A Missing Heart by Shari J. Ryan Page B

Putting all of that bullshit aside, like most people who are beyond the age of high school years, then there’s room for love.
    “Right, only three weeks,” she says, sniffling into the phone.
    “Then we have texting…and courier pigeon.” I hear a quiet giggle with that one, and feel like I’m doing something for the better, rather than just making her cry more.
    “I’m scared—” she says, her voice suddenly sharp and strong.
    “Of—”
    “I’m scared you’re going to realize how much you hate me when I leave. You’re going to have time to think about what I did and how selfish I was, how I handed away a life that belonged to us. It’s going to happen, and I know I can’t prevent it from happening but I’m scared for when it does. I’m scared that will be the end of us, and it sucks because I know there can’t be an ‘us’ as it is anyway. So whatever is left of your feelings for me, will likely be erased and masked by your rightfully horrible feelings toward my decisions.”
    We’ve had this discussion so many times over the past couple of months. I get it. I might have gotten over it, but I will never move past it to the point where I’ll be okay with giving up our daughter. I understand. I will always understand, but that doesn’t fix the pain. “If that were going to happen, it would have already happened.”
    “We’re going to change, AJ. We’re going to grow apart if we can’t grow together. There’s no way around it.”
    “Can we try not to?” I ask, realizing how silly and naive I sound.
    “I want to,” she whispers.
    “There’s always another way,” I tell her, not thinking this through thoroughly, even though I’ve been thinking this thought for weeks now.
    Her voice sounds a little perkier when she says, “What is it?”
    “Let’s move somewhere. We’ll put college on hold until we can support ourselves, and we can be together, drown in sorrow together, grow together, and put our lives back in some order for our daughter who should have been able to depend on us.” As the words dribble from my mouth like drool, they sound a little scarier than when I was reciting them in my head. It sounds real. It is real. I have less than five hundred dollars in my savings account and no experience for work, no real life skills either. But I love her and I’d go into this plan blind if it meant keeping her close.
    “You want to run away?” she asks. “With me?”
    “Yeah,” I say, sounding a little less sure than when I just explained everything.
    “I don’t know what to say.” She truly means it. I can hear it in her voice, the truth being: she isn’t sure, which means she might think this is a good idea. What if this is a horrible idea? Giving up my scholarship is a terrible idea. I shouldn’t have spit that out. I shouldn’t have been thinking about it for the past month. But I’d be thinking about it forever if I hadn’t said it. I should let her decide and go from there. I can’t see Cammy running away from her parents, going against the grain, giving up college and a life she deserves to have. At least if she makes that decision, she’ll know I was willing to give it all up for her. I’d be happy knowing she knew that, even if she didn’t want to give everything up for me. She needs to know she’s loved more than I need to know I’m loved. I feel strongly about that.
    “You can think about it,” I tell her.
    “AJ, there you are!” Dad shouts from twenty feet away. “Why aren’t you celebrating with all your football buddies out there? They were just talking about some party at Chad’s tonight. Oh, are you…” he walks a little closer. “Are you on the phone?” He’s mouthing his last words, seeing that there is a phone pressed against my ear. “Is that Cammy? Your mother told me you weren’t―”
    “Dad!” I shout. “Give me a minute.”
    Cammy is laughing on the other end. “I’ll call you later,” she says. “Thanks for being