t found its way to me.\u201dGreta smiles. \u201cNothing like your first love.\u201d\u201cWell, it turned out to be a lot more durable than my actual first love,\u201d he says morosely, then forces a laugh. \u201cSorry, it\u2019s still kind of new. Being separated. Though I guess the two things are wrapped up together, in a way. I started working on Wild Song just after we got married, and it came out about six months ago, right as everything was falling apart.\u201d He stares into his glass. \u201cAnyway, now that story is over, and it\u2019s time to start another one. I guess I\u2019m just having a hard time turning the page.\u201dGreta isn\u2019t sure if they\u2019re talking about his books or his marriage now. \u201cIt can be tough to move on,\u201d she says. \u201cYou pour so much of yourself into that first one, and then you\u2019re supposed to do it all over again, just like that. There\u2019s a reason they say seconds are cursed.\u201dHe gives her a blank look.\u201cYou know, the sophomore slump: how so many artists have these brilliant debuts and then their next try falls completely flat.\u201d\u201cDid yours?\u201dShe takes a swig of her drink. \u201cWe\u2019ll see. It comes out in July.\u201d\u201cWow,\u201d he says. \u201cWell, I\u2019m sure it\u2019ll be great.\u201dGreta nods, fighting an impulse to tell him the whole story. Over the last three months, she\u2019s been almost acrobatic in her efforts to avoid the subject. But there\u2019s something about talking to a complete stranger\u2014someone she\u2019ll never see again after this week\u2014that almost makes her want to open up. Almost.\u201cSometimes,\u201d he says, picking at the edge of his coaster, \u201cI\u2019m not sure I have another one in me.\u201dShe frowns at him. \u201cYou could quit? Just like that?\u201d\u201cI like teaching. And being around people. Writing is lonely. It\u2019s different than playing music.\u201d\u201cThat can be lonely too,\u201d she admits. \u201cI\u2019m on the road a lot.\u201d\u201cYeah, but you have a band.\u201d\u201cNot a set one. Just musicians coming in and out on different tours.\u201d\u201cWell, you have fans.\u201d\u201cSo do you,\u201d she says. \u201cIt\u2019s still lonely.\u201dThey look at each other for a long moment. The floor sways beneath her, and Greta\u2019s not sure if it\u2019s the alcohol or the ship. A new song comes on, and she lifts her eyes to the ceiling, searching for the speakers. When she looks back at Ben, he\u2019s still watching her.\u201cCan I ask you a question?\u201d he says, but he doesn\u2019t wait for her answer. \u201cDo you want all those things? That your dad wants for you?\u201dGreta shifts in her seat. It\u2019s been a long time since anyone has asked her that, a long time since she\u2019s let someone into this part of her life.\u201cI don\u2019t know,\u201d she says eventually. \u201cSometimes I think\u2026maybe. I know I don\u2019t have forever. But I also love my life. The freedom of it. And I like being selfish. I know how that sounds, but I like that I can spend a whole weekend working on a new song if I want to. I like being on the road two hundred days a year. And being able to throw a few things in a bag and head out the door without anyone hassling me about my schedule. It\u2019s nice not to have too many strings attached sometimes.\u201d She gives him an impatient look. \u201cI realize how that makes me sound. And I know most people don\u2019t feel that way. Most people want security. They want someone to be there for them. A partner.\u201d\u201cAnd you don\u2019t?\u201d\u201cI don\u2019t know,\u201d she says. \u201cI mean, it\u2019s not like I haven\u2019t had relationships. And some of them have been really great. But I don\u2019t mind it\u2014being on my own. Sometimes I even kind of love it.\u201dBen nods. \u201cNothing wrong with that.\u201dShe swirls the little paper umbrella around in her glass. \u201cI do wonder if I\u2019ll feel differently about it all later, and then it will be too late. I don\u2019t want it now.\u201d She gives him a hard look, as if he were about to argue otherwise. \u201cBut I hate wondering whether Future Greta will be pissed at Current Greta for not having my shit together, you know?\u201dHe laughs. \u201cI\u2019m still too pissed at Past Ben for some of the stuff he did to worry too much about Future Ben at the moment.\u201d\u201cDo you miss it?\u201d\u201cWhat?\u201d\u201cBeing married, having a partner, a home.\u201dHe runs a finger along the edge of his glass. \u201cI miss my girls.\u201d\u201cTell me about them.\u201dThe look that passes across his face is so genuine, so sweetly earnest, that Greta feels like she knows everything about what kind of father he is before he even says a word. \u201cWell, Avery is six, and Hannah is four,\u201d he says, reaching for his phone, presumably to show her some pictures. But then he changes his mind and pulls his hand away again. \u201cAvery is obsessed with unicorns and books and ninjas, and Hannah is obsessed with whatever Avery is obsessed with.\u201d\u201cSounds like they have good taste.\u201d\u201cThey do,\u201d he says with a smile. \u201cThey\u2019re pretty great. I mean, don\u2019t get me wrong\u2014they can be a lot too. But they\u2019re both such funny, ridiculous, amazing little humans.\u201d He shrugs. \u201cIt\u2019s pretty cool.\u201d\u201cAnd their mom?\u201d Greta keeps her face neutral as she says this. She\u2019s not sure why, exactly. It can\u2019t be that she\u2019s interested in Ben, because he\u2019s exactly the opposite of everything she ever looks for in a guy. He\u2019s like the cardboard-cutout version of who she might\u2019ve ended up with if her life had followed all the usual paths: the type of person you build a future with, the kind of future that includes engagement rings and mortgage statements, summer vacations and pregnancy tests, baby registries and preschool applications\u2014all the things that make Greta feel sweaty and claustrophobic.But there\u2019s something undeniably charming about him too, and Greta is aware that she\u2019s spending as much energy wondering why she\u2019s still talking to him as she usually does coming up with an excuse to leave in these situations.\u201cShe\u2019s\u2026\u201d Ben begins, shifting in his seat. Everything about him has tensed up, from his shoulders to his jaw. \u201cWe\u2019re not\u2026I don\u2019t know. We officially separated about six months ago. She stayed with the girls in New Jersey, and I moved back into the city. But things were bad long before that.\u201d He rubs at his beard and blows out a sigh. \u201cWe met in high school.\u201d\u201cAh,\u201d Greta says, as if this explains everything.\u201cI mean, we broke up for a couple years in college, so it\u2019s not like she\u2019s the only\u2014\u201d He stops and shakes his head, then starts again. \u201cWhen you\u2019ve known someone that long, the way you are together sort of sets, like paint drying or cement hardening. It doesn\u2019t leave a lot of room for change. And then you have kids, and that\u2019s the best part in some ways, but it\u2019s also the hardest, and it brings all these other issues to the surface, things that were easier to ignore before there were a couple of little people who depended on you, and it breaks your heart to think of ruining your family just because you\u2019re not as happy as you think you could be, so you keep at it. But it turns out there are other ways to ruin things too, slower ways, and\u2026\u201d He looks up at Greta. \u201cGod, sorry. I don\u2019t mean to treat you like a therapist.\u201d\u201cYou\u2019re not,\u201d she says. \u201cIt\u2019s fine.\u201d\u201cAnyway, we\u2019re separated now. And things are better. But harder too.\u201d\u201cIs it the kind of separation that\u2019s a prologue to divorce?\u201d she asks. \u201cOr the kind that\u2019s more of a break?\u201d\u201cHonestly? I have no idea.\u201dGreta nods. \u201cWhat do you want it to be?\u201d\u201cHonestly?\u201d Ben says again, giving her a weary smile. \u201cI have no idea.\u201dAn announcement comes over the loudspeaker that they\u2019re nearing the colony of sea lions and so they finish their drinks and then wind their way through the ship, both a little unsteady. When they pass the open entrance to the jazz club, Ben stops abruptly.\u201cLook,\u201d he says, taking a few steps in, surveying the empty seats and the quiet stage. A row of colorful electric guitars hangs above the rest of the equipment, and Greta stares at them longingly; it\u2019s like spotting an old friend in a sea of unfamiliar faces. \u201cYou should play something.\u201dShe shakes her head. \u201cI can\u2019t just take one.\u201d\u201cC\u2019mon,\u201d he says. \u201cThat\u2019s not very rock \u2019n\u2019 roll of you.\u201d\u201cI guess I\u2019m not feeling very rock \u2019n\u2019 roll these days,\u201d she says with a rueful smile.They make it out to the starboard deck, where they both stand blinking into the sudden daylight. Earlier this morning, everything had been misty and pale, the silvery water stretching as far as Greta could see. But now they\u2019ve come across a different landscape altogether, motionless blue water flanked by hulking gray mountains. The passage is dotted with small chunks of floating ice, and there\u2019s an eerie stillness to the place, the rush of the wind making the world seem full of static.All at once, Greta feels astonishingly sober. She looks around for her dad and the rest of the group but doesn\u2019t see them in the crowds lined up along the rails.\u201cWow,\u201d Ben says quietly, almost reverently, and she follows his gaze.Ahead, there\u2019s a cluster of hunched gray rocks, and when the ship glides close enough, a collective murmur goes up from the passengers gathered on the deck. At first, the sea lions are nothing more than a series of brown shapes, dozens of them, maybe even more. But soon they can see each one distinctly, their pointed noses and powerful flippers. Most of them are sleeping, or at least lounging, their bodies a series of commas and dashes across the rocks. Others lift their heads to yawn or let out a roar, and a few slip into the water with a splash.Greta glances over at Ben, who is staring in awe. She has a feeling that he\u2019d look the same way even if he were sober, but for her, everything has taken on a slightly surreal quality.\u201cLast year I had this speaking gig in San Francisco,\u201d he says, \u201cand we decided to take the kids along. I had the whole thing planned out. Golden Gate Bridge, Lombard Street, Alcatraz, the works. But it all went off the rails when we got to Pier 39. They took one look at those sea lions and refused to leave. They were completely transfixed. We stayed there for hours, just watching them sleep in the sun. It was a good day.\u201dGreta smiles, but she\u2019s thinking back on her own childhood vacations, which were mostly spent camping up in Michigan. Asher would complain about the bugs and Greta would moan about the weight of her backpack; Helen, who had grown up traveling to Europe, would wrinkle her nose at the pot of beans over the portable stove; and Conrad would grumble as he struggled to set up the tent on his own. But later, they\u2019d all sit around the fire, hands sticky from the s\u2019mores, faces flickering in the dark, and there was a warmth to it that Greta would carry back with her to the old patched-up tent, where the four of them slept in a row, she and Asher wedged between their parents. Sometimes, Conrad would reach over the top of their heads for Helen\u2019s hand, and Greta would fall asleep like that, the knot of their hands like a crown above her as the wind rattled the sides of the little tent.The sea lions begin to slip from view, the sound of their roars growing distant. Around them, the crowd drifts back inside the ship. But Greta and Ben stay there at the railing, watching the mountains glide by, unable to tear themselves away.\u201cWe should go in,\u201d he says eventually, and she realizes she\u2019s shivering. \u201cWant to get one last drink to warm up?\u201dBefore she can answer, Greta spots her dad walking over, a woolen hat pulled low over his forehead. Automatically, she finds herself standing up straighter, like a teenager again, about to get busted for drinking in the middle of the day.\u201cHi,\u201d she says a little too brightly, and Conrad gives her a suspicious look. He glances from her to Ben, and Greta shakes her head. \u201cSorry, this is Ben Wilder.\u201d\u201cYeah, I know,\u201d Conrad says. \u201cI saw his lecture this afternoon. With you.\u201dGreta nods. \u201cRight. Well, there was more I wanted to know, so\u2026\u201d\u201cYou\u2019re brushing up on all things Jack London,\u201d he says, his eyes landing on Ben with a hint of amusement. \u201cI guess there are worse ways to spend the day.\u201d\u201cNot according to my students,\u201d Ben says cheerfully.Conrad turns back to Greta. \u201cYou saw the sea lions?\u201d\u201cYup,\u201d she says. \u201cThey were amazing.\u201d\u201cWhat else have you been up to?\u201dShe shrugs. \u201cWe checked out one of the bars.\u201d\u201cReally,\u201d he says in mock astonishment, and it\u2019s so unexpected that Greta laughs.\u201cDrinking rum is good for morale when you\u2019re on a boat,\u201d she informs him, as beside her, Ben gives a professorial nod. \u201cSo I\u2019ve heard.\u201d\u201cCan\u2019t argue with that,\u201d Conrad says. \u201cThough it\u2019s not a boat. It\u2019s a ship.\u201d\u201cSee,\u201d Ben says, turning to Greta with a grin. \u201cTold you so.\u201dFor a second the words hang there between them, harmless and mundane. And then Conrad\u2019s face clouds over as they register. Shit, Greta thinks as she watches him. It only takes a second. Just like that, his eyes drop to the wooden deck and his shoulders tense. If you didn\u2019t know any better, you\u2019d think he was just moody, the way the warmth has gone out of his eyes when he glances up again. You\u2019d think he was unpredictable.But Greta knows better.Her head is still moving too slow, but her heart picks up speed.\u201cSo what are you doing the rest of the day?\u201d she asks him, trying and failing to sound casual, to gloss over it, like a middle schooler whose friends are mad at her and who is desperately trying to make it okay.His voice, when he answers, is cool: \u201cI already gave you the itinerary.\u201d\u201cRight,\u201d Greta says, blinking fast. \u201cI\u2019m not sure I\u2019ll make it for dinner, so maybe I\u2019ll just plan to meet you for breakfast tomorrow?\u201dConrad is still stone-faced. \u201cWhatever you want,\u201d he says, and then, as he starts to walk off, he adds, \u201cWe\u2019ll either see you or we won\u2019t.\u201dWhen he\u2019s gone, Ben lets out a low whistle. \u201cSo that\u2019s your dad.\u201dGreta manages a nod.\u201cYou must be ready for that drink now.\u201dBut she\u2019s not. Suddenly, she\u2019s exhausted. And all she wants is to be alone.\u201cI think I\u2019m gonna head back, actually,\u201d she tells Ben, already walking in the direction of the wooden doors.\u201cSure,\u201d he says, trailing after her. \u201cI should probably do the same. I\u2019ve still got some final essays to grade.\u201d She gives him a skeptical look, and he laughs. \u201cAfter a few cups of coffee.\u201dInside, they pass the couple she saw in the elevator this morning, the woman shuffling down the hall one tiny step at a time. \u201cNo sunburn,\u201d she says, looking delighted.\u201cNo sunburn,\u201d Greta calls out as they pass her.Ben looks at her with amusement. \u201cAnother fan of yours?\u201d\u201cSomething like that,\u201d she says.There\u2019s a large crowd waiting for the elevators, everyone talking excitedly about the sea lions. Without discussing it, Greta and Ben turn and start climbing the red-carpeted staircase.\u201cSo can I ask\u2026\u201d he says, looking sideways at her. \u201cWhat was that back there?\u201dGreta sighs. \u201cYou know that game Taboo, where you try to avoid saying a certain word or phrase?\u201d\u201cYeah.\u201d\u201cWell, you said it.\u201d\u201cMe?\u201d he asks, surprised. \u201cWhat was it?\u201d\u201cTold you so.\u201dHe frowns. \u201cYou told me\u2026not to say it?\u201d\u201cNo, that\u2019s it. That\u2019s the phrase.\u201d\u201cI\u2019m confused.\u201d\u201cIt\u2019s the title of one of my songs,\u201d she says, breathing harder as they round another flight of stairs. \u201cMy first big hit.\u201d\u201cAh,\u201d he says, understanding passing over his face. \u201cAnd it\u2019s about your dad.\u201d\u201cYes.\u201d\u201cI gather it\u2019s not a love song.\u201d\u201cNot exactly.\u201dHe nods. \u201cHow bad was it?\u201d\u201cThe song or the fallout?\u201d\u201cThe fallout,\u201d he says. \u201cI assume the song is great.\u201d\u201cIt is,\u201d she says with a smile, and decides to leave it at that.She stops walking when they reach the seventh-floor landing. Ben does too.\u201cThis is me,\u201d she says, nodding down the endless hall of doors.When they turn to face each other, she realizes how tall he is, and without quite meaning to, she thinks about the logistics of kissing him, whether standing on her toes would be enough, or whether he\u2019d have to meet her partway. It\u2019s true he\u2019s gotten more attractive with each drink\u2014the easy smile, the warmth in his eyes, the way he sits forward when she talks, like he\u2019s not only listening but absorbing everything she says\u2014but it makes no sense because he\u2019s still technically married and she\u2019s still technically a mess, and the only reason this is even crossing her mind is because they\u2019re both drunk and alone in the middle of nowhere. In the real world, on dry land, in the light of day, they\u2019d be completely wrong for each other.As she stares at his lips, she finds herself thinking of Jason, then of Luke, then of Ben\u2019s wife back home with his two daughters. The boat is tilting beneath her feet, and it\u2019s hard to tell what\u2019s alcohol and what\u2019s the ocean, what\u2019s real and what\u2019s not. She puts a hand on the wall to steady herself, and Ben looks startled by the movement. Something flickers in his eyes, but she\u2019s not sure what it is. He clears his throat.\u201cI think,\u201d he says slowly, \u201cthat Future Ben would be really mad at Current Ben if he didn\u2019t ask if we could hang out again.\u201dGreta feels a wave of relief, and then, before she can fully examine this, a rush of pleasure. She gives him a bleary nod. \u201cI\u2019ll be around.\u201d\u201cGood,\u201d he says, taking a few steps backward. \u201cThen I\u2019ll find you.\u201d\u201cThanks,\u201d she says, already heading down the hall, and though she knows this is the wrong thing to say, the response not quite matching up to the statement, it\u2019s also true. She\u2019d like very much to be found. \n \n Chapter TenSometime after midnight, the cabin phone rings. Greta\u2019s muddled brain is so convinced it\u2019s the alarm clock that by the time she knocks that to the floor\u2014the red numbers blinking off, the windowless room going inky black\u2014the ringing has stopped.It starts again a few seconds later, and she picks up this time.\u201cI\u2019ve been quarantined,\u201d says the voice on the other end, and it takes Greta a few seconds to formulate a question.\u201cWhat?\u201d\u201cQuarantined,\u201d he repeats. \u201cIn my room.\u201d\u201cWhy? What happened? Are you okay?\u201dHer dad sighs heavily. \u201cMy stomach has been funny, so I called to see if I could get a refund on the cannery tour tomorrow, and apparently the cruise ship people panic when passengers don\u2019t feel well so\u2014\u201d\u201cThe cannery\u2026?\u201d\u201cIn Juneau,\u201d he says impatiently. \u201cWe\u2019re supposed to\u2014 You know what? Never mind. The point is that I\u2019ve been quarantined.\u201dThe ship rocks steeply from side to side, and Greta squeezes her eyes shut, thinking that she shouldn\u2019t have had so much to drink yesterday.\u201cYou\u2019re sick?\u201d she asks, feeling a little queasy herself.Conrad lets out a grunt. \u201cI\u2019m fine. You toss your cookies a couple times and they treat you like Patient Zero. Never mind that the goddamn ship is rolling around like we\u2019re in the Bermuda Triangle. I swear I\u2014\u201d\u201cSo you\u2019re not allowed to leave your room?\u201d\u201cNo.\u201d\u201cFor how long?\u201d\u201cAt least another eighteen hours.\u201d\u201cJesus.\u201d\u201cI know.\u201dThey both go quiet for a second, and then Greta forces herself to say, \u201cDo you want me to come over there?\u201d\u201cNobody\u2019s allowed in,\u201d he says without bothering to hide his exasperation. \u201cThat\u2019s the whole point of a quarantine.\u201dShe tries not to let the relief creep into her voice. \u201cOkay, well, do you need anything?\u201d\u201cI\u2019ll be fine,\u201d he says. \u201cCan you tell the others I won\u2019t make the tour tomorrow? You can take my place if you want. It\u2019s the cannery and then a ride on the tram.\u201d\u201cOh,\u201d Greta says, and her voice goes up an octave, \u201cyeah. Maybe I\u2019ll\u2014\u201d\u201cYou don\u2019t have to,\u201d he says gruffly.Again there\u2019s a pause. The room is so black it almost feels like she\u2019s floating. She grips the phone harder, remembering how she used to creep out into the backyard after their fights, sitting on the old childhood swing set until it was too dark to see. They fought about everything then: about her grades, about her sneaking out, about the fact that she cared about the guitar more than math or science, more than anything, really.Even then she missed the days when Conrad used to stand at the entrance of the garage and watch her play, a silhouette against the setting sun. But she was no longer an eight-year-old kid with a too-big guitar, her tongue stuck out in concentration. She was twelve, and then thirteen, and then fourteen, perpetually clad in flannel and scuffed Converses, already chafing against the great injustice of growing up on the outskirts of Columbus, where nothing ever happened. By then, her father had already seen enough to know that he would lose her to music, that she would choose that over everything else, and the great big spotlight of his attention had swiveled to Asher, who was a kicker on the high school football team and tried hard in math, who wore an Ohio University sweatshirt and dreamed of all the same things Conrad had once dreamed of, all the things he\u2019d never had: college, opportunity, getting a leg up in the world.The summer she turned fifteen, Greta saw an ad for a guitarist in the record store where she hung out after bagging groceries, and when she showed up to audition, everyone else was older, eighteen and nineteen and twenty. They looked at her with condescending smirks until she started to play; then they immediately offered her the spot. Practice started every night at nine, which was her weekday curfew, so she perfected the art of sneaking out and back in again. But sometimes she got caught, and when she did, there was always another fight, one more in a series of many, so many that she grew numb to them, so many it became hard to care what he thought.By the time she was a junior, her bandmates had all gone off to college, which was fine. They had never really played any gigs, just practiced in a kid named Topher\u2019s basement, and Greta was better than they were anyway. But she kept sneaking out all the same. Kept hiding cigarettes in her bedroom. Kept hitching rides downtown whenever a band she liked was performing at one of the music venues. And so the fights continued. Helen did her best to play referee, to absorb or deflect whatever bitterness flowed between the two of them, but even so Greta would usually find herself in the cool of the backyard afterward, sitting on that swing set, sometimes stewing, sometimes crying, sometimes just giving herself the space to wonder what it would be like to live a different sort of life, in a different sort of place, with a different sort of father.Every once in a while, he\u2019d come out and join her. He never apologized or explained himself, even though Greta suspected her mom had sent him out there to do just that. He was much too stubborn. And so was she. Instead, he\u2019d just lower himself onto the swing beside her, the beam creaking above them, and for a long time, they would sit there together in the dark, gazing up at the wash of stars.They\u2019d always been better with silence.\u201cI feel bad,\u201d Greta says eventually, the phone pressed hard against her ear, \u201cthat you\u2019re going to miss Juneau.\u201dConrad\u2019s voice, when he answers, is softer. \u201cMe too.\u201d\u201cI\u2019ll check in on you when I get back.\u201d\u201cYou can\u2019t\u2014\u201d\u201cQuarantine,\u201d she says. \u201cI know. I meant I\u2019ll call or something.\u201d\u201cOh,\u201d he says. \u201cOkay.\u201dIn the deep, deep dark, she finds herself nodding. \u201cOkay.\u201dAnd then he hangs up.She falls asleep again immediately, into the kind of hard, dreamless sleep that usually follows a show. When she wakes, she fumbles around for her phone on the table, and sees that it\u2019s almost nine.The buffet is on the lido deck, and it\u2019s crowded this morning. A couple of kids run past wearing powdery doughnuts like rings on their fingers, and an attendant pushing an elderly man in a wheelchair tries to fight his way past the line for coffee. The tables are arranged along the perimeter of the ship, pressed up against the windows, and Greta spots Mary and Eleanor sitting at one of them, their heads bent over a phone.For a second, she pauses, struck by the sight of them together like that, thinking about how her mom should be there too. These women had been as much Helen\u2019s family as Greta and Asher and Conrad, the three of them trading gardening secrets and tips on asking for a raise, organizing meals when one of them was sick, and throwing parties for every occasion. They spent summers in each other\u2019s backyards and winters at each other\u2019s kitchen tables. They were friends\u2014best friends\u2014but they were also family.And now there are only two of them.When Greta walks up to the table, Eleanor beams at her. \u201cMary was showing me some pictures of the proposal,\u201d she says, turning the phone around. Greta doesn\u2019t have time to prepare herself; just like that, she\u2019s looking at a picture of Jason, down on one knee, grinning up at a beautiful Asian woman who looks like she\u2019s straight out of a J.Crew catalog.\u201cHe did it in Central Park,\u201d Mary says proudly. \u201cShe was shocked.\u201dWho isn\u2019t? Greta wants to say, but she doesn\u2019t.Years ago, she and Jason were at a bar in the East Village when a guy\u2014through sleight of hand or maybe something more technical\u2014made a ring appear in the token slot of a Skee-Ball machine. Right there on the beer-soaked floor, he dropped to one knee and the girl burst into tears. Jason had turned to Greta and rolled his eyes.\u201cWhat?\u201d she asked. \u201cWhat would you do?\u201d\u201cI wouldn\u2019t,\u201d he said simply.It was one of the things they had in common, this aversion to commitment, to knitting your life to someone else\u2019s. When she used to stay over at his place, he would pointedly move the toothpaste back where it belonged after she used it. When they woke up in the morning, he would go about his routine as if she weren\u2019t there. And that was fine with Greta, who did the same on the rare occasions when he slept at her place. They were two independent people who wanted it all: someone in their bed at night and also out of it first thing in the morning.Until now, apparently.\u201cWow,\u201d Greta says, peering closer at the picture, searching for signs of Jason\u2019s unhappiness like an FBI agent examining a hostage video. But there\u2019s nothing. He looks overjoyed to be perched on a rock in Central Park, proposing to a woman he allegedly loves.\u201cWhat does she do?\u201d she finds herself asking.\u201cShe\u2019s a vet,\u201d Mary says, still smiling at the photo.\u201cOh,\u201d Greta says, surprised. \u201cThat\u2019s amazing. Where did she serve?\u201dBoth women laugh. \u201cNo, no,\u201d Mary says. \u201cA veterinarian. She treated his puppy, which is how they met.\u201d\u201cHe has a puppy?\u201d Greta says, picturing the white carpets in his sleek high-rise apartment. \u201cSince when?\u201dMary frowns. \u201cMaybe a year or so?\u201d\u201cDon\u2019t you two ever see each other?\u201d Eleanor asks. \u201cThe Big Apple can\u2019t be that big.\u201d\u201cBigger than you think,\u201d Greta says morosely.Davis and Todd return then, plates heaped with pancakes. They make an odd pair: Todd, skinny and pale and so like a stereotype of an insurance adjuster that it\u2019s almost weird that he is one, and Davis, broad-shouldered and athletic, with a personality even bigger than his stature.\u201cHey, kid,\u201d Davis says as he slides awkwardly into a too-small chair. \u201cHeard your dad spent the night getting acquainted with the bathroom floor.\u201d\u201cYou talked to him?\u201dHe nods as he pours syrup over his pancakes. \u201cHe\u2019s in rough shape.\u201d\u201cHe didn\u2019t sound that bad last night. Just annoyed.\u201d\u201cWell, he\u2019s that too,\u201d Davis says. \u201cBut he\u2019ll be fine.\u201d\u201cWe decided it wasn\u2019t the food,\u201d Eleanor says, watching carefully as Todd shoves a forkful of eggs into his mouth, \u201csince the rest of us are still okay.\u201d\u201cHe probably picked up some sort of bug before we got on,\u201d Mary agrees. \u201cHopefully it\u2019ll be quick.\u201dUnderneath the table, Greta sends him a quick text: Doing okay?Conrad replies immediately with a deeply sarcastic super.\u201cYou taking his spot today?\u201d Davis asks, and Greta looks up again. \u201cWe\u2019re gonna watch them stuff some salmon into a can.\u201d\u201cThen they\u2019re gonna hoist us up Mount Roberts,\u201d Todd says, pushing a brochure across the table to Greta. It shows a red box of a tram strung up on a cable, rising steeply up the side of a tree-covered mountain. \u201cI\u2019m hoping we might spot a sooty grouse up there.\u201d\u201cThat sounds like a drink,\u201d Eleanor says. \u201cSome sort of wintry cocktail.\u201d\u201cI think it\u2019s a whisky,\u201d Davis offers.Mary shakes her head. \u201cThat\u2019s Famous Grouse.\u201d\u201cWho says the sooty grouse isn\u2019t also famous?\u201d Eleanor asks with a grin, and Todd rolls his eyes at all of them.\u201cIt is,\u201d he says. \u201cAt least in the Pacific Coast Ranges.\u201dGreta is busy examining the pictures of the tram. She doesn\u2019t know if she can spend the whole day with them. Not just because Davis will be asking the tour guide a thousand questions and Mary will be trying to make Greta feel included and Eleanor will be forcing them all to take silly group photos at the top and Todd will be wandering around making bird noises.It\u2019s because they were supposed to be doing all this with her mom.Mary seems to read her mind. \u201cNo pressure at all,\u201d she says. \u201cWe have an extra spot on the one-twenty tender if you\u2019re interested.\u201d She nudges a different brochure in her direction. \u201cBut if not, you definitely won\u2019t be bored in Juneau.\u201d\u201cThanks,\u201d Greta says with a grateful smile, taking it with her as she heads over to the buffet.While waiting in line for an omelet, she leafs through the various tour options: whale watching and helicopter rides and dogsledding. When she flips to a photo of the Mendenhall Glacier, white and craggy and hulking, she realizes she\u2019s seen it before: on her mother\u2019s calendar back in Ohio.She glances up again, her heart fluttering.Over the heads of the other diners, the windows are specked with rain, everything beyond wreathed in haze. She looks back down at the picture. It\u2019s impossible to grasp the scope of the thing; she knows it must be huge, but in the photo, it looks like nothing more than a patch of snow caught between two mountains.Still, all at once, she\u2019s desperate to see it. \n Chapter ElevenEven once she\u2019s standing on the wooden slats of the boardwalk, Greta can still feel the waves beneath her feet. This is the first time in two days she\u2019s been on solid ground. The air smells of damp pine needles and the promise of rain, and a low fog hangs over the port of Juneau, a smattering of brightly colored clapboard shops and restaurants with a steep mountain rising into the mist behind them. She zips her waterproof jacket, another one taken from her mom\u2019s closet. Conrad had unceremoniously handed them both to her when they\u2019d met at the airport that first morning in Vancouver, assuming\u2014correctly\u2014that she hadn\u2019t packed properly for a trip like this.She turns in a small circle, trying to figure out what\u2019s next. Around her, other passengers walk with purpose, clutching tickets and itineraries, eager to begin their adventures. She spots a row of small wooden stalls, each one with a sign for a different activity: mountain biking, helicopter rides, float planes. There\u2019s one that says MENDENHALL GLACIER, and she walks over. The guy in the window\u2014who has blond dreads and a bored expression\u2014looks up from his phone. \u201cBike, dogsled, or kayak?\u201dShe shakes her head. \u201cI just want to see the glacier.\u201d\u201cRight,\u201d he says slowly. \u201cBy bike, dogsled, or kayak?\u201dShe blinks at him. \u201cCan\u2019t I just\u2026walk?\u201d\u201cToo far,\u201d he says, returning to his phone.\u201cNo, I meant once I get there.\u201dHe points a finger out the window and to the left. \u201cThere\u2019s a city bus over there. It\u2019ll drop you at the visitors\u2019 center. Next one should be here any minute.\u201dWhen she turns around, Ben is standing there.\u201cHi,\u201d he says with a sheepish grin.\u201cHi,\u201d she says, then gestures over her shoulder at the window. \u201cMendenhall?\u201d\u201cThirteen point six miles long. Has retreated one point seven-five miles since 1929. Has a lake with its own ecosystem.\u201d He stops when he sees her face. \u201cNot what you were asking.\u201d\u201cNo,\u201d she says. \u201cI was just wondering if you\u2019re going too.\u201d\u201cOh,\u201d he says, his eyebrows rising above his glasses. He glances at the guy with the dreads, who is now cleaning his fingernails with the corner of a credit card, then back at Greta. \u201cYeah. I am.\u201d\u201cBy bike, dogsled, or kayak?\u201dHe looks bewildered. \u201cWhat?\u201d\u201cNever mind. There\u2019s a bus stop over there.\u201dThey buy tickets at an ancient-looking machine, then wait on the corner beneath the gauzy rain as the bus pulls up. Inside, it smells like mildew, and Greta half-expects to find wads of gum tacked to the ceiling, like in the school buses she rode as a kid. The olive green seats are nearly filled, so there\u2019s no choice but to share\u2014they slide into the only empty one, first Greta, then Ben, who has to angle his long legs into the aisle.As they bump along through downtown Juneau and out onto the highway that runs along the water, they\u2019re unable to avoid leaning into each other every time there\u2019s a turn. \u201cSorry,\u201d Greta mutters at one point, gripping the back of the seat in front of them, but then they veer left and it\u2019s Ben\u2019s turn to apologize, and after a while, it all becomes a little funny.They\u2019re deposited in the gravel parking lot of a welcome center, near a sign that outlines various hikes to the glacier. It\u2019s raining harder now, and though they\u2019re both wearing waterproof jackets, they don\u2019t have umbrellas. Rain drips off Greta\u2019s eyelashes and the tip of her nose, and her shoes\u2014a worn pair of Vans\u2014are already taking in water.Ben\u2014who is of course wearing hiking boots\u2014has produced a guidebook from his jacket pocket. He\u2019s reading it intently even as the pages grow more and more damp.\u201cThere\u2019s a lookout point at the visitors\u2019 center over there, or else you can hike down to the river for a closer view, or\u2026\u201d He glances up at Greta, and for an awkward beat, they stare at each other, trying to gauge whether they\u2019re doing this together or not. The wind picks up, blowing the rain sideways, and Greta glances off toward the trailhead.\u201cLet\u2019s hike,\u201d she says, already starting to walk, and Ben tries to hide his surprise as he hurries after her, tucking the guidebook into his pocket.It\u2019s not long before the glacier comes into view, and they both stop. From a distance, it might be mistaken for a thick layer of snow, winding between two mountains like a great frozen river. But they\u2019re close enough now to see the jagged places where the ice has broken off and the way its edges are tipped with an otherworldly shade of blue. Greta feels something inside her go still at the sight. It looks just like the photo on her mom\u2019s calendar.They gaze at it for a long time, as the rain comes down and the clouds drift overhead, as people stream past them, snapping photos and posing for selfies. On impulse, Greta reaches for her phone, but then decides against it. There\u2019s no way a picture could capture this.\u201cWow,\u201d Ben says, turning to her. His hair is plastered to his head and he\u2019s starting to shiver, but his eyes are bright. \u201cWe\u2019re in Alaska.\u201dGreta can\u2019t help smiling at the wonder in his voice. \u201cWe\u2019re in Alaska.\u201dThey continue down the muddy trail toward the lake that separates them from the glacier, the rain pinging off their jackets. In the distance, the brilliant orange of a kayak cuts through the mist, and a pair of hawks fly in low circles overhead.\u201cSo,\u201d Ben says as they inch their way down a small slope, their shoes\u2014Ben\u2019s perfectly functional, Greta\u2019s wholly inadequate\u2014slipping in the mud. \u201cThe rest of your crew wasn\u2019t up for this?\u201d\u201cMy dad\u2019s not feeling well,\u201d she tells him, \u201cand the others went to a cannery.\u201d\u201cThat sounds\u2026\u201d He searches for the right word. \u201cGross.\u201dGreta pauses to lift a muck-covered sneaker. \u201cUnlike this.\u201d\u201cThey\u2019re family friends? The others?\u201d\u201cYeah, I\u2019ve known them all since I was a kid. My parents met Eleanor and Todd after their daughter bit my brother in kindergarten, and Mary and Davis have lived next door since I was in middle school.\u201d She pushes back the branch of a tree, dousing them both with water, but they\u2019re too soaked for it to matter. \u201cMy mom\u2014she really loved them. This whole trip was her idea. She was always coming up with activities for the group: bowling and apple picking and Super Bowl parties, stuff like that. Every Christmas, she\u2019d get everyone together and make us go caroling in the neighborhood.\u201d\u201cEven your dad?\u201d\u201cEven my dad,\u201d Greta says with a smile. \u201cHe was always grumpy about it, but I think there was a part of him that secretly loved it. Or maybe it\u2019s just that he loved my mom.\u201d This last part comes out thickly, but Ben doesn\u2019t seem to notice. \u201cBesides, if it weren\u2019t for her, he\u2019d have just sat at home and watched baseball all the time.\u201dBen glances back at her, and Greta bites her lip, realizing what she\u2019s said.If it weren\u2019t for her.The glacier comes into view again, a narrow slice of it between trees. Ben drops back, falling into step beside her, the fabric of their jackets whistling each time their shoulders brush against each other.\u201cHow\u2019s he doing with all of it?\u201d he asks.\u201cOkay, I guess.\u201d She steps to the side to let some other hikers pass. When they\u2019re gone, she says, \u201cThis is the first time I\u2019ve seen him since the funeral.\u201dBen turns to stare at her. \u201cYou haven\u2019t seen him in three months?\u201d\u201cI told you, we\u2019re not very close.\u201d\u201cYeah, but\u2026he must be so sad.\u201d\u201cSo am I,\u201d she says, and it comes out more bitterly than she meant it.\u201cWell, he must be lonely.\u201d\u201cHe\u2019s got my brother.\u201d\u201cHave you ever tried talking to him about all this?\u201d Ben asks, clearly unable to get his head around it.\u201cHe\u2019s not that kind of dad.\u201d\u201cHow do you know unless you try?\u201d\u201cCome on,\u201d she says with a wry smile. \u201cI was a kid who carried around a notebook full of terrible song lyrics. You think I wasn\u2019t pouring my heart out to my parents every chance I got?\u201dHe laughs. \u201cFair enough.\u201d\u201cWhenever we argued, I\u2019d write these ridiculously long notes that explained all my feelings\u2014trust me, I had a lot of them\u2014and slip them under their bedroom door. You haven\u2019t seen melodramatic until you\u2019ve seen a twelve-year-old\u2019s handwritten rebuttal to her parents\u2019 decision not to let her go to Casey Huang\u2019s first coed party.\u201d\u201cI\u2019m suddenly dreading the tween years,\u201d he says with a grin.\u201cThey always worked on my mom. She\u2019d come in later that night and crawl into bed with me and we\u2019d talk it all through. But my dad never even bothered to read them.\u201dBen looks shocked. \u201cHe didn\u2019t?\u201dGreta shakes her head. \u201cThis one time, he opened their bedroom door just as I was slipping the envelope underneath. My mom was still downstairs, so it was just him, and I could tell he was still furious with me. I\u2019d borrowed their credit card to get a CD\u2014\u201d\u201cWhich one?\u201d\u201cThe new Sleater-Kinney. Obviously.\u201dHe laughs. \u201cObviously.\u201d\u201cAnyway, he asked if I\u2019d come to apologize, and I told him everything I had to say was in that letter, which was of course about how my allowance should be higher so that I could buy CDs for myself. But he just picked it up off the floor and ripped it to pieces.\u201d\u201cThat\u2019s awful,\u201d Ben says with real feeling. \u201cNo wonder you wrote that song.\u201d\u201cWhat do you mean?\u201dHe shrugs. \u201cYou had to find another way to make him listen.\u201dGreta stops and looks at him, amazed to be so effortlessly understood. Above them, the birds are chirping, and a single column of sunlight works its way through the trees. The glacier looks enormous from here, dramatic in the mist. They both turn to gaze at it for a moment, then begin to walk again.\u201cYou know,\u201d Ben says, his boots making sucking noises in the mud as he follows her, \u201cwhen Emily first got pregnant, I was really scared. I\u2019d just finished my PhD, and was teaching a full course load, and working on the book, and I would\u2019ve been more than happy to just keep going like that. I bet you\u2019ll understand this more than most people, but I have a tendency to get lost in my work and forget about everything else.\u201dAhead of him, Greta tilts her head to one side to show that she\u2019s listening.\u201cEven when we got engaged, it was only because we went to nine weddings that summer and then got into a fight on the drive home from the last one because we\u2019d apparently been together longer than any of those couples and I still hadn\u2019t gotten around to proposing.\u201d\u201cWhy not?\u201d she asks, letting him catch up to her.\u201cHonestly? It never occurred to me.\u201dGreta smiles. \u201cSo how long did it take you to do it?\u201d\u201cI asked her right then,\u201d he says with a laugh. \u201cWe were hungover and stuck in traffic, coming back into the city from the Hamptons. She pulled over to the side of the road and made me at least get out of the car and onto one knee.\u201d\u201cAnd she said yes?\u201d\u201cShe said yes,\u201d he tells her. \u201cBut the kid thing\u2014that felt different to me. Bigger. Scarier. We weren\u2019t even really trying, so it caught me completely off guard. The day we found out, I made a list of things I wanted to be as a dad. Honest. Supportive. Kind. And then Avery came along and it was all crying and dirty diapers and middle-of-the-night feedings, and there\u2019s not really any time to think about a bunch of adjectives when you\u2019re covered in spit-up.\u201d He glances over at her. \u201cThe truth is, being a parent is mostly just reacting. Sometimes you get it right and sometimes you don\u2019t. You give what you can. And at the end of the day, most of it is just being there.\u201dGreta opens her mouth to speak, but before she can, Ben hurries on: \u201cLook, I realize we just met, and I don\u2019t know much about your dad. It\u2019s entirely possible he\u2019s the world\u2019s biggest jerk. But he could also be a guy who\u2019s mostly just been reacting his whole life, trying his best and maybe not always getting it right. The important thing is that it seems like he wants to be there right now. And he clearly wants you to be here too.\u201d\u201cExcept,\u201d Greta says, \u201cit was my brother who suggested I come.\u201dBen smiles like a lawyer about to rest his case. \u201cBut if your dad really didn\u2019t want you on this ship, I doubt you\u2019d actually be here.\u201dThis hadn\u2019t ever occurred to Greta. When she\u2019d finally called Conrad to suggest joining him\u2014a few days after she\u2019d promised Asher she would\u2014he\u2019d been quick to dismiss the offer. \u201cI don\u2019t need a babysitter,\u201d he\u2019d said, much to her relief, and her halfhearted insistence had done little to change his mind.But the next day, she woke up feeling guilty. It was something about the way he\u2019d answered the phone, his voice less gruff than usual, more plaintive. She pulled up the website for the cruise line to see if they still had any available cabins, and when she saw that they did, she sighed. The second time her dad picked up, she didn\u2019t ask him. \u201cI\u2019m all booked,\u201d she said, and a few beats passed before he replied: \u201cOkay.\u201dShe and Ben continue to walk in silence, Greta deep in thought as they trudge up a slope leading back to the visitors\u2019 center. After a while, the rain starts up again, falling in fat drops now, and Ben glances over at her apologetically.\u201cWe should\u2019ve turned back sooner,\u201d he says, squinting at the sky. \u201cSorry.\u201d\u201cIt\u2019s okay,\u201d she says. \u201cI don\u2019t mind walking.\u201d\u201cMe neither. That\u2019s my favorite thing about being back in the city, actually. I can wander for hours.\u201d\u201cMe too. Especially when I\u2019m writing. It helps me think.\u201d\u201cSame. Where do you live?\u201d\u201cEast Village.\u201dHe nods, as if he expected as much. \u201cI bet you\u2019re one of those people who never goes above Fourteenth Street.