Then looked up.
"What's this?"
Daniel's cheeks reddened.
"A ring."
She smiled.
"I can see that."
He looked toward the creek.
"It's not real gold."
"I didn't think it was."
"It might turn your finger green."
She laughed.
"Daniel."
He swallowed.
"When we're older, I'll get you a real one."
Nora stopped smiling.
She stared at him.
He continued.
"One that doesn't turn green."
Her eyes filled.
For a moment, Daniel thought he had upset her.
Then she looked down at the ring.
"Are you asking me something?"
He felt his face burn.
"Not exactly."
She laughed softly.
He rubbed the back of his neck.
"I just don't want you forgetting me."
Nora looked up sharply.
"Daniel Mercer."
He stared.
"How could I forget you?"
He did not know what to say.
She slipped the ring onto her finger.
It was slightly too large.
Daniel noticed.
He took the little metal file he carried for garage work and carefully made a shallow mark inside the band so he could identify the place to adjust it later.
The tip slipped.
It left a crooked scratch shaped almost like a star.
He stared.
"Well, I ruined it."
Nora looked at the mark.
Then smiled.
"No."
She held it toward the sunlight.
"Now I'll know which ring is mine."
Daniel laughed.
She looked toward him.
"Promise you'll remember me?"
He nodded.
"Promise."
She held out her little finger.
He linked his with hers.
They sat together on the bridge until evening.
For the first time, Daniel dared to rest his hand over Nora's.
And for the first time, she leaned her head against his shoulder.
Neither kissed the other.
They were too shy.
But as the sun disappeared behind the trees, they believed they had made a promise that time would never touch.
Six weeks later, Nora disappeared.
There was no warning Daniel could understand.
Her father had been distracted for months, but wealthy adults were always distracted as far as Daniel could tell. The big white house still stood behind its gates. The lawns remained trimmed, although fewer gardeners appeared. Nora still came to the bridge with books, sandwiches, and stories about the future.
She had mentioned that her father was arguing with people in New York. She had also said that strangers had started visiting the house and looking through papers in his study.
Daniel paid little attention. Business problems belonged to a world that did not concern him.
Then, on a Tuesday afternoon in October, he reached the bridge and found their bench empty.
He waited until sunset.
The next afternoon, she was not there either.
On Thursday, he walked to Maple Avenue and stood outside the Whitfield house. The iron gate was closed. Several windows were dark, and a large moving truck occupied the driveway.
Daniel watched a man carry boxes through the front door.
"Excuse me!"
The man turned.
Daniel gripped the gate.
"Is Nora home?"
The mover shook his head.
"Don't know anybody named Nora."
"She lives here."
"Not anymore, kid."
Daniel stared.
"What?"
The man lifted another box.