Naturally it started raining. Around ten o’clock that night, freezing and wet in a place called Houndsditch, Lena finally stopped. She stood under a bus shelter and took stock. Her flight did not leave for Greece until ten past ten in the morning.

She had consciously planned a lot of things, but not where she would stay the night. Why not? Perhaps that was where the unconscious planning had come in. Somewhere buried under a few layers in her mind had been the idea that the moment she saw Kostos, everything else would fall into place. It was to be the happily-ever-after part in the story that took place after the velvety red curtains closed and was never strictly specified.

Now that she was taking stock in Houndsditch, she decided to confront that too. What had she really thought? He would see her and take her in his arms? Was that really it? He would carry her to his bed and they would make love all night?

She blushed at the thought, more from shame than desire. Maybe she hadn’t quite thought that. Not even her subconscious fantasies were quite that brave.

A group of men in suits cast her long looks as they went by. One of them said something she couldn’t quite hear and the group of them laughed. In her red dress and bare legs, and with what was left of her makeup running down her face, she probably looked like a streetwalker.

She didn’t want to find a hotel at this hour, nor did she have the cash on hand to pay for it. Out of principal, she carried a debit card instead of a credit card, and her checking account didn’t have much of a balance. She hadn’t thought she’d need it. Her dad had prepaid for most aspects of this trip, including airfare and the special service for her cellphone so it would work over here. She’d brought a couple hundred dollars in traveler’s checks, but she didn’t want to blow it all on her first night.

What could she do? She took the train schedule from her bag and unfolded it. Two trains left Houndsditch that night, and she had to hurry if she was going to catch the last one.

The map of the Underground showed the way to Aldgate, a Tube stop a short distance away. She had to push herself out of the dry shelter of her bus stop and into the post-disappointment stage of this adventure.

Bridget got hungry for lunch before Bailey did, which made her question Brian’s advice once again. She wasn’t sure what they should eat. “What do you like to eat for lunch?” she asked Bailey.

Bailey stared back at her impassively.

“Do you like yogurt?”

“Yes.”

“Do you like apples?”

“Yes.”

“Do you like crackers?”

“Yes.”

“Do you like spinach?”

“Yes.”

“Do you like poisonous mushrooms?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. Never mind.” Bridget put out crackers and sliced up an apple. She found some hard cheese in the refrigerator and sliced that up too.

Bailey had stuffed several things in her mouth before Bridget realized she was eating as much dirt as anything else. She took Bailey back out of her high chair and carried her to the sink under her arm like a football. She put her hand under the faucet to test the temperature. “We should probably wash these,” she said, gathering Bailey’s fingers in the water.

When she sat Bailey back down, Bailey’s cheeks were still full. “Are you chewing any of that?” she asked. She remembered the lack of molars.

She ended up excavating Bailey’s packed mouth, throwing out the contents, cutting everything on the plates up finer, and starting again.

They both ate the little bits of things hungrily. We are about the same, but I have quite a few more teeth, Bridget thought.

They shared a cup of strawberry yogurt. Bridget got them each a spoon. Bridget ate hers and Bailey flung most of hers on the table and on the floor. Bridget considered the options. I can see doing that.

After lunch Bailey was desperate to go back to the creek. This time she was the one to grab Bridget’s hand and lead the way. When they got to the squelchy mud at the edge they dug their toes into it. Bridget squished her toes down deeper and Bailey copied her. Bridget had a brainstorm. They both sat down in the mud. Why not? They were already dirty and the air was warm.

It was perfect, because she and Tibby used to love to make mud pies. Bridget dug in and pulled up a heaping handful. She brought her hands together and shaped it. “It’s a pie. Yum,” she said, bringing it to her mouth.

Bailey took to this idea right away. She got her own clump of mud and brought it directly to her mouth. When she looked up at Bridget there was already a mud mustache under her nose.

Bridget laughed. “No, you don’t actually eat it. You just pretend.”

Bailey liked that equally well. They pretended to eat several pounds of mud and then Bridget made a mud turtle and a mud starfish. After Bailey got the idea that these were not to be pretend eaten, but played with, she made her own versions, which weren’t very good.

Bridget’s fingernails were as stuffed with mud as they had ever been, and her hair as snarled. Feeling the creep of the wet earth through her pants and the sun on her head, Bridget closed her eyes and believed she was small again, sitting with her friend Tibby by the creek. And opening her eyes did nothing to undermine her image. This little person next to her had the same intensity, the same quickness to be won over, the same pixie face and flyaway hair that never seemed to grow past a certain point.

Bridget had marched through her portal to a simple time, and she was back with Tibby doing the things she and Tibby liked to do. Her mind seemed to vibrate more and more slowly into something like silence, and that was all she could ask for right now.

Lena arrived at her gate exactly eleven hours before her plane was scheduled to depart. In the annals of travel she didn’t think anybody had ever gotten to a gate earlier than her father, but now she had. She brushed her teeth and washed off the makeup at a row of fourteen sinks (she counted) in the women’s bathroom.

