21 Chapter 21

“No. Not when I’m alone. But there are things far worse, things I couldn’t even imagine until I saw them on TV a few days ago. Those people…the ones lost and the ones who love them…I wish I could do more than pray for them.”

They were walking, down off the porch and into the woods.

“Yes,” Robin said. “I felt much the same way. It was difficult being alone and selfishly realizing I hadn’t really reached the depths of my anxiety in years, not until I had gotten there again. I guess I lied. I probably thought of myself that day first. I thought about how everyone must feel a little bit like us, on edge and unsettled. Then I felt like a self-centered ass when it dawned on me how many people must have felt—and feel—a lot worse. I woke up a little. I knew I was lucky, and I wanted to help instead of hide. Maybe you.”

“I’m here now,” Hendrix said, and he touched Robin’s face. “It’s sunny. We could head back to the field. In your truck. You might have to pull me out of the mud anyway.”