I am grateful, as always, for your absolutely wonderful comments! I am happy people are continuing to read and enjoy this story. Again, those of you who are not commenting, thank you for reading anyway!

Happy Monday :)

I stand over Meredith and watch her slice through a cucumber. She's dangerously close to her fingertip. "Don't cut so close," I remind her. "You'll chop your finger off."

Meredith sets down her knife with a sigh. "If you keep hovering over me, I'm definitely going to chop my finger off. Now, give me space and let me breathe."

After a second more of hovering, I slide away from my tiny kitchen table and resume layering the lasagna. We got a late start of preparing dinner, since we spent three hours on top of the Empire State Building. Mark's due any minute and the oven is just heating now. We'll have to have conversation for at least an hour before the lasagna is ready, which I'm seriously dreading. Meredith, on the other hand, is cool as a cucumber. She's relaxed and quiet as she slices through tomatoes, cucumbers, carrots, and red onion for the salad. She didn't seem to have patience for cooking the lasagna, so I gave her a mindless task.

I keep my back to her as I add the last layer of bolognaise sauce and I slide the entire lasagna in the oven.

"You know," she begins and adds all the cucumber slices to the salad bowl, "it's Memorial Day. Isn't it customary to grill?"

I take the salad bowl from in front of her and put it into the refrigerator. "And where do you think we should grill? My bedroom is a little small and has very little ventilation, so maybe the bathroom? We could start up the fan."

Meredith takes the cutting board and knife to the sink. She smirks at me. "You're an asshole," she teases. "Can't you barbecue on your front stoop?"

"Not in New York."

"Hmm," she responds, her eyes focusing on the little window above my sink.

"Do you not like lasagna?"

Meredith quickly shakes her head, "Not at all. It's just, it's Memorial Day. We should be eating cheeseburgers, hotdogs, macaroni salad, and corn on the cob." She pauses for a moment and then smiles. "The lasagna looks really good though."

My doorbell rings and Mark's voice sounds over the intercom, "I have beer and porn. Let me in." I feel heat creeping up my neck. Meredith smiles. "Oh, and hi Meredith," Mark continues.

"Asshole," I grumble and press the button to let him in. "He's off to a great start."

"He's teasing you. He knows you're freaking out. Which you still won't explain to me."

"I told you. Mark's a womanizer."

"And I'm seventeen years old. He's not an idiot. Or, at least, I hope he's not an idiot—considering he's going to be a doctor, too."

I shake my head and open the door for him. "Doctors can be idiots, too," I remind her.

Mark stands on the other side of the door with a twelve pack of Yuengling under his arm and a bottle of soda in his other hand. "Since we're harboring an underage fugitive, I brought a drink for her too." Mark looks around my shoulder and smiles at Meredith. "I wanted to load it with rum, but I figured Grandma Derek wouldn't appreciate that."

"Just because I don't want to liquor Meredith up, doesn't mean I'm a grandma."

"Are you going to guard her all night, or can I actually meet her?"

I stand there for a minute longer and study Mark. He's in a surprisingly good mood and even looks like he put some thought into his wardrobe choice. I sigh and step aside, allowing him to pass. Mark passes the goods in his arms onto me and holds out his hand to Meredith. "Mark Sloan, best friend of your rescuer, future plastic surgeon, millionaire."

"Mark…" I groan, setting everything onto the coffee table.

"And you must be Meredith," he ignores me. "I've heard great things about you." His tone mocks me.

I'm not going to survive this evening and neither will Mark.

"And I've heard some interesting things about you," she quips with a smile and winks at me.

I laugh, which Mark glares at and drops Meredith's hand. "All lies, I assure you. So, I hear you're leaving in a few days?"

Meredith nods, "I think I've overstayed my welcome here in New York."

"That's not true," I say before I think. Meredith glances at me. I shrug. "I don't mind if you want to stay longer."

"It's time I leave," she says and turns back to Mark. "I'm excited to hear about the lies Derek told me about you," she jokes, changing the subject. "You can tell me over lasagna."

"Lasagna?" Mark turns to me. "Dude, its eighty-five degrees outside."

I shrug, exasperated already, "Its New York, what do you want me to do?"

Mark smirks and grabs the beer. "Do you have a cooler?"

"Yeah, I think. Maybe?"

"Grab it. Meet me at the 1 in ten minutes. Bring bathing suits and towels."

