When people were really messed up, most of them wanted to do better, only they didn’t know how. So they showed up in her office, simply wanting to learn more about themselves and how to live in this world. She wasn’t exactly labeled a Christian therapist, but with their permission, sometimes she liked to mention to her Christian clients that the Bible talked about all sorts of people—a lot of terrible, confused, miserable people. Murderers, thieves, you name it—Jesus was the only perfect one, and He surrounded Himself with imperfect people. The Bible was full of surprises and unlikely heroes, people who made mistakes. And even when she didn’t want to, she thought often of Odette’s tremulous voice echoing in the apartment stairwell after Tallie had driven over there and confronted her not long after Joel had moved out. Tallie had stared at Odette’s vulpine face, her mouth frozen in a little rose twist. “I’m sorry. Everyone makes mistakes,” Odette had said.
It was something Tallie always told her clients, reassuring them that she’d made a lot of mistakes, too. Being a human was hard, and life was proof—there was no escaping it. “You’re human, and you have to reconcile that with yourself somehow. Forgive yourself. Allow yourself to feel everything deeply, to grow and learn,” she’d say.
“But what do you really believe, Emmett? Deep in your spirit, without thinking.”
“I believe in God…but I think He’s forgotten about me.”
A chill skipped across Tallie’s bones like a rock on water, but her house was too warm. She got up to lift the kitchen window as rain spattered at the screen. The ledge dampened; the humidity and smell of soggy leaves hemmed them in.
“Well, He didn’t forget about you on the bridge yesterday. He held you in His hand and didn’t let you go. And He won’t…even when it feels like He’s not there…He is.”
Emmett said nothing.
“And this, is this important to you?” Tallie asked, holding his backpack up with two fingers like it was a wet skunk.
“No. I want it to disappear.”
EMMETT
The rain was letting up. Tallie opened the back door and pointed to the gas grill she said had belonged to Joel.
“Never been used. Can’t we put it in there and light it up like a barbecue?” she asked.
（There is a yellow-orange orb of light—like fire caught in a jam jar—behind the frosted glass next to Tallie’s face. Pretty, glow. She holds the long lighter in her hand, flicks it.） Tallie had gone to her bedroom and returned with a stack of her wedding photos. She’d shown him the one on top: her in a garden in a long lace dress standing next to a tuxedoed Joel, looking over at him as he smiled for the camera. She’d shoved the photos down into Emmett’s empty backpack.
“Do you want to talk about why you want this gone?” she asked.
“Not really. I don’t need it anymore, that’s all. Do you—”
“No. And I have another backpack I can give you,” she said, always thinking ahead. Tallie probably made a to-do list every morning and never ran out of anything, never forgot to pay a bill. Probably had never been late returning a library book in her entire life.
“And you promise you’ll stop carrying around a huge amount of cash?” she asked, lifting the lid of the grill. It yawned open, revealing more black.
“Yes, ma’am,” he said. He set the backpack on the metal rack.
“Cool it with the ma’am.”
“My bad.”
“Should we say a few words? I’ll start. Goodbye and good riddance,” Tallie said.
“Goodbye, backpack. I loved you once, but not anymore. You’re dirty, and I need a new one. But know this: I will never forget you,” Emmett said, lowering his head and clasping his hands in front of him. He closed his eyes, then opened one to peek at Tallie so she’d know it was more than okay to chuckle along with him, and she did.
“Amen,” Tallie said. She turned on the gas, clicked the flame to the green fabric, and they watched it catch. And go.
*
Emmett and Christine had needed new supplies for the first trip they took together. It was spring, and they’d been serious since their first date, at the end of summer. They’d driven from his place to Red River Gorge, about two hours north. He’d hiked part of the Appalachian Trail with his youth group in high school, had a hiking pack. He needed a new, smaller backpack, too. He and Christine had gone to the big camping store, thirty minutes outside of town. He held up a black bag, and Christine commented that black backpacks made her sad. He held up a tangerine bag, and she said it was too annoying, too alert. When Emmett held up the deep green one that would later burn in Tallie’s grill, Christine said it was just right.