AAA Travel: 866-883-4985 PORTLAND 68 Marginal Way SOUTH PORTLAND 401 Western Avenue BRUNSWICK 147 Bath Rd Merrymeeting Plaza AUBURN 600 Center St Shaw’s Plaza BIDDEFORD 472 Alfred Road Mastering the Art of Refined Travel AAA Travel: 866-883-4985 PORTLAND 68 Marginal Way SOUTH PORTLAND 401 Western Avenue BRUNSWICK 147 Bath Rd Merrymeeting Plaza AUBURN 600 Center St Shaw’s Plaza BIDDEFORD 472 Alfred Road Mastering the Art of Refined Travel AAA Travel: (866) 883-4985 J u ly / a u g u s t 2 0 1 8 1 5 1 cups, now full. “I should bring these in to my friends.” “They could figure it out for themselves.” “And you could walk by yourself.” “Beautiful night, though.” I turned and walked down the stairs, forcing myself not to look back. The screen door slammed. At the corner I stood next to the stop sign for a minute. Loop back to the party or a long, lonely walk? There were more of these walks lately than anything else. “Are you beweeping your outcast state?” I turned and saw Kate walking down the block, her teeth lit by the streetlight. Her thin legs below her jean shorts, her ankles above her black sandals. We walked and talked about books, the right-leaning campus newspaper, the best pastrami sandwich in town, and why Kate drove the Women’s Studies van. She told me about a roommate who was raped two months into freshman year. That night, as we walked and talked, I didn’t so much as hold her hand. A couple of hours later, as we wound our way back to the party, I described how fathers should take turns staying home with the kids. “It’s more equitable,” I said, gesticu- lating with my right hand, “plus fathers have lessons to impart without the moth- er around.” “And vice-versa.” “Of course.” It wasn’t a lie. It’s not like I concocted another Sam to convince Kate to invite me along for her end-of-the-night route, drop- ping several tipsy girls back to their dorms. But I was aware of my audience. The piano and harmonica of “Thunder Road” came on the radio as we drove back up the hill toward the parking lot. Oh, come take my hand, I sang out the window qui- etly, stars a meager chorus over the street- lights, Riding out tonight to case the prom- ised land. At the left-hand turn at the top of the hill, Kate gunned it an extra block and took a right down a dark cul-de-sac. She pulled over, put the van in park and turned toward me—teeth marks on her lower lip. She grabbed my hand and pulled me to- ward the long seat in the back. GibsonFay-LeBlancwasPortland’spoetlaureatefrom2015 to2018.“TheTalk”isanexcerptfromanovel-in-progress,A RiverBetweenUs.