\u201d\u201cDepends on what\u2019s above Fourteenth Street,\u201d she says, and he smiles. \u201cRemember that huge storm in February? The one where they shut down the subway? I walked all the way up to Central Park in that. Took me ages. There was a foot and a half of snow by the time I got there, and I had to take a cab back home because I couldn\u2019t feel my toes. But I worked out a whole song that day.\u201dBen is looking at her with a strange expression. \u201cSo did I.\u201dShe frowns at him. \u201cYou wrote a song?\u201d\u201cNo,\u201d he says. \u201cI trekked down to Central Park in that storm.\u201d\u201cYou did?\u201dHe nods. \u201cI love walking in the snow.\u201d\u201cMe too,\u201d she says. \u201cThe streets get so quiet.\u201d\u201cAnd it feels like the city is all yours.\u201dShe shakes her head. \u201cI can\u2019t believe you were there too.\u201d\u201cIt was pretty surreal,\u201d he says with a faraway look, and she knows exactly what he\u2019s talking about: the way the swirling snow had started to quiet just as it got dark, how\u2014after hours of wind and noise\u2014the world felt suddenly like the volume had been turned down. The lampposts were capped in white and gave off an otherworldly glow, and everyone she passed moved slowly through the heavy drifts, as if in a dream. It\u2019s so strange to think now that one of them could\u2019ve been Ben.\u201cImagine if we\u2019d run into each other,\u201d he says as if he can read her thoughts.\u201cI don\u2019t know. It\u2019s a pretty big park.\u201d\u201cYeah, but that\u2019s the thing about New York. It\u2019s always bringing people together at unexpected moments. That\u2019s part of its magic. I once ran into my best friend from second grade in the middle of the Great Lawn.\u201dShe smiles. \u201cWell, I was all the way down near Central Park South.\u201d\u201cAnd I was all the way up near the top,\u201d he says with a shrug. \u201cShips in the night, I guess.\u201d\u201cShips in the night,\u201d she agrees. \n Chapter TwelveThey ride the bus back to Juneau in their wet clothes, then linger on the boardwalk, watching the floatplanes take off from the harbor. It\u2019s only five P.M., which means they still have four hours until their ship leaves. Ben attempts to leaf through his guidebook again, but the pages are so soggy it\u2019s nearly impossible to turn them. The rain starts coming down harder, and they give up entirely.\u201cLet\u2019s go find a bar,\u201d he says, and they head up one of the main streets.They pass up the first couple of places because they\u2019re too crowded with tourists. The third one is emptier and looks straight out of an old western, with a fireplace in the corner and wood-paneled walls, antique mirrors with blurry reflections, and a bartender with a mustache so long it curls at the edges.They order a couple of beers and carry their glasses to a table in the corner. It\u2019s small and a little wobbly but close enough to the fire that Greta can feel the warmth starting to creep back from the outside in, first in her fingers and toes, then her arms and legs.\u201cWhat would you be doing on a normal Monday afternoon?\u201d Ben asks as the door opens and a large group of men in fishing gear walk in, bringing the smell of rain and the sound of laughter.\u201cThere\u2019s no such thing for me,\u201d she says with a smile. \u201cThat\u2019s the best part.\u201d\u201cOkay, but\u2026what if you were in New York right now?\u201dGreta considers this. \u201cIs it five o\u2019clock in New York too?\u201dBen waves a hand. \u201cSure.\u201d\u201cI could be home writing, I guess,\u201d she tells him. \u201cOr out somewhere getting an early bite, if I have a show. Or maybe at the studio, depending on where I am in the process.\u201d\u201cYou have a studio?\u201d\u201cI rent one. When I\u2019m not on the road.\u201d She takes a sip of her beer and tilts her head at him. \u201cWhat would you be doing at five o\u2019clock on a Monday in New York?\u201dHis eyes drift to the tin ceiling, the rusty light fixtures that look like they\u2019ve been there since the 1800s. \u201cWell,\u201d he says. \u201cSix months ago, I would\u2019ve been hurrying through the end of my European history seminar so that I could make the five thirty-two from Penn Station and get home in time for dinner with the girls.\u201d\u201cAnd now?\u201d\u201cNow,\u201d he says with a rueful smile, \u201cI\u2019m usually driving my students nuts by going fifteen minutes over, then heading back to my depressingly bare faculty apartment and drinking a few fingers of Glenfiddich while I attempt to write something half as good as my last book.\u201d\u201cDoes the whisky help?\u201d\u201cWith the writing?\u201d he asks with a laugh. \u201cOr with everything else?\u201dShe gives him a long look. \u201cYou know, when I\u2019m stuck on a song, it usually has more to do with my life than my creative process.\u201d\u201cWell, my life is a total mess right now, so I guess I should probably stop blaming Herman Melville.\u201d\u201cI\u2019m sure he deserves at least some of it. I mean, the guy hunted whales, right?\u201d\u201cWe all have our faults,\u201d Ben says with a sardonic smile. \u201cI certainly have mine.\u201dGreta studies him over the rim of her glass. \u201cYou seem pretty okay to me.\u201d\u201cYou should talk to my wife then. She\u2019d probably have a few things to say about it.\u201d\u201cHard pass,\u201d Greta says, but he doesn\u2019t smile. She watches him spin his glass in a slow circle on the scarred wooden table. \u201cWhat does she think of you being all the way up here in Alaska right now?\u201dHe shrugs. \u201cShe\u2019s used to the travel at this point. When the book came out, there was only supposed to be a five-day tour. But then it started to take off, which meant more cities and more speaking engagements.\u201d\u201cAnd she didn\u2019t mind?\u201d\u201cNo, she did,\u201d he says, his shoulders tightening. \u201cShe blamed it for a lot of our problems at first. Even though they started long before that. We\u2019d been growing apart for years, ever since the kids were born. But sometimes it\u2019s harder to see that up close.\u201d\u201cAnd easier when you\u2019re out on the road.\u201dHe nods. \u201cIt\u2019s like that feeling of getting off a long flight and taking your first breath of fresh air. You were okay on the plane. You could breathe just fine. And you could survive like that for a pretty long time if you had to. But once you\u2019re off, you realize you wouldn\u2019t want to live that way forever. Not if you had a choice. I think being away did that for me. It helped me realize I hadn\u2019t breathed\u2014really breathed\u2014in a very long time.\u201d\u201cI get that,\u201d Greta says. \u201cI\u2019ve been there too.\u201d\u201cYou have?\u201d\u201cI mean, not married,\u201d she says. \u201cBut a lot of the guys I\u2019ve dated thought it was cool at first when I went out on the road. They worked in advertising or tech or had jobs I honestly can\u2019t even remember because they were so boring. But it meant they had normal schedules, normal lives. And after a while, it started to wear on them that I was always on the move. You miss a lot in this life. Weddings. Birthdays. Anniversaries. It\u2019s hard to make relationships work. Friendships too. Most of mine have slipped away over the years. My friend Yara is a musician too, so it works with her. But with others, not so much\u2026\u201d She trails off and takes a sip of her beer. \u201cWhich is why I now tend to date people who are already in the business.\u201dBen lifts his eyebrows. \u201cOh, are you\u2026?\u201d\u201cNo,\u201d she says. \u201cNot at the moment.\u201d\u201cRight,\u201d he says, trying and failing not to look pleased. \u201cRight.\u201dSuddenly, Greta\u2019s face feels too warm from the fire. She picks up her glass but realizes it\u2019s empty. Ben shoots to his feet, pushing his chair back hastily.\u201cAnother round?\u201d he asks, then walks off without waiting for an answer.As she watches, he leans over the bar to order, then notices the giant stuffed head of a grizzly bear and pulls out his phone to take a selfie with it. Greta is thinking it might be the most unself-consciously dorky thing she\u2019s ever seen when he raises an index finger and takes a second one pretending to be picking the bear\u2019s nose.She closes her eyes and scrubs at her face, wondering if he\u2019s seen the video by now. Because that\u2019s what you do, isn\u2019t it, when you meet someone random like this? You go digging for information. Fifteen minutes of searching this morning, and Greta already knew Ben\u2019s middle name (Robert), his hometown (McCall, Idaho), and his alma mater (Colgate). She found a picture of him at a faculty dinner with his wife, who is tall and blond and pretty, if a bit generic-looking, and read several interviews he did when the book came out, where he mostly talked about Jack London but also mentioned how much he loves Dave Matthews (she knew it!), how he eats exactly eight almonds for a snack while he writes (because of course he does), and how he wanted to be an explorer when he grew up. The biggest scandal she could find was a prank involving a swimming pool and a pair of swans during his senior year of college.A similar search for Greta is fairly quick to yield evidence of her meltdown\u2014not just the video but dozens of articles too\u2014and she\u2019s weighing the odds that Ben is someone with a moral objection to Google-stalking when a text from her manager, Howie, pops up on her phone: Where the hell are you?She stares at it for a moment, then writes: Alaska.I\u2019m serious.So am I.You\u2019re in Alaska?She takes a selfie with the bar and the bear and a half dozen men in plaid shirts in the background, then sends it to him.That looks like Brooklyn, he writes back.Trust me, it\u2019s Juneau.Please tell me you\u2019ll be back in New York tomorrow.She winces, then writes: Saturday.You\u2019re killing me.Sorry. It\u2019s a slow boat.You\u2019re on a boat?A ship, actually, she replies. It\u2019s a long story. I\u2019m with my dad.Oh. Wow.Yeah.Okay, well, just so you\u2019re aware, everyone here is going to lose their shit over this.Greta bites her lip. I know you\u2019ll handle it.I\u2019ll try. But I need you to promise me you\u2019ll show up on Sunday.I will.I don\u2019t mean physically, he says. You have to knock it out of the fucking park.Her stomach does a little flip. But before she can respond, Howie writes back again.And you better spring for the good wifi package, because we might need to do some remote interviews.Thanks, Howie, she writes, but her heart quickens.All of a sudden, Sunday seems incredibly soon.A bottle of beer comes sliding across the table, and she looks up to see Ben sitting down across from her again. \u201cYou okay?\u201d he asks with a frown, and she nods as she slips her phone back into her jacket pocket.\u201cFine.\u201d Behind her, a group of men are talking about the day\u2019s kayaking adventure, roaring with laughter as they recount how one of them managed to flip over three times. \u201cDon\u2019t take this the wrong way,\u201d she says to Ben, \u201cbut you seem like the kind of guy who would\u2019ve had something planned for today.\u201d\u201cWhy would I take that the wrong way?\u201d\u201cI don\u2019t know. You seem sort of\u2026\u201d\u201cBoring?\u201d he says. \u201cNormal?\u201dGreta shakes her head. \u201cI didn\u2019t say that.\u201d\u201cYou didn\u2019t have to,\u201d he says. \u201cLook, maybe I don\u2019t play in a band or go to cool parties or smoke a lot of marijuana.\u201d He pronounces this last word so deliberately that it\u2019s a struggle for Greta to keep a straight face. \u201cI\u2019m a dad, you know? And a professor. I like to read. I nerd out over history, and I collect random facts the way most dudes collect\u2014I don\u2019t know, beer cans? Sports memorabilia? I don\u2019t even know what most dudes collect. And I actually like doing laundry. I\u2019ve got a whole system to color-code my calendar, and I set an alarm clock even on mornings when I don\u2019t have to work\u2026\u201d He trails off with a frown. \u201cAnd I don\u2019t really know why I\u2019m telling you all this except that you make me feel kind of insecure.\u201d\u201cWhy?\u201d she asks.\u201cBecause I think I might be one of those normal guys with normal lives that you were talking about, and sometimes I wish I weren\u2019t. And because you\u2019re so much cooler than me. Which, I realize, makes me sound like I\u2019m in high school, but that\u2019s sort of how you make me feel. Like I\u2019m the yearbook editor and you\u2019re the girl in the grunge band that plays all the parties I never get invited to.\u201dGreta laughs. \u201cCan I tell you something?\u201d\u201cYeah.\u201d\u201cI set an alarm clock too.\u201dHe raises his eyebrows. \u201cYou do?\u201d\u201cOtherwise I\u2019d never get anything done.\u201dHe takes a sip of his beer, but she can see the edges of a smile around it. \u201cI did have plans, you know. I was supposed to go fishing today. I signed up months ago.\u201d\u201cYou did?\u201dHe nods. \u201cAs soon as I booked the cruise. The salmon are just starting to run this time of year, and I wanted to make sure I had a spot.\u201dGreta stares at him. \u201cWhy didn\u2019t you say anything?\u201d\u201cBecause,\u201d he says with a shrug, \u201cI decided I\u2019d rather see a glacier with you.\u201dShe smiles at him, and he smiles back at her, and she can\u2019t help feeling a little unmoored, sitting here in this far-flung bar on the edge of Alaska, a million miles away from whatever she\u2019d normally be doing at five o\u2019clock on a Monday in New York City. In the opposite corner, three old men in flannel shirts have picked up a couple of banjos and a tambourine and begun to play, and it\u2019s intoxicating, all of it, the bright sound of the instruments and the quivering light from the fire, the smells of mud and hops and the laughter and voices all around them. Greta sits back and closes her eyes as she listens, and when she opens them again, Ben is watching her with a more serious expression. Something about it makes her feel dizzy.When they finally leave\u2014their table cluttered with empty bottles and plates greasy from the fish and chips they\u2019d ordered\u2014the air outside feels almost medicinal. All that had been fuzzy goes suddenly sharp, and they stand beneath the old wooden sign like two divers who have just made their way to the surface.It\u2019s after eight, but dusk is only just beginning to push in at the edges of the sky. The streets are still busy, filled with tourists carrying plastic bags of souvenirs, hurrying in the direction of the ships. A few local kids are smoking cigarettes on a bench, and a man locks the door to a wooden crab shack.Greta and Ben make their way along the pier, not quite walking in a straight line.He looks at her sideways. \u201cThat was fun.\u201d\u201cIt was,\u201d she agrees.\u201cLike, really fun.\u201d He stops and scratches at his chin. He looks handsome right then, even with his ridiculously practical hiking boots and the still-soggy guidebook sticking out of the pocket of his rain jacket. \u201cThe most fun I\u2019ve had in a while. Which must sound pathetic.\u201dShe smiles. \u201cI had a good time too.\u201d\u201cIt\u2019s only eight-fifteen,\u201d he says, glancing at his watch. \u201cThe night is still young.\u201dShe nods toward the end of the boardwalk. \u201cWe have to catch the last tender.\u201dBen tips his head back and peers at the sky. \u201cLove me tender,\u201d he warbles a little too loudly, a little bit drunkenly, \u201clove me sweet.\u201dAn older couple looks over reproachfully as they walk by, but Ben doesn\u2019t notice. He\u2019s still singing off-key, turning in an uneven circle, and when he stops, he\u2019s only a few inches from Greta. Part of her wants to roll her eyes at him, while another part of her\u2014a part she\u2019s too drunk to fully examine right now\u2014wants nothing more than to kiss him.He squints at her, his eyes taking a second to focus.\u201cHi,\u201d he says with a bleary grin.She laughs. \u201cHi.\u201dThe air is thick with brine, and the way he\u2019s looking at her makes her head light. He frowns and takes a small step closer.\u201cHi,\u201d he says again, though this time, his face is serious.\u201cHi,\u201d she says, her heart beating a bit too fast.There\u2019s a flower petal in his hair, small and pink and inexplicable, but just as she reaches for it, just as he leans toward her, they\u2019re both startled by the sudden sound of a duck quacking. They draw back, each looking around with equally puzzled expressions, until something registers on Ben\u2019s face and he lets out a laugh.Greta watches in confusion as he fishes the phone from his pocket. \u201cThat\u2019s your ringtone?\u201d\u201cWhat do you have against ducks?\u201d he says with a grin. By now, the quacking has stopped, but as soon as he focuses on the screen, his face falls.\u201cShit,\u201d he says, sounding instantly sober.\u201cWhat?\u201d\u201cIt\u2019s my wife\u2026my ex-wife\u2026my\u2026\u201d He looks completely lost. \u201cMaybe I should\u2026you know\u2026\u201d\u201cOf course,\u201d Greta says, watching as he punches a button. But instead of the blond woman whose picture she saw online, a small round face appears on the screen. Even at a glance, Greta can see that she looks like Ben: the inquisitive brown eyes and the gently sloping nose. She sits up anxiously, jostling the phone, her hair mussed from sleep.\u201cDaddy,\u201d she says with a grin, revealing a huge gap where her front teeth should be. \u201cGuess what just happened?\u201dBen laughs. \u201cI can\u2019t believe it,\u201d he says as he turns slightly away from Greta. \u201cYou\u2019re keeping the tooth fairy pretty busy these days.\u201dGreta walks up the boardwalk a little way to give him some privacy. She checks her own phone and finds a text from Asher: Have you killed each other yet?No, she writes back, but that\u2019s only because he\u2019s locked up in his room. She pauses, then adds: (I swear I didn\u2019t do it.)Yeah, Asher responds. He woke me up at 4 am to tell me after I\u2019d been up all night with the twins.It\u2019s tough being the favorite, she writes, and he sends her back an eye roll emoji.There\u2019s also a text from Mary, a few hours old and in the kind of punctuation-free jumble that\u2019s all her own: back on board will be in dining room at 7 join us if you want hope you had a good day!!!When Greta looks up again, it\u2019s to see Ben standing alone on the boardwalk, the phone now at his side. He\u2019s staring out at the water with an unreadable expression.\u201cEverything okay?\u201d she asks, walking back over.He nods, though he looks distracted. \u201cAvery lost a tooth in the middle of the night and wanted to tell me about it.\u201d\u201cThat\u2019s sweet,\u201d Greta says, and Ben glances over like he forgot she was there.\u201cI hate missing stuff like that,\u201d he says quietly. \u201cIt\u2019s happening so much more these days, between the travel and the separation, and sometimes I don\u2019t know whether it\u2019s\u2026\u201d He stops and shakes his head. \u201cSorry. You don\u2019t need to hear about this.\u201d\u201cI don\u2019t mind,\u201d Greta says, and he offers a small smile. But still, she can feel it: the way the air has gone out of the night.Neither says anything for what feels like a long time. Instead, they both look off toward the ship, which is sitting out in the bay, checkered with lights. A moment ago, it had looked sparkly in the evening mist. But now the fog has thickened, making everything dull and distant.\u201cWe should probably get back,\u201d Greta says eventually, and Ben nods.This time, they leave space between them as they walk, carrying the awkward silence with them onto the motorboat and across the small stretch of darkening water, over the gangway and into the ship\u2019s elevator, all the way up to the sixth floor, where Ben steps off ahead of her and\u2014just before disappearing\u2014manages only a quiet, disappointingly formal good night. \n Chapter ThirteenIt takes several minutes for the door to open, and when it does, Greta finds herself face-to-face with a version of her dad she\u2019s never seen before.She stares at him. \u201cAre you okay?\u201d\u201cDo I look okay?\u201d he asks, staring back.He does not. His face is pale and his hair is greasy and he\u2019s wearing a set of wrinkled gray pajamas. Even from the hallway, the room feels humid and stuffy, and it has a slightly sour smell to it.Greta peers around him to where the curtains are pulled shut in the back. \u201cWhy don\u2019t you open the door to get some fresh air?\u201dConrad gives her a weary look. \u201cI don\u2019t have the energy to stand here explaining to you why I don\u2019t have the energy to do anything beyond make it to the bathroom and back.\u201d\u201cI\u2019ll do it,\u201d she says, moving past him into the room. She tries to hold her breath in a way that isn\u2019t obvious as she yanks back the thick beige curtains and pushes open the door to the veranda. The night air rushes in, bringing a welcome chill. Greta stands there inhaling it for a moment, still a little drunk, then turns to see her dad crawling back into the bed.\u201cMuch better,\u201d she says as she begins straightening up the rest of the room. There are towels strewn everywhere, and three empty cans of ginger ale on the small table by the couch.\u201cYou\u2019re not supposed to be in here,\u201d Conrad says with his eyes closed. \u201cDon\u2019t touch anything.\u201d\u201cHas anyone been in to check on you?\u201d\u201cA cleaning crew,\u201d he mutters. \u201cAnd a nurse.\u201d\u201cAnd?\u201d\u201cNobody else is sick,\u201d he says. \u201cSo it\u2019s not the food.\u201d\u201cGood,\u201d she says, and when he opens one eye, she shrugs. \u201cWell, for the rest of us anyway.\u201dHe groans and tugs the covers up to his neck. \u201cYou have to go. I\u2019m still quarantined.\u201d\u201cFor how much longer?\u201d she asks, pulling out the desk chair and sitting down beside the bed.\u201cTwenty-four hours after the last time I\u2026\u201d he trails off. \u201cYou know.\u201d\u201cRight,\u201d she says. \u201cHow long has it been now?\u201dHe struggles to free his arm from the sheets and checks his watch. \u201cTwo.\u201d\u201cSo twenty-two more hours?\u201d\u201cThank god I spent all those paychecks on a math tutor,\u201d he says, and then shifts around under the covers and lets out a sigh. \u201cThis is awful.\u201d\u201cAt least we\u2019re at sea tomorrow.\u201d\u201cTrust me, the only thing worse than having the stomach flu is having the stomach flu on a ship,\u201d he says. \u201cThese waves are killing me.\u201d\u201cI only meant that hopefully you won\u2019t have to miss another stop.\u201d\u201cIt\u2019s Glacier Bay next,\u201d he says, his voice pained. \u201cDo you know how long we\u2019ve\u2014\u201d He stops abruptly. \u201cDo you know how long I\u2019ve been looking forward to seeing it?\u201d\u201cWorst-case scenario,\u201d she says, motioning to the window, \u201cat least you\u2019ve got a balcony.\u201dHe closes his eyes again. \u201cIt\u2019s not the same. I wanted to go up to the crow\u2019s nest and see what the view is like. I wanted to hear the lectures from the geologists and naturalists. I wanted to take pictures with Davis and Mary and Todd and Eleanor.\u201d\u201cDad,\u201d Greta says gently. \u201cYou\u2019ll still get to see the glaciers.\u201d\u201cYou don\u2019t even know which ones we\u2019re seeing. I bet you haven\u2019t read anything about them.\u201d\u201cI like to be surprised,\u201d she says, unzipping her rain jacket. Conrad looks alarmed to see her settling in. He opens his mouth, but before he can say the word quarantine, she shakes her head. \u201cIt\u2019s fine. I have a hardy constitution.\u201dHe snorts. \u201cYou have the constitution of a Dickensian orphan.\u201d\u201cHey,\u201d she says, but she can\u2019t help laughing. \u201cThey\u2019re your genes.\u201d\u201cDon\u2019t blame me. I\u2019m not usually this pale. That\u2019s all your mother.\u201dGreta notices that he\u2019s shivering and gets up to close the balcony door. It\u2019s after nine now, and the ship\u2019s engines are beginning to whir to life again. Across the water, the mountains are turning to silhouettes. She leaves the door open a crack, unable to part with the fresh air entirely.\u201cIs there anything you need?\u201d she asks. \u201cDid they give you medicine? Something bland to eat?\u201d\u201cNo food,\u201d he mumbles into the pillow. \u201cPlease don\u2019t even say the word.\u201dGreta sits down again. \u201cDo you want a book? Or a movie?\u201d\u201cNo, no,\u201d he says, and then: \u201cI just\u2026I really miss your mom.\u201d\u201cI know,\u201d she says quietly.The ship moves over a swell, and she leans back in the chair and looks around the room, awash in yellowy light. On the wall, there\u2019s a painting of a log cabin covered in snow. Conrad\u2019s breathing grows steady, so steady it\u2019s hard to tell whether he\u2019s still awake.\u201cWhat would she do?\u201d Greta wonders after a minute, not entirely sure whether she\u2019s asking him or talking to herself. She doesn\u2019t expect an answer, but he shifts beneath the blanket and his head appears again.\u201cShe would\u2019ve told you to go,\u201d he says. \u201cSo you don\u2019t get sick too.\u201d\u201cNo, I meant\u2014\u201d\u201cI know what you meant.\u201d His voice is harsher now. \u201cBut she\u2019s not here, so what good does it do to think about it?\u201dGreta\u2019s heart cracks a little at this. She closes her eyes, trying to picture her mother, and the image that surfaces is of Helen in the front row at one of her shows, bright-eyed and loose-limbed and grinning. Conrad has only seen Greta play once in the last ten years: at her album-release party, which he came to under protest, less than thrilled about missing a work conference. Afterward, when she asked what he thought, he shrugged. \u201cIt was pretty good,\u201d he said. \u201cAs these things go.\u201dBut Helen\u2014she didn\u2019t just love seeing her daughter perform, she loved the actual shows too. She always had, ever since the days of middle school talent shows and gigs at local restaurants. The first real performance she saw was years ago, before the EP, before the album, before anything really, when Greta flew her out for a short set at a small but enthusiastic venue in Seattle. At the time, Helen was still a school nurse and kept delightedly telling everyone\u2014taxi drivers and waiters, hotel clerks and other musicians\u2014that she was on spring break. Greta had picked her up from the airport and suggested they go shopping for something more concert appropriate, something where she wouldn\u2019t stand out so much in the crowd. But of course, Helen insisted on wearing her usual khaki pants and cardigan and loafers.\u201cI don\u2019t mind sticking out, honey,\u201d she said cheerfully. \u201cThat way, you\u2019ll be able to spot me.\u201dThe crowd wasn\u2019t huge that night, maybe a couple hundred people. But as soon as she stepped onto the stage, Greta saw that her mom was right. There she was, right up front, with her thin glasses and short gray hair and sensible shoes, beaming amid a sea of college kids and hipsters dressed mostly in black. When their eyes met, Helen smiled and lifted a small white sign. Greta was in the middle of a complicated riff, but when the song came to an end, she took a few steps forward and squinted at it, trying to make out the words.GRETA\u2019S MOM, it said in simple block lettering.She laughed, her heart lifting at the sight. Then she stepped back behind the microphone. \u201cMy mother is here tonight, ladies and gentlemen,\u201d she said. \u201cYou can\u2019t miss her. She\u2019s the one with the sign.\u201dFrom the audience, Helen beamed, and the delighted fans clapped and snapped pictures, one of which went semi-viral on Twitter the next morning: this tiny woman in argyle in the middle of a packed club, proudly clutching her sign and beaming at her daughter up on the stage. The internet loved it, and for a week afterward, Howie fielded a surprising number of requests for interviews with \u201cthe rock-star mom.\u201d When Helen declined because she \u201cneeded to finish this month\u2019s book club pick,\u201d Howie sent Greta a screenshot of her reply with the caption Your mom is a trip.After that, it became a tradition. Every now and then, whenever Helen had some time off from school and wasn\u2019t already enlisted for grandkid duty, Greta would arrange for her to come out to a performance, and Helen would show up with her homemade sign. It traveled to Minneapolis and Orlando, Denver and Los Angeles, Houston and Nashville. In Cleveland, someone spilled a beer on it, and when Helen made a new one, she was sure to laminate it this time. The fans couldn\u2019t get enough.In March, when Greta touched down in Columbus only to discover that she was too late\u2014that her mom had died while she was in the air\u2014she went straight home. Conrad and Asher were still at the hospital, dealing with all the paperwork\u2014fumbling through the unhappy logistics of death\u2014and so the house was empty. Upstairs, she switched on the light in her mom\u2019s small walk-in closet and closed the door. Then she lay down on the floor and curled up in a ball, the way she used to as a kid when the world felt like too much.She didn\u2019t cry; already she felt too hollowed out for that, numb from the top of her head to the very tips of her toes. Instead, she pressed her face to the wooden floor, her heart loud in her ears. Her mom was everywhere here\u2014in the neatly folded sweaters and the scarves her dad used to get her for Christmas. The closet still smelled of her perfume, and Greta rolled onto her back and breathed in and out, in and out, her eyes roving around until they landed on a high shelf, on the spine of a book she\u2019d never seen before.When she hauled herself off the floor to reach for it, she realized it was a scrapbook, bristling with photographs and yellowed newspaper clippings. She opened it up randomly to find her very first mention in Rolling Stone, then flipped backward and came face-to-face with a picture from the eighth-grade talent show, her hair wild and her arm a blur.She sat down again, the book in her lap. It was all there, everything: a paragraph in the Village Voice about her first gig in New York City, a photo of the two of them backstage before a show in Chicago, even her first guitar pick, fastened neatly to the page with two pieces of tape, and a small handwritten label beneath it, like an exhibit at a museum. There were clippings and ticket stubs, photos and articles, all the flotsam and jetsam her mom had collected over the years, a whole career in one book. And there, in the very back\u2014pressed between the pages and all ready for the next show\u2014was the sign.GRETA\u2019S MOM.She sat there holding it for a long time, surprised that such a simple piece of laminated paper could shatter her so completely. And then a door opened downstairs, and the house filled with voices, and she tucked it back between the pages of the scrapbook and peeled herself off the floor.Now the ship groans beneath them, rolling from side to side. Greta stands and walks over to where the door is ajar, the room suddenly too warm again. She inhales deeply, wishing for the first time in a while that she had a cigarette.\u201cShe should be here,\u201d she says, scanning the blue-black water. \u201cShe was the one who took care of everybody. I\u2019m not good at this stuff.\u201dConrad lifts his head to watch her with feverish eyes. \u201cNeither am I.\u201d\u201cI know,\u201d she says, amused. \u201cRemember when Asher broke his wrist playing hockey and you didn\u2019t believe him?\u201d\u201cI wouldn\u2019t exactly put it that way.\u201d\u201cYou told him to walk it off,\u201d she reminds him as she returns to the chair by his bed. \u201cYou only took him to the doctor later because Mom made you.\u201d\u201cIt was just a stress fracture.\u201d\u201cHe says it still hurts when it rains.\u201d\u201cGood thing it wasn\u2019t you.\u201d\u201cWhy?\u201dHe looks at her as if it should be obvious. \u201cBecause how could you play the way you do with a bad wrist?\u201dGreta blinks at him, not used to this version of her dad.\u201cWhat?\u201d he asks with a frown.\u201cNothing. It\u2019s just\u2026that almost sounded like a compliment.\u201dHe lets out a little grunt. \u201cYou know how good you are.\u201d\u201cI do,\u201d she says with a smile. \u201cI\u2019ve just never heard you say it.\u201d\u201cThat\u2019s not true. Remember your eighth-grade talent show?\u201d\u201cYou\u2019ll be happy to know I\u2019ve improved a bit since then.\u201dHe turns onto his back, eyes on the ceiling. \u201cI\u2019ve never understood how you could move your hands that fast. You certainly didn\u2019t get it from me.\u201d\u201cHey, I\u2019ve seen you chop an onion,\u201d she jokes, but he looks thoughtful.\u201cI used to do card tricks, you know.\u201dThis is such a wildly unexpected thing for him to say that Greta can\u2019t help laughing. But right away, his face darkens, and she presses her lips together again.\u201cI\u2019m serious,\u201d he says, as if he isn\u2019t always. \u201cI knew a lot of tricks when I was younger. But I never really had the hands for it.\u201d He holds his up, examining the wrinkles and veins. \u201cI could shuffle okay. But sleight of hand was never my strong suit.\u201d\u201cMaybe you should\u2019ve invested in a rabbit and a hat.\u201d\u201cI probably would\u2019ve, if I\u2019d had the money. I really loved it.\u201dShe shakes her head. \u201cI can\u2019t believe you never told me this before.\u201d\u201cI was a kid with a hobby,\u201d he says, giving her a curious look. \u201cBut I moved on. Most people do.\u201dThis last part hits just the way it\u2019s meant to, and Greta can\u2019t help marveling how even when he\u2019s sick, his aim is impeccable. Before she can say anything in response, he lurches for the garbage can and retches into it, then wipes his mouth with a towel. When he lies back again, his face is pale and a little sweaty. Greta grabs a water bottle off the desk and hands it to him. It takes him too long to untwist the plastic cap.\u201cDad,\u201d she begins, watching his throat bob up and down as he takes a sip. Some of it dribbles down the front of his pajamas. \u201cMaybe you should\u2014\u201d\u201cDid I ever tell you about the first time I laid eyes on your mother?\u201dOf course, she wants to say. Only about a million times.But she feels sorry for him right then. She thinks of the guy who refused to read her letters, the one who was later forced to hear her lyrics\u2014who could never unhear them\u2014and he seems like an entirely different person from the one desperately missing his wife, heartsick and lonely and stuck in bed on a trip they were meant to be taking together.Which is how she finds herself saying, \u201cTell me again.\u201d\u201cI used to cut the grass for her parents,\u201d he says with a distant smile. \u201cThey had this huge house and an even bigger yard. It would take me hours to get through it. I\u2019d seen their daughter around, obviously. She was a couple years younger than me, probably sixteen at the time, and she was beautiful, the most beautiful girl I\u2019d ever seen. Totally out of my league.\u201dNot as it turned out, her mother would always say at this point in the story, and the empty space where her voice should be feels so stark right now\u2014like a missing line in a play, a forgotten note in a song\u2014that Greta almost says it herself.\u201cI was always daydreaming about what I\u2019d say if I got to talk to her,\u201d he finally goes on, \u201ceven though I was just this poor kid with a terrible haircut from the wrong side of town, sweaty and covered in grass clippings. Then one day it finally happened, and you know what brilliant thing I said to her when I got my big chance?\u201dGreta smiles. \u201cYou sneezed.\u201d\u201cI did,\u201d he says with a laugh. \u201cAnd then I said, \u2018Pollen.\u2019 That\u2019s it. Just\u2026\u2018Pollen.\u2019 \u201d\u201cIt was a good line,\u201d Greta teases him, \u201cas it turned out.\u201dBut his smile fades, replaced by a worried expression, and he twists sideways and reaches for the garbage can again. For a few seconds, he holds it there in front of his face. But the moment passes. He sets it down again, relieved, and leans back against the pillows.\u201cMaybe you should rest,\u201d Greta says, but he ignores this.\u201cI didn\u2019t see her again for years,\u201d he continues. \u201cShe went off to Vanderbilt, and I went off to the war, and when I got back, I started bartending at this place called\u2014\u201d\u201cThe Fat Owl,\u201d Greta said.Conrad nods. \u201cAnyway, one night she walks in with her boyfriend, some preppy guy she met at school. I get them some drinks, and they sit at the bar, and he starts explaining the rules of baseball to her in this really condescending way while she doodles on a napkin, and the whole time I\u2019m thinking: This guy? Really?\u201d\u201cSo then he goes to the bathroom\u2026\u201d Greta prompts, because this is taking longer than usual, and her eyelids are getting heavy.\u201cI\u2019m wiping down the bar, and she\u2019s still drawing on the napkin, and without even looking up, she goes, \u2018How\u2019s the pollen count today?\u2019 I just about fell over. That was it for me. Our eyes met. I asked what was on the napkin and she showed me a picture of a penguin, and I said I could do even better.\u201d He squeezes his eyes shut and laughs hoarsely. \u201cI don\u2019t know what came over me. But I wrote down my phone number.\u201d\u201cBold move.\u201d\u201cIt was,\u201d he says, looking satisfied, and when their eyes meet, the warmth between them is real. For a second, Greta is reminded that they have at least one thing in common: they both loved her mother more than anything. He scratches at his chin, his eyes filled with amusement. \u201cAnd it worked. A few weeks later, she came back to the bar, and that time, she was alone.\u201d\u201cAnd the rest is history,\u201d Greta says, which is meant to make him smile, but somehow it has the opposite effect. Instead, his face goes slack.\u201cYeah, well, I guess it\u2019s all history now,\u201d he says, and to Greta\u2019s horror, there are tears in the corners of his eyes. He shakes his head. \u201cWe were supposed to be doing this part together.\u201d\u201cWhat part?\u201d\u201cWinding down.\u201d\u201cDad, come on. You\u2019re only seventy.\u201dHe looks as if this makes it worse, and she knows he\u2019s thinking about all the lonely years that could still be ahead of him. He wipes an arm roughly across his face, then makes a show of arranging his pillows and pulling up his blankets. \u201cAnyway, you should get going.\u201d\u201cDad.\u201d\u201cI\u2019m fine.\u201dShe bites her lip. \u201cAre you sure you don\u2019t\u2014\u201d\u201cYou\u2019re not supposed to be here,\u201d he says with such finality that Greta has no choice but to scrape back the chair. For a second, she stands over him, and he does look old, but also somehow very young too, his pajamas a bit too big, his hair sticking up in the back. She remembers when she was a kid, the way he\u2019d poke his head into the garage to tell her it was time for dinner. Sometimes she wouldn\u2019t hear him over the sound of the guitar, and then she\u2019d look up to find him looming there, solid and immovable, filling up all that space in the doorway.She puts her jacket back on, then walks over to the door. \u201cLights on or off?\u201d she asks, a hand on the switch, and he mumbles something she doesn\u2019t hear. She flicks off the light and lingers there another few seconds, listening to the sound of his breathing. After a moment, she opens the door to the hallway, letting in a wedge of fluorescent light.Just as she\u2019s about to walk out, she hears him say, \u201cGood night.\u201d\u201cGood night,\u201d she says, closing the door behind her. \n \n Chapter FourteenIn the morning, the sky is a brilliant blue, so sunlit and dazzling that people can talk of little else at the breakfast buffet.\u201cPerfect glacier weather,\u201d says the cruise director over the loudspeaker.\u201cNot a single cloud,\u201d marvels Todd, squinting at the windows.\u201cSuch a shame your dad is missing this,\u201d says Mary as she squirrels away a banana for him.\u201cDon\u2019t forget your sunscreen,\u201d says the old lady when she passes Greta at the coffee machine.\u201cWouldn\u2019t dream of it,\u201d Greta calls back.It\u2019ll be hours before they reach Glacier Bay, but already there\u2019s an air of anticipation on the ship. While they eat, Davis and Todd indulge their newfound fascination with the cannery industry, swapping stats like they\u2019re talking about baseball. Eleanor takes the opportunity to nudge a flyer for the variety show in Greta\u2019s direction.\u201cIn case you change your mind,\u201d she says with a wink. \u201cTodd and I will be ballroom dancing. We\u2019ve been taking lessons the last couple years.\u201d\u201cWow,\u201d Greta says, wondering if the Fosters ever get tired of hanging out with so many white people. She turns to Mary with a little grin. \u201cAre you guys ballroom dancing too?\u201d\u201cMy feet would never be the same,\u201d Mary says, nodding at Davis across the table. \u201cBut we\u2019ll do something, I\u2019m sure.\u201d\u201cWe\u2019d love to see you up there,\u201d Eleanor says, looking at Greta hopefully. \u201cAnd it might be a nice chance to\u2014\u201d\u201cNo thanks.\u201d Greta makes an effort to keep her voice light, though she feels a twinge of annoyance at Eleanor\u2019s persistence. She pushes the flyer back across the table. \u201cBut I\u2019ll be there to cheer you guys on.\u201dAt the next table, a chorus of \u201cHappy Birthday\u201d breaks out. They look over to see a small, stooped Hispanic man surrounded by his extended family, all of them beaming as they watch him blow out the candle that\u2019s sticking out of his pancakes. Tied to his chair, there\u2019s a huge bunch of colorful helium balloons, and Mary turns to Greta with a smile.\u201cYour dad used to do that for your mom,\u201d she says, and Greta is frowning, trying to remember balloons of any kind, when Mary adds, \u201cAt school.\u201dYears ago, Mary had taught third grade at the same elementary school where Helen worked as a nurse. Not long after, she went back for her master\u2019s in education and became a principal in the next district. But for a brief time, the two of them worked in the same small building together, carpooling every morning and afternoon, sharing lunches and trading gossip.\u201cYou didn\u2019t know?\u201d Mary says. \u201cEvery single birthday, he\u2019d show up at the door to her office with all these balloons. The kids loved it.\u201d\u201cI had no idea,\u201d Greta says, though it\u2019s not really a surprise. She remembers watching her parents dance at their fifteenth-anniversary party, the two of them pressed together under the fairy lights in the backyard. \u201cGross,\u201d Asher had said, making a face as he watched them kiss. He was eleven then, and firmly against such displays of affection. But Greta couldn\u2019t take her eyes off them, the way they looked at each other, like each thought they were the luckier one.\u201cHe used to come have lunch with her every Friday too,\u201d Mary says. \u201cThey\u2019d meet in the cafeteria, and all the kids would make kissy faces and say, \u2018Mrs. James has a boyfriend.\u2019 And your dad, he\u2019d just grin at them and say, \u2018She sure does.\u2019 \u201dGreta shakes her head in disbelief. \u201cEvery Friday?\u201d\u201cEvery Friday. By the time he got all the way across town, he could only stay for fifteen or twenty minutes. But he never missed it. Not once in all those years.\u201d\u201cThey never said.\u201d\u201cThey called it date night,\u201d Davis says with a grin. \u201cI always told him he could do better than pizza day with a bunch of second graders, but it made your mom so happy.\u201dThey all fall silent. Mary reaches for Davis\u2019s hand and gives it a squeeze. Todd puts an arm around Eleanor, who leans into him. And at the other end of the table, Greta sits alone, turning over the stories and memories, the small joys and rituals of a shared life.After a moment, Davis pushes back his chair. \u201cWe don\u2019t want to be late for trivia,\u201d he says, picking up his tray. \u201cGotta defend our title from yesterday.\u201d\u201cCome with us,\u201d Eleanor says to Greta. \u201cIt\u2019ll be good fun.\u201d\u201cThe prizes are great,\u201d Todd tells her, pulling a pen from his pocket. It has a little cruise ship on the top.Greta smiles. \u201cMaybe another day.\u201d\u201cYou sure?\u201d Davis asks. \u201cWe could use some help with the music category.\u201dThis isn\u2019t true. Davis knows everything there is to know about music. But she can tell they\u2019re trying to make her feel included, which is sweet.\u201cWhen in doubt,\u201d Greta tells them, \u201cgo with the Rolling Stones.