***

Michael opened the door for Maria and saw her standing there dressed in a blue-green tank top and cut-off jeans, with the red lace bra. So she remembered. It was what she’d worn on the night of the heatwave, that first time, when he was suddenly drawn to her like a moth to a flame. He still remembered staring at her through the window, remembered the way she looked, the way the perspiration made her skin shine, the way the heat had made her flush. He’d wanted her then, as he wanted her now. So he covered her mouth with his like he’d done at the time, their kiss long, deep and all-consuming. And like that night, she jumped into his arms, up on her haunches, wrapping her legs around his waist. Staggering with her weight, he lifted her up to support her, and slammed the door shut.

Inside his apartment, they were all arms and legs and hands and lips, clutching and clawing, nipping and nuzzling. No words were necessary. What they had to say they said with lips and hands and eyes. Eyes that bore deep into the other’s soul, lips that claimed the other’s for their own, and hands that mapped and traced, so that each one would remember.

All night and all day, Michael and Maria made love until they were both spent, and then made love again. Sometimes fast and furious, venting their desperation; sometimes soft and tender, seeking solace and comfort. In perfect synchrony they moved, each sensing what was unspoken, understood, seeking to soothe the dull ache that consumed them, to ease the thirst, the need, the yearning. When the day ended, he held her close and said, “I’ll never truly be gone.” She drew him in tighter and said, “Then I’ll never truly be left behind.” What had she said that day to Liz? That Michael was the real thing, that it was like every cell in her body felt the same cell in his? Well, she would always feel that way now.

***

The next day, she was at Liz’s place, holding her friend and letting her cry. They had gone. All three of them. Michael, Max and Isabel. She smoothed Liz’s hair back and said things will look better tomorrow. Would they? She thought so. Her own eyes were dry, she couldn’t explain it. Maybe because she’d had her eternity with Michael.

As she felt Liz’s sobs subsiding, she tucked her friend into bed and pulled the covers over her. But she would wait till Liz was really asleep before she left.

Then, she felt a hand on her shoulder. It was Alex. He leaned down and whispered for her to go home. He would watch Liz. Smart, dependable Alex. Trust him to know.

Maria let herself into Michael’s apartment. It didn’t feel vacated. All his things were still there; empty Tabasco bottles, some drawings cast aside, a pile of shirts in a corner. Her things were there too, mixed up in all of his; some books, her oils, a hairclip or two. She didn’t need special powers to feel a memory flash with each object.

And all of a sudden, she felt exhausted, the energy drain from her. She walked into his bedroom and sat on the bed for a minute before curling up against his pillow. As she breathed in his scent, she closed her eyes and let the tears come.