When we got back to the cabin, the two of us were sunburned and parched. I made us peanut butter and jelly for dinner, and we sat in bed and watched the news. It felt so peaceful. Nothing to prove, nothing to hide. We went to sleep with Max cradling me. I could feel his heartbeat against my back. But the next morning, when I woke up and my hair was out of place and my breath smelled, I looked over at him, expecting to see a smile on his face. Instead, he looked stoic, as if he had been staring at the ceiling for hours. “What’s on your mind?” I said. “Nothing.” His chest hair was graying. I thought it made him look regal. “What is it?” I said. “You can tell me.” He turned and looked at me. I fixed my hair, feeling somewhat embarrassed at how unkempt I looked. He looked back up at the ceiling. “This is not how I imagined it.” “What did you imagine?” “You,” he said. “I imagined the glory of a life with you.” “And now you don’t?” “No, that’s not it,” he said, shaking his head. “Can I be honest? I think I hate the desert. There is too much sun and no good food, and why are we here? We are city people, my love. We should go home.” I laughed, relieved that it wasn’t anything more. “We still have three days here,” I said. “Yes, yes, I know, ma belle, but please, let us go home.” “Early?” “We can get a room at the Waldorf for a few days. Instead of here.” “OK,” I said. “If you’re sure.” “T’m sure,” he said. And then he got up and took a shower. Later on, at the airport as we waited to board, Max went to buy something to read on the flight. He came back with People magazine and