“In May, she wrote to tell me that she was coming to New york or a week in June. She was going to stay with me, but her letters made it clear that the visit didnt mean a resumption for our old life. As the day approached, my agitation mounted. By the morning of her arrival, it had reached a pitch that felt something like an inner scream.The very thought that I would soon see Erica again didnt excite me as much as wound me. As I wandered around the loft trying to calm myself, I realized that I was holding my chest like a man who had just been stabbed. After sitting down, I tried to untangled that feeling of injury but couldnt do it - not fully.”

“But still I was curious to know what sort of an explanation she would have given me—or would give now, if I pressed her for it—how much she would confess, and how she would endeavour to excuse herself. I longed to know what to despise, and what to admire in her; how much to pity, and how much to hate;—and, what was more, I would know. I would see her once more, and fairly satisfy myself in what light to regard her, before we parted. Lost to me she was, for ever, of course; but still I could not bear to think that we had parted, for the last time, with so much unkindness and misery on both sides. That last look of hers had sunk into my heart; I could not forget it. But what a fool I was! Had she not deceived me, injured me—blighted my happiness for life? ‘Well, I’ll see her, however,’ was my concluding resolve, ‘but not to-day: to-day and to-night she may think upon her sins, and be as miserable as she will: to-morrow I will see her once again, and know something more about her. The interview may be serviceable to her, or it may not. At any rate, it will give a breath of excitement to the life she has doomed to stagnation, and may calm with certainty some agitating thoughts.”

“I wanted to tell her how that praise had made me feel, how starved I’d felt for any kind of attention, that I’d begun to think of my teacher Mrs. Terrance like she was my friend, like she was my mother, like she would take me home with her one day to her big house that would be warm and smell of fresh bread, and there would be gold stars all over the floors and ceilings, and she would look down at me as we walked through the door and tell me that this was my home too, that I would get to stay with her forever because she loved me too. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t say that to my mother. Even then, I knew the power words had. To heal. To hurt.So I held my mother while she cried, and eventually the tears subsided, and she began to hiccup softly, and this made me giggle, and she almost looked like she was going to smile at me, and I forgot about the house filled with gold stars because one smile from my mother was worth a billion gold stars and a billion Mrs. Terrances and a billion houses that smelled like fresh bread.”

“I leaned down and kissed her mouth. It tasted salty, like her tears. This time, not warmth, but electricity shot from my mouth to my toes. I could feel tingling in my fingertips. It was like shoving a pen into an electrical outlet, which Link had dared me to do when I was eight years old. She closed her eyes and pulled me into her, and for a minute, everything was perfect. She kissed me, her lips beneath mine, and I knew she had been waiting for me, maybe just as long as I have been waiting for her. But then, as quickly as she had opened herself up to me, she shut me out. Or more accurately, pushed me back.”

“She nodded and reached out to take my hand again. I turned to look at her fully, I didnt want to say it, but I felt I should. I'd never had a chance to say it to my sisters, to my mother and I'd always regretted it. "Just in case", I said, leaning down. For once the Laz remained respectful. It didn't want her. I wanted her. Knitting my fingers into her curls, I kissed her forehead. I limited myself to one word this time. "Goodbye.”

“What can I give you, Wanda?” he insisted.I took a deep breath and tried to keep my voice steady.“Give me a lie, Jared. Tell me you want me to stay.”There was no hesitation this time. His arms wound around me in the dark, held me securely against his chest. He pressed his lips against my forehead, and I felt his breath move my hair when he spoke.Melanie was holding her breath in my head. She was trying to bury herself again, trying to givememy freedom for these last minutes. Maybe she was afraid to listen to these lies. She wouldn'twant this memory when I was gone.“Stay here, Wanda. With us. Withme. I don't want you to go. Please. I can't imagine having you gone. I can't see that. I don't know how to… how to…” His voice broke.”