Soon the last light glimmers across the water and the dolphins swim off. We stand on the bluff and watch them leap to the starlight and wave goodbye with their tails.

Then they’re gone, and we’re alone together.

Eko and I build a fire and sit awkwardly close.

“That was great,” I say truthfully. “I didn’t know there were freshwater dolphins.”

“There are only five species in the entire world,” she replies softly. “The others live in places like the Yangtze and the Ganges, but the pink river dolphins of the Amazon are by far the smartest. Loggers shoot them for food, so there are only a few hundred left.” She turns toward me, and her sad eyes have never looked more beautiful. “Soon they’ll all be gone.”

“That’s terrible,” I murmur. “They’re so gentle.”

“And smart,” she adds softly. “Their brain capacity is much larger than humans’. It’s too bad you couldn’t talk to them, Jack—you missed a treat.”

“I didn’t miss it entirely,” I whisper back, and our eyes meet. I was talking about the dolphins, but my remark takes on a second meaning.

Eko leans into me and my arm goes around her.

Suddenly we’re looking into each other’s eyes, reliving our wrestling match in the lagoon. The memory of how good it felt is right there with us, as hot as the campfire roaring in front of us.

Eko squeezes my hand. “Don’t be afraid,” she whispers. “If it feels right, trust it.” Her face has been warmed by the firelight, and I feel it turn slowly, her cheek sliding over mine.

Our lips find each other, and this time I don’t pull away. Her kiss is soft, and when our tongues touch she trembles. How can such a strong woman become so vulnerable so quickly? “I missed you,” she whispers. “I was afraid I would never see you again.”

“I missed you, too,” I tell her truthfully. “I thought you were dead when you disappeared over the ocean. Where did you go? What happened?”

Instead of answering she shivers in my arms and I feel her loneliness and her longing. She whispers my name, and her hands are on my face, my shoulders, sliding down my arms. We’re drinking each other in, inhaling each other, devouring each other, and it does feel right, or maybe I’m not even thinking at all, I’m too busy feeling …

A log falls over in the fire, and sends up a shower of sparks. It’s a tiny thing, but it fractures the mood.

And in that split-second pause, I remember sitting with P.J. in front of just such a fire on just such a dark Amazon night.

The memory strikes me like a punch.