He watched them for a while, then turned back into the room. Alma was still asleep. He kissed her and she murmured but didn’t open her eyes. He lay next to her for a few minutes, then he got up, got dressed quietly, and stopped at the door to look back at her. They’d had a good time last night—good food and talk with Mo and Peggy. Just enough to drink and just enough good sex. Most nights were good with her now and as he watched her in the morning light he thought that he liked her better than he ever had. Mo said that was all that mattered. Love was for afternoon TV.

It was warm outside, the first really warm day of the year, and the breeze that came off the river was fresh for a change. Hawkins drove slowly across Brooklyn to Queens, keeping to the side streets. He saw clusters of little girls dressed up like brides, on their way to their first communion. Their white dresses and veils blew in the wind and their families walked behind them, the women holding their hats. He smiled when he passed them, and waved, and one little girl in a swirl of white organdy waved back at him.

He hit the Expressway and even here the air was fresh. The bay didn’t stink for once, the park along the abandoned fairgrounds had turned green overnight, and the little phony lake was blue in the sun. He started feeling absurdly pleased with himself.

He was making forty-­five thousand a year. Alston said it was time for him to run for something. City Council, or State Legislature. Even Washington wasn’t too far to go for a smart, handsome, black ex-­cop, Alston had said. Hot stuff, Hawkins thought. The Congress, the Senate . . .

Of course, Alston had said, he had to get married. Single men had a hard time in politics. Everyone figured they were gay or fuck-­arounds. Alma’d marry him, he thought. She’d have married him years ago, if he’d asked her. City Council meant good money. She wouldn’t miss the alimony. Elections meant some celebrity, too, and his daughter might read about him and come to see him after all these years. Maybe they’d move to Manhattan. . . .

He turned into his street and saw the van in his driveway. It was a Dodge, the same color inside and out, and he couldn’t believe it was the same but he knew it was. He remembered how much he loved Jacob, how he missed him; he thought of Rachel again and realized that he’d never really stopped thinking about her. He wasn’t confident anymore, or happy. A second ago he could have told himself the whole story of the rest of his life. Now he didn’t know anything.