"Mark—"

He shakes his head and heads toward the door, "Come on Meredith. I need your help."

"No, Mark—"

"We don't have time, man. Ten minutes."

"Meredith isn't going with you."

She smiles and grabs the soda. "I'm good. I'll go. Don't forget to turn the oven off," she calls over her shoulder and runs down the stairs after Mark.

I run my fingers through my hair and pull open the oven door. I grab the baking pan with my bare hands and curse when my fingertips burn. I kick the oven door shut and take a deep cleansing breath. Why does it matter that Meredith is alone with Mark? They both assured me that nothing will happen. He's too old; she's too young. She's leaving, so why start anything? But isn't that Mark's preference? He likes to find girls on vacation or girls who are moving, get them between the sheets, and bid goodbye as soon as they step on their plane. But no, Meredith's not like that.

After a minute trying to calm myself down, I run my fingers beneath the cold tap water and stare out my kitchen window to the street below. I try to find them among the mess of people, but I can't make out one person from the next. Instead of freaking out more, I turn off the oven, take the lasagna out and return it to the refrigerator next to the forgotten salad, and I grab the cooler from beneath the sink. I find my swim trunks right away, but Meredith's bathing suit is harder to find. Firstly, because I have no idea if she has a bathing suit, but secondly because it's lost in the mess of things in her room. I do find it, however—a little black thing with ties on the sides—and I roll it into a ball with mine.

I double-check that the oven is turned off, grab my wallet, keys, and phone, and shut the door behind me.

The town car smells of pee.

Meredith sits between Mark and me with a Gourmet Garage bag between her feet while I stare out the window and try not to lose my lunch from the horrific smell. Mark doesn't seem to notice; neither does Meredith, as they chat happily. Mark called his driver, Peter, as soon as they left my apartment, and had him pick us up. Mark hates the subway, first of all, and second of all, we have "places to be," or so he's said fifteen times. As we head across the Brooklyn Bridge, I begin to reconsider my friendship with Mark.

I've cooled down since my minor freak out, and while I'm still suspicious of Mark asking Meredith to help him, I understand now. The bag between Meredith's feet is full of barbecue supplies—hamburger and hot dog buns, ground beef and hot dogs, ketchup and mustard, and even corn on the cob; it's full of everything Meredith said she wanted for a good barbecue. It irks me that Mark thought of it before me, but I'm pleasantly happy that I'm—we're—able to give Meredith another good New York experience.

We cut across Brooklyn and head down past Coney Island and Brighton Beach, stopping only when we reach Manhattan Beach Park. Peter opens Mark's door, pulls two other bags—and my cooler—from the trunk, and opens my door, all before I can even locate my phone. He carries most everything down towards the picnic area just shy of the pearly sand and waits for us quietly. I've never wanted a driver or an assistant, but Mark—being Mark—enjoys having a beck-and-call man.

"Thanks Peter. We'll be here until about ten. I'll call you."

Peter smiles and nods before leaving. "Does he ever talk?" I ask Mark.

"That's not his job," Mark quips and begins unloading the goods. I wonder if I've ever sounded as pretentious. However, if Mark does overstep his bounds, Meredith doesn't notice because her eyes are trained on the ocean stretching out before us.

I stand beside her and slide my hands into my jeans. "It's nice, right?"

She turns to me, as if she hadn't known I was there, and nods. "I haven't been to the beach in almost a year."

"Where was the last beach you visited?"

Meredith pauses and I remember my stupidity. Of course I've asked too much of her, especially after she's shared so much today. But instead of refusing, she smiles. "Santa Monica."

"I've never been there. Did you like it?"

"It might be my favorite place, ever," she smiles and turns back to the water. "I think I'm going to change into my bathing suit while you guys fiddle with the grill." Meredith glances at Mark, who can't seem to catch a flame. "It looks like it might take a while," she jokes and grabs her suit.

"You know what," Mark waves the grill lighter around in the air, flame flickering and all, "I was an excellent Boy Scout and I know how to start a grill."

Meredith laughs and heads towards the bathrooms, "Alright Sloan, I'll believe it when I see it."

