In early April, Robert announced that he had made enough money as an intern to  finally do something he’d always wanted: travel to Europe.

“I wish I could go, too!” I said, not telling him that I meant by myself and not with you.

“But you’ve had your turn,” he said. “Now it’s mine.”

The hint of envy in his voice took me aback. Both of my parents had come from Europe, so intercontinental travel was nothing new for me. Yet for Robert, it became something he talked about with everyone he knew at Cloyne. Secretly I wondered if he wasn’t  showing off, just like the engineers at his firm that drove the BMWs he called “beemers.”

Robert left in May. For the first few weeks he was away, I didn’t hear anything. Then, as if making up for lost time, he flooded my mailbox with postcards from all over the British Isles and Ireland. Wish you could have come, he wrote. It’s not the same without you. Yet the reality was that Robert was gradually fading from consciousness. I was counting down the days until I left  for Ann Arbor, grateful that I had a place to go. There at least I wouldn’t be making the minimum wage salary that I feared would have been my fate had I decided against going to graduate school.

When Robert called me in late July to say he had come back, I felt the weight that had lifted from my chest when he left return..

“I’ll be by to see you soon,” he said.

Instead of filling me with the anticipation of a happy reunion, his impending visit filled me with dread. Saying hello would mean saying an even more difficult goodbye in August, when I left for graduate school.

The afternoon he visited me at Cloyne, he hugged me hard; my body tensing, I pulled away slightly. Then, like a child eager to show me a new toy, he unzipped the backpack he’d been carrying and took out a hand-knit Aran sweater.

“For you,” he said.

I gasped.  Once, I’d mentioned my regret at being unable to buy such a thing while I had been living in Ireland. Now here was my wish fulfilled.

Seeing my reaction, Robert said, “I want you to have it. Besides, I can’t keep it because I bought one for myself.”

Looking at the sweater and then his face, I saw only smugness rather than generosity. I could easily afford this. You couldn’t. But that wasn’t the end of Robert’s surprises. A few days later, he came by again. This time, he seemed nervous and uncertain.

“Don’t go,” he begged.

Before I could stop them, tears began to blur my eyes. Tired of holding back, I finally told him the truth. “I can’t do this anymore. I can’t be what you want.”

Robert’s face contorted into a grimace; turning away, he left without saying more. The next time I heard from him, it was by phone a week later. Guarded and brusque, he spoke quickly.

“I’m really busy these days. You know how it goes.”

“Will I see you sometime?” A sick feeling overcame me.

“Maybe, but no promises.”

I fumbled for words. “Rob, I…I’m sorry for what happened.”

He sighed heavily into the phone. “You know, I’m really looking forward to moving back to Cloyne in the fall.”

My heart dropped to my toes like a stone.