The Best of Me

It was Dawson—and the us they created whenever they were together—that had made all of this both natural and inevitable. She couldn’t help thinking that the story between them was somehow unfinished; that both of them were waiting to write the ending.

All of a sudden, I knew I’d be okay because I knew that Clara and I weren’t done yet, and this feeling of peace just came over me.

The past was gone, after all, and the future was the only thing they had left.

and all at once she had the strange impression that everything they’d shared in the past had been the opening chapters in a book with a conclusion that had yet to be written.

“Because you’d already forgotten me?”

“No,” he answered. “Because back then I could barely face myself. And knowing that you’d moved on meant everything to me. I wanted you to have the kind of life that I’d never have been able to give you.”

He kicked at the dirt. “If you love someone, you’re supposed to let them go, right?”

For the first time, her eyes flashed. “And if they come back, it’s meant to be? Is that what you think this is? Some sort of cliche?” She grabbed his arm, her fingers digging into him. “We’re not a cliche,”

It was Thursday, June 18, 2009,

who even remotely resembled him. There was pain and sadness etched in the

But to make a long story short,

I do things by the book.