But affecting one person? Changing one life? That I can do. That I will do. After all, isn’t that what everyone, deep down, hopes for? To make a difference in one person’s life.

Michael was that person. And the question is, will any of it matter? Even if we do everything right, if my plan goes perfectly…will we still end up together? Part of me desperately hopes so. But I know we don’t make sense. I know he shouldn’t have to wait for me. He should live his own life.

I can’t dwell on the pain of that. Right now, I need to focus. I’m only going to get one shot at this.

Keeping close to a wall, about twenty feet away, I wait. It’s not long now—three, maybe four minutes until he leaves. I need to account for him getting in his car, starting it, driving into the intersection. All of that will happen quickly. I need to be ready to act.

What if it doesn’t go according to plan? What if something different happens? He’s on his way home, doesn’t get hit by the drunk driver, but skids into a river instead? Or has a heart attack? Or something else?

The door to Jameson’s opens, and deep laughter flows out. A gaggle of half a dozen students, wearing jackets with a mix of different college logos, spills into the parking lot. But I only care about one in particular: the well-built man who looks like a football linebacker, with the jaw of someone who could definitely run for president. The one with the same red hair I saw in the picture, the same red hair his mom has.

The man I’ve been waiting for.

The feeling of coldness melts away and is replaced with a low, burning warmth. Adrenaline, that’s what this is. The rapid heartbeat in my chest, the warm tingling in my fingers, the ringing in my ears, and the way everything feels distant but present all at the same time.

One shot.

One chance.

One moment.

One step. Then another, and another.

I haven’t thought through what I’m going to say. Maybe I should have—maybe it all should have been rehearsed, so I could function on autopilot. But I’m best when I’m going off the cuff; I know that about myself. And if I succeed, I won’t have much time to think about it and critique myself. Once the clock passes 3:15, and Dave isn’t dead, everything will change. The world will shift, and this reality won’t exist anymore. It doesn’t matter how I make that happen, as long as I make it happen.

Simple.

But the sound of a car coming up behind me, closer than it should, and stopping abruptly, jolts me from my thoughts.

And the person who steps out of it makes me forget everything.

Twenty-Six