There was a long pause on his end, and then he sighed. "How about Ledges?"

"What is that? A restaurant?"

"It's part of the Cuyahoga Valley National Park. It's beautiful. It'll be a nice evening, and we can have a private conversation."

She hesitated. How would she walk around the woods in her heels and panty hose? Then she said, "Okay." What did it matter, really? She just wanted to see him.

After work, she picked him up from his new job at the student bookstore in Kent. He got into the car holding a stack of books. The top one, with a white cover, was called Happiness: A History. She also noticed The a.n.a.lects of Confucius and Collected Poems of William Blake. "Did you buy all these?" she asked.

"I get an employee discount." He placed his backpack, which also appeared to be bulging with books, between his feet.

They drove silently past miles of car sales lots, shopping centers, and housing developments. "Why don't people at least plant trees in parking lots?" Abhay asked. "I can see the heat radiating from all the asphalt."

Rasika turned up the air-conditioning in the car.

"You okay?" he asked. "You've got a death grip on that steering wheel."

She relaxed her fingers. The parking lots ended, and the road was lined with woods.

"We're entering the national park." Abhay opened the window. "You can feel the air is cooler here."

"I don't think I've ever been out this way," Rasika said.

Abhay directed her into the parking lot, and they started up the walkway next to the picnic shelter. The path was paved and surrounded by lawns. "We could sit here and talk." Rasika pointed to the picnic shelter.

"Let's go look at the ledges. They're up ahead."

The paved path, dappled with sunlight, turned into a pebble and dirt path, growing darker as the trees grew thicker.

"These are hemlocks." Abhay waved a hand at the trees around them. "You don't normally find hemlocks at this low elevation. This is a cool microclimate here."

The dark needles of pine trees prevented the sunlight from reaching the ground here. The lower branches of the trees were bare, and it was as though they were surrounded by a ghost forest.

They plunged down a short, steep path. Rasika's slick shoes slipped over the soil and rocks. Abhay held her hand as she scrambled down the path. At the bottom, they were surrounded by tall ma.s.ses of rock, with patches of moss here and there, and ferns sprouting from cracks. The air was cool and still.

"Isn't this great?" Abhay asked.

They walked along the path beside the rock walls. Rasika's heels tottered, and she held out her arms stiffly to steady herself. She knew she looked ridiculous, walking in the woods in her office clothes, but she didn't care. Her back was sore from when Kanchan had gripped her shoulders and shoved her against the door. The door handle had caught her in the lower back and left a bruise.

"These were formed by glaciers." Abhay pointed up at the cliffs. "Look at the layers of the rock. Neat, don't you think?"

Far above them the green tree leaves rustled, and through the leaves peeked the pale sky. "I never knew about this place," she said. She felt safe here, insulated by the trees and rocks. "It's so quiet."

Abhay stopped and stood with his head tilted slightly back. "You can still hear the traffic."

She strained her ears and made out a faint whoosh of background noise. "Isn't that just the wind in the trees?"

Abhay shook his head. "It's from the highway. You can't get away from it, even in a beautiful place like this."

Abhay's smile had faded. He resumed walking. She stayed, listening to the distant hum of civilization. It wasn't a bad sound. Would she ever want to be so far away that she was completely cut off from the world? What would it be like, living out in a desert, or a deep forest, where the world as she knew it couldn't reach her? If she were alone, with no one else around her, it would be as if she were invisible, almost as if she didn't even exist. She hurried to catch up with Abhay, who had turned a corner ahead. The path curved abruptly, and she stumbled against him. He put a hand on her waist to steady her.

"Oh. Sorry." She stepped back. She didn't want to get drawn into anything physical with him.

Abhay sighed. "Here's icebox cave." He pointed to a rectangle of ground overhung by rock. They walked toward it, and the air dropped in temperature. They stepped into the mouth of the little cave and stood in the cold air.

Rasika wrinkled her nose. "It smells."

"Bats."

She backed out of the cave.

"I wonder if we can go farther?" Abhay peeked in and felt around with his hands.

"Don't, Abhay. What would I do if you got yourself stuck out here?"

He backed away, and they stepped out into the dappled sunlight of the path. "You want to talk?" Abhay asked. "Up ahead I think there are some rocks we can sit on."

