My coffee arrived.
I picked it up and held it and looked at her in the morning light, at the face that had been so unguarded last night and was careful again now, the composure back in place, and I thought about Dane saying go out there like a husband and I thought about everything I knew how to do and everything I did not and I thought about the ache and where it lived and what it meant.
"I left because I did not know what to do with last night," I said.
She went very still.
"That is not an excuse," I said. "It is an explanation. They are different things. I'm giving you the explanation because you are owed it and because I do not intend to do it again."
She looked at me then. Really looked at me, the direct, undefended look that she gave things she was taking seriously, and I held i