\u201dAs she walks out of the dining room, she spots Ben at the far end of the buffet, balancing a tray filled with a fairly ridiculous collection of bowls and cups. When he sees her, he stops abruptly, standing frozen in the middle of the breakfast rush. Then, looking flustered, he turns and hurries off in the other direction.Greta blinks. There\u2019s a part of her that can\u2019t help feeling a little stung. But the other part is examining this one with something like bemusement. Because it was always a ridiculous idea, wasn\u2019t it? What was she supposed to do with a bookish college professor anyway? A guy who wears dad jeans and spent the last however many years in the suburbs of New Jersey?For a fleeting moment, she imagines what it would be like to plunk him down in the middle of her life, the late-night writing sessions and the long months on the road, the interviews with eager reporters in local caf\u00e9s and the high-powered performances that hardly leave energy for anything else. It\u2019s difficult even to picture him at one of her shows, amid the strobe lights and thumping bass, the sweaty, swaying, shouting crowd. It would be like bringing a puppy to a mosh pit.Whatever this is, it\u2019s got to be chalked up to boredom. After all, she\u2019s stuck on this ship in the middle of nowhere with thousands of gray-haired tourists and screaming children. Her dad is holed up in his room, responding to her texts one word at a time\u2014How are you feeling? Fine. Do you need anything? No\u2014and the cell service is too spotty to call anyone else, even if the only person she wants to call right now didn\u2019t happen to be dead.There\u2019s something uniquely awful about feeling lonely when you\u2019re trapped on a ship and surrounded by this many people. Greta moves through them like a salmon swimming upstream\u2014past the shuffleboard court and the empty taco bar, the crowd waiting outside the auditorium for a wildlife lecture\u2014feeling a clawing restlessness.But there\u2019s no escape\u2014not today\u2014so instead she heads for her room, where she grabs a notebook and a pen. Back outside, she finds a wooden lounge chair on the promenade deck and settles in, watching the mountains slip past, each one bigger and more snow-covered than the last.She uncaps her pen and stares at the blank page.She grabs one of the scratchy plaid blankets and pulls it over her legs.She squints at the slanted sun, hard and bright in the crystal air.Two women in puffy vests power walk past her, and then again a few minutes later, and again after that. Each time, they pause their conversation to smile at her, and Greta nods back.The blank page stares up at her.It\u2019s not that this part is ever easy. But she\u2019s never second-guessed herself the way she\u2019s been doing the last few months.She tries to remember the last good writing day she had, and realizes it was back in February, a few weeks before her trip to Germany. She and Luke had rented an old farmhouse upstate for a long weekend. They explored the little towns along the Hudson, poking around thrift shops and hiking to half-frozen waterfalls. The last night, they cooked in the ramshackle kitchen, a feast of roast chicken from the butcher, fresh vegetables from the general store, and a growler of beer from a local brewery. Afterward, they turned on a movie and curled up in front of the fire together, but Greta found she couldn\u2019t concentrate.\u201cGo ahead,\u201d Luke said as he watched her fidget, tapping her fingers against the remote, bobbing her leg.\u201cWhat?\u201d she asked, and he laughed.\u201cI know you want to write.\u201dShe didn\u2019t bother to deny it, just gave him a kiss on the cheek before heading upstairs. It was something about the coziness of the house, the frost outside on the fields, the deep contentment of a weekend away. It should\u2019ve relaxed her; instead it only made her eager to write.Later, when Luke came upstairs, he crawled into the creaky bed beside her, resting his chin on her shoulder to read what she\u2019d written.\u201cBeautiful,\u201d he murmured, his eyes fixed on hers, and she didn\u2019t know if he was talking about her or the lyrics, but it didn\u2019t matter, because he kissed her then, and they fell back on the pillows, and the notebook went tumbling onto the floor with a gentle thud.Her phone dings, and she sets down her pen, grateful for the distraction. She sees it\u2019s a text from Howie: I got you the week off. But in exchange, you need to sit down with the Times after your set. And they\u2019ll want to ask about what happened. It\u2019s time to get it over with. Okay?Greta hesitates, then writes, Okay.Also, Cleo says they want approval over the set list.Greta frowns at her phone. Cleo is her A&R person at the label, a tiny but formidable Black woman from Quebec who has a habit of breaking into French whenever she\u2019s annoyed or upset. Even if she hadn\u2019t been the one to discover Greta during a bar set in Red Hook one snowy night, she still would\u2019ve been one of the coolest people Greta has ever met. But in the whole time they\u2019ve worked together, she\u2019s never requested anything like this before.Howie answers her question before she can ask it: They\u2019re livestreaming the set, remember?Yeah, but why? she asks.Because of everything, he writes, which of course means: all those months of delaying the album, all those weeks of lost publicity. This had been the solution. A live recording of her return to the stage. A way to break out the new single. And a path back for her, assuming she can stick the landing.No, she writes. Why do they want approval?I think they\u2019re afraid you might take another swing at \u201cAstronomy.\u201d There\u2019s a pause, and then he adds: Don\u2019t shoot the messenger.Greta closes her eyes for a second. It hadn\u2019t even occurred to her to try the song again. There\u2019s too much at stake. She knows this, and clearly Cleo and everyone else at the label does too. They want her to move on. To stick to a script. And that\u2019s fine with Greta. She\u2019s as anxious as anyone to leave this all behind her.Fine, she writes back to Howie.You\u2019ll be ready, he replies, right?She looks out at the water, which is dotted with floating chunks of ice, each one reflected back on itself in the stillness. Around them, the water looks like glass. When she glances back down at her phone, she\u2019s not sure what to say.She\u2019s always felt ready. Every single time she\u2019s stepped onstage. Every time she\u2019s held a guitar and closed her eyes and played that first note. That was the reward for pushing through thousands of hours of practice, and for all the rest of it too, the small indignities and constant rejections that piled up along the way: playing to near-empty rooms and waiting for calls that never came; being dismissed by agents and managers and execs; being told by pretty much everyone that it was too much of a long shot, this dream of hers, as if dreams were meant to be reasonable.None of that had ever mattered. Not really. Because at her core, she had an unshakable faith in herself\u2014and, even more than that, in her music.But then, on an unseasonably cold night in March\u2014exactly one week after her mom died and one day after she broke up with Luke\u2014everything fell apart.Six minutes. That\u2019s how long she was onstage at the Brooklyn Academy of Music.As it turns out, it takes a lot less time to derail a career than it does to build one.The performance had been planned long before the bottom fell out of her life, a single song as part of a charity concert to raise money for arts education. If she\u2019d been in a frame of mind to do anything at the time, she might\u2019ve tried to bow out. But she wasn\u2019t. And so she didn\u2019t.It was a risk to play something so new. The whole of \u201cAstronomy\u201d was written on three crumpled notebook pages, notes and lyrics she\u2019d scribbled blearily on that long flight home from Germany, then practiced only a handful of times since.She knew it wasn\u2019t right yet. Not just because it had been written so hastily. But because it was a song about love and hope and memory, a wish more than anything else. There was nothing in there\u2014nothing at all\u2014about the grief that had opened up beneath her like a black hole the moment the plane had landed. And in some ways that made the song feel like a lie. But it was a lie she still wanted to live inside for as long as she could.There was more to write. But that would mean saying goodbye.And she wasn\u2019t ready to do that yet.Still, what else could she have possibly played that night? What else could\u2019ve meant half as much?She was okay at first. Her throat was thick as she moved through the opening, her voice brittle as she began to sing. But music had always been her refuge. It was a place to go when the world was dark, a reliable shelter in any storm. She could walk this tightrope, then go back home to her apartment, crawl under the covers, and close her eyes again.But as she made it to the end of the chorus, she noticed the sign in the audience, held up by a solemn-looking white guy with a beard, who stood swaying beside his equally solemn girlfriend.It said: GOODBYE, GRETA\u2019S MOM.Up until then, she hadn\u2019t cried. Not at the wake or the funeral or on the floor of her mom\u2019s closet. She hadn\u2019t cried on the trip back to New York, though she\u2019d felt like she was leaving her actual bones behind, or when she\u2019d broken up with Luke the next morning. She knew it was something she could outrun for only so long, that the dam would burst eventually. She just didn\u2019t expect it to happen on a stage in Brooklyn with nearly three thousand upturned faces holding what seemed like three thousand phones with cameras in them.But staring at that sign, she felt like a balloon with a pinhole, all the air slowly seeping out of her. The oddest part was how aware she was, how her thoughts matched up so precisely with what her body was doing. Now my legs are going slack, she thought as her foot came off the pedal. And now my fingers are frozen, she thought as the pick fell onto the stage.Simple. Mechanical. Inevitable.Behind her, the two backup musicians\u2014Atsuko on the drums and Nate on the keys\u2014continued to play even after Greta had stopped, bent forward like someone who\u2019d been punched in the stomach, all those eyes tracking her as she tried to catch her breath. She didn\u2019t even know she was crying at first, not until she felt a tear travel down the bridge of her nose, and by then, Atsuko and Nate had stopped too, and it was silent in a way that no music venue should ever be, in a way that felt wholly and entirely wrong. A murmur broke out, and she knew they were still with her, the audience, sympathetic and concerned and maybe even a little touched to see someone being so real, a little excited to bear witness to such a raw display of authenticity.But then something shifted, and as she continued to cry, as the silence yawned between them, she could feel it going on too long, could feel it stretching out painfully, so she forced herself up to the microphone again, hoping to summon an inner strength that was surely there\u2014because wasn\u2019t it always there in moments like these, if you dug deep enough?\u2014and she started again, playing without a pick, singing without breath, and what came out was so scratchy and out of tune that she couldn\u2019t even pretend to keep it up. There was another silence, less forgiving this time, and she opened her mouth to apologize but found she couldn\u2019t even do that.The crowd stared at her, and she stared back at them.Then, without another word, she simply turned and walked off the stage, feeling the heat of all those cameras following her.Howie insists it wasn\u2019t as bad as she thinks.But it was. She knows, because she\u2019s seen the video. It\u2019s everywhere.What was hardest to swallow wasn\u2019t the fact that she\u2019d melted down in front of a large crowd or even that the footage had spread so far and wide. Given the circumstances, it was an acceptable sort of failure, one wrought by grief, and most of the articles about it said as much.The part that knocked her totally off-balance was the pity that came along with it. Pity for her collapse, for her moment of weakness, for her vulnerability.And pity for the song itself, which was the worst part of all.Rolling Stone called it \u201cmaudlin and sentimental\u2014at least what could be heard of it.\u201d Pitchfork said it was \u201cmore nursery rhyme than song, a saccharine ballad out of step with James\u2019s usual vibe.\u201d New York magazine was blunter, dubbing the whole thing \u201can utter disaster from top to bottom.\u201dGreta had always come to the stage from a place of power. It was where she felt most confident and in control. A thick skin is a requirement in this line of work, especially as a female musician\u2014a female guitarist, no less\u2014and she had long since learned how to take criticism. She has no problem dealing with heckling. She can brush off insults and disapproval and snark.But the tidal wave of sympathy\u2014not just for her situation, or even the performance, but for the song itself\u2014was what really flattened her.The label was furious. They were in the middle of a rollout for her second album, which they\u2019d been promising would be even more explosive and exciting than her first. And then she went and stood up onstage and cried her way through an overly sentimental ballad, which was now the top result when you searched for Greta James.They wanted her to do another show right away. A chance to quickly wipe the slate clean and move on. But Howie\u2014who had flown overnight from L.A. to New York and shown up at Greta\u2019s apartment the next morning with coffee and bagels\u2014convinced them it would be better to take a pause, even just for a week. That week, of course, had turned into a month. And then another. Soon, everything had to be pushed back: the single, the album, the tour, all the publicity. Even so, it took a long time for Greta to begin paying attention again, to start to worry about any of it\u2014not because the other, greater loss had faded but because she knew if she lost this too, she might never recover at all.Now she looks at her phone again, trying to imagine being back onstage, singing a brand-new song, all of the execs hoping for a fresh start, all of her fans looking for a story to tell, all of it in concert with the embarrassment and doubt that have been beating like twin drums underneath her grief, that constant fist around her heart.She knows it\u2019s time. It\u2019s past time. It\u2019s possibly even too late.But still, she\u2019s not sure she\u2019s ready.One of the strangest things about death is that it doesn\u2019t mean you stop hearing someone\u2019s voice in your head, and right now, Greta knows exactly what her mom would say.You\u2019ll be fine. You\u2019re ready. You\u2019ve got this.But she\u2019s not here to say it.And so Greta attempts to do it for herself.I\u2019ll be fine, she writes to Howie. I\u2019m ready. I\u2019ve got this.She\u2019s just not sure she believes it. \n Chapter FifteenGreta is standing at the rail, mesmerized by the tiny icebergs floating past in the tranquil water, when Mary appears at her side. She\u2019s wearing a red coat, and her knit hat is pulled tight over her short black hair.\u201cThe bad news,\u201d she says, leaning her elbows on the railing beside Greta, \u201cis that we lost our trivia title. The good news is that we got the one about the Rolling Stones.\u201dGreta laughs. \u201cHappy to help.\u201d\u201cI checked on your dad.\u201d Mary rubs her hands together. \u201cHe seems a lot better.\u201d\u201cDid he yell at you about the quarantine too?\u201d\u201cHonestly,\u201d she says, \u201cI\u2019d be more worried about him if he hadn\u2019t.\u201d\u201cI feel bad he\u2019s stuck in his room,\u201d Greta says. \u201cI can\u2019t even blame him for being grumpy for once.\u201d\u201cGo easy on him. He\u2019s having a hard time.\u201d\u201cWe all are.\u201dMary gives her an appraising look. \u201cI\u2019m glad you\u2019re getting a little break this week.\u201d\u201cI\u2019ve been on a break for a while now, actually.\u201d\u201cI know. I saw the video.\u201d\u201cYou and about two million other people,\u201d Greta says, turning to her with an attempt at a smile. But it falters when she sees the look on Mary\u2019s face, which is so tender it makes her want to cry.\u201cFor what it\u2019s worth, I thought the song was beautiful.\u201d\u201cThat\u2019s only because you miss her too.\u201d\u201cMaybe,\u201d she says, looking thoughtful. \u201cWill you ever play it again?\u201d\u201cI\u2019ve been explicitly instructed not to,\u201d she says, then shrugs. \u201cIt\u2019s not finished anyway. It\u2019s something I started writing on the plane. Before I knew\u2026\u201d Her voice breaks. \u201cAnyway, even if it hadn\u2019t ruined my entire career, it\u2019s not really a fit for my shows.\u201d\u201cWhat do you mean?\u201d\u201cIt\u2019s just not my brand, a song like that.\u201dMary rolls her eyes. \u201cWhat ever happened to just writing what you\u2019re feeling?\u201d\u201cYou saw what happened,\u201d Greta says ruefully. \u201cI think it\u2019s better if I leave that particular chapter behind for now.\u201d\u201cThat chapter,\u201d Mary says gently, \u201cwill be with you for a while. Whether you want it to be or not. Sometimes the only way out is through.\u201d\u201cThat sounds like something my mom would say.\u201dMary smiles. \u201cI\u2019ll take that as a compliment.\u201dFor a few seconds, they both gaze out as the first glacier comes into view, a brilliant white against the blue-green water.\u201cShe would\u2019ve loved this,\u201d Mary says, then shakes her head. \u201cI still can\u2019t believe she\u2019s gone.\u201d\u201cI know.\u201d\u201cSometimes I find myself looking out the window for her when I\u2019m doing the dishes. Or reaching for my phone to call her when something funny happens. It\u2019s like my brain knows but my body doesn\u2019t.\u201d\u201cMy body knows,\u201d Greta says, and it\u2019s a struggle to keep her voice even. \u201cI feel it everywhere. In my heart. My lungs. My bones.\u201dMary slips an arm around her shoulders and gives her a squeeze.\u201cI know she wasn\u2019t perfect,\u201d Greta says. \u201cShe could be so frustrating and stubborn, and she was such a sore loser when we played board games. And she never stepped in enough when my dad was being a jerk. She could have, and she didn\u2019t, because she loved him too and I think she felt like it was her job to be neutral. But that\u2019s not how it\u2019s supposed to work, especially not when one person is clearly so wrong. And it always hurt, that she was more silent than I wanted her to be, even though I never said it. Even though I never told her.\u201d She pauses for a second, rocking back on the rail, then shakes her head. \u201cAlso, she made the worst coffee. Like, seriously bad. And she had no street smarts. She\u2019d come to New York and act like she was in a musical, like the whole world was singing along with her. And\u2026she left me. She left all of us, but it feels like she left me most of all, and I know that\u2019s completely self-centered, but it\u2019s how I feel. I hate that she\u2019s gone. I just really, really hate it.\u201dThe ship is moving slowly now, barely disturbing the water. Everything around them is still, as if they\u2019ve drifted into a painting.\u201cAnd this isn\u2019t helping anything,\u201d Greta says, blinking back tears, \u201cbeing here. I should be in New York right now, doing press for the festival, trying to salvage my career.\u201dMary leans on the rail beside her. \u201cYou\u2019re here for your dad.\u201d\u201cHe doesn\u2019t even care.\u201d\u201cHe does. He\u2019s just not great at showing it.\u201dGreta gives her a skeptical look.\u201cI know the pair of you have had your issues,\u201d Mary says, eyebrows raised, \u201cbut you know what your mom used to always say, right? That you were two peas in a pod.\u201d\u201cShe did not.\u201d\u201cShe did. Whenever you were at each other\u2019s throats, she\u2019d complain about how stubborn you both could be, how neither of you would ever give an inch. How totally alike you were.\u201d\u201cNo,\u201d Greta says, \u201cit\u2019s Asher that\u2014\u201d\u201cAsher\u2019s made similar choices, and his life might look like your dad\u2019s,\u201d Mary points out with a smile. \u201cBut deep down, at the core of who you both are, I think your mom was right. Two peas in a pod.\u201d\u201cSome pod,\u201d Greta says, frowning out at the ripples of water.She thinks of their conversation last night, tries to picture her dad as that hopeful young guy behind a bar, tries to picture him as anything other than what he is now\u2014an obstinate ad salesman, conventional down to his toes\u2014but her imagination fails her.\u201cI\u2019m not saying he can\u2019t be difficult sometimes,\u201d Mary says. \u201cBut underneath all that, he wants what\u2019s best for you.\u201d\u201cHe wants what he thinks is best for me. There\u2019s a difference.\u201d\u201cFair enough,\u201d she says with a nod. \u201cBut that\u2019s also part of the deal. You think I haven\u2019t been praying for Jason to get married for years now?\u201dGreta knows she\u2019s meant to laugh at this, but she can\u2019t manage it.\u201cI honestly wasn\u2019t sure it would ever happen,\u201d Mary says. \u201cI used to complain about it to your mom all the time. We spent so many of our morning walks coming up with schemes to get the two of you together.\u201d\u201cYou did?\u201d Greta says, looking over again, incredulous.\u201cOur two globe-trotting, work-obsessed, commitment-phobic New Yorkers,\u201d Mary says with a grin. \u201cWe figured if we couldn\u2019t pawn you off on anyone else, maybe we could at least get the pair of you together.\u201d She laughs at Greta\u2019s expression. \u201cSorry. It was out of love.\u201d\u201cI didn\u2019t know she cared so much about that.\u201d\u201cShe just wanted you to be happy. She also understood that that was only one version of it.\u201d Mary reaches out and puts a hand over Greta\u2019s. \u201cShe was ridiculously proud of you. You know that, right?\u201dGreta manages to nod, but honestly, she\u2019s not so sure anymore. Her mom taught her that no matter what she did with her life, she should do it wholeheartedly. That she should try hard and work harder, dream big and care deeply. But for the first time in her life, she feels like she\u2019s in full retreat.Mary tugs her hat down over her ears and nods toward the doors of the ship. \u201cI should go. I promised the others I\u2019d meet them. But you should come with us to the musical tonight. It\u2019s supposed to be great. Almost as good as Broadway.\u201dGreta raises her eyebrows.\u201cWell, maybe off Broadway,\u201d Mary says, and they both glance out at the snow and ice. \u201cWay off Broadway. But you should come. We\u2019re going to the early show.\u201d\u201cYeah, okay,\u201d Greta says, thinking she has nothing else to do tonight but sit alone in her windowless room not playing the guitar. \u201cAs long as there\u2019s no chorus line.\u201dMary laughs. \u201cNo promises.\u201dSoon the glacier is upon them, and the deck begins to fill with people. The voice of a geologist crackles over the speakers, but otherwise, everything is hushed. Greta thinks about her dad alone on his balcony somewhere above, taking it all in.\u201cWow,\u201d says a little boy beside her, and she follows his gaze. This close, she can see how absolutely huge the glacier is, a solid block stretching across the space between mountains. The front of it is jagged and craggy, a shade of blue so unreal it\u2019s like someone has taken a spray can to it. Everything is still except for the seagulls that circle the ship looking for table scraps, and though the sun has come out, the world still smells of winter.Greta draws in a breath, thinking: There will never be a way to describe this.And then: She would\u2019ve loved it.There\u2019s a sound like gunfire, a loud crack that echoes out across the quiet bay, and a few people point frantically to the left side of the glacier. When her eyes find the spot, all Greta can see is the aftermath: a splash that breaks the stillness of the water. But a second later, another slab of ice shears off the side and goes crashing down, a mini-avalanche, the sound of it reaching them seconds later.\u201cThat noise you\u2019re hearing,\u201d says the geologist, \u201cis the calving of the ice. Or white thunder.\u201d\u201cWhite thunder,\u201d the boy repeats with a kind of quiet reverence.Greta stares at the place where the ice disappeared, thinking how beautiful it is, all of it\u2014the dreamlike mountains and cerulean sky, the clouds reflected in the bay\u2014and how sad too, to see something so magnificent crumbling before their very eyes.She pushes off the rail and heads inside. \n Chapter SixteenGreta is on her way to the auditorium that evening when she gets a text from Asher.I heard you stopped by to see Dad last night. He seemed glad. It\u2019s been a tough start to the trip.She pauses on the red-carpeted staircase, thinking of the way his face had looked so drawn and pale. I know, she replies. I feel bad for him.Not exactly what he was picturing.Well, she writes, that ship had already sailed. So to speak.A few beats go by before Asher responds: When people ask what it\u2019s like to have a rock star as a sister, it takes a great deal of restraint not to tell them what a dork you are.Don\u2019t worry, she writes. When people ask me what it\u2019s like to have a bank manager for a brother, it\u2019s the first thing I mention.He sends back an emoji with its tongue sticking out.Outside the theater, a crowd has gathered, everyone eager to get in and find good seats for the eight o\u2019clock show. For a second, Greta considers doing a U-turn and walking straight back to her room. Or escaping to one of the outer decks and disappearing under a blanket again. Anything but ninety minutes of cruise ship entertainment. But then Davis Foster\u2014towering over everyone else\u2014spots her and lifts a hand.\u201cYou all look nice,\u201d she says when she reaches her unlikely crew, all three of them dressed up for the night. \u201cWhat\u2019s the occasion?\u201d\u201cNo occasion,\u201d says Davis, tugging at his sports coat. \u201cJust a totally arbitrary dress code for the dining room.\u201d\u201cGala attire,\u201d Eleanor says with shining eyes. She\u2019s wearing a sparkly black dress, and her hair is curled at the ends. \u201cTodd already scarpered off to get out of his suit.\u201dDavis gives his wife\u2014who looks elegant in an emerald-green dress\u2014a mutinous look. \u201cLucky him.\u201dMary shakes her head. \u201cA couple more hours won\u2019t kill you.\u201d\u201cNo, but a couple hours of musical theater might,\u201d Davis says cheerfully.The ship, which had been steady all afternoon as they lingered in the bay, has now begun to roil again. Even after only a few days on board, Greta can feel it like a metronome inside her; she\u2019s begun shifting her weight from one foot to the other almost without realizing it.Eleanor stumbles forward a step. \u201cHow on earth is anyone meant to dance in this?\u201d\u201cThat\u2019s their whole job,\u201d Mary says. \u201cThey\u2019re obviously trained for it, which means they can handle\u2014\u201dThe ship lurches hard to the left, and someone crashes into Greta from behind, shoving her straight into Davis, who laughs as he helps right her again.\u201cGuess we know how you\u2019d do onstage in this,\u201d he jokes. But Greta isn\u2019t listening. When she turns to see who nearly managed to take her out, she finds herself face-to-face with Ben. He looks as surprised as she is, and there\u2019s an awkward beat as they stare at each other.Eleanor Bloom is the first to speak: \u201cJack London!\u201dBen glances over at her. He\u2019s wearing the same tweed jacket as the day of his lecture, elbow patches and all, and his hair has been neatly combed. On his red tie, there are tiny embroidered dinosaurs.\u201cMy friends call me Ben,\u201d he says after a moment, an effort at humor that collapses entirely when he turns to Greta, straight-faced and serious. \u201cSorry about that. Guess I still don\u2019t quite have my sea legs.\u201d\u201cGets a lot harder after dinner,\u201d Davis says, miming a drink, then shrugs in response to Mary\u2019s look. \u201cAt least for me.\u201dBen steals a glance at Greta. He looks like he\u2019s about to say something, but she beats him to it. \u201cEverything work out with the tooth fairy?\u201dHe gives her a pained look. \u201cYes. Thanks.\u201dThe doors are open now, and people are starting to file into the theater, hurrying to get the best seats.\u201cYou going to the show?\u201d Davis asks Ben, who\u2014much to Greta\u2019s surprise\u2014nods.\u201cYou are?\u201d she can\u2019t help asking. \u201cWhy?\u201dEleanor and Mary both snap their mouths into thin, disapproving lines, a couple of substitute moms mindful of her manners. But she ignores them.\u201cI like musical theater,\u201d Ben says stiffly.\u201cYeah, but\u2026on a boat?\u201d\u201cIt\u2019s a ship,\u201d he says, and she rolls her eyes.\u201cI bet you five bucks one of the dancers bites it.\u201d\u201cGreta!\u201d Mary says, looking shocked.But Davis laughs. \u201cI\u2019d take that money,\u201d he says to Ben, who doesn\u2019t seem to hear him. His eyes are locked on Greta\u2019s. He looks like he\u2019s trying very hard not to be amused.After a moment, he clears his throat. \u201cI should probably\u2026\u201d\u201cYeah,\u201d Greta says. \u201cEnjoy the show.\u201d\u201cYou too,\u201d he says, then nods at the others and heads inside.\u201cGoodness,\u201d says Eleanor once he\u2019s gone. \u201cWhat did you do to him?\u201dInside the auditorium, they find a row of seats toward the back. Greta goes in first, then Eleanor, then Mary, then Davis, who takes the aisle since his legs are so long. A minute later, Todd appears with his field guide tucked under one arm.\u201cAh, go on,\u201d Eleanor says, rolling her eyes at him as Greta shifts over to make room. \u201cYou brought a book?\u201dHe shrugs. \u201cJust in case.\u201d\u201cIn case of what? A mystery bird decides to join us?\u201d\u201cYou never know,\u201d he says with a grin.Around them, people chatter excitedly. There\u2019s another show at ten, so this one is filled with the early-to-bed crowd. In the back, there\u2019s a fleet of walkers and wheelchairs, and about two seconds after sitting down, the man directly in front of Greta pops up and tells his wife that he needs to use the bathroom one more time before the show starts. This spurs three others around him to do the same.Just before the lights dim, Greta spots Ben. He\u2019s sitting a couple rows in front of her but off to the side, so that when he turns to scan the audience, their eyes meet. He looks away again immediately, but she can see the effort it takes in the tensing of his shoulders, and something about that lifts her spirits.\u201cHere we go,\u201d Eleanor whispers as the first notes of music begin to play, and Greta has a sudden memory of seeing The Nutcracker with the three of them\u2014her mom and Mary and Eleanor\u2014when she was about twelve. The Blooms\u2019 daughter, Brigid, was old enough to more convincingly refuse, and the rest of the kids\u2014Asher, Jason, and Jason\u2019s two older brothers\u2014would never be caught dead at the ballet. So it was only Greta who sat glumly at the end of the row, tugging at the collar of the dress she hadn\u2019t wanted to wear.When the lights went down, her mom leaned close. \u201cJust you wait,\u201d she whispered. \u201cIt\u2019ll be magical.\u201dIt wasn\u2019t. At least not for Greta. The music was pretty and the dancing was fine, but by the start of the second act, Greta\u2019s knee was bobbing impatiently and she was wishing she were anywhere else.The moment the lights came up, the audience burst into applause, and to her surprise, she looked over to see that her mom was crying. And not just a few tears. Her cheeks were wet and her eyes were red; she looked completely undone by the performance.\u201cAre you okay?\u201d Greta asked, half mortified and half incredulous.Her mom smiled as she dug through her purse for a tissue. \u201cI\u2019m wonderful,\u201d she said with such emotion that Greta couldn\u2019t help puzzling over what she\u2019d missed. It wasn\u2019t that she\u2019d never thought of her mother as having feelings. She\u2019d seen her cry over other things, too many things to count: holiday commercials and tragedies on the news and even the birds that came to the feeder she put up in their backyard. But something about the ballet had peeled her back in the way certain songs sometimes did to Greta, leaving her raw and exposed. The music might\u2019ve been different\u2014\u201cDance of the Sugar Plum Fairy\u201d instead of \u201cSmells like Teen Spirit\u201d\u2014but the expression on her face was the same, and this struck Greta as strange and revelatory, that they could be so similar and so different all at once.Now the first few dancers come rocketing onto the stage with all the force of a cannon, a blur of sequins and tap shoes and too-bright smiles. Already, the whole thing is slightly ridiculous. The costumes are over-the-top, and of the six performers, at least two are immediately off-key. But there\u2019s a lot of enthusiasm on that stage\u2014a lot of enthusiasm\u2014and Greta appreciates the effort that requires, so she decides to keep an open mind.That is, until one of the guys takes a spill.It isn\u2019t entirely his fault. The ship pulls hard to one side with a rolling motion that seems to ripple through the audience. But the dancers are in the middle of a number involving a complicated bit of footwork, so it hits them even harder. The first guy\u2014an energetic man in some sort of satin tux\u2014careens into the second guy, who barely manages to stay upright. It\u2019s too late, however, for his friend, who\u2014wobbly-legged as a baby deer\u2014takes a tumble.The audience gasps, but the other dancers keep up their furious pace. On the floor, the guy in the tux\u2014uninjured and unbowed\u2014struggles to his feet again, and the crowd goes wild.This is when Greta notices that Ben is watching her.And this time, when she looks back at him, he doesn\u2019t look away.She waits for him to grin or nod or give a sheepish shrug, something to acknowledge the bet she offered him. But he doesn\u2019t.Even in the dark, there\u2019s something magnetic about his gaze. Just like that, she forgets all about the shaky dancers and the performance that\u2019s continuing gamely up onstage. Just like that, the rest of the audience disappears, and it\u2019s only the two of them.There\u2019s the kind of magic her mom was talking about at The Nutcracker, and the kind her dad was talking about last night. And then there\u2019s this: two people in the dark, watching each other like there\u2019s a string pulled taut between them.She\u2019s not surprised when he stands up to leave. She\u2019s already doing the same.To get out of the row, she has to squeeze past Eleanor and Todd, then Mary and finally Davis. The two women give her quizzical looks, but the one Davis shoots her is plainly jealous.By the time she gets up the aisle and pushes open the double doors at the back, Ben is already waiting in the empty hallway. When he steps toward her, she\u2019s still not entirely sure what will happen, and there\u2019s a thrill to this that makes her heart beat fast. Later, she\u2019ll try to remember who kissed who, but it\u2019s impossible to tell. One second there\u2019s a space between them, and then suddenly there\u2019s not; suddenly his arms are around her and her hands are on the back of his neck and their bodies are pressed close together. His beard is rough against her face but his lips are soft, and he tastes of whisky, and whatever this is\u2014this current running between them\u2014it\u2019s electric enough to make her forget where they are, floating on this strange, overstuffed ship in the gathering dark of a cold Alaskan night.When they pull back again, Greta feels a little dizzy. She glances up at Ben, who is looking at her with wonder, his brown eyes full of warmth.\u201cI\u2019ve been wanting to do that since last night,\u201d she tells him, and he smiles.\u201cI\u2019ve been wanting to do that since the first moment I saw you.\u201dThen he takes her hand, and together, they hurry down the long hallway. \n \n Chapter SeventeenThey\u2019re still awake at three A.M. when light starts to filter in around the edges of the curtains.\u201cI feel kind of cheated,\u201d Ben says, turning onto his side so that his face is only inches from Greta\u2019s. \u201cWhen you finally get to stay up all night talking to a girl you like, the night isn\u2019t supposed to end this early.\u201d\u201cJust think of it this way,\u201d she says with a grin. \u201cWe\u2019re that much closer to morning sex.\u201d\u201cThat definitely helps,\u201d he says, looking at her the way he\u2019s been looking at her all night\u2014his face serious, his eyes intent on hers\u2014and brushes a strand of her hair away from her forehead so gently that it makes her shiver.\u201cAre you cold?\u201d he asks, already throwing back the covers and getting out of bed. He\u2019s wearing only a pair of boxers covered in tiny penguins with scarves, and in the gray light of the room, she can see the muscles in his back as he fumbles through a drawer. He tosses her a gray sweatshirt that says COLUMBIA across the front. It\u2019s frayed at the cuffs and impossibly soft and it smells just like him.\u201cCan I ask you a question?\u201d she says as she pulls it over her head. When she emerges again, he\u2019s wearing a T-shirt with the name of the cruise ship emblazoned on it.\u201cWhere did I buy this?\u201d he asks as he climbs back into bed and pulls her close.\u201cNo\u2014well, yes. I mean, I was going to ask about the penguins, but now I kind of want to know how many times you\u2019ve been to the gift shop.\u201d\u201cOnly twice,\u201d he says, and when she gives him a look, he shrugs. \u201cFine. Four times. But once was because I forgot my toothbrush. And as for the penguins, they felt thematically\u2014if not scientifically\u2014appropriate.\u201dShe nods at his tie, which she\u2019d tugged off the moment they crashed into the room, and which is now draped over his typewriter. \u201cHow do you explain the dinosaurs?\u201d\u201cWho doesn\u2019t like dinosaurs?\u201d\u201cAsteroids?\u201d she suggests, which makes him laugh. He kisses her, and the kiss ripples all the way down to her toes.\u201cI knew it,\u201d he says when they break apart again.\u201cKnew what?\u201d\u201cThat you were a nerd at heart.\u201dLater, they open the curtains to watch the sun come up over the white-tipped mountains, the buttery light streaming in. Ben\u2019s arms are around her, his beard scratchy against the back of her neck, their legs entwined. It\u2019s strange to lie in bed while the landscape scrolls by, to be entirely still as the world comes to them.\u201cYou\u2019re so lucky you have a window,\u201d she says, turning around to face him. He frowns at this, and she runs a finger over the lines on his forehead. Then\u2014unable to help herself\u2014she takes his face in her hands and kisses him.\u201cWait,\u201d he says, pulling back again, \u201cyou don\u2019t?\u201d\u201cNope. There\u2019s the beige wall with a picture of a bear, the beige wall with a picture of a mountain, the beige wall with a door to the bathroom, and the beige wall with the suspicious red stain.\u201d\u201cJeez,\u201d he says, blinking at her.\u201cDon\u2019t worry. I\u2019m pretty sure it\u2019s just wine.\u201d\u201cNo, I mean\u2014that must be so claustrophobic.\u201d\u201cIt\u2019s not ideal.\u201d\u201cThen why\u2014\u201d\u201cBecause,\u201d she says, the words more clipped than intended, \u201cby the time I booked, that was all they had left.\u201dBen looks stricken. \u201cRight. Your mom. I\u2019m so sorry\u2014\u201d\u201cIt\u2019s okay,\u201d Greta says, but he finds her hand underneath the covers anyway. The gesture makes her throat tight. \u201cLet\u2019s talk about something else.\u201d\u201cPenguins?\u201d\u201cDo you know anything about penguins?\u201d she asks, managing a small smile. \u201cBecause I\u2019ve got nothing.\u201d\u201cHow about dinosaurs then? Hannah went through a big dino phase last year, so I have a lot of good facts. Jokes too.\u201d He clears his throat. \u201cWhat does a triceratops sit on?\u201d\u201cWhat?\u201d\u201cIts tricera-bottom.\u201dShe groans. \u201cI refuse to dignify that with a laugh.\u201d\u201cYeah, but you kind of want to,\u201d he says, lying back on his pillow with a satisfied grin. \u201cI can tell.\u201dFor a moment, she studies his face, the fine wrinkles around the corners of his eyes, the hint of gray in his beard, silvery in the early light. \u201cI bet you\u2019re a really good dad,\u201d she says, and he looks surprised.\u201cI try to be. It\u2019s harder now, obviously. But they\u2019re awesome, and they deserve a great dad.\u201d He hesitates, then asks, \u201cWhat about you? Are you a kid person?\u201dGreta thinks of her nieces, a whirling scrum of tears and laughter and affection. Sometimes, when she\u2019s visiting, she tries to imagine what it would be like if they were hers, if she were the one responsible not just for the day-to-day stuff\u2014the changing of diapers and the negotiations over vegetables, the carpools and pajamas and bedtime stories\u2014but also the larger work of shaping little human beings, making sure they value the things you do, like empathy and kindness and equality, while still having minds of their own; basically doing everything you can to keep them from turning into assholes one day.It seems like an impossible job, being a parent, and a sad one too, watching them pinwheel further and further away and out into the world, so much more interesting and complicated than you imagined they might be, like a song that starts out as one thing and ends up something else\u2014not necessarily better or worse, but different. And entirely out of your control.\u201cThey\u2019re okay,\u201d she says to Ben.\u201cI know everyone says this, but it\u2019s different when you have your own.\u201dGreta nods, noncommittal. \u201cYup. Everyone says that.\u201d\u201cThat\u2019s because it\u2019s true. Honestly. Other people\u2019s kids are total monsters. They have sticky hands and snotty noses and they\u2019re really, really loud.\u201d\u201cAnd yours aren\u2019t?\u201dHe shrugs. \u201cThey are. But somehow it\u2019s cuter when they\u2019re your sticky, snot-nosed, noisy little monsters.\u201d\u201cI get it,\u201d Greta says. \u201cI have three nieces, so it\u2019s not like I\u2019ve never spent any time with kids.\u201d\u201cHow old are they?\u201d\u201cThe twins are five and the little one is three.\u201d\u201cWow.\u201d\u201cI know. My brother and sister-in-law have their hands full.\u201d\u201cWhat are their names?\u201d\u201cAsher and Zoe.\u201d\u201cNo, the kids.\u201dGreta hesitates. \u201cDon\u2019t laugh.\u201d\u201cWhy would I laugh?\u201d\u201cViolet, Posey, and Marigold.\u201dBen raises his eyebrows. \u201cOh. Wow.\u201d\u201cZoe owns a flower shop,\u201d she says by way of explanation. \u201cBut the girls are honestly great. They\u2019re so silly and unself-conscious, and they give the best hugs. And they\u2019re always asking if they can be in my band.\u201d\u201cWhat do they play?\u201d\u201cRight now? They mostly just bang on whatever\u2019s around.\u201d\u201cSounds promising.\u201d\u201cIt is,\u201d she says, absently rolling up the edge of the sheet, then letting it unfurl again. \u201cThe thing is, I love them. I really do. But even when I\u2019m with them, I don\u2019t feel like I\u2019m missing out on that. At least not right now.\u201d She shrugs. \u201cI like my life too much.\u201d\u201cWhat about marriage?\u201d Ben asks. \u201cCan you ever see that for yourself?\u201dHe\u2019s doing what they all do: pacing the perimeter, trying to locate the outer edges of her feelings on the subject. Greta doesn\u2019t mind; she\u2019s never tried to hide who she is. Once, she met up for drinks with a guy she\u2019d broken up with the year before, and while they sat at the bar, he kept trying to look at her left hand.\u201cWhat?\u201d she finally asked, annoyed, and he gave a sheepish shrug.\u201cJust trying to see if you\u2019re wearing an engagement ring,\u201d he admitted.Greta was twenty-eight at the time, and though her friends had started to get engaged\u2014through a series of increasingly over-the-top proposals that would\u2019ve mortified her\u2014nothing could\u2019ve been further from her mind. When she laughed at the idea of it, the guy looked first confused, then maybe a little relieved, like he\u2019d dodged a bullet of some sort.It\u2019s not that Greta doesn\u2019t want any of that\u2014marriage, children, the whole complicated circus\u2014it\u2019s that she doesn\u2019t need it. Not the way so many other people seem to. If she were to stumble across someone perfect for her, if she found herself wanting to be with him more than she wants to be flexible, more than she wants to be on the road\u2014then that would be great. Of course it would. But if it never happens? She\u2019d be okay with that version of her life too. And that\u2019s what makes people so uneasy.\u201cMaybe,\u201d she tells Ben. \u201cIf the conditions were right.\u201dHe looks amused. \u201cIsn\u2019t that the case with anyone getting married?\u201d\u201cI have a lot of conditions,\u201d she says with a grin. She expects him to laugh, but he looks troubled. Underneath the covers, he untangles his hand from hers, sitting up.\u201cListen, I\u2019m really sorry about yesterday,\u201d he says. \u201cWhen my daughter called\u2026I didn\u2019t mean to be so weird.\u201dGreta sits up too. \u201cIt\u2019s not like I don\u2019t know you have a family.\u201d\u201cI know. I think I just\u2014 It\u2019s like I forgot about my real life for a second. And then Avery called, and everything came crashing back, and I felt so guilty.\u201d\u201cFor being away?\u201d\u201cFor being with you,\u201d he says, rubbing his bleary eyes beneath his glasses. \u201cThis is all such new territory for me, and I feel like I\u2019m having some sort of identity crisis. I know I\u2019m always going to be this responsible suburban dad, and I love being that. I do. But I\u2019m also supposed to be using this time to see if there are other ways to be happy, other ways to live, and then the minute I let myself off the hook long enough to actually flirt with someone, it felt like the universe was saying, Not so fast, Ben.\u201dGreta raises her eyebrows. \u201cThat was flirting?\u201d\u201cI didn\u2019t say I was good at it,\u201d he says with a rueful smile.\u201cYou seem way too practical to believe in karma.\u201d\u201cMaybe it\u2019s just the guilt then. But it\u2019s frustrating, because there\u2019s no reason I should feel guilty about this. We\u2019re allowed to see other people. It was part of the deal. And meeting you\u2026\u201d He looks suddenly nervous. \u201cDon\u2019t read too much into this, because it\u2019ll sound way more intense than it actually is\u2026\u201dShe rests her chin on her knees. \u201cOkay.\u201d\u201cIt\u2019s the best thing that\u2019s happened to me in a while,\u201d he says, looking at her in a way that makes her face feel warm.She waits a second for the alarm to set in, dependable and familiar.But to her surprise, it doesn\u2019t.\u201cAnd not just because you\u2019re so much cooler than me,\u201d he continues, still serious. \u201cOr because my seventeen-year-old self would be freaking out that I\u2019m in bed with a rock star right now. Though he definitely would. It\u2019s because you know exactly who you are. And you have no idea how refreshing that is.