

Mortal Mistakes

by

Billie Doyle

A story of love, mystery, intrigue, human frailty and spiritual awakening.

Published by Billie Doyle at Smashwords

Copyright 2012 by Billie Doyle

This book is fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are fictional and are the product of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual places or people living or dead is strictly coincidental.

All rights are reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form.

Preface

Judge not, that ye be not judged.

This story is not about legal aspects of our emotional presumptions. It's about the real life consequences of the judgments that we all make about others. Sometimes, the smallest judgment can have tragic consequences. Perhaps that's why we have been warned against judging.

Karen Bronsky lived an enviable life with a successful devoted husband and a darling child. But something caused her to want just a little more. Karen must lose part of her life to find what's really important to her.

Jan Murray thought that she had everything that she needed for happiness. She has looks that most young women would envy. She never knew what it was like to be unnoticed by men. But she will learn that true happiness is not found in the adoration of physical appearances.

Stan Bronsky is a good man and husband. He is hard driving and has been successful in business. But he will learn that success can be fleeting and very costly when he experiences a momentary lapse of judgment and character.

Robert Louis Gatewood suffered tragic early life experiences and has carried scars that have shaped his thinking and behavior. He will find new direction in an unexpected moment of encounter.

As the lives of these four people weave together through what they perceive to be chance circumstances, they will experience a plethora of emotional experiences and share the inevitable consequences of being misjudged, or of having misjudged another.

*****

Mortal Mistakes

Chapter 1

Huge fluffy snowflakes floated gently to the ground in Indian Lake Park. A four inch blanket of snow covered the landscape of the public venue on an early December day. Limbs of evergreen trees sagged under the weight of the heavy snow. Many of the hardwood trees in the park still wore clumps of leaves which caused their limbs to bend under the heavy burden of the clinging snow. Near the center of the park, a five acre lake rested motionless. It reflected picturesque surroundings like a giant mirror. Throughout the park, children and adults happily enjoyed the first big snow of the season. The Bronsky family played near the eastern end of the park.

"Stan, be careful now," Karen Bronsky shouted through cupped mittens! Don't let her fall off the sleigh!"

Stan Bronsky waved back to his wife. He strained to see her pretty face through the dense snowflakes. Then he turned his attention to the little girl beside him who stared with fascination at the aimless flakes that seemed in no hurry to reach the ground. Jenny Bronsky extended her small hands trying to catch elusive flakes. Stan smiled down at her. His dimpled face always appeared to be lightly tanned, and it seemed more so today because of cold air and activity. His mid-thirties had produced just a sprinkling of gray in his brown hair. Stan was six feet one, trim and fit. Karen always liked that he was tall. She stood just a fraction over five feet three. His stature always gave her a comforting feeling of security.

Their daughter Jenny was twenty six months old. She was dressed in a hot pink snow suit and white boots. Jenny's blue eyes, like her fathers, sparkled wide with excitement as she and Stan darted their heads to and fro trying to catch snowflakes on their tongues. The little girl waved to her mother as she and her daddy prepared to launch their sleigh from the highest elevation in the park.

The small hill was only a dozen feet in elevation above a softball diamond at the bottom of the gentle incline. Stan had to give their sleigh a good push, just to get it started down the slope. But to Jenny, the little promontory was a treacherous mountain.

"Don't worry Karen, Jenny will be just fine," Stan shouted back.

Jenny squealed with excitement, as they began their ride.

When they reached the bottom, near Karen, Stan deliberately cast himself off the sleigh with Jenny in his arms. He continued to roll himself and Jenny toward Karen and almost succeeded in his mischievous attempt to bowl her over. She jumped backwards, pointing at him, and presenting a mock scowl on her face.

"You!" she exclaimed.

Karen's face looked younger than her thirty three years. Her face was framed by the golden fur trimmed hood of her jacket and her medium blonde hair, which contrasted with her dark brown eyes. Her natural hair color had been masked for a couple of years since Stan noticed the first hint of gray. She surprised him by switching from her natural chestnut color to frosted blonde. He liked it right away and discouraged any further change. The soft smooth skin of her cheeks was rosy from the cold air.

On their next ride down the slope, all three Bronskys crowded onto their four foot sleigh. Karen sat in front, with Jenny in her lap, which left little space for Stan in back. This time, the sleigh took a errant turn half way down the slope, and all three rolled off together in the snow. Karen landed on her stomach. Her hood slid back on her head exposing part of her hair. Stan quickly straddled her back as he knelt on his knees. He gathered scoops of snow in his gloved hands and pounded it onto the back of her head. Jenny screamed and giggled and joined the fray.

"Stan, stop it!" Karen yelled. "I'll get you for this!"

"Oh, you love it! Now don't you?" he bent over and rasped seductively in her ear. Then he got in a final rub of her hair.

The three scrambled to their feet. The two adults gathered hands full of snow and pummeled each other for several minutes. Then they trudged back up the hill arm in arm. Stan pulled the sleigh with Jenny on board. He mischievously extended his step to trip Karen and she tumbled face first in the snow. As she pushed herself from the ground, she gathered hands full of snow and came up in one swift motion to shove snow into his face with both hands.

"Take that Buster!" she howled.

Fifty yards away, a man stood quietly in the shadow of a large hemlock and peered beneath a limb at the Bronskys. They were completely unaware that they were being watched. His attention was narrowly focused on the little girl.

When the threesome reached the bottom of the slope again, Karen opened a tote bag and poured three cups of hot chocolate from a thermos bottle. Jenny's face brightened at the smell and sight of the inviting beverage.

"Here's one for Pop-pah Bear, one for Mom-ah Bear and one for Ba-by Bear." Karen stretched the words emphatically as she distributed the cups.

Jenny grinned with delight and sipped from her warm cup.

Stan brushed snow from a park bench and they sat down to enjoy their steamy drinks. Jenny sat between her parents. Her little cheeks were rosy. She held her cup with both hands imitating her mother. Karen and Stan admired their cheerful daughter and then flashed loving smiles at each other.

"Stan, you don't think she's getting too cold, do you?"

"No, it's not that cold. And she's wrapped up like an Eskimo. You worry too much."

He wadded a handful of snow and dropped it in Karen's nearly empty cup. That started another snowball throwing melee. This time the snow fight ended with Stan and Karen warmly embracing. She looked affectionately into his eyes and stretched up to kiss him tenderly with open inviting lips. The kiss lingered too long to suit Jenny.

"Unnh! Riiiee!" Jenny whined pointing at the sleigh.

"'Unnh!' O-kay! We'll 'riiide'," Stan mocked as he swept the child up in his arms. He marched up the hill, piggybacking Jenny on his shoulders, while Karen pulled the sleigh behind them.

A pair of fox squirrels scurried in the limbs of a large hickory tree above their path. They seemed to chatter at the threesome below. Their flipping tails brushed snow from the tree limbs.

"Stan, I'm so glad we came out here today, aren't you?"

"Yes, sweetheart, it really has been fun. Jenny's enjoyed it too. Haven't you pumpkin?" Stan swung the toddler off his shoulders.

"Look, Jen! See the squirrels? I think they're laughing at you!" He squatted beside Jenny and pointed up into the tree above.

Jenny grinned at the chattering squirrels momentarily and then was eager to ride down the hill again.

"It just seems like, with your job lately, that we don't get to spend nearly enough time together," Karen continued.

"Yes, you're absolutely right, Kare." Stan had abbreviated Karen's name since they began dating. "But we do have to pay the bills. And it won't always be this way," he assured, looking at his pretty wife's face. "I promise. Let's just make the most of today while we can."

Karen and Jenny boarded the sleigh and Stan pushed behind them to start another trip down the hill. This time he almost ran as he pushed on Karen's back in an attempt to get the sleigh moving extra fast. Just as he was ready to jump on board, he lost his footing. His left foot folded under him and he flailed wildly falling backwards down the hill. He landed on his back and bounced off something hard beneath the snow. The sky turned black and the wind was knocked out of him.

Karen and Jenny reached the bottom of the slope. Both were laughing as they rolled from the sled. Expecting Stan to pounce on them again, Karen looked around to see what had become of him. She saw him lying twisted in the snow and at first thought that that he was play acting. But when he didn't get up, she dropped the sleigh's rope, left Jenny behind, and hurried back up the hill. She dropped to her knees beside him. His face was visibly ashen. His half open eyes looked out of focus. She was beside herself with fear.

"Stan! What's wrong? What happened? Are you hurt? God, Stan, what is it?"

She grabbed his hands. Then she yanked off her mittens and touched his pale face with trembling fingers.

The mysterious observer behind the hemlock, started to move toward Jenny but just as quickly retreated, as Stan slowly sat up and began to collect his senses.

"I— I'm— Whew! I'm alright now, I guess. I slipped and fell. Hit something hard I think." He rubbed the back of his head and neck.

Color was starting to return to his face. Light was coming back into his eyes. He tried to remove the pain from the back of his neck by tilting his head slowly from side to side, as he continued to sit in an awkward position in the snow,.

Jenny managed to climb back up the hill to where her parents were. Thinking that another snow fight had developed, she leaped on top of Stan, knocking him flat in the snow again.

"Wait, Jen. Daddy's hurt." Karen pulled her away.

"Dahhie hurr?" Jenny questioned with a puzzled look.

"Oh, it's okay now, Kare. Really, I'll be fine. Turn her loose."

But, he felt a strange pain lingering deep inside his head.

Jenny laid on his chest and hugged her father. "Daahhie hurrrr!" The little girl whined the words sympathetically. She patted her father's face with the mitten of her left hand and hugged him with her other arm.

"Daddy's fine now, pumpkin. You've made me all well with your nice hug. Thank you." He sat up again.

"Stan, I think we'd better be going." Karen could see that Stan was not fully himself.

He slowly rose to his feet and lifted Jenny in his arms. The three tramped quietly down the hill. Stan's legs felt weak and shaky. His head and neck continued to hurt and caused him to grimace as he collected their equipment and placed it in their car.

From behind a nearby evergreen, a man wearing a baseball cap watched the Bronsky family leave and then he slowly walked away too. He failed to garner either of the Bronsky's attention.

Chapter 2

The sound of Church bells announced public invitation to the Christmas pageant that was about to take place inside the West Brook Christian Church. The old church building was located just a few blocks from the popular new housing development of Eagle Brook where the Bronskys lived. It was only two days until Christmas and the neighborhood was brightly decorated for the holiday.

Along the streets of Eagle Brook, houses sparkled with holiday lights and decorations of festive colors. The Bronsky house was no exception. It was a new cape cod, with white siding and slate blue shingles. Window shutters matched the color of the roof. A bay window offered a street view from the living room. A well-lit and decorated seven foot Scotch Pine Christmas tree could be seen through the bay window from the street. Electric candles, resting in beds of holly, glowed from other windows of the house. Bright green and red garland spiraled four front porch columns.

Six inches of snow covered the lawns of Eagle Brook. Streets had recently been cleared by city snow plows but today's snowfall left a fresh two inches.

"Hurry Stan," Karen called back into the open front door of the Bronsky house from the porch. "We don't want to be late or we may not get a seat. I don't think it's a very large church."

"Be there in a second, Kare, just getting my overcoat."

Stan finished threading his arms into a black alpaca knee length coat as he pulled the front door closed.

Karen wore a red and charcoal plaid wool coat and a white knit scarf. She carried Jenny, who wore a puffy pink and powder blue jacket over bright green corduroy bib overalls.

"Come to me stinker." Stan beckoned to Jenny. He took the toddler from Karen's arms and carried her as they walked briskly in the direction of the church.

A block from the church, they met a group of cheerful carolers singing Silent Night. The group paused to perform a couple of verses for the pleasure of the Bronsky family. Stan, Karen and Jenny returned holiday greetings and applauded zestfully. Then they moved quickly around the group and hastened their pace.

Smiling into Jenny's face, Stan hummed a couple of bars of a Christmas carol, while rocking her to and fro. Then he sang to her, "On the first day of Christmas, my true love gave to me, my little girl Jenny, who has a big grinny, laa la laa la laaa."

He continued to rock his laughing child from side to side and started to sing another verse until Karen elbowed him. She noticed that some people had begun to stare. He just looked at the spectators with a big smile and jovially chimed, "Merr-y Christmas!" That brought warm smiles from the onlookers as well as from Jenny and Karen.

The Bronskys had few choices of seating when they entered the church. It was a historic old building, built in the late nineteenth century. A couple of additions had been made but the original sanctuary could seat fewer than ninety adults in heavy oak pews. Two dozen folding chairs had been squeezed into isles for additional seating on this special occasion. The room was quickly filling to capacity.

The Bronskys were beckoned with warm smiles and a welcoming gesture, to share a pew with an elderly couple. Both had white hair. They rose from their seats where they were snuggled, and exchanged pleasantries with the younger couple and child.

Stan examined the detail of the old oak pew in which they sat. He wondered, how many people, in the long history of the church had sat in the same seat. A small brass plaque was inconspicuously located on the end of each hand made pew denoting the names of benefactors. Similar plaques were located underneath each beautiful stained glass window.

"Stan, look at the old pipe organ," Karen whispered. "It's magnificent. Isn't it?" Actually, all they could see were the organ's pipes. The organ console was off to the side behind a low partition. Some of the dozens of brass pipes appeared to be eight feet tall or more, from where they sat.

Vases of bright red Poinsettias added a bright holiday touch to the church. A tall, tastefully decorated tree occupied a corner of the lofty room. Garlands of colorful beads spiraled the tree. Red bows and golden ornaments hang from it's branches. Around the room, sprinklings of holly and evergreen branches added to the holiday motif. Scents of burning candles mingled with those of fresh cut greenery. The combined smells stirred memories of past Christmas settings.

Hushed conversations were taking place throughout the church as the last seats were taken. Then lights were dimmed and the organist took her seat. The murmuring of the audience ended abruptly with the first few sounds of the organ. As the marvelous old instrument began to play, a choir of two dozen marched into the church and took their positions on a raised platform in front of the audience.

A white haired man with pale blue eyes and a warm smile stepped in front of the choir and spoke. "Welcome to each of you. I am Richard Weecham, pastor here at West Brook. We are honored to have you with us, for our Christmas program. I think that you will find this evening's program to be both entertaining and perhaps a little different than you might have expected. We sincerely hope that you are blessed by being here."

The next forty five minutes were filled with beautiful Christmas hymns interspersed with narrative of the first Christmas story, and with other readings from the Bible. A tall thin man stood off to one side of the choir behind a lectern and read alternately from a prepared script, and from a large Bible, between songs.

"Why do we have this celebration of Christmas?" the reader asked. The Bible tells us, that in the beginning, God created people for his own pleasure. Throughout history and still today, some people deny the existence of God. The Bible, however, tells us, that the created evidences of God are clearly visible and that we can know that there is a God by observing the things that He has made. It further says that people who refuse to believe in God are without excuse." The reader paused as he looked at the audience. "No one has an excuse for not believing in God." He paused again.

"God wanted to have a eternal loving relationship with every person to whom he gave life, including each of us. But, starting with the first two people, Adam and Eve, we humans rejected God. In effect, we've told Him, 'We don't need you, God. We're going to do things our way.' The Bible tells us, in Psalm 14, that God looked down from heaven to see if anyone wanted Him, but no one did. Everyone went his or her own way. Everyone disobeyed God, and not one person was good."

The choir sang another Christmas hymn. Karen directed a puzzled look at Stan.

The narrator continued, "We have all separated ourselves from God by disobedience of his commandments. That disobedience is called sin. From the beginning, God warned that the punishment for sin would be loss of fellowship with him and eternal spiritual death. There are no exceptions! None of us can undo our own personal sin, either by remorse or by good behavior."

Another hymn was sung by the choir.

The reader continued, "Each of us is eternally separated from God, because we have chosen self-will over God's will for us. So, how could anyone, including any of us in this room, ever have a restored relationship with God, and avoid the sentence of eternal death?" He paused as he slowly looked over the audience again.

Another hymn, Nothing But The Blood, was sung.

"Bluuhh?" Jenny questioned her mother with a puzzled look.

Stan and Karen, as well as a number of others in the room looked at each other with disconcerted expressions. As the pastor promised, this was indeed a different Christmas program than the audience expected.

"Only God could fix the mess that we humans created by our disobedience. But it was his plan to fix the problem, before time ever began. He sent his own son, Jesus, to teach us how to live, and to ultimately take upon himself the punishment for our sins. Jesus, came to earth as a little baby in humble circumstances and after living a life of perfect obedience to God, submitted himself to a horrible death on the cross to pay the penalty for our sins. The Gospel of Luke in the Bible tells us this: 'And in the sixth month the angel Gabriel was sent from God unto a city of Galilee, named Nazareth, to a virgin espoused to a man whose name was Joseph, of the house of David; and the virgin's name was Mary. And the angel said unto her, Fear not, Mary: for you have found favor with God. And you shall conceive, and bring forth a son, and shall call his name Jesus.'"

A Christmas carol, Away in the Manger, was sung by the choir. Some people in the audience hummed or mouthed the words of the song along with the choir.

In front of the choir, in concert with readings and songs, small children acted out the manger scene and the visit by wise men, as described in Bible verses that were read. When a blanket wrapped doll representing Jesus was lifted from the straw filled manger, scattered applause broke out among the audience.

All were invited to sing the final song along with the choir. The words of the song, Joy To The World, were printed on the last page of the program. Stan held Jenny with his left arm and circled the back of Karen's waist with his other arm as they stood and tepidly joined their voices with those of the choir.

Pastor Weecham spoke briefly after the last song ended. He told the audience that the joy of Christmas was only possible because of the death and resurrection of Jesus. Then he prayed that all who were present, and their families, would be blessed with the peace of Jesus the Christ during the Christmas season. Several eyes were moist when the service was concluded and the audience filed out of the church.

"That was a really nice program," Karen said to Stan as they walked away from the church. "We should go to church more often. It would be good for Jenny." Her statement was followed by silence except for the sound of crunching snow beneath their feet.

"You're probably right," Stan thoughtfully broke the silence. "I suppose it would." But their next church visit would not be until Easter Sunday.

*****

On the last morning of December, Karen's mother, Alice Dorhman, came to visit and to watch Jenny later in the evening, so that Karen and Stan could go out to celebrate the event.

Snow was falling and the city's snow moving equipment had been busy all day, clearing streets and roads. Stan labored outside the Bronsky home to shovel snow from their driveway and sidewalks. He allowed Jenny, bundled in a bright red snow suit, to play in the snow, while he shoveled.

As he pitched a shovel of snow, a sudden jolt of pain shot through his head. His knees buckled and he would have collapsed were it not for leaning on the handle of his shovel.

"God almighty!" Stan muffled the exclamation for Jenny's sake.

Jenny continued to play in the snow, unaware of Stan's pain or utterance.

Ed Johnston, a neighbor, was shoveling snow from his driveway. He noticed Stan leaning on his shovel but assumed that he was just taking a breather while watching his child play in the snow.

After a couple of minutes Stan's pain began to ease. What the devil was that, he wondered?

The worst of the pain was gone and Stan hesitantly continued his work. When he finished with shoveling, he helped Jenny build a snowman. He found a couple of orange golf balls in the garage for the snowman's eyes, and a green tennis ball for its nose. He formed a smiling mouth with a piece of old garden hose. Then he plopped a golf cap on top of the four foot creature.

Ed Johnston walked over to examine the creation.

"What do you think, Ed?" Stan asked, "Looks just like you, doesn't he?" Stan and Ed both laughed.

"You know what Stan? I think, with that big nose, the dang thing looks more like Susan than me!" Ed laughed. He was referring to his wife.

"Hang on a minute," he said. He hurried to his garage and brought back a string mop. He removed the baseball cap from the snowman and jammed the mop handle down behind the snowman. He spread the mop's strings over its head.

"Now that's more like her!" Ed bellowed. Both men laughed at the improvement.

"Ed, this has to be a first around here. A snow woman! I don't think I've ever heard of a snow woman!"

They continued to laugh. Then the two men and Jenny started playfully throwing snowballs at the snow woman and at each other, until Karen called for Stan and Jenny to come inside for lunch.

"See ya later Ed. Take Sue with you, if you like." Stan laughed.

"No thanks Stan. You can keep her," he offered. "Happy New Year!" Ed laughed again.

"Same to you, Ed."

Alice and Karen had just finished making a pot of homemade chicken noodle soup. The aroma of onions, sage and chicken, filled the kitchen.

"Mm mm! That smells great," Stan said, as Karen placed a bowl of steaming soup in front of him.

"Mm mm!" Jenny mocked.

After they had their fill of soup and hot chocolate, Stan and Jenny retired to the family room and played with Jenny's new doll house. It was a Christmas gift from Alice and Papaw Fred.

"He really loves that child," Alice remarked as she and Karen washed and dried dishes. "I don't think that I've ever seen a man so in love with his child." She smiled at Karen.

"I know, Mother. We both worship her. She's the greatest."

"What did you and Stan get each other for Christmas?" Alice asked.

"Not much really. Our Christmas is Jenny. Oh, I got Stan a sweater and he gave me a nice necklace. But making sure Jenny has fun and good memories is all that's important to us," Karen explained.

"Where are you two going tonight, honey?"

"We're going to a place called Selly's. It's not too far from here. We've heard that they have good food and I think they have a small dance floor and band."

"So, you're going with friends?"

"No. We really haven't made any close friends in the neighborhood, even though we've been here, gosh let's see, seven months. We all work. Everyone around here works. So there's not much time for socializing. Anyhow, we're not much for partying. So we'll just go have a nice dinner and enjoy some music, maybe dance a time or two. We won't be out too late."

"Listen Karen, you two are still young. You need to get out and have all the fun you can. Life slips by too fast. Before you know it, the years slip by and you're too old to enjoy doing things together."

Alice was fifty two and her husband, Fred, was seven years older. Both of them always enjoyed dancing and partying until the last few years. Alice was still healthy and still effervescent and free spirited. But because of arthritis, Fred no longer enjoyed physical activity. He entertained himself with sedentary hobbies and interests like books, television and computer.

"I know Mom, but things are different today. Jobs are more demanding. Both husbands and wives have to work just to keep up with expenses. And those of us with children just don't have the time and energy to work and lead active social lives too. But Stan and I enjoy our lives together, especially since we have Jenny."

Alice shook her head, and formed a disapproving frown. This was not a new subject. She brought it up with Karen several times before.

Stan nodded off on the couch with Jenny asleep in his lap.

"Listen Karen, children don't hold a marriage together, no matter how much you love them. Good marriages are held together by love, by working together, and by playing together." Alice punctuated her conclusion with a firm nod.

"Mother, I hope you're not saying that you think we don't have a good marriage. You're wrong about that. Why would you even think such a thing?"

"You've heard the old saying, 'All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy'. Well, it's true. Your father and I spent as much time dancing and bowling and going to movies with each other and our friends, as we did raising you and your brother."

Karen walked to the doorway and looked in at Stan and Jenny. They looked so content and peaceful on the couch. She realized that she and Stan didn't do much together, without Jenny. But she was content with their lifestyle and believed that Stan was too. Neither of them were the least bit interested in bowling. And movies weren't much better. She resented her mother's implications. Still, she had to admit that her parents had always enjoyed a great marriage relationship.

"Mother, I really wish you wouldn't bring this up every time we're together."

She didn't sound convincing.

"Honey, I'm only interested in what's best for you, and you know that. I'll hush now."

"Good. Now how about you helping me make a cheesecake. Stan and Jenny will like that, and you can take some home to Daddy." Karen was glad to change the subject and move on. But she did find herself trying to remember the last time that she and Stan did anything together without Jenny. Was it last New Year's eve? No. I think it was a company dinner. I wonder if it ever bothers Stan that we don't do more together. Oh well.

Chapter 3

The fifth day of February, Stan's birthday, was the coldest day of the year. Karen, finished her work at the Chantley Gallery, got into her car and shivered from the bitter chill as she started the engine. The cars seat was cold as ice and stiff as wood, and the steering wheel was even hard to turn. She drove the short distance to Mrs. Obenhauer's nursery to pick up Jenny while the car achieved a measure of warmth.

After retrieving Jenny, Karen drove to Moore's Supermarket in the Parke Plaza shopping center. She picked up a birthday cake for Stan, which she had ordered by phone the day before. Then she selected a pound of fresh ground beef from the meat counter and some garlic bread from the frozen food section. In the checkout lane, she allowed Jenny to have a candy sucker to silence her determined pleading.

Karen hurried home and began preparing spaghetti sauce and meatballs for supper. She followed an old family recipe which was a favorite of Stan's. Soon a delicious bouquet of Italian spices filled the kitchen of their home. When the cooking was complete, she set the stove's controls to keep the food warm while she finished other chores.

She gave Jenny an early bath and dressed her in pink flannel pajamas. Then she settled the child on the family room couch and started a video to entertain her. Karen hurried to shower and dress herself in a black knee length dress. It was sleeveless with narrow straps and low cut. It was out of place for a cold winter evening, but she knew that Stan liked it. He bought the dress for her before she became pregnant with Jenny. The dress still fit her perfectly and accentuated her near perfect figure. After the birth of her only child, her shape soon returned to petite size four. She put on black heels that complimented the dress and used a perfume that Stan gave her for Christmas a year ago. She checked herself in a full length mirror and then returned to the kitchen, where she prepared a plate of spaghetti and meatballs for Jenny.

"Jen, you ready for some good sketti?" she called.

"Skehhie!" Jenny said excitedly, and hurried into the kitchen. Her face beamed with anticipation. She loved spaghetti as much as Stan did.

Karen lifted her darling child up and sat her on a stool at the breakfast bar.

"Let's put a bib on you, Jen. We don't want to get sketti on your nice clean PJ's, now do we?

While Jenny was eating, Karen set two plates, wine glasses, linen napkins and silverware on their dining room table. Then she took two candle holders and candles from a cabinet and placed them on the table and lit the candles. She glanced at a wall clock. It was seven-fifteen.

Where is he? Is he going to be late again? This is the third time this week. Her face clouded with the disappointment she felt.

By eight, Jenny was tucked in bed where Karen read to her from a little book about bunnies until Jenny fell asleep. Karen slipped quietly out of the child's bedroom and sat on the couch in the family room adjacent to the kitchen and paged through a magazine. How much longer? she wondered glancing at a wall clock. How could he forget his own birthday? He's never done that before. By eight-thirty she was asleep on the couch.

The kitchen door bell chimed at eight-forty. Karen woke and shook off the sleep. She wondered why Stan would come to the back door, rather than entering through the side door from the garage as he usually did. Although she was disappointed that he was late, she hurried to the door and eagerly opened it, anxious to welcome him.

"Happy birth—" she started to say.

*****

Officers Milo Terley and Jeffrey Mason finished issuing a speeding citation and resumed their evening patrol on Highway 85.

"373," their radio squawked.

"373," Mason replied.

"Where are you?" the dispatcher asked.

"We're rolling on 85-W."

"We have a 1033 in Eagle Brook. Possible intruder on site," the dispatcher reported. She read the address.

"We're on it. ETA is three minutes," Mason replied.

"319 can you backup 373?"

"10-4."

It sounded like a typical call to officers Mason and Terley.

"1033. Probably a neighbor's cat ran across someone's roof, Mason mocked. He flipped on the bubble lights as Terley gunned the patrol car around a tractor-trailer.

A frightened woman in her twenties met them at the front door.

"Are you the lady who called 911?" Mason asked.

"Yes I am," she blurted. She was holding a toddler on her hip. The little girl stared with wide eyed interest at the two officers and the patrol car's flashing lights.

"What's the problem mam?"

"I was in the kitchen and just walked into the front room to check on my little girl and that's when I saw him."

"Saw who mam?" Terley asked.

"I don't know who he was. He was right against the front window there." She pointed. "His face was right up against it and he was staring at my baby."

"Had you ever seen this person before mam?" Mason shined his flashlight around the front porch and adjacent lawn.

"No. I told you I don't know him. I've never seen him before."

"What did he do? Where did he go?"

"I have no idea. When I saw him, he took off."

"Did he say anything? Threaten you in any way? Did he do anything, except look in your window?"

"No. I told you. He just took off over that way." She pointed.

"So he didn't actually do anything that threatened you? Did he have anything in his hands, a weapon of any kind?"

"No. He just took off when he saw me."

"This is 319. We're with 383," Terley's shoulder radio squawked.

"Mam would you give officer Mason your full name please." Terley walked out to the street to speak to the arriving officers in unit 319. Neighbors began to gawk at the two patrol cars with their flashing lights.

"Is there anyone else in the house mam?" Mason asked.

"No. Just us two. My husband is working late."

"Can you describe what the man looked like?"

"Well, let me see. He was about your height. He was wearing a dark overcoat and a baseball cap. Red I think it was; or maybe orange. He was probably in his late twenties, or early thirties."

The second patrol car doused it's flashing lights and quietly drove away.

"Did you see the color of his hair? Any facial hair, beard, mustache?"

"No. I don't think so. It was so fast. I mainly noticed his eyes. Piercing eyes. Looking right at my baby." She hugged the child closer and gave her a peck on the cheek.

"383 to base," Mason spoke into his two way.

"Go ahead 383."

"Notify any units in this area to watch for a suspicious acting white male about 5-8, late twenties, dark overcoat, red or orange baseball cap, wanted for questioning. We're through here."

"10-4, 383."

Officer Mason pocketed his pad and pen. "Ms. Graham, we'll look around the neighborhood for anyone matching your description. It's very unlikely that he'll return but we'll patrol the neighborhood for a while just in case. Lock your doors and don't hesitate to call again if you see him or see anything suspicious. Okay?"

"Yes sir. Thank you. I will."

*****

"Hi Karen," Susan Johnston cut Karen's birthday greeting short as the door swung fully open. Sue did a quick double take of Karen. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything," she said with a impish look, cocking her head to one side and smiling. Susan had a reputation of being a nosy neighborhood gossip and wise-guy.

"No, Sue. Come on in. Stan's not home yet," Karen replied. They both noted the sound of sirens nearby.

"Really?" Susan didn't try to hide her surprise at Karen's revelation and gave a brief forced smile. "Well he must not know what's waiting for him," she said with obvious innuendo as she wagged a raised forefinger. She gave Karen's attire another conspicuous once over and nodded toward the dining room table and lit candles. She sniffed her nose demonstrably acknowledging the fragrance of Karen's perfume.

"Hmm, smells really nice Karen, the pasta too." She wagged another pointing finger at Karen.

"It's Stan's birthday," Karen explained.

Why am I telling her that. It's none of her business. She failed to understand why she felt any need to explain the special setting to Sue.

"Okay. I won't stay but a jiff, Karen. I'm taking up a collection for the PTA. It's that time of year. I know Jenny's a long way from going to school yet, but whatever you can give will be appreciated. Where is that husband of yours anyhow?"

"I guess he's working late again," Karen said.

Knowing Susan as she did, Karen immediately wished that she had worded that differently. 'I guess?' Why did I say that? She took a couple of dollars from a ceramic canister on the kitchen counter, handed the money to Susan, and took a suggesting step toward the door.

"Thanks Karen. You say Stan's working late a lot? You probably ought to check your doors and windows good. There's been some neighborhood reports of some kind of Peeping Tom weirdo. Janie White said the cops call him the Baseball Cap Peeper. That might be what those sirens were about.

"Peeping Tom?" Karen asked.

"Yep. Meg White was one I heard about that saw him looking into her bedroom and called the cops. And listen honey, you better keep an eye on that good looking husband of yours too," Susan said with a wink and smile. "He's a hunk, you know."

Karen's face flushed.

"I'd better be getting on. Need to hit a few more houses before it gets too late. Say hi to Stan for me," she chuckled, "when he finally gets home from work; or whatever he's doing." She snickered again as she turned and opened the door to leave. She didn't see blistering anger flare up on Karen's face. It was all Karen could do to keep from slamming the door behind her.

The nerve of that blabber-mouth. 'He's a hunk, you know.' '...what ever he's doing.' Susan's seed of suspicion quickly sprouted.

"Where the devil is he anyhow?" Karen said aloud.

The combination of her surprise dinner plans going sour, and her nosy neighbor's chattering suggestions caused unusual emotions to flare up in Karen. She was normally composed and not easily flustered, but the exchange with Susan infuriated her. She hastily stuffed the uneaten food into the refrigerator. She slammed doors and drawers shut as she put away dishes and utensils. She made a quick inspection of windows and doors and then poured a glass of wine for herself. She stomped to the bedroom where she changed into pajamas. She laid on the bed with a magazine and tried to relax. By nine thirty, the wine did it's work and she was asleep. Stan slipped quietly into the house a half hour later and went straight to bed.

*****

Before Karen woke, Stan was up, showered and dressed. He opened the refrigerator door to get some juice, and saw the skillet of left over spaghetti and meat sauce. He swiped his finger in the sauce and licked it, regretting that he hadn't made it home in time for dinner.

"I see you did finally make it home," Karen said with cool sarcasm, as she stepped into the kitchen doorway.

She leaned against the doorway with both hands in her terry housecoat pockets and looked at Stan. Her hair was disheveled and her jaws were tense.

"Oh, morning Kare," he said as he closed the refrigerator. "I'm sorry. I got carried away at work and the time just flew by. Before I knew it, it was after nine."

He moved toward her to offer apologetic affection but she brushed by him and started the coffee maker. Then Stan noticed the birthday cake on the counter.

Jesus, I completely forgot! No wonder she's miffed. "I'm sorry, Kare," he repeated.

"You could have called, Stan. But, I guess I'm learning not to expect it." She didn't look in his direction as she spoke the chilling words.

"You're learning what? I said I'm sorry Kare. I really am. I honestly forgot the date. Honey, I appreciate you fixing spaghetti for me and the cake too. And I know you have trouble understanding it, but my work is so intense and I get so wrapped up in what I'm doing— This project that I'm working on, the Compton job is behind schedule and it's really putting a lot of pressure on me. I just grabbed a snack out of a machine at work for supper."

"Are you sure it's just work, Stan?"

Her tone and words were unmistakably accusative. She poured a cup of coffee, walked to the breakfast bar, and sat on a stool. She studied his face for any sign of deception or guilt.

"What do you mean Karen?" Her question chafed him. "What the devil do you think it is? Listen, I don't enjoy the doggone pressure and all the hours I have to work. It's just what it takes. It's my job. It pays the bills." He glanced at his watch. "I've got to go. I'll be late for a meeting with Charlie and some people from Compton." He softened his tone. "I'll try to get away early today. Maybe we can do something together, go out to eat or something."

He came near to kiss her but she brought her coffee cup to her mouth. He gave her a quick peck on the cheek and left. Her only response was to stare into her coffee cup as though it would yield an answer to questions that were vexing her. She continued to sip coffee in deep thought. After a while, she cooled and began to wonder if she was just being silly and overly demanding. But then she recalled the effort that she had put into preparing last evening's supper for Stan, and her irritation returned. You better keep an eye on that good looking husband of yours. He's a hunk you know. The seed of suspicion had fully sprouted and was growing with the water of circumstance.

Just then, Jenny came into the kitchen carrying a stuffed giraffe and the sight of her brightened Karen's spirit and relieved her suspicious thoughts. She was glad that she wasn't scheduled to work today. She would enjoy the day with her darling child.

Stan phoned home later in the day. "Kare, listen, I'm sorry but I may be just a little late again, not more than a hour or two. Can we just have the left over spaghetti?" he asked. "Maybe we can go out to dinner this weekend."

"Fine. Why not." she answered, not trying to hide her frustration. She heard a woman's voice laughing in the background. "Who's that laughing, Stan? What's going on down there?" she asked. Her face flushed.

"Oh, it's just Jan and Keith," he answered. Stan should have sensed a need to elaborate, but he didn't. He was too preoccupied with his work.

"See you tonight, Kare." He hung up.

Karen banged the phone down. 'Just Jan'? Disturbing suspicious thoughts about Jan Murray, flashed through Karen's mind. The sound of Jan's laughter echoed like a rifle shot in the Grand Canyon.

While she was doing laundry, Karen recalled the first time that she met Stan's co-worker. His employer held a appreciation dinner for employees for a outstanding business year. Karen and Stan were seated at a table with Stan's manager, Bob Steen, his wife Linda, and two other couples. They were discussing some work issues when a beautiful young woman, in a low-cut skin tight dress, stepped behind Stan's chair, reached around his face, and covered his eyes with her hands.

"Okay, guess who," she drawled.

"Aw, Jan, I'd know that Texas drawl anywhere," Stan answered. She removed her hands, bent her face over his head from behind, and smiled at him. His head brushed against her low cut blouse as he looked up and returned her smile. Karen's face reddened.

Stan introduced Jan and Karen with a flare that reflected the two martinis that he had consumed all too quickly. "Jan, this is my beautiful wife, the renowned Mrs. Karen Bronsky. Karen, this is Ms. Jan Murray, my teammate in programming adventure at CTC."

Jan stepped toward Karen to shake hands with her. When she did, a perfectly shaped and beautifully tanned leg revealed itself through a teasing split in her shimmery red skirt.

It seemed to Karen, that Jan's southern drawl sounded a bit forced. It also seemed to Karen, that Jan could have dressed more conservatively for a family event. Later, as they drove home, Karen voiced her opinions about Jan and her attire to Stan.

"Oh Karen, Jan is just, well, she's just Jan. I doubt that she can help her accent. She always sounds like that. She is a little full of herself. And as for her choice of clothes, well, her clothes are just like her, loud and showy. But I don't pay much attention to her or her clothes. We don't work all that close. She and Keith work closer. She's never been much help to me. I'm not sure that she's much help to anyone else, to be honest. They probably hired her for her looks. Charlie is like that. I try to just do my job and let sleeping dogs lie."

"So you're honestly not attracted to her at all?" Karen asked, checking his face. "I find that awfully hard to believe."

"Trust me, Karen, I'm not the least bit interested in Jan Murray." He put his arm around her as they waited for a traffic light to change. "Jan Murray is not my type. You're my type sweetheart, and you're all the woman I'll ever need."

'Not the least bit interested,' Karen replayed the words to herself, as she folded clothes. She reflected on their phone conversation and Stan's explanation about the laughter in the background. 'Just Jan.' With a scowl on her face, she repeated Stan's words in her mind. She did so several times during the afternoon while she occupied herself with house cleaning chores. Just Jan. She tried to forget about the phone call and the suspicious laughter but it seemed that the harder she tried, the more the unwanted thoughts kept popping into her mind, like weeds in her flower garden.

Stan was home by 7:30. Karen and Jenny had already eaten. Karen was bathing Jenny. This time there were no fancy table settings, no provocative dress, no enticing perfume, no candles or wine. Stan ate alone at the breakfast bar. After he had enjoyed two helpings of spaghetti, he rinsed his plate and moved to the family room where he turned on a TV and sat down on the couch. He channel surfed for a bit and settled on a wildlife program. Karen finished bathing Jenny and dressed her in pajamas. The intensity of Karen's irritation had gradually subsided. She let the toddler join her father in the family room while she took a bath.

Jenny sat on the couch close to Stan and played with a doll, while he watched television. At the next break, he tickled Jenny's foot and she started giggling. He wiggled the tickling finger teasingly over her and dived it toward her tummy which produced even louder giggling, as they both fully expected. The tickle finger then hid behind a throw pillow and leaped out to relentlessly attack her ribs. She laughed so hard she could hardly breathe.

Nightfall was settling in, and Stan stretched his right arm to turn on a lamp by the side of the couch. As he did, a paralyzing pain shot up the back of his head. His arms flailed involuntarily and he accidentally struck Jenny with an elbow while at the same time knocking the lamp over with his other arm. The porcelain lamp shattered on the hardwood floor and it's bulb popped like a firecracker. Jenny, more scared than actually hurt, let out a shriek and Stan, at the same time, yelled, "Jesus Christ!" Karen rushed into the room still buttoning her pajama top. Jenny ran, crying and reaching out to her mother.

"What happened?" Karen anxiously demanded, sweeping Jenny up into her arms and looking at Stan with a stern accusing look.

Stan was bent forward with his hands cupped around the top of his head. He was unable to speak because of intense pain. Jenny didn't realize that Stan had struck her because it happened so fast.

"Stan, what the devil happened in here?" Karen repeated her interrogation. Her irritation at Stan was back in full force. She hugged Jenny close and comforted her.

Stan regained enough of his senses to speak.

"I'm sorry Kare. Bad pain in my head" he grimaced without looking up, "I accidentally knocked the lamp over. I guess the noise scared Jen. Would you get me a couple of aspirin?"

He didn't realize that he had accidentally struck the child.

"You scared me to death, Stan!" She continued to calm and comfort Jenny. "It's okay honey; just a boo boo."

"Could you please bring me some aspirin, Karen," Stan pleaded, motioning toward the kitchen. The pain was persistent.

When Karen had sufficiently comforted Jenny, until her crying had completely stopped, she found a bottle of aspirin and tossed it to Stan. He managed a word of thanks, but wondered why she seemed to be so angry with him over a silly lamp.

"You need to get a broom and clean up your mess," Karen commanded.

