AMELIA

Beyond the glow of the headlights, the night turned terrifyingly dark. There was no moon, no convenient streetlight, no soft electric glow from a nearby house to guide her. She felt the breeze on her face and wondered, as her heart slowed and the blood stopped rushing like an ocean of anger in her head, which way she could go that would lead her to safety. The sky yawned above, cavernous, full of glittering stars that were so, so far away.

Some of them are already dead, she thought, and the idea made her giddy with terror and amazement.

Behind her, Luke was shouting her name. Begging her to come back.

She thought she heard the word sorry more than once.

She took another step and tried to imagine a world in which “sorry” could possibly fix this. One where she would forgive him—in which she could go back, accept his apology, forget all the ugly, ugly things he had said. Tried to imagine something, anything, that he could say to undo the damage and make that shred of love come crawling back out of the darkness. If he shouted after her that he was dying. That he had a brain tumor. That he had split personality disorder, that it hadn’t been him who said those terrible things, that his evil alter ego who had a ridiculous name like Chaz and also liked to eat mayonnaise straight out of the jar was responsible for everything that had just happened, so wouldn’t she please come back.

She took another step. And another. And then, out of nowhere, she felt laughter bubble up inside of her.

Not even then, she thought. Not even then. She was done.

There was too much out there, too many beautiful things to see, and she could only be glad that she had found out now—before Boston, before she’d suggested a long-distance relationship or, even crazier, that he come to live with her there. Now, she knew.

Every step away from him felt like a triumph.

Slowing her pace, she stared into the dark, willing her eyes to adjust, praying that a beacon would appear somewhere—a porch light, a television. Another car, piloted by people who would take pity, take her in, take her to a phone where she could call . . . someone.

Luke was still yelling.

She took another step.

She wasn’t alone. There were a hundred sounds and smells out there in the dark, she realized, raising her face to the gentle breeze that blew down the road and sniffing at the air. There was soil, and the sweet scent of crushed grass, and the light, festering smell of something decaying—a deer, maybe, down the road and dead in the dirt, its back snapped in two and its eyes eaten away by marauding crows. There was a harsh, gritty sound in the trees, a three- and four-note call and response that sounded like insects, scolding each other. There was singing, too, the sound of crickets in the brush.

And then, she saw it. Off to the right, through the trees—

But no, it was gone. It had been there only a moment, she was no longer sure it had been anything at all. She peered into the dark and shook her head. There was no road. No road, and therefore, no headlights. She had thought—

“Amelia!”

Luke’s scream cut through her thoughts. Sighing, she turned around, looking back the way she had come. She had stepped just beyond the reach of the car’s high beams, but she could see him; he was standing by the driver’s-side door, shifting uncertainly from one foot to the other and looking in all directions with narrowed eyes.

She stepped back into the light.

She would not speak; she folded her arms, letting her chin lift slightly, staring back at him.

“Come on,” he called to her. “Let’s talk about this!”

Ever so slightly, almost imperceptibly, she shook her head. Only once.

He stared back at her.

“FINE!” he roared, suddenly, and retreated to the back of the car. She could see him rummaging in the trunk—was he going to go for broke, strew her belongings into the road?

Let him. She didn’t care.

Standing beside the car, he saw that she hadn’t moved—was simply standing there, appraising him, looking down on him as she refused to come back and just talk, for crying out loud. He’d said he was sorry, hadn’t he? And she was going to—what? Walk away into the dark? Walk away without her bags, her purse, walk away from him without so much as a conversation?

His head filled with the image of her, stumbling around in the night, lost and alone and wishing that he would come back. The night was so dark, out here—she didn’t know where she was, or where she was going. She’d be frightened. Helpless.

Another minute, he thought, and she would hear the night sounds around her, hear the ominous rustling of something big in the roadside brush, and then she would come back.

He watched her.

He waited.

She hadn’t moved.

He peered over the door, looked at the dashboard clock. Two minutes, tops. His eyes drifted over the interior of the car, the comfortable seats, the climate controls, the plush accoutrements of wealth. He willed himself not to stare out at her, to let her think he was going to leave, let her sweat out there in the dark and think about how stupid she’d been. His gaze settled on the passenger seat, and he started to laugh.

She had left the cigarette case. All her cash, her cards, her driver’s license—they were all inside, and she wouldn’t get far without them. Chuckling, he grabbed it and stepped back out of the car, brandishing it overhead and shouting at her.

“Looks like you forgot something! C’mon, Ame, come back, all right? Just—”

He stopped. She was walking back toward him, coming back, getting closer. But in the beam of the headlights, he could see that something was happening to her face. Her mouth seemed to be stretching, and then her hand was in the air, and she was smiling, and her slender wrist turned in slow motion and he stopped laughing.

She was giving him the finger.

She lowered her hand, the same queer smile still playing on her lips. He felt his ears burning, his heart pounding, his stomach beginning to churn with the realization that she wasn’t coming back. She looked at him again, that same, appraising look. In the yawning dark, there seemed to be nothing but her, and the light from the car, and the car itself, and him. They were alone on a plateau of black. There was nothing but this one, bleakly lit stretch of road—but she was ready to walk out into the dark.

She was going to leave him behind. And then, for the last time, she looked back at him.

And waved good-bye.