Now what you heard was that the cornfields had gone to drill rigs and flares lighting up the sky so it was never night.
I typed back, I’ll start as soon as I can get there.
I pressed send.
* * *
The first time I saw Lily, she was working at the hardware and salvage store, wearing overalls two sizes too big for her, a pencil stuck behind her ear. A knockout with hair all down her back. I couldn’t really talk when I looked at her, so I bought something I couldn’t use. What did you come in for? she asked, pointing her sharp chin at me, and I didn’t know what to say. I was building the cabin out at the Land Trust. I’d come in for a box of screws, but Lily, or her hair, or the way that her oversize clothes hinted at grace and heat beneath them, all this made me want to make big purchases. So I said, A piece of furniture. She blinked and then laughed. We do sell that, she said. We do sell pieces of furniture. I laughed, too. I said, How about beds? You got beds? Later I would tell this story as if it were all by design, as if I had game. But I had no game. None. Zero. I was terrified. I asked, You got beds? and was suddenly so embarrassed I could hardly continue existing. The last thing I wanted to do was come on to this woman. When I looked at her I didn’t want to come on to her. What I wanted was for her to come with me. To come with me and come with me. I wanted to be with her like being alone. As unending as that.
But Lily held my gaze, and she took me to the beds section. I asked which one she liked the best, and she said, This one will do. But it’s for two. Are you looking for a single or a double? She never stopped looking at me. I couldn’t believe how outrageous this was. Faced with the possibility of getting what I wanted, I faltered. Never mind, I said. I’ll buy a sink. A utility sink. She sobered up. Her eyes got wide. I’m sorry, she said. I got the wrong idea. It’s fine, I said. Just show me the sinks. She did. I bought the biggest utility sink they had.
Halfway home, I realized I’d forgotten the screws. I went back the next day. Lily just smiled. The next day it was a saw blade, then caulk, then hinges for the door, and finally Lily said, You know, you’ve come in every day this week, and I said, Do you want to see what I’m building? And she said, You live out on that separatist land, right? And I said, Do you want to come over? And she said, Yes. At the Land Trust, I led her toward my bed, which was really just a camping mat rolled out on the floor, but she pulled me the other way, out behind the cabin. She led me to that utility sink, no legs on it, half sunk in the mud. It’s big enough for two, she said, and she laughed. She insisted that we stand in it while we finally kissed and kissed and took each other’s clothes off one piece at a time, those giant overalls filling half the sink, her hair hiding her dark nipples, the line of down descending her belly, and I followed that line and what I found was ready for me and so deep, and we did make it to the camping mat, eventually. But for a long time, what we liked best was to find funny places to do it in, places that would make us laugh until it felt too good to laugh, the utility sink being only the first of them.
* * *
I left without saying goodbye to her. That last long day, I fixed the oil leak on the truck, got it down off the blocks. I mucked out the duck shed, even though it was mostly frozen. I hacked away at the shit-covered ice. I spread fresh straw. I fed the ducks scoops of corn. “Lay,” I commanded, knowing they weren’t likely to do so for another month at least. Next, I hauled armfuls of firewood onto the porch. Helen came out to watch me. “What are you doing?” she asked. “Where are you going?” But I knew