Spencerville

upset for days.” She cleared her throat and said, “Lost my pen pal.”
    He was surprised when he noticed that her eyes were moist, and he wanted to offer her a handkerchief, but knew he shouldn’t. She took a tissue from her purse and pretended to pat her face but wiped her eyes. “So…” She took a deep breath. “So, how long are you here for?”
    “I don’t know.”
    “Why did you come back?”
    He considered several evasive replies, then said, “To see you.”
    He saw she was biting her lower lip, and she was looking at the ground, clearly about to cry.
    Keith didn’t feel in complete control either, so he didn’t speak.
    Finally, she looked up at him and said, “You could have seen me anytime you were here.”
    “No, I couldn’t, Annie. But now I can.”
    “God… I don’t know what to say… I mean… do you… are you still…?”
    “Yes.”
    She dabbed at her eyes again, then glanced across at the park where her friends were at the ice cream vendor’s truck, looking at her and Keith. She said to him, “I have about thirty seconds before I’m doing something wrong.”
    He forced a smile. “It’s still a small town, isn’t it?”
    “Real small.”
    He said, “I want you to know that your letters got me through some rough times.”
    “Same here. I have to go.”
    “When can we have that cup of coffee?”
    She smiled. “I’ll drive out to your place. When I go to see my aunt. But I don’t know when I can do that.”
    “I’m usually home.”
    “I know that.”
    He said, “Your husband—”
    “I know that, too. I know when to come.”
    “Okay.”
    She extended her hand, and he took it. Keith said with a smile, “In Europe, Washington, or New York, we’d kiss goodbye.”
    “In Spencerville, we just say, ‘You have a real nice day now, Mr. Landry. Real good seeing you again.’” She squeezed his hand and turned away.
    Keith watched her cross the street and noticed the three women taking it all in.
    He stood a moment, not remembering where he was, where his car was, or what he was supposed to do next.
    He found he had a lump in his throat and kept glancing at the park across the street, but they were gone now. He wanted to go find her and take her arm and tell her friends, “Excuse me, we’re in love, and we’re leaving.”
    But maybe she needed some time to think about it. Maybe she didn’t like what she saw. He thought about the conversation, replayed it so he wouldn’t forget it, and tried to remember the look on her face and thought about what he’d seen in her eyes.
    From what he’d gathered, she’d had a bad time of things, but you couldn’t tell by her eyes, or her face, or her walk. Some people showed every scar, every disappointment, every sorrow. Annie Prentis was the eternal optimist, happy, perky, and unbowed by life.
    He, on the other hand, had done well in life, and perhaps he didn’t look burned-out, but he carried in his heart every sorrow, disappointment, and human tragedy he’d ever seen or experienced.
    It didn’t do any good to wonder about how life might have been if they’d married and had children. It would have been fine. They always said that they were made exclusively for each other. It was more important now to see if it was really possible to pick up where they’d left off. The cynic in him said no. The young Keith Landry, the one who had loved completely and unconditionally, said yes.
    He found his car, got inside, and started it. He was vaguely aware that he had a list of errands to do, but he started for home.
    As he drove, he remembered that day, twenty-five years ago, in her bedroom in Columbus. Dawn was breaking, and he’d been awake and dressed for hours. He’d sat looking at her sleeping naked on her back in the warm room, the unforgettable profile of her face and body, her long hair tumbling onto the pillow.
    Certainly, he’d known that it would be a long time before they would see each other again. But it never occurred to him that a quarter century would pass and that the world they knew would have vanished so completely. Sitting in her bedroom, he’d thought briefly about the war in Asia, about the possibility that he would die, but it all seemed too remote then. They were small-town kids who’d had four idyllic years of college, and this two-year Army hitch was just a bump on the road. His only concern was that, after being inseparable in high school and college, she’d be lonely without him.
    He’d finished his