We Kissed Where the Map Said No

How it begins

The map ended at the gate. Laura Kent could see the path continuing beyond it.

She checked the coordinates, then the small printed disclaimer explaining that boundaries might change. A boundary had apparently changed its mind about forty years of public use.

On the other side stood Simon Ford.

Of all the people the coast might have placed in her way, it had selected the one with whom she had the least useful conversation prepared.

"You're not supposed to be here," he said.

"The map agrees. The ground seems less certain."

The red kissing gate swung between them, freshly painted. Laura remembered the old green version, its loose hinge, the view opening toward the lighthouse after a climb steep enough to justify sitting down together.

She had not included that memory in her survey equipment.

Simon looked at her folded map.

"They sent you?"

"I came under my own power. Very modern arrangement."

A smile almost reached his face before he stopped it.

Behind him, grasses moved in the sea wind. The path was clear, recently cut. Whoever claimed it no longer existed had put considerable effort into maintaining it.

Laura took out her notebook.

"I need the closure notice. The date. The reason."

"And if the reason isn't yours to publish?"

She lowered the pencil.

Twelve years earlier, Simon had asked her to trust a decision he would not explain. She had left with a different understanding of the word trust. Neither version had improved during their separate lives.

"Then you can tell me what you are allowed to tell me," she said. "And I can decide what to ask next."

He stepped away from the gate, making no move to close it.

Farther along the path, a bench she remembered had been turned to face the land instead of the sea.

Laura noticed that before she noticed how carefully Simon was waiting for her answer.