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### Duplicity

### Ron Stevenson

Smashwords Edition

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Duplicity

Copyright 2016 by Ron Stevenson

Cover Design by Laura Shinn

Smashwords License Notes

All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, reproduction or use of this work in whole or in part in any form by electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the author.

_Duplicity_ is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously; any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, locations, or events are entirely coincidental. Thank you for respecting U.S. and international copyright laws and this author's work.

Chapter One

April 16, 1973

Jeannie's eyes popped open. Her gaze was fixed on the traffic light. The light was green. It had changed from red to green sometime during her reverie. If it hadn't been for the horn, she'd still be lost in her daydream. She pulled her eyes away from the light and chanced a quick peek in the rearview mirror. A tiny, bespectacled man sat in the car behind her. The man's eyes weren't focused on Jeannie. They shifted nervously back and forth, as his shoulders twitched with embarrassment. The man's actions told Jeannie all she needed to know. She was sitting at an intersection in Montpelier, Vermont, and someone from the laid-back state of Vermont would never dream of sounding their horn, unless the person in front of them was sitting at a green traffic light for a very long time.

She turned her eyes away from the mirror and pressed down on the gas. She felt silly, and more than a little embarrassed. She and Cal were finished. They were kaput. Why couldn't she accept that? Get over him even? He was out of her life, so why was she still mooning over him. When was her constant preoccupation with him going to stop?

As Jeannie veered onto the secondary road, which would take her to her sister's house, she reached across to turn up the radio. As usual, it was set to a classical station and, as she leaned back more comfortably in her seat, she fostered a somewhat vain hope the music would transport her far away from her troubles with Cal.

She quickly lost herself in a soothing melody, and her mind slipped back through time, to the college in Boston. She was sitting at a library table, concentrating intently on her history notes, when she looked up and saw him for the first time. Calvin Wagner! Her―lover. The man she had once thought would be the embodiment of her dreams.

He was standing at the counter, attempting to attract Miss Rawlston's attention, but Jeannie could have told him he was wasting his time. One simply didn't get Miss Rawlston's attention that easily. Especially when she'd decided she had more important things that needed attending to. Miss Rawlston was busily sorting books, single-mindedly concentrating on her objective, manifesting a deliberate intention to ignore any effort to engage her services.

He looked around the library, obviously frustrated with Miss Rawlston's inattention, and caught Jeannie staring. Their eyes connected momentarily, and Jeannie felt a strange, exotic thrill travel up and down her body. It stopped at her abdomen, where it quivered. like a butterfly caught in a net. Jeannie dropped her gaze almost immediately and focused her eyes on the notes she was studying. She ducked her head and attempted to conceal herself behind the protective wall of books she'd so carefully set up, to create an effective barrier between herself and the rest of the library.

Jeannie had considered herself well hidden, but, when she chanced to peek over the books, a few moments later, her stomach did a backflip and jumped up into her throat. The young man wasn't standing at the counter. His eyes were focused on Jeannie and he was walking straight toward where she sat.

Jeannie allowed her gaze to remain on the young man for a few moments. Just long enough to discern something faintly disturbing about his gait. The library was the kind of place where one found shy, ungainly bookworms. Or, occasionally, a socially dysfunctional, but studious nerd. The young man didn't seem to belong in either of those two groups. His cocky, self-assured strut indicated he was neither shy, nor socially dysfunctional. It hinted at an underlying arrogance, more in tune with the self-assured movements of one of the college's many brash, egotistical lady-killers.

Jeannie knew his type of man very well. She had been fending men like him off ever since she had enrolled at the university. Almost from the first day. But, she hadn't allowed herself to be taken in by any of them. Because she had their number. They talked sweetly. Said what the woman wanted them to say. Then, after they had gotten what they wanted, they would nonchalantly throw their conquest away and move on to their next victim.

_Not to worry_ , she reassured herself.

I'll just handle this one the way I've handled all the others.

Jeannie looked down quickly, then, and refocused on her notes.

"Excuse me, but,"

She looked up at him, trying to create the illusion she hadn't really been paying attention to him until just that moment. She noted he was smiling. With that insincere, easy smile she'd seen so many times. The look, on his face, only served to reinforce her determination to foil his efforts.

Was that all there was on this campus? she wondered. Shallow, handsome Lotharios, like this one? Playing the same tired old games with her? Because they all had no respect for her intelligence and viewed her as some sort of idiot? They obviously didn't feel that it was worth the time, nor the effort, to come up with something original.

Let's see now, he's going to ask me if I can help him find a book. He can't get the librarian's attention, you see.

"I can't seem to get the librarian's attention and I was wondering. Could you possibly help me?"

_Almost pegged it word for word_. Jeannie thought and smiled inwardly.

The modus operandi of his type is so easy to predict.

Her eyes perused his face. She was expecting to see the smug self-centered smile she knew would be there. But, somehow, her eyes became entwined with his and her attention became riveted there instead. She felt the butterfly twitch spasmodically.

His dark brown eyes were hypnotic. They reached out to her and drew her in.

Jeannie didn't like the effect his eyes were having on her. It was disquieting. That and the quivering of the butterfly. She forced her eyes to look away and refocused them on her notes. She kept them locked there. She'd decided she wouldn't be looking at him, when she told him she wasn't interested in solving his problem. She was simply going to ask him to go away and leave her to study in peace. But something, she really didn't understand quite what, impelled her to look up at him and say something else instead. She was careful to avoid his eyes, as she spoke.

"I suppose I could —help you that is —but I'm not a librarian and I really don't know that much about how the books are arranged."

He smiled, a little warily, she thought, as he said.

"I don't think the information I'm seeking would require an extensive knowledge of the library."

Jeannie noticed his voice had a pleasing quality that hadn't been present in the voices of other roués she'd spurned before. She squelched any positive feelings his voice might instill in her and buttressed her determination to keep her feelings about him in their proper perspective.

_Remember what he is and what he has on his mind_ , she reminded herself.

Just be polite and don't get too friendly. That way, he'll understand how things are and he won't get the wrong idea and think he can manipulate you to suit his own ends.

Then Jeannie noticed the tic and she shifted uncomfortably in her chair. The muscles in Jeannie's cheek were twitching in uncontrolled spasms and she lifted her hand to her face to cover them up. The tic had already embarrassed Jeannie on several other occasions, so it wasn't as if it was an unfamiliar phenomenon. It would invariably manifest itself, whenever Jeannie found herself in a tense, awkward situation. But, although Jeannie did feel tense, and awkward, she couldn't understand why her cheek was twitching. It was highly unusual. In general, her cheek only twitched when she actually cared about what another person might think of her.

And Jeannie was sure she didn't care. How could she? She didn't know anything about him. She'd only become aware of his existence in the last few moments.

The young man's voice interrupted Jeannie's thoughts.

"I notice you're studying history and that's why I think you might be able to help me."

Jeannie failed to make a connection and just stared at the young man curiously, until he seemed to realize what was wrong. He combed his fingers through his dark, perfectly coiffed hair, and smiled, displaying even, white teeth. He reached across the table to lay his palm on one of the books Jeannie had stacked on the table.

"This book. It's the very one I was looking for. Do you happen to know if there are any more of them on the shelf?"

Jeannie looked at him strangely.

"No. At least I don't think there are. But why would you want that particular book? It isn't required reading. The only reason I'm reading it is to get the extra credit."

After Jeannie had made, what she considered to be, an innocuous statement, the young man just stood there staring at her for a very long time. Then his eyebrows shot up and his look became incredulous.

" _You_? You're the _other_ one? The other— _History Buff_ , Professor Baldwin told me about. Wow! I sure didn't expect— a—a—. Wow! I can't believe it. I wasn't expecting this. This is really something!"

She studied him thoughtfully for a few moments. He seemed to be acting rather strangely, she thought. Then.

"Professor Baldwin's my history professor."

The young man was just going to say something else, but, when Jeannie spoke, his mouth snapped shut. His eyes studied Jeannie intently.

"He is? Yes, of course, he is. If he recommended this book, then you must be in his class. But I'm sort of confused. If you attend his lectures, how come I've never seen you there?"

Jeannie studied the young man, thoughtfully for several long moments.

"Well, I'm definitely there. I'm always there. Taking everything in. Sitting right up next to the lectern."

His eyes remained focused on her, as he spoke.

"I can't believe how incredibly obtuse I can be at times. I'm there too, most days, but I generally sit off to the side, so I can look out the windows. I have been known to occasionally focus my attention on the professor, and you say you're usually sitting close by. So, then, how could I have looked toward Professor Baldwin all those times and miss seeing someone as—? Well, someone like you.

"And you've impressed the professor enough to single you out for extra credit. I would say that indicates more than a passing interest in history.

The young man was thoughtful for several long moments. Then.

"I will have to admit that I seem to have developed more than a passing interest myself. If pressed, I think I might even admit that I kind of—love it."

He raised his eyebrows slightly and peered at the books that Jeannie had stacked on the table.

"Almost as much as you do, it seems."

Jeannie looked up at him quizzically.

"Love? That seems like kind of a strong term. Are you sure about that? Is it true that you _really_ love history?"

The young man pondered on what Jeannie had asked for several long moments. He shuffled his feet nervously, averting his eyes. Jeannie said nothing, waiting patiently, as he struggled with his reticence. Finally, the young man appeared to resolve his inner conflicts and his hypnotic eyes, once again, focused on Jeannie.

"Love? No. I don't think the term is too strong to reflect my feelings about the subject. I think I'll happily admit that I _do_ love history. I love it a lot."

Jeannie studied him thoughtfully for several long moments, as her heart warmed to him, ever so slightly. She did her best to resist the feeling, but it was hard for her to maintain her cold demeanor with someone who loved the same thing she loved.

She decided the young man was probably telling the truth. Because of the way he'd looked, when he'd admitted to his love for history. The young man's demeanor seemed so sincere, it was hard for Jeannie to believe he might only be faking.

Jeannie's guard relaxed a little, as she continued to gaze at him. After all, it wasn't every day a person encountered another person who was interested in history. It wasn't even every month. Or even every year. Jeannie already knew how it worked. Most people weren't interested in history at all. They found it to be excruciatingly boring, and they hated it.

How odd, Jeannie thought, to encounter the only person, in the whole college, who shared her enthusiasm. What an amazing coincidence that...

Jeannie's thoughts stopped for a moment, as a little voice came into her head. It was suggesting that things might not be quite as rosy as they seemed. Jeannie couldn't help but feel just a little suspicious. Their meeting like this, his enthusiastic endorsement for the very thing that Jeannie loved, it all seemed somewhat contrived to her. A distinct sense of foreboding was lurking in the recesses of her consciousness, but, for some reason, she chose to ignore her misgivings.

The young man started to speak.

"If you _are_ a lover of history, then you must be painfully aware of just how many other people share your interest. That is, if you've ever tried to make it the topic of conversation, when you've been at a party, or somewhere like that. At the mere mention of anything historical, people tend to move away to the other side of the room. It almost seems as if you've tossed a grenade into their midst. And then they act as if you might have rabies. And they pointedly avoid you, for the rest of the evening."

He shrugged his shoulders.

"For some reason, which I completely fail to comprehend, other people simply don't seem the least bit interested in the calamitous misfortunes of the wives of Henry the eighth or the flamboyant capriciousness of the mistresses of Louis the fifteenth."

Jeannie knew exactly what he was talking about and she grimaced uncomfortably, as she remembered some of her own painful experiences. Before she'd learned to keep her mouth shut and keep her comments about history to herself.

Jeannie had instinctively known to keep quiet about her unusual interest, when she'd been back in her hometown, in Vermont. She'd realized it would have been ill-advised to bring up such a scholarly subject amid a group of kids from the small hamlet of Jayson's Ford. But, somehow, she'd deceived herself into thinking things might be different with the more sophisticated kids, who attended a university in Boston.

As it turned out, there hadn't been any difference at all. When discussing matters of history, kids from a small town in Vermont were the same as kids from a big city in Massachusetts. They were all very uninterested. All of them. Each and every one.

"Tell me about it." She said.

"I didn't think there was another person in Massachusetts who was in the least bit interested."

He looked at her intently and she studied him back, as she tried to figure out what he was trying to gain. She reaffirmed her belief that he couldn't be faking it. No one told someone else—a complete stranger—they were interested in history. At least not willingly.

And, if he was faking it, how could he possibly know about the rude snubs their unorthodox mutual interest often received?

Then, he boldly pulled out a chair and sat down.

"You don't mind if I sit here for a minute, do you?"

His voice took on a vague nuance of wonder, as he spoke.

"I can't believe that someone like you could be interested in something most people consider very dry and boring. I knew sooner or later I'd have to run into someone who shared my,"

He wrinkled his nose, unconsciously.

"rather bizarre fascination with that which has happened before. But I expected a doddering, gray-haired, old professor, or a skinny, bespectacled, young egghead. I certainly never dreamed it would be a—a—well, you know, a—someone who looks like you."

Her face flushed, even as she thought.

_Careful Jeannie. This one has come up with some new lines. Some you've never heard before. Plying you with subtle compliments, hinting at how nice you look. And even feigning an interest in history to try to ingratiate himself with you_.

Jeannie really didn't feel comfortable with the way he was alluding to her looks, but, if she were being honest with herself, she'd have to admit she felt flattered by his remarks. She'd never thought of herself as being overly attractive. Not ugly either. Just someone whom men sometimes looked at, but who never rated a second glance. Her nose was a little too big for her face. She realized that and accepted it. Even if everyone always insisted it was perfectly proportioned. Jeannie was convinced they lied. And were only telling her what they thought she wanted to hear.

She looked across the table at him, smiled absently, and wondered to herself if he really _did_ know anything about history. She determined she was going to find out. She made a bet with herself that she'd probably expose him as an imposter within the first three sentences.

But, as it turned out, Jeannie was wrong. The young man _didn't_ reveal his nescience within the first three sentences. When it came to historical knowledge, Jeannie couldn't find a single fault with anything he'd said. The facts he quoted were precise and unequivocally accurate. And it seemed to Jeannie the young man knew more than she did about most of the historical characters they discussed. Jeannie found that circumstance to be mildly annoying, but, at the same time, she found it absolutely fascinating.

Jeannie was intensely interested in history and the easy rapport she and the young man seemed to share on the subject imbued her with delightful stimulation. She forgot about the notes she was studying from. She forgot about her earlier misgivings about the young man and she even forgot where they were, until a slight movement at the corner of the table caught her attention. She looked up and there stood Miss Rawlston, arms folded across her skinny chest, giving them the _look_. The look was a special glare, specifically reserved, in Miss Rawlston's repertoire of dirty looks, for anyone who would _dare_ to talk in _her_ library.

Jeannie smiled at her guiltily. Then, she stretched her foot under the table and tapped the young man on the shin. He stopped talking immediately. looking slightly annoyed at what Jeannie had done, and Jeannie shifted her eyes in Miss Rawlston's direction.

He chanced a quick glance at Miss Rawlston, then flashed his eyes back to Jeannie, indecision clouded his features for a moment, before he seemed to decide what to do. He stood up quickly and strode out of the room, glancing at Jeannie, over his shoulder, as he walked away.

Jeannie watched him disappear through the door, then stood up, and gathered her books under the, still hostile, glare of Miss Rawlston.

As she stepped out of the library, Jeannie made a quick assessment of her surroundings. She wondered absently where the young man could have disappeared. She shrugged her shoulders and started to walk away, but her progress was halted, by a familiar voice.

"Excuse me."

She turned toward him. He had a charming, lopsided grin painted on his face.

"All that talking in there and still not introduced."

He raised his eyebrows.

"I'm Cal."

He stuck out his hand.

"Calvin Wagner."

She hesitated and stared at his outstretched hand. She almost didn't take it. The little voice, sounding somewhat more urgent this time, was advising caution. Jeannie hesitated, tempted to heed the voice's warning, but some part of her, just a tiny bit stronger than the voice, bade her to reach out.

