But she quickly regains her stride with the next few stories, with characters returning to their families and hometowns and struggling to figure out how you can recreate a sense of belonging to a place or a person once you leave them. You can feel Michalski building the emotional tension as the collection nears its end, and she delivers with a punch to the gut in the concluding story, 'From Here.' In it, the main character, Linney, leaves New York and returns to her father's hostel/mineral springs on the Rio Grande in New Mexico to care for him as he suffers from cancer. Michalski is at the height of her prosaic powers here: As Linney drives home, "the landscape was black, a cloth of velvet pushpinned by stars, keeping its secrets. Such suspense for nothing, she always liked to think." And later, after Linney catches a glimpse of her ex-boyfriend, she wonders "how she looked to him back at the hostel, ten pounds thinner, her baby flesh scraped out of her face by cigarettes and espresso and four hours' sleep. By New York, its vampire energy. Its bite was so quick, so fleeting. So much time was spent waiting for the next graze of its teeth." It culminates with a beautiful, devastating finish, the sort that left me rereading the last paragraph over and over with my breath hitched in my chest.