"I've been brave," she said.
"I'll bet you have." Her hand moved down his stomach, almost as an afterthought. She urged him over on top of her and guided him into her. They lay complete. Sometime later, out of no particular necessity, he began to move slowly in and out. It was better than talking. Reassuring. I am right here, he was saying. I love you. He went on and on.
"Oh," she cried. "Oh . . . Oh . . . Oh . . . " Her head fell back on the pillow. "Oh . . . " And then, "Joe?" She put her hands on his buttocks and pulled him deeper into her. "Joe?" He gave in. Near the top of the wave that picked him up, he put his mouth on her open mouth and felt her calling, drawing him over. He poured into her, tumbling, giving her everything.
"My hero," Daisy said. She was leaning on one elbow and looking into his face. It was morning.
"Nah . . . " Joe said.
"I thought I'd forgotten how."
"No way," he said, waking up. "Don't you look great! You look like a little girl."
"I've got a favor to ask," she said. "I want to remember you like this.
I can get myself to the airport."
"Uh—when will I see you again?" Joe asked.
"I'm going home through France," she said. "You know, I have a studio on the property in Woodstock."