Her voice was wary, as she spoke.

"My name's Jeannie. Jeannie O'Roarke."

She smiled faintly, as he studied her intently and she shifted uneasily, as his hypnotic eyes washed over her.

"Well, Jeannie O'Roarke, I must say, its been very nice talking to you, and I—uh—I—. Well, I..."

He smiled at her then, somewhat nervously. The smile seemed contrived.

"What I really want to say—to ask, actually—is, now that we've been formally introduced, do you think you might know me well enough to share a meal?"

He raised his eyebrows slightly and his smile broadened, and Jeannie could see a thinly disguised shadow of arrogance in his eyes. Her little voice gained prominence and grew more powerful.

Look at his face! He thinks he's won! He thinks he's convinced you he's a nice guy! And now he thinks he can talk you into going out somewhere with him. Don't you get it? What is wrong with you? You knew what he was up to. So, why'd you think he was any different from the others?

"I think not."

Her voice was chilly.

"I have a lot of studying to do and I really don't have any extra time for dating."

Then, she stood there for a moment, waiting for a response. She was expecting to see anger, like she'd seen in the others. Or, at least for him to storm off in a huff. But Cal surprised her by remaining calm. He did nothing but stare for several long moments and the look on his face indicated genuine disappointment.

Jeannie just stood there for several long moments. The tension in the air was almost palatable. She felt a slight twinge of guilt over the curt way she'd dismissed Cal's advances. But what else could she have done? Cal was an unknown quantity, and she didn't know if she could trust him. A quick easy dismissal was the best way. She turned away from him then, and disappeared down the hallway.

Two days later, at Professor Baldwin's next lecture, Jeannie's eyes started to wander. It was very unusual for her eyes to do that, but she didn't seem to be in control of their movements. They moved slowly, toward the lecture hall windows and focused on the spot, where Jeannie surmised Cal should be sitting. But Cal wasn't there, and Jeannie wondered why that was.

Had Cal taken the day off? Or had he lied about his being in Professor Baldwin's class? Jeannie didn't know.

She chastised herself, then. Why was she even seeking Cal out in the first place? Hadn't she already decided she didn't want to have anything further to do with him, so why should she care if Cal was there or not?

Cal was still on Jeannie's mind, when his voice broke into her thoughts. The sound of it awakened the butterfly and titillated her more than she cared to admit.

"Jeannie! Please, stop! Could you hang on for just a minute?"

She stopped suddenly, turned to face him, and noted that the ever-present smile had disappeared from his face.

"I don't know why, but, for some reason, you don't seem to trust me. So,"

His eyebrows went up pleadingly.

"I thought maybe we could go somewhere, where there are a lot of other people. They say there's safety in numbers and with other people around, you might feel more protected from my evil powers."

He said the last part of the sentence in a very good imitation of a Transylvanian accent, as he held his arms up in the air like a vampire, and she laughed a little. She didn't want to laugh. It'd just slipped out.

He seemed encouraged by Jeannie's laughter, and his face relaxed.

"Does that mean you will?

"Go out with me, I mean?"

Jeannie stared at Cal, open-mouthed, as she tried to bolster her resistance. But, even as she did, she felt most of it slip away. She was fighting against it doggedly, but her heart was warming to him again. It was pretty much impossible for such not to happen. Because, no matter what else Calvin Wagner might be, Jeannie couldn't say he wasn't charming. And persistent. And very, very, very appealing.

You're impossible to deal with, Calvin, do you know that?"

"And, on the off chance that I did go out with you, where, exactly might we go?"

Cal's eyes expanded in surprise, and he didn't answer right away. He looked somewhat stunned. It seemed as if he'd expected her to slam the door in his face again. He studied her intently, for several long moments, before he responded.

"I don't know. How about Chester's? A lot of campus kids hang out there. There's always a large crowd and that way we would never be alone."

Then, hardly believing she was saying it, Jeannie responded.

"Chester's? Yes. I guess so. I guess Chester's would be alright."

"Good. I'll meet you there tonight at seven," he said quickly.

Then, he turned and was gone, before Jeannie could change her mind.

Jeannie had to admit they had a good time. Mostly because Cal was so easy to talk to. And Cal was so well versed on so many different subjects, that the conversation just flowed effortlessly and, before Jeannie realized what was happening, the evening was over. When Cal asked Jeannie out on another date, she somewhat reluctantly acceded. They had another great evening and another one after and, soon, Jeannie and Cal were going everywhere together.

They went to Chester's, of course, and to football games, to basketball games, to tennis matches, and even to campus plays. And, although Jeannie wasn't a big sports fan and didn't really have an avid interest in drama, she'd thoroughly enjoyed all the outings. She was, albeit reluctantly, growing quite fond of Cal, and, as long as she was with him, everything they did together seemed special and fun. That was probably because Jeannie had decided she might love Cal. She didn't have a lot of experience with relationships, but she was thoroughly convinced that Cal would stand out, even if she had previously dated thousands of other men. Cal was special, and he was radically different from all the other men Jeannie had known. He made her feel unique, the only woman in his life, the most important. And every time they were together, it seemed as if Jeannie loved more and more things about him.

Jeannie was falling in love with Cal and somewhere in the back of her mind, she'd decided that Cal was falling in love with her too. That was what convinced her to surrender her virginity to him during a steamy, passionate encounter that began late one night in Jeannie's dorm room.

Jeannie hadn't exactly planned for it to happen, but somewhere in the innermost regions of her mind, she'd realized something was bound to occur. After all, she and Cal were both adults, and for them to consummate their love, by making love, was simply following the progression of their relationship to its natural and logical conclusion. Her interactions with Cal had reached the point where she'd lost a lot of her earlier misgivings about his motives, although she wasn't quite certain she wanted to trust him completely either. It had always been very important to Jeannie to maintain control of her life and she realized that, when she gave herself to Cal, she'd be giving up a lot of that control. But, every time Jeannie found herself in an intimate situation with Cal, it became just that much more difficult for her to maintain control of her emotions. Her feelings for Cal had become so powerful they were constantly threatening to override her inhibitions.

Cal was lying beside her, and she could feel the warmth of his body pressing against hers. His hands caressed, leaving hot little fires wherever they touched. She pushed his hands away, but her heart wasn't in it. He'd aroused her passion and she could feel her resolve slipping. It was becoming harder and harder for her to push Cal's hands away. Because what she really wanted _was_ Cal's touch. She wanted his touch more than anything. And, as Cal caressed, her need morphed into an irrepressible compulsion.

Her hand moved, touching Cal where there could be no doubt, about her intentions and she heard a soft, surprised moan, escape Cal's lips. He turned toward her, wrapped his arms tightly around her, and they kissed, while Jeannie's whole world swirled into a seething maelstrom of passion.

The ensuing savage encounter released all Jeannie's repressed emotions, and her reasoning and moral restraints were swept up and carried away on a seething, raging torrent of unbridled abandon.

Then, emerging from out of the pandemonium of Jeannie's passions, an adumbration of Jeannie's roommate's face. Rosemary had unwittingly walked in on their tryst and stood, framed in the doorway, gaping in disbelief at their nakedness.

The drone of a car's horn scattered Rosemary's image, and Jeannie's eyes flared in her head. The oncoming car was hugging the shoulder, almost forced into the ditch. Jeannie pulled sharply on the wheel and her car careened into its proper place. She slowed, until she was barely moving, swiveling her head back and forth in panicky arcs. Where was she? She had absolutely no idea. She'd been driving on autopilot, ever since the green light.

She stopped her car where a side street abutted the main road and slowly ran her eyes up and down its length. She recognized a small grocery store, where Jeannie's sister, Marjory, sometimes shopped and her racing heart slowed. She'd overshot Marjory's turnoff. She would have to turn around and go back.

How could Jeannie have missed the turnoff? She knew exactly where it was. And she'd never missed it before. Until today.

Jeannie dropped her head then, and cast her eyes down to the floor. She couldn't believe how badly she'd messed up. And the messing up was all because of him. Cal. What he'd done to her. How he'd done it. He...

Jeannie chopped off her thoughts. Why couldn't she stop wallowing in self-pity? And resurrecting sordid memories of Cal's deceit? It was frustrating. And hurtful. Her past with Cal was seriously interfering with her present without him and was so clouding her brain's function that her obsession was moving beyond frustrating and hurtful. It was becoming downright dangerous.

Jeannie drove straight back to Marjory's house. No Cal this time. She kept her daydreams at bay and focused on her driving.

The driveway was empty, when Jeannie pulled up to the house and her face soured.

Great. She's not home

Jeannie was mildly annoyed.

Where could she have gone? It isn't as if she didn't know I was coming, so, what was so pressing that she couldn't have waited?

Jeannie sat for several long moments wallowing in her pique, before she homed in on the radio controls and turned up the volume. Then she leaned back more comfortably in the seat and closed her eyes.

Jeannie loved listening to classical music. And she particularly liked the station she was listening to. Her and the D.J. shared similar tastes, and as she listened, the soft, melodic stirrings of a violin etude lulled her mind into a semi-catatonic state.

Jeannie was in her dorm room, propped up on a pillow, absently doodling on a notepad, unsuccessfully endeavoring to wrest her mind away from thoughts of Cal.

She'd just been thinking that she and Cal were spending too much time together, and that they should think about cooling things down for a while. Spending too much time with any one person was never such a great idea.

The serious look on Jeannie's face slowly morphed into a faintly detached smile. See less of Cal. She could never do that. In the short time she'd known him, he'd become too important in her life.

Jeannie's roommate, Rosemary, said something and Jeannie looked up. She reached across the night table, to turn down the radio.

"What's that Rosey?" she asked dreamily, still smiling a somewhat distractedly silly smile.

Rosemary didn't acknowledge Jeannie's question. She just gazed across the room, studying Jeannie wordlessly. Then, after several long, tense moments, Rosemary's lips started to move, but nothing came out. Rosemary seemed to struggle with her inability to speak for several long moments. Then.

"I a-asked you where Cal was. Why aren't you with Cal?"

A quizzical look formed on Jeannie's face.

"You know exactly where he is. I already told you. He's at Bob Johnston's stag party."

Rosemary's face grew sad and she leaned back slightly away from Jeannie. Her eyes glazed over and became somewhat hazy. Rosemary tipped her head toward the floor, shaking it sadly back and forth. After several long moments, she looked up. Tears were brimming over her eyelids and were rolling down her cheeks. She stood up then and move toward Jeannie. She sat stiffly on the end of Jeannie's bed.

"Why do I have to be the one to hurt you?" Rosemary blubbered.

"You try to act tough but we both know you're soft as putty inside. You're so sweet, and I hate him. He's totally rotten and you really don't deserve what he's doing to you."

Jeannie looked at Rosemary strangely.

"What are you saying, Rosemary? I don't know what you're talking about."

Rosemary's mouth formed wordless sentences again. Then, in a voice barely above a croak.

"Do you know what they've been calling you around campus?"

Rosemary paused then, and her eyes reflected the futile hope Jeannie had heard. No such luck. Jeannie's face held nothing but confusion.

"The Ice Lady!"

Rosemary said it with such force Jeannie jumped back, slamming into the wall behind her pillows. Rosemary was acting strangely. It was making Jeannie nervous. She turned away from Rosemary and stood up shakily.

Rosemary didn't react. She just continued to gaze at Jeannie, through tear-glazed eyes, before she started to speak again. Her voice had calmed slightly.

"You know Cal belongs to a fraternity, right?"

"Yes, but..."

Jeannie just stood there, nodding stupidly.

"Why can't you see, then?"

Rosemary almost screamed the question.

"The whole thing! It's all been some sort of a cruel contest, for him! To see who could be the first one to get into the Ice Lady's pants! And, now he's boasting about it to his friends. How he got to you. How he's been using you. How he..."

Rosemary stopped then and hung her head down, while Jeannie stood there glaring at her harshly.

"What are you talking about, Rosemary Patten? Cal, using me, getting to me? you don't know what you're saying. A contest. With Cal joining in. Using me. Cal's not like that. He would never do something like that. He—. Well he just wouldn't, that's all. He l-loves me."

Rosemary's gaze was still focused on Jeannie. She started to shake her head sadly back and forth, again.

"You poor, foolish, love-struck girl. He really did get to you, didn't he? He..."

Rosemary stopped speaking for a moment, and her eyes grew large and became imbued with passion, as words exploded from her mouth.

"Go to his room tonight, if that's what it'll take to make you believe. See for yourself. You need to know. It's for your own good to know. I..."

Rosemary stopped suddenly and tipped her head down for several long moments. Then.

"You know I'd give anything, if I didn't have to be the one telling you this. B-but you're so sweet—and naive. I just can't stay in the background anymore and try to ignore what he's doing."

Rosemary jumped up then and tried to throw her arms around Jeannie, but Jeannie was having no part of her. Because some part of Jeannie was listening to Rosemary, but didn't want to believe what Rosemary was saying. A faint, but insistent little voice was chiding Jeannie. Reminding her she'd been forewarned about what could happen, if she let herself be taken in by Cal's charms. She needed to get Rosemary away from her, so she pushed her away brutally. A sinister, but completely unfounded thought popped into Jeannie's head and her eyes narrowed to slits, as she looked out at Rosemary harshly.

"I know what it is!" Jeannie said, through clenched teeth.

"You're jealous, that's what. Ever since you—caught us together, you've been..."

"Well, it's not going to work, because, I don't believe a word you say."

Jeannie stood there, glaring at Rosemary with glazed, accusing eyes, before she suddenly turned and returned to her bed. She sat rigidly and stared at the wall for several long moments. Finally, she broke the silence, by sighing and saying to no one in particular.

"I have to think about this. I have to go somewhere where I can be by myself."

Jeannie stood up.

"I think I'll go to Chester's for some coffee, or a drink, or something."

Jeannie said the words, but even as the words left her mouth, she knew she wasn't telling the truth. She knew where she was going. She was going to Cal's dormitory. And she was going to check his room. Just like Rosemary had suggested.

Jeannie took one step up and stopped. She looked up toward the top of the staircase. Was Cal up there? There was no way to determine that without going up. But Jeannie's legs were refusing to move. She stood there frozen in indecision and stared at Cal's door.

Cal had told Jeannie he was going to a stag party, but Rosemary had suggested he'd lied. Who was Jeannie going to believe? She desperately wanted to believe Cal. She willed her leg to move and it lifted her body to the next step. She stopped again.

_This is ridiculous,_ she thought. _At this rate, it's going to take all night to get up there._

As she'd made her way to Cal's dorm, Jeannie's mind had worked feverishly to convince her that Rosemary was wrong, but that hadn't really worked. The truth was Jeannie was terrified Rosemary was right. Was Cal in his dorm room? And, if so, what was he doing? Studying? That was doubtful. Why would Cal lie to her, if he just wanted to be alone and study?

But what if he was up there? And, what if he was studying? What then? What was Jeannie going to do if he answered her knock? Then he'd know that Jeannie didn't trust him. And then it'd be over. They'd be over. And Jeannie didn't want that.

Jeannie's leg lifted her to the next step, and she was one step closer to Cal's room. She stopped. She could still turn around and go back to Rosemary. Cal would never know she'd been there, but she'd never know if he'd lied.

_Cal wouldn't lie,_ she told herself. _He l—loves me. He'd tell me the truth, no matter what. He..._

_Stop it, now, Jeannie,_ she scolded herself. _Just—stop._

If he's really at a stag party, he won't be home until the wee hours of the morning. You've come this far. Now you owe it to yourself to go up to his room and find out for sure.

Jeannie forced her legs to move, one step after another, and then she was standing in front of his door. She was listening now, but trying very hard not to hear, to believe she was hearing, the soft moans coming through to her. She raised her eyes slowly and double-checked the room number.

She looked at each number in turn, and determined she was standing in front of the right room. Number 218 in tarnished brass.

