“I won’t be gone very long,” he explained, unable to make eye contact for fear he’d break the façade surrounding his lie.

“You’re not coming back, are you?” she asked, her eyes focused on the suitcase next to his feet.

“I’ll come back in a week, I promise—“

“I don’t believe you. San Lorenzo is 8,000 miles away. It’s not cheap to fly. Give me one reason why you would only be gone a week.”

“Because I’ve never lied to you before.”

He looked up, the eye contact electric. She quickly broke it, feeling intimidated. He picked up his suitcase.

“Grandpa’s waiting for me,” he said truthfully, making his way across the sidewalk toward the Packard.

“I promise, I’ll be back in a week,” he lied.

Her eyes were focused on the cracks on the sidewalk, trying to ignore his lies.

His hand rested on the car door handle as he looked back and quietly said, “Goodbye.”

She didn’t respond.

He opened the door and put the suitcase inside on the floor before stepping in.

“Goodbye,” he repeated, waiting for a response.

It didn’t come.

Hesitantly, he closed the door, watching for a response.

There was none.

A few seconds later, the car pulled into the street, and made its way down the street slowly.

She didn’t look until it was driven out of view. Until then, all that she could think about was that her last memory of him would be of him lying to her for the first time.

“Goodbye, Arnold,” she whispered, trying to hold back tears, but failing as they ran down her face and soaked into her red braids.