“Sleep?” she said. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure, Kelly. Wake me at nine, will ya? I’ve got a long drive, gonna be a long night.”

“Alright,” she said coolly, then turned for the kitchen.

I walked to her bedroom and closed the door behind me. My cutoffs were still a little damp, so I stripped them off and hung them on the doorknob. I lay down, pulling the bed-sheet over me and sinking my head into the pillow—Kelly’s pillow—the scent of her hair filling me with every breath. In the dim light I could make out more photographs mounted on the walls, but I was too intent on sleeping to look at them closely. I didn’t want to sleep, but had to, I thought; part of my newfound, rewarding sense of responsibility. I closed my eyes, trying not to think of Kelly in the next room, my mind drifting over the implausible events of the day. Through the open screen window I heard the wind and sound of the mounting waves as they washed ashore; God’s slow, easy breathing matching mine, I wondered; and eventually, thankfully, drifted to sleep.

Later on, dream-like, I felt her beside me, the warmth of the sun still radiating from her body. I rolled onto my back and her breasts pressed against me while her legs intertwined with mine. She started to kiss me but I noticed the clock, luminous, 9:10.

There was no time, I realized, and got out of bed with a clear sense of purpose that startled us both. It was raining hard. The wind was blowing and the thunder crashed. I could make out her breasts and the curves of her body with each flash of lightning.

“Don’t go,” she pleaded. “Don’t leave me alone.”

I opened my duffel bag and pulled out some jeans. “Look,” I said, “I don’t want to go, but I have to . . . I need to. Gotta see something through for a change.”

Kelly lay back and I caught the sadness in her eyes, something else as well: a picture of Dale on the wall, holding her, smiling. She saw where I was looking.

“It’s just a picture, Jay.”

“Sure,” I said brusquely. “Hides a stain.”

Kelly lay silently for a moment then opened a drawer. She took out a picture of me, alone on the beach looking out at the water. “I’ve got lots of pictures,” she said, then exchanged it with Dale’s.

I shook my head and leaned in to kiss her. “Sorry,” I said awkwardly, then paused for a while. “I love you,” I said, feeling open, exposed. “I love you,” I repeated then ran for the door.

Outside, the wind was blowing and the rain was driving in sheets. I got in the car, started the engine and pulled away. Kelly stood in the doorway, her silhouette barely visible in the pouring rain.

It was a long way to Toronto and the wipers slapped wildly back and forth as I drove. I felt like an ancient mariner, hurtling alone through the darkness, leaving the world I loved for some distant other. I tried not to think of Kelly, alone in her bed, but couldn’t stop. You did the right thing, I told myself, the responsible thing. I blew out some air. Who would have thought I’d leave her? I frowned.

I turned on the radio—Aerosmith, Dream On—but the music didn’t help. The darkness of the rural countryside seemed never-ending, interrupted only by the lights of the occasional small town. After two long hours, I pulled into a truck stop for some coffee and gas. The rain whipped my face when I ran from the car. I paid the attendant and pulled from the station, and by the time I finished my coffee the distant lights from the city came into view. Half an hour later I arrived, empty sidewalks and streets glistening with rain: A&P parking lot, midnight, Toronto.

I jumped from the car and ran for the store, but something seemed wrong. There were no people, no cars. I tried the door—locked—and a sinking feeling overcame me. I took out my keys and rapped on the glass until a man appeared. He looked about fifty, with grey hair and glasses.

“My name’s Boyett,” I said. “I’m working tonight; unloading the truck.”

“Nope,” the man said, shaking his head. “No truck tonight.”

“You don’t understand,” I said anxiously. “The manager told me; midnight shift, Saturday.”

“Right,” the man said, tapping his watch. “But today’s Sunday.” He cocked his head. “You new?”

I stared for a moment; I couldn’t believe it. “Look,” I said finally, unsure what to say. “Can I come in? There’s gotta be somethin’ I can . . .”

The man shook his head. “We’re the cleaning crew, kid; just finished up. But don’t worry,” he chuckled. “There’s a truck every week.”

The man disappeared and a few minutes later the lights started going off. I stood there, exasperated. I rubbed my eyes and turned from the store. Another three hours, I thought wearily. Then I cleared my head and started the car, determined to get back to Kelly.

I got on the highway and cursed my stupidity, but as the miles passed by, a strange kind of clarity took hold. Things like this don’t just happen, I realized, thinking of Kelly and how I’d left her for work. It’s a test, I thought; a test and I’ve passed! I never would have left her before.

I sped through the darkness, anxious to reap my reward, and after an hour envisioned a plan. We can live together when she finishes high school. She’ll study photography and then we’ll take off, shooting videos and photos, all over the world. The carpenter and his wife, I remembered. That could be us.

I dreamt like that for another two hours, through the wind and the rain and the dark endless night. Eventually though, I descended the bluff to Lake Huron. I raced through the woods, splashing through potholes, wipers slapping. My excitement grew, thinking of Kelly . . . until finally, anxiously, I turned into her laneway.

I killed the engine and coasted through the darkness, then sat while it poured, unable to move. The red Corvette seemed opaque through the windshield, streaming with water. I turned off the lights and stepped from the car, nearly buckling in the wind and rain. Then I circled the cottage in the darkness, past the deck and our empty wine bottle, toppled in the wet sand. When I got to the beach the waves crashed the shore in a violent spray, stinging my eyes as I made my way home.

Things like this don’t just happen, I remembered thinking. But it didn’t seem to matter anymore.

The End