“And a bet’s a bet,” Graham was saying, “so it’s only fair.”
Once again, Joe arrived at the table, but this time, he was carrying two plates. On each one, there were three whoopie pies stacked in artistic fashion, and Ellie sat up in her chair to get a better view. They were like oversize Oreos, two enormous chocolate cookies sandwiched on either side of a layer of thick white frosting. As Joe set a plate down in front of each of them, Ellie tried to imagine the lengths to which Graham must have gone to get them here. He’d made her a promise, and he’d delivered. Just as he said he would.
“So,” Joe asked. “Who won the bet?”
“She did,” Graham said, and Joe gave Ellie’s shoulder a little squeeze before heading back toward the kitchen. When he was gone, she glanced up again.
“Graham,” she said, and he looked back at her with such intensity that she felt her breath catch in her throat.
“It’s already done,” he said. “I had it all arranged this morning.”
“You did?”
“I did,” he said. “You’re going to Harvard.”
She smiled. “For a couple of weeks anyway.”
“At least to start.”
“Thank you,” she said, feeling that the words weren’t big enough to contain all that she really wanted to say. But it seemed to her right then that he understood, and that somehow, it was enough.
“Now eat,” he said, picking up one of his whoopie pies. “You can’t properly call yourself a Mainer until you’ve at least sampled the state treat.”
Afterward, they stepped out of the restaurant and into the darkened street together. It wasn’t yet nine, but the sidewalks were mostly empty, everyone still worn out from last night’s celebration. Even so, it was unexpectedly thrilling, being out in public together, and when Graham extended his hand, Ellie took it in hers, and they began to walk.
“I bet you’ll be happy to get back to Middle-of-Everything, California,” she said as they wove across the green.
“Maybe a little,” he said. “But I’ll miss Middle-of-Nowhere, Maine.”
“Maybe you’ll come back one day,” she said, looking at him sideways. She half expected him to make some kind of joke, but he seemed to consider this for a moment before nodding, his face serious.
“Maybe,” he said. They passed the spot where they’d been sitting last night, watching each other as if there were nothing else around them, no exploding lights or booming music. “Or maybe we’ll see each other somewhere else.”
“Any chance your world tour is taking you to Boston?”
“It would probably help if I actually checked my schedule,” he said. “But it’s possible.”
“I’m sure there’s plenty of trouble we could get into down there.”
Graham grinned. “I’ve always wanted to steal a swan boat.”
“And we’ll write,” Ellie said, without looking over at him.
“And we’ll write,” he agreed.
“Just don’t screw up my e-mail address.”
“That,” he said, still smiling, “doesn’t sound like me at all.”
They continued to walk, passing place after familiar place as if to rewind the past weeks: the spot near the gazebo where they’d stood after Graham chased her in only his swim trunks, the shuttered window of the deli where she’d spilled the candy, the place where she’d seen him on that very first day, looking distant and surprisingly sad, a sorrow so deep that it seemed to hold her there, just watching him.
That was gone now, that look in his eyes.
It had been replaced by something lighter, something more peaceful.
Their destination was never discussed, but even so, there was an understanding between them, no less certain for being unspoken, and when they reached the grove of trees that led down to the beach—not just any beach, but their beach—they veered toward it together. At the entrance, Graham hesitated. But only for a moment, and then Ellie tugged gently on his hand, leading him across the threshold where the road turned to trees, and then the trees to stones, and then, finally, the stones disappeared into the water.
Ellie felt her heart swell at the sight of the ocean, the reflection of the moon streaked across it like the wake of a boat. The wind carried the scent of it, briny and thick, and the stars were bright overhead. They kicked off their sandals and walked down to the water, standing at the edge of the surf, which was black as the sky.
“I love this,” Ellie said, wiggling her toes, and Graham smiled.
“I know,” he said. “It was on your list.”
In the dark, it was hard to find the rock where they’d sat the other day, the one that jutted out over the water, flat and wide and level, as if it were meant for this alone. They dangled their legs over the side, the bottoms of their feet catching the spray from the waves, looking out over the moon and the navy expanse of water, the wash of stars in the ink-stained sky.
“So what now?” Ellie asked, and Graham looked over at her. She held her breath, waiting for him to say what they both knew to be true: that he would leave tomorrow. That they would have to say good-bye.
“Now,” he said, taking her hand. “Now, we wait.”
“For what?”
“Tomorrow.”
She gave him a sideways glance, and he grinned.
“It’s not as scary if you see it coming.”
“That’s true,” Ellie said with a smile. They fell silent again, and after a moment, she turned to look at him. “Are we really waiting here till tomorrow?”
Graham didn’t shift his gaze from the water. He looked completely untroubled, sitting there with the breeze ruffling the hair on his forehead.
“You said you always sleep through the sunrises,” he told her. “This way, there’s no chance you’ll miss it.”
She laughed. “You’re serious?”
He nodded.
“But you have to work in the morning.”
“So do you,” he pointed out.
“Yeah, but I don’t have to look pretty.”
“You’ll look pretty anyway,” he said, pulling her over to him. There was a chill in the air, and she was grateful to be in his arms, listening to his steady breaths.
“It’s a long time,” she said, “till the sun comes up.”
“About eight hours.”
“I guess when you put it that way, it almost doesn’t seem like long enough.”
“Think you can stay awake?”
She nodded against his chest. “You?”
“Yes,” he promised.
But already her eyelids felt heavy, the waves a kind of lullaby. She blinked a few times, thinking of the hours ahead of them on this rock that felt like an island, small enough for only the two of them, but large enough to keep the rest of the world at bay.
When she yawned, Graham gave her a little nudge so that her eyes flickered open again. “I’m awake,” she murmured, though she wasn’t, not really.
Together, they waited for the sky to flip over like the turning of a page, the bone-colored moon giving way to a brilliant sun, the promise of a new day, and Ellie was surprised to find herself thinking of the little town in France, the one with all the miracles. She could only hope that in a place filled with so many wonders, it would have still been possible to appreciate something as remarkable and ordinary as all this.
“Salutations,” he said, and she smiled.
“Good morning.”
“Yeah,” he said. “It really is.”
Many thanks to JENNIFER JOEL, ELIZABETH BEWLEY, STEPHANIE THWAITES, HANNAH SHEPPARD, BINKY URBAN, MEGAN TINGLEY, PAM GRUBER, LIZ CASAL, SAM EADES, JOSIE FREEDMAN, CATHERINE SAUNDERS, CLAY EZELL, JENNIFER HERSHEY, RYAN DOHERTY, and everyone at LBYR, ICM, Headline, Curtis Brown, and Random House. And, of course, to my family: MOM, DAD, KELLY, and ERROL.