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Unless she's a complete innocent she'll laugh at it.But she didn't. That should have told me something.I pulled her away from the house, out into the sky. Of course her hand was cold and she was glad for me to take it. We walked into legitimately old places, away from the tourists, away from the main streets, down lanes where people still live in houses built in the 1600s, across alleyways, got lost, somehow looped by the bay where the water was choppy and there were whitecaps, and finally wound up back in the tourist district, near the statue of the Puritan that people mistake for a witch.We held hands almost the entire time. From time to time, really heavy gusts would hit us, and Elizabeth would hug her arms to her front and huddle against them. During the second one I gave her a bear hug and blocked the wind with my body, and she leaned into me until it passed. We did it again. She laughed during it. She sounded childlike, joyful, while we stood firm against the spirits of the. Feels terrible. Lost in recollections, re-running the past few hours over and over in my head—a supposedly fleeting memory now etched into my brain.I grab my suitcase, slide my hand in my pocket and, lost in regretful rumination of the previous night, produce a handful of crumpled bills I transfer to his eagerly waiting hand. His so-far consequentially grumpy face lights up as he notices I'm not making any attempts at getting my change back in the socially agreeable time. He scrams as quickly as possible, muttering something unintelligible under his breath before burning some serious rubber and leaving me standing in a cloud of dust and matching tire tracks behind him. In just this moment, it dawns on me that my accidental tip amounts to about five times the cost of the ride.I'm far too absorbed by my mental torment, however, to let this disturb my preoccupation too much, for there is a much greater lapse awaiting to be mended—but how?I sigh as I gaze upon the entrance of my home—our.
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