he following morning, Savannah was standing on the

porch, and she waved as I pulled in the drive. She stepped forward as I brought the car to a stop. I half expected Tim to appear in the doorway behind her, but he was nowhere to be seen.

“Hey,” she said, touching my arm. “Thanks for coming.” “Yeah,” I said, giving a reluctant shrug.

I thought I saw a flash of understanding in her eyes before she asked, “Did you sleep okay?”

“Not really.”

At that, she gave a wry smile. “Are you ready?” “As I'll ever be.”

“Okay,” she said. “Just let me get the keys. Unless you'd like to drive.”

I didn't catch her meaning at first. “We're leaving?” I nodded toward the house. “I thought we were going to see Tim.” “We are,” she said. “He's not here.”

“Where is he?”

It was as if she hadn't heard me. “Do you want to drive?” “Yeah, I guess so,” I said, not bothering to hide my confusion

but somehow knowing she'd clear things up when she was ready.

I opened the door for her and went around the driver's side to slide behind the wheel. Savannah was running her hand over the dashboard,, as if trying to prove to herself it was real.

“I remember this car.” Her expression was nostalgic. “It's your dad's, right? Wow, I can't believe it's still running.”

“He didn't drive all that much,” I said. “Just to work and the store.”

“Still.”

She put on her seat belt, and despite myself, I wondered whether she'd spent the night alone.

“Which way?” I asked.

“At the road, take a left,” she said. “Head toward town.”

Neither of us spoke. Instead, she stared out the passenger window

with her arms crossed. I might have been offended, but there was something in her expression that told me her preoccupation had nothing to do with me, and I left her alone with her thoughts.

On the outskirts of town, she shook her head, as if suddenly conscious of how quiet it was in the car. “I'm sorry,” she said. “I guess my company leaves a lot to be desired.”

“It's okay,” I said, trying to mask my growing curiosity.

She pointed toward the windshield. “At the next corner, take a right.”

“Where are we going?”

She didn't answer right away. Instead, she turned and gazed out the passenger window.

“The hospital,” she finally said.

I followed her through seemingly endless corridors, finally stopping at the visitors' check-in. Behind the desk, an elderly volunteer

held out a clipboard. Savannah reached for the pen and began signing her name automatically.

“You holdin' up, Savannah?” “Trying,” Savannah murmured.

“It'll all turn out okay. You've got the whole town prayin' for him.”

“Thanks,” Savannah said. She handed back the clipboard, then looked at me. “He's on the third floor,” she explained. “The elevators are just down the hall.”

I followed her, my stomach churning. We reached the elevator just as someone was getting off, and stepped inside. When the doors closed, it felt as if I were in a tomb.

When we reached the third floor, Savannah started down the hallway with me trailing behind. She stopped in front of a room with a door propped open and then turned to face me.

“I think I should probably go in first,” she said. “Can you wait here?”

“Of course.”

She flashed her appreciation, then turned away. She drew a long breath before entering the room. “Hey, honey,” I heard her call out, her tone bright. “You doing okay?”

I didn't hear any more than that for the next couple of minutes. Instead I stood in the hallway, absorbing the same sterile, impersonal surroundings I'd noticed while visiting with my

father. The air reeked of a nameless disinfectant, and I watched as an orderly wheeled a cart of food into a room down the hall. Halfway up the corridor, I saw a group of nurses clustered in the station. Behind the door across the hallway, I could hear someone retching.

“Okay,” Savannah said, poking her head out. Beneath her brave appearance, I could still see her sadness. "You can come in. He's

ready for you."

I followed her in, bracing myself for the worst. Tim sat propped

up in the bed with an IV connected to his arm. He looked exhausted, and his skin was so pale that it was almost translucent.

He'd lost even more weight than my father had, and as I stared at him, all I could think was that he was dying. Only the kindness in his eyes was unaffected. On the other side of the room

was a young man—late teens or early twenties, maybe—rolling his head from side to side, and I knew immediately it was Alan. The room was crowded with flowers: dozens of bouquets and greeting cards stacked on every available tabletop and ledge. Savannah sat on the bed beside her husband and reached for his hand.

“Hey, Tim,” I said.

He looked too tired to smile, but he managed. “Hey, John. Good to see you again.”

“You too,” I said. “How are you?”

As soon as I said it, I knew how ridiculous it sounded. Tim must have been used to it, for he didn't flinch.

“I'm okay,” he said. “I'm feeling better now.”

I nodded. Alan continued to roll his head, and I found myself watching him, feeling like an intruder in events I wished I could have avoided.

“This is my brother, Alan,” he said. “Hi, Alan.”

When Alan didn't respond, I heard Tim whisper to him, "Hey,

Alan? It's okay. He's not a doctor. He's a friend. Go say hello."

It took a few seconds, but Alan finally rose from his seat. He walked stiffly across the room, and though he wouldn't meet my eyes, he extended his hand. “Hi, I'm Alan,” he said in a surprisingly deep monotone.

“Nice to meet you,” I said, taking his hand. It was limp; he pumped once, then let go and went back to his seat. “There's a chair if you'd like to sit,” Tim said.

I wandered farther into the room and took a seat. Before I could even ask, I heard Tim already answering the question on my mind.

“Melanoma,” he said. “In case you're wondering.” “But you'll be okay, right?”

Alan's head rolled even faster, and he began to slap his thighs. Savannah turned away. I already knew I shouldn't have asked. “That's what the doctors are for,” Tim replied. “I'm in good hands.” I knew the answer was more for Alan than me, and Alan began to calm down.

Tim closed his eyes, then opened them again, as if trying to concentrate his strength. "I'm glad to see you made it back in one

piece,“ he said. ”I prayed for you the whole time you were in Iraq.“ ”Thank you," I said.

“What have you been up to? Still in the army, I guess.” He nodded toward my crew cut, and I ran my hand over it. “Yeah. Seems like I'm becoming a lifer.”

“Good,” he said. “The army needs people like you.”

I said nothing. The scene struck me as surreal, like watching yourself in a dream. Tim turned to Savannah. "Sweetheart—would you walk with Alan and get him a soda? He hasn't had anything

to drink since earlier this morning. And if you can, maybe you can talk him into eating."

“Sure,” she said. She kissed him on the forehead and rose from the bed. She stopped in the doorway. “Come on, Alan. Let's get something to drink, okay?”

To me, it seemed as if Alan were slowly processing the words. Finally, he got up and followed Savannah; she placed a gentle hand on his back on the way out the door. When they were gone, Tim faced me again.

“This whole thing is really hard on Alan. He's not taking it well.”

“How can he?”

“Don't let the rolling of his head fool you, though. It's got nothing to do with autism or his intelligence. It's more like a tic he gets when he's nervous. The same thing when he started slapping his thighs. He knows what's going on, but it affects him in ways that usually make other people uncomfortable.”

