I don’t remember how I spent that night. In disrepute, probably. In the morning, I drove the Jeep back to the quartermaster and went on with my work, because what else can you do? You cannot call back those you have lost, however much your bones ache with missing them, however giant and mysterious the holes they leave behind.

Lindquist disappears around the corner at the top of the stairs, to put her children to bed for the three thousandth time or so. The voices and thumps drift downward, Leo and his little siblings, joined by Lindquist. I head for the library and Olle’s liquor cabinet to add another splash of bourbon to the dregs of my cocoa. When I’m on the outside of that, I help Lani clean up in the kitchen, and at last I step outside, where the air is dark and fresh and smells of blossoms. I think how lovely it is to smell blossoms in October. They mingle with the bourbon fumes to produce something new and alluring that I believe I shall always associate with Hawai’i and Coolibah, after I’ve left this place and moved on to the next.

I haven’t taken more than five steps across the lawn before somebody calls my name. I consider pretending I don’t hear, but then I find myself craving some company. So I stop and turn.

“O captain, my captain. What brings you outside on a night like this?”

“Do you have a moment?”

“I’ve got a whole lifetime of moments. The question’s whether I should spend any more of them with you.”

He smiles through the darkness. “Would you? Please?”

“I should warn you,” I say, wagging my finger, “I’m a little the worse for bourbon.”

“I guess I’ve handled a drunk or two in my time. Come along. Find somewhere to sit down.”

“I think that would be wise.”

He laughs in reply and starts walking in the direction of the sea. He doesn’t touch me, doesn’t seek my hand or my arm or anything. The moon has risen, three quarters of a clean white pie, just enough light to see by. By and by we come to some kind of gazebo, all by itself, surrounded by nothing but bushes bursting with flowers. You can’t tell what color they are because it’s too dark, but you can see their petals reflect the moonlight, and you can smell their perfume. I follow Leo up the steps into the shelter of the gazebo and lie down on a bench. He sits nearby, gripping the edge with his hands, and stares at me.

“I just wanted to apologize,” he says.

“You brought me all the way over here to say sorry?”

“Wanted some neutral territory, I guess, in case you were going to throw something at me. I was kind of a bozo the other night.”