\u201d\u201cIt\u2019s possible,\u201d Greta says, \u201cthat you might be giving me a bit more credit than I deserve. I have no idea who I am. Especially right now. I\u2019m a complete mess.\u201d\u201cEveryone\u2019s a mess,\u201d Ben says with a shrug. \u201cBut you do it with style.\u201dShe laughs. \u201cThanks. I think.\u201d\u201cListen, I\u2019m very aware of how all this sounds,\u201d he says, sitting forward. \u201cSo please don\u2019t panic or anything. It\u2019s not like I don\u2019t know what this is.\u201d\u201cI\u2019m not panicking,\u201d Greta says. \u201cDo I look like I\u2019m panicking?\u201d\u201cNo,\u201d he says. \u201cYou look beautiful.\u201dShe shakes her head, smiling in spite of herself. \u201cOkay, that\u2019s too much now. Take it down a notch, Wilder.\u201dHe laughs and holds up both hands. \u201cSorry. My point is that I know this isn\u2019t real life. So I don\u2019t want you to think I\u2019m getting carried away or anything.\u201dGreta glances out the window. At the foot of one of the mountains, there\u2019s a small cabin, the first they\u2019ve seen in miles, and it looks so lonely there\u2014so stark and windswept and forlorn\u2014that it gives her a chill. She slides out of bed, picking her way past the piles of their clothes\u2014thrown off so hastily only a few hours before\u2014and pulls the curtains shut again, erasing the stamp of light on the bed, returning the room to a dusky gray.When she turns around, Ben is watching her with an unreadable expression. They gaze at each other across the small space for a moment, and then he lifts the corner of the blanket.Real life, she thinks, the words pounding through her head as she burrows back under the covers. Her father believes her whole adulthood has been an exercise in avoiding it: dodging anything too permanent, running from whatever might ground her. But what she\u2019s tried to do is the exact opposite: she\u2019s tried to live a dream. And maybe it\u2019s possible for those things to coexist; maybe you can bend your life into some combination of the two. Or maybe you can\u2019t. Maybe you have to trade one for the other at some point along the way. Maybe it\u2019s not that different from growing up.\u201cThere\u2019s this quote from Jack London,\u201d Ben says, then pauses. \u201cWell, some academics question whether the words can truly be sourced to him, because it actually came from\u2014\u201d\u201cBen?\u201d\u201cYeah?\u201d\u201cJust give me the quote.\u201d\u201cRight,\u201d he says. \u201cIt goes, \u2018The proper function of a man is to live, not to exist.\u2019 \u201dThey\u2019re both quiet, letting the words rattle around inside them for a minute.\u201cFor a long time, it\u2019s felt like I\u2019ve just been existing,\u201d Ben says eventually. \u201cAnd now\u2014I don\u2019t know. Maybe it\u2019s Alaska. Or the fact that I\u2019ve stepped away from my life for a bit. But something feels different.\u201d Behind him, the edges of the curtains are golden now as the sun continues its invisible rise. He presses his palm against his chest, looking at her solemnly. \u201cI can feel my heart beating, you know?\u201dBefore she can think better of it, Greta reaches out and puts a hand on top of his, imagining for a second that she can feel it too, the steady thumping of his heart. But really, what she\u2019s feeling is her own.\u201cI know,\u201d she says. \n Chapter EighteenGreta doesn\u2019t remember falling asleep, but when she wakes, it\u2019s to the mad buzzing of her phone on the bedside table. Beside her, Ben is snoring so loudly it almost seems like an act, like an impression of someone pretending to snore. But it continues uninterrupted even as she wriggles out from under his arm to grab the phone.There are several texts from her dad, each one more impatient than the last:Ready to go?Where are you?You\u2019re not answering your door.You better not still be sleeping.I guess I\u2019ll meet you down there.Disembarkation point at 10.Wear something warm.And waterproof.I hope you didn\u2019t forget.Where the hell are you?Hello?She looks at the time and sees that it\u2019s 10:07 and knows he must be furious by now, though she can\u2019t for the life of her remember what they were supposed to be doing today. She types out a quick text: On my way! Am I too late?The response comes right away: I lied. It leaves at 10:30. Hurry up.Greta slips out of bed and grabs her jeans off the floor, looking around for a pen and paper as she pulls them on. She writes a quick note to Ben: Not panicking, just going to meet my dad\u2014see you later. Then she gathers the rest of her clothes and heads out the door, still barefoot and wearing his oversized Columbia sweatshirt.The first person she sees, of course, is the old lady. This time, though, she doesn\u2019t say anything about sunscreen. She just raises her eyebrows and gives Greta an appraising look.\u201cHope he was cute,\u201d she says as they pass in the narrow hallway, and then, a second later, she turns around and adds, \u201cOr she!\u201dGreta laughs and hurries down to the staircase, hoping she won\u2019t run into anyone she actually knows. In her room, she throws on the pair of waterproof hiking pants her dad made her buy\u2014for what, she wishes she could remember\u2014and grabs a Dodgers cap that once belonged to another, more distant ex-boyfriend. She\u2019s tempted to leave Ben\u2019s sweatshirt on but switches it out for one of her own. Then she grabs her mom\u2019s rain jacket and heads out.\u201cWhere\u2019s the disembarkation point?\u201d she asks the first staff member she sees, a red-haired kid who can\u2019t be more than eighteen and fixes her with such a long look that she suspects he knows who she is. She tugs the baseball cap lower as he gives her directions.By the time she finds her way there, it\u2019s 10:32, and Conrad looks deeply annoyed. There\u2019s a group of about twenty people waiting in the same area, their outfits\u2014which range from winter coats to puffy vests to fleeces\u2014not doing much to give away the day\u2019s plan.\u201cYou\u2019re late,\u201d Conrad says as she walks up, his face stern beneath his hat, which has the logo of a random golf course on it.\u201cOnly by two minutes.\u201d\u201cThirty-two,\u201d he says. \u201cIf we\u2019re being technical.\u201d\u201cWell, we\u2019re on vacation,\u201d she says. \u201cSo we\u2019re not.\u201d\u201cYou weren\u2019t in your room.\u201d\u201cYeah, I was up early,\u201d she says quickly, hoping there are no pillow lines on her face. \u201cSo I thought I\u2019d grab some breakfast.\u201dHer stomach growls, and they stare at each other for a second.\u201cAnyway,\u201d Greta says, anxious to change the subject, \u201chow are you feeling?\u201d\u201cFine,\u201d he says brusquely, like it\u2019s a ridiculous question to be asking. He still looks a little pale, but nothing like the last time she saw him. In spite of his grouchiness, she can tell he\u2019s happy to be getting off the ship. \u201cI guess it was just a twenty-four-hour bug.\u201d\u201cWhere\u2019s everyone else?\u201d\u201cGone fishing.\u201dGreta scans the waiting area, looking pointedly at the many people in outdoor gear. \u201cAnd we\u2019re not?\u201d\u201cNo, we\u2019re\u2014\u201d He stops, exasperated. \u201cYou didn\u2019t read the itinerary I sent you?\u201d\u201cI\u2019m a little behind on my correspondence.\u201d\u201cThis is the day we\u2019re supposed to\u2014\u201d He stops abruptly, a hand on his coat pocket, looking unsure how to proceed. Finally, he says, \u201cWe\u2019re going on a wilderness safari.\u201d\u201cWhat\u2019s a wilderness safari?\u201dHe sweeps an arm around as if this should be obvious. \u201cIt\u2019s\u2014a whole thing. We go out on a boat to this island and look at the wildlife, then canoe down a river and hike to a glacier.\u201d\u201cSo why aren\u2019t the rest of them coming?\u201d\u201cI told you,\u201d he says. \u201cThey went fishing.\u201d\u201cRight, but\u2014\u201d\u201cBecause,\u201d he says so loudly that a couple in matching red jackets look over. Conrad lowers his voice a bit. \u201cBecause your mom picked this one out. Just for the two of us.\u201dThe memory has a force to it: Helen at the kitchen table back in Ohio, humming Christmas carols under her breath as she flipped through the pages of a brochure. \u201cDo you think your dad would like to do a scenic railroad tour?\u201d she\u2019d asked Greta, who was sitting across from her, trying to catch up on the emails that had piled up while she was on the road. Outside, small flakes of snow were pinging against the windows, and the smell of sugar cookies\u2014which Helen had spent the afternoon baking with the twins\u2014made the room feel cozy and warm.Greta looked up from her computer. \u201cIs it a tour of a train or by a train?\u201d she said. \u201cBecause\u2026neither.\u201d\u201cHow about a zip line?\u201d\u201cSeriously? Dad?\u201dHelen sighed. \u201cI want to plan something for the two of us. I\u2019m so glad the Fosters are coming, and I\u2019m still working on the Blooms too, but it\u2019s not very romantic if we\u2019re with the group the whole time. How about a wilderness safari?\u201dShe held up another brochure, this one with a picture of an orange canoe and a handsome young guide holding a paddle, and she looked so hopeful right then that Greta wanted to say, You know you\u2019ll be on it with Dad, right? Not that guy? But in an impressive display of restraint, she simply said, \u201cI think that\u2019s the one.\u201d\u201cI think so too,\u201d Helen said, looking pleased. \u201cThere\u2019s a hike and a glacier and a canoe trip. Also a picnic lunch in a field of wild strawberries. You know how much your dad loves strawberries.\u201d\u201cI know,\u201d Greta said. \u201cIt all sounds very romantic.\u201dHelen laughed. \u201cYou\u2019d be surprised how romantic he can be.\u201d\u201cThe guy who gives you a new pair of mittens every Christmas?\u201d\u201cLucky for him,\u201d she said with a grin, \u201cI happen to find mittens extremely romantic.\u201dNow Greta stares at Conrad, her heart sinking. Because this was supposed to be their day. Instead she\u2019s here, and Helen isn\u2019t, and somehow\u2014somehow\u2014they have to find a way to get through this without her.\u201cDad,\u201d she begins, but before she can say anything more, a ruddy-cheeked man in knee-high fishing boots and a knit cap appears in the doorway, his arms spread wide.\u201cHey there, I\u2019m Captain Martinez,\u201d he bellows, \u201cand if you\u2019re here for the wilderness safari, you\u2019re in the right place. We\u2019re gonna start by loading you guys onto the boat out there, but let me make sure we have everyone first.\u201dAs he begins the roll call, Greta can feel Conrad tensing up. It\u2019s rare to be feeling the same thing at the same time as him, but she knows they\u2019re both silently pleading for the captain not to call out her mother\u2019s name.When he says, \u201cJames, party of two,\u201d she relaxes a little. But beside her, Conrad\u2019s face is still stony. Greta would like to think it\u2019s because he\u2019s wrestling with his own private grief over what the day could\u2019ve been. What it should\u2019ve been. But mostly, she suspects, it\u2019s the same sinking realization she\u2019s having right now: that they\u2019re about to spend an entire day together. Just the two of them.\u201cOkay, team,\u201d says Captain Martinez when he\u2019s done checking off names. He surveys the ragtag crew and nods. \u201cLet\u2019s do this.\u201dWithout looking at her, Conrad starts to follow the group toward the exit, a door at the side of the ship that opens to a metal ramp. Greta trails after him, already exhausted by the day, which has barely begun. But she feels better the moment she steps outside. The town of Haines is spread before them like a postcard, a scattered collection of boxy buildings, bright red and white beneath a dazzling blue sky, all of it tucked beneath a line of jagged mountains. It feels like walking off a ship in the 1800s, arriving in this hardscrabble, windswept town, half sleepy and half wild. Like something out of a story about the gold rush, she thinks. And then she realizes that the story is probably The Call of the Wild, and that Ben will love this place with such exuberant, openhearted enthusiasm that she almost wishes she could be there when he wakes up to see it.There are no tenders today; the ship has docked right up against a floating wooden pier, and the metal ramp clanks as they make their way down to it. Beneath the shadow of their towering ship\u2014which must hold at least as many people as this town\u2014a few smaller tour boats are lined up. Greta and Conrad follow the captain over to theirs, filing on behind the rest of the group and taking their seats along the benches inside. Beneath them, the boat creaks and sways.Everyone seems way more prepared than Greta; there\u2019s the gray-haired couple with their floppy-brimmed hats and water bottles, the woman with a fancy camera around her neck and a waterproof case for her phone, the couple around her own age wearing so much khaki it looks like they thought they were going on an African safari instead.Once everyone is on board, the captain gives a safety talk, pointing out life preservers and first aid kits, and then he rattles off a list of activities for the day. Greta is only half-listening, hypnotized by the rhythm of the water as it laps up against the wooden pilings of the dock. But then the word picnic breaks through the hum, and she looks up again.\u201cStrawberries,\u201d she says softly, just as the captain says, \u201cThere\u2019s a strawberry field at the edge of the island, and you\u2019re welcome to pick as many as you\u2019d like. But watch out for the foxes, since they like them too.\u201dConrad glances at her. \u201cI thought you didn\u2019t read the itinerary.\u201d\u201cI didn\u2019t.\u201d\u201cThen how\u2019d you know that?\u201dShe wants to say it. She almost does.But the word Mom gets lodged in her throat.Instead she says, \u201cI must\u2019ve heard about it somewhere.\u201dThe boat peels off from the dock, kicking up a wake as they steer away from the shore. Around them, everything feels saturated with color\u2014the unnatural blue of the sky, the brilliant green of the water, the shocking white of the snow\u2014like a knob has been turned up on the world. Greta closes her eyes, feeling the flecks of water on her face as they pick up speed. Beside her, Conrad sighs and then, in a voice so quiet she almost misses it, he says, \u201cI love strawberries.\u201d \n Chapter NineteenThey don\u2019t dock so much as run aground, the boat grinding up against a gravel beach on a remote spit of land. One by one, the captain helps them down, and Greta spins in a circle, her sneakers crunching on the rocks as she takes it all in: the rows of mountains with their sugary peaks and the bristle of spruce trees ahead. Woven between them, the glacier is a shock of white. From a distance, it almost looks like it\u2019s in motion, the way it curves and flows like water, as if at any moment it might come bearing down on them. But, of course, the opposite is true. Inch by inch, it\u2019s retreating. Eventually, all this will disappear.A rusty school bus is parked across a field, painted green and beige like it\u2019s trying to blend in. Three rugged young white guys in wellies and baseball caps\u2014two of them sporting thick beards\u2014wait for them near the door.\u201cI haven\u2019t been on a school bus in fifty years,\u201d Conrad says, squinting at it. \u201cMy back hurts already.\u201d\u201cCome on, old man,\u201d Greta says cheerfully, and they make their way up toward the bus, their shoes squelching in the mud.The ride is as bumpy as feared, and everyone flashes nervous smiles as they slide around in the seats. At the front, one of the bearded guides\u2014who introduces himself as Tank\u2014explains what they\u2019ll be doing up top: a hike to a river, then a canoe ride down an inlet, then a walk up to the base of the glacier.The wheels spin and the bus lurches as the driver shifts gears, urging the bulky vehicle up the muddy road. Pine trees scrape at the windows, and Conrad winces every time they\u2019re jolted forward.Greta rests her head against the back of the seat. \u201cThis reminds me of the summer you made me go to camp.\u201d\u201cWhich you hated.\u201d\u201cI didn\u2019t hate it,\u201d she says. \u201cI was just having an existential crisis.\u201d\u201cAt ten?\u201d He shakes his head. \u201cAsher loved that place.\u201d\u201cYeah, well, I\u2019m not Asher.\u201d\u201cNo, that\u2019s true.\u201d He says it thoughtfully, as if it\u2019s only now occurring to him. \u201cYou were always better with a guitar than a fishing rod.\u201d\u201cHey, I caught a few that summer,\u201d she says, and Conrad gives her a skeptical look. \u201cOkay, I caught Timmy Milikin.\u201d She grins at the memory. \u201cSeriously. I snagged the back of his shirt.\u201d\u201cOn purpose?\u201dGreta laughs. \u201cWhat must you think of me?\u201d\u201cI don\u2019t know sometimes,\u201d he says, but he says it almost fondly. \u201cI really don\u2019t know.\u201dThey\u2019re dropped off at a wooden pavilion in the middle of the forest. Inside, there are rows of life jackets, wellies, and paddles, which the guides begin to pass out.\u201cHere,\u201d Conrad says, lifting his phone as soon as Greta manages to get everything on. The life jacket is too snug and the boots are too big and\u2014automatically, instinctively\u2014she holds the paddle like a guitar. He snaps a picture. \u201cWhat do you think they\u2019d pay me for this at Rolling Stone?\u201dShe makes a face at him.When everyone is fully kitted out, they fall in line behind Tank, who leads them down a wooded path strewn with pine needles. Greta follows Conrad, thinking again about that summer at camp, how all the other kids had seemed like caricatures of hearty midwesterners, aggressively enthusiastic about kayaking and woodworking. They traded friendship bracelets and sang songs and played Red Rover with cheerful abandon while Greta\u2014scrawny and pale and preternaturally self-assured\u2014faked illness after illness so she could lie in the cool of the nurse\u2019s office with her headphones on, listening to \u201cWonderwall\u201d on repeat. She was ten and miserable and though she still didn\u2019t fully understand why yet, still didn\u2019t totally grasp who she might turn out to be, she knew for sure it wasn\u2019t someone who enjoyed shooting arrows at targets.Ahead of her, Conrad trips over an exposed root, just managing to catch himself.\u201cYou okay?\u201d Greta asks, and he nods without looking back at her. But she can see that he\u2019s already puffing, one hand clutching his paddle, the other his coat pocket.She knows he\u2019s always loved this stuff. He grew up on the outskirts of Columbus, in a house much too small for eight of them. There was barely enough money for food, never mind camping. But one summer, his best friend invited him up to Mohican State Park with his family, and for one glorious week, Conrad learned how to pitch a tent and tie knots and rub two sticks together to start a fire. It made him feel a million miles away from his own life, which was exactly what he was looking for, and they invited him back the next summer, and the one after that, until it became a tradition, the brightest spot in every year.As soon as Asher and Greta were old enough to walk, he had them marching through the swampy ravines near their house on Sunday mornings. For years, he led Asher\u2019s Boy Scout troop, and he gave each of his kids a Swiss Army knife when they turned ten. It always baffled him that Greta could spend a beautiful day in the dusty garage, messing around with amps and pedals, when there were trails to explore and ponds to fish.\u201cYou\u2019re an indoor cat,\u201d Asher once said, as if that explained everything. \u201cAnd I\u2019m a golden retriever.\u201d\u201cWhat does that make Dad?\u201dHe laughed. \u201cA mountain lion?\u201dA hawk flies overhead, letting out a sharp cry, and Greta watches her dad stumble again. It\u2019s unfamiliar territory, to feel this flicker of worry for him. Physically, he looks the same: the broad shoulders and lined face, the neat haircut and flinty eyes. But ever since her mom died, there\u2019s been something diminished about him. She supposes even mountain lions get old.One of the other guides\u2014this one clean-shaven and impossibly young\u2014falls into step beside her. \u201cYou\u2019ve gotta watch out for that stuff,\u201d he says, pointing out a tall green plant covered in spikes. \u201cIt\u2019s called devil\u2019s club.\u201d\u201cWhat does it do?\u201d Greta asks, intrigued.\u201cIf you brush up against one and those spiny suckers get stuck in your leg?\u201d He shakes his head and whistles. \u201cNot even tweezers\u2019ll do the trick.\u201d\u201cSo what,\u201d she asks, \u201cyou\u2019re just half-hedgehog from then on?\u201d\u201cYou have to wait a few days till they fester, and then you can kind of start working them out.\u201d He grins. \u201cIf it sounds gross, that\u2019s because it is. Trust me, I know.\u201d\u201cI\u2019m guessing that\u2019s a mistake you only make once,\u201d she says, but he doesn\u2019t answer; he\u2019s squinting at her, his head cocked to one side.\u201cHave you been here before?\u201d\u201cTo these woods in the middle of Alaska?\u201d she says. \u201cNo.\u201d\u201cI meant on this tour\u2014maybe last summer?\u201dShe shakes her head, but she already knows where this is going. And she can see by the way Conrad half-turns to glance at her that he does too.\u201cHuh,\u201d says the guide. \u201cWell, I\u2019m Bear. It\u2019s just a nickname. I\u2019m really Preston, but that doesn\u2019t sound as impressive when you\u2019re living out in the bush all summer.\u201dGreta nods as they start moving down a steep slope. \u201cNice to meet you, Bear.\u201dFor a second, he lingers, still eyeing her with a curious intensity, clearly hoping she\u2019ll introduce herself too, and that it might be enough to jog his memory. But she doesn\u2019t give him the satisfaction. Her father probably thinks she\u2019s reluctant because of the dull orange life jacket and the rubber boots and the paddle she\u2019s using like a walking stick as she half-slides down the hill. But it\u2019s not so much that she doesn\u2019t look like Greta James at the moment; it\u2019s more that she doesn\u2019t feel like her. Not right now. Not for a while.At last they catch a glimpse of a brownish-green river at the bottom of the trail and crunch their way down to it over the pebbly beach. When they\u2019re clear of the trees, the glacier comes into view on the other side of the water, flat and white between gray mountains. In the stillness of the river, three orange canoes sit waiting for them.As Tank explains this next part of the journey, Bear sidles up to her again.\u201cYou\u2019re not from Texas, are you?\u201d he asks.\u201cNo,\u201d Greta says as, beside her, Conrad folds his arms over his chest, staring straight ahead. She can almost feel the irritation radiating off him.Once, when her parents were visiting New York, they went out for dinner at an old-fashioned steak house in Brooklyn and the waitress went wide-eyed when she spotted Greta. It was still early days for that sort of thing; her first album hadn\u2019t even come out yet, so the only people who recognized her were hard-core fans who\u2019d listened to her EP or seen her play with other bands over the years.\u201cHoly shit,\u201d the girl said, nearly dropping a water glass. She was in her early twenties, with a nose ring and at least a dozen tattoos. Not someone who seemed like she\u2019d be easily flustered. \u201cYou\u2019re Greta James.\u201dHelen let out a surprised laugh as she looked over at Greta, but Conrad\u2014who had been eyeing the rib eye at the next table\u2014began to examine his menu.\u201cI saw you play that indie showcase at the Knitting Factory last summer,\u201d the girl said. \u201cYou\u2019re a total badass on the guitar.\u201dGreta smiled. \u201cThanks. You play?\u201d\u201cA little,\u201d she said. \u201cMostly I sing.\u201d\u201cThat\u2019s awesome.\u201dIt being New York\u2014where people are either far too cool to fawn or else want to seem like they are\u2014that was the extent of it. But Greta had glowed through the rest of dinner, privately elated by the interaction.As they left the restaurant, her mother had hooked an arm through hers. \u201cMy star,\u201d she said, beaming.\u201cMom,\u201d Greta groaned. But they were both grinning like crazy.\u201cWasn\u2019t that something, Con?\u201d Helen asked, and for a second, Conrad\u2019s face went soft. That was the thing about him: every so often, the pride would shine through.\u201cIt\u2019s always nice to be recognized for your work,\u201d he admitted stiffly. But he couldn\u2019t help adding, with a note of disapproval, \u201cThough applause shouldn\u2019t be the point.\u201d\u201cWell, in my line of work,\u201d Greta said, \u201cit quite literally is.\u201dThis made Helen laugh that unexpectedly big laugh of hers. \u201cShe\u2019s got you there,\u201d she said to Conrad, untangling her arm from Greta\u2019s to walk over to him. \u201cIf you ever need a standing ovation, honey,\u201d she said, giving him a kiss, \u201cyou let us know.\u201dNow, as Tank finishes up his demonstration on how to get into the canoe, Bear is still frowning at her from beneath the brim of his hat. \u201cAre you an actress?\u201d\u201cNo.\u201dHe looks disappointed. \u201cA model?\u201dGreta laughs. \u201cDefinitely not.\u201d\u201cCome on. I know I know you from somewhere.\u201dShe gives a noncommittal shake of her head as Tank claps his enormous hands. \u201cOkay, you six come with me,\u201d he says, pointing to a family standing off to the side, \u201cyou six with McKee, and you six with Bear.\u201dBear grins at Greta, now part of his designated group. Conrad grunts as he moves toward the first of the large canoes. When they\u2019ve all clambered in\u2014the narrow vessel tipping from side to side\u2014Bear shows them how to hold their paddles, and then Tank shoves them off, the bottom scraping over the rocks. They\u2019re the first to float out into the calm waters, spinning in a leisurely circle before Bear gives the command and they all start to row.Greta is the smallest, so Bear placed her up at the bow. Behind her, Conrad sits on the next bench, followed by two couples: a pair of athletic gay men in their fifties and an older-looking husband and wife with a ridiculous amount of fancy outdoor gear, including a compass the size of a golf ball that the woman is wearing like a necklace.The day is perfect, all blue sky and crisp air, and as they get farther from shore, the other voices fade; there\u2019s only the slap and dip of the paddles and the ripple of the water as they push through it, moving toward the giant glacier a few yards at a time. Above, a bird makes a slow loop, and Greta tips her head back, letting the calm wash over her, allowing the peace to\u2014\u201cI\u2019ve got it,\u201d Bear cries from the other end of the canoe, and she snaps back again. \u201cI knew it. I knew you were someone.\u201dBehind her, she can hear Conrad let out a sigh, and there\u2019s a rustling of coats as the others turn to look at each other, confused.\u201cYou,\u201d Bear says, his voice ringing triumphantly across the quiet water, \u201care Greta James.\u201dThere\u2019s a beat of silence.And then another.And then the woman with the compass says, \u201cWho?\u201d \n Chapter TwentyTheirs is the first canoe to reach the opposite shore, a barren stretch of windswept silt that leads right up to the base of the glacier. The minute they bump up against the sand, Conrad jumps out.\u201cWait up,\u201d Greta says, but he\u2019s already charging across the beach, clumsy in the awkward life jacket and the stiff rain boots, his head down against the racing wind.\u201cIt\u2019s okay,\u201d Bear says, hopping out to hold the canoe steady as the others step carefully over the side. \u201cHe probably wants to be first. It\u2019s a thing. Being alone with the glacier.\u201dGreta suspects it has less to do with getting to the glacier than with getting away from her, but she doesn\u2019t say so. Bear is still looking at her with slightly starry eyes.\u201cSo are you playing one of the ships?\u201d he asks as he drags the canoe up onto the firm ground. \u201cI wouldn\u2019t have thought\u2014\u201d\u201cNo, I\u2019m just\u2026on a cruise.\u201d She points. \u201cWith my dad.\u201dHe straightens again, wiping his hands on his waterproof pants. \u201cHuh.\u201d\u201cYeah.\u201d\u201cYou know, one of my roommates is obsessed with you.\u201d He takes out his phone and grins at her. \u201cWould you mind if we\u2026?\u201dWith a sigh, she glances over at the receding figure of her father, then nods and brings her face close to Bear\u2019s, flashing a quick, perfunctory smile. In her baseball cap, she looks less like someone famous than someone\u2019s kid sister, but he doesn\u2019t seem to mind.\u201cSo,\u201d he says, slipping the phone back into one of his many pockets. \u201cAre you, like, seeing anyone?\u201d\u201cYes,\u201d she says flatly, her eyes once again on her dad, who is getting smaller in the distance, dwarfed by the huge wall of bluish ice.Bear looks disappointed. \u201cThat producer guy?\u201dGreta\u2019s surprised he even knows that, though just before they got together, Luke had dated a high-profile reality-TV star\u2014famous more for her Instagram account than anything else\u2014and between that and Greta\u2019s own dramatic ascent while they were dating, they\u2019d become frequent targets of party photographers and the occasional paparazzo.She\u2019s about to tell Bear that it\u2019s really none of his business, but she can feel the woman with the compass hovering nearby, phone in hand.\u201cSorry, but do you think I could get one too? To be honest, I don\u2019t know who you are, but I figure my daughter might. She\u2019s into\u2026\u201d She waves a hand around vaguely. \u201cPop culture.\u201dIn spite of herself, Greta smiles. \u201cI\u2019m a musician.\u201d\u201cShe\u2019s a rock star,\u201d says Bear.The woman snaps a photo, then studies it for a moment with benign interest. \u201cCool,\u201d she says with a shrug, then walks off to join her husband, who is gazing out at the glacier through a pair of enormous binoculars.The other two canoes are still faraway specks of orange on the water, so their group begins the hike in a small cluster, moving slowly across the hard-packed sand and scattered stones. The glacier is starting to feel like a mirage, like no matter how far they sail or row or walk, they\u2019ll never actually reach it. But after a few minutes, it looks less blocky and more intricate, like some sort of confection, delicate as a meringue.Conrad is nearly there, his shadow tiny against the sheer bulk of it. Everyone else peels off, following Bear over to the opposite end of the glacier\u2019s broad face, where a small cave has formed in the ice. But Greta keeps walking straight ahead, her eyes on Conrad, who has stopped to take it in. His life jacket is still buckled tight, like he might have to hurry back to the canoe at any moment, and his hands are on his hips, and he looks somehow both irretrievably lost and entirely at home.When she\u2019s close enough, she clears her throat. \u201cDad,\u201d she says, but the word is returned to her by the wind. She steps up beside him and tries again: \u201cHey.\u201dThis time he turns to look at her, his expression inscrutable.\u201cIt\u2019s beautiful, huh?\u201d she says, her eyes roving over the ice. From afar, it had looked clean and white, but now she can see that it\u2019s streaked with dirt and sand. Underneath that, though, the bluish tint is even more brilliant up close, like the whole thing is glowing from the inside out. And the size of it is staggering; the column in front of them\u2014so unremarkable from a distance\u2014is as tall as a two-story house, glinting in the abundant sunshine.It takes Conrad a second to answer. \u201cI can\u2019t decide,\u201d he says, his head tipped back to take it all in, \u201cwhether it\u2019s the most extraordinary thing I\u2019ve ever seen, or the least.\u201d He turns to her. \u201cIt\u2019s obviously a natural wonder. But it\u2019s also just a bunch of ice, you know?\u201dGreta smiles at this. Down by the water, the second canoe is coming ashore. Excited voices tumble across the barren stretch of beach, carried by a gust of wind. Farther along the glacier, the rest of their group is posing for pictures, which Bear dutifully takes for them, squatting to get the best angles.She nods in their direction. \u201cShould we\u2026\u201dBut Conrad doesn\u2019t answer. Instead, he walks up and lays his bare hand flat against the ice. It looks like a piece of abstract art, its curves not governed by any sort of logic except for the water streaming down in rivulets, forming muddy pools along the base of it.\u201cListen,\u201d she says, \u201cI\u2019m sorry about\u2026\u201d\u201cWhat?\u201d he asks, turning to her, his eyes shadowy beneath the brim of his cap.\u201cI know it bothers you when people recognize me,\u201d she says with a shrug.He squints back up at the ice. \u201cNot everything is about you, you know.\u201d\u201cI know,\u201d she says. But then, after a pause, she can\u2019t help adding: \u201cThough, in fairness, it feels like most things are. When it comes to you, anyway.\u201dHe turns to her again. \u201cWhat\u2019s that supposed to mean?\u201d\u201cJust that we obviously have our differences.\u201d\u201cAnd?\u201d\u201cAnd you like to point them out.\u201dThere\u2019s a pause, and then a funny smile appears across his face. \u201cI think I preferred your sullen teenage years.\u201dGreta can\u2019t help laughing at this. \u201cThat\u2019s because I hadn\u2019t discovered therapy yet,\u201d she says. \u201cI just put all my feelings into terrible, overwrought songs.\u201d\u201cWhich you played incredibly loudly at all hours.\u201d\u201cCome on,\u201d she says with a grin. \u201cYou have to admit that \u2018Life Sucks Hard\u2019 was kind of a classic.\u201dConrad shakes his head. \u201cFor a comfortable suburban kid, you sure had a lot of angst.\u201d\u201cWell, the good news,\u201d she says, \u201cis that I figured out how to make a living off it.\u201dRight away, his face shifts. And right away, Greta feels herself bristling in response.\u201cJust because I don\u2019t sit behind a desk all day,\u201d she says in a hurry, forever on defense, \u201cdoesn\u2019t mean it\u2019s not hard work.\u201d\u201cHard work?\u201d he repeats in a voice heavy with scorn.\u201cYes.\u201d\u201cYou play the guitar.\u201dGreta balls her hands into fists at her sides. \u201cYeah, Dad, I play the guitar. Every single day. For hours and hours. I also write my own songs. And produce them too. I\u2019m in the recording studio, and I deal with the business end of things, the branding and the publicity, not to mention that I\u2019m on the road two hundred days a year and\u2014\u201d\u201cNot anymore.\u201dShe narrows her eyes at him. Her nose is running from the cold, and she swipes at it with the back of her hand. \u201cWhat do you mean?\u201dHe shrugs. \u201cYou\u2019re not on the road anymore.\u201dThere\u2019s a knot in her stomach, and it winds itself tighter now. She didn\u2019t think he\u2019d noticed. She didn\u2019t think he\u2019d been paying attention.\u201cI know you canceled your shows for the past few months,\u201d he continues, raising his voice over the wind. \u201cAnd that you postponed your tour.\u201dGreta swallows hard. \u201cSo?\u201d\u201cSo,\u201d he says with infuriating patience, \u201cif this dream job of yours is to play music, and you\u2019re not even doing that, then what are you doing?\u201d\u201cThat\u2019s not\u2026\u201d she begins, then realizes she isn\u2019t sure how to finish the sentence. \u201cThat was\u2026temporary. I\u2019m playing Governors Ball on Sunday.\u201d Before he can ask what that is, she adds, \u201cIt\u2019s a festival. In New York. A big one.\u201dHe studies her for a moment. \u201cAnd what happens,\u201d he says eventually, \u201cif this doesn\u2019t go well either?\u201dIt\u2019s bad enough, thinking about that last show she played.It\u2019s a million times worse hearing about it from her dad.She assumed he was at least generally aware of what happened. It was hard not to be. But up until now, she had no idea if he\u2019d actually seen the video.Now she knows.\u201cThe last one didn\u2019t go well,\u201d she says, choosing her words carefully, \u201cbecause it was a week after Mom died. And because she wasn\u2019t there that night, which just about killed me. And because I wrote that song for her, and that was the moment I realized she would never hear it.\u201d Greta shakes her head, trying to tamp down her frustration. \u201cI know you don\u2019t get it. How could you when you\u2019ve never even been to one of my shows?\u201dHe looks offended by this. \u201cThat\u2019s not true. I came out for the\u2014\u201d\u201cThe album release? Yeah. But only because Mom insisted.\u201d\u201cWe both know that\u2019s not exactly my scene,\u201d he says with a shrug.\u201cYou think it was Mom\u2019s scene? She came to all those shows because she wanted to support me. Not because she was some huge closet indie music fan.\u201dHis face softens a little. \u201cYeah, but she loved it.\u201d\u201cThat\u2019s because she loved me,\u201d Greta says, half-shouting at him over the wind. \u201cHow do you not get that?\u201d\u201cI do,\u201d he says, surprisingly contrite. \u201cThat\u2019s why I went.\u201d\u201cWell, it was hard to tell. You spent the entire night in the corner of the bar, looking like you\u2019d rather be anywhere else.\u201dHe gives her a level look. \u201cCan you blame me?\u201dGreta opens her mouth, then closes it again. The wind is like static all around her. She\u2019s tempted to pretend not to understand what he means, but she knows that\u2019s not fair. That this conversation was inevitable. Even so, she doesn\u2019t feel ready for it.She remembers the first time she played \u201cTold You So\u201d for her mom, the way her mouth had tightened as she listened to the music come thumping out of Greta\u2019s phone. The opening notes were harsh and propulsive; the opening lines too: Here\u2019s to all the haters / the ones who didn\u2019t think I\u2019d get here. By the time they reached the chorus, Greta\u2019s hands were damp, and she couldn\u2019t bring herself to look up. It didn\u2019t matter, anyway. Helen, her gaze fixed on the phone, was frowning as she listened to the song, which was tinny and vibrating and full of anger, a middle finger in musical form.When it was over, the silence felt loud. Greta was already brimming with arguments in her own favor; she\u2019d been preparing her case ever since those first few lines came to her on a trip to London, when she sat in a caf\u00e9 and watched a father patiently teaching his daughter how to draw a caterpillar on the back of a children\u2019s menu and thought: That\u2019s the way it should be.It spun through her head, that thought, until it eventually became a song. One she had every right to play. One she\u2019d earned many times over.But when Helen finally looked at her with a face full of disappointment, all of Greta\u2019s defiance melted away, and her face went hot and prickly.\u201cI would never tell you what to feel,\u201d her mom said slowly, each word precise, \u201cand I would certainly never tell you what to do when it comes to your music.\u201dGreta dug her nails into the palm of her hand as she waited for the next part, the part she\u2019d known would be coming ever since she\u2019d jotted down those first few words.\u201cBut what I will tell you,\u201d Helen said, \u201cis that this will hurt him. And before you continue down this road, I just want to make sure you know that.\u201dGreta nodded once without meeting her mom\u2019s eyes. \u201cI know\u201d was all she said, and they never talked about it again. Not when it was released as the first single off her debut album and squeaked onto the very bottom of the indie charts. Not when the video dropped and the song continued to gain momentum. Not when the album came out and her parents flew to New York for the launch party, and she saw the way her dad looked so out of place in that bar, with his jeans and plaid button-down, scanning the room like he already knew what everyone was thinking: that the song they were all there to hear was about him.And he was right.She\u2019d expected to feel triumphant. See? she imagined herself saying to him that night. I did it. You didn\u2019t think I could, but I did.I told you so.But instead, she was surprised to feel sad.Everyone there knew Helen as the mom with the sign.They knew Conrad as the dad in the song.The \u201cTold You So\u201d guy.Standing there on her big night, she tried to summon all the feelings that had gone into the song, the memories she\u2019d thrown into it like kindling. There was the time he marched her guitar out to the garbage can after a fight. The time he told her he wouldn\u2019t help with college if she planned to study music. The time he didn\u2019t show up to the sixth-grade talent show. The application for a business program he left on her pillow in high school. The pride he took in Asher becoming manager at the bank. The indifference when Greta told him about her own achievements.He wasn\u2019t on board with any of this. She knew that. In a way, she even took a sort of pride in it, wearing his disapproval like a coat of armor. It was meant to steer her off course, but instead it only made her work harder all those years. It made her try more, care more, play more. It gave her something to push against. It just hadn\u2019t occurred to her until that night that without all that friction, she might not be where she was. She might not be who she was.But it was already too late for them.Her mom had insisted on a toast. \u201cTo dreams coming true,\u201d she said, beaming at Greta as she lifted her glass. \u201cI always knew you could do it.\u201dThey both turned to Conrad, who held up his beer a little awkwardly. \u201cCongrats,\u201d he managed, and for once, he sounded sincere. But later, when it was time for her to play, she noticed him standing stiffly in the back, and when she segued into the first notes of \u201cTold You So\u201d and a huge cheer went up in the room, he bent his head to Helen, then slipped out the door.Now the sun moves behind the clouds, and her dad\u2019s face darkens along with the sky. Behind him, she can see the crags in the glacier, ragged and hollow. Farther down the beach, the rest of the group is still busy exploring the ice cave, their voices thin in the distance.\u201cYou wrote that song about me,\u201d Conrad says, his eyes flinty, \u201cand then expected me to come to the party and smile about it? How was I supposed to feel?\u201d\u201cProud,\u201d she says. \u201cYou were supposed to feel proud. That was a huge night for me. It wasn\u2019t about you.\u201dHe laughs, a humorless laugh. \u201cYou made it about me when you decided to release that song.\u201dGreta stiffens. \u201cArt is about telling the truth. And expressing how you feel. That\u2019s all I was doing. It isn\u2019t personal.\u201dHe gives her a look like Come on, like they both know that isn\u2019t true. \u201cYou wrote a love song for your mom,\u201d he says. \u201cAnd I get that. Believe me, I do. If I had the words, I\u2019d write one too. But what you wrote for me\u2026it was more like a battle cry. And I don\u2019t know what I\u2019m supposed to do with that.\u201d\u201cDad, you act like you\u2019re blameless in all this,\u201d she snaps at him. \u201cLike that song came to me out of thin air. Maybe if you\u2019d been more supportive\u2014\u201d\u201cI bought your first guitar!\u201d\u201cI know,\u201d she roars back. \u201cThat\u2019s why it hurts so much. Because I loved it, and at one point, so did you. And then somewhere along the way, you decided my dreams weren\u2019t practical enough, and you stopped cheering me on. I was twelve years old, and I was good, but rather than be in my corner like any sort of normal parent, you discouraged me. And when that didn\u2019t work, you just took yourself out of the equation entirely. Do you have any idea how that felt?\u201d\u201cNo,\u201d he says, and for a second, she thinks that\u2019s it. He scrapes at his chin, his mouth a thin line, his eyes on the sky. But then he turns back to her with such a flat, pained look that she feels her stomach go tight. \u201cBut I do know how it feels to worry about money. And I wanted you to be realistic.\u201d\u201cTo give up on my dreams, you mean.\u201d\u201cTo find a more sensible pursuit.\u201d\u201cTo settle.\u201dHe sighs. \u201cTo start thinking in a more stable direction. I\u2019m not going to apologize for that.\u201d\u201cYou know what the worst part is?\u201d she says coolly. \u201cThat it never occurred to you I might be successful at this.\u201dConrad kicks at the gray silt, his toe leaving an indent. \u201cWhat do you want me to say? Other people\u2019s kids\u2014they get real jobs. Jobs with benefits and security. Jobs that make sense to me. I know how to give Asher advice on managing a team and how much to put in his 401(k). I\u2019m happy for you that you\u2019ve made it this far in a tough business. I am. But your life doesn\u2019t look the way I thought it would when I imagined what you could be.\u201d\u201cYeah,\u201d Greta says. \u201cIt\u2019s better. Why are you the only one who can\u2019t see that?\u201d\u201cBecause no matter how hard I squint at it, this whole thing seems like it\u2019s built on guesswork and fairy dust. Like it could all fall apart at any moment. Maybe it\u2019s even falling apart right now. And I can\u2019t lie and say it doesn\u2019t scare me that my daughter has a job\u201d\u2014here, he uses air quotes\u2014\u201cwhere there\u2019s no backup plan and so much uncertainty and absolutely no guarantees.\u201d\u201cDad,\u201d Greta says, and to her surprise, her throat goes tight. This conversation feels like being stuck in the mud, all spinning wheels and no forward movement. They\u2019ve had it so many times it\u2019s like they\u2019re in a play, each simply repeating their lines. But somehow, they can\u2019t bring themselves to stop. \u201cThere aren\u2019t supposed to be any guarantees. It\u2019s supposed to be a one-in-a-million kind of thing. It\u2019s like I won the fucking lottery and you\u2019d rather I give the ticket back and sit in some drab office crunching numbers just because the work is steady.