Page 171 of Past the Broken Bridges

“I think anything is possible at this point.”

The bird watches us for a little while longer before taking off, its fleeting squawks fading into the distance as it soars up, up, up until we can’t see it at all.

But its lasting effect remains.

“Paxton?” Bentley says, turning to me.

I look at him.

“She’d want you to be happy.”

All I can do is stare at him.

“Dixie seems nice.”

I’m silent.

He gestures to where the bird was watching us. “I think that’s probably as good of a sign as you’ll ever get to move on. She clearly has. Maybe we should too.”

That’s all he says before tucking his hands into his pockets and walking away.

Later that night, I find myself at the apartment Dixie rents on a month-to-month basis. When she answers the door, I say, “I’m moving to New York.”

She blinks at the news, which she’s asked me about since I admitted to submitting a few applications up north. “You got the job.”

“I got the job.”

She smiles, stepping into me for a hug. “I’m happy for you, Paxton.”

Paxton.

I’m still not used to hearing that name.

When she steps back, I lift my car keys. “Ice cream to celebrate?”

She smiles, grabbing a jacket and following me out. “I thought you’d never ask.”

She gets mint chocolate chip.

I get cookies and cream.

And another little piece of the hole in my chest closes, stitched up by the hope of someday.

Whatever someday brings.