With Meredith gone, Mark returns to his task and I can think about is the time he spent with Meredith alone. What did they talk about? Clearly they have a good friendship, what with the jokes and her calling him Sloan. Obviously she doesn't hate him. Mark doesn't look after her, which is promising. Normally, he'd take the opportunity to check out a girl's ass as she walks away. Unless he already had the chance earlier. I sigh at my own psychosis and wonder when I became too introspective.

"Relax dude," Mark glances up at me and then whoops. "I'm a freaking caveman, starting a fire and shit," he brushes his hands together. "And stop freaking out about this."

"About what?"

"Meredith and me being around each other. Granted, she's hot, but I'm seriously not interested."

"Why not?" It seems odd that Mark's not interested in a perfectly good breathing female.

Mark pulls the hamburgers and hotdogs from their respective packages and throws the meat onto the grill. He removes a cutting board and a spatula from the bag and set them both aside, alone with the condiments and freshly prepared potato salad. "Can you grab me a beer and put the rest on ice?" Mark asks, completely ignoring my question.

I follow his orders—mainly because I need a beer—and grab us both one. I put the rest of the beer into the ice and stow the cooler beneath the shady table. The bottles sweat in my hands under the hot, late afternoon sun. Mark presses the burgers down onto the grill with his spatula—the juices dripping down onto the coals. He takes the proffered beer. We clink the necks together. I take a long draw, and then, feeling bold, I ask, "Why aren't you interested in Meredith?"

Mark smirks and wraps the ears of corn in foil and tosses them onto the grill. "Because you are." He looks up at me seriously, and I've never seen him regard me without his trademark smirk.

The slap of flip-flops approaching draw me away from Mark's peculiar look, and I almost choke on my next sip of beer as my eyes rest on Meredith. She's dressed in her black bikini—the bikini I brought for her. The triangle-shaped top covers nothing besides her breasts and I immediately notice the wide expanse of chest—from collarbones to her sternum, and down her ribs to her abdomen—belly and hips, all beautifully exposed. She wears her shorts low on her hips, the button and zipper undone, so they show a swath of black from her bikini bottoms. I refocus on her stomach again, noticing the light smattering of freckles around her belly button and the way her sides narrow between her waist and her hips. I can see nearly every rib, both her hip bones, and her thin, delicate collarbones, and while I know I'm blatantly staring, I can't turn away.

At some point, Mark must have walked away from the grill, and he slaps my back. I turn away from Meredith in a daze and glare at my best friend. "What were we just talking about, Shep?"

My feelings for Meredith.

I don't have feelings for Meredith.

I shake my head.

Mark laughs and drinks more beer. "Going swimming?" he asks.

I glance at Meredith and her eyes are on me. She's watching me. Obviously she noticed I was staring, but maybe I can write it off with a smile or joke. Only I can't really function as she continues to stand there nearly naked. Almost as if she can hear my thoughts, Meredith takes her bunched up tee shirt from her fist and pulls it over her head. I don't fail to notice her stowing a lavender bra and white panties in one of the plastic bags. She follows my eyes and blushes.

I bet you look good in lavender.

"Uh, no, not yet. I'm starving."

"Didn't I feed you enough this afternoon?" I ask, breaking the ice.

Meredith smiles, "I think almost three months of not properly eating has caught up with me."

I'm reminded, once again, that Meredith's leaving. But I shake the thought away. I smile instead and decide to enjoy the rest of the afternoon.

Mark plates the food and the three of us sit down, Mark and me on one side of the picnic table, and Meredith on the other, and gorge ourselves on cheeseburgers, hotdogs, corn, potato salad, and fresh cut watermelon. Mark and I drink beer and Meredith guzzles lemonade unlike anyone I've ever seen before. After my second hot dog and cheeseburger—each—I feel like I might float away from all the food. Meredith lies down on the bench and groans, patting her full stomach. Mark, on the other hand, looks perfectly happy after his third hot dog and stands up.

"I say we change into our suits," he says, looking at me, "and we do a little swimming before the sun sets and the sharks descend."

Meredith sits up, "Sharks?" Her eyes grow wide in the cutest way I've ever seen.

"Yes, the ocean is full of them," Mark winks and walks towards the bathroom.

"Don't worry, you'll be fine. They mostly feed at dawn and dusk," I tease.

"But it is dusk," Meredith waves her hands in the air.

I smirk, "Be right back. Don't disappear on me."

Meredith's fear slides away and she nods seriously. "I won't."