\u201d She shakes her head. \u201cIt\u2019s impossible to talk to you about this. We\u2019re on completely different planets.\u201d\u201cWe are,\u201d he says with a grunt. \u201cOn my planet, there was no fancy summer camp. Or guitar lessons. You know how many jobs I had by the time I was your age? I delivered newspapers and mowed lawns and stocked groceries. After the navy, I bartended and worked construction and\u2014\u201d\u201cDad,\u201d she says. \u201cI know all this.\u201d\u201cWhen I finally got to the Yellow Pages, I might\u2019ve only been making copies and running errands, but I was the first one in my family to work in an office. The first one to wear a tie every day. Maybe it wasn\u2019t glamorous, but I always knew where my next paycheck was coming from, and that\u2019s a big deal. I fought my way to solid ground, and I thought I taught you the same.\u201d\u201cYou did,\u201d she says, startled. \u201cThat\u2019s why I work so hard at what I do. Every day. I want for this to work out. Badly. I want to keep playing music, and keep making better and better records, and putting on better and better shows.\u201d\u201cYeah, but what if it all falls apart? You have absolutely no Plan B.\u201d\u201cDad,\u201d she says with some amount of amusement. \u201cOf course I do. I grew up under your roof, didn\u2019t I? There\u2019s also a Plan C and D and E.\u201dHe allows himself a flicker of a smile\u2014a brief moment of pride\u2014before his mouth goes straight again.\u201cDo you know how often I\u2019m asked to write for other musicians?\u201d Greta continues. \u201cOr how many people have wanted me to produce for them? I have a standing invitation to teach a class at NYU, for godsakes. I know this business can be fickle. And that nothing is certain. And I also realize I\u2019m not exactly having my finest hour right now. But the odds of getting to where I am\u2014they\u2019re astronomical. And I did it. I made it.\u201d\u201cFor now,\u201d he says morosely.Greta stares at him, trying not to feel so deflated. \u201cWhy is it so hard for you to believe in me?\u201d she asks. \u201cDidn\u2019t you ever have a dream?\u201d\u201cYes,\u201d he says simply. \u201cYour mom was my dream.\u201dHis answer is so unexpected, and so heartbreakingly obvious, that it knocks her back a step. She inhales sharply, trying to regain herself. \u201cWell, this is my dream. And at the end of the day, it doesn\u2019t matter what you think. Because I\u2019m fine. I\u2019m fine. I\u2019m going to be fine.\u201dShe says it three times. Like a magic spell. Like she\u2019s trying to conjure something.Like she\u2019s trying to conjure someone.But all she\u2019s got is her dad, staring at her with stony eyes, the straps of his life jacket flapping madly in the wind. It\u2019s never worked before, looking to him for reassurance. She hates herself for needing it, for caring what he thinks even though she\u2019s told herself a thousand times that she doesn\u2019t. But here they are yet again.\u201cHaven\u2019t you ever taken a chance on anything?\u201d she says, her voice cracking. \u201cWhat ever happened to the kid who loved magic?\u201d\u201cLife,\u201d he says, looking at her incredulously. \u201cLife happened. I grew up. Had a family. Got a job, one where I could put food on the table.\u201d He shrugs. \u201cI always had my priorities straight. Which is obviously something that\u2019s hard for you to understand.\u201dGreta blinks at him. \u201cWhat\u2019s that supposed to mean?\u201dHe walks a few paces along the face of the glacier, stepping over the stream that\u2019s formed from the runoff. Then he whirls around and comes back, his jaw set and his eyes hard. \u201cYou chose your music,\u201d he says, and for a second, Greta is confused. But then he practically growls the next part, and her stomach drops. \u201cWhen it really counted, you put that first.\u201dThere\u2019s nothing she can say to this. Because he\u2019s right.She hadn\u2019t thought about it like that, of course. In the moment, she wasn\u2019t really thinking about anything. She\u2019d just arrived in Berlin, and the festival was a few days away. She and Luke had plans to go to some museums and wander the city and drink a whole lot of beer. The call from her dad felt vague and faraway: her mom was having headaches and he was worried. It was rare for him to phone her; that alone should\u2019ve been warning enough. But there was also a hitch in his voice, something subtle and hard to define.\u201cShe hasn\u2019t mentioned anything to me,\u201d Greta had said. She was in the lobby of the Berlinische Galerie, and it was noisy with voices and footsteps. \u201cHas she gone to the doctor?\u201d\u201cNot yet, but we have an appointment on Friday,\u201d he said. \u201cAsher is coming. Maybe you should be there too.\u201dLuke had gotten the tickets and was standing near the entrance, waving them in her direction. When she glanced over, he mouthed, What? She shook her head and turned around again.\u201cDad,\u201d she said, putting a finger to her other ear as a group of German schoolchildren shuffled past. \u201cI\u2019m in Berlin. I\u2019m playing a festival this weekend.\u201d\u201cOh,\u201d he said. \u201cRight. I forgot.\u201d\u201cHow worried are you? I mean, if you think I should cancel\u2026\u201d She was regretting the words even as they came out of her mouth. On Saturday afternoon, she\u2019d be headlining in front of forty thousand people. It wasn\u2019t that she couldn\u2019t cancel. It would be costly, and it would take a lot of explaining, but she could do it if she had to. If it was important.She just didn\u2019t want to.\u201cI\u2019m sure it\u2019s nothing,\u201d Conrad said briskly. \u201cShe\u2019d probably kill me if she knew I was even calling you.\u201d\u201cListen,\u201d Greta said, \u201cI\u2019m supposed to fly back to New York on Monday, but I can switch my ticket to come straight to Columbus instead.\u201d\u201cIt\u2019s okay,\u201d he said, but his voice was tight. \u201cWe\u2019ll be okay.\u201d\u201cWell, if anything changes,\u201d she says, \u201cI can be there. I will be there. I promise.\u201d\u201cI know.\u201dGreta felt a tug of uncertainty. \u201cYou\u2019ll let me know how the appointment goes?\u201d\u201cOf course,\u201d he said. \u201cGood luck with the festival.\u201d\u201cThanks,\u201d she started to say, then realized he\u2019d already hung up.Now he\u2019s looking at her with a slightly bewildered expression, like he\u2019s not exactly sure how they\u2019ve waded into this. They haven\u2019t actually talked about it before, not outright, and suddenly here it is, dropped onto the sand between them like something heavy and lifeless.\u201cDad,\u201d she begins, her mind racing, but she doesn\u2019t actually know what to say. There are no apologies big enough. She\u2019s thought about that conversation constantly over the last few months; it\u2019s a small blinking light in her chest that never seems to dim. But she\u2019s only now realizing how much her dad has been an afterthought. There\u2019s the guilt that her mom needed her and she wasn\u2019t there, the heaviest thing of all, and then just behind that, a razor-sharp grief that she didn\u2019t get a chance to say goodbye. But for the first time, Greta can see that she\u2019s been feeling sorry for her mom, and sorry for herself, and at the end of all that, there simply hasn\u2019t been anything left over for her dad.Conrad\u2019s shoulders are hunched, and his face looks windburned. \u201cIt doesn\u2019t matter now,\u201d he says, though of course it does. It matters more than anything. That moment, that phone call, that missed opportunity: all of it is as elemental to their lives as this glacier is to the beach, huge and imposing and receding so slowly, so gradually, that you might be forgiven for assuming it would be here forever.\u201cDad,\u201d Greta says again, and this time he looks disappointed when she can\u2019t seem to locate a follow-up sentence. But she feels entirely empty.In the distance, Bear is walking their way. He\u2019s beaming at them, his smile so at odds with the moment it\u2019s almost humorous. Almost.Conrad turns to follow her gaze, then lets out a heavy sigh.\u201cIt all went so fast,\u201d he says, watching the younger man cross the beach. Greta isn\u2019t exactly sure what he\u2019s talking about, but when he turns back to her, his eyes\u2014the same color as hers\u2014look very tired. \u201cI\u2019m not going to be around forever either.\u201d\u201cDad,\u201d she says for a third time, feeling hopelessly ill-equipped for whatever this conversation is. \u201cYou have to stop\u2014\u201d\u201cI told her I\u2019d make sure you were okay. I promised.\u201dBear is getting closer now, and Greta can see that he\u2019s holding a small chunk of ice in one hand. She turns back to Conrad, feeling oddly panicky.\u201cI am okay,\u201d she says in a way that makes her sound precisely the opposite. \u201cWe just have different definitions of that.\u201dHis mouth tightens at the corners, but he doesn\u2019t say anything.When Bear is close enough, he calls out to them: \u201cCouldn\u2019t let you miss all the fun.\u201d He waves the piece of ice in the air. \u201cYou have to taste it. There\u2019s nothing like glacier ice.\u201dGreta shakes her head, still too full of emotion to manage a smile. Conrad, too, looks at him, stone-faced. \u201cNo thanks,\u201d he says, but it\u2019s not enough to dissuade Bear, who lopes the final few yards with all the eagerness of a puppy.\u201cTrust me on this,\u201d he says, pushing the ice into Conrad\u2019s hands.For a second, nobody moves. They all three stand there in the middle of all that wilderness, their cheeks pink and their boots sunk deep into the sand, staring at the piece of blue-gray ice like it\u2019s some sort of oracle.And then, to Greta\u2019s surprise, Conrad gives it a single lick.\u201cSee?\u201d Bear says with a grin. \u201cNow you\u2019ll always remember this as the day you tried glacier ice.\u201dThere\u2019s a flash of something on Conrad\u2019s face. \u201cI doubt it.\u201dBut Bear is insistent. \u201cSure you will. What could possibly top that?\u201d\u201cMy anniversary.\u201dFor a few seconds, this doesn\u2019t quite land; it skirts the edges of Greta\u2019s crowded brain, the word moving through her head like music: anniversary, anniversary, anniversary.And then, all at once, her heart falls.It was today. Of course it was today.This whole trip was meant to be a celebration. But today was the actual day. Forty years since they walked down the aisle in a small wooden church in Ohio; forty years since they said their vows and, laughing, smashed cake into each other\u2019s faces.Forty years, and they were supposed to be spending this day together.Forty years, and Greta completely forgot.She turns to her dad, mouth open, feeling suddenly undone. But before she can say anything, Bear gives him such a hard thump on the back that Conrad pitches forward a step.\u201cHappy anniversary, man,\u201d Bear says. \u201cHow many years?\u201dConrad\u2019s eyes meet Greta\u2019s, and then he says, in a voice like gravel, \u201cForty.\u201dWhat he doesn\u2019t say, what she can practically feel him not saying is: At least it would\u2019ve been.\u201cWow,\u201d Bear says, shaking his head in wonder. In his hand, the piece of ice has started to melt, one slow drip at a time. \u201cForty years. What\u2019s your secret?\u201dAgain, Conrad looks at Greta.\u201cWe always kept our promises,\u201d he says. \n Chapter Twenty-OneWhen Bear heads over to round up the others, Greta starts to follow. But Conrad hangs back. She turns to face him, not sure what to say. All the heat between them has dissolved; what\u2019s left is something heavier, something slower to burn.Her face is numb from the wind, her hands so cold they feel hot. An image of her uncomfortable bed in her windowless room on the ship flashes in her mind, but the thought of getting from here to there\u2014hike to canoe to bus to boat\u2014feels insurmountable, like she might as well be on the moon right now.Conrad pats at his pocket again, then reaches inside and pulls out a small plastic bag, cradling it carefully in his palm. To her alarm, he looks like he might cry.Still, it takes Greta a second to realize what he\u2019s holding.When she does, she walks back over to him, staring down at the contents of the bag, which don\u2019t look all that different from the grayish sand they\u2019re standing on.Her mouth falls open.\u201cIt\u2019s not all of them,\u201d he says quietly. \u201cThe rest are still at home. But it seemed only right to bring some here.\u201dGreta\u2019s heart is racing beneath all her layers. She glances toward the rest of the group, then at the plastic bag, at this piece of her mom that he\u2019s carried here from Ohio, that he\u2019s held in his pocket all day. It knocks the wind out of her, seeing it there like that.\u201cI thought you might want to help,\u201d he says, and she nods, though she\u2019s not entirely sure. Her brain is moving slowly; so are her feet, which feel unaccountably heavy as she starts to move back toward the glacier, head bent against the wind.Conrad surveys the area. \u201cWhat do you think?\u201dThere\u2019s the ice in front of them, towering and slick, and below that a series of puddles between patches of sand. Greta is shivering now, though she can\u2019t tell if it\u2019s from the cold or something else. He\u2019s right: this is what she would\u2019ve wanted. But it\u2019s still hard to imagine leaving any part of her here in this windswept place.It\u2019s hard to imagine leaving any of her at all.\u201cMaybe over there,\u201d Greta says, pointing to a small shelf in the ice, just about eye level, because it looks sturdy and even and somewhat protected from the elements.Conrad nods solemnly. \u201cDo you want to go first?\u201dShe accepts the bag from him, feeling the small and precise weight of it, then picks her way over to the ice, her wellies sinking into the puddles. She\u2019s not sure whether she should pour straight from the bag or put some into her hand first. In the end, she\u2019s afraid the wind will blow it away, so she reaches inside and scoops a little into her palm, then tips it gently onto the ice. Some of it drifts off anyway, scattering into the air like snow, there and then gone. But she feels surprisingly lighter as she watches it go, and when she turns to her dad, she can see that he\u2019s crying too.When it\u2019s his turn, he stands there for a long time, his head bowed as if in prayer. Behind him, Greta quietly says a prayer of her own: \u201cI love you, I love you, I love you.\u201dThis, too, is carried off by the wind.Afterward, Conrad tucks the empty bag into his pocket and wipes a sleeve roughly across his face. Down by the canoes, Bear is shouting for them, his voice faint. But they take their time anyway. About halfway there, Greta is seized by a sudden impulse. She loops an arm through her dad\u2019s, and he stiffens for a moment, then relaxes. So they walk the rest of the way like that.They\u2019ve barely left the banks of the river, the glacier already starting to recede, when Greta feels a drag on the canoe. She turns to see Bear with his oar braced in the water, his eyes on a line of spruce trees. \u201cShh,\u201d he says, though none of them are speaking. He half-stands, the canoe tilting beneath him, and the rest of them lift their dripping paddles, trying to follow his gaze. One of the men passes over a pair of binoculars, and Bear lets out a soft laugh as he looks through them.\u201cHoly shit,\u201d he says. \u201cI heard there was a Steller\u2019s sea eagle spotted in Juneau last month. He must\u2019ve made his way up here.\u201d\u201cA what?\u201d says the woman with the compass.Bear hands the binoculars to her. \u201cA Steller\u2019s sea eagle. They\u2019re incredibly rare. Especially around here. This one is a vagrant.\u201d\u201cA vagrant?\u201d the husband asks. \u201cWhat does that mean?\u201dThe binoculars reach Conrad, and Greta watches as he lifts them to his eyes, scanning the trees. She can tell when he\u2019s spotted the bird by the way his whole body goes still.\u201cJust that it\u2019s way off course,\u201d Bear explains. \u201cThey\u2019re usually only found in Asia.\u201d\u201cWow,\u201d says one of the other men. \u201cSo what\u2019s it doing all the way over here?\u201dConrad hands Greta the binoculars, which are heavier than they look. When she peers through them, the world skids madly before righting itself. She searches the feathery tops of the trees until she sees a pop of orange: the great curved beak of the bird, which looks enormous in a way that has nothing to do with magnification. It\u2019s huge and black with white-tipped wings, and it sits placidly in the branches, its beady eyes alert, its head moving mechanically back and forth.\u201cWell, that\u2019s just it,\u201d Bear is saying. \u201cWe don\u2019t know. But legend has it that these birds are messengers from the land of the dead, returning to visit their loved ones.\u201dGreta lowers the binoculars and turns to Conrad, her heart beating fast. He\u2019s looking at her in disbelief, his face suddenly pale. For a moment, the canoe spins slowly in the water, everything so quiet it almost feels loud. And then Bear begins to laugh.\u201cNo, I\u2019m just messing with you,\u201d he says with a grin. \u201cIt probably got lost. Or blown off course in a storm.\u201dAll the tension floods back out of Greta. She wants to laugh along with the others, but she can\u2019t. When she looks back at her dad, he gives her a slightly embarrassed smile, and it makes her feel less alone, imagining that he believed it too, even though they both know better, even though they both understand that it\u2019s far easier to get lost than to reach across such impossible distances.Later, they\u2019re returned to the cruise ship, and Greta follows Conrad back up the long ramp in silence. It\u2019s the same silence they\u2019ve been carrying between them for hours now, from the canoe to the hike to the picnic area\u2014where they ate their strawberries wordlessly, both thinking of Helen\u2014then back to the bus, which got stuck in the mud halfway down the mountain, so that they all had to climb out and collect sticks to shove under the wheels, watching them spin uselessly until something finally caught, and the bus gave a little buck, fishtailing a few feet down the road before coming to a stop so they could all pile on again.It\u2019s a complicated silence. But not an unpleasant one.Back on the ship, they pause at the elevators to look at each other. Greta can think of nothing to say, not after all that. Neither can Conrad, apparently. When the elevator arrives, he steps on, reaching out to hold the door for Greta. But she gestures toward the hallway.\u201cI think I need a walk,\u201d she says.He nods. \u201cI\u2019ll see you tomorrow then.\u201d\u201cWhat about dinner?\u201d\u201cI\u2019m sure you\u2019ve had enough of me today.\u201dGreta laughs. \u201cDoes that mean you\u2019ve had enough of me?\u201d\u201cIt means we survived the wilderness safari,\u201d he says with a hint of amusement. \u201cWhich was not necessarily a given.\u201dAnd with that, he lets his hand slip and the doors close between them.Greta stands there for a long time in her muddy sneakers, sunburned and bone-tired and restless. Her reflection in the silver doors of the elevator\u2014blurred and distorted as if in a fun house mirror\u2014looks alarmingly close to how she feels right now.She still hasn\u2019t moved when there\u2019s another ding and the doors slide open to reveal Todd Bloom in a blue rain jacket, his curly gray hair tousled from the wind.\u201cOh,\u201d he says with mild surprise. \u201cHi. I didn\u2019t know you guys were back.\u201dGreta steps aside so he can get off the elevator. \u201cJust.\u201d\u201cWas it good?\u201d\u201cIt was,\u201d she says, thinking that she wouldn\u2019t be able to explain it any better if she tried. \u201cHow was fishing?\u201d\u201cI skipped it,\u201d he tells her with a guilty smile. \u201cThere\u2019s an eagle preserve in Chilkat that I wanted to\u2014\u201d\u201cOh,\u201d Greta says, remembering. \u201cWe saw one too.\u201d\u201cA bald eagle?\u201d\u201cNo, this kind of sea eagle that\u2019s really rare. Seller\u2019s, maybe?\u201dTodd\u2019s eyes go wide. \u201cYou saw a Steller\u2019s sea eagle?\u201d\u201cYeah. It was mostly black, but it had white around the wings and\u2014\u201d\u201cYou saw a Steller\u2019s sea eagle?\u201d he repeats as a large extended family comes pouring out of the elevator, midway through a raucous argument over who was supposed to have booked today\u2019s floatplane tour. They stream around Greta and Todd, but even once they\u2019re gone, his face is still frozen, like his brain has short-circuited from this information.\u201cI guess they\u2019re usually from Asia?\u201d Greta offers in an attempt to jog him out of it.\u201cYou saw a Steller\u2019s sea eagle?\u201d he says for a third time. \u201cDo you know what the odds of that are? There can\u2019t be more than two or three ever spotted around here. Ever! They\u2019re hard to find even in their natural habitat. And to stumble across one on a completely different continent when you\u2019re not even looking for it?\u201d He shakes his head. \u201cThat\u2019s lucky. That\u2019s, like, buy-a-lottery-ticket lucky. I can\u2019t even begin to tell you how jealous I am.\u201d\u201cWell, if it makes you feel any better, he was pretty far away\u2026\u201d\u201cNo, I\u2019m glad you saw it,\u201d he says sincerely. \u201cIt\u2019s something really, really special. Not just the bird itself, but it\u2019s like\u2026if you see a gyrfalcon in the Arctic Circle, it\u2019s still an amazing thing, right? But when you spot one in Ohio, well, that\u2019s something different altogether. It\u2019s that it\u2019s wandered so long and far, that it\u2019s made it to such an unlikely place. The fact that it doesn\u2019t belong is what makes it stand out. It\u2019s what makes it even more extraordinary.\u201dAn image of Greta\u2019s mother flashes in her head, dancing in the crowd at one of her shows, looking entirely out of place and radiating happiness. She swallows hard.\u201cIt should\u2019ve been you,\u201d she says quietly, but Todd smiles at her.\u201cNo,\u201d he says. \u201cI have a feeling it was meant for you.\u201d \n Chapter Twenty-TwoGreta isn\u2019t sure where she\u2019s headed after that, but she finds herself crossing through the indoor pool, which is crowded and stuffy, the windows fogged and the air heavy with chlorine. There are still hours left to explore the town before they\u2019re due to leave port again, yet half the passengers are idly leafing through magazines on lounge chairs or bobbing around in the hot tub, oblivious to the towering mountains at their backs. They could be anywhere right now, at a cheap hotel in Vegas or a community pool in the summertime, even in their own backyards, and Greta has a sudden and uncharacteristic impulse to scream at them for missing it all, this trip that others would give anything to be on.Feeling claustrophobic, she weaves through the chairs and out the door on the opposite side, back into the fresh air, where she stands gripping the rail of the ship, looking out over the bay and listening to the incessant crying of the seagulls.\u201cHey,\u201d someone says behind her, and when she turns to see Ben, her heart lifts. He\u2019s wearing fishing gear\u2014orange waders and rubber boots\u2014and a Boston Red Sox cap that\u2019s bleached from the sun. Beneath the brim, he\u2019s watching her with a slightly puzzled expression.\u201cHey,\u201d she says, turning to lean against the rail. \u201cCatch anything?\u201dHe nods. She waits for him to say something more, to make a joke or step forward and kiss her. But he keeps frowning at her like something is wrong.\u201cWhat?\u201d she says finally, her pleasure at seeing him\u2014and at the memory of last night\u2014melting into something far less patient. Because this day has already felt like a thousand years, and she doesn\u2019t need whatever this is too.\u201cI just\u2026\u201d He trails off uncertainly, then pulls his phone out of the pocket of his waterproof jacket. \u201cYou\u2019re not\u2026I mean\u2026you would\u2019ve told me if\u2026\u201d\u201cBen,\u201d she says with a sigh. \u201cJust spit it out.\u201dThere\u2019s a flash of annoyance on his face, or possibly something more than that. Finally, he says, \u201cYou\u2019re engaged?\u201dShe stares at him. \u201cWhat?\u201dThis time, he doesn\u2019t pose it as a question: \u201cYou\u2019re engaged.\u201d\u201cI\u2019m\u2014what?\u201d she says again, her mind moving slowly. \u201cNo, I\u2019m not.\u201d\u201cIt says so right here.\u201d He holds out his phone. On the screen, there\u2019s a picture of Greta and Luke kissing on a street corner. She recognizes it immediately, the night coming back to her in a hurry. It was two years ago, not long after they\u2019d started dating. Greta had played a surprise set at a smallish venue in Brooklyn, previewing a few tracks from her album several weeks before it was due to come out. She and Luke had spent the day arguing about the bridge on one of them, and though she\u2019d agreed to try it his way, she\u2019d changed her mind once she was onstage. This happened often during her live performances; anyone who played with her knew she had a tendency to call audibles once she was out there. Sometimes the changes were successful, sometimes not. But they always kept her shows interesting. That night had been a good one, and afterward, elated by the reception\u2014the mad applause from the crowd\u2014she\u2019d charged back into the greenroom only to find it empty. Out on the street, Luke was waiting for her, pacing around in the frosty air, his hands deep in his coat pockets. Greta was expecting a fight, but instead he pulled her close and kissed her.\u201cYou were brilliant,\u201d he said simply.The picture had appeared online the next day. The photographers were mostly there for the band going on after her, far more famous at the time than Greta, so it hadn\u2019t gotten much pickup. But later, once the album came out and interest in her romance with the handsome Aussie producer started to be of greater interest, the photo resurfaced.And now here it is again: under a headline that inexplicably announces her engagement to Luke Watts.She takes the phone from Ben and stares at it.\u201cThat\u2019s not\u2026\u201d she says, then starts again. \u201cI\u2019m not\u2026\u201d\u201cThen why would they say that?\u201d\u201cI don\u2019t know,\u201d she says, pushing the phone back into his hand. She starts to walk along the rail of the ship, not exactly sure where she\u2019s going. \u201cBecause they\u2019re trying to get you to click.\u201dHe follows her. \u201cWell, there must be some truth to it. Or else why would they\u2014\u201d\u201cBen,\u201d she says, spinning around. \u201cI\u2019m obviously not engaged.\u201dHis face is hard. \u201cMaybe that\u2019s not as obvious as you think.\u201d\u201cWhat\u2019s that supposed to mean?\u201dHe shrugs. \u201cWe only just met. How would I know if you\u2019re really\u2014\u201d\u201cYou\u2019re one to talk,\u201d she says, sparking with sudden anger. She pushes open the door to the inside of the ship, her ears ringing as she leaves the rushing wind behind. \u201cYou\u2019re the one who\u2019s married.\u201d\u201cThat\u2019s different.\u201d\u201cYeah,\u201d Greta says, \u201cit\u2019s worse.\u201d\u201cWe\u2019re separated,\u201d Ben hisses as they pass a family on their way to the buffet. Greta ignores him, continuing down the red-carpeted hallway toward the elevators. \u201cAnd that\u2019s not really the point here. I don\u2019t think it\u2019s crazy to see a headline like this and wonder if my\u2014\u201d\u201cYour what?\u201d she asks without turning around. At the elevators, she hits the button too hard. Ben appears at her side, blocking the doors.\u201cAre you seriously so immature that we can\u2019t even talk about this?\u201d\u201cI guess so,\u201d she says, and when the bell dings and the door opens behind him, she raises her eyebrows. \u201cAre you seriously so immature that you\u2019re not going to let me on?\u201dWith a look of profound disappointment, he steps to the side, and Greta hurries into the elevator. She presses the button for the seventh floor, her heart pounding faster than it should, and for reasons she can\u2019t quite explain. Ben\u2019s face, as he stands there, is caught somewhere between baffled and disappointed.\u201cFor the record, I\u2019m not engaged to anyone,\u201d she says, and then, right before the doors close, she adds: \u201cIt\u2019s just me.\u201dAll the way up, those last few words thrum through her head. She\u2019s not even sure why she said them, but she feels them all the same, deep in her bones, in some true and unexamined place.It\u2019s just her.In her room, she takes out her phone, which she\u2019d turned off earlier to save the battery. As it powers up, it begins to buzz madly with notifications. The texts pile up one after another, from Howie and Cleo, from her agent and publicist, even from Atsuko and Nate. There\u2019s one from Asher that says, It\u2019s not true, right? and another from Yara that says, This better be fake news.There\u2019s nothing at all from Luke.She switches off the phone again, her heart thumping, and peels off her hiking pants and sweatshirt, throwing on the same black dress she\u2019d worn the first day. Then she grabs her jean jacket, stuffs her feet into a pair of Vans, and walks with purpose back down the hallway, as if she knows exactly where she\u2019s going, as if she ever does.To get off the ship, she has to show her plastic passenger ID card to one of the officers, who scans it on a computer, then gives her a sharp nod. \u201cMake sure you\u2019re back by six P.M.,\u201d she says, and Greta starts to walk out into the sunlight. But after a few steps, she turns back.\u201cWhat happens if I\u2019m not?\u201dThe officer looks surprised. \u201cWell, the ship leaves without you.\u201d\u201cAnd then what?\u201d\u201cYou either find your way to the next stop, or you go home,\u201d she says, then adds with a grin, \u201cOr I guess maybe you live here now.\u201dIt\u2019s nearly four, and the water is glinting in the late-afternoon sunlight as Greta walks along the harbor. At the end of the pier, two kids in wellies are selling bait from a metal bucket. A fishing boat glides into the bay, tiny against the backdrop of the cruise ship. Everything feels muted by the impossible scope of the landscape around them, and she imagines what it would be like to actually live in a place like this, to wake every morning in a little red house huddled beneath the enormous sky and the towering mountains.Greta finds it almost painful sometimes to think about all the different lives she could be leading, to know that every choice she\u2019s made has meant the loss of so many other possibilities. Every day, more doors close. Without even trying, simply by moving forward, you end up doubling down on the life you\u2019ve chosen. And the only way to survive is to commit to it fully, to tell yourself it\u2019s the right one. But what if that\u2019s not true?Closer to town, a little girl has set up a lemonade stand with a plate of Oreos and a jar for tips. At her feet, a husky puppy is chewing on an antler like something right out of an ad campaign for the state of Alaska.Greta stops at the table and points to the blue plastic pitcher. \u201cHow much?\u201d\u201cYou\u2019re from the ship, right?\u201d the girl asks, squinting up at her from beneath thick brown bangs. She must be nine or ten, with pale skin and dark eyes, and she\u2019s wearing a yellow T-shirt with a ladybug on it.\u201cDo I look like I\u2019m from the ship?\u201dThe girl considers this. \u201cNo, but you\u2019re not from here.\u201d\u201cHow do you know?\u201d\u201cBecause I know everyone who lives here. Literally.\u201dGreta smiles. \u201cSo you\u2019re gonna charge me the tourist rate, huh?\u201d\u201cThose are the rules,\u201d the girl says very seriously.\u201cFair enough.\u201d Greta hands over a twenty-dollar bill. \u201cGuess I\u2019ll have to move here to get the discount.\u201d\u201cYou would never,\u201d the girl says matter-of-factly. She stands up to pour the lemonade, heaving the pitcher over a trembling paper cup. \u201cNobody ever does. At least nobody like you.\u201d\u201cWhat does that mean?\u201d\u201cSomeone cool,\u201d the girl says a little shyly. \u201cFrom someplace cool. Probably.\u201d\u201cI\u2019m from Ohio, actually,\u201d Greta says, and the girl looks disappointed. \u201cBut I live in New York City.\u201d\u201cKnew it.\u201d She hands over the cup and Greta takes a sip, trying not to wince at how tart it is. But the girl is watching her closely. She shrugs. \u201cI know it\u2019s not that good. But it\u2019s something to do.\u201d\u201cIt\u2019s great,\u201d Greta says, waving away the change. \u201cKeep it. Consider it a down payment for next time.\u201dA smile twitches on the girl\u2019s face, but then she shakes her head and busies herself stacking the cups. \u201cYou\u2019re not coming back here.\u201d\u201cMaybe I\u2019ll see you in New York, then,\u201d Greta says, and the girl looks up in surprise, her face full of delight.Greta waits until she\u2019s walked a few blocks to toss the mostly full cup into a garbage bin. Then she stops to look around. The main street is lined with dusty bars and gift shops. There\u2019s a statue of a wooden bear outside one of them, and a neon sign that says WILD ALASKAN SALMON in the window of another. A large black dog watches her from the bed of a muddy blue pickup truck, and across the street is the Hammer Museum, which Greta assumes contains artifacts from some great frontiersman named Hammer, until she notices the literal ten-foot sculpture of a hammer and nail out front.Up ahead, she spots a wood-beamed brewery and heads toward it. Inside, the whole place smells of grain and hops, and it\u2019s crowded with tourists from the ship. Greta waits in line to order the signature lager, then carries her pint to the garden out back, which isn\u2019t nearly as busy.For a long time, she just sits there, letting the events of the day recede. The beer is crisp and refreshing, and the sun is warm on her face. She listens to the rise and fall of conversations around her, and watches a bee circle an empty glass. Then, after a while, she takes out her phone and does something she swore she\u2019d never do again.She calls Luke. \n Chapter Twenty-Three\u201cIt wasn\u2019t me,\u201d he says the moment he picks up the phone, which is when Greta catches the eye of a harried waiter and points to her glass. The guy nods and starts to head back into the brewery, but she makes a frantic motion and he turns back again.Two, she mouths, holding up two fingers.\u201cGreta?\u201d Luke says on the other end of the phone, and she hates herself for missing the way he says her name, the e drawn out so that it sounds more like Greeta. It\u2019s so specific, so unique to him, and the familiarity makes her stomach twist. \u201cYou there?\u201d\u201cYeah. Listen\u2014\u201dBut, of course, listening has never been his strong suit. \u201cI swear I didn\u2019t do it,\u201d he says. \u201cI didn\u2019t even know till I got off the plane in Sydney a little while ago and had a million texts. It\u2019s everywhere. My brother said it\u2019s even trending on Twitter.\u201d\u201cFantastic,\u201d Greta says flatly.\u201cLook, I know you\u2019re probably not thrilled, but it\u2019s obviously not true, so who cares, right?\u201dShe grits her teeth. \u201cI do.\u201d\u201cWell, I don\u2019t.\u201d\u201cThat sounds familiar.\u201d\u201cSo does that,\u201d he says, but he seems more amused than anything else. \u201cYou have to admit it would\u2019ve been a clever way to get you to ring me.\u201d A few seconds pass as he tries to wait out her silence, but he can\u2019t manage it. \u201cHow are you, anyway?\u201d\u201cI\u2019m fine, Luke,\u201d she says with a sigh. \u201cThat\u2019s not really the\u2014\u201d\u201cI saw you\u2019re doing Gov Ball. That\u2019s huge. Wish I could be there to see it.\u201dGreta adjusts her grip on the phone. \u201cYeah.\u201d\u201cAre you ready?\u201dShe doesn\u2019t want to talk about this with him.At least, she doesn\u2019t want to want to talk about this with him.But the truth is, nobody will ever understand her as well as Luke, at least musically speaking. Those years they were together, he could be an asshole about so many things\u2014not making enough of an effort with Yara and playing devil\u2019s advocate when they talked about politics and always needing to have the last word in a fight\u2014but when it came to her music, they were almost always in sync.They\u2019d met in L.A., where Greta was opening for a bigger band at the Wiltern. Her EP had been out for a few months by then, and she was in the middle of recording the album. Cleo had paired her with a producer back in New York, a sixty-something white guy with hairy ears who had produced three platinum rock albums in the last decade. But on every track, his feedback was the same: \u201cA little less.\u201dGreta didn\u2019t quite know it then, but what she needed was someone who would ask her for more.Luke was at the show that night with a couple of musician friends. When they came backstage to meet her afterward, he was the only one not wearing a porkpie hat. Later, once the other two had left and Luke somehow remained, perched on the arm of the ratty sofa in the greenroom, she asked if they\u2019d forgotten their monocles.He laughed, a surprisingly big sound. \u201cThey\u2019re singers. What do you expect?\u201d\u201cI\u2019m a singer,\u201d she said, arching an eyebrow, still unsure whether or not she was flirting with him. He was wearing all black that night\u2014T-shirt, jeans, and boots\u2014and had one of those haircuts you only ever really see on actors, the kind that seem to defy gravity.\u201cYou sing,\u201d he said matter-of-factly. \u201cBut you\u2019re not a singer. At least not primarily.\u201dShe gave him an even look. \u201cI can\u2019t decide if I should be offended by that.\u201d\u201cYou shouldn\u2019t,\u201d he said. \u201cYou have an interesting voice. It works. But at the end of the day, you\u2019re mainly a guitarist. And a damn good one.\u201dIf he\u2019d told her she was smart or cool or pretty, if he\u2019d said he liked her eyes or her hair or her outfit, she might\u2019ve been pleased. But no other compliment could\u2019ve worked as well as that one did. Nothing could ever mean half as much.A damn good one.She carried those words around with her for months.Afterward, they went for burgers at a nearby diner, then drinks at a dive bar around the corner, then back to her hotel, ostensibly for the bottle of champagne the concierge had left for Greta. But a few hours later, they were still in bed\u2014the bottle still unopened\u2014when Luke asked if he could hear the third song from her set again. \u201cThat\u2019ll be the single, right?\u201d he asked as he traced her collarbone. \u201c \u2018Told You So\u2019? I think I figured out the problem with it.\u201dShe frowned at him. \u201cWho said there\u2019s a problem?\u201d\u201cYou\u2019re pulling your punches,\u201d he said, undeterred. \u201cIt\u2019s not meant to be a ballad. It\u2019s not even meant to be a power ballad. It\u2019s an anthem. You wrote a big song, an angry song, and now you\u2019re too afraid to play it that way. Which is a shame because it\u2019s a great fucking track. Or at least it could be if you\u2019d stop worrying what people might think and just play the hell out of it.\u201dIf anyone else had said this to her, she might\u2019ve kicked them out of bed. But there was something mesmerizing about his certainty. Already, she understood that he was right. That maybe she\u2019d even known this. She\u2019d just needed to hear someone else say it. And so, with only a sheet wrapped loosely around her, she climbed out of bed and stooped to unlatch her guitar case.\u201cYou look like a badass Statue of Liberty,\u201d Luke said with a lazy grin as he propped himself up on one tattooed arm to watch.\u201cThe Statue of Liberty is a badass,\u201d Greta said, and then\u2014although the room was mostly dark\u2014she closed her eyes and began to play. At first, she had trouble finding the right tempo. She stopped and started twice, but on the third try, the music and lyrics began to match up again. There was something cathartic about playing such a familiar song at such an unfamiliar pace, something in the quickness that gave it a whole new intensity, an electricity that matched the feeling behind it.Midway through, she opened her eyes and her heart picked up speed, a drumbeat all its own. She didn\u2019t know if it was the song or the way Luke was watching her, with a look that fell somewhere between arrogance and awe, a look that said of course he\u2019d been right, of course he\u2019d known it would be better this way. But he hadn\u2019t imagined it could be quite like this.Now the waiter returns with two beers, and Greta takes a long sip from one of them. He\u2019d asked if she was ready for Gov Ball, and she isn\u2019t sure how to answer that. To anyone else, she\u2019d lie and say yes. To Luke she says, \u201cI honestly don\u2019t know.\u201dTo his credit, he doesn\u2019t promise she\u2019ll be fine, as so many others would. They haven\u2019t spoken in months, but still he knows her.\u201cIt\u2019s not like you haven\u2019t done this before,\u201d he says. \u201cIt\u2019s not like you don\u2019t know how.\u201d\u201cYeah, but it\u2019s been a minute.\u201d\u201cI noticed that,\u201d he says, his voice softer now. \u201cYou okay?\u201dGreta tips her head back to the blue Alaskan sky. For a second, she feels like laughing. Is she okay? Right then, it seems an impossible question.Luke clears his throat. \u201cHave you at least been playing on your own?\u201d\u201cA little.\u201d\u201cWell, you should be. I mean it. You need to go out there this weekend and light that place up.\u201dShe tries to think of a response to this, but her heart is too loud in her ears. She realizes then that this isn\u2019t a pep talk. He\u2019s not just being nice.He\u2019s trying to save her.He\u2019s trying to tell her she needs saving.\u201cI\u2019ve seen you do it loads of times,\u201d he says. \u201cThe way you go out there and play like you don\u2019t give a fuck about anything. Like you\u2019re all alone up there.\u201dGreta is silent for a moment. \u201cBut I should, shouldn\u2019t I?\u201d\u201cWhat?\u201d\u201cGive a fuck. About all of it. This show. My career.\u201d She waits for him to say something, but he doesn\u2019t. \u201cWhat if I can\u2019t do it?\u201d\u201cJesus, Greta,\u201d he says, and he seems genuinely distressed. \u201cYou don\u2019t sound like yourself.\u201d\u201cI don\u2019t feel like myself.\u201d\u201cThe Greta I know is too stubborn to listen to what anyone else thinks.\u201d\u201cWell,\u201d she says, swirling the amber-colored beer around in her glass. \u201cI\u2019m listening now.\u201d\u201cYou don\u2019t need me to tell you anything. You already know what you should do.\u201d\u201cPlay it faster?\u201d she teases, and he laughs.\u201cNot this one,\u201d he says, and then more somberly: \u201cIt was for your mom, wasn\u2019t it?\u201dShe nods, though he can\u2019t see her. \u201cI shouldn\u2019t have tried it.\u201d\u201cYou took a swing.\u201d\u201cIt was reckless.\u201d\u201cIt was emotional,\u201d he says. \u201cThere\u2019s nothing wrong with that.\u201dShe takes a sip of her beer, then sets it back down on the table. \u201cThey want to approve the set list. They want me to open with \u2018Prologue.\u2019 \u201d\u201cAnd you don\u2019t,\u201d he says. It\u2019s not a question.\u201cI hate leaving things unfinished,\u201d she tells him, and they both know she\u2019s not talking about \u201cPrologue\u201d anymore. She rests her forehead in her hand. \u201cThere\u2019s a part of me that wants to try again, but it feels impossible to go back to it.\u201d\u201cI know it was just a skeleton,\u201d Luke says. \u201cBut from what I heard, it has good bones. You\u2019d just have to be willing to take it the rest of the way.\u201d\u201cThey made me promise to leave it out.\u201d\u201cFuck \u2019em,\u201d he says so quickly it makes her laugh. \u201cI\u2019m serious. That video didn\u2019t make the rounds just because everyone was taking the piss. You made people feel something, even if it wasn\u2019t what you intended. You were magnetic up there. You always are.\u201dGreta feels a knot form in her throat. \u201cAnd if it happens again?\u201d\u201cIt won\u2019t,\u201d he says. \u201cBut if it does, well\u2026that\u2019s just part of it.\u201d\u201cPart of what?\u201d\u201cMaking art. You know that better than anyone. And the worst thing you could do right now is pull your punches. Fuck the suits. Take another pass at it. Double down. Get it right. Then get up there and play it true.\u201d\u201cNext you\u2019re going to tell me to sing my heart out,\u201d she jokes, but he doesn\u2019t laugh.\u201cPretty much,\u201d he says. \u201cListen, if you\u2019re not ready on Sunday, you\u2019re not ready. But just make sure it\u2019s your decision. Not theirs. And whatever you decide, you\u2019ve got to pick up the goddamn guitar again, okay? As soon as possible. Just play.\u201d\u201cOkay,\u201d she says, and right then, she realizes she misses him. Really misses him. She remembers when they landed back in New York, still foggy from the funeral and the muddled days that followed it. At the airport, Luke had automatically started to get into the same cab as her, but Greta shook her head. \u201cI think I need to be alone right now,\u201d she said, and he nodded, leaning in to give her a kiss before closing the door.She couldn\u2019t sleep that night, and around four A.M., she finally gave up and went for a walk, tracing a path down through Nolita and then Chinatown, the streets empty and the storefronts covered by grates. Eventually, she wound her way to the river, where she stood looking out at the Brooklyn Bridge, the lights from the cars twinkling as they streamed into the city.She stopped only once to gaze up at the towering stone arches as she crossed. Ahead of her, the sun was rising in slices between the buildings, yellow and then orange and then pink, and by the time she made it to Luke\u2019s apartment in Dumbo, it was fully light out. His voice over the intercom was groggy, and he was waiting in the hallway\u2014barefoot and bleary-eyed\u2014when she got to the top of the stairs.As soon as she saw him, she knew for sure. They both did.