“I didn’t tell you I was a writer,” he said, “because I was naïve enough to think it didn’t and shouldn’t matter … but ultimately it did, didn’t it?”

“Yes,” she said, with a sigh. “My head was in a crazy place.”

“And I guess mine was as well,” he replied, “to believe the world was simpler than it is.”

Sylvia found herself in a dilemma now. She wanted to make it clear to him that she wanted him now not just because she knew he was A. J. Heath, but because she had discovered her own values and had finally discarded everyone else’s. There was no way to tell him this without telling him how much she wanted him. What if he didn’t want her?

“How are you getting to the airport?” he asked.

“I paid a cab to wait for me.”

He felt the tears well up from his belly and burst into his chest and he said, “I have to go take care of some things down at the beach. Ian’s ashes must be taken out to sea. I won’t be able to walk you to your car.”

“It’s okay,” she said, sniffling. “Be good.”

He closed his eyes to hide his tears and felt her lean away. When he opened them she was walking across the street toward the park, her toes pointed outward and her neck held loose.

“Call me when you get to St. Lucia,” he said.

She stopped at the corner, next to the rubbish bin, and slowly retraced her steps. “I will,” she said, placing her hands on his shoulders.

“I know you will,” he told her. “You will, won’t you?” As the hunger railed inside him again, he held her gaze and ran his hands along her legs, then looped his arms around her slender waist.

“Of course I will,” she said. A breeze began to rustle the tree, spotting their faces with shadow.

They looked at each other with watery eyes.

“I have to go,” she said as she used her knees to spread his thighs so she could hold him closer. In her mind her nipples were flickering candles. Extinguish them, she wanted to say to him, use your breath to blow them out. “Your hair is nice,” she said. “Can I touch it?”

“Yes,” he said, caressing her throat with the tip of his nose. “You can touch it. You can touch my hair.”

She reached behind his neck and pulled the knot. The locks fell over his shoulders. “Would it be mad,” she said, “if I asked you for a piece of it to keep with me forever?”

“That wouldn’t be mad,” he said. “That would not be mad at all.”

“But what would I do with it?”

“Keep it as a reminder of what if … y’know … what if, what if …”

“I have to go,” she said as she kissed his forehead. “And so do you. It’s night now. Will you be going out to sea alone?”