12

The plane touched down right on time. Instead of a busy condo, the travel agent had lucked into a small house available for rent by the day. Secluded on its own inlet, the house was still within walking distance of small seafront bars and a few shops that carried necessities. It was an island paradise – and I was here alone.

I was determined to leave there alone, too. I would leave Michael there on the beaches, and come back to Tom with a clear and free heart. He deserved no less.

Soon after leaving the plane, I climbed into the small boat that would take me to the outer reaches of the island. The man at the helm looked at me with knowing eyes. He was deeply tanned from a life under the hot island sun. His eyes were dark, almost black, and his hair was so long it was shaggy, bleached white from the rays. The muscles in his arms bulged as he turned the oar in his hand and dipped it into the water.

‘Welcome,’ he said.

We didn’t speak on the way to the house. He looked out at the water as he rowed. When the water became too shallow he climbed out of the boat – and suddenly stopped, staring at the horizon. He gestured out to sea, and I followed his gaze.

A dolphin rose from the water and let out a snickering call. The gray body shimmered in the light.

‘They usually don’t come this close to the island,’ he said. I stared at the place where the dolphin had vanished. ‘Do you know what we say about dolphins who come that close?’

I looked back at him. His eyes were serious.

‘What?’

‘We say that they are coming to care for someone. Dolphins are very protective, you know. They are very loyal as well. We say, when a dolphin comes this close, they have intentions of protecting. Imparting wisdom, perhaps.’

I smiled. ‘You’re making that up.’

‘Am I?’

He hauled the boat closer to the shore. I waded up onto the beach. The sand was white, and the house up on the small bluff was weather-beaten, the old boards of the porch almost as mellow as the sands below it. It wasn’t much larger than an apartment, but it was secluded and quaint and exactly what I needed.

‘What is your name?’ I asked the man. He was climbing back into the boat.

‘Adrian.’

‘How do I contact you? When I want to leave the island?’

He pointed down at the bar, a small structure barely visible from where we were. ‘The man at the bar, he knows how to get me. You go down there and call for me, and I will come back and get you.’

‘Just like that?’

‘Yah,’ he said, and for the first time I heard the native island accent. ‘Just like that.’

I watched him maneuver the boat out into the water. He gave me a small salute. ‘Watch for the dolphins.’

I studied Adrian until he was a dot on the far horizon. I looked for the dolphins long after the tiny boat was gone, but they never showed themselves.

The house was unlocked, the key on a string beside the front door. I had paid in advance, and probably wouldn’t see the owner of the house at all.

I opened the door and stepped inside.

The small house was cozy, furnished with weather-beaten furniture that would be as much at home outside near the ocean as under the roof. The floors creaked as I walked over them. Wide and low windows faced the sea, covered with a thin crust of sea spray. The world outside looked grainy and distant. The roar of the water filled the little rooms.

I found the single bedroom with a small bed, perfectly white sheets and a bedside table that held a lamp and a stack of books. The pillows were generous and abundant. A small chair in the corner was worn and the cushion in it was frayed. The kitchen was small and old-fashioned, but the fridge was stocked with beer and other beverages, plus a huge box of Popsicles. I smiled and picked out an orange one before I ventured onto the porch and looked out at the waves.

Birds wheeled overhead, calling to one another. They landed on the roof with a scratching sound. The swing creaked ominously when I sat down on it, but it held my weight. The armrests were worn smooth as silk. I wondered how many people had been here before me.

I slipped off my sandals and put my foot on the railing. The sun peeked out from behind a cloud and the birds sang from above me.

I missed Tom.

It was a good sign, that I was missing him instead of missing Michael. It meant I was focusing on the man I had instead of the man I had lost.

I sat there until the sun started to lower itself in the sky. The colors sprang forwards, vibrating with life and flooding the whole world with color. The blue faded into red and the red faded into deep purple. The birds began to silence themselves. The ocean roared even louder when purple faded to black, as if celebrating the passing of the sun.

A distant and throbbing beat came from the strip of bars just down the beach. Not a single soul had disturbed me out here, and I assumed it was because everyone else on the island was over there.

I began walking in that direction.

The bar was surprisingly small for the number of people who were attracted to it. The bartender had a friendly banter for everyone, laughing and joking in his island lilt. He slipped my money into his pocket, slid my longneck across the bar and gave me a jolly wink.