Mark and I take turns changing in the gross handicapped stall at the end of the rows of urinals. The bathroom reeks and our shoes slide against the wet and sandy floor. As I carefully try to make sure my clothes don't touch the floor, Mark talks through the door. "So, Meredith in a bikini…" he fishes.

I sigh and fold my shirt over the stall door. "I don't want to talk about it."

"Feast for the eyes, that one."

"Mark," I warn.

He laughs and pulls my shirt from the door. "Hey!" I call.

"Calm down. Shit, you're so tense today. I take it you're still playing the 'she's only seventeen' card."

I pull my swim trunks on and open the stall door. Mark leans against the tiled wall and smirks at me. "You're disgusting, you know that, right?"

I tug my shirt from his hands and turn on the sink. "She won't be seventeen forever," he says in all seriousness. As I wash my hands, I glance at Mark in the mirror. "That's if you can wait that long. When did she say she'd be eighteen, September?"

"That's not the point, Mark. Not everything is about sex."

"Then what is this about?" he challenges.

I turn off the water and dry my hands on my shorts. "Why does it matter to you?"

"Because, when she leaves and you enter the dark, scary place, someone needs to pick up the pieces for you. I'm that person. And I don't want her leaving in two days because you didn't try to make her stay. You do want her to stay, right?"

"Of course. Anything could happen to her out there."

Mark shrugs, "Then make her stay."

"And how do you expect me to do that?"

He laughs, "You should bring her to Nancy's wedding."

The thought of Meredith, stuck with my family, for an entire day, sounds like a disaster. I shake my head. "She'll be gone by then."

"You're the romantic in this friendship. I'm sure you'll figure something out."

"Come on Meredith!" Mark calls from the water. He slaps his hands across the surface like a child. In fact, the children in the water gravitate to him, and he chases them through the water, tossing them over his head only to splash through the surface a few feet away. They laugh and swim back to him. Mark and his four little ducklings wave to us as we stand on the shore.

Meredith stands with just her toes in the water. She looks weary.

"You know," I glance at her, "the beaches of California have way more sharks than the shores of Brooklyn. In fact, I don't think there's ever been a shark attack here."

"The water's cold," she sighs and inches a little further in.

I'm standing up to my ankles in cool Atlantic water, and I can feel the goose bumps on my arms. The water is cold, but the air outside is so hot. "Once you start moving around, it won't feel so bad."

Mark swims closer to the shore; "There aren't really sharks, Meredith!" he calls.

I notice a few parents staring out across the water. It's like mentioning a bomb on a plane; you can't say shark on a beach without receiving a few glares. Mark doesn't seem to notice, "So help me Meredith, if you don't get in the water, I'll drag you in by your hair."

"You wouldn't dare!" she calls back to him.

He would. Mark glances at me—as subtly as he can manage—and I know what he wants me to do. Meredith glances down at her wet toes and I can see the goose bumps on her arms. She's cold; the water's cold. No, it's too mean. Mark continues to glare at me for a minute longer and then returns to the screaming kids.

Meredith looks up at me, "You're going to drag me in, aren't you?"

I'd be lying if I said I hadn't thought about it.

But I shake my head no. "Not if you don't want me to."

Meredith rolls her shoulders back and turns to me. "Do it."

"What? Really?"

"I'm never getting in that water if you don't drag me in."

"You don't have to go in. We can just lie on the beach. Watch Mark act like a toddler," I smile.

Meredith shakes her head. She lifts her arms up towards me and rests her hands on my shoulders. "Do your worst Shepherd."

For a few seconds, I stare at Meredith, weighing my options. But the thrill in her eyes and the smile on her lips makes me feel like its okay. I sweep my arms under her back and knees and draw her up from the sand. She makes a soft sound—like a squeak—and settles against my chest. Her face is close to mine, her lips drawn up in a smile, and she wraps her arms around my neck. Mark hollers from the water and beckons us further. "Ready?" I ask. I'm not even sure if I'm ready for the cold water.

Meredith nods, "Yes."

I run as fast as I can into the water, feeling it crashing against my knees and thighs. Meredith closes her eyes and draws herself closer to me. Her butt and back hit the water first and she gasps. Just as my pelvis wraps in the cold water, I duck us both underneath the surface, only letting go of Meredith as soon as I know she's completely immersed in the water. I can feel the ocean current sending me towards shore before pulling me back. For a few seconds, I allow the feeling to overwhelm me. The sand from the ocean floor rolls along my back and I can taste the salt water already in my mouth. It feels good to enjoy the quiet moment.

