Green and wide, the valley of Sovereignty Ranch opened toward the wooded hills, the sky enormous and blue above it and the sun going down soft and low at the far edge, warming the tops of the hills, and the gravel road ran ahead through all of it toward nowhere in particular, which was the whole point, because the destination was never the reason for the walk. Adi stood on the road in her pink dress and turned back to look, paused there between where she had been and where she was going, the whole Hill Country spread out around her and the light catching the side of her face. I called to her, and she looked back, because that is what she always does. She could have walked faster and crested the hill alone, but doing so alone does not carry the same meaning.

There is a way of moving through a life with another person that has nothing to do with grand declarations and everything to do with this, the looking back, the waiting, the refusal to let too much distance open up between two people on the same road. One calls and the other turns. One falls behind and the other slows without being asked. The valley does not care whether we walk it together or apart, and the hills will hold the light the same either way, but something in the choosing to stay within sight of each other is the truest thing on the whole ranch, truer than the sunset and older than the hills. Adi waits more often than I do. I know this, and I am grateful, and I call her name just to watch her look back one more time.