Page 84 of The Night We Lost Him

“Yes. Really.”

“How did I not know that?” he asked.

“There are a lot of things you don’t know about me.”

He put his hands on the ladder. She stepped down several rungs and turned toward him, so that his hands were right over her head, encircling her. His face inches from her face. Just the two of them breathing in that air, like a halo, like a safety valve.

“I pray every day that’s not true,” he said, sincerely.

“Okay. Well.” She met his eyes. “Do you remember Mrs. Dixon?”

“Mrs. Dixon?”

“Sophomore English. Had lots of turtle paraphernalia in the classroom.”

He never had her as a teacher, but he searched his memory to properly place her. Fidelity is who you tell your stories to. He could feel how important it was that he really showed up for this one.

“With the red hair, yeah?” he said. “She made Joe join the literary review or she was going to fail him?”

“Exactly. She had a New Yorker writer come into the class to speak to us, a short story writer, and he sat on the floor in front of the class, and he told us that when he’s writing his stories, they’re each a love letter to one person. A love letter that other people are just peeking in on.” She shrugged. “I still think about it when I write and it takes it away.”

“Takes what away?”

“Any idea that I should be writing for anyone but me.”

“And the person.”

“Yes. And the person.”

“Who’s the person?”

She smiled, not answering. “Don’t miss the point.”

“Fair enough. Tell me the point.”

“I know that it’s your favorite pastime, to focus on what should have been, but I don’t like to focus on it. It’s a waste. And to be honest, it feels like just another thing that gets in the way of you finding it. Holding on to it.”

“What’s that?”

“Happiness.”

“How did this become a referendum on me?”

“You interrupted my wallpaper install.”

“So you don’t ever think about the alternative life?” He shrugged. “The one where I get to be with you every day and all the babies we’ve had running around, we are raising them together. And you write in this room all day and at night, I bring us some tea, and sit in that chair there. And watch you work.”

“I like my life,” she said. “Plus, you’re watching me now. And I’m finding it quite annoying.”

“That’s not an answer,” he said.

He pushed the hair out of her face, her thick curls. His fingers running the length of her cheek.

She leaned into him, into his fingers. “The sunset’s going to be beautiful when the rain clears. Why don’t you go save a spot on the cliff, and when you’re annoying me less, maybe I’ll come meet you out there.”

“You’re exiling me? Into the rain?”

“You have boots.”