The old woman’s eyes widen and she looks wildly about the room.

“It’s me. It’s Abby. I’ve missed you.”

Abby’s grandmother turns her head now and I shift, feeling uncomfortable. She’s searching for something familiar and it’s going to kill Abby that Abby isn’t who she remembers.

“I saw Dad,” she says. “He misses you, too.”

Abby’s grandmother’s voice cracks, but she doesn’t say anything intelligible, but does move her other hand to cover Abby’s. It’s the same type of movement a child waking from a bad dream would do—reach out to the nearest adult, to the one who can scare the monsters away.

“Can I read to you, Grams?” Abby grabs the book off the table, and I decide to wait with Isaiah on the front porch. I can’t stick around and watch Abby say goodbye.

The old door groans when I open it and it groans again when I shut it. Isaiah has his hip cocked against the railing and watches me as I mirror his position on the other side of the ramp.

“I keep trying to figure out another way this can end, but I can’t find the solution,” I say.

“Not sure there is one,” Isaiah answers. “Choices like the ones Abby made have consequences. None of them pretty. Sucks, because you figured out where you stand.”

“I love her.”

Isaiah nods and we stare out on the quiet neighborhood and the tranquil world Abby and her father had created. When I first came here, I thought this life was Abby’s lie and now I realize that the drug dealer was the front.

“You did good, man,” Isaiah offers. “Not too many guys would be firm enough in themselves to love her like you did.”

“Running into an alley? Any of us would have done that.”

“Naw, guys are good at running in, but most of the time, they run back out when things get rough and before the job is done.” Isaiah meets my eyes. “You gave up your darkest secret to save her. Takes a strong guy to love like that. Takes a guy who knows who he is.”

I mull over Isaiah’s words as I watch a bird fuss over a nest in the tall maple in the front yard. When I first met Abby, Dad was right, I didn’t have a clue who I was, but throughout the past months of knowing Abby, the past few weeks, the past few days, I figured it out.

I may not have a clue what I want to do with the rest of my life like West, Chris, Noah, Ryan, and Isaiah, but as I try to figure it out, at least I’ll know who I already am. Because what I do for money, what is going on with my health, is only a portion of who I am—not the entire picture.

“There has to be another way for Abby to get out of drug dealing than for her to disappear,” I rephrase the statement from before. “Another way that doesn’t mean her leaving.”

Isaiah stays silent and it’s the kind that’s like being at the end of the funeral and nobody wants to leave. He’s losing his sister. I’m losing the girl I’m in love with. Unless we come up with a better solution, to love her is to let her go.

Abby

Grams has been asleep a lot longer than I’d care to admit and I close the book. For years I kept her a secret. I told stories, manipulated, and lied to keep her safe and now I’m abandoning her because I don’t want to sell drugs anymore. Because Dad can’t guarantee I’m safe within my organization. Because I don’t want to be deeper than I already am and by doing this I’ll lose everything I love.

There’s no such thing as happy, just the idea of happy.

I place the book on the table and walk out onto the front porch. Isaiah and Logan were both sitting and they stand when the see me. I already tried to say goodbye to Isaiah and Logan once. Both of those moments sucked. Now knowing I’ll have to do it again and that neither of them will be chasing...

I shove my hands in my pockets to will away the pain then force a smile in Logan’s direction. “Let’s go for a walk.”

“A walk?”

“You move your feet, so do I. We travel from one place to another. A walk. Girls do it. I’ve seen them. They gather together at a house and then walk around the neighborhood. I always wanted to do that—just walk.”

Most girls never wanted to walk with me—the drug dealer’s daughter.

Logan offers me his hand and I take it, feeling a bit giddy and a bit silly as I slip my hand into his. I like Logan’s hand. It’s warm and strong and a bit rough in places yet soft in others.

The summer day is warm, but not nearly as oppressive as the morning had promised it would be. Hard to believe that earlier today I was eating breakfast with people I feel comfortable claiming as friends and had hope of having a real life with and now I’m on the verge of being the person who will once again disappear.

“Will you miss me?” I ask.

Logan’s fingers tighten around mine. “Yes.”

“Sometimes, when I was younger, I used to pretend Dad was an accountant. It’s what I told people he did and then it became a fantasy. That when he was gone, he was at some high-level accountant conference, because they do those things, right? But I loved the idea. The strong guy sporting a pocket protector and then he came home to have turkey and stuffing with pie every night for dinner. Some kids dreamed of beaches or some video game thing. I wanted dinner and accounting.”

“My dad works on a factory line,” he says. “It’s a good job. He works hard for not enough pay, but it’s enough to take care of me and him. He’s tired all the time. Works third shift since it pays more. Mom is a manager at one of those organic foods/new age places.”