Charles arrives late and parks down the hill from the restaurant. Everyone is gathered in a side room with views of the sand dunes and a hint of the ocean beyond. He has a paper folded in his jacket pocket for his remarks later, when he will thank the dean for her service to the university and wish her well in the future. He helps himself to a cup of ceviche and a glass of wine, shakes hands with a few people and chats. He leaves the reception in search of a bathroom before the speaking part of the evening, and as he does, he passes the bar. A woman with long brown hair sips an amaretto sour, and for a moment, he thinks it might be Lilly. They’d come here once, after work, to celebrate his promotion. The sun shone in from the large windows as it set, and her eyes flashed golden when she looked at him that evening. He’d wanted to touch her that night, as they sat next to each other on wooden stools at the bar, but he maintained his decorum for many reasons. For his career, for her career, for her family. Mostly to keep his heart safe. In the end, it did not help. Part of it tore off when Lilly moved to San Diego. For her career. For her family. To keep her heart safe.
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