I’m flooded with thoughts, not all of them good, and words fall out that feel old, tired, because too much time has passed. “You said you’d never leave me like my mom did, and then you did. You don’t call for years, and then out of nowhere you show up at my graduation. We sleep together and then you tell me you’re married.” Letting it out is a release I didn’t know I needed and it feels good. And, I realize, I’m not angry with him. Quite the opposite. I’m gratified, like I just discovered a missing limb. Elated because the bond between us, the one that grew from his very first words to me behind the vending machine, feels as strong as ever.

Tate acknowledges it all with a dip of his chin. “You had Vance and Ruth and this whole town, Claire. They were your family. I didn’t w . . .” Again he stops, his mouth in a circle until he breathes in and changes tactics. “I don’t have an excuse. I thought I’d get my shit t . . . t-ogether and then convince you to come with me. I thought I was w . . . w-eak like my dad; I thought you were better off without me. I was a mess.”

I don’t know how to respond. Being around him is cold water in the desert, drowning me in memories that are crystal clear and bringing with it the iron tang of loneliness. After Mom left, Tate was a solid presence by my side—one arm slung around me, fingers in my hair, my wet cheek against his bony shoulder. “You were my best friend, not a mess,” I say quietly.

He shrugs. “You know I . . . was. Remember the t . . . t-ime I tried to burn down the bar?”

I can’t help but laugh. We were sixteen and it was the middle of winter, cold and foggy, with snow coming down in wet chunks. “Yeah, but it didn’t take and no one found out.”

“Well, I w . . . w-as angry most of the time, except when I . . . except around you, and I knew that if I didn’t g . . . g-et away from him, I’d become him.”

“And did you?” Without thinking my hand goes to my belly, and my chest tightens. He would have been a wonderful father; I have no doubt. Regret curls my fingers. I should have told him about the baby. I nearly did; so many times I picked up the phone to call, but as soon as I thought about his wife, I hung up. Would things have turned out differently if I had told him? My face hardens. Of course not.

He touches my arm. “No, I didn’t, but I g . . . g-uess you knew that all along. It t . . . t-ook me longer to see it.”