He listened to her breathing, watched as her shoulder moved slightly, murmured an I love you. She moaned slightly in her sleep, with pleasure or pain, he couldn't tell. “I remember,” he said, “I remember...” and he paused. She was awake now and she turned toward him.
“Yes,” she said.
“They told me last summer that you died aboard the ship.”
“Mmm.”
“They said you'd died and they'd buried you at sea. They told me I was inconsolable, that I refused to believe them. I don't remember any of this.”
“That's sad. It must have been difficult for you.”
“I guess it hit me hard. For a while, I moved through life like a sleepwalker. It was hard but I finally got used to it. I'm glad you're here.”
“Rest now,” she said, “sleep is good.”
“I want to make love.”
“No, not now.”
He reached for her, and felt nothing. He began to cry. She wasn't there. “Come back. I need you.”