I was certain she had caller ID and was screening my call, so I grabbed my car keys and headed for town, pulling into a shopping area with a pay phone and dialing her number. It worked—she answered. “Don’t hang up.” I realized most of my conversations with her began with those words. “You can’t give up on me now. You’re someone I never let myself dream I could have. Something I never knew existed. And you’ve admitted you love me, I have it in writing.” “Loving you and being able to be with you are two different things, Alex.” “Please, Viv.” But she had already hung up. My head clanged back against the wall next to the phone booth, and the person beside me stared at me. I jumped back into the car and drove at high speed to her house, pulling into the driveway so fast and stopping so abruptly that my tires squealed, startling even me at the adolescence of my behavior.
