“For you,” the girl told Vincent.

“So you’ll remember me.”

“I’m not likely to forget you.”

June watched him fold the drawing carefully rather than shove it into his jacket.

Something in her expression softened, but only briefly.

When he rose to leave, she followed him onto the porch.

The sky over the row houses had turned violet.

Somewhere down the street, an ice-cream truck played a tune too cheerful for the conversation they had just shared.