She didn’t understand. It wasn’t like they needed carrier pigeons to communicate. She had his address and cell number in Sydney scribbled on a piece of paper in her bag, along with his email address. He was the one with the open schedule and money to spend. He could have taken the time to come with her or suggest they meet somewhere in another few months, or—Julia didn’t even know what she wanted, just that she’d hoped for something. She’d let herself go when she knew that she shouldn’t, and all she wanted in return was some indication that it had meant something. That there was more to Blake than the man who’d stormed into the hotel room and then stormed out.

She knew why, though. It was easier to be angry than sad.

When she finally boarded, she sat down in her window seat and set her jaw, keeping her face blank, refusing to cry as the plane took off and carried her away from the best time of her life.

It was only when she landed in Chicago, freezing, the snow piled so high for so long it had long since crusted over into gritty gray ice, that she lost the strength to keep the mask on. Liz picked her up from the airport early in the morning and threw her arms around her, gushing about her tan and eager to hear all about it.

But when Julia collapsed in the front seat, exhausted from two nights of not sleeping, all she could do was cry.

Chapter Twenty-One

Chicago

It was surprising how easy it was to slide back into her old life. As easy as pulling on her snow boots: one foot at a time. Step by step, day by day, and there she was. A few innocuous details bandied around the faculty room during breaks—the waterfalls were gorgeous! Rio is such a lively city!—and by the end of the first week, it was as though she’d never left.

Except that buried in her heart was a deep, pulsing throb that still remembered the taste of fresh coconuts on the beach, and the sand between her toes, the feel of Blake’s soft lips on hers. The last word that she’d said to him. Leave.

She hung out with Liz and Danny and showed them all her pictures that didn’t involve Blake. Liz wanted to see the evidence: Blake in front of the waterfalls, Blake with his arms stretched out in front of the giant statue of Christ the Redeemer, Blake making goofy faces under his round blue helmet before they made their jump. But Julia didn’t want to keep living in a past that could never be her future.

Danny had a new girlfriend, Amy, whom Julia liked well enough. She was hard to get to know, but the four of them went out together, sometimes accompanied by Liz’s new beau of the moment, and Julia tried not to feel like there was someone missing.

Amy was a great match for Danny, no question. She was shy and accommodating and incredibly kind. She would never say fuck me or jump off a cliff with wings on her back. Would never stay up all night wearing next to nothing, dancing and laughing too hard to care.

Danny didn’t know these sides of Julia. But now Julia knew they were there. They were a part of her and not some fluke or a thing she could try on for a few nights and then discard, like cheap clothes or a bottle of wine to enjoy until it was done. But the knowledge made the long, dark nights of winter even harder to get through alone. The loneliness was a palpable ache, so strong it seemed like another body taking up space in her bed.

Because what could she do? Dates were unimaginative and dull when they weren’t with Blake. The usual things she did in Chicago—restaurants, bars, a few museums—seemed pitifully small now that it no longer felt like she had the whole world at her feet.

What was he doing? Who was he with?

Would he ever write to her?

Chapter Twenty-Two

Winter, still.

“Come on, Rob and I got tickets to this comedy show. Danny and Amy are coming and we’re taking you with us.”

Liz had swung by Julia’s apartment and was rooting in her cabinets for something to eat.

“Who’s Rob?” Julia asked, closing her laptop. She’d been diligent about her resolution to come home from work on time, especially on Fridays. But that didn’t mean she didn’t bring work home with her instead.

“New guy, you met him last week at Trina’s party, remember?”

Julia didn’t, but she nodded anyway. What had happened to Greg? She decided it was best not to ask.

“Come on, I thought you were going to stop working all the time. Those kids can teach themselves algebra for all I care—that’s what the internet’s for.”

“It’s new student evaluations to conform to state standards for the federal funding we got last year.”

“I’m telling you, just look up whatever other schools have done.”

“I know, but I like these kids. I want them to do well.”

“You don’t have to reinvent the wheel.” Liz plunked a glass of wine next to Julia and turned the laptop toward her, opening up a new browser and typing in a search. Julia tried to stop her, angling the computer back, but it was too late.

“Whoa-ho, what do we have here?” Liz asked, lifting up the laptop to get it out of Julia’s reach and depositing herself on the sofa beside Julia’s desk.

“It’s nothing; close the screen.”

“Oh my god, J. You’re not still watching his show, are you?” Liz clicked through something on the screen and Julia heard the pip-pip-pip of the volume rising on the computer, followed by the swell of violins from the opening credits she could now hum from heart.

“He sent me a few back episodes,” she groaned, sinking down into her chair, wanting to disappear.

Liz looked up sharply from the screen. “So you’re in contact?”

“I don’t know.” Julia threw up her hands. “A little?”

“You didn’t tell me there was potential here.” Liz narrowed her eyes like she’d been lied to.

“There isn’t. He’s God knows where right now—Patagonia and about to go to South Africa? And then who knows where, and in the end, he’ll wind up back in Australia. Last time I checked, none of those places were anywhere near Chicago.”

“So? What have I been telling you?”

Liz lifted up the laptop to make her point.

“Yeah, I know. The internet. But I don’t want some kind of weird long-distance online sexcapade.”

Liz laughed. “I don’t know who this guy is, but he was definitely good for you. Leaving school before it gets dark out, remembering to stay stocked in good wine, using un-Juliaesque words like sexcapade. What have I told you? Don’t give up so fast.”

“I didn’t give up,” Julia protested. “He knew I had a return ticket back and on the day I was leaving, he was all, Hey I’m going to Santiago!”

“Yeah, but to see his friend who got jilted, right?”

“Jamie. But he made that plan totally last minute, like he was looking for anywhere in the world he could go that wasn’t Chicago or the U.S.”

“But did you talk to him about it at all beforehand? Did you say anything about what would happen at the end of your stay?”

Julia shook her head, feeling worse by the second. “I asked him to come here,” she said weakly, but Liz wasn’t buying it.

“At, like, the very last second, when he was on his you can’t tie me down kick.”

“So? He wanted me to ask him so that he could say no.”

“How do you know he wasn’t waiting to see if you’d bring anything up sooner, and then when you didn’t,” she wagged a finger accusingly, “and this other thing came up, he went with that because it was something for him to do?”

“Because he could have said something if he wanted to see more of me!” Julia cried, exasperated.

“So could you!”