When the plane landed, Katherine and I made our way through the airport to find her husband. “Now, I told the kids last week that you’re moving in, so they know you’re coming,” she chattered as we pushed through the crowds. “Also, I have a room for you. I just haven’t been able to clean it out yet, so—oh, George! George, over here!” Katherine jumped up and down, waving to a tall man in his early fifties. I could tell Mr. Walter was a few years older than his wife because most of his hair and scruff were completely gray, and age lines were starting to streak across his forehead. He was wearing a red-and-black flannel shirt with ripped jeans, heavy work boots, and a cowboy hat. When we reached him, he pulled Katherine into a hug and stroked her hair. It reminded me of my parents, and I cringed and turned away. “I missed you,” he told her. She pecked him on the cheek. “I missed you too.” Pulling away, she turned to me. “George dear,” she said, taking his hand. “This is Jackie Howard. Jackie, this is my husband.” George looked uncomfortable as he sized me up. After all, how exactly do you greet someone who just lost her entire family? Nice to meet you? We’re happy to have you? Instead, George held out his free hand for me to grasp and muttered a quick hello. Then he turned back to Katherine. “Let’s get the luggage and go home.” *** Once all of my suitcases were packed into the bed of the truck, I climbed in the backseat and dug my iPod out of my jacket. George and Katherine were chatting quietly about the flight, so I pulled on my headphones, not wanting to hear any more of their conversation. As we drove farther away from the city and deeper into the country, I became more upset. We were surrounded by green fields and hills that dipped up and down along the pavement, but without the tall, proud buildings of New York City, I somehow felt exposed. Colorado was beautiful, but how was I ever going to live here? Finally, after what seemed like hours, the truck pulled onto a gravel road.