I thought it would be easy since he was running and I was on a bike, but I was wrong. I did okay for the first couple of miles, but after that, my thighs started to burn. Even worse, Bryce kept trying to have a conversation, which wasn’t easy since I was huffing and puffing. Just when I thought I couldn’t go any farther, he stopped near a gravel road that led toward the canals and said that he had to do sprints.

I rested on my bike seat, one foot on the ground, and watched as he sprinted away from me. Even Daisy had trouble keeping up, and I watched his image grow smaller in the distance. He stopped, rested for a short bit, then sprinted toward me again. He went up and back five times, and even though he was breathing a lot harder than I’d been and Daisy’s tongue almost reached her legs, he immediately started jogging again after he’d finished, this time in the direction of his house. I thought we were done, but I was wrong again. Bryce did push-ups, sit-ups, and then jumped up and down from the picnic table in his yard before finally doing multiple sets of pull-ups using a pipe hung beneath his house, his muscles flexing against his shirt. Daisy, meanwhile, lay in place, panting. When I checked my watch after he’d finished, he’d been going nonstop for almost ninety minutes. Despite the cool morning air, his face was shiny with sweat and there were wet circles on his T-shirt as he approached.

“You do this every morning?”

“Six days a week,” he said. “But I vary it. Sometimes the run is shorter and I do more sprints or whatever. I want to be ready for West Point.”

“So every time you arrive to tutor me, you’ve already done all of this?”

“Pretty much.”

“I’m impressed,” I said, and not just because I’d enjoyed the sight of his muscles. It was impressive, and it made me wish that I could be more like him.

Despite the addition of regular morning exercise, the pounds kept coming and my tummy kept growing. Gwen continually reminded me that was normal—she began dropping by the house regularly to check my blood pressure and listen to the baby with a stethoscope—but it still didn’t make me feel better. By the middle of March, I was up twenty-two pounds. By the end of the month, I was up twenty-four, and it was pretty much impossible to hide the bulge no matter how baggy the sweatshirt. I began to resemble a character from a Dr. Seuss book: small head and skinny legs with a bulging torso, but without the cute look of Cindy-Lou Who.

Not that Bryce seemed to mind. We still kissed, he still held my hand, and he always told me I was beautiful, but as the month wore on, I began to feel pregnant almost all the time. I had to balance just right when I sat down to keep from plopping into the seat, and getting up from the sofa required momentary planning and concentration. I still went to the bathroom practically every hour, and once, when I sneezed on the ferry, my bladder actually seemed to spit, which was absolutely mortifying and left me feeling wet and gross until we got back to Ocracoke. I felt the baby moving a lot more, especially whenever I lay down—I could also watch it moving, which was really trippy—and I had to start sleeping on my back, which wasn’t comfortable at all. My Braxton Hicks contractions were coming more regularly, and like Dr. Huge Hands, Gwen said it was a good thing. I, on the other hand, still thought it was a bad thing because my whole stomach tightened and I felt all crampy, but Gwen ignored my complaint. About the only terrible things that hadn’t happened were hemorrhoids or a sudden starburst of acne on my face. I still had the occasional extra pimple or two, but my makeup skills kept it from being all that noticeable and Bryce never said a word about it.

I also did pretty well on my midterms, not that either of my parents seemed all that impressed. My aunt, though, was pleased, and it was around that time that I began to notice that she kept her own counsel when it came to my relationship with Bryce. When I’d mentioned that I was going to start exercising in the mornings, all she’d said was “Please be careful.” On those nights Bryce stayed for dinner, she and he chatted as amiably as ever. If I told her that I would be taking photographs on Saturday, she would simply ask what time I thought I would be back, so she would know what time to have dinner ready. At night, when it was just Aunt Linda and me, we talked about my parents or Gwen or what was going on with my studies or at the shop before she’d pick up a novel while I perused books on photography. And yet, I couldn’t shake the sense that something had grown up between us, some kind of distance.

