Miles remained. Emma hadn’t had the nerve to kick him out of her room but she hadn’t ceded either. The only meal they ate together was breakfast. After that, she left for the hospital and Miles swam endless laps in the hotel pool or took runs when it was still hot enough to sear the skin on his forehead and the tips of his large ears. When Emma brought up the benefits of a hat to him at breakfast, how she’d resisted the idea as well, Miles turned away to scowl at their waiter. He said he could see the man in the doorway doing nothing but staring out at the ocean. This must be why you feel so at home here, he said. Nobody seems to care who might be waiting for them.

Emma responded with a tense smile. It seemed as awkward a time as any to let him know that Marcus was going to be released soon from the hospital. At the news, Miles began chopping at various invisible objects on the table with his butter knife. You can’t go on pretending this is your life, he said.

It’s been my life for years.

Chop, chop, chop went his knife against the table. A child came by selling flowers made of lacquered shells, and then their waiter crept up to say there would be no espresso today, unfortunately. Something was wrong with the machine. Could he offer them some tea?