“Hey.”
A woman’s voice. Dryden turned. She was standing there, twenty feet away, next to the fire he’d started a few minutes before.
Her name was Riley. She worked at an art gallery in town. Dryden had met her there three months ago, a few days after he’d come home and shaved his beard.
He crossed the sand to her, and she sank into him; they stood that way a long time, arms around each other, listening to the firewood popping and the kids laughing and the dog barking. He wasn’t sure how it was shaking out with the two of them, but he liked being with her. She seemed to like being around him, too. For now, that was enough.
They sat on a blanket and watched the twilight melt away. As the first stars showed through, Dryden’s neighbors from two houses down came onto the beach with their nine-year-old son. Dryden waved them over, and the five of them sat talking as the night darkened and cooled beyond the halo of the fire.
*
It was a quarter to four in the morning. Dryden lay awake, Riley breathing softly against him. He slipped her arm off of his chest, eased out from under the covers, and stood.
In the den off the kitchen he found a notepad. He sat down at the desk with it, opened the tray drawer, and looked for something to write with, but all he could find was a Sharpie. He popped off the cap and began to print in rough-scrawled penmanship. The words bled dark into the paper.
Hi Sam. Don’t say anything out loud. There are laser microphones aimed at your windows most of the time, but there’s nothing hidden inside the house. No bugs. No cameras.
By the time he’d finished writing it, his pulse was slamming in his ears.
You shouldn’t be anywhere near me, he thought. You should be halfway around the world.
He put the marker to the page again.
I’ve been that far away, most of these months. I will be again, soon. I had to check on you, though. I had to find out if the people watching you had any other plans in mind. I had to know if you were in danger. But I think you were right—they’re just watching you in case I show up. Sooner or later I think they’ll even give up on that. They seem bored with it.
You can never risk meeting me in person, Dryden thought. Even if you think it’s safe. I’d give anything to see you, but you can’t take the chance.
I know, promise.
Are you and Holly safe?
Yes. That’s the other part of why I’m here—to tell you we’re okay. We’re more than okay. It’s warm where we live. Holly works as a doctor for the local people, and we’re both learning the language. There are so many kids my age. My life has never been like this before. Never this happy.
Dryden stared at the words on the pad. They warmed him every bit as much as the fire on the beach had. Their meaning sank deep into his skin.
You seem happier, too, Sam. I haven’t been watching you for long, but I can tell. I’m glad you met someone. Are you going to take my advice? Are you going to be somebody’s father again?
He laughed under his breath. Slow down, he thought. She and I have toothbrushes at each other’s places. That’s all the further along we are.
He drew a smiley face on the page, and next to it he wrote,
I know, I know, none of my business.
For the longest time he found he couldn’t form a thought in reply. His mind was simply full of feelings, a whole storm of them. The reality of the moment suddenly hit him: Rachel was here. She was right here, within a mile of where he was sitting. They could sprint to each other in a matter of minutes—
Except they couldn’t. Ever.
His eyes stung. He blinked and pushed the feeling away; Rachel could probably pick up on it.
He found himself writing again.
I miss you too, Sam. I keep waiting for it to not hurt so much, but part of me doesn’t want the pain to go away, because it’s ours. It’s only ours, yours and mine, and I don’t want to lose it. If that makes any sense.
It makes perfect sense, Dryden thought.
The Sharpie was still for a few seconds. Then:
There’s something I need to tell you about.
What?
Have you ever heard people say to each other, it wasn’t an accident we met?
Yes.
You and me, it wasn’t an accident.
Dryden waited for more.
All the things I can do, that I didn’t know about when my memory was gone—deep down, I could still do them without knowing it.
The roadblock in Fresno, Dryden thought. The cop who let us go.
Yes. But there was another time I did it.
Seconds passed. Dryden imagined Rachel, somewhere out there, working out what she wanted to say.