I clasped my hands. “It didn't make me uncomfortable,” I said. “My dad had his things, too. He's your brother, and it's obvious that he's worried. It makes sense.”

Tim smiled. “That's kind of you to say. A lot of people get frightened.”

“Not me,” I said, shaking my head. “I know I could take him.” Remarkably, he laughed, although it seemed to take a lot out of him.

“I'm sure you could,” he said. “Alan's gentle. Probably too gentle. He won't even swat flies.”

I nodded, recognizing that all this small talk was just his way of making me feel more comfortable. It wasn't working.

“When did you find out?”

"A year ago. A mole on the back of my calf started to itch, and when I scratched at it, it started to bleed. Of course, I didn't think much of it then, until it bled again the next time I scratched at

it. Six months ago, I went to the doctor. That was on a Friday. I had surgery on Saturday and started interferon on Monday. Now, I'm here."

“You've been in the hospital all this time?”

“No. I'm here only off and on. Usually, interferon is done on an outpatient basis, but me and the interferon don't get along. I don't tolerate it that well, so now they do it here. In case I get too sick and become dehydrated. Like I did yesterday.”

“I'm sorry,” I said. “I am, too.”

I looked around the room, my eyes landing on a cheaply framed bedside photo of Tim and Savannah standing with their arms around Alan. “How's Savannah holding up?” I asked.

“Like you'd expect.” Tim traced a crease in his hospital sheet

with his free hand. “She's been great. Not only with me, but with the ranch, too. She's had to handle everything lately, but she never complains about it. And whenever she's around me, she tries to be strong. She keeps telling me that it's all going to work out.” He formed the ghost of a smile. “Half the time, I even believe her.”

When I didn't respond, he struggled to sit up higher in the bed. He winced, but the pain passed, and he became himself again. “Savannah told me you had dinner at the ranch last night.” “Yeah,” I said.

“I'll bet she was glad to see you. I know she's always felt bad that it ended the way it did, and so did I. I owe you an apology.” “Don't.” I raised my hands. “It's okay.”

He formed a wry grin. “You're only saying that because I'm sick, and we both know it. If I was healthy, you'd probably want to break my nose again.”

“Maybe,” I admitted, and though he laughed again, this time I could hear the sound of sickness in it.

“I deserve it,” he said, oblivious to my thoughts. “I know you might not believe it, but I feel bad about what happened. I know you two really cared about each other.”

I leaned forward, propping myself on my elbows. “Water under the bridge,” I said.

I didn't believe it, and he didn't believe me when I said it. But

it was enough for both of us to put it to rest. “What brought you here? After all this time?”

“My dad passed away,” I said. “Last week.”

Despite his condition, his face reflected genuine sympathy. “I'm sorry, John. I know how much he meant to you. Was it sudden?” “At the end, it always is. But he'd been sick for a while.”

“It doesn't make it any easier.”

I found myself wondering whether he was referring just to me or to Savannah and Alan as well.

“Savannah told me you lost both your parents.”

“A car accident,” he said, drawing out the words. "It was ... unbelievable. We'd just had dinner with them a couple of nights

before, and the next thing you know, I'm making arrangements for their funerals. It still doesn't seem real. Whenever I?m at home, I keep expecting to see my mom in the kitchen or my dad puttering around the garden.“ He hesitated, and I knew he was replaying those images. At last he shook his head. ”Did that happen to you? When you were home?"

“Every single minute.”

He leaned his head back. “I guess it's been a rough couple of years for both of us. It's enough to test your faith.”

“Even for you?”

He gave a halfhearted grin. “I said test. I didn't say that it ended it.”

“No, I don't suppose it would have.”

I heard a nurse's voice approaching, and though I thought she was going to enter, she passed by on her way to another room. “I'm glad you came to see Savannah,” he said. “I know it sounds trite considering all that you two have been through, but she needs a friend right now.”

My throat was tight. “Yeah,” was all I could think to say.

He grew quiet, and I knew he would say no more about it. In time, he drifted off to sleep, and I sat there watching him, my mind curiously blank.

“I'm sorry I didn't tell you yesterday,” Savannah said to me an hour later. When she and Alan had returned to the room to find Tim sleeping, she'd motioned for me to follow her downstairs to the cafeteria. “I was surprised to see you, and I knew I should have said something, but every time I tried, I just couldn't.”

Two cups of tea were on the table, since neither of us felt like eating. Savannah lifted her cup and set it back down again.

"It had just been one of those days, you know? I'd spent hours

in the hospital, and the nurses kept giving me those pitiful looks and ... well, they just feel like they're killing me little by little. I know that sounds ridiculous considering what Tim is going through, but it's so hard to watch him get sick. I hate it. I know I have to be there to support him, and the thing is, I want to be there, but it's always worse than I expect. He was so sick after his treatment yesterday that I thought he was dying. He couldn't stop vomiting, and when nothing else would come up, he just kept dry heaving. Every five or ten minutes, he'd start to moan and move around the bed trying to prevent it, but there was nothing he could do. I'd hold him and comfort him, but I can't even begin to describe how helpless it made me feel.“ She lifted her bag of tea in and out of the water. ”It's like that every time," she said.

I fiddled with the handle of my cup. “I wish I knew what to say.”

"There's nothing you can say, and I know that. That's why I'm

talking to you. Because I know that you can handle it. I don't really have anyone else. None of my friends can even relate to what I'm going through. My mom and dad have been great... kind of. I know they'd do anything that I ask, and they're always offering to help, and Mom brings over our meals, but every time she drops off the food, she's just a bundle of nerves. She's always on the verge of crying. It's like she's terrified of saying or doing anything wrong, so when she's trying to help, it's like I have to

support her, too, instead of the other way around. Added to everything else, it's almost too much sometimes. I hate to say that

about her because she's doing her best and she's my mom and I love her, but I just wish she'd be stronger, you know?“ Remembering her mother, I nodded. ”How about your dad?“ ”The same, but in a different way. He avoids the topic. He doesn't want to talk about it at all. When we're together, he talks about the ranch or my job—anything but Tim. It's like he's trying

to make up for Mom's incessant worrying, but he never asks what's been going on or how I'm holding up.“ She shook her head. ”And then there's Alan. Tim's so good with him, and I like to think I'm getting better with him, but s t i l l ... there are times when he starts hurting himself or breaking things, and I just end up crying because I don't know what to do. Don't get me wrong—I try^ but I'm

not Tim, and we both know it."

Her eyes held mine for a moment before I looked away. I took a sip of tea, trying to imagine what her life was like now.

“Did Tim tell you what's going on? With his melanoma?”

“A little,” I said. “Not enough to know the whole story. He told me he found a mole and that it was bleeding. He put it off for a while, then finally went to see a doctor.”

