Cal asked.“I told you,” Holly answered sleepily, almost reflexively. He sighed into her hair, nudging his knees more deeply into the backs of hers. “Tell me again.” He thought she'd said nine-thirty, which would mean they'd have to leave for Houston at five, but he wasn't sure. No surprise there.“Nine-thirty,” she said with a sigh of her own. “Too soon. I don't even want to think about it.”No. Neither did he, but he had to since he couldn't write it down. There was better, and then there was better.He wished he could stop time. He wished that the doors and windows of this botanical nightmare of a room were hermetically sealed for the next fifty or sixty years, even longer, centuries maybe, and that archeologists would find their bones—his and Holly's—just like this, all wrapped up together, in the year 2500.He'd never been so happy or so sad all at the same time. He'd never felt so good or so lousy. It was like straddling a fucking barbed-wire fence. Tomorrow at this time Holly would be gone.
