“You had a stepmother to defend. I admired you for it, I really did. No hard feelings, as someone once said to me.”

“All right, I was sore. I admit it. I thought you liked me.”

“Oh, I do like you, Leo. I like you very much. I am deeply, deeply attracted to you. That tip you gave me was just the icing on an awfully delicious cake.”

“I see,” he says, husky.

“It’s funny, you’re not a bit like him, though.”

“Like who?”

“Like this fellow I knew during the war. Velázquez. He was gruff and short and hairy and plain, and I can’t ever seem to stop thinking about him.”

“Where is he now?”

“He’s dead, Leo. He died in the winter of ’45, in a bombing raid over Cologne.”

“I’m sorry.”

“So am I.” I raise my head. “Have you said everything you wanted? Because I’d like to go to bed now.”

He rises and helps me to my feet. I keep hold of his hand, because we’re friends again. We walk to the cottage through the flowery air. The moon glows above us. When we reach the door, I stop and turn to face him, and the air just expires from my lungs. Having watched his face all evening, contorted into all kinds of expressions, I’ve forgotten how simply alluring he is, how alluringly simple.

“Tell me something. How did your father meet your stepmother?”

“It was the airline. She advertised for pilots, and he’d done a little crop-dusting, so he applied. She trained all the pilots herself.”

“And nobody knew who she was?”

“You have to understand, we don’t care much about the outside world around Hanalei.”

I nod. “That’s why she landed here.”

“I guess so. I think she hated all the fuss.”

“And how did you feel? Getting a new mother after all those years? And then your brother and sister coming along.”

I observe him carefully. I am not so drunk that I can’t pay attention. I note his hesitation, the brief furrow of his brow as he gives his answer some thought.

“I was just happy for Dad,” he says. “And I was happy for her. For Irene. I thought she’d had a rough time, and now she had someone to take care of her, for a change.”

“Everyone needs that, I guess.”

“Everyone but you. Isn’t that right, Janey?”

I put my hand on the doorknob. “Good night, Leo. Pleasant dreams.”

Inside the cottage, I pour myself a glass of water from the tap and swallow a couple of aspirins. Leo was right, I can take care of myself, all right. I know what to do when I’m going to bed a little the worse for Olle’s fine Kentucky bourbon.