“Meditate?” I took my head out from under the pillow, shook dark hair back from my face, and rolled over on my side to look at him. “Excuse me, but the closest I ever got to having a spiritual awakening was dating a yoga instructor. Once.”

“I climbed the stairs and got back into bed, pulling a pillow over my face to block out the summer light. But there was no hiding from reality that morning.”

“I was snagged around the midriff and thrown back to the bed, my head hitting the pillows, and Vance Crowe rolled his body over mine. I stilled and looked up into his dark, lushy-lashed eyes.“Oh my God,” I breathed.“Mornin’,” he said to me, like we woke up next to each other every day.“Oh my God,” I breathed again. His hair was not in a ponytail but falling down around his face and shoulders and, I kid you not, he looked like a Native American Warrior God. “Do I have your attention?” he asked.”

“In short, I turned over on my face when I came to that, and got a good grasp on the hair, on each side of my head, and wrenched it well. All the while knowing the madness of my heart to be so very mad and misplaced that I was quite conscious it would have served my face right if I had lifted it up by my hair, and knocked it against the pebbles as a punishment for belonging to such an idiot.”

“The voice blurs and fades, like a faint cry riding on the tails of the wind. I yawn and stretch, rolling over. I fold my pillow under my head and wait for the voice to return. When I hear nothing but the sound of my own breathing I allow myself to drift back into a dreamless slumber.”

“I buried my head under the darkness of the pillow and pretended it was night. I couldn't see the point of getting up. I had nothing to look forward to.”