After The Fall Part 11

I sighed to myself. How could I tell her that it, whatever it was, wasn't about tachycardia or sweaty palms or even about s.e.xual compatibility? She'd been married three years. Surely she knew the gratification of coming home to a man you trusted, of laughing together late in bed with the lights off and his body warm next to yours? Luke was her lover, but was he her friend? Desire ebbs and flows, but friends.h.i.+p-or the lack of it-is what defines a marriage.

I found myself voicing my perennial query. "What about Cary?"

"I don't know," she said hopelessly, eyes filling again. "He's done nothing wrong, but it can't compare."

"Would you leave him?"

The question hung in the air while Kate plucked at the cus.h.i.+on. Fat tears rolled down her face and fell onto the velvet fabric, spreading like ink stains. Finally she answered, "I can't bear the thought of hurting him. But if Luke chose me, I think I would."

"But what about you? What do you want? Before there was Luke did you want to leave Cary?"

"No, of course not," she said, sounding genuinely shocked. "And I do still love him, despite everything else."

"But your choice now is Luke?"

"I haven't made a choice. I can't. It's not in my hands anyway, but I'll be d.a.m.ned if I leave it up to chance. That's what I came to tell you." She sat up, pus.h.i.+ng the sodden cus.h.i.+on aside, suddenly determined. "I've given Luke an ultimatum. Three weeks to decide who he wants and how it's going to be. Cressida won't know if she's been successful until the end of June-that's about four weeks away. If he chooses me, with any luck she'll be leaving anyway, and we can make a fresh start. If he chooses her ..." Her words trailed off. When she spoke again there was a tremor in her voice. "Then I still hope she gets it, and they can both go. I couldn't bear to ever see him again."

I took a deep breath. Comfort or challenge? What did Kate need more from me: my support or a reality check?

When I finally responded I surprised even myself. "It's not really fair to put it all on Luke."

"Well, it isn't fair to leave it to the vote of some academics either. I just wanted you to know in case you have to pick up the pieces." She smiled at me wryly, a sad, lopsided smile, and my heart broke for her. "I can't imagine leaving Cary, but I can't afford just to let this slip either. The last six months have been like another world. I have to give it a shot. If he wants me, I'm his."

"But he has to choose?"

She nodded. "He has to choose. It can't be fate or luck or the fall of the cards. He has to want me as much as I want him. No half measures, no waiting to see how things turn out."

It was a typical Kate decision, and I admired her for it even as I grieved at the turn things had taken. No good could come of this. Even if Luke did choose Kate, how could any union be built on the foundations of so much destruction? I sighed for all of them: my distraught friend Kate; Luke, who I hoped was just as torn; Cressida, whom I'd never met; and Cary, unknowing, blameless Cary. But there was no point arguing with her. Once she made up her mind Kate saw things through.

"Are you still going to see Luke until then?"

"I thought about that," she replied, "but why not? He'll still be seeing Cressida, so why should I just step aside? Besides, I can't imagine giving him up."

Words so raw and vulnerable and sincere I felt scared. I think we talked more, but not long afterward I made some excuse, then fled to the study, where I buried my head in Rick's familiar neck.

LUKE.

Sometime over that summer Kate had mentioned that Cary wanted to start a family. At the time I didn't pay much attention.

"Well, he's older than me, I guess," I told her. "And you're past thirty. I suppose he thinks you ought to get going."

We were in bed, a borrowed beach house somewhere on one of those stolen weekends. Even now if I try all I can remember is that room: an old iron bedstead, bare boards, blue-and-white curtains. We must have gotten up at some stage, maybe even ventured outside, but if we did I have no recollection of it. Just Kate in bed, her body dark against the white sheets.

She pulled a face. "You saw thirty longer ago than I did, and I don't notice you rus.h.i.+ng to procreate."

I rolled over, burying my face in her hair.

"No need. I can still fire one off in my dotage."

Children were such a foreign concept that I wondered vaguely if I would even have done so by then. Kate sighed and I pulled her to me. My mouth sought her throat and I felt her words before hearing them.

"But he's serious, Luke. He wants me knocked up tomorrow, a baby before next year." When I continued to kiss her she went on sarcastically, "You needn't panic. I'm still on the pill."

