—Hello, Chris.
—Laurel.
—Did you mind? I felt you near me, and I couldn’t hold back any more. I know you don’t want to hear from me, but—
—What gave you that idea?
—I thought—it seemed to me—
—No. I thought you were the one who wanted to break it up.
—I? I missed you so much, Chris. But I was sure you’d pull away.
—So was I, about you.
—Silly.
—Laurel. Laurel. I’m so glad you took the chance, then.
—So am I.
—Let me have the snake, Chris.
—Yes. Yes.
He stepped out into the tawny sun-baked hills with the heavy porcelain jar and tipped it, and let the snake glide toward her. It was all right after all. They had made mistakes, but they were the mistakes of too much love, and they had survived them. It was going to be all right: snake and ocean, ocean and snake, now and always.