Between the Shadow and the Soul - 26. Hellos and Goodbyes

December 23, 2016

"Dad!" I wrapped my arms around him and lifted him off the ground. Gavin stood about five eleven and weighed maybe a hundred seventy pounds, but in my excitement I manhandled him like a rag doll.

"Put me down!" His deep, robust laughter rumbled through his body into mine as I held him against me.

Chuckling, thrilled beyond words, I set him back on his feet without releasing him. I kissed his cheek, pressed my face against him, whispered, "I'm so glad to see you."

A sense of barren heartache echoed in my voice. I hoped he missed it. When I let him go, however, his expression said otherwise. But he didn't comment, not then anyway, not in the middle of DFW International Airport with thousands of people meandering about the terminal in a crush of humanity. Instead he wrapped and arm around me as we turned toward baggage claim.

"How've you been, Greg?"

I snuggled him against my side and exclaimed, "Fine!"

Uh, wanna tone down the enthusiasm so it doesn't come across like soap opera acting?

His slight frown and minuscule nod, as though I'd shared some terrible news, seemed to echo my thoughts. Then he confirmed it by saying, "Insofar as 'fine' is concerned, you didn't sell it."

Dropping my head as we jostled and bumped through a mass of people before splitting off toward the luggage carousels, I admitted, "Yeah ... Well ... I'm okay. Surviving, which is better than the alternative."

His hand rubbed my back, the paternal love passing right through my heavy coat into my body. "Sometimes surviving's all we can do. But I'll let you in on a little secret: it's never enough."

All I could offer by way of reply was a shrug before inquiring, "How about you?"

"Moving back here is working wonders for my disposition. But, to be honest, I'd be better if my boys were happy."

I wish people would stop assuming I can fix what's broken.

* * * * *

Dad sipped his red wine as the waiter took our plates away and unobtrusively left the check. I set my American Express atop the small tray and pushed it to the edge of the table.

"That was delicious," he said.

I nodded emphatically. "It's my favorite Greek restaurant. Authentic, traditional cuisine and a delicious assortment of wines." To emphasize the point, I toasted him with my wineglass before finishing its contents and setting it aside.

"So you really think we can pull this off?"

"Of course," I answered without hesitation. "You have the business acumen and I have the money and the technological know-how and the people and the contacts. I'll have clients lined up by the time we open our doors."

Gavin chuckled. "Always the optimist," he beamed.

An abrupt wave of sadness swept over me. I frowned, looked down at the empty table, then back to my father's eyes and said, "Mostly, but not always."

His hand slid across the table and gripped mine, squeezing it, communicating much.

"In other news," he added when he released his grip on me, "the office space is almost done—"

"I've dealt with the tech installers, so the server room, lab, data center, phone system and wiring are up to spec. My people will start installing equipment on January third."

"Excellent! I was scared you might leave that for me."

"Only to watch you squirm in agony," I snickered.

He kicked me under the table and muttered, "Asshole."

"Greg?"

Both Dad and I spun around to look behind us. Much to my surprise, Keigan had entered the restaurant without notice.

"Hey, dude," I greeted as I stood and hugged him, planting a kiss on his cheek. He returned the welcome before releasing me. As I sat down, I kicked out a chair and said, "Join us."

"Only for a minute. I came to pick up dinner." He settled into the chair.

"Dad, this is Keigan, the friend I told you about who owns the burger joint. Keigan, this is Gavin, my father."

The two men shook hands across the table and said brief hellos to each other.

"I would've guessed either older brother or dad," Keigan said.

Gavin puffed up like a parading peacock. "Older brother ... There's a compliment."

"You don't look a day over sixty," I joked with my fifty-year-old father.

He kicked me under the table. Again.

"Hey!" I fussed melodramatically as I leaned down to rub my aching shin. "Clearly you two got your table manners from the same place."

They glanced at each other before laughing.

"Are we that much alike?" I asked my friend. Possibly because he'd been in Seattle for so long and I didn't spend as much time around him as I might otherwise have done, I never considered myself a reflection of my father. Everyone could tell I wasn't a reflection of my mother.

"It's so obvious," Keigan said. "The wavy black hair, the glacial blue eyes, the blemish-free fair skin, the exotic Central European features—something softer than Russian but harder than British, that special place where genetics kicks out beautiful men without trying. He even has a similar build." Keigan waggled his eyebrows for effect.

