“I’m single … well, until you get here. So you better hurry.”

“I came looking for you, y’know. After I watched you leave I dashed after you. But I went in the wrong direction.”

“The story of our lives to this point.”

“So there you go—we belong together.”

“By the way, are you still smiling?”

“Yes, I’m smiling, Sylvia.”

“Why are you smiling, Fire?”

“Because you are my woman, Sylvia. And I am your man. Tonight I will fall asleep inside you. And I want to take you to meet my father.”

“I can see your light, by the way. Can you see me?”

From two miles away he couldn’t make her out in the crowd on the beach; at half a mile he could see her waving; at fifty yards he could see her face; at twenty-five, where he anchored and rolled up his trouser legs to step into the water, he could see her smiling.

As the boat drew near, she wanted to rush out to meet him, to splash in the foam and wet up her clothes with girlish excitement. But she didn’t. She couldn’t move. She couldn’t even breathe until he took her in his arms and hugged her, as the mourners began to nudge and whisper: “Is de girl dat, y’know.” “She’s a nice girl, man … we did really judge her wrong.” “She look like she woulda make some pretty baby too.” “From de way dem carrying on it might be nine months from now.”

“So, single woman,” he said as he held her chin. “You have a date tonight?”

“I’m not single anymore,” she replied. “My man has come to claim me.”

“So you’ll have my eighteen children, I take it, and do the laundry by hand because I still don’t have a washing machine.”

Tears scrambled down her face. “Only if I get the chance to be the one to wash your hair.”

“It all depends on how you behave,” he said. “I don’t give that privilege to any-and-everybody.”

“Every day won’t be like this, you know. Happy and sweet.”

“I know that. But these will be the moments that we’ll live for.”

“I love you, Fire.”

“I love you, Sylvia.”

“By the way, is that your smile or the reflection of mine?”

acknowledgments

Mummy and Pearson, I love you both. Addis and Makonnen, you’re the sweetest children a father could have. Marie Brown, you are more than an agent. You are mother, friend, nurturing spirit, and guiding force. Cheryl Woodruff, my first editor, every new author is a gamble. Thanks for taking a chance and working to make me deserve it. You are Pat Riley to my John Starks. Gary Brozek, Kristine Mills-Noble, Beverly Robinson, and the entire staff of One World/ Ballantine, thanks for your care and patience.

Many people took the time to read early drafts. Respect is due to you: Oliver Smith (yes, King Jammy), K. Maurice Jones, Donette Francis, David Pilgrim, David Eason, Susan Burrell, Paul Tulloch, Barbara Serlin, Gary Oates, Steve Elliot, Michael Bennett, Sherman Escoffery, Clinton Reynolds, Marlene Hanson, and Kim Barrajanos.