The postcard read:
Returning stateside shortly.
I suspect much has been decided by now.
Join me in SF the end of the month.
Jackson
He never even questioned my decision?
I sighed, reading that. I should have known.
A second post card arrived three days later; its only message:
Tues—UA, flight 862, arriving 11:00 am SAF. Jackson
I had no way to tell him I’d be there. You would have thought he would have called to confirm my intentions. But he was sure. He knew without my saying so. How typical of him!
But he was right. He knew my heart. He knew exactly what I’d decide long before it was clear to me.
When Jackson Nichols stepped into the terminal, I was there in San Francisco, waving to the man in my dreams. After a long kiss and a huge embrace, Jackson pushed me gently back
