No, I’m lying. It didn’t pass. What I felt for Gabriel wasn’t a chimera of anxiety and exhaustion. What passed was that panic, that sense of needing to escape.

I had breakfast with Ricky. Actually, I picked up breakfast—by cab—and surprised him at his place. He’d been in bed. Which led to a cold breakfast. But it also did an excellent job of banishing any traces of last night’s mood and fears. It wasn’t just the sex. Okay, yes, sex with Ricky was pretty much guaranteed to banish anything. But more than that, it was just being with him; alone with him, I was happy, and any other longings seemed like madness.

“I haven’t quit the diner yet,” I said. I was nibbling my toast, thinking how much I missed Larry’s rye bread.

“Yep. You need to make a decision there. Which I think you already have, but you should let Larry know what it is.”

“I know.” I sighed. “I’m not going back, which I should have told him a week ago.”

“I’m sure he figured it out. It’s just tough to cut that tie. Throwing yourself financially at Gabriel’s mercy.”

I spread extra jam on my toast. “It’s more than that. I don’t think I can even wait on the elders again.”

“I get that, and I’d agree.” He rolled out of bed and headed for the front room. I watched him go. I watched him come back. Both views were equally fine.

He saw me watching and chuckled. “I’d be a lot more flattered by that look if I didn’t suspect you were hoping to distract me from insisting you make this call.” He waggled my phone. “If you still want to jump me afterward, I’ll be here. And if you don’t? That’s fine, too, but just remember that every time I see that look in future, I’ll think you’re only trying to avoid something. It’ll do irreparable damage to my ego.”

“I wouldn’t want that.”

“No, you would not. My ego is a fragile thing.” He handed me the phone. “Now call Larry, tell him you’ll come by later to talk, and then you can have me.”

“Should I hang up first?”

“Larry would probably prefer that.”

I laughed, took the phone, and flipped onto my stomach. As I dialed, Ricky hopped back in bed, sending crumbs and plates jumping. He settled in, his head resting on the small of my back as he checked messages on his own phone.

After we talked, Larry said, “Doc Webster would like to speak to you, as well. She came by asking if I’d seen you. I know the Clarks said you’d been having fevers. Not to pry, but I’m guessing that’s related to why you needed some time off?”

“In a way.”

“You should call Doc Webster. I think she’s concerned, but she probably doesn’t want to seem pushy and follow up if you’re seeing a doctor in the city.”

“I’ll call her.” We talked for another minute before I hung up.

“Better get that call to the doc over with, too,” Ricky said. “I wasn’t trying to eavesdrop, but Larry’s one of those guys who thinks he’s talking on a tin can instead of a shining example of modern technology.”

I chuckled. “True.”

“Call the doctor. Tell her you’re fine so she doesn’t worry.”

He was right. I also had a niggling feeling I shouldn’t put it off. Just to get it over with, I suppose. So I phoned and I told her I was doing all right, no ill effects after the fever.

“Are you seeing someone in Chicago?” she asked. “A doctor, I mean.”

“No, I’m not sure what my plans are right now, but if I decide to stay in Cainsville, I’ll be transferring to you, if that’s all right.”

“It is. I’ll just need your medical files.” When I hesitated, she said, “No rush, of course. If you decide to transfer, you can provide me with your doctor’s information and I’ll arrange everything. We’ll need your express permission, but I can handle the rest.”

I said yes, that would be fine, thanked her, and hung up. Then I lay there, staring at the phone, deep in thought.

After my first “breakup” with Gabriel, he’d apologized by obtaining my pre-adoption medical files for me. Except there had been a mix-up, and the files my former doctor sent had belonged to a girl with spina bifida. His office was still hunting for my proper records.

“Everything okay?” Ricky asked.

As he sat up, he set his phone on the bed. On the screen, I saw what looked like an artist’s rendition of the sun and moon from my boar’s tusk.

I reached for his phone. “Is that the tattoo—?”

He plucked it from my hand and turned the screen off. “Later. What happened with the doctor?”

“It’s not important. Let’s see that art.”

He held the phone behind his back. “It’s not going to help you forget whatever’s bugging you. And whatever’s bugging you is important. So we’re going to talk about that.”

I looked at him. “You always do the right thing, don’t you?”

“I’m pretty sure I spend most of my life not doing the right thing.”

“That isn’t what I mean.” I shifted onto my knees, my face rising to his. “With me. You know the right thing to do. Always.”

“That’s because I know you. Always.”

I leaned forward and kissed him, and when our lips met, I smelled forest and rain, I felt the delicious chill of a night wind and heard the pounding of hooves. I felt a boy lifting me onto a horse, swinging me up behind him, me huddling against his back, basking in the warmth of him, hearing his laugh and grinning in return, holding him tight, never wanting to let go. Feeling loved and understood and at peace, that perfect bond with someone who knew me, always.