She nodded. "It's one of those crazy things, isn't it? I mean, if Tim spent a lot of time in the sun, maybe I could have understood it. But

it was on the back of his leg. You know him—can you imagine him

in Bermuda shorts? He's hardly ever worn shorts, even at the beach, and he's always the one who nagged us about wearing sunscreen. He doesn't drink, he doesn't smoke, he's careful about what he eats. But for whatever reason, he got melanoma. They cut out the area

around the mole, and because of its size, they took out eighteen of his lymph nodes. Out of the eighteen, one was positive for melanoma. He started interferon—that's the standard treatment, and it

lasts a full year—and we tried to stay optimistic. But then things started going wrong. First with the interferon, and then a few weeks after surgery, he got cellulitis near the groin incision."

When I frowned, she caught herself.

"Sorry. I'm just so used to talking to doctors these days. Cellulitis is a skin infection, and Tim's was pretty serious. He spent ten days in the intensive care unit for that. I thought I was going to

lose him, but he's a fighter, you know? He got through it and continued with his treatment, but last month we found cancerous lesions

near the site of his original melanoma. That, of course, meant another round of surgery, but even worse, it meant that the interferon probably wasn't working as well as it could. So he got a PET

scan and an MRI, and sure enough, they found some cancerous cells in his lung."

She stared into her coffee cup. I felt speechless and drained, and for a long time, we were quiet.

“I'm sorry,” I finally whispered.

My words brought her back. “I'm not going to give up,” she said, her voice beginning to crack. “He's such a good man. He's sweet and he's patient, and I love him so much. It's just not fair. We haven't even been married for two years.”

She looked at me and took a few deep breaths, trying to regain her composure.

"He needs to get out of here. Out of this hospital. All they can

do here is interferon, and like I said, it's not working as well as it should. He needs to go someplace like MD Anderson or the Mayo Clinic or Johns Hopkins. There's cutting-edge research going on

in those places. If interferon isn't doing the job like it should,

there might be another drug they can add—they're always trying different combinations, even if they're experimental. They're

doing biochemotherapy and clinical trials at other places. MD Anderson is even supposed to start testing a vaccine in Novembernot for prevention like most vaccines, but for treatment

and the preliminary data has shown good results. I want him to be part of that trial."

“So go,” I urged.

She gave a short laugh. “It's not that easy.”

“Why? It sounds pretty clear to me. Once he's out of here, you hop in the car and go.”

“Our insurance won't pay for it,” she said. "Not now, anyway.

He's getting the appropriate standard of care—and believe it or not, the insurance company has been pretty responsive so far. They've paid for all the hospitalizations, all the interferon, and all the extras without hassle. They've even assigned me a personal caseworker, and believe me, she's sympathetic to our plight. But there's nothing she can do, since our doctor thinks it's best that we give the interferon a little more time. No insurance company in the world will

pay for experimental treatments. And no insurer will agree to pay for treatments outside the standard of care, especially if they're in other states and are attempting new things on the off chance that they mi^it work."

“Sue them if you have to.”

"John, our insurer hasn't batted an eyelash at all the costs for

intensive care and extra hospitalizations, and die reality is that Tim is getting the appropriate treatment. The thing is, I can't prove that Tim would get better in another place, receiving alternate treat' ments. I think it might help him, I hope it will help him, but no one knows for sure that it would.“ She shook her head. ”Anyway, even

if I did sue and the insurance company ended up paying for everything I demanded, that would take time... and that's what we don't

have.“ She sighed. ”My point is, it's not just a money problem, it's a time problem."

“How much are you talking about?”

"A lot. And if Tim ends up in the hospital with an infection and

in the intensive care unit—like he has before—I can't even begin to guess. More than I could ever hope to pay, that's for sure.“ ”What are you going to do?"

“Get the money,” she said. "I don't have a choice. And the community's been supportive. As soon as word about Tim got out, there was a segment on the local news and the newspaper did a story, and people all over town have promised to start collecting money. They set up a special bank account and everything. My parents helped. The place we worked helped. Parents of some of the kids we worked with helped. I've heard that they've even got jars

out in a lot of the businesses."

My mind flashed to the sight of the jar at the end of the bar in the pool hall, the day I arrived in Lenoir. I'd thrown in a couple of dollars, but suddenly it felt completely inadequate.

“Are you close?”

“I don't know.” She shook her head, as if unwilling to think

about it. “All this just started happening a little while ago, and since Tim had his treatment, I've been here and at the ranch. But we're talking about a lot of money.” She pushed aside her cup of tea and offered a sad smile. “I don't even know why I'm telling you this. I mean, I can't guarantee that any of those other places can even help him. All I can tell you is that if we stay, I know he's not going to make it. He might not make it anyplace else, either, but at least there's a chance ... and right now, that's all I have.”

She stopped, unable to continue, staring sightlessly at the stained tabletop.

“You want to know what's crazy?” she asked finally. “You're the only one I've told this to. Somehow, I know that you're the only one who can possibly understand what I'm going through, without having to feel like I have to be careful about what I say.” She lifted her cup, then set it down again. "I know it's unfair considering

your dad...."

“It's okay,” I reassured her.

“Maybe,” she said. "But it's selfish, too. You're trying to work through your own emotions about losing your dad, and here I am,

saddling you with mine about something that might or might not happen." She turned to look out the cafeteria's window, but I knew she wasn't seeing the sloping lawn beyond.

“Hey,” I said, reaching for her hand. “I meant it. I'm glad you told me, if only so you could get it off your chest.”

In time, Savannah shrugged. “So that's us, huh? Two wounded warriors looking for support.”

“That sounds about right.”

Her eyes rose to meet mine. “Lucky us,” she whispered. Despite everything, I felt my heart skip a beat.

“Yeah,” I echoed. “Lucky us.”

We spent most of the afternoon in Tim's room. He was asleep when we got there, woke for a few minutes, then slept again. Alan kept

vigil at the foot of his bed, ignoring my presence while he focused

on his brother. Savannah alternately stayed beside Tim on the bed

or sat in the chair next to mine. When she was close, we spoke of Tim's condition, of skin cancer in general, the specifics of possible alternative treatments. She'd spent weeks researching on the Internet and knew the details of every clinical trial in progress. Her voice never rose above a whisper; she didn't want Alan to overhear. By

the time she was finished, I knew more about melanoma than I imagined possible.

It was a little after the dinner hour when Savannah finally rose.

Tim had slept for most of the afternoon, and by the tender way

she kissed him good-bye, I knew she believed he'd sleep most of the night as well. She kissed him a second time, then squeezed his hand and motioned toward the door. We crept out quietly.

“Let's head to the car,” she said once we were out in the hallway.

“Are you coming back?”

“Tomorrow. If he does wake, I don't want to give him a reason to feel like he has to stay awake. He needs his rest.”

