The only light in the room was from the fire, but that was fine with the occupant. The fire was bright and warm, dancing happily and crackling over the wood. It reminded her of when she was younger - before the cabin had been hers, when it had belonged to her grandfather, and they would come to fish and relax in the summer. The room was masculine in decoration, much like a traditional lodge, and though it belonged to her and she was, by nature, quite a bit more feminine, she had neither the want nor will to change it.

Things had been simple then. “Simpler and happier,” she thought bitterly to herself as she eyed the shoe box on the bearskin rug in front of the fire. She had half a mind just to up and kick the damnable thing into the fireplace and consider herself done with it. However, she also had sense enough to know that she needed to do the thing properly - especially since it had required the trip to the little cabin to get this far in the first place - and sort through the box in it’s entirety. She was fortunate, though, to be in the right place; for if there ever was a place to fix things, surely this was it.

Curled into the butter leather of her grandfather’s chair and wrapped securely in the afghan her grandmother had knitted, she studied the box. It was large - obviously one from his shoes, not hers - and well worn around the edges. Loved, though it was only a shoe box, and filled with memories. Memories she’d been lost in for too long now. Memories that she held onto for dear life. Memories that, until now, she’d depended on.

She was really just being silly now. The time to break their hold had long ago passed, but until recently, she’d found herself unable to find the will, and a way, to let them go. But now, now it was time. This would be her last chance, and it was not an opportunity she intended to miss. If it took her all of winter, she would set herself free. The cabin was good motivation too, it was not insulated, and she’d taken a solemn vow not to leave it, or rather the surrounding area (which consisted of a few other cabins, woods, a small grocery store/gas station, and a café with comfy chairs and long books), until she’d straightened this mess, namely herself, out.

With renewed resolve, the brunette unwound the afghan and pushed herself out of the chair. She plopped down onto the rug, next to the box and in front of the fire, and steeled her nerves. Warmth from the fire washed over her, and she didn’t feel quite as alone as she had before. The lid from the box came off slowly, and the first object made its appearance. A dried flower, a tiger lily.

“For me?” she asked, accepting the bouquet he’d presented with a flourish when she answered the door.

“Unless you’re a twin,” he quipped.

“Thank you. How did you know they’re my favorite?”

“I didn’t. I picked the ones that seemed the most like you.” He flashed her a grin, and she returned it, believing his sincerity.

“Fool,” she declared. Into the fire the still brilliant lily went.

She reached determinedly back into the box. Next came out a small glass figurine of indefinable form.

“Hurry! Turn it, turn it!” she urged, laughing as he blew the hot glass.

“It won’t go,” he cried, joining in her laughter while she kissed his cheek.

The man running the booth at the fair hustled over to help them. “Turn it here, no, like this. What are you trying to make?”

“A dog,” he lied, bold as brass, without missing a beat. Perhaps the problem had been that there was no clear plan of action from the beginning.

The booth man looked at him incredulously. “A dog? I, well,” he paused, scratching his balding head and studying the piece as he broke it off the wand. “I suggest you keep your day job.”

“Jerk.” The dog joined the lily, though it shattered into a million different pieces, shimmering against the brick of the hearth before landing in the fire.

It took several deep breaths and whispered oaths, but her hand crept back into the box nevertheless. Two down. Another deep breath, and she’d found the third item. Two curses about her cowardice later, she managed to pry her eyes open to find what she’d pulled out. A class schedule, with biology notes scribbled all on the back. Oh dear, this one could be problematic.

“Excuse me,” he said, tapping on her shoulder as he slid into the seat next to her. “I forgot my notebook, is there any way I could borrow something to write on?”

“It’s the first day of classes. How could you forget paper?” she asked incredulously, though he was a total stranger.

“Actually, I think it’s on my kitchen table,” he admitted.

She laughed. “No problem, let me just...” she dropped into silence as she blindly fished around in her backpack. She pulled it up onto her lap and fished a little more frantically before finally breaking down and spreading the zipper apart to peer into it. No paper. “I’m sorry. I don’t know that I can help you,” she sheepishly confessed.

He arched a dark eyebrow at her. “It’s the first day of classes.”

“Oh...shut up.” She pulled out a folder and discovered two pieces of paper. Examining the back of one of them, she discovered her class schedule and passed him the other - believing it to be the extra page that always printed with only one line of information on it - without thinking twice. “Be conservative, that’s all I have.”

Needless to say, she’d been quite surprised to receive a call from him that evening. She definitely hadn’t given him her number.

“The paper you gave me was a copy of your class schedule; it had your phone number on it. ...I hope it’s okay that I gave you a call.”

She smiled to herself and held her finger to her lips to signal her roommate to be quiet. “It’s fine.”

"Good. Umm, look, I was wondering... I mean, I know we just met and all, but I was wondering if maybe you’d like to go out sometime, or something.”

Her jaw dropped. “I, uh, yeah! I’d love to!”

“Great! I guess we can figure it out tomorrow, in class?”

“If you bring paper,” she teased.

“Oh, I’ll have paper. You can count on it.”

“Oh God. You unbelievable idiot,” she chastised herself. How did she fall for that? She was pathetic. Absolutely pathetic. Well, no more. That was changing. ASAP. She plunged back into the box, but the moment her fingertips brushed over the cool metal she snatched her hand back like she’d been scalded.

“Tomorrow,” she thought, hating herself. “I’ve done enough for tonight. This can wait until tomorrow.”