It was Cal's room, she admitted, but she couldn't reconcile that with what she was hearing. Cal wasn't where he was supposed to be. That meant Cal had lied, but how could he have done that? Cal couldn't have lied. Not to her. Because he—loved her. Didn't he?

And, for the first time, since she'd started her relationship with Cal, Jeannie was forced to consider how Cal felt about her. She'd simply taken it for granted that, since she'd fallen in love with him, that Cal loved her back. But _did_ he love her? They'd made love many times, but had Cal ever told her he loved her? Not in so many words. He'd acted as if he did and Jeannie had just assumed...

_So! Rosemary's right after all!_ The thought exploded in Jeannie's head.

She's more than my roommate. She's my friend. I've known her for a lot longer than I've known him, so, why didn't I believe her, when she...

Jeannie's thoughts stopped suddenly, and her face brightened. She'd just stumbled across a face-saving possibility. A roommate!

If she, Jeannie O'Roarke, had a roommate, wasn't it logical to assume Cal had one too?

Jeannie's tenseness abated suddenly and her body relaxed.

_That Rosemary!_ _She's nothing but a troublemaker. Why did I ever listen to her? She was wrong. Cal's not in there. His roommate's in there. With_ _his_ _girlfriend. And, then along comes Jeannie, all worked up and all set to walk in on them. Embarrassing him. Embarrassing me. How could I have ever lived that one down?_

Jeannie turned away from the door, and was just about to walk away, when his voice drifted through to her and forced her to believe it was true. His voice was shattering Jeannie's illusions, prying her eyes open. Jeannie could hear Cal's voice, very clearly. She could hear the woman's voice too. And from the sounds of things, the two of them weren't exactly playing scrabble.

Jeannie's hand shook, as it hovered over the doorknob. It had locked up, was refusing to move. A tiny, shrill voice was screaming inside her head. It was telling her she should just turn away. So, she wouldn't have to acknowledge Cal's betrayal. Pain bubbled up in her heart. Crushing it. And her mind was goading her to turn away. To leave. Go back to her room. Pretend she'd never come. Deny everything. Tell Rosemary she was wrong.

Then, another little voice intruded into the cacophony of her thoughts. This voice was quieter, not so shrill, more rational. It was telling her not to run away. It was saying, if she ran away now, she would always be running away.

Her hand moved, closed over the knob, and twisted, and then she was standing in the doorway. The happy cooing died quickly in the woman's throat, as she and Cal both looked up at Jeannie from the bed.

Cal jumped up, covered his nakedness with a bathrobe, and hustled Jeannie back into the hallway. He had a vicious look on his face and his fingers bit cruelly into the flesh of Jeannie's arms, as he spoke.

"What are you doing here? After I told you I wasn't going to be home.

"I thought you trusted me. Who gave you the right to come over here and bust in?"

Jeannie's mouth worked as she looked at him incredulously, through glazed eyes.

"M-me!" She croaked.

"Who gave _me_ the right? You lied to me, Cal. You told me you were going to be at Bob Johnst—"

"Yeah! Yeah! So, what?" He cut her off.

"So, I changed my mind. Since when did you become my mother? I'm not engaged to you or anything. If I want to scr—. If I want to go out with other women, that should be my prerogative."

"B-but I thought..."

Her eyes clouded over and plumbed the dark depths of his. She was looking for even a slight hint of compassion. His eyes had lost all their hypnotic powers and now they just stared out at her coldly from his twisted face.

"You thought what?" He sneered, letting go of her arms and stepping back a bit.

Then his look seemed to soften a little.

"Look, Jeannie, to be honest about it, I'll have to say this whole thing started off as kind of a lark. I never intended to let things go this far.

"I do like you, kind of. But, just not in exactly the way you might want."

He shrugged his shoulders.

"I tried to let you down easy, but you just weren't paying attention."

Jeannie reached out to him then, clutching at him desperately.

"P-please, Cal. What have I done wrong?"

She nodded toward the door.

"Just go in there and tell her to go. I promise. You won't regret it."

Her eyes pleaded.

"I'll make it worth your while. If you'll just―. Please, Cal. Just tell her to—"

A ragged, frustrated breath exploded from his lips.

"Didn't someone ever clue you in? Didn't Rosemary? She must have known. Everyone on campus seems to know. Except for you."

He sighed.

"It was―. I was trying to prove something. To the other guys. It was a test. For the fraternity. You know? Kind of like a panty raid, in the old days? I had to get to the Ice Lady. And I did it. I got you into bed. And, I―"

"Why Cal?" Jeannie interrupted.

"How could you have done this to me? Don't you have a heart?"

Something heavy was pushing Jeannie's heart into the pit of her stomach and bitter tears stung her eyes. But Cal didn't seem to be affected by Jeannie's pain. His face was cynical, as he looked at Jeannie with open contempt.

He started to speak, but his voice had somehow changed. It didn't sound soothing and melodious. It sounded harsh and grating. Like Jeannie imagined the voice of the Devil might sound.

"Why can't you get it through your head, you dumb, ditsy broad? For someone who's so smart about some things, you're sure dumb about others. How many ways do I have to explain it to you? I—"

The sharp crack, as she slapped his face, cut off his words in mid-sentence. He stood there, rubbing the bright, red marks from her fingers, as he glared at her with ill-concealed malice. The thorny silence that followed was broken by a female voice, drifting suggestively out through the door.

"Calvin, Honey. Why don't you just get rid of her and come back to bed?"

Cal looked at Jeannie with more gentleness and his face became slightly sheepish.

"Can't we be adults about this, Jeannie?"

Cal reached out and gently grasped Jeannie's arms. He pulled her toward himself and made her look into his eyes.

"It's over between us, Jeannie. Face it. I don't love you now and I never have loved you. Why can't you seem to get that?"

Jeannie shook off his arms and turned away from him. She started walking slowly down the hall, as a heavy, dull ache bored into her chest. Something was crushing her heart, and the pain was worse than anything she'd ever experienced in her life. She couldn't believe anything could possibly hurt so badly, while still leaving a person alive to feel it. She—

"Jeannie! Wake up!"

Cal and the dormitory washed away in a swirling mist of color and Marjory's face, pinched with concern, swam into fuzzy focus. Marjory was leaning in through the open car window. Jeannie could feel Marjory's warm fingers on her shoulder.

"Are you okay? You looked so out of it. You had me kind of worried for a minute. And now you're with us again, look at you. You're shaking like a leaf."

Jeannie looked up, and a mindless panic welled up inside. Somehow, she'd come to the irrational conclusion that Marjory had known exactly what Jeannie'd been thinking about, before she'd interrupted Jeannie's incubus. And Jeannie wanted desperately for Marjory not to know. At least, not now. Because then Marjory would pity her. And the last thing Jeanie wanted was Marjory's pity.

Jeannie cupped her forehead in her hand and looked down for several long moments. Then she looked up at Marjory and lied.

"It's nothing. I'm just tired, that's all. It was a long trip. And, I'm..."

Jeannie stopped. Who did she think she was kidding? The university campus was only about four hours from Marjory's door. How was Marjory going to believe Jeannie was tired?

Marjory's eyes were studying Jeannie intently, as she analyzed and dissected what Jeannie had told her. Marjory's eyes were all-seeing, and she knew Jeannie almost as well as Jeannie knew herself. Jeannie could almost see the wheels turning, beneath Marjory's mane.

Jeannie had always been jealous of Marjory's rich black hair. It was the same color as their mother's, before it had turned grey and, for as long as Jeannie could remember, she'd wished her hair could look like polished ebony. Jeannie's hair was closer to the color of her father's. A kind of curious mixture of bright red and deep mahogany brown that everyone said was beautiful. Especially when the sun caught it the right way.

Jeannie supposed that color of hair looked alright on her father, but on herself, she detested it.

Marjory's voice broke into Jeannie's thoughts and Jeannie refocused on what Marjory was saying.

"I'm sorry about not being home, but I had to go to the store for a minute."

Marjory smiled a faintly embarrassed smile.

"Isn't that the way things go? I sat around all morning, petrified to leave. Then, I thought, what's the harm? It can only take a minute. And, sure enough, when I came back, you were here."

Marjory stood up stiffly and looked down at Jeannie. Then, after a few moments, she suggested.

"Why don't I help you pack your things into the house, and we can talk, while I get supper ready? Ken should be home soon, I hope."

Jeannie gave her a strange look.

"Oh. It's not what you're thinking. He's been working a lot of overtime lately and his boss doesn't tell him until the last minute."

Marjory's face screwed up for a moment.

"It's really quite annoying sometimes, but,"

She smiled faintly.

"I suppose we really can use the extra money."

Jeannie and Marjory hadn't talked to each other since Jeannie had gone off to college in the fall and Jeannie had spent the Christmas break with her parents. Now, it was Easter, and she and Marjory had plenty of gossip to catch up on. It was quite some time before Marjory got around to the subject Jeannie had been dreading.

"So, Jeannie, how's your love life? Did you meet any interesting guys at college?"

Jeannie gave a start and didn't answer right away. She needed a few moments to prepare her façade. She sat up stiffly, setting her face to reflect disinterest. She willed her voice to remain calm as she spoke.

"Who me? Guys? Oh no, no guys. I'm much too busy to be thinking about guys."

Marjory stared at Jeannie for a long time, and Jeannie could tell that Marjory wasn't buying Jeannie's specious remarks. Jeannie's overprotective big sister had caught the faint glint of deceit behind Jeannie's mask. She dropped the potato she was peeling into the sink and moved toward Jeannie. She gently placed her hand on Jeannie's shoulder, and Jeannie looked up. Marjory's eyes were filled with compassion.

"That's what you were thinking about in the car, today, wasn't it? You had some guy trouble at college, didn't you?"

Jeannie tipped her eyes up to look into Marjory's all-seeing ones and she knew she couldn't lie to Marjory again. Marjory had been Jeannie's shoulder to cry on, ever since Jeannie'd been a tiny baby. She'd always been there to bandage Jeannie's scraped knees or to chase away the boy from down the street, who was always bringing her presents of dead snakes. But no bandage was ever going to cover up the hurt inside Jeannie. It had been festering in her heart for almost two months. And now it all came crashing in on Jeannie, as she jumped up and threw herself into Marjory's waiting arms. The whole sordid story gushed out, and, when she'd finished, Jeannie slumped back into the chair, like a stuffing-less Raggedy Anne. Marjory didn't say anything. She just stood over Jeannie, looking down sadly, until Jeannie blurted out.

"Why doesn't the pain ever go away? It hurts so much! And it never goes away. Sometimes it hurts less than other times, but it's always there."

Marjory's face was faintly melancholic as she reached out and stroked Jeannie's hair.

"Believe it or not, Baby Sister, one day you'll look back on this and wonder what all the fuss was about. You'll probably even laugh at yourself, for taking everything so seriously."

Jeannie looked up at Marjory as a hot, anxious desire welled up inside her. It was goading Jeannie to defend her love affair with Cal. Jeannie had surrendered her virginity to Cal and that had to make their relationship something special. Didn't it?

"That's totally wrong, Marjory. It wasn't like that at all! Cal and I had—we were—. We had something special."

Marjory's smile was tinged with pity, as she stroked Jeannie's hair again.

"I know it was. The first time you really fall in love with someone, it always seems special."

Jeannie lifted her head then and glared at Marjory through hooded eyes. She wanted to jump up and grab Marjory's shoulders. To make her listen, shake her out of her complacency, to somehow convince her that Jeannie'd gone into the relationship with Cal with eyes wide open. Jeannie wasn't some stupid, naive kid, from a small town, who'd fallen under the spell of a big city Don Juan. She was worldly and sophisticated. Jeannie knew that. She just needed to convince Marjory. But Jeannie sat in the chair and didn't move. Because she knew Marjory would know. Just like she always knew when Jeannie wasn't telling the truth.

Just at that moment, a screen door slammed, and a deep, resonant voice boomed into the kitchen.

"Marjie! I'm home!"

Marjory looked quizzically in the direction of the voice, then up to the clock above the kitchen table. Her voice was slightly worried, and hesitant, as she asked.

"Why are you coming home this early, Ken? Something _bad_ didn't happen at work, did it?"

Marjory paused and seemed to be rolling some dark thought over in her mind.

"He's cut back on the crew, hasn't he? How's that for gratitude? Work you like a dog for a couple of weeks, then get rid of you the moment he doesn't need you anymore. I'd just like to have a few words with that boss of yours. I'd—"

A handsome, boyish face peered around the kitchen doorway, displaying a broad grin.

"Now hold on a minute, Sweetkins. Before you go writing Harry off as an ungrateful tyrant, I think I better explain."

Just then Ken looked down and realized Jeannie was there. His grin became even broader, as he swept her up in his strong arms and bellowed.

"Jeannie! My favorite sister-in-law! When did you get here?"

Then he looked up reproachfully at Marjory.

"Did you know she was coming to visit? How come nobody told me she was coming? I never get told nothing around here."

Marjory put her hands on her hips and looked at Ken sternly.

"I did tell you! Last Tuesday! But you were probably listening like you always listen and it went in one ear and out the other."

Ken set Jeannie back down in the chair and looked at Marjory guiltily, as he changed the subject by calling over his shoulder.

"Mark. Come here for a minute. I want you to meet Marjie's kid sister."

Ken stepped aside and a young man, of about Jeannie's age, slunk warily into the kitchen. The young man looked as if he would rather have been somewhere, anywhere else, but where he'd found himself standing. Ken smiled down at Jeannie fondly.

"Jeannie, this is a friend of mine from work, Mark Pearson."

He looked over at Mark.

"And Mark, this is Marjie's kid sister, Jeannie O'Roarke."

_Why is he doing that?_ Jeannie asked herself.

He knows I hate being called Marjory's kid sister.

Jeannie heard a faint.

"Nice to meet you."

And she heard herself mumble back,

"It's nice to meet you, too."

Jeannie looked up at Mark then and studied his face unconsciously.

_He's certainly no Cal Wagner_. She told herself.

But, then, what does that have to do with anything? Cal is good looking, yes. But, look what happened to you, when you were taken in by his good looks.

This Mark seems to be more average looking. Kind of plain and simple. Not exactly ugly, but not someone who'd make a woman turn cartwheels either.

Jeannie noted Mark's eyes weren't hypnotic. They were just ordinary. Run of the mill. Blue. But, Jeannie could see honesty in Mark's eyes. There were no hidden facets. Cal's eyes had facets. Because Cal wasn't honest.

Mark winked at her and she realized she'd been staring. She felt her face warm and her eyes darted down to the kitchen table. Marjory relieved some of Jeannie's uneasiness by suggesting.

"I think there's still some wine in the refrigerator downstairs. There's beer too. Why don't you three go down, where it's cooler? I'll come down when I'm finished up here."

She looked over in Mark's direction.

"You _will_ be staying for supper, won't you Mark?"

"Of course, he will!"

Ken was standing, in front of Mark, at the head of the stairs.

"Do you think he's gonna turn up his nose at a home-cooked meal?"

He poked Mark's ribs with his elbow.

"If the sandwiches he makes are an example of his cooking, I know I wouldn't want to eat one of his meals."

Jeannie noticed Mark's eyes drop quickly. Something bothered Mark about Ken's jest, but Jeannie couldn't begin to guess what that something was.

Once they were gathered downstairs, Jeannie discovered that Mark was very quiet and thoughtful. He hardly spoke, and, when he did speak, what he said was always relevant and well thought out. That was a welcome change from the way Cal was. Cal would always have his mouth in gear about ten minutes before he engaged his brain.

Every word Mark spoke seemed to be considered carefully, and Jeannie appreciated that. It reminded her of something one of her English teachers had once said.

_Don't speak, unless absolutely necessary, but if you must speak, m_ _ake each word count. Say something useful, because no one wants to listen to a jumbled concoction of meaningless rhetoric, flowing arbitrarily from a mouth controlled by an atrophied brain."_

Kind of a long-winded way of saying, think about what you say before you babble, but Jeannie thought the teacher's comments were a very apt description of Mark's persona.

