Because Christian was in Savannah.

He had left on Thursday morning.

He had texted me at nine forty that morning — I have it, it is an exhibit now, which is an absurd sentence to write about a text message — and it said, long day ahead, call you tonight, love you.

And there he was, in a courtyard eleven miles from where I went to high school, in a charcoal suit I had never seen, walking toward a live oak with his hand doing up a button.

Part Two: The Next Forty Minutes

I did not stand up.