

Mayne Attraction: In The Spotlight

### By Ann Mauren

Copyright © 2010 Smashwords Edition

All rights reserved.

To learn more about the Mayne Attraction Series and its author, visit www.MayneAttraction.com

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# Contents

Title Page

Introduction

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Epilogue

An Author's Request

Coming Attractions

# Introduction: A Note About Perspectives

I have always been fascinated by the overlap and particularly the divergence that occurs when you compare one person's account of a situation with that of another's—especially when something very important to those involved is at stake. This series embraces those shades of gray in the overlap where stories coincide, intersect and ultimately diverge.

Book one of the Mayne Attraction series, **In The Spotlight,** presents the story from the youthful and sometimes naïve perspective of Ellery Mayne, heroine and namesake of the series. The subsequent volumes contain the viewpoints of a hero and an antagonist, though which is which will be for you to decide after having viewed both men's accounting of events, thoughts and actions as explained from each unique perspective.

I hope you enjoy the world of Mayne Attraction and that you find fun and color in the overlap. If you wish to be notified when the next installments of this series are available, please register for "Mayne Attraction Updates" at www.MayneAttraction.com.

# Prologue

We didn't mean to kill him.

Dritan assured me this unusual little foray would be easy and well worth the effort. As always, I was foolish enough to believe him. It made me very nervous, though. We'd never ventured this far on our own with so little in the way of solid information. Adding to my nervousness was the sense of confusion I felt. Nothing looked or seemed right here.

The house was nice, but not what I had anticipated. It was much smaller and more modest looking than it should have been. The fact that it had no security system or personnel caused me to question our information all the more.

"Are you sure you have the right address?" I asked, using an accusatory tone one takes with a misbehaving child.

"I'm sure," he said as he took a long drag from his cigarette, turning away from me to stare out his passenger side window.

"This doesn't look right—at all."

Holding his breath, he tilted his head back in irritation, closed his eyes, and let out a long smoky exhale.

"It's right," he responded curtly.

We rarely looked at each other when we conversed. Our relationship constantly evolved yet somehow it remained as it had always been: sometimes we were partners, other times bitter enemies, but at all times tied together as brothers.

It was just past midnight. We waited for about an hour after the last light in the house went out, both smoking, relaxing and listening to some new downloads he was overly excited about—just more irritating noise as far as I was concerned.

The plan was simple: pick our way into the house, administer a quick injection on the old man while he slept, wake him, ask a few pointed questions, locate the items we needed, put him back to bed, and move along. Easy.

The girl walked in on us after we'd been unsuccessfully working on him for about twenty minutes. We were in the middle of arguing over a possible dosage error and next steps when a form in the dim light moved slowly past the foot of the bed where we were set up. Our normal reaction would have been quick and deadly for the intruder, but she didn't scream, act frightened, or even acknowledge us. She just kept moving at a slow pace deeper into the room. Alarm quickly turned to amusement as the situation became clear.

Moving around the bed to a large walk-in closet, she opened the door wider, letting more light into the bedroom and illuminating her small form very nicely. Pulling an empty laundry basket from a lower shelf she dumped a hamper of clothes into it. Then she bent down to gather some dirty boots, a hat and a belt, throwing them on top of the pile.

We looked at each other and then back at the sleepwalking laundry girl. She was very young and pretty; the old man's granddaughter perhaps? If so, then I felt more assured about this being the right house after all, but still very unsettled that we had overlooked her presence after making such a thorough search of the house initially. Where had she been up to this moment?

Moving out of the closet, she toted the basket—which appeared to be twice her weight—into the bathroom where she then dumped the contents into the tub and poured a generous capful of what was probably shampoo over the "load." Placing the emptied laundry basket on top of the tank, she flushed the toilet, and walked out into the bedroom once more, a blank expression on her face as she headed for the hallway. Though her movements had the look of purposeful efficiency, they had been bizarre and funny to watch. I realized I hadn't smiled about anything in a long time. It felt good.

