She paused, as if trying to organize her chaotic thoughts. “I didn’t want to fall in love with anyone,” she said. “I wasn’t ready for that. I’ve been through that once, and afterwards I was a mess. I know it’s different, but you’ll be leaving in just a few days and all this will be over . . . and I’ll be a mess again.”
“It doesn’t have to be over,” I protested.
“But it will be,” she said. “I know we can write and talk on the phone now and then, and we could see each other when you come home on leave. But it won’t be the same. I won’t be able to see your silly expressions. We won’t be able to lie on the beach together and stare at the stars. We won’t be able to sit across from each other and talk and share secrets. And I won’t feel your arm around me, like I do now.”
I turned away, feeling a rising sense of frustration and panic. Everything she was saying was true.
“It just hit me today,” she went on, “while I was browsing in the bookstore. I went there to get you a book, and when I found it, I started imagining how you’d react when I gave it to you. The thing was, I knew that I’d see you in just a couple of hours, and then I would know, and that made it okay. Because even if you were upset, I knew that we’d get through it because we could work it out face-to-face. That’s what I came to realize while sitting out here. That when we’re together, anything is possible.” She hesitated, then continued. “Pretty soon, that’s not going to be possible anymore. I’ve known since we met that you’d only be here for a couple of weeks, but I didn’t think that it was going to be this hard to say good-bye.”
“I don’t want to say good-bye,” I said, gently turning her face to mine.
Beneath us, I could hear the waves crashing against the pilings. A flock of seagulls passed overhead, and I leaned in to kiss her, my lips barely brushing hers. Her breath smelled of cinnamon and mint, and I thought again of coming home.
Hoping to take her mind off such gloomy thoughts, I gave her a brisk squeeze and pointed at the bag. “So what book did you buy me?”
She seemed puzzled at first, then remembered she’d mentioned it earlier. “Oh yeah, I guess it’s time for that, huh?”
By the way she said it, I suddenly knew she hadn’t bought me the latest Hiaasen. I waited, but when I tried to meet her eyes, she turned away.
“If I give it to you,” she said, her voice serious, “you have to promise me that you’ll read it.”
I wasn’t quite sure what to make of it. “Sure,” I said, drawing out the word. “I promise.”
Still, she hesitated. Then she reached into her bag and pulled it out. When she handed it to me, I read the title. At first, I didn’t know what to think. It was a book—more like a textbook, actually—about autism and Asperger’s. I had heard of both conditions and assumed I knew what most people did, which wasn’t much.
“It’s by one of my professors,” she explained. “She’s the best teacher I’ve had in college. Her classes are always filled, and students who aren’t registered sometimes drop in to talk to her. She’s one of the foremost experts in all forms of developmental disorders, and she’s one of the few who focused her research on adults.”
“Fascinating,” I said, not bothering to hide my lack of enthusiasm.
“I think you might learn something,” she pressed.
“I’m sure,” I said. “It looks like there’s a lot of information there.”
“There’s more to it than just that,” she said. Her voice was quiet. “I want you to read it because of your father. And the way you two get along.”
For the first time, I felt myself stiffen. “What’s that got to do with anything?”
“I’m not an expert,” she said, “but this book was assigned both semesters that I had her, and I must have studied it every night. Like I said, she’s interviewed more than three hundred adults with disorders.”
I withdrew my arm. “And?”
I knew she heard the tension in my voice, and she studied me with a trace of apprehension.
“I know I’m only a student, but I spend a lot of my lab hours working with