Early on, I hadn’t minded it so much. The fact that my aunt and I rarely spoke about Bryce made the relationship feel a little secretive, vaguely illicit and therefore more exciting. And while not encouraging, Aunt Linda at least seemed accepting of the idea that her niece was in love with a young man who met her approval. At night, when it was time for me to walk Bryce to the door, more often than not, she would rise from her spot on the sofa and head to the kitchen, giving us a bit of privacy, enough for a quick kiss goodbye. I think she intuitively knew that Bryce and I wouldn’t go overboard. We hadn’t even gone on an official second date; really, since we saw each other pretty much all day every day, there wasn’t a reason to. Nor had we ever considered sneaking out at night to see each other or going somewhere without telling my aunt in advance. With my body beginning to shape-shift, sex was absolutely the last thing on my mind.

And yet, after a while, the distance began to bother me. Aunt Linda was the first person I’d known who was completely on my side. She accepted me for who I was, faults and all, and I wanted to think I could talk to her about anything. It all sort of came to a head as we were sitting in the living room near the end of March. We’d had dinner, Bryce had gone home, and it was coming up on the time she usually went to bed. I cleared my throat awkwardly, and my aunt glanced up from her book.

“I’m glad you let me live here,” I said. “I don’t know if I’ve told you enough how thankful I am.”

She frowned. “What brought that on?”

“I don’t know. I guess I’ve been so busy lately that we haven’t had the chance to be alone so I could tell you how much I appreciate everything you’ve done for me.”

Her expression softened and she set the book aside. “You’re welcome. You’re family, of course, and that’s the reason I was initially willing to help. But once you got here, I began to realize how much I enjoyed having you around. I never had children of my own, and in some ways, I feel like you’ve become like the daughter I never had. I know it’s not my place to say such things, but I’ve learned that it’s okay at my age to pretend every once in a while.”

I moved my hand over the bulge of my stomach, thinking of everything I’d put her through. “I was a pretty terrible guest in the beginning.”

“You were fine.”

“I was moody and messy and zero fun to be around.”

“You were scared,” she said. “I knew that. Frankly, I was frightened, too.”

That, I hadn’t expected. “Why?”

“I worried that I wouldn’t be what you needed. And if that happened, I worried that you might have to go back to Seattle. Like your parents, I just wanted what was best for you.”

I fiddled with a few strands of my hair. “I still don’t know what I’m going to say to my friends when I get back. For all I know, some people already suspect the truth and they’re talking about me, or they’ll spread rumors that I was in rehab or something.”

Her expression remained calm. “A lot of the girls I worked with at the convent were afraid of the same thing. And the reality is, those things might happen, and it’s terrible when they do. And yet, you might be surprised. People tend to focus on their own lives, not someone else’s. As soon as you’re back, doing normal things with your friends, they’ll forget the fact that you were gone for a while.”

“Do you think so?”

“Every year, when school finishes, kids scatter to all sorts of different places all summer long, and while they might see some friends, they don’t see others. But as soon as they’re all back together, it’s like they were never apart.”

Though it was true, I also knew some who loved nothing better than juicy gossip, people who made themselves feel better by putting others down. I turned toward the window, noting the darkness beyond the glass, and wondered again why she hadn’t seemed to want to talk about my feelings for Bryce and their implications. In the end, I just came out with it.

“I’m in love with Bryce,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper.

“I know. I see the way you look at him.”

“He’s in love with me, too.”

“I know. I see the way he looks at you.”

“Do you think I’m too young to be in love?”

“That’s not for me to say. Do you think you’re too young?”

I suppose I should have expected her to turn the question around on me. “Part of me knows I love him, but there’s this other voice in my head whispering that I can’t possibly know, since I’ve never been in love before.”

“First love is different for everyone. But I think people know it when they feel it.”

