"Family left. We're clearing the place."
Daniel felt his stomach tighten.
"Where'd they go?"
The mover shrugged.
"Beats me."
He disappeared into the house.
Daniel stood beside the gate for a long time.
He could not understand how Nora could leave without telling him.
They had spent the afternoon together only three days earlier. She had laughed when he described a motorcycle Arthur Cole was restoring, then asked him to draw what the finished machine might look like.
Nothing about her had suggested goodbye.
Perhaps she had gone to visit relatives.
Perhaps her father had taken her away temporarily.
Perhaps someone would eventually tell Daniel where to find her.
For several weeks, he believed one of those explanations.
He returned to the bridge every afternoon.
He waited with his schoolbag beside him and watched the creek.
When winter came, he brought a coat.
On Nora's fifteenth birthday, he left a small packet of peppermints beneath a loose plank in their bench. He knew she liked them.
The packet was still there when he returned three days later.
By Christmas, the paper had become damp.
Daniel threw the peppermints into the creek.
Then immediately regretted it.
He stopped going every afternoon.
But he still visited on Saturdays.
Then once a month.
Then only when he happened to be nearby.
The last time he waited deliberately was the following August.
Nearly a year had passed.
The bench leaned badly now, and weeds had grown between the boards.
Daniel sat there until the sun sank behind the trees.
He thought about the brass ring.
The pinky promise.
The words he had believed.
Finally, he stood.
He placed one hand on the rusted railing.
Then whispered, "I guess you forgot."
He walked home.
And for the first time, he did not look back.
Nora had not forgotten.
On the night her father took her from Bellweather, she cried until her throat hurt.
Henry Whitfield had once been a confident businessman who believed every setback could be overcome by taking a larger risk.
Then a real-estate partnership failed.
Loans came due.
Investors demanded payment.
A complicated series of legal disputes consumed what remained of his fortune.
The large house in Bellweather was among the few properties not immediately sold, but Henry could no longer maintain the life he had built.
He refused to explain the situation to his daughter.
He simply told her to pack.
"We're leaving tonight."
Nora stared.
"Where?"
"West."
"For how long?"
"I don't know."
She looked toward the clock.
"But I have school tomorrow."
"You'll go to another school."
Her chest tightened.
"What about Daniel?"
Henry looked irritated.
"Who?"
"My friend."
"We don't have time."
"Please, Daddy. I have to tell him."
Henry closed a suitcase.
"Nora, get your coat."
She tried again.
He raised his voice.
"Now."
Nora obeyed because she had never heard her father sound so frightened.
They drove away after dark.
Rain streaked the car windows.
The streetlights of Bellweather blurred into long yellow lines as the town disappeared behind them.
Nora pressed her forehead against the cold glass.
She thought about Daniel standing on the bridge.
Waiting.
She thought about the little ring on her finger.
Then she began crying again.