“Sure, babe,” he said, and I hurried into the house and the maid’s room, feeling lost and stupid and confused and consumed with nameless grief.

I sat in the worn armchair in the dark, staring at nothing and trying to remember something, anything, even the ugly things that scared me.

Some time later, I heard cars leaving, and after that there was a knock on my door.

“Milagro, it’s Oswald. May I come in?”

I got up and opened the door, keeping the light off. “Sorry, I’m tired.”

He stood in the hallway and smiled a little drunkenly. “Sam’s gone home and goddamn Ian Ducharme’s finally left. Looks like we won’t have any trouble from the Council.”

“That’s good news. Can you come in for a minute?”

“Sure,” he said, and swayed forward.

I took him by the arm and brought him into the room, closing the door, and then I led him to the bed. “Sit with me.”

He sat and immediately pulled me to him. His kiss was like a stranger’s kiss: pleasing and interesting, but unfamiliar. His fingers went to the pulse point on my throat.

I pulled away from him. “Oswald, do you love me?”

He reached for the ring around my neck. “I wouldn’t have given you this if I didn’t. Do you like it?”

“It’s beautiful,” I said. “But what exactly do you love about me?”

“You’re sexy and pretty. You’re smart. You’re, uh, tasty. My family likes you.”

“When do I meet your parents again? Does your mother adore me?”

“You’ll meet them eventually. There’s no rush.” He removed one of my gloves and lifted my hand to his mouth. “I want to taste you again so bad. I know how to do it so there’s no pain.”

His kinky lust quelled any desires I had. “It’s late.”

“You’re right. We’ve got the rest of our lives.” He kissed me again and then stood. “I think I’ll go for a swim.”

“Be careful. You’ve been drinking.”

“I won’t dive in. I’ll just float on one of the mattresses and kick back. Why don’t you come? You don’t have to get in the water if it’s too weird for you.”

I shook my head. “I’m not ready yet.”

“Sweet dreams, babe.”

“Night, Oswald.”

I washed up and went to bed. When I closed my eyes, I kept imagining Ian Ducharme’s face, his voice, and I kept turning his words in my mind like a puzzle, searching for other meanings.

A long time later, when I hadn’t heard Oswald return, I worried that he might have hit his head diving in the pool, and then we’d both have amnesia. I got up and dressed in jeans and a T-shirt.