Sam got to his feet and held out his hand to me. I took it and we
turned and walked to where the grass met the sand. We sat down and Sam
put on his shoes and we looked at the sea and the surf and the sky.
“We’re all alone,” I said. “Forever and ever.”
We talked and fell silent, but we never said anything more important
than that and the things we said were unimportant because we were both
thinking the same thing and we were both hoping it would be tender and
sweet and wonderful and lasting. And it was.
The sun went down and the stars came out and the night was just a
little cooler than the day but not uncomfortable. Neither of us thought
of food. When it got very dark we lay warm beside each other looking up
at the stars. Sam couldn’t recognize any of the constellations or any
of the stars.
“No one will ever find us.” He said it with a kind of joy, trying to
hide it from me that he was glad, as if he could ever hide anything
from me. He rolled over on his side to look at me. “Louise--were
you--married or anything?”