“What about Alan?”

“He rode his bike,” she said. “He rides here every morning and comes back late at night. He won't come with me, even if I ask. But he'll be okay. He's been doing the same thing for months now.”

A few minutes later, we left the hospital parking lot and

turned into the flow of evening traffic. The sky was turning a thickening gray, and heavy clouds were on the horizon, portending the same kinds of thunderstorms common to the coast. Savannah was lost in thought and said little. In her face, I saw

reflected the same exhaustion that I felt. 1 couldn't imagine having to come back tomorrow, and the next day, and the day after

that, all the while knowing there was a possibility he could get better somewhere else.

When we pulled in the drive, I looked over at Savannah and

noticed a tear trickling slowly down her cheek. The sight of it nearly broke my heart, but when she saw me staring at her, she swiped at the tear, looking surprised at its appearance. I pulled the car to a stop beneath the willow tree, next to the battered truck.

By then, the first few drops of rain were beginning to hit the windshield. As the car idled in place, I wondered again whether this was good-bye. Before I could think of something to say, Savannah

turned toward me. “Are you hungry?” she asked. “There's a ton of food in the fridge.”

Something in her gaze warned me that I should decline, but I found myself nodding. “I would love something to eat,” I said.

“I'm glad,” she said, her voice soft. “I don't really want to be alone tonight.”

We got out of the car as the rain began to fall harder. We made

a dash for the front door, but by the time we reached the porch, I could feel the wetness soaking through the fabric of my clothes. Molly heard us, and as Savannah pushed open the door, the dog surged past me through the kitchen to what I assumed was the living room. As I watched the dog, I thought about my arrival the day before and how much had changed in the time we'd been apart. It was too much to process. Much the way I had while on patrol in

Iraq, I steeled myself to focus only on the present yet remain alert to what might come next.

“We've got a bit of everything,” she called out on her way to the kitchen. “That's how my mom's been handling all of this. Cooking. We have stew, chili, chicken pot pie, barbecued pork, lasagna...” She poked her head out of the refrigerator as I entered the kitchen. “Does anything sound appetizing?”

“It doesn't matter,” I said. “Whatever you want.”

At my answer, I saw a flash of disappointment on her face and knew instantly that she was tired of having to make decisions. I cleared my throat.

“Lasagna sounds good.”

“Okay,” she said. “I'll get some going right now. Are you super hungry or just hungry?”

I thought about it. “Hungry, I guess.”

“Salad? I've got some black olives and tomatoes I could add. It's great with ranch dressing and croutons.”

“That sounds terrific.”

“Good,” she said. “It won't take long.”

I watched as Savannah pulled out a head of lettuce and tomato from the bottom drawer of the fridge. She rinsed them under the faucet, diced the tomatoes and the lettuce, and added both to a wooden bowl. Then she topped off the salad with olives and set it

on the table. She scooped out generous portions of lasagna onto two plates and popped the first into the microwave. There was a steady

quality to her movements, as if she found the simple task at hand reassuring.

“I don't know about you, but I could use a glass of wine.” She pointed to a small rack on the countertop near the sink. “I've got a nice Pinot Noir.”

“I'll try a glass,” I said. “Do you need me to open it?” “No, I've got it. My corkscrew is kind of temperamental.”

She opened the wine and poured two glasses. Soon she was sitting across from me, our plates before us. The lasagna was steaming, and the aroma reminded me of how hungry I actually was. After taking a bite, I motioned toward it with my fork.

“Wow,” I commented. “This is really good.”

“It is, isn't it?” she agreed. Instead of taking a bite, however,

she took a sip of wine. "It's Tim's favorite, too. After we got married, he was always pleading with my mom to make him a batch.

She loves to cook, and it makes her happy to see people enjoying her food."

Across the table, I watched as she ran her finger around the rim of her glass. The red wine trapped the light like the facet of a ruby.

“If you want more, I've got plenty,” she added. “Believe me, you'd be doing me a favor. Most of the time, the food just goes to waste. I know I should tell her to bring less, but she wouldn't take that well.”

“It's hard for her,” I said. “She knows you're hurting.” “I know.” She took another drink of wine.

“You are going to eat, aren't you?” I gestured at her untouched plate.

“I'm not hungry,” she said. "It's always like this when Tim's in the hospital... I heat something up, I look forward to eating, but

as soon as it's in front of me, my stomach shuts down.“ She stared at her plate as if willing herself to try, then shook her head. ”Humor me,“ I urged. ”Take a bite. You've got to eat."

“I'll be okay.”

I paused, my fork halfway up. “Do it for me, then. I'm not used to people watching me eat. This feels weird.”

“Fine.” She picked up her fork, scooped a tiny wedge onto it, and took a bite. “Happy now?”

“Oh yeah,” I snorted. “That's exactly what I meant. That makes me feel a whole lot more comfortable. For dessert, maybe we can split a couple of crumbs. Until then, though, just keep holding the fork and pretending.”

She laughed. “I'm glad you're here,” she said. “These days, you're the only one who would even think of talking to me like that.” “Like what? Honestly?”

“Yes,” she said. “Believe it or not, that's exactly what I meant.”

She set down her fork and pushed her plate aside, ignoring my request. “You were always good like that.”

“1 remember thinking the same thing about you.”

She tossed her napkin on the table. “Those were the days, huh?”

The way she was looking at me made the past come rushing back, and for a moment I relived every emotion, every hope and dream I'd ever had for us. She was once again die young woman I'd met on the beach with her life ahead of her, a life I wanted to make part of my own.

Then she ran a hand through her hair, causing the ring on her finger to catch the light. I lowered my eyes, focusing on my plate. “Something like that.”

I shoveled in a bite, trying and failing to erase those images. As soon as I swallowed, I stabbed at the lasagna again.

“What's wrong?” she asked. “Are you mad?” “No,” I lied.

“You're acting mad.”

She was the same woman I remembered—except that she was married. I took a gulp of wine—one gulp, I noticed, was equivalent to all the sips she'd taken. I leaned back in my chair. “Why am I here, Savannah?”

“I don't know what you mean,” she said.

“This,” I said, motioning around the kitchen. “Asking me in for dinner, even though you won't eat. Bringing up the old days. What's going on?”

“Nothing's going on,” she insisted.

“Then what is it? Why did you ask me in?”

Instead of answering the question, she rose and refilled her glass with wine. “Maybe I just needed someone to talk to,” she whispered. "Like I said, I can't talk to my mom or dad; I can't even talk

to Tim like this.“ She sounded almost defeated. ”Everybody needs somebody to talk to."

She was right, and I knew it. It was the reason I'd come to Lenoir.

“I understand that,” I said, closing my eyes. When I opened them again, I could feel Savannah evaluating me. “It's just that I'm not sure what to do with all this. The past. Us. You being married. Even what's happening to Tim. None of this makes much sense.”