"Good," I'd said, or something like that. "Let's put it to some use then." I pulled down the sheet that separated us. Her nipples glanced up at me like dark eyes, alert and inquisitive, and I felt my breath catch at the back of my throat. She reached for me as if we hadn't made love in years, and I responded as though it had been longer.

It was only later, driving home alone, that I reflected on her words. Leaving Kate was always a wrench, and the longer we'd spent together, the worse it felt. After an entire weekend to ourselves I was depressed and negative. Why had she brought that up? Should I have questioned her more? Maybe she was trying to tell me that she wanted children. Even as I thought it I rejected the idea. Kate didn't play games; it was one of the things that had first attracted me to her. If there was something on her mind she'd have made sure I knew.

Still, though, a baby. The idea was terrifying, but more than that, abhorrent. I had no paternal urges of my own, but the thought of another man's child growing inside her made me want to retch. I'd loved her for a long time, maybe even from that day at the lake. At first I'd a.s.sumed it was just l.u.s.t-there had been plenty of other women I couldn't stop thinking about, at least until I'd slept with them. Usually, desire waned with conquest, a little more erased on each occasion. Even with Cress, I had to admit, though that was different because she was my wife. Now, for the first time in my life, the inverse was taking place. The more I saw of Kate, the more I wanted her. And not just wanted: loved, even needed. What else could explain the emptiness I now felt? If anyone was going to impregnate Kate it should be me.

As the miles slid by I had a vision of how things would be. If you'd asked me previously I would have argued that Kate was too vibrant to be tied down by motherhood, yet suddenly I saw us all some years hence. Or rather I saw them: Kate sitting on the top step of a porch, a baby in her lap and a toddler standing beside them, his arms flung around her neck. Instinctively I knew the children were mine: they were blond, and the older was calling out to me to hurry up and take the photo. I basked in the image for the remainder of the journey, so clear I couldn't believe I hadn't already lived it. The high-pitched voice calling out, "Daddy!"; Kate smiling and calm as she talked to our son; the flaxen down covering the baby's head. And me just out of the shot, focusing a fict.i.tious camera on the fict.i.tious scene, proud and happy as I captured a moment that had never occurred.

The vision returned to me as I considered Kate's ultimatum.

A week or so before she'd called me at work, something she never did.

"I have to speak to you. Today."

Her voice was taut and brittle, like freshly set ice.

"Now?" I asked. I'd seen her only the evening before, when I'd offered her a lift home from the museum. We managed such a thing once or twice a week, always careful to take backstreets and for Kate to get out at least two blocks shy of her house. She'd said something about wanting to talk then, but we'd ended up making love instead under cover of the early dusk, our bodies craning toward each other before she'd even unfastened her seat belt.

"No. The others will be back from lunch any moment. Plus I need to see your face."

Her words worried me as I waited for a tram to the museum two hours later. What could be so urgent that it demanded such precipitate attention? Scenarios flashed through my mind, each more frightening than the last. She'd gotten cold feet, was tired of the whole thing. Cary had found out and was threatening to kill us both. Or-and this in a rush of horror as I boarded the overdue tram-she was pregnant. By me or him, it didn't really matter. Melbourne slouched by unnoticed outside my window as the tram crept along Nicholson Street, past the Carlton Gardens and toward the museum. f.u.c.k. She was on the pill, wasn't she? But if she was pregnant what the h.e.l.l were we going to do? If it was mine things would be complicated enough, though not without some compensations. But if it was Cary's ... I shuddered. Would she even want to keep it? Surely not, though I didn't know the first thing about arranging an abortion.

I'd suggested we meet at a pub near Kate's office, the same one she had taken me to the first time I'd approached her after the trivia night. I'd hoped the nostalgia might work in my favor, but when I arrived alone the place felt alien, part of somebody else's life. Three o'clock: an unusual hour for us to be convening. I had to be back at four for a meeting.

Kate showed up a few minutes later. From my seat in the corner, I watched her scanning the half-empty room until she found what she was looking for. Cressida's gaze would have moved methodically from one table to the next; Kate's roamed randomly until alighting on me in delight. Despite my fears I couldn't help but smile. There would never be a time when I wasn't pleased to see her.

"So," she said, sitting down without kissing me. That was usual in public, but when I reached for her hand she drew away. That wasn't.

"Do you want a drink?" I asked.

"I have to go back to work, and so do you. Besides, I'm so nervous that I'd probably spill it."

"Nervous?" I inquired encouragingly, as if I weren't scared half out of my wits myself.

