The Boxer and the Spy

“We’re fifteen,” he said. “And we found each other already? Is that possible? Can you find somebody at fifteen?”

“Yes.”

“And spend your life with them?” Terry said.

“Yes.”

“And you know that, at fifteen?”

“Don’t you?” Abby said.

“Yes,” he said. “What about the boxing? You sounded like that was a problem.”

“George made me understand,” Abby said.

“By what he said about anger?”

“A little bit,” Abby said. “But mostly by what he is.”

“George boxed all his life,” Terry said. “Did you see him take out Old Man Bullard?”

“And George is a good man,” Abby said.

“Yes,” Terry said.

“The best I ever met,” Abby said.

“So if I grow up to be like George, we’ll be fine?”

“Very fine,” Abby said.

A herring gull swung down and landed near them on the rocks and looked for food. It found none. It looked at Terry and Abby. There was nothing there for it either. It turned and flew away.

“So,” Terry said as they watched the bird fly off, “if we’re going to be together, do you think you might get a butterfly tattoo on your butt?”

She smiled at him and put out her hand. He took it. They looked at each other.

Then Abby said, “How do you know I don’t already?”