R. has moved back into Other's house. Her children are there, and they need him. There's the grand staircase he once carried her up—and too many rooms to count. This is where we huddled together when Precious died.
He sends a card 'round to my house, and I arrive at the appointed hour for my visit. We make love. He traces the butterfly on my cheek. And he asks if I am going to be all right. I tell him yes—and I tell him that I'm leaving him in the morning. In the morning, I'm leaving him. I've just made up my mind to do it. When I said it, I was letting him know how unhappy I am. Now I'm hearing myself. I'm leaving in the morning.
"I gave you my name," R. says.
"I never told you mine," I reply.