I dropped the ten dollars and turned in the direction they pointed. I didn’t see anyone but continued toward the light of a record store farther down the block. About halfway, a woman darted out of another alley. She was wheeling my suitcase, and from where I stood I could tell that she had on my jacket. As I got closer, I could see that she was also wearing my black dress over a grungy pair of sweats.

“Darlene!” I shouted.

She turned quickly, walked right up to me, and cocked her head to the side. “How do you know my name?” she barked out. Her voice was deep and rough.

“That’s my stuff.” She had on the necklace Jamie had given me. She was obviously homeless. Her skin had that dark, weathered, dirty look to it, and her hair was stringy, greasy, and gray, hanging down past her shoulders. My necklace glimmered against her neck.

“No, this is my stuff!” she screeched out.

“Look, there is stuff in there with my name on it. I can prove it to you.”

“I don’t care if you’re Barack Obama. I got this from the Dumpster. One man’s trash is another man’s treasure. People don’t throw away things they want.”

“Listen. You can have it all. I just need the paperwork and that necklace. Please, it’s sentimental.”

I pulled out my wallet and handed her three twenties. She took off the necklace, handed it back to me, and set the suitcase flat and unzipped it. I grabbed the papers and realized that one of Jamie’s white T-shirts had made it into my suitcase. I reached for it.

“Uh-uh, I don’t think so, little girl.”

My eyes welled up. I let go of the shirt and took a step back. Tears dropped from my cheeks onto the woman’s back as she started to zip the suitcase up. She turned and looked up at me. I was standing in the light of a streetlamp but my face must have been shadowed from her view.

“Are you cryin’?” she snapped.

I shook my head. She yanked the shirt out and handed it back to me without turning around.

“Thank you,” I managed to say.

When she stood up, she huffed, “Cryin’ over a goddamned T-shirt. Imagine that.”

I held it to my face and inhaled. It still smelled like Jamie—like the earth, but warm and spicy, too.

I walked three blocks out of the way before heading back to my apartment building. Not wanting to surprise Dylan and Ashley, I took my book, T-shirt, necklace, and all of the papers up to the roof and waited for him to text me. I was freezing my ass off for the sake of teen love and premarital sex. I started feeling a little shame about that, so I was relieved to get a text from Dylan.

Dylan: It’s all clear. We didn’t do it. We had a nice dinner and watched TV. She’s not ready so we’re gonna wait. I have a major case of blue balls.

I chuckled.

Me: Don’t tell her that.

Dylan: I’m not an asshole.

Me: I know. TTYL

Dylan: Later, chica. Thanks again.

Dylan left my apartment exactly how he found it. I took a shower, threw my covers back, and slipped into bed wearing nothing but Jamie’s T-shirt. I clutched the note to my chest as I pressed the button to listen to my nightly message. I went sailing today with Chelsea, he said. I thought about your hair whipping across your face, your pink cheeks, and the huge smile you had on your face as we sailed across the bay. I just wanted you to know that I was thinking about you. I can’t get you out of my mind. I’m always thinking about you.

Me too.

I pressed END and reached down beside the bed to where I had set the note. When I read it again, this time I cried.

Katy, my angel,

I had to go to Portland. My father had a heart attack and they don’t know if he’s going to make it through the night. Please don’t leave. If I can’t get back by tomorrow, I’ll send a car and get you a flight up here. Please, please don’t leave. I have something really important to tell you besides the fact that I am completely in love with you.

—J

In the morning, the note was crumpled up on my chest. I got up and spread it out on the counter. I underlined the last line and then wrote WHY? underneath it. I stuffed it into an envelope and mailed to it the R. J. Lawson Winery. I laughed to myself as I wrote Attn: The Owner. I spent Sunday in my apartment, not moping. I did a yoga video, edited some of Beth’s latest article, and then devoted the afternoon and evening to a marathon of MythBusters, during which I learned that Jack’s death in Titanic was totally unnecessary. Had that selfish bitch, Rose, given up her life jacket to tie under that wooden door, it would have been buoyant enough to hold them both. Damn her. I slid into bed at seven and listened to Jamie’s latest voice mail over and over.

I can still smell you on my pillow. I can still see you standing in my room, the light caressing your smooth legs, your dark hair cascading over your shoulders, and your gorgeous mouth smiling so effortlessly. I miss you. I ache for you, and I’m bordering on crazy without you. Come back to me.

I had to clear my mind, so I called Dylan. “Hello.”

“Did you know Jack’s death in Titanic could have been prevented?”

“That might have been true if Jack were a real person. Are you drunk?”

“No, just bored.”

“Oh.”

“Hey, you want to go up to the roof?”

“I’m about to walk into a movie with Ash.”

“All right,” I said, sullenly.

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah.”

“You want to meet us?”

“Nah, I’ll see you later, buddy.”

Two nights later I found myself in the same position, bored and lonely and watching too much television. After a Law & Order marathon, I found Titanic playing on cable.

“Just put the life jacket under the door. Dammit, Rose, he’s freezing!” I yelled at the TV before bursting into tears. I cried through the last twenty minutes of the movie. I even cried when old Rose tossed the Heart of the Ocean overboard. I called Beth but her phone went straight to voice mail. “Beth, it’s me. You don’t need to call me back.” I sniffled. “I just don’t understand why Rose threw the necklace overboard. I’ve never understood that.” I hiccupped and then my phone beeped. Without looking at the caller ID, I immediately clicked over.

“Hello,” I said, my voice shaky.

“Baby?” His smooth, rich tone floated through the receiver and sent a blast of warmth all the way down my spine to my toes.

“Jamie?”

“Hi, Katy.” His voice sounded different. I could hear hope in it. He must have gotten my note. “I just called to say good night.”

“Oh.”

“What’s wrong? You sound sad.”

I started laughing through my tears. “I was watching Titanic.”

He chuckled. There was an awkwardness to our conversation. “I think they could have made the piece of wood fit for two, don’t you?”

“Absolutely.”

I laughed some more. “Had Jack been a computer engineering prodigy, maybe they could have figured out a solution.”

“Maybe,” he said unenthusiastically, and then changed the subject. “ ‘Why’ is an easy question to answer. I could have written a thousand pages on my feelings, but I didn’t. I hope it will be enough to convince you when you get it. I’m sorry again for everything I put you through.”

“I’m sorry, too,” I said quietly. “Jamie, why are you so desperate to run from your past?”

“I’m not. I’ve just changed a lot from the time I was sixteen. I’m not that kid anymore. I don’t want to sit around and play video games. That’s what it was to me, a game.”

“I don’t know how we could make it work. We barely spent four days together, and every minute of it was under false pretenses. I’m not even sure I want a relationship.”

“What we had wasn’t false. That was me. That was the most real version of me. I felt more like myself, more content, confident, and happy when I was with you than any other time in my life. I just wish I could have been up front.”