Nolan is planning to leave. Clara knows this because she wakes before him and sees something on his bed stand she hadn't noticed last evening—a newly issued passport. He applied for it after they'd already shared a number of nights together on the rooftop. So it is true. Nolan wants to have a future in Canada.

Clara, her hands shaking, drops the passport and leaves the room as quickly as possible. It's scarcely dawn when she walks outside in her fiery sundress, her bare feet tapping the asphalt as she runs to the curb. The corner store Nolan always walks to is located right across the street. She'll go there. She has no money to spend, but that doesn't matter. She'll go to the convenience store and if she can do that, she can go anywhere. She can go to British Columbia with Nolan. Clara can have a future in Canada too.

She runs to the curb. She runs and runs but the curb stays where it is and so does Clara. The hotel hasn't softened its hold on her. Nothing has changed.

She is still a breathless one. Her dream of having a normal life was nothing but foolishness. She will never take a bite of food or go bowling in town. She will never take air into her lungs. She will never leave the hotel. She will never know what she is or where she came from.

Her existence is filled with a sudden cold certainty—certainly never this and certainly not that. Her world is the grey canvas sky. The one uncertainty remaining is Nolan.

"My mother's in Canada." This is the first thing he says when he sees her returned to his room, her cheeks taut from the salt of dried tears. Nolan shifts nervously. He has the air of someone who's been worn down by life. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you."

Sorry he didn't tell her about his mother, or about something else, Clara's not sure.

"I can't leave." She wipes her hands against the new round of tears falling from her eyes. "I'm still the same."

"I know." Nolan is dressed. His hoody is zipped up and his shoes are on his feet. She doesn't need him to explain, but he does. "I was going to come and find you."

"You're leaving." If Clara was able to say this out loud, she's not sure if she would have uttered it like a question or a statement of fact.

"I...I'm not sure, Clara."

"You don't have to breathe anymore, do you?"

Nolan remains still for a moment, then shakes his head.

"You're afraid to be like me." This is a statement of fact. Neither of them would dispute its truth.

Clara walks over to where Nolan stands and places her hand on his chest.

"Breathe," she says and he does.

#

Nolan breathes. The pulse of her hand touching him disappears.

"How does that feel?" She mouths.

"Terrifying," he answers, "like I've forgotten something I was never meant to know."

She nods. "You're searching for something. For someone. Have you found her yet?"

Nolan stops breathing and when he can touch her hand again, he wraps his arms around her. He kisses the top of her head and that is the only answer he can give to her.

They pass the day together in Nolan's room. There is no reason to leave it. No one comes looking for Nolan, expecting him to perform menial labor. Nothing draws Nolan away from Clara. For one whole morning, Nolan doesn't think of Canada, or of the mother he hopes to find there. He thinks only of what he's already found.

He naps that afternoon, dreaming again of floral dresses and sub-alpine fields. When he wakes he can no longer recall what he hopes for.