It felt like he was trying to shove a dagger into my heart. I decided that I didn’t have to take it. The humiliation I endured immediately after my tragic skating mistake was unavoidable. It was in the press and whispered in the pubs, but it was eventually over. Somehow, James found out about it and brought it up again. I gave him the chance to end the conversation, and then I had to end it myself by turning the computer off.

That’s all it took this time. It was as easy as flipping the switch. I wished that ending all of my troubles in life was so easy. At the moment it was a simple solution.

I returned to my work in the studio. Before the call, I was on a roll churning out the work for my latest client. I had the logo and general graphic design approved. Now it was just a matter of putting together the detailed specifics and collecting payment.

As I worked, something felt lighter. I knew that it was the absence of concern about James. I didn’t think about what he might be doing. I didn’t think about where our relationship was going. I only thought about the fact that I wasn’t thinking about him.

Late in the afternoon, I completed the work for my client, and I returned home early to my apartment. After a quick dinner of cheese, salad, and leftover pork from the night before, I climbed into bed. Soon I was asleep, and I slept until morning, nearly twelve hours.

When I finally hauled myself out of bed, I was sure that lead weights were attached to my ankles. I couldn’t understand how I spent half a day in bed and was more exhausted than when I first crawled between the sheets. I had a 9:00 a.m. client meeting, and I rushed through the morning to get to my studio.

“You look a little pale, Lucas. Is it just winter, or are you feeling bad?” Juliet was one of my first customers when I set out on my own in graphic design, and she was one of the most consistent, too.

I asked, “Do I look that bad? I don’t feel sick, but I’m tired. Maybe it is the winter. I’ve not been outside in the sunshine much. I go to the pool for exercise, and that won’t help the color of my skin.”

Juliet held her hand up to my forehead. “If you do get sick, stay home. The winter is a bad time of year to push yourself hard. Drink a lot of fluids and avoid the sneezers in the pubs.”

I laughed softly at her comment about the sneezers. I said, “That’s enough about my health. Do you have new projects for me?”

Juliet provided office assistance for eight different proprietors. They ranged from an Amsterdam-based band to an interior designer who was expert at coming up with the right decorating for homes but, by her own words, was helpless when it came to advertising her talents.

“Not just one, Lucas. I have three. The deadlines are a little tight, so let me know if you can’t take them on. I don’t want to push you too hard.”

“My schedule is light right now. Show me the details. I can probably handle all three.”

* * *

I had a lunch date with Anna, and she was just as concerned as Juliet. She pushed a little harder for a diagnosis, but I delivered a negative response to every question she asked me. I didn’t have a fever. I wasn’t dehydrated. I was regularly eating fruits and vegetables.

“What about James?” asked Anna.

I said, “Rough patch.”

She insisted, “That’s it. I should have asked that question first. It’s the obvious thing that would get you down.”

“And make me sleep for twelve hours?” I shook my head. “I don’t think so. I’ve only seen him a few times. It’s not like I broke off an engagement or got a divorce.”

“It’s not?” asked Anna.

“You know it wasn’t. We weren’t that serious. I can handle it.”

Anna whispered, “I’m not so sure. James was different somehow. It was serious enough that we didn’t see as much of you. I think I can speak for all of your friends on that topic.”

I winced, but I knew that her comment was accurate. Before my trip to see Sophie, I ate lunch with my friends at least three out of five days of the week. When I returned to Amsterdam, I set up a regular pattern of sharing my lunch hour with James. I got to see him slowly wake up and rake his fingers through his tousled hair. Sometimes he appeared on the computer camera fresh out of bed. He looked adorable even when he was thoroughly disheveled.

“I guess you’ll see more of me now.”

“You’re going to feel a hole in your life now, and that’s not good in the winter,” said Anna.

I protested and said, “You make it sound like I have a fatal disease.”

Anna laughed softly. “No, it’s not that extreme, but sometimes you do get very emotional about things, Lucas. I’m your best friend. I want to make sure you’re okay.”

“I get emotional?” She was accurate about that, too, but it didn’t stop me from forcing her to defend her diagnosis. “When am I that emotional?” I demanded an answer to the question in a rising tone of voice.

“Are you still racing on skates?” asked Anna.

Unexpected anger began to well up inside. I felt the same “flee” instinct as occurred when I talked to James. I gripped a handful of my hair at the shoulder and willed myself to stay at the table. Anna was one of my best friends.

