“Hey, stranger,” she finally said, “why so quiet today?”

“I’m just thinking about heading back to school.”

She smiled. “Are you dreading it or looking forward to it?”

“Both, I guess.”

“Look at it this way. It’s only nine months until you graduate, and then you’re done.”

I nodded but said nothing.

She studied me. “Are you sure that’s all that’s bothering you? You’ve had a glum face all day.”

I shifted in my seat. “Do you remember Harold Larson?” I asked. “I introduced you to him at the cocktail party.”

She squinted, trying to place him. “The one who was on Law Review with you? Tall, with brown hair?”

I nodded.

“What about him?” she asked.

“Did you happen to notice that he was alone?”

“Not really. Why?”

“His girlfriend just broke up with him.”

“Oh,” she said, though I could tell she had no idea how this related to her or why I was thinking about it.

“It’s going to be a tough year,” I began. “I’m sure I’ll practically live in the library.”

She put a friendly hand on my knee. “You did great the first two years. I’m sure you’ll do just fine.”

“I hope so,” I continued. “It’s just that with everything going on, I’m probably not going to be able to make it down every weekend to see you like I did this summer.”

“I figured that. But we’ll still see each other. It’s not like you won’t have any time at all. And I can always drive up to see you, too, remember.”

In the distance, I watched as a flock of starlings broke from the trees. “You might want to check before you come. To see if I’m free, I mean. The last year is supposed to be the busiest.”

She tilted her head, trying to decipher my meaning. “What’s going on, Wilson?”

“What do you mean?”

“This. What you just said. You sound like you’ve already been thinking up excuses not to see me.”

“It’s not an excuse. I just want to make sure you understand how busy my schedule is going to be.”

Jane leaned back in her chair, her mouth settling into a straight line. “And?” she asked.

“And what?”

“And what exactly does that mean? That you don’t want to see me anymore?”

“No,” I protested, “of course not. But the fact is that you’ll be here, and I’m going to be there. You know how hard long-distance relationships can be.”

She crossed her arms. “So?”

“Well, it’s just that they can ruin the best of intentions, and to be honest, I don’t want either of us to get hurt.”

“Get hurt?”

“That’s what happened to Harold and Gail,” I explained. “They didn’t see each other much because he was so busy, and they broke up because of it.”

She hesitated. “And you think the same thing’s going to happen to us,” she said carefully.

“You have to admit the odds aren’t in our favor.”

“The odds?” She blinked. “You’re trying to put what we have into numbers?”

“I’m just trying to be honest. . . .”

“About what? Odds? What does that have to do with us? And what does Harold have to do with anything?”

“Jane, I . . .”

She turned away, unable to look at me. “If you don’t want to see me anymore, just say it. Don’t use a busy schedule as an excuse. Just tell me the truth. I’m an adult. I can take it.”

“I am telling you the truth,” I said quickly. “I do want to see you. I didn’t mean for it to come out the way it did.” I swallowed. “I mean . . . well . . . you’re a very special person, and you mean a great deal to me.”

She said nothing. In the silence that followed, I watched in surprise as a single tear spilled down her cheek. She swiped at it before crossing her arms. Her gaze was focused on the trees near the river.

“Why do you always have to do that?” Her voice was raw.

“Do what?”

“This . . . what you’re doing now. Talking about odds, using statistics to explain things . . . to explain us. The world doesn’t always work that way. And neither do people. We’re not Harold and Gail.”

“I know that. . . .”

She faced me, and for the first time, I saw the anger and pain I’d caused her. “Then why did you say it?” she demanded. “I know it’s not going to be easy, but so what? My mom and dad didn’t see each other for fourteen years, and they still got married. And you’re talking about nine months? When you’re only a couple of hours away? We can call, we can write. . . .” She shook her head.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I guess I’m just scared about losing you. I didn’t mean to upset you. . . .”

“Why?” she asked. “Because I’m a special person? Because I mean a great deal to you?”

I nodded. “Yes, of course you do. And you are special.”

She took a deep breath. “Well, I’m glad to know you, too.”

With that, understanding finally dawned on me. While I meant my own words as a compliment, Jane had interpreted them differently, and the thought that I had hurt her made my throat suddenly go dry.

“I’m sorry,” I said again, “I didn’t mean for it to come out the way it sounded. You are very special to me, but . . . you see, the thing is . . .”

My tongue felt as if it were twisted, and my stammering finally elicited a sigh from Jane. Knowing I was running out of time, I cleared my throat and tried to tell her what was in my heart.

“What I meant to say was that I think I love you,” I whispered.

She was quiet, but I knew she’d heard me when her mouth finally began to curl into a slight smile.

“Well,” she said, “do you or don’t you?”

I swallowed. “I do,” I said. Then, wanting to be perfectly clear, I added, “Love you, I mean.”

For the first time in our conversation, she laughed, amused by how hard I’d made it. Then, raising her eyebrows, she finally smiled. “Why, Wilson,” she said, drawing out the words in exaggerated southern fashion, “I think that’s the sweetest thing you’ve ever said to me.”