Not the Grand Canyon.
Not immediately.
She started small.
Her parents’ backyard.
Morning light through a kitchen window.
Her mother’s hands around a coffee mug.
Rain collecting on leaves.
Things close enough to leave whenever she wanted.
Eventually, she took a weekend trip with friends.
At one point, she walked several yards away from the group to photograph the sunset.
One friend instinctively called:
“Khloe?”
She froze.
The old fear flashed through her body.
Then she turned.
Her friend looked embarrassed.
“Sorry. I just…”
