“You want to come visit?” Mom asks. “I thought you’d be busy heading up teams to research distant moons by now.”

“Well, I’m not,” Grace snaps, short-tempered. “I could help you get ready for the harvest season,” she says. “I would work. I’m not asking for a handout from you.”

“Where is this coming from?”

“Mom—”

“Listen for a minute, Grace Adrian Porter,” Mom says. “I’m just asking you to tell me what’s going on. You don’t sound good. What’s wrong? Is it Colonel?”

Grace leans her head against the wall. “No,” she says. “It’s not Colonel, Mom. It’s me. I just need—I want to get away for a while. Everything moved so fast for so long, and now I just—I just want a break.” She inhales a shaky, uneven breath and wipes her eyes. She lowers her voice, so not even her echo will hear her beg. “Please.”

Mom clears her throat. “Tell me what happened,” she says. “You don’t sound like yourself.”

“It’s nothing I can’t handle,” she says. “It’s been taking more out of me than I realized, finding a position. The people have been taking more out of me. I want some time to decide where I want to go next with my career. Professor MacMillan thought it sounded like a good idea, too.” She squeezes her eyes shut. “I’m just tired, that’s all. Maybe getting away would help.”

“I bet Colonel was thrilled to hear that,” Mom says, and Grace racks out a wet, broken laugh. “Can I tell you something?” Mom asks.

Grace sighs. “Yeah,” she says. “Sure.”

“I want you to know you can always come visit. Southbury is your home, same as Portland. But, baby, getting away won’t make the things go away, you hear me?” Mom’s voice is soft. “It took me a long time to learn that. But your father is a fighter, and he raised you to be a fighter because he knew what kind of world we’re living in. Don’t let it break your spirit or wring you out dry. Okay?”

Grace swallows hard, tasting salt water. “Yeah,” she croaks out. “I hear you.”

“Jesus, Porter, don’t cry. I can hear you. Don’t cry.”

“I know.” She wipes her stinging eyes. “Porters don’t cry. I know.”

Mom sniffs. “I used to hate hearing you say that,” she says. “But you’ve always listened to Colonel like he was God.”

“Well, I didn’t know any better,” Grace says.

“That’s a lie if I ever heard one,” Mom says, voice fierce. “I know neither me or Colonel are always right, but we always want the best for you. If you think coming to stay in Southbury for a while is the best thing for you, then I won’t say no.”

“But?” Grace asks.

“But it’ll be hard whether you’re in Portland or Florida or the North damn Pole. I don’t want you to stop because it’s hard. I know that’s real easy for me to say, but it’s true. Stop if you need a break, honey, but don’t stop because they want you to. You got too much potential.”

It breaks something in Grace, the simple honesty in her words. It breaks something, to acknowledge out loud that it will not be easy, no matter where she looks. She mourns for the optimism she felt right after graduation, when she thought, I have come this far, and I will go even farther, and no one can stop me. She grieves for that feeling because even if Porters don’t cry, Grace does. Grace cries, in a hospital stairwell that’s heard worse.

“My Star Girl,” Mom says. “Please stop crying. It’s breaking my heart.”

Grace tries, she really tries, but the tears don’t stop and neither does the hollow black abyss spreading right under her ribs. It used to be filled with research and classes and exams, the dream of what lay ahead. Now there’s just nothing.

She cries, and all that nothing eats her up. The stairwell echoes with it.

She stays there until eventually someone wraps their arms around her and holds her tight.

“Let me go,” she says, choking on her voice as she struggles in the grip. “Let me go.”

“No,” Agnes says. “I’m not letting you go.” She sounds scared, voice shaky. “You’re hurting yourself. Look. Look.”

Grace looks. There are long, red scratches on her knuckles, on her wrists and arms.

“Hello?” Agnes says, picking up Grace’s dropped phone. “Hi, Ms. Mel, this is Agnes...Yeah, I’m gonna get her home, I promise...Yes. Yes, I promise. I have to go now...Okay. Yes. Bye.”

She hangs up, still wrapped around Grace. “You never sound that polite,” Grace says, enough of her energy gone that she goes limp. Agnes takes her weight.

“Yeah,” Agnes grunts, shifting so they don’t fall. “Well, you never scare the shit out of me like this,” she mutters. “Twenty minutes, I said. Twenty minutes.”

“Did you tell Ximena?”

“You already know the answer to that.” She holds Grace tight. “She called Raj to pick us up. Fuck if I’m dragging you on a train or into an Uber like this.”

Grace sighs, closing her eyes. “Aggie,” she says quietly. Her throat and her eyes ache. Her heart aches. “I’m so tired.”