“I give you the courtesy of allowing you to know this is memory, of letting you stand with me and observe. Do you understand this?”

“I understand this is memory.”

“With the first of you, I showed her what could be. So I showed you. But I realize you are a more… earthbound creation. One who prefers reality. But are you brave enough to see what is real?”

“To see what?” But she already knew.

Color seeped into the world. The deep green of pines beneath the draping snow, the bright blue mailbox on the corner, the blues and greens and reds of the coats the children wore as they built snowmen and forts in the yards.

And with the color came the movement. The snow fell again, and the shovelful from the walk on the corner landed with a thump, even as the man bent to scoop up another. She heard the shouts, high and pure in the air, from the children playing, and the unmistakable thwack of snowballs striking their targets.

She saw herself, bundled in a quilted jacket the color of blueberries. What had she been thinking? She looked like Violet in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory.

A knit cap was pulled over her head, a knit scarf wrapped around her throat. She moved quickly, but stopped long enough for a brief and energetic snow battle with the little Dobson boys and their friends.

Her own laughter drifted out to her, and she knew what shed been thinking, what shed been feeling.

She was going to see Jordan, to convince him to come out and play. He was spending much too much time closed up in that house since his mother died. He needed to be with someone who loved him.

The past few months had been a nightmare of hospitals and doctors, suffering and grief. He needed comfort, and a gentle, gentle push back into life. He needed her.

She trooped up theunshoveled walk, stomped her feet. She didnt knock. Shed never needed to knock on this door.

“Jordan!” She pulled off her cap, raked her fingers through her hair. Shed worn it shorter then, a chopped-off experiment she hated, and willed, daily, to grow back.

She called him again as she unzipped her coat.

The house still smelled of Mrs. Hawke, she noted. Not of the lemon wax shed always used on the furniture, or the coffee shed habitually had on the stove. But of her sickness. Dana wished she could fling open the windows and whisk the worst of the sorrow and grief away.

He came to the top of the stairs. Her heart did a tumble in her chest, as it always did when she saw him. He was so handsome, so tall and straight, and just a little dangerous around the eyes and mouth.

“I thought youd be at the garage, but when I called Pete said you werent coming in today.”

“No, Im not going in.”

His voice sounded rusty, as if hed just gotten up. But it was already two in the afternoon. There were shadows in his eyes, shadows under them, and they broke her heart.

She came to the foot of the stairs, shot him a quick smile. “Why dont you put on a coat? The Dobson kids tried to ambush me on the way over. We can kick their little asses.”

“Ive got stuff to do, Dana.”

“More important than burying theDobsons in a hail of snowballs?”

“Yeah. I have to finish packing.” “Packing?” She didnt feel alarm, not then, only confusion. “Youre going somewhere?”

“New York.” He turned and walked away. “New York?” Still there was no alarm. Now there was a thrill, and she bounded up the stairs after him with excitement at her heels. “Is it about your book? Did you hear from that agent?”

She rushed into his bedroom, threw herself on his back. “You heard from the agent, and you didnt tell me? We have to celebrate. We have to do something insane. What did he say?”

“Hes interested, thats all.”

“Of course hes interested. Jordan, this is wonderful. Youre going up to have a meeting with him? A meeting with a New York literary agent!” She let out a crow of delight, then noticed the two suitcases, the duffel, the packing crate.

Slowly, with that first trickle of alarm, she slid off his back. “Youre taking an awful lot of stuff for a meeting.”

“Im moving to New York.” He didnt turn to her, but tossed another sweater, a pair of jeans into one of the open suitcases.

“I dont understand.”

“I put the house up for sale yesterday. They probably wont be able to turn it until spring. Guy at the flea markets going to take most of the furniture and whatever else there is.”

“Youre selling the house.” When her legs went weak, she sank onto the side of the bed. “But, Jordan, you live here.”

“Not anymore.”

“But… you cant just pack up and go to New York. I know you talked about moving there eventually, but—”

“Im done here. Theres nothing for me here.”

It was like having a fist punched into her heart. “How can you say that? How can you say theres nothing for you here? I know, Jordan, I know how hard it was for you to lose your mother. I know youre still grieving. This isnt the time for you to make this kind of a decision.”

