Easy

your mother never would have wanted you to accept. Will you try? Please?”
    He brushed my tears from my face. “How did I find you?”
    I shook my head. “Maybe I’m exactly where I should be after all.”

Epilogue

    “I’m going to miss you so much. I can’t believe you’re leaving me.” Erin plopped next to me on the Heller’s sofa. Lucas’s graduation party was a backyard cookout, and we were escaping the heat and humidity for a few precious, air-conditioned minutes.
    I leaned my head on her tan shoulder. “Why don’t you go with me?”
    She laughed and leaned her head on top of mine. “That’s as silly of an idea as you staying here. You have to go do your great things, and I have to stay here and do mine. That doesn’t mean it doesn’t suck , though.”
    I’d applied to three music conservatories for transfer in the fall. None of it felt real until after the audition that I nailed at Oberlin—my top choice—and the email I received a couple of weeks ago, notifying me that I’d been accepted.
    “Yeah, I guess you need to stay here and keep an eye on Chaz, too.”
    Erin’s opposition to Chaz’s breakup-reversal efforts ended on Valentine’s Day, when he’d shown up with reservations for “their” B&B, after having flowers delivered every day for two weeks, turning our dorm room into a hothouse. With Erin’s help, Chaz had weathered his ex-best friend’s impending rape trial—and the associated rumors and innuendoes. Buck’s recent pre-trial plea bargain for a lesser assault charge was a relief to everyone, though he probably wouldn’t serve half of his two-year sentence.
    Through the open French doors, we watched our boyfriends talking in the back yard. They’d never be best friends, but they got along well, as opposite as they appeared.
    Lucas had been so sure, when he’d encouraged me to apply for transfer into music performance programs, that we would be fine. He was still sure, and I believed him, but that didn’t mean I wanted a two-year long-distance relationship. Dead-set against me making an academic decision based on his plans, he wouldn’t accept me staying, and he wouldn’t tell me where he’d applied or interviewed for jobs.
    “I won’t ask you to give up what you want for me, Jacqueline.”
    “But I want you ,” I’d mumbled, knowing he was right; I had no logical defense. In some ways, he was his father’s son.
    Ray Maxfield had become one of my favorite people. Lucas had taken me home over spring break, and I’d never seen him more nervous. For some reason, though, his father and I hit it off. I could see Lucas’s tutor persona in him—his dry sense of humor and intelligence. The night before we left, Ray rummaged through the beach house attic and brought down a trio of framed watercolors of a small boy playing on the seashore. Rosemary had signed the paintings of her only child in the corners of each— Rosemary Lucas Maxfield . We’d hung them in Lucas’s bedroom, over his desk.
    Even stranger, Ray was sitting outside with Charles and Cindy. He’d taken a break from the fishing boat for his son’s graduation—his first since he’d left Alexandria.

    ***
    “I accepted a job on Friday.”
    This was it. After applying for dozens of jobs during his final semester, Lucas had several interviews, and a few second interviews. A week ago, I’d overheard Charles telling Cindy that he’d gotten a solid offer from an engineering firm in town. I’d been waiting for him to tell me.
    When I left for Oberlin in August, we would be twelve hundred miles apart.
    “Oh?” I avoided looking at him, afraid I would burst into tears.
    Stuffing the leftovers Cindy sent with us into his fridge, I made no further comment, and he leaned against the kitchen counter, watching me. Finally, everything was stored away, and I couldn’t delay the inevitable any further.
    At the look on my face, he caught my hand. “C’mere.”
    As he led me to the sofa, I blinked back tears and gave myself a stern lecture that mostly consisted of stop crying stop crying stop crying .
    Leaning into the corner, he pulled me into his arms. I halfway listened as he relayed the technical aspects of the job, the size of the company, the impressive pay, and the start date—the second week in July. Mostly I was wondering how often I would have the time to fly home. Free weekends were almost unheard of as a music student. Mandatory recitals and performances to perform or attend were