“Do you think we can?” she asks. She is not facing him. She takes another sip. Her bangles clink. Every letter exchanged since that first scrap of paper left on his pillow seems to have been leading up to this moment. In his last e-mail he mentioned that maybe there was a floor in the hotel where they could meet, where no one would have any reason to go. She had not replied, and he had deleted it from his sent mail. Now he speaks. “Ten minutes, seventeenth floor.” “You’ve lost your mind.” But she laughs. He looks to see if anyone has heard her. She lowers her finished glass onto the table, a
...more