Being quiet and thoughtful was an admirable quality, and Jeannie cautioned herself not to be too attracted. She'd already allowed herself to be attracted to someone. That someone had hurt Jeannie. And the hurt was still fresh and raw. Jeannie never, never wanted to hurt like that again.

While they were eating dinner, Ken decided to explain why he'd come home early. The boss had given the crew the afternoon off. As a small token of appreciation. He'd been very impressed with the way his guys had all pitched in and gotten the project back on schedule.

"Harry told us that the client was very happy with our progress. And then he said, 'When a client's happy, I'm happy. I hope what I'm doing is going to make you guys happy.'"

Then Ken started going on and on about Mark's abilities and Mark smiled indulgently while Ken raved. Jeannie had the feeling that all the admiration from Ken just made Mark uneasy. He didn't seem to like it much that Ken was boasting about him.

Cal had always beamed, whenever anyone said anything good about him. And, if someone wasn't around to bolster Cal's ego, Cal happily took on the job himself. That was Cal's way. Cal was in love with himself and it was never his wont to detract from his ardor, by deferring to the admonitions of false modesty.

Later that evening, Ken and Marjory decided to go for a walk. Jeannie and Mark didn't want to go. They sat across from each other at the dining room table, neither one saying a word., until Jeannie decided to break the ominous silence by stating an obvious fact.

"So, you're a carpenter, just like Ken."

Mark gave Jeannie a curious look. Then.

"Yes. As a matter of fact, we work together most of the time."

Jeannie felt her cheek start to twitch, and she took a sip of coffee to cover up. She smiled, avoiding direct contact with Mark's eyes.

"My father's a carpenter too."

She leaned back into her chair and set the coffee cup on the table, between them.

"I remember when Marjory and I were kids. My mother worked in Burlington, and there was no one at home, during the day, so my father would take us with him. He built cabins for people, further north of here, on Lake Champlain. And, he was always busy, because he was a master craftsman, and, whenever people thought about having cabins built, Peter O'Rourke was always the first name that popped into their mind.

Jeannie's eyes grew somewhat dreamy.

"I always thought my father was a special type of carpenter and a lot of people must have agreed with me, because my father always had a long list of people who wanted him to build their cabins."

Jeannie was thoughtful for several long moments. Then.

"And why am I telling you this? Uh—oh, yeah, because that was how I came to know what little I know about carpentry."

Jeannie stole a peek at Mark's face then. She was surprised to see that Mark still seemed to be paying attention to her rambling. She picked up her cup and took another sip of coffee.

"Marjory wasn't the least bit interested in what my dad was doing, but I couldn't seem to get enough of it. I followed him around like a little puppy dog, and I guess he kind of liked that. Sometimes, he'd stop what he was doing and explain things to me, and sometimes he'd even let me get involved. He taught me a lot, and he made sure I learned how to do things the right way. We never moved on to something else, until he was positive, I understood everything he'd already taught me."

Jeannie stopped then. Mark was studying her intently. She fidgeted. She felt somewhat uncomfortable to be the only one speaking.

"I always believed my father was mentoring me for a purpose and I think he did it because he had this secret wish to have someone carry on with his business after he was no longer able."

Jeannie stopped speaking again and ruminated on her last statement, for several long moments.

"And I honestly believe my father might have been more than a little disappointed when I left for college."

Jeannie paused reflectively and held up a cautionary hand.

"He never said anything and, if you were to ask him, he'd be the first one to deny it. But I can't help but believe that was the way he felt."

Jeannie smiled thinly and doubled up her arm.

"See that? Can you just imagine _me_ being a carpenter?"

The corners of Mark's mouth lifted into a faint smile and Jeannie could sense he was relaxing a little.

"You really don't have to be that strong anymore. And nowadays, there seems to be quite a few lady carpenters around."

Jeannie leaned in closer to Mark, feeling encouraged he'd started to interact with her more freely, but, just at that moment, the screen door slammed, and Ken's head popped in a few moments later.

"I think I could use a nice cold beer."

Ken walked across the kitchen and stopped. He turned toward Jeannie and Mark, with his hand poised over the basement doorknob.

"Do either of you want one?"

"Mark stood up then and Jeannie stood too. Jeannie shook her head no, as Mark spoke.

"No, thanks, Ken. I'm good."

Ken studied them both intently, before he looked down to glance at his watch.

"I suppose it is getting kind of late. And we _do_ have to be at work tomorrow."

Ken moved away from the door and stepped back into the center of the kitchen.

"I suppose I should think about giving you a ride home, Mark. If you want to gather up your things, I could...."

Ken's eyes popped open suddenly and he laid his hand on his forehead

"I don't have enough gas. I forgot to fill up today, because of Harry's surprise. I always fill up at Jake's and he doesn't open up until eight. And—"

" _I_ could take him."

The statement had surprised everyone, especially Jeannie. Now both men were looking at her expectantly. She held her hands out to the side, palms up.

"I don't mind. Really. And I have plenty of gas. I filled up in Lebanon. And, I really don't mind."

Ken looked as if he were going to say something, then he stopped. He was thoughtful for several long moments. Then.

"You know, you won't have to do that, Jeannie. I can take him home. I don't know what I was thinking. Nothing says I have to get my gas at Jake's."

"There's no need for you to drive me either, Ken," Mark said.

"Neither of you have to take me home. I can just stay here overnight. I'm sure Marjory won't mind. I can sleep on the sofa.

"But it's really not an issue for me," Jeannie said.

"And, besides, it will give us a chance to finish our—talk."

Mark and Jeannie didn't talk much on the drive to Mark's apartment. Jeannie tried to initiate a conversation, a few times, but Mark seemed reluctant to join in. Jeannie decided Mark didn't talk all the time because he wasn't a gifted conversationalist like Cal. She liked that better. She would rather Mark kept his mouth shut, if he didn't have anything interesting to say, and, attuning her actions to that line of thought, she said nothing, as well.

When Jeannie stopped in front of Mark's apartment building, she just sat behind the wheel and waited for Mark to get out. For a long time, she didn't even turn her head in Mark's direction. She could tell, without looking that Mark wasn't moving, and, so, after several minutes, she turned her head to the passenger side.

Mark was looking down, studying his fingers. After a protracted period of fiddling, he looked over at Jeannie, and spoke. His voice was hesitant, unsure.

"I was kind of wondering, Jeannie."

He looked back at his fingers, for several long beats, then turned his head back toward Jeannie.

"If we could—uh—you know, if you don't have anyone special here in town—maybe we could..."

Mark stopped, as if he'd just then realized what he was saying. Then.

"Forget I said anything, Jeannie. I don't know what I was thinking. We've only just met and I'm sure you don't..."

Mark didn't finish the sentence, but Jeannie could guess what he was going to say. He was planning to ask Jeannie out, but something had discouraged him from following through. Was Jeannie's reluctance that easy to discern?

Mark butted the door open with his shoulder, but, just before he got out, he looked across a Jeannie. The pain etched deeply on Mark's face shocked Jeannie. It made her realize she might not have been the only one who'd suffered at the hands of another. It was plain to see it had happened to Mark too. But Jeannie'd never even considered that such things happened to other people. She'd been much too busy feeling sorry for _herself_. Something gave way in Jeannie's heart and she reached out. She felt ashamed of herself. She knew all about the pain she'd seen on Mark's face. Now Mark was walking away. Jeannie called out to him.

"Mark. Were you, just now, thinking of asking me out?"

Mark stopped suddenly, his eyes, still radiating pain, turning back to Jeannie. But, as Jeannie studied his face, she thought she could see that the pain might have receded just a little.

Jeannie smiled nervously

"Because, if you were, I think I'd like that."

Mark's jaw dropped and his lips worked wordlessly for several long moments, then.

"You would? With me?"

Mark stood pondering reflectively, before he slowly made his way back to lean in through the passenger window. He was smiling faintly now, but Jeannie could tell he was still unsure. He studied Jeannie intently, not saying anything for several long moments.

"I was thinking about tomorrow night. I mean, tomorrow is Friday and, well—."

"Yes. Tomorrow night sounds fine to me."

Jeannie smiled a weak encouragement.

"Would you like for me to pick you up here?"

Mark's face registered confusion, for a moment, before a light came on behind his eyes and he brushed the side of his head with his hand.

"Oh, I get it. You must think I don't have a car. I do have one. Such as it is. It's still in the parking lot at work."

"I didn't know," Jeannie said thoughtfully.

"Why didn't you tell me? I could have dropped you off there."

Mark shrugged his shoulders.

"Don't worry about it. The job site's not that far away. And, besides..."

He smiled a faint smile, which looked put-on and not natural.

"I can stop at the diner and buy some normal looking sandwiches for lunch. That way, Ken will have nothing to tease me about."

Jeannie felt a small, unexplained pang of sadness.

As she made her way home, Jeannie beat herself up for saying yes to Mark. She wondered what had gone awry in her head.

_Didn't Cal do enough damage?_ She asked herself. _Why are you so anxious to have it happen again? You..._

Jeannie stopped. A faint little voice had somehow pushed her censure aside and was arguing to convince Jeannie she'd done the right thing.

Mark's Ken's friend, right? And Ken's Marjory's husband. And, if you refuse to date Mark, he's going to tell Ken all about it.

_Then Ken will tell Marjory, and Marjory will tell Ken about Cal and, before too long, everyone will be feeling sorry for poor little Jeannie_.

And Jeannie didn't want people feeling sorry for her. It was the last thing she wanted, she wanted her and Cal over and done with, she wanted to move on with her life. But, when she did go out with Mark she was not going to leave herself vulnerable. One Cal had been enough. Cal had torn her heart from her chest and there was no way Jeannie was ever going to allow someone to do that again.

Mark took Jeannie to a small, quiet dining lounge, where a pleasant, muted band played slow, sentimental music, and when he finally asked her to dance, she found him to be an excellent dancer. Sometimes their conversation moved along in fits and starts and there was no endless laughing and fun, like there'd been with Cal, but she had a great time anyway. It seemed like only a short time had passed and they were already out in front of Jeannie's sister's house, sitting together in Mark's battered, old pickup.

Mark was stoical, looking at Jeannie, his hands tightly gripping the steering wheel of the old truck.

"Jeannie, I—uh..."

Mark's eyes flitted nervously around the truck, and Jeannie knew what was coming. Her body moved away from him, and a door handle pressed into her back. Mark's eyes stopped moving and locked onto Jeannie's.

"Tonight, was great. I really had a good time."

He stopped for a moment and studied Jeannie intently.

"It seemed as if you were having a good time too, and, so, that's why I wanted to ask if you..."

Mark stopped. Jeannie had reached out and gently touched his hand.

"Mark. I like you. From what I know of you, so far, I like you a lot. But I'm going to be honest with you. You see, there was this guy at college and we kind of—. You know? We were..."

Jeannie's throat constricted, as Cal's mocking face swam in front of her eyes. Overwhelming her with pain, disdain on his face, as he callously derided their relationship and told her he didn't love her.

A sudden panicky despair welled up in Jeannie, and she reached behind herself for the door handle. She threw her weight against the door and it swung open. She got out and started to walk toward the house. But, then something stopped her. She made her way back to the still-open door of Mark's truck. Mark hadn't moved. He was sitting behind the wheel, his face awash with confusion.

The look on Mark's face pulled at Jeannie's heart, but not strongly enough to change her determination. She couldn't start any kind of relationship with Mark. The pain from Cal's deception was too raw and unresolved. She needed time, and rushing into a relationship on the rebound, would only make things that much worse. She took a deep breath to bolster her resolve, as she fought to wrest her emotions under control. But painful memories welled up in her psyche and tore at her composure. She spoke but her voice was distorted by her grief.

"I'm so sorry, Mark."

She turned away from him and ran to the house.

The next morning, Jeannie wandered around the house in a funk, thinking about how foolish she must have looked to Mark. She'd acted like a child and had allowed her emotions to rule her actions, and now she was sorry. Cal had hurt her, and that was bad, but it wasn't the end of the world. Things happened. It was part of life. And it just wasn't smart to let one man's actions ruin her life forever.

That was exactly what Jeannie was doing. She was allowing Cal's actions to cloud her perceptions of other people. Mark seemed like a nice person. He'd done nothing to hurt her, and he didn't deserve to be prejudged because of something Cal had done. Jeannie needed to move on, bid adieu to the pity party, and set her life on a course toward something positive.

She'd been too trusting, too naïve with Cal and he'd taken advantage of her, but it didn't necessarily follow that Jeannie should never date anyone else. Cal was history. She needed to forget about him.

Mark wasn't like Cal. Anyone could see that. He seemed to have much more character, and Jeannie just couldn't picture him as a roué,

But Jeannie hadn't classified Cal as a roué either. At least not after they'd started going together. How'd she know Mark wouldn't do the same thing Cal had done?

But then, Mark was Ken's friend. That had to count for something. And Jeannie knew Ken. She'd known Ken since she was ten. She knew what kind of a man Ken was. He was a bit rough around the edges, but he was basically a good person.

Jeannie had known Ken long enough to understand he wasn't perfect, but, she could never picture him acting like Cal. It just wasn't in Ken to be so callous. Ken would never...

Ken liked Mark! A lot. He respected Mark, boasted about him. And, if Ken could like Mark that much, how could there be anything seriously wrong with Mark?

It was almost as if Ken had prescreened Mark for Jeannie. Ken had measured Mark's worth and placed his stamp of approval on him. So, then, why couldn't Jeannie at least give Mark another chance?

There was an extension phone downstairs and Jeannie slipped down to search for Mark's number in the phone book. Marjory was taking a shower and Ken was taking advantage of the weekend and his only chance to sleep in. So, Jeannie knew there wasn't much chance of their interfering and asking embarrassing questions.

When Mark answered, Jeannie was mildly surprised that Mark's voice sounded normal. She'd expected him to sound just a little bit more depressed. But it seemed as if he had handled Jeannie's rejection with a minimum of fuss. This disturbed Jeannie in a vague, ethereal kind of way. She wanted to think she had a more profound effect on Mark than that. But, apparently, Jeannie was just another woman to Mark. And she chastised herself mildly for thinking she might be anything else.

"Is this Jeannie?"

Jeannie hesitated for a moment, then.

"Yes. Yes, it is. I—uh—I'm just calling to ap—apologize for last night. I feel a little foolish about the way I acted. And I just wanted to call you and tell you that I really had a good time and..."

Jeannie stopped and stared at the wall in front of her.

"You were going to ask me something, before I—. I think I'm ready for your question now."

"Question?" Mark paused for a moment. Then.

"Oh, that question. It was—nothing, really. I was just kind of thinking you might like to—. But, now I've had some time to think, it just doesn't seem like such a good idea."

"What idea?"

There was a short pause. Then.

"I just kinda thought you might like to come along. But I can see I was wrong. You probably wouldn't want to come along anyway."

"Come along, where?" Jeannie asked.

"Well, there's this kid," Mark said slowly, not quite sure of himself.

"Roger Chambers. He lives in the apartment next to mine. Roger doesn't have a dad and I promised his mom, I'd take him to the zoo in Boston tomorrow. Last night, I was thinking about asking you along, but, now that I think about it, it was probably a stupid idea. Roger's an awful little pest. And he asks a lot of questions. Going to the zoo with us might end up being kind of a drag for you and you probably wouldn't have a whole lot of fun. Bad idea, really. Thoughtless of me to even ask."

"But you _didn't_ ask," Jeannie said.

Jeannie was surprised by Mark's astounding knowledge of the animals. Mark had been right. Roger did ask a lot of questions. But Mark was able to answer each one and something about the easy off-handed way he responded made Jeannie suspect he knew a lot more about the animals than he'd have learned while working as a carpenter. When Roger was using the restroom, Jeannie took the opportunity to ask Mark about it.

"Mark, how is it you know so much about the animals here?"

