Sid wrote me that on his way home from Flannigans Hill the early morning
sun on the hills reminded him of the day we had walked in an olive grove
in the hills of Northern Italy. It was a beautiful day but neither of us
said much.
He was thinking about Susan, and he thought I was probably thinking about
Luke.
I had, of course, been thinking about Luke. Never occurred to me that
Sid was thinking about Susan.