I’m sorry. No.” Her mouth continued to move, too fast, pouring out a stream ofexplanation and apology.Jim didn’t need to understand all the words. “Sorry, sorry, sorry, but no,” they all said.

Jim had spent most of his life alone. The solitary nature of his disability and the constant moving had made it difficult for him to make friends. With his mother’s death,his last connection to a person was severed. He existed in Broughton like a ghost, doing his odd jobs, too silent for anyone to notice.

She gazed back at him, her mouth open, gasping for air. Her white blouse rose and fell with each panting breath. She shook her head. “No. We can’t. I’m sorry.”His gut twisted. He wanted to shout, “Why? Why can I never have what I want—just once?

There were many things he had to tell her, but what he really needed to say was simple. “I’ve missed you so much and ache to see you again. Every moment of the day no matter what else I’m doing you’re in my thoughts. I want to … need to see you again.Please come to me.”Pressing pencil to paper, he wrote. “See me. 7. Jim.” He thought a moment and added “Livery Stable” just as it was printed on the sign above the door of the building.Folding the paper, he wrote “Miss Johnson” on the outside.