Rasika suddenly didn't want to sit and talk. She didn't want to bring up last night here in this quiet, green, peaceful place. Abhay scrambled up to a flat boulder, kicked off his sandals, lifted his bare feet onto the rock, and wrapped his arms around his knees. She swallowed down the sick feeling in her throat and stomach and, after inspecting the boulder for dirt, carefully lowered herself onto it.

In front of them a full-grown tree rose out of the rocks, its roots exposed, as though it were trying to climb over the boulders.

"Amazing, isn't it?" Abhay said. "I don't know how these birches grow with hardly any soil."

She planted her heels on the earth and leaned back on one hand. She clutched her car keys in her other hand. She wished he would look at her. She didn't want to ask.

After a few moments, Abhay did look at her. "So. What's up?"

She pressed her fingers against the bruise on her lower back. "You won't believe what happened last night," she began. She told him the story quickly, in a monotone. A chipmunk scampered up and down the rock face in front of them. When she finished, Abhay looked thoughtful. He put his feet down and reached out a hand to her. She placed her hand in his.

"I'm sorry you had to go through that," he said.

"It just seems unbelievable." She shook her head. "I mean, an Indian uncle. They're all so-good."

"I know what you mean. When I was a kid I had the impression that Indian men were never interested in s.e.x-only in providing for their families. I never really knew why they got married. I guess some only pretend to be good."

"My father is good," she said, and felt a catch in her throat. She instructed herself not to cry, but the next moment tears flooded out of her eyes and down her face. She didn't have a tissue. She'd left her purse in the car. She dabbed at her tears with the heel of her hand, smearing her eyeliner and foundation. She twisted her torso toward Abhay, threw her arms around him, and sobbed onto his shoulder. He put his arm around her waist and stroked her blouse.

After a few minutes she drew away from him and swiped at her eyes again with her palm. "It seems so unreal," she said. "I can't even believe it happened. Life isn't supposed to be like this. I feel like I'm in some kind of alternate universe."

"This is reality. This is what some people are really like, underneath the pretense."

She opened her hand in her lap and gazed at her keys. "I don't know what to think. Nothing fits into place anymore. My life is like one of those weird modern paintings, where people's limbs and heads don't quite fit together, and all the furniture is distorted."

"I have an idea." He held her hand and stroked her fingers. "I'm going to move away from here soon. To Portland. Why don't you come with me?"

"Maine?" She sniffed and rubbed at her nose with the heel of her other hand.

"Oregon."

"Why?"

"It's supposed to be the most environmental city in the U.S. At least, that's what the articles and tour books say."

"And . . . you think you'll figure out what to do with yourself there?"

"I'm not sure if Portland is the answer or not, but I've got to leave Ohio."

"What's wrong with Ohio?"

"If I stay, I'll get sucked into a life I don't want to lead. I'll get roped into hanging out with my old high school friends again, and it will be like nothing has changed. I've got to get away, so I may as well go to Portland as anywhere else. Portland's still a city, but they have a lot of bike paths and a good public transit system, and an urban growth boundary that preserves farmland near the city. I thought I'd give it a try."

"You don't sound all that excited about it."

"I'm trying to make this decision rationally, instead of relying on intuition, or wishful thinking, or whatever it is I relied on in the past. Portland might be a really good place. It could be a fresh start for both of us."

She pulled her hand away from his and wrapped her arms around herself. She was shivering in her light blouse. He slid an arm around her and held her close.

"You're trembling," he said.

"I must look awful," she said.

"Don't worry about what you look like. You're beautiful." He rubbed her bare, goose-fleshed arm.

She wiped around her eyes with a fingertip, but without a mirror, she was afraid she was making things worse. "When are you leaving?"

"Maybe in the spring. Come with me. We both need a change. They have banks in Portland. You'll find a job. You won't have to deal with your parents anymore, or the Indian community. You can be your own person, whoever you want to be."

"I don't know-" She almost said she didn't know who she wanted to be, but that sounded too much like something Abhay would say. She did know, after all-she wanted to be a high-cla.s.s, married Indian-American woman. She pushed Abhay away with a realization. "I didn't obey my parents." Her right palm was streaked with gray from her eye makeup, and she rubbed her thumb over the marks to try to erase them. "I haven't been doing what they want me to do." This thought comforted her, oddly. The events of the past few days were beginning to fit into her view of the world. "That's why this happened," she said. "If Kanchan Uncle hadn't seen us at the hotel, he never would have started this whole thing. So it's my fault, really."