“Have you ever been in love?” When she nodded, I was pretty certain she was referring to Gwen, but she didn’t elaborate so I went on. “How do you know for sure it’s love?”

For the first time, she laughed, not at me, but almost for herself. “Poets and musicians and writers and even scientists have been trying to answer that question since Adam and Eve. And keep in mind that for a long time, I was a nun. But if you’re asking me my opinion—and I lean toward the practical, less romantic side—I think it comes down to the past, the present, and the future.”

“I’m not sure what you mean,” I said, tilting my head.

“What attracted you to the other person in the past, how did that person treat you in the past, how compatible were you in the past? It’s the same questions in the present, except that a physical longing for the other person is added. The desire to touch and hold and kiss. And if all of the answers make you feel like you never want to be with anyone else, then it’s probably love.”

“My parents are going to be furious when they find out.”

“Are you going to tell them?”

I almost answered on instinct, but when I noticed my aunt had raised her eyebrow, my words caught in my throat. Was I actually going to tell them? Until that moment, I’d just assumed that I would, but even if I did, what did that mean for Bryce and me? In reality? Would we even be able to see each other? In the flurry of those thoughts, I remembered my aunt saying that love came down to the past, present, and…

“What does the future have to do with love?” I asked.

As soon as I asked, I realized that I already knew the answer. My aunt, however, kept her tone almost light.

“Can you see yourself being with the person in the future, for all the reasons you love them now, through all the inevitable challenges that will come to pass?”

“Oh” was all I could muster.

Aunt Linda absently tugged at her ear. “Have you ever heard of Sister Thérèse of Lisieux?”

“I can’t say that I have.”

“She was a French nun who lived in the 1800s. She was very holy, one of my heroes, really, and she probably wouldn’t have appreciated my reference about love also coming down to the future. She said, ‘When one loves, one does not calculate.’ She was a lot wiser than I can ever hope to be.”

My aunt Linda really was the best. But despite her comforting words that night, I was troubled and gripped Maggie-bear hard. It was a long time before I fell asleep.

As a highly skilled procrastinator—which I learned in school, as a result of being required to do boring school stuff—I managed not to think about the conversation with my aunt just yet. Instead, when thoughts of leaving Ocracoke and Bryce surfaced, I tried to remind myself of the when one loves, one does not calculate thing, and usually it worked. In all fairness, my ability to avoid thinking about the subject might have had to do with the fact that Bryce was so irresistibly good-looking and it was pretty easy for me to get lost in the moment.

Whenever Bryce and I were together, my brain kept me in gaga mode, probably because we continued to sneak kisses whenever possible. But in the evenings when I was alone in my room, I could practically hear the clock ticking toward my departure, especially whenever the baby moved. The reckoning was definitely coming, whether I wanted it or not.

The beginning of April found us taking photographs of the lighthouse, where I watched as Bryce changed lenses on the camera under a rainbow sky. Daisy trotted here and there, sniffing the ground and occasionally wandering over to check on him. The weather had warmed and Bryce was wearing a T-shirt. I caught myself staring at the starkly defined muscles in his arms as though they were a hypnotist’s pendulum. I was almost thirty-five weeks pregnant, and I’d had to put the brakes on bicycle riding with Bryce in the mornings, figuratively speaking anyway. I was also becoming more self-conscious about being seen in public. I didn’t want people on the island to assume that Bryce had knocked me up; Ocracoke was, after all, his home.

“Hey, Bryce?” I finally asked.

“Yes?”

“You know I have to go back to Seattle, right? Once I deliver the baby?”

Lifting his eyes from the camera, he gawked at me as though I were wearing a snow cone as a hat. “Really? You’re pregnant and leaving?”

“I’m being serious,” I said.

He lowered the camera. “Yeah,” he said. “I know.”

“Have you ever thought about what that might mean for us?”

“I’ve thought about it. But can I ask you a question?” When I indicated he could, he went on. “Do you love me?”

