"Joe—could I stay? For the week? Until my plane?" She spoke quietly and held him with her large dark eyes. He should have seen it coming, but he was surprised.
"Umm, with me?" She nodded. "Oh, Rhiannon."
"You think I'm too young," she said.
"No, that's not it. Rhiannon, you are not too young." He searched for words. "It's not you; it's me. I'm too old." He swallowed a mouthful of wine. "There was a time when I would have crawled around the island for you on my hands and knees. Let me see if I can explain."
She stood, turned once around, and sat down again. "You don't have to.
It's all right. And besides, you're wounded." She pointed at the
Band-Aid on his cheek.
"I'm not that wounded. I'm changing. Did you ever see a chameleon change color?"
"No," she said.
"I had one on that branch, right out there." He pointed through the glass of the lanai door. "It was brown. Each time I looked, it was a little less brown and a little more green. You could barely see it change." Rhiannon looked impatient. "When it was completely green it jumped onto a leaf that was the same color." Joe paused. "It's writing I want to do now; I'm ready to jump. I'll probably kick myself for the rest of my life," he said, "but I'm calling a cab to take you home."
Rhiannon gathered her things. They rode the elevator down in silence, but as they waited for the cab she sighed and leaned against Joe. He put his arm around her. "You have to take love where you find it," she said. "My father told me that."
Joe squeezed her tighter. "Your father's right." The cabbie pulled in.
Joe gave him the address and double the fare. "Keep the change, huh."