The days leading up to Harvey's return were simultaneously empty and full.  I was floating along like thin cloud cover, refusing to emit the sun and also withholding rain.  My parents didn't know he was coming home, and on Friday my mom sat me down and admitted that she was worried about me.  "You've seemed really depressed lately."  I felt myself nodding, and I wanted to contradict her and set her right, but I realized that I did feel depressed. Within minutes, she was listening to me explain the text I'd received and my confusion, my worry that he might not actually come back.  The time and distance between wherever he was now, having the intention of returning, and the image of him at our front door was a world of difference.  And if he did come back, what then?  Could I, would I, should I jump into his arms like a cat begging to never be locked outside again?  Maybe his appearance would dissolve all of the ardent feelings I had since discovered.
    Mom sighed.  "That's a predicament," she said and came over onto the couch to massage my neck.
   
Sunday came and went without a word from Harvey.  I despaired.  My days following continued in bed.  My arms felt sticky because I was sweating a lot at night and not changing my clothes.  My sweatpants smelled like a basement.  My phone was never farther than an arm's reach from me, and  I was constantly opening Harvey's text message that said the date he was planning on being back in town.  I touched his words with my finger, drawing a figure-eight over them, for minutes at a time.

I was dreaming fitfully that I had flipped a kayak and was struggling to right it, while water crept into my lungs.  Up above me, at the lake's surface, someone was banging on the bottom of my boat.  "I'm not okay," I tried to say, but my mouth only swallowed more water.  The pounding continued, growing louder, until I realized it was the front door.  I woke up, throwing the covers off me, and flew down the stairs.
    Nobody was at the door.  I opened it and ran into the cold.  Harvey was walking away, down the driveway, back toward his house.  "Hey," I cried.  The wind was biting at me through my cotton pants, as I tore down the walk and threw myself at him.
    His arms were already crushing me, when he said, "Slow down, Little Lady, I'm not going anywhere." 
    I felt my heart collapse like a cardboard box being flattened, and I hesitated, searching for the right thing to say.   When nothing came out, I grabbed his hand and led him inside.
   
    "I'm going into teaching," I said, when we were on the couch and the cat was curled up safely between us like some sort of parenting proxy.  "I've applied to graduate school, and now I'm just waiting to hear back." 
    Harvey was grinning.  "Kids are going to fight to be in your classroom."
    "Thanks," I said.  "What about you: what have you been doing?   Why are you home?  Are you going back?"
    He looked down at the ground, and I could tell instantly that this was a bad sign.  "I've been nominated to be an officer.  I'll be home for a month, and then I'm going to Afghanistan."
   "Afghanistan?  Where in Afghanistan?  Will you be surrounded by bombs and gunfire?"
    He shrugged.  "I don't know."
    "Why did you even come home?"
    "I was given some leave after the promotion."
    "I don't think you should have come back."  I stood up, responding to a sudden urge that cried to be away from Harvey and his capacious features, his short hair, and his angled cheeks like the crook in a tree.  I didn't get anywhere, however, before I felt myself enveloped in this new found maturity.  As we fell onto the couch, the cat throwing herself out of the way, it felt as if my body, my shell, had remained standing, while the rest of me was being whisked away to some secret place.  I put my hand on his chest and drew away.  He froze instantly.  I touched his lip with my finger, the way you might touch a mushroom, curiously, to test its buoyancy. 
    "We love each other, don't we?" I said.
    His chest rose like a wave beneath me as he sighed, and I felt my lungs fill up with tears.  "What are we going to do?" he said.