I wasn’t going anywhere. My father owned a hardware store in town and expected me to work beside him.
I’d talked about joining Tommy in Australia someday. My father always changed the subject.
Before we left the lake, Tommy made us promise something.
« Fifty-five years, » he said. « Same day. Same bench. »
Ray laughed.
« We’ll be 72. »
« Then bring your walking stick. »
We stacked our hands together like excited children.
Fifty-five years later, we’d come back.
At 17, none of us doubted we would.
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