She stared down at her hands spread out on the table, dusting powder trapped under the nails.

"Luke," she said finally, looking up. "You have to choose. Me or her. You've got three weeks."

Is it a terrible thing to admit that my initial reaction was elation-that she wasn't pregnant, that Cary hadn't found out? No outside variables intruded; the situation as far as I saw it hadn't really altered. It was only later, despairing of the trams and walking back to work, that I began to realize that she was serious. I hadn't responded at the time. Kate had started crying and I was too worried that someone might see us to take in the full impact of her words.

"Three weeks," she'd repeated between sobs. "I can't do this anymore. I want to be with you ... or even him ... but not both. I'm sick of creeping around to see you and I'm sick of deceiving Cary."

Three weeks. As I trudged back through the darkening afternoon the two words repeated themselves over and over, like a jingle I couldn't get out of my mind. Things were perfect the way they were-why did she want to change them? Three weeks. It dawned on me that we wouldn't yet know the outcome of Cressida's application by then, something Kate had no doubt taken into account.

The next days were dreadful. At home, I'd find myself studying Cress, evaluating her faults and weaknesses, trying to a.s.sess which way to jump. Once or twice I found myself in front of our wedding photos, ranged across the mantelpiece like trophies, hung above our bed as a talisman. I looked content and confident, as if I'd pa.s.sed some complicated examination. Cress was damp-eyed and pale, made somber by her joy. My pride still swelled at what an attractive couple we made. And if I'm honest, part of my reluctance to make a decision had to do with not wanting to appear to have failed; a marriage breakup, no matter the reason, is always a failure. I didn't want to be the guilty party either-I'd never been the bad guy before. But then, turning away, I'd catch that glimpse of Kate cradling our children on an imaginary veranda. I had to give up one picture, and I couldn't decide which.

I didn't make up my mind straightaway. Three weeks I had, and it took me almost all of them. Give me credit for that, at least.

KATE.

I didn't think it could happen. Stupidly, I thought he'd choose me. I was sure sure he'd choose me, or else I don't imagine I would have given him the ultimatum. I suppose I always knew that there was a chance it might backfire, but the odds seemed so remote, the payoff so great. Every time we slept together Luke would hold me and whisper that he never wanted to leave; once we talked about marriage and he vowed that he'd propose in a heartbeat if the situation ever arose. he'd choose me, or else I don't imagine I would have given him the ultimatum. I suppose I always knew that there was a chance it might backfire, but the odds seemed so remote, the payoff so great. Every time we slept together Luke would hold me and whisper that he never wanted to leave; once we talked about marriage and he vowed that he'd propose in a heartbeat if the situation ever arose. If If. What did he think was going to happen? That Cressida would be struck down by typhoid? That Cary would gallantly step aside, conveniently leaving us free to wed? Situations don't arise; you create them. Luke must have told me he loved me a thousand times in our six months together, must have risked his marriage at least half as many times to meet me or call or make contact somehow. Why then choose that marriage? Everything he'd said and done-the risks, the vows, the meetings-implied that I I was the one. Evidently not. was the one. Evidently not.

The news came by e-mail. An innocuous-looking one at that, materializing in my in-box with a chime, the subject line blank so as not to arouse suspicion. I opened it almost absentmindedly, concentrating instead on the spreadsheet in front of me. For almost three empty weeks I had thought of little but Luke and the ultimatum I'd given him: sleepless at night, anxious by day. Once or twice I had even allowed myself to daydream about how he'd break the good news: arriving with champagne at work, maybe presenting me with a ring at one of our trysts. I didn't think of Cary. I'd deal with that later. Then this, when I was least expecting it, turning later into now.

Dearest Kate,I'm sorry but I just can't do this. Too many people are going to get hurt, ourselves included. Cress doesn't deserve it and neither does Cary. Can we make ourselves a life by destroying theirs?I still want to see you. I don't want anything to change. At least let me talk to you.I love you more than ever.Luke Someone at a nearby desk must have seen my face.

"Are you okay, Kate?" I heard them ask. "You've gone all pale."

"I think I'll go home," I replied, my voice automatic, the rest of me numb. "I'm feeling a bit sick." I'd barely stood up from my desk when the nausea hit, vomit splas.h.i.+ng to the carpet where we'd once made love.

CRESSIDA.

