He walked outside, to see if maybe there was a phone there. He found nothing. And yet he had to call the girls, wanted to hear their voices, this was the sole thought in his mind. He began to cut across the field in the dark, in the direction of the hotel, forgetting that the car was parked at the school. Instead he stumbled across the field, silent except for the faint sound of the music carried across the air, and the sound of his own breathing. He stopped and looked up at the sky and the stars, the constellations that were so piercing outside the city. He thought of Megan, thought maybe he should go back and tell her he was going to the hotel. But he continued walking, unable to see his feet as they marched across the ground.

There were no lights apart from the stars and he was unsure which direction the hotel was in. And then again he stopped, to listen to the serenade of the frogs that lived around the lake, like the repeated, random plucking of a bowed instrument in an orchestra, endlessly tuning itself before a performance. It was a sound he had forgotten, one that had haunted him and kept him awake his first nights in a Langford dormitory, at the end of another August when he was fifteen years old. All the incoming students heard it as they slept in their new rooms, in their strange beds, missing their parents, their homes; they were told at their first assembly that the frogs were calling for their mates, defending their territory by the water's edge before burying themselves under mud for the winter. The deafening thrum spoke to Amit tonight as it had then, of everything in the world that teemed beyond his vision, that was beyond his grasp.

He saw the hotel. It had taken no time at all; Megan wouldn't even notice he'd been gone. He went into the room and sat on the bed that was empty, as opposed to the one used for their discarded clothes and luggage, and picked up the telephone. He looked around the room, and what he had earlier found disappointing he now found comforting. He dialed his in-laws' area code. But he could not remember the rest of the number.

He sat there for a long time, the phone in his lap, trying to remember the digits. But he did not know them by memory, it was Megan who always called. He studied the paper pyramid from all sides, as if that might hold the answer. But no, those were television channels. He would have to go back to the wedding, ask Megan, and then come back again to the hotel. That was what he would do. He stood up, walking across the room to the door. Then he remembered that he could call directory assistance. He returned to the phone and was about to press the buttons. But his head throbbed and things began to spin, the paper pyramid on the bedside table no longer where it had been a second ago, and the need to be horizontal overwhelmed him, pulling him back to the pillows on the bed.

He woke up dressed in his suit, polished black shoes on his feet. The light was on in the dark room, the curtain to the balcony drawn. He first thought that it was still nighttime and that he had to get back to the wedding. But then he looked at the digital clock on the bedside table and saw that it was eleven in the morning.

"Megan?" he called out. He could barely form the word. His voice was ragged, and he realized that for a long time in his sleep he'd been craving a glass of water. He sat up a little and became aware of an excruciating band of pressure around his head. Looking at the neighboring bed he saw that it had not been slept in, that the open suitcase and clothes had not been moved aside.

He sat up fully and then stood. "Megan?" he called out again. He took off his jacket, went to the bathroom, drank water from the basin. He couldn't bear to turn the light on. The night began to come back to him in pieces. He remembered sitting on the toilet seat, just minutes ago, it seemed, inspecting Megan's skirt. Then he remembered watching Pam Borden getting married and waiting in a long line for a drink, and a conversation at dinner with a woman who was engaged. He remembered leaving Megan at the table with another man. Suddenly he jerked on the light and saw that her glasses were not by the basin where she normally left them during the night, that she had not come back to the hotel.

He returned to the bed in which he'd slept, searching for some sign of her on the other side of it. But the cover had not been turned back; there were only the creases indicating where he'd lain. Again he crossed the room. He yanked open the closet, which contained just a few empty hangers on the rod. He decided to go to the front desk and ask if she'd returned. He felt chilly and put on his jacket again. Then he saw that the door to the balcony was partly open.

She was sitting in a chair, in jeans and a fleece pullover she'd wisely packed, thinking it might be cold in the mountains. The diamond studs he'd given her after Maya's birth sparkled in her ears. She was sipping coffee from a paper cup and was staring at the pine tree that blocked the view.

"Well, I made it to watch the sun rise, like I said I would," she said. "Only the sunrise wasn't visible today." He looked at the sky. It was full of daylight but uniformly gray. The air was cool and rain seemed imminent.

He eyed the empty chair next to Megan, knowing he wasn't welcome. She had not turned around to face him, had not looked up, and he stood partly behind her, shivering, his arms crossed in front of him. "When did you get back?" he asked her.

"Oh, it must have been around three. That was when the party finally broke up. My feet are killing me. I haven't danced like that in years."

Her words made him think that perhaps his memories had been part of a terrible dream. "Did we dance last night at the wedding?"

"It was only for about an hour that I was out of my mind with worry. We looked for you everywhere. I asked strange men to check underneath bathroom stalls. I even considered calling the police. But then something told me you'd ended up back here, and when I called the hotel that's exactly what they told me." She said all of this calmly, as if addressing the tree in front of her, and yet he felt her fury in each word. "I couldn't find a pay phone," he said.

She turned to him then, jerking the chair around while still sitting in it, her eyes wet with tears. "Neither could I. But I asked Pam's father and he opened up one of the offices."

Amit looked down at his feet, at his muddied wing tips. "I left the car up there. Did you drive it back?"

"How could I, when the keys were in your pocket?"

"How did you get here, then?" He felt as if he might be sick, remembering Ted, thinking of him accompanying her to the hotel in the middle of the night.

"Oh, that nice couple at our table gave me a ride. Jared and Felicia."

He knew that she'd been virtuous, that she was telling him the truth. At the same time, feeling sick again, he wondered if Felicia had told Megan what he'd said. "How are the girls?"

"They're fine, they're having a blast. I told my parents we'll be there by afternoon."

"But we're staying here until tomorrow. That was the plan."

"It's a bit silly, don't you think, given the weather? The concierge said it's only supposed to get worse."

Ten years ago it wouldn't have mattered. They would have laughed at the rain, gone for a walk anyway, then holed up in the room and made love.

"I'm sorry, Meg. The drinks went straight to my head. I don't even remember having that many. I didn't mean to abandon you."

She didn't acknowledge his apology. Instead she said, "I've had breakfast. I can go get the car before the rain starts, while you pack up. The hotel restaurant's not bad. You should probably eat something. I'm tired, and I want you to be able to drive back."

"You're always tired," he wanted to tell her. "The only time you haven't been tired in years was last night." But he knew that he was in no position to accuse her.