"Allies, ever since."
"That's good news." Matthew hesitated. "Have there been other wars?"
Kathryn sighed and rose from the table. "Far too many," she said, as she began clearing their dishes.
His chair scraped as he pushed it back. He went to the sink, turned on the water and began scrubbing the pans they'd used.
"And were we victorious?"
She thought of conquest of the Native American tribes, the agony of Vietnam, the pain of Iraq and Afghanistan, and she came up behind him and slipped her arms around his waist.
"Not entirely. But we're still a proud and great nation."
"There is so much I don't know. I suspect I might not recognize the world as it is today."
"It doesn't matter," she murmured, kissing the hard, bony ridge of his spine.
"Aye," he said, "you are right, it does not, for I shall never be a part of it."
She felt the sudden tension in his muscles, heard it in his voice, and cursed herself for having been so thoughtless.
"This world, the one at Charon's Crossing, is the only world that counts," she said fervently, "because it's ours."
Matthew turned off the water and dried his hands.
"Aye," he whispered, "for a little while, at least, it is."
He turned and took her in his arms. He kissed her, gently at first, and then with a desperate hunger Kathryn met and quickly matched.
Between them, they forced reality to slip away.
* * *
At noon, they packed a picnic lunch and carried it down to the beach.
The storm had left gifts of the sea on the shore. Exotic shells, driftwood, kelp, and coconuts littered the white sand. The Caribbean itself had recovered its shades of azure and sapphire. Only gentle swells, rolling in over the sea, were left as reminders of last night's powerful display.
Kathryn looked up at the cliffs as she and Matthew strolled slowly down the beach, their bare feet splashing in the warm, frothy surf.
"I'm amazed the cliffs are still standing. I thought the waves were going to topple them for sure."
"Aye, I can understand how you might think that.; Wind and rain have been trying to reclaim these islands for centuries."
"Matthew?" Her hand clasped his more tightly. "What happens if a storm like that catches a ship at sea?"
He sighed. "Then the lives of the ship and the men who sail her are in God's hands. It is far simpler for nature to claim a ship than an island."
Kathryn shivered. "I've always thought that men who went out in sailing ships were incredibly brave."
"A ship is always at the mercy of the sea, sweetheart. Sailors are not brave, they are merely pragmatic and make the best of things."
"I read once that sailors often didn't know how to swim. Is that true?"
He nodded. "Aye."
"But why? I mean, when I think of those little ships and the vastness of the sea..."
"Exactly. There are those who see it as futile to hope to survive a ship's sinking. Not all, of course. Some of us swim like fishes."