The last person David chatted with was my mother. It was strange for me. It was only recently, since my father left, that I had gotten into the habit of truly seeing her. What I mean is that for the first time in my life I was able to remember what my mother looked like when she wasn’t around. Before that I’d had a block. Something in me, when given the opportunity, deleted her. She worked for a nonprofit that organized internships throughout the National Park System, and a lot of what she did was fight with the government or coax money out of private businesses. Part of her job was site visits. Six or seven times a year, she would be down at the bottom of the Grand Canyon, or maybe in Alaska, or on a peak in the Smoky Mountains. I would sometimes talk with her as she packed for a trip, and what most impressed me during those moments was the knowledge of how happy she was. My parents loved each other, but their love confused them. Witnessing their marriage was like watching a dog bark at the door when no one’s there. I’m not sure if they ever figured out what their problem was, but I would say it was mostly money and the fact that they took their disappointments in the world out on each other. My father was the only person absent from church that day.