Her smile was full of chagrin. “And you think it makes sense to me?”

When I said nothing, she set aside her glass. "You want to

know the truth?“ she asked, not waiting for an answer. ”I'm just trying to make it through the day with enough energy to face tomorrow." She closed her eyes as if the admission were painful,

then opened them again. "I know how you still feel about me,

and I'd love to tell you that I have some secret desire to know everything you've been through since 1 sent you that awful letter, but to be honest?“ She hesitated. ”I don't know if I really want to know. All I know is that when you showed up yesterday, I f e l t ... okay. Not great, not good, but not bad, either. And that's the

thing. For the last six months, all I've done is feel bad. 1 wake up every day nervous and tense and angry and frustrated and terrified that I'm going to lose the man I married. That's all I feel until the sun goes down,“ she went on. ”Every single day, all day long, for the past six months. That's my life right now, but the hard part

is that from here on in, I know it's only going to get worse. Now there's the added responsibility of trying to find some way to help my husband. Of trying to find a treatment that might help. Of trying to save his life."

She paused and looked closely at me, trying to gauge my reaction.

I knew there were words to comfort Savannah, but as usual, I didn't know what to say. All I knew was that she was still the woman I'd once fallen in love with, the woman I still loved but could never have.

“I'm sorry,” she said eventually, sounding spent. “I don't mean to put you on the spot.” She gave a fragile smile. “I just wanted you to know that I'm glad you're here.”

I focused on the wood grain of the table, trying to keep my feelings on a tight leash. “Good,” I said.

She wandered toward the table. She added some wine to my glass, though I'd yet to drink more than that one gulp. “I pour out my heart and all you do is say, 'Good'?”

“What do you want me to say?”

Savannah turned away and headed toward the door of the kitchen. “You could have said that you're glad you came, too,” she said in a barely audible voice.

With that, she was gone. 1 didn't hear the front door open, so I surmised that she had retreated to the living room.

Her comment bothered me, but 1 wasn't about to follow her. Things had changed between us, and there was no way they could

be what they once were. I forked lasagna into my mouth with stubborn defiance, wondering what she wanted from me. She was the

one who'd sent the letter, she was the one who'd ended it. She was the one who got married. Were we supposed to pretend that none of those things had happened?

I finished eating and brought both plates to the sink and rinsed them. Through the rain-splattered window, I saw my car and knew

I should simply leave without looking back. It would be easier that way for both of us. But when I reached into my pockets for the keys,

I froze. Over the patter of the rain on the roof, I heard a sound from the living room, a sound that defused my anger and confusion. Savannah, I realized, was crying.

I tried to ignore the sound, but I couldn't. Taking my wine, I crossed into the living room.

Savannah sat on the couch, cupping the glass of wine in her hands. She looked up as I entered.

Outside, the wind had begun to pick up, and the rain started coming down even harder. Beyond the living room glass, lightning flashed, followed by the steady rumble of thunder, long and

low.

Taking a seat beside her, I put my glass on the end table and

looked around the room. Atop the fireplace mantel stood photographs of Savannah and Tim on their wedding day: one where they

were cutting the cake and another taken in the church. She was beaming, and I found myself wishing that I were the one beside her in the picture.

“Sorry,” she said. “I know I shouldn't be crying, but I can't help it.”

“It's understandable,” I murmured. “You've got a lot going on.”

In the silence, I listened to the sheets of rain batter the windowpanes. “It's quite a storm,” I observed, grasping for words that would

fill the taut silence.

“Yeah,” she said, barely listening.

“Do you think Alan's going to be okay?”

She tapped her fingers against the glass. “He won't leave until it stops raining. He doesn't like lightning. But it shouldn't last long. The wind will push the storm toward the coast. At least, that's the way it's been lately.” She hesitated. “Do you remember that storm we sat out? When I took you to the house we were building?”

“Of course.”

"I still think about that night. That was the first time I told you

that I loved you. I was remembering that night just the other day. I was sitting here just like I am now. Tim was in the hospital, Alan was with him, and while I watched the rain, it all came back. The memory was so vivid, it felt like it had just happened. And then the rain stopped and I knew it was time to feed the horses. I was back in my regular life again, and all at once, it felt like I had just imagined the whole thing. Like it happened to someone else, someone

I don't even know anymore."

She leaned toward me. “What do you remember the most?” she asked.

“All of it,” I said.

She looked at me beneath her lashes. “Nothing stands out?” The storm outside made the room feel dark and intimate, and

I felt a shiver of guilty anticipation about where all this might be

leading. I wanted her as much as I'd ever wanted anyone, but in the back of my mind, I knew Savannah wasn't mine anymore. I could feel Tim's presence all around me, and I knew she wasn't really herself.

I took a sip of wine, then set the glass back on the table.

“No.” I kept my voice steady. “Nothing stands out. But that's why you always wanted me to look at the moon, right? So that I could remember all of it?”

What I didn't say was that I still went out to stare at the moon, and despite the guilt I was feeling about being here, I wondered whether she did, too.

“You want to know what I remember most?” she asked. “When I broke Tim's nose?”

“No.” She laughed, then turned serious. "I remember the times we went to church. Do you realize that they're still the only times

I ever saw you in a tie? You should get dressed up more often. You looked good." She seemed to reflect on that before turning her eyes to me again.

“Are you seeing anyone?” she asked. “No.”

She nodded. “I didn't think so. I figured you would have mentioned it.”

She turned toward the window. In the distance, I could see one of the horses galloping in the rain.

“I'm going to have to feed them in a little while. I'm sure they're wondering where I am already.”

“They'll be okay,” I assured her.

“Easy for you to say. Trust me—they can get as cranky as people when they're hungry.”

“It must be hard handling all this on your own.”

“It is. But what choice do I have? At least our employer's been understanding. Tim's on a leave of absence, and whenever he's in the hospital, they let me take however much time I need.” Then,

in a teasing tone, she added, “Just like the army, right?” “Oh yeah. It's exactly the same.”

She giggled, then became sober again. “How was it in Iraq?”

I was about to make my usual crack about the sand, but instead I said, “It's hard to describe.”

Savannah waited, and I reached for my glass of wine, stalling.

Even with her, I wasn't sure I wanted to go into it. But something was happening between us, something I wanted and yet didn't want. I forced myself to look at Savannah's ring and imagine the betrayal she would no doubt feel later. I closed my eyes and started with the night of the invasion.

I don't know how long I talked, but it was long enough for the rain to have ended. With the sun still drifting in its slow descent,

the horizon glowed the colors of a rainbow. Savannah refilled her glass. By the time I finished, I was entirely spent and knew I'd never speak of it again.

Savannah had remained quiet as I spoke, asking only the occasional question to let me know she was listening to everything

I said.