\u201cDon\u2019t do anything hasty,\u201d he said, but it didn\u2019t feel that way to her. It felt like something that had been coming for a long time. She and Luke were like a wave that had crested too soon. There was the early madness of falling in love, and when that burned off, they still had the music, which seemed like enough. But Greta had been in the world for six days without her mom by then, and already she knew she needed something more.\u201cThanks, Luke,\u201d she says into the phone now. It\u2019s not just for the call, but for everything.\u201cSee,\u201d he says, and she can hear the smile in his voice, \u201cI\u2019m not the worst person to be fake-engaged to.\u201d\u201cNot the worst,\u201d she agrees.\u201cGood luck this weekend,\u201d he says. \u201cBurn it all down, okay?\u201d\u201cI\u2019ll try,\u201d she says, and then she ends the call.It\u2019s getting late now, so she takes one last sip of beer, pays her bill, and walks back up the main street of the tiny town. Her mind is a jumble, her thoughts too scattered to parse. All she knows is that for the first time in a while, she\u2019s itchy to play, and that\u2019s no small thing.When she makes it back to the ship, the same officer is standing at the door.\u201cGlad you decided to keep going,\u201d she says, like she knows something Greta doesn\u2019t, like she\u2019s managed to peer directly into her brain.\u201cKeep going?\u201d Greta asks as she passes over her key card.\u201cWith the cruise,\u201d the woman says, as if this should be obvious. \u201cYou know. Instead of moving here.\u201dGreta half-turns to take one more look at the little town and the great mountain behind it, then, once the card is scanned, she slips it into her pocket and hurries onto the elevator. She\u2019s about to press 7, then thinks of her tiny room with its thin walls and hits 2 instead.When she gets out, she looks left and then right down the corridor, trying to remember where it is, the jazz club they\u2019d passed that first full day at sea. She wanders by the piano bar and the casino before she finds it tucked back beside the nightclub. There\u2019s no door, no rope, just an easel advertising tonight\u2019s shows, one at eight and one at ten. For now, the tables are bare and the lights are dim.Up on the stage, there\u2019s a keyboard and a drum set, surrounded by various speakers and microphones and wires. Above those, just as there\u2019d been last time, six electric guitars hang in a row. Before she can think better of it, Greta walks up the aisle, steps onto the stage, and peers up at the first one, a red-and-white Yamaha. She looks around before lifting it gently from the hook near the lighting bar. There are several amps behind her, but she doesn\u2019t plug it in. Instead, she runs her fingers over the strings, her heart giving a little skip.When that first chord fades out, she stares out over the room.There\u2019s no audience. Just dozens of empty seats.She looks down at the guitar again.Then she takes a deep breath.And begins to play.She doesn\u2019t bother with the words; those will have to come later. For now, it\u2019s just the music, and it\u2019s different this time, fuller somehow. She closes her eyes as she plays, and when she reaches the end, when the last notes fade out, it\u2019s like emerging from a dream. She comes out of it slowly, and as she does, she notices Preeti standing uncertainly by the door. The room falls silent again as she lays a hand on the still-vibrating strings of the guitar.Greta has been playing in front of people since she was twelve. She\u2019s headlined festivals with tens of thousands of fans, recorded in some of the most famous venues in the world, jammed with some of her childhood heroes, and enjoyed more encores and ovations than she can count.But right now, nothing\u2014nothing\u2014can match the look of awe on this one girl\u2019s face.\u201cWow,\u201d Preeti says softly, and Greta smiles, because the guitar could use some tuning, and the bridge didn\u2019t really work without someone on keys, and she still needs to come up with the words to match whatever it was she just played. But even so, it was good. She could feel it.Preeti takes a few steps into the room. \u201cThat song is\u2026\u201d She shakes her head, not finding the words. \u201cDo you think you\u2019ll ever try it again? In public, I mean.\u201d\u201cI don\u2019t know,\u201d Greta admits, taking the guitar off. \u201cIt didn\u2019t go so well the last time.\u201d\u201cYeah, but it might be my new favorite,\u201d Preeti says so earnestly that Greta has to swallow the lump in her throat before speaking.\u201cThank you,\u201d she manages.\u201cThose chord changes in the middle\u2014how did you do them?\u201d\u201cHere,\u201d Greta says, holding out the guitar. \u201cI\u2019ll show you.\u201dPreeti looks momentarily dumbstruck. Then she hurries up the steps to the stage, loops the strap over her head, and places her fingers carefully on the strings. She\u2019s wearing a Blondie T-shirt and jeans that are torn at the knees and her dark hair is pulled back into a messy bun and it nearly takes Greta\u2019s breath away, how much it\u2019s like seeing her former self, right down to the way her tongue is sticking out in concentration.She looks up at Greta, suddenly shy. \u201cIt\u2019s the part between the second verse and the bridge,\u201d she says. \u201cYour hands were flying.\u201d\u201cUse your middle finger,\u201d Greta says, which makes Preeti laugh. But she adjusts her hands on the fret. \u201cThere. Try it now. Start with E.\u201dThe first note comes out with confidence; the second, more tentatively.Which is sometimes how it goes.\u201cIt\u2019s not supposed to be easy,\u201d Greta reminds her, and Preeti looks up.\u201cWhat\u2019s it supposed to be then?\u201d\u201cI think fun?\u201d Greta says with such a lack of conviction that they both start to laugh. \u201cYes. Fun. It\u2019s definitely supposed to be fun.\u201d She glances down at the guitar in Preeti\u2019s hands again. \u201cHere,\u201d she says, hooking her own fingers around an imaginary set of strings. \u201cTry it this way.\u201dPreeti\u2019s eyes dart between Greta\u2019s hands and the guitar she\u2019s holding. Then she starts again. This time, when she plays it, the notes ring out across the empty room with such satisfaction that neither of them can keep from grinning.\u201cGood,\u201d Greta says, hopping down from the stage. \u201cNow keep practicing.\u201dShe\u2019s still buzzing all over as she starts to walk back up the aisle, her heart beating fast, like it hasn\u2019t given up the song just yet.Preeti glances up. \u201cWhere are you going?\u201d\u201cI\u2019ve got somewhere I need to be,\u201d she says, but before she hurries out, she turns around one more time, looking at the girl on the stage\u2014all elbows and grim determination\u2014and she smiles. \u201cBurn it all down, okay?\u201d \n Chapter Twenty-Four\u201cSo I figured something out,\u201d Greta says the moment Ben opens the door, and if he\u2019s got any follow-up questions, he doesn\u2019t ask them. He just stares at her for a second, the air charged between them, and then he takes a step forward, and so does she, and suddenly they\u2019re kissing\u2014softly at first, then more urgently\u2014as they stumble into the room and onto the bed, letting the door fall shut behind them.A minute later, he pulls away. \u201cWait, what did you figure out?\u201dShe smiles. \u201cHow to play again.\u201d\u201cYou\u2019d stopped?\u201d\u201cIt\u2019s a long story.\u201d\u201cI\u2019d like to hear it.\u201dShe ignores this, tracing a circle around one of the buttons on his shirt. \u201cHey,\u201d she says. \u201cYou know I\u2019m not really engaged, right?\u201dHe nods. \u201cAnd you know I\u2019m not really married.\u201d\u201cWell, yeah\u2026but I\u2019m more not-engaged than you are not-married.\u201d\u201cThat\u2019s fair,\u201d he says; then, after a pause: \u201cBut I don\u2019t feel married.\u201dGreta laughs. \u201cI\u2019m sure nobody does when they\u2019re sleeping with someone else.\u201d\u201cIt\u2019s not that,\u201d he says, tucking her hair behind her ear in a way that makes her stomach dip. They both still smell like the outdoors, like sunscreen and salt water and earth.\u201cI know,\u201d she says, and kisses his shoulder. He pulls her close then, and she rests her head on his chest, feeling the rise and fall of his breathing. Her eyes drift over to the table in the corner, where his typewriter sits, entirely incongruous beside his phone and computer and other more modern devices. \u201cI still can\u2019t believe you use a typewriter.\u201d\u201cI know it seems pretentious,\u201d he says sheepishly, \u201cbut it\u2019s the only way I ever get anything written. No distractions. Just words on a page. You should try it sometime.\u201d\u201cI\u2019m writing rock music, not trying to crack the Watergate scandal,\u201d she says with a grin. \u201cI use voice memos to catch any melodies. And then notebooks for the lyrics.\u201d\u201cI\u2019m a notebook guy, too,\u201d he says. \u201cNothing beats pen and paper. Though I guess it depends on the pen.\u201dShe nods. \u201cRollerball all the way.\u201d\u201cYou\u2019re not serious,\u201d he says, shifting position so he can look at her. \u201cYou don\u2019t use a fountain pen? There\u2019s nothing better.\u201d\u201cYeah, there is. A fine-tip Pilot V5.\u201dHe laughs. \u201cWhat, do you have a sponsorship deal or something?\u201d\u201cNo, but I should really tell Howie to\u2014\u201dBefore she can finish, he kisses her, and when he pulls back again, his face is lit with such simple happiness that Greta\u2019s heart does a little judder.\u201cCan I take you out tonight?\u201d he asks.\u201cWe\u2019re on a boat.\u201d\u201cIt\u2019s a ship,\u201d he says. \u201cAnd I realize that. I just meant on a date.\u201d\u201cA date?\u201d she asks skeptically.\u201cWhat?\u201d he says. \u201cToo formal? Too nerdy?\u201dShe smiles. \u201cNo. A date would be nice.\u201dWhen she gets back to her room to shower and change, Greta glances through the pileup of messages on her phone. Pretty much anyone who\u2019s ever been on the payroll has been trying to reach her. She calls Howie, and he picks up right away.\u201cJesus,\u201d he says. \u201cWhere have you been?\u201d\u201cOn a boat,\u201d she reminds him.\u201cI know that. I meant\u2014 Never mind.\u201d He sighs, and she can picture him pinching the bridge of his nose as he does when he\u2019s stressed. Which is often. Howie manages only a small number of musicians, but most of them are significantly more famous than Greta, and he always seems to be on call. \u201cJust tell me this. Did you do it?\u201d\u201cDo what?\u201d she asks coolly. \u201cGet engaged to Luke?\u201d\u201cNo, did you\u2014\u201d\u201cPlant it? God, Howie. Of course not. What would be the point?\u201d\u201cTo get some publicity ahead of this weekend,\u201d he says flatly. That\u2019s the thing about Howie. He\u2019s not like some agents and managers. He isn\u2019t slick, and he doesn\u2019t try to charm you. He\u2019s a straight shooter all the way. Which is why she likes him. Usually.\u201cThis is not the kind of publicity I want,\u201d she says. \u201cAnd for the record, we\u2019re not even together anymore. I haven\u2019t seen him in months. And I\u2019d never leak something like this. Even if it were true.\u201d\u201cFair enough. Had to ask,\u201d Howie says matter-of-factly. \u201cNext question: Now that it\u2019s out there, do you want me to kill it or wait till after this weekend?\u201dA knot forms in Greta\u2019s chest, because she knows exactly what he\u2019s saying.That it could be helpful.That maybe she even needs it.It hasn\u2019t even been an hour, but already the joy of playing again\u2014the feel of the strings beneath her fingers and the reassuring weight of the guitar around her neck\u2014is starting to fade.She\u2019s silent for a long time. On the other end of the line, Howie clears his throat. \u201cOkay,\u201d he says. \u201cRoger that.\u201d\u201cI didn\u2019t say anything.\u201d\u201cYou don\u2019t have to.\u201dGreta sighs. \u201cLet me think about it a little more. I\u2019ll call you later.\u201d\u201cRight-o,\u201d he says, and then he hangs up the phone.There\u2019s a dress code in the dining room tonight, so Greta pulls out the nicest thing she brought, a short black dress and a pair of heels. On her way down, she spots Davis and Mary sitting on a small sofa near a panel of windows, faces pressed together as they beam into a phone. As she gets closer, Greta hears the sound of Jason\u2019s voice. She\u2019s about to make a U-turn when Davis looks up.\u201cGreta,\u201d he says so loudly that she jumps. \u201cWe\u2019re talking to Jase. Come say hi!\u201dFor a second, she considers saying no. But there\u2019s no graceful way to escape this situation, and so\u2014grimly, awkwardly\u2014she walks around the back of the couch and stoops to see Jason\u2019s face on the screen.\u201cWell, don\u2019t you look nice,\u201d he says with that dazzling smile of his, his eyes dancing with amusement. \u201cHow\u2019s life at sea?\u201dDavis hands Greta the phone, then hauls himself off the couch. Mary stands too. \u201cYou two catch up,\u201d she says. \u201cWe\u2019ve got to get ready for dinner.\u201d\u201cWhat about your phone?\u201d Greta says, holding it out to him, but Davis waves this off.\u201cWe\u2019ll get it later,\u201d he says, and then\u2014almost as an afterthought\u2014he adds, \u201cSee you, son,\u201d before walking off down the hall.When they\u2019re gone, Greta lifts the screen again, and suddenly it\u2019s just her and Jason, who is laughing. \u201cTypical,\u201d he says. \u201cAlways trying to pawn me off.\u201d\u201cHey,\u201d Greta says. \u201cCongrats on the engagement.\u201d\u201cCongrats on yours,\u201d he says, and on the screen, she can see very clearly how quickly her face turns pink.\u201cYeah, that\u2019s not actually\u2014\u201d\u201cWhat?\u201d\u201cReal. We broke up. Months ago.\u201dHe looks surprised. \u201cOh. I guess you can\u2019t always believe what you read online.\u201d\u201cShocking, I know.\u201d\u201cWell, mine is one hundred percent verified,\u201d he says gently. \u201cYou\u2019re hearing it straight from the source.\u201d\u201cI\u2019m really happy for you.\u201dHe nods. \u201cI\u2019m sorry I didn\u2019t tell you sooner. I wasn\u2019t sure how.\u201dShe peers at him through the screen, thinking how odd this is. They\u2019ve never even really talked on the phone before. \u201cYou don\u2019t owe me anything,\u201d she says, but not unkindly, and he ducks his head and runs a hand over his close-cropped hair. When he looks up again, his expression is hard to read.\u201cI do, actually. That night in Columbus, I wasn\u2019t just messing around. I need you to know that,\u201d he says, suddenly serious. \u201cOlivia and I were on a break. I\u2019m not saying it wasn\u2019t still a shitty thing to do, but we\u2019d been going through a rough patch, and I wasn\u2019t sure we\u2019d make it, and I\u2019d been thinking about you. A lot. And then your mom died, and I came back to see you, and I guess maybe I was trying to figure out if we could ever\u2026you know.\u201d\u201cWhat?\u201d she asks, trying to keep her face neutral.\u201cIf we could ever be something,\u201d he says. \u201cSomething real.\u201dGreta resists the urge to put the phone down. It\u2019s too hard to look him in the eye right now. She thinks back to that day, the way he stood there in her childhood bedroom, running a hand over her old guitar. \u201cAnd then you found out I was with Luke.\u201d\u201cNo. I mean\u2026yeah. But it wasn\u2019t just that,\u201d he says, clearly eager to be understood. \u201cIt was more that I remembered how things are with you and me.\u201d\u201cHow\u2019s that?\u201d\u201cI don\u2019t know.\u201d He shrugs. \u201cI guess you\u2019ve always sort of kept me at a distance.\u201d\u201cJason,\u201d she says, impatient now. \u201cMy mom had just died.\u201dHe holds up a hand. \u201cI know. But that\u2019s how it\u2019s always been. Ever since we were kids. You keep things light.\u201d\u201cSo do you.\u201d\u201cMaybe when we were younger,\u201d he says. \u201cBut things change.\u201dGreta feels her face get hot, thinking about all the years he snuck out of her bed while it was still dark, all the times he was careful not to leave anything behind. She remembers walking up the Bowery on a freezing cold night after too many drinks, the two of them shouting at each other because she\u2019d found out that he hadn\u2019t invited her to a Christmas party he\u2019d thrown, and then\u2014in the course of the argument\u2014he found out that she hadn\u2019t invited him to her birthday dinner either, and they went back and forth like that, before both stalking off in opposite directions, each stubbornly waiting several days for the other to make peace, until Jason finally showed up at her apartment with a bottle of wine and a sheepish grin, his coat dusted with snow, and they fell into her bed and spent the rest of the weekend there, only to part again on Monday morning with the casual, businesslike air of two people with no attachments or responsibilities to each other.She\u2019d always assumed there was a mutual understanding between them, but maybe she\u2019d been wrong. Maybe it was just her.Things change. So do people, apparently.He\u2019s still watching her from the other end of the video, his eyebrows slightly raised, and she realizes the panic she\u2019s been feeling\u2014it\u2019s not about losing Jason, who is no more hers than she was ever his. What she\u2019s lost, really, is her closest ally: someone just as fiercely independent, just as passionate about his work, someone who\u2014not that long ago\u2014would\u2019ve shuddered at the thought of wedding registries filled with fancy china and fondue sets.It\u2019s a smaller loss. But it\u2019s still a loss.\u201cI\u2019m sorry,\u201d he says, his face a bit pixelated now. Outside, the wind is whistling past the window, and a group of people in evening wear walk by in a cloud of perfume.\u201cIt\u2019s okay,\u201d she tells him, though she\u2019s not exactly sure what he\u2019s apologizing for. \u201cWe\u2019re okay.\u201d\u201cI\u2019m glad,\u201d he says with a smile. \u201cLet me know when you\u2019re back in the city. Maybe we can all get brunch sometime.\u201d\u201cI\u2019d love that,\u201d Greta says, trying to imagine making conversation with her ex-something-or-other\u2019s new fianc\u00e9e over avocado toast at some trendy Tribeca hotspot.Jason laughs. \u201cNo, you wouldn\u2019t.\u201d\u201cNo, I wouldn\u2019t,\u201d she agrees. \u201cBut we\u2019ll do it anyway.\u201dHe starts to say something else, but the picture is frozen now, capturing him there in profile, his handsome face tipped to one side.\u201cJason?\u201d she says, moving the phone around. But nothing changes. She waits a second, then another, then says, \u201cJason, I think I\u2019ve lost you,\u201d and to her surprise, her eyes prick with tears. But once she\u2019s said it, once it\u2019s out there, the next part is somehow easier. \u201cGoodbye,\u201d she says, and then she ends the call. \n Chapter Twenty-FiveWhen she gets to the dining room, Ben is waiting at the entrance in a sports coat. He\u2019s trimmed his beard, and his hair is neatly combed, and suddenly\u2014improbably\u2014this feels like an actual date.He looks oddly amused as she walks over to him.\u201cWhat?\u201d she asks, glancing down at her outfit. She\u2019d thrown a bomber jacket on over her dress, but looking around at the other passengers, most of them wearing more formal attire\u2014floor-length gowns and expensive-looking suits\u2014she wonders if she should take it off.Ben shakes his head. \u201cI was literally just thinking about what might\u2019ve happened if I\u2019d met you in New York.\u201d He gestures at her outfit. \u201cAnd then I realized you probably wouldn\u2019t have given me the time of day.\u201dGreta smiles. \u201cYou never know.\u201d\u201cMaybe not,\u201d he says, leaning to kiss her on the cheek. He lingers a moment, his mouth close to her ear, and adds, \u201cI\u2019m gonna try not to overthink it.\u201dThey\u2019re seated at a table near the window. It\u2019s supposed to be for four, but Ben convinced the ma\u00eetre d\u2019 to let them have it to themselves, and they sit looking out over the water and the gray scroll of shore.Once they\u2019ve ordered, Greta lets out a yawn, which makes Ben laugh. \u201cYou\u2019re worse than my students.\u201d\u201cSorry,\u201d she says, rubbing her eyes. \u201cIt\u2019s been a really long day.\u201d\u201cHow did it go with your dad?\u201d\u201cI don\u2019t even know how to answer that,\u201d she tells him. \u201cIt was\u2026a lot. A lot of fighting. A lot of emotion. Maybe even a lot of progress. But it was exhausting. I don\u2019t think we\u2019re built to spend that much time together. At least not without my mom.\u201dHe nods. \u201cShe was your translator.\u201d\u201cShe was,\u201d Greta says. \u201cNow it\u2019s like we\u2019re yelling at each other in two completely different languages.\u201d She twists her napkin in her hands. \u201cI\u2019ve spent so much of my life sparring with him. That\u2019s just always been the dynamic between us, even when I was younger and we got along better. He and my brother\u2014they watch baseball for fun. He and I\u2014we argue. But it feels different now.\u201d\u201cHow so?\u201dShe shrugs. \u201cHe\u2019s old. And sad. I am too. Honestly, I just didn\u2019t feel like fighting with him today. I didn\u2019t have the heart for it. Don\u2019t get me wrong\u2014I still think most of this is his fault. He\u2019s the parent. But I\u2019m obviously not blameless either. And this morning it was like\u2026I don\u2019t know. For the first time maybe ever, I guess I wished things were easier between us.\u201d\u201cYou should tell him that.\u201d\u201cI can\u2019t,\u201d she says, shaking her head. \u201cThere\u2019s way too much water under that particular bridge. And we\u2019re both much too stubborn.\u201d\u201cPeople change.\u201dGreta looks over at him. Not even an hour ago, Jason had said pretty much the same thing, and she wonders if she\u2019s the only one who hasn\u2019t changed, if she\u2019s the only one who can\u2019t.Her phone buzzes on the table and she flips it over to see Howie\u2019s name. She ignores it, taking a sip of her wine. \u201cTell me about your fishing trip,\u201d she says to Ben. \u201cDid you catch anything?\u201d\u201cYeah, I got a sockeye,\u201d he says proudly. \u201cI was the only one. It was big too.\u201d\u201cWow,\u201d she says as her phone begins to jitter again. This time, when she looks, she sees it\u2019s from Charles, Howie\u2019s husband, a trick he uses whenever a client is ignoring him. But she still doesn\u2019t answer. It doesn\u2019t matter anyway; a moment later, he texts her a link to an article in People. The headline reads: GRETA JAMES ENGAGED TO MUSIC PRODUCER. Beneath it, Howie has written: It\u2019s getting a lot of pickup. Everyone wants a quote from you. I\u2019m on now with Cleo and Anna and Miguel. They said we need something by tomorrow at the latest.Anna and Miguel are both publicists, one for the label, one hired independently. The fact that they\u2019re all on the phone together means this is serious.A quote, she thinks. What would she even say? Luke and I are thrilled to start the next chapter of our lives together?It was one thing not to correct it. It would be entirely another to lie about it.When she glances up again, Ben is watching her. She sets the phone down.\u201cMy manager,\u201d she says, by way of explanation. \u201cThe story is apparently everywhere.\u201d\u201cAnd he\u2019s getting it fixed?\u201d\u201cSort of,\u201d she says, and Ben raises his eyebrows. \u201cIt\u2019s just an issue of timing.\u201d\u201cWhat does that mean?\u201dShe picks up her fork, then sets it down again, avoiding his gaze. Her stomach is churning. \u201cI think the idea is to wait a few days.\u201d\u201cWhat for?\u201d\u201cIt\u2019s a strategic thing.\u201d\u201cWhat, like for publicity?\u201d\u201cNo,\u201d she says, then shrugs. \u201cI don\u2019t know. Maybe.\u201dAnother text comes through from Howie. We need to either give them something or kill the story. What do you want to do?Ben stares at her. \u201cPlease tell me you\u2019re not serious.\u201dShe glances back up at him, suddenly annoyed. \u201cPlease tell me you\u2019re not going to be a jerk about this because you\u2019re currently sleeping with me.\u201d\u201cThat\u2019s not why\u2014\u201d He stops and shakes his head. \u201cIt\u2019s because you\u2019re better than this. Pretending to be engaged to some guy just to\u2014what? Get some press? Some extra likes? That\u2019s not you.\u201d\u201cYou hardly know me. It\u2019s only been a few days.\u201d\u201cWell, it doesn\u2019t feel that way. At least not to me.\u201d He picks up his wine glass and takes a swig. \u201cAnyway, time is just a construct.\u201dIn spite of herself, Greta laughs. But Ben is still serious.\u201cLook, I\u2019m sure it\u2019s more complicated than it seems,\u201d he says, leaning toward her again. \u201cAnd it\u2019s not like you owe me an explanation. But I can\u2019t help thinking you don\u2019t want to deny it because you\u2019re still in love with the guy.\u201d\u201cI\u2019m not,\u201d Greta says flatly.\u201cThen what?\u201d\u201cYou just said I don\u2019t owe you an explanation.\u201dHe opens his mouth, then closes it again, looking caught out. \u201cWell, I guess I lied. Can you at least tell me more about Luke? Why\u2019d you end things with him?\u201dShe sighs. \u201cWhy do you want to know?\u201d\u201cI just do.\u201d\u201cThis isn\u2019t a relationship. We don\u2019t have to do the thing where we talk about our exes. Especially when yours isn\u2019t quite so ex.\u201d\u201cOkay, fine. What do you want to know about her?\u201d he asks, looking like someone about to submit to a drug test. He downs the rest of his wine, then pours himself some more. \u201cI\u2019ll tell you anything.\u201dGreta gives him an exasperated look. \u201cI said we don\u2019t have to do that.\u201d\u201cCome on,\u201d he says, and then he actually claps his hands. \u201cGive me your best shot.\u201d\u201cFine. What was her least favorite thing about being married to you?\u201dHe looks surprised, then he laughs. \u201cOkay, I changed my mind. This is a terrible idea.\u201d\u201cI told you,\u201d she says, smiling at him. His eyes are shiny in the light, and he looks younger in his shirtsleeves, undeniably attractive, but also so unassuming it\u2019s easy to miss it.Greta thinks about what he\u2019d said earlier, about what would happen if they\u2019d met in New York. She\u2019d gone straight to picturing him at one of her shows, a fish out of water, but now a new image starts to assemble itself in her mind: Ben making a pot of tea at her stove, the two of them reading in bed together, walking through Tompkins Square Park with ice cream on one of those perfect New York days.The fact that she\u2019s never done\u2014or even wanted\u2014any of this before doesn\u2019t strike her as odd. It wouldn\u2019t have made sense with any of the other guys she\u2019s dated. Jason, because he was always working. And Luke, because he thought he was too cool. Her college boyfriend, Wesley, existed almost entirely in his dorm room, smoking pot or playing videogames. And the few minor relationships she\u2019d had in her twenties\u2014Ryan the digital ad guy, and Pablo the coder, and Ian the hedge fund manager\u2014hadn\u2019t lasted long enough to reach that phase where even the most mundane things feel special in the right company.But with Ben, she can somehow imagine it. And though she knows it\u2019s less a personal fantasy than an amalgamation of every romantic comedy she\u2019s ever seen, every love story she\u2019s ever been told, that doesn\u2019t mean it doesn\u2019t come from someplace hopeful or wistful or true. Maybe even someplace genuine.Underneath the table, she bumps her knee lightly against his, a conciliatory gesture. \u201cIt\u2019s not about Luke,\u201d she says. \u201cThis whole thing. It\u2019s about me.\u201d\u201cWhat do you mean?\u201d\u201cI\u2019m in kind of a weird moment. It\u2019s hard to explain. Or maybe it\u2019s not. Maybe it\u2019s just embarrassing.\u201d She sighs. \u201cI hate this part.\u201d\u201cWhat?\u201d Ben asks. \u201cBeing embarrassed? If it makes you feel any better, right before you got here, I realized I had toilet paper stuck to my shoe.\u201dGreta shakes her head. \u201cNo, opening up to new people. Don\u2019t you ever wish you could skip forward, like on a record, and know everything without having to go through the motions?\u201d\u201cGod, no,\u201d he says. \u201cI love this part. It\u2019s like conducting research before you sit down to actually write. You find all these interesting facts and random ideas, but you still don\u2019t know exactly what they\u2019ll turn out to be yet. It\u2019s all possibility.\u201dWithout thinking about it, Greta kisses him, one hand on his knee, the other on the table, the starry lights all around them. When she leans back again, she takes a deep breath and says, \u201cMy mom died suddenly, and then I broke up with Luke, also suddenly, and then I tried to perform a song I\u2019d only just written and fell apart onstage\u2014like, really fell apart\u2014and the video went viral, and the critics trashed the song, and my new album got pushed, and I completely stopped performing, which is the part I\u2019ve always loved most, and it was only supposed to be for a little while, but now it\u2019s been three months, and I haven\u2019t been onstage once, and I\u2019ve got to play Gov Ball this weekend, and the label is worried I\u2019ll go rogue again, so they want me to stick to the script, showcase the new album, play some of the hits, and basically make a clean break from what happened last time, since they\u2019re counting on the livestream to get things back on track, but I\u2019m starting to wonder if that\u2019s not the right move here, if maybe Mary is right and the only way out is through, and I owe it to myself to try again, but at this point, I\u2019m worried that no matter what I play, I\u2019ll fall apart for a second time because I\u2019m still kind of a mess, and if it goes badly again, I\u2019m honestly not sure my career can survive it, and then everything else will come crashing down too because it\u2019s pretty much my entire identity, and honestly, I really hate the idea of my dad being right about it all, not to mention everyone else who doubted me along the way, especially Mitchell Kelly, who heckled me when I played \u2018Lithium\u2019 at the eighth-grade talent show, even though he\u2019s probably working some depressing desk job now and would never listen to music as cool as mine, and before you say anything, I realize this is all psychological, but it feels very, very real at the moment, especially the fear, which is something that was never an issue for me before, and yeah, maybe I\u2019m lucky to have gotten this far on hard work and sheer nerve and blind fucking faith, but it doesn\u2019t mean I don\u2019t want more, because I do, I want so much more, and I keep thinking about this profile that Rolling Stone did of me a little while back, with the headline GRETA JAMES IS FLYING HIGH, and this picture of me floating up in the clouds, and how lately, it\u2019s felt like just the opposite, like I\u2019m sinking fast, and if I don\u2019t do something, I might never be able to pull out of it, which I have to\u2014I have to\u2014because the only thing I know for sure is that I\u2019m not ready to come down yet. Not by a long shot.\u201dShe pulls in a shaky breath, and Ben stares at her for what feels like a long time.\u201cWhat,\u201d he says finally, \u201cis Gov Ball?\u201d \n Chapter Twenty-SixBy the time they order dessert, Greta has made Ben watch at least a dozen different performances from some of her favorite artists, an unofficial highlight reel she didn\u2019t even know she was in possession of: Green Day at Woodstock and Prince at Coachella, Radiohead at Bonnaroo and the Stones at Glastonbury. Something has loosened inside her again as she skips from video to video, showing Ben the ones she loves most, the volume turned low, the two of them huddled so close over her phone that she can feel the warmth of his breath.As the last notes of \u201cWild Horses\u201d carry out into the night, Mick Jagger raises his hands in the air, and the crowd cheers, and Ben leans back in his chair with a dreamy smile. \u201cThat was really nice.\u201dGreta laughs. \u201cReally nice?\u201d\u201cIt was,\u201d he says with a shrug.When they finish watching Arcade Fire play Lollapalooza, the algorithm that shuttles viewers from one video to the next suggests Greta James at Outside Lands, and Ben sits forward so fast he nearly knocks over the bottle of wine.\u201cPlay it,\u201d he says, clearly a little drunk now.Before she can object, he\u2019s already reached forward to jab the button, and there she is, wearing black leather pants and a white tank top, her lipstick already smeared from the mic, beads of sweat on her forehead as she plays the opening chords of \u201cDone and Done,\u201d the first song she ever released, the first song that got her noticed. Seeing herself on that stage, all angles and edge, her hands flying over the strings so fast it looks like a magic trick, her eyes glinting with defiance as the audience roars back at her, you wouldn\u2019t know she\u2019d started writing it after she and Jason had ended things for the thousandth time, alone in her apartment in the middle of summer with a broken air conditioner, the heat pushing up against the windows so that everything felt damp and heavy and hopeless. The song had started as an elegy but had gradually become something more forceful than that, something more empowering, and that day she debuted it\u2014somehow both forever ago and no time at all\u2014it swept out over the crowd with a pulsing energy that felt almost magnetic.Even now, on a screen the size of a deck of cards, she can feel the power of it. Not just the song but the performance, and she brings the phone closer and studies the video like it\u2019s someone else entirely up there, trying to locate the confidence behind her face the way you\u2019d use a metal detector on a beach.She rarely watches her own performances, and there\u2019s something strange about seeing this one now. She feels both immensely proud and also wildly distant, as if it doesn\u2019t belong to her anymore. As if someone else made that track. Someone else sauntered across that stage and absolutely crushed it. Someone else took a formal bow at the end, and then\u2014as the applause continued to grow\u2014waved at the crowd as she walked offstage.Someone else. Surely it had to be someone else.\u201cWow,\u201d Ben says when it\u2019s over, and Greta sets the phone down. The waiter appears behind them with their desserts: a slice of cheesecake for Ben and a strawberry tart for Greta. She tucks in right away, but Ben is still watching her. \u201cThat was\u2026it was\u2026\u201d\u201cReally nice?\u201d she suggests, and he laughs.\u201cAnd then some.\u201dShe reaches over for a forkful of his cheesecake. \u201cIsn\u2019t it weird?\u201d she asks once she\u2019s done chewing. \u201cAchieving your dreams?\u201d\u201cHow so?\u201d\u201cIt\u2019s like, if I\u2019d shown that to my twelve-year-old self,\u201d Greta says, gesturing at the phone, \u201cshe would\u2019ve lost her mind. To be playing up there in front of all those people?\u201d She shakes her head. \u201cIt would\u2019ve been a total dream come true. Just that one song alone. Did you feel the same way when you published your book?\u201d\u201cI guess so,\u201d he says thoughtfully. \u201cBut after watching that, it feels\u2026quieter.\u201dGreta laughs. \u201cBut if twelve-year-old Ben could see you now, what would he think?\u201d\u201cHe\u2019d be pretty psyched I\u2019m in Alaska,\u201d he says with a grin. \u201cAnd he\u2019d think the book was cool. But that kid was also kind of a nerd.\u201d\u201cThe odds are so crazy, right?\u201d she says, taking another bite. \u201cTo actually make a go of it. To be one of the best. It doesn\u2019t matter if you\u2019re a guitarist or a writer or a soccer player or whatever. It\u2019s all so unlikely.\u201d\u201cUntil it\u2019s not,\u201d Ben says, and she smiles at him.\u201cI remember a few years after college, this hotshot manager came to a gig I had at a bar on the Lower East Side. My best friend, Yara, was playing keyboard with me then, and I told her that all I wanted was for this guy to sign me. I didn\u2019t care if anything else happened after that. I was waiting tables at the time, and I thought I just wanted some validation\u2014some sign that this was all going somewhere. That would\u2019ve been enough, you know?\u201d She looks out the window at the perpetual dusk. \u201cYara\u2014she laughed at me. She said, \u2018If you sign with him, you\u2019ll want to make a demo. And if you make a demo, you\u2019ll want a label to pick it up. And if a label picks it up, you\u2019ll want to hit the charts. Nobody ever wants just the one thing.\u2019 \u201d She turns to Ben, who is watching her intently. \u201cAnd she was right.\u201d\u201cSo what do you want now?\u201dShe smiles. \u201cWhat a question.\u201dOn the phone\u2019s screen, the algorithm is suggesting the next video: Greta James Loses It at BAM. She watches Ben\u2019s eyes fall on the words, then flick away again.\u201cYou\u2019ve seen it,\u201d she says, \u201chaven\u2019t you?\u201dHe\u2019s quiet for a moment; then he nods. \u201cI looked you up that first night.\u201dShe reaches over to switch off the phone, and Ben leans forward.\u201cFor what it\u2019s worth,\u201d he says, \u201cI don\u2019t think it\u2019s as bad as you think. It was real and it was human and you should never apologize for that.\u201d\u201cThanks,\u201d she says in a voice full of emotion as she reaches over to take his hand. They\u2019re still sitting there like that, eyes locked, when Greta hears her name being called and looks over to see Eleanor Bloom.She\u2019s waving as she approaches them, her huge earrings swinging like chandeliers. \u201cThere you are,\u201d she says as Greta disentangles her hand from Ben\u2019s and stands to give her a hug. But a few feet short of the table, Eleanor stops dramatically, her eyes going wide. \u201cYou look just like your mother in that dress.\u201dGreta glances down, disoriented. \u201cShe never wore anything like this.\u201d\u201cYou don\u2019t remember her when she was your age,\u201d Eleanor says as the rest of the group makes their way over: Todd and Davis and Mary, followed by Conrad, who is wearing his one good shirt, with its wrinkled collar under a sports coat.Ben smooths his tie as he stands up. \u201cHi, I\u2019m\u2014\u201d\u201cJack London,\u201d Eleanor says, beaming. She winks at him, and Greta realizes she\u2019s a little drunk. They all are. \u201cWe know.\u201d\u201cOh, well\u2014\u201d he begins, but Davis cuts him off.\u201cThis looks mighty romantic,\u201d he says, surveying the half-filled wine glasses and the two place settings arranged side by side. \u201cAnything you care to tell\u2014\u201dMary thumps him in the stomach, and Davis coughs. Greta takes the opportunity to hand back his phone, which he tucks into his jacket pocket with a grin.\u201cI\u2019m glad you\u2019re having fun,\u201d Mary says to Greta. \u201cDid you try the duck?\u201d\u201cI did,\u201d Ben says cheerfully. \u201cIt was just ducky.\u201dGreta lets out a sudden laugh at this and promptly realizes she\u2019s drunk too. She glances over at Conrad, who has been standing behind the others, his eyes bouncing from the floor to the window to the table in an effort to avoid her, and she can\u2019t help feeling a little disappointed after their breakthrough this afternoon. But at last he looks at her and\u2014with a strained casualness\u2014asks, \u201cAnything new with you?\u201d and it clicks.If she\u2019d thought the rumor might reach him, she would\u2019ve headed it off. But he doesn\u2019t exactly pay attention to the types of news outlets that would have a story about the engagement between an indie musician and a well-known music producer. She has no idea how he saw it. He didn\u2019t even buy a data package for this trip.A waiter sweeps by with a tray of empty plates. Around them, the room is buzzing with laughter and conversation. But here in this little scrum, everyone is quiet.Conrad stares at Greta. And Greta stares back at him.\u201cIf you\u2019re talking about\u2014\u201d she begins, but he cuts her off.\u201cYour engagement?\u201dBen looks from one to the other, and then, slowed by the bottles of wine they\u2019d just finished, takes it upon himself to helpfully interject. \u201cOh, she\u2019s not actually engaged,\u201d he says, \u201cif that\u2019s what you\u2019re wondering.\u201dEleanor\u2019s eyebrows shoot up on her forehead. \u201cWhat?\u201d she says, her voice rising above the din. \u201cYou two are engaged?\u201dBen\u2014who had been looking pretty pleased with himself\u2014now scuttles backward a step, glancing at Greta, who says, as calmly as she can, \u201cI\u2019m not engaged to anyone.\u201dConrad frowns, but he doesn\u2019t seem angry. To her surprise, Greta realizes he looks hurt. \u201cThat\u2019s not what I heard,\u201d he says. \u201cYour aunt Wendy saw the news on Twitter.\u201dHis sister\u2014the most excitable member of their family\u2014was always reading up on Greta\u2019s life, tracking it like a reality show. \u201cTell her she shouldn\u2019t believe stuff like that,\u201d Greta says, then adds, \u201cYou shouldn\u2019t either.\u201d\u201cI don\u2019t have much choice. It\u2019s not like you bother to keep us informed.\u201dIf he notices the us, he doesn\u2019t show it. But it takes the edge off Greta\u2019s impatience. \u201cWell, now you know,\u201d she says, \u201cso you don\u2019t have to worry about\u2014\u201d\u201cYou marrying that Australian jackass?\u201d\u201cDad,\u201d Greta says, exasperated. \u201cCome on. You can either be upset about the possibility of me getting married or upset about the fact that I\u2019m not. Pick a lane.\u201dHe grunts. \u201cAll I\u2019m saying is that it would be nice to hear the news before Aunt Wendy. And Twitter.\u201d\u201cI told you, there isn\u2019t any news.\u201d\u201cWell, clearly there was.\u201d\u201cBut it wasn\u2019t true.\u201d\u201cStill.\u201dThey scowl at each other for a second, both frustrated.After a moment, Mary clears her throat. \u201cWe were on our way down to the piano bar,\u201d she says, seizing the opening to escape. \u201cMaybe we\u2019ll see you guys there?\u201d\u201cMaybe,\u201d Ben says a little too brightly.Conrad gives Greta one last look, unreadable as always, then turns and starts walking toward the exit. Eleanor hurries after him, giving his arm a comforting pat. Greta watches him go, her mouth screwed up to one side.\u201cDon\u2019t worry about him,\u201d Davis tells her. \u201cIt\u2019s a tough day.\u201d\u201cI know,\u201d Greta says. \u201cBut he doesn\u2019t have to take it out on me.\u201d\u201cAnd you don\u2019t have to take it out on him either,\u201d Mary says, her voice firm in a way that reminds Greta of her mom. \u201cHe loves you. You know that.\u201d\u201cYeah,\u201d Greta mutters. \u201cIt\u2019s just that he doesn\u2019t always like me very much.\u201dMary hesitates for a moment, then walks over and kisses the side of her head. \u201cThe love part,\u201d she says, so quietly that only Greta can hear, \u201cis more important.\u201d \n Chapter Twenty-SevenAfterward, Ben suggests they go to the casino.\u201cYou don\u2019t strike me as a gambler,\u201d Greta says, looking at him doubtfully.\u201cI\u2019m not,\u201d he says with a grin. \u201cBut I\u2019m feeling lucky tonight.\u201dThey start with blackjack, and each manages to lose fifty bucks by the time their drinks even arrive. Greta knocks hers back and suggests they quit while they\u2019re behind. But then her phone rings.\u201cBe right back,\u201d she tells Ben, weaving through tables and slot machines, trying to find an exit amid all the mirrors and flashing lights.\u201cWhere are you?\u201d Asher asks when she picks up. \u201cIt sounds like Vegas.\u201d\u201cIt feels like Vegas. What\u2019s up?\u201d\u201cOh, nothing much,\u201d he says. \u201cJust calling to see if I should be picking out a tux for your upcoming nuptials. Thanks for writing me back, by the way.\u201dGreta ducks into the hallway. \u201cSorry, it\u2019s been a long day.\u201d\u201cSure,\u201d he says, his voice full of mirth. \u201cWedding planning can be stressful.\u201d\u201cAsher.\u201d\u201cWhat?\u201d\u201cYou know it\u2019s not true.\u201d\u201cWell, it\u2019s nice to hear it straight from the source,\u201d he says, relenting. \u201cI bet Dad was excited about the possibility.\u201dShe can\u2019t tell whether he\u2019s kidding or not, and she doesn\u2019t bother to ask. \u201cHave you talked to him?\u201d\u201cNot today.\u201dA ship\u2019s officer walks past, and Greta returns his crisp nod before shifting to face the wall. \u201cDid you know?\u201d she says to her brother. \u201cAbout the ashes?\u201d\u201cHe brought them?\u201d he asks, surprised.\u201cNot all of them.\u201d\u201cGood, because the girls want to spread some in our garden.\u201dGreta frowns. \u201cIsn\u2019t that a little morbid?\u201d\u201cThey\u2019re ashes. Of course it\u2019s morbid. All of this is. Where did you spread the rest of them?\u201d\u201cOn a glacier.\u201dHe whistles. \u201cWow. She would\u2019ve loved that.\u201d\u201cI know,\u201d Greta agrees, her throat suddenly thick.\u201cHow was it?\u201d\u201cHard,\u201d she says. \u201cReally hard.\u201d\u201cI bet.\u201d Asher\u2019s voice is so soft it makes her want to cry. \u201cI wish I\u2019d been there. But it\u2019s better that you were.\u201d\u201cWhat does that mean?\u201d\u201cYou know what it means,\u201d he says, and she does. They both do. They\u2019ve just never said it out loud before. Helen didn\u2019t play favorites the way Conrad did; her affection for Asher was never in doubt, her love for both of her children a seemingly infinite resource. But everyone knew the bond she had with Greta was special.