Chapter 4

On a windy Saturday in March, Stan and Jenny walked to an empty field near the railroad, behind the Benton's home, carrying a kite. It was white with a red tail and had a big picture of a Dalmatian on it. While father and daughter played with the kite, Karen went shopping for Easter clothes for Jenny. Stan operated the kite until it was airborne. As it swung to and fro in the wind, he made barking sounds to entertain Jenny. She laughed and imitated his barking sounds. Once the kite had achieved a good altitude, he let her hold the string.

"You have to keep the string tight Jen and don't let go. We don't want our doggie to get away."

But it wasn't long until Jenny allowed slack in the string and the kite began to descend. Stan swept her up with his arms. In a rushed attempt to tighten the string, he ran into the wind, and away from the kite. She giggled gleefully as she saw the kite begin to fly higher and felt the tugging of the string. He watched the kite over his shoulder, as he ran, and failed to notice a depression in the ground. His foot found the hole and they both tumbled to the ground. As they fell, Jenny let go of the string.

"Are you okay Jen?" he asked. He quickly picked her up, checked her face, and dusted her off.

"I ohkaay," she answered and giggled. Then she realized that she no longer held the kite string. The kite was rapidly gaining altitude and distance.

"Unhhhh!" She complained, pointing at the wayward kite.

"Unh, you're right pumpkin. Our doggie kite is gone. Dog gone!" Stan said, as he shook his head. "Dog gone."

*****

Karen browsed through children clothes at a discount store and picked out a pink and white chiffon dress and a white loose knit sweater for Jenny. Then she found a ribbon of matching colors to make a bow for her hair, and a pair of glossy white shoes to go with the outfit. After that, she picked out a Easter basket filled with colorful treats that surrounded a stuffed rabbit. She smiled as she examined the basket's contents. Memories of her own childhood Easter baskets danced through her mind.

"Hey little girl, can I have a piece of that candy in your basket?" a voice behind her said.

She turned to see a tall handsome man grinning at her. Karen studied him for a minute before recognizing him.

"Phil?" she asked. "Phil Cooper?"

Karen knew Phil from her childhood neighborhood. They attended elementary school and the first two years of high school together. Then Phil's family moved away from the neighborhood. They had not seen each other since. Phil was dark tanned, well groomed, and well dressed. He had a strong physique and handsome face.

"Sure is," he replied.

"I hardly knew you," she said as she looked into his blue-gray eyes.

"Well I'd know you anywhere, Karen Dorhman. You're just as cute as ever!"

She blushed.

"Is it still Dorhman? Of course it's not," he answered himself, pointing at the Easter basket and child's clothing in her shopping cart. He reached to shake her hand.

"No. No, it's not. It's Bronsky now. This is for my daughter Jenny. She's two. She shook his extended hand.

He looked deep into her eyes and continued to hold onto her hand. She felt uncomfortable with the lingering eye and hand connection and gently pulled her hand away. She glanced briefly at his wavy brown hair.

"I knew I should have kept in touch with you," he said as he relaxed his own hand. "Wow! Just look at you! After we moved, it just seemed like there was no sense calling you. I mean, I didn't have a car or anything; and there wasn't a train out there in the boonies where we lived."

Her thoughts sprang back in time to tenth grade at Seville High. She had long forgotten the crush she had on Phil back then. Phil was a letter star on the football team with a outgoing personality. She was a tom-boyish but timid bookworm. She often walked home from school with Phil. Sometimes, they played street games with other kids after school. She secretly wished back then, that he would show more interest in her. But he was more interested in Kim Wuester, one of the Seville cheerleaders.

"How about you Phil, married?" She wished he would stop staring. She couldn't help noticing that he had become a very handsome man.

"Yes, but I don't take it too seriously." He grinned broadly and winked at her. She turned her face away and tried not to grimace at his cheesy remark.

"Any children? Where do you live?" she asked.

"No. We've never had time for that. I travel a lot and so does my wife. I'm head of marketing for a sporting goods company and Sheila's a mile high hostess." He stretched his arms out and made soaring motions. We have a house in Connecticut and another in L.A."

Karen paid for her selections as they talked and continued to move outside the store. Phil followed close by.

"Sounds like you're doing okay," she said. She couldn't imagine what it would be like to own two houses.

"Well, I work hard and play hard. What's the point of success if you don't enjoy it?" He winked again.

"And your wife; does she like living in both ends of the country?"

"Sure. We both have our own ideas about enjoying life."

"How does she like all the traveling and not being together?" She wished she hadn't asked that question. The conversation was going in a uncomfortable direction for her.

"Oh, Sheila has her fun too. What about your husband, Karen, what does he do? Does he keep a tight rein on his beautiful wife?"

The wink was becoming tiring, irritating, to her. Having completed checkout, they now stood just outside the store entrance.

"Stan works hard— computers; and we have a great marriage. And we have a wonderful little girl, Jenny. We live not far from here."

"But does he ever let you out to play?" She felt intruded upon. She didn't invite this direction of the conversation and she didn't know whether to ignore the question or just turn and walk away. She reluctantly opted for the former.

"What brings you to town?" she asked in a polite disinterested tone.

"We're looking at opening a store in this center. I might be in this area fairly often if we do." The innuendo and smile were still there but at least there was no wink this time.

"Oh, I see. Well listen Phil, I really need to be going. It was nice to see you again." It was a half-truth.

"Well it's been great seeing you too Karen. God, just look at you! You are really hot. And it needn't be so long next time. Here, take my card. It's my private number. Call me sometime. Anytime. Day or night." The wink returned. His intent was completely unmasked.

As Karen fastened her seat-belt, she saw Phil speed past in a expensive sports car. She looked at herself in her rear view mirror. Call me sometime? Hot? she thought. She brushed her hair with her fingers and studied her eyes. She hadn't liked his unwelcome advance, but something about the encounter and being made to feel attractive was uplifting to her. She looked at his business card briefly, then shoved it above her visor.

Chapter 5

On Easter Sunday, the Bronskys walked to the West Brook Christian Church. Jenny was dressed in her new outfit and carried her stuffed bunny. Karen wore a light blue dress with three-quarter sleeves and Stan wore a beige suit. His tie matched the color of Karen's dress.

Birds sang as if welcoming the warm spring sunshine. It was unusually warm for an Easter. Here and there Daffodils and Jonquils strained their budding flowers toward the morning sun.

Soon the church was filled and a couple of hymns were sung by a small choir. Pastor Weecham stepped to the lectern and cleared his throat.

"Good morning and welcome to our Easter program," he began. "Who is Jesus Christ?" the elderly pastor asked. Then he smiled and repeated the question a bit louder. "Who is Jesus Christ? That is one of the most important questions that anyone has ever asked, or ever will ask. The answer that each and every one of us gives to that question, will determine where we spend eternity."

He paused to allow the significance of his statement to penetrate the minds of his audience.

"Who is Jesus Christ? Friends, if you've never come to grips with that question, I pray that you will do so today because eternity is a long, long time.

"Jesus once asked a question to some of his closest followers, 'Who do the people say that I am?' His disciples gave him various opinions that their contemporaries held. Some thought he was a prophet. Others thought he was a resurrected John The Baptist. Then Jesus asked, 'And who do you say that I am?' Peter replied, 'You are the anointed son of the living God.' Jesus said to him, 'Peter, you're blessed because God has revealed that to you'.

"Now, what did Peter mean when he said that Jesus was 'the anointed'?

"Well, at one time, the Jewish people were a majestic nation. They were great in wealth and in military power. More than that, they were a nation of people selected by almighty God to be his priestly representatives to the whole world. Alone, they were given the very words of God to carry with them. But because of their disobedience, God allowed them to become a captive nation. First they were captive to Babylon, and then a few centuries later, captive to Rome. But Jewish people of Peter's time eagerly expected a man to rise up from among the captive nation, who would restore their nation to independence and to it's once magnificent status. This man, often referred to as the Anointed One or Messiah was promised by God. Jewish prophets predicted the arrival of the Messiah, hundreds of years before Jesus was born.

"This brief conversation between Jesus and his closest followers can be found in the sixteenth chapter of the book of Matthew in our Bibles. It tells us several important things. First, it tells us that Jesus knew exactly who he was; that he was indeed the promised Messiah, which means, the Anointed. The Greek word for Messiah is Christos, from which we get the English word Christ. Christ is not Jesus' last name as some people seem to think. Christ is who Jesus is— the anointed son of the living God. And this conversation tells us that God somehow revealed that fact to Peter."

The pastor cleared his throat and sipped from a glass of water.

"Jesus then keynoted the conversation with his disciples by telling Peter and the others, that he, Jesus, would soon die on the cross and would be resurrected three days later. His sacrificial death would be to atone for all sin. It would allow a restored relationship between humans and God.

"Many of the Jews of his time rejected Jesus because they expected an earthly king, not a humble savior, who would allow himself to be nailed to a cross for their sins. In short, they were looking for the wrong kind of Messiah. There is still much debate in the world, about who Jesus was and is. Many people fail to believe the truth today, just as his fellow Jews did when they demanded his crucifixion.

"The people who saw Jesus in person were eye witnesses of many miracles that he did, including the healing of many from diseases and birth defects. Many even saw Jesus resurrect a dead man named Lazarus shortly before he was crucified. Can you imagine seeing someone, who had been dead for three days, resurrected to life? So, the Jews knew that Jesus was someone very much out of the ordinary. And some wanted to make him king of Israel. Yet, some still rejected him because he was not what they expected or wanted in a Messiah. And that's true of a lot of people today."

Pastor Weecham continued to explain that Jesus did many miracles in order to prove his identity, and that today, while we are no longer eye witnesses to Jesus and his miracles, we have the external witness of the Bible and the internal witness of the Holy Spirit, to lead us to the truth about Jesus. Then he stated several proofs of Jesus' historic life and resurrection, including the willingness of many of his followers to be martyred rather than deny their belief in Jesus.

The pastor continued, "God has promised, that if we truly seek him, we will find him, and that he stands at the door of our heart and knocks. That means, that if you have never believed in Jesus for your salvation, then God is challenging you right now, to open yourself to his love and mercy. He wants to reveal truth to you, and establish a relationship with you. I urge you to entrust your life to Jesus. If you want to do that, I'd like to talk to you about your decision."

The pastor gently closed his Bible and stepped away from the lectern.

The choir sung a hymn, He Lives, then the congregation filed quietly out of the old church.

Stan and Karen walked to their home in silence and reflective thought. Jenny was half asleep in Stan's arms, with her head resting on his shoulder. In the distance, through sleepy eyes, she saw a torn kite in the top of a tall tree. It bore the tattered image of a Dalmatian.

*****

"Eeeeeee!" Jenny's scream pierced the night stillness.

The scream found Karen's ears. Her eyes popped open. She shook her head, trying to clear her groggy mind. Her head felt like someone must have hit her with a baseball bat. In spite of intense pain, she managed to focus on her little girl's frantic scream.

"Noooohh! Mummieeeee!"

Karen struggled to free her hands. They felt like they were bound so tightly, that she couldn't move even a finger. Any attempt to move her hands brought searing pain to the flesh of her wrists. Her senses told her that something was wound equally tightly around her upper body and head so that she couldn't turn it. She could only look straight ahead, at her bed, in the opposite direction of the bedroom door. She felt completely immobilized. She couldn't be sure, but it seemed that she was sitting on her ladder-back chair. She felt so tightly laced to the chair that it was like a integral part of her struggling torso.

"Mmmmm! Mmmmmh! Karen tried hopelessly to scream but the words could not escape her mouth. Her eyes darted furtively. She tried to jerk her head in a sharp painful twist so that she could look toward the hallway that led to Jenny's room.

"Mummieeeee! Mummieeeee!"

Karen's feet would not budge. They seemed to be bound to the legs of the chair. She desperately wanted to turn her head or twist her body enough to see out of her bedroom door and down the hallway in the direction of her screaming child. Karen was beyond hysterical. Tears flooded her eyes and streamed down her cheeks. She could feel mucus bubble uncontrollably from her nose.

God help me! Help Jenny! How can you let this happen!

She began to rock herself as violently as she could using every muscle of her body. Suddenly her rocking caused the floor to slide beneath her and the ceiling to spin sickeningly above. She felt the back of her head slam against the floor and everything began to turn black as her eyes desperately sought a last fading look at the doorway toward Jenny's room.

Karen felt strong arms yank her straight up and then sharply backwards. She strained her eyes upward, looking beyond her brow, trying to see the face of her captor. She saw only a stubby beard and the bill of a baseball cap above the face. Through her frantic tear filled eyes she saw a sinister hand just before it smashed into her face. She felt it crush her lips against her teeth. She felt warm blood ooze onto her chin from beneath the grip and tasted blood as it trickled down into her throat. The taste of blood and saliva caused her to gag and choke.

She heard a voice shouting, "You can't save her! You'll die if you even try!"

Time seemed to stand still. Then Karen heard footsteps move away. It sounded like the noise of heavy shoes stumping on hardwood flooring.

He's going toward the kitchen. Maybe he's leaving.

Then she heard cabinet doors and drawers being jerked open and banged shut. She heard the unmistakable clanging of kitchen utensils.

Oh God, no! He's after a knife! The footsteps were returning. He's got a knife! This time the footsteps were less hurried, more deliberate. She felt a hand press against her mouth.

Stan! Oh God, Stan where are you! She strained her jaw muscles with all her might to free her mouth from the constraining hand so that she could scream. Her entire body writhed and twisted. The skin of her wrists felt on fire from her struggle against their bonds. Through the corner of her eye she saw a glint of light flash. It looked to be the shiny blade of a large knife.

"Mmmmmm!" Karen shrieked a muffled scream through restrained lips and nose.

"Shh, shh." Stan admonished and comforted, as he gently but firmly covered her mouth with his quieting hand. "Ouch! Ouch! Ouch!" he stammered, as he struggled to pry his fingers from her teeth. "Shh, Kare. You're having a nightmare!" he said louder. "It's just a dream. Shhh!"

Karen bolted upright.

"Jenny? Jenny?" she gasped.

"Jenny's okay Kare. I don't think you woke her. Wow! You must have had a real nail biter. And a finger biter too." He flipped his stinging finger in the air.

"Oh Stan! God, that was awful. I've got to go check on Jenny." Karen hurried from bed to Jenny's room. After a few minutes, she trudged back to bed perplexed and exhausted. She sat down fatigued on the edge of the bed.

"You okay now?" Stan asked. He gently wrapped his arm around her shoulder.

"I guess so." She shook her head. "But, Stan it was so real! So real." She ran her fingers over her quivering lower lip and carefully checked for blood. She examined her wrists for rope burns and felt for a bump on her head.

"What happened? What on earth did you dream?" he asked, gently stroking her back.

They both slowly laid back down on their pillows facing each other.

"Stan, I think it was more than just a dream. I've never had a dream that was so real. Maybe it was a premonition or something. Do you believe in things like that?"

"I guess anything's possible. But it was probably just a silly nightmare." Stan yawned and adjusted his pillow. "Anyhow," he yawned again, "what was it about?"

Karen began to recount what she had experienced until she noticed with disappointment, that Stan's eyes were closed and his breathing was slow and steady. Going back to sleep any time soon was impossible for her. She got up and checked Jenny again. When she laid back down, she continued to replay the experience in her mind.

*****

Stan glanced out of his bedroom window at a clear morning sky, before dressing for work at CTC.

Century Twenty-one Cybernetics, a leading information technology company recently moved into a new bronze and glass building in the rapidly developing Hudson Parke area thirty miles southwest of the city. It was only a twenty minute drive from their new home to work. He looked forward to the short commute this morning. He had been working long hours lately and this morning he planned to ask his manager for a few days off.

A pleasant April morning was developing. The rising sun was producing a pink glow on a few puffs of clouds in the eastern sky. Stan listened to the morning news on his car radio. He lowered his window and then touched an overhead button that opened the sun-roof. He wanted to savor the fresh fragrances of spring flowers and trees. Flowering shrubs decorated the median islands of Parke Drive with billows of reds, pinks, yellows, and white. The sounds of song birds mingled with the hum of traffic and the chatter from his radio.

Suddenly, a jarring stab of pain exploded up through the back of Stan's head. His right hand jerked from the sun-roof control to his head. His left hand followed. The pain seemed to reverberate for a second and then moved deeper into his head where it would later leave diminishing aftershocks of pain.

"Christ almighty!" he yelled and continued to groan through clinched teeth and grimaced lips. His pulse leaped into high gear. His breathing hesitated for several seconds. Then he took short rapid breaths of air.

The blaring sound of another car's horn pierced the air. His hands and feet struggled to regain control of his car which had drifted left into the adjacent traffic lane. A driver's warning horn was immediately followed by an menacing hand gesture and loud expletives as he swerved to miss Stan's car by mere inches. The offended driver sped past Stan still yelling and waving a menacing fist.

A few minutes later, Stan eased his car into a parking space in the CTC parking lot. He slumped forward cupping his face in his hands. His hands still trembled and he felt cool clammy sweat on his forehead.

What the devil was that? How long did it last? Was it Minutes? Seconds? he wondered. Stan had lost track of time. He tried to remember where he was when the pain struck? He remembered passing the shopping center, the restaurant, and Dover Lane.

Gradually his breathing and pulse returned to near normal. He suddenly became self conscious and realized that another employee might be watching him. He glanced anxiously around the parking lot. No one else was in sight. "Thank God." he whispered, allowing his head to sag again.

His right thumb and index finger unconsciously pressed against his eyelids, massaging his eyes with soothing circular motion. Then, he became aware of his actions and jerked his hand away. He raised his head quickly to survey the parking lot again. He took a deep breath and brought his shoulders back, trying to appear normal.

Take a deep breath, he silently commanded himself. Hold it. Ease it out slow. Color began to return to his face.

He recalled other recent pain attacks. This was worse than the one two weeks ago.

That episode happened while he was taking out the garbage. And that one was worse than the one two months ago. That one happened while he was watching a game on television. Now, this one occurred while he was driving.

There's no pattern. This could have been really bad. Suppose, I had hit the other car head on. He thought of Jenny; imagined she and Karen learning of his death in a car wreck. Then he thought of them being in the car with him in a head-on collision. He realized that he had to find out what was causing the attacks. He had concluded the last couple of times, that it was just the stress of his work on the Compton project. Now he wasn't so sure. He hadn't felt pain this bad since the explosion, when he was in the army.

"Morning, Stan. You going to sit there and daydream all day?" Bob Steen inquired as he passed by Stan's car.

Stan hadn't noticed that his manager had just parked his car nearby. Bob was already, with briefcase in hand, out of his car and turning in the direction of the CTC building entrance.

"Morning Bob," Stan responded, as he closed the sun-roof.

He tried to appear normal. He felt a warm flush replace the clammy coolness on his forehead. His knees felt weak as he swung out of the car and hurried to overtake his boss.

"Say Bob, I should have the final software for the Compton project finished by the end of the week. If you don't mind, I think I'll take a few days of vacation and do some relaxing, maybe a little spring fishing." Stan sought some sign of approval from Bob Steen's face. He still felt shaky. His throat felt dry. He hoped that his manager didn't detect the tremble he felt in his voice.

Bob pushed a heavy glass lobby door open with his right hand and at the same time motioned to Stan with his briefcase and his nodding head. Stan stepped through ahead of him. They marched briskly across the marble floor of the lobby toward a bank of three elevators.

Bob Steen was in his mid-fifties. His hair was mostly gray. The wrinkles on his brow reflected years of management stress that he had experienced managing a high tech, high pressure business. His brow frowned noticeably at Stan's request.

"Well Stan, you know Jan and Keith are running behind on the Mid-City Bank project. They've been humping it really hard, trying to catch up." Bob Steen replied. Choosing his next words thoughtfully, he said, "They really need you to lend a hand and get Mid-City back on schedule, soon as you finish Compton." He looked squarely into Stan's searching eyes trying to appear neither too empathetic nor too commanding.

Stan shifted his eyes toward the elevator controls, trying to hide his disappointment in Bob's response. He felt wobbly. Stan had not taken a day off since the Compton project began several months earlier. He had worked numerous evenings and Saturdays. Karen had been upset about his work schedule several times.

A gnawing aftershock of pain was beginning to build deep behind Stan's eyes, just like the last time, when he broke the lamp. Then, it lasted for three days after the initial eruption of pain. After the initial attack, he felt depressed and lethargic for several days.

'Jan and Keith are behind,' Stan silently mocked Bob, 'They've been humping it really hard.'

"Bull!" he muttered under his breath.

Jan Murray had taken a five week leave for a European vacation and Keith Williams had taken three weeks of personal time off in the last six months. Neither of the two had been employed by CTC nearly as long as Stan, nor worked nearly as hard. Stan had been employed by CTC twelve years as of last month; Jan and Keith not nearly as long.

"I know Mid-City is important, Bob," Stan countered, as they left the elevator on the third floor of the five story building. "But, I'm sure you know I haven't had a day off in a long time, and I really could use a break. Jenny is going on three already and I need to spend some quality time with her, and with Karen too."

Stan measured Bob's face for any sign that his injection of family into the equation might alter his manager's decision. He was reluctant to inject stress and headaches because he felt that might have made him appear weak.

Bob Steen's face flushed slightly. He knew that Stan needed a vacation. So did he. Christ, I've got a family too, he thought. He reasoned that both he and Stan had been around long enough to understand the demands of their business. He was also well aware that he had exploited Stan's job dedication and superior technical abilities when necessary to achieve important company objectives. Although he was fond of Karen, business came first.

"I'm sorry Stan. If there were any other alternative—" The words spilled from Bob Steen's mouth and abruptly trailed off as he turned ninety degrees and continued toward his office.

Stan was left awkwardly alone in the isle that separated his work cubicle, which he shared with Keith Williams, from that of Jan Murray. Stan felt increasing pain deep inside his head. He took a small container of aspirin from his desk and walked to a water fountain to wash down two of the pills. He trudged back to his cubicle and dropped into his swivel chair.

Chapter 6

At mid-morning, a commuter train ratcheted itself noisily along the southbound route that terminated at Mid-City Station.

Overhead, a pair of doves flew side by side, their gray and brown wings gracefully fanning the air beneath them. The return of spring weather encouraged the pair to begin a search for a suitable nesting site. The mournful cooing of the two life mates declared their claim of territory and their intent to reproduce. The peaceful pair watched the train as it stopped to absorb passengers.

At the North Vernon station, Robert Louis Gatewood waited to board the train from his usual position on the loading platform. He knew where to position himself on the dock so that he could obtain a seat on a car of his choosing. He preferred a car in the middle of the train. He never rode the first nor last car of a train, at least not in the southbound direction. He always had his choice of seats going in that direction because he boarded the train at the third stop of the route. He always tried to sit on a bench seat facing the pneumatic doors of a commuter car. Robert had many well-disciplined habits. He glanced at the two doves above, then stepped onto the train.

He took his usual seat and amused himself by wondering what the doves that he saw above, might be thinking about the train, or if indeed they thought at all. He imagined that to the pair of birds flying high above, the train might look like a giant, beastly caterpillar that sucked up globs of people at each stop. It might appear to the birds that the beast gorged itself and then accelerated aggressively looking for its next meal. And when it spotted another serving of people, it stopped abruptly and ravenously swallowed them, before accelerating again in a repeating pattern. Further along it's travel, Robert surmised, it might seem to the birds, that the beast spit out bad tasting globs of people until it finally disappeared into its burrow below massive concrete and glass structures downtown. He smiled at his analysis.

Halfway toward the downtown terminal, the only vacant seat now remaining in the fourth car was the half bench next to Robert. Fully aware of the car's seating constraint, he began to consciously squeeze toward his end of the two person seat. He didn't do so to invite a traveling companion, but rather to avoid intimacy as much as possible, with another person who might share his seat. Robert was not a very outgoing person. He preferred introspection and reflection, over conversation with most people. And he always had a active self-entertaining imagination.

As usual, Robert sat slumped forward with his toes touching the floor. His heels, pressed against the supporting frame of the bench seat beneath him. He sat with open hands cupped on either side of his chin which showed a two day growth of short, black, stubble. He might have been sitting on a commode in deep thought, except that he wouldn't have been wearing the raincoat. The gray, somewhat soiled apparel was a couple of sizes too long for his height. Robert was a little shorter and stockier than average. The rim of his right coat pocket was marked with a dull blood stain which he had tried to clean with a washrag before he left home. He burped quietly from eating a too hasty breakfast.

"Robert, you have to start watching what you eat," his sister Marge used to say to him. "You're going to be fat as a hog!"

Recalling her words, Robert smiled and visualized himself with the huge fat face of a Hampshire hog protruding from his raincoat. His frayed blue baseball cap, cocked as always, a few degrees to the left rested between pointed, half folded, pig ears. And a flat wet nose at the front end of his snout led up to narrow, beady dark eyes. He chuckled to himself as he conjured the image and imagined it sitting in front of a plate at his kitchen table. He envisioned it impatiently pounding a fork and knife on the table as it waited for Marge to serve lunch.

Where's the slop, Marge? Hurry it up! This pig's starving, he imagined himself saying. His smile widened at his imagined scene.

Marge used to cook for Robert on Sundays. She made things like pasta or vegetable casseroles. She never cooked meat or gravy, which he really liked. She always scrutinized his fridge and pantry and was critical of his larder. She encouraged him to eat more fruits and vegetables and cautioned him against eating too many starches, sweets and meats, especially pork. However, his sister had little influence on his eating choices now.

The train's squealing brakes brought unwelcome thoughts and memories, so Robert pressed his forefingers tight against his ears. He hated loud noises, like squeals, shrieks and screams. Those sounds were painful to him. He forced his thoughts to return to his imaginary hog and pictured it squealing as the train braked for the Elm Street Station. His eyes opened slightly and he released the pressure of his forefingers against his ears while the train stopped and passengers boarded.

Jan Murray took a graceful step with her shapely right leg, bridging the short gap between the loading dock and commuter car entrance, and then brought her equally attractive left leg in line with the first. She quickly surveyed the car to the right, then to the left. Several male heads turned in her direction, as usual.

Christ, only one empty seat, she thought.

With lightning speed, Jan assessed the attire, grooming and social stature of Robert. He fell short of her criteria for male commuting companionship. Her senses told her to forgo that seating opportunity. She swung her head back toward the door, with a thought of hurrying to the next car. Her short blonde hair swirled past the side of her pretty tanned face. It was too late. The doors whooshed as they closed, and the train was moving. She reluctantly stepped forward and settled into the empty seat.

She positioned herself as far to the right on the bench as possible, leaving a full ten inches between herself and Robert. That measure, however, was insufficient for her comfort. She started to plant her oversized purse between them as a barrier but having thought better, brought it back to rest on her lap where she tried to cover that portion of her thighs that were unavoidably exposed below her short skirt. The purse was failing it's assignment, so, she unfolded a newspaper over her lap and placed the purse by her side farthest from Robert.

There, she thought.

Still not satisfied, she removed the front section of the newspaper, briefly looked at the front page and then placed it on the bench between them and moved her purse back to her lap. She pretended to read the sports section of the paper which was partially visible beneath her purse.

BEARS MAY HIRE BYRD, a headline read.

After a obscure glance to her left at Robert, she drew the buttons of her waist length, plaid wool, jacket toward their intended receptacles. Laws of physics prevented the size four jacket from totally covering the white cashmere sweater with its size six encumbrance. She thought she could detect a faint smell like a open refrigerator coming from Robert's direction. She was thankful that he seemed not to notice her and that he maintained his space in silence. She shifted her position, crossed her legs and leaned even further to the right. Robert continued to stare at the floor.

Although relieved, Jan Murray was none the less puzzled that he seemed to be totally ignoring her. I guess he's some kind of weirdo, she thought.

The eleven car train continued to rock and sway south with occasional thumping sounds from imperfect tracks and intermittent squeals and screeches of brakes and bearings. As it sped along, the view through the windows of the train alternated between fast blurs of nearby structures and steadier objects toward the horizon. Sporadic graffiti in various sizes and in every conceivable color, style and degree of commercial appeal appeared on buildings along the way, advertising likes, dislikes, hopes, and affections.

Using his feet, Robert slowly rocked his upper torso front to back. The motion was barely noticeable to Jan. He was always a little nervous when he was this close to a woman, except Marge. And he was especially timid and on edge being this close to a young woman as attractive as Jan Murray.

A few barely noticeable crumbs of peanut butter toast were visible near the corner of Robert's mouth. The stale odor of his work clothes mingled with the slight scent of his breath. In his haste, he forgot to brush his teeth after his breakfast snack.

"Robert do you brush your teeth every day?" Marge always inquired when she visited.

He resented his sister's constant mothering. Still, he sometimes missed having her around.

Without raising his head, Robert saw enough of Jan Murray as she stepped into the train, to know that she was very attractive.

Great legs and body, he thought. Must be a little taller than me. But he was reluctant to sit upright to compare their sitting height. Instead, he continued his blank, hypnotic, gaze at the floor directly in front of his feet. For a brief moment, he considered avenues of conversation that he could pursue. I could tell her that she smells great. He couldn't remember smelling perfume so captivating since his mother's. His unconscious rocking stopped abruptly. So did his thought about the perfume of his mother who died when he was seven.

'Robert, don't you ever try to look under a girls dress again!' He recalled his mother sternly addressing him. 'The Devil will get you!' Then she whacked him hard and took his younger sister out of the room. He was six at the time. At that recollection, his vision had drifted to the right and come to rest on Jan Murray's smooth tanned shins, snapped smartly back to the floor.

Robert began to slowly and imperceptibly rock his body again. The interior mechanics of his right eye were unconsciously straining to maximize his peripheral vision without visible movement of his pupils. The smell of her perfume and the beauty of her skin were intoxicating to him.

As in the two mating doves earlier, natural instincts that are programmed into animal and human, were being triggered in Robert.

Unintended, though not unwelcome, thoughts and desires caused him to consider the origin of instincts. He thought about the intricate arrangement of atoms that are passed through genes, from generation to generation. He wondered if some of the original atoms might have passed from Adam, through Noah, to a German goat farmer, through Napoleon, and countless others, and finally to him. It astounded him to think that some of the very atoms that composed the first human could be in his own body. He reasoned that a precise arrangement of atoms in his brain cells must have been deliberately designed so that certain thoughts and physical responses would be triggered, when he experienced specific smells, sounds, textures, tastes, and sights.

He questioned to himself the operation of instinct. How does a chemical or molecule or atomic arrangement cause a thought? They're just atoms and molecules. How does a immaterial thought produce a material physical response, like hormone production? How can a non-material thought cause a material gland or muscle or organ to react? Robert wondered if anyone, anywhere, knew precise answers to those questions.

His instincts continued to produce desires in spite of his intellectual side track. Struggles took place in his mind. His peripheral vision traced the alluring curve of her smooth tanned calf, from her thin firm ankle, up to the Sports section of her newspaper. And then his peripheral sight continued past that obstruction to catch an inch of visible thigh, and then to the front page of the newspaper barrier that she had erected between them.

MISSING CHILD AND MOTHER, the bold newspaper headline which faced Robert, exclaimed. He thought about his own mother again.

"Sound the letters out Bobby," he recalled his mother coaching him, when he was first learning to read. "Ah, bah, ca . . ." It was boring to him. He much preferred playing with insects and rodents in the yard and garden. His favorite entertainment was fastening worms and bugs to sticky cellophane tape so that they couldn't move. Then he used a knife, which had belonged to his deceased father, to meticulously carve them.

MM, IH, SIH, SIH. He sounded the letters of the headline in his mind as he scanned the first word with his peripheral vision. He was familiar with the lead story. He brought his attention back to the floor where he disinterestedly followed a fracture in the vinyl surface back toward his feet.

He quickly shifted the work-shoe on his right foot up and to the left, to cover a dried blood stain on the top of his left shoe, hoping that she hadn't noticed. He hastened the pace of his rocking ever so slightly. He pressed his forefingers tightly against his ears as the train's squealing brakes, engaged for the Lake Street station. He thought about how long he had hated the sound of squealing. He recalled Marge squealing in the orphanage. The recollection of that sound and the entire incident was painful to him. The sudden movement next to him forced the thought of Marge out of his mind.

Jan Murray was on her feet before the train came to a complete stop. She had plenty of time to make the transfer to a west bound train. But she was anxious to distance herself from the stranger with whom she had shared the seat. She didn't bother collecting the front section of her newspaper which still lay on the bench after she rose.

"You forgot your paper," Robert anxiously hailed her, waving it gracefully in the air with his left hand as though it were a bouquet of roses.

His eyes were barely visible beneath the baseball cap.

"I'm through with it," she blurted, agitated that her swift departure had been hindered.

"Okay. I'll throw it away for you. Have a good day," he offered, as he raised his right hand to lift the front of his baseball cap. His eyes focused a little to the left of Jan's face. He always had difficulty making direct eye contact with a member of the opposite sex. Still, with his practiced peripheral vision, he saw that Jan had a beautiful square jawed face with silky smooth skin, deep blue eyes, and full tempting lips. Her body was perfectly proportioned. She appeared to him to be in her early to mid-twenties.

She made no effort to acknowledge his farewell remark and instead accelerated her movement toward the exit. There was no smile on her face, no expression of appreciation for his parting gesture; only a quick, slightly puzzled glance back over her shoulder.

Robert allowed his right foot to slide back to the floor as Jan Murray left the train. He paid no further attention to the blood stain on his other shoe that he had so carefully masked.

He closed his eyes and breathed through his nose to capture the fragrance of her that lingered on the bench seat. He was two train stops from his destination. From there he would walk eleven blocks to Scotty's and begin his day's work. He held the newspaper to his face and hid a roguish smile as he inhaled Jan Murray's intoxicating perfume that remained on the paper.

Chapter 7

Stan sat at his desk, with his left hand resting just in front of his computer keyboard and his right elbow on the desk supporting the weight of his head. His chin rested on the palm of his right hand while his fingers massaged his closed eyelids. He was having great difficulty staying focused on his work, because of pain, and because of disappointment over Bob Stein's rejection of his vacation request. He washed two more aspirin down with coffee.

"Morning Stan. Deep in thought already, I see," came a halfhearted greeting from Jan Murray. "Push those buttons, Stanley. Click-click-click."

"Good morning," Stan lukewarmly replied, without removing his chin from his hand or turning to face Jan. She plopped her purse onto her desk and headed across the floor with her over sized coffee mug toward the office canteen.

'Morning'? 'Already'? He echoed her words silently to himself, peeking beneath his ring finger at his watch. Nine forty-five! Freaking near noon,you lazy, useless— He arrested his thought. Why am I thinking stuff like that? He guessed that it was because of his disappointing conversation with Bob, or that maybe it was the looming challenge of the Mid-City project, which Jan and Keith had allowed to go sour. No. It's the blasted headache, he concluded to himself.

Four aspirin had barely helped. He checked his phone book, reached for his phone, and dialed his family doctor's office.

"Dr. Ravit's office. This is Mary." a voice on the other end of the line hastily greeted.

"Hi, this is Stan Bronsky. I need to make an appointment, Mary."

"It's for me." Stan answered. "Headaches. Real bad headaches. I just want Dr. Ravit to check me over." Stan noted the appearance over his shoulder of Keith Williams. "Yes, tomorrow at nine will be fine. Thanks." Stan scribbled a note to himself and hung up the phone.

Jan returned from the canteen, munching on a cookie, and began to gracefully sink into her desk chair, with oversized mug in hand.

"Hey old buddy, just take a couple of aspirin and go fishing, if you want my advice." Keith Williams cheerfully chimed, as he flung his wind breaker at their shared coat rack. "The weather's great outside. I'll bet the fish are jumping in the boats."

Ten freaking o'clock! Stan noted the time on his watch. He shot a angry glance at Keith without a word.

On a scale of zero to ten, Stan's headache was sitting at eight. His irritation at his two workmates was rapidly exceeding that score. His jaw muscles tightened. His teeth clenched and his temples pulsed. His lips began to quiver noticeably. Sensing trouble, Keith Williams turned quickly away from Stan and began a hurried descent into his chair. He hastily punched a couple of buttons on his computer.

"You listen, butt head." Stan shot the words, as he spun his chair abruptly toward Keith. "If you and miss lazy butt," his voice was rising in volume, enunciation crisper, "would get your rear ends to work before noon, Mid-City wouldn't be in the crapper and I could take a day off and go fishing!" The words burst from Stan like an orgasmic sneeze, that having once started, could not be checked. He felt a tremendous release as he finally let go of simmering pent-up frustration.

The shock of the outburst caused Jan to choke on a sip of coffee. That in turn caused her to lose her grip on the large coffee mug which sprang from her hand toward her desk.

Aw Christ! Stan thought, as he watched the mug eject from her hand. The projectile's movement over the next half second seemed like it was occurring in slow motion to him, as his eyes remained glued to the ceramic mug. His momentary pleasure of emotional release was immediately outweighed by regret as he watched the unfolding drama.

Onto her desk the mug flew, with a oblique landing that spewed a large helping of hot coffee, with double cream and triple sugar, across the top of Jan's desk. It crashed into the keyboard and display of her computer and ricocheted back toward Jan. Stan felt weak, as his eyes followed the unstoppable journey of the ejecting mug. His lips quivered uncontrollably. He desperately wished that he was only dreaming, or that he could somehow turn back time for just one minute.

Having sprayed the balance of its contents in the direction of her short gray wool skirt, her gorgeous thighs, and her designer shoes, the mug terminated its flight by crashing loudly against a chrome plated desk pedestal and exploded into a pile of ceramic shards around her feet.

"EEEEEE!" Jan's scream was heard floor wide. She grabbed protectively at her skirt and thighs, brushing vigorously with both hands as she shot to her feet.

Keith Williams rushed to her side and then stood helpless with arms and hands dangling loosely in front of him, not knowing where or what to touch or if he should keep his hands to himself. Of which choices, he wisely opted for the latter.

"You lousy, rotten creep!" Jan screeched at Stan.

She grabbed her purse and bounded toward the ladies room shoving Keith Williams backwards as she went. He struggled to remain erect.

Bob Steen and CTC vice president of operations C T Grissom were in the middle of a important meeting when Jan's scream breached the walls of their conference room. They burst from the doorway just in time to catch a brief glimpse of Jan as she streaked toward the ladies restroom, with both arms extended straight in front of her. Her shoulder strapped purse trailed her at an angle only slightly below the horizontal, as if desperately fighting to remain attached to its strap. She assaulted the restroom door, which strained to remain attached to its hinges as it slammed against a back stop.

Both of the manager's heads then turned in unison, with puzzled stares, in the direction of Stan Bronsky and Keith Williams, some fifty feet away. The two were peering perplexedly over their five foot high cubicle divider in the direction of the ladies restroom. They turned sheepish faces, in unison, toward the two managers.

"Coffee. Hot coffee." Keith Williams volunteered, just loud enough for Steen and Grissom to hear. Both he and Stan slipped silently below the top of the cubicle divider.

Having satisfied their anxious curiosity, the two managers retreated into the conference room and closed the door again. Across the floor, other curious workers began to return to their activities.

Jan Murray quickly removed her pantyhose and assessed the damage to her skin, which although stinging at first, now seemed trivial. She wiped a wet paper towel over her thighs and followed that with a squirt of lotion. She reckoned the stained gray skirt to no longer be presentable and turned her thoughts to planning the least conspicuous exit from the building.

"That lousy creep!" She said to her reflection as she repaired her makeup. "Who does he think he is anyway. He has no right to talk to me like that. He's not my boss!"

The restroom door opened cautiously. "Are you alright?" Betty McIvers asked. She was standing halfway through the doorway, holding the door with one hand. "What happened?" She noted the brown splotched pantyhose, lying on the vanity. "Keith said hot coffee? Are you burned very bad?"

Jan Murray was holding a red shoe over the sink and meticulously wiping it with moistened tissue. "Oh, I'm okay now, I guess. Fortunately the coffee wasn't that hot. But it ruined my hose and skirt."

"I'm sorry," Betty replied.

"Listen Betty, do you know if anyone might have a coat that I could borrow to wear home over this mess? I hate to walk out looking like this." She nodded downward momentarily.

"I have a raincoat. You're welcome to borrow it. I'll go get it for you."

Before leaving, Betty eyed the few stains on Jan's skirt.

Good grief, if I had legs like that I wouldn't be too concerned about a couple of coffee stains. No one would notice anyhow, at least not any red-blooded man I know. She backed out the door and walked toward her desk to get her raincoat for Jan.

Stan had been leaning back in his desk chair at an awkward angle and peering anxiously across the floor as Betty McIvers retreated from the restroom. Now he hurriedly walked a slanting path to intersect her.

"How's Jan, Betty? Is she burned very bad?" Stan earnestly inquired.

He never had really thought that much of Jan. His opinion was that Jan was full of herself, He felt that she had been hired for her looks. And he had little regard for her limited technical abilities and work ethic. Still, he felt bad about the coffee burn. He honestly hoped that she wasn't in pain. He well remembered what pain from burns felt like after his army experience.

"Oh, I think she's fine, Stan." Betty answered. "I think she's more concerned with her clothes than anything. I'm getting her a coat to wear home so she can change."