Mark smiled absently and, it appeared as if his mind had drifted somewhere far away, for a moment. Then his gaze drifted back to focus on Jeannie. The distracted smile was still on his face.

"I used to practically live here. My dad was the head keeper for twenty years. I used to follow him around everywhere. He'd tell me about every animal, as we went from enclosure to enclosure, and I guess, I learned a lot from him."

The look on Mark's face changed somewhat and, for a moment, Jeannie could almost see the little boy, tagging along behind his father, eager to learn everything there was to learn.

"Where's your father now?"

Jeannie regretted asking almost immediately. Mark's whole demeanor changed. He looked away quickly and, when he turned his eyes back to Jeannie, the awestruck little boy was gone.

"He's—dead," Mark stated flatly

There was a long period of strained silence before Mark started speaking again.

"A tiger bit him, the bite got infected, and he got really sick."

Mark stopped speaking and dropped his eyes to the ground. He held that pose for several long moments, before he looked up.

He waited too long, before he did something about it, and he..."

Mark's eyes clouded over.

"Please, Jeannie, I'd rather not talk about it. Can we just drop it?"

Roger returned from the restroom then, and they continued their tour. Questions and answers continued unabated and Jeannie found herself becoming more and more impressed with Mark's knowledge.

Roger, Mark and Jeannie were standing in front of a gorilla enclosure, and Mark was explaining what gorillas eat in the wild, when Mark suddenly stopped speaking. He zeroed in on one of the gorillas and stared at it for a long time. Then he flagged down a keeper and engaged in an extended discussion with her.

A short time later, several keepers entered the gorilla enclosure and examined Mark's gorilla. They put their heads together for a brief conference, then one of them used a syringe to inject something into the gorilla's thigh. After several long moments, the gorilla, which had been somewhat lethargic, perked up and the keepers flashed Mark a thumbs-up sign.

"What happened?" Roger asked. "Was that gorilla sick or something?"

Mark gave a start and looked down.

"Yes—uh—no. Well—uh—sort of. A bee stung him and I guess he's allergic to the venom. He was over-reacting and having an anaphylactic episode. If the keepers hadn't dosed him with epinephrine he would have died."

Roger cherubic, freckly face gazed up a Mark in awe.

"How did you know all that?"

Mark looked down at Roger for several long moments, before he answered.

"Well, I—uh—just did, that's all."

Roger wasn't about to be so easily put off.

"Yes, but you knew what to tell the keeper. I wouldn't have known. How did you know what to say?"

"I—uh—" Mark stopped. It was plain to see that Roger wasn't going to quit asking until Mark provided a straight answer.

"Well, when I was younger, I was very interested in animals, and, then, when I was older, I—well I almost became a vet."

Jeannie was inadvertently eavesdropping, and the comment popped out, unbidden.

"I think you'd have made a great vet, Mark. Why didn't you follow through?"

A look, with an underlying aura of latent savagery, flashed across Mark's face. It only lasted a moment, but it's implications disturbed Jeannie profoundly. She continued to study Mark's face intently, but the animosity had completely disappeared. Jeannie didn't want the look to return. She decided to drop her question and let it go unanswered.

Jeannie's Easter break lasted another two weeks and, during that time, she hung around with Mark almost constantly. It just seemed as though they were always together. That was probably because Jeannie felt so at ease with Mark. And he seemed to feel equally at ease with her. Mark had a kind of laidback persona, and they spent their time doing easy-going, laidback things.

Sometimes he and Jeannie would climb into Mark's battered old pick up and go into town for a pizza, or a movie, and sometimes they would just sit together on Marjory's front porch and talk. Jeannie liked it best when they talked. She liked talking to Mark. Mark was unpretentious. Even though he knew a lot of things. And Jeannie just enjoyed talking to him.

At some point during their time together, Jeannie started to really appreciate how much different Mark was from Cal. She hadn't appreciated Mark at first, because she'd misinterpreted Mark's natural reticence as a sign of dullness and had almost given him up for a lost cause. She'd used Cal's chatty, animated demeanor as a benchmark and had almost convinced herself that Mark was somewhat obtuse. But, after their trip to the zoo, it had been hard for Jeannie to hang on to her negative opinions. That excursion was the impetus that had opened her eyes and allowed her to discover what a truly remarkable and adroit person Mark was.

After that, Jeannie had just become more and more fascinated with Mark, and had even started to feel strongly attracted to him. She hadn't wanted those feeling so soon after Cal, but despite strenuous efforts to keep her feelings neutral, she couldn't seem to keep herself from tipping over the edge.

On the last day, before Jeannie was to go back, she and Mark went for a long walk. They found a secluded spot, on the side of a hill, and Mark was sitting in the grass, with his legs splayed out. He was chewing reflectively on a stalk of grass and Jeannie was lying downhill from him, with her head resting on his leg. Jeannie gazed out reflectively at the cloudless sky above them, and mulled things over silently.

So, this is it. The end of Easter break. Where's the time gone?

I'll be going back to college tomorrow and that will probably be it. Between Mark and me.

We'll go our separate ways and we'll probably forget all about what's happened, during these last two weeks. Mark will forget all about me. And I'll forget all about him. And, I'll end up getting involved with another creep like Cal. And we'll....

Jeannie's musings stopped. She sat up suddenly and turned around. She pushed her face in so close to Mark's, their faces were almost touching.

The move took Mark by surprise, but he was even more surprised by Jeannie's question.

"Do you like me, Mark?"

She looped her arms around his neck,

"And, if you like me, why haven't you ever tried to kiss me?"

Mark looked at her strangely.

"Like you? Of course, I like you! What kind of a silly question is that? You—mpppph."

Jeannie had pulled the grass away and put her mouth over his. She felt him struggle for a moment, before he responded. Then he looped his arms around her neck and pulled her in. His lips sought hers and they kissed.

Their kisses quickly became more passionate and their confluent fervor quickly spiraled upward. An irrepressible ardor overwhelmed them, and Jeannie lost all sense of time and space. The world folded in on itself until Jeannie and Mark were its only inhabitants.

Then Jeannie was lying on the grass and Mark was on top of her. Somehow, their clothing had disappeared, and they were naked. In those few lingering moments when they had been intimate, a strange compulsion had come over Jeannie. A want had developed for Mark that was all out of proportion to the way she should have felt. Her body vibrated with a strong, irresistible desire for him. Her body ached for him, craved him, hungered for him. Even more than her first time with Cal. Waves of passion clouded her reason and she pressed her body into his.

Then, quite suddenly, and unexpectedly, Mark pulled his lips away from Jeannie's. His eyes reflected a deep solicitude.

"We can't do this, Jeannie. It's—not right. There are things you don't know—about me. Things —mpppph."

Jeannie had moved her face in to cover his lips with hers. She wasn't ready to listen. She wasn't interested in anything Mark had to say. She only knew she wanted him, more than she'd ever wanted anyone in her life. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him in closer and she felt him relent. Then everything merged into a swirling, seething kaleidoscope of rapture and she and Mark made love.

After it was over, Mark moved away from Jeannie and sat up, with his back to her. He stared out at nothing for a long time. Jeannie lay where she was and studied him helplessly. Her thoughts were pervaded with overarching feelings of uneasiness. She couldn't understand why Mark was acting the way he was acting. But Mark didn't appear to be concerned with Jeannie's uneasiness. He seemed to be somewhere else, far away from the hillside, from Jeannie, from the intimacy they had so recently shared. She studied him for a long time, before she raised herself from the ground and sat up beside him. She rested her head warily on his shoulder for a few long moments, then raised her head and, as he turned his head toward her, looked directly into his eyes.

"What's the matter, Mark?"

His eyes zeroed in on hers, as if he was, just then, noticing her for the first time, and she thought she could detect something that might be construed as love in his eyes. But the tenderness of that look was being overshadowed by an inference of malevolence that seemed stronger and more pervasive.

"I don't know quite how to say this, Jeannie, b-but,"

His eyebrows wrinkled painfully.

"I think it's totally wrong for us to be doing this. I—can't explain why, but..."

Mark's eyes reflected a deep sadness.

"I just think maybe it would be better if we didn't—see each other anymore. And, when you go back to college, I think we should just break things off and..."

The aura of melancholia suddenly evaporated from his eyes and he looked at her cynically.

"What do we have in common, anyway? We don't belong together. I mean, this, us, being together, here, now. It's just a diversion for you. It's nothing you're going to take seriously.

"You'll be off to Boston soon, back at the university, forgetting you ever knew me, while I'll be here, in Montpelier, far from your thoughts, while you..."

Mark stopped suddenly and glared at her accusatively.

"Why would you want to waste your time messing around with a dumb old carpenter, anyway?"

Mark stood up and started putting on his clothes and Jeannie decided she'd better do the same. When they were dressed, Jeannie looked directly into Mark's eyes.

"I hope you're not expecting me to believe what you said about being a dumb carpenter. I've known you long enough now to know. The last thing you are is dumb."

Mark reached out stiffly and cupped Jeannie's shoulders in his hands. He kept his eyes focused on hers

"Just trust me, Jeannie. For your own good. Just let things go and be satisfied."

He turned then and started to walk away. Jeannie watched him go. After a few moments, Jeannie went after him. They didn't talk on the way home and Mark left without even saying goodbye. Jeannie fled to her room.

Jeannie didn't cry much about what Mark had told her, but she did spend the rest of the night feeling sorry for herself. She was still feeling sorry for herself the next morning, as she sat in the living room watching, but not really seeing, what was on the television.

Ken came up behind her and put one of his strong, calloused hands on each side of the easy chair.

She craned her head back, looking up at him.

"I know it's none of my business and you can tell me so, if you want, but did you and Mark have some sort of a squabble yesterday?"

Then Ken's old-fashioned sense of propriety stirred his emotions and his face became stern.

"He didn't try any funny business, did he?"

Jeannie smiled up at him wickedly, even though she didn't feel wicked at all.

"He didn't try anything I didn't want him to try."

Jeannie derived a kind of grim satisfaction from the way Ken's mouth dropped. She felt justified in shocking him. He was so old fashioned in some ways. And kind of chauvinistic.

But, then a vague sense of guilt crept in to overshadow Jeannie's satisfaction and she started to feel somewhat sorry for leading Ken on.

"I'm sorry, Ken. I didn't mean that. It's nothing, really. Nothing Mark has done. It's just...

"Please. Don't worry about me. I'll work it out."

Then Jeannie looked back at the television. A cartoon cat had a cartoon mouse's tail pinned to the floor with his paw and the mouse's feet were scrambling to get away. But the mouse wasn't getting away, no matter how fast his feet ran. The cat was flexing his paws. Drawing the mouse closer and closer to his gaping jaws. The cat's jaws bristled with long, sharp teeth. Jeannie ducked her head down into her shoulders and closed her eyes. The similarity between what was happening on the television screen and what was happening in her life was just a little too close.

It was exactly what Jeannie felt like she was doing. She was running away from her hurts as fast as she could run, but she wasn't going anywhere. Ever since Cal, she had been running to escape and...

_So, why are you running away?_ She asked herself.

Running away never solved anything.

And, in that moment, Jeannie decided she wasn't going to run away from Mark. She was going to confront him and find out what he was hiding from her. Jeannie had seen it in Mark's eyes and on his face yesterday. There had been something there. Maybe it wasn't love, but it was something strong enough that he shouldn't want her to leave and to never see her again. Mark was definitely hiding something, and Jeannie was going to find out exactly what that something was.

Later that afternoon, Jeannie packed her bags, said goodbye to Ken and Marjory, and drove slowly over to Mark's apartment. Her head was reeling with a mixture of dread and anticipation and she almost kept driving when she reached Mark's street.

She forced herself to stop the car, then steeled herself and walked slowly up the walk. Then she was standing in the hallway, knocking on Mark's door.

A strange man answered her knock and for a moment Jeannie thought she'd written down the wrong apartment number, when she'd looked it up in the phone book. The man was looking at her strangely.

"I'm sorry," Jeannie said.

"I must have the wrong apartment. I was looking for Mark Pearson."

The man smiled faintly.

"This is Mark Pearson's apartment. But he isn't home at the moment. I'm his brother-in-law. I'm watching his apartment for him."

"Brother-in-law?" Jeannie was taken slightly aback by that part of the man's statement.

"I didn't know Mark had sisters."

The man looked at Jeannie curiously.

"Yes, that's right, he doesn't. But, I'm not related to him in that way. I'm his wife's brother. I..."

The man stopped suddenly. He shifted his eyes away from Jeannie and suddenly looked very uncomfortable.

Jeannie stood in the hallway, shock rippling through her, staring at the stranger, for several long moments, before the answer she'd been seeking came to her. Mark hadn't wanted to pursue their relationship, because he was married. That would explain a lot of things, including the reason why he'd been so anxious to break it off.

"I see," Jeannie said with a calmness belying the turmoil that was boiling inside her.

She stood there staring at the man, for several long moments, before she turned away and started walking. The man was still standing in the doorway, as he posed a question to her retreating back.

"Who shall I say was calling for him?"

Jeannie stopped, for a moment, and turned around. Her voice was still icily calm.

"Tell him―. Nobody. Nobody at all."

Then she turned and started walking again.

As Jeannie moved slowly down the stairs, she marveled that it didn't seem to hurt so much the second time around. The pain seemed less somehow. Jeannie wondered idly if it was possible for a person to become accustomed to being treated like someone's doormat, to become inured to having people wipe their feet on her, to willingly allow her body to be used, for lewd and immoral purposes and, in the end, to allow herself to be relegated to the inglorious and untenable circumstance of becoming a paramour.

That was, after all, the way it had turned out for her. She'd allowed herself to be debased by her feelings for certain men and they'd used her. But who was really to blame for that? She'd willingly participated in the self-delusion and the chicanery and she had no right to feel outrage. She needed to suck it up and face up to the person who was really to blame. That person was her, Jeannie O'Roarke, and, so, it was far more apropos not to have any reaction at all. Mark was a cheater and a roué, just like Cal, and Jeannie had been a willing adjunct to their depravity. She needed to accept that. Anger wasn't an option for her. Frustration either. Nor even righteous indignation.

Jeannie frowned cynically, as she got into her car, and analyzed her situation, in light of the discovery she'd just made.

She and Mark were two corners of a typical love triangle. Mark was the poor, misunderstood man, Jeannie was the mistress and Jeannie didn't know what the wife was. Mark had never gotten around to bringing up the fact he _had_ a wife. He and Jeannie had never reached that point in their relationship. If one could call what Jeannie and Mark had a relationship. It had been more like a strong friendship. Until yesterday, when she and Mark had made love.

Jeannie pondered on her situation for a few moments and considered how she fitted into the scheme of things. Mark had always been a perfect gentleman and had never tried anything. He'd just seemed to be content to be together and to talk. And it'd been Jeannie, who'd initiated anything else.

Jeannie was at least thankful their relationship hadn't progressed to the point of becoming a fully developed triangle. She really couldn't picture herself as being comfortably ensconced as a player in some perfidious and tacky little game. With Mark inveighing her with constant complaints about his wife, while he plied her with vague promises of an impending divorce. So, he and Jeannie would be together forever one day. Once the kids were grown up and out of the house.

But, then, of course, Mark probably didn't have any kids. At least, as far as Jeannie knew, he didn't. He and Jeannie had never discussed his private life. Jeannie had just assumed that Mark was single and...

Despite her earlier promises, to herself, Jeannie's calm self-control slipped away and was immediately replaced by a feeling of utter vexation. She reached out to the radio and cranked it up to full volume. She wanted the music loud. So loud it would drown out all her thoughts. She didn't want to think. She wanted to forget. Forget and put as many miles between herself and Mark as possible. She never wanted to see him again.

Jeannie got over Mark surprisingly easily, she thought, and it seemed to her, as if she'd adjusted to the routine of the university with very little discomfort. She supposed that was because she was determined to spend the rest of her time concentrating on her studies. And to maintain only platonic relationships with men.