Dritan laughed softly and rose immediately to pursue her, probably to make certain she wasn't just a very quick-thinking and self-preserving actress whose next move would be to set off an alarm of some kind. He was gone for several minutes while I sat with our host who had slept through the injection but frustrated our efforts by not responding to the smelling salts or any of our actions to rouse him in the normal way so that we could question him. I was growing tense and irritated at the lengthy but silent interruption. What stupidity was Dritan engaging in now?

After what felt like an eternity, he finally returned.

At first, a well-pleased smile played on his lips as he reported, "It looks like she came in through the kitchen. The door was still open with a key in the lock. She put herself to bed in one of the rooms at the end of the hall. I've heard of people sleepwalking before, but I've never seen—"

Suddenly, concern changed his expression as he looked past me to assess the old man.

"What happened?!"

Even in the low light, the man's color was decidedly blue now, and I realized he'd stopped breathing while I was busy imagining my brother's actions in the next room.

After a brief consultation, we decided to let him "sleep." Resuscitating him probably wouldn't help now and might leave too much evidence.

We didn't get any information out of him or the items we sought, though I did find something promising in a folder on the nightstand that I collected for further review.

Always the impulsive opportunist, my brother stood in the doorway looking into the darkness down the hallway. I knew exactly what he was thinking about.

"Artan, I don't suppose we could just take the girl instead..." he said with a resigned sigh, though he already knew what I would say.

"Besnik would pay a lot for her, for that hair especially," he continued wistfully.

I could see his point. The addition of the girl's "company" and the substantial profit from her sale would surely reduce some of the evening's disappointment. But looking over at the dead man in his bed, we both knew the answer.

"No," I said, taking charge. "Let's have one more look around and get out of here before she wakes up."

Working hard to resist the lure of what would surely be a huge mistake at this point, I added more for myself than for him, "If we need to, we can come back later," as though it were just an option and not a certainty.

# Chapter 1

Every little girl wants to believe that her parents are deeply in love. If mine were not, they were fabulous actors.

I always thought of myself as a fairly good actress too—at least when it came to putting on a brave and grown up face in trialing times. But now my skills were being pushed beyond their limits. Though I would be turning eighteen in a few months, I felt like a child as I sat captive while my hair was being thoroughly brushed and braided for me, my carefully crafted mask of stoicism slipping with every yank.

"Ouch!"

What on earth was she doing? Ripping out the strands that hadn't made it into the twist?

"Mom, are you finished? That really hurts! Wait, are you starting over?" The overtones of whining and exasperation competed for dominance as the vigorous brushing at the top of my scalp began anew.

"Please relax and sit still, Ellery. I'm almost finished. You were moving too much and the braid turned out lopsided. The more you fidget and complain, the longer this will take. Just be calm," said my hair stylist captor from above and behind me.

My poor, sweet, obsessive compulsive mother. I used to be convinced that she would never marry again. I was also concerned that she might die of a broken heart, and then I would too. That's what I thought the last time we had both been wearing black dresses on a Saturday morning like this. Soon we would be heading to the same funeral home as the first time. Had it only been seven years ago? It seemed like a lifetime.

That time was for my dad. He had been a commercial aviator in charge of training new pilots for UPS at the time of the crash that claimed his life: a midair collision off the southern coast of Norway, near Bergen. Parts of the plane were eventually recovered—but no bodies.

At ten years of age I had been old enough understand the enormity and horror of our loss. I felt so helpless and sorry for my mom. I certainly felt sorry for myself too, but my mom ... she was going to be so lost without him. He had taken such good care of her—of us both; we absolutely adored him. Dad was chivalrous, humorous, sometimes mischievous, and suddenly he was gone forever. His absence felt like a black hole, sucking all thoughts of a happy life now or in the future into a timeless, lifeless void. But unlike the coldness of space, it burned me over and over again every time I looked into the mirror of my mom's big brown eyes. Time passed and we both adjusted, but now the pain had returned in full force.

"Uh, did you remember to put on a slip, Sweetie?" she asked after a particularly painful tug, perhaps in an effort to divert my attention.

I sighed before answering. Then I just dropped it, deciding not to respond in words. She knew the answer already or she wouldn't have asked the question.

