Chapter 12: One True Sentence

At seven the next morning, Miles was sitting on the steps of her dorm with two paper cups.

He stood up when he saw her.

His eyes were red. He had not slept either.

"This one's tea," he said, and held a cup out. "I asked Beth what you like. She made me say please."

Clara took it.

"I'm still angry," she said.

"I know."

"I'm not going to say it's fine."

"I'd be worried if you did."

She sat down on the third step. After a moment, he sat on the same step, a careful foot away.

The quad was empty and gray with early light. A sprinkler ticked somewhere behind the hedge.

"I thought about it all night," Clara said.

"So did I."

"You hid for three years. I hid for three years."

"You wrote it all on paper, and I read it in the dark. Neither of us said the real thing out loud."

"Yes."

"I don't want that anymore."

"Neither do I."

"So here's what I want." She turned the cup in her hands. "No more letters."

He blinked.

"None?"

"None. Not from you, not from me. Whatever we say, we say it with our mouths, to each other's faces."

A slow smile began at the corner of his mouth.

"That's a hard rule for a man who writes better than he talks."