“Of course I do,” I said.

“Then we’ll find a way to make it work.”

“I’ll be three thousand miles away. I won’t be able to see you.”

“We can talk on the phone…”

“Long-distance calls are expensive. And even if I can figure out a way to pay for them myself, I’m not sure how often my parents will even let me call. And you’re going to be busy.”

“Then we’ll write to each other, okay?” For the first time, I heard anxiety creeping into his voice. “We’re not the first couple in history that had to figure out the long-distance thing, my parents included. My dad was deployed overseas for months at a time, twice for almost a year. And he travels all the time now.”

But they were married and had children together. “You’re going off to college while I still have two years of high school left.”

“So?”

You might meet someone better. She’ll be smarter and prettier and the two of you will have more in common than we do. I heard the voices in my head but said nothing, and Bryce approached. He touched my cheek, tracing it gently, then leaned in to kiss me, the feeling as light as the air itself. He held me then, neither of us saying anything until I finally heard him sigh.

“I’m not going to lose you,” he whispered, and while I closed my eyes and wanted to believe him, I still wasn’t sure how it would be possible.

In the days that followed, it seemed like both of us were trying to pretend that the conversation had never happened. And for the first time, there were moments when we were awkward in each other’s presence. I would catch him staring off into the distance and when I asked what he was thinking about, he’d shake his head and force a quick smile, or I’d cross my arms and suddenly sigh and realize that he knew exactly what I was thinking.

Though we didn’t talk, our need to touch became even more pronounced. He reached for my hand more frequently and I moved in for a hug whenever fears of the future intruded. When we kissed, his arms held me even tighter, as though clinging to an impossible hope.

We stayed in more due to the advanced state of my pregnancy. There were no more bike rides and instead of taking photos, I studied the ones in the file box. Even though it was probably safe, I nonetheless stayed out of the darkroom.

Just as I’d done throughout March, I worked extra hard on my readings and assignments, mainly as a distraction from the inevitable. I wrote an analysis of Romeo and Juliet, which wouldn’t have been possible without Bryce and was also my last big paper of the year in any class. As I’d read the play, I’d wondered at times whether I was even reading English; he’d had to translate virtually every passage. But by contrast, when I played around with Photoshop, I trusted my instincts and continued to surprise both Bryce and his mom.

Still, Daisy seemed to sense the cloud hanging over Bryce and me; she frequently nuzzled one of my hands while Bryce held the other. One Thursday after dinner, I walked Bryce to the porch while my aunt simultaneously found a reason to check something in the kitchen. Daisy followed us out and sat beside me, gazing up at Bryce as he kissed me. I felt his tongue meet my own, and afterward, he leaned his forehead gently against mine while we held each other.

“What are you doing Saturday?” he finally asked.

I assumed he was asking me to go on another date. “Saturday night, you mean?”

“No,” he said with a shake of his head. “During the day. I have to bring Daisy to Goldsboro. I know you’ve been trying to keep a low profile, but I was hoping you’d come with me. I don’t want to be alone on the drive back and my mom has to stay with the twins. Otherwise they might accidentally blow up the house.”

Though I’d known it was coming, the idea that Daisy was leaving made a lump form in my throat. I automatically reached for her, my fingers finding her ears.

“Yeah…Okay.”

“Do you need to ask your aunt? Since it’s the day before Easter?”

“I’m sure she’ll let me go. I’ll talk to her later and if anything changes, I’ll let you know.”

His lips were pursed as he nodded. I stared down at Daisy, feeling my eyes well with tears.

“I’m going to miss her.”

Daisy whined at the sound of my voice. When I looked at Bryce, I realized his eyes were glistening as well.

On Saturday, we caught the early ferry from Ocracoke and made the long drive from the coast to Goldsboro, an hour past New Bern. Daisy rode in the front of the truck, sandwiched between us on the seat, both of us running our fingers through her fur. Content to soak up the affection, she barely moved at all.