I found a table almost by itself, sitting in the sand off the boardwalk. There were two chairs. I sat in one and stared at the other as I sipped the beer. The first sip, so rich and heady with flavor, made me almost lightheaded.

‘Would you like some company?’

I looked up at the man standing at my table. He didn’t have strong features. He was the kind of man who would fade into the background. But he did have an intriguing look about him – a certain shape of his face and look in his eyes that made you wonder exactly where he was from, and just how exotic a place that might be. His hair was black, and his eyes were almost as dark. He was richly tanned and fit in the way of men who don’t work out because they don’t have to. He was lean but not muscular, handsome but not overtly so.

I realized I was staring. The blush lit up my cheeks, and I was grateful for the moonlight.

‘I’m not sure,’ I said. ‘I think I might need some time alone tonight.’

He smiled down at me, showing a flash of perfectly straight white teeth. ‘Next time, then.’

He walked away and the darkness swallowed him. I took another sip of my beer and watched the people at the bar. There were young couples who couldn’t keep their hands off one another. There was a woman who kept staring at the shiny ring on her finger, as if she couldn’t believe it was there. Newlyweds. When they looked my way, I saluted them with my beer, and they saluted right back.

There were men with tan lines where their wedding bands had been. There were women with long sad faces who were drinking a little too much and a little too fast. There were businessmen with phones anchored to their ears, working overtime even here in paradise. For a few minutes I watched a man doing paperwork on a wide wicker table in front of him. His briefcase was open, papers of all colors peeking out from the corners. His face looked tense in the light from the small lamp in front of him.

I drained the beer while I watched him. He glanced up once and caught my gaze. I was rewarded with a scowl before he went back to his work.

The bartender appeared beside my table, materializing as if by magic. He set down another longneck, and I put down my money. It was gone and then he was too, going from one table to another with the speed of a seasoned bar veteran.

The first sip of the second beer made me feel pleasantly buzzed. I was probably going to get drunk. And why not? The house was within walking distance. I had nowhere to be. I drank half the beer in one long drag.

It was much later – and several beers later – when he came back. Mr Exotic. I smiled up at him as he looked down at me. He wasn’t all that tall, but from this vantage point he looked like a tower of temptation.

Tower of temptation? I giggled at my own thoughts.

‘You’re drunk,’ he said.

‘Yep.’

‘I’m getting there. Would you like some company now?’

I shrugged. He gathered two more beers from the bartender and came back to the table. His long body slumped in the chair as he looked at the world through dispassionate eyes. He ran his fingers through the sand beside him – swish, whirl, do it all again.

He wasn’t wearing a wedding band.

‘Where are you from?’ I asked.

He took a long drink of the beer in front of him. ‘Brazil.’

I nodded, as if I had known this all along. ‘What’s your name?’

‘Daniel.’

‘That doesn’t strike me as a Brazilian name. I suppose I expected something else. Like Ronaldo.’

‘The soccer player?’

‘Is that what he is?’

Daniel smiled. ‘Maybe you’re drunker than I thought.’

‘I doubt I can walk back to the house without drowning.’

He nodded in sympathy. He was drinking those beers as though there was no limit. I watched as he drained the second one and signaled the bartender for a third. His eyes wandered across everyone and everything. He stared at a bikini-clad woman as she walked by. He seemed to be taking in everything and impressing it on his memory.

It suddenly reminded me of Michael.

‘What do you do for a living?’ I asked.

He thought about his answer for a moment. ‘I could lie,’ he said. ‘You would never know.’

Now he reminded me even more of Michael.

‘Then don’t tell me,’ I said to Daniel. I pushed the rest of my beer away.

‘I’m a painter,’ he said. ‘Not famous yet. Notorious, perhaps.’

‘Notorious for what?’

He answered me with his eyes. He took a long pull of his beer and watched me over the bottle. I deliberately looked away and followed the moon with my eyes.

‘I could paint you,’ he said.

‘You could, or you will?’

He smiled. ‘I will. But with your permission, it could be a work of art instead of a memory.’

‘You want me to pose for you?’

‘I want you to sit for me. You pose for a photographer. You sit for a painting.’

‘Ah.’

‘I would love to put you on a canvas,’ he said.

He was studying me in the moonlight, his eyes sliding over me and making me blush, even with the heat of the alcohol. Excusing himself, he went to the bar. He came back with a pristine white napkin and a stubby pencil. He started to draw. Still I refused to look, even though I knew what he was doing.

