This Is What Happy Looks Like(82)

“Okay,” he said cheerfully. “Then I’ll take one by a dead guy. In one of those frames. How’s that?”

“Graham,” she said, her voice cracking. “This isn’t your problem.”

“It’s about you,” he said with a little smile, as if that were reason enough, as if that explained everything.

She felt a rush of gratitude then, a slow yielding of the most stubborn parts of her. No matter how hard she tried to steer her thoughts elsewhere, they kept circling back to the pictures she’d seen of Harvard, the redbrick buildings and leafy sidewalks, the classrooms where she’d learn about her favorite poets. It was easy, in a way, to imagine herself there, and she could feel herself giving in to the pull of it.

“And a bet’s a bet,” Graham was saying, “so it’s only fair.”

Once again, Joe arrived at the table, but this time, he was carrying two plates. On each one, there were three whoopie pies stacked in artistic fashion, and Ellie sat up in her chair to get a better view. They were like oversize Oreos, two enormous chocolate cookies sandwiched on either side of a layer of thick white frosting. As Joe set a plate down in front of each of them, Ellie tried to imagine the lengths to which Graham must have gone to get them here. He’d made her a promise, and he’d delivered. Just as he said he would.

“So,” Joe asked. “Who won the bet?”

“She did,” Graham said, and Joe gave Ellie’s shoulder a little squeeze before heading back toward the kitchen. When he was gone, she glanced up again.

“Graham,” she said, and he looked back at her with such intensity that she felt her breath catch in her throat.

“It’s already done,” he said. “I had it all arranged this morning.”

“You did?”

“I did,” he said. “You’re going to Harvard.”

She smiled. “For a couple of weeks anyway.”

“At least to start.”

“Thank you,” she said, feeling that the words weren’t big enough to contain all that she really wanted to say. But it seemed to her right then that he understood, and that somehow, it was enough.

“Now eat,” he said, picking up one of his whoopie pies. “You can’t properly call yourself a Mainer until you’ve at least sampled the state treat.”

Afterward, they stepped out of the restaurant and into the darkened street together. It wasn’t yet nine, but the sidewalks were mostly empty, everyone still worn out from last night’s celebration. Even so, it was unexpectedly thrilling, being out in public together, and when Graham extended his hand, Ellie took it in hers, and they began to walk.

“I bet you’ll be happy to get back to Middle-of-Everything, California,” she said as they wove across the green.

“Maybe a little,” he said. “But I’ll miss Middle-of-Nowhere, Maine.”

“Maybe you’ll come back one day,” she said, looking at him sideways. She half expected him to make some kind of joke, but he seemed to consider this for a moment before nodding, his face serious.

“Maybe,” he said. They passed the spot where they’d been sitting last night, watching each other as if there were nothing else around them, no exploding lights or booming music. “Or maybe we’ll see each other somewhere else.”

“Any chance your world tour is taking you to Boston?”

“It would probably help if I actually checked my schedule,” he said. “But it’s possible.”

“I’m sure there’s plenty of trouble we could get into down there.”

Graham grinned. “I’ve always wanted to steal a swan boat.”

“And we’ll write,” Ellie said, without looking over at him.

“And we’ll write,” he agreed.

“Just don’t screw up my e-mail address.”

“That,” he said, still smiling, “doesn’t sound like me at all.”

They continued to walk, passing place after familiar place as if to rewind the past weeks: the spot near the gazebo where they’d stood after Graham chased her in only his swim trunks, the shuttered window of the deli where she’d spilled the candy, the place where she’d seen him on that very first day, looking distant and surprisingly sad, a sorrow so deep that it seemed to hold her there, just watching him.

That was gone now, that look in his eyes.

It had been replaced by something lighter, something more peaceful.

Their destination was never discussed, but even so, there was an understanding between them, no less certain for being unspoken, and when they reached the grove of trees that led down to the beach—not just any beach, but their beach—they veered toward it together. At the entrance, Graham hesitated. But only for a moment, and then Ellie tugged gently on his hand, leading him across the threshold where the road turned to trees, and then the trees to stones, and then, finally, the stones disappeared into the water.

Ellie felt her heart swell at the sight of the ocean, the reflection of the moon streaked across it like the wake of a boat. The wind carried the scent of it, briny and thick, and the stars were bright overhead. They kicked off their sandals and walked down to the water, standing at the edge of the surf, which was black as the sky.

“I love this,” Ellie said, wiggling her toes, and Graham smiled.