She didn’t speak much on the way home, claiming that she had a headache. Lewis put on some soft music and told her to recline the seat.

Sylvia’s first concern was damage control. She gathered her forces and considered her options. Just do nothing and if it ever comes up with Lewis, deny it, she thought. Naw, because most likely it won’t come directly from Phil to Lewis, it’s gonna pass through Margaret, and who knows who else she’s gonna tell, and I don’t want people in my business.

Talk to Phil and ask him to keep a secret? Naw, because then that’s like admitting to things that Fire might have told him that weren’t true. I mean what does Phil know? That Fire was interested in me and sent me a package or something? But what if he knows the rest? That might be worse than any lies Fire might’ve told him. Co-opt Phil? Tell him everything, then … naw, he’s gonna know too much and he might tell Margaret and … naw.

Confess to Lewis? He might understand, if I edit it correctly. Then if he hears anything else I’ll deny it. And if he dares to interrogate me I’ll deny it down to the ground and threaten to leave him. But then all that might put pressure on the relationship and it might not be worth much after that. Confess to Lewis … but only after I get him to confess. Maybe I could bring it up in a joking kind of way about his fooling around while we were apart … somehow use what I know about him and Margaret to get into it … then after he fesses up just say, Well, baby, I understand because I came close too, kinda, but I know it’s you I want, and then … naw. No matter what, never confess.

Sylvia gradually receded from tactical considerations, partly due to fatigue and partly due to competition for her mental energy from her memories of Fire. Until this evening, she had been comfortable in her belief that she had gotten over him. But now she began to feel unsure, as thoughts of him replaced the tightness in her chest with a tightness of a different kind—instead of suffocation there was the feeling of a zealous embrace.

She saw Fire at her doorstep with the flowers, crouching to console her. At the train station. Dancing at the bar at the Club Rio. Sitting on the bench with her on the Promenade. Kneeling in front of her to mend her knee. Leaning against the phone booth the first time they met. Parting her hair, combing it and brushing it, oiling her scalp like Granny used to do. Touching her body like no man had ever done before, and as no man had done since.

She didn’t realize that she was smiling until Lewis asked her what she was smiling about.

“It was nice to have met you,” she said softly.

“It was nice to have met you too, Sylvia.”