It was a pile of smooth rocks, arranged in a tidy circle. Most were no bigger than the palm of my hand, and she’d placed them so the largest were on the bottom, leading to the smallest on top. “What’s this?” “Those are the rocks you gave me.” “Really? You kept them?” Ever since the day of the Soggy Seattle Half-Marathon, when I’d handed her a rock to tell her I loved her, I’d made a habit of giving her rocks. Sometimes they were random. I’d see a rock on campus or in our yard and present it to her to make her smile. Other times they were from special places we’d been, like the rock I’d found
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