Zanche and I watched him head down the sand toward his place on the point. She had come to drive him off—to make sure I didn’t give our situation away. Gasparo observed from the deck, leaning there on his elbows, in his swimming trunks and a khaki shirt worn loose to conceal his holster.

“You could be more subtle,” I said.

“So could you.”

“Don’t be so judgmental.”

“I judge nothing.”

“Meanwhile, Gasparo and you—you do as you please.”

“Only you are allowed pleasure?”

I pursed my lips. I could feel the sun beating down through the haze.

“You hurt my feelings when you say things like that,” I said.

My voice cracked a little, but I don’t know whether Zanche believed me. I was curious about her—to see whether her features might soften. I suspected her coldness might be a mask. If it was, that mask didn’t crack. She went back to her Gasparo.

Dazio returned with a thermos and some ice.

“Lemonade?”

“I don’t care for any,” I said.

I saw the disappointment in his face. I felt badly. He was just a boy, trapped here through no fault of his own. I took off my shirt then to get some sun. The swimmer was gone, and I didn’t mind if Dazio saw me for the bony, disjointed creature I happen to be.

“I need some lotion, please.”

He spread it on my back, sullenly at first, but after a while his sullenness turned to pleasure. He enjoyed touching me, and something about his touch reminded me of my brother when he’d been younger and sweeter. I pushed this thought away and lay down with my face in the towel.

––––––––