I didn't think it could happen. I never even suspected. Sure, we'd been distant, but I blamed myself for that, always at work or in front of the computer doing research. Still, I thought Luke understood. Whenever things felt particularly strained I'd rea.s.sure myself that it was only temporary-once the fellows.h.i.+p came through I could relax, and we could begin planning a whole new life together. Admittedly, Luke didn't seem as excited about the idea of moving overseas as he'd been when I first brought it up, but I figured he was trying to prevent me from getting my hopes up. Too late for that. For the last month or two all I'd thought about was Michigan. I hadn't told Luke, but I'd been in regular contact with the hospital where I hoped to do my research. They seemed as excited about it as I was, and had even started sending me practical information: how to apply for a U.S. driver's license, a guide to the neighborhoods around the hospital. Late at night, when Luke was asleep or out with friends, I'd begun to haunt the local real estate Web sites. The houses intrigued me. Shaker style, nestled close to the lake, all clean, straight lines and minimal tr.i.m.m.i.n.gs. Our own home in Melbourne seemed suddenly fussy, full of overstuffed furniture and outdated accoutrements. I yearned to start afresh with my life pared down to its basics: just Luke, my work, and a square white house as fresh and simple as a child's drawing.

So when the news came, a few days earlier than expected, I wasn't so much excited as relieved. Oh, I was pleased and happy enough, but mostly I just felt vindicated. I'd planned to be successful, and hadn't allowed myself to consider the alternatives. Now I didn't have to. This was a dream that was going to come true. Impulsively, I decided to tell Luke in person, start our new life off on the right foot. No more late nights or early starts. No more pager or weekend s.h.i.+fts, plus the excitement of all the travel we'd be able to do! He was bound to be thrilled.

I'd hoped to duck out in my hypothetical lunch hour, but as usual a ward round ran late and then a parent needed to speak to me urgently. By the time I could carve out a quick half hour it was late afternoon. I thought of calling Luke before I left for his office, but then decided to make it a surprise. Given the time of day, he was sure to be in-and if he was in a meeting, well, he could always pop out for five minutes, couldn't he? I wanted to see him anyway to make sure he was all right. The evening before he had had a migraine and had resorted to tablets to sleep. All through dinner I had watched it coming on, like a thundercloud rolling across the horizon. He'd barely talked, couldn't eat, was almost teary with the pain. At times he'd buried his head in his hands and groaned until I could stand it no more and had put him to bed, then returned to my Internet meanderings. As I tucked him in I had vaguely wondered what had triggered this attack. Maybe he was as nervous as I was about the fellows.h.i.+p results. The thought made me tender and I kissed him lightly on the forehead before leaving the room. Hours later when I joined him in bed he was lying in the same position, deeply asleep and as lost to me as if he were dead.

Surprisingly, Luke wasn't in. His secretary had no more idea of his whereabouts than I did, but knew who I was and invited me to wait in his office. I seated myself opposite the desk, then, feeling self-conscious, rose again and wandered aimlessly around the room. It was a largely impersonal area. Two awards he had won for some forgotten campaign hung on one wall; a small copy of my graduation photograph lurked discreetly in a corner of the bookcase. On the desk was the pen I'd given him for his thirtieth birthday, still s.h.i.+ny four years on, the cap tight with disuse. A yellowing peace lily perched on the windowsill, slowly dying of dehydration. I moved toward the flaccid plant, intending to take it out for some water, when a flash in the street two floors below caught my eye. Luke, of course, his hair radiant as a halo, four or five doors down from the entrance to the building. I raised my hand to knock on the gla.s.s, then realized he wasn't alone. Kate was walking beside him, their steps reluctant as they came into view. No sooner had I spotted them than they stopped, disturbing the flow of pedestrians. Luke steered Kate to the side of the walkway, then reached out to tuck a strand of her hair behind one ear. I saw him take her hands. Saw him glance furtively around, then lean in and kiss her. But not the kiss of friends or even the sort I'd witnessed at that wedding-this was the embrace of people who have been intimate many times and who know what they are doing. A kiss with history. I shrank back against the desk, afraid to see any more. Later I realized that Kate had been crying, but by then it didn't matter.

LUKE.

