am after I got out of college. I only
worked for a year before I met Conor. I'm glad I did, now . . . It's
nice to know about the money. I don't know what's going to happen,
really. I just know I've got to move." She paused.

"I wish I were moving with you."

"Never leave someone for someone else," Francesca said. "You've got to
live through these things."

"That's what Mark says--my friend, Mark. Anyway, take the money if you
need it; I know you won't waste it. I wish I could help with the
moving, but I don't think I'd better."

"You _are_ helping, just by being you. Emma's going to need lots of
money, you know."

"Not for a while. Listen, how am I going to find you?"

"My folks will know where I am: Richard Boisverte in Edgewater, near
Daytona. Conor will know--because of the girls. I'll send you a card
when I have an address." She covered one of his hands with one of hers.
"You're right--it's probably not a good idea to see each other. I'm a
bad woman now; I could be a _very_ bad woman any moment."

"Damn," Oliver said again. They were quiet again.

"I've got to go," he said, standing up.

"I think I'll stay here for a bit," she said. "I want to watch you walk
away."

"Be careful," he pleaded.

"Bye, Baby," she said.

He looked at her for a long moment. She smiled for him, the smile that
entranced him the first day he saw her in Becky's. Her mouth traveled
slowly down, along, and up a complex curve, sexual at its center,
sensitive at its corners, wholly alive and in the moment. He nodded in
the Japanese manner, the way he had that day. Then he smiled
quickly--an American promise laid on top of the Japanese one--and left.
He looked back from the top of the bank at the end of the beach. She
was watching him, unmoving. He lifted one arm high and walked out of
sight. A hundred yards farther, he followed a smaller path to a
clearing overlooking the water. He dropped to the ground and lay in a
fetal position on his side with his knees drawn up and his hands
between his legs. He hurt too much to cry. He just wanted to survive.
There was only one level of feeling beneath his love for Francesca; he
had to get there. The hard cold ground was anesthetic and numbing. Half
an hour later, he brushed himself off, an animal on the earth, needing
food and warmth.

"Where have you been?" Jennifer asked.

"I ran into a friend who's moving," he said. "Sorry to be so long."

"Emma's asleep again."

"Cold out ther