Lucien nodded, looking at the ground, shoulders hunched.

“I just …” I looked up at the sky for a moment, then pressed on. “I thought I was going to die,” I said. “For one really long second during the accident, I thought it was all over. And then, obviously, I didn’t, but … it was like I went the opposite way. Like I stopped living entirely, so I wouldn’t have to feel anything again. Because feeling had led to it hurting so, so much….” My voice caught again, but I took a breath and continued saying these things I hadn’t even realized until a second ago that I felt. “But since I’ve been out here, on this trip … it’s like I’ve started to remember what it’s like. To feel alive. To feel anything. And all I’m saying is that you never know how much time you have.”

“I see what you’re saying,” he said, giving me a sad smile. “And it sounds easy. But I don’t know if I can do it.”

“Well, there’s only one way to find out,” I said, getting frustrated again. I looked across the meadow and saw the Jeep, keys dangling from the ignition, glinting a little in the moonlight. Without stopping to think, I crossed to the car, breaking into a half run as I got closer.

“Uh,” Lucien called to me. “Amy?”

“Someone just told me,” I said, “that you can’t let things stop you because you’re afraid.” I walked around to the driver’s-side door and climbed in.

“Right,” he said. “But—”

I ignored him and placed my hands on the wheel. “Okay,” I murmured to myself. It was the first time I’d been in the driver’s seat since the accident. I remembered how it had felt that morning, when I’d grabbed the keys from my father and gotten behind the wheel without a second thought. I put my hand on the keys but didn’t turn on the ignition yet. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, fighting down the panic that was threatening to rise up, the panic that was telling me that I shouldn’t be sitting there, that bad things would happen if I did. I opened them and looked around.

I wasn’t at home, wherever that was. I wasn’t in California, at any rate, and I wasn’t back at the intersection at University. I was, improbably, in a meadow in Kentucky, on a warm, starry night. There weren’t any other cars around to run reds. It was okay. I turned the key in the ignition.

Before I could talk myself out of it, I shifted out of park and put my foot on the gas. The Jeep jolted forward, and I stepped on the brake, slamming back into the seat. It occurred to me now that I’d never driven one of these before, and they seemed to handle differently from regular cars. Also, the act of driving felt a little rusty. I knew all the things I had to do, but they weren’t working together in harmony the way they had a few months ago. I placed my hands at ten and two and pressed on the gas more gently this time. The car eased forward, and I pressed a little harder and slowly began doing a wide circle around the meadow.

Lucien was standing in the middle, next to his wildcat, and he rotated with me, smiling. “You’re driving,” he called.

“I’m driving!” I yelled back, pressing harder on the gas, speeding up a little. Driving in an open Jeep was fantastic. The wind was lifting my hair as I went, making it seem like I was going much faster than I actually was. When I’d gone around in a circle once, I turned around and started going the other way, making Lucien laugh. As I braked and then sped up again, I realized how much I had missed this, how free I felt, even when I wasn’t actually going anywhere.

“Amy, watch out—,” Lucien called suddenly, his voice sharp.

“What?” I called, a second before the car dropped down suddenly on the left side, causing me to accidentally hit the gas harder than I’d meant to. The Jeep jolted forward, and suddenly it was out of my control, and for one horrible second, I was back three months ago. A second later I came back to myself and stepped hard on the brake—but not in time to avoid a looming green figure in front of me. There was a crunch and the car slammed to a stop.

“Are you okay?” Lucien asked, hustling over to the car.

I could hear the blood pounding in my head, and I felt nauseous. I could feel real panic rising up, threatening to take over. I forced myself to open my eyes and shift the car into park. I took my hands, which were shaking, off the steering wheel. I killed the engine and dropped my hand quickly from the keys. What had I been thinking? Why had I even tried to do this? I stood up, trying to see over the hood. “What happened?” I asked, trying hard to keep my voice from shaking.

“Well, I think the car’s okay,” Lucien said from the ground, where he was kneeling. “It looks like you hit a gopher hole. But I think Maurice is a goner.” He stood up, holding the head—with antlers—of a topiary moose.

“Oh God,” I said, staring at it. “I’m so sorry—I broke your moose?” I don’t know why this seemed, suddenly, to be funny. But it was. I could feel slightly desperate laughter threatening to get out, and I bit my lip hard against it.

“Maurice,” Lucien said mournfully, and that did it. I burst out in hysterical laughter. When it petered out, I got out of the Jeep and walked around to the passenger seat, trying to avoid looking at the severed moose body, thinking it was not quite so funny anymore.

Needless to say, Lucien drove back to the guesthouse. Maurice’s head rested between us on the seat. “Sorry, again,” I said.

“Oh, he probably had it coming,” he said, looking down at the head. “In fact, you might be onto something here. This would look great above a mantel. You know, for people who want the decoration but don’t want to kill an actual moose.”

“I like that idea,” I said. “I think there’s a future in it.” He glanced over at me, and I just raised my eyebrows at him.

He pulled in front of the guesthouse, and I looked up at the windows. The downstairs was all lit up, the second floor dark. “It looks like Roger went to sleep,” I said.

“Yeah,” said Lucien, looking at the house. A moment passed with no sounds but the crickets chirping and the rumbling of the engine. “So what’s the deal with you two?” he asked, breaking the silence.

I looked at him. “What do you mean?” I asked, knowing what he meant. Lucien killed the engine and turned in the seat so that he was leaning back against the door and facing me head-on. Then, maybe realizing that Maurice was in the way, he lifted up the head and placed it in the back. “There’s no deal,” I said, looking up at the second floor. “Roger’s in love with your sister.”