Back at the gate, she sat on the ground by the big window where you could watch the planes taxi away, but there wasn’t much going on at this hour. She wanted to stay awake. It seemed important to stay awake, because otherwise, what might happen to her? She put her arms around her bag, just in case.

She may or may not have been dozing, she wasn’t sure, when her bag started buzzing. It took her a moment to realize it was her phone. She’d forgotten that anyone could call her here. She grabbed it and answered without looking at the number. It was either her mom or her dad. Who else called her anymore?

“Lena?”

“Yes?”

Her mind was spinning. It wasn’t her dad and it definitely wasn’t her mom.

“Where are you?”

She was groggy and confused. “Who is this?” she asked.

“It’s Kostos.”

Her mind spun faster and in a different direction. How did he get her number? “How did you get my number?”

“I called your mother.”

Oh, shit. Well, she knew who would be calling next.

“Why are you in London?” he asked.

To see him. To deliver a letter. To fall into his arms and then have the lights go dark and the red curtain fall. There was no part of the truth she could tell him. “I’m just on a layover.”

“Going where?”

She couldn’t tell him the truth about that either. Between London and Santorini it would seem like she was stalking him. She closed her eyes and searched for a lie. “To Italy. To look at art.” She sounded like she was reading from a script. She hated lying.

“How long are you here?” he asked.

“I fly out tomorrow morning.”

“Lena, you came all the way to my house. Why did you run away like that?”

Because you live in a mansion with a beautiful and scary wife. Because you crushed my hopes and hurt my feelings. Because you promised me Someday, and you didn’t even mean it. “I just wanted to deliver the letter. I felt like I was disturbing you and your …”

“My?”

“Your …” Lena didn’t know what she was. She didn’t want to be forced to ask.

“Do you mean Harriet?”

“I mean the woman who opened the door. We didn’t introduce ourselves.”

“Yes, that’s Harriet.” He sounded uncomfortable.

“Are you married? Do you live together?” Lena wasn’t so much amazed by her masochism as by her boldness. Anyway, she knew the answer. There was something about the flowers in the front hall that made her know at least part of it.

“No, we are not married. Yes, we live together. Lena, where are you staying? I know it’s late, but do you mind if I come by? I’d really like to talk to you in person.”

She knew exactly what he wanted to talk to her about and she didn’t want to listen. Somewhere his own words were probably ringing in his head, the words he’d said to her more than ten years before, after he’d shocked and devastated her by getting married to Mariana less than a month after he’d promised to love Lena forever. I love you. I’ll never stop. I never will.

He probably felt bad about hurting her now, just as he’d felt bad about it then. He must have seen by her face how she felt. She’d tried to hide it, but she’d never been good at that. Especially not around him. At least she hadn’t collapsed this time.

This time. How many times could you let one man break your heart? What was the matter with her? And if she was being honest with herself she also had to ask, how many times had she broken his?

He was going to try to ease this painful reality on her, make a few excuses, attempt to salvage her pride and preserve their old friendship. He wanted to continue to feel good about himself. Not cause Valia to roll over in her grave.

But seeing him wouldn’t help anything. Not for Lena anyway. It would only make everything worse.

“Just tell me where you are and I will come.”

God knew she wasn’t going to tell him where she was staying. That she was too poor and delusional to have booked a hotel. “You’ve got a life, Kostos, and I respect that. I should have called before I came. I’m sorry I didn’t.”

“Please, Lena? Please tell me where you are. I need to see you.” His voice sounded strange, distorted. She wondered if he’d been drinking with “Harriet” on their big night out.

She realized that the reason her throat ached so badly was because she was going to cry. She was grateful that he couldn’t see. That nobody could see, except the janitor rolling her mop and bucket out of the women’s room.

“I can’t. I don’t want to. I made a mistake by coming here.”

“Lena, you didn’t. If you would just give me a chance.”

“I can’t,” she said again. She needed badly to blow her nose. She hoped he couldn’t hear the wetness of tears and mucus.

He was silent for a moment. “Can I call you again? Tomorrow?”

She closed her eyes and willed her voice not to sound as wet and sad as it felt. “Please don’t.”

“But you don’t understand anything.”

She wished she could hold herself back, but she couldn’t. She was crying hard, and he was going to know it. “Understand what? There’s nothing you can say that changes anything.”

They were both quiet for a moment. She held the phone away until she could pull herself together.

When he spoke again he sounded subdued. She had observed this transition in him before. His voice had flattened. “All right. If you don’t want me to, I won’t.”

She was scared to say anything. She stayed quiet.

“So what about this letter?” he said, clearly perplexed by it and its origin.

She tried to even out her breathing. “It’s from Tibby. I don’t know what it says. She left one just like it for me too. She left me instructions to deliver yours to you in person.”

“I see,” he said. “I guess that explains it.” It was that flat voice.

Lena wasn’t sure what it explained, and she didn’t have the wherewithal to ask.

“Are we supposed to be together when we open them, or something like that?” he asked. She wasn’t sure if his voice sounded mocking.

“No, that wasn’t part of it.”

“It says on the back I’m not supposed to open it until the middle of March.”

“I know,” she said. “That’s what mine says too.”