From my left, I feel a warm body. A hand? A foot? I can't tell. It might be Meredith, or maybe Mark, or maybe one of the kids playing among the adults. After another second, I pull myself up and resurface with water cascading across my eyes.

"Jesus man, I thought you died down there." Mark slaps a wet hand against my wet back.

I wipe the water from my eyes. The water is cold, yes, but as soon as my shoulders feel the cooling evening air, I duck back down into the ocean. It feels better to have just my head floating in the air. Meredith pops up on my left, sputtering and wiping sea water from her eyes. She shivers and glances at me. "Shit, it's cold."

"You shouldn't say shit!" a blond boy reprimands her. He looks to be seven or eight.

Meredith ducks down into the water as well and we both look like floating heads. "Well then you shouldn't either," she reminds him.

The boy sticks his tongue out at her and swims back to Mark.

"It's freezing," she shivers and I see her fingertips surface as she rubs her arms warm.

I nod, "But the air is colder, if that's possible."

"It feels good to be in the ocean again, though."

And it does. My parents, sisters, and I visited Crete and Morocco last summer, but the beaches along the Mediterranean are so different from those on the Atlantic. The water there is so blue, but it's landlocked and contained in-and-of-itself. Here, with the gray ocean stretching to the skyline, you could float on forever without ever reaching land. The Atlantic seems too vast, too open, and too dangerous.

Meredith swims past me lying on her back. She closes her eyes and allows the waves to glide in under her.

"My parents took me on vacation when I was eight." I watch her mouth as she speaks. She doesn't open her eyes. "It's the only real one we took as a family. We went to Disney World and Daytona Beach. My dad rode every ride with me. I was terrified of The Tower of Terror. The first time I screamed my head off. By the sixth time, I was smiling and laughing with each drop." She opens her eyes and rights herself in the water. "My mom chose Daytona Beach because she didn't want to be anywhere near the muscle tees of Miami, but also didn't want to be in Gulf water. Yet she never once went in the water.

"My dad teased me about sharks the whole time." She smiles at me. "Kind of like you and Mark. He kept telling me if I went too far, a big old great white would jump out of the water and drag me off. I clung to him. I even think I cried. But I remember really loving that vacation, even with the sunburn I got that lasted more than a month."

A bigger wave crashes around our hips and Meredith is carried off a few feet from me. I swim slowly after her, trailing down the beach. "What was your favorite vacation?"

"Mine was the first one we ever took also. It was right after my dad received his check from Ikea. We'd never had time or money to go anywhere besides my aunt and uncle's house in Kings Park on Long Island, and my dad decided to make it really special. He took all seven of us to Australia for two weeks." Meredith's eyes widen. "It must have cost him twenty-thousand dollars, but it was amazing. We stayed in Sydney for eight days and then Melbourne for five. I can't remember a lot, probably because it was too overwhelming, but I held a koala bear and we snorkeled the Great Barrier Reef."

Another wave carries us closer together and I swim around her. Meredith turns, "I'm so jealous. I'd love to see Australia."

"Have you been overseas at all?"

She nods, "When I was fourteen my aunt—my mom's sister—took me to Europe for a month in the summer. She lived in Spain for a while and just outside London, so we visited her friends while hopping from country to country. We started in England, visited Wales, and then France, Switzerland, Italy, and finally Spain."

"Was it amazing?"

"Yes," she pauses, "and no. I never really knew my aunt before then, so it was awkward for a while. But later, it was fun. I loved Spain."

"Do you still see your aunt?"

She swims around me, her eyes lowered to the water's surface. "She died a few months after that. A car accident."

"I'm sorry." I say sincerely.

Meredith shrugs. "It's okay. It actually means that it was nicer that I got to travel with her. If I hadn't, I probably wouldn't have cared."

"Did she have kids?"

"No. And she was actually the last of my extended family."

"How is that possible?" I think of my extended family—my father's three brothers and two sister; my mother's twin and her two other sisters; all the cousins, and second cousins, and cousins-in-law. I think of Kathleen's two kids and Nancy's from her first marriage. Our family extends far and wide and at our last reunion—three years ago—we counted out to be around seventy-five people.

