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I told him about you—about us. You can live in his house until Christmas.”
    I managed to squeak out, “You want me to move to Iowa City?”
    “Yes.”
    The desperation in his gaze was so intense, so earnest, that for a moment I actually considered the possibility. What would it feel like to leave? to just pack a bag and go? From there, it wasn’t much of a leap for my mind to imagine the impossible: What if it were just the two of us? No worms in the bathtub, worries about Simon, or working long hours for a measly paycheck that barely allowed us to make ends meet. I could act my age. Drink coffee at some corner Starbucks and talk about politics, religion, the world beyond the walls of my suddenly stifling home.
    I took a shaky breath. Those were dangerous, deceptive thoughts that pulled like quicksand. I couldn’t entertain such illusory demons. Ever.
    “Iowa City,” I repeated. “Why?” The question escaped my lips before I had a chance to gauge how he might hear it.
    Instantly Michael’s face fell. “Because . . .” He floundered. “Because I want you near me. I think it would be good for us to figure out if . . . if this long-distance thing can be done . . . closer.” He fit himself around me and brushed his lips against my forehead.
    “A trial?”
    “I don’t see it as a trial. I see it as a prelude. Maybe we’ll come home at Christmas with a ring. A reason to celebrate.”
    Michael had said it: a ring. But somehow it felt second-rate, cheap. Maybe. I struggled to keep my composure and had to cough before I could trust my voice enough to say, “Simon and Daniel are already signed up for school. They start in a week.”
    “There are schools in Iowa City. I can call the district today. They’ll be on the class rosters by this afternoon.”
    “I can’t leave my job.”
    “You work at Value Foods, Julia. It’s no big loss. Besides, maybe you could pursue your dream. You know, take some photography classes at the university.” He tapped the camera that still hung from my shoulder.
    “I’m already taking classes.”
    “At the tech school.” It seemed to me that there was an edge of disdain in his voice.
    “I like my program,” I said through my teeth.
    “Early childhood development? You can work at a day care or teach preschool. Is that really what you want?”
    Though I had wondered that myself a hundred times, I bristled at his casual dismissal of my choice in education. “Yes,” I stated decisively.
    Michael’s arms slackened. He pulled away. “I thought you would be happy about this. We could be together.”
    “I can’t leave Grandma,” I told him because I couldn’t tell him the truth: I can’t come with you under these circumstances. Not like this. Not without a promise, something more than maybe .
    The grove seemed unnaturally quiet. No breeze stirred the leaves; no songbird trilled in the trees. I shifted on my feet and heard the soft crunch of broken grasses, bent stems that would turn brown because of my careless trampling. It made me unaccountably sad.
    “I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I love you.” It was what I had wanted him to say to me.
    “I love you, too,” Michael echoed, too late. He checked his watch and ran a sun-browned hand through his hair. “Tell you what. Think about it, okay? I know I just dropped this on you. You haven’t had any time to process, to think of the possibilities. . . . Just promise me you’ll give it some serious thought.”
    “Okay.”
    Michael straightened and stretched as if the conversation had exhausted him. Then he smiled at me like there was no tension between us. But I saw the lingering shadows in his eyes. He kissed me hard on the mouth. “Think about it. I’ve gotta go, but I’ll call you from the road.”
    “Okay.”
    “You going to be all right?”
    “I’m fine.”
    “Okay.”
    “Love you.”
    “Love you, too.” And without waiting for me to follow, Michael turned from the clearing and loped back toward