"What can I do for you?" he asked.

I adjusted myself nervously in the chair. "Well, sir, I wanted to ask you something."

He stared at me, studying me before he finally spoke. "Does it have to do with Jamie?" he asked.

I took a deep breath.

"Yes, sir. I wanted to ask if it would be all right with you if I took her to dinner on New Year's Eve."

He sighed. "Is that all?" he said.

"Yes, sir," I said. "I'll bring her home any time you'd need me to."

He took off his spectacles and wiped them with his handkerchief before putting them back on. I could tell he was taking a moment to think about it.

"Will your parents be joining you?" he asked.

"No, sir."

"Then I don't think that will be possible. But thank you for asking my permission first." He looked down at the papers, making it clear it was time for me to leave. I stood from my chair and started toward the door. As I was about to go, I faced him again.

"Reverend Sullivan?"

He looked up, surprised I was still there. "I'm sorry for those things I used to do when I was younger, and I'm sorry that I didn't always treat Jamie the way she should have been treated. But from now on, things will change. I promise you that."

He seemed to look right through me. It wasn't enough.

"I love her," I said finally, and when I said it, his attention focused on me again.

"I know you do," he answered sadly, "but I don't want to see her hurt." Even though I must have been imagining it, I thought I saw his eyes begin to water.

"I wouldn't do that to her," I said.

He turned from me and looked out the window, watching as the winter sun tried to force its way through the clouds. It was a gray day, cold and bitter.

"Have her home by ten," he finally said, as though he knew he'd made the wrong decision.

I smiled and wanted to thank him, though I didn't. I could tell that he wanted to be alone. When I glanced over my shoulder on my way out the door, I was puzzled to see his face in his hands.

I asked Jamie an hour later. The first thing she said was that she didn't think she could go, but I told her that I'd already spoken to her father. She seemed surprised, and I think it had an effect on how she viewed me after that. The one thing I didn't tell her was that it looked almost as though Hegbert had been crying as I'd made my way out the door. Not only didn't I understand it completely, I didn't want her to worry. That night, though, after talking to my mom again, she provided me with a possible explanation, and to be honest, it made perfect sense to me. Hegbert must have come to the realization that his daughter was growing up and that he was slowly losing her to me. In a way, I

hoped that was true.

I picked her up right on schedule. Though I hadn't asked her to wear her hair down, she'd done it for me. Silently we drove over the bridge, down the waterfront to the restaurant. When we got to the hostess stand, the owner himself appeared and walked us to our table. It was one of the better ones in

the place.

It was crowded by the time we arrived, and all around us people were enjoying themselves. On New Year's people dressed fashionably, and we were the only two teenagers in the place. I didn't think we looked too out of place, though.

Jamie had never been to Flauvin's before, and it took her just a few minutes to take it all in. She seemed nervously happy, and I knew right away that my mom had made the right suggestion.

"This is wonderful," she said to me. "Thank you for asking me."

"My pleasure," I said sincerely.

"Have you been here before?"

"A few times. My mother and father like to come here sometimes when my father comes home from Washington."

She looked out the window and stared at a boat that was passing by the restaurant, its lights blazing. For a moment she seemed lost in wonder. "It's beautiful here," she said.

"So are you," I answered.

Jamie blushed. "You don't mean that."

"Yes," I said quietly, "I do."

We held hands while we waited for dinner, and Jamie and I talked about some of the things that had happened in the past few months. She laughed when we talked about the homecoming dance, and I finally admitted the reason I'd asked her in the first place. She was a good sport about it—she sort of laughed it off cheerfully—and I knew that she'd already figured it out on her own.

"Would you want to take me again?" she teased.

"Absolutely."

Dinner was delicious—we both ordered the sea bass and salads, and when the waiter finally removed our plates, the music started up. We had an hour left before I had to take her home, and I offered her my hand.

At first we were the only ones on the floor, everyone watching us as we glided around the floor. I think they all knew how we were feeling about each other, and it reminded them of when they were young, too. I could see them smiling wistfully at us. The lights were dim, and when the singer began a slow melody, I held her close to me with my eyes closed, wondering if anything in my life had

ever been this perfect and knowing at the same time that it hadn't.

I was in love, and the feeling was even more wonderful than I ever imagined it could be.

After New Year's we spent the next week and a half together, doing the things that young couples did back then, though from time to time she seemed tired and listless. We spent time down by the Neuse River, tossing stones in the water, watching the ripples while we talked, or we went to the beach near Fort Macon. Even though it was winter, the ocean the color of iron, it was something that

both of us enjoyed doing. After an hour or so Jamie would ask me to take her home, and we'd hold hands in the car. Sometimes, it seemed, she would almost nod off before we even got home, while other times she would keep up a stream of chatter all the way back so that I could barely get a word in edgewise.

Of course, spending time with Jamie also meant doing the things she enjoyed as well. Though I wouldn't go to her Bible study class—I didn't want to look like an idiot in front of her—we did visit the orphanage twice more, and each time we went there, I felt more at home. Once, though, we'd had to leave early, because she was running a slight fever. Even to my untrained eyes, it was clear that her

face was flushed.

We kissed again, too, though not every time we were together, and I didn't even think of trying to make it to second base. There wasn't any need to. There was something nice when I kissed her, something gentle and right, and that was enough for me. The more I did it, the more I realized that Jamie had been misunderstood her entire life, not only by me, but by everyone.

Jamie wasn't simply the minister's daughter, someone who read the Bible and did her best to help others. Jamie was also a seventeen-year-old girl with the same hopes and doubts that I had. At least, that's what I assumed, until she finally told me.

I'll never forget that day because of how quiet she had been, and I had the funny feeling all day long that something important was on her mind.

I was walking her home from Cecil's Diner on the Saturday before school started up again, a day blustery with a fierce, biting wind. A nor'easter had been blowing in since the previous morning, and while we walked, we'd had to stand close to each other to stay warm. Jamie had her arm looped through mine, and we were walking slowly, even more slowly than usual, and I could tell she wasn't

feeling well again. She hadn't really wanted to go with me because of the weather, but I'd asked her because of my friends. It was time, I remember thinking, that they finally knew about us. The only problem, as fate would have it, was that no one else was at Cecil's Diner. As with many coastal communities, things were quiet on the waterfront in the middle of winter.