I’m about to do something adolescent, but bear with me. It’s hard to behave like a grown-up when a woman is making you feel too giddy for your age.

When we met, I had no idea that we’d ever see each other again. And I walked away from that phone booth filled with so much sweetness—and here’s where the adolescent business comes in—like Bob must have felt when he met the person who inspired the song “Waiting in Vain.”

I have to go. I’m packing to leave. My things are all over the place. I ransacked my suitcase looking for clothes this evening. And I’m expecting company. (Yes, at this hour. Ian said he’s sending a bearer with a package for me. What can I say? Ian is Ian.) I’m going to England for the entire summer, so I won’t be seeing you soon, which is both good and bad, if you know what I mean. As I said to you tonight, I don’t handle disappointment very well.

I’ll always remember you, Sylvia, and the time we shared. Now I know how Dizzy must have felt when he heard Bird play the first time, like, “Yeah, this is the sound I’ve been searching for inside myself.” What more can I say, nice girl? To be or not to bop?

So … I must go now. It would be nice if you choose to remember me. Yes, I’d like that. Remember me as the guy who didn’t want that cab ride to end, who didn’t want you to wake up until whatever was causing you to toss so much had been washed out of your soul, who really wanted to kiss you goodbye. I hope you like the coffee. My friend Sarge grows it on this little farm. Write to me in Jamaica and I’ll send you more if you want. Take care, Sylvia. It was nice to have met you.

—Fire

Daggers of lightning ripped the sky. Thunder balls shook the room. And the candles drew scary pictures on the walls. Sylvia fell asleep on her belly. One arm cuddled a pillow beneath her. The other one was glued between her legs.

As she sank deeper into sleep, her face relaxed and the smile began to fade. But it took a very long time.

book two

chapter four

Through his window in the first-class cabin, Fire watched the twilight soaking through the clouds. He was struck once again by the drama of the heavens, by the colors and shapes and textures that throbbed and shifted and eddied there. Leaning back in his seat, he concerned himself with the package in his hands, the one that Ian had sent to him at four o’clock in the morning, stipulating, as the bearer said, that it not be opened till he was over the Atlantic, where he was now, approaching the coast of Wales.

It was a letter he saw when he opened it—attached by a clip to a check drawn on an account at a bank that was based in the Caymans.