Marylin with her face wet and a fringe of hair, like a streak of seaweed, down her cheek! Getaway, shivery and knobbier than ever, pushing great palms of water at her and she back at him, only less skillfully her five fingers spread and inefficient. Once in the water, he caught and held her close, and yet, for the wonder of it, almost reverentially close, as if what he would claim for himself he must keep intact.
"Marry me, Marylin," he said, with all the hubbub of the ocean about them.
She reached for some foam that hissed out before she could touch it.
"That's you," he said. "Now you are there, and now you aren't."
"I wish," she said—"oh, Getaway, there's so much I wish!"
"What do you wish?"
She looked off toward the immensity of sea and sky. "I—Oh, I don't know! Being here makes me wish—Something as beautiful as out there is what I wish."
"Out where?"
"There."
"I don't see—"