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"Of course you are." After a pause he added,
"James asked me for advice, too. Made me feel older
than I am." He turned to me in the darkness, his face
cloaked in the shadows. "They think we're Mr. and
Mrs. Perfect."
"I know."
"I wish we were." He took my hand again. "So
what are we going to do?"
"Let's not try to come up with all the answers
tonight, Paul. I'm tired and confused myself." "Whatever you say." He leaned over to kiss me
on the cheek. "Don't hate me for loving you so much,"
he whispered. I wanted to hug him, to kiss him, to
soothe his troubled soul, but all I could do was shed
some tears and stare into the night with my heart
feeling like a lump of lead.
Finally we both went in and up to our separate bedrooms. After I put out my light, I stood by my window and gazed into the evening sky. I thought about Jeanne and James hurrying home after a wonderful meal, wine, and conversation, excited about each other, eager to hold each other and cap the
evening with their lovemaking.
While in his room, Paul embraced a pillow, and
in mine, I embraced my memories of Beau.
Shortly after Paul left for work the next
morning, Beau called. He was so excited about our
next rendezvous, barely squeezing in a breath as he
described his plans for our day and evening, that at
first I couldn't get in a word.
"You don't know how this has changed my
life," he said. "You've given me something to look
forward to, something to cheer me through the most
dreary days and nights."
"Beau, I have some bad news," I finally
inserted, and told him about Mrs. Flemming's
