On Thursday, which the narrator maps to a Pennsylvania-to-Indiana leg of her fictional road trip, Davey has his day off and they drive up into the hills together. They find a secluded field of wildflowers and lie on a patchwork of old towels and jackets. Davey reveals that Claire documented the Excelsior room renovations and will use the photos to attract new clients. He tells the narrator that watching her transform the room felt like she was "getting our home ready" and that the $20,000 she spent reassured him she was a good person who wouldn't hurt him or Claire. The narrator is moved but unsettled.

When the narrator asks what Davey and Claire are saving money for, he reluctantly admits it's a house and then a baby. This revelation hits the narrator hard. She realizes Davey's restraint with her isn't flirtation but genuine sacrifice for Claire's sake, and that her spending inadvertently launched Claire's career and funded their future family. She abruptly begins folding the towels to leave. Davey protests, saying he has strong feelings for her. The narrator yells "I love you" across the field multiple times, which shakes them both with its weight. Davey then states that she loves him but wouldn't leave her husband for him. The narrator doesn't respond, privately thinking of him as an impossible choice—like a ghost asking you to leave your spouse.

The next afternoon, Davey brings a paper sack with a surprise. They lie together on the bed for the first time, the narrator's head on his chest. She envisions a lifelong arrangement: profoundly married to other people but always returning to their shared world. She reflects that having a lover will make her a better wife and mother, and categorizes herself as a "Parker" who has found fulfillment without becoming a "Driver" like Harris. Physical intimacy escalates as she kisses down his chest and stomach to the waistband of his underwear, but Davey pulls her back before things go further.

The surprise in the bag turns out to be a strobe light. They dance together in the darkened room with music at full volume, the strobe fragmenting their movements. The narrator describes the dancing as transcendent—beyond language, closing the gap between separate selves. Davey's dancing is virtuosic and sometimes androgynous. Afterward, they collapse exhausted and share cold orange juice from the minifridge.

When not with Davey, the narrator luxuriates in her beautiful motel room—sleeping late, eating indulgent foods, having orgasms, and avoiding all work or guilt. She is completely present and happy. However, a cold inner voice occasionally breaks through upon waking, accusing her of betraying her husband and missing her child. The voice reminds her of the NICU days after Sam's birth, when she woke touching her empty stomach in horror. She interprets this critical voice as a "core self" keeping a light on for her return. But eventually, the voice stops entirely. Each morning she wakes thinking only of Davey.