Outside the pool house, I see what wasn’t visible in the dark last night — the red clay tennis court behind a tall green hedge. The garden cupola surrounded by wildflowers. The morning air is cool and fresh. Three matching light-brown long-haired dogs of some breed I’ve never seen before bound over the lawn after being inside all night. Tinsley’s mother stands by the French doors of the large beige-brick chateau on the other side of the pool. Without saying goodbye to me, Tinsley stomps toward her. Meanwhile, Mrs. Stockton’s eyes meet mine and she points at a slate path around the side of the manse. “You can go that way.”

The path leads to the fountain at the head of the driveway. That’s when I remember that we came here last night in Tinsley’s Spitfire.

Looks like I’m walking home.

Is it better to have

Had your wish

Or to only have

Wished you’d had?

The long winding driveway is lined with evenly spaced trees and immaculate white fencing. To the right and left spread spacious green lawns with a smattering of barrels and low jumps that I imagine are the practice tools of a serious equestrian. (The morning Tinsley and I sat on the bench outside the U.S. Customs and Border Protection building, waiting for them to find us a ride back to Long Island, she told me that until this year, she’d spent her summers at a riding academy in Bern, Switzerland. This explained the saddle in the Spitfire’s trunk and the strength in her thighs. And those golf club–like poles in the pool house must be polo mallets, left behind, I suspect, by her father.)

I let myself out the tall metal gate. After being up all night on acid, I feel like my brain is mired in sludge and running at about 50 percent. But that doesn’t prevent more regret over Robin from oozing in. Strangely, this morning one thing seems to have come into sharper focus — I can’t give up on her. I just can’t. It’s so weird because last night I recalled how easy it had been for me to give up on the tennis court. How I could tell myself that it didn’t matter, that I didn’t care. But I can’t do that with Robin. What I did this morning with Tinsley doesn’t matter. What’s going on between Robin and Samuel doesn’t matter. I must try to get her back.