“It's different from what I imagined,” she remarked. “Yeah?” I asked.

“When you scan the headlines or read the stories, most of the time, names of soldiers and cities in Iraq are just words. But to you, it's personal... it's real. Maybe too real.”

I had nothing left to add, and I felt her hand reach for mine. Her touch made something leap inside me. “I wish you'd never had to go through all that.”

I squeezed her hand and felt her respond in kind. When she finally let go, the sensation of her touch lingered, and like an old habit rediscovered, I watched her tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. The sight made me ache.

“It's strange how fate works,” she said, her voice almost a whisper. “Did you ever imagine that your life would turn out like it did?”

“No,” I said.

“I didn't either,” she said. "When you first went back to Germany,

I just knew that you and I would be married one day. I was more sure of that than anything in my life."

I stared into my glass as she went on.

“And then, on your second leave, I was even more sure. Especially after we made love.”

“Don't...” I shook my head. “Let's not go there.” “Why?” she asked. “Do you regret it?”

“No.” I couldn't bear to look at her. “Of course not. But you're married now.”

“But it happened,” she said. “Do you want me to just forget it?”

“I don't know,” I said. “Maybe.”

“I can't,” she said, sounding surprised and hurt. “That was my first time. I'll never forget it, and in its own way, it will always be special to me. What happened between us was beautiful.”

I didn't trust myself to respond, and after a moment, she seemed to collect herself. Leaning forward, she asked, “When you found out that I had married Tim, what did you think?”

I waited to answer, wanting to choose my words with care. “My first thought was that in a way, it made sense. He's been in love with you for years. I knew that from the moment I met him.” I ran a hand over my face. "After that, I felt... conflicted. I was glad

that you picked someone like him, because he's a nice guy and you

two have a lot in common, but then I was j u s t ... sad. We didn't have that long to go. I would have been out of the army for almost two years now."

She pressed her lips together. “I'm sorry,” she murmured.

“I am, too.” I tried to smile. “If you want my honest opinion, I think you should have waited for me.”

She laughed uncertainly, and I was surprised by the look of longing on her face. She reached for her glass of wine.

"I've been thinking about that, too. Where we would have been, where we'd be living, what we'd be doing in our lives. Especially lately. Last night after you left, that's all I could think about. I know how terrible that makes me sound, but these past couple of years, I've been trying to convince myself that even if our love was real,

it never would have lasted.“ Her expression was forlorn. ”You really would have married me, wouldn't you?"

“In a heartbeat. And I still would if I could.”

The past suddenly seemed to loom over us, overwhelming in its intensity.

“It was real, wasn't it?” Her voice had a tremor. “You and me?”

The gray light of dusk was reflected in her eyes as she waited for my answer. In the moments that elapsed, I felt the weight of Tim's prognosis hanging over both of us. My racing thoughts were morbid and wrong, but they were there nonetheless. I hated myself for even thinking about life after Tim, willing the thought away.

Yet I couldn't. I wanted to take Savannah in my arms, to hold

her, to recapture everything we had lost in our years apart. Instinctively, I began to lean toward her.

Savannah knew what was coming but didn't pull away. Not at first. As my lips neared hers, however, she turned quickly and the wine she was holding splashed onto both of us.

She jumped to her feet, setting her glass on the table and pulling her blouse away from her skin.

“I'm sorry,” I said.

“It's okay,” she said. “I'm going to change, though. I've got to get this soaking. It's one of my favorites.”

“Okay,” I said.

I watched as she left the living room and went down the hall.

She turned into the bedroom on the right, and when she was gone, I cursed. I shook my head at my own stupidity, then noticed the wine on my shirt. I stood and started down the hall, looking for the bathroom.

Turning a random doorknob, I came face-to-face with myself in the bathroom mirror. In the reflected background, I could see Savannah through the cracked door of the bedroom across the hall. She was topless with her back to me, and though I tried, I couldn't turn away.

She must have sensed me staring at her, for she looked over her shoulder toward me. I thought she would suddenly close the door

or cover herself, but she didn't. Instead, she caught my eyes and held them, willing me to continue watching her. And then, slowly, she turned around.

We stood there facing each other through the reflection in the mirror, with only the narrow hallway separating us. Her lips were parted slightly, and she lifted her chin a bit; I knew that if I lived to be a thousand, I would never forget how exquisite she looked

at that moment. I wanted to cross the hallway and go to her, knowing that she wanted me as much as I wanted her. But I stayed where

I was, frozen by the thought that she would one day hate me for what we both so obviously wanted.

And Savannah, who knew me better than anyone else, dropped her eyes as if suddenly coming to the same understanding. She turned back around just as the front door crashed open and I heard a loud wail pierce the darkness.

Alan ...

I turned and rushed to the living room; Alan had already vanished into the kitchen, and I could hear the cupboard doors being opened and slammed while he continued to wail, almost as if he were dying. I stopped, not knowing what to do. A moment later, Savannah rushed past me, tugging her shirt back into place. “Alan! I'm coming!” she shouted, her voice frantic. “It's going to be okay!”

Alan continued to wail, and the cupboards continued to slam shut.

“Do you need help?” I called to her.

“No.” She gave a hard shake of her head. "Let me handle this.

It happens sometimes when he gets home from the hospital." As she rushed into the kitchen, I could barely hear her beginning to talk to him. Her voice was almost lost in the clamor, but

I heard the steadiness in it, and moving off to the side, I could see her standing next to him, trying to calm him. It didn't seem to

have any effect, and I felt the urge to help, but Savannah remained calm. She continued to talk steadily to him, then placed a hand on top of his, following along with the slamming.

Finally, after what seemed like forever, the slamming began to

slow and become more rhythmic; from there it slowly faded away. Alan's cries followed the same pattern. Savannah's voice was softer now, and I could no longer hear distinct words.

I sat on the couch. A few minutes later, I rose and went to the

window. It was dark; the clouds had passed, and above the mountains was a swirl of stars. Wondering what was going on, 1 moved to

a spot in the living room that afforded a glimpse into the kitchen. Savannah and Alan were sitting on the kitchen floor. Her back

was leaning against the cupboards, and Alan rested his head on

her chest as she ran a tender hand through his hair. He was blinking rapidly, as if wired to always be in motion. Savannah's eyes gleamed with tears, but I could see her look of concentration, and

I knew she was determined not to let him know how much she was hurting.

“I love him,” I heard Alan say. Gone was the deep voice from the hospital; this was the aching plea of a frightened little boy.

“I know, sweetie. I love him, too. I love him so much. I know you're scared, and I'm scared, too.”

I could hear from her tone how much she meant it. “I love him,” Alan repeated.

“He'll be out of the hospital in a couple of days. The doctors are doing everything they can.”

“I love him.”

