He dropped both men, groggy, at the entrance to the Tech Area, then returned the car to the pool, eager now for a shower and a fresh start. But Los Alamos was still asleep, glistening and empty. Mills wouldn’t be ready for hours, and Albuquerque would be hours after that. Only a few trucks disturbed the peace. He could have coffee, check in at the office. He could take a walk, shake the drowsiness off by strolling around Ashley Pond. Instead, he stood at the edge of the dirt road, not doing anything. He started toward his dormitory, then hesitated. He turned toward the Admin Building, then stopped a second time. He was a teenager again, nervously looking for excuses in the street, when he knew what he had to do was go up on the porch and ring the bell.
He rapped softly on the door in the Sundt complex, afraid to wake the neighbors, but she must have been up early, because the door opened at once. Her hair was down, uncombed, and she was wrapped in a robe, a clinging prewar silk that draped slightly at her breasts. He felt the warmth she still carried with her from bed.
“Are you mad?” she said quietly. “You can’t come here.” Her eyes looked quickly to each side.
“Come out, then,” he said.
“Sssh. Someone will hear. Do you know what time it is?”
He nodded, but didn’t move.
She glanced around again, then swung the door open further. “Come on,” she said, drawing him in, then closing it behind her. “What is it? You look like hell.”
He had turned to face her, unconsciously pinning her back against the door, and stared at her for a minute, his face close to hers, as if the distance would lower the sound of their voices. “You don’t,” he said, moving his eyes over her face.
She gave a half-smile. “I asked for that, didn’t I?” she said softly. “At six in the bloody morning.”
“I need to talk to you.”
“Not here.”
“He won’t be back till Friday.”
“It isn’t that. We can’t-not here.” But she didn’t move, and he could feel her in front of him, warm, their faces almost touching.
“I need to tell you. I may have to leave.”
She looked at him. “Will you?”
“I may. They found someone. I may have to leave.”
“Why are you telling me?” she said, her eyes still on him.
“I can’t promise you anything. You should know that.”
“I know.”
“It may be important to you. I don’t want to be unfair to you.”
She placed her hand along his cheek. “But you’re not fair,” she said, drawing him closer. “There’s nothing fair about you.” She kissed him. “You’re here,” she said, kissing him again, lightly, as if she were drawing a breath between words, “and then you’re not. It’s not fair. You’re warning me. What else?”
“I don’t want to leave,” he said, kissing her back.
“Then stay for a while. Now.”
“Are you sure?” he said, still kissing her.
“Yes.”
“I don’t want to hurt you.”
“This is a funny love affair. Apologies at the beginning, not the end. It’s not fair.”
“No.”
“Let’s pretend we’re at the beginning.”
He kissed her hard then, pinning her against the door, his hands behind her, drawing her closer. He could feel the heat of her skin through the silk as his hands moved down her back, pulling her toward him so that their bodies ground together. Then her robe fell open and he moved his hands inside, feeling the skin itself, hot, alive to his touch. She held the back of his head, her mouth everywhere on his face.
“Come to bed,” he whispered.
“No.” She was gulping air. “Not there.”
