The subway doors sprung open.
People pushed off the train. Others came on. But the Girl stood in the door of the subway car, staring at him, waiting, worried. Charlie just kept shaking his head.
"Please, don't let this be the last thing we say to each other." Charlie turned to face her. "You're gonna miss your bus."
And the Girl watched his eyes meet hers—his coal black eyes, unfeeling, like a body hauled out of the Mystic. She automatically stepped off the train, afraid, and watched him from the safety of the platform—her eyes were wide and vulnerable, beautiful in that creamy alabaster face with lips so gentle, only marred now by what she said was a cut. The Girl waited, hoping that he'd say one more thing.