Adam was lying on his back on his bed, his left arm behind his head while his right cradled the phone to his ear. His eyes met hers. “I have to go,” he said in a now-normal voice, removed the phone from his ear, and placed it on the cradle on his nightstand. When he sat up, he swung his long legs over the side of his bed and stood up to face her, but he didn’t say anything.

“Who was that?” she asked, the accusation clear in her tone, even though she had wanted to act like nothing was wrong.

“My mom,” Adam said, his tone flat as his eyes shifted to the floor.

He was lying. She could hear it, she could feel it, but she had no basis for accusing him. Clare licked her lips and glanced at the phone, wishing there was some sane way for her to pick up his extension and hit redial. “What is going on with us?” she asked him.

“Why don’t you tell me?” he snapped back. “You’re the one that’s been pissed off with me for weeks. Everything I do, everything I say,” he continued, “all I ever get from you is dirty looks and shitty comments. So why don’t you clue me in on what’s going on with us.”

She stared at him, her arms feeling tingly and weak at her sides. She was at a loss for words. She had been shitty; she knew that. That was why she was coming up here—to apologize. But…she couldn’t shake the suspicion that there was something else too. Something she was not in the wrong about.

“Are you leaving me?” she blurted.

Adam pulled his head back, as if in shock. “What are you talking about? Of course I’m leaving. You know I’m leaving. I don’t get to Indiana without leaving.”

He didn’t answer her question. Clare set her jaw, uncertain of where she was heading with this. “That’s not what I meant,” she said.

“Then what do you mean?” He turned away and busied himself with organizing the mail from the school that was spread all over his comforter.

“It just…I feel like…” Her eyes focused on the window behind him. The late afternoon glare made it difficult to see his face clearly.

“What?” he commanded as he tossed the pages and pictures onto his already messy desk. He turned back to face her. “You just feel like what, Clare?” His tone was nasty, impatient.

He was making this so much harder. She didn’t want to fight with him. How had they ended up here? “I feel like…it’s over,” she managed to get out.

“What’s over?”