\u201cThanks, Ash,\u201d she says quietly.\u201cFor what?\u201d\u201cI don\u2019t even know.\u201d\u201cWorld\u2019s best brother?\u201dShe smiles. \u201cSomething like that.\u201dWhen Greta returns to the casino, Ben is at the roulette table. As she walks up, he pushes a small pile of chips onto number 12.\u201cYour birthday?\u201d she asks, and he shakes his head. \u201cOne of your daughters\u2019 birthdays?\u201dThe dealer spins the wheel, and they both watch the ball bounce around madly. It lands on 00. Everyone at the table groans.\u201cJack London\u2019s,\u201d Ben says sheepishly as they cash in their remaining chips and get up from the table. Around them, the slot machines are dinging and beeping, and a cheer goes up as someone makes their point at craps.\u201cWhat is it with you and that guy?\u201d Greta asks, amused.Ben shrugs. \u201cHe\u2019s an incredible writer.\u201d\u201cI mean, I realize Call of the Wild is a big deal and all, but it can\u2019t be that good.\u201dHe stops and turns to her. \u201cWait. You haven\u2019t read it?\u201dShe shakes her head, and his mouth falls open. It\u2019s like she\u2019s told him she killed someone.\u201cSeriously?\u201d\u201cSeriously.\u201d\u201cBut you raised your hand,\u201d he says, wide-eyed. \u201cAt my lecture.\u201d\u201cOh,\u201d she says. \u201cYeah. Sorry. I lied.\u201dHe looks utterly scandalized. \u201cWhy would you lie about something like that?\u201d\u201cI think I once saw the movie and figured that was enough. Besides, I know the basics: the gold rush, and Alaska, and the wolf, and\u2014\u201d\u201cThe wolf?\u201d he asks, indignant. \u201cYou think Buck was a wolf?\u201d\u201cWasn\u2019t he?\u201dBen looks like his head is about to explode. \u201cHe was a sled dog. That\u2019s, like, the whole point of the book,\u201d he sputters. \u201cHow can you not\u2014 It\u2019s one of the foremost\u2014 I mean, every kid should have to\u2014\u201d He stops and shakes his head. \u201cIt\u2019s a classic!\u201dGreta holds up her hands. \u201cOkay, okay. I\u2019ll give it a read.\u201d\u201cGreat,\u201d he says, suddenly businesslike. \u201cI have an extra copy in my room, in case of emergency. Should we go get it now?\u201d\u201cI appreciate your enthusiasm, but I don\u2019t think this qualifies as an emergency.\u201d\u201cFine,\u201d he says, still looking determined. \u201cYou can read it in the morning and then I\u2019ll buy you a drink tomorrow night and you can give me a full report.\u201dShe holds up her empty glass, rattling the ice. \u201cThe drinks are free, remember?\u201d\u201cI remember,\u201d he says, his eyes shining as he takes it from her. \u201cBut I\u2019ll buy you one anyway.\u201dThey get refills at the bar, then leave the noise of the casino behind, making their way unsteadily down the starboard passageway. At the piano bar, they pause to peek inside. There\u2019s an old white guy with gray hair joyfully plunking out a Billy Joel song, and Eleanor Bloom is perched on top of the piano with a microphone, her eyes closed as she belts out the words. She\u2019s almost completely out of tune, but she\u2019s singing with enough gusto that it doesn\u2019t seem to matter. Todd lifts a glass in her direction, a little red-faced, and Davis roars with laughter. Mary and Conrad are behind them at the bar, swaying in time with the music.\u201cLet\u2019s get out of here,\u201d Greta says, because it\u2019s all a bit too much right now, and so they scoot past the entrance, their drinks sloshing in their clear plastic cups.Farther down the corridor, the sound of a saxophone drifts from the jazz bar, rich and full and thrilling, and without thinking about it, Greta finds herself leading them inside.\u201cIs this where you played before?\u201d Ben whispers as they find a spot in the back.Greta nods, her eyes drifting to the guitars above the stage. Underneath them, the jazz trio\u2014which consists of keys, sax, and drums\u2014moves seamlessly from one tune to the next, the crowd clapping their hands and tapping their feet. The music is lively and unpredictable, and Greta closes her eyes and lets it course through her, wishing for a second that she were up there too. But for now, it\u2019s enough to listen.After a few minutes, she takes a step back, then another, then turns and heads out into the hallway, the music still pulsing through her. Ben follows her down the dimly lit corridor with a dreamy smile.\u201cI don\u2019t know why I never go see live music,\u201d he says. \u201cIt\u2019s so exhilarating. Is that what it\u2019s like when you play? Because I\u2019d love to see you sometime.\u201dHe sounds so earnest, so unassuming, that Greta\u2019s not really thinking when she says, \u201cAll you have to do is buy a ticket.\u201d\u201cI think I will,\u201d he says, and she stops walking and spins to face him. He\u2019s not smiling anymore. In fact, he looks surprisingly serious. \u201cI\u2019ve always wanted to go to Gov Ball.\u201dShe stares at him. \u201cSeriously?\u201d\u201cNo,\u201d he says with a sheepish grin. \u201cI didn\u2019t even know what it was until tonight. But I would like to be there. If it\u2019s not too\u2014\u201d\u201cNo,\u201d she says quickly. \u201cIt\u2019s not too\u2026\u201d But her heart is beating fast, and she addresses this next part to the floor: \u201cActually, I don\u2019t know.\u201d\u201cYou don\u2019t know what?\u201d\u201cIt\u2019s just\u2014there\u2019s a lot at stake.\u201d\u201cAnd I make you nervous?\u201dThis is clearly meant to be a joke. It\u2019s meant to sound preposterous. But Greta nods. \u201cSort of,\u201d she says, though when she tries to imagine what it would be like to see his face in the crowd, she feels more reassured than anything. It\u2019s the rest of it that makes her nervous.Ben looks amused now, maybe even a little pleased. \u201cAnother time then, maybe.\u201d\u201cAnother time,\u201d she agrees.He takes her hand, and they continue down the hall, winding along the edge of the ship. Outside, it\u2019s fully dark now, and all she can see in the windows is their reflection, Ben in his sports coat and Greta in her dress. She pauses for a second to look at the blurry image, but then Ben steps forward and cups his hands against the glass.\u201cWow,\u201d he says, and Greta does the same, peering out at the wash of stars, glinting above the darkened water. He turns to her, just slightly, and puts a hand on her hip, and she takes a handful of his shirt and pulls him closer. When they kiss, it\u2019s long and slow and hungry, the two of them leaning there against the cool of the window, pressed up against the world, and it isn\u2019t until someone lets out a whistle that they break apart again.\u201cSteamy,\u201d says the old lady with a mischievous grin, and when Greta glances back at the glass, sure enough it is.Eventually, they end up at the ship\u2019s only real nightclub, a black box of a bar that\u2019s pulsing with pink and purple lights and playing mostly disco music. There are a few intrepid couples on the dance floor, none of them younger than sixty, including one duo that\u2019s somehow managing to execute proper ballroom moves to \u201cI Will Survive.\u201d When the next song comes on, they\u2019re joined by two men she recognizes from the other night\u2019s ill-fated musical; they gaze deeply into each other\u2019s eyes as they sway, arms around each other.Ben\u2019s shoulder is pressed against Greta\u2019s on the velvet banquette, and his breath smells like cherries from the cocktail he ordered. She\u2019s busy studying his profile, the way his head bobs to the beat of the music, when he turns to her.\u201cWhat?\u201d he asks with a little frown. \u201cWhy are you looking at me like that?\u201d\u201cI was just thinking that my mom would\u2019ve loved you.\u201d\u201cI\u2019ve always been extremely popular with moms,\u201d he jokes, but she can tell he\u2019s happy.\u201cShe read your book, you know.\u201dHis face brightens. \u201cShe did?\u201d\u201cMary told me at your lecture. They were in a book club together.\u201d\u201cDid she like it?\u201dGreta smiles. \u201cApparently, she did.\u201d\u201cIsn\u2019t it funny, the way you make a thing and put it out into the world and then it drifts so much farther than you ever could\u2019ve imagined?\u201d he says. \u201cLike a lost balloon.\u201d\u201cOr a message in a bottle,\u201d Greta says. \u201cSince the whole point is to let it go.\u201dBen leans away, just slightly, but enough so that there\u2019s now a space between their shoulders. \u201cI\u2019ve never been very good at that part,\u201d he admits, his face troubled beneath the speckled light of the disco ball.\u201cIt gets easier,\u201d Greta says. \u201cYou\u2019ll see when you finish your next book, and you start\u2014\u201d\u201cWe\u2019re supposed to have a talk when I get back.\u201d\u201cWho?\u201d she asks, though she already knows.He downs the rest of his drink. \u201cI don\u2019t know what to do. Sometimes I think it doesn\u2019t matter whether or not I still love her. That there are more important reasons to stay. Not just the kids, but there\u2019s so much history there. And it\u2019s hard to close the book on that, you know? But other times\u2026\u201d He looks over at her, his eyes pleading. \u201cI don\u2019t know. It\u2019s like I want to take this last week and bottle it up so I can remember how it feels in case I ever start to lose my nerve.\u201dWhen he looks at her, Greta isn\u2019t sure what to say. What she\u2019s thinking is: Of course he\u2019ll go back. He has a wife and kids and a mortgage. She can picture his life at home: the yard full of plastic toys and the basement with pipes that burst in the winter. The PTA meetings at the elementary school and the group of friends they make plans with every month, promising themselves they\u2019ll try that new place in the city but ultimately settling for their usual spot in the suburbs because one of the kids has a sore throat and it\u2019s been a busy week and it\u2019s easier that way. He probably has a lawnmower. And a grill. And a special voice he uses when reading bedtime stories. He has a whole world.It\u2019s not easy to turn such a big ship.A new song comes on, slower this time, and around them, several couples wobble to their feet. After a moment, Ben stands too. \u201cI think we should dance,\u201d he says, holding out a hand, and then he leads her solemnly out onto the floor and pulls her close.Greta can\u2019t remember the last time she danced like this. It was probably with Jason at Asher\u2019s wedding, the two of them leaving enough space to maintain the illusion that this was just a neighborly friendship, even as he slipped the key to his hotel room into her hand. But this is different. She wants to think it\u2019s corny, her cheek pressed against his chest, his hands knotted against the small of her back, but she can\u2019t muster any kind of cynicism right now.\u201cCan I tell you something?\u201d Ben says, leaning back to look at her, his eyes searching hers. \u201cIt\u2019s not just because of his writing.\u201d\u201cWhat?\u201d she asks, confused.\u201cThe reason I\u2019m so inspired by Jack London. It\u2019s because he lived this great big life.\u201dThe song ends, and the DJ puts on something faster, and the dance floor begins to empty again. Greta stops moving, and Ben does too, their arms still around each other. They just stand there under the swirling lights.\u201cHe wasn\u2019t only a writer,\u201d Ben says with an odd sort of urgency. \u201cHe was a sailor, an explorer, a boxer, an oyster pirate, an activist. He went up to the Klondike when he was only twenty-one to seek his fortune, which sounds so wild and romantic, but in the end it was writing that really did it for him. He was this gutsy, intrepid adventurer, you know? But he was also just a guy with a pen.\u201dGreta watches the lights flicker across his face. He lowers his arms and takes a step back. Above them, a disco ball twirls, bathing the room in silver.\u201cI mean, look around,\u201d he says, and she does: at the last few swaying couples, the people at the bar, the man falling asleep in the corner. \u201cHow many people really live? Like, really and truly do something big with their lives?\u201d His eyes find Greta\u2019s again, and there\u2019s an intensity to them she hasn\u2019t seen before. \u201cI have a good life. But until recently, it\u2019s been a small one too. And mostly I\u2019m okay with that. But every once in a while, I look around and it sort of cracks me over the head. How contained it all is. How safe. And it makes me realize how few risks I\u2019ve taken.\u201d He reaches for her hands, both of them. When he speaks again, his voice is determined. \u201cI want to take more risks. I want to make it count.\u201dShe doesn\u2019t know if he\u2019s talking about this night. Or this moment. Or something altogether bigger. But either way, she understands.Either way, she wants to make it count too. \n \n Chapter Twenty-EightSometime in the night, Greta must\u2019ve agreed to go on some sort of excursion with Ben this morning. She has absolutely no memory of this, but nevertheless she wakes to find him standing over the bed in a green hooded sweatshirt that says SAVE THE WHALES, looking entirely too enthusiastic for seven A.M.\u201cHey.\u201d He nudges her shoulder. \u201cWe\u2019ve got fifteen minutes.\u201dShe yawns. \u201cWhat\u2019s happening now?\u201d\u201cWhale watching,\u201d he says, beaming, but then his smile slips. \u201cYou didn\u2019t forget, did you?\u201d\u201cCan you forget something you don\u2019t remember knowing in the first place?\u201dHe sits on the edge of the bed and leans over her, smelling of mint toothpaste. \u201cTrust me, we\u2019re going to have a whale of a time,\u201d he says. Then\u2014even as she rolls her eyes at him\u2014he kisses her on the nose.Looking out the window, she can see that the ship has docked flush up against a huge wooden pier, beyond which there\u2019s nothing but forest, everything green and thick and wooded. A seagull flies low past the veranda, and they can hear laughter from the people next door.\u201cWhere are we again?\u201d Greta asks, rolling onto her stomach. Her head is pounding, her mouth full of cotton. \u201cAnd how much did we drink last night?\u201d\u201cIcy Strait Point,\u201d Ben says as he stands and walks over to the dresser. \u201cAnd a lot.\u201dWhen he turns around again, he\u2019s holding a small worn paperback. He hands it over carefully, almost reverently, and she sees that it\u2019s an old copy of The Call of the Wild, the spine cracked, the pages foxed and yellow.\u201cI thought you said you had a spare.\u201dHe shrugs. \u201cI have plenty of others.\u201d\u201cYeah, but this one\u2026\u201d She looks up at him. \u201cIt must be worth something.\u201d\u201cOnly to me,\u201d he says with a smile. \u201cIt was my first ever copy.\u201dShe stares down at the cover, a faded illustration of two dogs locked in battle. A classic story of the frozen North, it says.\u201cBen, I can\u2019t take this.\u201d\u201cIt\u2019s just a loan,\u201d he insists. \u201cBut that copy\u2014it\u2019s magic. It changed my whole life.\u201d\u201cIt\u2019s too important,\u201d she says, trying to hand it back to him.But he only smiles. \u201cI trust you with important things.\u201dA few minutes later, she has it tucked under her arm as she sneaks out into the hallway in a pair of Ben\u2019s sweatpants and an oversized Dave Matthews Band hoodie. She pauses to check her phone. Six new messages from Howie. Her heart sinks a little further with each one.If you want to go along with this, I need a quote ASAP.I\u2019m happy to write it for you.Something vague, maybe?Or we can shut the whole thing down.Let me know what you want to do.Like, now.She turns the phone off again and hurries down the hall. To her relief, the only people she passes\u2014a group with matching family reunion shirts\u2014are too busy arguing to notice her. It isn\u2019t until she reaches the elevators that her luck runs out. Of all people, her dad is there, waiting with a newspaper tucked under his arm. Greta briefly considers darting away, but it\u2019s too late. He glances over, raising his eyebrows at her disheveled appearance: wild hair, bare feet, heels dangling from one hand.\u201cI\u2019m going whale watching,\u201d she announces, because her brain is still too fuzzy to come up with anything better.\u201cIn that?\u201d he asks with an entirely straight face.She steps up beside him, and they both turn to the elevator doors, hands clasped behind their backs in the exact same way. Above them, something soft and classical plays from the speaker, and Greta lifts her eyes to the ceiling, trying to come up with something else to say.\u201cI\u2019m sorry I forgot your anniversary,\u201d she tells him eventually, and he looks over at her in surprise. \u201cIt\u2019s weird. Sometimes all I can do is think about her. And sometimes it hurts too much.\u201dHis voice, when he speaks, is like sandpaper. \u201cMe too.\u201dThe elevator dings, the doors sliding open in front of them. It\u2019s empty, but neither of them moves to get on. After a moment, the doors shut again.Somehow, they\u2019re still standing there. Together.\u201cShe kept a picture of Glacier Bay taped to the fridge,\u201d he says without looking at her. \u201cEvery morning, when she went to get the milk for our tea, she\u2019d smile and say, \u2018That looks just like heaven.\u2019 \u201d He turns his watery green eyes to Greta. \u201cI have no idea how to do this without her.\u201dBefore she can say anything, the doors open again, and this time, a family in swim gear is waiting on the other side, two moms with three kids, the toddler in the midst of a tantrum, red-faced and furious. All five of them shift to the side in a cloud of tears and sunscreen, leaving room for two more. But Conrad is still watching Greta, and Greta is still watching Conrad.She\u2019s about to let this one go too\u2014not yet ready for the conversation to be over\u2014when he looks between her and the elevator, his face flickering with indecision. Finally he gives his head a shake, and then, just like that, he turns and walks off down the hall without saying a word.\u201cTotally understandable,\u201d says one of the moms with a grin. The other one catches the door before it closes, so Greta steps on.When she arrives at the meeting spot outside on the pier, Ben is already there. He\u2019s wearing jeans and sneakers and a puffy vest over his hoodie, and his eyes are shielded by the brim of a navy Columbia cap. There\u2019s a moment before he sees her where she stands there watching him, and it\u2019s a little dizzying, honestly, to feel her rib cage expand like that, to feel every inch of her heart inside it.\u201cWhat?\u201d he asks, as she walks over and fits herself under his arm.\u201cNothing,\u201d she says.The whale watching boat is bigger than the one she took yesterday, and she and Ben file aboard behind people with serious binoculars and even more serious cameras. Most of them huddle inside; the morning is chilly, and it\u2019ll be a while before they\u2019re far enough out to see any whales. But Greta and Ben head straight for the top deck anyway, their eyes already stinging from the wind.They stand near the rail as the boat peels away from the dock, watching the cruise ship recede, their gloved hands wrapped around the metal railing. As they get farther out from the shore, they can see the whole of Icy Strait Point, a small collection of red wooden buildings on stilts and a rocky beach, all tucked beneath the cascading evergreens.The tinny voice of a guide greets them through the speakers positioned around the boat. He walks them through the safety instructions, interrupting himself to point out a family of otters floating on their backs. Greta squints but can\u2019t make out the shapes. Ben nudges her with his elbow and hands over a pair of binoculars.\u201cYou\u2019re so prepared,\u201d she says, peering out at the sunbathing otters.\u201cI was a Boy Scout.\u201d\u201cOf course you were.\u201d She hands them back. \u201cHave you ever seen one before?\u201d\u201cA whale? Not up close.\u201d He looks a little wistful. \u201cI really hope we do. They seem impossible, don\u2019t they? Something that big. That ancient. There\u2019s something almost holy about them.\u201dGreta turns to face him. \u201cHow are you having trouble writing about Melville? You clearly love this stuff.\u201d\u201cWell, it wasn\u2019t all whales with him.\u201d\u201cWant to know what I think?\u201d\u201cDo I have a choice?\u201d\u201cI think you\u2019re afraid to move on,\u201d she says. \u201cYou had a good thing going with Jack. He\u2019s what you\u2019ve always known. So it\u2019s daunting now, the idea of figuring out someone new.\u201d\u201cAre we still talking about dead authors or is this a metaphor?\u201dShe laughs. \u201cYou\u2019re the writer.\u201d\u201cI think I prefer subtext,\u201d he says with a grin as a few people in brightly colored jackets begin to emerge from down below, clanging up the metal staircase.They sail deeper into the wilderness, the tiny speck of Icy Strait Point getting more and more distant in their wake. Everything in Alaska feels like the middle of nowhere, but they\u2019re especially isolated now. The guide comes over the loudspeaker to point out a bald eagle overhead, and Greta can see the flash of brown and the white head. Ben hands over the binoculars again, and it takes her a minute to find the enormous bird as it slices through the sky.\u201cOkay, folks,\u201d the guide says over the loudspeaker as the engine sputters off and the ship bobs like a cork in the sudden quiet. \u201cWe got word there was a pod here this morning, so we\u2019re gonna hang out for a while and see if they feel like saying hello.\u201dGreta leans against the cold railing, her eyes raking the water. Ben wraps his arms around her, and she\u2019s grateful for the warmth, and for the weight of his chin on her shoulder.\u201cSometimes it just takes time,\u201d the guide says over the speaker, and so they wait, everyone on the boat unnaturally quiet, everything around it too. It feels like they\u2019re all holding their breath, like someone has hit pause on the world.And then, just like that, there\u2019s a break in the water.From a distance, it could almost be anything. Just a dark smudge amid all that blue. A dorsal fin, moving in a slow, graceful arc as a humpback whale breaks the surface before disappearing again.Greta surprises even herself by letting out a cry of delight. Around her, others exclaim too. Cameras shutter and click and beep. And everyone from the other side of the boat rushes over, eyes on the water, hoping for another glimpse.\u201cDid you see it?\u201d Ben whispers excitedly, moving to stand beside her at the rail. Greta nods but can\u2019t bring herself to talk. She\u2019s too busy keeping watch.The entire boat is silent again.They wait. And wait.Finally, there\u2019s another slight disruption in all that blue, and then a faint spray from the blowhole. But nothing else.Greta\u2019s eyes start to water. She\u2019s afraid to blink.When the humpback surfaces again, there\u2019s nothing subtle about it. The whale comes bursting out of the water, tall and straight as a torpedo, its body sleek and powerful, and Greta watches in astonishment as it does the world\u2019s most dramatic belly flop, sending up an explosion of white. Everyone is gasping and cheering like it was a show put on just for them, a feat of athleticism or an especially impressive magic trick.A classic story of the frozen North, Greta thinks, looking out at the place where it disappeared.They spot the whale only one more time before they move on. A flash of tail so perfect that it almost seems cartoonish. It\u2019s rare to see something in real life that actually matches up with all the many imitations you\u2019ve seen, Greta thinks. It\u2019s rare to get that chance, to watch a whale\u2019s tail disappear into the peaceful water in a place like this, the sky like a deep blue bowl set down above them, the mountains and trees as soft and blurred as watercolors around the edges of it.She and Ben look at each other, but neither says anything, and she knows that he\u2019s moved by it too, that whatever happened out here was almost too big for words.She takes his gloved hand and gives it a squeeze.On the way back, they pause once more for another pair of whales, who mostly just float, their enormous backs cresting every now and then. But it\u2019s nothing compared to that first one.As the boat picks up speed, Greta watches the churning wake. They\u2019re once again alone on the upper deck, and though her fingers are frozen and her nose is running, she doesn\u2019t yet feel ready to go inside, to break the spell. She leans into Ben, and under her breath, so quietly she\u2019s not even sure he can hear, not even sure she wants him to, she begins to sing.\u201cBaby beluga in the deep blue sea\u2026\u201dIt\u2019s not the jaunty version, the one children sing. It\u2019s slower and softer than that, something entirely new, something she\u2019s halfway making up as she goes, and it\u2019s almost haunting, the way it mixes with the wind.\u201cSwim so wild and you swim so free\u2026\u201dGreta closes her eyes.\u201cHeaven above and the sea below\u2026\u201dBen\u2019s head is cocked as he listens.\u201cAnd a little white whale on the go.\u201dWhen she\u2019s finished, she opens her eyes again, and Ben leans forward, resting his elbows on the rail. Beneath them, the boat sways.\u201cI sing that to my girls sometimes,\u201d he says.She nods. \u201cMy mom used to sing it to me.\u201d\u201cIt\u2019s beautiful,\u201d he tells her, \u201cthe way you did it.\u201dThey\u2019re still far from shore. Everything out here feels untouched and pristine, clean and uncomplicated. She turns to face him, her heart quickening.\u201cMy dad asked me to come back,\u201d she says. \u201cJust before my mom died.\u201dHe looks at her but doesn\u2019t say anything.\u201cShe\u2019d been having these headaches, and he was worried. I was in Germany for a show I\u2019d been looking forward to.\u201d She closes her eyes. \u201cWe\u2019ve always had this way of hurting each other, of pretending we don\u2019t care what the other thinks. I figured he was trying to make me feel guilty because I was so far away.\u201dBen looks stricken. \u201cYou couldn\u2019t have known what would happen.\u201d\u201cMaybe not. But I could\u2019ve been there.\u201d\u201cIt wouldn\u2019t have changed anything.\u201d\u201cNo,\u201d she says, her heart like a weight in her chest. \u201cBut at least I would\u2019ve gotten to say goodbye.\u201dHis eyes are full of sympathy. \u201cI\u2019m sure she knew how you felt.\u201dGreta thinks of the last text exchange she\u2019d had with her mom, which was\u2014of course\u2014completely ordinary. At work, Helen had run into the music teacher, who had gushed about Greta.I offered you up for the winter recital, Helen had written, and Greta could so clearly picture the face she\u2019d be making, that gleeful, slightly devilish look she got whenever she teased her daughter. It\u2019ll just be you and a couple dozen first graders. I figured you\u2019d be fine with it.Sounds delightful, Greta had responded. Wish I could.Helen\u2019s reply was quick: I bet!Greta had typed the next part without really thinking. It was late in Berlin, and Luke was already asleep beside her and she had to be up early the next day for sound check. Thanks for thinking of me, she wrote, and then she switched off her phone. It wasn\u2019t until she turned it on again the next morning that the response came through.I\u2019m always thinking of you.Hours later, while Greta was onstage in front of thousands of fans, something ruptured deep inside her mother\u2019s brain, sending her into a coma.And that was it.The end of the only conversation that had ever really mattered to her.On the boat, they\u2019re both quiet for a long time, Greta and Ben, their eyes fixed on the blue-gray water.\u201cI\u2019ve never told anyone that,\u201d she says eventually, and he puts an arm around her shoulders.\u201cThanks for telling me.\u201dShe nods. \u201cI trust you with important things.\u201d \n Chapter Twenty-NineThey\u2019re not quite to shore when Greta\u2019s phone starts buzzing again. She slips it out of her jacket pocket and scrolls through her messages. It\u2019s been only a couple hours, but there are a lot of them, still mostly about Luke: a flurry of interview requests and messages from friends. But it all feels so far away right now, out on the water, silly and insignificant.She glances over at Ben, who is looking at his own phone with an unreadable expression. \u201cI missed five calls from Emily.\u201d\u201cWho?\u201d\u201cMy wife,\u201d he says, then grimaces. \u201cMy ex-wife. I\u2019m just gonna\u2026\u201d\u201cOf course,\u201d Greta says as he brings the phone to his ear, his jaw set and his face suddenly businesslike. But after a second, he shakes his head.\u201cMy service cut out again.\u201d\u201cWant to use mine?\u201d\u201cNo, that\u2019s okay,\u201d he says, looking off toward the spit of beach, with its huddle of red buildings, which they\u2019re fast approaching, the boat tipping up and down over the chop. \u201cI\u2019ll try again in a few minutes.\u201d\u201cHey,\u201d she says, turning to him as the pier comes into sight and the boat begins to slow. \u201cI changed my mind.\u201d\u201cAbout what?\u201d\u201cGov Ball.\u201dHe frowns at her. \u201cYou\u2019re not doing it?\u201d\u201cNo,\u201d she says, taking a deep breath. \u201cI am. I\u2019m definitely doing it.\u201d\u201cGood,\u201d he says with a small smile. \u201cThat\u2019s really good.\u201d\u201cAnd I\u2019d like you to come.\u201dHe looks surprised. \u201cYeah?\u201d\u201cYeah.\u201d\u201cI thought I made you nervous.\u201dShe laughs. \u201cYou do.\u201d\u201cBut?\u201d\u201cYou also make me calm,\u201d she says, and he pulls her close. Even before she says this next part, there\u2019s a piece of her that can\u2019t believe she\u2019s saying it at all. \u201cYou make me\u2026\u201d\u201cWhat?\u201d he asks with a grin, like he already knows what she\u2019s going to say.\u201cHappy.\u201dWhen he kisses her, his lips taste of salt. \u201cAre you going to play that song?\u201d\u201cWhat, \u2018Baby Beluga\u2019?\u201dHe laughs. \u201cThe one from the video.\u201d\u201c \u2018Astronomy,\u2019 \u201d she says, and even just the word sends a ripple of anxiety through her. \u201cI doubt it. They want me to focus on the new album. It\u2019s a safer bet.\u201dBen raises his eyebrows.\u201cWhat?\u201d\u201cYou don\u2019t strike me as someone who goes in for safe bets,\u201d he says, and Greta wishes she could be as sure as he sounds.On the dock, people are waiting in line for the next tour. Below them, there are children playing on the beach, tossing rocks into the water and squealing when the surf comes up too high, their laughter carried by the wind.The boat bumps up against the wooden pier with a thud, and Greta and Ben make their way down from the top deck, nodding at the crew as they pass through the interior and back out into the sunshine. A little boy looks up at them urgently as they weave through the assembled crowd.\u201cDid you see any?\u201d he asks, shuffling around in his excitement.\u201cA few,\u201d Greta says. \u201cYou\u2019ll have to say hi to them for us.\u201dHe frowns at her. \u201cWhales don\u2019t talk.\u201d\u201cNo, but they wave,\u201d she tells him with a grin.At the end of the dock, there\u2019s a sprawling red building filled with gift shops and restaurants. Ben tries his phone again as they walk inside, their eyes adjusting to the light beneath the lofty wood-beamed ceiling. Near the entrance, a small cannery museum is set up, and Greta wanders over to look at the huge cast-iron structures, which were apparently once used to cut and clean the fish before stuffing them into cans.She turns around, ready to make a joke to Ben\u2014something about close quarters and sardines; she hasn\u2019t quite gotten there yet\u2014but she sees that he\u2019s still standing near the door, the phone pressed to his ear. From this distance, it\u2019s hard to read his face. The barnlike building is filled with noise and chatter, and between them, people crisscross the wooden floors, carrying bags from the gift shops or eating crab cakes out of paper boats. Still, she can tell by the hunch of his shoulders that something is wrong.As she watches, he lowers the phone and looks around. When his eyes find hers, there\u2019s something wild about them. He hurries over to where she\u2019s still standing beside the canning machine.She doesn\u2019t ask if everything is okay. She already knows it\u2019s not.\u201cHannah broke her arm,\u201d he says, his voice cracking. \u201cIt\u2019s really bad.\u201dGreta swallows. \u201cWhat happened?\u201d\u201cShe fell at the playground. They\u2019re at the hospital now.\u201d He glances around, his gaze unfocused as he takes in the odd collection of fish-related contraptions. \u201cI don\u2019t know what to do. She must be so scared.\u201d He blinks a few times, his eyes glassy. \u201cI can\u2019t believe I\u2019m not there right now. I can\u2019t believe I\u2019m not home.\u201dGreta isn\u2019t sure what to say. Everything that occurs to her feels woefully inadequate: I\u2019m sorry and That\u2019s awful and I hope she\u2019ll be okay.She says it anyway: \u201cI\u2019m so sorry.\u201dBut Ben is distracted now, looking at something on his phone, rubbing the back of his neck with his other hand. It\u2019s a gesture she hasn\u2019t seen before, maybe something he does when he\u2019s upset or worried or both, and as she watches him, Greta is suddenly aware of how little they actually know each other. At the end of the day, they\u2019re just two strangers who\u2019ve spent less than a week together in a place that\u2019s about as far from their real lives as it\u2019s possible to get.Her heart is thudding for reasons she can\u2019t quite explain.\u201cI should go,\u201d Ben says, snapping his head up.Greta nods. \u201cRight. Sure. I\u2019ll go back with you.\u201dFor a split second, he looks bewildered by her response. But then he shakes his head. \u201cNo,\u201d he says. \u201cI meant\u2026home. I should go home. I should be there with her.\u201dShe stares at him, feeling like she\u2019s misread something important, like she\u2019d accidentally gone straight to sympathy on some invisible continuum, when perhaps the situation warranted something more serious. \u201cShe\u2019s going to be okay, right?\u201d she asks, and a flicker of impatience passes over Ben\u2019s face.\u201cI don\u2019t know,\u201d he says tersely. \u201cThat\u2019s the whole point of going there.\u201d\u201cYeah, but a broken arm isn\u2019t\u201d\u2014she fumbles for the right word\u2014\u201cserious serious. Right?\u201d\u201cThey heard the bone snap,\u201d he says. \u201cThat\u2019s\u2026serious. She might need surgery. Anesthesia\u2026that\u2019s definitely serious.\u201dGreta looks around, still trying to recalibrate. \u201cHow would you even\u2014 I mean, we\u2019re in the middle of nowhere and\u2014\u201d\u201cI don\u2019t know yet,\u201d he says. \u201cI have to go figure it out.\u201d\u201cWe\u2019ll be in Vancouver in less than forty-eight hours,\u201d Greta says. \u201cBy the time you find another way back\u2014\u201d\u201cI can\u2019t just sit here in the middle of Alaska and drink beers with you while my daughter is in the hospital.\u201dShe reels back. \u201cThat\u2019s not what I\u2019m saying. I meant\u2014\u201d\u201cYou wouldn\u2019t understand,\u201d he says as he starts for the door.Outside, the sky is still a hard, clean blue. Greta follows him up the wooden boardwalk that leads back to their ship, which is docked on the other side of a small peninsula, hidden behind an outcropping of spruce trees.\u201cWait a second,\u201d she says, half-trotting to keep up as he walks straight through someone\u2019s family photo, charging ahead, each footstep loud on the wooden planks.\u201cI can\u2019t wait a second,\u201d he says, spinning around. \u201cYou don\u2019t get it because you\u2019re not\u2014\u201dHe stops himself, but they both know what he was about to say.You\u2019re not a parent.It\u2019s only a fact. And not even an unpleasant one to Greta. At least most days. Still, something about the way he says it stings, and she has to work to compose her face to disguise this.\u201cI\u2019m sorry,\u201d Ben says. \u201cBut this is the part where you drop everything to be there.\u201dGreta stares at him, stricken. It takes a few beats for him to realize what he\u2019s said. When he does, his face goes slack.\u201cI didn\u2019t mean\u2026\u201d he begins, but he doesn\u2019t seem sure where to go from there. \u201cI wasn\u2019t talking about what happened with\u2026\u201d He stops again and shakes his head, flustered now. \u201cI\u2019m sorry,\u201d he says finally. \u201cBut I really have to go.\u201d\u201cIt\u2019s fine,\u201d Greta says, because what else is there to say at this point?\u201cI wish\u2026\u201d He falters, then tries again: \u201cI wish it didn\u2019t have to end this way.\u201dThe word end lands with a thud between them, and Ben looks as if he\u2019s trying to decide whether or not he should take it back.\u201cI really hope your daughter\u2019s okay,\u201d Greta says, and to her surprise, he reaches for her hand. There\u2019s something automatic about it, the way they fit, and she thinks how strange it is that they woke up together this morning, and how empty it will feel without him tomorrow.\u201cThank you,\u201d he says, and then\u2014just like that\u2014he turns and walks off toward the ship.Later, sitting on the cold sand, Greta does a search on her phone: there\u2019s a flight from the nearby town of Hoonah straight to Juneau, and from there, a red-eye to New York. All afternoon, as the sun slides across the sky, and the tourists move in and out like the tide all around her, she tries to picture where he might be at that moment, imagines him sitting in a taxi, then waiting at an airport, then flying across the barren landscape, doing everything he can to get home. \n \n Chapter ThirtyThe last day at sea is cold and gray. The wind has fallen flat, making everything eerily still, and a low-hanging fog sits atop the water so that it almost feels like they\u2019re sailing straight into a cloud. Looking out the rain-specked window from a reclining chair in the Crow\u2019s Nest lounge, Greta thinks of ghost ships, of pirate ships, of all the ships that have come before, sailing these waters when they were still uncharted. She wonders if Jack London might\u2019ve been on one of them, or if he made it up here some other way. She wishes she\u2019d asked Ben.Tomorrow, they\u2019ll be back in Vancouver before dawn. But today, there\u2019s only this: water and mountains and sky. Gray on gray on gray.She has no idea how long she\u2019s been there when her dad walks up, glass in hand, and sits down in the chair beside her. He\u2019s wearing a fleece vest with the logo of the cruise ship on it, and his cheeks are a little ruddy.\u201cLet me guess,\u201d he says. \u201cYou\u2019re here for the Macarena.\u201d\u201cWhat?\u201d Greta asks wearily, and he nods over his shoulder, where a group of people have started to gather for a lesson on the small dance floor in front of the bar.\u201cIt\u2019s your big chance to learn all the moves.\u201dShe glances over at him. \u201cPlease tell me that\u2019s not why you\u2019re here.\u201d\u201cNo, I was looking for you.\u201d\u201cWhy?\u201d\u201cDo I need a reason? It\u2019s our last day. I thought we should spend some time together.\u201dGreta gives him a skeptical look.\u201cFine,\u201d he says. \u201cIt was Asher\u2019s idea.\u201dIt\u2019s almost enough to make her laugh. But not quite. \u201cI\u2019m probably not the best company right now,\u201d she tells him.He gives her a once-over, taking in the leggings and sweatshirt and lack of makeup, the messy knot of her hair and the way her knees are drawn up to her chest. \u201cRough night?\u201d\u201cSomething like that,\u201d she says, returning her gaze to the window.\u201cHow was whale watching?\u201dThere\u2019s a hitch in her chest as yesterday comes back to her: the sound of the wind and the taste of the salt, the sheer size of the whales as they broke the surface of the water, and the splash as they came down again. And, of course, Ben: his arms around her, his beard rough against her cheek, the sound of his delighted laughter as that giant tail disappeared into the water.\u201cIt was amazing,\u201d she says truthfully.\u201cYou saw some?\u201d\u201cA few,\u201d she says. \u201cHow about you?\u201d\u201cWe went bear watching. Only spotted one, but it was worth it. He was huge.\u201d\u201cAlmost as big as Davis,\u201d says a voice behind them, and Greta feels two hands on her shoulders. Mary leans over and gives her a feather-light kiss on the top of her head. \u201cHi, sweetie.\u201dFor some reason, this makes her feel like crying. \u201cHi.\u201d\u201cWhere\u2019s your fella?\u201d Mary asks, walking around the chairs to face them, silhouetted against the window.\u201cGood question,\u201d Conrad says. \u201cShouldn\u2019t you be at his lecture?\u201dGreta had forgotten that Ben was due to give another talk today. She wonders if the cruise director replaced him with someone, or whether the auditorium is empty right now. Thinking about him onstage in that tweed jacket sends a zip of nervous electricity through her, and she glances down at her phone almost involuntarily.All night, she\u2019d wanted to text him, but she hadn\u2019t. Because what was there to say, really?Even so, she\u2019d been disappointed to wake up this morning and find no message from him. Not even a simple update. She debated reaching out to ask how Hannah was doing, only she wasn\u2019t sure about the etiquette in a situation like this. Would it be intrusive to check in? Was it rude not to? She even considered calling the local hospital in the hope of getting an answer without having to be in touch with Ben at all, then decided that was veering alarmingly close to stalker territory. Probably they couldn\u2019t tell her anyway. So she\u2019d done nothing. And now it\u2019s been twenty-four hours since he left, and not a word.She turns the phone over in her lap.\u201cHe had to leave,\u201d she tells them. \u201cFamily emergency.\u201d\u201cWhat do you mean, leave?\u201d Conrad asks. \u201cWe\u2019re at sea.\u201d\u201cHe went from port yesterday.\u201d\u201cBut how\u2014\u201d\u201cI don\u2019t know, but I\u2019m sure he figured it out.\u201d\u201cWell, that\u2019s too bad,\u201d Mary says. Something about the look on Greta\u2019s face must be enough to warn her from asking anything more, because she\u2019s quick to move on. \u201cHey, I bet this will cheer you up. Davis and I decided to do a medley for the variety show tonight.\u201dGreta raises her eyebrows. \u201cA medley of what?\u201d\u201cI don\u2019t know,\u201d she says with a laugh. \u201cHe\u2019s in the piano bar trying to figure it out as we speak. You\u2019ll be there, won\u2019t you?\u201d\u201cWouldn\u2019t miss it.\u201d\u201cAnd listen, don\u2019t shoot the messenger, but I promised Eleanor I\u2019d check one more time to see if you want to\u2014\u201d\u201cNo,\u201d Greta says flatly, aware that she sounds like a petulant teenager. But she doesn\u2019t know how many more times she can say it. \u201cPlease tell her in the nicest way possible that I still have no interest in performing at a cheesy cruise ship variety show.\u201d She pauses. \u201cNo offense.\u201d\u201cNone taken,\u201d Mary says. \u201cBut you should know the reason she\u2019s been pushing so hard is that your mom promised we could all come see one of your shows this summer.\u201dGreta\u2019s caught off guard by this. \u201cShe did?\u201d\u201cShe was always telling us how great they were. How they made her feel like she was twenty-one again.\u201d Mary smiles wistfully. \u201cWe were going to plan a girls\u2019 trip to come see you play on tour. And now that she\u2019s gone\u2026\u201dShe doesn\u2019t finish the sentence. She doesn\u2019t have to.\u201cI suspect,\u201d she says after a moment, wiping her eyes with the sleeve of her shirt, \u201cthat Eleanor is thinking this might be the closest we get.\u201dGreta reaches for Mary\u2019s hand and gives it a squeeze. \u201cIt won\u2019t be,\u201d she says. \u201cI promise. Tell me when you want to come, and I\u2019ll take care of it.\u201d\u201cWe\u2019d love that,\u201d Mary says, looking down at her fondly. \u201cYour mom would be so proud of you, you know that?\u201dGreta nods, but what she\u2019s thinking about is her sixth-grade talent show, when she got such cold feet that her mother had to come backstage. \u201cAh,\u201d she said when she saw Greta perched on an overturned recycling bin, miserably hugging her guitar. \u201cI see the problem now.\u201d\u201cWhat?\u201d Greta asked, lifting her head.\u201cYou\u2019re not playing.\u201d She stooped down so that their eyes were level. \u201cYou just need to play. Once you start, you\u2019ll be fine. I promise.\u201d\u201cHow do you know?\u201d\u201cBecause,\u201d she said, giving Greta a kiss on the forehead, \u201cthat\u2019s your superpower.\u201dAnd she was right.But now, for the first time in a long time, Greta is scared to play again. And nobody is here to tell her it will be okay.When Mary is gone, Greta and Conrad sit listening to the instructor call out directions for the Macarena\u2014Palms up, one then the other!\u2014as the dancers dissolve into laughter, feet thumping on the wooden floor. Out the window ahead of them, the fog is starting to burn off, making everything sepia-toned in the afternoon light.The threadbare copy of The Call of the Wild is sitting on the table between them, and Conrad looks over at it with interest. He picks it up and opens to the title page, where Ben\u2019s name is written in the neat blocky handwriting of a child. He glances over, eyebrows raised, the significance of it becoming clearer. \u201cDid he leave this for you?\u201d\u201cIt\u2019s more of a loan.\u201d\u201cWhich means you\u2019ll be seeing him again?\u201dGreta gives him a sideways glance. \u201cI don\u2019t know, Dad.\u201d\u201cWell, for whatever it\u2019s worth\u2014and I know it\u2019s not usually worth a whole lot\u2014I thought he seemed like a good guy.