The Gentlemen's Hour

167

The lightness in the bed wakes Petra up.

She misses his weight and warmth, but she’s glad he’s going back out on the Dawn Patrol, and then she thinks how nice it would be to have a morning cup with him before he goes out, maybe look out the window and watch him surf before she goes in to work.

She gets up and goes into the kitchen, but he’s already gone.

A note is propped against a cup on the table.

Pete,

I’m sorry, I love you, but I can’t do it. The lawyer thing, I mean. It just isn’t who I am. I guess I’m just not a gentleman. I have something I have to take care of—my piece of the world—right now, but when I get back we’ll talk about it. There’s tea in the third cupboard to the right.

Boone

Of course you can’t do it, she thinks. The lawyer thing.

Of course you can’t, and of course it isn’t who you are. It’s not the man I love, nor the man who apparently loves me. My God, she thinks—a simple, uncomplicated declaration of love. Subject, verb, object. I love you. Something you’ve never had before in your life.

Well, I love you, too, Boone.

And don’t be sorry, please don’t be sorry. I wouldn’t change you, I was wrong to try, and as for not being a gentleman, you couldn’t be more wrong about that, and when you get back . . .

She looks at the note again.

“I have something I have to take care of—my piece of the world—right now.”

Feeling a horrible pang of alarm, Petra hurriedly dresses and rushes out.

She catches the Dawn Patrol just as they’re headed out.

Paddling in the shallow water.

Petra stands on the sand, waves her arms above her head, and hollers, “Help! I need you! Come back! Help!”

Dave the Love God is more used to distress calls coming from the opposite direction, but a lifeguard is a lifeguard, so he turns around and paddles back in. He’s not real thrilled to see that it’s the Brit.

“It’s about Boone,” she says.

“What about him?”

“I think he’s gone to do something stupid,” Petra says.

“I can almost guarantee that,” Dave answers.

She hands him the note.