At this moment, Newland had never felt closer to May, had never loved her more. Too late.

The last time Newland made love to May was on a Sunday morning in the gardens. It was a spring day filled with promise. The morning was fresh, and they had forgone church and slipped into a side entrance to the gardens. No one would object, not with all the generous contributions they had made over the years. The garden was to them a second home. They had spent many pleasant days wandering through the grand flowerbeds and extraordinary greens.

That day, Newland had lingered behind, studying the blooms of the peonies, an exceptional species with its interesting folds and center, while May had gone ahead of him on the path. Some minutes later, she called to him, and so he hurried along through the lilies to find her.

“I’m here, Newland,” she cried, her voice like a song.

She had escaped down a narrow path surrounded by trees and lush ground vegetation. It was a place they knew well; a place to steal away for a romantic interlude. When he discovered her lying on a bench, her hair freed, her dress draped over the back of the bench, one of her legs hanging down to the grass with her foot rubbing against its soft blanket, there was no doubt what she wanted.

“There you are,” she said, smiling up at him enticingly.

Newland began undressing. “Do you think we shall be discovered?” He smiled, knowing that only a few gardeners were about the grounds, none of them near.

But just as he was slipping out of his trousers, May rose and began to run.

He threw his pants over the bench and ran after her. She laughed wildly, her hair swaying with each step.

“Catch me, Newland,” she shouted and glanced back at him over her shoulder.

“Come back before we’re discovered,” he cried, hurrying after her.

She skipped down a dirt path, bordered by lush vegetation, and ran into the opening of a private garden. A small pond filled with koi fish and lily pads lay behind her. Trellises interlaced with blooming roses lined the edges of private garden, around which lilac bushes grew. Inside the garden, she stopped, lifted her arms, and began to twirl. The sunlight shone down on her long, lustrous hair and the creamy flesh of her shoulders. Her slip flowed in the breeze, showing off her lithe form.

Then she came to a stop. “Isn’t it lovely?” she said and raced to him. She threw her arms around his neck and lifted her legs up behind her.

Her laugh was contagious, and Newland soon found himself lost in the moment, laughing and spinning her around, until he became lightheaded. He eased them down to the grass and then found her lips, and before they made love, they shared a passionate kiss, one that would remain etched in Newland’s mind forever.

When the kiss broke, he moved between her legs and held her tightly in his arms. She wrapped her legs around his waist and he slid easily into her velvety sheath, rich with cream, and together they began making love. She opened her eyes and smiled lovingly at him. The vision of her beneath him as they made love was celestial; her expression was rapturous.