I spoke softly and said, “No, I’m not, but that was an extreme situation.”

“It was? Nobody else makes mistakes like that? I read the other day about one of our national speed skaters losing a race because he read the schedule wrong. It was a mistake.”

I clenched my teeth and said, “Can we talk about this some other time. I thought the conversation was about James. If things are over, I can handle it. I always find someone else.”

“Do you know the best way to get over the racing incident?” asked Anna.

As soon as the words came out of my mouth, I knew it was a lie, but I insisted, “I’m over it.”

“Get back out there,” said Anna. “You don’t need to skate in some big-stakes national race. Just get out there at a festival and race for fun. Before you know it, you won’t care about the mistake anymore.”

I gritted my teeth and leaned close to Anna. “I’m not racing anymore on skates. You need to understand that, and if you can’t, I’m going to leave. The conversation is over. Change the topic, or I’m leaving.”

To my surprise, Anna reached out, covered my right hand with her hand and continued to speak softly. “I won’t push it anymore Lucas. I care about you, and I’m only trying to help. Let me know if there is anything I can do.”

I said, “Let’s forget it all and go to a movie tonight.”

She smiled and said, “It’s a deal. I’ll stop by your studio at 7:00, or do you want to eat dinner together before?”

“Let’s have dinner. I’ll see you at 6:00.”

I was happy how the lunch ended. It was always that way with Anna. Sometimes she pushed me hard enough that I got upset, but we always found our way back to a comfortable place before hugging each other as we said goodbye. I had a smile on my face when I stepped through the door to my studio.

The folio containing my most recent sketches leaned against the wall in the corner of the room. It caught my eye as I pulled off my stocking cap and hung my parka up just inside the door. I thought for a moment of destroying the sketch of James. Then I heard a voice inside telling me that I might want it again at some point in the future.

I strode across the room and picked up the folio. I laid it out on a table. The hockey sketches were high quality. If I could find a customer for them, it would be easy to turn them into quality paintings. I wondered if I should consider a side specialty in sports illustration. Races of all kinds needed publicity posters.

The sketch of James was underneath the hockey sketches. My breath caught in my throat when I stared at his face again. I got it right. It was like he was there in the room with me. I closed my eyes and swept my hair back off my shoulders. Before I could open my eyes again, my cell phone rang in my pocket.

I pulled it out to hear Sophie’s excited voice on the other end. She said, “Lucas, I know this is the craziest of things, but I had to call you immediately when I heard about it.”

“What’s so amazing that it couldn’t wait?” It was still relatively early in the morning in Chicago.

“You’ll understand. Jerry just called me a few minutes ago. His college is looking to hire a young, rising visual artist as an adjunct professor. They will provide studio space, too.”

I said, “That does sound interesting, but I’m not far along in my painting career.”

“Jerry said you’re exactly the kind of person they want. It’s money from a private donation, and the donor insisted that it be both a teaching position and an opportunity for an artist to leap forward in developing their career.”

Then she made the comment that sent a shiver up my spine. “You would be so much closer to James. Well, closer to me, too. In fact, you could stay here with Jerry and me. Then you could save some money from your salary.”

I didn’t know whether to tell Sophie about James or not. When I opened my mouth, the words refused to come out. Instead, I said that I needed to think about it. I said, “It’s so sudden, but thank you for letting me know. Can I call you back tomorrow?”

“Yes,” said Sophie, “but don’t wait long. Jerry said this is the kind of opportunity people will jump all over. He said that he thought being Dutch might be an advantage for you. They like having an international faculty.”

I asked, “Could I handle a year living in America?”

“Two if you get the contract renewed. It would be your first step toward living all over the world. Is that still what you want?”

I thought it was still what I wanted, but a few days ago I thought I wanted James, and that changed overnight. I said, “I think it is. Sophie, I need to think about it, but tell Jerry thank you for thinking of me.”

My hesitation didn’t crush the lilt in her voice. She said, “I already did that. We both always wish you the best, little brother.”

As I slipped the phone back into my pocket, I turned my attention to the sketch of James once again. I was convinced I saw him smiling. I couldn’t recall drawing his expression that way. I usually drew athletes with a countenance that indicated their dogged determination. With James, there was a gentle smile at the corners of his mouth, too. It was unmistakable.

I traced the outline of his body with a fingertip and asked, “Do you want me in America, James?”