"Uh ... Okay," Dad mumbled, blushing.

Suddenly something over my shoulder caught Keigan's eye and he smiled, though he took on that lustful gaze gay men sometimes get when their sight stumbles over a tasty example of the male gender. "Yum ..." he mumbled.

"Gross! That's my dad you're talking about."

"Not him," Keigan groaned while my father struggled against uproarious laughter.

"Oh." I gave Dad a pitiful look and shrug, whispered, "His loss," then asked Keigan, "Fine. Who?"

"The host seating people."

After glancing back I said, "He's the owner."

"Really? Hmmm ... Don't you think he's hot?"

"If you're into the Greek daddy thing."

"And you're not?"

"Not really my type. Not that I have a type, at least that I'm aware of." I ignored the knowing looks both Keigan and Dad aimed in my direction.

"So you're telling me you don't think he's all kinds of sexy?" Keigan asked.

"No. Too burly. Too furry. I have no problem with body hair, don't get me wrong, but I'm not into getting rug burns from sex."

The three of us bit off our laughter lest it get out of control.

"I suppose ..." my friend muttered, eyes locked on the Greek restaurateur, "but he's pretty delicious."

"So you're a daddy-and-his-boy kind of boy?"

"No! I'm into equals. No dominant-submissive stuff, no daddy-son stuff, just equals."

"Same here. But clearly you have eyes for the daddy type."

"Not necessarily. I thought you were hot as hell the moment I saw you." I blushed and shrugged. He added, "I just like what I like and I think the guy's sexy."

After winking at my dad I told Keigan in a breathy tone, "Would it make him hotter if I told you he has a nice dick, almost as big as mine, and he's versatile and really hot in bed?"

Both men looked shocked, Gavin's mixed with straitlaced humor and Keigan's mixed with lubricious interest.

"Does he really?" Keigan whispered overly loud.

I couldn't hold back my chuckle. "How the hell should I know? I said he's not my type."

He hit me, smacked me like I was a redheaded stepchild. The audacity of some people!

Waving away any further outrage on his part, I told him, "I don't know anything about his sexual prowess or his ... ahem ... assets, but I do know he's gay, he's a really nice guy, he has the sexiest accent, and he's single."

"Really?" Keigan couldn't help looking like a kid in a candy shop. Then his smile faded as he asked, "Or are you full of bullshit again?"

"Still, K, not again. But no, I'm not kidding this time. All those things are true." Leaning close to him and speaking conspiratorially yet loud enough for Dad to hear, I added, "If you play your cards right, I'll introduce you to him. We've known each other for years; my company uses this restaurant for catering sometimes and for business lunches other times." Sitting back, I winked for effect.

Grabbing my face and pulling me to him, he planted a sloppy kiss on my lips then responded, "You're on, Mr. Beaumont. I'll go grab my dinner and I'll be back. Then you can introduce me to ... Wait, what's his name?"

"Yannis."

"Yannis ..." he repeated, working the name around his mouth to discover its hidden flavors. "Right, Yannis. Okay, I'll be right back."

He stood and turned, then immediately turned back and leaned toward my father. He quietly joked—at least I hope he was joking—"Not that I'm giving up on this daddy," to which he added a suggestive wink. Gavin melted into his chair, a massive blush exploding all over him.

Once Keigan left the table on his way to the register, Dad gave me an interesting look, part curiosity and part confusion.

"A close friend of yours?" he asked with a mischievous grin.

"He's just a friend. A good friend, but just a friend."

"Seems like a nice guy. Handsome, too."

"Yeah, he's handsome." Leaning forward and dropping my voice to a muted level I added, "And he has a really hot body, all lean muscle in all the right places, plus he has a nice uncut cock." I licked my lips in as lascivious a manner as I could while biting back a laugh. "In case you're thinking about making him my stepfather."

Dad's eyes widened in dismay as he scooted back, shaking his head and fighting a chuckle. "Ugh! That was completely unnecessary, Greg."

"Unnecessary? Perhaps ... but it sure was fun."

* * * * *

December 31, 2016

When I stopped at the curb outside Kyle's old house, it had the deserted feel of a place long abandoned, though I knew they'd only moved out the day before, spending their final two nights at an airport hotel since all their worldly possessions had already been shipped to Florida in anticipation of their move. Nevertheless, it felt like a home with all the children gone.

No, that's not it. It's bleaker than that, more barren, destitute even. It's like all the hope is gone, all the love.