She kissed the top of his head. “He loves you, too, Alan. And so do I. And I know he's looking forward to riding the horses with you again. He told me that. And he's so proud of you. He tells me all the time what a good job you do around here.”

“I'm scared.”

“I am, too, sweetie. But the doctors are doing everything they can.”

“I love him.”

“I know. I love him, too. More than you can ever imagine.”

I continued to watch them, knowing suddenly that I didn't belong here. In all the time I stood there, Savannah never looked up, and I felt haunted by all that we had lost.

I patted my pocket, pulled out my keys, and turned to leave, feeling tears burning at the back of my eyes. I opened the door, and despite the loud squeak, 1 knew that Savannah wouldn't hear anything.

1 stumbled down the steps, wondering if I'd ever been so tired in my life. And later, as I drove to my motel and listened to the car idle as I waited for the stoplights to change, I knew that passersby would see a man crying, a man whose tears felt as if they would never stop.

I spent the rest of the evening alone in my motel room. Outside,

I could hear strangers passing by my door, wheeled luggage rolling behind them. When cars pulled into the lot, my room would be illuminated momentarily by headlights casting ghostly images against the walls. People on the go, people moving forward in life. As I lay on the bed, I was filled with envy and wondered whether

I would ever be able to say the same.

1 didn't bother trying to sleep. 1 thought about Tim, but oddly, instead of the emaciated figure I'd seen in the hospital room, I saw only the young man I'd met at the beach, the clean-cut

student with an easy smile for everyone. I thought about my dad and wondered what his final weeks were like. I tried to imagine the staff listening to him as he talked about coins and prayed

that the director had been right when he told me that my dad

had passed away peacefully in his sleep. I thought about Alan and the foreign world his mind inhabited. But mostly I thought about Savannah. I replayed the day we'd spent, and I dwelled endlessly on the past, trying to escape an emptiness that wouldn't go away.

In the morning, I watched the sun come up, a golden marble emerging from the earth. I showered and loaded the few belongings I'd brought into the room back in the car. At the diner across

the street, I ordered breakfast, but when the plate arrived steaming before me, I pushed it aside and nursed a cup of coffee, wondering if Savannah was already up, feeding the horses.

It was nine in the morning when I showed up at the hospital. I signed in and rode the elevator to the third floor; I walked the same corridor I'd walked the day before. Tim's door was halfway open, and I could hear the television.

He saw me and smiled in surprise. “Hey, John,” he said, turning off the television. “Come in. I was just killing time.”

As I took a seat in the same chair I'd sat in the day before, I noticed that his color was better. He struggled to sit up higher in the bed before focusing on me again.

“What brings you here so early?”

“I'm getting ready to head out,” I said. “I've got to catch a flight tomorrow back to Germany. You know how it is.”

“Yeah, I know.” He nodded. “Hopefully I'll be getting out later today. I had a pretty good night last night.”

“Good,” I said. “I'm glad to hear it.”

I studied him, looking for any sign of suspicion in his gaze, any inkling of what had nearly happened the night before, but I saw nothing.

“Why are you really here, John?” he asked.

“I'm not sure,” I confessed. “I just felt like I needed to see you. And that maybe you wanted to see me, too.”

He nodded and turned toward the window; from his room,

there was nothing to see except a large air-conditioning unit. “You want to know what the worst thing about all this is?” He didn't wait for an answer. “I worry about Alan,” he said. “I know what's happening to me. I know the odds aren't good and that there's a good chance I won't make it. I can accept that. Like I told you yesterday, I've still got my faith, and I know—or at least I hopethere's something better waiting for me. And Savannah... I know that if something does happen to me, she'll be crushed. But you know1 what I learned when I lost my parents?”

“That life isn't fair?”

"Yeah, that, of course. But I also learned that it's possible to

go on, no matter how impossible it seems, and that in time, the

grief ... lessens. It may not ever go away completely, but after a while it's not overwhelming. That's what's going to happen to Savannah. She's young and she's strong, and she'll be able to move on. But Alan ... I don't know what's going to happen to him.

Who's going to take care of him? Where's he going to live?“ ”Savannah will take care of him."

“I know she would. But is that fair to her? To expect her to shoulder that responsibility?”

“It won't matter whether it's fair. She won't let anything happen to him.”

“How? She's going to have to work—who watches Alan then? Remember, he's still young. He's only nineteen. Do I expect her to take care of him for the next fifty years? For me, it was simple. He's my brother. But Savannah ...” He shook his head. “She's young and beautiful. Is it fair to expect that she'll never get married again?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Would her new husband be willing to take care of Alan?” When I said nothing to that, he raised his eyebrows. “Would you?” he added.

I opened my mouth to answer, but no words came out. His expression softened.

"That's what I think about when I'm lying here. When I'm

not sick, I mean. Actually, I think about a lot of things. Including you."

“Me?”

“You still love her, don't you?”

I kept my expression steady, but he read me anyway. “It's okay,” he said. “I already know. I've always known.” He looked almost wistful. "I can still remember Savannah's face the first time she talked about you. I'd never seen her like that. I was happy for her because there was something about you that I trusted right away. That whole first year you were gone, she missed you so much. It was like her heart was breaking a little bit every single day. You were all she could think about. And then she found out you

weren't coming home and we ended up in Lenoir and my parents died a n d ... “ He didn't finish. ”You always knew I was in love with her, too, didn't you?"

I nodded.

“I thought so.” He cleared his throat. “I've loved her since I was twelve years old. And gradually, she fell in love with me, too.” “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because,” he said, "it wasn't the same. I know she loves me,

but she's never loved me the way she loved you. She never had

that burning passion for me, but we were making a good life together. She was so happy when we started the ranch... and it just

made me feel so good that I could do something like that for her. Then I got sick, but she's always here, caring for me the same way I'd care for her if it was happening to her." He stopped then, struggling to find the right words, and I could see the anguish in his expression.

“Yesterday, when you came in, I saw the way she was looking at you, and I knew that she still loved you. More than that, I know she always will. It breaks my heart, but you know what? I'm still in love with her, and to me that means that I want nothing more than for her to be happy in life. I want that more than anything. It's all I've ever wanted for her.”

My throat was so dry that I could barely speak. “What are you saying?”

“I'm saying don't forget Savannah if anything happens to me. And promise that you'll always treasure her the same way I do.” “Tim...”

“Don't say anything, John.” He raised a hand, either to stop me or in farewell. “Just remember what I said, okay?”

When he turned away, I knew our conversation was over.

I stood then and walked quietly out of the room, shutting the door behind me.

Outside the hospital, I squinted in the harsh morning sunlight. I could hear birds chirping in the trees, but even though I searched for them, they remained hidden from me.

