“Hi, sweet Amelia.” Mrs. Abrams, my kindergarten teacher, waved. She was walking past, presumably on her way to the dance, too.

“Hi, Mrs. Abrams,” I said, basking in the familiarity of home. It was special, this place. This town. Every time I was here, I had a pang for my old life, where everyone knew me, where I belonged.

Larry walked by, pushing an old-fashioned ice cream cart. “You want anything?” he paused to ask us. Larry was a veteran who decided when he retired that he needed something to keep him happy and in shape. So he bought an ice cream cart and walked it around five days a week, giving away free goodies to every kid and a lot of the adults in town. It was an undeniably generous calling—and, ironically, it kept him in great shape. He said he’d never cared much for ice cream.

“No, thanks, Larry. Maybe later?”

He nodded. “You know where to find me.”

He didn’t even have to ask my mother. I wondered if she’d ever had ice cream in her entire life.

“You know, Mom, I think I’ve made my peace with it.”

She put her arm around my waist and bumped my hip with hers. “Finding a Harris will do that for a girl.”

We shared a smile, and Walt, our preacher, grabbed my mother away from me and pulled her onto the dance floor. The Summer Splash had begun, and everyone, it seemed, was ecstatic. I ignored how my stomach flip-flopped when I spotted Parker across the room. In his navy shorts and his blue-and-white-checked shirt with the sleeves rolled up, he was taking his mother for a spin around the dance floor. It was positively darling. His dad didn’t like the Summer Splash, either. And both our dads were, no doubt, sitting somewhere together, drinking bourbon and strategizing about the morning’s fishing.

I was about to sit down on a park bench on the perimeter where I could see the action, feeling a small pang that Harris wasn’t here with me—we hadn’t had an occasion to dance together in public yet—when Parker came up next to me and said, “Miss Amelia, might I have this dance?”

My heart raced when he took my hand. I couldn’t very well say no. But, roles reversed, I wouldn’t want Harris dancing with a woman who made his heart beat a little too fast.

Parker put one hand on the small of my back. I had danced with him before, sure, that night in Palm Beach in Philip and Sheree’s living room. But that had been drunken and wild. That had been before I had so cavalierly offered to have his baby, before I hadn’t made good on my promise. I was trying to forget. But being with him now, sober and sincere, made me remember.

“I’ve missed you,” he said into my ear.

It was so simple yet so cryptic. He’d missed me. Missed me how? He’d missed me like you do an old neighbor? Or a good friend? Or he’d missed me like you miss a woman you’ve pined for? There was so much gray area there. And I knew I shouldn’t care. But I did.