“That night, it wasn’t Dobie Gray,” I whispered. “It was this song. It was Ella Mae singing this to me when I thought you weren’t all I knew you to be, which is all the words to this song. Twenty-nine years, I held out for this. Then, half an hour later, you proved every one of these words true and every moment since then, you kept doing it. I’ll take you thinking I’m your angel but you need to know you’re my hero. Twenty-nine, honey, I held out for this. Twenty-nine years, I held out for you.”

“You don’t know where west is?” Sarah asked with disbelief.I wasn’t going to drop her to the ground. I was going to throw her. “Do I look like I have a compass on me?”Sarah waved a hand at the sky. “Can’t you use the stars to navigate?”“I ’m twenty-nine years old, not two hundred and twenty-nine. I navigate by GPS, MapQuest, or TomTom. Not the fucking stars, ’k?”

“I’m hitting the sack”“Are you twenty-nine or sixty-nine?”The devilish dimples appeared. “Twenty-nine with a sixty-nine waiting at home”

“You understand,” Silas says quietly—the words are just for me, but I know Scarlett hears—“I’m . . . when I’m twenty-eight, Rosie. You know what this means. I’m dangerous, Rosie.”“You plan on loving me when you’re twenty-eight?” I interrupt, uncertain if my question is serious or not.Silas’s eyes widen in surprise. He turns to look out the taxi window for a moment, and when his eyes meet mine again, there’s a beautiful sincerity glistening in the gray-blue irises. “Rosie . . . I love you. Now, when I’m twenty-eight, when I’m thirty-five . . . I love you.”I exhale. “Okay, then.”“But I’m—”I put a finger against his soft, bow-shaped lips. “Okay, then.”

“One and two and three and four and five and six…”Oh, God don’t let me hurt him.“…and seven and eight and nine and ten and eleven…”Am I really doing this? Here? Is this real?“…and twelve and thirteen and fourteen and fifteen…”We’re in the middle of nowhere. No one is going to find us. Even the fire has gone out.“…and sixteen and seventeen and eighteen and nineteen…”He’s dead. I’m just beating on his body.“…and twenty and twenty-one and twenty-two and twenty-three and twenty-four…”My arms hurt. How can my arms hurt now? Blake. I can’t. I can’t be here without you.“…and twenty-five and twenty-six and twenty-seven and twenty-eight and twenty-nine and thirty.”The next step was simple: cover his mouth and fill his lungs with air. Breathe into him with life’s breath. Livia did so, licked her lips, and started compressions again.“And one and two and three and four and five and six and seven…”I’ve got to be positive. I have to know he’ll make it.“…and eight and nine and ten and eleven and twelve and thirteen and fourteen…”We’re going to grow old together, Blake. We’re going to hold hands and kiss.“…and fifteen and sixteen and seventeen and eighteen and nineteen…”I’m giving you all my energy. All this love and hope. It’s going from my heart to yours, through my hands.“…and twenty and twenty-one and twenty-two and twenty-three…”Feel it, Blake. Feel it.“…and twenty-four and twenty-five and twenty-six and twenty-seven…”I love you so much. I’m going to love you forever. Can you feel that, Blake?“…and twenty-eight and twenty-nine and thirty.”Livia leaned down, repositioned Blake’s head, and filled his lungs twice more. As she put her hands on his chest to keep her rhythm, she looked down at his face, at his skin.“And one and two and three and four and five and six…”Am I imagining that? Your skin?“…and seven and eight and nine and ten and eleven…”Blake! Blake, your skin! It’s just like glass, Blake. You’re really sparkling. I can see it. I can really see it. Your skin is amazing!Livia’s tears landed on her hard-pumping hands. Nothing would stop her from beating Blake’s heart for him now. Nothing. Not even the sound of people crashing through the woods.“…and twelve and thirteen and fourteen and fifteen and sixteen and seventeen…”You’re glistening, Blake. I’ll never stop. I’ll never stop.”

“And after, when it was bedtime, I would sing, “We love you, Conrad, oh yes we do. We love you, Conrad, and we’ll be true” into the bathroom mirror with a mouthful of toothpaste. I would sing my eight-nine-ten-year-old heart out. But I wasn’t singing to Conrad Birdie. I was singing to my Conrad. Conrad Beck Fisher, the boy of my preteen dreams.”