[25] “Thanks,” I tried to joke, “but where I’m headed a woman’s comb may be looked at strangely.”

“Where you’re headed, my love, you will need it all the more.”

To my surprise, she snapped her prized comb in two. She handed half to me. Then she held her half out and we touched the jagged edges together, neatly fitting it back into a whole.

“I never thought I would ever say good-bye to you,” she whispered, doing her best not to cry. “I thought we would live out our lives together.”

“We will,” I said. “See?” One more time, we fitted the comb’s halves together and made a whole.

I drew Sophie close and kissed her. I felt her thin body tremble in my arms. I knew she was trying to be brave. There was nothing more to say.

“So…” I took a breath and smiled.

We looked at each other for a long while, then I remembered my own gift. From my vest pocket I took out a small sunflower. I had gone into the hills to pick it early that morning. “I’ll be back, Sophie, to pick sunflowers for you.”

She took it. Her bright blue eyes were moist with tears.

I threw my pouch over my shoulder and tried to drink in the last sight of her beautiful, glistening eyes. “I love you, Sophie.”

“I love you too, Hugh. I can’t wait for my next sunflower.”

I started toward the road. West, to Toulouse. At the stone bridge on the edge of town, I turned and took a long last look at the inn. It had been my home for the past three years. The happiest days of my life.

I gave a last wave to Sophie. She stood there, holding the sunflower, and reached out the jagged edge of her comb one last time.

Then I did a little hop, like a jig, to break the mood, and started to walk, spinning around a final time to catch her laugh.