"You have to stop blaming yourself for being human, for having s.e.xual feelings, for wanting to be in charge of your own destiny."

Rasika scooted farther from Abhay, irritated by his words. "I want to be the way they want me to be. I need more willpower."

"So you're going to forget that this whole thing happened and go on with your life as planned?"

"I'm going to send an e-mail to Dilip. He's the guy I met on Sat.u.r.day. He seemed nice. I just need to try harder."

"Rasika." He braced himself with his hands on the rock on either side of him. "Why are you pretending?"

"I'm not."

"Yes. You've always tried to pretend. Pramod told me that in high school you cheated whenever you could. He said you'd sit next to the smartest kids in cla.s.s and sneak looks at their tests. He said you were friends with this one unpopular smart girl just to get her to write your papers. You were trying to pretend you were smarter than you really were."

"That little snitch." She had only told Pramod about her techniques because she thought they might be useful for him, too. "I wasn't trying to be someone else, I was just trying to fit in. You know?"

"No. I don't know."

"I was in third grade when we moved to the U.S. I wore two long braids, and lacy dresses. I was so thrilled to be able to wear pretty dresses every day, because in India I had to wear a uniform. But then I noticed that I stood out. The other girls wore jeans and short hair, so I asked my mother to cut my hair and buy me some jeans."

"So you wanted to dress like the other kids. What does that have to do with copying other people's work?"

"We never had worksheets in India, so when I got a worksheet I looked at what the other kids wrote. We never had show-and-tell. I watched what the other kids brought in, and I did the same. I never brought in anything Indian. I imitated to learn to be American."

"And then, what-you just got used to copying?"

"My parents expected me to get good grades."

"Why didn't you just study and do the work? You act like you're not very smart, but I can tell you are. You could've gotten good grades if you'd studied."

"I didn't want to be the girl who slaved away at her homework. I didn't want to be like the other Indian girls. I wanted to be happy and carefree."

"You cheated so you could fit into an American ideal and an Indian ideal at the same time."

"I guess you could say that."

"Well, it's time to stop pretending."

"Why do you care?"

"I don't want you to give in, I guess." He grasped her hand again. "I meant what I said. I love you."

She looked at his trusting, boyish face, and smiled. "I'm not giving in. It's what I want to do."

"I don't believe it."

She shook her head. "We're too different, Abhay. You're only interested in me because you're rebounding from that other woman. The one from the commune."

"What are you talking about? I don't even think about her anymore."

She extracted her hand from his and stood up. "You're a good friend, Abhay. But you're not the right man for me." She was ready to get out of the woods, away from Abhay, and get on with her life. Her bruise would heal. And she would really, really be good from now on. "Come on," she called to him. She started walking back toward the parking lot. "Let's get home."

Abhay watched her teeter down the path in her silky skirt that draped around her hips and thighs, the fabric moving as she did. He was angry that she'd used him for s.e.x and a sympathetic ear. He'd heard the same thing from other women-he was a pal, a friend; he was never the one.

She stopped. "Aren't you coming?"

He looked up at the sky. He wanted her to come back to him.

"I'm going to the car," she called. "I need to fix my face. I'll wait for you there."

He watched her until she turned a corner and was out of sight. He felt silly sitting there all by himself. He'd have to go back to the car and let her drive him home. It was too far to walk. He sat in the coolness and frowned at the path where Rasika had been.

He saw a low rock arch ahead of him and climbed up to investigate. He ducked through it and found himself in a narrow chasm, with the blue sky and lacy dark hemlock leaves above him. It reminded him of an aisle between library shelves. On the sandstone walls were carvings: a horse in full gallop, and three faces in profile. He ran his fingers over the horse's neck and back. How old were these? What an amazing little place. Did anyone else ever come here?

At the other end of the chasm he came across an answer: a pile of brown beer bottles. He picked up a bottle by its neck, and old beer gushed onto his sneaker. He flung the broken bottle down and fled back under the arch, back down the path toward the parking lot. He heard the grinding of machinery, metallic clanking and beeping. Someone was building something nearby.

Rasika was leaning back against her seat with closed eyes. He opened the door, heard the sounds of a string quartet from the CD player, and flung himself into the pa.s.senger seat. She opened her eyes. Her face was "fixed" and she was wearing her sungla.s.ses, even though it wasn't particularly sunny. She looked cool, distant, beautiful.

"Let's go," he said.