n the kitchen, Amanda stared at her mother.

She hadn’t spoken since Adrienne had started her story and had gone through two glasses of wine, the second a bit faster than the first. Neither of them was speaking now, and Adrienne could feel the anxious expectation of her daughter as she waited for what would come next.

But Adrienne couldn’t tell Amanda about that, nor did she need to. Amanda was a grown woman; she knew what it meant to make love to a man. She was also old enough to know that even though that was a wonderful part of their discovery of each other, it had been just that: a part of it. She loved Paul, and had he not meant so much to her, had the weekend been only physical in nature, there would have been nothing to remember other than a few pleasurable moments, special only because she had been alone so long. What they shared, however, were feelings that had

been buried for far too long, feelings that were meant for just the two of them. And only them.

Besides, Amanda was her daughter. Call it old-fashioned, but sharing the details would be inappropriate. Some could talk about such things, but Adrienne never understood how they could. The bedroom, she always thought, was a place of shared secrets.

But even if she’d wanted to tell, she knew she wouldn’t be able to find the words. How could she describe the sensation as he began to unbutton her blouse, or the shivers that traveled the length of her body when he traced his finger along her belly? Or how heated their skin felt as their bodies came together? Or the texture of his mouth where he kissed her and how she felt when she pressed her fingers hard into his skin? Or the sound of his breathing and hers and how their breaths quickened as they began to move as one?

No, she wouldn’t speak of those things. Instead, she would let her daughter imagine what had happened, because Adrienne knew that only her imagination could possibly capture even the slightest bit of the magic she’d felt in Paul’s arms.

“Mom?” Amanda finally whispered. “You want to know what happened?” Amanda swallowed uncomfortably.

“Yes,” was all Adrienne would say.

“You mean. .”

“Yes,” she said again.

Amanda took a drink of wine. Steeling herself, she lowered the glass to the table. “And?..”

Adrienne leaned forward, as if not wanting anyone to overhear.

“Yes,” she whispered, and with that, she glanced off to the side, retreating into the past.

They’d made love that afternoon, and she’d spent the rest of the day in bed. As the storm raged outside—uprooted foliage and wind-whipped trees battering against the house—Paul held her close, his lips pressed against her cheek, each of them recalling the past and together discussing their dreams for the future, both of them marveling over the thoughts and feelings that had led to this moment.

This had been as new for her as it was for Paul. In the last years of her marriage to Jack—maybe most of her marriage, she remembered thinking then—whenever they’d made love, it had been perfunctory, short on passion and quick in time, unmoving with its lack of tenderness. And they seldom talked afterward because Jack usually turned on his side and fell asleep within minutes.

Not only had Paul held her for hours afterward, but his tender embrace let her know that this was just as meaningful to him as the physical intimacy they’d shared. He kissed her hair and face, and every time he caressed a part of her body, he called her beautiful and told her that he adored her in the solemn, sure way she had so quickly come to love.

Though they weren’t conscious of it because of the boarded windows, the sky had turned an opaque and angry black. Wind-driven waves battered the dune and washed it away; water lapped at the foundation of the Inn. The antenna on the house was blown away and fell to earth on the opposite end of the island. Sand and rain worked their way through the back door frame as the door vibrated in the energy of the storm. The power went off sometime in the early morning hours. They made love a second time in total darkness, guided by touch, and when they were finished, they finally fell asleep in each other’s arms as the eye of the storm passed over Rodanthe.