An artist friend invited her to accompany him to his opening. His art was representational but with a twist, splashes of red added to huge black-and-white drawings, a bloodstain on objects and figures. They got to the gallery early, he needed to speak to the owner before the guests arrived; she took her time walking through the exhibit to understand the reality underlying the artwork’s seeming simplicity. He had ended with a paintball explosion. She suspected her friend had made no attempt to aim the gun, he must have worn a blindfold and shot as blind fate does, with no target, no emotion and, above all, no reason. Shooting for shooting’s sake.

Glancing outside, she saw guests starting to park around the building then, from behind, caught sight of the church man studying a menu in the window of the restaurant across the street. He had been away for several weeks, travelling through northern communities and never knowing exactly when he’d return. Stunned, dazed, trembling, she found the only chair in the art gallery and lowered herself onto it, never losing sight of her lover’s dark hair. Occasionally, passersby hid him from view for too long so she’d stand; she mustn’t lose sight of him. Finally, he seemed to see what he wanted and stepped inside the restaurant. The artist emerged from the director’s office and, seeing her approach him, asked what was wrong.

“I’m in love and I’ve just spotted my lover, I have to go.”

He smiled. “Go then! You can introduce me!”

She ran down the sidewalk, clutching her purse to her belly, crossed the street, stepped into the restaurant and made her way slowly to his table. His face was half-hidden by the menu, which he seemed to be reading intently with a furrowed brow, ignoring the woman standing over him. When he finally looked up, he blanched, his dark skin turning grey, then joy flitted across his lips, dimples dug into his cheeks, his teeth shone in the dark of his face and his laughter swirled over the nape of her neck as he pulled her to him. Barely breathing in his embrace, she felt a flood of unexpected bliss and a moment’s perfect happiness.

After that first intimate encounter, she’d written poetry, words consigned to pages she kept folded in a pocket of her purse. During the meal, they shared a rich, full-bodied bottle of wine; slightly tipsy she flitted from one subject to the next, as giddy as a fledgling in the sunshine of his presence. She said, “I have some poems for you … would you like to read them?”

Touched by his warmth, she unfolded the pages on the table. Unsure what he would think, she watched the pedestrians rushing past the window and caught an occasional glimpse of the art gallery full of guests with their raised wineglasses, talking and joking too by the way they threw back their heads and laughed. No sign of the artist. He had disappeared behind his crowd-studded success. The church man’s voice cut through the momentary distraction, “Thank you … they’re truly magnificent!”

He leaned over the plates and kissed her full on the mouth. Then clasped her hands in his. “I want to live with you, share your passions, your dreams …”

Caught off guard, she struggled to regain her balance: a quivering deep inside, the certainty of having reached a safe harbour after centuries of storms, of doubt about the meaning of it all, of suffering unspooling in private isolation that seemed to be life’s lot, an awareness of the futility of this forced appearance on earth in such a fragile form. Flustered, it took her some time to pronounce the only words that made sense in this blessed moment, “I feel the same way. When the time is right, we’ll be together.”

She chose not to follow him home that night, too overwhelmed, succumbing to an urgent need for solitude and the warmth of the comforter in her room at Hélène’s. Curled in the fetal position, exhausted, terrified by such a clear declaration of love, one she had thought not only inaccessible but, above all, incapable of existing, sheer wish fulfillment. But not only was the declaration real, he saw a future, a haven of peace in her, his partner in body, in heart, in spirit. He offered her the one thing she had ceased believing in, the one thing she no longer expected: the strength to continue on the path to the infinite with another.