“Yes,” she said weakly. “Yes. But I don’t understand. How can you be here?”

He let her go again. “I rode the cycle.”

“No, I mean . . .” What did she mean? “I was standing at the door. I heard you take off. I even saw, just a glimpse, but I saw the ship in the sky.”

“I sent it back. The computer’s at the helm.”

“You sent it back,” she repeated slowly. “Oh, my God, Caleb, why?”

“Only an idiot would have to ask.”

Her eyes filled and spilled over. “No, not for me. I can’t bear it. Your family—”

“I left a disk for them. I told them everything, a great deal more than what’s in the report I left on board. Where I was, why I had to stay. If the ship makes it back, and it has as good a chance without me as it did with me, they’ll understand.”

“I can’t ask you to do this.”

“You didn’t.” He took her hand before she could turn away again. “You would have gone with me, wouldn’t you, Libby?”

“Yes.”

“I might have taken you up on that if I’d been sure we would have lived through it. Listen to me.” He drew her to her feet. “I’d started countdown. I’d convinced myself that my life was back there where I’d left it. There were a dozen logical reasons why I had to go. And there was one, only one, reason I had to stay. I love you. My life is here.” He tightened his grip, brought her close. “I came through time for you, Libby. Don’t ever, ever think I made a mistake.”

She shook her head. “I’m afraid you’ll think so.”

“‘Time is . . . Time was . . . Time is past,’” he murmured. “My time is in the past, Libby. With you.”

Her eyes filmed over again. “I love you so much, Caleb. I’ll make you happy.”

“I’m counting on it.” He picked her up, pausing to capture her mouth in a long, long kiss. “You need sleep,” he told her. “Real sleep.”

“No, I don’t.”

He laughed, and the last vestige of tension fled. He was exactly where he belonged. “We’ll see. Later we’ll talk about how we’re going to handle the rest of this.”

“Rest?”

“The marriage-and-family part I can handle.”

“You haven’t asked me yet.”

“I’ll get around to it. Anyway, I’m going to need new ID. Then I’ve got to get a job. Something with a—an annual salary, right?”

“Something you enjoy,” she corrected. “That’s more important than salary and group hospitalization.”

“Group what?”

“Don’t worry about it.” She nuzzled into his neck. “I suppose Dad could give you some kind of position until you figure it all out.”