“It was amazing,” he said, sitting in the passenger seat, staring at the wall of falling rain before them. “But as good as that moment was, that’s how bad it became.”

Richard shifted in his seat.

Oh shit. Here it is. The confession.

And the feeling that followed (the one that demanded he become Charles’s friend so long ago) was exhausting. He didn’t want that responsibility tonight. This was to be the night the swimmer living inside Charles broke the surface and Richard could finally say, Okay…it’s official. I’m off the clock.

“She wanted me to prove my love, Richard. That’s what happened. She wanted me to prove it.”

Richard took a deep breath and held it. “A lot of girls want that,” he said.

Charles stared deep into the rain. “Andi asked for a toe.”

“A what?”

“She told me that the greatest symbol of true love is self-sacrifice. That our love could be legendary. Bigger than Van Gogh’s. She wanted a toe.”

“Hold on,” Richard said, hardly able to make sense of what Charles had just said. “She…she asked you to send one of your body parts through the mail?”

“Yes.”

“And you didn’t think this was—”

“I love Andi, Richard. Do you know what they say about couples who meet at weddings? That they have a ninety percent chance of getting married themselves.”

“Charles…”

“Andi wanted a toe. I sent her one.”

12

“What did you expect me to do?” Charles asked, turning to face Richard, desperation in his eyes. “Send her one of mine?”

Richard was stunned.

“Wh—what do you mean?”

“Andi lives in St. Paul. How would she know if it was mine or not? She wouldn’t. Not for a while anyway. I’m not a liar, Richard, but my own toe. I just couldn’t do it. I tried.”

He did.

The day he got her call, he sat with it for an hour before he rushed to his apartment bathroom. He removed his shoe and then his sock and sat down on the edge of the closed toilet seat. The idea of doing it sounded possible. But sitting with it…looking at it…touching it…everything changed. He became very aware of how delicate human flesh can feel. After an hour of staring, he rose and went downstairs. He sat in front of the muted television and sank deep into the couch.

He thought of Andi. He thought of true love.

Her letters, her feminine penmanship, rose to the surface of his mind’s eye. Her turns of phrase spun before him. Her voice came through those letters as clearly as when they last spoke…when, with the gentility of a drawing room hostess, she had asked him for his toe.

I will do this. He sprang to his feet.

He entered the bathroom with renewed vigor. He’d cut off his toe. His baby toe. One clip of the shears. Like Wayne Sherman trimming The Hedges at Goblin’s eastern border.

It was nothing. A single motion.

True love. Legendary love.