Quiet, part 16

"I missed you Will," she said softly as I sat across from her in the very back of the diner, next to the juke box and the waitress' entrance. "I shouldn't have left without talking to you and I'm sorry and I know that you're sorry so let's just please not talk about it, okay?"

When I had walked into the diner that day and saw her, all I had thought about was telling her how miserable my July had been and how sorry I was for everything. I wanted to tell her how much I missed her and how excited I was to see her sitting there as I walked into the diner; her half smile and wave, snug tee shirt outlining her small frame, guady necklace hanging from her thin neck. But with her request, I didn't have to tell her anything.

"How was your run," she asked.

It was ironic how we could go back to a time in which nothing was wrong, and everything was normal, within minutes after spending a month not speaking or communicating at all; she told of her month of dog and cat sitting and I made sure that we had plans for the rest of the time we were both going to be spending in Hull before I was to leave for Dallas and she for Austin. She seemed happier and less stressed; something other than the depressing gray she had become earlier in the summer. Her stories came back to life and she smiled more than she cried and in those last twelve days that I spent in Hull she brought me back in and once again completely captured me.

On our last night we went out to the movies and to dinner; again we were highly disappointed with an overhyped summer movie, but really enjoyed our food. After the movie we spent the night lying under the stars in my parent's back yard on an old blanket, just taking in the blanket darkness and scattered stars.

"What happened this summer Will," she asked quietly, staring straight into the dark night.

"A lot, maybe too much to recall," I answered back, just as quietly.

"I remember going on the roadtrip with you and thinking that if nothing else happened it would have still been a great summer, but I got greedy," she laughed.

"We both did," I laughed back to her and then became silent as her hand found mine.

"Really, I thought you were just the whatever type," she laughed again, clinching tightly to my hand.

"The whatever type?"

"Yeah," she rolled over onto her side, now facing me, "you know, just going along with the flow?"

"I guess maybe I was, before you and I became friends," I spoke quietly, nervous but excited, "and then I just sort of wanted to make you happy."

"We've always been friends Will," she smiled before rolling over on her back to find the stars again.

"Yeah, but not close and this summer, and really this last spring, I just realized how much I cared about you and how maybe, I don't know," I paused, suddenly award of what I thought I had to do, "I just realized that my care was more love and how maybe my feelings for you are for more than just a friendship," I stopped and waited on her to respond.

She sighed quietly, "Will, I love you and I care about you and I worry about you, but you have to realize that I'm not who or what you think I am. Okay? I'm a horrible person, really, and you deserve someone so much better. Trust me, okay?" She began to cry and pulled herself close to me.

"Daisy, I love you," I whispered to her as her head found my shoulder, hoping she would believe me.

"I love you too Will," she whispered back through tears.

We stayed under the stars for another hour or so without speaking, just lying closely, hand in hand, evenutally hand on heart, under the dark sky with stars scattered across the horizon. The next morning I woke, packed my car, had breakfast with my parents and then drove to Daisy's father's apartment before driving to Dallas.

It was August 12th, hot but windy, and sometime before ten that morning. Her father answered the door, shook his head signaling she wasn't home and then told me that she had left for Austin about an hour before.

I left for Dallas without getting the opportunity to tell her goodbye, wondering why she left.