My boot heels quickly regained their familiar rhythmic beat; my stride had purpose, and I headed for the pay telephone next to the library. Small change jangled in my pocket and I thought there would probably be enough for a quick conversation. All the way there, I argued with myself about whether to call or to just show up. If I called, he could tell me not to come. If I just arrived at his house, he could refuse me in person. Which would be worse? But surely he would want to see me. Lewis had loved me once, there had to be residue from that. I had to at least offer him the opportunity. Maybe we could regain what we had . . . maybe we had both grown, changed.

As I deposited the coins, my mind flickered back to West­water, to the teen dance, to Boyd’s truck and that haunting, magical night we spent together, to the bus station and the man in the coat with the beaver collar. Could I really return?

Then the line was ringing, and a female voice answered.

“Hello?”

I was shocked into silence for a moment, and she repeated, “Hello?” It was the voice of a woman; I could see her, tall and thin, with raven-­dark hair, a good cook and probably a tennis player. She and Lewis were young and healthy together, a good match, an up-­and-­coming pair, the beginnings of a lifetime of family. What on earth was I doing?

I cleared my throat, and in a voice that sounded so young, so weak, so inferior, I said, “Is Lewis home?”

“No, I’m afraid he’s not. May I take a message? Are you calling long-­distance?”

“Yes, I’m a friend of his from a long time ago . . .” A baby cried in the background. “. . . and I just wanted to talk with him for a moment.”

“Well, can he call you back?” Not an ounce of jealousy in her voice. She’s secure.

“No, no, is this his wife?”

“Yes.”

“No, no message. Tell me, is he well?”

“Yes, he’s fine. We’re all fine.”

“That’s good,” I said. “That’s all I really wanted to know.”

“Well, okay. You’re sure . . .”

“I’m sure. Thank you. Good-­bye.” I hung up, and pressed my forehead to the side of the booth.

Up-­and-­coming Lewis. Housing appreciation. No, he and I could never, never.

I was headed back on the road again, with no destination, with no direction, knowing no one, start­ing over again, fighting not only myself and the adolescent pressures of growing up, but fighting the elements and the social conditions of life as well.

It was almost too much to carry.