\u201d He pauses, and Greta can almost see him biting back the phrase for a change. To his credit, he doesn\u2019t say it. Instead, he taps the book gently, then sets it back on the table. \u201cWith good taste.\u201d\u201cHe is,\u201d she tells her father. \u201cBut he has a wife and kids.\u201dConrad\u2019s mouth falls open. \u201cHe does?\u201d\u201cWell, he\u2019s separated. But that\u2019s still a lot of baggage.\u201d\u201cEveryone has baggage,\u201d he says. \u201cEven you. Just because yours is a different shape and size doesn\u2019t mean it\u2019s not heavy too.\u201dGreta narrows her eyes at him. \u201cWhen did you get so philosophical?\u201d\u201cI think it\u2019s all this water,\u201d he says, turning back to the window. \u201cIt\u2019s getting to me.\u201d\u201cIt\u2019s not just about\u2026baggage,\u201d Greta says after a moment. \u201cOur lives are so different. He\u2019s worried because his daughter might need surgery. I\u2019m worried because\u2014\u201d\u201cYou have to play the guitar this weekend.\u201dGreta stiffens automatically, searching for the usual air of dismissal inside the words. But it doesn\u2019t seem to be there. So she nods.Conrad considers this for a moment. \u201cBut that\u2019s what makes you happy.\u201d\u201cI mean, it will if it goes well,\u201d she says cautiously, still unsure where he\u2019s headed with this. She gives him a funny look. \u201cAre you drunk right now or something?\u201dHe laughs and shakes the ice in his glass. \u201cIt\u2019s after noon and I\u2019m on the last day of a cruise I was supposed to be taking with my late wife to celebrate our anniversary. Of course I\u2019m drunk. But I\u2019m still allowed to have a chat with my daughter, aren\u2019t I?\u201d\u201cI guess,\u201d she says flatly. \u201cIt\u2019s just\u2026kind of weird.\u201d\u201cAsher told me you\u2019ve been having a hard time,\u201d he admits. \u201cThat\u2019s why he thought this trip would be a good idea.\u201dGreta frowns. \u201cFor who?\u201d\u201cFor you,\u201d he says as if this should be obvious. \u201cHe thought it might help if you came along.\u201d\u201cRight,\u201d she says. \u201cHelp you.\u201dConrad looks confused. \u201cNo, help you. Why would it be to help me?\u201d\u201cBecause you were supposed to be here with Mom,\u201d Greta says, feeling like she\u2019s fallen into some sort of alternate reality. \u201cIt would\u2019ve been too sad for you to come by yourself.\u201d\u201cI wouldn\u2019t have been alone,\u201d he says slowly, as if explaining something to a very small child. \u201cI would\u2019ve had the Fosters and the Blooms.\u201dGreta throws up her hands. \u201cThat\u2019s what I said!\u201d\u201cTo who?\u201d\u201cIt\u2019s what I said to Asher when he asked me to come on this trip to keep you company.\u201d\u201cHe told you to come here to help me?\u201d Conrad asks, and Greta nods, relieved that they\u2019re finally on the same page. \u201cAnd he told me that it would help you?\u201d\u201cPretty much.\u201dConrad sits with this a moment. \u201cWow.\u201d\u201cYeah. He basically Parent Trapped us. On a boat.\u201d\u201cIt\u2019s a ship.\u201d\u201cOh my god. Who cares?\u201d Greta says, tipping her head back with a groan. \u201cWhy is everyone so concerned about this? Are you worried I\u2019m going to hurt the ship\u2019s feelings?\u201d She searches for her phone. \u201cWhat time is it anyway?\u201dConrad checks his watch. \u201cTwelve-thirty.\u201d\u201cGreat,\u201d she says, looking around for a waiter. \u201cBecause I could really use a drink too.\u201dWhen she turns around again, he\u2019s laughing at her.\u201cWhat?\u201d\u201cNothing,\u201d he says with a grin. \u201cI just\u2026I don\u2019t mind that he tricked us.\u201dLater, Greta will give Asher all sorts of grief for this. She\u2019ll call him a puppet master. She\u2019ll tell him he owes her. But right at this moment, and much to her surprise, she has to admit that she doesn\u2019t mind either. \n Chapter Thirty-OneBefore the variety show, they go for a drink at the Starboard Saloon, and Greta spots a stray pack of cards on one of the tables.\u201cLet\u2019s see what you got, Houdini,\u201d she says, sliding them over to Conrad as they sit down. He shakes the cards from the box, looking handsome and relaxed in his shirt and tie.\u201cIt\u2019s been a while,\u201d he says as he begins to shuffle, but then he fans out the deck with businesslike precision, nodding at the cards in his hands. \u201cPick one.\u201dShe does. \u201cNow what?\u201d\u201cNow you give it back,\u201d he says. \u201cBut don\u2019t tell me what it is.\u201dHe\u2019s got this funny little half-smile on his face as he starts to shuffle again, like maybe he\u2019s enjoying himself. But then he loses it mid-bridge and the cards go flying everywhere. Greta slides off the chair to start picking them up, while Conrad sits there, surveying the mess.\u201cI think I\u2019m too old for this.\u201d\u201cYou\u2019re not,\u201d she says, lifting her head.He studies his hands. \u201cWell, I feel ancient.\u201dGreta stops what she\u2019s doing. \u201cThis doesn\u2019t only have to be an ending, you know. It could be a new beginning too.\u201dHe shakes his head, his expression sober. \u201cI don\u2019t want a new beginning.\u201d\u201cI\u2019m afraid you don\u2019t have a choice,\u201d she says softly as she sweeps the cards from the floor. When she looks over again, his expression is vacant. He sets down the queen of hearts and stares at it for a while.\u201cWe were in the middle of a puzzle,\u201d he says, and Greta sits back on her heels to listen. \u201cIt\u2019s been on the dining room table ever since. We hadn\u2019t done very much. It\u2019s a hard one. A thousand pieces. But now\u2014now it\u2019s like I can\u2019t stand working on it without her, but I also can\u2019t bear to put it away.\u201dGreta slides back into her chair. \u201cDad,\u201d she says, and her voice breaks on the word; all at once, it feels like more than that is breaking too. She thinks of the ice cleaving off the glacier, pictures something inside her falling away. \u201cI should\u2019ve come home.\u201d\u201cWhat?\u201d\u201cWhen you called.\u201dSomething snaps into place behind his eyes. \u201cYou didn\u2019t know. No one did.\u201d\u201cI wish I would\u2019ve been there.\u201d She rests her elbows on her knees, her forehead in her hands. \u201cI\u2019d give anything to go back and redo it. I\u2019d give anything to rewind so I could get on the first plane out of there and make it home in time.\u201dShe\u2019s crying now, and Conrad\u2014so unaccustomed to this, so out of practice\u2014half-stands as if to comfort her. But then he sits down again, lowering his eyes. A waiter comes around with a bowl of peanuts, which he sets in the center of the card-strewn table, then leaves again in a hurry.\u201cI stayed,\u201d Greta says quietly, \u201cso I could play the fucking guitar. Like that even matters.\u201dConrad shrugs. \u201cIt\u2019s what you do.\u201d\u201cWhat?\u201d she says, bracing herself, waiting for him to say that what she does is choose her career over her family. What she does is choose her music over everything else.But he doesn\u2019t. Instead he says, \u201cYou play the fucking guitar,\u201d and it\u2019s so unexpected, so uncharacteristic, that they both laugh in spite of themselves. \u201cHow many people get to do that for real?\u201d\u201cThanks,\u201d she says, which feels at once too small and too big. She wipes her eyes and lets out a long breath, then straightens the messy pile of cards and pushes the deck toward her dad.\u201cHere,\u201d she says. \u201cTry again.\u201dLater, they find Eleanor and Todd waiting outside the auditorium. He\u2019s wearing a tux and she\u2019s wearing a sparkly ball gown with a tiara-like hairpiece. It\u2019s the kind of ensemble that makes you want to roll your eyes, but you can\u2019t, because on Eleanor, it actually looks beautiful.\u201cListen,\u201d Eleanor says from inside a cloud of perfume. \u201cI had a word with Bobby.\u201dGreta frowns. \u201cWho\u2019s Bobby?\u201dEleanor laughs, then realizes Greta is serious. \u201cThe cruise director,\u201d she says, clearly unable to fathom not being on a first-name basis with such an important figure by the final night. \u201cHe promised to save a slot for you. Just in case.\u201dIt\u2019s clear she\u2019s bracing herself for another no. So she looks surprised when, instead, Greta folds her into a hug.\u201cIs that a yes?\u201d Eleanor asks, confused.\u201cIt\u2019s still a no,\u201d Greta says. \u201cBut thank you for asking.\u201dIn the theater, they settle into seats near the front and listen to Bobby explain how things will go. Around her, everyone but Conrad is nervous; Davis plays an invisible piano with his fingers, Mary hums under her breath, and Eleanor and Todd keep tapping their feet.\u201cThis was a terrible idea,\u201d Mary whispers to Greta as the first act\u2014an eight-year-old kid nervously clutching a set of juggling balls\u2014steps onto the stage.The poor kid drops the balls a total of twelve times in three minutes, two of which could be chalked up to the swaying of the ship, the rest of which he just fumbled. But when he\u2019s done, the audience claps enthusiastically anyway, and beside her, Greta can feel Mary relax.After that, there\u2019s a family of Irish step dancers, a sixty-something guy who lip-syncs to \u201cWe Didn\u2019t Start the Fire,\u201d and a magician, whom Conrad watches with a slightly judgmental frown.\u201cAmateur stuff,\u201d he mutters, but he looks riveted anyway.Next up are a couple of Christian singers with ukuleles, followed by the old lady Greta has run into everywhere. She reads an original poem about feminism and the resistance that\u2019s so powerful and so full of curse words even Greta is blushing by the end. Greta applauds madly and swears she sees the woman wink at her as she leaves the stage.\u201cSo much talent on one ship,\u201d Bobby says after pretty much every act. When it\u2019s their turn, Mary and Davis scoot out of their row and walk up to the stage, where they launch into a medley of songs from the sixties\u2014everything from Marvin Gaye to the Beach Boys\u2014that gets the whole place clapping along. It\u2019s been years since Greta has heard Davis play the piano, and Mary\u2019s voice is clear and strong. The whole time, they never take their eyes off each other.Afterward, a comedian does a too-long bit about fishing, and an old man gives a dramatic reading from Ulysses. Then it\u2019s time for Eleanor and Todd, who glide around the stage to huge applause, so graceful it almost seems like they\u2019re floating, and Greta realizes she\u2019s actually enjoying herself at this stupid variety show on this stupid cruise ship.Later, she\u2019s so busy whispering with Mary about the eighty-three-year-old identical twins who did a scene from Much Ado About Nothing that when Bobby introduces the next act, she almost misses the announcement. But then she sees Preeti climbing the steps, an acoustic guitar already strapped over her shoulder, and she goes very still.There\u2019s no reason for her to be nervous. Preeti certainly doesn\u2019t look it. She walks straight to the center of the stage, where she stands behind the microphone, adjusting the guitar. The excitement radiating off her is almost palpable, and when she looks up, it\u2019s to beam out at the audience, all confidence and enthusiasm.She takes the pick from between her teeth and leans close to the mic. \u201cI\u2019m going to play a song by one of my musical heroes,\u201d she says, her eyes raking the crowd. \u201cIt\u2019s called \u2018Birdsong.\u2019 \u201dWhether or not she expected this line to be met with applause, Greta doesn\u2019t know. But there\u2019s only silence, and a bubble of laughter in Greta\u2019s throat. Because it\u2019s her song, and nobody here knows it. Of course they don\u2019t. Even her own group has no clue. Conrad scratches his ear. Mary digs in her purse for a mint. Todd yawns once, then again.Preeti plays the opening chords, and Greta doesn\u2019t know whether she\u2019s more flattered or anxious. Probably a bit of both. The song is old by now, the fourth track on her EP, her very first recording, and one that she rarely even plays herself anymore. It\u2019s more like a study of a song than a song itself; she was fiercely proud of it at the time, but she knows now that it\u2019s too self-consciously flashy, full of complicated riffs and tricky sequences. It\u2019s not a crowd pleaser, but it\u2019s a hell of a lot of fun to perform, and she feels a twinge of pride as she watches Preeti\u2014her eyebrows knit and her tongue sticking out\u2014tackle the first progression, and realizes she\u2019s having fun with it too.\u201cShe\u2019s pretty good,\u201d Mary whispers, and all Greta can do is nod, unable to tear her eyes away. It\u2019s odd to see someone else take such simple pleasure in something you conjured out of thin air, and Greta\u2019s heart is lodged in her throat as she watches Preeti make her way across the too-thin tightrope of the song, her fingers moving fast on the strings, her head bent over the instrument.It\u2019s not until the second verse that it starts to get away from her.At first, it\u2019s just a wrong note.She pauses. Readjusts. Plays a few chords, then pauses again, gears grinding.It\u2019s strange to watch it happen in real time, to know exactly what it is the girl\u2019s heart is doing in her chest up there, to feel the sudden hollow where her nerve had only just been. It\u2019s one mistake, then another, and then\u2014just like that\u2014the hesitation has moved in like a fog, and it\u2019s hard to see past it. You start to overthink it, every piece of it, from the drilled-down elements of the song all the way to the energy in the room, which is falling flat all around you like the wind after a storm. And your fingers, which had just been flying, have now gone numb.Preeti looks up. It\u2019s only for a moment, not long enough to focus on anything, but Greta knows exactly what she\u2019s looking for.She\u2019s looking for help.She\u2019s looking for her.\u201cPoor thing,\u201d says a woman behind her, and someone else murmurs in agreement. The whole audience has begun to fidget. There\u2019s nothing more uncomfortable than watching someone fail right in front of you. Greta understands this better than anyone.She doesn\u2019t know what she plans to do when she stands up. She only knows she has to do something. Onstage, Preeti is completely frozen, and a stillness hangs over the auditorium, awkward and interminable.Greta slides out of the row, ignoring the baffled looks from Conrad and Mary and the others, and the muffled grunt from the woman whose toe she steps on a bit farther down. As she hurries up the aisle, she pauses only to grab a ukulele straight off the lap of the man from the Christian duo. \u201cHey,\u201d he says, startled, but she doesn\u2019t stop. Instead, she bounds up the steps and makes her way across the stage to Preeti, who is standing wide-eyed and entirely motionless.Greta\u2019s footsteps sound much too loud.But not nearly as loud as her heart.\u201cYou okay?\u201d she asks when she gets there, putting a hand over the microphone, and Preeti manages a nod.\u201cOkay,\u201d Greta says, with more certainty than she feels. She glances out at the audience, a sea of people, each of them with a phone in their lap, hundreds of tiny cameras ready to capture this moment.She swallows hard.Just play the fucking guitar, she thinks.The ukulele feels tiny in her hands, more toy than instrument, and there are fewer strings, but her fingers still find the right places. She glances over at Preeti, who looks close to tears. The room is still completely silent. Greta manages a grin.\u201cLet\u2019s do it,\u201d she says, and then she begins to play. The song sounds all wrong on the ukulele, too high-pitched and jangly, and there aren\u2019t enough strings to match the notes, though it doesn\u2019t matter because then Preeti joins in, picking up right where she left off, a little wobbly, a little stilted, and not nearly worthy of the applause that immediately starts up, but it\u2019s enough to get them through it, which is sometimes all that matters.When they\u2019re done, the crowd gets to their feet, and Greta lets out a breath. Beside her, Preeti is laughing, her face slack from relief.\u201cHoly shit,\u201d she says, which pretty much sums it up.Greta grabs her hand and they take a bow together, and then she steps back and motions to Preeti and the cheering intensifies as someone yells, \u201cEncore!\u201d and for some reason, it makes her feel like crying. But she doesn\u2019t. Instead, to her surprise, she finds herself saying, \u201cOne more?\u201d and Preeti bobs her head and places her hands on the guitar again\u2014carefully, carefully\u2014and plays the opening notes to \u201cDone and Done,\u201d and Greta laughs and joins in, and the audience stays on their feet, clapping along, and\u2014impossibly, unexpectedly\u2014it\u2019s pure joy, all of it.Afterward, Preeti gives her a hug and says, \u201cI owe you big-time,\u201d which is exactly what Greta had been thinking about her.\u201cI\u2019ve been there too,\u201d she says. \u201cYou\u2019ll be better now that you\u2019ve been through it.\u201d\u201cYou think?\u201dGreta nods. \u201cIt\u2019s not supposed to be easy.\u201d\u201cRight,\u201d Preeti says. \u201cIt\u2019s supposed to be fun.\u201dShe grins and gives the girl one more hug, then returns the ukulele to the Christian singer\u2014who is too impressed to be annoyed\u2014and sidles back along the row to her seat, where she\u2019s greeted with a second standing ovation from Mary and Eleanor and Todd and Davis and even her dad. Especially her dad, who is smiling and shaking his head as she slides in next to him to watch the last few acts with a slightly sheepish grin.Afterward, they all head to the piano bar to celebrate. Mary and Eleanor laugh over drinks, and Todd nods off in the corner, and Davis looks over the shoulder of the piano player with raised eyebrows.\u201cHe\u2019s got nothing on you,\u201d Greta says when she joins him, and he roars with laughter and heads off to the bar to get the next round of drinks. The first of many.At some point, Greta reaches for her phone to send Howie a text: Kill the story, okay? He writes back immediately: You got it.And for the first time in a while, she thinks maybe she does.When she looks up again, her dad is standing beside her. \u201cWhat you did up there,\u201d he says, \u201cwas pretty amazing.\u201d\u201cI was only trying to help her out. She\u2019s a nice kid.\u201d\u201cI don\u2019t just mean that,\u201d he says, and the way he says it\u2014so full of sincerity\u2014makes Greta\u2019s throat go tight. \u201cIt was beautiful, what you played.\u201d\u201cI\u2019m sorry yours wasn\u2019t.\u201d It isn\u2019t something she was planning to say, not at all. But there it is anyway. Conrad blinks a few times, looking as surprised as she is. She clears her throat and starts again: \u201cI can\u2019t apologize for writing it. It was how I felt. But I am sorry I hurt you. And that it took me until now to say that.\u201dHe stares at her for what feels like a long time, so long she\u2019s convinced he might walk away. Instead, he says, \u201cYou were just being honest. You were being\u2026\u201d\u201cWhat?\u201d she asks when he trails off.\u201cLook, we both know I tend to play things safe. Your mom wasn\u2019t like that. When she came back to my bar that night, nobody in her life thought it was a good idea. Things would\u2019ve been a lot easier for her if she\u2019d stuck with the other guy. But it turned out he wasn\u2019t her dream.\u201d He smiles. \u201cI was.\u201dGreta nods. \u201cAnd she was yours.\u201d\u201cRight, but for me it was easy,\u201d he says. \u201cWanting to be with her? It was the easiest thing I\u2019ve ever done. For her, it was more of a risk. She had to take a leap, a big one, but she wasn\u2019t afraid of that.\u201d He closes his eyes for a moment. \u201cWhat I\u2019m trying to say is that sometimes I forget how brave she could be. How fearless.\u201d When he opens them again, he looks right at Greta. \u201cJust like you.\u201dShe stares at him, lost for words. \u201cThanks, Dad,\u201d she manages, blinking a few times, though she doesn\u2019t feel particularly fearless right now. In fact, it\u2019s the opposite. She\u2019s been too afraid to revisit \u201cAstronomy\u201d because it would mean revisiting not just the hope she\u2019d been holding on to when she wrote the song but the grief that\u2019s now a necessary part of it too. Finishing it would mean saying goodbye. And she hasn\u2019t felt ready for that. So instead she\u2019s been hiding. But it\u2019s time to take her own kind of risk.\u201cYou know how you could really thank me?\u201d her dad is saying. \u201cYou could write me a new song. Maybe call it \u2018Oceanography.\u2019 \u201dGreta laughs, unsure what to make of this. \u201cWhy?\u201d\u201cBecause your mother\u2019s was called \u2018Astronomy,\u2019 \u201d he explains, looking pleased with himself, \u201cand oceanography is sort of the opposite of that. It\u2019s as far as you can get from the stars. But it\u2019s still interesting in its own way.\u201dShe doesn\u2019t know if he came up with this on the fly or whether he\u2019s been thinking about it for a while now. She\u2019s not sure it matters.\u201cTo opposites,\u201d she says, clinking her glass against his, and even as he tips his head back to drink, she can see that he\u2019s smiling too.Later, as she makes her way back to her tiny box of a room for the last time, Greta realizes she hasn\u2019t thought about Ben in hours. And maybe that\u2019s okay. They had a week, and now that week is over. Sometimes that\u2019s all you get. Maybe it was enough.But when she unlocks the door, the first thing she sees is the book, right where she\u2019d left it, in the middle of the bed. She sits down and picks it up, turning it over in her hands. Her brain is still hazy from the cocktails, her body still buzzing from the show. But when she opens it to the first page, she finds herself yielding to the words anyway, and by the time she closes it again, hours later, she can hear the attendants starting to collect the luggage in the hall, as beyond the walls of her room, the ship glides into the Port of Vancouver. \n \n Chapter Thirty-TwoGreta is on the observation deck, elbows on the railing, watching the city grow closer, when a text comes in from Ben.She\u2019s okay, it says. No surgery.That\u2019s all it says. But she\u2019s relieved to know.I\u2019m so glad, she writes back, and then she waits, watching the screen for a few seconds, hoping more of the little bubbles will appear. But they don\u2019t.The air is chilly, and though it\u2019s only the beginning of June, it smells of fall, like leaves and wood smoke and damp. Greta stays there for another minute, soaking it all in, then slips the phone back into her pocket, picks up her guitar case, and heads inside.Everyone else is at the buffet, having one last meal before they\u2019re set to disembark. Greta\u2019s flight is the earliest, which means she\u2019ll be getting off soon, with the first group. So she grabs an apple before walking over to say goodbye.Conrad stands up when he sees her. \u201cYou off?\u201dShe nods and hands over a bag from the gift shop. He reaches inside uncertainly, then pulls out a puzzle.\u201cA new beginning,\u201d she tells him as he studies the box, a thousand pieces of blue-and-white glacier.\u201cWow,\u201d Davis says, peering over his shoulder. \u201cThat looks like a complete and total nightmare.\u201d\u201cIt does,\u201d Conrad agrees; then he looks up at Greta, his eyes damp. \u201cThank you.\u201dGreta smiles. \u201cThank you for a great week,\u201d she says, and to her surprise, he begins to laugh. She does too, then tries again: \u201cAn unexpected week?\u201d\u201cThat works,\u201d he says, giving her a hug, but the truth is so much more complicated than that. This was a strange week. A sad week. A hard week.It was a week that could\u2019ve easily sunk them.But somehow, it didn\u2019t. Somehow, they\u2019re still here. Still trying.She says goodbye to the others too, high-fiving Davis and promising Mary she\u2019ll come visit over Christmas. She laughs when Todd suggests that she join them for their next trip, and promises a beaming Eleanor that there\u2019ll be a couple of backstage passes waiting at her show in Cincinnati this fall.They all wish her luck for tomorrow, and when Mary folds her into one last hug and whispers, \u201cYour mom would be so proud of you,\u201d Greta has to blink back tears, even though she\u2019s said it a dozen times this week.When her group number is called, she slings her guitar over her shoulder, says goodbye one more time, and then winds her way through the maze of the ship. There\u2019s baggage everywhere, and people too, a flurry of preparations. Strange to think that this will start all over again this afternoon, that an entirely new set of passengers will step on board. At the ramp, she turns in her key and then walks off the ship, glancing back only once at the breathtaking size of it, her unlikely home for the past seven days.Afterward, there\u2019s a wait in the line for customs, then another one to get her suitcase, and then she hops onto one of the many buses going to the airport. As soon as she sits down, she gets a text from Asher. It\u2019s a blurry picture of Greta and Conrad at the piano bar last night that Mary must have sent him. Underneath it, he\u2019s written: I have so many questions. But the first is\u2026am I still the favorite??She laughs, then types: Don\u2019t worry. I\u2019m pretty sure your spot is still safe.Phew, he writes back. I was starting to think I need to have another kid.As the bus pulls out, she presses her forehead to the window, watching the city of Vancouver whip by, a blur of gray, and she thinks how odd it is to start the day at sea and end it in New York City, to go from calm waters and endless sky to brownstones and bodegas. And tomorrow, a music festival.On the plane, she pulls out her notebook to work on her set list, which she still hasn\u2019t sent to Howie for approval. At the top, she writes \u201cPrologue\u201d and stares at it for a long time. Then she flips back a few pages to a different song she wrote on a different plane traveling through a different sort of night. She closes her eyes, and what swims to the surface is an image of the glacier the other day, all those ashes floating off, black pinpricks against a stark white sky, like the opposite of stars.Her heart gives a great lurch, and she lets herself feel it.But only for a moment.Then she begins to write.She finishes just in time to nudge open her window shade and see the tip of Manhattan appear, the clusters of silvery buildings bounded by two rivers, one of her favorite views in the world. Even the first time she ever came here, nervous and hopeful, it had somehow felt like home. It\u2019s the kind of place you can fall in love with even before clapping eyes on it. Now she feels her heart swell at the familiar sight, and as the plane veers away from the city and toward the airport, she takes a few long breaths.It\u2019s dark by the time she gets home. She drops her keys on the side table and surveys the little apartment. Her latest attempt at keeping a plant alive has failed, but otherwise, everything looks the same. She hasn\u2019t been there for three minutes when Howie calls.\u201cThe story is officially dead, your car will be there at eight A.M. tomorrow, and the label wants to confirm that you won\u2019t be playing \u2018Astronomy,\u2019 \u201d he says without even a hello.Greta glances down at the notebook sticking out of her bag. Then she says, \u201cThank you, okay, and fine.\u201dThere\u2019s a brief pause on the other end of the line. \u201cFine?\u201d\u201cFine.\u201d\u201cTo which part?\u201d\u201cThe car.\u201d\u201cOh.\u201d\u201cHowie, I\u2019m kidding. Tell them it\u2019s okay. I won\u2019t play it.\u201d\u201cYou sure?\u201d\u201cNo,\u201d she says, and then she hangs up the phone. \n \n Chapter Thirty-ThreeIn the morning, Greta wakes early, even though the time change is working against her. She goes for a walk along the East River, returns to drink two cups of coffee\u2014one after the other while standing in front of the machine\u2014then takes a long shower. By the time eight o\u2019clock rolls around, she\u2019s jittery and full of adrenaline, but she feels ready too.As the car snakes up the FDR along the edge of Manhattan, she thinks about Ben, wondering what he\u2019s doing with his Sunday morning. She pictures him sitting in his apartment uptown, reading the newspaper with a cup of tea. Or out for a stroll in Morningside Park. Maybe he\u2019s at home in New Jersey. Or still at the hospital with Hannah, red-eyed and stubble-jawed. She hopes not.Even after everything that\u2019s happened, there\u2019s a part of her that still wonders if he\u2019ll be there today. There are so many reasons she wants it to go well\u2014bigger and far more important ones than impressing the nerdy professor she met on a cruise ship. But if she\u2019s being honest with herself, that\u2019s one of them.When she gets to Randall\u2019s Island, the grounds are still empty. The grass has given way to mud, dotted by the previous day\u2019s footprints, and there\u2019s an expectant hush to the main stage. Howie meets the car near the entrance; Cleo is there too, resplendent in neon yellow, her braids swinging as she gives Greta a hug. Atsuko and Nate are waiting in the greenroom, where there are more hugs, some jokes about the tundra, and a few questions about her and Luke. But even with all the distractions, Greta can feel the nervous energy coming off them as they\u2019re ushered to the stage for sound check.She\u2019s still dressed in street clothes\u2014skinny black jeans and an old Metallica T-shirt\u2014and facing nothing but an empty field, but as soon as she starts to play, some of the anxiety melts away. She always feels better with a guitar in hand, though she dives a bit too quickly into the opening of \u201cPrologue,\u201d then pauses to make some adjustments to her earpiece and to the pedals.\u201cThat\u2019s a hit for sure,\u201d says Cleo as they head back to the greenroom, and her bosses\u2014a couple of white guys in suits and sneakers whose names Greta can never remember\u2014both smile at this.When she gets her makeup done, Howie paces anxiously behind her chair in his crisp button-down, looking entirely out of place amid the neon tank tops and band T-shirts. But she knows that\u2019s how he likes it. Howie is very good at what he does, which is managing overconfident rock stars with big egos. He hasn\u2019t had as much practice picking up the pieces when things fall apart. But he\u2019s been there for her anyway, his faith in her unwavering, even when it would\u2019ve been understandable\u2014maybe even sensible\u2014for him to waver.When the makeup artist steps away to get a different kind of eyeliner, he bends so that their faces are close together. \u201cDon\u2019t look now,\u201d he says, \u201cbut I just found out who planted the story about you and Luke.\u201dIn the mirror, Greta can see the two execs huddled near the food spread. One of them smiles and lifts a bagel when their eyes meet.\u201cI told you not to look,\u201d Howie says, exasperated, but Greta doesn\u2019t care. Because the full meaning of it is settling over her: that they thought she needed more publicity, a different story, a distraction in case things went south again.That they thought her music wasn\u2019t enough on its own.That she wasn\u2019t enough on her own.\u201cListen,\u201d Howie is saying, \u201cwe\u2019ll deal with it all later. You can trust me on that. But for now, I just wanted to say\u2026\u201d He whispers this last part right into her ear: \u201cGive \u2019em hell out there.\u201dThen he winks at her through the mirror before walking off with a grin.After that, the makeup artist returns, and Greta raises her eyes to the ceiling while she finishes applying mascara, and then a tour assistant does a final inspection of her outfit, a red dress and black boots, before she\u2019s joined by Atsuko and Nate. Outside, the festival is a shock to the system, a riot of color and noise. They\u2019re escorted through the grounds by a scrum of organizers in headsets and security guards with dark sunglasses, and all the while, Greta\u2019s heart is hammering so hard it feels like it\u2019s trying to escape.When it\u2019s time, she hangs back in the wings while Atsuko and Nate walk out to take their places onstage behind their instruments. She can see them sitting there in the dark, waiting for her to join them, just like the rest of the crowd. Greta shifts from one foot to the other, the beat of this first song\u2014this new song, this song that so much depends on\u2014already thumping inside her.Briefly, she thinks about that last disastrous performance, the feel of it never far away, and her face goes hot and prickly. It\u2019s still something visceral, the memory of all that emptiness rushing in where there had only just been music. The way the space had been filled by murmurs and then horror. The numbness of her hands and the chalkiness of her mouth. The lifting of thousands of cameras in the audience, capturing a moment that has been chasing her like a wild animal ever since that night.But then someone hands her the guitar, and she lifts the strap over her head and feels the reassuring weight of it, and she realizes that\u2019s no longer her last performance. Not anymore. Her last performance was just a couple nights ago with Preeti, when she played a ukulele in front of hundreds of people on a cruise ship in Alaska. And they brought the house down.On the stage, the lights begin to flash, changing from red to green to blue, and Greta can feel the anticipation like it\u2019s something buzzing and alive. When she walks out, the audience goes absolutely wild, with a cheer so loud it sends a shiver through her. But she doesn\u2019t show it. She makes her way to the center of the stage, lifts a hand, and then stands there, square to the crowd, her shoulders straight and her chin high as the music begins behind her, the first notes of a song she\u2019s never played in public before, a song nobody here has ever heard.First there\u2019s the keyboard, then the drums, the tempo building as a roar goes up all around them, the energy moving from the crowd to the stage and back again like a closed circuit, like they\u2019re all out here inventing electricity, like the point is to light up this whole damn stage.And even right then, even as she prepares to come in on the beat, even as her fingers hover over the strings\u2014waiting, waiting\u2014she\u2019s scanning the crowd, searching for a familiar face, wondering if he might be there.Just before she begins, she sees him.He\u2019s standing toward the front, a still point amid all the movement, the people hopping and dancing and swaying all around him.And he\u2019s holding a sign.It says GRETA\u2019S DAD.Behind her, the rhythm shifts, her cue to begin. But she doesn\u2019t. Instead, she lifts a hand, and the others stop playing. She can feel the collective intake of breath from the crowd as they wonder if history is about to repeat itself. But she doesn\u2019t pay any attention to that. She\u2019s too busy mouthing something to her band.A moment later, the music swells again, slower now, more haunting, and the place erupts with wild cheers at the opening notes of \u201cAstronomy,\u201d which had once been a song about hope, and then later sorrow, but underneath it all was always\u2014always\u2014about love.This time, Greta doesn\u2019t hesitate. Not even for a second.She just smiles and starts to play the fucking guitar. \n \n Chapter Thirty-FourShe reads the book one more time before she mails it back. It doesn\u2019t seem fair to keep something so personal, something dog-eared and marked up and well loved. Still, it\u2019s not easy to part with it. Dropping it into a mailing envelope, addressing it to Ben at Columbia, walking it over to the post office: all of it feels like saying goodbye.She keeps his sweatshirt. That, she decides, he can live without.Besides, she\u2019s taken to sleeping in it as the weather has started to turn cool again.For the last few months, Greta has mostly been on the road, and it feels good to be back to normal: a blur of airports and hotels and venues, but also the clear reminder each night\u2014as she stands before a crowd, guitar in hand\u2014how rare and wonderful it is to get to do something you love.She didn\u2019t read any of the reviews when the new album came out, but her dad continues to summarize them during their Sunday evening phone calls, a habit they\u2019ve fallen into ever since he came to her show.\u201cYou got a rave in the Times,\u201d he\u2019ll say. \u201cThey called it inventive and complicated and they especially loved\u2014\u201d\u201cDad.\u201d\u201cOkay, okay. Well, it\u2019s in the scrapbook now if you ever change your mind.\u201dThe idea of him keeping up her mom\u2019s collection of articles and reviews would\u2019ve been unfathomable only a few months ago. But now Asher tells her that he insists on showing it to anyone who comes over for dinner.Conrad asks her only once if she ever hears from Ben, and she tells him the truth: it wasn\u2019t meant to last.\u201cMaybe the point isn\u2019t always to make things last,\u201d he says. \u201cMaybe it\u2019s just to make them count.\u201dThe way she sees it, they did.Then one day, she finds a package in the stack of mail left outside her apartment door. In the corner is a Columbia University address. She rips it open and finds a small blue clothbound book, with little huskies and snow-covered trees etched into its cover. Tucked inside, there\u2019s a note written on a piece of university stationery. Thanks for sending mine back. Did you read it?Greta puzzles over that question mark for a while. It\u2019s open-ended; an invitation. She leaves the note on her desk, pausing to read it every so often when she walks by, though she\u2019s memorized each word. It isn\u2019t until a couple weeks later, when she stops by Powell\u2019s Books the morning before a gig in Portland and sees a different edition\u2014this one snowy and simple, a blank landscape with only the shadow of a dog in the corner\u2014that she realizes she\u2019s going to respond.She considers what to say for a few minutes before writing, on a piece of hotel notepaper: In fact, I read it twice. And then she mails it off with the book.He sends her another copy a week later, this one a close-up of a blue-eyed husky staring the reader down. His note says: And?She finds her next one at the Strand, which she wanders into one day after having brunch with Jason and Olivia, which\u2014in spite of the avocado toast\u2014turned out to be more fun than expected. This one has a howling wolf on the jacket, snowflakes coming down all around him, and she dashes off a note on the back of a bookstore postcard: And you were right.After that, he sends her a leather-bound edition with a message scrawled neatly inside the cover: Welcome to the Jack London fan club. She decides she needs to up her game and returns to a rare bookstore on the Upper East Side she once visited with Luke, who was trying to track down a signed Dylan album. It turns out they don\u2019t have any copies of The Call of the Wild, but there\u2019s a first edition of another book by Jack London called The Cruise of the Snark, which feels somehow appropriate. Inside, there\u2019s an inscription the author wrote to a friend: \u201cJust a few places of a voyage that proved so happy.\u201dShe pays way too much for it and mails it off to him.And then: there\u2019s nothing. Not for a long time.All through the fall, Greta is still hopeful each time she gets back into town and picks up her mail. But by December, it\u2019s clear that whatever game this was, Ben is no longer playing. Maybe he\u2019s got other things to worry about, more important things. Maybe he\u2019s gone back to his family. Or maybe he\u2019s simply moved on.For Christmas, she goes home to Ohio. It\u2019s their first one without her mom, but Helen is still everywhere: from the boxes of decorations they drag down from the attic to the carols that play on a loop. When it\u2019s time to hang the ornaments, Greta and Asher laugh at the ones she saved: popsicle-stick picture frames with thick globs of glue and chains of dried noodles with chipping paint. Each one feels like a gift she\u2019s giving them all over again.On Christmas morning\u2014much to Asher\u2019s chagrin\u2014Greta gives her nieces a drum set.Her dad manages to one-up her.He gets them all guitars.It\u2019s late at night when she arrives back in New York, the streets rain-slicked and mostly empty. She presses her face to the window of the cab as they come across the bridge, watching the mosaic of taillights, the dancing reds and yellows.In the hallway outside her apartment, there\u2019s a sloping pile of packages, holiday gifts from friends and family, agents and managers, and, of course, the still-apologetic label execs. As she pushes open the door, a few of them fall inside along with her, and she sees a small brown box with Ben\u2019s address on it. She doesn\u2019t even bother to take off her coat before opening it. Inside, there\u2019s a book. But it\u2019s not The Call of the Wild. It\u2019s not even by Jack London.It\u2019s navy blue with tiny white whales all over it.She traces a finger over the title: Moby-Dick.Even as she unfolds the note that\u2019s attached, Greta is thinking that she doesn\u2019t need to, not really; she already knows what this means.Still, her heart wobbles at the sight of Ben\u2019s now-familiar handwriting.Time to turn the page, it says, and she tucks it back inside the book with a smile.A few days later, it begins to snow, so thick and fast it almost looks like a time-lapse, like the world outside has been sped up. Inside, everything is hushed and still. There\u2019s only Greta at the window, a mug in hand. She\u2019s been writing all day, and her fingers are streaked with ink.Outside, the wind sends the snow whistling up the street in ribbons of white. Tomorrow, everything will be gray and slushy. But tonight, it\u2019s perfect, and she stays there like that for a long time, mesmerized by the way the flakes hover like static. Her window faces north, and she pictures Central Park, fifty blocks away: the trees cloaked in white, the drifts piling up, the lampposts with their dreamlike glow. And somewhere in the middle of it all\u2014perhaps\u2014another silent figure, slow-moving and bundled and equally full of wonder.Her boots are under a bench in the entryway. She walks over and stares at them, weighing something, before slipping her feet inside. Then she grabs her coat and scarf, and a pair of mittens too.By the time she gets outside, it\u2019s snowing even harder, and everything feels surreal and a little dizzying. For a moment, she just stands there, peering up at the twinkling streetlights and the velvety sky, her boots sunk deep in the snow.And then she begins to walk. \n For Susan Kamil, who believed in this booklong before I\u2019d ever written a word \n AcknowledgmentsA great big thank-you to my brilliant and formidable agent, Jennifer Joel. This is our tenth novel together, and with each one, I feel even luckier to be working with you.To my friend and editor, Kara Cesare, for embracing this book from the start and continuing to be its greatest cheerleader.To everyone at Ballantine, it\u2019s been such a joy to work with you again. I\u2019m especially grateful to Gina Centrello for the early enthusiasm, to Jennifer Hershey for always being so encouraging, to Kara Welsh for the vote of confidence, and to Kim Hovey for making it all happen. I also owe a great deal of thanks to Jesse Shuman, Allyson Pearl, Susan Corcoran, Quinne Rogers, Jen Garza, Karen Fink, Taylor Noel, Loren Noveck, Paolo Pepe, and Elena Giavaldi.To Cassie Browne and Kat Burdon and everyone else at Quercus for being such wonderful partners in the UK, and for taking such great care of this story. And to Stephanie Thwaites, Jake Smith-Bosanquet, Roxane Edouard, Isobel Gahan, Savanna Wicks, and Tanja Goossens at Curtis Brown for finding homes for this book all over the world.To Binky Urban, Josie Freedman, John DeLaney, and Tia Ikemoto at ICM for everything they\u2019ve done for me over the years.To Kelly Mitchell, my favorite sounding board.To Marisa Dabice and Elena Awbrey for their musical expertise.To Morgan Matson for the title, and Gretchen Rubin for the epigraph.To Jenny Han, Adele Griffin, Sarah Mlynowski, Julie Buxbaum, Siobhan Vivian, and Morgan Matson for their early reads and invaluable advice. And to Anna Carey, Jenni Henaux, Lauren Graham, Rebecca Serle, Courtney Sheinmel, Elizabeth Eulberg, Robin Wasserman, Ryan Doherty, Mark Tavani, Andy Barzvi, Kari Stuart, Jocelyn Heyward, Allison Lynk, Hillary Phelps, and Summer Walker for the company and conversations while writing this.To my readers, the ones who followed me here and the ones who are new. None of this would be possible without you.And, of course, to my family\u2014Dad, Mom, Kelly, Errol, Andrew, and Jack\u2014for all the love and support.Finally, this book wouldn\u2019t exist without the late Susan Kamil, who spent years lovingly badgering me into writing it. I remain so grateful for her unwavering belief and encouragement. I only wish she\u2019d had a chance to read it; she would\u2019ve made it infinitely better. This is for her. \n ALSO BY JENNIFER E. SMITHYOUNG ADULTField Notes on LoveWindfallHello, Goodbye, and Everything in BetweenThe Geography of You and MeThis Is What Happy Looks LikeThe Statistical Probability of Love at First SightYou Are HereThe Comeback SeasonMIDDLE GRADEThe Storm MakersPICTURE BOOKThe Creature of Habit \n ABOUT THE AUTHORJENNIFER E. SMITH is the author of nine books for young adults, including The Statistical Probability of Love at First Sight and Hello, Goodbye, and Everything in Between, both of which have been adapted for film. She earned a master\u2019s degree in creative writing from the University of St. Andrews in Scotland, and her work has been translated into thirty-three languages. She currently lives in Los Angeles.jenniferesmith.comFacebook.com/jensmithwritesTwitter: @JenESmithInstagram: @jenniferesmith \n What\u2019s next on your reading list?Discover your next great read! Get personalized book picks and up-to-date news about this author.Sign up now._139334769_ \n"
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