Natalie smiled. “I can understand why you were so intent on helping her. She’s…compelling. It’s hard to believe she’s only sixteen. She’s more mature than a lot of the adults I know. I wonder how she’ll adapt to living with her family again and going to high school and doing things normal teenagers do.”

“It’ll be an adjustment for sure. It might take some getting used to, but I have a feeling she’s going to be okay.”

“I think so, too. Oh, on another note, your grandfather was a very clever man.”

“In what way?”

“Had he said the name Callie in the hospital room, we might never have found out who she really was. We never would have tried to find a Karen.”

I considered that, realizing she was right. My grandfather never ceased to amaze me.

“Robertson was right, too,” she went on. “When he told us that we could have found the information ourselves. I visited the website for the GBI, and it took all of five minutes to find her once I had her real first name and knew what she looked like. We didn’t have to travel to Georgia.”

“I’m still glad we went,” I said. “Otherwise, I might not have seen you again.”

She stared down at her coffee cup. “I’m going to miss you.”

Me too. More than you’ll ever know. “I think I’m going to harvest some of the honey before I go. Do you want to come over and help? I’ll show you how to spin and filter the combs, and if you’re lucky, I might let you take a few jars home.”

She hesitated, then said, “I don’t think that’s such a good idea. Knowing that you’re leaving is already hard enough.”

“So this is it? Our last goodbye?”

“I don’t want to think of it like that.”

“How do you want to think about it?”

She paused, reflecting. “I want to remember our time together as if it were a beautiful dream,” she finally said. “In the moment, it was powerful and real and completely transporting.”

But then you have to wake up, I thought. “I’ll probably have to come back to New Bern from time to time to check on the house and the hives. Would you like me to let you know when I’m in town? Maybe we could meet for the occasional lunch or dinner?”

“Maybe…” But even as she said it, I had the sense that she would prefer that I didn’t. Still, I played along.

“I’ll let you know.”

“Thanks. When do you think you’ll be leaving?”

“In a couple of weeks, probably. I want to have time to get settled in before the program starts.”

“Of course,” she said.

“And you? Any summer plans?”

“The usual,” she said. “I’ll probably spend a few weekends here and there with my parents at the beach.”

It pained me to hear how stilted our conversation was and I wondered why talking had seemed so much easier only days earlier. This wasn’t the way I imagined saying goodbye, but like her, I didn’t know how to change it.

“If you ever make it up to Baltimore or DC, let me know. I’ll be happy to show you around. We could visit the Smithsonian.”

“I’ll do that,” she promised, even though both of us knew she wouldn’t. As she said it, her lips trembled.

“Natalie…”

“I should probably go,” she said, suddenly standing. “I have to get back to work.”

“I know.”

“I’ll swing by your grandfather’s house while you’re away. Make sure no vagrants break in.”

“I’d appreciate that.”

We left the cafeteria and I walked her to the main entrance, even though I wasn’t sure she wanted me to.

Reaching the doors, I followed her outside, thinking that all of this was happening too fast. Unable to stop myself, I suddenly took her hand in mine. She paused, turning toward me, and the sight of the tears beginning to spill over her lashes brought a hard knot to my throat. Though I knew I shouldn’t, I leaned in, my lips gently touching hers, before wrapping my arms around her. I kissed the top of her head and pulled her close.

“I understand, Natalie,” I murmured into her hair. “I do.”

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered back, her body trembling against mine.

“I love you, and I’ll never forget you.”

“I love you, too.”

The sun was high and bright, the air sultry with humidity and heat. I was vaguely aware of a man strolling past us holding a bouquet of flowers; an elderly woman in a wheelchair was rolled outside a few seconds later. Inside the hospital, women were giving birth to children who had their whole lives ahead of them while other patients were reaching the ends of theirs. It was an ordinary day but nothing was ordinary for me, and as tears pricked my eyes, I wanted nothing more than to make this moment last forever.

Within a couple of days, Dr. Nobles informed me that Heather’s bone marrow was a six-out-of-six HLA match for Callie; Tammy’s was five out of six. Additional screening and testing were already underway, but Dr. Nobles was confident that the match was a successful one.

Later in the week, Nobles confirmed it, and that both the transfer and the transplant were scheduled for a date the following week, when I would already be in Baltimore. Though there were certainly risks on the horizon and Callie would remain on medication for years, Dr. Nobles was optimistic that in the long run, she would be able to lead a normal life.

I continued to spend time with Callie and her family at the hospital right up until my departure; when I wasn’t there, I was packing and getting the house ready for its impending vacancy. On my last full day there, a cleaning crew scoured the house from top to bottom and linens were stored in plastic bags to prevent mold and dust from forming. I met again with the property manager and the contractor, supervising the delivery of the roofing and flooring materials and their storage in the barn.

I also harvested the honey. I kept several jars for myself, sold much of the remainder to Claude, and also left some on Natalie’s doorstep. However, I didn’t knock at the door nor did I call.

I thought about her constantly; I awakened to memories of her scent and her smile; she was the last image I saw before closing my eyes at night. Throughout my remaining days in New Bern, I wondered what she was doing at any given moment and where she was. I no longer felt complete, as if part of me had been hollowed out, leaving only an aching void. Before Natalie, I used to believe that with love, anything was possible. Now I understand that sometimes love isn’t enough.

It wasn’t until I’d been living in Baltimore for three days that I found the letter Natalie had left for me, tucked into one of the boxes of books that had been in the back of my SUV. At first, I couldn’t identify the envelope and considered throwing it away. When I realized that it was sealed, however, curiosity won out. Recognizing her signature at the bottom of the letter, I suddenly couldn’t catch my breath.

I walked like a zombie to the living room and sat on the couch. It was still daylight, with light pouring through the French doors, and in the silence of my new apartment, I finally began to read.

When I finished reading the letter, I rose from my spot on the couch and wandered to the kitchen on unsteady legs. Opening the refrigerator, I found a beer and twisted off the cap before taking a long pull. Then, returning to the living room, I stared out the French doors, imagining where Natalie might be in this very moment—perhaps visiting her parents at the beach and taking a long and quiet stroll on the shore. Every now and then, she would examine a seashell, or maybe stop to follow the flight of some pelicans as they skimmed low over the breakers. Perhaps, I wanted to believe, she was remembering me in that very same instant, holding our love close like a comforting secret in her otherwise merciless world.

I was glad she’d written me the letter and wondered whether she wanted a letter in return. Maybe I’d write one, or because it might make things even more difficult for her, maybe I wouldn’t. I didn’t have the energy to make that decision.

Instead, returning to the couch, I set the beer on the table. And with a sigh, I began to read the letter again.