"You'll need one with that dress. I think it's in your top right drawer. And your black sweater is on the chair," she informed me, trying to sound soothing and helpful. Mom was stressed to the extreme and worried sick about me. The result was a strange and unexpected air of calm and collectedness, dressing me and doing my hair in an almost exact repeat of the events on the morning of Dad's funeral.

Despite her recent surge of motherly over-protectiveness and momentary loss of her normally gentle hair styling technique, I still adored the woman. I really needed to be strong and brave like her if I was going to survive to the end of this day.

She seemed to have become a favorite target for the ironic twists of tragedy. Her parents had died young in a plane crash when she was in college. Somehow she managed to pull herself together and graduate with her Master's of Library Science a year later. Then she began working at the main branch of the Louisville Free Public Library, where she first met my dad, Matthew Mayne, who was the ideal in Scandinavian male physical attributes: thick blond hair in a crew cut, tall and muscular, handsomely squared features with piercing blue eyes that were glued to her while she assisted him with his quickly improvised research project.

Newly settled in Louisville in order to transition from his military career into commercial piloting, he had spotted her weeks earlier at the Kentucky State Fair. After observing and trailing her all across the fairgrounds, he gave up the pursuit when he mistook one of her cousins for her date. When chance brought her to his attention again a month later at a downtown café, he followed her back to the library to investigate and engage her further. I would love to have a stalker like that.

Monica Herron was petite and very fair skinned with lovely, expressive brown eyes and long, smooth, dark brown hair. It was way down her back when my parents first met. I could certainly understand his interest in her, especially as it relates to the attraction of opposites. Plus, she was extremely shy, which, if you didn't know her, might make you think she was just unavailable. Exceptionally beautiful, highly intelligent, and seemingly off-limits: is there any greater appeal?

Though her frequent use of unusual words and obscure literary references didn't faze him one bit, her extreme aversion to all things aeronautic was unquestionably a complication for my dad. He managed to keep his true occupation at UPS concealed from her for several months while they dated. He even wore the brown uniform a few times early on, not sharing the detail that it was borrowed from one of his buddies in the ground transportation division.

When he finally came clean in preparation for a proposal of marriage and explained rather than confessed the truth (he had never actually lied; she just had never pressed him for a more detailed explanation of "air loads expeditor") she nearly broke things off. But it didn't take her long to realize that she couldn't live without him, no matter how fearful she was about his profession. Fortunately, he soon moved into the training department, which kept him on the ground most of the time. They were married soon after. I was born a few years after that, and the program to foster my love of words, books, and minutia was commenced within moments of my arrival home from the hospital. I enjoyed a warm and wonderful childhood in the company of parents who were crazy about each other and their little girl.

"Mom? Are people going to ask me questions about what happened, because I just don't think I can—"

"Of course not, Honey! People will be coming to pay their respects and to comfort us. No one is going to interrogate you about what happened," she said reassuringly as she wrapped the band at the end of my braid, securing it tightly.

Wrapping her arms around me from behind, she rested her chin on my shoulder. A soft sniff escaped her and she tried to disguise the sound with a forced cough.

"I know this is difficult for you, but you owe it to Grandpa and everyone who cares about him to be there today. Try to be strong for him, okay? I won't leave your side, and you don't have say anything if you don't want to, but I do hope you'll try and be polite. People are naturally interested in you," she encouraged sweetly, kissing the top of my head.

"It might help if you try to think of the good times you had with Grandpa and some of the funny things he used to do and say. That's what I'm going to try to do today."

Before my dad died, Grandpa had always seemed like more of a legend than a real person to me. I only saw him very briefly around the holidays, while the rest of the time he was travelling the globe; an emailed image of a hero in some exotic place and not someone I was truly close to, though I was disposed to liked him very much. Once I asked my dad if we saw each other so little because he didn't like us. Dad assured me that he loved us, and me in particular, more than anything else, but that in addition to his very busy travel schedule, they also had trouble getting along, and it was better if we just had short visits every once in a while.

