I blamed myself for years. I should have taken off from school that day. I should have driven him. No matter how many times the priest or friends assured me there was nothing I could have done, I blamed myself.

I left that townhome, used Glen’s shockingly generous life insurance and savings to purchase a tiny cottage in downtown Juniper Shores, and saved the rest. I felt so guilty.

I had learned over the years, when I let my mind wander to that horrible night, to “choose a happier thought.” It was hard, but sometimes it worked.

Yes, the past was a dark, scary place that I had to save myself from. But every now and then, I couldn’t help myself: I looked in the rearview mirror. Tonight was one of those times. Elliott’s many, many texts had asked if we could get together, just to talk. As much as I wanted to feel firm in our decision to break up, I decidedly did not. Not when I saw him again. Not before that. And I had to admit that I was more than a little interested in what he wanted to say. I was equally interested in whether being open to this conversation was a step in the right direction for me, if it signaled growth.

So now Elliott had his arm slung over my shoulders as if it had been there every day for the past 341 days since I had seen him. Since I’d told him—in the midst of the terror that I would lose him—that we couldn’t be together. Since he had left town.

We were walking slowly through the crowds at Juniper Shores Village. It is one of the most appealing parts of this area, the thing most written up in travel magazines and lifestyle columns, the place that inspires tourists to start saving so they can retire here one day.

Three open-air restaurants grace the oceanfront: a burger place popular with the late-night crowd that has the most eclectic bar scene on the beach, a Mexican cantina where one can eat tacos and drink Modelos from the comfort of a hammock or play cornhole, and the Fish Camp, which makes the best fried seafood on the East Coast. Bar none.

Behind those mainstays is the Airstream Park, a cluster of seven Airstreams: two women’s clothing outposts, a rosé slushie truck, a coffee truck, a pizza truck, a fresh juice and smoothie truck, and a vegan health food truck. There’s also a long pier with an arcade at the end and a huge NO FISHING sign that is roundly ignored. It’s fun and so clean it resists being seedy.