Maybe she’ll assume I’m doing better now. That I overcame a rough past. But no, I can see on her face that she already knows. Someone told her. And I feel exposed, as if I’m a phony and she’s seeing right through me.

But instead of commenting, Riley turns back to look across the land. I don’t know why, but the gentle way her dress billows as she spins works to break my heart.

She laughs, still looking away. “I guess it never dawned on me until now.”

“What?” I ask.

“Do you know Ticket to Ride?”

I shake my head. Then I realize she can’t see me, so I say, “No.”

“Riding stables,” she says. “It’s across the valley. Not here at all. But Eva owns it. I never made the connection to that old memory. She’s older than me, and she bought Ticket to Ride just before I left for school.” Riley looks toward me, and there’s that smile again. “I guess she got her wish to have horses after all.”

I’m a little uncomfortable, so I walk back to the truck, grab a scope, and start looking around. Riley comes over even though I’d rather she stay where she was. Her proximity makes me uneasy. She’s radiating something that makes my skin prickle like a panic response. My chest feels full, but my head is spinning.

“Are we going to walk it?”

“I am. You can come with if you want. Or stay here.” As much as I find myself wanting to be near her, I hope she’ll choose the latter.

“Oh. Okay.”

“In a bit. I want to just peek around a little first. Try and imagine this place with houses.”

“Sure.”

I’m looking through one of the scopes when I see her from the corner of my eye. I turn to her.

“Is this place … ” I pause, not knowing how to say this other than in the most ridiculous but honest way. “Is it sentimental for you?” I finish.

She snaps out of whatever is holding her. She smiles right at me, and something sighs inside. “Oh, no. The barn was down the hill, and it was knocked down years ago. I don’t know that we ever came up anywhere near this far. It’s just that … ”

“What?”

“The creek,” she says. “I haven’t been back to the creek since I’ve been home.”

Part of me is relieved because the development plans definitely doesn’t include anything on the creek. I’m sure I’m not the only blossoming land developer with a conscience, but I might be the only one with this odd, nostalgic feeling for land. I don’t like it when places that carry old memories are bulldozed without thought. I’m even bothered by knocking down trees because you never know who might have climbed them, built forts in their branches, or hidden behind them during hide ‘n’ seek. If I had my way, I’d try to acquire land that wasn’t already wooded, and build around existing trees whenever possible. My crews would hate me for making their jobs harder, but we’d save on landscaping and have ambiance that few new communities could ever hope to offer.

I hold the scope up to my eye again when I notice her starting to walk away.

“Where are you going?”

“I want to see the creek.”

I let her walk a few more steps before turning to follow, knowing it’s the wrong direction if I’m here to survey the land for the company, knowing I should move away from Riley rather than toward her, knowing that heading somewhere quieter with her is a terrible idea.

But I’m hardly thinking.

Her dress sways in front of me like a metronome. I follow like a man in a trance.

CHAPTER TEN

Riley

I CAN HEAR BRANDON’S FOOTSTEPS behind me, but I don’t turn. A bit farther down, the grass was mowed at least once in the spring, and the worst of the brush is kept low. The air smells like lavender, and the sun is warm. There’s the slightest of breezes, and I can feel it swirling in interrupted gusts on my legs.

I wonder why Brandon is coming. I assumed he had work to do higher on the hill, and I just wanted to kill time while he did his whatever with scopes and paperwork. Margo’s assignment for me — as a mere intern — was to gather the gear and give the new prospect a ride. I’d take further directions from Brandon. And if he had things to do that didn’t involve me, I’d visit old memories.

Not the one with Eva. Those are behind us, in the direction we didn’t go.

The other memories.

It takes longer than I anticipate to reach the meadow’s edge. I’m not exactly an expert at reading topographical maps, but I did glance at what Margo gave me and know the property in question doesn’t border the creek. We parked at the land’s edge. I walked away, leaving the area that Brandon came to investigate.

We’re tromping across someone else’s land … maybe a few someones because it’s five solid minutes of plodding before I find my bearings.

Five minutes of heading the wrong way, away from the job, with Brandon mindlessly following.

Five minutes of quiet, wondering what he’s thinking back there. He has to know it’s the wrong direction and that time is wasting, but he says nothing.

Five minutes without any questions. Five minutes of trust. Five minutes in which only the crushing of grass tells me I’m not the only person in the world.

I said I was going to the creek.

He dropped what we came here to do and is following me, as if this was the point all along.

The grassy area ends on an apron of tall pines. Here, because of the carpet of soft needles underfoot, there’s almost no undergrowth. Once I feel that cushion beneath me, the direct light vanishes, and it’s all muted, slivers of reflected light leaving the place in shadows like I remember.

I see the same small outcrop of rocks.

Two trees, not pines, are wound in a braid. I remember them, too.

And I can hear the creek ahead. It’s not a big stream, but the section through here is rocky and moves at a decent clip. The sound is burbling and rushing, perfectly telegraphed through this relatively sparse section of woods. I can almost see it in my mind.

I can almost remember some of the bigger rocks on the shore, the way their shapes form a big funnel, or a slide.

I can almost remember the rope swing someone built to sway above it, and how nobody but a fool would try to use the decayed old thing even back when.

I haven’t been here in forever, and yet I remember every step.

We must have parked in the field below then come up through the same pine apron from the other side.

But this section? I’m sure we used to come through here. I see it all, as if nothing has changed.

We finally arrive at the creek. By now, its chattering voice is like a third person — and that’s all the more apparent given that neither Brandon nor I have spoken a word. And it’s exactly as I remember.

We usually sat over there. That’s where the blanket went.

That’s the rock I called my throne.

Oh, God. Why did I come here? It wasn’t on the tour. I lived in Cherry Hill without returning to the creek for nine years before I went off to college. It’s like I deleted this place from my mind — not because it was bad, but because it was wonderful, full of favorite memories.

Brandon comes up beside me. I don’t precisely see or hear him. It’s more that I can feel him standing there, the way you can sense a small space even if you have no real way to know you’re in one. His presence is strong and solid. I find myself wanting to slip my hand into his. It’s almost an ache.

The quiet moment lasts for a few heartbeats, and it’s like we’re witnessing something sacred that shouldn’t be disturbed.