The night was blue-black all around us, and there were no other hikers on the path we chose, even though it was perfect late September weather—unseasonably warm, clear and dry.He turned to me. “How are you doing?”“Maybe a little shaky.” I told the truth.“Mm,” he said, not knowing what to make of that. “Let’s rest for a minute. Your body is still fighting a bacterial infection, after all.”“It’s not that. The antibiotics are working great.” And then, because everything had changed—because I had changed—I said, “Thank you for those. And for remembering I can’t have penicillin.”He led the way to a fallen tree. It had landed on an old metal fence with barbed wire on top, crushing it. He shone his flashlight on a sign that indicated this was the edge of the park. Beyond the fence was private property—a field or meadow of some sort, with what might have been hay clipped short for the fall. I sat down on the trunk of the tree. He put one sneaker up on it, crossing both arms on his knee.
