"I can't," he said. "I think it's who I am." He meant: I'm not going to come with you and be your man.
"Oh, Joe." Her tears came and she put her arms around him. They held each other as the bamboo played. "Won't you be lonely?"
"Yes." He squeezed her. "I'll miss you."
On Wednesday, a version of Aloha Oe poured down from invisible airport speakers. Joe placed a pikake and ginger lei around Alison's neck. "I love that song," he said, pulling away. "Even Muzak can't ruin it. Did you know it was written by Queen Liliuokalani? Can you imagine any of our politicians leaving anything as good?"
"Joe, will you come see me in Wisconsin? You'd like it. Madison is very cultural." Alison was going to try until the end.
He hesitated.
She bit her lower lip. "Don't say no, Joe. Just don't say no."
He hung his head. "Take care, Alison." It had been a good time. Sex had continued between them as straightforward and trusting as the rest of their relationship. But Alison needed to be in Wisconsin taking care of her mother, and she needed a husband, not his part time attention. "You aren't sorry, are you?" he asked.
"Oh, no. You are my lover man. And . . . " She smiled because it was a joke between them, "In the light of eternity, what difference does it make?" She threw her arms around him, then turned quickly and left for her departure gate. He went directly to the Moana.
"I need a drink, Gilbert."