Marry Me [antikvár]

L Warm Wine ^LONG this overused coast of Connecticut, the beach was a relatively obscure one, reached by a narrow asphalt road kept in only fair repair and full of unexplained forks and windings and tumings-off. At most of the ambiguous turns, little weathered wooden arrows bearing the long Indian name of the beach indicated the way, but some of these signs had fallen into the grass, and the first tune—an idyllic, unseasonably mild day in March—^that the couple agreed to meet here, Jerry got lost and was half an hour late. Today, too, Sally had arrived ahead of him. He had been delayed by the purchase of a bottle of wine and an attempt, unsuccessful, to buy a corkscrew. Her graphite-gray Saab sat in a far comer of the parking lot, by itself. He slithered his own car, an old Mercury convertible, close to it, hoping to see her sitting waiting at the wheel, for "Born to Lose," as sung by Ray Charles, had come onto his car radio. Every dream Has only brought me pain . . .