"I ought to be driving you to the hospital," Abe said.

"I'm OK. Take me to Henry," said Jo. "Make me believe." Or, she thought, cure yourelf of this terrible hope, Abe. Better to have your heart broken than to have false dreams.

"Did you pick up his scarf? He'll be cold."

"I got it. And his..underwear. " A complete set of fresh clothes, in fact. She held a large bundle of them on her lap.

"This is a little weird," said Abe. "Doing this with company. I'm usually alone. I lost count of the times I've fished him out of the East River.'"

Jo was getting a weird feeling too. The East River. Where the cops had picked Henry up several times for nudity, bizarre late night swimming and the like.

Abe jerked his head sideways at her. "Yeah, it's always water. We lived a lot of different places, but since we moved to New York City it's the East River. Don't ask me."

"Naked," said Jo.

"As a baby."

"OK."

Abe brought the car up undereath Manhattan Bridge. "You up for a walk?"

"I'm good."

"I'm getting too old for this," Abe said. He locked the car with slow care. "And it's too damn cold."

Jo, holding Henry's clothes, looked around. Manhattan gleamed on the other side of the water. The gothic arches of Brooklyn Bridge loomed to the left. The newly reformed beach and park between the two was crusting over with the sparkle of a hard February frost. Abe was right. It was too cold. If Henry was indeed somewhere in the water, he would freeze to death before he ever got to shore.

"There!" Abe pointed at a splash, fifty feet out in the water.

The splash resolved into a hand, thrust above the waves. Then a head, and then arms, rotating in the regular rhythm of a strong swimmer, heading for shore.

The man came closer and closer. He had dark hair. He touched bottom and stood, smearing his face clear of water, his hair slicked back. He coughed, and began wading up the shore, each step dragging. He was naked.

Who swims naked in the East River at night in winter?

Henry Morgan.

Abe hurried forward and wrapped him in a towel. Henry smiled, a sweet smile Jo had never seen before, and Abe shook his head despairingly. "Is she all right?" Henry asked.

"See for yourself," said Abe.

Henry turned in the direction of Abe's pointing finger, and his mouth fell open. "Jo."

It really was him. Jo's fingers were numb. The pile of clothes flopped to the stones and the wind tugged them away.

Henry clutched the towel about his neck and battled up the slope to her. "Jo, I'm so glad -"

His frank face and open arms filled her vision. His arms went around her and he hugged her tightly. "I thought we'd lost you," he said. "I was terrified. Just - terrified, Jo."

She stood with her arms at her sides, pinned by his own. Seawater was soaking into her coat. He was pulling her head against his cold wet chest. "Henry. You gave me your blood."

"Yes. And it worked, thank God."

"You died, "she said, leaning back to check his face. It was certainly him. Solid and real and grinning like a fool.

"This has happened before," she said.

"Many times."

Abe coughed extravagantly behind Henry. Jo realised she was pressed against a man wrapped in an inadequate towel. She squirmed free. The front of her coat was wet. Henry's clothes were twenty feet away and fluttering further in the wind. She ran to fetch them. Abe headed back to start the car.

"Forgive me," said Henry, drying himself without embarrassment. "If you'll just give me a minute."

Jo came to her senses. "In the car" she said. "No need to get arrested again."

"I just say I'm an inveterate sleepwalker," Henry said.

"Yeah, about that, nobody believes a word of it."

"Oh."

At last he was fully clothed, and somewhat dry. They had not made any move to get in the car.

So was it a big deal that he gave his life for her...or not? All known measures had been cracked open by the night's events.

"I don't expect you to understand," said Henry. "I don't understand, myself."

Jo held out the note he had been holding when he died. "This is yours," she said.

His eyes flickered.

Jo glanced at the car. Abe was not visible. The beach was dim. She stepped to Henry and said, "I never knew I'd have a chance to say this but. Thank you." It was for her to be clear now. She kissed his cheek.

"Ah, Jo," he said. He wrapped his arms round her waist. "You've been a friend to me. It was the least I could do. "

"A friend," she said.

They stared at each other.

"Well," said Henry.

"Yeah," said Jo.

She freed hersef from his arms but reached for his hand. She drew him up towards the waiting car. "We should probably talk about this."

"I completely agree," Henry said.

They were at the car, and Jo let go of Henry's hand. "Sorry. I just - Not with your father sitting right there."

Henry looked guilty. "It's worse than that." Abe was hiding behind a newspaper. "He's my son. I'm completely mortyifying him right now."

Jo laughed and they got into the back of the car, minding Jo's hurt shoulder. She realised that she should feel shock at all these impossibilities, perhaps horror, or the ghostly touch of her childhood religion, but all she knew was calm acceptance. Her arm ached where the tube, the line of life, had pierced her.

She touched Henry's hair, so dark and young. "You ... don't age."

"I return every time the same," Henry confirmed.

Questions crowded into Jo's head but she set them aside. "Impossible. But I'm quickly getting used to that." She frowned. "So what's this?" She smoothed her fingers over his temple.

"What?"

Abe turned in alarm, and Henry peered into the rear view mirror. "My God," he breathed. There, solitary but distinct, was a silver hair.

Abe rolled his eyes and started the engine.

"I've aged!" Henry clutched at Abe's shoulder. "Maybe finally it's the end!"

"Fantastic," said Abe. " You think we could eat dinner first?"