The day came. At breakfast, Buddy announced he and Matthew would be leaving on the 5:00 bus early the next morning. Adele's composure cracked wide open, and there in front of Buddy and Mother and Matthew, too, Adele began to sob. "Nevermind me," she gasped, trying to shake the tears away but unable to cease their mighty flow. Buddy rushed around the table and crouched next to her, wrapping his arm around her shoulders. "Don't cry, Dellie," he said, heartbroken. "You know I got ta go. You've known it all along." "I know," Adele conceded, still weeping pathetically as she tried to collect herself to some impression of maturity. "Don't mind me, Buddy. It's just tears. I have known all along." Buddy gave Mother a withered look. "I'll visit again soon, Mother, I promise. I won't let four years go by like that again before I come back." Mother nodded, agreeing, but grave, and Adele saw immediately she was unconvinced. "I know, Buddy. It's alright." Buddy took a cloth napkin from Adele's place setting and dabbed at her face. "There, there now...I'll come back to visit 'fore ya know it. You'll see." Adele took a deep, deep breath. She stared blindly out the kitchen window. How meaningless the morning. How absurd, how cruel, that out this same window weeks before, Adele had seen a morning heaven-adorned. How life turns on a dime. She dried her face and turned to Buddy, placing her palm on his cheek and offering him a weak but comforting smile. "I know, Buddy. It's alright. It just wouldn't be right if I didn't miss you. But I know. It's alright." It was enough for him. He patted her leg and went back to his chair, squeezing Mother's hand before he picked up his fork again. Mother nodded. "Adele's right, Buddy. Wouldn't be right if we didn't miss you." "I know, Mother. Won't be no time at all. You'll see." Adele righted herself, and when she saw Matthew had left the table, the biscuits and honey on Adele's plate were doomed to grow cold. Adele excused herself from the table and retreated to the bathroom to rinse her face. She saw the color drained from her cheeks and spider-thin lines netting the whites of her eyes. She was completely assaulted by the obviousness of her anguish, and she was all at once certain Mother and Buddy, too, could not help but have noticed. And if they had indeed seen through her as she suspected, then it made sense to do nothing else but leave Baskin, rather than endure the shame in having betrayed every good moral she possessed, and every good person who loved her and whom she loved. She swore to herself she would never let Buddy down; she would never give him any reason to doubt her. For all the long years they had behind them, Adele was Buddy's anchor and his sunshine. She was his harbor and his zephyr. She had been the constant when Daddy died, when they suspected Mother might not survive. What did it mean that Adele was capable of trading all the years that she and Buddy had together for something so fleeting and uncertain as Matthew Eaton? And then, Matthew Eaton was not hers, nor was she his. There was no substance at all to the hours they had together. There was no future. No present. Years ago, when Mother had first introduced to Adele's young mind the nature of this thing called "love," a strict, distilled concept took form. "Love," said Mother, "is a gift we're to accept as it is, and then we spend the rest of our lives doing our best to make it better. And if it can't be done, then we spend the rest of our lives accepting that it'll never change. If you can do that, you’ll be happy come hail ‘r high water." Such a washed philosophy might shatter anyone else, such a sterile perspective. Where was the fire and the burning and the storm-sweeping euphoria? Where was the delirium? The flight? The sweet confusion? Where were those things of which poets wrote? Those things of which girls like Adele and Mona spoke long into the night? Apparently, there were none, but instead of losing all hope love might one day be a lovely, fulfilling thing, Adele grew comfortable with the idea of the expected. This is why she was never tempted to chase or be chased. This is why she never gave any thought to what life might be like with a man. She already knew. She’d been a knowing woman, and she’d been a patient woman. And yet, she had chased. And she had relished the run. It would be easy to return to the predictable, generic monotony of Baskin life, and Yes, she thought. It would be possible to be happy, to forget Matthew Eaton and poetry and rose petals. Adele dried her face with a towel, straightened her blouse, and left the house to walk as long as it took to feel the way she did before Buddy ever came home. She knew she'd find Matthew in the playhouse, and as she stepped into the dank little room that comprised the entire structure, she saw the shadow of him crouched in a far corner. He sat still and silent as she drew near. She stood next to him, and he rested his head on her thigh. She wound her fingers into his hair. They remained locked together, one crouching, one standing, for several minutes. It became clearer to Adele as the minutes passed that words were ineffectual and vain. They both knew the pricelessness of their very first embrace. And they both knew how costly it would be. And they both knew that there would be no mercy for them as it was time to render what was owed. Adele knelt next to Matthew. He opened his arm to her and she fell against him. Soon, they were both asleep, and they did not return to the house until well after dark. Baskin was still black when Buddy roused Adele. "Come on, Dellie. Mother made some coffee," he whispered. Adele rose, numb and apathetic, and accomplished the few tasks required to ready herself for the drive back to Roe. On the porch, Mother hugged Buddy to her and held him for a long time. She mussed his hair and kissed his forehead, and it reminded Adele of the days when Buddy would leave for weekend fishing trips to Gaines Lake. Even though she knew he'd be back home before supper on Sunday evening, she never failed to keep him close to her much longer than necessary, a gesture which afforded Buddy considerable embarrassment, where the Howard boys were concerned. But as he grew older, he understood. And now, as Mother smiled warmly and mildly at her grown boy, he wouldn't have it any other way. It would be much different for Adele. The bus station was abandoned but for Buddy, Adele, and Matthew. The night mist rolled in like angry smoke, blanketing the roads and the roofs in a thick, unforgiving gray. They knew the bus had arrived, because the headlights cut through the air like bright swords. The air smelled dank and old. No wind blew, and the low clouds crept along the ground like a congregation of ghosts. The bus door creaked open, and a man clothed in shadow leaned out and whistled. “5:00 to Shreveport,” he said. Buddy hoisted his canvas bag back onto his shoulder, leaning under its weight. He moved close to Adele and pressed his forehead against hers. “Be good, Dellie,” he said. “I will, Buddy.” “Take care o’ Mother.” “You know I will.” Buddy kissed Adele’s cheek and hugged her tight. He smiled broadly and tapped the top of his hat before he turned and stepped into the bus. “Goodbye, Buddy,” Adele whispered, and she immediately felt the world return to some rightness. Matthew stood several feet away from her. He watched Buddy disappear to the back of the bus before he approached. He came near her until she could feel his breath on her face. She could see hours’, days’, weeks’ worth of words on his lips, but she knew he’d offer none. She had no words for him, either. Her faculties were already caught up in the task of desperately racing to etch every detail of his face into memory, because she was sure she’d never see it again. The bus driver whistled a second time, and Adele glimpsed Buddy at the back of the bus, peering down into his lap. It appeared he would grant them one moment, of which they must be entitled. Matthew tenderly placed his hands on Adele’s cheeks, and he kissed her softer than any word he’d ever said--if it could at all be called a kiss. His lips brushed hers with less than a sigh between them, and the warmth of the contact was minutely perceptible. But it was enough to say goodbye, and it was enough that Adele remembered it even seven decades later, on a brutally cold day in January.