“Why didn’t you stay

“Why didn’t you stay?”

“I suppose I could have. But it wasn’t the place for me. I guess you might say that my reason for going there at all kind of changed. I went to be with someone.”

“Ah,” Jeremy said. “So you’d followed him up there?”

She nodded. “We met in college. He seemed so . . . I don’t know . . . perfect, I guess. He’d grown up in Greensboro, came from a good family, was intelligent. And really handsome, too. Handsome enough to make any woman ignore her best instincts. He looked my way, and the next thing I knew I was following him up to the city. Couldn’t help myself.”

Jeremy squirmed. “Is that right?”

She smiled inwardly. Men never wanted to hear how handsome other men were, especially if the relationship had been serious.

“Everything was great for a year or so. We were even engaged.” She seemed lost in thought before she let out a deep breath. “I took an internship at the NYU library, Avery went to work on Wall Street, and then one day I found him in bed with one of his co-workers. It kind of made me realize that he wasn’t the right guy, so I packed up that night and came back here. After that, I never saw him again.”

The breeze picked up, sounding almost like a whistle as it rushed up the slopes, and smelling faintly of the earth.

“Are you hungry?” she asked, wanting to change the subject again. “I mean, it’s nice visiting with you out here, but if I don’t get some nourishment, I tend to get grumpy.”

“I’m starved,” he said.

They made their way back to the car and divided up the lunch. Jeremy opened the box of crackers on the front seat. Noticing that the view wasn’t much, he started the car, maneuvered around the crest, then—angling the car just right—reparked with a view of the town again.

“So you came back here and began working at the library, and . . .”

“That’s it,” she said. “That’s what I’ve been doing for the last seven years.”

He did the math, figuring she was about thirty-one.

“Any other boyfriends since then?” he asked.

With her fruit cup wedged between her legs, she broke off a piece of cheese and put it on a cracker. She wondered if she should answer, then decided, What the hell, he’s leaving, anyway.

“Oh, sure. There were a few here and there.” She told him about the lawyer, the doctor, and—lately—Rodney Hopper. She didn’t mention Mr. Renaissance.

“Well . . . good. You sound like you’re happy,” he said.

“I am,” she was quick to agree. “Aren’t you?”

“Most of the time. Every now and then, I go nuts, but I think that’s normal.”

“And that’s when you start wearing your pants low?”

“Exactly,” he said with a smile. He grabbed a handful of crackers, balanced a couple on his leg, and began stacking some cheese. He glanced up, looking serious. “Would you mind if I asked a personal question? You don’t have to answer, of course. I won’t take it the wrong way, believe me. I’m just curious.”

“You mean, more personal than telling you about my previous boyfriends?”

He gave a sheepish shrug, and she had a sudden vision of what he must have looked like as a small boy: a narrow, unlined face, bangs cut straight, shirt and jeans dirty from playing outside.