"So what do you want to do?"
"I don't know. That's why I'm asking you."
I heard a lighter click on the other end. He was lighting up. He took a drag, his words slowing. "Paul, you've been in Hawaii for almost a month. What have you been doing this whole time?"
"Rented a studio. Learning to surf, learning to cook local food. Sometimes hanging around Casey's neighborhood."
"You talked to her?"
"A few times. Not much."
"Does she know why you came?"
"Should, right? I told her the first day."
"So what do you think she's thinking?"
I looked at the distant waves and let out a breath. "I don't know."
"Paul, I'm gonna ask you something important." Marcus's voice turned serious. "Do you still love Casey? Not guilt, not wanting to make amends. Love. The kind where you want to be with her, want to wake up every morning and see her. You got that?"
"Yes."
"Then what are you hesitating for?"
"I'm scared she won't want me," I said. "I'm scared she's already chosen someone else. Scared this Mark can give her something I can't. I mean, I abandoned her six years ago. Now I come back saying I love her. Why should she believe me?"
"Have you told her yourself?" Marcus said. "Told her you love her, told her you'd give up everything for her, told her you're willing to wait?"
I didn't answer.
"Paul, you keep doing, but you never say. You watch from a distance, you change yourself, but you never tell her why you're doing any of it."
I stared at the distant waves. The moon was rising, a thin crescent. Moonlight fell on the water, rocking gently with the swells.
"Stand in front of her like a man and tell her," Marcus said. "Whether she accepts is her business. But you gotta let her know."
The call ended. I sat on the beach gripping my phone. He was right. I kept doing, never saying. All she saw was the guy who abandoned her six years ago now showing up again, lurking around, saying nothing. What was she supposed to think?
I opened my phone to my photos. There was one from six years ago I'd taken of her in the library—her sitting by the window reading, sunlight on her face. This photo had followed me for six years. Even when I changed phones three times, I always transferred it over. I remembered the first time I held her hand, a fall evening by the Charles River. The wind was a little cold. I asked if her hand was cold. She said a little. So I took it. That day, her eyes were brighter than the stars.
I asked myself: Paul, are you sure that guy can make her happy, or are you running away again? Six years ago, you lost her because you were a coward. Now you're gonna give up because you're a coward again?
I turned off my phone screen and stood up. The beach was empty now except for me. Waves coming in rhythm. The moon still hung there, thin and bright over the water.
The next day, I went to the community center. Asked the front desk if they needed volunteers. They said meal delivery was short-staffed and asked if I could do it. I said yes.
The community center assigned me a route near Casey's apartment—a few blocks. After running it every day, I got to know the area better and better. One house had a yellow dog that ran to the door wagging its tail whenever it heard the bike bell. One old man living alone was hard of hearing—every delivery I had to yell his name before he'd hear. Later I learned to knock three times, then twice. He could tell it was me.
That day at noon, I finished my last delivery and rode through the little road lined with plumeria trees. The scent was strong, a few blossoms on the ground. My wheels rolled over them, leaving pale yellow smears. Around a bend, I saw Casey standing outside a laundromat, holding a bag.
She saw me, too. I stopped the bike, one foot on the ground.
"Casey," I called her name.
She made a small sound, waiting for me to continue.
I got off the bike, pushed it forward two steps, and stopped in front of her. Sunlight leaked through the leaves, dropping patches of light on the ground.