After the crash Grandpa dropped everything, retired from his career in geology, and came to Louisville to be with my mom and me. He bought a new house for us along with the one behind ours for himself so that he could be close if we needed anything. He cut the grass, shoveled the snow, fixed things that broke and took care of mom's car. He took us on driving trips (my mom refused to fly anywhere) and faithfully attended every one of my school functions, piano recitals and parent teacher conferences with my mom. He was fun, enthusiastic and affectionate. I came to adore him nearly as much as I had his son. My mom's second husband would eventually take over most of those duties, but by the time he became a part of our lives, I was inseparably attached to my grandpa.

Though Grandpa's funeral was traumatic for my mom, it wasn't nearly the searing and disastrous lightning strike the death of my father had been. She had certainly grown close to her father-in-law over the past seven years, but his death, even as sudden and heartbreaking as it was, did not leave her cut in two like after the last funeral we had attended together.

I felt the loss more acutely. I had lost another father figure and that hole in my universe had been torn wide open again. It was an extremely painful kind of déjà vu, and my heart ached with an echo.

Dr. Samuel Mayne was seventy-eight years old and had died in his sleep. The autopsy report said that he had simply stopped breathing.

I was the one who found him, peaceful and still. It was not an altogether bad way to go. It's just bad for the people left behind who miss you terribly and regret not getting to say good-bye.

I did not panic that morning, and no one was more surprised about that than I was. Perhaps the reason was because I knew Grandpa wouldn't have liked that. Though that was possible, and the explanation I preferred, my calmness probably had more to do with a defect in my fight-or-flight instinct, which included a third option: cataplexy, which is a brief attack of muscle weakness or immobility usually triggered by strong emotion. A related word that gives a feel for this state would be catatonic. So after a fairly brief session as a terrified statue, I went next door, informed my mom of my discovery, and assisted her through the worst nervous breakdown I had ever witnessed. It was quite a contrast to the calm, comforting demeanor she possessed this morning.

"You poor thing. Look at those dark circles under your eyes! Did you have that bad dream again?" she asked as she came around to face me with a makeup bag in her hands.

Oh great. Do I look that bad?

I nodded in reply to her query. Her red rimmed eyes were already filled with concern. Now they flashed with pity and pain. I should have said no.

Since my terrible, heartbreaking discovery, I'd been haunted by the most disturbing recurring dream. It was always the same; I worked in a hospital where Grandpa was a patient and two doctors arguing in a foreign language were working on him while he lay unconscious in his hospital bed. I wanted to go to him, but I couldn't get past the doctors. It felt like a betrayal on the part of my subconscious. Why couldn't my mind dream about happy times with Grandpa instead of repeating a vision so bizarre and upsetting?

With one hand holding a tube of mascara and an eyeliner pencil, she dabbed a finger from her free hand in the concealing cream, moving in closer to begin the cover-up procedure.

I huffed in disapproval.

"Mom, tears and make-up don't go together very well. I know I'm going to cry a river. Can't we just skip this part?" I pleaded, even as new tears began to gather involuntarily, helping to make my case.

"Nobody cares what I look like any way," I said with a sniff and a wipe.

She handed me a tissue and waited silently while I dabbed and dried the leaks, smiling sadly but not backing off an inch.

"I care. I'm proud of you, and I want you to look your best, under the circumstances. Besides, these are waterproof."

I groaned and turned away, hoping she'd give up first. She gently pulled my face back around with the fingers that didn't have makeup on them.

"Honey, please do it for me, for your Grandpa and especially for yourself."

I didn't have it in me to argue any more. I nodded and she made quick work of it.

"Girls? We need to get going," said a deep but smooth and pleasant voice coming from the opening of my bedroom into the upstairs hallway. "I'm heading downstairs to warm up the car for you," informed Hoyt, my step-father.

"Oh, okay. Thanks Honey. We'll be right down," Mom replied, slightly ruffled as she checked her watch and realized the time.

