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Les, because he was so good at rebuttals, when he could not otherwise rearrange reality. The more convinced she became, of course, the more difficult it had been to even raise these issues. It was, for Lucy, as implausible as walking up to Machiavelli and asking to borrow a dime. Even now she was haunted by remembering the perfect lovemaking, the all-night conversations, the gifts, the cards inevitably signed Love Always, Les. After Les announced that he was in love with one of his students and that he was leaving, she had wandered around their house, rounding up the little notes, reading the closings, trying to revert to the way she had thought at the beginning: that if he had written these words, they must be true. Finally, unsure of what was or ever had been true, she took the coward’s way out: she simply turned it against herself. Night after night in the empty house, she thought bitterly that
of course
anyone else would have realized that the kiss that lasted forever would naturally become the kiss of death.
    Lately, she had been getting closer to Hildon, because that distracted her from thinking about Les. She knew that he knew this. He knew that she knew. She thought he knew that atsome point, probably soon, she would step back. They were always there for each other in times of trouble. When Les left her, it had reinforced something she had known all along, something she always got in trouble when she forgot: that she could not be an exception. Whatever crazy thoughts men had about other people, they would eventually have about her. If they distrusted the whole world and trusted her implicitly, they would come to distrust her; if they were not close to anyone and they attached themselves to her, one day they would just remove themselves. If you demonstrated, day by day, that you were not the person they feared, they would be confused for a while, but gradually they would stop trusting logic and become frightened. Hildon did not think that anyone was a soul mate except Lucy. This meant that one morning Hildon would wake up and realize that he and Lucy were not simpatico. She was afraid because this happened so often—she dreaded it—but the truth was that she did not fear men individually. They sensed this and opened up to her. They talked to her—most men would tell her anything. Even Les had dropped most of his defenses. He had talked to her day after day, night after night. He had given her everything imaginable to figure him out, and when he knew that she had, he left. While she thought she was explaining things, in his mind she was creating chaos: he had secretly wanted her to consider the evidence, and tell him that he was larger than life. He had not been drawn to her rational mind at all; he had been drawn to the idea of proving that she was romantic.
    Hildon hated Les—hated him out of all proportion, even. That was Hildon’s own insecurity: his fear that Lucy would prefer to analyze Les’s angst instead of playing games with him. He might have been right, if Les and all the men like him had not exhausted her. She had actually come to like the way she felt now that she had short-circuited.
    Lucy pulled into the airport parking lot. She had forgotten her sunglasses and the glare had given her a headache. A redwing blackbird flew up and slanted away; it had the trajectory of a bullet, heading for the trees at the side of the parking lot.
    She was twenty minutes early. A man in gym shorts and along-sleeved, embroidered Greek shirt was talking to his son, who sat on his knee. “You don’t bite,” he said. “It hurts when you bite.” The baby, who knew he was being criticized, lit up with the Smile of the Sprite. He puckered his lips and kissed the air. “That’s right,” the man said. “Kisses, not bites.” The baby shifted on the man’s knee. “What does the cow say?” the man said. “Moo,” the baby said. “What does the doggie say?” “Arby,” the baby said. “That’s right. Arby the