Not wanting to draw any more attention to the incident than had already been accorded, Stan quietly nodded and returned to his desk.

Jan Murray did a half turn to the left and then to the right, appraising the fit and look of the borrowed raincoat in the restroom mirror.

"A little large for me," she whined. But she decided that it would have to do. She walked out of the restroom and turned her pretty face over her right shoulder toward Betty. "Please tell Bob I've gone home for the day and that I want to talk to him in the morning. Would you, Betty?"

"Sure thing, Jan."

"Thanks, Betty," Jan replied. She made a direct and hasty departure to the elevator.

Betty McIvers rolled her eyes as she watched her coat and Jan disappear into the elevator. She had thought that they might both be returning in an hour or two. Now it appeared, she wouldn't see either before tomorrow. She glanced through the floor length vertical blinds, on the south side of the building, and noted the unhindered brightness of the spring sun.

"Oh well, I won't be needing my raincoat today anyhow," she muttered.

Twenty minutes later, Keith Williams left the building.

Chapter 8

Karen backed her car from the Bronsky driveway, on her way to drop Jenny at the Obenhauer Nursery and then to work at the Chantley Gallery. She would have preferred a nursery closer to home, but both she and Jenny loved Mrs. Obenhauer. Children and parents affectionately called her Mrs. O. Karen liked knowing that Jenny was only a few minutes away from the art gallery where she worked part time.

A few months earlier, Karen's best friend, Paula Chantley, pleaded with her to manage her art gallery part time. Had it been anyone other than Paula needing her, Karen would never have considered a job in town. She would have preferred to work closer to home for Jenny's sake.

Karen and Paula became best friends in high school. Paula was maid of honor at Karen's wedding. Besides Stan, Paula was the first person to hold Jenny after her birth.

Paula painted and also accepted other artist's paintings on consignment in her store. Her business had grown to the point that it was increasingly difficult for her to run the store and concentrate on painting too.

Karen carried her bundle of love and joy past the heavy wooden front door of the old brick two story building that served as both business and home to Mrs. Obenhauer. She stopped to remove Jenny's hooded jacket. After a couple of solicited hugs and kisses from Jenny, Karen bid Mrs. O and Jenny goodbye.

As she drove the remaining blocks to work, Karen recalled the joy she felt when Jenny was born,. She and Stan had been married for twelve years and had accepted that a child of their own was apparently not meant to be. Then the miracle had happened. In spite of all the tests and exams that said, "No", the Giver of Life had said, "Yes". Since Jenny arrived, their marriage found unspeakable joy that could have only come from parenting their child. Karen's life changed dramatically. She abandoned a successful business career and never returned to full time work. She wanted to spend all of her time and energy enjoying and nurturing Jenny.

Stan's world had not changed all that much after Jenny was born. He loved Jenny more than anything, but he continued to work at the same job and follow the same interests and habits as before. To Karen, it seemed that Stan was perennially changeless. That added to her recent concerns about him. It seemed to her that for a number of weeks now, he had been moody and irritable with increasing frequency. He spent more and more time at the office. She wondered if he could be tiring of her and Jenny. He seemed to be cross and intolerant at times.

Oh God, could he possibly— Her face took on a alarmed and astonished look. Surely he's not having an affair. She began backtracking in her mind. When did we last make love? Was it last weekend. No, it must have been over a week ago. Yes, I think it was a week ago Wednesday.

She guided the sedan into a parking space in the small lot behind the old four story brick building on west Washington, which housed the Chantley Gallery.

She continued to search her mind. He really didn't seem into it very much. But the time before that, I think he seemed okay. Come to think of it, I think I initiated it the last couple of times, maybe more than that.

"Oh," she said to her reflection in the rear view mirror, "it's probably just my imagination." Still, she thoughtfully concluded to herself, that there was something strange going on. She examined her face in the mirror and switched off the car's ignition. She was encouraged to detect no new wrinkle or blemish on her attractive face. Looking slightly bewildered, she stared past the mirror into space.

An image of Jan Murray popped into her thoughts. When she first met Jan, Karen recognized, that Jan was a beautiful girl and that she certainly had the looks to cause a husband to think about straying, if he were so inclined. She reasoned though, that Jan and Stan had worked together a good while and that if anything were going to happen between them, it surely would have happened long before now. However, she reminded herself that Stan had come home late, lots of times, in recent months. She slowly swung her petite frame from behind the wheel. She looked dazed and seemed unsure of herself as she closed the car door. She shrugged off her thoughts and concerns though, as she unlocked the rear door of the gallery and stepped inside.

*****

Robert stepped from the train onto the platform with his left foot, as he always did. His left hand and arm firmly sandwiched the front section of the morning paper which Jan Murray had left behind against his chest. With the memory of her and her fragrance still fresh in his mind, he climbed the steps leading from the underground station to the bustling sidewalk above.

The warm morning air was exhilarating to Robert. The sun was shining brightly. Spring had returned in glorious colors and scents and sounds. Even in the midst of hundreds of acres of concrete and glass, one could occasionally hear a bird's melodious song as it established or protected it's territory. The annual reawakening of plant and animal swept over the city like a beautiful mosaic. The order to reproduce could no longer be suppressed. Robert mocked the whistle of a Robin. He affectionately held the still scented newspaper to his cheek.

He turned west on Clay street, as always and extended his distance from Front street. Adjacent buildings shrank in size as he continued his walk. His pace now carried him eight blocks west of the city's center. Here there were no posh plaques of brass employed to identify aged buildings. Business establishments became more distinguishable, and store front awnings and advertising signs jutted out to the sidewalks occasionally. Century old, brick and brownstone apartment buildings were sprinkled in between businesses. Here and there an occasional empty lot served as cherished parking spaces.

Robert raised the newspaper to his nose. He could still smell faint provocative fragrances of Jan Murray's perfume on the paper. He pressed it against his cheek again and smiled. He imagined basking in the intoxicating scent of the beautiful young woman forever. He pictured himself lying on a sunny beach with a warm wind, replete with her fragrance blowing in from the ocean and engulfing the entire beach with the magnificent scent. He wondered if a scent could last forever if it were in a perfectly sealed container. He decided that he would put the newspaper in a tightly sealed plastic bag when he got to work and take it home later that evening. He would see just how long the fragrance would last in a sealed container. He mused that he could open it on special occasions, like his birthday, or Christmas, and would recapture a memory of his brief encounter with the beautiful girl. He released a throaty chuckle as he pondered his plan.

He walked past a fenced lot, as he did every day, when something unusual caught his eye and caused him to stop and retrace his last few steps.

Mrs. Obenhauer had decided that it was warm enough today to open her play lot. She opened the door leading to the side lot, and allowed the older of her charge to enjoy the warm morning sun and fresh air. Children younger than two years of age were not allowed that liberty. This was the first day since last October that the playground had been so used.

From the play room of the nursery, she could keep an eye on the children playing outside through her new picture window. It had been an expensive project to have the large window installed last year; but she now had a unobstructed view of all of the play lot, except for the corners nearest the building.

The lot was enclosed by six foot high chain link fencing, with three strands of barbed wire at the top. It was thirty feet wide and sixty feet deep. Toward the rear of the lot, three children played on toddler sized monkey bars. Nearby, two more youngsters played in two sections of brightly painted concrete cylinders. Near the front of the lot, almost out of view, she could see Jenny Bronsky playing alone on the new toddler slide.

Mrs. Obenhauer was seated in a antique pine rocking chair. She slowly rocked with a one year old, who was not feeling well today. The steady creaking of the rocking chair caused both of them to feel drowsy. Her kind face was etched with the wear and wrinkles of sixty nine years. Her hair was almost silver. Only a sprinkling of black threads revealed the original coloring. The weariness of her pale blue eyes concealed the passions and ventures that she had experienced in years gone by.

Having backed up three steps, Robert stooped next to the chain link fence. His eyes came to rest on a little blue eyed girl in a pink jacket perched on a yellow plastic slide. He squatted with his weight balanced precariously on the balls of his feet and tipped his baseball cap back a little for a better view. His backward steps had put him near the front corner of the building, where the fence was attached. He steadied himself by curling the fingers of his hand through the woven fence. His raincoat dragged the ground beneath him. The gleeful shouts and chatter of the other children faded from Roberts hearing as he concentrated his full attention on Jenny Bronsky. He smiled as he studied her. Beautiful, he thought.

Jenny was about to release her finger reddening grip from the side rails of a four foot toddler slide. Her fear and judgment told her to not let go. But, her little arms were tiring. She didn't have the strength to scoot back uphill a short distance to the top of the fearful precipice. She had been sitting there for a few minutes trying to summon enough courage to let go as she had seen other children do. The fear on her face turned to delight as she finally lost her grip and slowly began the downhill ride. She quickly stepped through the cushioning sand below the slide, and rushed to repeat the experience. As she ran, the hood of her jacket fell backwards exposing her beautiful, shoulder length, curly brown hair. She stumbled on the steps of the slide in her haste to climb to the top again. Robert continued to watch her with undivided fascination.

During her fourth descent, Jenny noticed the squatting stranger watching her from outside the fence. When she had completed the ride, she ambled the twenty foot distance to near the fence where Robert was squatting. His heart swelled and his smile broadened. Neither of them spoke. He never took his eyes off the little girl and she studied him with innocent curiosity.

Robert surmised that he had not seen such a beautiful child since his mother was still with him, when his sister Marge was little. That was before he and Marge spent time in a foster home and orphanage.

He wished he had a piece of candy or gum to give Jenny. Then he remembered that he had a plastic bag in his coat pocket with left-overs from last night. He smiled at her and motioned with his right forefinger for Jenny to come closer. With scant caution, Jenny moved within arms-length of Robert. He reached into his right coat pocket and removed a small reddish morsel from a plastic bag. He guided the offering through the fence. With two fingers, he wiggled the gift and extended an invitation to Jenny with his eyes and nodding head. Her little hand came up to receive the treat. He opened his mouth and touched his right forefinger to his tongue, instructing her with his illustration to taste the gift. She started to place the bit of red meat into her mouth as Robert was presenting a second offering through the wire.

"What are you doing?" shouted Mrs. Obenhauer, as she shot into the play lot from the side doorway. She was taking huge leaping strides toward Jenny. Startled, Jenny dropped the treat to the ground. It left a feint smudge of dull red on her lower lip near the left corner of her mouth. Her thumb and forefinger were similarly stained.

Robert was shaken. He lurched to his feet before completely retracting his fingers from the fence. The rough galvanized wire cut his index finger and blood dripped from the wound. He jammed the finger to his mouth, in a reflex action. He spit blood toward the ground, striking his treasured newspaper, which he dropped when the elderly woman yelled.

Mrs. Obenhauer shouted again, "What are you doing? Get away before I call the police! Get away from here!" She grabbed the child and quickly backed up two steps. Her feet spread defensively. Her facial expression was menacing. She noted the blood on Robert's hand. Her eyes hurriedly searched Jenny's face and hands for any injury. Some of Robert's bloody spit still draped from his lip, and more of it stretched down the fence.

Robert was flustered and shaken. Excuses ricocheted through his mind but he reasoned quite correctly, that it would be of no use to attempt conversation with the livid old woman. He looked anxiously in all directions and concluded thankfully that no one else had witnessed the incident. The little girl began to cry louder. The squealing sound of Jenny's crying pierced his ears. He turned and hurried away, toward Scotty's. His rapid departure caused his heart to pound and his breathing was heavy. Mrs. Obenhauer's reproachful tone brought back unpleasant memories of times when he hid in his bedroom closet, when he was yelled at in the orphanage.

He hurried left on Market street and was soon at Scotty's.

*****

Mrs. Obenhauer hugged Jenny and hastily carried her inside for closer inspection. Big tears streamed from Jenny's beautiful blue eyes. Mrs. Obenhauer was relieved to find no cut or bruise on the child. She reckoned the dull red smudges on Jenny to have originated with the suspicious stranger. She reasoned that somehow he had gotten blood onto Jenny's face and hand. She fetched a warm wet wash cloth and gently cleansed the child's face and hands.

Having retrieved the rest of the children from the playground and initiated nap time, Mrs. Obenhauer reflected on the recent activity from the comfort of her rocking chair. The sleepy motion of the rocker abruptly stopped, when she realized that Jenny might have been exposed to contaminated blood from the strange man. She hurried to her medicine cabinet and brought alcohol and a fresh wash cloth. She briskly scrubbed the affected areas of Jenny's hand and mouth. Jenny cried out under the force of the scrubbing and the offensive smell and struggled to pull away. The more that Jenny struggled, the firmer Mrs. Obenhauer constrained her, and the more frightened Jenny became.

"It's all right child. Just hold still. We have to get all of the old bad blood off your face! We don't want any bad blood on you!" Mrs. Obenhauer sternly said. "Baaad blood." she repeated. When the cleansing was complete, Mrs. Obenhauer rocked Jenny to calm her until the toddler's whimpering ceased and she had fallen asleep.

After more pondering of the encounter with the stranger and various possible consequences, Mrs. Obenhauer gathered a scrub brush and a bucket of hot soapy water. Having assured herself that all of the children were asleep and safe, she hurried outside and thoroughly scrubbed Robert's bloody spit from the fence. As she did, she noticed the headline on the blood splotched newspaper lying outside the fence,

MISSING MOTHER AND CHILD, the headline read.

She turned and raced frantically back inside to check her flock. She quickly inventoried to make sure none were missing. Having satisfied herself, she took up her position in the rocking chair again. I wonder who in the world he was. What did he want with Jenny? Did he mean to harm her? Why was he bleeding? Could he have anything to do with the newspaper story. Mrs. Bronsky might be horrified if she knew about this. She decided that she would spare Jenny's mother any concern. Still, she was troubled throughout the remainder of the day. She knew that she probably should report the incident to the police. But she also reasoned that it might cause some of her clients to move their children elsewhere.

*****

"In a hurry to get to work today, Robert," Jack Scott asked? He noticed Robert hurriedly arrive for work. Robert barely heard the question. He was thinking about the little girl in the play lot and about the newspaper that he dropped.

Jack Scott was unconcerned that Robert didn't answer his question. The two seldom talked much.

Chapter 9

Karen worked alone in the gallery through mid-day. She spent most of the morning just sitting at a small antique oak desk in the rear of the store. From there she could see the glass front door, and through it, she had a narrow view of the street in front of the store. An absence of customers allowed her opportunity to think about Stan's recent behavior and to recall happier times in their marriage. She thought about their first date. Then she recalled the two of them bringing Jenny home for the first time. She thought about their first Christmas with Jenny, and the second.

Since it was such a beautiful spring day, many nearby workers used their lunch breaks to stroll the sidewalks and window shop. Some occasionally paused to survey paintings and art supplies on display through a window in the front of the Chantley Gallery.

A doorbell chimed once, announcing the entrance of a young couple. They meandered Hand in hand into the studio and began to examine paintings.

Karen rose from her seat and greeted them. "May I help you?" she asked. "My name is Karen."

"We're just looking around," the young man replied.

"Good." Karen said, "Take your time. It's a lovely day, isn't it?"

The young man draped his arm around the lower back of the girl. They each looked into the others eyes and smiled. The body language of both spoke of passionate, immodest love. Karen noted the wedding bands on their hands. Such a young pair to be married, Karen thought as she studied the girl who didn't look to be more than sixteen. She had long black hair that almost reached her waist. It was shiny and the lower third of it was curly. A silvery hair band glistened on top of her head.

"We're looking for something to put over our couch," the girl said, smiling affectionately at her husband. "I'm Sheri. This is Danny."

Danny didn't look to be older than Sherri. He had wavy blonde hair that touched his shoulders. His eyes were dark brown. He had a short goatee.

"I'm very pleased to meet you both," Karen replied. "Did you have something particular in mind?"

"No, not really, Sheri answered, our couch is sort of light blue. Did you paint these yourself?" She waved her arm across a wall of paintings.

"No, I'm afraid I'm not that talented," Karen answered. "My friend, Paula Chantley, did most of them. She owns the studio. Did you have something particular in mind?"

Karen was so absorbed in studying the transparent affection between the two that she didn't realize that she had repeated the question.

Dan took charge of the conversation. "We're just getting started and don't have much, but each other." He looked down lovingly into Sheri's sparkling green eyes. She returned his look with equal warmth.

Karen wondered when she and Stan had last exchanged such a passionate loving gaze. How long has it been? God, I don't even remember.

"Did your friend paint that one?" Sheri asked. She pointed to a pale winter landscape on the wall.

"Yes she did," Karen answered, looking at the painting.

It was a wintry country scene with a pale blue cast done in oil. In the foreground a happy young couple and a dog were playing in the snow. There was a cozy snow covered cottage in the background with snow capped evergreens surrounding it. Smoke drifted from a chimney and warm inviting lights filled the cottage windows. Karen could see why two young lovers would relate to this creation of Paula's. Her thoughts carried her back to last December when she and Stan spent an afternoon in Indian Lake park, playing in snow with Jenny. She remembered the fun they all had. She recalled Stan's warm embraces and tender kisses. 'You know you love it', she remembered his words as he rubbed snow in her hair.

"How much?"

"I'm sorry?" Karen's thoughts were interrupted.

"How much is the painting?" Sheri repeated. "It's really pretty!"

"Oh. Of course. Let me check my book. I think Paula may have reduced the price on that one because of winter being over."

Karen found her price book and thumbed through a few pages.

"Yes, here it is. It was four hundred, now just two twenty five. That's a great price for a Paula Chantley original. Some of her paintings sell for much more."

Paula preferred to do surrealistic work. But being a pragmatic business person, she more often produced whatever it took to pay the bills. She could produce a painting like the winter scene in little more than an hour.

The young couple each looked into the others eyes for agreement. Karen could feel growing envy. I know Stan has looked at me that way before. And I've looked at him that way too. When did it stop? Why did it stop?

"We'll take it!" Dan said with a broad smile, continuing his view into Sherri's eyes.

Karen thanked them and wished them well as hand in hand, they left the shop,. Then she retired to the desk in the rear corner of the gallery. She settled into her chair again and thought of the two young lovers, and of herself and Stan.

Karen and Stan met just after he was discharged from the army. He was already employed at CTC. He landed the job with CTC because he was bright, and a veteran, which gave him preferential consideration. He had completed a year of college before enlisting in the army and was continuing his education at night after having completed his military service. That's where he and Karen met.

Karen's thoughts turned to their first meeting. They were both enrolled in the same night class at the university. It was an introductory class in computer science.

*****

"What is the function of the arithmetic and logic unit in a computer?" Professor Baker inquired, as he slowly turned away from the chalkboard that he had been facing, and with a pointing arm outstretched toward his audience, he made eye contact around the classroom.

"Miss Dorhman?"

In his usual eccentric manner, he pointed his right forefinger in her direction, sighting across the top of it as though it were a pistol. She felt flush even now, as she recalled the incident.

"Miss Doorrrhhhman?" his voice raised. "The ALU. What is it?"

He faced the chalkboard again and folded his arms. He waited a moment, then tilted his face toward the ceiling and patted his foot. His voice grew louder with each utterance.

"Class, is Miss Dorhman present this evening?"

She didn't know the correct response because she had gone ice skating with Paula on Sunday and hadn't read the assignment. Usually, she studied on Sunday afternoons for the Monday night class.

She felt something nudging her beneath her left arm and glanced down to see a scrap of paper being pushed under her arm from behind.

"The ALU combines the contents of input registers to perform arithmetic and logic operations," she blurted, reading from the little piece of paper that Stan had slipped to her.

Slowly Professor Baker unfolded his arms and turned to face his audience again. He gracefully extended his left arm with palm up in her direction.

"Thank you very much Miss Dorhman. The suspense was quite entertaining. Perhaps next time you could email your answer from Bermuda, or wherever your mind was."

Moisture began to well in her eyes. He's such an absolute ass, she thought.

She placed her right elbow on the folding desk of the chair, and rested her forehead lightly on the fingertips of her upraised hand. She hoped that her classmates hadn't noticed the moisture that was building in her eyes. She felt sure that her face must be cherry red. A distant bell rang.

"Your assignments are on the board. Class dismissed!" Baker emitted, saluting majestically and exiting the room.

Near silence was broken by books closing, chairs shuffling, and a rushed scrambling of students toward the exit. When silence had settled in again, and she thought that she was alone, Karen wiped her eyes her fingers and slowly rose from her chair. As she did, she glanced behind her. Her eyes met Stan's for the first time. It was a brief connection. Yet, it was immediately enchanting and appealing to her.

"Thanks," she managed to mutter. Their eyes remained engaged until she felt flush and quickly turned away.

*****

Karen's thoughts returned from the past to the young couple in the gallery. The looks she had witnessed today between Dan and Sheri reminded her of the exchange that she had shared with Stan that first time they looked into the others eyes.

There is something wrong between us. She irreversibly concluded to herself. She would talk to him tonight.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a bell and the noise of the back door opening and closing. She rose to greet Paula Chantley, her friend and employer. They had abbreviated their names since junior high, when Karen became Kay and Paula became Pau.

"Hi Kay, how's it going today?" Paula asked. "Any lookers?"

"A little slow for such a beautiful spring day," Karen replied. "Marcia Fry dropped off a couple of paintings for you to look at and decide if you want to sell." She pointed in the direction of the two paintings. "An-d, we did have one sale for two twenty five, the winter scene." She pointed to the empty wall space previously occupied by the painting. The wall clock chimed once just as she pointed.

"Well hey!" Paula exaggerated. "That's a couple of week's rent. Now, if we can just make the payroll." She said directing a teasing nod and smile at her part time employee.

Karen moved to appraise the new hair-do her friend had acquired this morning. Paula, aware of the exam, did a quick turn-around. Her tight chocolate leather mini and jade silk blouse clung to her trim petite figure as she spun. She teased the boyish short red hair with her finger tips as she whirled.

"Love it, Pau. You look great!"

The auburn color contrasted beautifully with her light complexion and complimented her green eyes. She was an enviable inch taller than Karen and a half size smaller in the waist. She had the legs of a model. In fact, that was how she first became interested in art. She had supplemented her college fund by posing for art students.

It was Len Calloway that interested Paula in painting. She developed a crush on the handsome graduate student the first evening she sat for him. The crush led to infatuation and then to a yearlong relationship. She had been involved in lots of relationships since but none as deep or lasting. Karen knew that Paula had really loved Len and was certain that they would have married had it not been for the airplane accident.

"Pau—?" Karen began a question hesitantly, and stopped herself, realizing that it could be unfair and unkind to ask her best friend.

Paula brought herself square in front of Karen. "What is it Kay?" she encouraged. She could sense in the voice and demeanor of Karen that something was really troubling her.

"Oh, it's nothing. Never mind." Karen answered. She avoided eye contact and moved back to the desk and began to pour a cup of coffee. "Would you like one?" She motioned with her cup.

"No thanks. Now you tell me what's troubling you." Paula locked eyes with Karen and wouldn't let go.

Karen slowly sat down in the desk chair and looked into space. She circled both hands around the small cup. She wished she had not gotten into this. But she now had Paula's full and persistent attention. Paula was more than her best friend. She was also her dearest confidant. Karen sipped from her cup as her gaze drifted further into space.

"Come on Kay. It's me. Spit it out." Paula affectionately commanded.

"Pau, you've dated and broken up with several guys over the years." Karen began.

Paula took a deep troubled breath. Her mind immediately flashed a picture of Stan. Oh, sweet heavens, no! She slowly sat on the edge of the desk beside Karen, facing her, and scooted back a little without taking her eyes off Karen's. Her hands tensely clutched the front edge of the desk. She waited expectantly for Karen to continue.

"How does it begin? The break up, I mean." Karen continued. She wasn't pleased with the words she found to open the conversation. She managed to look briefly at Paula. "I mean, when—" she hesitated, "when someone has lost interest in you; how does it start to show? What do you notice first?"

Paula knew there was deep concern behind the probing questions of her friend. She thought for a moment before replying, not sure if Karen expected an answer just yet. Then she eased down from the desk, stepped behind Karen's chair and gently placed her hands on Karen's shoulders.

"Well, sweetie, I guess I've always been the one to do the leaving," she kidded. She wanted to lighten what she feared was becoming a much too heavy conversation. "Now what's this all about? Have you and Stan had a little scrap? Huh?" She softly massaged Karen's shoulders.

Karen began to feel more at ease. "No, we really haven't had a fight, I mean nothing serious. It's just that we don't—" She paused and searched thoughtfully for the right words. She couldn't seem to find words that suited her. She felt her eyes begin to burn.

"We just don't seem to look at each other, or touch each other, or talk to each other, the way we used to—" She hesitated again. "We don't show affection the same as we used to. We don't—" She paused and looked at a distant wall. "We don't make love like we used to." Her eyes were becoming wet now. Her throat felt choked and her voice trembled. "I'm scared, Pau. I'm really scared that something's gone wrong between us." Her hands came up to her face.

Little wrinkles were forming on the brow of Paula's concerned face. She could feel tears welling up in her eyes too. She realized that she had to shake it off. Her friend needed her to listen, sympathize, comfort and advise. She knew that she needed to maintain her composure. She tried to think of the best approach.

"How long has it been since you two spent some time alone? I mean, really alone, without Jenny, on vacation, or a weekend date? I'll bet it's been a while. Is Stan still putting in a lot of hours? Does he ever take you out to dinner or a movie?" Paula realized she was on a threshold of prying and halted the inquisition. She stopped the shoulder massage which had been unconsciously growing in intensity as she spoke.

"It's been a while." Karen answered. She realized that it had been well over a year since they had vacationed from work. And it had been a long time since they had done much of anything together, other than daily routines, and especially without Jenny. She thoughtfully considered the implication that maybe they had just spent too little time together. She was starting to feel better. "You know, Pau, you're probably right." She tilted her head backwards and managed a weak smile.

Paula noted the smile and patted Karen's uplifted cheeks with her fingers. "Well if you need to take a few days off for a sweetheart vacation Kay, you go right ahead. I'll get Mother to fill in for you. But listen, this doesn't alter the fact that I still would like for you to work more hours, as I've been telling you. I mean of course, when you two get things straightened out. Okay? Now, take my advice and have a nice loving, open talk with Stan, tonight. Tell him you're feeling a little neglected. And that you feel like you two should take some time off, together."

"Thanks, Pau, for listening to me." Karen tilted her face back to look up at Paula through moist eyes. "I'm sorry about refusing more hours. Right now, until Jenny's a little older, I just think I owe her all the time I can give."

Karen reached up and placed her hands on top of Paula's hands, pressing them against her cheeks.

*****

By late afternoon, Stan's mind distanced itself from the morning's events. His headache abated. He forgot about Jan and Keith and poured himself furiously into the Compton work. The effort required his full attention and kept him from reliving his earlier outburst and it's consequences. Now, near the end of the project, he sat thoughtfully reflecting on his last few months work.

Five months of blood and sweat. And there is not one visible thing to show for it, he thought. He had attended dozens of detailed planning meetings and then sat for hours punching buttons on his computer keyboard.

His eyes slowly scanned the buttons of his keyboard, left to right, as his thoughts rambled. Q, W, E, R, he silently read the keys. He wondered how many times he had hit the T key or the Y, U, O, or P keys. The painted letters were worn off of some of the more used keys. His eyes moved left again, and up. He read the keys to himself. F1, F2, F3, F4. That one doesn't get much use, he thought as he looked at the F4 button.

F4, Y, Enter was the sequence of keys used to erase a computer file. He studied the significant sequence of keys. He noted that the Y and Enter keys were somewhat faded but the F4 button looked new.

F4, Y, Enter. That's all it would take. Just push those three little buttons in sequence, and everything I've done in the last five months is gone forever, he mused.

Stan wondered if the product of anyone's labor could be less fragile.

He imagined that if he were a architect or builder he would be able to stand back at a distance from a completed project and pose proudly, with arms folded, chest out, feet spread wide, admiring the fruits of his labor. Such a magnificent accomplishment, he speculated, it could remain standing for a hundred years or more, loyally providing shelter and comfort. Such work would have produced a truly lasting monument that would have significant meaning to many people. She looks terrific, doesn't she boys? We've done a heck of a job here. Get lots of pictures. Let's pop open a bottle and celebrate. No sequences of keystrokes are going to take her down. No sir.

He gently touched the destructive three buttons, just brushed them with the tip of his finger. The thought of actually pushing the buttons brought a strange sense of giddiness to Stan. He continued to marvel at the ease with which one could completely annihilate the product of five man months of painstaking work.

He imagined himself a surgeon coming home from a exhausting day of work. It went well today dear. I stripped a demonic cancer from the liver of a child of seven. Hardly a drop of blood was wasted. The patient never experienced a hint of pain. The devouring beast is destroyed for good and the child may live to be president one day. Let's pour a glass of brandy and celebrate, shall we?

Stan's imagination produced a smile on his face.

The reality was that for five months, Stan had placed temporary, magnetic marks on a disk inside his computer. There was no trophy to admire, no prized photographs to take home, no lasting monument, no cheering crowd, no press photographers. That realization negated pride in the product of his countless hours of dedicated effort. His fingers continued to brush lightly over the hazardous sequence of keys. He inadvertently brushed a little too hard on the F4 button.

"CLICK!" The click of the button was thunderous in Stan's ears. A warning message flashed on his computer screen.

Chapter 10

Karen buckled seat straps around Jenny, slid behind the steering wheel, fastened her own seat belt, and drove away from the nursery.

"Did you have fun today, Jen?" Karen asked, as she pulled away from the curb.

"Yes."

"What did you do today?" she asked with little interest. Her mind was really occupied with thoughts about the talk that she planned to have with Stan. Her thoughts had hardly been elsewhere since she and Paula talked earlier. "Shall we go home and fix Daddy a nice supper?"

She flipped her turn signal and eased into slow moving traffic.

"Maan bluuh."

Traffic was heavier than usual. An occasional horn blared. "I'm sorry, Jen. What did you say?" Karen focused her attention on the task of driving. "Look at that idiot! Cutting in front of me like that. Let's see. What was I saying? Oh, would you like to help me cook something special for Daddy when we get home?"

"No. Bluuuhhh!" the little girl stubbornly tried to communicate.

"Are you saying blood, sweetie? Well I agree. We don't want to fix anything quite that special. I was thinking of spaghetti and meat sauce. You both like that. Don't you? And maybe we can have fresh strawberry shortcake with whipped cream. Yum, yum! Doesn't that sound good, Jen?"

"Unhh hunh. Skehhii." Jenny yawned. Her troubled thoughts had been diverted. "We'll just make a quick stop at the grocery and pick up a few things. They should have fresh strawberries this week. You know the great big kind that we always have this time of year, the ones that we like so well?"

By the time Karen reached the parking lot at the grocery, Jenny had fallen asleep. Karen found a empty space directly in front of the store, only a few parking spaces from the entrance. She was disappointed to find her child asleep. She looked at Jenny with loving admiration. She considered waking her, but the child looked so tuckered out and peaceful that she didn't want to disturb her. Jenny's head was slumped to the left, in the child seat near the side of the car door. Her hands loosely clutched a stuffed Easter bunny in her lap. He had recently become her closest friend. Karen reached into the back seat and gently pulled a blanket over Jenny's shoulders, then silently eased out of the driver's seat and locked the car. She didn't expect to be gone for more than a couple of minutes. She hurried into the store and grabbed a shopping cart. She passed by a newspaper stand as she quickly moved toward the fresh fruit section. The evening headline screamed, FOUL PLAY POSSIBLE - MISSING CHILD...

Karen saw the newspaper stand as she passed, but the headline failed to register in her mind. She placed a package of golden shortcakes into her cart, then, hurriedly selected a package of fresh strawberries. Instantly Karen flung the package and reeled away from the produce stand. The headline finally registered.

She spun around and charged like a football linebacker out of the store toward her car. The hasty turnabout caused a painful twist of her left ankle. A teenager was pushing a lengthy train of grocery carts back to the store from the parking lot. Karen darted first one way then another, limping, stumbling, around the noisy assemblage. As she rounded the boy, she nearly upended him by pivoting around him with her arm around his waist. Then she nearly collided with a minivan that was just entering a parking space. Her eyes were wild with fear. The minivan driver and other nearby, shopper's heads turned in her direction and stared in wonder. In the adjacent parking space, a man in a raincoat stood behind a car and peered intensely over the top of the car at Karen. Only his baseball cap and eyes were visible from her vantage point.

Jenny's eyes were still peacefully closed when Karen's anxious face frantically searched through her car window.

"Oh, thank God!" Karen gasped. She opened the driver's door and slipped sheepishly into the seat. Her legs were weak. To heck with the stupid groceries! She held the top of the steering wheel with both hands and leaned forward, resting her forehead on her hands. Her heart still pounded in her chest. She could hear her own breathing.

A loud bang on the top of the car above the windshield caused her to snap her head upright.

"Are you alright?" a uniformed policeman asked, peering through the windshield.

She was so startled that she couldn't create words in her throat because of the throbbing and heaving in her chest, but she managed a strained smile and affirming nod.

"Are you sure, mam?" Her face still showed panic. Her eyes looked tense and scared.

She repeated the nod.

The policeman shook his head and continued toward the grocery store entrance.

"Whah ap-en, Mummih?" Jenny inquired sleepily from the back seat, as the policeman turned to leave.

"It's nothing honey." Her voice barely managed the assurance. "We've just stopped for a few groceries." She didn't feel steady enough to resume driving anyway, so she decided to go on with shopping. "Want to go shop with Mommy, Jen?" She tried to sound cheery.

Mother and daughter shared the comfort of the others hands as they walked into the grocery.

Strike me dead if I ever even think of doing anything like that again, Karen thought. She looked down at Jenny and squeezed her hand tightly as they entered the store.

After again selecting a small basket of large red strawberries, they walked to the meat counter for ground beef.

"Bluhhdd!" Jenny said as she pointed to the meats on display. She studied her little forefinger as she pointed. It was the same finger which Mrs. O aggressively scrubbed earlier in the day.

"Yes dear." Karen compared the packages of ground beef on display.

"Bluuuh baaahh" The words trailed off, this time, as Karen placed a package of burger in the cart.

"What's this thing about blood Jen? Have you learned something new today? I'll bet you've been watching TV with Mrs. O." Jenny's little thumb and forefinger still pointed aimlessly in front of her, and she continued to study them, as they walked toward the checkout counters. "Would you like a piece of c-a-n-d-y?" Karen beamed the spelling into Jenny's face.

"Yesss!" Jenny returned an excited, happy look.

"Well, we'll get you some candy, but you have to wait until after supper to eat it. Okay?"

"Ohkaay Mummih."

*****

"Hey Stan." Keith Williams interrupted Stan's fanciful thoughts about deleting his own work. His voice startled Stan and woke him from the grip of devilish delirium. "Can we talk? If I can interrupt you, that is?"

"Sure," Stan answered. "I was just taking a mental recess."

"It's about this morning Stan. You were absolutely right. I haven't applied myself to Mid-City as I should. Truth is, I guess I've known for a some time, that I'm just not cut out for this work."

Oh man. What have I done, now? Stan thought, straightening in his chair. "Now Keith, listen, I was out of line. I —"

"No. No you weren't Stan," Keith quickly interrupted. "Let me finish. I've known for the last year that I wasn't happy at this job. You helped me to finally realize, this morning, just how much my halfhearted work has made life difficult for you and others. I really am sorry for that. It's all I've thought about since this morning."

"Please! Listen, Keith! I haven't felt well lately. My head was pounding this morning. I had no right to—"

"You had every right, Stan." Keith interrupted again. "Heck, do you think I haven't noticed all the hours you put in. And now, knowing Bob, you've probably been asked to help pull Mid-City back together too. I wish that I could be as dedicated as you to this place. But I'm not. No, I've reached a decision today. I'm going to do us all a favor and find a job that I can actually enjoy. Will you please accept my apology?" Keith extended his right hand.

Stan's emotions and thoughts were running in every direction. Guilt, sorrow, appreciation, relief, self-contempt, pity and envy, were playing musical chairs in the command center of his mind.

"Of course I accept your apology, Keith. But I wish you would really think twice about this. You could be making a big mistake."

The two shook hands firmly. They exchanged a long look of mutual understanding.

"No. My mind's made up brother. I need to get going," Keith said.

He flipped his black windbreaker over his shoulder and disappeared toward the elevators.

It was five P.M. Stan felt drained again, just like this morning, when the coffee mug sailed in slow motion, as its contents hovered above Jan's lap.

Well, I've really done it now. He surmised that if Keith actually meant to quit, then he would have no choice but to help Jan salvage the Mid-City project. He noted that his headache was returning and took two more aspirin as he picked up the phone.

"Karen, it's me. Going to work late again tonight," he told their answering machine. "Sorry. I've just got to finish this project. See you later. Hug Jenny for me. Bye."

No more fanciful thoughts of 'F4, Y, ENTER,' Stan was hard at work again.

At seven fifteen, Bob Steen looked into Stan's cubicle and waved goodnight. He thought about stopping to apologize for not approving Stan's vacation request, but decided it was better to let that sleeping dog lie.

It occurred to Stan that he was now the only person on the floor. He extended Steen's short interruption to walk to the other end of the floor for a cup of coffee and a snack. Back at his desk, he opened an aspirin tin to take two more pills and pitched the empty tin into a trash can.

*****

Karen and Jenny were soon at home putting away the groceries she bought, when Karen noticed a flashing light on their answering machine. She walked to the machine, near the breakfast bar, and pushed a button. Disappointment clouded her face as she listened to Stan's message.

"Not again!" she said with disgust. "The spaghetti— the shortcake— our talk." She picked up the phone to see if she might change his mind. From the canteen area, Stan didn't hear his desk phone ringing.

"Well, I guess it's just me and you, Jen. Your daddy is working late again; or something." Her words trailed off with a note of disgust. "Take off your jacket honey. You can watch television while Mommy cooks our sketti."

She turned the television on and found a child's program for Jenny to watch.

*****

The sun had completed its majestic work for the day and left only a feint red glow in the western sky, where a thin layer of clouds helped to bring early dusk. Street lights began to glow on Clay street.

Mrs. Obenhauer was enjoying a cup of coffee in her second floor living quarters above her nursery. She slowly rocked in a chair, near a window, while she watched a television game show. Unknown to her, she was being carefully observed through a window of her apartment. The lower sash of the window was partly raised. Its sheer drapes hung limply in the still warm evening air.

Robert worked at Scotty's until almost dark. Across the street from Mrs. Obenhauer's home, he watched her from behind a utility pole. He noted the absence of lights in the first floor nursery. He shifted his sight from the barely visible head of Mrs. Obenhauer to the shadowed and empty play lot on the north side of Clay Street. His first slight hope, of seeing the darling little girl again, was quickly denied. So he turned his attention back toward the house. His baseball cap remained motionless as he surveyed the scene. He judged the noise of the television to be a calming distraction for the older woman, who had confronted him earlier in the day. His eyes slowly shifted, from viewing the window, to probing the sidewalk where he had crouched earlier in the day. He craned his neck slightly to improve his view. A smile showed on his face.

Mrs. Obenhauer took advantage of a commercial break to pour another cup of coffee. She rose from her chair and glanced at the open window. Feeling a slight chill, she decided to close the window for the evening. But as she came near the window, a movement, across the street caught her attention. Someone was moving hurriedly in the direction of her house. She stepped closer to the window for a better view.

Robert hurried across the street in her direction. His path toward the nursery brought him into the perimeter of the light from a overhead street lamp.

Mrs. Obenhauer watched a man crouch to the ground. She could see that he was wearing a raincoat and baseball cap.

A commercial concluded and the quiz show resumed so Mrs. Obenhauer's attention was drawn toward the television momentarily but she quickly looked out of the window again.

Beneath his cap, Robert's face was hidden from Mrs. Obenhauer. It appeared to her that the man picked up something from the ground and inspected it. Then he lowered his head slightly bringing his hands up toward his face.

"You have ten seconds to solve the puzzle," a voice on the television warned.

Mrs. Obenhauer briefly turned her attention back to the television, then back to the window. The man seemed to wrap something around his face. Then he ambled off clutching the object under his arm. He disappeared into distant shadows.

After closing the window and taking her seat again, Mrs. Obenhauer recalled the stranger who had caused commotion earlier in the day, remembering that he also wore a raincoat and baseball cap. Could this have been the same man? she wondered. The thought brought a sudden chill. She got up and looked through the window again. Seeing nothing, she collected a comforter from her couch and took her seat once more.

Robert briefly examined his retrieved memento in the light of a street lamp. The spattering of blood on the newspaper reminded him that he needed to stop at a grocery on the way home for a bottle of ketchup. He liked rare meat smothered in ketchup.

Chapter 11

Karen's thoughts continued to revolve around Stan as she stood at the kitchen sink washing strawberries and removing their stems. It occurred to her that Stan may have finished work earlier than expected and was on his way home when he didn't answer his phone. That could explain why he didn't answer. Good. We can still have dinner and talk. Her thoughts and mood turned brighter and she began preparing the meat and spaghetti sauce.

