The moon was a crescent hanging over the island, the ocean a silver wash upside down in a grey sky. We"d taken down my mother"s sheets from the window and a single candle flared in a corner of the float house. Samir"s silhouette was a cut-out against the moonlight.
“We never have a date night, Sugar,” I whispered. My voices were still and only the moon was bright like a copper earring, my visions still too.
His lips moved. I thought he was sobbing.
“What"s wrong? Did I hurt you?”
He didn"t answer. I felt his arm tighten across my shoulders.
“What you see in me?” he asked finally. “I"m a no good for you, Annie.”
“What do you mean?”
“I should have died in the refugee camp, like Moses. Samir took his passport, maybe Moses Nijam Suliman wasn"t really dead.”
“Life is for the living.”
“
