I wondered if she had taken something, wondered how long it had been since she ate.

“Tell me what happened.”

“I needed you, and you came. You always do.” She chuckled, looking down at her hands. But her smile broke into a sob. “Everything’s falling apart, Luke. You’re the only one who can put it back together.”

“What are you talking about?” I asked gently, knowing this place, this space, this nonsensical circle we’d ride until she came around to it.

She brightened, framing my face with her hands. “Let’s run away.”

As weak as she seemed, I was surprised at how quickly she’d bounded off the bed to fling open her closet and pull out a suitcase.

I watched, dumbfounded.

“Where do you want to go?” she asked, opening a drawer and scooping an armful of its contents into the suitcase. “We can go anywhere. Seattle maybe. Denver? There’s such good hiking there. Think of all the hikes, Luke.”

I stood, intercepting her as she brought another load to her suitcase. I clasped her upper arms. “Wendy,” I said calmly, “we’re not going anywhere.”

Her face bent in anger. She unceremoniously dropped the haul of clothes on our feet. “Why not? Luke, you love me. I know you do, that’s why you came. And I love you. It’s always been you. I know I fucked up. I know I’m crazy, and I hurt you over and over without meaning to. Without understanding why. Why do I do this?” And her anger was gone, replaced by misery.

“I don’t know,” I said softly.

“But you always know how to make it better. So let me fix this. Let me make it right. Come with me, Luke. Let’s start over.” Her hands slid up my chest, and she leaned in like she wanted me to kiss her.

I grabbed her hands. “No.”

Confusion flickered across her face. “But you love me.”

Sadness, guilt. Not for what I’d lost, but for what I was about to do to her. “There’s no fixing what’s broken between us … that’s not why I’m here. It’s because I’m worried about you, not because I love you.”

Another tear, heavy enough to fall without touching her face. “But you have to,” she whispered.

“I’m in love with someone else.”

A gasp shot her back, then into me again, her hands pounding my chest, face wrenched. “No! You can’t. You don’t.”

I grabbed her wrists and locked them in my fists. “I do,” I said sternly, lowering my face to look into her eyes. “I’ve moved on, Wendy. And there’s no going back.”

“No,” she moaned, sinking to the ground, “no, no, no.”

There was nothing to do but catch her, hold her to me, let her cry. “I’m sorry,” I said, my heart so tight, I thought it would fold in on itself.

Her fingers tightened, twisting my shirt, her forehead pressed to the dip in my chest, her tears soaking the fabric, warm and then cool as she caught her breath.