Soon the kitchen was filled with the aroma of onion, garlic and peppers. At five minutes after eight, the food was ready to eat but Stan had not arrived. She now realized that he had not been on the way home when she tried to phone him. Images of Jan Murray flashed in her mind.

"Waah skehhi," Jenny interrupted.

"Sketti is ready, Jen," Karen replied. "Your daddy can eat by himself when gets home." Where the devil is he? Images of Jan Murray continued to flash. Stan I want you to be home, now! Her imagination was running rampant with scenes of salacious behavior by Stan and Jan.

Jenny interrupted again, "Eee skehhie."

"Yes, honey. We're ready to eat."

They perched on stools at the warmly lit breakfast bar and bowed their heads, while Karen said a child's prayer of thanks for the food. Jenny mumbled the words along with her mother. Karen served spaghetti noodles which she covered with spicy smelling meat sauce.

"Nooo Blluuhh!" Jenny shook her head repeatedly pointing at the spaghetti sauce on her plate.

"Sweetheart, this is good tomato sauce, with meat, just like we always have with spaghetti. What is this thing about blood tonight? You always love sketti, just like Daddy."

They both began to pick at their food. Jenny didn't want to eat it because of its symbolic appearance and Karen had lost her own appetite to disappointment and nagging suspicions. She concluded that she needed to speak to Mrs. Obenhauer about the sort of television programs she allowed Jenny to watch. She was more determined than ever to have a long talk with Stan.

"Wahn cannie."

"Jen, you've hardly eaten any of your sketti. Don't you want it at all? And what about the strawberry shortcake?" Jenny shook her head with determination.

"Well, alright I guess. When you've finished the candy, we need to brush your teeth. I'll run your bath water as soon as I put away the dishes."

Karen finished with the dishes and put left overs in the refrigerator for Stan. Once again, the face and figure of Jan Murray dribbled into her mind like a leaky faucet that just won't quit no matter how hard you twist the shut-off. She began again to nurse suspicious thoughts of Jan and Stan. Her thoughts produced an empty tugging feeling in her stomach and brought sinking hurt to her heart. As her imagination constructed scenes in greater detail, the sinking hurt evolved to anger.

How could he do something like that to me or to Jenny? Would he even care if he never saw either of us again? The thoughts raged in her mind.

She could understand Stan looking elsewhere, if it weren't for Jenny. Karen knew that she wasn't the centerfold candidate that Jan was. But Jenny? Stan had always seemed to worship Jenny.

Why would he risk losing her? Karen wondered. Maybe he thinks he can eat his cake and have it too.

She couldn't imagine how anyone could love a child more than she loved Jenny and couldn't imagine giving her up for any reason.

How could he possibly do that? Maybe he thinks I've loved Jenny too much. Maybe he thinks I've neglected his needs. I've always thought that he understood how important Jenny is to me, to both of us. Maybe I was wrong.

Karen really had tried to balance her time and attention to Jenny, to their home, to her job, and to Stan. It wasn't easy. Sometimes she was so exhausted that she would just collapse on the couch after dinner and after Jenny had been tucked in bed. There just wasn't enough time or energy for her to be all that she would like to be, day in and day out. She imagined that Jan Murray, on the other hand, had lots of free time. Jan didn't have to be concerned about working and housekeeping and caring for a child.

She probably has plenty of time and energy to entertain, be exciting, and please a man—like Stan! Oh Stan, how could you do this to me, to Jenny, to us?

"Jen," Karen called from upstairs, "are you ready for your bath?" In the absence of an acknowledgment, she came downstairs to get Jenny and then helped her with her bath and dressed her in pajamas. They settled on the couch in the family room where she read happy ending fairy tales to the little girl until Jenny fell asleep.

*****

Stan entered the side door from the garage at eleven forty. He smelled the aroma of spaghetti sauce which lingered heavily in the kitchen. Dull pain still throbbed behind his eyes.

He reached into a small cabinet above the refrigerator and took out a bottle of aged Kentucky bourbon and a large bottle of aspirin. He poured a double shot of the whiskey over ice and washed down two aspirin with it. Then he rummaged through another cabinet and found a small empty prescription bottle. He filled it with aspirin, from the larger container, and put the smaller bottle into his pocket. He poured another double shot of whiskey and lifted his tired body onto a stool at the breakfast bar. Between sips, he sat with his elbows on the counter and with his chin resting in the palm of his left hand. The fingers of his right hand massaged his tired eyes, trying to comfort the pain that lay behind them.

He was greatly relieved to be almost finished with the Compton project but that wasn't helping his headache tonight. He would try to wrap up the project in the morning before his doctor appointment. He reasoned that if he could just have a relaxed weekend, then maybe the headaches would ease, and he could put his full attention to the Mid-City project starting Monday. And then, perhaps in a couple of weeks, he could finally take a real vacation with Karen and Jenny.

After a while, scotch, aspirin and fatigue cloaked his pain. He was too tired to bother looking for anything to eat at the late hour. He turned off the kitchen lights and moved to the great room to turn off lights there.

The presence of Karen and Jenny on the couch surprised him. He had assumed that they were in bed. He moved further into the room and stood in front of them, studying the two for several minutes. Karen was lying on her back on the couch. Her head was slightly raised by a throw pillow. Her left leg was extended on the couch and her right foot rested on the floor. Jenny lay, stomach down, on Karen's chest. Her face was turned toward Stan. The curly ends of her light brown hair draped her sweet innocent face. Her little arms lay limply at her sides. Karen's left arm was wrapped loosely around Jenny's back. Her right hand loosely held a small book that just touched the floor.

Stan's heart choked with emotion at the sight of Karen and Jenny. He hated that he had not had more time to spend with them lately. The bourbon that he had just consumed added to depression that had lately followed the headaches. He felt burning in his eyes as tears of love and regret wanted to form. As he studied the two, his thoughts took him back to the beginning of his relationship with Karen.

He remembered their first date, and the weeks of courtship that followed. He thought that Karen was the most beautiful girl that he had ever known, much less ever dated. Her hair was longer back then. It fell just below her shoulders. He remembered how captivating her soft, tanned skin was. And her eyes were hypnotic to him. Every word that she spoke was a doorway to further exploration of her soul. He soon realized that she had inner beauty that went beyond her terrific looks. She was kind and sensitive to the needs of other people, and had a passion for justice. He never heard her speak a unkind word about anyone. But she was not at all hesitant to speak out against the actions of people that reflected injustice. She steadfastly refused to sleep with Stan while they were dating.

He recalled their honeymoon. They went directly from their wedding ceremony to the airport. They had reserved a ocean front room for five nights on Florida's west coast. A lengthy plane delay caused them to arrive at their room late in the evening. Stan impatiently pitched their luggage through the doorway of their hotel room and hoisted Karen into his arms. He carried her straight to a queen size bed kicking the door closed, and his shoes off, on the way. He was hungry for her physical love. There would be no more tortured waiting, no stopping short of complete fulfillment this time. His smile turned from one of sweetness to one of disconcerting hunger.

Karen had never felt such masculine muscular treatment. It heightened the anticipation that had been building in her over the last few hours. The hunger that showed in Stan's eyes brought both excitement and disquiet to her. But her own hunger won out over her apprehension.

Stan could feel her pulse quickening through her thin silk blouse. He could see the anxious look in her eyes. He placed his hungry mouth over her full warm lips.

Stan recalled now, that he was amazed at her responsiveness. She had always been completely self- controlled. He had only imagined that she would be so passionate. The searching touch of her hands fanned the flame of his passion. Soon both their clothes gave way to groping hands.

After they made love, she fell asleep beside him.

A warm ocean breeze gently waved opaque curtains in front of their open window. Through the thin material, light from a three quarter moon swept back and forth across Karen in harmony with the movement of the drapes. The soft light accentuated her beauty. He moved closer to gain a better view of her face and reached toward her with his hands.

*****

Stan's movement triggered her subconscious awareness. She felt a warm weight press against her chest and lifted her head.

"What—oh—I guess I fell asleep." She saw Stan's face first and then saw his trembling hands as they approached her chest.

Stan gently lifted Jenny in his arms and quietly carried her upstairs to her room while Karen turned off the lights. Jenny continued to sleep as Stan kissed her forehead and affectionately tucked her into bed. He placed her stuffed bunny beside her and quietly left her room.

Karen entered the bathroom which adjoined their bedroom, and began to fill the tub with warm water. She was thinking about how she would open the conversation with Stan. She thought she smelled alcohol on his breath and wished that she hadn't. Lately, it seemed that Stan was difficult to talk with when he was drinking. And it seemed that he was doing more of that lately.

Meanwhile, Stan undressed and stretched out in his boxer shorts on their king sized bed, while he waited for Karen to finish her bath. He closed his tired eyes. His thoughts returned to their wedding night, but only for a moment. His exhausted body and scotch sedated mind soon fell asleep.

Karen came back into the bedroom and was disappointed to find him sound asleep. I guess it can wait until morning. It's late anyhow and he's been drinking. Besides, she really hadn't quite decided how she would open the conversation. She thought some more about that before finally drifting off to sleep herself.

Chapter 12

Stan woke at six. He eased silently to the guest bathroom to take his shower to avoid waking Karen. She usually didn't get up quite that early. As soon as he showered and dressed, he quietly left the house. He wanted to get an early start on the day and finish the Compton project before his doctor appointment. He stopped at a drive-through for coffee and a croissant which he ate while driving to the office. His headache was hardly noticeable this morning, but still, he took two aspirin with the hot coffee, just in case it should return. He returned the pill bottle to his trouser pocket.

It was another beautiful day just like yesterday. Man, I hope it stays this nice through the weekend. Maybe we can spend at least one day at the lake, he thought. He reminded himself that he needed to push his boat into the garage, so that he could service it. He started opening the car's windows and thought about what happened yesterday. He recalled that he had just started opening the sun roof when the pain struck.

Today, the sun roof opened without incident and the fresh scents of spring blended with the smell of his coffee. He inhaled deep breaths through his nose, enjoying the fragrances. Today, he didn't bother turning the radio on. He wanted to enjoy the sound of birds singing. The sights, sounds, and scents of spring invigorated him. He sipped his coffee and enjoyed the warm taste.

He wondered if the sense of taste of coffee was really taste, or was it actually smell. He thought of holding his nose as he took a sip, just to see if he could taste the coffee with his nose blocked. But he would have to steer with his knees in order to hold his nose with one hand and the coffee cup with the other. He remembered the near collision yesterday, and wisely returned his attention to driving. He sipped his coffee again and it brought a recollection of Jan's spilled coffee at the office yesterday.

He wondered if Jan had blisters from the coffee, and if she would be back at work today, and would she still be as angry. He hoped not. He wished now that he had phoned her last night to apologize. He knew that he needed to apologize and would definitely do so, as soon as he saw her. After all, they would need to work together on the Mid-City project, especially if Keith really intended to resign.

Stan didn't look forward to working close with Jan. It wasn't a personal issue with him. He found her as physically attractive as did other guys at CTC. But he had always been dedicated to his work. And he knew that Jan didn't share his professional work ethic. Knowing the reality of office politics though, he knew that he would have to force himself to get along with her, in spite of her faults. So he needed to bridge any gap that had come between them.

Stan thought about how he might soothe the wrinkled relationship with Jan. He decided that he would stop at the gift shop in Parke Plaza after he finished his appointment with the doctor later in the morning. He'd try to find a nice replacement coffee mug for Jan. Maybe, I'll pick up a surprise gift for her too. Yep, that's just what I'll do. I'll extend a peace offering. Maybe she'll forget about yesterday and we can get on with our work.

Stan arrived at CTC and immediately went to work. By seven forty five, he was nearing completion of the Compton project.

"Morning Stan." Bob Steen, having just arrived, issued a passing greeting to Stan.

Stan was sitting exactly where Bob last saw him the evening before. The manager wondered if Stan had been at work all night. But his concern was insufficient to trouble himself to ask. He chose instead to continue moving in the direction of his office. So did Keith Williams, who had just arrived. Keith had rarely been at work this early. He didn't take time to exchange pleasantries with Stan. He just gave a quick wave and continued toward Bob Steen's office. Bob had just opened his desk and begun working with his computer, when Keith tapped on his open door and stepped into his office.

*****

At eight ten, the Compton project was complete. All that remained to be done was for Stan to send an electronic approval form from his computer to Bob Steen's computer. Bob would then electronically approve the form and return it to Stan's computer. Stan would then send the entire completed project via the internet to Compton.

Stan's work was always flawless and hardly needed the formality of management approval. But it was an established and required procedure. Stan's work was good this time too, and he knew it. He could hardly believe that yesterday he had actually, although whimsically, toyed with the ease of destroying his entire project. None of that stuff today. It's done! Finished!

He sent a computer message to Bob, with the approval form attached and added a footnote to the message telling Bob that he was leaving for a doctor appointment.

*****

"Good morning, Bob. I need to talk to you." Keith said very businesslike. He was determined to get straight to the point. "It will only take a few minutes."

"Well I do have a lot on my plate this morning, Keith. But I guess I can spare a few minutes for you. Take a load off while I finish this email and then we can talk. Okay?" Bob noted the time of day and thought, this must be important for Keith to be at work this early.

Keith examined his fingernails while he waited for Bob to finish typing.

"Okay Keith, thanks for your patience. I'm all yours now." Bob turned to face Keith with a broad smile.

"Bob, I'm going to make this short. I've decided to resign and find a different job."

Bob Steen suddenly sat erect and color drained from his face. His mouth seemed unable to form words. "You've decided what?" Bob finally managed with a look of disbelief.

"It isn't a snap decision, Bob. I've been thinking about it for some time. I've never really been too happy here. It's not CTC, or you, or anyone really. It's just me. I just don't handle the pressures of this job very well. It seems our schedules and our client's demands are always choking and strangling every bit of fun out of the work we do. I've decided it would be best for me and CTC if I found a different line of work."

Bob Steen knew that Keith wasn't a top performer, but Keith was related to the company president, Jim Stahl. Keith's decision to leave CTC could reflect poorly on Bob. And finding another candidate with the technical background needed to replace Keith, would be a time consuming task. He didn't need or want that challenge right now. He had his own set of job pressures.

"Keith, Stan is almost finished with the Compton job. He'll be joining you and Jan on Mid-City today or tomorrow. I'm sure he will be a big help to you and take some of the pressure off. Why don't you stick around for a while, and give it a little more time, before you make a decision you might regret; that we all might regret. Have you talked to Jim about this?"

"I'm sorry Bob. If it's going to put CTC in a real bind, I'll stay a couple of weeks but no longer though. You know as well as I, that I haven't done that great on this job. I just can't see myself sticking with something indefinitely that keeps me all up tight. Life's too short. I haven't talked to Uncle Jim about it but I think he'll understand."

Bob Steen could tell that Keith was serious about not being happy with his job, and that his mind was made up. Christ almighty, he thought to himself. He wondered why he hadn't picked up on Keith's dissatisfaction before now. Charlie will sure as heck have the same question. He's not going to like this a dang bit.

"Well, Keith, if your mind is set, then I can only wish you the best. I hope you find what you're looking for. I would appreciate it, if you would stay through next week though, until Stan gets up to speed on your project. And I'd also appreciate it if your uncle doesn't blame the rest of us on the team for your decision, if you get my drift."

Keith was not really needed to get Stan up to speed. But Bob wanted some buffer time to try and find a replacement before he had to tell Charlie Grissom that Keith was leaving, and before Jim Stahl got wind of it.

"No problem," Keith replied, "and I'll make sure Uncle Jim understands that it's totally my decision."

Bob sat at his desk, looking into space through the floor length windows that formed two walls of his corner office as Keith left. He slowly combed his thinning gray hair with his fingers, as he pondered this new problem. Charlie Grissom had made it very clear to him, just yesterday, that the Mid-City project had better get back on schedule or heads were going to roll. Losing half of the team responsible for the project was not going to be seen as a step in the right direction by Charlie. Jim Stahl, who was also a board member of Mid-City would be embarrassed to have to explain to the board why their project was not delivered on time.

"Why the devil didn't I put Stan on Mid-City a long time ago?" Bob asked himself aloud, shaking his head. But he knew exactly why. No one else could have done the Compton job, certainly not Keith or Jan. And the Compton project was of greater value to CTC than the Mid-City job.

In only four more weeks, Bob would complete his twenty fifth year with CTC. He would be eligible for early retirement then. Then by crap, Charlie can find someone else to run this project group if he wants. I'll take early retirement in a heartbeat if he gives me his big lip just one more time. Just one more month. Well dang it, he continued his thoughts, I'd best get on the phone to a couple of head hunting recruiters, and start a search for Keith's replacement.

Bob decided to delay telling Charlie about Keith until Monday. He hoped that he might get lucky in the next forty eight hours, and find a replacement for Keith; or that Keith would somehow change his mind over the weekend. Bob always tried to delay any confrontation with Charlie as long as possible. As he turned and picked up his phone, Jan Murray pecked on the frame of his open door.

"Good morning Jan. What's my girl need?" He still held the phone in his hand as he smiled at Jan and gave her a once over. Dang, she looks great!

"Did Betty tell you I wanted to talk with you this morning?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact, she did." He slowly placed the phone back on it's cradle. "Come and sit down."

What is it now, not enough tissue in the ladies room? Someone forget to make coffee when the pot was empty? Someone make another pass at her for the umpteenth time? "What's up Jan?" He forced a continuing smile.

As Jan seated herself in the chair beside his desk, he glanced at her short black skirt and wondered if she owned even one skirt or dress that covered more than half of her thighs.

Jan caught his peek and lengthened her skirt with both hands as best she could. Bob quickly brought his eyes back to the telephone where his right hand still rested.

"What can I do for you, Jan?" He studied her face as he let go of the phone.

"Bob," she drawled, "I want to talk to you about Stanley. You've got to do something about him! Lately, he's been awfully hard to get along with. And yesterday he said some really mean things that hurt me. I was so shocked, that it caused me to spill hot coffee all over myself." She started to point toward her thighs with both hands but stopped herself, as the manager's eyes anxiously locked onto her hands, eager to follow them.

"What sort of things did Stan say?" He looked sympathetically into her captivating eyes.

"Oh, he said that I was lazy and useless and all sorts of things." She returned his gaze with questioning eyes. She stretched her words just a bit for emphasis. "You don't think I'm lazy, do you, Bob?" She squirmed in her chair and her skirt crept up an inch.

"No, of course I don't, Jan." He knew she was playing him like a piano. But, he was enjoying it. Cripes, seeing and talking to her are about the only things I still enjoy about this stupid job anymore.

"Well, I wish you'd talk to him, Bob, and set him straight. If he does it again, I'm just going to have to go and look for another job. That's all there is to it."

"Now hold on, Jan." Bob quickly sat erect and even more attentive. "Don't you go thinking about anything so silly. I'll talk to Stan right away. Okay?"

She took a long deep breath, expanding her white silk blouse to its capacity. "Well, I really appreciate you taking the time to listen to me, this morning, Bob."

"My pleasure, Jan." He meant it. He watched her back side tease him as she left his office.

Now that would really do it, if she quit. Charlie enjoys looking at that backside more than I do. If she and Keith both quit at the same time, I can kiss early retirement goodbye. I'd be gone too, before their desks were empty. I can just imagine Charlie's face.

Bob Steen and Charlie Grissom both knew that Jan contributed less to their business than her peers. But she was a female, and a very outstanding one at that.

What the devil is wrong with Stan anyhow? He's been around long enough to know better than this. Steen started to dial Stan's extension, but remembered what he was about to do before Jan interrupted. He quickly called two employment agencies and pleaded for urgent attention to his need. He noticed that he had a message waiting on his computer. He punched a few keys and read Stan's message about his doctor appointment and the good news that Compton was complete.

He would catch up with Stan later, after he returned from the doctor. For now, he continued talking to personnel recruiters about a replacement for Keith.

*****

When Karen woke, she looked at the now vacant half of the bed where Stan had slept. Then she looked at her clock on the nightstand. It was eight-thirty. She hardly ever slept this late. She was angry at herself for doing so today because she had decided, before finally falling asleep last night that she would talk to Stan over coffee before he left for work.

Karen dressed and sat in the kitchen sipping a cup of coffee and second guessing herself. Did I oversleep on purpose? Am I deliberately stalling; subconsciously evading a confrontation.

She considered that she was perhaps afraid to talk with Stan, because of what she might discover.

She thumped her palm on the counter and resolved to not be afraid of the truth, no matter how painful it might turn out to be. I could phone him at work and just ask him point blank. After all, he came and went last night, without a word. It wouldn't be inappropriate to just ask why he did that. That would get the conversation going. She reasoned that Stan might feel more liberty to be honest and open over the phone, rather than in a face to face conversation. And she reasoned that she might be less fearful of the consequences over the phone. I can just hang up if it gets out of hand.

She refilled her cup and sat down again with a phone in her hand. She slowly pushed the last button to ring Stan's phone. She uttered a silent prayer, Please don't let it be what I fear. Don't let it be another woman.

On the fourth ring Jan Murray's soft sultry east Texas drawl answered. "Stan Bronsky's line, this is Jan Murray. Stan's not available right now. Can I help you?"

Surprise and rage shot through Karen's mind. Her face flushed. Her heart sank. Her imagination raced wildly. A picture of Jan Murray sitting on Stan's lap flashed into her mind. Jan had one arm around Stan's neck and answered his phone with the other hand. Karen was speechless. She quickly hung up the phone. How could he? Why in God's name? Her hands were shaking visibly, driven by her irrational thoughts. Tears filled her eyes. She stumped to the bathroom for tissue to clear her nose and eyes.

Gradually her color returned and her thinking became more sensible. She correctly reasoned that it wasn't really that unusual for Jan to answer Stan's phone. Their desks were only a few feet apart. Stan was away from his desk sometimes and Jan took calls for him. That's all it is, she reasoned, besides, it's after nine now, and the office is humming with other people. There couldn't possibly be anything taking place in an office full of people. However, she was too embarrassed to dial the number again. She felt flushed and foolish for having allowed her imagination to run berserk. She would just wait until tonight to have the conversation.

After a small pot of oatmeal began to simmer, Karen went upstairs to wake Jenny. She found her sleeping cross ways on her bed. She gently tickled the child's neck, with the tip of a fingernail, until Jenny stirred.

Karen took a quick peek outside before dressing Jenny. She guessed that Mrs. O would let the children play outside since the weather was so nice. Just to make sure Jenny wouldn't get a chill, she dressed her in corduroy pants and a pink cotton sweatshirt.

"Did you play outside any yesterday, Jen?" Karen asked as they sat down at the breakfast counter.

"Yes."

"What did you do outside?" Karen served Jenny a bowl of hot oatmeal and served herself a bowl of strawberries with powdered sugar.

"Plaaah." Jenny pointed at a strawberry in Karen's bowl. Bah Bluuhh."

"No honey, that's not blood. It's a ripe red strawberry. They're delicious. We've had them before. Remember? Taste it. You'll see. Sweetheart, not everything that's red is blood. I'm definitely going to speak to Mrs. O. about the kind of television programs she lets you watch."

Jenny tasted the berry then put it on the bar. She held her left thumb and forefinger toward her face and studied the red berry stains. She tried to wipe them on a napkin. Concern showed on her face when the stains did not disappear. She feared another vigorous scrubbing with harsh smelling stuff. She whimpered and sought a reassuring hug from her mother by holding her arms open and wiggling her fingers. Karen hugged her close.

"It's okay honey. You don't have to eat the strawberries if you don't want them."

As Karen cleaned the breakfast residue, she glanced at her refrigerator notes.

"Oh gosh, today is Pau's birthday!" she said aloud. She had forgotten it. I'll have to pick up a card and gift on the way to work.

Chapter 13

Stan arrived at his family physician's office just as receptionist, Mary Dorsey, was unlocking drawers of files for today's business.

"Good morning Mr. Bronsky. If you'll just have a seat, we'll be with you shortly. How's your family?"

"They're fine thanks. Karen and Jenny are fine."

"Dr. Ravit just arrived so it won't be long," Mary informed.

"Fine." Stan did a quick review of the dog eared magazine selections in a rack. His headache was almost completely gone. He reasoned that relief from stress had come from the satisfaction of knowing that the Compton project was finished, and that had cured his headache. He felt a little silly being here, now that he thought about it, for a stupid headache. He considered leaving.

"We're ready for you now, Mr. Bronsky."

Oh well, I'm here. Might as well go ahead with it. "Thanks, Mary."

"Stanley," Dr. Ben Ravit boomed a smiling greeting as he entered the examination room.

Dr. Ravit was short, barely five foot three. He had long compensated for his lack of stature by amplifying his tenor voice. It was a unique and very recognizable voice. Patients rarely heard the doctor laugh, but when he did it was a high pitched cackle.

"Good morning," Stan replied.

"Tell me about the headaches." The doctor looked up into the taller man's eyes and studied them briefly, systematically beginning the examination. "Have a seat on the table, Stan."

Stan's eyes looked tense. In the corners of his eyes, little capillaries were distended.

"Well, it started a few months back, Dr. Ravit. I was shoveling snow from our sidewalk and wham! A pain shot through my head," he pointed with his finger. "It just about bowled me over. It gradually let up and then I had a throbbing headache for a while. And then it turned into a dull headache that lasted for a couple of days."

"Hold your hands straight out please." Dr. Ravit noted slightly nervous hands. "Palms down. That's good. Lie back on the table. And you've had recurring headaches?"

"Yes. It's happened four or five times since, five I think. After each initial stab of pain, I have a sort of throbbing headache for a few hours or even days."

Dr. Ravit lifted Stan's eyelids and shined a light at the blue apertures.

"Any blow to the head before the headaches started?"

"No."

"Sit up. You under any unusual pressure?"

That's it, I knew it all along. It's just stress. "Well, I have been pretty busy at work", He said with a tone of professional agreement.

Dr. Ravit looked blankly at the floor as he listened to Stan's chest through a stethoscope. Karen and Jenny doing okay?"

"They're fine."

"Any blackouts, dizzy spells, nausea?" He looked at Stan's face again.

"No. But I don't really have much of an appetite while the headaches are around."

"Stand on your feet. Now, close your eyes, and lean forward against my hand." He placed a hand against Stan's forehead.

The questions frightened Stan a little. Maybe it isn't stress.

"Describe the initial pain attack again for me, Stan."

Oh Jesus, what is it? "When the pain first hits, I don't black out. But I do kind of lose control momentarily. I mean the pain is so bad. Yesterday I almost had a collision, driving to work, when the pain hit."

Dr. Ravit's eyebrows rose. He shined a light into Stan's eyes again and studied them meticulously as Stan spoke. "Have you been taking any drugs, anything for pain?"

Oh God, he thinks I'm a stupid drug addict! "Well, I never know when the attack is going to happen. But after it does, when the duller headache starts, then I start taking aspirin. I've taken quite a few aspirin lately; but that's all; nothing stronger. He took the prescription bottle filled with aspirin from his pocket, removed it's lid, and showed the aspirin to the doctor.

"How many? How often?" he asked while checking Stan's blood pressure.

"Well, I really don't know; two at a time usually; maybe as many as a dozen a day sometimes. I guess. I really never keep track."

"And you say you've never had a trauma to the head, a car wreck or hard fall, a sports injury?" He peered into Stan's nose, throat and ears with a light.

"Well, let me think. Yes, I do remember a fall sometime back. Yes, I slipped and fell pretty hard, when I was sleigh riding with Jenny, sometime before Christmas. It hurt pretty bad at the time but I didn't get a lump on the head. I think I did black out for a minute. It just jarred me real hard, but more in my back or neck, than my head, as I recall. Other than that I really haven't been hurt bad since Fort Hood, years ago."

"What happened to you at Fort Hood?" Dr. Ravit's eyebrows raised again.

"Oh, a defective shell went off prematurely and I was fairly close to it. I took some shrapnel in both legs and my left arm and a piece under here," he pointed in back of and below his right ear. "And I had several second degree burns."

"No concussion though?" The doctor shined a high intensity lamp at the shrapnel scar at the base of Stan's skull.

"Well I really don't know. I was pretty much conscious through the whole thing. I was patched up at the base and shipped to Reed for treatment. I spent a month there, mainly waiting for the burns to heal."

"Did they get all of the shrapnel out?"

"I guess they did. They knocked me out, so they could work on me."

"Stan, when the severe pain strikes, do you have any numbness anywhere in any of your limbs, or face?"

"Not that I'm aware of." Stan's concern was growing with each question.

Dr. Ravit unconsciously fingered the stethoscope hanging from his neck. He again studied Stan's eyes thoughtfully, and took another look at the scar behind his ear. He paused for several seconds. It was time to render a judgment.

"Stan, I'd like you to go see Red Griedlach. He's a neurologist—old friend of mine. Mary will make the appointment for you. It's just a precaution. No need to worry. It could just be stress.

"I don't want you trying to eat up all the aspirin in the county. You'll give yourself an ulcer. Take some time off from the job if you can." He scribbled a prescription on a green pad. "Until we know what we're dealing with, I'm going to prescribe something for pain." Take one of these when you have a pain attack and another one every four hours, if you need it. No more than that. And don't be driving or walking a high wire, while you're taking these. They're pretty potent. You come back and see me after Red has looked you over. Okay?" He directed a reassuring smile at Stan to terminate the exam.

Stan waited in the now crowded reception room while Mary Dorsey phoned Dr. Griedlach's office. He had hoped, at worst case, that he would be told that the problem was stress. Now it was sounding much more serious. He felt weak. Worry showed on his face.

"April twenty third at ten fifteen, Mr. Bronsky. Here's the address. I've made you an appointment back here later. Here's a reminder card. You can change it if you need to."

"Thanks," Stan managed. Concerned thoughts occupied his mind as he left the office. Neurologist! Why couldn't it have been stress and job pressure or the stinking Compton project. I could deal with that. Neurologist? Neurologists treat tumors and serious stuff. Why me? Cancer is for old people. I'm still young. Karen and Jenny need me.

Stan Bronsky came face to face with his mortality. He had never seriously considered his own death before, even after the accident at Fort Hood. He somehow knew after the explosion, that he would be alright, even though he experienced a lot of pain. But this was different. Now, foreboding and anxiety were fast becoming unwelcome companions.

I wonder if cancer would be more painful than the burns and shrapnel. I wonder how much time I have? If I die, what happens then? His concern shifted from physical problems to something potentially more serious. He recalled that he and Karen had talked about going to church more often, back around Christmas or Easter. But they never got around to it. He wondered if he was being punished for that; for neglecting God. He didn't consider himself to be a bad person. Sure, I've done some stupid things; sewed some wild oats here and there, like everyone else. Still, he reasoned that he had always tried to be a fair person and charitable to others. He recalled volunteering to work in a soup kitchen a couple of times. And he headed the cancer drive at work. I'm not a bad person. I don't do drugs. I don't steal. I don't mess around.

After thorough soul searching, he could find no real reason why he should be punished with a serious illness. But still he had a ominous feeling about death and any afterlife possibilities. Memories of past indiscretions suddenly flooded his mind. He wished he had gone to church more. I wish I knew the man upstairs better. I could have led a better life I guess. Read the Bible. Gone to church. He tried to remember where Karen kept their Bible, the one that the pastor gave them when they were married. He couldn't recall seeing it for a long time.

He thought about the few sermons that he had heard during his life and tried to remember the messages. 'Everyone will stand before God on judgment day,' he remembered hearing somewhere, sometime. Maybe it was on a Easter Sunday. He supposed that it must have been words from the Bible. 'Judgment,' he recalled hearing 'is the final measure of our lives.' He wondered how he would measure up at a divine judgment. He felt an onset of panic at the thought of standing before an awesome almighty God. Other words from the Bible replayed in his mind: All have sinned. Lake of Fire. Whoever believes will not perish.

"God," he said quietly, "if you're there, if you hear me—please not yet. Just fix this God, whatever it is." He mouthed the words just loud enough for himself to hear. "I promise, I'll do better, go to church, try and help other people more, whatever you want."

Now back in the sedan again, with the warm morning sun shining and birds singing, his thoughts turned brighter. He concluded that Dr. Ravit must have really believed that it was just stress; otherwise he would have sent him to a hospital or sent him for x-rays or something.

"I'll go see Red what's-his-name and make his next house payment," he said to his image in the rear view mirror. "Dr. Red won't find anything wrong, and then Dr. Ravit will prescribe something for stress, until I can take a vacation. Then I'll be fine. That's it!"

He nodded at himself in the mirror. He relaxed and felt comfort from his own prognosis.

A few minutes later, he swung his car into the Parke Plaza shopping center and parked near the gift shop.

Chapter 14

As Karen and Jenny entered the gift shop, the cashier was ringing up Stan's selections. He had chosen a bright yellow coffee mug for Jan. The words, "BLONDES HAVE M0RE FUN", were emblazoned in bright red letters, and underneath that, in smaller letters, "At Work". After he found the mug, he noticed a pair of lacy, white pantyhose with little red hearts embroidered around the waistband and a letter J embroidered on the front. He could imagine Jan wearing something like that. He thought that the gift might bring a chuckle, and he felt that he had caused her, after all, to stain a pair of hose with her coffee. He was confident that his gifts would smooth the rupture in their relationship that he caused yesterday with his outburst.

"Dahhie!" Jenny called gleefully as she and Karen entered the store and saw Stan.

"Pumpkin!" the surprised father returned, sweeping his arms down to pick her up.

With Jenny in his arms, he turned to Karen, who was now staring with contempt and disbelief, at the items on the checkout counter near Stan. Her mouth was open as she glared at the pantyhose and at the mug with its message.

"That will be seventeen eighty nine sir," the cashier said. She started putting the items into a gift bag.

Color drained from Karen's face then it immediately became flame red. She thrust her hands toward Jenny. "Come, Jenny," she said, "We have to go. Now!" Her voice trembled. Her hands shook as she wrestled Jenny from Stan's arms.

Stan correctly read from Karen's face that she was terribly upset. He handed a credit card to the check-out girl and then realized that it must have been the pantyhose that did it. Christ! What is she thinking?

Karen was already through the glass door rushing to her car. Jenny looked over her mother's shoulder at Stan. She waved bye toward him, with just her fingers, moving them up and down. Her face formed a puzzled frown.

The young girl, at the cash register, fumbled with the credit card machine, which seemed to be stuck. Stan waited momentarily for the cashier, then abandoned her and the card and ran toward Karen to catch her and explain. Karen already had Jenny strapped in her car seat and was bringing the car's engine to roaring life. The young cashier's eyes followed the commotion outside with startled interest. She still held the credit card in her hand.

"Karen! Wait!" Stan yelled, waving his arms, and running toward her car. Karen looked back over her shoulder with a red face and tear filled eyes. She accelerated the car wildly, in reverse, in a semicircle. Stan had to stop abruptly to avoid being run over. Then shifting the transmission into forward, she trumped the accelerator pedal to the floor. Tires squealed as the engine howled.

Dejected and embarrassed, Stan walked back into the store. "I'm sorry. Never mind the pantyhose," he told the girl. "Just let me have the coffee mug. No, just forget that too. I'm sorry."

The cashier, still stupefied, timidly returned Stan's card. "Thank you sir, for shopping with us," she stammered.

The throbbing headache was back in full force. Stan swallowed two more aspirin, reminding himself that he needed to get the prescription filled. He stormed from the gift shop and headed for a nearby pharmacy. As he waited in the drug store for his prescription, he wondered why Karen had gotten so livid without at least giving him an opportunity to explain. That's not like her, surely she doesn't think I'm coming on to Jan or something like that. "You big dummy!" He thought to himself. "That gift was a dumb idea."

He could see now, that Jan might even have been offended too, and that matters between them might have gotten even worse. He wanted to call Karen and put a stop to the misunderstanding before it got any worse. He would call her just as soon as he got back to the office.

What the blazes is going on lately, he thought. Everything's nuts! Nothing goes right.

It was past ten thirty when Stan got back to the office. He was very much on edge, because of his doctor visit and the confrontation with Karen. He checked his computer to see if Bob had reviewed the Compton project. Had he done so, Stan would have taken the rest of the day off no matter what his boss said. His head still pounded. Bob hadn't replied. Stan looked at his watch. Karen should be at work by now. He picked up his phone and dialed the number to the Chantley Gallery.

Chapter 15

After his morning bathroom rituals, Robert walked over to his small kitchen. It consisted of only a compact refrigerator, a two burner stove, and a single basin sink. The entire ensemble took up only half of one wall of his small apartment but it was sufficient for his needs. The efficiency unit was located in a run-down part of the city, but he didn't care about that either. Materialism was not a huge motivator for Robert.

He took a couple of plastic bags from his refrigerator. From one of the bags, he removed a chunk of red meat, rinsed it in the sink and cut it into smaller pieces with his pocket knife. He paused to study the knife, which he had carried since he was a boy. It was a work of craftsmanship and the only memento of his father that he still possessed. The pocket knife had a white bone handle and a four inch, razor sharp, stainless steel blade. It was really too large for a pocket knife, but it carried many memories for Robert. He wiped the blade of the knife on a wash cloth and dropped the pieces of fatty thigh tissue into a hot skillet. Then he started a pot of coffee on the other stove burner.

He sat down in one of the two chairs at his small dining table and opened the other plastic bag just enough to place the open end of the bag over his nose. He inhaled slowly. He could smell only the musty scent of newspaper. He frowned and tried again. This time he thought he could smell just a tiny residual fragrance of the beautiful young woman who sat by him on the train yesterday. He smiled and fastened the top of the bag tightly. Then he put the bag back into the refrigerator.

He took an egg from the refrigerator to fry along with the sizzling meat. The smells of charring flesh and fresh coffee soon filled the room. He took a deep breath through his nose and enjoyed the aroma of the tasty breakfast that he was preparing. He turned over the meat in the skillet and recalled carving the tender muscle from a thigh bone, three nights earlier. He thought about his attempt to share a treat with the little girl, yesterday. He could still picture her innocent face. He continued to think about her, while he cooked and ate his breakfast.

Robert supposed that it was the child's hair and eyes, that so reminded him of his sister, when she was about the same age. He recalled sharing bits of food with his sister at the orphanage. He banged his fist on the table at the thought of the orphanage and thoughts about his sister.

"Stop it." he said to himself.

After he ate his fill, he put the remainder of the rare meat back into a plastic bag, which he would take with him for lunch. He thought of whimsically sharing his lunch with the beautiful girl that he saw on the train yesterday if she should happen to sit by him today. Would my lady care for some breakfast, he mused.

As he pondered his giddy thought of another encounter with her, he considered what he might really do, to take advantage of such an opportunity if it arose. I wonder if she might actually show up on the same train today? With that thought, he decided to shave and apply a little cologne just in case. He cautioned himself to use the cologne sparingly, so as not to overpower her enchanting smell. But he would still use enough, to let her know that he wanted to make a good impression. He would wear fresh clothes today, including the bright red windbreaker that he recently acquired. And he would wear his new baseball cap too.

He began to plan the morning train ride as if a meeting with her was certain. He would dress early and wait at the station, with plenty of time to spare, and catch the same train that he rode yesterday. He would board the same car and sit in the same exact seat. Then a disturbing thought occurred to him: What if someone else is already in the seat? His face tensed and he drummed his fingers slowly on the table. He stopped drumming and fingered his pocket knife that lay on the table. A slight smile showed on his face when he figured out exactly what he would do. He hurried to shave and dress, then he walked to the station a half hour earlier than yesterday.

At the station, he boarded a northbound train; in the opposite direction to that which he needed to go. He would ride to the last stop, where e would then catch the southbound train at its origin, and thus be assured of getting his choice of car and seat. When the northbound train reached its final stop, Robert quickly got off and hurried to find a morning newspaper. He spotted one that had been left discarded on a waiting bench on the loading ramp. When his beautiful companion boarded the train, he would smile and present it to her as a gift, unless she already had a newspaper. He hoped that she wouldn't.

With twenty minutes to spare he now stood with his toes near the edge of the southbound boarding ramp. He had paced the distance along the length of the ramp, to insure that he would be positioned at the approximate entrance to the fourth car. He carefully refolded the newspaper and held it in his left hand. He had a small plastic garbage bag, in his other hand. The bag was full of wadded newspaper. It would be placed on the bench seat next to him, to discourage unwanted company until she boarded the train. Then he would stuff the bag under the seat to make room for her.

As the train approached Elm Street Station, Robert's pulse quickened. He sat as usual with his forefingers pressing his ears to block the squealing of the train's brakes. When the train was nearly stopped, he sat upright and prepared to remove the garbage bag from the bench seat. He craned his neck and strained his eyes to spot her in the crowd of boarding passengers.

Surely I didn't miscount the cars, he reasoned. As the last passengers stepped into the car, he leaped to the door, stuck his head out and shot a searching look to the left and right. He was on the fourth car and she was nowhere in sight. He returned to his seat in defeat after the doors closed. She must have taken a different train today.

Robert had assumed, in his planning, that she would follow the same schedule as yesterday. Now he realized that he had miscalculated. Maybe she wouldn't follow the same schedule. She might have been going anywhere yesterday. It was probably a one-time trip.

He was very disappointed that all of his hopes and planning efforts had been for nothing.

