It had been a month.
Only four weeks since Hallie’s world was ripped apart; thirty days since her heart had shattered into a million anguished pieces. Lost in her sea of misery, she couldn’t believe it. She felt as if she’d been broken forever, like years — decades, even; a lifetime! — had dragged past since the awful night Dakota had told her he was leaving.
“We’re going to New York.”
Hallie hadn’t understood at first. She’d thought the “we” was them: her and Dakota, the way he’d always meant.
“Yes!” she’d gasped, already imagining the cool Brooklyn loft, and nights spent crawling dive bars on the Lower East Side. Bagels. Central Park. Ice-skating under holiday lights, her hands warm in mittens and Dakota’s sure grasp. He would make his music, she’d find some off-off-off-Broadway play to launch her career. It would be perfect. Them against the world, the way they’d been planning.
“When do we go?” She slid around the diner table, so she was snuggled up against him in the red leather booth.
That’s when his eyes drifted away from hers, face cloaked in a guarded look she’d never seen before. “No. I meant . . . the band.” Dakota didn’t meet her eyes, instead staring intently at the bottle of hot sauce on the table. “And I was thinking . . .” He paused, and Hallie felt a terrible shiver of dread. “Maybe this is a good thing for us, to take some time.”
Hallie stared dumbly.
“You know . . . apart. Figure out . . . where this is going. I mean, we’ve been moving so fast . . .” Dakota trailed off, looking back at the hot sauce again. “It’ll only be a few months.”
Hallie couldn’t speak a word the whole ride home. Dakota tried to fill the empty air between them, rambling about how busy he’d be in the studio, how he couldn’t drag her across the country; her career, and his bandmates. “We just need to hit pause,” he said, more than once, as if she were a movie screening in Uncle Auggie’s den, and he needed to run out for pizza. “We’ll make this work. When I get settled, we’ll figure something out. It’ll be OK.”
But it wasn’t.
Because despite all his reassurance and tender promises to call her every day, Dakota drifted out of reach, disappearing into the new, exciting life he was leading in New York City. Without Hallie. Her phone calls started going to voice mail, her texts were left, unreplied. Even though Hallie filled his voice mail and in-box with plaintive messages until they were too full for more, Dakota barely answered, only checking in with messages that seemed more routine than heartfelt. And then there were the days that passed without a single word. Hallie found herself searching online for news of a tragic car accident, or random gang crime: anything to explain why he’d suddenly dropped out of contact. Maybe he was in a coma somewhere, unidentified; or stumbling around with amnesia, not even remembering his own name!
Except amnesiacs wouldn’t pose for photos in their shiny new recording studio. Coma victims wouldn’t be posting updates on the official band website about all their upcoming shows.
Hallie sank into a listless daze. To just leave, to ignore her pain like it meant nothing to him . . . ? This wasn’t Dakota. It couldn’t be. The boy who swore he couldn’t sleep unless Hallie was nestled in the crook of his arms would never be so cruel and merciless. He at least would write back. Call. Check to make sure she hadn’t drowned herself in Uncle Auggie’s pool, the way she’d threatened in a moment of desperate rage.
But now it had been two weeks since she’d last heard from him, and Hallie couldn’t dream up any more excuses. He was just gone.
“Hallie!” Grace burst into her bedroom, rudely interrupting Hallie’s mental replay of the diner scene. “The dogs need walking. I can’t keep taking them out.”
“I’m napping.” Hallie sank lower in her pillows; curtains still half-drawn to block out the hatefully cheerful sun.
“It’s your job.”
Hallie groaned. “So tell Amber to hire the old kid back.”
“If you’re going to quit, you need to do it yourself.”
“Whatever.” Hallie sighed, not caring. She was about to roll over, back to her mournful daydreams, when her phone buzzed, vibrating on the polished nightstand. Hallie bolted upright.
“Dakota!” She grabbed the phone to check the screen, heart racing. She knew it! He missed her, he was sorry for everything, he still loved her!
But it was only Ana Lucia.
Hallie let out a whimper. She hit decline call and slumped back, pulling the covers over her head. Why was the cruel world taunting her with the promise of his call? Wasn’t it enough that he was gone?
A moment later, the covers were yanked away. “Call her back.” Grace grabbed her phone.
“No,” Hallie replied, but before she could stop Grace, her sister hit redial.
“Ana Lucia, hi. Hallie’s right here, sorry about that.” She thrust the phone at Hallie with a pointed glare and then stalked out.
Hallie lifted the phone to her ear reluctantly. “Hey.” She exhaled, already exhausted.
“Hallie, where the hell have you been? I’ve been calling you for, like, years!” There was a steely note beneath Ana Lucia’s syrupy concern. She clearly wasn’t used to being ignored.
“Sorry, I’ve been . . . sick,” Hallie managed. Heartsick.
“Aww, I bet you’re missing Dakota,” Ana Lucia cooed. “Long distance is the worst! I told the girls, you’re probably calling each other twenty-four seven.”
“Mmmm,” Hallie murmured, the words like a dagger in her soul.
Ana Lucia chattered on, oblivious. “Want to grab brunch and tell us all about it? We’re dying to hear how New York is working out.”
“I don’t know . . .”
“Come on,” Ana Lucia insisted. “Girl time is exactly what you need. You’ll feel tons better, I promise.”
Hallie wavered. She hadn’t left the house yet, and celebrity spotting at Urth Caffé never failed to lift her mood. . . .
“OK,” she finally agreed. She had to reemerge from hiding sometime, and it may as well be with cheesecake. “Give me half an hour.” Hallie paused. It had been a while since she’d picked up the loofah. “Better make that an hour.”
The girls were clustered around a sidewalk table, already picking at their salads when Hallie arrived. “Sweetie!” Ana Lucia leaped up, leaning to drop air-kisses on each cheek. “You poor thing, look at you, you look wrecked!”