"I thought so," I said. "But then you left, so I didn't know. I didn't even know you'd found it. Half the time I thought I was crazy."

"I'm so sorry," he said, and there was real regret in his eyes.

"What did you do with it, anyway?" I asked. Slowly his face transformed -- sadness into a kind of secretive joy.

"What do you think?" he asked, and reached up to the back of his head. I thought he was scratching it for a minute, and then he cupped his other hand carefully over his face. When he brought it down again there was that same shimmer in the air, a sense that the whole world was focused on the empty space in his palm.

I looked up from the mask and saw his shoulders slumping inwards, his head automatically dipping, eyes now trained anywhere but my face.

"Your heart," he said, which I hadn't been expecting. I looked down at his hand, where a mask no-one could see dangled by invisible ribbons. "It's healed, isn't it."

"You should know," I said. "You did it."

"I thought I might have, but I couldn't be sure. So...I gave you this thing, health, and the right to choose – even if you chose Low Ferry instead of Chicago," he said. "And you gave me this. I'm not afraid anymore. I'm...still me, but I'm not afraid."

"So why run?" I asked gently.

"I wasn't sure you'd want to see me the way I am now. You liked me the way I was."

I almost laughed -- would have, if I hadn't spent the last two months grieving a loss, only to find it restored to me. "I like you, Lucas," I said. "I always have. It doesn't matter to me."

"Good. Because then I don't have to wear it around you." He lifted his face a little, into the wind. "Would you come back to the city? No, you won't, will you," he said, before I could tell him.

"Low Ferry is my home," I told him. "The city can't give me anything I want, not anymore."

"Nothing?" he asked, still staring at the lake.

"Well. I'd like to see that gallery show of yours," I ventured. "And hear what you did with the Friendly."

"Yeah?" A faint smile.

"Yeah. And you know me..." I grinned at him. "If I had a good reason to visit the city, it wouldn't be any trouble to come up a few times a month. If you wanted to see me, say."

"I do," he said quickly. "Marjorie too."

A couple of kids ran past through the park, trailed by a panting mutt of a dog, all wispy terrier hair and lolling tongue. Behind us, the fountain's central jet began to plume.

"I love the city," Lucas said. "I love everything about it. I fit here. So...thank you."

"My pleasure," I said, and meant it. How often do you get the chance to give someone a city? "Lucas...I have a train to catch soon. I need to go home. I'll come back, though. I'll stay longer next time."

He smiled and finally, finally looked at me without the mask.

"I'll meet you at the station," he said. "We can take the El from there. I can show you the gallery I'm going to be in."

"That sounds fine. And – don't wear the mask," I added. "Not with me."

His free hand brushed my wrist, tracing down over the scar on my left hand. His fingers, tangled up in mine, had paper-cuts on them from Marj's books, paint and plaster under the fingernails from his masks.

"Nothing's perfect," I said. "Doesn't mean it can't be good. Right?"

He lifted my hand and kissed the back of it, lips brushing the thin raised scars -- then turned and kissed me, like some kind of benediction.

"Come back quickly," he said.

"Of course," I replied.

***

Darkness fell when I was still on the train, halfway between Chicago and Low Ferry. Outside the window the moon was rising. The stars were coming out bright and clear, thousands more than you can see in the overshadowing constellation of the city lights.

An hour ahead of me lay home: my shop, my books, the village. In a week there would be Lucas waiting for me in Chicago, maskless, with a shy smile and a whole city to give back to me. He could come to Low Ferry again sometime, too – everyone would like to see him. He'd get to see summer in my little town.

Happy endings are pretty rare, but I think that's because things don't really end very often. Time moves you forward regardless, and all you can do is choose where it takes you. There were plenty of things to worry about between Low Ferry and Chicago, but there wasn't anything I could do about them on the train. So, why bother?

No endings, then – just happy moments, in-between places where life is bright and good. That was a lesson I had from Lucas, if I hadn't already had it from Nameless.

I've always liked trains, anyway.

I settled lower in the seat, closed my eyes, and slept.

POSTSCRIPT:

Talking With Twenty Five Hundred

You have to want to write, I say, not to want to be a writer.

-- Alex Haley