The Chance: A Novel by Karen Kingsbury

about it . She sniffed and found her place on the paper.
    Here’s the part I could never tell you right now. Because it’s too soon or maybe too late, since I’m leaving in the morning. I loved how it felt earlier tonight when you hugged me. It never felt like that before. And when you took me to your garage and then over here to the park, I loved how my hand felt in yours. If I’m really honest, Nolan, I love when you tell me you’re going to marry me. What I didn’t really understand until tonight is that it isn’t only those things that I love.
    I love being here, me and you, and just hearing you breathe. I love sitting beneath this tree with you. So, yeah, I guess that’s it. If we don’t see each other for eleven years, then I want you to know the truth about how I really feel.
    I love you.
    There. I said it.
    Don’t forget me.
    Love,
Ellie
    Not until she signed her name did she feel the tears on her cheeks or notice that one of them had fallen onto the paper. She dried it with her fingers, folded the page, and sniffed again. She handed him the paper. “Your turn.”
    He must’ve seen her tears, but he didn’t say anything. Instead, he put his arm around her shoulders and held her for a long time. “We’ll see each other. We will.”
    Her tears slowed. She nodded, because there were no words. Finally, he let go of her, settled against the tree trunk, and took the flashlight. He positioned it beneath his arm and started to write. She didn’t want to stare at him, but whatever he was putting on the paper seemed to come easily. He stopped and grinned at her. “I’ve been waiting for a chance to say this.”
    She laughed, because that was the effect he had on her. His letter wasn’t overly long. Most of one page, but he didn’t take another break as he wrote. When he finished, he folded his the same way she had. Then he lifted the old tackle box to his lap, opened it, and held it out to her.
    She felt a ripple of doubt. “You’re not gonna come back and read it, right?”
    “Ellie.” He raised his brow. “We’re burying it. Neither of us can dig it up for eleven years. No matter what.”
    She ran her thumb over the cool yellow lined paper and then dropped her letter in the box. He did the same, and then he shut the lid. Using the flashlight, he found the shovel and stood, staring at the ground. “How ’bout right there? Between the tree roots?”
    “Where we usually have our feet.”
    “Exactly.” He handed her the flashlight, got down on his knees, and began digging. She aimed the light at the spot where the hole was appearing. The ground was soft, and he had the hole dug in no time. “There.” He stood and wiped the back of his hand over his forehead. “That’s big enough.” He set the shovel down and lowered the box into the space. It fit with five inches of room on top. “Perfect.” He brushed the dirt off his hands. “You bury it.”
    Ellie passed him the flashlight. She took the shovel, slid it into the loose dirt, and dumped it on top of the box. With every shovelful, she tried to picture it. Digging up the box eleven years from now. She would be twenty-six, out of college, and on her way to a writing career. Maybe even an author by then. Gradually, she filled in the space around the sides and top of the box. When she was finished, Nolan pressed his foot into the fresh-packed dirt, and it settled some. Ellie added a few more shovelfuls, and they repeated the process until the ground over the box was solid.
    They sat down, and Nolan turned off the flashlight. “I can’t believe you’re leaving.”
    “Me, either.” The laughter from earlier was gone, the reality sinking in. For almost two hours they sat beneath the tree andtalked about every wonderful memory they had shared. At last they stood and stared at each other, dreading what was ahead. He looked down at the ground. “What’s in your backpack?”
    She had almost forgotten. “I grabbed some things from my room. When I