“When I was eighteen,” her father said, “I bought a motorcycle and rode around Europe for months.”

Ellen had never heard this before. “Was it fun?” she asked.

“I lived like a maniac.”

She paused, unsure whether this was good or bad. “Was it fun?” she asked again.

“Fun. Was it fun.” He stared across the miles of dead grass and shook his head. “It was the best time of my life.”

Ellen felt suddenly shy. She followed her father’s gaze to the horizon, where faded earth nudged a faded sky. It looked like the edge of something hidden, a place he alone had explored.