But, as she was making her way to a psychology lecture about two weeks after her ill-advised visit to Mark's apartment, she heard a familiar, but entirely unexpected, voice.

"Jeannie, can I talk to you for a minute? Please?"

She stopped and turned around.

Cal's demeanor, somewhat haggard and defeated looking, unsettled her, and for an instant, her heart reached out to him. But she quickly brought her emotions under control, and a profound bitterness welled up from her heart. Her voice was imbued with that vitriol.

"Why would you want to waste your time talking to _me,_ Cal? You certainly didn't want to talk to me, the last time we were together. But then, of course, you had someone in your bed, and you couldn't spare the time to deal with yesterday's news."

She glared at him harshly.

"But, it's obvious you have no one waiting for you this time, and it appears as if you might be on the prowl. Is that why you've sought me out? Do you think you might be able to talk me into sleeping with you tonight? I guess there's no one available from your regular stable of loose-moraled tramps? Are you of the mind that I just might do in a pinch?

"You've already made it perfectly clear that I'm really not worth a whole lot to you, but I guess you're going to settle. I'm guessing you might have decided that climbing into bed with me might be just a tiny bit better than nothing"

Jeannie looked at Cal coldly.

"Well, I'm going to let you in on a little secret, Calvin Wagner. I'm really not the least bit interested in anything you might have to say. You've already said everything. Quite succinctly, as I recall. So, just leave me alone and go find someone else to work your questionable talents on."

Cal lifted his eyebrows and Jeanie could perceive a small measure of arrogance in his look. His lips slowly pulled back into a sardonic sneer.

"My. My. It seems as if we might have become just a wee bit bitter."

Jeannie looked at him then, her mouth twisted in disgust. She ignored the voice, urging her to say something back and turned away. She was determined never to speak to him again. His voice called out from behind her.

"Jeannie! I'm sorry! I didn't mean that. Please, can we talk?"

And, much to Jeannie's consternation, she turned her face back to Cal. Something about the desperation in his voice had caused her to reconsider. The look on Cal's face was appropriately contrite.

"I—'m sorry about what I said, the night you came to my room. And I'm sorry for being with her. She was—. She meant nothing to me. And I'm really sorry about what I did to you. I was going to go to you. The very next day. I..."

Cal stopped for a moment, studying Jeannie as if trying to decern the effect his words were having.

"I really did. But I didn't go. Something held me back. My pride, I guess. It took me a while to get past that, and, by then it was too late. I couldn't face you and I—. Well, I just couldn't face you, that's all."

Something about the way he was coming to her now. Groveling and exposing his belly, like some sort of errant puppy, was destroying the image she'd once fostered of him. A strong feeling of revulsion boiled up in her psyche. Something Jeannie had never seen in him before was coming to the surface and she didn't like what she was seeing. Not even a little bit. Her psyche goaded her to say something she thought might hurt.

"Well, where's your pride now?

"What makes the great Calvin Wagner step down from his pedestal and come to an underling, begging for forgiveness?

Small flecks of anger erupted in his eyes, but, when he spoke, his voice was smooth and polished. Cal was still an excellent actor. Still well versed in covering up his true feelings.

"I suppose I deserve that. But, if you'll just give me a chance, I think I can explain."

She looked at him cruelly.

"I think you've already had your chance and you blew it. I'm all through being your doormat, Cal and I'm not the same fool as I was before."

She turned away then, more determined than ever not to listen to anything he said. But his voice drifted over her shoulder and she listened to him anyway.

"I'll be at Chester's in about an hour. If you don't show up, I'll know it's really over between us."

She kept walking, as if she hadn't heard a thing.

Jeannie couldn't believe she was walking into Chester's. And that she was actually going to meet with Cal. She'd thought she'd promised herself that she'd never have anything to do with him for as long as she lived. She thought she'd decided she'd been trampled on enough, used enough. And had taken all she was going to take from the men in her life. She was sick of Cal. Sick of Mark. Sick of all men. Men were just no good. And she was determined not to let herself be used by one of them, yet again. She...

_Apparently, that just isn't true, Jeannie, my dear._ She interrupted herself.

It seems as if you're a real glutton for punishment. What do you think you're doing? Running back to him. He ground your face into the dirt once and you just can't wait to get back there, so he can do it again. You're nothing but a—a...

Jeannie's thoughts stopped abruptly, as she approached his table. He was sitting in a corner booth, looking very nervous and out of place. He was lucky. If he'd have been smiling and relaxed, like the old Cal, she was certain she'd have turned around and walked right back out.

She moved slowly toward the table and sat down stiffly. His eyes studied her intently. The look on his face seemed mildly incredulous. As if he was actually surprised, she'd come.

"Would you like a drink, or something?" he asked warily.

She flashed her eyes downward and noted the table in front of him was empty. Had he just gotten there himself, or was he just not having anything? Could it be possible he was so upset, he wasn't thinking only of himself?

No, she decided, such a thing as that was impossible.

"No, thank you." She said snippily.

"Just say what you have to say, and I'll be on my way."

He looked down at the table for several long moments, then lifted his eyes to look at Jeannie. She caught small bolts of anger in his eyes, but his voice remained calm.

"Look, Jeannie. What I did to you, well, it was—inexcusable. And insensitive and brutish. And, you have to believe me, I'm very, very sorry about it. But, try to understand that I did have my reasons."

He shrugged his shoulders slightly.

"Not good reasons, but reasons."

He looked away for a moment, then looked back, directly into her eyes.

"This whole thing started when..."

He stopped suddenly and was lost in thought, for several long moments. Then.

"Some guys in my fraternity tried to take you out. Not ugly guys. Good looking guys, who never had any trouble getting dates. But. you brushed them off. You acted kind of—you know? Stuck up. Kind of like they might not have been good enough for you."

Cal studied Jeannie wordlessly for several long moments. Then.

"I guess you might have had your reasons, but, they never considered that. They were too upset at being snubbed. And they wanted revenge. They wanted to see if there was anyone who could, you know, break through your resistance.

"Sooo, the guys and I had this little conference and we, sort of, you know, decided that I would try my luck."

Cal's face looked sheepish and proud at the same time.

"I was kind of the top dog in the fraternity, when it came to dating women, and we thought if anyone could break down your barriers it would be me. And, so, we kind of cobbled together a plan and we—"

"Don't bother to go on," Jeannie interrupted acerbically.

"I think I've already figured out your plan.

"Didn't it go something like this?"

Jeannie felt her composure starting to slip and she took a deep breath. Panicky anxiety was building in her psyche and she hoped she could hold herself together. The last thing she wanted was to break down and give Cal the satisfaction of knowing how much he'd affected her life.

"First, a certain brash and ruthless libertine, named Calvin Wagner would fake an interest in history, in order to ingratiate himself with the _Ice Lady_. And then, once he'd breached the barriers, he'd use his magnetic personality and his considerable charm to overrun her defenses."

Jeannie was surprised at how calmly she was speaking. She certainly didn't feel very calm inside.

"He was very careful about how he proceeded. He took his time and kept everything low key, and, eventually, he convinced her he was sincere. He'd deceived the _Ice Lady_ and she'd bought into his deceit, and it was only a matter of time until he had her in his bed. It had all been so easy, you see, because Calvin Wagner was the ultimate ladies' man, and no woman could resist his charms for long."

Jeannie stopped and betrayed her true feelings by taking a deep, ragged breath. Tears of pain were welling up and spilling over her eyelids. She pushed past the pain and continued.

"How am I doing so far, Calvin Honey?"

Cal opened his mouth, but Jeannie started again before he had a chance to speak.

"But Calvin wasn't finished yet. Not by a long shot. He still hadn't put the _Ice_ _Lady_ in her place."

Jeannie's voice was becoming even more ragged and a huge painful lump was threatening to choke it off.

"I'm sure Calvin had planned something suitably demeaning and hurtful, but, as it turned out, that was completely unnecessary. Because stupid, lovestruck Jeannie O'Roarke came along and delivered the opportunity on a silver platter.

Jeannie stopped for a moment and studied Cal intently through pain glazed eyes.

"Of course, you couldn't know I was going to show up, but, when I did, you took full advantage of the opportunity. And you..."

Jeannie stopped again. She couldn't carry on. Scenes from that night had overwhelmed her composure. Agonizing pain pushed her heart down into a pit of despair, and it was several long moments before she was able to speak.

"What would have happened if I hadn't come to your room that night, Cal? Would you have allowed me to keep deluding myself? Left your deceitful façade in place? After all, you had me eating out of your hand and you probably could have talked me into doing anything."

Jeannie's voice had cracked, and tears were running freely down her cheeks.

"I loved you, Cal, but you didn't care. All you were thinking about was how you were impressing your friends. I wasn't a person to you. I was a thing. A trophy you could put on display. And now I'm wondering why you're coming to me. What, exactly, do you want?"

Cal was looking down, studying his finger, as he made invisible curlicue patterns on the tabletop. Jeannie waited patiently until he finally raised his head. His eyebrows were wrinkled painfully.

"Come on, Jeannie. I don't want you to think that. You know I—"

"Hello, Jeannie."

His voice unsettled her for a moment, and she was afraid to look up. She was afraid he'd see how elated she was that he'd come after her. Silly of her to feel happy about it. The situation that had developed between them was impossible and she knew it. She held her eyes on Cal, until she was certain she had her emotions under control. Then, she slowly raised her eyes to meet Mark's.

She noted Cal had looked up at the same time, as she had. She felt certain Cal had noted the change in her demeanor. Cal was unhappy. He was glaring pointedly at Mark.

Jeannie shifted her gaze to Mark.

"I don't know why you've come, but, if it's for what I think, I can tell you it won't do you any good."

Mark was looking down at Jeannie solemnly.

"There are a lot of things I want to explain to you, Jeannie. I know I should have done it before, but, I didn't. At the time, I thought it was best to keep you in the dark."

Mark shrugged his shoulders slightly.

"I can see now I was wrong."

Cal stood up. He glowered at Mark, his lips twisted in a derisive scowl.

"Perhaps you're having a little bit of trouble understanding the lady. I believe she's trying to tell you, in a nice way, to get lost."

The look that came into Mark's eyes caused Jeannie to wince. It was pure, unmitigated hatred.

"You're Cal, aren't you? Jeannie's sister told me all about you."

Mark's lips twisted with contempt.

"You're nothing but a sleazy, good for nothing, disgusting bucket of slime, as far as I'm concerned."

Mark's arm lashed out and his strong fingers bit into Cal's shoulder. He pulled Cal forward until Cal's face was about six inches away from his. Cal's face blanched and he turned his head away, so Jeannie wouldn't see the pain there.

Mark spoke to Cal through clenched teeth.

"It's taking all the willpower I possess to refrain from turning that pretty face of yours into a very unappetizing piece of raw meat."

Mark stretched out his arm, still forcefully gripping Cal's shoulder and continued.

"So, if I were you, I'd keep myself quiet and inconspicuous."

He gave Cal a shove, then, and Cal settled back heavily into his seat.

"Very quiet and _very_ inconspicuous."

Mark looked at Jeannie then.

"Well?"

She fidgeted and looked at Cal, whose face had twisted into a contemptuous mask. Cal's eyes narrowed as he said.

"You can't just walk out on me, Jeannie. After I was all set to give you a second chance. If you walk now, that's it. We're through. I can't allow you to do that. It's—embarrassing. And, I won't allow you to embarrass me in front of all these people."

Jeannie looked at Cal disdainfully, as she started to get up.

"Would you rather I embarrassed you in private, like you did to me?"

Cal was speechless for a moment, but he quickly found his voice. He waved the back of his hand at Mark.

"If you insist on leaving me here to go with this—this―tame gorilla, then you can forget about ever seeing _me_ again. I won't want anything to do with you, after he's had his big, sweaty paws all over you."

He looked up defiantly at Mark, who started to move toward him, but Jeannie reached out and touched Mark's arm. She glowered viciously at Cal, as she spoke.

"Don't Mark. Can't you see he's not worth it? Let's go. I'll go with you, wherever you want."

Mark looked at her and she felt relieved to see Mark had toned down some of his anger and hatred.

"You're right, Jeannie."

He looked contemptuously at Cal.

"I really don't want to get my hands all slimy."

Then they turned and walked away, leaving Cal to glower after them harshly. Cal started to stand up. As if he were planning on calling out to them. But, then he sagged back into his seat. He massaged his shoulder, where Mark's fingers had bitten into his flesh, and opted for silence.

Once they were in Mark's truck, Mark stopped speaking. He just drove. Stoically. Mechanically. Robotically. Jeannie continued to ask questions and Mark continued to ignore her, until she finally gave up. She turned away from Mark and slumped into her seat, folding her arms across her chest, looking out through the windshield but seeing nothing.

Jeannie sat up and gaped at the truck's mirror, as the last exit ramp for Montpelier faded into the distance. Her mind churned with confusion. She'd totally expected him to take her sister's exit. Why hadn't he? Where was he going? She twisted her neck and glowered across the cab. A nettlesome irritation percolated in her psyche. Why couldn't he just speak to her? It was so frustrating, trying to get him to talk.

Jeannie turned her eyes away and refocused them on the highway. For some reason, Mark was taking her to Burlington. She didn't know why that was and she knew it would be pointless to ask, so she opted for silence and waited.

In a moment of déjà vu, Jeannie sat up and watched the last exit to Burlington shrink from view in the truck's mirror. Mark had driven past all the ramps and was now heading north. Jeannie flashed her eyes toward Mark. He was still staring straight ahead, still ignoring Jeannie, and still not talking.

Jeannie's shoulders tensed, as frustration bubbled up in her psyche. Now she had absolutely _no_ idea where they were going.

A few miles up the road, Mark left the main highway and turned onto US-2. Jeannie's mind began to whir. US-2 went right past Jeannie's parent's house. She turned her head and studied Mark for several long moments. She was sure Mark wasn't taking her there. He didn't even know where they lived.

Jeannie turned her face away from Mark then, and distracted herself by watching the trees flash past. Those same trees with their richly variegated leaves of red and yellow and gold and amber were so beautiful in the fall, and Jeannie's eyes closed. She was a little girl again, riding in her parent's car, marveling at the natural beauty of a Vermont Autumn, as her parent's car moved slowly down the highway.

Then the moment was gone and Jeannie opened her eyes, to look across the cab at Mark. She wasn't a little girl anymore, she wasn't with her parents and Mark was still not talking to her.

Jeannie laid her head against the back of the seat and allowed her mind to drift. She tried to piece together what little she knew about Mark. She assumed that Mark was probably born in Boston, but she wasn't even certain of that. And he'd spent at least a part of his life in Montpelier, but Jeannie didn't know if he'd lived anywhere else in Vermont.

Jeannie rolled her head in Mark's direction.

As far as Jeannie knew, Mark had never lived anywhere near Lake Champlain, yet here they were, driving up a highway in the middle of the lake. Mark definitely had a destination in mind. Jeannie could tell from the decisiveness of his driving. But they were almost to Canada and chances of arriving at a destination in Vermont were becoming more remote with each mile. If Mark didn't stop soon, they would...

Jeannie's thoughts stopped then, as a sudden feeling of intense disquietude sent an icy chill creeping up her spine. Maybe Mark didn't want to take Jeannie to someplace where there were people. Maybe he preferred that there be no one else around. Maybe he just—

"I'm sorry I haven't been able to talk, Jeannie" Mark's voice interrupted her thoughts, and she looked across the cab; Mark was studying her. His eyes were on her but his mind seemed far away.

"We're almost there, and, when we get there, I'll explain everything."

Mark's brow knotted.

"But for now, I'm asking you to trust me."

Then Mark turned his head back toward the front and Jeannie rolled her head away from him. She closed her eyes and allowed her mind to evoke memories from a more pleasant time.

