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been able to forget you for as long as two weeks. But you always came back, and everything is just as vivid.”
    “I hope—I hope your three years have been hell.”
    Startled, I looked into her face. Tears stood on dark lashes and the blue eyes were hot and angry. “But, Vicky, I—”
    She snatched her hand away and jumped up, the look of weariness gone. “My three years have been hell. How many times do you think I told myself you were cruel, sly and unimaginative? That you just played a part to help you get what you wanted? That you were not worth pain, or a second thought? That you were a part of growing up, my growing up? Now you come back. I want the courage to spit on you. I—I—don’t want to love you any more. I’m so dirty awful tired of loving you, Hugh.”
    She sagged and half fell forward into my arms, her face contorted with pain. It was a curious experience to hold her like that. She was like a transformer taking too heavy a load. She was taut, trembling so intensely it seemed more like a hum than a physical reaction. I sensed that she was on the edge of breakdown, that the world had been too much for her. I held her for a long time. Her breathing slowed and deepened. I turned her until I could see her face. It was slack, lips parted. Emotional exhaustion had pushed her over the edge and she had fallen into a deep sleep. She was limp and boneless as a doll. I left her there and walked back into the other rooms. I found her bedroom. I turned the bed down, then went back to her. I took off her sandals, then carried her in, put her in the bed, covered her lightly, and closed the door gently as I left the bedroom.
    I went back out and picked up one of the sandals and studied it, and tapped it against the palm of my hand. Love makes a curious transformation in physical objects. Another woman’s sandals, scuffed as these were, with worn straps, with buckle marks on the straps, would have been meaningless. But these were hers and these were dear. There could be nothing about her that was not endearing. A smudge on her cheek, a blemish on her skin, a broken bra strap, lipstick on the edge of a cup—all the things that, had they referred to someone else, would have been nothing. Love creates its own symbolism, and touches the meanest things with magic.
    I do not think I had ever felt so good in my life.
    I continued the packing, being very quiet. I did all I could see to do. By mid afternoon I was ravenous. I heard her call my name, faintly, tentatively. I went quickly to her. She sat on the bed.
    “This is—so silly. It’s like I dreamed things. But I feel all soft and weak. As if I couldn’t stand up.”
    “You’ve been going on nerve too long. Don’t try to get up.”
    She smiled and I went to her. “Is it true?” she asked.
    I nodded solemnly. “All true. I love you. That’s all I had to say three years ago.”
    “That’s all you had to say, Hugh.”
    “And I was too stupid to say it. It was against the rules.”
    “What rules?”
    “You wouldn’t understand. It’s a game I gave up. I got too old for the game.”
    I kissed her, and the second time I kissed her, her lips were salt. I made her stay there. I went out and made some purchases and drove the car back and fixed food for her.
    After we had eaten, I said, “Now you’ll let me help you.”
    She studied me for a long time. “There’s only one way you can help me. I don’t want to say this to you, but I have to. Maybe I am too emotionally involved with Al. Maybe we were too close, closer than a brother and sister should be. I want—everything for us, Hugh. But I’m not going to be any good. I can feel that. When they—kill him, part of me is going to die and never be any good to you. If he lived, I think I could in time transfer that part to you. Do you know what I mean?”
    “I think I do, Vicky.”
    “I’m very earnest about this. Maybe the part that will die will be—how to be gay. How to laugh. You see—” She