The Last Time I Crossed Oceans for You

I wiped the corners of my eyes, shoved the last piece of clothing into the suitcase, and zipped it shut.

Dick walked in, a bag in his hand.

It was a box from the cake shop I loved.

He set the bag down beside the suitcase, crouched, and his voice came soft:

"Don't pack."

I didn't look at him.

He took the cake out, opened the box:

"Your favorite tiramisu. I drove all the way downtown for it. The snow was heavy. The roads were awful."

My hands went still.

"Georgie," he lifted his head, his eyes a little red,

"I've thought it over. I really did get too close to Fiona. I'll be careful. From now on I'll keep my distance from her, just the distance of an ordinary classmate."

"Don't go, okay?"

I said nothing, only stared at the wheels on the suitcase.

The scuffs and dents on them, every single one was a road I'd traveled back and forth.

He yanked me into his arms, his chin resting on the top of my head,

"When I come home, we'll get married. How about that?"

I closed my eyes.

The next day, Dick said something he'd never said before:

"Let's catch a movie today. The one you said you wanted to see."

That movie had been out for three months.

I'd said I wanted to see it three times. All three times, he forgot.

In the theater he was tender in a way he rarely was, handing me his jacket, shielding the seatback, sliding the popcorn over, every gesture pitched just right.

I almost talked myself into it.

He loved me. He was just careless.

When the movie let out, he held my hand, something he so seldom did.

I looked down at our laced fingers, but inside there was none of the warmth I'd imagined.

"Dick! Georgette! What a coincidence!"

Fiona came out of the theater next door, popcorn in her arms, her eyes crinkled with a smile.

Almost without realizing it, Dick let go of my hand.

"You came to see a movie too?"

He walked over, his tone turning easy.

"Yeah, I waited forever for this one!"

Fiona held the popcorn out to him. "Try some, it's caramel."

He took it, ate a piece, and then the two of them fell into conversation.

"I thought that twist at the end felt kind of forced."

"What do you know, that's the director's style—"

"Dick, can you not be such a contrarian?"

The more they talked, the more they laughed, their shoulders bumping together again.

I stood two steps away, looking at my empty hand.

All that tenderness in the theater just now, the second Fiona appeared, it vanished without a trace.

That was when it came. "Bang! " Several of them.

A burst of gunfire rang out from the far end of the corridor.

Screams exploded in an instant, the crowd scattering in every direction.

The flood of people shoved me forward, and on instinct I reached out to grab Dick.

He'd been a step ahead of me.

Fiona fell.

"Ah—!"

He heard her cry and whipped around.

I saw him glance at me, and then he flung my hand away.

He turned and ran toward Fiona.

I stood where I was, knocked back and forth by the crowd.

In the chaos I went down, hitting the floor, a raw, burning pain.

In that instant I suddenly remembered the summer after I turned eighteen, after the SATs.

The sunrise by Lake Geneva, the sky a pinkish purple.

He'd pulled me up onto the overlook, the two of us breathless, looking at each other, and then he took my hand and said:

"Georgie, I like you."

The tips of his ears had gone red as he spoke, his palm slick with sweat.

"Let's never let go of each other's hands, okay? Always like this, you by my side, me by yours."