I fought back my nausea, feeling the sweat bead on my forehead. My hands felt clammy and useless. I didn’t want to be there. I hadn’t wanted to come. More than anything, I wanted to get up and leave.

I stayed.

Once the service started, I found it difficult to concentrate. If you ask me today what the reverend said, or what Missy’s brother said in his eulogy, I couldn’t tell you. I remember, however, that the words didn’t comfort me. All I could think about was that Missy Ryan shouldn’t have died. After the service, there was a long procession to Cedar Grove Cemetery; it was escorted by what I assumed was every sheriff and police officer in the county. I waited until most everyone started their cars, then finally pulled into the line, following the car directly in front of me. Headlights were turned on. Like a robot, I turned mine on, too.

As we drove, the rain began to fall harder. My wipers pushed the rain from side to side.

The cemetery was only a few minutes away.

People parked, umbrellas opened, people sloshed through puddles again, converging from every direction. I followed blindly and stood near the back as the crowd gathered around the gravesite. I saw Miles and Jonah again; they stood with their heads bowed, the rain drenching them. The pallbearers brought the coffin to the grave, surrounded by hundreds of bouquets. I thought again that I didn’t want to be there. I shouldn’t have come. I don’t belong here.

But I did.

Driven by compulsion, I’d had no choice. I needed to see Miles, needed to see Jonah.

Even then, I knew that our lives would be forever intertwined.

I had to be there, you see.

I was, after all, the one who’d been driving the car.

Friday brought the first truly crisp air of autumn. In the morning, light frost had dusted every grassy patch; people saw their breath as they climbed in their cars to go to work. The oaks and the dogwoods and the magnolias had yet to begin their slow turn toward red and orange and now, with the day winding down, Sarah watched the sunlight filtering through the leaves, casting shadows along the pavement.

Miles would be here before long, and she’d been thinking about it on and off all day. With three messages on her answering machine, she knew her mother had been thinking about it as well-a little too much, in Sarah’s opinion. Her mother had rambled on and on, leaving-it seemed to Sarah-no stone unturned. “About tonight, don’t forget to bring a jacket. You don’t want to catch pneumonia. With this chill, it’s possible, you know,” began one, and from there it went on to offer all sorts of interesting advice, from not wearing too much makeup or fancy jewelry “so he won’t get the wrong impression,” to making sure the nylons that Sarah was wearing didn’t have any runs in them (“Nothing looks worse, you know”). The second message began by backtracking to the first and sounded a little more frantic, as if her mother knew she was running out of time to dispense the worldly wisdom she’d accumulated over the years: “When I said jacket, I meant something classy. Something light. I know you might get cold, but you want to look nice. And for God’s sake, whatever you do, don’t wear that big long green one you’re so fond of. It may be warm, but it’s ugly as sin…” When she heard her mother’s voice on the third message, this timereally frantic as she described the importance of reading the newspaper “so you’ll have something to talk about,” Sarah simply hit the delete button without bothering to listen to the rest of it.

She had a date to get ready for.

Through the window an hour later, Sarah saw Miles coming around the corner with a long box under his arm. He paused for a moment, as if he were making sure he was in the right place, then opened the downstairs door and vanished inside. As she heard him climb the stairs, she smoothed the black cocktail dress she’d agonized over while deciding what to wear, then opened the door. “Hey there… am I late?”

Sarah smiled. “No, you’re right on time. I saw you coming up.”

Miles took a deep breath. “You look beautiful,” he said.

“Thank you.” She motioned toward the box. “Is that for me?”

He nodded as he handed her the box. Inside were six yellow roses.

“There’s one for every week you’ve been working with Jonah.”

“That’s sweet,” she said sincerely. “My mom will be impressed.”

“Your mom?”

She smiled. “I’ll tell you about her later. C’mon in while I find something to put these in.”

Miles stepped inside and took a quick glance around her apartment. It was charming-smaller than he thought it would be, but surprisingly homey, and most of the furniture blended well with the place. There was a comfortable-looking couch framed in wood, end tables with an almost fashionable fade to the stain, a nicked-up glider rocker in the corner beneath a lamp that looked a hundred years old-even the patchwork quilt thrown over the back of the chair looked like something from the last century.

In the kitchen, Sarah opened the cupboard above the sink, pushed aside a couple of bowls, and pulled down a small crystal vase, which she filled with water. “This is a nice place you’ve got,” he said.

Sarah looked up. “Thanks. I like it.”

“Did you decorate it yourself?”

“Pretty much. I brought some things from Baltimore, but once I saw all the antique stores, I decided to replace most of it. There are some great places around here.”

Miles ran his hand along an old rolltop desk near the window, then pushed aside the curtains to peek out. “Do you like living downtown?” From the drawer, Sarah pulled out a pair of scissors and started angling the bottoms of the stems. “Yeah, but I’ll tell you, the commotion around here keeps me up all night long. All those crowds, those people screaming and fighting, partying until dawn. It’s amazing that I ever get to sleep at all.” “That quiet, huh?”

She arranged the flowers in the vase, one by one. “This is the first place I’ve ever lived where everybody seems to be in bed by nine o’clock. It’s like a ghost town down here as soon as the sun goes down, but I’ll bet that makes your job pretty easy, huh?”

“To be honest, it doesn’t really affect me. Except for eviction notices, my jurisdiction ends at the town limits. I generally work in the county.” “Running those speed traps that the South is famous for?” she asked playfully.

Miles shook his head. “No, that’s not me, either. That’s the highway patrol.”

“So what you’re really saying is that you don’t really do much at all, then…

.”

“Exactly,” he concurred. “Aside from teaching, I can’t think of any job less challenging to do.”

She laughed as she slid the vase toward the center of the counter. “They’re lovely. Thank you.” She stepped out from behind the counter and reached for her purse. “So where are we going?”

“Right around the corner. The Harvey Mansion. Oh, and it’s a little cool out, so you should probably wear a jacket,” he said, eyeing her sleeveless dress. Sarah went to the closet, remembering her mother’s words on her message, wishing she hadn’t listened to it. She hated being cold, and she was one of those people who got cold very easily. But instead of going for the “big long green one” that would keep her warm, she picked out a light jacket that matched her dress, something that would have made her mother nod appreciatively. Classy. When she slipped it on, Miles looked at her as if he wanted to say something but didn’t know how.

“Is something wrong?” she asked as she pulled it on.

“Well… it’s cold out there. You sure you don’t want something warmer?”

“You won’t mind?”

“Why would I mind?”

She gladly switched jackets (the big long green one), and Miles helped her put it on, holding the sleeves open for her. A moment later, after locking the front door, they were making their way down the steps. As soon as Sarah stepped outside, the temperature nipped at her cheeks and she instinctively buried her hands in her pockets.