I'll probably never see her again, he thought as he exited the train downtown.

He looked dejected as he walked along with his hands in his trouser pockets. One hand fumbled with the knife in his pocket. He walked west on Clay, as he always did on work days. His head sagged. His eyes swept left and right on the sidewalk, not looking much above it. He fingered the knife in his pocket with increasing intensity as he walked.

*****

Karen dropped Jenny at Mrs. Obenhauer's. After the confrontation with Stan, she was in no mood for polite conversation with Mrs. O. or anyone. So, she rushed in and out of the nursery without speaking to the older woman about television programs involving blood. Mrs. Obenhauer was caught off guard by Karen's demeanor and abrupt departure but kept her curiosity in check.

Now, in the gallery parking lot, Karen tilted her rear view mirror down enough to examine her face, before going inside. Her eyes were red and her makeup was smeared. She noted Paula's car in the parking lot and seriously considered backing away and going home. She really didn't want to face Paula, or anyone, just now. But she thought that Stan might have gone home and she especially didn't want to see him until she had time to digest the gift shop confrontation.

She reworked her makeup as best she could, took a deep breath, and entered the back door of the gallery.

"Morning Kay," Paula cheerfully greeted. She was making coffee. "How's it going today? You and Stan have that big talk last night?" She looked up from her chore into the face of Karen and immediately wished she hadn't asked the question. No amount of makeup could hide the hurt that was evident on her best friend's face. Karen's appearance reminded Paula of how she had felt a few times.

Karen looked at Paula through eyes that could not hide deep emotional pain. She was unable to speak. Uninvited tears soon started to build in her eyes.

Paula rushed to her and hugged her. Karen broke into great sobs that convulsed her entire body.

"There, there, Kay, I'm sorry I asked," Paula said, tenderly. She caressed and consoled for several minutes until Karen began to calm.

A shopper entered the front door and stared with a frown at the two, as though she had interrupted something forbidden. Paula, looking over Karen's shoulder at the inquisitive intruder, shooed her out of the store with a dismissive wave of her hand behind Karen's back.

"Want to tell me what happened, Kay?"

"Oh Pau, it was awful. Stan didn't come home until late last night. He had been drinking. I suspected that he was with Jan Murray. We didn't talk because he passed out. And then this morning—" She started to cry and sob again.

"There, there, now. Take your time."

Over several minutes and lots of tears, Karen conveyed the story of her suspicions, and of Stan's convicting behavior in the gift shop.

Paula was unable to provide much consolation or insight into the Stan's behavior. She agreed, to herself that Karen's suspicions seemed warranted. But she dared not add to Karen's misery by voicing her conclusion.

*****

Robert continued to walk west with his head down as though staring through the dirty gray sidewalk. A discarded newspaper, from yesterday, lying in the sidewalk gutter, caught his eye. Although he could only see one word, MISSING, it brought a train of recollections. First, he recalled the newspaper barrier that separated him and the beautiful young woman on the train yesterday. That brought recollection of yesterday's playground incident and the blood stained newspaper that he later retrieved. That in turn caused him to think about the little girl and last night's activity after work. That thought caused him to raise his head and check his bearings.

Robert turned sharply and walked half a block to a small neighborhood convenience store. He carefully scanned the store's candy offerings. He chose a few small colorful pieces,which he thought would be pleasing to young eyes. His mood changed from disappointment to cheerful expectation at the thought of seeing the cute girl again. He hoped for an opportunity to tempt her with another treat.

Robert had not forgotten the menacing appearance and attitude of the older woman. He felt sure that she would react in the same manner if she were to see him again. So his mind was busy planning an approach that would avoid another such encounter. He walked between the canvas shop and the used furniture store, to the rear alley that ran parallel to Clay, and bordered the north side of the play lot. Then, he positioned himself close enough to the nursery building, so that he would be out of any direct line of sight from the picture window of the nursery.

Mrs. Obenhauer had allowed some of her flock to entertain themselves in the play lot again this morning. Jenny Bronsky was among them. She was occupied with the swing set. She had not quite gotten the hang of propelling herself on either of two swings. She sat on the lowest swing seat and stretched to push her right foot against the ground below. She rocked her upper body to and fro as though the rocking might blossom into full swing.

When she noticed Robert, who was squatting by the northwest corner fence, she stopped the rocking motion. She wrapped her right arm around the swing's chain, and slowly pivoted the swing back and forth, in a short arc. She studied Robert with considerable interest. She didn't immediately recognize him in his different attire.

Robert tilted his head a little to the left and his face took on a look of captivated adoration. He studied Jenny's face for several minutes. He noted the color of her eyes and hair, the shape of her nose, and her small dimples. Then he remembered the candy that he had just bought. He took the little bag out of his jacket pocket and teased with it, up and down. Then he held a brightly wrapped piece through the fence and wiggled it.

"BLUHHH!" Jenny screamed, and ran for the open side door.

Robert jerked his hand from the fence, turned and walked swiftly west through the alley.

Mrs. Obenhauer met Jenny at the door with open arms. She picked the little girl up and calmed her, and then thoroughly examined Jenny for any possible injury. Finding none, she carried Jenny back outside and tried to determine the cause of her scream.

"Now Jenny, tell me what scared you, sweetheart."

"See bluhh mahn!" Jenny whimpered and pointed in the direction where she had seen Robert. Mrs. Obenhauer carried Jenny to where the child pointed. On the ground she saw a bright red foil wrapped object. "Did this scare you, honey?" she asked. She picked up the candy that Robert dropped. "Why it's just a piece of candy in red foil. And did you think it was blood? Well, it's just a piece of candy that someone has lost. I'd let you eat it, but it might have dirt on it. Let's go inside and we'll find you a nice treat from my candy jar."

Chapter 16

The telephone in the gallery rang persistently. "Chantley gallery," Paula hastily answered after the sixth ring. She did not want a distraction while she was addressing her best friend's emotional needs.

Paula hesitated before replying, "Just a minute." She cupped her hand over the mouthpiece, pointing the phone toward Karen. "It's him," she whispered.

Karen sat down at the desk and hesitantly took the receiver from Paula who retreated to the far end of the store and twiddled with items in the display window. She watched passing traffic with disinterest and tried to imagine what sort of painful conversation might be taking place between Karen and Stan.

"Listen Karen, I could see you were upset, when you left the gift shop. I'd like to know what in the world you were thinking?" Stan began poorly.

"What was I thinking?" she repeated angrily. What are you thinking, Stan? Do you think I'm blind?" she shouted.

"You were upset because of the pantyhose weren't you?"

"I'm upset because you don't love— Because you're having— Because we're through, Stan! That's why I'm upset! Because we're through! Why didn't you have the nerve to just tell—" She was sobbing again and her words were becoming unintelligible.

"Karen, if you'll just let me explain. Please! Listen! I hurt Jan's feelings yesterday and I was just try-

With a loud bang, she slammed the phone down.

"Karen?" He hung up his phone too.

"Crap!" he said. "Why the devil is she so upset? Why wouldn't she let me explain about what happened yesterday and about the stupid pantyhose?"

He had never witnessed her being so upset. He started to dial the number again but decided that it might be better if he waited and talked to her in person. He looked completely perplexed.

Jan Murray arrived and without speaking, or even looking at Stan, dropped her purse on her desk and turned to face her computer.

He thought of immediately apologizing but his head was pounding. He went for a cup of coffee to wash down two aspirin. Instead, he took the bottle of pain pills from his trouser pocket, which Dr. Ravit prescribed. Without thinking, he mistook pain pills for aspirin which was in the bottle in his other pants pocket. In his haste and confused state of mind, he swallowed three powerful Oxycodone tablets without realizing it, and returned to his desk.

With only casual interest, Stan fiddled with his computer. He inquired of whether Bob Steen had completed final approval of the Compton project yet. Bob had not. Stan hesitantly reached for his phone. He drummed his fingers on the phone as he contemplated words that he could say. He entertained the thought of apologizing and trying to reason with Karen again. He looked toward Jan, knowing that he still needed to apologize to her too. She glanced in his direction with a look of contempt and then turned quickly away. Her scornful look discouraged him from any further thought of apology to her. Instead, he started to dial the gallery.

Bob Steen was hurriedly approaching Stan's work cubicle with a determined look on his face.

"Stan, I need to talk to you," Bob said, with a tone that was more cool and commanding than usual.

"Hi, Bob. I was just about to make a phone call."

"It can wait." He made sure his curt words were loud enough for Jan to hear. "We need to talk first." His tone was even more commanding.

Bob turned toward his office. Stan hung up his phone and followed. What's he so fired up about? Stan wondered. Compton is finished. It must be about Keith. The two marched silently to Bob's office.

Bob shoved the door closed behind them. Stan knew that the closing of the usually open door, added importance to their meeting. His head was throbbing. Bob motioned for Stan to take a seat in front of his desk. Stan looked with a questioning face at Bob. Bob replied with a unmasked look of displeasure.

"Stan, I'll get straight to the point. What the devil is wrong with you lately? You seem to be all wound up and ready to pop. You really badgered Jan yesterday. And did you know that Keith is leaving? Have you been giving him a hard time too? Now, Jan's threatening to quit as well."

"Now just a minute, Bob," Stan quickly shot back. "I had nothing to do with Keith's leaving. He told me that he was thinking about quitting, because he just plain doesn't like the job and the pressure. And you know as well as I do, that he's never been any too good at it. As for Jan, well, I did tell her that if she would get her rear end to work before noon, then Mid-City wouldn't be in the dump. Yes, I know. I was probably out of line with that. In fact, I've had every intention to apologize this morning. But the fact remains, that she comes and goes as she pleases, when she pleases, and you know it."

"Who made you her supervisor, Stan? It's not your job to reprimand other team members."

"What the blue blazes is my job, Bob? To work day and night, while everyone else screws off, leaving their work for me to finish? Stan's face was becoming red and his voice was getting louder. The pain in his head and the feeling of an unfair attack on his dedication were joining forces. A dam of emotion was beginning to crack under the force of unjust criticism. "Bob, you hire two people, who can't find their way to the crapper, or know what to do when they get there, then you expect me to do their jobs and mine too!"

"Your job, Stan," Bob interrupted even louder than Stan, "is to do what you're told!" He sat more erect and stiff. "It's not your responsibility to boss other people around. You're not a manager. You're just a team member like the others."

Jan Murray passed by Steen's office on the way to use a copier machine. She could tell by the arm waving and facial expressions that a heated discussion was taking place. She smiled and thought, Way to go Bob!

Steen, already feeling threatened by his own manager Grissom, and by the problem of Keith's leaving, and by Jan's threat to resign, was feeling unsustainable pressures too. Danged, if I'm going to take any more of this stuff from Stan, or anyone else, he thought.

"I'm the boss here, Stan, not you!"

"Well, you can shove your precious boss job, Bob!" Stan shot back with all the venom he could muster, and he rose abruptly from his chair to leave.

"Now, just hold on there, Stan. You're behaving like a child! You sit your self back down!"

Stan continued toward the door. Bob hurriedly rose from his seat and reached for Stan's shoulder to impede his departure. Stan wheeled around and forcefully knocked Bob's hand from his shoulder.

"Stan, if you leave this office now, you can—"

He didn't get to finish the warning. Stan was already through the door and heading for his desk. He was furious, wrought with pain, and feeling strangely woozy. He stumped wildly toward his desk, calculating his next move.

"Well, smarty pants, I guess you won't be picking on me anymore," Jan sang sarcastically.

Stan turned to face her. "You lazy useless excuse for a— he shouted. You can kiss my rear! I was stupid to even think of apologizing to you."

Stan's voice was loud enough that others in the area began to peep over cubicle dividers and turn their heads toward the commotion. They noted that Bob Steen was now resolutely marching toward Stan's cubicle. His face was as red as Stan's.

"Stanley, I want to see you back in my office, right now!" Bob Steen ordered, pointing toward his office with his forefinger in a stabbing motion.

Stan ignored his angry manager. Bob Steen stood an arms-length behind Stan, who was trying to decide which personal belongings he wanted from his desk, and how he could carry them. His head was throbbing with pain.

Bob put his right hand on Stan's left shoulder to turn him around. Stan's right fist reflexively doubled, and his arm drew back, ready to fire in Bob's direction. Bob, side stepped a possible thrust of the cocked weapon.

Jan Murray rose from her chair and walked swiftly away.

"We're through talking, Bob! I'm packing my things and I'm out of here!" Stan spewed, hardly realizing that he had almost taken a swing at his boss. He turned back toward his desk and began collecting personal items.

Bob Steen had allowed himself to become completely flustered. Now, with several employees watching the spectacle, he felt a need to appear in control.

"That's just fine!" He spoke loud enough for nearby ears to hear. "You're fired! You have exactly five minutes to collect your belongings and be off the premises! Five minutes, Stan!" Having so ordered, the frustrated manager wheeled around and marched commandingly back toward his office.

"Five minutes," Stan muttered to himself. I've worked here five years and I've worked more than 'five' months on the blasted Compton project and now I've got five minutes to clear out. He glanced at his computer screen. It still displayed the control page for the Compton project. Bob hadn't put his stamp of approval on it yet. Stan shuddered, as he realized that vengeance could be his with a few keystrokes.

*****

Bob Steen stared blankly into space, from his desk chair. Recent events had stunned the usually unwavering manager. He felt totally empty of energy or direction. With disinterest, he listened to his recorded phone messages.

He heard Stan's message advising him that the Compton work was ready for his review. Christ, I'll never be able to replace that guy, he thought.

Then he considered, with good reason that he probably wouldn't be around to replace anyone. First Keith, and now Stan, he thought. He knew that he might as well start clearing his own desk.

"You seem to be in deep thought," Charlie Grissom said as he entered Bob's office. "I hope it's about the Mid-City project, and that you've found a resolution to the delay." He sat down in a chair facing Bob's desk. He had his briefcase in his lap and was about to leave the office for the weekend.

Bob Steen slowly turned to face his boss. His heart raced along with his thoughts. He might as well get it over with. If Charlie didn't fire him on the spot, then he would have all weekend to think about it and maybe cool off. His face turned grave.

"Charlie, I'm afraid I've got bad news; and a lot of it." He began with a noticeable quiver in his voice. "Both Keith and Stan have resigned this morning."

Charlie Grissom jumped to his feet, dropping his briefcase on the floor. His face flared red. He slammed Bob's office door closed and stood facing him. "What the devil is going on Steen?"

Bob nervously replayed the morning's incidents with his boss. He stated that he had no choice but to fire Stan because Stan was harassing other team members and was insubordinate in front of other employees.

"He even tried to take a swing at me. He's packing his belongings as we speak. I gave him five minutes to clear out."

Grissom listened without comment. Color drained from his face. Bob Steen finished with positive notes, that he had already contacted employment agencies, and that the Compton work was complete and was only awaiting his final approval before delivery to Compton.

Grissom was reminded that he had severely rationed Bob Steen's resources in order to achieve his own financial objectives. He reasoned that there was no point in dwelling on that now. He continued to reason that on the plus side, Compton was complete. On the minus side, Mid-City was incomplete, but it was no worse off than yesterday. Perhaps resources could be shifted from another unit, to Bob's unit, temporarily.

"Listen Bob, I won't try to hide my utter disappointment in this situation. I want Compton delivered today. And you had better burn some midnight oil this weekend figuring a way out of the Mid-City crisis." His eyes were cold. His face was stern. "I'll expect to hear your plan first thing Monday." Grissom turned, jerked the door open, slammed it closed, and left.

*****

Stan clinched his teeth and resolutely punched the F4 key. The emotion that he felt was more intoxicating than the Oxycodone.

ARE YOU SURE YOU WANT TO ERASE THIS FILE? the computer screen asked in response. TYPE 'Y' TO ERASE OR 'N' TO CANCEL.

Y, Stan hastily typed with a trembling finger. Pulsating veins stood out on his forehead. He looked across the floor to Bob Steen's office. Bob stood, in the doorway of his office, glaring back angrily at Stan. Stan felt an exciting rush. He jammed the Enter key, so hard the keyboard bounced and his forefinger stung.

THE FILE LABELED 'COMPTON' HAS BEEN ERASED. The computer informed, and waited for further instruction.

FORMAT DRIVE C, Stan hurriedly typed.

WARNING YOU ARE ABOUT TO REFORMAT THIS DISK, ALL DATA WILL BE DESTROYED. TYPE YES TO CONTINUE OR NO TO ABORT.

YES, Stan hastily typed and pounded the Enter button. He hurriedly filled a empty trash can with all backup disks of his work and with memorabilia from his desk and carried it out of the building. He stomped his car's accelerator pedal leaving tire marks on the hot asphalt surface of the parking lot. He was determined to drive directly to the gallery and talk to Karen in person. I've got to talk to her, and straighten out this mess right now, he thought.

*****

Bob Steen felt slightly relieved. At least he hadn't been fired on the spot. Still nervous though, with trembling fingers he pushed the keys on his computer to retrieve the Compton file from Stan's computer. He would forward it to Compton himself, immediately, and get that project behind him.

THE FILE YOU HAVE REQUESTED DOES NOT EXIST, his computer advised.

Frantically, he tried again. He received the same message. His heart sank. He quickly pushed more buttons. His computer further informed him that the subject disk had been erased. "That no good son of a—!" he shouted. "He destroyed the whole blasted project, before he left!" He crossed his arms on his desk and laid his head on them in hopeless defeat.

Chapter 17

Karen sat slumped at the desk in the rear of the gallery. Her head rested on her cross folded arms. She continued to sob. Paula stood behind her with her hands on Karen's shoulders. Neither spoke for several minutes.

"Pau, I think I'll go pick up Jenny and go to my folks," Karen managed between sobs. "Can you do without me for the rest of the day?"

"Sure Kay. Whatever you want." Paula was at a loss to provide any other comfort. And she knew Karen would be of little use in the store for the rest of the day. "Kay, if you need me, you call," she told her. Karen slowly rose from her chair and hugged her friend. She left for the nursery, with no consideration for the appearance of her face.

*****

Mrs. Obenhauer had been somewhat shaken at Karen's appearance, a short while earlier, when Karen dropped off her child. But the wise elder woman, not wanting to intrude on Karen's privacy, ignored the younger woman's smeared make-up and reddened eyes. Karen's appearance now, was even more disconcerting than before. And she arrived at a totally unexpected time.

"Are you alright, child?" the elderly woman asked in the kindest of tones. It was obvious to her, that Karen was very upset. "What's wrong dear?"

Karen fought back tears. "I'm fine, thanks. I've come for Jenny. We have to go to my parents."

Mrs. Obenhauer called Jenny in from the play lot, hugged her, and bid them both goodbye. She was more than a little puzzled that Karen had come for Jenny at this hour of the day. She deduced that it must be related to whatever had upset the young mother.

"If I can do anything, Mrs. Bronsky, you just let me know." Mrs. Obenhauer's voice was sympathetic and her concern was genuine.

Karen caught a glimpse of herself in her rear view mirror, as she drove away, and realized why Mrs. Obenhauer had been so concerned. Her eyes were red and her makeup was smeared.

*****

Stan looked in his rear view mirror, as he parked his car behind the gallery. He saw tired strained eyes and a face that reflected pain and distress staring back at him. He wondered why Karen's car wasn't in the parking lot. He felt a spinning sensation as he stepped out of the car. He stumbled inside and steadied himself by hanging on to the door know. He asked Paula where Karen was. Paula studied Stan's face for a moment before answering.

"Karen left a short while ago, Stan. She told me that she was going to pick up Jenny and go to her parent's place."

"Her parents?" he asked with a puzzled look, "Do you know if she was going to go home first?"

"No. She didn't say." Paula wanted very much to ask Stan what in the world was going on with him. Dismay showed on her face. She kept her distance from him as though he had a disease.

"I know none of this is making much sense to you, Paula. Believe me it's not to me either."

He thanked Paula and apologized for bothering her. She noticed that he seemed to weave as he walked out of the shop. But she hadn't noticed any smell of alcohol on his breath.

God, I hope he's not on drugs, she thought.

Stan felt drained and defeated as he drove out of the city. Why is she going to her folks?

He started to feel light headed, and everything around him seemed to be heaving about in slow motion. The feeling scared him. He decreased his speed and took the next exit from the freeway. The exit led to Indian Lake Park. He slowly drove the remaining two blocks to the park, intending to get some fresh air, and to try to make sense of everything that was happening to him. He parked his car near the lake and sat behind the wheel for a few minutes. Then he got out and started to walk along the lake on the paved walkway. Only a handful of people were in the park.

Along the walkway, daffodils and lush green grass welcomed the warm sunshine. Willow trees, scattered around the edges of the lake, were starting to put out green leaves. Throughout the park, flowering trees and shrubs displayed beautiful blossoms and fragrances. A cacophony of birds, frogs and lizards filled the air. The newness of life that springtime brings was evident throughout the park. But in Stan, life seemed to be draining away.

Stan was barely aware of the beauty around him. As he walked, he continued to feel woozy. The pavement seemed to move beneath him, as if he were walking on a giant waterbed in slow motion. He stopped and leaned against a large oak tree to steady himself. His headache was barely noticeable, but he knew that something else was terribly wrong. Then, still leaning against the tree, he absentmindedly put his hands into his trouser pockets. When he did, he felt the two pill bottles and recalled taking the three pills earlier. He withdrew both bottles from his pockets and looked at them. Then he realized that he must have swallowed prescription pain pills and not aspirin. He recalled that Dr. Ravit warned him to take only one of the pills at a time. Jesus! I've screwed up, he thought.

He trudged falteringly, back toward his car. He resolved that he would call his doctor when he could get to a phone. After he was seated in his car for a few minutes, the dizziness seemed better. He felt that he was probably capable of driving now, in spite of Dr. Ravit's warning. Still, he wisely decided to sit in his car for a while, allowing the medicine some additional time to wear off. He lowered his window, tilted his seat back and reflected on the situation with Karen.

He thought of the times that he and Karen had visited the park when they were dating. It was springtime then, just like now. He recalled one of their early dates, when they brought pizza and had lunch under the same oak tree that he had just leaned against. He closed his eyes and pictured Karen, as she looked at that time. God, she was so beautiful, he thought.

Karen still looked great, but Stan had just been too absorbed in his work to have taken much time lately to appreciate her.

We were so happy back then, his thoughts continued. He recalled how they took long walks around the lake and played in the park. It seemed to him that he could almost hear their laughter and see Karen's happy face as they played tennis together. He knew that he still loved her more than anything.

"Oh Kare. What's happened to us," he moaned.

The longer that Stan reflected, the more he realized that although he had never stopped loving Karen, other things had crept into their lives and stole precious time and attention from their relationship. He now realized that his job, that had seemed so terribly important for so long had taken too much of his time and energy. He could see that his dedication to work became a wedge between them. And now, the job meant nothing to him, compared to Karen and Jenny. He reasoned that his work may have been responsible for his headaches, which had also interfered with their relationship. He could see now, that he had been too tired, or in too much pain over the last few days, to be a decent companion to Karen or to anyone. It was painful for him to admit it, but he realized now, that he had not been much of a husband, father, or lover, for the last few months.

He felt an urgent need to share his self-analysis and feelings with Karen. He knew that he needed to somehow find a way to heal the cancerous divide that was growing in their relationship.

The wooziness seemed to have improved, so he started the car and drove slowly out of the park. He soon realized that the road was going to be as mushy, as the ground in the park. He slowed the car to near walking speed and was careful to not make fast turns or sudden stops.

When he finally reached his driveway, Karen was putting Jenny and a suitcase into her car. He parked his car behind hers and stepped out. The earth moved beneath his feet, as he staggered toward them.

"Karen, why wouldn't you talk to me, let me explain?"

"You don't need to explain anything to me, Stan! It's pretty clear to me that you're having an affair with that tramp. I'm not about to stay around to see any more of it! Just tell me, what is it that you see in that blonde floozy? No, never mind, I don't want to know. Just move your car out of our way!"

She was in tears and her voice was breaking and getting loud. Jenny was becoming upset too, and starting to whimper. Karen put her suitcase into her car and slammed the trunk lid closed.

"Karen," he weaved closer, "there isn't anyone else, and there isn't any job at CTC anymore either. I quit this morning, or was fired. Take your pick." He didn't realize that his speech was slurred and that Karen thought he was drunk. "Bob got on my case because of Jan, and I told him that he could shove his job." Stumbling toward her, he reached his arms to embrace her. He desperately needed to feel her touch and the comfort of her caress. She turned sideways as he stumbled forward, and a fingernail of his left hand jabbed the corner of Jenny's mouth, nicking her lip.

Jenny cried out, and sought to comfort her wound with her hand. Karen lurched back further at Jenny's cry. Her eyes widened when she saw blood on Jenny's lip. Fear replaced disgust on her face. She had never feared Stan in all their years together. But she was sure now, that Stan was drunk, and was sincerely afraid that he could cause further harm to her or Jenny.

"Will you please move your stupid car or do I have to call the police?" she shouted fiercely.

Jenny saw blood on her hand and screamed, "Bluhh Mummih!" Karen's face showed fear, anger and panic. With a trembling hand, she wiped Jenny's cut lip with the hem of the child's shirt. She looked at Stan with disbelief and utter contempt. Stan was helpless. He wanted desperately to hold and comfort both of them. He weaved in their direction again.

"See what you've done?" She shouted, stepping further backwards. "Move the car Stan! Now!" she commanded with a furious look of determination. Her hands and face trembled.

Jenny continued to cry and big tears streaked her face. A small bead of blood trickled from her lip.

"Karen, I'm so sorry. It's the stupid drug. I took too many. Jenny, Daddy's sorry, sweetheart, really sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you sweetie." His words were halting and slurred.

Karen quickly strapped Jenny into the car seat and buckled her own seat belt. She held the horn button down and stared at Stan with contempt.

He stood with arms outstretched toward them, shaking his head. Karen shouted at him again to move his car. He swayed back to his car and backed it directly across the street, halfway into a neighbor's driveway, narrowly missing a fire hydrant.

Karen backed her car from their driveway and sped out of sight. Stan sat with his head resting on the top of his steering wheel. His hands lay loose in his lap. He was perplexed, defeated, and drained of energy.

Susan Johnston, their busy body neighbor, observed the Bronsky confrontation, and believing Stan to be intoxicated, reported the noisy disturbance to police. Stan raised his head when he heard the sound of a approaching siren. He sat upright and drove his car forward into his own driveway.

Just as he started into his driveway, a wave of dizziness swelled over him and his muscles convulsed, causing his right foot to forcefully mash the accelerator. The car rammed through their closed garage door and smashed his outboard boat and engine. Gasoline began to spew from the boat motor's fuel tank, onto the crushed hood of Stan's car and trickled down into the car's engine compartment. His car's engine continued to run as Stan slumped lifeless over his steering wheel.

Two police patrolmen rushed cautiously toward Stan's car, and the shattered garage door. Smelling gasoline, they hurriedly pulled Stan from his car and dragged him away from the garage just as gasoline was ignited by the car's still running engine. Huge orange and black billows of flame and smoke poured from the car's engine compartment, from the smashed boat, and from the shattered garage door. One of the patrolmen radioed for a fire truck. The other attempted to communicate with Stan. By the time Stan had regained enough of his senses to realize what was happening, fire had engulfed the garage and was quickly spreading to the kitchen and family room. He struggled to his feet in dazed shock and leaned against the police car, near the street. Neighbors gathered on nearby lawns to witness the spectacle.

Susan Johnston was quick to report the previous shouting and commotion that had taken place, to one of the patrolmen. And pointing at Stan she said, "It looks to me like he's drunk as a skunk."

The patrolmen were unable to detect any smell of alcohol on Stan. They began to question him at length, suspecting him to be drugged. He explained that he had, unintentionally taken too much pain medication for a bad headache. After examining his prescription bottle and pain pills, they consulted with their superior and informed Stan that a medical unit was being dispatched.

The first of two fire trucks was already on the scene. Firemen quickly chopped holes in the roof of the house. Hoses were strung to the hydrant across the street, and enormous amounts of water was sprayed into the house and onto adjacent roofs to contain the fire.

Stan leaned precariously against a front fender of the patrol car for support. He watched in disbelief and horror as years of hopes, dreams and memories went up in flames. The stench of the fire was suffocating and heat from it could be felt across the street.

The sound of shattering window glass could be heard along with the noise of fire truck engines and water hoses. Flames exploded from Jenny's upstairs bedroom window. Stan could imagine her little clothes and toys being engulfed in flames. Thank God she and Karen aren't in there, he thought. His strained attempt to remain upright was failing.

In the distance, a backup fire truck's siren sounded. It screamed in harmony with an approaching emergency medical unit. Stan slid limply from the patrol car, where he had leaned, to the ground. His trembling limbs would no longer support his defeated body. He sat on the ground with his legs bent grotesquely beneath him. His back and head rested against a front wheel of the patrol car. His arms lay limply beside him. He closed his tired, pained, and dazed eyes.

Chapter 18

On the fourth of July, Jenny and her mother prepared to eat a picnic supper in Indian Lake Park. It was near dusk. They had established their territory a couple of hours earlier, with a blanket, small cooler, and picnic basket. Karen chose a location away from the crowded grandstand area that would give them privacy and at the same time allow for a good view of the upcoming fireworks display.

They walked and played throughout the late afternoon and Karen was tuckered out. She ate a couple of fried chicken wings from their basket and then leaned back on her elbows on the picnic blanket watching Jenny nibble on a chicken leg.

Karen was reminded of the picnics that she and Stan had enjoyed in the park, over the years. Coming there for a picnic and recreation had long been a tradition with them. They first visited the park while they dated. They continued to come there often after they were married, especially on Independence day. Stan was a huge fan of fireworks displays. He introduced Karen to them at the park shortly after they married. She soon enjoyed the colorful, noisy displays, almost as much as he did. Her memories led her to wonder where Stan might be today. He's probably someplace with Jan Murray, she thought.

Karen had never made any effort to determine, if Stan and Jan continued a relationship after he left CTC. She felt that it would only have added to her hurt to know that they were together. She supposed that Jan still worked at CTC, although she secretly hoped that they had let her go too. Karen still believed that Jan was responsible for wrecking her marriage. She never understood why Stan went berserk, as she was later informed, and got himself fired, but she blamed Jan for that and for her and Stan's subsequent financial problems too.

CTC sued Stan for ninety five thousand dollars for destroying company property, the computer information that he erased. Karen never knew the terms of the lawsuit that was eventually settled with CTC. She reluctantly signed papers several weeks ago, allowing Stan's lawyer to file bankruptcy on their behalf. She was tired of being continually harassed by collection agencies and it was clear to her, that there was no other way out of her financial dilemma.

Throughout the last couple of months, Karen's main objective was to protect Jenny. She didn't want to see her child suffer emotionally, because of the breakup of parents. She never told Jenny that their home had burned, and she never mentioned Jenny's father to her. Jenny had pretty much stopped asking about either their home or about her father.

Karen wondered lately if she ought to talk to a lawyer about divorcing Stan. It wasn't because she was interested in anyone else, or in another marriage. She really didn't want to think about that. But, she knew that sooner or later, she would have to cut the legal tie that still bound them. Still, she was reluctant to start the divorce proceedings because she was afraid that a divorce court judge might award visitation rights to Stan, if he pushed the issue. For all she knew Stan could well be a hopeless drunk or drug addict by now and she was too concerned that he could possibly hurt Jenny again, to let her spend time with him if it could be avoided.

Karen and Jenny both laid on their backs side by side and looked up at the first stars that just began to flicker in the sky. Karen taught Jenny a little poem about wishing on the first star seen at night. Fireflies could be seen flickering brightly all around the park. Little insects and critters filled the air with squeaking and chirping sounds which were frequently overpowered by the deep groan of a croaking bullfrog. The hot summer sun and busy city traffic left a thin, muggy fog in the air. Still, there was a smell of fresh mowed grass.

Karen turned her face toward Jenny and enjoyed Jenny's childish wonder at the heavens, and the intriguing trails of fireflies nearby. She reminded herself that she needed to phone Mrs. O about taking Jenny again. She and Jenny would be moving into an apartment, in three days. Karen felt that she and Jenny had stayed in her parent's home long enough. Both families needed privacy. And after working full time for Paula for the last few weeks, she could afford her own place. It had been good for both Jenny and her grandmother, to spend time with each other, over the last two months. But it would be too time consuming to drive Jenny to her grandmother's place every day, after they moved to their apartment.

Karen's thoughts were interrupted by a voice that crackled over loudspeakers from a brightly decorated, reviewing stand, "WE HOLD THESE TRUTHS TO BE SELF-EVIDENT. . ."

*****

"What are the odds of that? It's got to be a billion to one!" Robert Louis Gatewood whispered softly to himself. He had just arrived in the park to watch the fireworks show, when he chanced to spot Jenny and her mother. He slipped behind a large clump of forsythia bushes nearby, and secretly watched the pair.

". . . THAT ALL MEN ARE CREATED EQUAL, THAT THEY," the loudspeakers continued to blare.

Robert had last seen Jenny a few weeks ago and had looked for her in the nursery play lot many times since, as he walked past on his way to work. Now, miraculously it seemed, here she was in the park, within a few feet of him. In subdued light, he studied the attractive lady, who shared the picnic blanket with the little girl. He supposed that she must be the child's mother.

The thick bushes that separated Robert from Karen and Jenny's view were hindering his view of them. A distant walkway lamp began to light as dusk settled on the park. The lamp barely illuminated the rapidly darkening area.

Robert removed his knife from his pocket. His eyes strained to study the faces of both mother and daughter. He silently opened the sharp blade of the knife. He looked around to see if anyone might be watching. Quietly, he proceeded to snip some small branches from a forsythia bush that hindered his view of Karen and Jenny.

"ARE ENDOWED BY THEIR CREATOR WITH CERTAIN UNALIENABLE RIGHTS, THAT AMONG THESE ARE," the loudspeakers continued.

Two teenage boys had been ambling along the paved walkway around the lake. They were horse playing along, waiting for the fireworks show to begin and also looking for girls, who might be interested in their company. Occasionally they threw a lit firecracker to one side or the other of the path. That usually brought a alarmed shriek or expletive, from someone nearby, which was their mischievous objective.

"LIFE, LIBERTY, AND THE PURSUIT OF HAPPINESS. LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, PLEASE STAND FOR OUR NATIONAL ANTHEM."

A local celebrity then began to sing.

One of the two pesky boys happened to notice Robert. Thinking that Robert was probably behind the bush relieving himself, he threw a firecracker in Robert's direction. The teen misjudged his throw and placed the firecracker much closer to Robert than intended. The missile fizzed through the air and exploded with a loud bang, within inches of Robert's head. Robert's entire body wrenched from the surprise and from the pain in his ears. His sudden reaction caused him to jerk his knife cutting his left hand.

"Watch out, Joey! Dude's got a knife!" the second boy yelled.

"I see it," the first boy shouted and quickly threw a whole pack of lit firecrackers in Robert's direction.

Robert was as unsettled as were the two boys. He jammed his forefingers to his ears, which stung from the detonations of firecrackers. He hurried around the end of the clump of bushes opposite the boys and directly toward Karen and Jenny.

The two boys watched with wide eyes and gaping mouths as Robert scurried around the bushes with the knife in a bloody hand.

Karen bolted upright to a sitting position, at the sound of the nearby firecrackers and the boy's loud shouting and then a fast approaching stranger wearing a tee shirt and baseball cap. She and Jenny were directly in Robert's path and looking straight at him. Robert hesitated a few feet short of the mother and child. Through eyes that darted from boys to Karen and Jenny, he checked their startled faces. Karen was terrified, seeing the knife in his hand, and what appeared to be blood on his other hand. She immediately made a connection between Robert and the man in her nightmare months ago. Robert could see that both the mother's and child's eyes were fixated on the knife in his hand.

The boys glared wide-eyed at Robert who returned their glare. His eyes continued to dart from the boys to the mother and daughter in between. Time seemed to stand still to all five distraught people, as they stared at each other in awe.

". . . AND THE LAND OF THE BRAVE," the vocalist concluded.

The first volley of the fireworks display thundered skyward with five sequential booms that shook the ground. The sky turned to flaming orange and red from mushrooming rocket explosions that pounded the heavy atmosphere with their noise.

"EEEEE!" Karen screamed.

In the flashing sequence of light, Jenny recognized Robert, and screamed, "Bluhh maan! Her eyes were wide with fear. She thrust a tiny arm and hand toward him, palm out, as if to fend him away. Her other hand groped desperately for her mother. Karen snatched Jenny closer with a sweeping scoop of her hand and arm. Still lying down, Karen felt helplessly vulnerable.

The boys were still yelling. "That freak has a knife! Somebody stop him! Help! Police!"

After quick looks, to the left and right, Robert charged toward Karen and Jenny.

"EEEEE!" Karen and Jenny screamed in unison.

One of the boys threw another pack of lit firecrackers in Roberts direction.

Five huge rockets blasted from their launch tubes sequentially, vibrating the earth around the park and lighting the sky with brilliant, silvery, sparkling light. Hundreds of screaming whistles accompanied sparkling streaks of light, high in the sky just as the boy's firecrackers exploded in front of Robert. The smell of burnt sulfur began to permeate the warm humid air around the lake. Thin clouds of smoke settled over the park.

Robert side stepped to the right at the last second, and hurried past Karen and Jenny. He quickly disappeared into nearby woods and continued to put distance between himself and the two boys.

Karen's heart was pounding. She brought her weak trembling legs underneath herself and rose to her feet scooping Jenny to her waist. She watched Robert vanish into the night. In the hot air, her skin suddenly felt cool and damp. She was squeezing Jenny so tight, the child could hardly breathe.

Another volley of rockets thundered from their launch tubes. The sky turned greenish blue with their blossoming explosions. Small sparkling blue lights spiraled toward the ground with hundreds of popping, crackling, secondary detonations.

Robert assured himself that the two troublesome boys had not followed him. He watched another volley of fireworks from behind a large tree. He could not believe his poor luck. After months of wanting to see the beautiful little girl again, he had finally done so, only to have the encounter spoiled by a couple of meddling boys. He was completely flustered.

Ever since his life in an orphanage, Robert suffered from panic attacks when faced with any sort of accusative confrontation. The panic attacks always caused him to feel compelled to escape. He experienced such an attack when the old woman at the nursery charged menacingly at him. That confrontation and the one tonight brought back memories of experiences in the orphanage.

As always, this evening's confrontation with the two boys and his subsequent panic left Robert feeling weak and defeated.

He made his way around the lake through the woods on the west side. The program was almost complete, by the time he made the wide sweep through the woods, to where he could see the place where Karen's picnic blanket had been. Karen and Jenny were no longer there. Gone also, were the two annoying boys. He walked toward the Cossan Street exit from the park, and then to the nearby train station. He used a public restroom to wash dried blood from his hand.

Thoughts of Jenny, and haunting memories of his childhood, of past panic attacks, and of Marge, occupied him as he rode the northbound train. He sat with his forefingers lightly pressed against his ears, and stared blankly at the floor as usual. He strained to recapture a mental image of Marge before they were sent to different foster homes. The only picture that would come to his mind was one of Jenny as she appeared tonight, dressed in a red, white and blue outfit. He had not seen anyone as cute as Jenny, or as attractive as her mother, in weeks.

The train's doors swished open at the Lake Street Station. At first, he thought that he might be imagining it.

I don't believe it. Yes, I think it is! It's the same perfume he concluded.

He still remembered and recognized the fragrance even though it had long faded from his souvenir newspaper in the sealed plastic bag that he still kept in his refrigerator.

Jan Murray took a seat opposite and to the right of Robert, on the other side of the car. His heart leaped! He elevated his line of sight a few degrees without moving his head or tilting his baseball cap. He saw shapely legs that certainly could be hers. Is it really possible that two miracles have visited me in one evening?

"Did you enjoy the fireworks this evening sweetie?" Jan asked with a drawl.

"Sweetie?" His heart skipped a beat. His breathing stopped. His thoughts raced. Could she actually be speaking to him? How could she know that he had seen fireworks? The baseball cap tilted upward. The movement was so slight that it was barely detectable. His eyesight moved from her thin ankles to her bare knees, hesitating briefly at her beautiful suntanned thighs, then past her white twill shorts to her soft pink blouse. His heart was racing faster and faster! He was about to stutter an answer, when the silence was broken.

"Yep, I sure did, Jan. How about you?" a tall, handsome young man sitting next to her replied. He spoke with the same southern accent.

"Well, you know that I'm not as crazy about fireworks as you, but they were okay." She said. "I'm glad you enjoyed them. And I did enjoy going with you."

Robert's heart sank. His face reddened beneath the bill of his baseball cap. He realized that he had almost made a fool of himself. His gaze was frozen on her chest. When he realized it, he quickly lowered his head and directed his eyes toward the floor.

The train stopped at Sherman Station. Robert lowered his hands from his ears to his sides. His fingers nervously touched the bulge in his pocket caused by his knife. His hope had been so suddenly crushed it was painful to him. "Sweetie?" He peeked beneath the baseball cap at the young man who was seated next to Jan. He looked at the stranger's feet and slowly moved his sight up, to examine more of him. He was taller than Robert and had dark brown wavy hair. His face was a little thinner than Robert's and he was clean shaven. He was very muscular and athletic looking.

