Sept. 6, 1968

I awakened at 2 a.m. to – what else? – Maine's official state cold, blustery weather. Indian Summer was on temporary respite. The house was so cold it was obvious the power had been off for quite some time. Curled deeply into the down comforter Martha had wisely purchased in Portland three days ago, I segued into a half-awake self-debate about whether to check on Jonathan and Candy.

"Madam, I have stoked the fires in everyone's cabin, all is well. I placed your housekeeper's new comforters over Jonathan and Candy. Sleep, my dear lady." My lips parted and I sat up, eyes widened, heart in throat. Was I dreaming?

These words tumbled across my consciousness like waves spilling across the rocky promontories of the beach below.

I hadn't heard a peep from him since that morning on the beach. Nothing. I'd alternated between feeling enraged, infuriated, rejected, embarrassed and tremendously let down. Was the whole thing my fault? Hardly. Who would have thought he'd bring coffee to the beach while I was in the midst of the only provocative part of my Yoga exercise. Half the time he won't even walk the beach with me, fascinated instead by the after-school hijinks of Jonathan and Candy, consumed with the heady responsibility and fun youth had laid for the first time upon his doorstep.

Removed from the strictures and barriers we'd self-consciously erected in the house to safely preserve what we knew we shared but dared not pursue, the beach was at once beautiful and intimate. No prying eyes, no children and no acerbic Martha constantly wondering why I suddenly seemed to be off the deep-end, talking to myself.

On the beach, anything was possible.

Was this why he'd suddenly vanished, afraid of what had suddenly welled up between us, unbidden yet not entirely unexpected? Now here he was, in the cabin, where the most intimate behavior we'd indulged in to date was romantic poetry reading.

He was here, to make amends and insulting apologies? How could we possibly talk around this one? Or, was he finally committing himself to a woman he'd barely known three months?

He had returned. To us. To me. To Jonathan and Candy, who'd angrily eyed me suspiciously at the dinner table last night? With the intuitive logic of small children, they knew mommy and the Captain were arguing and I knew it was Jonathan's deepest fear that he might lose the closeness this shy boy now shared with his all-too-masculine, blustery Captain Gregg.

My anger dissipated as quickly as the Captain had dematerialized two days ago on the beach. I futilely tried to muster a little petulance and attitude to prove to myself once and for all eternity I did not need the Captain.

Eternity pushed back. I could no further resist him than the tide could avoid the shore. Speechless and dumbfounded but with growing heat coursing through my body, I simply sat in what was really our bed, staring at his back. In what would be our nuptial bed were he mortal. One thousand resolutions to this situation flooded my mind, but all I could do was wordlessly watch him rearrange the logs I'd forlornly thrown on the hearth several hours earlier in another of my pathetic attempts to build a decent fire.

Daniel could easily have lit a blaze with a sweep of his arm or a glaze askance but somehow he knew I found this ritual reassuring and more than slightly titillating as he crouched closely by the hearth, broad back and shoulders on tantalizing display. Hardly fair, but the hair rose on the back of my arms and necks as I realized it was now or never. I held my breath. This was no time for petty superficialities.

"With me," he added softly, still facing the hearth.

"What?" I asked, distracted by his hardly mere physical presence.

"Go back to sleep, with me. Take me to bed, if you will still have me."

It was hopeless. There was nothing I would not do for this man. Aroused, I arose from my cushioned warmth and approached him quietly. A floorboard creaked and he turned slightly, in profile. For a moment, with his head hung so low, I saw the lonesome, orphaned little boy he must have been, the purposefully arrogant and self-protective sea captain he'd become, and the tormented spirit drifting without seeming purpose in an afterlife haunted by 100 year of loneliness. Could lying with him turn this very site of his death into a new beginning for us both? Tonight, there would be no false ebullience or sense of bravado. Just a beautiful, beautiful man tenuously offering the one thing each of us had yearned for but never experienced.

Daniel moved to fully face me, flames behind him. I felt, before I saw, his hands encircle my face before his lips briefly grazed mine. Then his hands were on my shoulders and he pulled me toward him into an uncompromising embrace. Much to my amazement, I felt surrounded not only by a physical presence that bore no difference from that of a human man, but by the strongest sense of love, peace and transcendent tenderness I have ever known. I wondered if this were part of his superhuman abilities but sensed no answer. I know Daniel has some ability to create dreams and manipulate human perception, but I doubted he would intrude into such a truly intimate arena, uninvited. This, I was certain, was unintentional.

I realized with shock he probably could no more control some emotionally based spectral abilities than I could my tears.

Then I lost all ability to think.

"Yes," I stammered. "If you will take me for forever."

He answered with his mouth, picked me up and carried me the few steps separating us from the bed. Suddenly he was naked, clothes vanished, his hands gently unbuttoning my unflattering flannel pajama top. My pants followed, as the Captain tugged them hurriedly down.

He laid himself quietly across my body, desire lapping gently across us both. Soft yet hard, he throbbed against my thighs. Suddenly, I wanted him inside me, abating months of unrequited desire. Kissing, hugging and foreplay could come later. Once again, my mind flooded with a sensibility not my own, an awareness in equal measure to my own desperate need to feel a union neither of us thought we'd ever be bold enough to explore.

Daniel entered me and I gasped. He was gentle, slow, and patient. It was a form of eroticism I'd never experienced. I don't wish to describe the indescribable here. Suffice it to say our first encounter was over before it had barely begun but the second, just 15 minutes later, lasted several hours.

"I love you," he whispered countless times into my ear as he moved above me. "Ghost-lover."