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In the August heat, downtown Chicago smelled sweaty with a funky hint of raw sewage wafting from the river. The winds mingled the scent of lake water—part fog, part fish—with an aroma of warm chocolate coming from the cocoa bean processing at Blommer Chocolate Factory.

Their apartment was only a few blocks from Grant Park, where Mattie and Lilith had taken picnics in the spring, ridden bikes in the summer, strolled arm in arm admiring the jewel tones of the autumn leaves, and ice-skated in the winter. For two nomads living paycheck to paycheck, Mattie often marveled at how they'd resided so close to such wealth.

Lilith had a way with people—an unexplainable quality that drew people to her almost as soon as she arrived in any town. For years Mattie thought it was her mom's striking beauty, the way she glided through the world like a being not 'of' this world. Her attractiveness definitely contributed to her magnetism, but as Mattie grew older, she knew there was more to her mother's appeal.

Mattie sometimes wondered if Lilith emitted a frequency that certain people could feel. Someone might be standing on a street corner about to turn right, but she'd pick up on Lilith's energy and take a left instead. Then she'd bump into Mattie and Lilith, and they'd become instant friends. Or someone would order three lunches instead of one and find Mattie and Lilith looking for a place to eat.

Because of Lilith's ability to draw people to her, she and Mattie were never in want of anything. In Asheville, North Carolina, they were researching apartments they could afford, and a woman in the grocery store parking lot heard them and said she had a guesthouse that had just been vacated. And in Austin, Texas, while her mom scrolled through job openings online and chatted with Mattie about her qualifications, the man having coffee next to them on the park bench said he needed an executive assistant since his had just retired. These types of wonders happened in every town, multiple times.

It was no different in Chicago. The week after Lilith decided to leave Portland, she and Mattie bought tickets for a flight bound for O'Hare. The airline had oversold the flight and offered first-class tickets to anyone who wanted to pay a few hundred dollars more. No one was interested, so Lilith made her way to the counter. In less than five minutes, she and the airline worker were laughing. Lilith wrote on a page torn from her notepad and handed the paper to the woman behind the counter. When her mom returned to her seat beside Mattie, she held two first-class tickets in her hand, whispering that she'd been given them at no extra charge.

Mattie had never flown first class. The oversize plush seats wowed her. A flight attendant offered free champagne before takeoff, along with squishy pillows and fuzzy blankets. Lilith struck up a conversation with the man across the aisle from her, who looked vaguely familiar. Turned out he was Orion Aboiye, an actor famous for his roles in sci-fi and adventure movies. He'd just wrapped up shooting a film in the lush Oregon forests.

The next evening in Chicago, Orion took Mattie and Lilith out to Boka, an exquisite seasonal-food restaurant, where Mattie ate grilled Spanish octopus and kampachi for the first time. Her dinner of Tasmanian ocean trout followed by a roasted blueberry sorbet was some of the best food she'd ever eaten. Mattie only joined in the conversation when they directly brought her into it. She'd seen a similar scenario play out dozens of times, but each time it was slightly different. The town, the man, the restaurant, the scenery all changed. The power of Lilith's charm was the only constant, an inescapable force. Even Mattie was often captivated by her.

When Orion hailed Mattie and Lilith a taxi outside the restaurant that night, he asked for their address, which was a downtown hotel until they could find more permanent lodging. Orion offered the apartment he rented near Grant Park. When Lilith protested, Orion assured them it was no trouble. The next morning he would be off again for a promotional tour. He insisted Mattie and Lilith stay at his place rent-free for as long as they needed. As absurd as the whole offer sounded, Mattie had long ago lost her sense of surprise over what people, often strangers, gave her mom.

Orion and Lilith continued to spend time together when he had days off from publicity tours or filming, which wasn't often, but they spoke on the phone a few times every week. Orion never asked them to vacate the apartment. Anytime he was in Chicago, he stayed with his brother, and Lilith would disappear with him for days, leaving Mattie on her own, which suited her just fine at the time.

But now, two and a half years later, Mattie stood alone on the Chicago sidewalk, and she wasn't fine. Not at all. The keys to a rental car warmed her palm. She didn't have any close friends, only acquaintances. After traveling for years, she learned not to accumulate stuff or attach to anything, including people. The few personal belongings she did hang on to were in cardboard boxes she'd gotten from the neighborhood pizza restaurant where she'd been working. All her clothes fit into one suitcase—the same beat-up, hardback teal one she'd had for years.

Mattie didn't know what to do with her mom's stuff other than pack it up and figure it out later. Lilith's vinyl collection and acoustic guitar were safely stowed in the trunk of the rental, and her jewelry and clothes were packed into a fancy rose-gold suitcase that had been a gift from a man in Portland. Two suitcases, eight boxes, Mattie's canvases and paints, and five potted plants crowded the back seat, leaving the passenger seat open for emptiness and sadness to occupy.