“You know it’s funny,” said Amelia, her voice sounding distant, muted, as though it were coming from a thousand miles away, “but somehow I knew you’d be here.”
I looked up as she sat next to me—having put on a jacket like myself—and looked out at the sea, which crashed and breathed. “You always were more thoughtful than you let on,” she said. She leaned into me with surprising intimacy. “More dutiful, more decent. It was the first thing I noticed about you.”
I didn’t say anything, only gazed out at the water and the swirling pterodactyls—one of which glided in for a landing.
At last she said: “It doesn’t have to be this way, you know. We could pretend we never came here ... that nothing ever happened—even go our separate ways, if that’s what you want.”
I looked at my shoes—the ones I’