Maudlin thoughts wouldn't help me find Basketball Boy, so I shook them off as I allowed the car to creep slowly along the street.

At the house Nate now occupied alone, a dark shape huddling against the garage caught my attention. It could've been a bag of trash, though I had my doubts.

I parked at the end of the driveway and shut off the car. It was already obvious to me that I was looking at a person curled in on themselves as they sat on the ground and leaned back on the wall. There was no doubt in my mind who that person was.

"Kyle?" My voice was gentle, calm. Standing a few feet from the loitering shape, my voice raised nothing but the slightest tremor, the movement of shadow in dark, hardly more corporeal than imagination. But I knew I startled him, even if only slightly.

With my feet bracketing his, I knelt in front of him before reaching out and pushing back the hood of his sweatshirt. Kyle had his head resting on his arms which in turn rested on his knees. Everything he wore was dark, blue or black from the looks of it, and he was no more obvious than air.

Unless somebody was looking for him. Like me.

Gently running my fingers through his hair, his skin was cold yet he didn't shiver. In fact, he didn't move at all, not even looking up at the sound of my voice or the touch of my hand.

I grabbed him under both arms and hauled him upright, saying, "Come on, Kyle. Let's get you someplace warm."

He said nothing, his eyes vacant, his expression blank—not the blank expression I'd come to understand meant deep thought, but instead the plain expression of someone utterly lost.

Basketball Boy allowed me to lead him to the car, settling him in the passenger seat and buckling the seatbelt before I got in the other side, started the vehicle, and drove away from the neighborhood we'd both once called home.

* * * * *

"No, not catatonic," I told Teresa over the phone, Kyle settled on the couch under a few warm blankets, a cold beer nearby if he wanted it. "He's just lost in his own head, emotionally bare I suspect."

"How did he get out that far?"

Shaking my head as I looked at the sixteen-year-old boy stretched out on my hotel suite's sofa, his eyes glazed and staring at the ceiling, I had no answer. "I really don't know. Walked maybe?"

"In this weather? He'd freeze to death going all that way."

"Cab? Uber? Hitchhiking?"

"God, don't put that image in my head! Imagine what might've happened—"

"Teresa," I interrupted firmly, "he's okay. He's here with me. I've covered him with blankets to help him get warm, he's resting on the couch, he's not bleeding, he has all his pieces and parts attached as far as I can tell ... I think it's something like shock, just this horrific feeling of abandonment."

"You're right. Of course you're right. Thank God you found him! I can't thank you enough."

"I couldn't have rested until I knew he was okay. I'm just grateful you called and told me he was missing. The moment you said it, I had an idea where I might find him."

A disquieted sigh came through the phone, a mixture of frustration, worry, gratitude and relief, almost a motley moan. "We'll come get him," she insisted.

"Don't be silly. You're way the hell out at DFW Airport. That's an hour away at best, then another hour back to your hotel."

"I can't ask you to bring him out here. It's the same amount of time for you."

"Let him stay here tonight. He'll get some sleep, I'll get him up early, I'll have him there first thing so he can pack and you guys can make your flight."

"I couldn't ..."

"I can. He'll be safe and warm and comfortable, plus he'll be where he needs to be in the morning without losing more sleep than necessary."

A soft inhale and an understanding exhale came through loud and clear. "That's what he'd want, probably what he hoped for when he left," she mumbled.

"I suspect as much."

* * * * *

By the time my call with his mother ended, Kyle had rolled onto his side, curled his hands together under his chin, his back pushed into the sofa, his expression still desperately empty, his eyes hollow and sightless.

I sat next to him and stroked his hair, his cheek, his ear. "Kyle," I said softly.

Without warning one of his hands came up and grabbed mine, pulling it down under his chin and gripping it like a lifeline. Then his eyes flicked up, met my gaze. And finally the tears started, no indication of them until the first one rolled down his nose.

He pushed his head down so his mouth rested against my hand. His breath was hot, fevered, though not from ailment so much as emotional turmoil. He was sick only insofar as anyone is sick when they have to say goodbye to the person they love. Though I didn't share his feelings, I understood them perfectly well.

"You found me," he whispered.

"Of course I did."

"How?"

"Your mom called, told me you'd gone missing earlier in the day. She was scared out of her mind. You're staying at a hotel at one of the busiest airports in the world. Her imagination ran wild and provided all sorts of terrible scenarios to explain your absence." I leaned down and whispered in his ear, "You owe her a massive apology."

