SHARON WAS WAITING on the beach when I arrived in the early evening. I came as soon as I got her letter. She had included a hand drawn map or I would never have found the secret trail that led to it from the deserted road. It was a tortuous path cut in the sandstone by a tiny spring-fed rill that descended in steps, each one forming a small pool inhabited by minnows and water striders. The whole distance was overgrown by scrub oak and walled by cacti.

The sun hesitated above the horizon as though waiting for me, and she stood watching it. Her body was silhouetted in the sheer fabric. It didn't appear that she wore anything beneath it. My breath caught. She looked exactly the same as when I last saw her, what, thirty years ago. 

I rolled up my pants legs and removed my shoes and socks before setting off across the sand. I paused after a few steps, strangely aware of every sensation. The soft sand between my toes. The cool sea breeze on my face, stirring the hair on my forearms and calves. But mostly, I was aware of her. I caught her scent and wondered if that was possible.

The sun resumed its descent as I approached her from behind and stopped. She turned her head and I gasped at her profile. It was exactly the same as I remembered. I should. I had stared at her in class every day throughout high school, pining to be with her and yet, afraid to even mention her name. She was a goddess and I was a goat.

A smile caressed her face and she spoke. “I'm glad you came.”

THEY WERE IN LOVE. Desperately in love.

She was seventeen, the town belle, and the daughter of Hollis McAllister, the owner of the mine that everyone in town worked at. 

He was eighteen, a strapping youth, and the son of the mine's night watchman.

Hollis didn't approve

Hollis didn't climb the ladder of success by avoiding problems. He bulled his way through them. In that spirit, he invited the boy, Jeremy Gibbons, to his home.

The McAllister home sat at the base of the mountain that his crews honeycombed with shafts to strip it of its treasure of anthracite coal. Hard coal. Valued for making iron and steel. Long trains of hopper cars snaked their way towards the mills in the north full of McAllister coal. They returned with cash to pay wages and fatten McAllister's bank accounts.

Jeremy arrived punctually at 4:00 pm. Hollis liked punctuality. He couldn't bull his way through life's problems while waiting for someone. His daughter, Margaret, was at his side. Hollis led the young lovers to his study and seated them facing his desk. They waited as Hollis selected a cigar, snipped its end, and lit it with a wooden patch that he pulled from a cup attached to the ashtray. The ritual allowed him to establish dominance while others waited.

Adam, luggage in hand, stood behind the doorman under the awning outside the hotel entrance. They were surrounded by a torrent that formed vertical walls on three sides. The only dry escape was the lobby to their rear, but that wasn't useful. Adam had to be at the airport within the hour to begin checking through security or he would miss his flight home to Chicago.

The two men watched the flotsam from the gutter being pushed closer to their feet as the water rose in the street and spilled over the curbs.

“Where's the shuttle?” Adam asked.

“It's parked about eight blocks north,” the doorman answered over his shoulder without making eye contact. “You'll have to walk to it.”

Adam couldn't argue. The only traffic he expected to see pass by on the street would be an Ark.

The doorman turned to offer his umbrella and hesitated, his attention drawn to someone exiting the hotel behind Adam. “I'm sorry,” he began as he held it up. “It's the last one.”