A Voice From Another Life
"Tommy? Tommy Johnson?"
No one had called him Tommy since 1986. He turned slowly, already knowing who he would see. Already feeling his heart rate climb.
She looked different, of course. Her dark hair had gone silver at the temples. Lines bracketed her mouth, her eyes. But those eyes were the same. Deep brown with flecks of gold that caught the light. He'd written bad poetry about those eyes in high school.
"Sarah," he said. Her name felt strange in his mouth, like a word he'd known in another language.
"Oh my god." She laughed, and that was the same too. That surprised, delighted laugh that had haunted his dreams for years after she'd left. "I can't believe it. You're still in town?"
"Still here." He shrugged. "Never left."
The line moved. They moved with it, but Thomas was barely aware of the people around them, the hiss of the espresso machine, the indie music playing too loud. The world had narrowed to this woman he hadn't seen in two decades.
Twenty Years in Five Minutes
They ordered their drinks and found a table in the corner, by the window. Outside, people walked past living their ordinary Tuesdays, unaware that inside this coffee shop, time had folded in on itself.
"So," Sarah said, wrapping her hands around her latte. "Twenty years."
"Twenty-three," Thomas corrected. "You left the summer after graduation. August 1986."
She raised an eyebrow. "You remember the month?"
He remembered everything. The smell of her shampoo. The way she'd cried at the bus station. The letter she'd sent from California three months later, saying she'd met someone, saying she was sorry, saying goodbye.
"I have a good memory," he said.
They exchanged the vital statistics of their lives. Thomas talked about Ellen, the marriage that had been good and then hard and then good again. The kids, grown now, scattered across the country. The job he'd just retired from. Sarah talked about California, then Oregon, then a brief disastrous move to Florida. A marriage that ended badly. A career in publishing that ended better. A recent move back to take care of her mother.
"She's in a home now," Sarah said. "Doesn't recognize me most days. But I sit with her anyway."
"I'm sorry."
"Don't be. It's life." She took a sip of her latte. "So. Ellen. Tell me about her."
What Remains Unspoken
Thomas told her about Ellen. How they'd met at work, which seemed boring but was actually romantic if you knew the details. How she'd been sick last year but was better now, thank God. How she was learning to paint and was surprisingly good at it.
"She sounds wonderful," Sarah said, and meant it.
"She is."
They sat in silence for a moment. Outside, a dog walked past, tugging its owner toward the park. The coffee shop had emptied out as the morning rush faded.
"Can I tell you something?" Sarah asked.
Thomas's stomach tightened. "Sure."
"I thought about you. Over the years. Wondered what would have happened if I'd stayed." She held up a hand. "I'm not trying to start anything. I'm not that person. I just... I wanted you to know. That summer we had, it wasn't nothing to me. It wasn't just a high school thing."
Thomas looked at her. At the girl she'd been underneath the woman she'd become. "I know," he said. "It wasn't nothing to me either."
"I shouldn't have sent that letter. I should have called. I should have given you a chance to..." She stopped. Shook her head. "What's the point. It was a hundred years ago."
"Twenty-three."
She laughed again, that surprised laugh. "Twenty-three."
The Closing of a Circle
They talked for another hour. About books they'd read. Movies they'd seen. The way the town had changed and the way it hadn't. It was easy, talking to her. It had always been easy.
When they finally stood to leave, Sarah touched his arm. "Tommy. I'm glad I ran into you."
"Me too."
"Maybe we could do this again sometime? Just coffee. Just... catching up. As old friends."
Thomas thought about Ellen at home, probably in her studio with a paintbrush in her hand, sunlight streaming through the windows. He thought about the life he'd built, the choices that had led him here. He thought about the boy he'd been at eighteen, heartbroken at a bus station, watching the love of his life drive away.
"I'd like that," he said. And he meant it as exactly what it was: two people who had once meant everything to each other, learning to be something smaller and simpler. Something possible.
Sarah smiled. The same smile from across the chemistry lab in junior year. The same smile from the night of prom when she'd said yes before he'd even finished asking.
"Same time next week?"
"I'll be here."
They walked out of the coffee shop together, then went their separate ways on the sidewalk. Thomas headed home to Ellen, to the life he'd chosen, to the happiness he'd found by not looking back.
But he glanced over his shoulder once. Just once.
Sarah was glancing back too.
They both smiled, then turned away, walking into their separate futures. The past was still the past. But somehow, it felt lighter now. Forgiven. Complete.