I put my things into the crafter’s bag and head back to the car while she lingers to talk to the waiter. Looking back, I feel a jab of annoyance. I don’t like the way he stands so close to her, checking her out. It’s on the tip of my tongue to call out, to remind them both that I’m standing here. Then I think about what Molly said about me always stepping in, trying to smooth things over for her, to absorb the body blows life tends to deal out from time to time.

The afternoon at the lake caused an almost imperceptible shift in our mood. We’re more on edge. Our silences are longer, corresponding to the flat, boring stretches of highway.

How do long-haul truck drivers handle the tedium? How will I handle it, driving back alone, the Suburban emptied of Molly’s things, devoid of her fruity-smelling hair products and her lively chatter?

What’s really eating me is this. We’re almost there.

Ten

There is a change in Molly’s phone calls with Travis. Pacing back and forth, the tiny silver phone glued to her ear, she talks to him at every rest stop, it seems. The shift in tone and emphasis is subtle but palpable. She is both more animated and more intense.

I don’t say anything, of course. What is there to say? They’re eighteen, and in love.

Give it time, I remind myself. The drifting-apart is not going to happen overnight. I picture the two of them like the huge layers of ice we get on the lake back home. All winter long, the frozen surface is strong and impermeable; the skating goes on for weeks. Yet in spring, the ice cracks apart, and once that happens, the pieces never fit together properly again. Even if the temperature drops sufficiently at night to refreeze the ice, it’s not the same; it’s rough and chunky, prone to breaking. The skaters all go home for the season.

Separation is rough on any relationship. On a pair who have barely dipped a toe into adulthood, it’s usually a death knell. They just don’t have the emotional hardware to sustain a love that depends on physical closeness. And I won’t kid myself. Those two were close. They were physical.

I can’t imagine Travis Spellman going dateless for movie nights or football games, not for long. Likewise, I don’t want Molly to be like a war widow at college, holding back from the social scene because of her hometown boyfriend.

That lack of availability, physical and emotional, is undoubtedly what will cause them to go their separate ways, as they must. Molly has a future ahead of her filled with brand-new people, challenging studies, a city she’s never seen before. Settling into college will take all her time and energy. Nurturing a long-distance relationship is simply not feasible.

Except, of course, that she believes it is. And here’s the thing about my daughter. If she believes in something with her whole heart, no one can tell her otherwise.