He pulled up to the elementary school.

Here went the Whac-a-Mole memory game again. They used to come here all the time—as kids with Lucille and Sawyer’s mom and later, when they were older, with Clara.

Sawyer came around and opened her door for her. Maybe because he was chivalrous like that—or maybe just because she wasn’t making any move to get out on her own.

She sat for a few moments while he stood there with the door open. She should get out. She’d come this far.

“You’ve come this far. Come on.”

She almost laughed—he had always known what she was thinking—even as dread pooled in her gut.

He led her to the monkey bars. Of course he did.

She didn’t even have time to get her bearings, to try to compose her face into some kind of not-embarrassing arrangement, to get her mole-whacker ready, when he said, “I’m sorry.”

She had no idea what to say to that. A simple “I’m sorry” wasn’t enough, was it?

But she didn’t have to say anything, because he kept talking. “I think.”

“Excuse me?”

“I think I’m sorry” was definitely not enough.

“You went to library school,” he said. “Which is what? Like more school after you got your undergrad degree?”

What was happening?

“So that’s five years of school total?” When she didn’t answer, he said, “Humor me. Please.”

“Six,” she said warily. “Four years of undergrad and two years for a master’s of information science, which is what they call library school these days.” She wasn’t sure why she added that last bit. It wasn’t relevant, even if it did make her seem fancy. She was a master of information.

“Which is why you have student debt.”

“Yes.”

“And then you got a job as a librarian?”

“I did. I had a few offers, actually. I almost went into corporate taxonomy, because I had a job offer land in my lap, and—” Again with the extra stuff. Why? Maybe because she wanted him to know that she had been in demand. Which was kind of pathetic. She was supposed to be exorcising him, and she was pretty sure you weren’t supposed to care what your own personal demon thought of you.

Her stupid mouth, unswayed by logic, kept going. “I admit I was seduced by the money, but I decided to stick with public libraries, which is what I always imagined myself doing.”

“I remember.”

Yes, they had talked about it. They had talked about everything.

Except that wasn’t really true, was it? They’d talked about the little things. They had not talked about the big things. Like heartbreak, for example. That had just happened, and then there’d been no more talking at all.

“Listen, Sawyer—”

“I remember you always wanted to do a semester abroad, too. Did you do that?”