The parking lot was half full. Here and there, I could see

people walking to the entrance or back to their cars. All looked as weary as I felt, as if the optimism they showed to loved ones in the hospital vanished the moment they were alone. I knew that miracles were always possible no matter how sick a person might be, and that women in the maternity ward were feeling joy as they held their newborns in their arms, but I sensed that, like me, most of the hospital visitors were barely holding it together.

I sat on the bench out front, wondering why I'd come and wishing that I hadn't. I replayed my conversation with Tim over and

over, and the image of his anguish made me close my eyes. For the first time in years, my love for Savannah felt somehow ... wrong. Love should bring joy, it should grant a person peace, but here and now, it was bringing only pain. To Tim, to Savannah, even to me.

I hadn't come to tempt Savannah or ruin her marriage ... or had I? I wasn't sure I was quite as noble as I thought I was, and the realization left me feeling as empty as a rusted paint can.

I removed the photograph of Savannah from my wallet. It was

creased and worn. As I stared at her face, I found myself wondering what the coming year would bring. I didn't know whether Tim

would live or die, and I didn't want to think about it. I knew that no matter what happened, the relationship between Savannah and me would never be what it once was. We'd met at a carefree time, a moment full of promise; in its place now were the harsh lessons of the real world.

I rubbed my temples, struck by the thought that Tim knew what had almost happened between Savannah and me last night, that maybe he'd even expected it. His words made that clear, as did his request that I promise to love her with the devotion he felt. I knew exactly what he was suggesting that I do if he died, but somehow his permission made me feel even worse.

I finally stood and began the slow walk to my car. I wasn't sure where I wanted to go, other than that I needed to get as far away from the hospital as I could. I needed to leave Lenoir, if only to give myself a chance to think. I dug my hands into my pockets and fished out my keys.

It was only when I got close to my car that I realized Savannah's truck was parked next to mine. Savannah was sitting in the front seat, and when she saw me coming, she opened the door and got out. She waited for me, smoothing her blouse as I drew near.

I stopped a few feet away.

“John,” she said, “you left without saying good-bye last night.” “I know.”

She nodded slightly. We both understood the reason. “How did you know I was here?”

“I didn't,” she said. “I went by the motel and they told me you'd checked out. When I came here, I saw your car and decided to wait for you. Did you see Tim?”

“Yeah. He's doing better. He thinks he'll be getting out of the hospital later today.”

“That's good news,” she said. She motioned to my car. “Are you leaving town?”

“Gotta get back. My leave's up.”

She crossed her arms. “Were you going to come say good-bye?” “I don't know,” I admitted. “I hadn't thought that far ahead.”

I saw a flash of hurt and disappointment on her face. “What did you and Tim talk about?”

I looked over my shoulder at the hospital, then back at her. “You should probably ask him that question.”

Her mouth formed a tight line, and her body seemed to stiffen. “So this is good-bye?”

I heard a car honk on the road out front and saw a number of cars suddenly slow. The driver of a red Toyota veered into the other lane, doing his best to get around the traffic. As I watched,

I knew I was stalling and that she deserved an answer. “Yes,” I said, slowly turning back to her. “I think it is.”

Her knuckles stood out white against her arms. “Can I write to you?”

I forced myself not to look away, wishing again that the cards had fallen differently for us. “I'm not so sure that's a good idea.” “I don't understand.”

“Yes, you do,” I said. “You're married to Tim, not me.” I let that sink in while gathering my strength for what I wanted to say next. “He's a good man, Savannah. A better man than me, that's for sure, and I'm glad you married him. As much as I love you, I'm not willing to break up a marriage for it. And deep down, I don't think you are, either. Even if you love me, you love him, too. It took me a little while to realize that, but I'm sure of it.”

Left unspoken was Tim's uncertain future, and I could see her eyes beginning to fill with tears.

“Will we ever see each other again?”

“I don't know.” The words burned in my throat. “But I'm hoping we don't.”

“How can you say that?” she asked, her voice beginning to crack.

“Because it means that Tim's going to be okay. And I have a feeling that it's all going to turn out the way it should.”

“You can't say that! You can't promise that!” “No,” I said, “I can't.”

“Then why does it have to end now? Like this?”

A tear spilled down her face, and despite the fact that I knew I should simply walk away, I took a step toward her. When I was

close, I gently wiped it away. In her eyes I could see fear and sadness, anger and betrayal. But most of all, I saw them pleading with

me to change my mind. I swallowed hard.

“You're married to Tim, and your husband needs you. All of you. There's no room for me, and we both know there shouldn't be.” As more tears started flowing down her face, I felt my own eyes fill up. I leaned in and kissed Savannah gently on the lips, then took her in my arms and held her tight.

“I love you, Savannah, and I always will,” I breathed. "You're

the best thing that's ever happened to me. You were my best friend and my lover, and I don't regret a single moment of it. You made me feel alive again, and most of all, you gave me my father. I'll never forget you for that. You're always going to be the very best part of me. I'm sorry it has to be this way, but I have to leave, and you have to see your husband."

As I spoke, I could feel her shaking with sobs, and I continued to hold her for a long time afterward. When we finally separated,

I knew that it would be the last time I ever held her. I backed away, my eyes holding Savannah's.

“I love you, too, John,” she said. “Good-bye.” I raised a hand.

And with that, she wiped her face and began walking toward the hospital.

Saying good-bye was the hardest thing I ever had to do. Part of me wanted to turn the car around and race back to the hospital, to tell her that I would always be there for her, to confide in her the things Tim had said to me. But I didn't.

On the way out of town, I stopped at a small convenience store.

I needed gas and filled the tank; inside, I bought a bottle of water. As I approached the counter, I saw a jar that the owner had set

out to collect money for Tim, and I stared at it. It was filled with change and dollar bills; on the label, it listed the name of an account at a local bank. 1 asked for a few dollars in quarters, and the

man behind the counter obliged.

I was numb as I made my way back to the car. I opened the door and began fishing through the documents that the lawyer had given me, looking also for a pencil. I found what I needed, then went to the pay phone. It was located near the road, with cars roaring past. I dialed information and had to press the receiver hard against my ear to hear the computerized voice give me the number I'd requested. I scrawled it on the documents, then hung up. I dropped some coins into the slot, dialed the long-distance number, and heard another computer-generated voice request even more money. I dropped in a few more coins. Soon I could hear the phone ringing.

When it was answered, I told the man who I was and asked if he remembered me.

“Of course I do, John. How are you?” “Fine, thanks. My dad passed away.”

There was a short pause. “I'm sorry to hear that,” he said. “You doing okay?”

“I don't know,” I said.

“Is there anything I can do?”

I closed my eyes, thinking of Savannah and Tim and hoping somehow that my dad would forgive me for what I was about to do. “Yes,” I said to the coin dealer, “actually there is. I want to sell my dad's coin collection, and I need the money as quickly as you can get it to me.”