I've spent a miserable evening on my penthouse terrace bemoaning Astrid's absence.
Oh, I know I'm being stubborn in refusing to meet her but I'm still hurt that she went on an archeological dig without me and I'm too proud to admit my need for her.
If I had a photo it would make her absence seem less painful but I'm so bereft without her that I can't even picture her face.
Self pity is no consolation either, so I stretch out in my sleeping bag beneath the stars and try to get some sleep.
Sleep, however, eludes me and it’s late—the crescent moon has risen and is directly above me, bent like a bow in the heavens. The breeze has picked up and is soughing through the pergola and whispering among the grape vines.
I imagine Astrid’s measured breath beside me and scorn my foolish brain for thinking it.
I roll over onto my side only to stare directly into her violet eyes.
“Did I frighten you?” she smiles.
“What are you doing here?”
“Watching you sleep—the way I did out on the desert.”
“How did you get in?”
“You left the door open—and your liquor cabinet. I followed the Yellow Tail trail and saw your smashed cell phone—nice printed circuit.”
“Great,” I moan.
“You left your laptop open—seems you were making some searches—images. Looking for the photos of the Jerusalem Cup?”
I shake my head.
“I didn’t think so. By the way, Paul—I did send you a photo—it’s in your documents folder. Guess you didn’t think to look there.”
I shut my eyes wishing I could shrink into a ball.
She caresses my cheek. “You’re angry with me, aren’t you?”
I want to lie and say no—but what then—continue the charade?
“Yes, I’m angry,” I sigh.
“Why—did I do something?”
“No,” I say helplessly. “You didn’t do anything.”
“Then what is it, Paul? Use your words to talk to me.”
I feet bitterness rising. Use my words? How could she not know how I feel?
She wants to know? Okay, I’ll tell her.
“I thought you’d stay after we found the chalice—I didn’t think you’d leave right away—especially hop on a jet and go back to the Middle East.”
“Was I supposed to do something?” She says perplexed.
“I just thought it was a sudden departure.”
“I always do that.”
“I know.”
“You never objected before,” she reasons.
“I know.”
She grabs me by the collar and pulls me forward so her eyes are looking straight into mine.
“So what am I missing here?”
“I love you, Astrid—that’s what you’re missing—the part of me you’ve never seen.”
She blinks and lets go of my collar. I roll onto my back and stare at the moon. I whisper, "And then the moon, like to a silver bow new bent in Heaven."
“Ah, A Midsummer Night’s Dream,” she smiles. “—But that’s another chaste goddess—Diana, goddess of the moon and the hunt.”
“True, but maybe she symbolizes you as well—remote and inaccessible—to be worshipped from afar.”
“But doesn’t Astraea come down to earth? All goddesses have to come down to earth eventually.”
I turn back over and look at her. Her eyes are moist and shining.
“You didn’t ask about me,” she whispers, “why I stayed awake to watch you sleep.”
“Why did you?”
“Because I was happy being there with you—sleeping with you beneath the stars.”
“You were sleeping beside me, “ I correct her.
“The point is, Paul, I wanted to be with you. I want to be with you forever—lying together on digs in the desert and lying together here at home.”
“Can we go inside in the winter?”
She throws her arms around my neck and kisses me passionately. I think I know the answer to that question.