Resigned and defeated, Lendall finally said, “Okay.” And he pulled open the storm door and pushed open the main door to his house so he could go get what Gayle had asked for.

And he started inside.

Before the aluminum storm door swung shut, he caught it and pushed it open and asked Gayle if she wanted to wait inside.

And she said, “Nope. I’ll wait out here. Thanks.” She was afraid the warmth of Lendall’s living room would melt her resolve.

“It’s cold.”

“No, it’s not.”

“Okay,” said Lendall. Gayle was right. It wasn’t cold. It was above average for the time of year. Nineteen degrees, according to the big round Agway thermometer on the porch.

Lendall headed inside and closed the door behind him to keep the heat in and the cold out. And started making his way across his living room and down the hallway to his bedroom to do what Gayle had asked him to do.

As he walked, he got anxious. And he wasn’t the kind of guy who got anxious. But giving Gayle back all the love she had given him was going to change their lives forever.

And Lendall didn’t know if that change was going to be for the best. Or for the worst.

As he dragged his feet into his bedroom, it felt like it was going to be for the worst.

Gayle, on the other hand, was convinced that getting back all the love she had given Lendall was going to be for the best. And she plunked herself down in the Adirondack chair she sat in when she and Lendall would sit on his porch and enjoy the sweet summer days and the cool summer nights that only places like northern Maine have.

And she looked out across Lendall’s yard and across the Road to Nowhere and into the Norsworthys’ broccoli and potato fields.

And waited.

When Lendall got to his bedroom, he felt a strange lightness fill up his insides. It made him feel like he had the light from a campfire dancing around in his belly. And it made him feel like what he bet the astronauts must have felt when they walked on the moon.

And it made him feel like something wonderful was about to happen.

Even though what was actually happening was really awful.

He went to his dresser and opened its top middle drawer, which was where he kept his wallet and his keys and his Skoal and his nail clippers and his change and some Big Red gum and some Tums and—for the past couple of weeks—something else he had been meaning to give Gayle: a small maroon velvet pouch.

He picked up the pouch and closed his fleshy hand around it. And then took a moment to hope and pray that all would be okay.

And then he closed the drawer and exited his bedroom and started walking down the hall. The lightness he had been feeling had dissipated. And Lendall felt like his big, heavy self again as he walked.