Robert lowered his eyes to the floor again, easing his hand away from his pocket, and put his forefingers to his ears. He did not look up until the two rose to leave the train at the Elm Street Station. He felt utter disappointment as his eyes followed her shapely legs toward the exit. He raised his head, to catch a final look at her stunning face.

The sudden motion, of Robert's cap, as he raised his head, caught Jan's attention. She glanced back over her shoulder at him and vaguely remembered seeing his face before. For some reason, it was a haunting face that was etched in her memory. Yet she couldn't quite place him.

"What are you thinking about Jan?" her brother asked, as they walked away from the train. The train began to move again.

Robert moved to the vacant seat, which Jan had just occupied. He inhaled lingering scent of her perfume. He closed his eyes, breathed deep, and savored the fragrance, which still permeated the air around him.

*****

A remnant of Jan's fragrance still clung to Robert's clothes when he entered the door to his apartment, twenty minutes later.

A stranger was just entering an apartment across the hall. The tall brooding man had lived there for only a few weeks. He had not yet introduced himself, and Robert did not want an interruption just now, so he promptly entered his apartment and closed the door. Once he was inside his apartment, he removed a pair of latex gloves and a roll of tape from his pocket. He laid them on his kitchen table along with his knife. He removed the tee shirt and draped it over his face inhaling the barely remaining fragrance of Jan Murray's perfume.

Across the hall, Stan Bronsky trudged to his bed and collapsed from exhaustion and pain.

Chapter 19

On a steamy hot July day, Stan sat in Dr. Griedlach's reception room. He had been waiting anxiously for over an hour. He scanned the front covers of dated health magazines, and pamphlets that described the friends and enemies of various human organs. His impatience added to dull pain in his head that had lately established near permanent residence.

"Mr. Bronsky."

The words came from the direction of a big vase of plastic flowers, which sat on a narrow counter next to a small reception window. The window opening was located just high enough so that Stan had to place himself squarely in front of it and peer in, down, and to the right in order to see the source of the verbal summons.

"Yes," Stan replied as he completed the last two steps toward the vase and little window.

A small name plaque, in front of the window opening, advertised the working presence of Ms. J. Kalin. He peered down at the top of Ms. J. Kalin's head as she meticulously scribbled something beside his name on her computer screen. This was his third office visit over the last few weeks and he had yet to see her face.

Table for one, non-smoking, he derisively thought, as she completed her busy typing. She seemed all too unsympathetic and mechanical to him.

"I need your insurance card Mr. Bronsky," she commanded with a up stretched hand, still addressing him with only the top of her head showing. She had black hair peppered with gray. It was folded into a bun running down the back of her head. Stan diverted his impatience and nervousness by estimating the percent of gray hairs in her head. He was reminded that his own hair was becoming increasingly frosted. He guessed that he probably had three times as much gray as did Ms. J. Kalin.

"Sure," he answered. He removed the state medical card from his wallet and placed it into her upstretched hand. The card was a icon of embarrassment to him. To Stan, the card symbolized his personal failure. His private insurance lapsed thirty days after he was fired from CTC. With all his debts, and with no income, he was forced to apply for state aid, including food stamps and medical assistance. Welfare assistance barely covered his share of subsidized housing.

"Doctor can see you, now." She continued her computer exercise, without looking up. "First room on the left, Mr. Bronsky." Her right arm thrust upward again, as she spoke, with his card loosely dangling from her index and forefinger.

'Doctor will see you, now,' he echoed sarcastically to himself, after he had waited twenty minutes in the eight by ten examination room. His eyes had not failed to visit even the smallest detail of the room, from the cold examination table, to the beaker of tongue depressors on the cabinet, to the soiled spots on the floor underneath the sink, and those on the edge of the exam table. He wondered how often the room was cleaned and concluded that the person who did the cleaning, didn't pay near as much attention to detail as they should. He wondered how they, or the doctor, overlooked visible grime in a room that ought to be a sanitary example.

Stan had become acutely aware of dirt, dust and grime over the last two months. For the last two months, he lived in a small apartment in a run-down building. It was a aged brown brick building in a declining neighborhood. The building's peeling paint and chipped plaster depressed him. It's stairs and hallways were dark and dingy. There was graffiti on many of the walls. Most of the building's windows were grimy or broken or had cardboard patches. Just thinking about the place caused his stomach to tighten. In just three months, he had gone from the upper middle income life to humiliating poverty. Gone were the good paying job, the spanking new house in Eagle Brook, two nice cars, and boat. Most importantly, Karen and Jenny were missing from his life. Now unemployed and seemingly unemployable, Stan simply existed.

Three miserable months. What a life, he thought. Heartache and despair gnawed at his spirit. His eyes began to moisten. Tears wanted to form as he constructed Karen's pretty face in his mind, and his darling Jenny's too. Oh, my sweet little Jen. He longed desperately to see them, to be restored as a family.

The door sprang open, interrupting his dispiriting thoughts.

"Stanley, how are you today?" asked Dr. Griedlach. His dark brown eyes peered over gold rimmed reading glasses into Stan's tense moist eyes.

"Hi, Doctor Griedlach," Stan returned a slightly choked greeting. "Sure hot today!" He tried to make small talk. "I guess that's normal for July though."

The doctor nodded agreement and briefly checked Stan's vitals.

"Stan, let's walk down to my office and talk." The tall lanky doctor drawled the words in his southern style. Then he turned and led the way to his plush, but cluttered, office. "Have a seat over here on the couch." He motioned for Stan as he moved some medical journals and folders out of the way. Then he closed the heavy oak door to his office. The room was quiet. It smelled of stale cigar smoke.

Stan had already visited Dr. Griedlach's leather couch once before, after the first inconclusive x-rays and brain wave tests. The x-rays showed a trail of scar tissue leading inward from the old shrapnel wound at the base of his skull behind his ear. Dr. Griedlach wanted to follow the x-rays with further tests. But Stan was so disappointed that the first tests hadn't found a problem, and so distraught at the time over the loss of his job and family, that he put off having more tests. A recent visit to Dr. Ravit for a pain prescription convinced Stan to allow Dr. Griedlach to do further diagnosis. So a few days ago he underwent further testing.

Holding a report in his hands, Dr. Griedlach proceeded to tell Stan that a MRI showed a severely ruptured disk between two vertebrae in his neck. "It's certainly capable of causing severe headaches and is remarkable enough to warrant surgical correction, if that were the only problem."

"Only problem?"

"Yes," the doctor continued, "there's another anomaly in the lower part of your brain that's a more serious concern. We think it's the cause of these headaches you're experiencing."

"We?"

"Yes, I've reviewed the radiologist's report of your MRI with Dr. Epstein, a neurosurgeon. There's something located deep in your brain, Stan." He tapped on the side of his own skull. "It's not very big, a little smaller than a BB or a peppercorn. We think that it's probably shrapnel from the shell explosion that you told me about. And it's in a very unfavorable location for removal. Now Stan, you're perfectly welcome to talk to Dr. Epstein yourself. There isn't a better neurosurgeon in the country. He says there's almost zero chance of getting that thing out, without crippling you or killing you." Dr. Griedlach brushed his shaggy red hair backwards, with his right hand. He waited for a response from Stan.

"Dr. Griedlach—" He was cut off.

"Son, you can call me Red if you want to. Everybody else does, including my wife and grandchildren." He spoke the words in southern Alabama dialect.

"Red—" It felt uncomfortable, to Stan. "Doctor, What am I supposed to do? Sit around doped up on pain pills for the rest of my life, waiting to die."

"Well now son, I know it's not a life that you or anyone would prefer, me either. But there just really isn't any choice. If Doug can't do the surgery, nobody can. I'll guarantee that. If the doggone thing was just a fraction of an inch toward the anterior cerebral—toward the front of the brain stem, then—" He massaged his chin with his thumb and forefinger, as he peered over his glasses at Stan.

"Now listen Stan. If the blasted thing doesn't move, you can live a long life with it. A lot of people have to live with much worse conditions. You need to avoid any sudden trauma to the head. If it were to move the wrong way, I'm afraid it could be very bad, perhaps even fatal. Of course," he paused, "if it ever happened to move in a favorable direction, then maybe—" He hesitated again. "None of us have any guarantees, Stan. You take it easy, and take your pain medication as Dr. Ravit prescribed, and you should get along okay." Dr. Griedlach rose from his seat.

"Has Dr. Epstein flat said that he won't do it?" Stan was not ready to end the conversation.

"In so many words, yes. Heck, Stan, he can't afford to. We're not talking about a ten percent risk of failure. It's more like a one percent chance of survival. No reputable surgeon is going to go against those odds. Even if you signed a dozen releases, some blood sucking lawyer could sue for millions in a heartbeat. And they would probably win too, if the surgery went bad." He brushed his huge bushy crop of red hair with both hands.

"It's because I'm on welfare, and don't have any money, isn't it?"

Stan was desperate. He didn't want to give up. He saw his last thin hope of a normal life slipping away. He wanted to be whole again. He wanted a fighting chance to regain his life and his family.

"Stanley, son, that's not it at all." He put his hand on Stan's shoulder. "Listen, I've seen Doug work day and night on patients that had no health insurance or money at all, if he had a fighting chance of helping them. Oh, I'm sure, if you had enough money, and wanted to commit suicide, then somewhere in this world, someone would operate, but not Doug Epstein." The wise doctor sensed Stan's desperation. "There are some things that reputable doctors just cannot do Stan."

"I'm sorry Doctor Red. That was unfair of me. I appreciate what you've done. And I appreciate your candor."

Stan accepted that his only hope of return to a normal life was slipping away. Reconciled to the sentence of a lifetime of disability and the possibility of dying sooner, rather than later, he didn't want to add unkindness to his transgressions.

"I know you didn't mean anything wrong, Stan. Now look. I've already sent your records to Dr. Ravit. He can keep an eye on you and treat the pain, just as well as I can. We talked about you this morning. If there's any change in your condition, then he and I will decide if you should come back here. He's expecting you to stop by and see him this afternoon."

He extended his right hand to Stan. "I don't know about you, son, but I believe that all healing ultimately comes from God. And I believe in prayer too. I want you to know that I'll be praying for you."

Stan managed a weak smile, as he thanked the doctor. He walked back toward the reception room and thought about the doctor's final remarks. I don't know if I even believe in God or in prayer, he thought.

When he stepped back outside the medical building, the hot blast of July air reminded him of the heat from the fire that destroyed their house. Karen didn't know about the fire for some time, and she never knew the true cause. She didn't want to hear from Stan when he phoned for her at her parent's home the next day after the fire. She cut him off abruptly before he could tell her about the fire or the medication problem which was responsible. Although he phoned many times, neither she nor her parents would ever speak to him again. His letters were returned unopened. He was served with a restraining order, while he was still in the hospital, after she left. The order prohibited him from going near her parent's home or Paula's place of business.

He felt utterly hopeless and alone after leaving the doctor's office. He wished that he could just see Jenny's smiling face. Just the sight of her, would mean the world to him right then. He ambled on toward the Harcourt Center train station. Oh just to see her smile. Just to hear her giggle, he thought. God if you're really there is that too doggone much to ask? He wondered how much she must have grown and changed in the last couple of months. He imagined that she might be playing and laughing with other children at Mrs. Obenhauer's nursery, at that time of day.

"Oh Jesus," he exclaimed. "Yes!" His heart leaped and new found hope lit up his eyes. The restraining order that prevented him from going near Karen's parents said nothing about staying away from the nursery. He wondered why he hadn't thought of that oversight before. He walked hurriedly to the train station.

Chapter 20

Robert walked west on Clay, after leaving the downtown train station. He was scheduled to work a late shift today. Radiating heat caused shimmering visual waves above the sidewalk and over the tops of parked cars. The stench of exhaust fumes was heavier than usual in the hot July air. As always, Robert glanced to the right and surveyed the play lot next to the nursery.

He stopped suddenly. To his amazement, the little girl, who had so captivated him on past occasions was there! She was bent over a swing, on her tummy, pushing with her feet. He turned and hurried back to the canvas shop and cut through to the alley behind the play lot. The hasty trip left him short of breath. He knelt on the ground at the northwest corner of the play lot. His position placed him out of view from the nursery's picture window. Jenny was still hanging over the swing. She was wearing red shorts and a white cotton tee shirt. Her curly brown hair hung below her, as did her arms.

Robert squatted by the play lot fence, on the cobblestone surface of the alley. His hands clutched the chain link fence. Then he remembered the cut he received from the rough galvanized wire before. He carefully retracted his fingers. The little girl was more beautiful than ever to him. Once again, he carefully studied her face and compared her to his recollection of his sister Marge, when she was Jenny's age. She looks exactly like her, he thought.

Jenny slowly swung her arms and occasionally pushed with her feet. She faced Mrs. Obenhauer's observation window in the nursery wall. Mrs. Obenhauer was sitting in her rocking chair watching a television talk show. She occasionally glanced through the picture window at the playground.

Robert paid no attention to the other youngsters in the lot. His fascination was directed, solely at Jenny. He continued to kneel motionless. She's as cute as ever, he thought. He waited patiently for her to upright herself, so that he could have a better view of her face. He wished that he had a treat for her, something to encourage her to come near. He searched his pockets, but came up with nothing but his pocket knife.

*****

"Psssttt! Jenny!"

At first Robert thought the sound came from the side entrance of the nursery. He jerked his head in that direction and caught a glimpse of a man at the other corner of the lot, near the building. The man was motioning to Jenny and didn't see Robert. Robert resented the other man's presence and stood to get a better view of the stranger. When he did, his movement caught Jenny's attention.

Recognizing Robert, and remembering unpleasant past confrontations with him, Jenny scrambled to the ground on her hands and knees and faced him. Her sudden dismount from the swing caused her to fall on top of a toy truck and it made a small cut on her knee. She ran toward the side entrance as fast as her little legs would carry her, screaming, "No! Mummih! Mummih! Bluhh maann! Mummih!"

Recalling past confrontations with Mrs. Obenhauer and fearing another clash with the woman Robert wheeled about and hurriedly walked west through the alley.

Stan's heart sank. To him it appeared that Jenny ran inside because she was frightened of him. He was devastated at the presumed rejection. He guessed that Karen must have brainwashed Jenny over the last months and even taught her to fear him!

Mrs. Obenhauer charged vigorously from the side door to investigate the cause of the disturbance to Jenny. She swept the crying child up with her arms, and perched Jenny on her hip. This was the little girl's first day back, and the protective matron was not going to have it spoiled. She looked menacingly around the play lot fence.

Stan stepped inconspicuously toward the west, out of the woman's line of sight. He considered approaching her to ask if he might speak to Jenny, but thought better of it. He reasoned that she may have been told to keep an eye out for him, to keep Jenny away from him, or maybe even to summon the police if he came around. He reasoned that he had best just forget it. He didn't want to scare Jenny any more. He walked in defeat back toward the train station.

Mrs. Obenhauer noticed blood on Jenny's knee. She wiped the blood with her apron, as she trudged back into the nursery. Jenny continued to cry. She anticipated another alcohol scrubbing by Mrs. Obenhauer. This time the matron used a numbing antiseptic spray and applied a adhesive patch with a colorful cartoon character on it. Jenny was fascinated with the bandage and immediately stopped whimpering. Mrs. Obenhauer decided that she ought to telephone Jenny's mother and tell her about the cut just to avoid surprising her later.

*****

As Robert hurried west through the alley, he was puzzled that the stranger in dark glasses, had looked vaguely familiar, but he couldn't place him.

*****

Despair claimed Stan's spirit as he rode northbound on the train. He felt that he might never know the joy of touching, holding, or hugging Jenny or Karen again.

His thoughts took him back to St. Luke's maternity ward, two years and a few months earlier.

*****

Stan couldn't bear seeing Karen in pain, so she made him leave the delivery room. He recalled sitting nervously and expectantly in a small waiting room. His imagination ran out of control as he waited. Karen is almost thirty. There could be complications. He wished then that she hadn't gotten pregnant. He agonized over what he would do if something happened to her. If she were to die, life would be meaningless. Did we really need a baby? It was the first time he had faced such dread since they married.

The door suddenly burst open and Dr. Cushman stepped through wearing a broad smile. "Congratulations, Dad, he exclaimed. You have a daughter. They're both doing just fine. Give them a couple of minutes to powder their noses, then go say hello!"

Stan's thoughts bounced from deep despair to lofty joy with those few brief words from the doctor. "She's Okay? They're both Okay?" he blurted. "Thanks, Doctor! Thanks a lot!" A daughter! Both doing just fine! Hot dang!

He recalled sitting on the edge of Karen's bed, looking down at the two of them. Karen had never looked so radiantly beautiful. And the sight of the little red faced baby, lying next to her, brought chills to him. The newborn's tiny eyes were squinted, and a frown decorated her tiny forehead.

"Look at it's little hands," he said. "The fingers are so tiny; like a doll." He touched the precious little hands with the greatest of care.

"She's a she, not an 'it', Stan, and she won't break. Pick her up. Let her feel her daddy's strong hands."

His hands trembled nervously, as he held Jennifer Louise Bronsky for the first time. Her six pound and three ounce body seemed light as a feather to him.

"I can't believe how, something, someone, so small and helpless, could be a real live person. Oh Karen, she's a miracle! A real miracle!"

Stan turned his attention to Karen. He realized suddenly, that her large hump of belly was gone. "Are you alright, Kare? Was the pain very bad?"

"I'm just fine, honey," she answered. "The medicine helped the pain and now that I've seen Jenny, I couldn't possibly be better. Oh, Stan, I can't wait to get her home. Can you?"

"Let's leave now," he joked and smiled at Karen.

"Okay folks, we have to borrow the little lady for a while, now." A nurse interrupted.

"Why? What's wrong?" Stan asked anxiously.

"Nothing's wrong, sir. We have to take her footprints and check a few things," the nurse returned. "Why don't you run on out of here and let the little mother get some rest."

Karen's eyes looked heavy. Her lips formed a peaceful smile.

"I'll be back to take you both home in an hour," he promised.

*****

Take you both home, he repeated in his mind as he looked out of the train's windows. Home will never mean the same to me again, he concluded. Pictures of the flaming house in Eagle Brook flashed through his mind.

"Lake Street," the muffled conductor's voice called. The train doors were about to close, when Stan rose quickly to his feet and hurried off the train. He walked to the west bound side of the station. He hadn't returned to Eagle Brook since the fire. He stood on the train ramp staring blankly across the tracks as he waited for a westbound train. He began to have second thoughts about what he was doing. Why am I doing this? It will just bring back painful memories.

Chapter 21

"Hey stranger!" A hand tapped Stan on the shoulder from behind.

Startled, he spun around to see Jan Murray smiling at him.

"I didn't mean to startle you, Stan. How in the world are you?" She struggled to hide her shock at his appearance. He looked terrible. His face was tired and drawn. His eyes were red. He had lost weight. What on earth has happened to him? she wondered. The train's doors whooshed open.

He was surprised to see someone that he recognized, especially Jan. And he was shocked that she would even speak to him, after his last couple of days at CTC. He wished that he hadn't run into her. He really didn't feel like talking to anyone, certainly not to her. It was embarrassingly uncomfortable for him because it brought back unpleasant memories. He recalled his scathing remarks to her on the day he was fired. He considered simply walking away and catching a northbound train. But the westbound was here and the door was open, so he reluctantly stepped into the car behind her.

"Come sit with me, Stan," she invited. "Tell me what all you've been up to. How's the family. How's Karen and uh—? What's your little girl's name? I've forgotten."

Sit with her? After the way we went at each other? He was dumbfounded. "Jenny. Her name is Jenny."

"Yes, of course. Jenny. Where are you working now? Things sure haven't been the same at CTC since you left."

So she's still at CTC. Well, that figures.

She couldn't get over how weary he looked. He must be working himself to death.

"Actually I'm between jobs right now." He answered. He forced a disinterested stare out the train's windows. His pride wouldn't let him be totally honest.

The truth was that Stan had lost two other jobs since leaving CTC. After leaving there, his next employer heard about the erased CTC files, and fired him only two days after he was hired. He had a pain attack on the third day of his next job, momentarily blacked out, and nearly fell out of his chair. They quickly let him go too. Word soon spread to employment agencies and recruiters in the area. He applied for dozens of jobs since, but was never even called for an interview.

"Stan," Jan hesitated, "I've wanted to talk to you for some time. I tried to call your house, but I got a recording that said that your phone was disconnected."

Call me? What on earth for? She had his full attention. "You tried to call me?"

She paused for what seemed a long while to both of them while she searched for words. "It wasn't right, Stan. It just wasn't right."

He turned to face her. "Jan, look, I'm sorry. I had no right to say those things to you. I should have—"

She interrupted him. "That's not what I meant, Stan."

Why are her eyes tearing up? What wasn't right? "Oh. I guess you mean the Compton files that I erased. I know I shouldn't—"

"No. That's not what I meant. Stan, I— I know I took advantage of— Stan, you worked really hard and I—" She struggled for words. Tears began to slowly find their way down her pretty face.

"Jan, what's wrong? What is it?" He nervously reached into his pockets for a tissue, but found none.

"Oh, Stan," she looked directly into his eyes, "I was such a terrible person; vain, conceited, self-centered. I was an awful team worker. I know you had to do twice as much, in order to make up for me; and for Keith too. And then, I caused you to lose your job." She leaned forward and covered her face with her hands and began to sob. "I'm so sorry," she blurted.

Stan clumsily put his arms around her and held her sobbing head to his shoulder. Some commuters seated nearby, were staring. He simply could not believe what he was hearing.

This is too weird. Am I dreaming or what?

"I just want you to know how very, very sorry I am," she stammered as she withdrew. "Stan, can you ever find it in your heart to forgive me?" She tilted her tear stained face back and looked into his eyes.

He hadn't felt the soft warmth of a woman's flesh in his hands since Karen left. Nor had he smelled alluring fragrances like Jan's. Jesus, she is so attractive. And now, she actually seems to be sensitive too. To me! I can't believe it. What in the world has happened to her? He raised his hands tenderly to the sides of her face. He placed his finger tips on either side of her face, and gently stroked away her tears with his thumbs.

"Ouch!" she shrieked, as the sudden, compressing pressure, of his thumbs on her face, startled and frightened her. Her eyes widened in disbelief. She grabbed at his hands, and jerked back from him. His hands clutched at his own pain distorted face. His eyes looked up into his brow momentarily and his entire body convulsed. Then, as she frantically scooted backwards, to get away from him, his head sank heavily and his body shuddered again.

Jan gasped, "Stan! Stan! "What's wrong with you?"

A young man rushed, from two seats away, to offer assistance.

"I don't know what happened," Jan said, turning her head from side to side. She pointed her hands toward Stan, palms out. She was now afraid to touch the person to whom she had just bared her soul.

The young man looked at Stan and realized that he was in pain. He grasped Stan's shoulders.

"What hurts?" the younger man asked, gently lifting Stan's head and examining his eyes. What's wrong? Should we try to stop the train or get help for you? His eyes searched both of their faces. Stan slowly started to regain his wits from the debilitating attack. Jan reached a cautious and shaky hand toward his face. Then he turned to look at her pale face and gradually realized what happened.

"Oh God. I'm sorry, Jan," he slurred. "Did I scare you?" He didn't realize that his reflexes had caused him to gouge his thumbs into her face.

"You scared me to death, Stan! What on earth just happened to you? Has this ever happened to you before?" Her previously rosy cheeks were now ashen. And he could see that she was trembling. He supposed that he might as well level with her.

Over the next twenty minutes, Stan related the horror that had overtaken his life. He ended with the morning's hopeless visit to the neurologist, and his subsequent failed attempt to visit Jenny at the nursery. Jan soon lost her fear of him and tears flooded her pretty eyes and face as she listened to his story. She caressed his hand warmly while he finished the narration.

"Oh, Stan, I'm so sorry. I had no idea."

"Parke Station," a cracking, muffled, voice announced through the train's speaker system. Stan started to rise.

"You didn't say where you were going, Stan." Jan reminded him, as he stood to leave the train. She rose beside him, still clinging to his hand.

"I was on my way to see what's left of our house. I haven't been back there since the fire," he said. "I don't know why I'm going now. It really doesn't matter. I'm sure it's just a pile of rubble."

"Can I come with you?" she quickly asked.

"Why would you want to do that, Jan?" he replied. "I'm sure it's just a big mess."

"Let me come with you, please," she begged and squeezed his hand. She was fearful that he might have another attack, and that no one would be there to help him.

"Sure, I guess so, if you really want to. I need to find a water fountain first, and take a pill." The secondary pain was commencing.

It was a fifteen minute walk to Eagle Brook from the station. As the two of them walked side by side, each of their minds was occupied by thinking about the unimaginable change, that had taken place in the other person.

"Jan, I appreciate you caring enough to come with me. I'm sure you have better things to do. I have to admit that I was surprised that you would even speak to me, after the way I talked to you the last couple of days at CTC. I'm sure it was the headaches and the stress, but still, I shouldn't have. I'm really sorry."

"Stan, you don't owe me any apology. I'm the one, who needs to be forgiven." They continued walking.

She' needs to be forgiven'? He was amazed at the change in Jan's personality and attitude. Confusion showed on his face.

Sensing his bewilderment she said, "Stan, you're probably wondering what's happened to the Jan that you used to know. Can I tell you about it?" She took his hand to stop his walk. "I hope you won't think I've gone off the deep end. You see, I've really changed a lot since I last saw you." She looked into his eyes.

"I can see that something is sure different. What do you mean?" he asked.

*****

Mary Dorsey smiled through the reception window at Karen and Jenny. "He'll be able to see you in just a few minutes Mrs. Bronsky. There are some children books on the lamp table over there," she pointed.

"Mary, I really appreciate you working us in. It may not be anything, but I'll just feel a lot better having her looked at." Karen smiled at the receptionist. She appreciated that Mrs. O. dressed Jenny's injury, and phoned her, but Karen wouldn't be satisfied until Dr Ravit examined the wound.

While they waited for Dr. Ravit, Karen read from a book to Jenny. They were alone in the waiting room. It was nearly five when Mrs. Obenhauer called the gallery to let Karen know about Jenny's injury. And now it was a few minutes past six.

"Karen, Jenny, how are you two?" Dr. Ravit boomed the words as he swung open the reception room door. "Come on back."

"Oouuu!" Jenny howled as the short physician quickly snapped off the bandage that Mrs. Obenhauer had applied.

"Well it looks very clean. I don't think I could have done it any better myself. No need for stitches, Karen. It's a superficial cut and it's clean." He tickled Jenny's chin with his forefinger. Let's just see if we can bandage it back up as nicely as before. Then we'll see if Miss Mary might have a treat for you."

"Booh booh!" Jenny whined pointing to the injury.

"Yes, you've got a boo boo alright," Dr. Ravit returned. He applied a fresh bandage. "But, you'll be good as new in no time."

"Now, Karen, what's happened to that husband of yours? He was supposed to come back and see me."

Karen's face flushed. She didn't quite know how to respond to the doctor's question. He obviously knew nothing of their estrangement.

"Oh, he was?" she stammered weakly.

"Yes. I had a call from Dr. Griedlach. We had a long talk about Stan's problem.

Her mind ricocheted through the universe of possible problems to which Dr. Ravit might be referring. Drugs? Alcohol? STD? None took center stage in her vivid imagination!" The doctor's silence was troubling to her. "Dr. Griedlach?" she asked. "Who is he and what's this about?" She thought to herself, He obviously doesn't know about us splitting up. She debated with herself whether to tell him that she and Stan no longer lived together.

"Dr. Griedlach is the neurologist that I sent Stan to see. You know Karen, Stan's prognosis is indefinite. He could live with it for a long time according to Dr. Griedlach, if he takes it easy and follows—"

"Live with it? Live with what?" Karen choked out the words. Her eyes were wide with surprise and curiosity.

"My God Karen!" he said incredulously. "You mean to tell me you don't know?" Dr. Ravit's face showed disbelief.

Tears began to Blur Karen's eyes. "Dr. Ravit, we don't— We haven't— We haven't lived together for some time." She barely managed to get the words out. Her eyes immediately welled up with tears.

"Oh, my goodness. I'm very sorry, Karen." He placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. "I didn't know."

Stepping to the doorway, Dr. Ravit called out toward the reception area, "Mary, come and take Jenny with you for a few minutes, please." He had finished the bandage. "I need to talk with her mother a bit."

When they were alone, he handed a tissue to Karen and encouraged her to open her heart to him. She began slowly at first, and then revealed the details of her recent life, beginning a few months earlier and continuing through the time when she left Stan.

"And I haven't seen Stan since, Dr. Ravit. I assumed that he was living with the woman I mentioned, Jan Murray." She wiped her eyes as she concluded. "But, what's this about Stan having a problem that he may be able to live with?"

"Karen, would you excuse me for a just a second." He picked up a phone and buzzed his receptionist. "Mary would you please bring me a cup of coffee." He interrupted his instruction. "Karen, would you like a cup? This is going to take a little while. There are some things that I think you need to know."

"No coffee thanks. But if you have a cup of water."

"A cup of water for Mrs. Bronsky please," he spoke into the phone. "And Mary, bring me Mr. Bronsky's file please."

The short elderly physician was compassionate and fatherly. He was a family Doctor of the old school. Karen anxiously waited to hear what he wanted to talk with her about. It obviously concerned Stan. What could possibly be wrong with Stan?

Dr. Ravit closed the door behind Mary and placed a cup of water in Karen's nervous hands. He held a folder containing Stan's medical records. He sat down near Karen and sipped from his coffee as he reviewed his records of Stan's recent exams. He leaned back in the chair, took another sip, and charted a course for the conversation that was about to take place.

*****

Jan looked at Stan for a minute while she found the words for what she wanted to say. "Stan, I've become a Christian, a born again Christian. And I've never been so happy!" Her face glowed, as she professed her recently found faith.

"Well gee Jan, I— I don't know what to say. That sounds great I guess. You sure do seem different. I'll say that. I'm happy that you seem to be so happy." His bewilderment remained. He tried to not show it. But Jan could see it in his face. Stan had heard the term, "born again" but didn't really know what it meant. More often than not it was used pejoratively.

They continued walking while Jan told about reluctantly attending a Christian revival, just to placate a good friend. She related how she came to realize from a sermon, that she was a sinner, and that she was alienated from and eternally separated from God without Jesus.

"And the more I've learned about Jesus from the Bible, the more I've wanted to change. I can look back now, and see how vain and prideful and selfish I used to be." She searched Stan's face for any evidence of his understanding. "I have peace with God now, Stan. Do you know what I'm talking about?"

He quietly searched for an answer to her question; one that wouldn't offend her. "So you really believe all that stuff about God and the Bible?"

"Yes, I sure do," Jan answered.

"I suppose I do too, he said. "But I sure have a lot of questions."

"What kind of questions?" she asked, eager to help.

"Well, for one thing, I'd like to know why God allows bad things to happen to people, especially to good people."

"I think a lot of people wrestle with that question, Stan. I don't have all the answers. But, I think that bad or evil are simply words that define the absence of good." She said. "Jesus said that only God is good. Nothing, nor anyone else is good. So, in the absence of God's goodness, by definition, there can only be bad or evil."

"I never thought of it that way," he said, "I've always thought of myself as a decent person, not perfect by any means, but a fairly good person. And I've always thought of most people as basically good. But Jan, you're telling me that most people are no good. That they are all bad, or even evil, aren't you?" He seriously questioned her conclusion.

"We live in a world that is pretty much void of God," she said. "Most of the people in the world have rejected God. And—"

"But Jan," he interrupted, "there are millions of good people in the world and many of them are religious."

"Stan," she quickly replied, "don't confuse religion with God. Yes, there are many religions in the world, but there's only one God. Millions of people are religious, but they worship false gods. They're religious, but they're still separated from the one true God. Some people even worship witchcraft and Satan. That's being religious but it's worshiping a false god. That's why I said that most of the people in the world are without God. And if they're without God, then by Jesus' definition, they're bad or evil."

"Back to my question," he said. "Why me? What did I do to deserve all that's happened to me? Why doesn't God just stamp out all evil, or bad, or whatever you want to call it?"

"First Stan, believe me, God loves you and he loves every person who ever lived. A fundamental way that he expresses his love is by allowing us to have free will. That means that we can choose to embrace God and his love, or we can choose something else; like our self, or power, or fame. We've all chosen to reject God and his will at some time. Most of us have done it many times."

She checked Stan's face.

"So, what you're telling me is, that it's all my own fault?" His face expressed the doubt that he felt.

"Your situation isn't necessarily the result of a personal fault, Stan. The free reign of evil is all of humanity's collective fault for rejecting God beginning with the first man, Adam. Sure, God could just zap us and make us all perfect little obedient creatures. But think about it, Stan. We would be no different than programmed robots. God would say to us, 'Do you love me?' We would say, 'Sure! You bet God.' We would say that, because we wouldn't be capable of knowing or saying anything else."

"That's heavy, Jan. I need to let that sink in." He ran his fingers through his hair. "Okay," he said. "I think I understand what you're telling me. The only way that God could ever take away all evil, would be to replace it with good, which is God himself. It would be like light displacing darkness. Then everyone, every last person, would have to embrace God, be permeated with God, so to speak. Else, there would still be evil around. The only way that God could ever inject himself into all of humanity, would be, if he were to zap us, take away our free will, and turn us into robots. What possible satisfaction could God get from being loved by robots? It would be like Jenny or Karen loving me, because they didn't have any other choice. It wouldn't mean much."

Jan smiled at him. "I think you're getting it, Stan."

He said, "Okay, I think I understand the problem of evil in general. But even people who love and worship God have problems. Bad things happen to them too."

"Yes they do. When God created the first people, he was with them, in person. So goodness was in them and surrounded them. When people rejected God, they effectively withdrew themselves from him, and from all that was good. In other words, they chose evil over good. Out of his love, God allowed them to exercise their free will to make that choice. But as God had plainly warned them, their choice brought a curse on all of creation. So, we live in a world that is cursed, where bad things are going to happen."

"Hang on now. Let me think about that." Stan reflected for a minute. "So, God was intimately engaged with humans until they rejected him. Then he withdrew himself, which by definition left a void of good, which is evil. And now, everyone has to live with evil, even if they want God in their life. Is that about it?"

"I think that's basically right, Stan. God does frequently intervene in people's lives to save us from some evil, or to protect us from some evil. I don't think we recognize it, most of the time. Jesus didn't promise that Christians won't ever have problems. In fact, Jesus said that we definitely would have problems as long as we're in the world.

"I believe that God sometimes allows bad things to happen to us, to bring us to him, or to bring us closer to him. The Bible says that God works to bring good out of everything, including bad things, for people who love him. We may not realize the good that he does at the time, or recognize it even in this life. But he has assured us, that ultimately, he will bring good for us."

"Jan, something else that's always bothered me is why some people go to church and then act like everyone else when, they're not in church."

"That bothers me too, Stan. And I'm sure it bothers God too. Not everyone who goes to church is a Christian. And Christians aren't necessarily any better than anyone else. They're just saved sinners who struggle to follow the teachings of Jesus. Once someone truly believes in Jesus, God begins and continues to change them, through the work of his Spirit. Some Christians change faster than others. Some drag their feet. Sometimes, God has to firmly correct someone if they're too reluctant to change. God's objective is to have us become more and more like Jesus. He planned that from the beginning.

Stan hesitated. He searched for the right words to ask a question that had been on his mind for weeks. "Jan, how can we ever know for sure, what will happen to us after we die?"

"We have the promise of Jesus, who rose from the dead himself, through the power of the Holy Spirit. Everyone who believes in Jesus for eternal life has his Spirit in them. One of the things that the Spirit does is help us develop assurance. God has provided only one way for people to enjoy a restored relationship with him, and to escape from eternal death. That one way is to believe in his son Jesus. We still have to live out the remainder of our physical lives, in a world that will be plagued with evil until Jesus returns. But Jesus promised that if we believe in him, then we have eternal life starting right then. And ultimately there will be no evil in our life, because our life will be with God."

"There's our house!" Stan pointed as they turned a corner. "What's left of it."

"Oh Stan!" She gasped at the sight of the Bronsky home.

Most of the main roof was still in place, but the attached garage roof was almost totally collapsed into the garage. Firemen had chopped huge gaping holes in the main roof over the living quarters. Windows and doors on the first floor were boarded over with plywood. Black soot framed the plywood covers and there was a wide band of soot below the roof's edge. Bright yellow signs were tacked several places around the exterior of the house, warning people to stay out.

Stan sought a crack in the plywood armor where he could peek inside. He located one, on the back side of the house, where the dining room window had once been. Everything that he could see, inside the house, was charred black. The odor of burnt wood and textiles was still strong.

Jan noted increasing despair on Stan's face. She wondered how Karen could have left the pitiful man, considering all that had happened to him, even if he did cause the fire.

Stan didn't tell Jan about Karen's jealous suspicions. He only told her that Karen left with Jenny on the day that the house burned. He said that he had tried to talk to Karen since, but she wouldn't speak to him.

Jan couldn't suppress her feelings. "Stan, I just don't understand how Karen could leave you after all you've been through." She said it with heartfelt compassion.

"Karen doesn't know about the shrapnel," he said, pointing at the side of his skull. "I never got a chance to tell her. I tried to tell her mother, but she hung up on me before I could explain. I guess losing my job and then burning the house down was just too much for both of them." He thought about what he had just said. It seemed to him that he may have come across as blaming Karen too much. He felt that he needed to say something to defend her. He didn't want Jan to form a unfair image of her.

"You know Jan, I had let my job come between us, between me and Karen. It was stupid. If I had it to do over I would do things a lot different."

He stooped to pull some weeds from Karen's flower bed beneath the kitchen window. Jan reached down to steady him. He could see that she felt a need to watch over him.

"Jan, listen, I'm going to hang out here for a while. I'll be fine if you need to go."

"Well I do need to get on to work. She glanced at her watch. I had a dentist appointment this morning, so I'm working late this evening. But, are you sure you'll be alright?"

"Sure. I'll be fine. I may not have another attack for days."

"Well, give me your phone number before I go, Stan. I want to check on you. And listen, if there's anything I can do—" She found a pen and paper in her purse and quickly jotted down her telephone number. "If there's anything at all, you call me."

"Sorry Jan. I don't have a phone. I live in a little run-down apartment on the north side. It's all I can afford without a job."

"Okay, so what's the address?"

"Honest Jan, you needn't bother with me. I'm sure you have better things to do. And it really is a crummy neighborhood. It's not a place you would want to be."

"No. Now Stan, I insist. Please. Give me the address."

He reluctantly gave the information to her. She returned the pen and paper to her purse, and then gave him a warm hug before leaving.

He watched her walk into the distance, still marveling at the change in her personality. He could not help also noting her incredible figure. He struggled to stifle yearnings for female affection that she stirred in him.

A wooden picnic table still stood on the brick patio, behind the kitchen. It was shaded by a tall Elm tree. Stan sat down on a bench of the table and stared thoughtfully at the remains of Karen's neglected flowers. He tried to picture her as she once worked in the small garden. But, memories of Jan and today's conversation with her interfered with his thoughts.

'I have perfect peace with God', he recalled Jan's words. 'Do you know what I'm talking about'?

Since his visit with Dr. Ravit in April, Stan had often thought about God. Usually when he did, past sins would haunt him and he did not have much peace. He rested his tired head on folded arms on the picnic table and tried to imagine what it would be like to have perfect peace with God.

Chapter 22

The roar of a motorcycle engine invaded Stan's ears. The noisy machine charged around the left end of his house and directly at him. It slid to a stop just yards away. The driver wore a shiny black helmet with a dark face shield. Stan felt small, sitting in front of the loud machine. Its engine roared in rhythmic bursts. He could feel his body vibrate from the energy of the noisy motor. With each roar of the engine the bike reared from the ground and lurched closer to him. Stan's first thought was to escape, to just run with all his strength. But he also felt a curious interest in the mysterious masked rider. Fear won out over curiosity. He scrambled from the picnic table to his feet and ran.

Stan raced between the Johnston's house and their Koi pond, with the biker close behind. The bike's engine continued to roar in rhythmic bursts. Each time the engine roared, the motorcycle reared and lurched forward. Stan was cut off on the right by the Borsteins' six foot high board fence and his only route of escape was through the Johnston's fish pond. He leaped as far as he could into the water and stumbled on stones that dotted the bottom of the pond. As he struggled through three feet of water to reach the other side, panicked Koi and Goldfish scattered at the unexpected disturbance. The biker was blocked from pursuing Stan by the pond. The rider did a one eighty and disappeared around the Bronsky house.

Stan rounded the Atcher house and crossed their front lawn with a dozen leaps. He crossed the street in nine more. He raced through heavy shrubs on the Benton's side lawn, toward the open field beyond their back yard, and then toward railroad tracks beyond. He finally collapsed on a train rail atop the trestle that bridged Mill Creek and sat gasping for air. His heart was pounding from the run. He sat with his arms crossed over his knees, and with his head resting on his arms. He was completely exhausted. He was in no condition for such a run. He closed his eyes and tried to make sense of what had just happened.

