"I'm sorry I had to tell you. But I wouldn't have felt right if I hadn't called."
"No, I'm glad you did. It's just so hard to take. Oh God, M.S., if only you knew how long I'd been waiting to hear from you."
"I've made a mess of everything, haven't I?"
"It's not our fault. You can't help what you feel, no one can."
"You didn't expect to hear from me again, did you?"
"Not anymore. For the first couple of months, I didn't think about anything else. But you can't live like that, it's not possible. Little by little, I finally stopped hoping."
"I've gone on loving you every minute. You know that, don't you?"
Once more, there was a silence on the other end, and then I heard her start to sob again--wretched, broken sobs that seemed to suck the breath out of her. "Jesus Christ, M.S., whar are you trying to do to me? I don't hear from you since June, and then you call me up from Chicago at five o'clock in the morning, tear my guts out with what happened to Sol--and then you start talking about love? It's not fair. You don't have the right to do that. Not now."
"I can't stand being without you anymore. I tried to do it, but I can't."
"Well, I tried to do it, too, and I can."
"I don't believe you."
"It was too hard for me, M.S. the only way I could survive was to make myself just as hard."
"What are you trying to tell me?"
"It's too late. I can't open myself up to that anymore. You nearly killed me, you know, and I can't risk anything like that again."