Robert Ferrigno - The wake-up

"Now there's an us?"

Thorpe took her hand, but she pulled away. "I'm sorry."

"Great, that changes everything."

"At least let me thank you," said Thorpe. "You ran into a man the day I disappeared. He showed you a photo of me, and you pretended not to know who I was. That was a brave thing to do."

"It wasn't brave. I don't know who you are."

"Don't play games."

"Me?"

Thorpe heard Claire's laugh and realized how much he had missed the clean sound of it, the way it drew him in. He laughed along with her, laughed at himself and all the rules he set for himself, all the things he felt compelled to keep track of, and none of them were working anymore.

"Who are you, Frank? This is your big chance to tell me. I know you're not an insurance salesman. I know you're generous with your booze and miserly with the truth. I know you like rescuing damsels in distress-"

"I'm a guy who wants to stop what he's been doing. A guy who wants to change and doesn't know if he can." Thorpe took her hand again, and this time she let him. "I missed you. There hasn't been a day since I left…" He shook his head. "That night we sat on the steps, you told me that we couldn't wait for the perfect moment. That sometimes we just have to reach out for what's in front of us. I'm here, Claire. I'm here. "

Claire watched him, still on guard. He didn't blame her. "What happened to that horrible man who was looking for you? He acted like a bumbling accountant, but he had the eyes of a rapist. I called you as soon as I drove off. I remember being almost embarrassed that he had scared me, but I called you anyway."

"I never got the message. I had switched phones."

"What happened to him, Frank?"

Thorpe shook his head. "Don't worry, he won't be back."

Claire's eyes were large and fearless. "You took care of him, did you? That's the kind of person you are?"

"Yes."

"Just like that?"

"It wasn't that easy, Claire."

"No… I don't imagine it was. It's over now, though?"

"It's over."

"Good. I don't know what he did, but I'm glad he won't be back."

Thorpe put his arms around her, kissed her, and their bodies fit together easily, his hands resting against the small of her back as he buried his face in her hair. They stood there in the empty classroom, slow-dancing in the silence.

She turned her head. "What's your name?" she said softly. "Your real name."

He hesitated.

She waited, her face sad now. He wished she were angry; he could deal with that. She pushed him away, shoved papers into her briefcase, and headed up the steps, her pale green skirt swirling around her knees like a rising tide.

He watched her leave, and it was as if he was underwater again, back in the front seat of the Buick, the Engineer adrift beside him, dead fingers waving. Thorpe could see the lights on the dock shimmering above him as he tore at the headrest, the lights getting dimmer as he ran out of air, then dimmer still, his chest feeling like it was about to burst. "Thorpe," he croaked out as Claire reached the door. "My real name is Frank Thorpe."

She turned, looked back at him. "That's a good name."

He took the steps two at a time.