Thinking about who might await us at the funeral home I figured it would be very same group of family, friends, and coworkers who consoled us before. Even the same folks from UPS would probably be there, though not because they had kept in touch with their former UPS colleague Matt Mayne's widow, but because of a death in the family of their coworker, Hoyt Montgomery, my mom's new but much older husband. Mom and Hoyt came together after the crash because they had both been widowed that day. Hoyt's fiancée, Amanda, had been the flight engineer on that trip. Their shared tragedy blossomed into comfort and love and marriage about three years later. Hoyt could never take the place of my dad, but he loved my mom and helped to balance her out, sort of the way my dad had done. Making my mom happy and reining in her obsessive tendencies were his chief virtues, and I loved him for them, though there was a lot to appreciate about Hoyt, particularly the fact that he was a man of few words, which were always nice. He was also in the flight operations department at UPS but close to retirement, thank goodness.

As much as I had wanted to resist and flee from all this useless primping, I relaxed and submitted when it occurred to me that it must be something Mom needed, something that was helping her cope. There was no such therapy available for me.

I just really wanted to be sad by myself. It was intensely uncomfortable for me to be the object of so much sympathetic attention the first time around and I knew that today wouldn't be any different—probably even worse. Like my mom, I too was very shy by nature, and though I always had a lot to say in my mind, my thoughts very rarely crossed over into spoken form in mixed company. Sometimes a comment would manage to break free, and everybody would be shocked and then be overly encouraging, which was still more embarrassing. Consequently, I would go for consecutively longer stretches between public editorializing. I didn't like being this way, but the louder I beat myself up about it on the inside, the quieter I seemed to get on the outside.

As we made our way through the large group of friends and acquaintances at the funeral, I thought about how the only two people who truly knew the sound of my voice in sentences were my mom and my grandpa. So now there was just the one.

# Chapter 2

I couldn't remember ever having seen him in a suit. I wouldn't have thought that there would be any way to improve him, but dressed formally, looking like a model for Armani, right down to the tousled blond hair and perfectly chiseled features, it seemed as if I'd been wrong about that. Seeing his face again after six or more months, it suddenly occurred to me that I'd been wrong about something else: my mom wasn't the only person left who knew the sound of my voice in sentences.

The first time I saw Grayson Gregory he was splattered with grime, looking tired and cross as he got out of a mud drenched jeep and approached the place that would be home to everyone on the Gregory Geologic Resources project management team (and their guests) for the following five weeks: a huge luxury rental on the outskirts of Reykjavik, Iceland. Accompanying my geology professor grandpa on a consulting job, I was thrilled to have such an exotic and Monica-free adventure for the first time in my life. Somehow he convinced her to let me fly in a plane (something I never expected to do unless it was in secret) and spend half my summer in a foreign country—without her. But the real surprise and adventure was the one that my heart experienced—with Gray as the tour guide.

I saw him the moment he stepped into the crowded funeral home's main lobby. Looking from face to face, he caught me staring and came right up. When he was a step away Gray paused and looked me over without comment. Next thing I knew, I had been abruptly gathered into a tight hug that lasted for a wonderfully long time. When he finally released me, he examined me some more with that same old inscrutable expression which had confounded me many times over the summer and for months afterwards. Then his hands came up to cradle my face, fingertips pressing lightly behind my ears and thumbs brushing back and forth to wipe away some of my tears. His probing eyes bore into mine for longer than I could stand, and I had to look down. After what seemed like an eternity, as I tried to tell myself to get back to business and stop wasting time being ridiculous, he leaned in and kissed me on the forehead. Very softly, he whispered, "I'm so sorry."

Then he hugged me one more time, kissed me on the top of my head, and walked away.

Was I having a grief-induced delusion? Some coping strategy my mind had fabricated to make me feel better? Well, it was working. But then with horror and self-loathing I realized that I hadn't said a single thing to him, like "Hi" or "Thank you" or "I love you."

IDIOT!!!

I tried to soothe myself with reason and logic. Despite the endless fantasies that I'd engaged in since we'd met, always with him in the starring role, I had been slowly facing up to reality. There were some things that placed me far, far outside his league—things like the fact that I wasn't gorgeous, or cool, or an adult. Over time, and especially recently, I had come to terms with this reality. I thought I had finally moved past it.