The little girl was back in Jeannie's head. Thinking little girl thoughts, and dealing with little girl problems. Like trying to decide what bathing suit to wear, or inventing new ways to scrounge up gas money for her father's ski boat. There was no Mark in Jeannie's little girl's world. No Cal either. She was living the carefree life of her past. And the little girl, who lived vicariously in Jeannie's psyche took control then. She was only allowing pleasantness and contentment and, for the first time in many months, Jeannie was able to relax and be truly happy. She sank back into the seat and allowed her lids to slide dreamily over her half-closed eyes, as all her troubles, real and perceived, faded into the background.

Jeannie's body went limp and an agreeable aura of contentment washed over her. She wriggled her shoulders and slumped into the folds of the seat. Mark had said they were almost there. And in a very short time, Jeannie would know where they were going. She just needed to be a little more patient.

Mark's truck bounced over a sudden dip in the road and Jeannie heard a loud bang. Her eyes popped open and she sat up. The sudden jar had unlatched the truck's glove box and it hung open on its hinges. Mark's arm flashed out and slammed it shut, but Jeannie had already seen. There was a gun inside the glove box. A very big, very ugly gun.

_Why is Mark carrying a gun in his truck?_ Jeannie asked herself.

He told me he hated them. He said they were primitive and brutal, and, for the most part, only used to kill the animals he loved.

Jeannie stared at the glove box door, as she pondered on what she'd seen. The gun in Mark's glove box wasn't the kind that people used to kill animals. It was the kind of gun that people used to kill...

Jeannie stopped then, in the middle of her muse, as bizarre, inane thoughts inundated her psyche. The plot of a movie, she'd watched with Marjory, and the image of the gun had merged to form an unpalatable scenario, in Jeannie's mind and she shuddered involuntarily.

The movie was about a man, named Roger, who was married to an heiress. He didn't love the heiress. He'd married her for her money, and their marriage was a very unhappy one. Roger had a mistress, but he didn't love her either. He was too selfish to love anyone but himself and the mistress was simply a means to satisfy Roger's physical needs.

It was a comfortable, albeit somewhat tacky arrangement, and Roger was satisfied to leave things just the way they were. But, one day, just as Roger and his mistress were leaving a hotel room, where they'd spent the night, they encountered a man who was a mutual acquaintance of Roger and his wife. Roger started to worry then. The man had obviously disapproved of what he'd seen. He was going to tell Roger's wife and then their sham marriage would be over.

At that point, Roger panicked. He didn't want a messy divorce. If they divorced, he knew his wife would disown him and he'd grown quite accustomed to the luxuries his marriage provided. He had no choice. He would have to murder his mistress and try to convince his wife that she never existed.

Jeannie hadn't liked the movie at all. She'd thought the movie's plot was somewhat unbelievable and even ludicrous, but, now, after seeing the gun, she was having second thoughts about the plausibility of killing to protect one's lifestyle. But she wasn't so convinced that she was willing to forgo common sense. She looked across the cab then and studied Mark intently.

_How, in your wildest imaginings, could you picture Mark as a murderer?_ She asked herself. _When you look at him, do you see some sort of a depraved, psychotic killer?_

Jeannie pondered on her questions for some time, then.

_He certainly doesn't look like a killer_ , _but, then, what, exactly, is a killer supposed to look like?_

Not like Mark, that's for sure. He's simply not the killer type. Did you take a good look, when he was talking about his father? What did you see? Kindness and gentleness in his eyes and nothing else. That's because Mark's eyes represent Mark. Mark is kind and gentle and kindness and gentleness are not traits associated with murderers. He's...

Jeannie's thoughts stopped then, as she pictured a different Mark's face. When Mark had been rebuking Cal at Chester's, there'd been no love in his eyes. They'd been hateful, dangerous. And the image of Mark's hateful, dangerous eyes made it that much easier for Jeannie to believe Mark could be a murderous lunatic. She shuddered, involuntarily, as her mind evoked images of Mark pointing the big, ugly gun at her, pulling the trigger, eliminating her, disposing of her, and then returning to his wife, to act as if nothing were amiss.

Jeannie looked at the glove box then, before she turned her head again, and looked across the cab. Mark was still ignoring her. His jaw was tense, his gaze focused on the road. She slowly swiveled her head back toward the glove box.

Jeannie wondered if she might be over-reacting a little. And painting Mark with a brush that was just a little too macabre. Surely if Mark was the type of person who would heartlessly murder someone just because she'd become a minor inconvenience, Jeannie would have been able to detect something off in his personality. But Mark seemed perfectly normal to Jeannie. He was kind and considerate and...

Then why is he taking me here? To the middle of nowhere? Far away from everyone else? With the big, ugly gun in his glove box? He hates guns. He told me that, and I believe him.

She sat there stiffly, staring at the glove box and imagining looking down the barrel of the lethal weapon, ensconced behind its battered door. She shifted her eyes to look across the cab. Mark's eyes were still concentrating on the road. As she studied him intently, a completely irrelevant thought popped into Jeannie's head.

_I never noticed it before, but, if I look at Mark from this angle, he's actually quite good looking. Much more handsome than Cal in his own rugged kind of way. But what does how Mark looks have to do with my present predicament? Is there some kind of an axiom_ _that states all murderers have to be ugly?_

She studied Mark for a few more long moments, then turned her eyes away from him and continued her introspection.

So, you've determined Mark's not ugly. That's a nice thought. But, do you have any others? What else could you say about him?

_Not too terribly much_ , she answered herself.

And didn't he tell me, just before we broke up, that there were things I don't know about him? Do I have any idea what those things are? What if there are some horrible things about him, I've just been unable to see? Could his mind somehow have been twisted? What if the shock of losing a beloved father had been too much for a sensitive young boy? Maybe it turned him into a wanton, homicidal maniac, who systematically kills every hapless woman who crosses his path. Maybe...

She stopped then, as a relatively calm voice of rationality slowly inundated her thoughts. It was pointing out that some of Jeannie's conjectures might be a little too inane and melodramatic. And that she was allowing herself to be carried away on a runaway freight train of half-formed ideas and irrational inferences.

But Jeannie couldn't rationalize away the image of the gun. With the gun in the picture, all Jeannie's conjectures could possibly make sense. Why would Mark have a gun in his glove box, unless he planned to take Jeannie somewhere far removed from civilization and do away with her?

That was precisely why Mark hadn't bothered to tell Jeannie he was married. There would be no need, if she were going to be dead. Mark was married and he planned to remain that way. Jeannie was just a loose end that Mark needed to tie up and Mark was going to use the gun in the glove box to do just that.

Jeannie looked out of the side window then and her face paled. The heavily wooded slopes, which dipped gracefully down to the highway had lost all their beauty. A person could hide a body in those trees. And, once hidden, there was a good possibility a body wouldn't be found for months. Years even. Maybe even—never. Mark was going to bury her in those woods and he...

_Stop it, Jeannie!_ _Now!_ She interrupted herself.

You're just not thinking rationally. Mark's not going to kill you. How could you even think that? He's never given you any reason to think he's that type of man. He just can't be some sort of depraved killer. There has to be some other explanation for what he's doing.

Jeannie's thoughts stopped for a moment and she looked across the cab.

But, just in case you're wrong, it would probably be prudent to have a plan.

Jeannie thought about jumping from the truck then, but almost immediately decided against it. It would probably be much safer, and saner, to wait until the truck stopped. Because, if Jeannie were to jump from a moving truck, she could very possibly be seriously hurt. And, then she'd be helpless. Mark could stop, casually walk over to where she was lying, point the gun at her, and calmly squeeze the trigger. As if Jeannie were some misfortunate animal that had wandered out onto the highway and been struck by a car.

Jeannie cringed and sunk down further into the seat. She would have to wait patiently until the truck had stopped moving.

She gazed intently at the glove box. If she could get her hands on the gun, that might tip the odds in her favor. With the gun, Jeannie would be in control. And she could...

Jeannie stopped in the middle of the thought and reconsidered.

How was she going to grab the gun before Mark stopped her and what was she going to do with it if, by some miracle, he didn't? Mark was a whole lot stronger than Jeannie was. Did she think he was just going to sit there and let Jeannie take control?

Jeannie calmed herself then, and attempted to reorder her thoughts.

She was basing her conjectures on her being able to get her hands on Mark's gun. It would take a long time to drive back to Montpelier and a lot of things could happen before they arrived. Jeannie didn't like guns any better than, she supposed Mark did, and she was positive she could never shoot someone. Mark would be able to see that. And it would only be a matter of time until he wrested the gun from Jeannie.

Everything Jeannie had thought was true, but where was it written that she would have to take Mark all the way back to Montpelier. Burlington was much closer. And her parent's house was even closer. Jeannie could force Mark to drive to her parent's house and her father would be there to help her deal with Mark. Her father was calm and collected and he always knew what to do.

But, what if the glove box is locked? Then what are you going to do? How are you going to get the gun, if the glove box is locked? He...

Jeannie's thoughts stopped. Mark had slipped off the highway and onto a side road. A hard knot formed in Jeannie's stomach. She should have jumped, but Mark hadn't slowed enough.

Gristly possibilities started to play themselves out in Jeannie's mind. As scenes of blood and gore and moldering bodies overwhelmed her. She tentatively gripped the door handle and entertained the overpowering urge to get herself out of the truck, no matter what the consequences. Anything was preferable to just sitting in the truck and passively awaiting whatever fate would befall her.

Then, just when all seemed hopeless, something unexpected came into view and Jeannie's flagging spirits lifted imperceptibly. She thought she'd seen the walls of a log house as they'd passed a small break in the thick foliage surrounding them. It'd shot by so fast she couldn't be sure, but it was the only hope she had, and she clung to it, like a drowning man clinging to a lifeboat. A faint hope blossomed in her psyche and she found herself hoping that Mark had taken a wrong turn.

Surely Mark wouldn't shoot Jeannie within earshot of someone's cabin. Someone might hear the noise and come to investigate. He would have to return to the highway and try to find a more secluded spot.

Jeannie felt a faint glimmer of hope then. Because, while the delay would not necessarily improve her odds for survival, it would give her more time to think and try, somehow, to find a way out of her dilemma.

But then Jeannie realized something unforeseen was happening. For some strange reason, it appeared as if Mark had intended to go where he was going. A large building had suddenly emerged, out of the forest, and Mark was driving straight toward it.

Jeannie felt an immediate rush of relief, but, as they moved in closer, her hopes faded into despair again. She noted the main building, and the other buildings surrounded it, seemed to be deserted. And that would mean there would be no witnesses around to hear the shots, when Mark disposed of her.

Jeannie wondered morbidly how many other victims Mark had taken to this place before her. Could he be some sort of serial adulterer, who routinely transported his mistresses to this deserted lodge, so that he might summarily do away with them? She couldn't help but think that, because Mark had known exactly where to turn off the highway.

Just then Jeannie noticed a tenuous glimmer of movement in one of the outbuildings and a faint hope was revived in her. She breathed a tentative sigh of relief, as she realized the place where Mark had taken her didn't appear to be completely abandoned, after all. Jeannie watched hopefully, as a large hulk of a man emerged from one of the buildings and walked slowly toward Mark's truck.

Something was different about the way the man walked and, when he got close enough, so Jeannie could better see his face, it became clear there was something not quite right with him. He ambled over to the driver's side of the truck and stuck his head into Mark's window.

"Hiya, Mark. Did you get my gun?"

A cold, hard fist reached into her chest and squeezed Jeannie's heart then, as she suddenly realized how Mark planned to do her in.

He was going to nonchalantly drop Jeannie off at this deserted hunting lodge and, then head back to Montpelier, while his _friend_ took care of Jeannie. Mark was going to have nothing to do with it. He would be back in Montpelier when it happened. Fixing himself up with a watertight alibi.

That way Mark wouldn't have to use a gun. He didn't like guns. He'd already emphasized that to Jeannie, And, even now, Jeannie still believed that part of Mark's story. Because, when the man had mentioned the gun, Jeannie had been studying Mark intently. She'd seen Mark's shoulders stiffen involuntarily

Mark leaned casually across the seat and retrieved the gun from the glove box. Much to her chagrin, Jeannie just sat there and let him do it. She was too terrified to do anything else. Mark handed the gun to the man, then turned his head and looked sheepishly across the truck at Jeannie.

"After all I've told you about hating guns, you must have thought it kind of strange for me to be carrying one in my truck."

He turned his head back toward the man and spoke.

"Try to be more careful, when you put the carbon dioxide cylinders in. You bent the valve last time and that's why it quit working."

The man looked down fondly at the gun and wandered away, while Mark turned to face Jeannie again.

Jeannie didn't know what to say for a moment. She was still recovering. It was obvious she'd been completely wrong in her conjectures. And now she felt foolish and ashamed. Her brow wrinkled as she looked into Mark's eyes.

"Do you think it's right for him to have a gun?" she asked.

Mark looked at her strangely for a moment, before his look lightened. His brow raised and a faint smile formed on his face.

"Are you talking about Georgie? Don't worry about him. He wouldn't hurt a fly with that gun. He just uses it to shoot at tin cans. I think he pretends he's Wyatt Earp or Matt Dillon, or Billy the Kid. He..."

Mark stopped as a look of understanding formed on his face.

"You don't think I would have given him that gun, if I thought he was going to kill things with it, do you?"

Jeannie looked down then, unable to face him for a moment, as guilt and shame washed over her. Finally, she found the courage to look up at him. When she spoke, her voice was soft and timid.

"No."

She looked down and hesitated for a brief moment, then looked up. Her voice was more confident, as she spoke.

"But, I'm sure you haven't brought me all the way out here, just so I could meet Georgie."

Mark turned toward the front of the truck. He just stared silently at the lodge for a few moments, before he turned his eyes to Jeannie.

"Of course not."

He opened the truck door and stepped out.

"What I wanted you to see, is in the lodge."

Jeannie followed Mark inside and he led her down a long narrow hall to where a small, frail-looking nurse sat behind a large desk.

The nurse stood up stiffly, as they approached.

"Hello, Helen. This is a friend of mine, Jeannie. I've brought her here to meet Abby."

Helen's watery blue eyes first studied Mark, then turned suspiciously toward Jeannie. Her face was troubled.

"You know how Mr. Edgemont feels about strangers coming here."

"Yeah, I know, I know, but how's he going to find out?" Mark asked.

"I won't tell him. I'm sure you won't tell him. And Georgie won't tell him, if I tell him not to. And, of course, Jeannie's not going to tell him. She doesn't even know who he is."

Mark's eyes pleaded with the nurse, for several long moments, then,

"I had to bring Jeannie here. It's very important to me. And, I think, to her."

Helen's eyes flicked rapidly back and forth between Mark and Jeannie, before she finally took a deep breath. She let it out, as she spoke.

"Mr. Edgemont would skin me alive if he ever found out about this, but..."

Helen's eyes locked onto Mark's for several long moments.

"I always was a sucker for those lost puppy eyes, of yours."

Helen turned away from them, then, and moved toward a door that was set in the side of the hallway. She took a small key out of the pocket of her apron, unlocked the door and pushed it open. She stood aside to let Mark and Jeannie move past her into the room.

Jeannie stepped in ahead of Mark and suddenly found herself staring into the blank eyes of a very attractive young woman

The woman rocked slowly back and forth, in a large maple rocking chair. her face was completely blank. A long streak of drool hung listlessly from her slack lips and clung to her sweater. The woman seemed to be completely oblivious to her surroundings. She hadn't reacted, at all, when Helen had opened the door.

Jeannie's eyes found Mark's and she studied his face, until, he raised his eyebrows, and inclined his head toward the woman.

"Jeannie, this is my wife, my, soon to be, ex-wife, Abigail. She used to like to be called Abby. But she doesn't care what you call her now.

"She..."

Mark's voice choked for a few moments, as he fought to regain his composure, then,

"Please Jeannie, can we go?"

Mark guided Jeannie out onto the porch. He sat down heavily on the porch steps and Jeannie sat quietly beside him. He didn't say anything for a long time. His eyes were focused on the clearing in front of the lodge. Finally, he turned his head toward Jeannie and started to speak.

