Free Meet Me at the River by Nina de Gramont

bisects my grandparents’ land, winding through their property. The trek would require long underwear and snow pants, gloves and a scarf and hat, my Sorels, or maybe even cross-country skis. I would have to trudge through miles of snowy darkness, and then back again, past all sorts of nocturnal wildlife, through freezing temperatures.
    None of which is the reason I slam the window shut and crawl back under the covers, my palm tingling with the melted frost, my shoulders shaking, my hair damp. It’s painful, physically painful, to crouch still in this way while Luke waits for me at the one place on earth where I simply cannot go. Because even though the river runsslowly this time of year, even though at this moment its banks are covered with freshly fallen snow, its lazy pace preventing it from freezing into stillness—one sight of those frigid, running waters, and I cannot promise anyone that I could keep from hurling myself into its current.

( 6 )
LUKE
    My mom got married for all the normal reasons. Love, plus security, plus she wanted a houseful of kids. Thanks to my dad she had a head start on that last part. Katie and Jill went to another wedding. They walked down the aisle, two little blond kids dumping rose petals. As far as they were concerned my mom was their mom. She took them everywhere. They’d go with her to the grocery store and gas station and library. She drove them to school and summer camp. She fed them, tucked them into bed, helped them with their homework. All the usual mom things.
    But back to the wedding, my mom and dad’s wedding. This friend of theirs read a poem. Probably it’s been read at a hundred other weddings, but this one line stood out to me. Now there will be no more loneliness. Mom’s face looked shiny. It looked young. I think she believed that was it for loneliness. She felt the way my dad probably felt when he married Hannah. Too bad it wouldn’t take him long to crush Mom the same way Hannah crushed him.
    It makes me feel guilty, watching the wedding, because I feel like I should at least want to warn her. But I don’t. I stand back from the crowd with my hands in my pockets. Even though I know how this will turn out, I want it to happen.
    Their groovy minister doesn’t bother with the speak-now-or-forever-hold-your-peace part of the ceremony. And even if I said something, no one would hear me. But I wouldn’t say anything, no matter what. For one, I can’t stand the idea of squashing all that happiness. Just because it won’t last doesn’t mean it isn’t worth something.
    And another thing. I want to live.
    *   *   *
    I’ve watched the wedding a few times. It’s interesting, how everything I always heard turns out to be more or less true. And I like to see my dad trying, which is more than I would have expected. I can’t think of anything he could’ve done different in terms of Hannah, at least not at that point. He loved her, and she left him. He waited for her to change her mind and come back, but after a while he figured he couldn’t wait forever so he got a divorce. He found a new wife. He had me. Another kid. His only son.
    *   *   *
    And then, eight years after Hannah left, she came back. It was summer. Dad was at work. The twins were at school. I don’t know where I was, maybe upstairs in the playroom. Downstairs in the kitchen Mom wiped off the same table where Hannah had left her good-bye letter. I can almost see the shape it left behind, like an invisible scar on the table. My dad used to sit there and drum his fingers on that very spot.
    When Hannah showed up she didn’t knock. She just walked through the back door, slamming the screen like she’d never left. Mom froze. She knew Hannah the second she saw her. Mom pulled herself together and stood up straight. She walked over to Hannah. I think she wanted to look confident. She wanted Hannah to see who belonged where. But when she held out her hand, her elbow looked too stiff, weirdly