Frolic and Banter

"How do I love you?" he said. "Let me count the ways."

They were on a beach in a cove on an island that they had sailed to lying about five miles from land. From the anchored boat they had rowed the dinghy into the cove on an incoming tide and let a surge lift them onto the beach. They could only stay until the tide began to ebb, or else they would be caught on the beach until another rising tide came to lift them off. They could only stay here that long, but that would be long enough.

"Go on," she said. "Go on. Count them. Count the ways."

"Well, let's see," he said. "Let's see. There's way number one," and he paused. "And then there's way number two." He stopped. "Three. Four. Way number five." She punched him on the arm. He reached down and took a handful of the coarse sand. "A year at least for every grain. That's how much." He trickled the sand out of his hand, then, "No," he said. "That's not enough. That's only how long I'll love you. But how much? Let's see." He looked out across the soft rise of the ocean, the gentle roll of the waves that had pulsed through the ocean from a thousand miles away. The boat they had sailed to here hardly moved in the gentle wind. "All right. I've got it." He held out his arms as far as he could reach. "Are you ready?"

"Yes," she said. "All set."

"O.K. As many electrons as there are in the space between my hands, that's how much I love you. That's how much love I'll give you. All these electrons to the tenth power for as many years as the grains of sand."

"Oh sure," she said. "Sure. That sounds good, but how do I know it's true? How do you prove it? Shouldn't there be some seal or something? I mean, you're a lawyer. You're supposed to know about these things. Isn't there some kind of contract? Some lawyer you are."

"You're right," he said. "You're right." Then he reached across for her, took her close to him and kissed her, then again.

"Signed," he said.

"Sealed," she said. She fell back onto the sand. "Delivered."

They did not reach the mainland until eight o'clock in the evening, but there was still sufficient light in the last glow of the setting sun for them to make their mooring. The wind had risen, and they had a firm beat back to the land. In the good offshore breeze they sat close and huddled together, low down and out of the quickly cooling air blowing from windward over the port rail. He handled the tiller, she managed the mainsheet. They sailed in an exact rhythm. He would time the crest and tuck the boat into a trough between the waves, and she would trim or pay out the mainsheet to keep the boat driving hard.

"What a team," she said. "We're terrific."

"I could go on like this," he said. "Just like this. On and on. Around the world."

"Yes," she said. "Around the world. Around and around and around."

* * *

"But is this really necessary?" she said to her lawyer. "Can't we both sign something and be done with it? Quickly? Clean?"

"It's too late for that, isn't it?" he said. "You can't have an uncontested divorce if there are already contested elements introduced."

"Can't we just contest that, the elements and not the whole thing?" But she saw the impossibility of that. She had seen it for months. It was even silly of her to have made the suggestion.

"Demands have been made. You have made the demands. Do you want me to withdraw them? Agree to the original terms?" He pushed at the papers in front of him. He was growing impatient with her. She could not blame him. She was impatient with herself—the vacillation...