His head snapped erect at the deafening roar of the motorcycle that now raced toward him from a western direction, alongside the railroad tracks. It slid to a stop twenty feet away with the engine roaring in bursts. He was exhausted and felt powerless to move. The engine abruptly stopped. The quiet was deafening.

What now? he thought.

The afternoon sun was behind the biker. Looking into the sun, Stan saw the driver's leather gloved hand reach slowly toward a black helmet. The face shield snapped back, and the fiberglass helmet slammed to the ground between Stan and the machine. Long wavy hair bounced about the cyclist's head and face when the helmet came off. The helmet made a loud cracking sound as it hit the ground near Stan. The bright afternoon sun was directly behind the biker's head. It was impossible for Stan to see into the blinding illumination to probe the biker's face and search for meaning to the madness.

Stan glanced furtively to his right. He calculated an escape by running toward the east end of the bridge and leaping to the creek below. Something further down the tracks caught his attention. He saw what appeared to be a shiny object flashing a quivering reflection of the sun into his eyes. It appeared to be moving quickly toward him.

Stan felt the bridge begin to vibrate beneath him. The piercing sound of a train whistle split the air. He squinted back toward the motorcycle and into the bright sun. He was trapped between the fast approaching train and the dismounting rider.

A leg swung gracefully from the motorcycle, and the rider stepped toward Stan. He looked toward the rider's approaching feet, then quickly back toward the oncoming train, then back toward the approaching feet. The rider's legs were bare.

The train's horn screamed again. He turned toward it. A woman stood on the front bumper of the train frantically waving her arms. The woman looked like Karen. What the devil? Stan thought.

She was standing on the front bumper of the train wearing a silvery, metallic looking body suit. Her legs were spread wide. Her arms were folded defiantly across her chest and she had a look of condemnation on her face.

Stan looked back toward the biker. His eyes traveled from a high heeled boot, up a bare thigh. He smelled enchanting perfume. The graceful tanned leg of the biker swung toward him and a knee pressed against his shoulder. He looked up beyond bare thighs and past protruding breasts toward a beautiful face.

"Jan?" he gasped with disbelief.

Karen shook her head vehemently and reached her arms toward Stan.

With the sun no longer directly behind her, he could see Jan's tantalizing smile and the smooth skin of her face. She suggestively nudged his shoulder again with her knee.

Chapter 23

Dr. Ravit knew he was probably out of line to share Stan's medical confidences with an estranged wife. But the good doctor thought, there's an information gap wider than the Grand Canyon here. And it may have contributed to ripping apart the lives of some nice young people.

"Karen," Dr. Ravit began, "the day that your house burned, I saw Stan at the hospital. He had been taken there by ambulance because he blacked out. In fact, I was told that's how the fire started."

"Yes, I know about that," she said.

"Well, wait, let me see." He thumbed through pages of notes in the folder. "Let me back up a bit. Stan came to see me about headaches in April. Did you know about that?"

She shook her head. He began anew and continued with the wrenching story in great detail. He explained Stan's medication error that resulted in the house fire and concluded with his recent telephone conversation with Dr. Griedlach, that pronounced the apparent hopelessness of Stan's condition.

Karen hardly moved after the doctor began his narrative. Her face paled as the report unfolded. She felt feint and clammy. She sipped from the cup of water then placed it on a table beside her. As the doctor talked, her mind flashed back to last winter. Yes, I do remember the fall in the snow. Yes, I do remember him saying that he had a really bad headache, that time when he broke the lamp.

And she remembered Stan taking aspirins when he came home at night, a number of times.

Her eyes closed. She held her sagging forehead with her left hand as she pondered the information that the doctor provided.

Her thoughts continued as the doctor talked, Maybe Stan's behavior with Jan Murray was a result of this brain thing. Or— Oh, God. Was there even anything happening between them. Maybe I was wrong about that. Oh my God, I must have been. I accused an innocent— No, two innocent people.

Her flashbacks skipped wildly from Easter back to Christmas, then back to April. She had a vivid recollection of Stan's pained face, as he pleaded with her, just before she left for her mother's.

Oh my Lord, he wasn't drunk! Her hands clenched tightly in her lap. Her head slumped forward at the sudden realization of her error.

*****

Stan's head snapped erect as Susan Johnston nudged his shoulder a second time with her hand.

"Stan, are you alright?"

"Jan? Karen?" He shook his head, and then turned to look behind him. He left the land of surreal fantasy and began a return to reality.

"Oh Susan. Hi. I'm okay. Just tired. Fell asleep I guess."

She forced a smile. She was dismayed at the site of him. He appeared to have aged years since she saw him only months ago. In another setting she might not have recognized him at all. She wondered who "Jan" was.

Susan never regretted that she summoned the police, on the day that the house burned. He deserved it, in her opinion. She was convinced then, that he was drunk. After seeing him now, she surmised that he must have continued down that road. Poor Karen! she thought.

"Well, I just saw you sitting here, with your head down, and didn't know what to make of it. I didn't mean to bother you," Susan said coldly. She tried to prevent the revulsion she felt from showing on her face. Her effort failed. Why is he back here anyhow? He should be ashamed to show his face around here.

By sundown half the neighborhood would buzz with the news that Stan Bronsky had showed up wasted and looking like a hopeless drunk or drug addict.

Stan correctly read her face. He thought of explaining his appearance, but decided it really didn't matter what Susan thought, and wasn't worth the effort of explaining. He reasoned that he'd already done that once today and that was enough. He no longer cared what anyone thought of him, especially a busy body like Susan. He stood up from the picnic table.

"Good to see you again, Sue. Say hi to Ed for me. I need to be getting on."

The two backed away from each other a few steps and then turned and went their separate ways.

*****

Karen's sorrowful wail breached two doors and a long hallway to reach the ears of Mary Dorsey. She had finished her work and was sitting in the waiting room keeping an eye on Jenny. The little girl had fallen asleep on the couch with a book in her lap. Although startled, and more than a little curious, Mary would not, breach the sanctity of the doctor's conference without his invitation.

The wail turned to uncontrollable sobs.

After several minutes, Dr. Ravit convinced Karen to swallow a tranquilizer. Then he sat down beside her and wrapped his arm around her. He held her with the tenderness of a father caressing his only child.

Karen's body shook uncontrollably in the comforting embrace of the doctor. Through a mix of sobs and garbled speech, she told the physician that she had horribly misjudged Stan. She attempted to explain why she had made such tragic misjudgments.

"We humans are pitiful mind readers, Karen, and even worse listeners most of the time. If we listened half as well as we talked, the world would be a lot happier place." He continued to gently embrace her. "Now look Karen, what's already done is done. The important thing now is to reassess everything that's gone wrong and decide on the best course of action to try to repair the damage. If you feel like you need help with that, we can recommend some good counselors. Right now though, I think you need to just calm down a bit, then get a good night's rest and reflect on everything that we've talked about."

Dr. Ravit asked Karen if he could have Mary call a friend or relative to come for her. He was concerned that in her state of emotion, medication that she shouldn't drive. She couldn't think of anyone who could come and pick her up on such short notice. Her parents were too far away and Paula would be on her way home. So she told the doctor that she thought she could drive, and rose to her feet. But she felt very groggy and had to sit again. So he offered to give her and Jenny a ride home himself. A short time later he parked his car near their apartment building and walked with them to the entrance.

"Karen, here are a few more pills to relax you. You can take those four hours apart to help if you need. Try to get a good night's sleep. I'm sure things will look better tomorrow. They always do."

"Dr. Ravit, I can't thank you enough, for all you've done. You've been too kind for words."

"Nonsense, young lady. You stop in and see me in the morning when you come for your car. We'll talk some more then." He turned and headed briskly toward his car.

By the time she fixed supper for herself and Jenny, Karen was exhausted. She tried to boost her energy with a small glass of wine but that had the opposite effect. She tucked Jenny in bed without a bath. She crossed the hallway to her own bed and fell across it without undressing. Constant replay of past events, sparked by what she had learned this afternoon, weighed heavily on her.

Her final waking thought of the day was, I'm so sorry Stan, and I don't even know where you are or have any idea how to find you.

Chapter 24

Jan Murray woke up thinking about Stan and all that he told her yesterday. She began her day, as she had done for the last few weeks, with a time of prayer. Her petitions this morning included urgent requests for Stan. She also prayed for Karen, Jenny, and herself. Her personal guilt in the Bronsky family's predicament was weighing on her spirit. For some time, she had accepted personal responsibility for Stan's dismissal from CTC. Now she felt responsible for his subsequent lack of employment as well. Her prayers were not eloquent or poetic, but they came from a truly penitent and loving heart.

After a breakfast snack, Jan dressed and prepared to leave for work. She paused momentarily before exiting her apartment to admire a painting near the door. Her brother gave the oil painting to her for her recent birthday. It came from the Chantley Gallery. The painting was of a man with one leg, on crutches. He was standing on a empty street corner waiting for something or someone. He had a single rose in one hand and a book that appeared to be a Bible under his other arm. It was the Bible that caught her brother's attention. The painting presented a mystery that begged for a solution. Was the scene supposed to evoke hope or despair, she wondered, or both? Either way, it pulled at her curiosity and evoked her compassion. She glanced at the artist's initials in the bottom corner and wished she knew the person so that she could ask about the meaning of the painting.

As she walked to the train station, her thoughts were on Stan. If only I could do something to help him. I don't understand how Karen could be so cold, to leave him when he's so sick. He obviously needs her so much right now. He always talked about her like she and Jenny were the most important people in the world.

She wondered if Karen and Jenny were still at her mother's place. She wished that she had thought to ask Stan how to contact Karen. Then she might have tried to reason with Karen about him.

She stepped into the fourth car of the train. There was only one empty seat and she took it.

Robert's eyes were closed. He was in deep thought about cutting into the stomach of a small child, but the fragrance immediately caught his attention. He opened his eyes without straightening from his slumped posture. He called on his peripheral vision and examined her feet and calves. It must be her. He wished that he hadn't placed a newspaper barrier in the seat beside him this morning.

"Good morning," she greeted.

Having almost embarrassed himself on the fourth of July by assuming that she was speaking to him, he now gathered that she must be speaking to someone else.

She continued, "Still asleep? Been there, done that, myself."

He continued to assume that she was talking to someone else.

"Mind if I look at your newspaper?" She rattled the paper that separated them. It startled him. His face flushed when he realized that she had indeed been talking to him. His heart raced.

"Sure," he barely managed to come out with the single word, as he sat more upright.

"Good morning to you too," he said, I thought—" He fumbled for words, as he handed the paper to her. For an instant their eyes met. He quickly turned away, convinced that she would notice how flushed his face was. He was wearing a bright red baseball cap this morning, so she assumed that the red in his face was a reflection from the cap.

"Thanks a bunch. Sorry I disturbed you. You can go back to sleep," she said jovially. "I'll try to be quiet while I look at your paper." She smiled and wondered why he didn't look at her.

He must be in a bad mood, she supposed. She crossed her legs and unfolded the paper over her knee length skirt.

Robert felt sure that she could detect the pounding of his heart. 'Go back to sleep,' he thought, I couldn't possibly sleep. He was eager to hear her say something else, to talk with her, to say something, anything; to tell her what a huge impression she made on their previous encounters, or to ask her name, or to tell her how beautiful she was. But words simply wouldn't come out of his mouth.

He continued to stare at the floor, while she slowly turned the pages of the newspaper. He deliberately slowed his breathing and inhaled through his nose in an effort to calm himself. His deeper breaths also allowed him to capture more of her fragrance. He had not felt so exhilarated since he saw her the last time, on the fourth of July. That encounter ended in total disappointment. He strained his peripheral vision to see as much of her as possible without being obvious.

Something caused a delayed attraction to Jan's attention, and she flipped a page backwards. It was a Chantley Gallery ad that offered a twenty percent discount sale through the weekend. She thought of the painting that her brother recently gave her, and then she thought of Stan. He described his apartment as bleak. She wondered if she might find a painting that would add some cheerfulness to his place. In any case, it would give her an excuse to visit and check up on him. And she really wanted to do something to lift his spirits. She leaned toward Robert, tapped his shoulder, and at the same time softly said, "Asleep again?"

"No!" He was caught by complete surprise again. "Just thinking."

He sat upright and turned in her direction but didn't make eye contact.

"Would you mind if I tear this ad out of your paper?" She pointed toward the advertisement.

"No, I don't mind at all. You can keep the whole paper if you like." He was proud of his accomplishment in answering her query. Slow breathing had helped his nervousness. He was pleased too, with his quick response of generosity. He hoped that she was impressed.

"No, I'll just tear the coupon ad out, if that's okay." She began to tear the page.

"Here", he quickly fumbled for his pocket knife. "You can use this."

He opened the oversized knife and extended it toward her. She glanced at the knife. It had what looked like dried blood on the blade.

"That's okay. I think I've about got it. Thanks anyway." She didn't want to touch the knife.

"You sure? I can cut it out for you." He looked directly at her now without realizing it. He didn't want to lose an opportunity to be of service.

"No. I've got it. Thanks." She folded the newspaper and pushed it toward him.

Still holding the knife in his right hand, he took the newspaper with his left hand. He turned his eyes away from her. She noticed that he wore no rings and his hands looked soft, smooth, and clean. They looked as if they could be the hands of a professional musician. The baseball cap and work shoes didn't seem to fit that image though. She studied the side profile of his face. He seemed vaguely familiar to her.

"Lake Street." A muffled voice spoke through the train's speakers.

"Well, have to go. Thanks for letting me borrow your paper; and for the ad. Sorry again for bothering you." Jan said cheerfully, as she rose to leave the car.

Robert had to restrain himself from holding his ears as he usually did to block the squealing sound of the train's brakes. He still held the knife in his right hand and as he swiftly rose to his feet, he thrust his right hand upward in a sharp motion and awkwardly dropped the knife as he lifted his baseball cap. The knife made a loud thump on the floor.

"Goodbye. Have a good day. Are you sure you don't want the newspaper?" He asked, making a final friendly gesture and holding the paper in the air.

"No thanks." She smiled back at him as she left the car.

His last words and gesture left her with a strong sense of déjà vu. She turned quickly, to look back into the coach windows with a puzzled expression. The train doors were closing and the train began to move. Robert made a small wave with the newspaper.

"Why did I have to look so stupid?" he whispered. He smacked his thigh with the newspaper in disgust, and groped under the seat for the dropped knife. Then he angrily slapped his thigh again in self-reproach.

*****

A noise from the direction of the living room of her apartment caused Karen to stir. She wondered if she had forgotten to lock the door. She tried to rise from the bed but her body felt as though it had doubled in weight. Her eyes were heavy too. She looked out of her bedroom door into the living room. She saw only the faint light from a street lamp that shined through a curtained window and dimly lit the room. She strained to keep her eyes open but lost the battle and fell sound asleep again.

After what seemed like only a few seconds to her, another noise grabbed her attention. Again, she looked through the open bedroom door toward the living room. This time, through heavy eyes, she saw a short interruption of the ambient light from the street lamp as though someone had walked through the living room in front of the window.

Now she was scared and determined to get out of bed. But again she felt as though a tremendous weight was holding her down. No matter how hard she tried to raise herself, she felt as though she were strapped to the bed. She tried to remember if she might have taken too many of the pills that the doctor gave her. Maybe it was a combination of wine and tranquilizer that has paralyzed me, she thought.

A bright light flashed across the hallway, from the direction of Jenny's room. Jenny! Karen tried to cry out, but something prevented her from getting the sound out of her mouth. It seemed to her as though her mouth was being held closed; as though her lips couldn't move. She felt a desperate need to get to Jenny.

Suddenly a silhouette darkened her doorway. With the light behind them, Karen couldn't make out a face; but she could tell that it was a man. She could make out the outline of a baseball cap and could see his white tee shirt. It couldn't be Stan. He never wore a baseball cap or tee shirts.

Terror engulfed her. Her heart raced. She heard heavy breathing coming from the silhouette. She saw his hand reach into his trouser pocket. Then she saw something flash in his hand. He turned from where he stood and moved toward Jenny's room.

Oh, God. It's a knife! He has a knife! Jenny! She tried to scream the words but no sound would escape from her mouth. Karen was overcome with panic. Her heart was pounding so hard that she felt like it would explode. With one final strain of every muscle in her body, she thrust herself and the weight that was constraining her upwards!

"Jennnnneeeeee!" Karen was finally able to scream.

*****

Stan rose suddenly from his bed. He thought that the scream that awakened him came from across the hall. He hurried to slip on his pants. He stepped quietly but quickly across the hallway. He stood in front of the door of the apartment that faced his, and listened intently.

Stan had seen the young man who lived in that apartment only briefly. He seemed to be a loner, which had been okay with Stan. He had no interest in becoming chummy with other residents of the run down building. He concluded before he moved in, that only sleaze bag people would live in such a place. And while he was forced to live there by financial circumstances, he considered himself to be above other residents.

When he failed to hear any sound coming from the stranger's apartment, Stan shuffled back across the hall to his own unit.

I guess I must have dreamed that I heard a scream, he thought.

*****

Jenny let out a whimper as she tumbled onto her mother's lap from her chest where she had been lying. The back of her head banged against the top of Karen's knee. Karen shook her own head vigorously. Jenny whimpered again and looked up at her mother's face with anxious eyes. Karen, still in yesterday's attire, was sitting upright on the edge of her bed with Jenny lying awkwardly on her lap on her back and facing her mother.

Jenny woke earlier and left her own bed to join Karen who was still asleep. She had been lying on top of Karen's chest pensively studying her mother's face with one of her little arms laying across Karen's mouth. When Karen screamed and bolted upright, Jenny was suddenly thrust from Karen's chest onto her lap. The child didn't quite know how to respond. She continued to look up at her mother with wide anxious eyes.

"Oh my. Oh goodness." Karen began a return to reality. "Good morning sweetheart." The words trickled out. Karen curled her arms around Jenny, pulled her up, and hugged her tightly for a few minutes, then began rocking her. "I see you woke up before Mommy did." Karen yawned and struggled to shake off the remains of her drowsiness. After fully waking, her thoughts quickly picked up where they left off as she fell asleep.

Oh, Stan. Stan, where are you? She was interrupted by Jenny.

"Wahn cuh-hii."

"Sweetie, Mommy will fix you some nice warm cereal first, then maybe a cookie," She hugged the child closer.

"Oh-kaay, Mummih." She returned the hug.

Karen moved to the kitchen and prepared instant oatmeal for both of them. After they finished their breakfast, Karen interested Jenny in a television cartoon, while she showered and dressed. She talked to herself as she showered. "What caused that nightmare? What in the world could that dream mean?"

She studied herself in a mirror as she toweled. Her eyes looked tired. She recalled that Dr. Ravit said he wanted to see her again this morning. Maybe he knows how to get in touch with Stan. I'll drive straight to his office, soon as I'm dressed.

Then Karen remembered that her car was still at the doctor's office. As soon as she dressed and applied a minimum of makeup, she hurriedly pushed buttons on her phone to call her best friend.

"Pau, it's me. Listen, I need a big, big favor. I need a ride to Dr. Ravit's office this morning, as soon as you can. No, no. Nothing's wrong with me or Jenny. I left my car there yesterday evening. 'Why?', she echoed. It's too long a story for the phone, Pau. I'll explain later. Can you come over right away? Great. Thanks Pau."

"Jen, come get dressed, honey. We may go see your daddy today." She exclaimed with widened eyes, and made a big smile for Jenny.

"Daaaaahih?" Jenny exclaimed.

"Yes, sweetie, Daddy."

Paula arrived thirty minutes later in her convertible sports car. Karen and Jenny met her at the street.

"I guess you'll have to strap Jenny in your lap, Kay. Sorry. No back seat." Paula smiled, nodding behind her.

"Sorry? A lot of people would give their eye teeth for this car." Karen returned the smile. "Jen will be fine in my lap. Won't you sweetie?" Jenny was intrigued by a car with no top. She pointed up.

"Pau, maybe we had better put the top up though. There's so much attention being paid to children not riding in car seats. Let's don't make it so obvious."

"No problem," Paula said. She raised the top. "Now tell me what's happening. Why's your car at the Dr.'s office?"

"Well, as I said, it's a long story. I went there yesterday because Jenny had gotten a cut on her knee at the nursery."

Karen replayed every detail of her conversation with Dr. Ravit, for Paula. She again confessed her many faults and her mistakes of misjudging Stan and Jan too. Her eyes fought against burning moisture. There was a long silence interrupted only by the powerful hum of the car's engine.

"We all make mistakes Kay. I've sure made my share. You just need to let Stan know that you were wrong. Be totally honest with him."

"I've got to find him first, Pau. I just hope to God, I find him soon and that he'll forgive me."

"Me too, Kay. Me—e too!" Paula turned her car into Dr. Ravit's parking lot. "Do you want me to stay with you?"

"No. You've done enough Pau. I really, really, appreciate it. I'll call you later." Karen quickly unbuckled herself and Jenny, and stepped out of the car.

"Love you Kay. Good luck. Be sure and call me later."

*****

Karen anxiously entered the doctor's waiting room. Great! Only one other person, she thought.

"Good morning Mary. Dr. Ravit said I should see him again this morning."

"Good morning Mrs. Bronsky. Yes, he told me to work you in. You're in luck. We had a couple of cancellations. I'll take you back, in just a few minutes."

Karen shared a story book with Jenny while they waited.

Mary bid a departing patient good day, and then escorted another to a exam room.

Karen and Jenny were alone in the waiting room now. Having finished one book, Jenny lay on one end of a couch on her back, with her head on the couch's arm and her legs crossed. She was enjoying looking at pictures in a book about kittens. She had looked at the book the day before. Another patient passed through the waiting room to leave.

"Have a good day Mr. Harper," Mary said. "Ready Mrs. Bronsky? You can come with me."

Mary led Karen and Jenny into Dr. Ravit's personal office. Karen wondered if it was going to be okay for Jenny to stay with her, but didn't ask, as Mary was quick to close the office door and return to her post.

"Good morning Karen," Dr. Ravit boomed as he entered his office from a side door. "How's Miss Jenny this morning?" He tickled her chin and Jenny smiled. He looked into Karen's eyes. "How did it go last night? Did you get some sleep?"

"Yes, I did. In fact I overslept. That pill you gave me must have really zonked me." She smacked her palm against her forehead to demonstrate her point. "I didn't have to take another. I was so tired that I really didn't spend much time thinking about everything that you told me. I went straight to sleep. But I did have an awful dream."

"Really?" He noted the frown lines on her face.

"Yes. I guess it was a nightmare or something. I dreamed that a man came into our—" Karen stopped short.

She suddenly realized that it was indeed the same man that she had dreamed about several months ago in another nightmare.

"Do you believe in premonitions, Dr. Ravit?"

"Well, I can't say that I have personally experienced a premonition. But there have been some interesting studies done on the subject."

"Well, I've dreamed about this same man, a stranger, before. Both dreams were very upsetting. Anyhow, I did sleep soundly I suppose, right through the night. I just wish that I hadn't had the nightmare. And I wish that I knew if the dream was a premonition or something." She lowered her voice to a whisper. "Both times that I've had it, it was about a strange man with a knife and Jenny."

"I wouldn't worry too much about the dream unless it continues to recur. Most bad dreams are the result of negative emotional experiences. It's good that you were able to rest. Have you thought about what you will do now?"

"Well, I know that the first thing I want to do is find Stan and tell him how terribly sorry I am about being so wrong. And then, I'm going to beg him to forgive me. If he will, then we'll go from there." Tears started to appear in the corners of her eyes.

"Good. That sounds like a good plan, Karen."

The doctor went over Stan's recent medical prognosis again. He wanted to make sure that Karen had understood everything that he told her yesterday. Given her emotional condition at the time, he reasoned that she might not have understood everything. His review again brought tears to her eyes.

"Dr. Ravit, you said Stan was supposed to see you again, but didn't show up. Do you have his address or phone number? I don't have either one."

"Let me check with Mary. She should know." He pushed a button on his desk phone. "Mary, would you please get me a current address and phone number for Mr. Bronsky.

Mary looked puzzled. Why doesn't he just ask Mrs. Bronsky? Oh, well. She punched a few buttons on her computer and relayed the information to the doctor. He scribbled on a notepad and handed it to Karen.

"That's our old address and phone number," she said.

He buzzed Mary again and asked her to double check to see if there might not be more recent information. After a few more minutes, somewhat annoyed at a second request, she answered in the negative.

"I'm sorry, Karen, looks like that's all we have. Tell you what. Let me call Red Griedlach and see if he has anything different." He picked up his telephone and started to dial Dr. Griedlach's personal number, then looked at his watch and hung up. "He's probably still making rounds," he said. He buzzed Mary and turned the task over to her.

"Let's go back out front and see what Mary can come up with. If she doesn't come up with something, then I really don't know what else to suggest. Good luck dear and take care." He patted her on the shoulder and turned to address his next patient.

"Mrs. Bronsky," Mary Dorhman began, "I spoke with Dr. Griedlach's office—"

"Yes, " Karen anxiously interrupted.

"They have the same address and phone number in their files as we have." Mary watched hope drain from Karen's face. She had begun to suspect that Karen and Stan were estranged. "They suggested that Methodist Hospital might have other information. That's where Dr. Griedlach sent Mr. Bronsky for tests." A slight improvement showed on Karen's face. "I have a phone number for Methodist if you like." She wrote the number on a piece of paper and handed it to Karen.

"Thanks Mary. Thanks a lot. I'll try calling them later."

*****

Karen strapped Jenny into the back seat of her car and drove away from the parking lot. She seemed unsure of where she should go from there. She started to drive to the hospital. But she didn't want to take Jenny there. So she turned around and drove in the opposite direction toward the nursery.

As she drove, she prayed silently, I know I haven't been to church like I should. And I know how wrong I was about Stan and Jan. I'm really sorry about that and I need help finding him. I'll never be that stupid again.

Tears began to fill her eyes.

Karen dropped Jenny off at Mrs. Obenhauer's nursery on the way to the gallery. Jenny was fussy and didn't want to be left with Mrs. O., who noted the redness in Karen's eyes.

"What's wrong with my little Jenny?" Mrs. O. asked sympathetically.

"Go Mummih, see Dahhie!" Jenny stubbornly replied.

"Honey, Mommy has to go and find Daddy first. I'll be back for you just as soon as I find him."

'Go and find Daddy'? Mrs. Obenhauer puzzled to herself. Karen had never told her of their separation. She would not do so now.

Chapter 25

Paula finished a sale. After bidding her customer good day, she sat down at her desk at the back of the gallery. She had hardly stopped thinking of Karen and Stan since dropping her best friend at the doctor's office. She wished Karen would phone and let her know what was happening. I wonder if she's been able to contact him yet?

Paula recalled the helpless feeling of not knowing, when she learned that Len's plane was missing. She couldn't sleep or eat for days. The memory of that experience was painful for her now. She had to distract herself from those memories. She abruptly stood and walked to the front of the store where she adjusted some paintings. The back door opened and she was spared from painful memories that had begun to trouble her mind.

"Kay, I've been so worried about you. Did you find out anything?"

"I'm sorry, Pau. I should have called you from the doctor's office. They didn't have Stan's address or phone number. They suggested that I try the hospital where he had some tests done. I thought I would call from here. I dropped Jenny at Mrs. Obenhauer's."

"If the hospital doesn't know how to contact Stan, then what about the place where he worked, CTC? Do you think someone there might still know how to reach him?"

"That's possible I guess. I'll try the hospital first and then go from there." Karen sat down at the desk and dialed the phone number.

"Yes, I'm trying to find out some information from my husbands tests," she began.

A dispassionate sounding voice answered the phone, "Records. This is Shana. How can I help you?"

"Hi, This is Karen Bronsky. I was told that you might have contact information for my husband. He had some tests done there recent—"

"I'm sorry, but we don't give out patient information over the phone." Shana interrupted.

"But, I'm his wife," Karen pleaded. "Our house burn—"

"I'm sorry Ms. Bronksy. That's hospital policy." Shana interrupted again.

"Can I please speak to your supervisor, then?" Karen was becoming aggravated.

"That would be Miss Jenkins. She's not available. Would you like her voice mail?" Shana sounded irritated too.

Karen plopped the phone onto the receiver and stood up.

"Pau, I'm just going to have to ride over there. I can't find out anything on the phone. I'm sorry." She gathered her purse and keys.

"It's okay, sweetie. Do what you have to do. I've got the store covered. Stay in touch. Let me know as soon as you find out anything."

*****

Karen hurried through a hallway at Methodist Hospital to the office of Miss Jenkins. She hoped that she wouldn't have to produce documentation to prove her relationship to Stan before they would release the information that she so desperately wanted. Their marriage license burned in the fire along with all their important papers and she saw no need to replace it.

"Good morning. How may I help you?" Miss Jenkins asked from behind her desk.

"Hi, I'm Karen Bronsky. My husband had some tests done here recently. I need to know what address and phone number he gave."

Karen knew that she must seem vague and suspicious to Miss Jenkins, but it was a start. "I'm afraid that he may have given you our old address. You see, we haven't received any statements from the hospital." It wasn't a complete fabrication.

"What's your husband's social security number, Mrs. Bronsky?" Miss Jenkins asked in a routine manner. "And I'll check our records."

"Oh gosh, I have no idea. I barely remember my own."

"Do you know what the date of service was?"

"No, I'm sorry. I don't."

Karen could sense that Miss Jenkins was becoming wary and was sure that the woman was about to refuse any further assistance. She knew for sure that if Miss Jenkins became aware of their estrangement, she wouldn't tell her anything about Stan.

"Doctor Griedlach ordered the tests, if that helps. I'm not sure how his name is spelled. I could call his office to find out the dates."

Miss Jenkins hesitantly began pushing buttons on her computer.

"What's your new address Mrs. Bronsky?"

"2179 East Brooke Circle is our old address," Karen offered." She hoped that the substitution would satisfy Miss Jenkins.

"Yes, that's the address we have in our files." Miss Jenkins replied. She was somewhat relieved that Karen had demonstrated a satisfactory degree of legitimacy. She failed to notice the disappointment that suddenly showed on Karen's face.

"Let me have your new address and I'll update our records."

Karen hesitated, then gave her the address and phone number of her apartment. She thanked Miss Jenkins and hastily left her office. She was relieved that her deception hadn't been uncovered. But her relief was outweighed by disappointment, because she had gotten no new leads regarding Stan's whereabouts. Now what do I do, she wondered.

She got back into her car and sat behind the steering wheel in deep thought, before starting the engine. Stan's old boss at CTC, Bob Steen, I'll call him. Maybe he'll know how to reach Stan.

She started her car and drove to a nearby gas station where she located a pay phone.

"Mr. Windsor's office," a nasal voice answered.

"I need to speak to Bob Steen," Karen replied.

"I'm sorry, we don't have a Mr. Steen," Nasal Voice said. "Can someone else help you?"

"I'm trying to locate Stan Bronsky, who recently worked there."

"I don't know a Mr. Bronsky either," Nasal Voice informed.

"Are you sure? He worked there for several years."

"I'm sorry, I can't help you with any information regarding Mr. Steen or Mr. Bronsky."

"May I please speak with Jan Murray?"

"I'm sorry. Ms. Murray is not in." Karen was getting frustrated.

Think Karen, think, she commanded herself, who was Bob's boss? Oh!

"Oh." Karen said, after remembering. "May I speak with Mr. Grissom?"

"Mr. Grissom is not available. Can someone else help you?"

"Who's in charge? Let me speak to whoever is in charge."

"Mam, I'm afraid I can't help you unless you have a specific name."

"Look, this is Karen Bronsky and I'm trying to locate a very sick man, my husband. This is really important. I realize that you're not supposed to give out personal information, but for God's sake, can you please have a little compassion?"

"I'm sorry Mrs. Bronsky. Nasal Voice was losing patience too. "If you would like to make an appointment with Mr. Grissom when he returns from Europe, perhaps he can help you."

Karen angrily hung up the phone. She was livid. She got back into her car and sped away from the gas station. The squeal of the car's tires punctuated her frustration.

*****

Karen had hardly calmed down by the time she got back to the gallery.

"What did you find out Kay?" Paula anxiously quizzed as soon as Karen came through the door.

"Not a blasted thing!" Karen replied. Her disgust and frustration were obvious in the tone of her voice and the expression on her face. She flung her purse onto the desk and related the details of her hospital experience and her CTC phone call to her friend.

"Oh Kay," Paula said with compassion. "Let's don't give up now."

Paula hugged her disheartened friend.

"We'll just have to think of something else. Tears began to well up in both of their eyes as they embraced.

Karen pulled away abruptly. "Pau, do we have a city phone book?"

"Look in that three drawer file over there. It's in the bottom drawer, I think."

Karen opened the drawer and took out the thick book. She laid it on the desk and began to thumb through pages. "Yes!" she exclaimed. She tapped her finger over the book at Jan Murray's name. "Jan Murray," she said, looking at Paula. She picked up the phone and dialed the number.

"Hi. We can't come to the phone right now. Leave a message at the beep," Jan's friendly sounding voice drawled from her answering machine.

"Hi. Uh—" Karen muttered. She was somewhat flustered at the sound of Jan's voice and hadn't planned a message. 'We?' she wondered. "Uh hi Jan, this is Karen—uh Bronsky. I would like very much to talk to you about— If you would, could you just please call me back as soon as you get this. Thanks." She hung up.

"Kay honey, you didn't leave a number," Paula informed her. "Call her back." She pointed at the phone.

Karen dialed Jan's number again and apologized, then left the gallery phone number and the number at her apartment.

"What if she's away on vacation or something, Pau? I remember Stan saying something about her going to Europe one time, for weeks. And I was told that Mr. Grissom is in Europe."

"Now, now, give it a chance, Kay. Meanwhile, try to think of anyone else that might know where Stan is."

"I have tried Pau. I guess Stan didn't really have any close friends, just me and Jen." She broke out in sobs. "And I totally let him down, Pau. God! I hate myself!" Her sobbing increased.

"There, there," Paula consoled. "Anyone might have made the same mistake Kay. I might have made the same mistake."

She had no further suggestions, just a tender heart that shared the pain of her best friend.

"Pau, if you don't mind, I'm going to leave and pick Jen up and go home. Maybe Jan Murray will call there. If she calls here, ask her to please phone my place. And let me know right away if she calls. Please?"

"You go right ahead, Kay. And please call me, if you hear from her first. Okay?"

*****

As she entered the nursery, Karen dreaded facing Jenny. She knew that Jenny would be disappointed when she found out that she wouldn't be seeing her father today. On the other hand, Karen was anxious to have the little girl's company and affection.

"Hi sweetie." She greeted Jenny with open arms.

"See Dahhie?" Jenny questioned as she hugged Karen.

"Maybe later, honey." Karen hoisted Jenny to her hip. Their disappointed faces spoke good byes to Mrs. Obenhauer. The elder woman's curiosity was aroused, but she dared not pry. She sensed Karen's need for compassion though.

"Goodbye dear. I do hope you and Jenny have a good day." She said the words with as much love and compassion as she could.

Jenny continued to fuss as Karen strapped her into her car seat. "See Dahhie!"

Chapter 26

Paula greeted a new customer in her gallery. What a remarkable girl, she thought to herself, I don't remember ever seeing her before. "Hi, I'm Paula Chantley. Can I help you? Did you have something particular in mind?" she asked, as Jan Murray looked with interest at paintings.

"Not really. Well, yes, I'm looking for something cheery for a friend who needs a lift."

"Does your friend like a particular type of art?" Paula asked.

"Actually, I don't know if he likes art at all," Jan replied. "But, he said that his place was dreary and I just thought that I'd give him something to cheer it up."

"What sort of place is it? Is the decor modern or traditional? What's his furniture like?"

"To tell you the truth, I haven't seen the place. Maybe I should check it out before I buy anything?" She gave Paula a questioning look.

"Well, our sale only runs through Saturday. But, if you want to take something with you now, I'll let you bring it back for a full exchange later if it doesn't suit his place. And, I'll still give you the sale discount on a different selection."

Paula assessed Jan's face and figure with interest as Jan examined paintings.

"My brother bought a painting here for my last birthday,' Jan stated. I really like it.

"Good. Say, would you mind if I ask you a personal question?" Paula quizzed.

"What's that?" Jan asked.

"Have you ever done any modeling? You have a beautiful face and figure."

Jan smiled and turned away. "Thanks, you're very kind," she replied. Since becoming a Christian, Jan became very humble about her looks.

"No, I've never modeled. I'm really not interested in that sort of thing anymore. Oh, I like that one up there with the clowns." Jan pointed.

"That is a cheerful painting." Paula said. She wondered how someone so beautiful could be so nonchalant about her looks. She also wondered what Jan meant when she said, "anymore". Paula climbed on a small step ladder and took down the clown painting. Jan smiled as she examined it.

"Anymore?" Paula questioned and looked at Jan, who returned a puzzled look. "You said that you aren't interested in anything like modeling, 'anymore'."

"No, I wouldn't be." Jan didn't elaborate. A few months earlier, she might have been excited at the prospect of modeling. She held the painting in the light from the window. "I really like this. It should go with almost anything that Stan has."

"It should be a pleasant compliment to just about any décor," Paula said. She failed to notice Jan's mention of Stan's name. She did note that Jan did not wear a wedding or engagement ring and continued to wonder what Jan meant by, "anymore". Apparently it didn't refer to disinterest because of marriage. And Jan's clothes and jewelry didn't look expensive. So her lack of enthusiasm toward modeling apparently wasn't because she had become wealthy.

"'Anymore', you said?" Paula repeated the question.

"How much?" Jan heard Paula's question and saw the puzzled look on her face but chose to not reply.

"It will be one thirty five, with the discount," Paula answered.

"I'll take it," Jan happily replied.

As Jan counted money from her purse, she noticed that Paula still had a inquisitive look.

Jan had not told many people about her new found faith. She felt awkward and inadequate when she tried to explain her belief in Jesus and all that it meant to her. But, she sensed a need to tell Paula something. She took a deep breath.

"You asked me what I meant by 'anymore'," she said, as she accepted a printed receipt from Paula whose interest was noticeably aroused. "It's not something that I'm all that comfortable talking about, to strangers especially. But I'll try to explain if you really want to know."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to pry. It's just that, the way you said it, I got the impression that you might have been interested in modeling in the past, but that something has changed. I often use models in my work and so do many of my associates. But it's really none of my business."

Paula sensed that she may have gotten too inquisitive.

"That's okay," Jan interrupted. "I understand your interest. If you have a few minutes, I'll tell you about it." Paula motioned for Jan to sit in a chair by her desk and then took a seat herself.

"For most of my life," Jan began, "people have told me how great I looked. It always made me feel good to hear it. I'm sure you know what that's like. You're very attractive yourself."

She felt sure that Paula did understand even though she didn't acknowledge it. And she could see that Paula's interest was still stirred.

"You know, after a while, you can come to expect people to say nice things about your looks. And you can get to be vane and prideful. It can get to be like an addiction. If you don't hear the compliments and praise that you want to hear, then you do what you can to get them. You get a new hairdo or dress a little splashier or whatever it takes." Jan paused. She thought that she detected a slight discomfort in Paula, and realized that she might be coming across as judgmental to the attractive, short skirted artist.

"Please go on," Paula cautiously broke the silence.

"I didn't mean to imply that you might be that way," Jan said with a very apologetic tone and facial expression. "I'm sorry if I sounded like that."

"No, no. I'm not offended. I understand. Please go on." Paula really did recognize some of herself in what Jan was saying.

"Well, I came to realize what an awful, conceited person I had become and that a person's outside appearance isn't what really matters. I try to look at what's inside a person now." Jan paused again.

"What happened? What happened to change your thinking?" Paula asked with sincere interest.

"I became a Christian," Jan answered with a soft smile. "That's the short answer." She caught a noticeable change on Paula's face. It was a look of hesitant interest now.

"A friend's husband died unexpectedly a few weeks ago," Jan continued. "The church, where the funeral was held for my friend's husband was having a revival, and the pastor, who conducted the memorial service asked her to attend. My friend really wasn't all that interested in going, much less by herself. So she asked me if I would go with her. She didn't want to disappoint the pastor, who had been so nice to her. I had no interest whatever in going to a revival, but I felt obligated to support my friend. So I went with her." She looked at Paula with a questioning look, seeking permission to continue.

"So, what happened then?" Paula asked. She looked a little more uncomfortable and less interested now. She felt trapped into continuing the conversation. She had never had any interest in discussing faith and religion with anyone, especially a stranger.

"For the first time in my life, I realized what sin is." Jan's face took on a more determined look.

Paula's interest was rapidly declining.

"I realized that our thoughts and attitudes are just as sinful as some of the things that we do. And I learned that pride is probably the greatest sin of all. And boy, had I ever been prideful!"

