Chapter 20

But he liked the sound of the words together—”severe clear.” A crisp rhyme yielding a pristine image—stark blue sky, more sea than sky really, without a trace of diaphanous white, and soft, late-summer air. A beautiful day.

That’s why they chose it, although he didn’t realize it until later. Only then did he know it with the certainty with which you recognize something either terrible or wonderful. Otherwise, they would’ve picked Monday, the first day of the week.

But Monday it rained. Not a downpour or a steady patter but an iffy on-and-off kind of drizzle. He had taken Nan to dinner at the Peninsula Hotel, and he remembered the two of them sitting close at a table on the balcony, watching the rain hit the window in the dying September light. The city, at least the city he loved, was dying, too, weeping as it said goodbye. He just didn’t know it.