I moved faster. I could feel his eyes scanning me until my walk felt ungainly; my head, odd. “Hold on,” he called, jogging to catch up. I heard the jangle of keys in his hand. Since the afternoon two weeks before, when we’d met with the president of academics and the dean, Thom and I had not talked beyond the standard exchanges my research project required. I had made sure these exchanges were as curt and as professional as possible. Thom would not get the chance to tell me that things had to be different again. They were different already. This time, however, I was going to be the one who initiated the change. This was the very reason I had refused Thom’s carpool offer and demanded we each drive from the university to the clinic. Tidbits of asphalt crunched beneath my heel as I reeled to face Thom. I shaded my eyes against the afternoon sun pricking through scattered felt-gray clouds. But more than shielding myself from the sun, I wanted to shield Thom from seeing the pain in my eyes.