‘You are so pretty,’ he murmured.

The stars seemed to twinkle here, free from pollution clouding the way. The skies were alive with those stars, even with the intense light of the moon. Had I ever seen the moon so bright?

Daniel tossed the napkin to my side of the table. I looked down when it brushed against my bare arm. What I saw made me stare.

That was definitely me, carved onto the white napkin in careful pencil strokes. I was laughing up at someone, my smile big and my eyes sparkling. My hair was lush and full, spreading out behind me in rich waves.

I looked up at Daniel. He tipped his beer at me.

‘That’s amazing,’ I said.

‘That’s you.’

I picked up the napkin and studied it. He even had the eyebrows right. ‘You really are an artist. I believe you.’

‘You’re lovely,’ he said, and I blushed at the earnest note in his voice. ‘You have neat compact features. You’re not a classic beauty. Classic beauty is cold and refined. You’re more approachable than that. I like looking at you.’

I stood up from my chair. The world swayed. Daniel took another drink of his beer.

‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘I think I should go home now.’

He reached out and touched my arm. The touch was gentle, a caress, as light as the strokes on that napkin. ‘You think about sitting for me. I’ll be around here tomorrow. I would love to paint you in moonlight, the way you look right now.’

He pressed the napkin into my hand. ‘Incentive,’ he said.

Daniel’s eyes followed me all the way down the beach.

The walk to the house seemed much longer than the walk to the bar. I prudently stayed away from the water. I berated myself for the evening. I was supposed to be here to think things through, thinking about Tom and me and, most of all, how to get Michael out of my head – and instead I was getting drunk and spending too much money and wandering around alone at night, thinking about the water and the beach house and illustrations and eyes so deep brown they appeared to be black. What was wrong with me?

I climbed the porch steps. It took more of an effort than I wanted to admit. When I paused to look over the railing, I saw them – the couple down on the beach.

The moonlight shone on their bodies but obscured their faces. Their few scraps of clothing were discarded on the sand beside them. They were rolling around down there, the water sometimes coming up to lap at them, threatening to steal the bikini that glowed pink in the evening light. She was on top of him. Her breasts bounced with every motion. Her soft cries echoed over the water. He was thrusting up to meet her every now and then, putting more power into the fuck.

The image of Tom flooded my mind. I remembered the marks I had left on him, the marks of my teeth on his skin, the way he loved to look at those places in the mirror when he thought I wasn’t watching. I thought of the thin pale scratches on his back, and the way he shuddered with pleasure every time I drew my nails along his skin.

I should have gone in the house. I should have left them to their privacy, their intimate moment with the sand and the moon and the sea and each other.

I sat down on the porch and watched.

His hands came up to cup her breasts. They were high and tight, smaller than mine. I wished I could see more of him. Did he look like Tom? Was he just as muscular? His skin was dark, even in the moonlight.

The couple rolled over. He rose above her and lifted her legs to his shoulders. The wet slapping sounds carried all the way up to my place on the porch. He drove into her, hard and fast. I squeezed my legs together, trying to ignore the ache of my body. I needed a fuck like that. I needed Tom here with me.

The man looked up at the moon and growled deep in his chest. The sound was faint, but unmistakable, the sound of a man completely lost in pleasure. The woman responded with her own faint cry. When she bucked under him, he pitched forwards over her, breathing hard.

Soon they were on their feet, giggling. He raced naked towards the water and grabbed the bikini top she had almost lost to the ocean. I watched without any shame at all as they got dressed there on the beach. The man tossed his head and brushed the sand from his hair, and with a jolt I realized I had seen him before.

It was the man who had brought me here from the plane. The man who had pointed out the dolphins. Adrian.

I chuckled quietly and buried my face against my knees. I had just watched him have sex, and in a few days he would come back to this very beach to pick me up in his little boat and carry me across the island to a plane. What would I say to him when I saw him? Hey, dude, good job out there?

I got up as quietly as I could and let myself quickly into the house, lest my laughter give away the fact that they had an audience. In the bedroom, I kicked my travel bag to the floor. My clothes went the same way. I fell into bed seconds later, suddenly exhausted despite what I had just seen on the beach.

I was asleep almost instantly.