She decided that since the weather was nice, though a little chilly for mid-fall, she would take out the old boat and continue her healing. However, it wouldn’t do to sail on an empty stomach, and since it was already past time for lunch, she decided to treat herself to a trip to the café. She left the box in the car, though she was slightly paranoid someone would steal it, even though it was just an old box containing only a few items of what would likely be considered junk to the rest of the world. On her way through the swinging glass door, a man bumped into her and spilt his coffee (which had thankfully cooled to more of a luke warm temperature) all over her clothes.

“I’m so sorry. Oh, gosh. Sorry, really I am...” he stammered.

He would have continued to apologize, she was sure, had she not cut him off. “It’s okay, it was old...”

“No, no. Really it’s not, what can I do? Maybe buy you a drink? I think I’ve ruined your sweater. Please let me do something for you.”

Goodness. He sounded as if he was going to have a nervous breakdown, and so she obliged him and allowed him to buy her a coffee. When she ordered a sandwich, he protested and absolutely insisted on buying that as well.

He left her with a smile and a wave as she found her favorite of the cafe’s many books. When she found it on the bottom of the heap, she almost gave a little squeal, but restrained herself to a small, delighted clap and a large smile as she carried it back to her seat.

After lunch, she headed out to the lake and settled herself carefully into the old john-boat, lest it become finicky and toss her into the water, before paddling herself away from the shore. She opened the box carefully and sat it at her feet before steadying herself and reaching in. Her fingers closed around the edges of another piece of paper, and she pulled it out with a heavy heart. It was a list of short notes, undoubtedly jotted in the rush of something or other, in his scratchy handwriting.

You have no idea how much I miss you here. I can’t wait to be home and with you again.

Today has been rough. I wish you were here with me, but on second thought, I wouldn’t want you anywhere near here. I love you.

We’re being sent to another city. Traveling is the worst. The only plane I want to be on is one heading home.

All my love,
Austin

“Liar!” she cried. She ripped the letter of notes into shreds and threw them over the side into the lake. She instantly regretted the action and plunged her hand into the icy cold water, leaning precariously out over the edge of the boat, but they were already too deep, swirling gently down just out of reach of her fingers. The ink had already run to unreadable on the pieces, except for the one nearest her fingers.

“All my love.” The light bounced against it, and the ink bled into the water as it sank into the darkness.

“Liar,” she choked out again, recoiling into the safety of the boat. It took all of a minute before she lost control of her tears, and they spilled down her cheeks. The problem was that he wasn’t a liar at all, and she knew it. It would have been easier to deal with if he had been a liar, or a cad, or cheat, anything other than the good man that he was.

She reached into her beloved box and snatched out the last item. The metal clinked against itself as she jerked it out of the box and clutched it to her. It was cool and smooth against the heat of the skin above her heart.

It would have been easier if he’d chosen to leave her. If he hadn’t promised to return.

"Kit, if I don't…"

"Don't Austin. You will. You have to. Promise me."

"I can't."

"Promise me, Austin. I can't without you. I just can't."

"I promise. I'll come back, I promise."

“Why did you leave me here alone?” she yelled at the sky.

The sky had no answer.

And when the last tear had fallen, she studied the dog tags one more time. She was being silly now. “He wouldn’t want this for me.” The thought hit her like a tone of bricks, and it nearly sent her into another tailspin of tears. Of course he wouldn’t want her to sequester herself from the rest of the world with only pity and misery for company.

"Catherine, where are you going? He wouldn't want you to shut us all out." Her mother, as she'd gotten into the car to come to the cabin

"Kitty, dear, you have to move on. It's been long enough. He would want you to." His mother, when she'd refused yet another night out on the town with her friends and his sister.

"He isn't coming back, Cat. He's not. He's gone." His brother, days after she'd refused to believe the men on their porch.

"He was a good man, Catherine, he would never expect you to carry on like this for him. He would want you to be happy, even without him." Her papaw, just before he left too; the last bit of wisdom he'd imparted to his granddaughter. The inspiration for her trip, nearly a year overdue now.

She smiled slightly at a memory long past, and pressed his dog tags to her heart again. When she was finished remembering, she raised them to her lips and pressed a kiss onto the metal.

“I love you,” she said, releasing the tags into the water, watching them sink into the depths.

She tied the boat securely to the dock and was halfway to the car before she realized she’d forgotten her shoe box. And finding that she was somehow still unable to part with it, she hurried back to fetch it. She was surprised to find a picture of the two of them smiling up at her from the bottom of the box, but she was more surprised to feel a smile upon her face rather than a wrenching in her heart.

The next day at the little café, she let the back cover of the longtime favorite book from her childhood close with a satisfying little thunk and rose from her chair, only to run into the man from the day before for a second time in as many days.

“Oh, geez, I’m sorry,” she apologized, and she would have continued but she made the mistake of looking up and recognizing him, upon which she immediately blushed crimson.

“It’s alright, no coffee,” he said with a laugh. “You know, I was cleaning out the basement of my family’s lodge up here yesterday, and I ran across something. I know it’s odd, but I just really felt like you should have it, especially since I’ve made a clod of myself twice now. I hope I’m not imposing, but I actually wanted to give you this.”

“Oh, that’s sweet, really, but...” she cut herself off as he presented her with a picture frame. How did he - No, there was no way he could know. She bowed her head and smiled. Austin had always insisted that signs were everywhere. Perhaps he was right after all. “Would you like to have some coffee?”