So although this brief encounter at the funeral home had felt sublime—and I'd take an amazing reality over an amazing fantasy any day—it would soon result in a terribly painful mental and emotional setback for me which set in during the car ride home from the funeral with a vengeance.

In the hours, days and weeks to follow my mind seemed to be locked on a channel I couldn't change or switch off and I imagined it must be exactly how a junkie feels. Like the rush of the most pleasurable high imaginable, from the most illicit drug available, thinking about that hug and especially the way Gray's hands and lips had felt on my face was completely irresistible. It would start before I could stop myself, taking me by surprise and debilitating me, stringing out into various memories or fantasies, each with their specific appeal. Then just like with an addictive substance, following my high was a hideous torturous crash. It was a constant reminder of the funeral and my holes. It was also a repetitive and depressing confrontation with the truth that Gray had never belonged to me and he never would, and that two of the most important men in my short life were now out of it forever.

Sometimes the confusion and hurt would morph into anger. Why did he do that to me? Did he really come all the way over from school in England to hug me and say "sorry?" Why didn't he just stay where he was and leave me alone?

Fantasy answer: Our time together in Iceland had bonded us in an eternal way.

Real answer: Gray's dad made him come to the funeral, and he was sorry for me because my grandpa died—nothing more.

Then I would crash. Again.

# Chapter 3

The mental self-destruction after the funeral lasted longer than it should have. Spring and summer felt like an eternity. Maybe it was the dual nature of the torment, making it seem to last twice as long, or just the absence of people I dearly loved making time drag. My mind was trying to deal with a fresh wound (losing my beloved grandpa) and an old wound reopening (a strongly entrenched crush I thought I'd finally beaten). Which was more painful? It was hard to say. But the combination was greater than the sum of the parts, and the sadness stabbed at me from different directions. I was miserable, and I couldn't escape, though I certainly tried.

My coping strategy was all about defense and evasion. Strange things like a commercial would spark a memory and the sadness would crest over me like a wave. Sometimes I'd literally get wet from it, breaking out in a cold sweat or, more often, getting soaked from warm involuntary tears. I felt totally out of control and very embarrassed with myself, so I began to retreat. I spent a lot of "quality" time in my room, quiet and alone. Being around my mom and Hoyt meant the presence of TV, or movies or music, and I just couldn't handle the effects.

Over time I realized that I had boxed myself into an imaginary padded cell. It was boring and lonely, and I felt trapped by it. My painful reflections had no such restrictions; they managed to come and go as they pleased, totally unhindered by the perimeter of protection I'd tried to construct.

Mom and Hoyt had mercifully given me lots of space at first. They didn't try to pull me out or push me into anything I didn't want to do. Though I felt free to privately wallow in my own sadness, I tried to be discreet about it around them. I worked very hard not to be moody or unpleasant. But there was no sense in faking happiness. It's like faking big muscles when you're weak and thin. Trying to be myself in front of them was the hardest thing I had ever done. For once I was glad that I was shy; it meant I didn't have to try quite so hard to be outgoing or bubbly—things I had never been before. Still, I knew I wasn't doing it right, pretending to be normal for them, that is.

It was when Mom started hinting around that grief counseling might be a good idea for me that my attempts at a more convincing recovery began in earnest. In the deck of negative emotions, fear will always be the high card, for me, at least. In this case it was fear of the very real threat of having to discuss my feelings with a therapist. I was suffering greatly, but I still couldn't imagine a more acute form of torture.

Just thinking about that possibility was enough to effect the most immediate and miraculous emotional recovery in history—outwardly—though the inward recovery was not too far behind. That began in earnest when I initiated my own therapy sessions with myself. I told myself that I was going to have to accept that I may never get over any of this, so I would just have to settle for getting through it.

I made an agreement with myself to hold on to the hope that maybe someday, in the far distant future, perhaps, I could be happy again. After all, wasn't my mom happy again? I never would have believed that possible. Of course, right now my problems were tainting her happiness, and I didn't want to be responsible for that. So I needed to start moving forward if I had any hope of getting to that happy future that I had never questioned until recently. Although, to be honest, moving forward with life was almost as scary as dealing with a therapist. Almost.

