Friday: Shelter IslandThey took the short, ferry ride to Shelter Island on Friday and drove around the island. On the way back, as the ferry crossed the bay, the pair stood on the side looking out to the east, France somewhere over the horizon.
“Paula. Can you promise me that you will come to me the moment you are tempted? I am not saying you will be”—and Paula interjected that she had not been since that horrible night—”tempted but you have to come to me first. Promise?” Paula promised.
“Paula. Will you marry me?” Connie, of course, had virtually no experience with other women. It did not matter. She found the only woman she wanted.
Paula, that woman, stared out. The only sound was the rustling of the water and the diesel engine’s gurgle as the ferry made its way south. Paula, that wom