Meredith dips her head back into the water, wetting her hair again. She brushes it out with her fingers around her shoulders. "I never knew my grandparents and my dad was an only child."

"So it's just you and your parents."

"Yeah," she says, but something in her tone means there's more to say. So much more.

"Meredith, did something happen—"

"Hey!" Someone bellows from the shore.

I pull my eyes from Meredith and focus on Mark waving his arms from the beach. "Guys you drifted! And the lifeguard is off duty! We should pack it in!" I stare down the beach and realize we've drifted at least three hundred feet. In fact, we're dangerously close to a jetty.

Meredith starts swimming towards shore without another word and I follow.

"So I behaved myself today," Mark reminds me.

Meredith offered to help us pack up, but Mark shook his head at the idea. She sits in the sand, a towel wrapped around her shoulders, staring out at the darkening ocean. The sun has met the western horizon and the only light comes from the streetlamps above the parking lot. We're the last visitors and the beach is eerily quiet.

I lift the cooler out from under the table, opening the spout to allow the melted ice to drain. "I'm proud of you."

"Did you get any closer to making her stay?"

I glance at Meredith again and I see her hand rise to her face.

"No."

"I'm going to call Peter. You should tell her we'll be leaving soon." He nods to the beach, giving me another in, another way to talk to her.

I nod and walk down the sand, kicking my shoes off just beside the grassy dunes. The wind coming off the ocean is stronger now, and I wonder if a storm is coming in. Meredith doesn't acknowledge me as I sit down beside her. In fact, she turns her face away. I hear her sniffle, once, and I realize she's crying. For a minute, I say nothing; I do nothing. She cries into the wind, but she doesn't move. After the minute, I touch her arm swathed in the beach towel.

Meredith turns to me and the streetlamp fifty feet away spills light onto her tear-stained cheeks. Her eyes are rimmed red and her lips are downturned in pain. Twin tears flow down her left cheek and I reach up to wipe them away. She doesn't stop me; she doesn't blink.

"What's wrong?" I whisper and the wind carries my voice away.

Meredith's hair—now dry—flutters around her shoulders and face, getting caught in the tears on her right cheek. I tuck the hair behind her ear, feeling the wetness of her skin.

"I lied to you, before."

"That's okay. I'm sure you lie a lot to me," I smile.

She shakes her head, "You know I wouldn't if I didn't have to."

"I know. Do you want to tell me what you lied about?"

More tears spill over her cheeks and I run a comforting hand up and down her arm. "I lied when I told you it was just me and my parents."

"So there's someone else?"

She shakes her head.

"But then…" Does she not have parents? Is she running because she's all alone in the world?

Meredith drags the back of her hand under her nose. She wipes the tears from her eyes. "It's just my mom and me."

I wipe away another tear from her skin. "Your dad?"

"He died. When I was thirteen."

"Oh Meredith," I sigh and wrap an arm around her shoulders, drawing her nearer.

Meredith folds into me, her face pressing into my shoulder. Her cries because urgent and I can feel her tears soaking my shirt. I don't say anything. I keep my arm around her shoulders and I run my hand up and down her arm. My other hand finds her hand tucked against her chest and I hold it in mine. I tuck her head beneath my chin and I close my eyes, trying not to think of the pain I might feel if my dad had died. I focus on the sound of her cries; I focus on her tears; I focus on her shaking body.

"I'm so sorry," I whisper into her ear.

She nods and wraps her arm around my waist, clutching my tee shirt in her hands—much like during our ride to the top of the Empire State Building.

I stroke her hair and allow her to cry and cry until she's quiet and still against me. When she finally begins to pull away from me, I let her go. Her face is still red, but her tears have dried in the wind. She tucks her hair behind her ears and folds her hands in her lap. I don't know what to do with my hands, so I hold the tops of my knees and watch her.

"Mark's probably waiting for us."

"It doesn't matter."

Meredith blinks and her eyes drag slowly to reopen. "I'm tired, Derek."

Without even saying the words, I know the subject is closed. I stand and help her up from the sand. Meredith keeps her eyes down as we approach the car and Mark. He shoots me a concerned look and I shake my head. We all slide into the car, but no one says a thing. Meredith lays her head back against the leather seat of the town car and I watch another round of quiet tears streak down her cheeks. I sit helplessly and watch as Meredith begins to fall apart in front of my eyes.