Paula thought about pride. Yes, I have pride. She never considered herself to be as beautiful or sexy looking as Jan. But she certainly never considered herself to be unattractive either. She always knew that she had artistic talent. And she considered herself to be superior in business skills, to most of her acquaintances.

"Of course the key message of a revival," Jan continued, "is that we have all sinned, and that our sin has separated us from God; from his love; and from his blessings; and that God sent his son, Jesus, to die for our sins so that we don't have to be separated eternally from him. I'm probably telling you stuff that you already know." She looked at Paula with inquiring eyes.

Paula was hesitant to respond.

"Oh, I guess I have a vague understanding." Paula had been carried away in thought. "Yes, I suppose I've heard that before, that part about Jesus. I guess I never thought that much about what sin is. Hmm." Paula tried to hint with the tone of her response, and facial language, that her curiosity was satisfied and there was no need for Jan to explain any further.

"I hadn't thought much about sin either," Jan continued." She caught the subtlety of Paula's reply but bravely decided to ignore it. "I always thought that sin was killing someone or robbing a bank or something big like that. And of course those are definitely sins, but I never knew that just one little sin was enough for God to condemn me."

"What do you mean, 'condemn' you?" Paula asked.

"Well, what the Bible teaches is that we're all going to spend eternity in one of two places. Either we believe and trust in Jesus and go to Heaven when we die, or we're condemned to go someplace else because of sin."

"You mean Hell?"

"Yes. It's our choice. We can't change the judgment by our self. Nothing we do, no matter how good we are, can make up for even one tiny sin. That's all in the Bible. Do you ever read the Bible?" Jan asked.

"No," Paula replied. "I tried to read a little, a few years ago, when I was going through something, but I couldn't make much sense of it. Seemed like a lot of weird stuff like genealogies, and laws, and killing animals, and wars. It was boring and I gave up trying to understand it." She was increasingly uncomfortable and was plotting an end to the conversation. She sat more upright as though she were going to get up from her chair.

"Sounds like you were reading in the Old Testament. That can be heavy reading. I've been going to a beginner's Bible study class. We're reading the book of John in the New Testament. It's a lot easier to understand. Sometimes we read from the Old Testament in order to better understand something. You might like that kind of Bible study." She checked Paula's face. She noticed that Paula began to shift her position in her seat.

"I might," Paula acknowledged. She felt intimidated now, and didn't like the feeling of being cornered. She hadn't expected the conversation to be so involved. It started to produce feelings of anxiety and remorse. She decided that it was time to bring the discussion to a close. "Should think about it, I guess." She rose from her chair.

Jan knew that Paula was ill at ease. She remembered what that felt like, when she attended the revival. She didn't enjoy seeing Paula uncomfortable. She rose from her chair too. "Well, that's pretty much why I said what I did about not being interested in modeling. It's just seems too— I don't know. For me, it would just feel wrong." She looked at Paula's face for understanding.

"I think I see what you mean." Paula stepped away from her desk. "Thanks for sharing that with me. And thanks again for the purchase. I hope the painting pleases your friend."

Jan followed Paula's lead toward the door.

"I think it will help to take his mind off of his health problems. I hope so anyhow," Jan said.

"Oh, he has serious health issues?" Paula asked.

"Yes. Very. I'm afraid it may be life threatening." They reached the front door. "But, on the bright side, I believe he's saved."

"I'm sorry to hear that your friend is so ill. Thanks again for your purchase. Take care and come back again," Paula said as they parted.

Afterward, Paula sat down at her desk and replayed the conversation in her mind. She hadn't thought much about Heaven or Hell since Len was killed. When that happened, she naturally thought about her own death. She always considered herself to be a decent person. She didn't dislike anyone or mistreat people. So it never occurred to her that she could go to an afterlife of punishment. Jan's description of pride as a terrible sin troubled her. Paula knew that she had her fair share of pride. "Doesn't everyone have pride? Yes, she answered her own question, and a lot of people are 'condemned' too, she recalled Jan's words. I probably should have asked her more about that. I should have at least asked her full name.

Paula busied herself rearranging paintings and brushed aside troubling questions that arose as a result of her conversation with Jan.

A couple with a little girl came into the store in late afternoon and looked around without buying anything. They reminded Paula of Karen, Stan and Jenny. That caused her to reflect on the gravity of Stan's medical condition. Karen gave her the impression that it could be fatal. The thought of his possible death, steered her thoughts back to the conversation with Jan. Her friend, the girl told her, also had a potentially fatal condition. But she thinks 'he's saved'.

In all their years of close friendship, Paula and Karen had never discussed religion or life after death. Paula wondered if Stan were to die, would he go to Heaven or to the other place. That caused her to think about Len. Is he in Heaven or someplace else?

Disturbing memories and questions began to overwhelm her. She hurriedly locked the front door and left the store.

Chapter 27

Jan admired her purchase as she rode home on the train. She hadn't noticed the artist's signature until now. Hmm, she thought. It was the same as the painting at her apartment. She could hardly wait to get home, change clothes, go to Stan's apartment and give him the painting. She wished that he had a phone so she could tell him that she was coming. Maybe I can take him out to supper too, she thought.

A major storm was brewing in the area. Strong winds tugged at Jan and the painting when she left the Elm Street train stop. She had to really hang on to the painting to keep from losing it. Pieces of twigs and leaves sailed through the air. Jan's hair blew around her face. She held the painting with one hand and her purse and skirt with the other. She walked briskly from the station to her apartment. She noted that there weren't many clouds in the sky, but clearly a storm was developing.

"Whew!" she said, as wind slammed the front door of her apartment building behind her. Once inside, she locked the door to her apartment and examined the painting. No damage had been done. She glanced at her tousled hair in a hallway mirror and smiled to herself.

"Me model?" she said mockingly, and flipped her hair around her face with her hand.

She went into her bedroom to change clothes and noticed that a message light was blinking on her answering machine. She pushed a button on the machine and removed her skirt and blouse while Karen's recording played.

"Please call me when you get this, Jan. Thanks." The second message ended.

"What would Karen Bronsky want with me?" Jan wondered aloud. She continued to wonder about that as she finished changing clothes. She dressed in faded blue jeans and a pink cotton pullover blouse. While she tied her tennis shoes, she began to invent objections and advice for possible directions that the conversation with Karen might take. She prayed for divine help to suppress feelings of anger toward Karen that had developed since she saw Stan. She wondered if the messages from Karen could somehow be an answer to her morning prayers for him. Perhaps God intended for her to help bring reason to Karen. Yes, I do think this is you God, she thought.

Jan dialed the first number that Karen had recorded.

"Chantley Gallery. Our hours are ten to five, Tuesday through Saturday," a recording told her. She hung up.

Chantley Gallery? That's weird. She thought that she must have dialed the wrong number and tried again with the same result.

"Is this some kind of prank?" she asked aloud.

She reluctantly and slowly dialed the second number that Karen had recorded.

Karen rushed to grab her ringing phone. "Hello," she answered hopefully. Jenny was making loud playful noises in the background. "Shh," Karen pleaded with her.

"Is this Karen?" Jan asked, in her southern drawl. For just a fraction of a second, jealousy and suspicion did their best to take control of Karen's mind.

"Yes. Yes it is," she quickly replied. "Is this Jan?"

"Yes it is. I got your message. What was it you wanted to talk about?" There was a brief silence because Karen hadn't fully prepared for what she would say and Jan was still bewildered over her previous phone connection to the gallery.

"Jan, the reason I called is to find out if you might know how to get in touch with Stan. I just found out that he is really sick and I desperately need to locate him. Oh, I'm sorry. You probably wouldn't know. Our house burned a couple of months ago and we've not— I've been staying with my mother."

"As a matter of fact, I do have Stan's address," Jan interrupted. "I ran into him yesterday, on the train. I could see that he wasn't well. He actually had a attack while I was with him. Scared me to death. And I asked him to give me his address so I could check up on him."

"Oh my God, Jan! That's wonderful! I am so glad! I mean I'm so glad that you know how to reach him. I've tried every way I know to find him."

"He told me all about it, Karen. I mean his health and the house and all. He told me about his headaches and the doctors and the tests. I felt so sorry for him. I bought a sort of get well gift for him this afternoon. It's a painting. I was just getting ready to go up there and check on him, and give him the painting. He said that he doesn't have a phone. His place is up north. He said that it's a dreary place in a bad neighborhood. If you have a pen and pap—"

"I've got a pen, Jan. But listen, could I just pick you up and we can drive there together? We can talk more on the way. I would really appreciate it." Karen felt that she needed to discuss more with Jan, than she wanted to take time to do over the phone.

"Sure. That's fine with me, Karen. My address is 27—"

"I know," Karen interrupted. "I got it from the phone book. I can be there in thirty minutes or less."

"That's good with me," Jan chimed.

"Great! See you in thirty minutes." Karen felt elated.

Finally! Oh God, please let him be alright. And please help him to forgive me.

After twenty minutes had passed, Jan walked out to the street carrying the painting. The wind was gushing more fiercely now. A twig broke from a nearby pin oak and swept across the top of Jan's head then collided with the back side of the painting. She turned and ran back into the house to find a cover for the painting. She stuffed it into a pillow case and went back outside.

Leaves, twigs and debris swirled in the air in all directions. Scatterings were accumulating on the front lawn of the apartment building and on the streets and sidewalks. Trees bent, swayed and twisted perilously under the force of the strong wind. The sky was filled with ominous clouds.

Karen spotted Jan standing on the sidewalk, leaning into the wind. She hurriedly pulled her car to the curb and shoved the passenger door open for Jan. Jenny was asleep in her car seat in back of Karen.

"Whew!" Jan said as she slid into the passenger's seat. Karen quickly shushed Jan, pointing to the back seat.

"Aw-w. Isn't she sweet?" Jan whispered, looking over her shoulder with a look of affection. Then she turned back toward Karen. "This wind is something else!"

"I know," Karen replied softly. "It almost blew me off the road. They said on the radio, that there are possible tornadoes in the area." She looked at Jan. "Thank you so much, Jan. You have no idea how grateful I am that you called and that you know how to reach Stan.

Jan handed a small piece of paper to Karen. She thought that she saw tears welling up in Karen's eyes.

"This is Stan's address. I think we probably want to go north on the parkway and then east on Wellington." She continued to check Karen's eyes.

"Thanks."

They rode in silence for several minutes. Finally Karen broke the silence.

"Jan, did Stan tell you that I left him or why?"

"He basically said that it was because he was fired and then he caught the house on fire. But—"

"That's only part of it, Jan." Karen interrupted and then hesitated. "God, I don't know if I should tell—"

"Karen, listen. I don't have to know anything. I just know that it was largely my fault that Stan lost his job. And I feel terrible about it."

"What do you mean, it was your fault?" Karen fought back suspicious thoughts. "Jan, you do know that Stan destroyed company property, and that CTC sued him for doing that?" Her voice was becoming louder and she caught herself. She checked Jenny in the rear view mirror and softened her speech again.

"Yes, I know all about that. But listen Karen, that was my fault. I had let my work deteriorate, until Stan had to put out extra effort to keep both of our projects from missing key deadlines. And Keith was just as bad as me. I think Stan just reached a breaking point. Even without the headaches he was having, which I did not know about then, it was all a terrible strain on him. And Charlie and Bob were pressuring him, constantly. I know it's too little too late, but I begged Stan yesterday, to forgive me. It was totally unfair what happened to him, and to Bob too. I hope you can forgive me too, Karen."

Karen tried to digest this new and totally unexpected information, and to fit it in with all the wrong understandings that she had held for weeks and months. The new information magnified the personal guilt that she felt, because of her unfounded suspicions and wrong assumptions about Stan, and about Jan.

"Watch out!" Jan quietly warned, pointing to a large tree limb that blew onto the road just ahead. Karen swerved to miss the limb. The car rocked and weaved in the increasing gusts.

"Jan, I—I've been, absolutely unfair in— I totally misunderstood some things, a lot of things. I only found out yesterday about Stan's medical problem. When I look back now, I can see where I jumped to wrong conclusions. I thought that Stan was having— I thought he was losing interest in me, and in Jenny too. We just kept spending less and less time with each other. And it seemed like we just weren't communicating on the same wave length. The first inkling I had, that something was wrong with Stan, was the day he quit his job. And then, stupid me—I thought he was drunk or on drugs or something. I had already made up my mind to leave him though. See, I honest to God thought that he was having an affair or something."

Oh God, I hope she doesn't ask me, who I thought the woman was. Karen hurried to move on with the conversation to avoid that embarrassment. "I was wrong about him being drunk. I know that now. I just met yesterday with Dr. Ravit, and he told me about Stan's problems, and tests, and about the pain medication that Stan has been taking. Jan, I was totally wrong about why Stan was coming home late all the time. I was wrong about why he didn't have the time or energy for us. I was wrong about him being drunk or on drugs. I was wrong about everything." She threw both hands into the air momentarily and quickly took the wheel again. "I just blew it, Jan." Her eyes were filled with tears now and some began to make their way down her face. Jan took a tissue from her purse and handed it to Karen.

"You're not the first person to ever make a mistake," Jan sympathized. "Humans are just mortal beings and we all make mistakes. Karen, most of my life I've misjudged people. My problem was my own pride and vanity. Everything I observed about people or situations was filtered through the lens of my own flaws. Thank God, he helped me to see what a vain, prideful person I was and helped me to change. That's when I realized how terrible I had treated Stan."

"What do you mean 'God helped you'?"

"It's a long story Karen, but it began when I decided to trust in Jesus and follow His teachings. Then I started seeing things from His perspective."

"This is where we make a right turn, isn't it?" Karen asked, glancing at the piece of paper Jan gave her.

"Yes, then cross over to the left lane. It should be about eight or ten blocks on the left." Jan answered.

Karen turned right onto the one-way street headed east and moved to the left lane. Fierce wind whipped through a cross street and almost caused her to lose control of the car. Winds were gusting to eighty miles per hour all over the city. A garbage can bounded across the street in front of Karen's car. Leaves, twigs and litter, swirled all around in the air and on the ground. Street signs rattled and overhead traffic lights and power lines whipped and swayed. Anything not securely anchored was being picked up and propelled by the wind.

"Jan, later on, I would like to hear more about your religious experience. Would you mind if I call you when things are a little more settled with me and Stan?"

Jan thoughtfully considered the words of Karen's request. She sensed that Karen may have never made a personal decision to believe in Jesus, and she wondered about Stan too.

"Sure, I'd be glad to talk to you about it anytime, probably the sooner the better."

Karen turned to look at Jan with a perplexed look. "What did you mean by that?"

"Karen, I don't mean to be presumptuous or meddlesome, but from what I understand, Stan's medical problem is potentially very dangerous. And what's happened to your marriage relationship is tragic. Those are really good reasons to want God involved in your lives right now, the sooner the better. And there's another important reason in the back seat." She pointed toward Jenny. "If you or Stan are not where you should be with God, you might want to take him off the back burner."

Jan's words sent a chill through Karen. She recalled that Dr. Ravit warned her of the morbid possibilities of Stan's condition. She was determined to fight for Stan's life, so she had refused to allow herself to think about the possibility of death. It seemed to her that to do that would just be giving up and surrendering to an enemy. Still, she knew that Jan was right. Whether his condition ended in Stan's death in the near future, or if he had to suffer with it for years, she wanted all the help she could get to support him.

"You're right Jan. You're absolutely right. We will talk soon." Karen formed a resolute look on her face. "Is that it there on the left, that old brown brick building?" Karen pointed with a look of dismay.

"Yee-uck. Yes, that's the address," Jan answered.

Karen parked the car by the curb, directly in front of the building. She and Jan stared at the building. It was an old dark brick three story. Graffiti decorated plywood covered some of the first floor windows. Several windows on the second and third floor were partially open to allow relief from the heat. Pieces of trash littered the lawn, along with debris from the current storm. A grungy looking man lay sprawled asleep on the front porch. He loosely clutched a brown paper bag in one hand.

After a minute, Jan spoke. "Karen, I don't think you ought to take Jenny in there. Just let her sleep. I'll go in first and see if he's home. If he is, I'll either bring him out or come and get you."

"I sure hate for you to go in there alone, Jan. It just doesn't look safe."

"I'll be fine. I took judo lessons when I was in high school. She smiled and punched the air with her right fist. "You just stay here and take care of that little stinker," she said confidently, pointing to Jenny.

Jan checked the apartment number on the piece of paper that Stan gave her. Then she walked toward the porch, leaning into the fierce wind, holding her hair with one hand. She cautiously sidestepped the man lying on the porch floor and continued through the door, while at the same time keeping an eye on him. She found a darkened stairway and began to climb the worn metal and concrete steps. There was a moldy unpleasant odor in the stairwell. God how do people live like this? she thought. She almost tripped over a empty wine bottle, as she passed between the second and third floors.

She located the door to Stan's apartment and slapped on it firmly with her hand. She waited for a moment and knocked again. The next time she pounded with the palm of her fist. There was still no answer. She removed a tennis shoe and slapped the door with it several times. There was still no response. She put her shoe back on and hesitantly turned the door knob. It opened.

Oh God, please don't let me find him unconscious—or— I wish I had let Karen come with me. She reluctantly and slowly opened the door and stepped into the apartment. She looked cautiously around the place. Stan wasn't there. She continued to look around the apartment for a few minutes at it's meager furnishings. Then she retraced her path back to Karen's car.

Karen was becoming very anxious. The few minutes that Jan had been gone seemed like an hour to her. She looked over the seat at Jenny, who was still fast asleep. Then she eased out of the car, quietly closed the door, and stood on the sidewalk. She looked at the porch of the apartment building, then at the back seat of her car. She continued to turn her head back and forth every few seconds straining to hold her position in the wind.

God, she thought, don't let anything happen to Jan. This is all my fault.

She was reminded that the only times she ever prayed were when she was in desperate need. Her imagination was running wild with nightmarish scenarios of what might be happening to Jan. She sorely wished that she hadn't agreed to let Jan go into the building alone.

Jan popped from the front door of the building and waved at Karen, just as a man in a baseball cap and white T-shirt bounded from the side alley next to the building and leaped onto the porch directly behind Jan.

Chapter 28

A thunderous noise yanked Karen's attention to the other side of the street where a huge tree snapped under the strain of the fierce wind. She watched the tree crash into a utility pole and then collapse to the ground. Broken electric wires swung wildly from the utility pole and whipped about in the wind. Some of the wires spewed flashing electric sparks and made loud cracking sounds as the wires danced on the street like fiery vipers. One wire narrowly missed Karen, as it swung to the ground from a high voltage transformer on the utility pole. Karen stood with her hands clasped against the sides of her face, screaming. Another wire whipped up and across the top of her car and welded itself there. The loose end of the wire dangled over the driver's side of the car near the ground. Karen looked with horror into the back seat of her car where Jenny was now waking.

Jan shoved the man in the baseball cap aside and ran toward Karen. Robert Louis Gatewood righted himself and ran close behind her.

"DON'T TOUCH THE CAR! DON'T TOUCH THE CAR!" Robert yelled. "YOU'LL BE KILLED! DON'T TOUCH THE CAR!"

Karen stood paralyzed and stared at the end of the wire which lay across her car. Another wire danced near her feet like a demonic snake spitting hot sparks in all directions. Some of the sparks bit at Karen's legs causing her to hop and jump as she started toward the car. Electric sparks left pockets of smoking and smoldering grass between the sidewalk and curb.

Robert grabbed Karen around the waist and forcibly dragged her away from the car and the deadly dancing wires onto the adjacent lawn. As he grabbed Karen, he saw Jenny through the rear window. She was still strapped into her seat. She was screaming and frantically waving her arms. Tears streaked her face.

"Stay here!" Robert warned Karen. Then he ran back toward her car. Jan came along side Karen and put an arm around her waist. She stared in disbelief at the man who appeared to her to be the same person who had shared a train seat with her.

*****

Walking from the nearby train station, Stan Bronsky heard an explosion and saw subsequent electrical flashes from two blocks away. He looked gaunt and exhausted as he hurried along the sidewalk toward the scene. When he was near, he immediately recognized Karen's car, because of bumper stickers and a dent in the rear bumper. He looked furtively around the gathering crowd until he spotted Karen on the lawn and started toward her. She was screaming hysterically and pointing toward the car. Stan turned to look at the car and saw his terrified child inside.

A pickup truck parked in front of Karen's car was loaded with cardboard to be recycled. Electric sparks ignited the cardboard, and it began to blaze high into the air. Leaves of an overhanging tree withered under the heat and began to smoke. Some leaves burst into short-lived flames. Chunks of burning cardboard rose with the smoke and flames and swirled overhead in the fierce wind. Some of the flaming pieces landed on top of Karen's car. Others blew underneath it. Black smoke began to billow from under the car.

Stan bounded with reckless abandon toward the car. Robert saw him coming and threw a body block against him to prevent his certain electrocution. Stan's body crashed to the ground and his head made a thud sound as it hit hard on the concrete sidewalk. Karen, having just recognized Stan ran toward him with her arms flailing wildly.

"Stan!" she shrieked.

Four teenage boys gathered nearby. Robert grabbed one by the upper arm. "Listen! I need your help! I need for you guys to keep anyone from getting near that car," Robert commanded with authority in his voice. "Don't let anyone get close to that car or close to any of those wires or they will be killed! Do you understand?" he shouted, looking into their eyes. The boys stared back with apprehensive looks but nodded agreement. They positioned themselves near the car, facing away from it toward the onlookers. One of the boys swatted at a piece of smoldering cardboard that landed on his head.

Robert dragged Stan, who was now unconscious, away from the sidewalk and onto the lawn. As he rushed away again, Karen had a overwhelming feeling of déjà vu. She finally connected Robert with the man she saw on the fourth of July. Her mouth was wide open with disbelief. And she further realized that this was somehow connected to the frightening dreams that she had experienced.

Lord Jesus, Jan silently prayed, please save that little girl, please! Send help quick! She stood beside Karen, with an arm tight around her best friend's waist. Karen struggled to free herself from Jan's grip but Jan held her even tighter.

"Jennnnneeeeee!" Karen screamed. She desperately wanted to get to her child.

Robert backed up several paces behind Karen's car. Smoke was billowing from under the hood of the car. He took three short running steps toward the car and leaped onto the car's trunk.

The car was electrically insulated from the pavement by its tires. Robert knew that as long as he or the car didn't touch the ground, he and Jenny would be safe from electrocution. But one of the front tires of the car was now burning and in imminent danger of collapsing which would allow the car's metal wheel to contact the pavement. That would complete a electrical path from the wire on top of the car to the ground. Then, the car and everything touching it, including Jenny and Robert, would become a conductor for a massive electrical current produced by several thousand volts.

Robert landed precariously on the small trunk of the car but managed to keep his balance. He took his large pocket knife from his pants and opened its blade. Karen watched him intensely. Seeing him open the knife she shrieked, "What's he doing?" She pointed frantically toward Robert. "He has a knife! What's he doing with that knife?"

"Mummy! Mummy!" Jenny echoed Karen's screams inside the car which was becoming clouded with smoke.

In the distance the wail of approaching fire truck sirens could be heard.

Robert had suffered from noise sensitivity since birth. Loud noises caused intense pain in his ears. His ears were stinging from the firecracker sounds of the electric wires, the screams of the child, the screams of her mother, and now the screams of sirens. He wanted desperately to plug his ears with his fingers. But he needed both hands free.

Robert hammered on the car's rear window with his knife to get Jenny's attention. With fear, she remembered past experiences associated with him. Seeing him and the knife, she lowered her head, wagging it frantically to and fro, and flailing her arms. Her screams grew even louder.

Karen struggled to drag Jan so that she could kneel beside Stan. She shook his head violently with one hand, trying to arouse him, without taking her eyes or pointing hand away from Robert. She continued to shriek. "He's got a knife, Stan! Oh God, he's got a knife! Someone help!" She broke free from Jan's grip and started toward the car. Jan grabbed her from behind and held Karen tightly around the chest with one arm and covered her mouth with her other hand in order to silence her screaming.

"Karen! I think he's trying to get Jenny out of the car!" Jan yelled. The approaching fire truck's siren and blaring horn, kept Karen from hearing what Jan said. The desperate struggle between them continued.

Robert knew that he had precious little time. Smoke was pouring from the engine compartment. The paint on the hood of the car was blistering and smoking. The danger of a gasoline explosion was eminent. At the instant when Jenny lowered her wagging head, he raised his right foot and stomped on the rear window of the car with all his might. The safety glass shattered into thousands of crumbs. He dropped to his knees and thrust the knife, through the window opening and into the car. Seeing his move, Karen strained every muscle of her body, escaped from Jan's grip, and ran toward the burning car.

Robert's knife quickly sliced through the seat-belt that restrained Jenny. He dropped the knife and grabbed Jenny, who screamed all the more. He grasped her arm with one hand and lifted her through the broken window opening. One of the teens and a fireman, who had just arrived, grabbed and restrained Karen just before she reached the car. Robert held the screaming, wiggling and kicking child tightly to his chest and leaped from the car as far as he could.

Before Robert and Jenny touched ground, the right front wheel of the car made contact with the pavement and a blinding flash shot from beneath the wheel. The top of the car emitted an accompanying flash and then glowed cherry red for a few seconds.

The back of Robert's tee shirt was ignited by shooting sparks. One fireman grabbed Jenny away from Robert, while another ripped his smoldering shirt from him. Other firemen used extinguishers on the pickup truck with it's remaining load of blazing cardboard.

The dancing wires and the electrical sparks instantly stopped when power to the wires was shut off by utility workers several blocks away.

Karen snatched Jenny from a fireman and hugged and kissed her repeatedly.

Jan approached Robert to thank him. Now, she was sure that he was indeed the same man that she had met on the train.

God, I know that you sent him. Thank you, she prayed silently.

"I remember you from the train," she said.

"Yes. I remember you too." He masked his excitement of seeing her again. They hurried to where Karen knelt on the ground by Stan. Karen looked up at Robert with grateful eyes. Tears flooded her face.

"Thank you," she said. "Thank you with all my heart." She held Jenny close with one arm and stroked Stan's head with her other hand. Ambulance technicians worked busily around Stan, who was still unconscious.

"I'm sorry about him," Robert said, pointing at Stan. "I hope he's okay. I didn't mean to hurt him. He quietly backed away and relaxed for the first time since the excitement began. He paused to consider what happened, and to think about the people involved, and his past connection to them. He lowered his head. "Thank you Lord," he quietly prayed, "thank you for helping me."

Having moved closer to him, Jan overheard his short prayer. "I thank you too," she said softly. "What you did was wonderful. I mean risking your life to save that little girl." She placed her hand around his arm and looked into his face. "I prayed that God would send help and he did. He sent you." She smiled as she looked into his eyes.

"I'm just glad I could help," Robert said. For only the second time, their eyes directly met. This time he didn't look away from Jan. His face was blackened from the smoke but Jan didn't notice that at all. She continued to look deep into his eyes.

*****

"Out of the way folks! Coming through!" a medical technician ordered as Stan was carried on a stretcher to a waiting ambulance. Karen walked beside him carrying Jenny. She paused just long enough to ask Jan if she would be able to get home okay.

"Yes, I'll be fine. You go with Stan." She resumed looking into Robert's eyes.

"What were you doing around here?" Robert asked.

"It's a long story," Jan answered. "If you'll let me take you to supper, I'll tell you all about it. I'm Jan Murray." She extended her hand and smiled at him.

"Robert. Robert Gatewood." He started to extend his hand, then noting the soot on it, quickly wiped his hand on his trousers and extended it again. "Okay, Jan, I'd really like that. But let me just go inside and wash up and put on a shirt," he replied, pointing toward the apartment building. "It won't take but a couple of minutes." He was turbulent with excitement. "You want to wait here or go inside? It's a little rough," he warned with a frown.

"I'll take a chance," Jan laughed. "Couldn't be any worse than Stan's place."

"Stan's place?" Robert asked.

"The guy on the stretcher. That's Stan. His apartment is in your building."

"I thought I recognized him," Robert replied. "I've seen him come and go a couple of times, but I have not met him. Who's the lady with him? I've seen her and the little girl before too."

"That's his wife and daughter." I'll tell you more about them. She wondered where he had seen Karen and Jenny.

Jan picked up the pillowcase wrapped painting that she had dropped on the lawn and they walked up the building stairs together. Robert opened the door to his apartment and motioned for her to go ahead of him.

"I'm sorry for the building. This place isn't much. See, I'm in med school and I have to keep my expenses down."

"Couldn't you live with your parents or do they not live around here?" she asked.

"No." He hesitated. "They've been gone since I was little."

"Oh. I'm sorry. How in the world do you afford medical school by yourself then?" she asked. "Isn't it awfully expensive?"

"Well I've managed to get a few scholarships and I work at a butcher shop, Scotty's, and I sell paintings occasionally." He was amazed at how easy it was to talk with the beautiful girl, once the conversation began.

"You paint too?" she asked, even more surprised.

"Yes," he sputtered," as he washed his face and hands in a kitchenette sink.

Jan was impressed at the cleanliness of the room, compared to the rest of the building. A unfinished painting stood on an easel near the front window. She walked toward it and examined it. Then she noticed a painting of a man with one leg sitting on the floor behind the easel. It was the same man that was in the painting in her apartment.

"Robert," she exclaimed, "I have a painting of this same man. I don't believe this! You did this?" She turned and looked at him. "Of course! RG! You won't believe this, but you painted the picture that my brother gave me for my birthday."

"No? You're kidding. You really have one of my paintings?" Robert was thrilled.

"Yes. The same man is standing on a street corner with a rose in his hand."

"Oh, I did that one a few months ago." He finished washing his face and hands and took a clean shirt from a chest drawer. "That's amazing."

"I love that painting," she said. "You have to tell me about it. Who is the man? What's the story behind the picture?" She lifted the painting from the floor to examine it, and was stunned when she saw the painting behind it. "My God, Robert, that's Jenny!" she exclaimed.

"Yes. I told you that I had seen her before," he said. "I've seen her at a nursery near where I work. And you won't believe this Jan. Let me show you a picture of my sister when she was little." He picked up a Bible from his coffee table and carefully removed a faded photograph. He handed the picture to Jan.

"My Lord! It's the spitting image of Jenny," Jan exclaimed, "But it's a really old photograph. And it's really your sister?"

"Am I presentable enough?" he asked. He finished buttoning a clean shirt and was about to put on a baseball cap.

"You look just fine," she answered. "But why do you want to cover up that great looking hair with that cap." Robert had wavy black hair. He had worn a baseball cap since he was a teen.

"The man in the picture—he was my dad. I don't have a photograph of him. But that's how he looked, as best I remember. I've put him in several paintings to keep his memory alive. He was a good man—lost a leg in the war. He really loved my mother."

"Look at this Robert. I just bought another of your paintings this afternoon to give to Stan." She took the clown painting from the pillowcase. "This is an unbelievable coincidence," she said.

Her mind was spinning. So was his.

"Yes it is," he replied. "Maybe it's not a coincidence Jan. Maybe it's a God incidence."

Jan looked at the Bible on his coffee table. It showed a lot of wear and had several page markers placed in it. She pointed at the book. "You read the Bible Robert?"

He was hesitant to answer the question for fear that she would think he was weird. "Yes. I do. I study the Bible," he answered. He watched her face for any sign of disapproval. Instead, he saw a pleasant smile. "Quite a bit, actually," he added.

"That's wonderful, Robert. So do I."

"Ready to get something to eat? I'm starving," he said.

Chapter 29

The ambulance transporting Stan arrived shortly at Methodist Hospital. A nurse took Karen aside and questioned her at length about Stan's medical history. When Karen mentioned that Stan recently had tests done at the hospital, the nurse hurriedly informed a physician who was examining Stan.

While the nurse was away, Karen telephoned Paula. "Pau, it's me," Karen began.

"Have you located Stan?" Paula quickly asked.

"Yes, I'm at Methodist Hospital with him."

"Why are you at the hospital?"

"It's involved Pau. I'll explain later. Listen. Jenny is with me and I could really use you to watch her until we get some things resolved. Could you come over here right away?"

"Yes, I'll be there just as soon as I can, Kay," Paula replied.

A nurse came back into the room. "Mrs. Bronsky, Dr. Jarhuen thinks that your husband may have experienced a concussion. He's ordered a MRI to check his head and upper spine. It may take a little while. You're welcome to wait here, or you can go to a waiting room on the fifth floor, where Mr. Bronsky will be having the scan."

"We'll go with Stan," Karen said without hesitation. "My friend, Paula, is coming to take my daughter home. Can you tell her how to find us when she gets here?"

"Yes. We'll see that she finds you. You'll need to take the public elevator to the fifth floor. Your husband will be going up in a staff elevator." The nurse then directed Karen to an elevator. She found a waiting room outside the Imaging department and sat down with Jenny.

"Wahn cuh-hie," Jenny pleaded. Karen had completely forgotten about dinner and Jenny was hungry.

"Sweetheart, Aunt Pau is coming to take you to supper, okay?" Karen forced a smile as she squeezed Jenny's small hand. She ran her fingers through the child's hair in a combing action.

God, I haven't even washed the smoke and soot from her face. "Come with Mommy, sweetie, and let's clean you up a little for Aunt Pau." Karen found a restroom and washed Jenny's face. She thought about how close she came to losing her precious child in the fire. That caused her to remember the brave unselfish action of the stranger whom she had so misjudged. Lord, Did I even thank him? Did I even thank you?

*****

"Hi Kay, hi Jenny," Paula greeted as she entered the waiting room. She hugged them both. "What's going on, Kay? Fill me in."

"Stan is having a MRI right now, Pau. But it's a long story. There was a fire and Jenny was trapped in our car. Stan was accidentally knocked unconscious trying to save Jenny and may have a concussion. A stranger saved Jenny. My car was destroyed. Can I tell you the rest later? Jenny is hungry and I can't possibly leave Stan right now. He was knocked unconscious before I even had a chance to speak to him. He may have a concussion."

Just then A nurse came into the waiting room. "Mrs. Bronsky?" She looked at Karen, then at Paula.

"I'm Karen Bronsky."

"Your husband has started to regain consciousness. We told him that you were waiting. He asked to see you."

"Oh, thank God! Karen exclaimed and jumped to her feet.

"You'll have to make it quick though," the nurse cautioned. "We've got to get him back to ER right away.

"What about Jenny, our daughter? Can she come too?"

"I think it might be better to wait until later," the nurse said.

"I'll take Jenny, Kay. You go on," Paula said.

"Come Jen, let's go get something to eat." Jenny eagerly reached for Paula's arms.

"Here Pau, take my apartment key and wait there for me. Okay? If you don't mind, would you try to clean her up and change her? Her pajamas are in the top chest drawer in her room."

"Sure, sweetie. Just call me soon as you know something."

Karen followed the nurse to where Stan was being carefully moved from an MRI machine onto a stretcher. As soon as he was secured and covered, Karen moved around to where she could see his face.

"Karen. I—" His voice was weak and halting.

"Don't try to talk now Stan. Oh God, I'm so sorry for what's happened to you. And I'm so sorry for my—" She looked around at two nurse aides. They stepped a few feet away.

"It's okay Karen," Stan managed to say softly. "Just bad luck."

"I know. But I—" Tears filled her eyes. "Oh, Stan, I love you. I'm so, so, sorry." She gently placed her hand on his head.

Stan closed his eyes. It had been so long since he heard Karen speak those words to him. He wanted to talk more but pain was overpowering his ability to think or speak. He tried to form a smile. It was barely detectable.

"We better get him back to ER," One of the nurses interrupted. "You can meet us down there."

Karen wiped her eyes as she followed the public path back to the emergency room. She was lost in thoughts. A muffled intercom page for Dr. Griedlach didn't register with her. She had barely returned to the small waiting room in ER, when a tall red haired man in a business suit stepped into the room.

"Mrs. Bronsky?" he questioned.

"Yes, I'm Karen Br..."

"Hi. I'm Dr. Griedlach. I'm a neurologist. I don't believe we've met." He looked at her inquisitively.

She shook her head. "No. But Dr. Ravit mentioned your name," she replied.

He brushed his red hair back with his left hand and extended his right hand to Karen. "Mrs. Bronsky, I happened to be seeing another patient in the hospital this evening and Dr. Jarhuen, asked me to look at your husband.

"As I'm sure you know, I saw your husband recently in my office. We did some tests to try to determine why he has been having severe headaches. We concluded, based on MRI results, that the headaches were being caused by foreign matter deep in his brain. We speculated that it was shrapnel from an old military service injury. It appears from the MRI that was just done, that we may have been wrong in our previous diagnosis. I just ordered another scan to confirm."

He studied Karen's face to see if she understood what he had just told her. She looked puzzled.

"Doctor, why do you think you made a mistake before and what do you think is wrong with Stan now?" she asked. "I was told by an ER nurse that he may have a concussion."

"Well, he's definitely had a recent head trauma and that's treatable—serious, but not critical. And we're addressing that. He also has a badly ruptured cervical disk which we recognized in previous scans. But, the MRI that was just completed doesn't show the same thing that we saw before at the brain stem, the thing we thought to be shrapnel. There's nothing there at all now. We have to decide which scan is correct. So we're doing a third one, using a different machine." He ran his fingers through his thick hair. "If this scan is clear, then it's entirely possible, that the cause of your husband's headaches is the ruptured disk in his lower neck. That is quite treatable with surgery. I'm praying that's the case. I encourage you to do the same." He gently patted Karen on the shoulder and turned to leave the room. "I'll be back when a new scan is complete".

'I encourage you to do the same,' she replayed his words in her mind.

Karen had never had a formal time or method of prayer. She never really thought about talking to the one true sovereign God. Her past prayers consisted of short requests in emergency situations, or sometimes, of less than sincere 'thanks' to a abstract entity. She had never thought about prayer as a heart to heart conversation with the God who created the universe and all that is in it— including her. She was about to do so now. She found a vacant restroom nearby, went in, and locked the door.

Karen looked at her disheveled face and hair in a mirror. Oh God, just look at me, she thought. Suddenly a light flashed in her mind. 'Oh God'? I said the words to myself just now, as though it had no more meaning than oh or wow. And she realized that she had used the word 'God' the same casual way, countless times in the past. For the first time in her life, she really thought about 'God' as a word that described her personal maker and not just another moniker like 'The Man Upstairs'. She lowered her head, closed her eyes and tried to envision the face or image of God. She was unable to conjure up a suitable one.

"God," she whispered softly and with hesitation, "I've known about you since I was little. But I don't really know you. I wish that I did. I wish that I could see you—touch you—feel you. I don't know if I truly believe that you're listening to me or not. I think I do. I surely want to. If you're there, if you hear me God, I need your help. We need your help—Stan and I. I'm sorry that I've used your name so carelessly in the past, without really thinking about what I was doing. I promise, I'll try to not ever do that again. "Thank you God for saving Jenny. For sending that man, to save her. I know it had to be you."

Tears streamed down her face. They were tears of joy because Jenny was alive and tears of anxiety, gratitude and humility. And there were tears of remorse for her many misunderstandings.

"Can you— No, I know you can. Will you help Stan now, God? Please! We need him. I need him, so very, very much. I don't know how I can ever make it without him, God. I'm so sorry that I was so wrong about him, and about Jan, and about the man you sent to save Jenny. I've got so much that I need to make up for—to everyone. Will you help me to not ever do anything like that again." Tears continued to flow as she softly spoke.

"Mrs. Bronsky? Are you in there?" a nurse said as she knocked on the restroom door.

"Yes. I'll be out in just a second," Karen sputtered. She quickly splashed water on her face, dried it, and opened the door.

"Dr. Griedlach wants to see you again," the nurse informed. Karen anxiously followed the nurse back to a small exam room where Stan was being checked by Dr. Griedlach.

"Mrs. Bronsky, I've got great news." the doctor said. "The second MRI and CT scan have verified that there's absolutely nothing wrong in Stan's brain! We don't really understand it. It's possible that a equipment glitch occurred during earlier tests. Or, if you believe in miracles and answered prayer, then perhaps that's the answer. As of right now, Stan's only problems are the minor concussion from this evening, and two herniated cervical disks. As soon as Stan recovers enough from the concussion, we need to do surgery on those disks. He ought to be good as new in a few days."

"Oh, thank you, Dr. Griedlach!" Karen exclaimed. She threw her arms around the doctor and hugged him affectionately. Then she looked down at Stan, who was very groggy. She lowered her face to his and kissed him repeatedly. She raised her head slightly and looked into his drowsy eyes.

Oh Stan, It's going to be alright. We're going to be alright," she said, as tears of joy filled her eyes.

Stan raised a trembling hand to touch her face and managed a loving smile.

###

The End

Dear Reader,

I do hope that you have enjoyed reading my book as much as I enjoyed writing it. If so, would you please recommend it to your friends at school, work, church, social website, etcetera.

Please send me an email and give me your thoughts on this book and any suggestions that you have. billiedoylebooks@gmail.com Thanks!

Additional downloads of this eBook can be purchased at www.smashwords.com or one of their distribution affiliates.

I hope to publish a sequel to this book soon. Send me an email if you are interested.

Billie Doyle