"Abby and I had a veterinary practice just outside of Burlington. It was very successful too. Until—"

Jeannie was confused.

"But I thought—"

She stopped. Mark had put up his hand to stop her.

"I know what you're going to say. You're going to say that I told you I _almost_ became a vet."

Mark studied Jeannie intently for several long moments. Then he looked down at his hands and studied them for a long time. Finally, he looked up.

"Well, when I told you that, I sort of—lied."

Mark's brows pinched together.

"I didn't _almost_ become a veterinarian, I _did_ become a veterinarian."

Mark lowered his eyes and picked up a stick from the ground. He used it to scratch patterns in the dirt. Jeannie sat patiently beside him, until he lifted his head and looked at her.

"I don't really know why I did it. I don't like to lie."

Mark lowered his head and paused for several long moments before he looked up.

"I guess it was because I was starting to really like you and I had this irrational idea that if I told you I was a vet, you'd somehow find out about Abby."

Mark raised his eyebrows.

"It seems kind of crazy now, but, at the time..."

Mark stopped and looked out over Jeannie's shoulder toward the clearing. When he turned his head back to Jeannie, his mind seemed far away. His eyes were wistful.

"I loved Abby, you know. I still do, in a strange sort of brotherly kind of way. She could always do something to me. It's..."

Mark stopped speaking. When he started speaking again, he'd moved back into time.

"Abby came into my life at a vulnerable time. It was just after my father—. When the tiger bit him and he..."

The pain in Mark's eyes was almost a physical thing.

"I had a hole in my heart, Jeannie. A deep, dark hole, and I didn't think I could ever patch it up. I loved my father so much. I missed him terribly and even though it had been several years I still hadn't really gotten over it. Until Abby. She came into my life and everything changed."

Mark stopped speaking and his eyes drifted out over the clearing. After several long moments, his eyes drifted back to Jeannie.

"One summer the management of the zoo decided to have a promotion of sorts, and they came up with the idea of having veterinary students, in their last year of college, come on board as temps and work with the animals. You know, to garner some hands-on experience, and to get their feet wet, before they got their diploma."

Mark stopped for a few moments and stared at Jeannie, without really seeming to see her.

"I remember, the very first time I saw Abby. She was working with Terry and he was—. Well, he was just _sitting_ there and I have to say I had a hard time believing it. Terry never sat still for anybody."

Mark's eyes cleared then, and he brought them sharply into focus.

"Terry was this male chimpanzee. He came to the zoo from one of those little circuses that really shouldn't be circuses. They're too small to survive, in this day and age, and they really can't afford to be in existence. And...

"Long story short, Terry had been abused rather badly by his trainer, and he had an attitude. And you know how strong chimps are.

"Whenever we had to do anything with Terry, we would have to sedate him and—. Well, it just wasn't a pretty picture."

"But Abby was working with him and she didn't need a tranquilizer! And Terry was just sitting there, letting her do whatever she wanted to do. He was like putty in her hands. She had a way with him, a way with all the animals and they were all like that with her."

Mark's eyes drifted to somewhere far away, before he brought them back and started to speak again.

"She was such a special person, Jeannie, and she captured my heart."

Mark sighed a long sigh.

"I guess I don't need to tell you that Abby and I got married. And it was a very happy time in my life. Abby was the perfect wife, the perfect partner in the veterinary clinic we set up.

"She managed the clinic like a professional, and she managed things in the house, as well. No one could understand how she did it. The house and clinic were always immaculate. And she cooked. Delicious meals, all of them homemade, from scratch.

"But, it was with the animals Abby really shone. She loved animals and they loved her."

Mark looked at Jeannie and she could tell. He was living in a short period of time, when everything seemed to be going very well for him. His eyes shone with, an inner glow that lit up his face and made it shimmer with radiance.

"Animals responded to Abby, as they would never respond to anyone else. She loved them unconditionally and they got that. Love and kindness oozed out of her pores. People were bringing in animals from all over the state. And they all wanted Abby to look after their pets. They..."

Mark stopped suddenly, and his face transformed. It was as if he was looking at something so ugly his mind was incapable of assimilating the ugliness. His mouth twisted.

"Then things—changed and animals started dying. Not just a few animals here and there, but a lot of animals."

Mark dropped his eyes for several long moments. He looked up.

"And, our clinic started getting a bad reputation and, where once our patient survival rate was among the highest in the area, it moved down to a place among the lowest.

"Young, healthy animals would come into our clinic for routine procedures, and they would leave in a box. They were dying, left and right, and no one could figure out why.

"Then, one day, I was talking to a friend of mine who just happened to be a pathologist, and, for some reason, he took an extraordinary interest in what I was telling him. He asked me to allow him to perform autopsies on any animal that died at the clinic. And he asked me not to tell anyone what he was doing. Not even my wife.

"It seemed like a strange request, but I agreed to it. I was desperate. The whole sudden death thing didn't make sense to me."

Jeannie looked at him then. His look hadn't changed. He was still reliving something terrible and ugly.

"Then, my friend phoned me. He asked me to come to his office. He said he had something—important to show me.

"All the animals had died of the same thing. Someone had created an—embolism. They had taken a needle and filled it with air and..."

Mark brow pinched together painfully.

"I didn't know what to think. Who would deliberately kill the very animals we were trying to save?

Mark's face tightened and his eyebrows drew together.

"I was too close to the situation to think objectively, but my friend's judgment wasn't clouded by his feelings. When he suggested the evil person might be Abby, I didn't want to believe him, but there was no one else it could have been. She had unlimited access to the animals, and I trusted her completely.

"And, so, I hid myself out by the kennels one night and I—waited."

The space behind Mark's pupils darkened, as something disgusting and unsavory invaded their depths.

"A woman appeared, but I swear she wasn't Abby. The Abby I knew had been taken over by this evil, vile presence. The presence exuded an aura of wickedness, and it was easy to see it would be capable of any kind of depravity. It had a syringe in one hand and a newborn kitten in the other. An evil, malicious grin was painted on its face, but I moved in quickly, to stop it, , before it could accomplish its objectives."

Mark paused for a moment. Then.

"The thing didn't show surprised when I stepped in. And it didn't seem concerned that I knew. In fact, rather than being repentant, it actually seemed quite proud of the fact that it had forced sweet, gentle Abby to kill those animals. It was laughing about what it had done. It was surreal standing there, confronting a person who was Abby, but, at the same time, who wasn't. The presence had overridden all the good things about Abby and I..."

Mark stopped speaking and stared out wordlessly across the compound for a long time, before he looked at Jeannie again. When he finally looked at her, she felt relief. The ugliness seemed to have been reined in. And Mark was once again in control.

"Do you remember when I told you that Abby exuded love and that's what attracted me to her?"

Jeannie nodded, even though she felt Mark had gone somewhere else and wouldn't be aware of her nodding. He started to speak again.

"Well the love and kindness were the things that attracted me, in the first place, but, there was something else. Something I couldn't put my finger on. Until that night. When it hit me. Like a ton of bricks. There was something about the evil one, something I must have seen, that had been there all the time, which had piqued my interest, along with her good qualities. And, in that moment, when I realized the truth, I didn't want to believe it. I couldn't accept that I could ever find anything to value in —what Abby could become."

Mark looked down and covered his eyes with his hands. He held that position for a long time before he looked up.

"She was so dangerous and evil, but something drew me to her. Like the fatal compulsion that draws a moth toward a candle flame. It's a compulsion that defies logic and common sense, but it exists, just the same. And, I was the moth. I couldn't believe it, but I was.

"It wasn't easy for me to accept the fact that I could be drawn toward or even that I was capable of loving that part of Abby. That vile, evil part of her that distorted her sweetness and gentleness. It made me feel as if there were something terribly wrong with me. And, that was why, after I put Abby away in this hunting lodge, I was determined to resist any urges I might have to find someone new."

Mark stopped speaking for a few moments. He looked out over the compound, as his eyes flicked back and forth, and Jeannie could see small glimmers of pain flashing in their depths. But she knew she could do nothing to absolve his suffering and she didn't try. Instead, she waited patiently while Mark resolved his inner conflicts. Finally, Mark looked up and spoke.

"I'm sorry. I was talking about confronting Abby's alter ego. I seem to have wandered off the path."

Mark focused his attention on Jeannie.

"I thought I was going to have to fight the thing to get Abby back, but it seemed satisfied to let Abby go. The real Abby, the kind and gentle Abby emerged from her shell and she immediately started pleading with me to save her from the thing. She said the thing called itself Anastasia, and she said she was terrified of Anastasia's awesome power. She pleaded with me to help her push back. Anastasia was too powerful and Abby couldn't fight her alone.

"And, I'm sorry to say, I listened to her. Like a fool, I listened and..."

Mark stopped speaking and Jeannie could see frantic desperation in his eyes.

"I listen, because. I loved her, Jeannie. I _wanted_ to believe her. Because she was my wife. And I didn't want to believe I could make that kind of mistake. To fall in love with someone who could be like Anastasia.

So, I let her go. I didn't tell anyone about what she'd done, but I didn't allow her to work at the clinic anymore. She seemed to accept that. She even said she thought it would be better, if she wasn't around the animals, and she reiterated her determination to fight Anastasia. And I so much wanted to believe she could win."

A deep sadness moved across the area behind Mark's pupils.

"It was only a short while after that night, when I started to feel sick. Not terribly sick, at first, but, over time, the sickness got progressively worse and worse. The doctors couldn't seem to figure out what was wrong. They performed all kinds of tests, but they found nothing. I didn't know what I was going to do, until, one day, I was discussing my illness with my friend, the pathologist. And, once again, he seemed to take an inordinate interest. He asked a lot of questions, but the most important one, it turned out, was when he asked me to bring samples of the food I was eating.

"Of course, I had no idea why he would ask me to do such a thing, but I complied anyway, and, within a very short time, my friend had discovered what was making me sick."

There was a brief interlude of poignant silence. Then.

"Abby was poisoning me with her sandwiches, Jeannie. A slow-acting but virulent poison that wasn't easily detected once inside the body. Abby made great looking sandwiches, but in her case, they were only beautiful on the outside.

"That's why Ken teases me about my sandwiches. I deliberately make them look bad. I can't make nice looking ones. They would remind me of what Abby tried to do to me."

Mark's eyes shifted back and forth across the compound for several long moments, before he turned them toward Jeannie.

"Abby's psychiatrist told me that Abby had multiple personalities, vying for control, but the only one who was powerful enough to overcome Abby's resistance was Anastasia. He said there was no way that Abby could ever live a normal life unless she drove Anastasia out for good. He felt that if we could force the two different personalities to meet together, Abby might possibly weaken her alter ego enough, so she could drive it away."

Mark looked down quickly, then looked up.

"It didn't work, Jeannie. There was such a vast gulf between them, that it was impossible. When the two polar opposites met, the Abby side, the gentle, kind Abby side, couldn't survive. But she couldn't allow the cruel, evil Anastasia side to rule either. And, so, I guess Abby took both personalities inside herself."

Mark was looking at Jeannie, but he wasn't saying anything. The silence went on for a long time and Jeannie had almost convinced herself he wasn't going to say any more, when he opened his mouth and started to speak again.

"She ran away from herself, Jeannie. To somewhere where no one else can follow. And the woman, who was once called Abby is no longer here. She's Abby's shell. The real Abby's gone."

Mark bent his head and buried his face in his hands. His shoulders shook, as silent sobs racked his body. And Jeannie reached out to him. She gently placed her hand on his and he lifted his eyes to meet hers.

"Abby's been like that for three years now and I've been coming up here every couple of weeks. And, secretly, I've been hoping that Abby might be here to greet me someday. The real Abby. The sweet Abby. The gentle Abby."

Mark sighed.

"But, as I was driving to Boston, after Marjory told me what had happened, between you, and Cal, I had a lot of time to think, really think, about Abby, about our relationship, and I realized that the Abby, who I married, was never coming back.

Mark's eyes flicked toward the ground then slowly raised themselves to look at Jeannie.

"I had to let her go."

Mark's eyes studied Jeannie, for a long time, before he spoke again.

"Until I met you, I had been living in nowhere land, afraid to have any sort of feelings for another woman. But you changed that. From the very first. Something about you attracted me, but I didn't want to be attracted, to become involved, to care for you, and I wanted to keep us from getting to close.

"But, of course, I couldn't make it work, and I kept coming back again and again. I couldn't seem to get enough of you. And, then, when we, on the last day, when we..."

Mark stopped and focused his eyes on Jeannie's

"I love you, Jeannie. I think I have from the very beginning. But it was impossible for me to love you. I still had an albatross fastened around my neck. And every time I looked at you, I would feel this overwhelming sense of dread. Of terror, really, I felt I couldn't trust my judgment, because of the mistake I'd made with her. And I felt that, since I'd been so wrong about her, so blind that I hadn't been able to see things that were right in front of my eyes."

Mark's eyes were imbued with a reflective melancholia.

"A long time ago, when my father was still alive, there was this young lioness. She gave birth to a cub, but she was in labor for a long time and it was a very difficult time for her cub.

"The cub never recovered from its ordeal. It was weak and sickly, and it died a short time after it was born.

The lioness was young, and it was her first cub, and she couldn't seem to get past the fact that her cub was dead. So, she continued to act as if it were alive. She carried it around, groomed it, laid beside it, even tried to get it to suckle, but the cub was dead, it just lay there, and she didn't seem to realize it was never going to do the things she wanted it to do.

"The other keepers, who worked with my father, wanted to take the cub away from her. They believed that separating her from her cub would force her to accept its death. But my father didn't agree. He told the others to leave her be, because, she needed to deal with the cub's death on her own terms. And, so, the keepers kept their distance and, as it turned out, my father was right. After a couple of days, the lioness just set the cub down in the straw and just walked away. She never went back.

"As I was driving to Boston, that day, I was thinking about that lioness and I came to realize that, what she'd done, I'd have to do too. I had to accept the fact that Abby was dead, at least to me and I could never have any sort of a meaningful relationship, until I let her go."

Mark's brow pinched together.

"But, just because I'd decided what to do, it didn't necessarily follow that all my problems had been resolved. Because they weren't. I still had to overcome my fears, my insecurities, my feelings of failure. To move on with my life, to leave my cub lying on the straw, so to speak, and allow myself to become involved with another woman.

"I was still dealing with that when I was driving up here. That's why I didn't speak. I had serious misgivings about introducing you to Abby."

Jeannie could see determination and earnestness in Mark's eyes.

"I think I'm ready to move forward now, Jeannie. I really believe that. But, I'm not completely whole. I still have my demons to wrestle with."

Mark sighed.

"I think I'm ready to leave that part of my life behind me now. And to accept what has happened. Abby's not a part of my present. She belongs in my past."

Mark tipped his head then and lowered his eyes to study his hands. He held that pose for a long time, until Jeannie reached out and put her arm around his shoulders. They stood up and walked slowly towards Mark's truck. They both got inside and, as they drove out of the compound, Jeannie looked out and saw Helen watching them from the doorway. She could see that Helen realized she would probably never see Mark again. He was never coming back to Abby. And Jeannie felt a small, but cautious measure of relief about that. She realized Mark had started on the long road to healing himself. He had confronted the monster that had stolen his love for a woman from him, and now he was striving to be free. Jeannie wasn't quite sure what that would mean for her and Mark, but she didn't want to think about that now. For the present, she just wanted to go back to the university.

They reached the highway and Mark turned onto it. They were heading back toward Montpelier. Jeannie smiled a faint, cautious smile and looked across the cab at Mark.

Dear reader,

I hope you have enjoyed this story. If so, I would very much appreciate if you would tell your friends about it. Or, if you could, send me a short email to let me know what you liked. And, even if you didn't like the story very much, I would appreciate your comments about that too.

You can drop me a line at olerws@gmail.com

Thanks,

Ron Stevenson

Walnut Creek, CA