I went over it all again as I waited for the elevator. Kate hadn't been convinced, and though I wasn't really surprised, the decision hurt. Ached in fact, resonated throughout my chest as if I had just been hit. Surely she'd change her mind. For a moment I experienced a surge of hope; then I remembered her walking away. Shoulders set as the distance between us lengthened, the taste of her mouth fading on mine, dark head disappearing into the crowd. As I relived the scene I felt my eyes become damp and to my horror thought I might weep. The elevator finally arrived but it was bound to be full of my colleagues. As the doors opened I turned in panic and fled into a nearby bathroom.

Two flights of stairs later I was out of breath but back in control. As I pa.s.sed her desk Anna was busy on the phone, so I didn't stop for messages. She motioned for me to wait, covering the mouthpiece with one hand, but I headed straight to my office instead. I'd speak to her later, when I had recovered my composure.

"Where the h.e.l.l have you been?"

The voice broke behind me as I turned to close the door, familiar but angrier than I'd ever heard it before. It was Cressida, so pale she was almost as transparent as the window she was silhouetted against, eyes like huge pools of ink, their color smudged all over her face. In one hand dangled a defeated-looking plant. For a second I thought she was going to throw it at me, but as I watched it slipped from her grasp and fell silently to the floor. Potting mix stained the beige carpet.

"Cress," I stammered in surprise. "Were we meant to be meeting? You said you were on until ten tonight."

"I am, but I thought I'd surprise you," she shot back, her words clipped and furious. "Turns out I was the one who was surprised."

"How long have you been here?" I asked as calmly as I could, still attempting to read the situation.

"Long enough to watch you kissing Kate in the street below. Quite the performance. Is infidelity so trivial a matter to you that you don't even care who witnesses it?"

"Infidelity? What are you talking about?" I retorted, thinking quickly. When in doubt, deny.

"You looked as if you wanted to f.u.c.k her then and there, you b.a.s.t.a.r.d. I'm surprised you didn't. What stopped you-not enough room to lie down?"

I had a sudden flashback to the night on the hospital roof, and in my guilt and grief felt a simultaneous urge to hurt Cress as much as possible. There was never any need to lie down There was never any need to lie down, I wanted to tell her, not now, not then not now, not then. Instead I took a deep breath and cautiously approached her as one would a hissing cat.

"Look, I'll admit I kissed her, but the rest is in your head. It didn't mean anything-if I really was having an affair, do you think I'd be stupid enough to conduct it in public like that?"

Cress wavered, wanting to be convinced. "But you promised you wouldn't see her at all!" she wailed.

"I know, and I'm sorry. I should have told you. I've hardly seen her at all-she just called once or twice, then asked that we meet today. What could I do? She's going through a rough patch and needed someone to talk to. It looks as if she can't have kids and her marriage to Cary is on the rocks." I was ad-libbing furiously, casting around for something to grab on to as desperately as a man sinking in quicksand.

"Why you?" Cress asked, her skepticism evident. "Kate has lots of friends. And why did you have to kiss her?"

"I felt sorry for her, that's all. Plus I was telling her that it wouldn't be right for us to meet again, because of you. And I guess she confided in me because she wanted somebody neutral. No point setting all her friends against Cary; then they end up staying together after all."

I thought I was doing well, but Cress suddenly burst into tears.

"You lying b.a.s.t.a.r.d," she screamed, loud enough that I feared Anna would hear. "You don't comfort someone by sticking your tongue in their mouth, then leaving it there for five minutes. You've been f.u.c.king her, haven't you?"

"You're obviously in no state to talk about this rationally," I replied as calmly as I could. "Come on; I'm taking you home." She protested but let me maneuver her out of the office, veiling her face behind a drape of pale hair.

We drove home in silence, Cress staring out of the window and occasionally sobbing. She spoke once, but only to request I call the hospital to tell them she was sick and had had to leave work.

As I set my key in the door the house felt suddenly alien, as if I had been away for a long time. Cress followed me in, sniffling and surly, while I wandered from room to room as though I were in a museum. I hadn't realized there were so many photos of the two of us, grinning out from frames of wood and gold and gla.s.s, the eyes trailing me accusingly as soon as I moved away. I had the urge to turn them all facedown, as if we were dead. Instead I tried to talk, but got no further than I had at the office. Cress flung accusations; I retorted that I hadn't done anything but comfort a friend. She claimed she despised me; I reiterated that I loved her. It had worked after I'd kissed Kate at that wedding. Anyway, it was true-wasn't that why I had made the d.a.m.n decision in the first place? Somehow, though, the words had less effect on this occasion. Cry, deny, cry, deny-we sc.r.a.pped back and forth until after midnight, neither having budged an inch. When we finally went to bed I tried to make love to her but Cress rolled into a tight ball at the farthest reaches of the mattress. When I woke up she wasn't in the house.

