I reckon I weren’t lookin’ for nobody that summer. Just me and the river, driftin’ easy, mindin’ our own business. Then she come along — sittin’ by the bank like she belonged there more’n the grass did. Sun hit her hair and made it all glow-like, and I swear, for a minute I forgot what I was even doin’. She talked soft, but the kind that sticks with you. Didn’t try to fix me or fancy me up — just listened. Folks don’t do that much. They mostly talk and wait for you to stop breathin’ so they can start again. But not her. We got to meetin’ most every evenin’, hid from folks who’d have plenty to say ‘bout a girl like her keepin’ company with a boy like me. We’d sit there while the river went on talkin’, and I’d tell her ‘bout raftin’ down the Mississippi, ‘bout the stars, ‘bout bein’ free and lonesome all at once. She’d just smile that quiet smile, and I’d get this twist in my chest, like I’d swallowed the sunset whole. I knowed it weren’t gonna last. She had a home and a name that folks respected. Me, I had nothin’ but mud on my boots and the river’s say-so.

So one night, I took a piece of driftwood and carved it into a little heart. Gave it to her, said, “Ain’t got much to offer, but this here’s honest.”