One way that I chose to ease back into normalcy, at least from my mom's perspective, but certainly not by any other measure, was to engage her in our thing that we did—just her and me.

If I'd had any notion of how strange and lame it was, I would have never played along. But it had always seemed perfectly normal and fun to me, and now after years of participation, I couldn't give it up even if I wanted to.

It was the peculiar little game of words that my mom had played with me ever since I could remember. It was basically a game of word switching where the players replace a normal word with some random, scarcely known, and rarely used synonym, then try to understand each other.

My earliest recollections of the game involved nursery rhymes.

Game version:

Scintillate, scintillate, celestial body minific;

Feign do I fathom your nature specific.

Loftily perched in ether capacious;

A reasonable facsimile of a gem carbonaceous.

Scintillate, scintillate, celestial body minific;

Feign do I fathom your nature specific.

Mainstream version:

Twinkle, twinkle, little star;

How I wonder what you are.

Up above the world so high;

Like a diamond in the sky.

Twinkle, twinkle, little star;

How I wonder what you are.

I loved it that the game version rhymed as nicely as the mainstream version, though admittedly, it did not sing as well.

Another game, Scrabble, was also a favorite pastime and one in which I quickly eclipsed my mother's excellent skills, much to her conflicting maternal satisfaction and competitive chagrin.

When I was a very young child, my mother took great pride in my diverse vocabulary, which surpassed that of many adults, although living in Kentucky as we did, the triumph of such a thing was somewhat diminished. In defense of my own kind, I'll assert that we Kentuckians have numerous admirable traits and talents, but as a group, speaking with grammatical correctness isn't at the top of the list—at least for those whose jobs aren't specifically tied to it.

One of my elementary school teachers actually thought that I had a speech impediment because I spoke very clearly yet unintelligibly on occasion. I couldn't help it if I was smarter than she was; none of us knew.

"Smarter" is not a fair or even accurate description. I was just a logophile ( _a word lover_ ) with vast stores of minutia in the form of words and their definitions that couldn't be used in normal conversations with people other than my mother. Though she disapproved, now that I was older and more self-conscious, I tried to tone the impressive diction thing down around normal people so that I would sound more normal and less like a robot or an alien infiltrator. Sometimes, though, I would catch myself using that "alien" vernacular of mine and feel obligated to throw in extra words to elucidate.

One of my favorite offshoots of our game had to do with phobias. There are over five hundred named phobias, and making up a new one is as simple as determining the Greek word for it and adding the suffix _-phobia_ , which is an entirely separate and enjoyable game in itself. A side benefit was the addition of numerous Greek nouns and verbs to my minutia collection.

Incidentally, I never used the word _lame_ lightly. The definition I preferred was "something boring, old-fashioned, weak, or unsatisfactory." I'd always been a lover of multipurpose words, and _lame_ worked well much of the time, particularly in relation to my life, but especially because other teenagers understood my meaning when I used it, and that made it indispensable. Well, it would be if I ever ended up with any friends. Of course, once they discovered the real me, they would probably think I was ... lame.

# Chapter 4

Through the spring and into summer, my battle with melancholy continued. I missed Grandpa terribly. That was the issue to which people who knew me attributed my blues. I was so glad that no one knew the other half of my problem: heartbreak over someone other than my grandpa. Even I knew it was stupid. How could someone who wasn't my love break my heart? It wasn't like Gray and I had broken up. And that was the key. We had never really been together, at least not like the way I had daydreamed (and night-dreamed) about over and over. Yet we had spent a considerable amount of time in each other's company—the best time of my short life—where I worked every minute trying to understand his moods, his comments, and the looks he gave me. The signals were always mixed.