He didn't laugh or smile, only squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, causing more tears to fall. "You have to take me back, don't you?" Basketball Boy's voice was so meek, so full of sorrow. It broke my heart to hear him like that.

"No," I said quietly as I sat upright, my hand still in his iron grip. "You're staying here tonight. I'll take you back to the hotel tomorrow morning."

"You'll leave me there ..." he grumbled. The accusation lacked venom but contained plenty of despair.

"No, Kyle, I won't. I'll stay until you're on your way. I said I'd be there to say goodbye and I meant it."

He kissed the back of my hand, a soft and sweet gesture. In response I squeezed his hands and pulled him to his feet.

Wrapping an arm around him while he moaned, I started us toward the bedroom as I said, "It's time to get some sleep. We have an early morning tomorrow and you have a long, hectic day ahead." That elicited a disgruntled groan even as he let me lead him toward slumber.

* * * * *

After using a spare toothbrush to deal with oral hygiene, he moped toward the bed as he stripped off his sweatshirt, tossing it into a nearby chair. Then came the shirt, the shoes, the socks, the jeans. In only a pair of boxers, he slithered under the covers, pulling them up to his chin.

"You're going to break some hearts in Florida," I told him before I rinsed with mouthwash.

"Huh?"

After spitting I explained, "You're an attractive young man, Kyle. Your body's responded really well to the workout regimen Nate and I put together for you."

I glanced toward the bed in time to see him shrug. "Puberty and metabolism," he mumbled.

"Teenagers!" I laughed. "Honestly, though, you've added muscle in all the right places. Your physique has filled out nicely. Have you noticed how defined you are now?"

"Yeah."

"You're going to be popular when you get there. Just keep up with the workout and diet like you have been."

"I will," he said, a note of embarrassment in his voice.

If he was a few years older and if my own emotions weren't bogged down in a hopeless case of unrequited love, I wouldn't hesitate with him, and not just because of how sexy he is and how attractive in an everyday way he is. I know him, know the person behind the hot image, and I like that person, love him even.

"You're a special young man, Kyle," I admitted whilst undressing down to my boxer briefs, stowing my dirty clothes in the closet's hamper. Over my shoulder I added, "You're going to grow up into a special man. Anybody will be lucky to win your heart."

All I got in response was a grunt, something between dismissive and abashed.

Shutting the closet door, I stepped back into the bathroom to collect the used towels so I could pile them in the corner where the maid service would find them the following day. Every time my eyes glanced in the mirror, Basketball Boy's hungry stare was roving over my exposed skin—and even the skin not exposed.

Maybe I should've worn shorts.

"It's a survival trait, remember?"

"What is?"

"Being able to function around someone you're attracted to without calling attention to the fact that you're attracted to them. Trust me when I say every gay man worth the membership card knows being obvious around the wrong people is the quickest way to get hurt."

"Why are you telling me that again?"

"Because you've been eye fucking me since I started undressing."

Under his breath he muttered, "But you're not the wrong people."

"No," I agreed, "no I'm not."

"Does it bother you?"

"Not now. It did at one time, as I told you, but not now. Now it's just flattering, even a bit embarrassing."

"Why embarrassing?"

"A young, attractive guy like you giving me all those wanting looks and flirtations expressions? I'm twice your age, Kyle. I don't know what you see in someone my age."

"It's not someone your age I see, it's you."

I blushed ferociously as I slid into bed beside him, the covers resting near my waist. His eyes never left my body.

Tell him no funny business.

He's just getting his fill before his chance ends. No harm in that.

Giving him a mischievous grin I asked, "Do you want me to leave the light on so you can look at me all night?"

His blush was eloquent, speaking of fantasies both exotic and mundane. Typical teenage thoughts, of course, driven by self-discovery and hormones.

After clicking off the bedside lamp, I settled back, hands behind my head, eyes staring at the dark ceiling, feeling good that I'd found him and feeling good about his future. He was a bright kid, adaptable, young. Young people love hard and fast, and first loves are the biggest, most memorable of our lives. Still, he had his whole life ahead of him to find the right man, to find his happiness.

"Greg?" he ventured, not whispering but not speaking loudly either.

"Hmm?"

"Can I ... Can I come closer?"

