The phone clunked against the coffee table when I set it down, and I decided on venturing out to the thrift store soon to see if they had phone cases. I’d never checked before. Maybe Kirby had an old one I could use.

The phone buzzed again.

What is your travel info?

You’re booking now?

As good a time as any.

Are you sure?

Yep.

I typed in my full name and birth date.

Imogene? That’s the worst middle name ever.

?

I can’t spell that.

You just did.

Always making things difficult.

You can thank my mother for that. What’s your middle name?

Dean.

Easy enough.

That’s what all the girls say. Will book tonight.

I put the phone on the table again and then settled back against the couch, propping my legs on the throw pillow. I was getting text messages on a cell phone, and I was going to Eakins, Illinois, in a few days. My life had felt completely different before, and even though it was scary, I’d known it was for the best, and this felt the same.

The room was quiet with muted throbs of bass coming from Cowboys down the block. I thought of Taylor Dean two-stepping, hiking, watching VHS tapes, and doing laundry. I thought about how wonderful life could be if I could add closure to it all.

Just as I began to relax, someone pounded on the door. I jumped up and yanked the door open.

Gunnar stood in the hall, his face red and blotchy, his eyes glistening in the dim light.

My mouth fell open. “Whoa. Are you all right? Where’s Kirby? How did you get in?”

“Kirby showed me where they keep the spare key. She won’t talk to me, Falyn. I really messed up this time.”

“What?”

I watched him as he passed by me and sat in the chair. He put his head in his hands, resting his elbows on his knees.

I closed the door behind me. “What happened?”

He shook his head. “She thinks I’m cheating on her. I tried to explain, but she won’t listen to me.”

I walked across the room, my arms crossed over my middle.

He looked up at me, desperate. “Will you talk to her for me?”

“Sure—as soon as you tell me what’s going on.”

His eyes fell to the floor. “I lied to her.”

“About what?”

“Why I’m always late. It’s not because of traffic. I’m only taking ten hours, and I’ve been working evenings at the school for extra cash.”

I shrugged, eyeing him. “Why didn’t you just tell her?”

“She wouldn’t like it.”

“What’s the job?”

“It’s cash under the table. I’m helping a guy with maintenance on a building just off-campus—trash, lawn, paint, fixing things.”

“Okay. Why did you keep that from Kirby?”