Five Bridges

By Colm Tóibín

She promised that the climbing would be easy.

“Even for you,” she said.

“How long?”

“An hour. Or maybe two hours. Or maybe three.”

“Give or take?”

“Yes, that’s right.” Paul had told her two weeks earlier, on their last outing to Point Reyes Station, that he was leaving, packing up. She would be able to come to Ireland to visit him, he said now, and they should start making plans for that.Read the full story at the New Yorker.