I had no doubt Benton would be somewhere in my neighborhood because I had not heard his BMW leave. I hurried along new paved streets, passing big brick and stucco homes, until I caught him beneath trees staring out at a rocky stretch of the James River. The water was frigid and the color of glass, and cirrus clouds were indistinct chalky streaks in a fading sky.

“I’ll head out to South Carolina as soon as I get back to the house. I’ll get the condo ready and get your Scotch,” he said, not turning around. “And Black Bush.”

“You don’t need to leave tonight,” I said, and I was afraid to move closer to him as slanted light brightened his hair and the wind stirred it. “I’ve got to get up early tomorrow. You can head out when I do.”

He was silent, staring up at a bald eagle that had followed me since I had left my house. Benton had put on a red windbreaker, but he looked chilled in his damp running shorts, and his arms were crossed tightly at his chest. His throat moved as he swallowed, his pain radiating from a hidden place that only I was allowed to see. At moments like this I did not know why he put up with me.

“Don’t expect me to be a machine, Benton,” I quietly said for the millionth time since I had loved him.

Still he did not speak, and water barely had the energy to roll toward downtown, making a dull pouring sound as it unwittingly headed closer to the violence of dams.

“I take as much as I can,” I explained. “I take more than most people could. Don’t expect too much from me, Benton.”

The eagle soared in circles over the tops of tall trees, and Benton seemed more resigned when he spoke at last.

“And I take more than most people can,” he said. “In part, because you do.”

“Yes, it works both ways.”

I stepped closer to him from behind and slipped my arms around the slick red nylon covering his waist.

“You know damn well it does,” he said.

I hugged him tight and dug my chin into his back.

“One of your neighbors is watching,” he said. “I can see him through sliding glass. Did you know you have a peeper in this ritzy white-bread place?”

He placed his hands over mine, then lifted one finger at a time with nothing special in mind.

“Of course, if I lived here, I would peep at you too,” he added with a smile in his tone.

“You do live here.”

“Naw. I just sleep here.”

“Let’s talk about the morning. As usual, they’ll pick me up at the Eye Institute around five,” I told him. “So I guess if I get up by four . . .” I sighed, wondering if life would always be like this. “You should stay the night.”