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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