Not moving, I muttered, "Mm-hmm." At no time did I doubt we'd wind up in each other's arms for the night. Not for funny business, mind you, but there'd be no harm in letting him enjoy slumber's embrace in the arms of the man he loved and had to leave behind. For only one night, I couldn't deny him that small pleasure.

He scooted closer, closer still, moving in small increments, perhaps frightened, obviously nervous. I could tell by the bed's motion and the sound that he was only a few inches from me, the last few inches a vast chasm of space between what he imagined and what was real.

Finally deciding to help him along, I wrapped an arm around him, pulling him to me so his head rested on my chest, his body pressed up to my side.

His sigh was profoundly beautiful. He'd sleep well, I knew.

* * * * *

January 1, 2017

When I woke in the morning not long before my phone alarm was set to sound, I was on my side and Kyle was nestled in against me, his face to my chest, his legs intertwined with mine, one arm slung over my ribs and the other holding my hand, my other arm wrapped around him. It was sweet. Innocent and sweet.

Giving his hand a slight squeeze and nudging him a bit with my chest caused his head to snap up and his sleepy eyes to open.

"You didn't try to take advantage of my innocence last night," I protested with mock indignation.

The fiery blush that exploded in his cheeks rapidly spread down his neck and up to his ears. He immediately pressed his face against my chest to hide his reaction.

I leaned forward and kissed the top of his head. "Come on. Time to get moving."

* * * * *

Both Gerald and Teresa assaulted Basketball Boy with stern scowls when we arrived at the hotel; Teresa even scolded him, albeit quietly, yet she wanted to say more than she did but refrained, likely because it involved confronting what Kyle hadn't told them yet, that longing to see your first love one more time before saying goodbye.

For her part, MJ showered him with hugs and whispers and playful smacks, which elicited huge grins and giggles from both kids.

At the airport outside the security checkpoint, beyond which I couldn't follow, MJ threw herself into my arms and held me as if her life depended on it.

"I'm gonna miss you," she whimpered.

I squeezed her tightly as I said, "I'll miss you too, sweetie. But we'll keep in touch, I promise. You have all my contact info, including all my social media accounts."

She nodded against my neck.

"You won't forget me, will you, MJ?" I asked facetiously.

"God, no!" she cried.

I hugged her tightly before setting her feet back on the ground. When I straightened and looked at her face, it felt like I was causing heartache left and right. She was near tears, for goodness sake!

Wow ... I didn't realize she had it that bad.

Wiping away a stray tear with my thumb, I quietly told her, "You call me anytime, MJ. You get in touch however you want whenever you want. You hear me?"

She nodded, dejected, but said nothing. She was too close to crying to speak.

When she spun around and shuffled away, I didn't feel too terrible for her. At thirteen, she'd meet so many new people and have so many new experiences in Orlando that she'd soon be telling her friends about the silly little crush she once had on some old neighbor guy, then she'd toss back her hair and give a sly smile to some cute boy across the way.

I shook Gerald's hand, then he surprised me by pulling me into a bro hug. "Thank you," he mumbled quietly, "for everything you've done for my family."

Taken aback by this sudden show of emotion on his part, the sudden closeness he demonstrated, I hugged him with equal fervor and replied, "You and your family have done just as much for me, Gerald." He released me and stepped back. I added, "Take care of them."

"I will." Then he turned and joined Kyle's sister near the security line.

Teresa's hug was potent and lasting. "You've been a blessing to us," she whispered in my ear. "I can't thank you enough. I just can't."

"Thank you for the gift of your friendship. Thank you for raising two very precious and beautiful children. Thank you for letting me be a part of your world, even if only for a brief time."

With tears in her eyes she said, "I assure you, Greg, we're just as grateful you've been a part of our world." She touched my cheek briefly, then surprised me with a quick peck at the corner of my mouth, her thumb gently stroking beneath my eye. The wetness she spread told me I was suffering as much emotion as the rest of them.

Teresa glanced at her son, sullen and bereft and withdrawn, then glanced back at me and smiled sadly, giving a slight nod. And with that she joined her husband and daughter.

Basketball Boy didn't move. He just stared at me. His mouth moved a few times, unspoken words dying before passing his lips. I closed the distance between us and pulled him into my arms.

"I'll miss you something fierce," I mumbled, my voice threatening to break.

"Oh God ..." he groaned as he clung to me, his grip tight and confining and desperate. He buried his face against my chest and sniffled. "I don't want to go," he cried quietly.