“Its already made.” He glanced in her direction, but his eyes never met hers. “Ive got a few more things to deal with, then Im gone. Im leaving in the morning.”

“Just like that?” Pride pushed her back on her feet. “Were you planning on letting me in on it, or were you just going to send me a postcard when you got there?”

He looked at her now, but she couldnt see into his eyes, couldnt see through the shield hed thrown up between them. “I was going to come by later tonight and see you, and Flynn.”

“Thats very considerate.”

He raked his “fingers through his hair, a gesture she knew reflected impatience or frustration. ”Look, Dana, this is something I have to do.“

“No, this is something you want to do, because youre done with this place now. And everyone in it.”

She had to keep her voice low, very low. Or it would shrill. Or scream. “That would include me. So I guess the past couple of years havent meant a damn thing.”

“Thats bullshit, and you know it.” He slapped one suitcase closed, fastened it. “I care about you, I always did. Im doing what I need to do—what I want to do. Either way it comes to the same thing. I cant write here. I cant fucking think here. And I have to write. Ive got a chance to make something of myself, and Im taking it. So would you.”

“Yeah, youre making something of yourself. A selfish bastard. Youve been planning this, stringing me along while you planned to dump me when it was most convenient for you.”

“This isnt about you, this is about me getting out of this fucking house, out of this goddamn town.” He rounded on her, and the shield cracked enough for her to see fury. “This is about me not busting my ass every goddamn day working in a grease pit just to pay the bills, then trying to carve out a few hours to write. This is about my life.”

“I thought I was part of your life.”

“Christ,” He dragged a hand through his hair again before yanking open a drawer for more clothes.

He couldnt be bothered to stop packing, she thought, not even when he was breaking her heart.

“You are part of my life. You, Flynn, Brad. How the hell does me moving to New York change that?”

“As far as I know you havent been sleeping with Flynn and Brad.”

“I cant bury myself in the Valley because you and I had thehots for each other.”

“You son of a bitch.” She could feel herself beginning to shake, and the stinging tears gathering in her throat. Using all her strength, she channeled the hurt into rage. “You can make it cheap. You can make yourself cheap. But you wont make me cheap.”

He stopped now, stopped packing and turned to look at her with regret, and what might have been pity. “Dana. I didnt mean it that way.”

“Dont.” She slapped his hand away when he reached ...

Youre done with the Valley? Youre done with me? Fine, thats fine, because Im done with you. Youll be lucky to last a month in New York, hacking away at that crap you write. So when you come crawling back here, dont call me. Dont speak to me. Because youre right about one thing, Hawke—theres nothing for you here anymore.“

She shoved past him and fled.

Shed forgotten her hat, she realized as she watched herself run out of the house. A snowball winged by one of the Dobson boyssplatted in the middle of her back, but she didnt notice.

She didnt feel the cold, or the tears streaming down her face.

She felt nothing. Hed made her nothing.

How could she have forgotten? How could she have forgiven?

She didnt see then, nor did she see now, that hed stood in the narrow window of the dormer and watched her go.

SHE woke to thin autumn sunlight, her cheeks wet, her skin chilled.

The grief was so real, so fresh, she rolled away, curled up in a ball and prayed for it to pass.

She couldnt, wouldnt, go through this again. Had she worked so hard to get over him, to push herself out of the grief and misery and hurt only to lay herself open to it all again?

Was she that weak, that stupid?

Maybe she was, when it came to Jordan. Maybe she was just that weak and stupid. But she didnt have to be.

She eased out of bed and left him sleeping. She pulled on a robe, a kind of armor, then headed to the kitchen for coffee.

Moe scrambled up from the foot of the bed and bounded after her. With his leash between his teeth, he danced in place in the kitchen.

“Not yet, Moe.” She bent to bury her face in his fur. “Im not up to it yet.”

Sensing trouble, he whined, then dropped the leash to lick her face. “Youre a good dog, arent you? Been chasing rabbits, huh? Thats okay, Ive been chasing something, too. Neither one of us is ever going to catch it.”