The morning sunlight woke me. It was a cruel moment, lying there in paradise with a headache the size of the island itself. I reached blindly for the window, feeling for the shades, or the curtains, anything to cut off the light that dared fall across my bed. I opened my eyes a small crack and looked up. The window was completely unadorned. Not even a shutter to close. I rolled over and stuck my head under the pillow, but sleeping again was impossible. The drumbeat in my head had taken care of that.

I rolled over – slowly, carefully – and looked at the clock. It was nine in the morning. I instinctively began to look for a phone, but I knew even as I started to do it that there wasn’t any point. There was no phone service here. My cell phone certainly didn’t work.

I couldn’t call Tom.

I looked up at the ceiling. Someone had painted stars over a deep-blue background. Why hadn’t I noticed that the day before? I studied them until the white spots began to merge into each other. I closed my eyes.

Tom would be working right now, in a venue in some far-flung town, wandering the site and finding all the security nightmares. Tonight he would be wearing his suit and his earpiece and moving so carefully and quietly among the people that hardly anyone would notice his existence.

Except the groupies.

My eyes popped open. My head throbbed harder than before.

This was part of why I had left, why I had come here alone. It was a test, not for Tom, but for myself. He had never given me a reason not to trust him, and now I was forcing myself into a situation where I couldn’t call to check. I couldn’t go to his house and find him. I couldn’t get on a plane and get there before the show was over. I had to trust him. There was no other choice.

But there were so many groupies.

‘Stop it,’ I said aloud.

Tom had been faithful from day one. In fact, he had been faithful during a time when he didn’t have to be, during a time when we were nothing more than fuck buddies who were hoping for something more down the road. I could have just as easily fallen into bed with someone else during that time, and Tom couldn’t have said a word. Since we had become a couple, he hadn’t given me any reason to doubt him. Even in a situation with so much opportunity, he had come home to me. He had done it consistently, every single time.

There was no one else.

So why couldn’t I get that through my head?

My fears concerning relationships were going overboard. What had happened with Michael shouldn’t have damaged my trust that badly, should it?

But then I remembered the shock of knowing he wanted someone else, that he would have her if she gave him the slightest chance, that he would disregard our relationship for what would be nothing more than a fuck with no strings, no promises – and the betrayal of that was just as bad as if he had truly had her.

I deserved better than that.

The drumbeat in my head sped up. My stomach heaved. I lunged for the bathroom, every step shaky. I thought I would throw up, but I didn’t. Thank goodness for small mercies.

The bathroom floor was cool as I sat down and looked up at the windows. I thought about the couple on the beach. My thoughts turned to the painter. A spike twisted in my forehead when I did it.

I found my shorts on the floor in the hallway. In the pocket was the napkin. The woman in the illustration looked so happy. Was that really what he saw? Or what he wanted to see?

I turned the napkin over. There was a number. I stared at it for a while.

That afternoon, I had recovered enough to wander out on the beaches. I walked through the scrub brush and scared a small animal, a pretty little thing that looked like a chipmunk. It reminded me of the forest around Tom’s cabin, and made me smile even while it made me miss him more than ever. This was turning out to be a very long trip, and it was only the second day.

I spent many hours there on that shore, going over things in my head. I rehashed all the arguments Michael and I had, all the things he had said that cut to the bone, all the things I had tried not to think about. The old sense of panic welled up in me, the old fear of losing him – and then I remembered that I already had lost him, and someone else probably had him now.

I wondered what else there was. What else didn’t I know? I even let myself consider the possibility that he had been fucking around the whole time we were together. He had ample opportunity to do so. How could I know if everything else was true?

I skewered myself with the memories. I dove into the most horrible fights, the longest nights, the crying jags that made me sick before I wound up crying some more. I remembered those long nights of lying in bed and wondering where he was, knowing he was free to do what he wanted, while all my dreams had been shattered.

The loss of the dream was what hurt the most. I had so wanted to be the other half of the couple sitting on his porch decades later, in matching rocking chairs, looking out over his beloved mountains. I dreamed of having a lifetime with him.

Would I have a lifetime with Tom?

If my relationship with Michael could end so quickly, could I lose Tom so quickly, too?

I sank to my knees on the sand. I watched small sea creatures wandering just below the surface of the water.

I had to accept it: there were no answers. There were no certainties. It wasn’t about trust any more; it was about a leap of faith.

Could I do that?

