When the elevator opens to the first floor, Alex and Nolan are sitting on the mismatched chairs, the mood of the room humid and too close, like the air is angry with me, too. Alex looks up, but Nolan stares resolutely at the water bottle he holds between loose hands.

I ignore Alex and come to stand before Nolan. I owe him this much. I owe him a good-bye.

“I have to go,” I say. “I’m sorry. I know you don’t understand, but this is something that I have to do. I was wrong. I need to go back to school and become what I’m supposed to be.”

He refuses to look up or speak. I talk to the downward curve of his neck and am furious with myself for the tears that come bubbling up to cool my hardened heart.

“I don’t expect to hear from you,” I say. And because I will never be truly volcanic in my resolve, I add, “This has all mattered to me. You’ve mattered to me. Truly.”

Still he says nothing and doesn’t look at me.

“Good-bye, Nolan,” I say.

Some historic version of Amelia would ask him to call or write or visit or something, but New Amelia knows it is best to leave everything where it belongs—here, in Lochbrook, by the waves of the lake that never was and never will be an ocean.

I give a halfhearted wave to Alex and Valerie. I should offer gratitude for their kindness but I am out of explanations and good-byes for today. I walk mechanically out of the bookstore, the bells above the door mournfully chirping their good-bye.

I’m halfway down the path to the parking lot where my rental sits when he calls my name, and though the lava inside me says to bolt, my legs refuse to move. He has anchored me to the spot with the Old Magic of only my name, and I am frozen.

“Amelia,” he says. He stops a few yards away from me. “Amelia.”

It’s just my name, so why does it sound like everything I ever wanted to hear?

“Nolan,” I say. What else can I say? I have to go.

“This isn’t you,” he says. “This isn’t what Jenna would want.”

“But it is,” I say. “I have to go back.”

He is panting from the run, from distress—I don’t know. It’s no longer my business to know. He’s dragging his hands through his hair and pacing in front of my car—drowning on land—and I make the ground between us crack and splinter to keep him and his misery at a distance.