‘I had a breakdown, I guess.’ I kept my eyes on my feet, trying not to trip. ‘Another one. More of the same one.’ I frowned. ‘I had a breakdown after the accident, and I don’t think I ever fully recovered. I just buried it, you know? I thought I was fixing it but I was just burying it.’

‘I know.’

‘So it grew. And then I couldn’t control it anymore.’ I swallowed. ‘But it was there before. It wasn’t the accident. I think that’s been the hardest thing to face. I kept thinking it was the accident, but it’s been there all along.’

Since Jenny. Since before. I took a breath.

‘I have anxiety. Severe, sometimes. Sometimes less. A bunch of other things, maybe, but that’s the main one.’

It stunned me to say it. Somehow I hadn’t said it like that to anyone. It was awkward and frightening, but I knew I could tell him, and that was frightening too.

‘I’m getting better, but it’s still there.’ I glanced over at him, watched his face. ‘It might always be there.’

He nodded, listening—thoughtful, the way he always listened.

‘It might get worse again,’ I went on. ‘I don’t know.’

‘I know,’ he said. ‘It’s okay.’

‘It’s not. It’s fucking scary. But it’s there and I have to deal with it, or I’ll—’ I stopped walking. ‘And it’s not an excuse.’

He stopped too, and I turned to him. ‘I’m sorry, Tom. I’m so, so fucking sorry. About all of it.’

‘It’s all right, Cait,’ he said gently.

I shook my head. ‘I wish I could go back and tell you everything, the truth, from the beginning. I wanted to. I can give you all the reasons I didn’t, but they don’t change anything. I fucked up. And I’m sorry.’

Our eyes met.

‘I know.’ He held my gaze for a minute and then looked away. ‘Come on,’ he said, turning to walk. ‘We’ll never get there at this rate.’

‘Where are we going?’ I asked, following.

‘You’ll see.’

‘Have you been here before?’

He shrugged. ‘I just saw it on a postcard.’

I hesitated. ‘And when we get there? Then what?’

‘Cait …’

The way he said my name was so warm, so kind, it broke something inside me. I couldn’t speak. We kept walking, kept going—I wasn’t sure where.

‘My dad would have liked you,’ he said, as we rounded a bend.

I frowned.

‘I’ve been thinking about that a lot.’ He sighed. ‘It was the anniversary a few weeks ago, and so I was thinking about him a lot and for some reason I kept thinking about you.’

‘Oh.’

‘Not in a morbid way.’ The word made my heart speed up. ‘Not because of what happened to you or anything.’