My phone rang, and I immediately realized my mistake. This was going to take some getting used to. “Thad,” I said quietly. “I don’t want to talk to you.”

“Oh, Amelia,” he said. “I’m so sorry. I was going to tell you. I swear I was.”

“But it never seemed like the right time to destroy my entire life?” I responded angrily.

“Let’s talk about this,” he said.

“I can’t. I have to go ruin my parents’ lives now, too.”

“Amelia,” he said sadly. “I do love you. I swear I do. I wanted to be different for you. I tried.”

“Do not make me feel sorry for you, Thad,” I said softly, knowing he was telling the truth. “I can’t go there yet.”

“Okay,” he whispered. “Please just promise you’ll call me. Please, Amelia.” Then he added, “I miss you already.”

I wanted to say something sarcastic like, Well, I’m sure Chase will soothe your hurt feelings, but I could tell he meant it. For a brief moment, I thought maybe we could move forward in a different way. But no. I didn’t want to live a lie. I felt like all the blood was draining out of my body into my feet. I was light-headed from a sorrow so deep tears felt too ordinary, too trite.

“I’ll let you know when I get back,” I said noncommittally. “But I’m not sure I can be around you right now.”

“I understand,” he said softly. “But please call me if you need me. Please let me know if I can help.” He paused. “I really am sorry,” he added one more time. “I didn’t want to lose you, and that was selfish.”

“Goodbye, Thad,” I said, his name foreign in my mouth. It wasn’t a Bye for now! or a See you next week! It was goodbye. For good.

After leaning on my carry-on in the cramped aisle of the plane for an interminably long time, I walked down the steps and onto the tarmac, wrapping my sweater tighter around me. The two-gate airport was small, clean, bright, and lovely in every way. Home.

Remembering I still had Thad’s credit card, I charged a rental Mercedes convertible that he couldn’t afford and, with Taylor Swift blaring over the Bluetooth, put the top down and cranked the heat. As I pulled out of the parking lot, I felt free. With the wind in my hair and water all around me, maybe I would be okay.

My parents’ house in Cape Carolina could only be described as rambling. And thank goodness. Because thirty-eight years earlier, my aunt Tilley had—as Southerners describe it—gotten “the vapors.” She still had them. People said my mama and daddy should put her in a home.

My father was all for it. But my mother said she wasn’t going to abandon her sister. So the east wing was converted into an apartment for Aunt Tilley, with a bedroom, bathroom, living room, dining room, and a kitchenette with a refrigerator and microwave—nothing that Aunt Tilley could use to burn the house down. Or so my parents thought. The fire department had to come that one time Aunt Tilley put a frozen macaroni and cheese into the microwave for sixty minutes instead of six minutes. But Chris at the appliance store rewired it so that it would only turn on for one minute at a time, an idea of my brother Robby’s that he hadn’t been able to figure out how to implement.