When I next returned to Buck’s Peak, it was autumn and Grandma-

down-the-hill was dying. For nine years she had battled the cancer in
her bone marrow; now the contest was ending. I had just learned that
I’d won a place at Cambridge to study for a PhD when Mother wrote to
me. “Grandma is in the hospital again,” she said. “Come quick. I think
this will be the last time.”

When I landed in Salt Lake, Grandma was drifting in and out of
consciousness. Drew met me at the airport. We were more than friends
by then, and Drew said he would drive me to Idaho, to the hospital in
town.

I hadn’t been back there since I’d taken Shawn years before, and as I
walked down its white, antiseptic hallway, it was difficult not to think
of him. We found Grandma’s room. Grandpa was seated at her
bedside, holding her speckled hand. Her eyes were open and she
looked at me. “It’s my little Tara, come all the way from England,” she
said, then her eyes closed. Grandpa squeezed her hand but she was
asleep. A nurse told us she would likely sleep for hours.

Drew said he would drive me to Buck’s Peak. I agreed, and it wasn’t
until the mountain came into view that I wondered whether I’d made a
mistake. Drew had heard my stories, but still there was a risk in
bringing him here: this was not a story, and I doubted whether anyone
would play the part I had written for them.

The house was in chaos. There were women everywhere, some
taking orders over the phone, others mixing oils or straining tinctures.
There was a new annex on the south side of the house, where younger
women were filling bottles and packaging orders for shipment. I left
Drew in the living room and went to the bathroom, which was the only
room in the house that still looked the way I remembered it. When I