And that he had chosen her back.
“Yes,” I said. “It has a happy ending.”
“How do you know?”
I leaned over and kissed his cheek.
“Because she’s still here,” I said.
He smiled. And he reached over, very slowly, and put his hand on my knee, the way he used to when we were young and drove everywhere with the windows down.
I put my hand on top of his.
And outside, on the little pond, the ducks went gliding across the water in the late afternoon light, silver and gold, the way the lake used to look from the window of Room 12.
He doesn’t remember.
But I do.
I’ll remember for both of us.
That’s what I promised. And unlike him, I’ve never once been good at lying.
