Amy ducked her head. The sun coated her hair. Her lips puffed into a smile. She said softly, “Bobo, it’s not a compliment to be a gigolo, so don’t tell anyone you are.”

“I didn’t know what it was,” I said. “First time I’ve ever heard the word.”

She looked at me. The brightness was back in her eyes. She asked, “Are you really an artist?”

“Did Carter tell you that?” I replied.

“He said you were good. Really good, I mean.”

“I draw some. It’s something to do.”

“Will you draw a picture of me?” she asked.

I wondered if Carter, in his disregard for anyone’s privacy, had found the pictures I had been drawing of Amy— quick sketches penciled in moments of solitude and hidden away among my things. I wondered if he had told her about them.

“Will you?” she repeated.

“I’ll try,” I said. “But I’m not very good at faces. Not from memory.”

“I’ll pose for you,” she offered.

I thought of Carter, of the torment that Carter would heap on me. “I don’t think that would be a good idea.”

“What about a photograph?” she asked. “Would that help?”

I shrugged uncomfortably. “I guess.”

“I’ll get one for you. It’s new, a school picture.”

“Okay,” I said, “but give it to me at Arch’s.”

Amy leaned toward me, almost close enough to touch. “You don’t want my parents to know, do you?”

I looked away, to the Inn. I could see the old people moving about on the lawn, ambling to tables with umbrellas cupped open against the sun. They would sit and play their games of cards until lunch.

“Do you?” Amy said again.

“It doesn’t matter to me,” I told her.

“They think you like me, you know,” Amy said quietly.

“Well, I—”

“They also think I like you,” she added.

I did not know what to say to her. I wanted to reach and touch her hand, to feel her hand living in my hand. I could hear the easy rhythm of her breathing.

“I do,” she said gently.

I looked at her. I could feel her mysteriously entering me, slipping past caution. I thought she could also feel it. She smiled at me.

“Would you take me to a movie if my father paid you?”

I could feel my heart rushing. “I wouldn’t do that. I’ll take you, but not for money.”

“I’m glad,” she said. There was a pause. “I feel better. Thank you.”