Mia finds a barn on the Iowa side of the Sioux City outskirts. It sits atop an almost imperceptible bump of a hill, a white sailboat against the ocean of the meadow rippling like waves in the wind. She couldn’t find her grandparents’ graves, and she still doesn’t know where, exactly, they used to grow endless rows of corn under the wide Iowan sky, but this could be it. A tall, silver silo stands behind the barn, the arm of a rusted grain elevator reaching up beside it. In the distance, a tractor engine groans to life. The air is hot and dry.
This could be it. The old family farm. It could be.
Mia is not tired after walking across the country, because Mia is a ghost.