The first open gate had a stone cottage next to it, with lights on, and they kept going. But the next one was rusted and half off its hinges. He pulled in and she got out and pushed the gate all the way open. They drove up a long gravel track under a canopy of elms that were still alive.

The gravel on the drive was washed out in places; stalks of weeds and dead grass came up through the dirt. There was a big stone terrace ahead, wrought-­iron lawn furniture rusted on it, and grass grew between the flagstones. The drive curved, their headlights shone on empty casement windows and on a garden full of weeds and vines. He stopped the car and turned off the lights.

He kissed her and she pulled up her sweater and unhooked her brassiere. His lips rubbed against her nipples; he was sweating and his hands got slick and slippery. He felt wild and he thought he’d bite her, so he made himself sit back away from her and lean against the car door, trying to catch his breath. She reached out for him, chest level, and felt the gun and holster.

“Please take that off.”

He unsnapped it and put the whole thing on the dashboard. Women were supposed to love guns, he thought. Alma did. She said it made her hot. But Rachel didn’t look at it.

She moved her hand down his chest and belly and between his legs. He pushed against her palm, then got scared that he’d come in his pants like a kid, and he stopped moving and held her hand still.

“We gotta git in back,” he said. His voice was low and hoarse and he was talking black for the first time in years. “Front’s too small . . .”

The back was, too. He couldn’t get on top of her, so she straddled him. The air was quiet, there were no night noises, and a fog was coming in off the Sound. He eased her down on him as slowly as he could and tried to make it last and couldn’t. But he wouldn’t let her go, and after a minute he moved again, very, very slowly, and she moved with him. He thought of Adam and he wished he could be both of them at once. Afterwards, she tried to get up, and he wanted to keep holding her, but he felt her legs trembling with strain, and he let her go.

The fog covered the car, and he could barely see the overgrown garden through it. The edges of everything glowed and looked magical. She crouched next to him on the floor with her skirt bunched up around her waist, and looking at her like that excited him again. He rubbed her belly.

“I love you,” he whispered. His back ached, his legs were stiff, but he didn’t want to move.