Every person felt like a landmark in their own rite.
I had to force myself to look away as we pulled onto the little two-lane highway leaving town. Amber trees turned to open fields, rolling hills, and the winding drives leading to farms like Frank and Janice’s.
We passed the water tower, faded and chipped, the one Teddy once climbed on a dare. Fourth of July, the summer before junior year. He’d sat up there waving a sparkler, hollering that he could see the whole world from the top. I stood below, hands on my hips, pretending I wasn’t terrified that he was going to fall.
“Bet you wish you were up here!” he yelled.
“I’d rather die!” I shouted back.
He grinned. “But this is theentire point, Margot!”
I still didn’t know what that meant. Maybe he’d already been planning to leave.
The truck hit a pothole hard enough to yank my seatbelt. I gripped the door handle.
“Sorry,” Rhett said. “Forgot that one was there.”
“It’s fine.”
He glanced at me, half a smile tugging at his mouth. “You sure you don’t want to turn back for coffee? Might be your last decent one before the city.”
I raised an eyebrow. “You think gas station coffee qualifies asdecent?”
“Compared to airport coffee? Absolutely.”
I gave in with a sigh. “Fine. One stop.”
He doubled back and pulled into the corner station at the very edge of town—the same one where Teddy procured our orange-soda-turned-tradition. I could still see him hop into his Jeep, sunburned and wild, spilling his Styrofoam cup all over his seat. The stain was still there.
Rhett hopped out to fill the tank while I sat watching the rain bead on the windshield. The chime from the gas station door sounded exactly the same as it had back then.
A few minutes later, Rhett came back balancing two cups. “They didn’t have your usual. Hopefully black coffee’s okay,” he said, handing one over. “Oh and—” He paused, digging through his pockets and retrieving a handful of creamers and sugar packets. “In case you want them. It’s, uh— reflex.”
I smiled despite myself. “It’s perfect.”
Back on the highway, the world opened up around us again—flat farmland, fences stretching forever, fields stubbled with the remnants of summer crops. Thick drops of rain pelted the windows faster now, the sky only growing darker the further we inched toward Port Camden.
Rhett drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. “You nervous?”
“About flying?”
“About going back.”
I hesitated. “Yeah. A little.”
Rhett grew up in San Francisco and left a shiny career behind to pursue what he loved. If anyone understood what I was doing, it was Georgie’s stoic, quietly incisive boyfriend.
He nodded, eyes on the road. “You don’t have to go, you know.”
“I do, actually.”
He didn’t argue. He just nodded again, like the answer didn’t surprise him.
We passed the drive-in. The screen was still standing, white paint on its supports cracked and peeling. Teddy and I spent half our senior year there. The good half—before the lighthouse and the day everything fell apart. One night he kissed me during the opening credits, right as a police siren blared in the movie. I’d laughed into his mouth. He said, “That’s our cue to run.”
I hadn’t realized until a few months later that he meant itliterally.
Rhett must’ve noticed me staring. “You used to go there a lot?”
