I tell them about how Davey was in my head the whole time I was out there, how I kept finding little hints of him along the way. I don’t tell them about the web of thoughts I’d constructed for myself in the woods, his and mine, pulling us together so that I’d find him. I don’t tell them about the picture of that girl, because I don’t know if his heart was broken or mine was just bigger, so I could come back home. I keep those things to myself as I listen to Dad crack open a beer in the kitchen after they’ve gone. Small noises in a small house. I’m so goddamn thankful I get to hear them again.