Whispering into his ear I said, "We're never more than a phone call away from each other. We'll talk all the time, I'll come visit when I can, and Teresa and Gerald already said I can fly you back here for my birthday party on February third."

"I don't wanna go ..."

Bracketing his face with my hands, I pulled him away from me enough to see his face. He was so full of woe and sorrow and the kind of pain that comes from deep inside.

"Have you come out to Teresa and Gerald?"

His surprised shock faded quickly as he answered in a hushed tone, "No. Only MJ."

"So you get to check out boys with your sister, huh?"

Though brief, his smile shone bright before he ducked his head. "She brought it up. She said she's looking forward to it."

I chuckled. What a wonderful relationship they had. What a fantastic deepening it would enjoy with this new shared secret, this new shared interest.

"Why did you want to know about them?" he asked in a shaky voice.

Wiping away his tears I leaned close and said, "I guess I can only give you a hug if they don't know."

Confusion gave way to realization which gave way to pleasant surprise. Without preamble he released me and spun around, rushing over to his family, whispering quietly to them, mostly to his mother and stepfather, each of whom nodded sagely and with understanding, trying to look as though what he told them came as a surprise. At that they both failed miserably. Each hugged him quickly before letting him return to me.

"They already knew," he grumbled.

"Really?" Even I didn't believe the phony surprise in my voice.

Through a subdued laugh he gave me as serious a smirk as he could while saying, "My little secret hasn't been much of a secret, huh?"

"Not to the people who love you."

Eyes wide and panic stricken, Basketball Boy seemed ready to die right there for the anguish he felt, the terrible loss he imagined.

I wrapped my arms around him and pulled him against me again. "Youth rebounds and recovers quicker than youth realizes, Kyle, a trait of the young we adults can admire and envy but can't emulate or acquire. We lose it in the transition to maturity. Unfortunately. So don't be in too much of a hurry to grow up."

He trembled in my arms with silent lamentation.

I nuzzled near his ear as I said, "You'll meet all sorts of new people there, make all sorts of new friends. And one of the boys you meet will steal your heart. What you and I have is wonderful, but it can't be more than it is. That boy, that special young man you meet, will be able to give you more. I promise."

Shaking his head, attempting to negate reality, he sniffled but said nothing.

"Look at me, Kyle." He did. So woebegone, so distressed. It wouldn't be long before all of this seemed like a silly schoolboy crush to him, his first foray into the feelings he'd only recently admitted to himself and those around him.

"You call me anytime, day or night, no matter what. If you want to talk, if you need to talk, if you just need a friendly voice or an understanding ear, you call me."

He nodded in silence, tears on his cheeks.

"We'll talk often, text, e-mail, social media, phone, whatever. And you'll be back in a month for my birthday, for the whole weekend. That's not long at all."

"I know," he mumbled.

Placing my hand over his heart, I fought back tears as I said, "You and me, Kyle, we'll always be connected right here, you hear me? What we have is special and it's powerful and it won't die if we care about it at all." He kept nodding but said nothing. No doubt words would cause a complete emotional breakdown.

Cupping his cheeks in my hands, using my thumbs to wipe away the unending moisture there, I leaned down and kissed him. No tongue, no lust, no erotic intent, but instead I poured into the kiss all the love I felt for him, all the sorrow his absence would cause, all the unending strength of the bond we shared. I poured my soul into that kiss, into Basketball Boy, into Kyle Wakeham, the neighbor boy who'd turned my life upside-down, sometimes for the better and sometimes for the worse, and through my lips I told him I wouldn't change a minute of what we'd had together.

He nearly passed out, so overwhelmed was he by the unexpected intimacy of a kiss that held no sensual promise. His hands grasped my arms to steady himself as he leaned into me, his legs wobbling, his body trembling.

When I broke the embrace, only a few moments had passed, but the rejuvenated life in his face made me think it had been a kiss that lasted hours, if not days.

"I love you," I whispered. "Remember that."

"I love you, too," he returned, his voice shaky and uncertain.

I watched them wend their way through security. Kyle kept glancing back, making sure I was still there. Beyond security, inside the terminal proper, they turned left. Kyle's eyes remained locked on mine until he disappeared in the surging crowd of travelers.

Only then did I turn and walk away, my tears flowing and my heart breaking and my mind wishing the past year had ended so very much unlike the reality I faced.