that I still went out to stare at the moon, and despite the guilt I was feeling about being here, I wondered whether she did, too.
“You want to know what I remember most?” she asked.
“When I broke Tim’s nose?”
“No.” She laughed, then turned serious. “I remember the times we went to church. Do you realize that they’re still the only times I ever saw you in a tie? You should get dressed up more often. You looked good.” She seemed to reflect on that before turning her eyes to me again.
“Are you seeing anyone?” she asked.
“No.”
She nodded. “I didn’t think so. I figured you would have mentioned it.”
She turned toward the window. In the distance, I could see one of the horses galloping in the rain.
“I’m going to have to feed them in a little while. I’m sure they’re wondering where I am already.”
“They’ll be okay,” I assured her.
“Easy for you to say. Trust me—they can get as cranky as people when they’re hungry.”
“It must be hard handling all this on your own.”
“It is. But what choice do I have? At least our employer’s been understanding. Tim’s on a leave of absence, and whenever he’s in the hospital, they let me take however much time I need.” Then, in a teasing tone, she added, “Just like the army, right?”
“Oh yeah. It’s exactly the same.”
She giggled, then became sober again. “How was it in Iraq?”
I was about to make my usual crack about the sand, but instead I said, “It’s hard to describe.”
Savannah waited, and I reached for my glass of wine, stalling. Even with her, I wasn’t sure I wanted to go into it. But something was happening between us, something I wanted and yet didn’t want. I forced myself to look at Savannah’s ring and imagine the betrayal she would no doubt feel later. I closed my eyes and started with the night of the invasion.
I don’t know how long I talked, but it was long enough for the rain to have ended. With the sun still drifting in its slow descent, the horizon glowed the colors of a rainbow. Savannah refilled her glass. By the time I finished, I was entirely spent and knew I’d never speak of it again.
Savannah had remained quiet as I spoke, asking only the occasional question to let me know she was listening to everything I said.
“It’s different from what I imagined,” she remarked.
“Yeah?” I asked.
“When you scan the headlines or read the stories, most of the time, names of soldiers and cities in Iraq are just words. But to you, it’s personal . . . it’s real. Maybe too real.”
I had nothing left to add, and I felt her hand reach for mine. Her touch made something leap inside me. “I wish you’d never had to go through all that.”
I squeezed her hand and felt her respond in kind. When she finally let go, the sensation of her touch lingered, and like an old habit rediscovered, I watched her tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. The sight made me ache.
“It’s strange how fate works,” she said, her voice almost a whisper. “Did you ever imagine that your life would turn out like it did?”
“No,” I said.
“I didn’t either,” she said. “When you first went back to Germany, I just knew that you and I would be married one day. I was more sure of that than anything in my life.”
I stared into my glass as she went on.
“And then, on your second leave, I was even more sure. Especially after we made love.”
“Don’t . . .” I shook my head. “Let’s not go there.”
“Why?” she asked. “Do you regret it?”
“No.” I couldn’t bear to look at her. “Of course not. But you’re married now.”
“But it happened,” she said. “Do you want me to just forget it?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “Maybe.”
“I can’t,” she said, sounding surprised and hurt. “That was my first time. I’ll never forget it, and in its own way, it will always be special to me. What happened between us was beautiful.”
I didn’t trust myself to respond, and after a moment, she seemed to collect herself. Leaning forward, she asked, “When you found out that I had married Tim, what did you think?”
I waited to answer, wanting to choose my words with care. “My first thought was that in a way, it made sense. He’s been in love with you for years. I knew that from the moment I met him.” I ran a hand over my