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“How many years to go?”I try to match his playful tone, but it’s a struggle.
“About ten until I hit twenty years in.”
I smile.“I’ll be waiting for your call, Harris.”
He has no idea that there’s this illogical part of me that means it.Even right now, as he takes an awkward step away from me, I’m wondering if, years from now, I’ll be counting down the moments, hoping for the miracle of his call.
I almost laugh at the thought of it.Nicholas will likely be starting college then.He’ll be fully grown and, God willing, not need any more surgeries.
How wonderful would it be if my path crossed with Harris again?
And how unlikely.
“I’ll let you go now,” he says.
I think he simply means that he’ll leave me to myself now.But I hear something in his tone that makes me feel like his words aren’t just a cordial way of closing a conversation.It’s like it’s as hard on him as it is on me… doing this.And he’s telling himself to let me go.
Don’t.
He leans over and brushes a light kiss to my cheek.I want so much more than that.
Then, even with his face still just a breath away from mine, he whispers, “If you or Nicholas need anything,anything, I’ll always be just a phone call away.”
He opens my door.
“Thank you,” I tell him.“For that—and for so much more.You—made me remember what it was like to focus on myself for a change.”
He smiles, so warmly that the sight of it heats me even with this space between us.“And don’t forget it.”
“I promise I won’t.”
