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“The guys said to tell you goodbye,” I say.

She grins up at me. “They really love you. I can’t believe they came out here and stayed in RVs.”

They really do love me, and the feeling’s mutual. I’m a lucky guy. I need to focus on all the incredible things in my life, rather than why Rosey doesn’t want a few more days of what we have together.

“So Saturday morning, I’m losing a neighbor,” I say.

“I’m really going to miss this,” she says.

I nod, slowly. So will I. I don’t know if I’ve ever walked away from a relationship and regretted it. I don’t know if I’ve ever thought about an ex once they fit into that box. Maybe because what Rosey and I have doesn’t feel done? I get the feeling Rosey is all I’m going to think of after Saturday.

“Wanna go to Grizzly’s and eat wings?” I ask her.

“No,” she says resolutely. “I want to stay here and drink hot chocolate.” There’s something about the tone in her voice I can’t place. Maybe it’s me, but she seems a little sad. “I’m going to miss our nights drinking hot chocolate on the porch.” Yes, there’s definitely a note of sadness in her voice.

I don’t get it. If she’s going to miss this, why didn’t she volunteer?

We go into her cabin, make me a drink and refresh hers, then go sit on the porch swing.

“I heard from my sister today. She graduated high school nearly a year ago. She’s desperate to go to college.”

“That’s great,” I say.

“Yeah,” she replies, but heryessays more than yes.

“Yeah?” I ask. I want to hear what she’s thinking.

“My mom doesn’t want her to go. She wants her to get a job so she can contribute to family expenses.”

“You feel guilty because if your mom had your salary from the job at Frank’s garage, your sister would be able to go to college?” I ask, trying to figure out why Rosey seems a little reserved tonight.

“No, I doubt she’d let Marion go either way. But if I were there… maybe she’d be focused on me and Frank, and what she could get from him. Her attention wouldn’t be on Marion.”

I don’t know what to say to that. It’s fucked up that she feels the need to shield her sisters from her mom. That she feels guilty for not taking the shots so they can escape.

“You want me to help with anything?” I ask.

She shakes her head. “No. I’ll figure it out.”

I want to help somehow. I want to make her feel better. Doesn’t she see that?

She must read the disappointment in my face. “It’s kind of you to offer,” she says, “but I can’t rely on other people for things. That’s how…” She doesn’t finish her sentence. She just shrugs.

I shift to face her. “That’s how what?”

“I’ve never been independent. First my mom, then Frank. I’ve never made my own decisions about anything. I’ve never taken action that wasn’t approved by my mom. I need to give the trailer back to Frank. I’ve made that decision and it feels like a big one.” Her voice cracks and I want to pull her into a hug. This is clearly a huge deal for her.

“I’m not trying to influence your decision.”

She nods. “I know. But I’m terrified that if we keep going like this, or if I let you fix my problems, I’m going to slip into a role where… I’m not myself.”

“I don’t want you to be anyone but yourself,” I say. “I like you too much to want you to change.”

“I know. The thing is, I feel like a toddler out in the world. I’ve spent my life trying to please my mom or at least avoid making her angry. I’ve bent and changed myself so much to fit her needs that I don’t know who I am when I’m standing tall. I need to learn that.”

“And you’re worried you’re going to bend for me if you talk to my lawyer, or if you spend a few more days in the cabin?”

She holds my gaze. We both know that her not volunteering to delay her move is circling our conversation like a hawk.