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The next afternoon, she asked if there was anything she could do to help. The message came through after a cousin returned my jumper cables because they’d borrowed them from the person I had originally helped.

Hudson: With what?

Sloane: The overwhelming parts.

Hudson: Do you know anything about water lines or wildlife zoning?

Sloane: No, but I’m a fast learner.

I leaned against the truck door.

Hudson: I don’t think there’s anything you can do from wherever you are.

That answer bothered me after I sent it. It was practical. Still, wherever you are emphasized something strange about our relationship. We communicated every day, yet I couldn’t picture her surroundings. I didn’t know what town or state she was in, what her home looked like, or the places she visited in her day-to-day life.

I had a profile icon and a name. And an ever-increasing log of messages that were starting to mean far too much to me.

Sloane: I could check on you.

Hudson: You already do.

Sloane: No, I mean deliberately.

Hudson: That sounds ominous.

Sloane: Daily reminders to eat, drink water, take a break. You know, basic maintenance of the Hudson machine.

Hudson: I’m not a machine.

Sloane: You’re right. Machines usually come with manuals.

Hudson: I don’t need maintenance reminders.

Sloane: You ate most of a protein bar yesterday and considered the matter settled.

I couldn’t argue with that.

Hudson: You’d get bored after two days.

Sloane: Is that a challenge?

Hudson: Just a fair warning. My schedule is less than exciting.

Sloane: Fine. I’ll prove you wrong.

I smiled at the phone.

Hudson: Fine.

The first reminder arrived the following morning at eight fifteen.

Sloane: Drink water before coffee.

I had already made coffee, but I poured a glass of water and drank it before I washed it down with caffeine.

At eleven thirty, she sent:

Sloane: Unclench your jaw.