“When you go,if you go,And I should want to die,there's nothing I'd be saved bymore than the timeyou fell asleep in my armsin a trust so gentleI let the darkening roomdrink up the evening, tillrest, or the new rainlightly roused you awake.I asked if you heard the rain in your dreamand half dreaming still you only said, I love you.”

“Valentine WeatherKiss me with rain on your eyelashes,come on, let us sway together,under the trees, and to hell with thunder.”

“There were never strawberries like the ones we hadthat sultry afternoonsitting on the stepof the open french windowfacing each otheryour knees held in minethe blue plates in our lapsthe strawberries glisteningin the hot sunlightwe dipped them in sugarlooking at each othernot hurrying the feastfor one to comethe empty plates laid on the stone togetherwith the two forks crossedand I bent towards yousweet in that airin my armsabandoned like a childfrom your eager mouththe taste of strawberriesin my memorylean back againlet me love youlet the sun beaton our forgetfulnessone hour of allthe heat intenseand summer lightningon the Kilpatrick hillslet the storm wash the plates.”

“You said you didn’t want to waste your time on people who aren’t going to matter,” I said, and he nodded. “But how do you know they’re not going to matter? Unless you give it a shot?”

“You know what my grandma used to say?”“There’s no place like home?” I asked, trying again for a smile, this one less trembly than before.“No,” he said, still looking serious, still holding on to his end of the CD. “Tomorrow will be better.”“But what if it’s not?” I asked.Walcott smiled and let go of the CD. “Then you say it again tomorrow. Because it might be. Younever know, right? At some point, tomorrow will be better.”

“He stood and looked at me for a moment, taking in my outfit. "You look hot.""What? Me?" I stammered, completely flummoxed."Yeah," he said, still looking at me."Oh. Um, thank you. I mean, not that you don’t, but I’m not sure that you should—I mean …""Oh, no," Roger said quickly, and I could see that he was blushing again. "No. I mean—I meant what you’re wearing. Are you going to be too warm?”

“Why did you choose to save me?”“I could not let you die.” He placed the plate and glass on the kitchen counter.“But you have let goodness knows how many people die. Why me?”“You made me...” He leaned against the counter and looked at her. “You made me…feel.”