She sat up. The room was dark, the curtains shut tight. It might have been any hour, it might have been noon the next day, but some instinct told Irene the sun hadn’t yet risen. The air was warm and damp and smelled of flowers. Irene should have left the window open to the breeze coming off the ocean. She reached for her watch on the nightstand and discovered it was half past four in the morning. No wonder she was awake! In Los Angeles, it was half past seven. Her brain jumped and sizzled like an electrical circuit. Her body felt as if she’d been overturned by a bulldozer. There was no hope of returning to sleep.

She swung her legs out of bed and staggered toward the window that overlooked the beach. When she drew open the curtains and raised the window sash, she saw that dawn hadn’t yet arrived, wasn’t even a promise, and the old familiar moon still spilled its light across Waikiki Beach and the ocean beyond.

Not so deserted. Irene rested her forearms on the ledge and allowed the breeze to whisk along her skin, and when she opened her eyes again she saw a man on a surfboard atop a ridge of phosphorescent foam, soaring toward shore.

As Irene hurried down the empty stairs and corridors, out the doors to the terrace and beach, she told herself that this surfer was probably not Sam. This was Waikiki, there were plenty of surfers, and Sam ought to be asleep after a day like yesterday. But that was just logic. She knew it was Sam; of course it was Sam. She’d recognized his figure from four stories up. She knew his hair, and the way he moved his board, and the way he positioned his arms. She also knew that he liked to surf early, before the sun came up and the people with it.

She reached the sand just as he came out of the waves, carrying the massive board under his arm like a piece of kindling. His hair was wet; his arms and shoulders ran with salt water. He shook his head and noticed her, and to her relief he grinned.

“Shouldn’t you be sleeping?” she called out.

“Shouldn’t you?”

“I just woke up. Anyway, I’m not the one flying the airplane.”

Sam walked right up to her, and for a second or two Irene thought he might drop a kiss on her cheek or even her lips. Instead he planted the end of the board in the sand and flung himself down.

“You can, if you like,” he said.

She sat down next to him. “Can what?”

“Fly the airplane. I’ve been thinking. Staying awake so long, it’s not safe. We should take turns flying the bird, so the other man can catch a few winks.” He turned his head to the side to look at her. “What do you think?”