She reached for my hand again, touched it again with her fingers. The way she sat, with her head up, peering at me, I thought of Sammy’s rough sculpture of her and I wanted to tell her about it, but I did not. Sammy’s sculpture was like the painting in Jean Archer’s bedroom— something not yet ready to be shared.

“Are you tired?” I asked.

“I slept like a baby for two hours after you left,” she said.

“Did you dream?”

“Beautifully,” she answered softly. “We were seventeen and we were making love in Avrum’s room.”

We had lunch in a small restaurant in Margaretville and then walked to the Galli-Curci Theater, which had been gutted and transformed into an antique mall.

“It’s not the same, is it?” Amy said.

“Not exactly,” I agreed.

“Remember when we used to come here to see movies, and we’d sit and hold hands, and Carter and Rene would aggravate us? And—oh, God—the night Eddie Grimes was here with that pitiful little chambermaid and she started screaming because he was trying to take off her bra?”

I had forgotten about Eddie and the girl.

“You don’t remember?” she said. “I thought Carter was going to kill him.”

“Are you sure you were with me?” I asked.

She laughed playfully. “Now that I think about it, it wasn’t you. I was with Adam. I always got the two of you confused.”

“Who?”

“You know who.”

“Oh, sure, I remember him,” I said. “Ate with his fingers, if I recall. Had buck teeth and a drooping eye and the worse dandruff I’ve ever seen. Looked a little like Freddie, or whatever his name is, from those horror films. And broke. Always broke. I had to tip him when he had lunch with you and your folks. Whatever became of him?”

Amy laughed. “Adam? He became president of one of the largest banks in New York,” she said lightly. “Mr. Megabucks. I could have been Mrs. Megabucks, if it hadn’t been for you.”

“Me? What did I have to do with it?”

She led me down an aisle of furniture. “I told him about you on the drive back to the city that day. He was livid. He thought I’d contaminated myself by consorting with a Georgia plowboy.” She smiled mischievously. “I hinted that I might be pregnant and he said it would look like a gargoyle if you were the father. I never saw him after that day.”

I frowned. “You’re kidding, aren’t you? You didn’t break up over me.”

She giggled. “Come on, I want to find a dresser for my bedroom.”