I stood up and walked back towards the bar.

I called Daniel from the small phone the bartender handed to me. It was a different man from the night before. This one was more businesslike, and barely gave me a glance as he slid the phone across the polished surface of the bar. I dialed the number and looked out over the water.

‘Do you still want me to sit for a painting?’ I asked.

I had decided, somewhere between the beach and the bar, that I would do something special for Tom. Maybe he would see it as a way of sharing in the experience of being down here in paradise. I would give it to him with a smile and tell him that, the whole time that painting was being created, I was thinking of him.

Daniel readily agreed, and asked where we should do it. I invited him to the little house, and he arrived within minutes.

‘This is a beautiful place. The light is perfect. The windows are just high enough. Sit there, and don’t move unless you have to. And, if you do, tell me first.’

Daniel was sitting in a chair in the middle of the living room. I had expected an easel, a case of paints and all the trappings of a painter, but he arrived with a small ornate box and a thin black folder. In the folder was thick high-quality paper. In the box were pencils of every color imaginable, charcoal that had been worn down to nubs, and fingerprints all over everything. He sat back in the chair and watched me as I moved around the house. Then he began to direct me, told me how to sit and where, drawing all the while, flipping through paper as though it cost nothing.

Finally he settled down to draw with an intensity that was almost unnerving. I wasn’t a woman in the room any longer; I was a subject, one that had to be picked apart and put back together on that sheet of paper. His gaze was filled with creativity that bordered on passion, but it wasn’t sexual in the least. I watched him right back, fascinated. This was a man at work.

I relaxed into the pose. I was lying down on the couch, one leg bent, one hand on my belly and the other above my head, twined into my hair. My dress was a simple sheath of the lightest blue. The light from the high window fell directly over me, a little too bright for my eyes, warming my skin.

Daniel paused in his work. He came forwards and arranged my hair with a gentle hand, moving the locks here and there. He looked at me with a critical eye.

‘Smile,’ he demanded.

Surprised by the sudden order, I did as he asked. He winked.

‘Perfect.’

Then he sat down on the chair and made only small comments about the light and the pose and the fact that he loved the color of my hair. The scratching of his pencils on the paper was sweet and comforting.

‘This is good,’ he said after long minutes of work.

‘Is it?’

‘Oh, yes. You were made to be captured.’

I smiled at the romantic sound of that. Daniel’s eyes were alight with the thrill of what he was doing. He leaned forwards and studied me intently. His pencil was in constant motion.

I looked out the window. The ocean was rolling hard out there, heralding a storm that would probably come about sunset. I was looking forward to it. How would the world sound, in the middle of a storm out here, where the roar of the ocean would be so loud?

I wondered where Tom was right now. Was he thinking of me?

‘OK,’ Daniel said, and stood up.

I was shaken out of my thoughts. Birds called and wheeled outside. The ocean slammed harder against the shore.

‘OK, what?’

Daniel smiled down at me. ‘OK. I have enough for the day. I’m going to go back to the condo and paint a bit. I will be back tomorrow, if that is all right with you.’

I nodded, still somewhat dazed by the abrupt change in circumstance. ‘Yes.’

‘You are lovely to draw,’ he said. ‘Now I must go, and start to paint you as well.’

I watched as he packed up his little box with all the utensils of the artist. ‘Can I see what you have done?’ I asked.

‘Tomorrow.’

When he should have headed for the door, he hesitated. He stepped over to the couch and looked down at me.

Daniel stood over me for a long moment, looking at my face. He was cataloging my features one at a time. A red blush stole over my face. He lifted a hand and arranged my hair one more time. His hand brushed mine and he let it linger there, finally looking into my eyes as he did it.

‘You’re beautiful,’ he breathed.

The air between us suddenly crackled with tension. Daniel traced each one of my fingers with his calloused fingertips. He never took his eyes from mine. I was very aware of the length of his body, the heat of him standing so close to me, and the fact that, with just one small motion, either one of us could set something more into motion.

And no one would ever know.

As soon as that thought crossed my mind, the guilt flooded me. At the same time, as if on cue, Daniel leaned down and kissed me.

His lips were soft, his touch reverent. The guilt disappeared and what replaced it was a flare of desire that was on the verge of rage. I lifted my hands to his shoulders, and within seconds we were both on the couch. His leg immediately pressed between mine, riding that dress up my thighs. I ran my hands into his hair. His body felt entirely foreign and wickedly tempting.

