Chapter 1

The postcard is waiting for me when I get home from work.It’s tucked in with a few bills,a letter from my mom,and an ad from Wal-Mart that I just toss away.The letter I put aside,and I shuffle through the bills,disinterested.Then I see it.

A glossy beach at sunset,a couple holding hands,walking along the surf.Love in L.A.,it reads in a flourish script across the orange sun.I don’t know anyone in Los Angeles.I turn the postcard over,and my heart freezes at the tight black words scrawled on the other side.

I miss you.Everything about you.About us.I hate living this lie.

My address in the block letters I remember so well.A smudged thumbprint beneath the stamp.Thecryptic message—I miss you—and nothing else.No return address.Nothing to tell me who it’s from.

As if I didn’t know.My throat closes as I read the message again.I miss you.

Jesus,I think.I miss you,too,Greg.Where the hell are you now?

****

Donny had plenty of time to get used to the idea of Greg getting married.Too long,actually,since he was the first person Greg told.Before he even asked Megan,he came to Donny’s apartment,eyes wild,curls awry.Sitting on the edge of Donny’s bed,he looked at his hands and asked softly,“Can I tell you something?”

Donny’s heart skipped a beat.“Anything,Greg,”he replied,turning off his laptop.“What’s on your mind?”

Taking a deep sigh,Greg said,“I’m in love.”

Please,Donny thought,and suddenly he forgot how to breathe.He stared at his friend for a long moment,not daring to hope.Sweet Jesus,please.

Greg met his level gaze and smiled in that gorgeous way he had that rivaled the sun.“I’m so sure of it,Donny.I know this is what I want.I mean,I…”He sighed.

“It’s okay,”Donny whispered.He reached out and placed a hand on Greg’s knee.Beneath his touch,Greg felt warm and so right—please,he thought again.Greg,please just tell me.“Greg,if it makes it any easier for you,I—”

“It’s Megan,”Greg gushed.

The room around them drained of color.

Mistaking the look in his friend’s green eyes,Greg hurried on.“I know you think I’m too young.I’m only a year away from graduating,so why not wait,right?I know that’s what you’re thinking right now—”

“That’s not what I was thinking,”Donny stammered.

Greg continued over him,excitement filling his dark eyes,turning them a deep azure.Donny stared into their depths and wanted to cry.“But I think I’m ready,Donny.Really I do.”He laughed.“I bought a ring.Can you believe it?A ring.I’m going to ask her—”

The rest of the words tumbled into meaningless noise as Donny felt the walls of his heart shake beneath them.He bit his lower lip to keep it from trembling and promised himself he wouldn’t give into the tears threatening to fall.At least not until Greg left.

Then he cried himself to sleep.

****

I can’t get the damn postcard out of my mind.That couple on the beach,that orange sunset.I miss youin those black letters,inked on the inside of my eyelids whenever I close my eyes.I miss you.

When was the last time I saw Greg?I can’t remember.It was after the wedding,but I don’t recall the date.I don’t remember what was said or what we did.I know it was at a dinner party Johnny threw for us,a farewell bash before Greg moved west.So many people were there,friendsand family,and I couldn’t get him alone to apologize.I couldn’t even catch his eye.

I wonder if the post office could trace the return address down for me,but the only clue is the blurry postmark I think says California.I hate living this lie…I wonder what he means by that,but I don’t want to think about it.I don’t dare hope.Not anymore.

A few weeks later I get another postcard.This one is a view of Bodega Bay,tall boats with folded sails resting in tranquil waters.When I pull it out of the mailbox,I don’t want to turn it over.I don’t want to see his handwriting on the other side.

Who am I kidding?I can’t notlook.

I don’t sleep with her anymore.I don’t fuck her.She thinks I’m cheating on her but believe me,Donny,only in my mind.And only with you.Do you remember that night?Or is that another lie I’m telling myself?That you still care…

I choke back a sob and crumple the postcard in my hand.I don’t want to remember but it still keeps me up at night.I still wake with the scent of his hair in my nose,the feel of his arms around me.And only with you.

Inside the house,I smooth out the creases in the postcard and stick it in the frame of my mirror with the other one.When I lay on the bed,I can see them above the dresser,my reflection staring back behind them.How will I ever sleep again,knowing he thinks of me still?