She said, “We had some spectacular ones at Big Sur. That crazy Zen place that was supposed to be luxurious, then they stuck us with chemical toilets and that terrible smell?”

“Rustic living.” I wondered if the place had been on the resort list Milo and I had just run down. “What was it called?”

“The Great Mandala Lodge. Closed down last year.” She looked away and I knew why. She’d gone back. With him.

She drank wine and said, “Even with the smell and the mosquitoes and that splinter in my toe from that stupid pinecone, it was fun. Who knew a pinecone could be lethal.”

“You’re forgetting my splinters,” I said.

Oversized incisors flashed. “I didn’t forget, I chose not to remind you.” Her hand made circular motions in the air. “Rubbing that ointment into your cute butt. How could we know that other couple would be watching? All that other stuff they could see from their cabin.”

“Should’ve charged them tuition,” I said. “Crash course in Sex Ed for the honeymooners.”

“They did seem pretty inept. All that tension at breakfast. Think the marriage lasted?”

I shrugged.

Robin’s eyes turned down a bit. “The place deserved to tank. Charge that kind of money and smell like a cesspool.”

More alcohol for both of us.

I said, “Nice to be with you.”

“Just before you called this morning, I was thinking.” Brief smile. “Always a risky thing, no?”

“Thinking about what?”

“The challenge of relationships. Not you and me. Me and him.”

My gut twinged. I drained my scotch. Looked around for the baby-faced waitress.

Robin said, “Me and him as in What Was I Thinking.”

“That’s rarely useful.”

“You don’t engage in self-doubt?”

“Sure I do.”

“I find it good for the soul,” she said. “That old Catholic girl resurfacing. All I could come up with was he convinced himself that he loved me and his intensity half convinced me. I was the one who broke it off, you know. He took it really hard— but that’s not your problem. Sorry for bringing it up.”

“He’s not a bad guy.”

“You never liked him.”

“Couldn’t stand him. Where is he?”

“You care?”

“I’d like him to be far.”

“Then you got your wish. London, teaching voice at the Royal Academy of Drama. His daughter’s living with him— she’s twelve, wanted the switch.” She tugged at her curls. “It was rude, bringing him up.”

“He’s a twit,” I said. “But the problem wasn’t you and him, it was you and not me.”

“I don’t know what it was,” she said. “All this time and I still can’t figure it out. Just like the first time.”

Breakup number one, years ago. Neither of us had wasted time finding new bed partners.

I said, “Maybe that’s the way it has to be with us.”

“What do you mean?”

“Eons together, centuries apart.”