Eventually, we pulled into a Wal-Mart parking lot, and Bryce spotted the people he’d come to meet. They were standing near a pickup truck with a plastic kennel in the bed. Bryce angled the truck toward them, slowing gradually. Daisy sat up to see what was happening and stared through the windshield, excited about a new adventure but clueless as to what was really happening.

Because the lot was crowded with Saturday shoppers, Bryce hooked the leash to Daisy’s collar before opening the door. He got out first and Daisy jumped down, her nose going to the ground so she could sniff her new surroundings. Meanwhile, I crawled down from my side, which was becoming a serious challenge by that point, and I joined Bryce. He offered me the leash.

“Can you hold this for a minute? I need to get her paperwork from the truck.”

“Of course.”

I bent lower, petting Daisy again. By then, the visitors had started toward us, both coming across as far more relaxed than I felt. One was a woman in her forties who wore her long red hair in a ponytail; the man appeared to be about ten years older and was dressed in a polo and chinos. Their familiar demeanor made it clear they knew Bryce well.

Bryce shook both their hands before handing over the folder. They introduced themselves to me as Jess and Toby, and I said hello. I watched their eyes flash momentarily to my tummy and I crossed my arms, more self-conscious than usual. They were kind enough not to stare, and after a minute of small talk about the drive and what he’d been up to lately, Bryce began to fill them in on Daisy’s training. Even so, I knew they were trying to figure out whether Bryce was the father of the baby, and I focused on Daisy again. I barely paid attention to the conversation. When Daisy licked my fingers, I knew I’d never see her again and felt tears beginning to form.

Jess and Toby clearly knew the drill and that prolonging the goodbye would only make things harder for Bryce. They brought the conversation to a close and Bryce squatted lower. He took Daisy’s face in his hands, the two of them staring at each other.

“You’re the best dog I’ve ever had,” he said, his voice choking slightly. “I know you’re going to make me proud and that your new owner is going to love you as much as I do.”

Daisy seemed to absorb every word, and when Bryce kissed the top of her head, her eyes closed. He handed the leash to Toby and turned away, his expression grim, walking toward the truck without another word. I, too, kissed Daisy one last time and followed. Peeking over my shoulder, I saw Daisy sitting patiently, watching Bryce. Her head was tilted to the side as though she was wondering where he was going, a sight that nearly broke my heart. Bryce opened my door and helped me up into the truck, remaining silent.

He got in beside me. In the side mirror, I spotted Daisy again. She continued to watch us as Bryce started the engine. The truck moved forward slowly, passing one parked car after another. Bryce focused directly ahead of him, and we rolled through the parking lot, toward the exit.

There was a stop sign but no traffic. Bryce turned onto the access road, the trip back to Ocracoke already underway. I peered over my shoulder one last time. Daisy remained seated, her head still tilted, no doubt watching the truck grow smaller in the distance. I wondered if she was confused or frightened or sad, but she was too far away to tell. I watched Toby finally tug the leash, and Daisy followed slowly to the rear of his truck. He lowered the tailgate and Daisy hopped up; then we passed another building, blocking them entirely from view, and suddenly she was gone. Forever.

Bryce remained quiet. I knew he was hurting and knew how much he’d miss the dog he’d raised since she was a puppy. I swiped at my tears, unsure what to say. To voice the obvious meant little when the wound was so fresh.

Up ahead was the on-ramp for the highway, but Bryce began to slow the truck. For an instant, I thought he was going to return to the parking lot, so he could really say goodbye to Daisy. But he didn’t. He turned the truck into a gas station, coming to a stop near the edge of the property, where he shut off the ignition.

After swallowing hard, he lowered his face into his hands. His shoulders began to quake and when I heard the sound of him crying, it was impossible to keep my own tears in check. I sobbed and he sobbed and though we were together, we were alone in our sadness, both of us already missing our beloved Daisy.