When the waiter sat her at a tiny table at the edge of the sand, she felt confined and restless, and she stepped over the low iron railing and onto the beach. She had fifteen minutes before he arrived, and she slipped her sandals off and walked toward the water. There was only a hint of waves in the translucent blue ocean, and she knew that even with the sand, warm and comforting under her feet, she was in a place both unfamiliar and uncertain. She sat down and ran her fingers through the sand. There were a few small fishing boats close to shore; in one, she could see two young boys throw their net into the ocean and then dive after it. She watched them go under then resurface, their dark heads sparkling in the sunlight. On shore, two barefoot girls called to them and laughed. The boys shouted back and the girls erupted in giggles. Josie watched the boys drape their arms casually over the boat’s side, watched them rise up and down with the swell of the sea. It was hypnotic. She closed her eyes, put her head down, and felt a hand on her shoulder.

He touched her gently, and she barely felt it before she was looking up. His hair was longer and shone more than she remembered, and he wore a bright white shirt she had never seen. He was brilliant to look at, silhouetted against the vast sky, and she had to look down. She pressed her head gently against his legs, and he sank beside her and raked his fingers softly through her hair.

“Decided to drop by, did you?” he asked.

She laughed and tilted her head to look at him. He stroked her, and she was overwhelmingly grateful. He smiled softly and ran his thumb along her cheek. She knew she would tell him she loved him, knew she would tell him she understood that how or why they had arrived here didn’t matter, that the cause only flickered in the background like an ember, and that what was important was that they were here together. She would say all this and more. But now she let the sun warm her face, let his fingers graze her skin, let the sound of the children laughing in the background tinkle over the ocean like tiny bells.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

For friendship, information, guidance, support, and inspiration, my thanks to: Deborah Abrams, Allan Abrams, Glenn Abrams, Tate Abrams, Christy Fletcher, Elisabeth Schmitz, Daisy Fried, Tara Gorvine, Rachel Maize, Maura Finkelstein, Maria Hummel, Melissa Chinchillo, Holly Miller, Daniel Mason, Dr. Anisha Abraham, Dr. Andrea Marmor, Dr. William Schecter, Dr. Martin Goodman, Daniel Blatt, Marc Gerald, Danny Cook, and Debra Sequeira. And to Vikram for his steadfast belief in me and this book, for his countless readings and rereadings, for his unwavering advice to “write the book you need to write,” and for much much more.