Mr. Big came back from his trip, and he and Carrie went to St. Barts for a long weekend.
The first night, she had a dream that Mr. Big was having an affair with a dark-haired girl. Carrie went to a restaurant and Mr. Big was with the girl, and the girl was sitting in Carrie's chair and she and Mr. Big were kissing. "What is going on?" Carrie demanded.
"Nothing," Mr. Big said.
"I want the truth."
"I'm in love with her. We want to be together," Mr. Big said.
Carrie had that old familiar feeling of hurt and disbelief. "Okay," she said.
She went outside and into a field. Giant horses with golden bridles came out of the sky and down the mountain. When she saw the horses, she realized that Mr. Big and his feelings about her were not important.
She woke up.
"You had a bad dream?" Mr. Big said. "Come here." He reached out for her. "Don't touch me!" she said. "I feel sick."
The dream hung around for days afterward.
"What can I do?" Mr. Big said. "I can't compete with a dream." They were sitting on the edge of the pool with their feet in the water. The light from the sun was almost white.
"Do you think we talk enough?" Carrie asked.
"No," Mr. Big said. "No, we probably don't."
They drove around and went to the beach and to lunch and talked about how beautiful it was and how relaxed they were. They exclaimed over a hen crossing the road with two newly hatched chicks, over a tiny eel caught in a tidal pool, over the dead rats that lay squished on the sides of the roads.
"Are we friends?" Carrie asked.
"There was a time when we really were friends. When I felt hke
you understood my soul," Mr. Big said. They were driving on the narrow, curving, cement roads.
"A person can only make so much effort until they get tired or lose interest," Carrie said.
They didn't say anything for a while, then Carrie said: "How come you never say T love you'?"
"Because I'm afraid," Mr. Big said. "I'm afraid that if I say T love you, you're going to think that we're going to get married." Mr. Big slowed the car down. They went over a speed bump and passed a cemetery filled with brightly colored plastic flowers. A group of bare-chested young men were standing on the side of the road, smoking. "I don't know," Mr. Big said. "What's wrong with the way things are right now?"
Later, when they were packing to go home, Mr. Big said, "Have you seen my shoes? Can you be sure to pack my shampoo?"
"No, and of course, darling," Carrie said lightly. She went into the bathroom. In the mirror, she looked good. Tan and shm and blond. She began packing up her cosmetics. Toothbrush. Face cream. His shampoo was still in the shower, and she decided to ignore it. "What if I got pregnant?" she thought. She wouldn't tell him and she'd secretly have an abortion and never talk to him again. Or she would tell him and have the abortion anyway and never talk to him again. Or she would have the kid and raise it up on her own, but that could be tricky. What if she hated him so much for not wanting to be with her that she ended up hating the kid?
She went into the bedroom and put on her high heels and straw hat. It was custom made and it cost over five hundred dollars. "Oh darling. .," she said.
"Yes?" he asked. His back was turned. He was putting things in his suitcase.
She wanted to say, "That's it, dear. It's over. We've had a great time together. But I always feel it's better to end things on a high note. You do understand. .?"
Mr. Big looked up. "What?" he said. "Did you want something, baby?"
"Oh, nothing," Carrie said. "I just forgot your shampoo, that's all."