And thus he is invited to join her on the grass. They sit side by side, chatting and watching the squirrels busy themselves with acorns. Meanwhile, somewhere within the brick walls surrounding the courtyard, a chemistry class begins and ends. Lucas and Robin are still sitting on the lawn when the next period bell rings. Robin gathers her books, saying she must get to gym. They stand. For the first time since Lucas joined her, their eyes meet without the sun in hers. She blinks, and recognition creeps onto her face: “You’re Lucas Baker.”

He bows. “At your service, madame.”

She smiles. “Call me tonight?”

He does.

Amber sunlight slants through Odysseus’s windows. It’s late afternoon on Long Island and I’ve descended from the peak acid plateau to that mutable base camp where one can act straight if circumstances (i.e., encounters with parents) demand it. After we drop Milton at his house, it’s a short hop to Robin’s. In her driveway, she quickly gathers her things. Her adieu is hasty, her desire for a long, hot shower paramount. She says that she’ll be busy this evening packing for Camp Juliette in Ontario, so I will not see her again until the dreaded morn, when we will say our final farewells for the summer. In the setting sunlight, she has to squirm out of my arms. Otherwise I might try to hold on to her until the dawn.

A little while later, I’m sitting on the mattress on the floor of my room, surrounded by scattered clothes, records, Ski magazines, and books. The walls are plastered with posters of Dylan and Hendrix, and Brando from The Wild One. My heroes: rebels one and all. But I am feeling far from heroic. Sadness throbs like an open wound.

Earlier this spring, when Robin first told me she was going to be a counselor for the summer, I beseeched her to reconsider. That was back in March, when we were greenhorns in the divine realm of love. The prospect of months apart felt — continues to feel — unbearable. But Robin had attended Camp Juliette for half a dozen years as a camper and had always planned to cap her experience in a counselor role. If what we had together was real, she said, it would still be there when she returned.

(I didn’t tell her how badly those words shook me. It never occurred to me that what we had might not be real.)