Oliver runs a hand through his hair. “Think about all you could do. You could live dozens of different lives. Go on hundreds of adventures. Make thousands of new memories.”
“I don’t want them!” she cries. Tears spill down her cheeks. She swipes them angrily away. “What if I find you?” she says. “I’ll go to Boston before you get sick, before you go to the Globe.” She could be with him. They could have years together.
“Don’t you dare,” he says. His voice is harsh, strained to breaking. Like he’s holding back tears.
“Why not?”
“Because you could change it,” Oliver says. “Change us. And I don’t want to lose a single moment with you.”
“We could make new memories,” she pleads. “Share new moments.”
Oliver takes her face in his hands again. “Promise me you won’t.”
She’s never seen him so scared.
“Please, Bea.”
“All right,” she says. “I won’t. I promise.”
Oliver pulls her close. She wants to sink into him.
“I swore I would never leave you without a goodbye. But I almost did. I was so afraid I would never get that chance. I won’t make that mistake again.”
“And I told you, no goodbyes.”
“I know.” Oliver reaches inside his jacket and pulls out a sealed rectangular envelope. “I will do everything I can to get back to you. But if I can’t, then I want—I need you to take this. You don’t have to open it until you’re ready.”
She takes the plain white envelope from him, certain she’ll never be ready to face what’s inside.
His brow furrows. “Are you sure you don’t want to say goodbye?”
“I’m sure.” Sure she can’t let him go, even as he is about to be taken from her. She doesn’t even want to think about it. She tilts her chin and kisses him, desperate to remember his touch, his taste; to hold on to every piece of him she can.
Oliver shudders and pulls away. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I have to go.”
Her stomach twists. According to his journal, it will be four years before his next visit. “I’ll see you again,” she says. A promise she hopes she can keep.
“I’ll see you again,” Oliver says. He’s gone before she can blink.
Beatrix pulls the picnic blanket from the ground and shakes out the dried grass and crushed oak leaves. Four years is practically nothing to her. But she knows these four years will feel as long as 237.
Longer.
Because it will be four agonizing years before she knows if this was a goodbye after all.
July 16, 1969Cape Kennedy, Florida
The car’s headlights cut through the predawn darkness, send golden light glittering across the black water as Beatrix parks off the highway’s shoulder. There are already others gathered on the narrow strip of dirt between the road and the river’s edge, cars and motor homes and tents full of people waiting. She doesn’t need Oliver to tell her history will be made today. She can feel it in the air, something electric humming against her skin.
She pulls the key from the ignition and slides across the bench seat, the chill of the smooth vinyl raising goose bumps on her legs. She has worn shorts and a sleeveless blouse because the weather report said it would be hot and humid, and nothing at all like England, but with the sun still an hour from rising, she wishes she had brought her cardigan from the motel. She leans into Oliver, trying to steal some of his warmth.
“Wake me when there’s a rocket,” he mumbles, pulling her close. He lets his head fall against the passenger-side window.
She brushes a curl off his forehead. It’s warm. “Are you feeling all right?” It is early, but it isn’t like him to be this quiet, this still.
“Just tired,” he assures her, kissing her on the temple.
They doze together, curled up in the front seat of Beatrix’s car. Oliver falls into a fitful sleep, and Beatrix watches the sunrise through the windshield.
