“Adam. The old boyfriend. He drove up this morning.”

“Why?”

“You dumb shit,” Carter sighed. “You’ve got Carolyn coming up in two days. Amy told you she couldn’t be here to see that. He’s here to take her back to the city.”

“When?”

“This afternoon.”

“She’s leaving today?”

“Bobo, remember what I told you about the wake-up from the dream? This is it.”

And then I was at the Lourie table, numbly serving lunch. Amy did not look at me. Adam and Joel Lourie talked easily, laughed easily, ignoring my presence. Only Evelyn Lourie seemed to understand what was happening, and to care. Her eyes said, “I’m sorry.”

The dream blinked again, jerked forward. I was standing on the loading dock off the kitchen, watching Joel Lourie and Adam pack Amy’s suitcases into Adam’s car. They were still behaving like old friends.

Carter tapped me on the shoulder. “Avrum wants to see you.”

I walked through the dining room and the lobby of the Inn, then out the front door and across the street to Avrum.

“I want for you to go to my room and bring me the medicine in the blue bottle,” Avrum instructed. “On the dresser.”

When I opened the door to Avrum’s room, Amy was standing beside the window, looking out at the mountain and the birch tree where we met at night. She was dressed in the same blouse and skirt she had worn for the dance at Arch’s. She turned and crossed to me and put her arms around me.

“I didn’t mean for it to be like this,” she said quietly against my chest. “I wanted to meet him in Kingston, but my parents—”

“It’s all right,” I told her.

“It was the only way I knew to go home, but I’m not staying with him, Bobo. I want you to know that. I’m staying with one of my friends. With Judy. I told you about Judy.”

“Yes,” I said.

She looked up at me. “Do you love me?”

“Yes. Don’t you know that?”

Her eyes flashed tears. She smiled. “Do you know what I want to happen?”

I did not speak. I could feel the stinging of my own eyes.

“I want us to make love. Here. Today.”

“Amy—”

She lifted her face to me, touched my lips with her lips.

“Why were so many things against us?” she whispered.

“I don’t know.”

“Will you remember, Bobo? Will you?”

“Yes.”

“Do you know what’s going to happen?” she asked.

“No.”

“Everyone’s going to tell us that this was just a summer thing,” she said softly. “Maybe they’ll make us believe it, or half-believe it. They’ll say, ‘That’s over. Don’t think about it. It’s over.’ But they don’t know, do they?”

“Know?” I asked.