KATE.

I saw him once more. The day after I received his e-mail Luke called me at work, claiming that he couldn't bear to end it that way, that we had to meet and talk things over. It was lucky I was even there to take his call. I hadn't slept the night before and couldn't stomach the idea of facing colleagues, of cataloging relics and dusting bones as if my world hadn't just imploded. Studying my ashen face as I dragged myself out of bed, Cary wondered aloud if I wasn't coming down with something, then volunteered to stay home and look after me. That was all the push I needed. Somehow his concern was even more unbearable than having to hold myself together through a workday, and I feared that if he were any kinder I would break down and tell him the whole sorry tale.

Really, though, I reflected as I walked from the tram stop to work, a confession wouldn't achieve a thing. Actually it might, but only to the negative: I'd be left with no mate instead of two. Did I want to stay with Cary? I supposed so, though it was almost impossible to think of anything but Luke. Still, I'd been happy with Cary before Luke showed up and presumably could be again-if things with Luke really were finished, that is. I'll admit I was hoping they weren't. So when his call came through a few hours later, how could I say no? I was sure that once he saw me again he'd change his mind.

As it turned out he was after the same: that I'd see him and reconsider, come around to his point of view. We met at a cafe in the city. Luke sat me down at a table scarred with cigarette burns, kissed each eyelid, red with tears, then launched into his proposal with a fervor I imagine he usually reserved for winning campaigns. "Let's leave things as they are," he'd entreated. We'd work something out-what we had was too good to throw away. Mutely I shook my head. Luke persevered. It was just that the timing was wrong-couldn't I see that? Cress had worked so hard for the fellows.h.i.+p, but she'd never accept were he to leave her now. She deserved to be able to realize her dream. Just one year away, two maximum; then we could talk about marriage when he returned to Australia. There would be no children, no complications; he could guarantee that. And if Cress's application wasn't successful, how could he add to her grief by asking for a divorce? "A year," he repeated. "I owe her that. She's done nothing wrong."

At first I listened; I really did. I tried to understand his point of view, but there wasn't one, just a desire not to rock the boat. A year away-then we could talk? I couldn't give in. I loved him too much to have only half of him, and not even the best half. Besides, he'd as good as admitted that if he stayed with Cress he'd be moving overseas. "E-mail," he'd said, shrugging, "the phone. It's only for a year-we can pick up where we left off when I get back." I didn't like the sound of that: that I could be put on layaway, kept for a rainy day. How could I trust him not to do the same with some American girl? How could I wait for a year when right now two days without him seemed an eternity? And how long could we keep it up? Sneaking around at thirty-two may have had some shabby sort of cachet; sneaking around at fifty was decidedly pathetic.

And by now I was angry with him. He hadn't chosen me, hadn't wanted me as much as I'd wanted him. My pride stung almost as much as my eyes. Without thinking about what I was doing I picked up my bag and got to my feet. Luke was beside me in an instant.

"Where are you going?" he asked, cut off in midsentence.

"This isn't achieving anything," I replied. "I have to get back to work." I felt strong, resolved and clinically dead. The whole scene unfolded as if it were being played out somewhere far away, as if I were at the movies or watching from a distance, disconnected from my body, my heart. The only way I could bear to leave.

"Wait!" Luke was calling. Despite myself my steps faltered in hope. He pulled on his jacket and caught up to me. "I'll walk you back to the museum."

So there wasn't going to be a happy ending after all. For a moment pain flared; then it all shut down. Amputees must experience the same sensation.

Really, we should have just gone our separate ways, left the grubby little cafe and never seen each other again. But my route took me past his building anyway, and a tiny part was reluctant to finish it there, amid dirty coffee cups and the paper napkins I'd shredded while he was talking. So we struggled the block to his office, like sleepwalkers or s.h.i.+pwreck victims coming ash.o.r.e. A discreet doorway or two away Luke pulled me to him and we kissed good-bye. It was a kiss as sweet as every other time, comforting and poisonous. I felt tears rolling down my cheeks and turned my back, walking away without saying good-bye.