I kissed him and forgot about everything – Tom and Michael and the ocean and the bar and what in the world I was going to do when I got back home.

Daniel’s lips made their way down my throat. He wasn’t gentle. Every inch was a nibble, then a pinch, then a small bite right there over my collarbone. Even as I arched into him, I pushed him away, afraid of evidence that would tell Tom what I had been doing here on this island. Daniel unbuttoned my dress and licked his way down the center of my chest. I was desperate for more, and spread my legs when he slipped his hand between them.

Then, something – perhaps it was a sound from outside, or the particular fall of sunlight, or the way Daniel moaned when he found me naked beneath the cotton – whatever it was, it stopped me cold. My heart began to pound with something other than desire. I pushed Daniel hard with my hands on his shoulders. He wasn’t nearly as big or as strong as Tom, and the force was enough to push him off me.

‘What’s wrong?’ he asked.

I shook my head, tears already starting, and bit my lip hard to keep from sobbing outright.

Daniel didn’t move for a long moment. He looked down at me, watching my face, wondering what in the world he had done wrong. I hadn’t tried to stop him; in fact, I had been a more than willing participant. And now I was crying?

‘You didn’t do anything wrong,’ I whispered.

He sat up slowly, giving me time to pull my dress together. We sat on opposite ends of the couch and looked at each other. His eyes were concerned. I was sure mine were filled with a raging war.

‘I don’t know if I should apologize or not,’ Daniel said helplessly, and then I felt even more guilty than I already did.

‘No. Don’t apologize. You did nothing wrong,’ I said. The tears were already gone, replaced with a numbness that scared the hell out of me.

Daniel didn’t know what to say, and I didn’t blame him. He stood up from the couch and looked at me, uncertain where to put his hands, unsure of how to treat me now that the events had taken such a sudden turn.

‘I’m all right,’ I said, and my voice seemed to come from a far-away place, hollow and distant. ‘I’m fine. Just go, please? I’m sorry I started something I couldn’t finish. It isn’t you. It’s me.’

Daniel didn’t move. ‘You just gave me every cliché in the book,’ he said.

‘But they are all true.’

He nodded and picked up his box of instruments. I watched as he walked to the door and stepped outside without a second glance.

I curled up into a ball on the couch. This disconnected feeling was completely new to me.

So this was it. This was how it felt to cheat.

‘It was just a kiss,’ I said aloud. Some people might consider that less than cheating, but I knew myself and my heart. I knew what I had done.

I lay there until the sun went down. The storm blew into shore, and I listened as it rocked the house. My eyes were red and dry from the crying. My body ached, but it wasn’t the sweet tender aching I was accustomed to feeling from Tom’s hands. It was a deep heart-wrenching kind of ache, the kind that I thought might never go away.

I walked into the bathroom and looked at the mirror. The woman there was someone I didn’t recognize.

Was it really that easy? Was that really how quickly it could happen?

So much for the pedestal I had put myself upon. I had always held up my faithfulness like a virtue no one else could touch. I had looked down upon those who found it impossible to be faithful – as though I had a monopoly on righteousness. I blushed scarlet at the thought of how pompous I had been. While I touted the fact that life was painted in shades of gray, I hadn’t let that apply to myself. I had seen everything in hypocritical shades of black and white.

Some things were nothing but gray. Some things had no reason.

As soon as I realized that, I forgave Michael. Just like that. The pain and the anger and the hurt were still there, but it was all seen from a different perspective. How easy it was to make a mistake. How easy it was to walk into something you didn’t expect. How easy to wade into the water and get unexpectedly caught in the hidden undertow.

I stared at myself in the mirror for a very long time. Then I walked out onto the porch and down the steps, into the rain, even though the lightning cracked overhead and the ocean roared its way halfway up my secluded beach. I stood there in the downpour and breathed deep, the air heavy with mist, my lungs catching too much of it, making me cough and gasp. The drops woke me up from what felt like a very long sleep. With every passing moment I felt more like the person I came here to find.

I stood there until the storm was over. My feet were buried in wet sand. It was heavy, threatening to hold me there forever. I watched the skies until the clouds became softer, and eventually the moon came out, bathing everything in pale light. The stars were upside down here, different from the way they looked from Tom’s porch. But they were still the same.

It was time to go home.