When he got to the front door, he paused. And really hoped that Gayle would accept what he was bringing her—in the way he wanted her to accept it.

While Gayle waited for Lendall, she had settled into a strange position in her chair. Her feet were outstretched, her butt was resting on its front edge, her hands were jammed in her pockets, her shoulders were up around her ears, her face was sunken into her jacket, and the back of her head was pressed up against the back of the chair. She looked like a plank of wood. And did not look comfortable.

Lendall pulled the front door open, and the sound of the weather stripping unsealing made Gayle sit up in the chair. Then he pushed the storm door open and made his way onto the porch again. And it seemed like all the garbage bags full of all the love he had given Gayle—and that Gayle had returned—were taking up more room on the porch than they had been before he had gone inside.

He saw Gayle sitting in her chair—the one she sat in the summertime. And he hoped she’d still be coming by to sit in that chair next summer—and for many summers to come.

And Gayle looked up at Lendall.

And was not happy.

At all.

Because it seemed that Lendall had come out onto the porch empty-handed.

Gayle dropped her head and shook it disapprovingly. And scoffed. And rolled her eyes. And then looked back up at Lendall and was about to chew him out for not doing what she had asked—when she saw that Lendall had stretched his arm out toward her and was holding a small maroon velvet pouch in the palm of his hand. And when he was sure he had her attention, he turned his palm down and let the little pouch drop. His ring finger was looped through the drawstring of the pouch, so it only dropped a few inches. And then swung back and forth in the porch light.

Gayle did nothing but stare at the pouch for a few moments.

Lendall couldn’t tell if she was disappointed or mesmerized by it.

And when it seemed like she was more mesmerized than disappointed, Lendall placed it on a small table next to Gayle’s chair.

And Gayle continued to stare at the pouch.

And then she looked up at Lendall.

And then glanced back down at the pouch and then back up at Lendall and sneered. “What is that?”

“It’s all the love you gave me.” And it was all the love she had given him.

And then his heart fluttered and he felt that strange lightness again for a moment—and it made him feel like something wonderful was about to happen—again.

“What?” asked Gayle in disbelief. “That’s not—there is no way—that is not all the love I gave you!” And then she laughed derisively. And then, all of a sudden, seemed to be crying.

“Hey,” said Lendall, going to Gayle to comfort her.