Grandpa had been very keen for us to meet, though he warned me that Grayson (he always called him Grayson, though nobody else did) could be a bit on the serious side at times. From what I could tell, Gray and his father were very much like family to Grandpa. He'd spent a lot of time both professionally and socially with them, working on projects, lending his expertise, and guiding them on trips to some of the more exotic places he had experienced over the course of his amazing career. I had heard a number of stories about the inquisitive and precocious young boy named Grayson, told with pleasure and pride like a doting grandparent. When I saw him with the Gregorys, I realized that he had given up more than his career when he came to be with us in Louisville.

If it were possible for me to be objective, I'd have to admit that, overall, Gray had treated me more like a little sister than anything else. Still, in softer moments between his bipolar bouts of incessant teasing and stern lecturing, he had also managed to work in holding my hand, hugging me tight, and staring into my eyes. There was never any kissing—much to my disappointment and relief—but those more tender moments had still felt very romantic. Of course, I had no experience to draw on; perhaps being hit over the head with a stick by a handsome guy also felt very romantic.

I could definitely understand Gray's initial irritation with me. His opportunity to take the reins from his father and manage a small mineral extraction project had been pulled out from under him and replaced with a glorified babysitting job. And it was all at the recommendation of my grandpa, whose role as chief advisor, mentor and best friend of the CEO of Gregory Geologic Resources, Daniel Gregory, Gray's father, had unquestionably played a significant part in the outworking of the project's assignments. Gray's summer holiday off from University had taken a totally lame left turn. Gray was clearly disappointed and I was deeply mortified.

To my surprise and his credit, he took the change of plans in stride and pulled me along for the ride—literally in some cases. And to my extreme relief and thankfulness he did not take his frustrations out on me. I fully expected (and probably deserved) some variation of the cold shoulder treatment. Instead he took the time and considerable effort necessary to draw me out as we moved through the excursions that comprised his revised assignment of showing me around the land of ice and fire. I found myself talking to Gray more than I could ever remember talking to anyone, even Grandpa. He eventually broke down my barriers so that I felt comfortable enough to let my sense of humor loose. That had never happened to me before, and it felt absolutely, singularly amazing.

My sense of humor was my most secret and precious possession. As though it were a baby bird, I guarded it fiercely, so that no one could harm it, accidentally or on purpose. It was tied up with who I really was, and I had always been terrified to expose it or damage it in any way. In the past when I had revealed it, very often it had offended my mother, and it was generally totally lost on Hoyt or Grandpa. My dad had nurtured it, but it was still in very early bud when he died. I had no other close associates with which to exercise it, so it had been locked deeply away for safekeeping until I met Gray.

Although he seemed to take great pleasure in teasing me, he also seemed to intuitively understand the need to be very careful with that particularly vulnerable soft spot of mine: my humorous sensibilities. When he laughed at my jokes, it didn't feel like I was being humored. It just felt as if he understood and appreciated my brand of humor as borne out by his reactions and responses. It was a kind of emotional intimacy I never expected to have with anybody, let alone someone like him: intelligent, handsome, and amazing.

Eventually I came to an understanding about why my feelings for Gray and the loss of my grandpa seemed to be so strangely connected. The loss was connected. Losing Grandpa meant losing my connection with Gray.

I wasn't going to be invited to join any more survey expeditions because of what I could bring to the table. Mr. Gregory had given me his business card at the funeral and seemed sincere about helping me pursue a career in geology. But his son said three words to me that day, which, incidentally, were not 'I love you', and I never heard from him again.

I thought I'd rather die than insinuate myself into the Gregory family circle again. The implication of rejection was far more tolerable than its confirmation, though I had to admit, the effects were identical.

So our association was over now. I was grieving over Gray's loss like a widow, except he wasn't dead. I suppose because no one had ever expressed a romantic interest in me, not even Gray, for that matter, I was totally blindsided by the new experience of unrequited love and had mistakenly assumed that his ability to draw me out was connected with a purpose for doing so. It was embarrassing to admit, even to myself, but I had actually thought that I would be married to him some day. I even had dreams in which we talked about that ... and did other things. So even sleeping through my depression didn't offer the kind of solace from pain and disappointment that I dearly wished it would. In addition, it felt petty and disloyal to my grandpa to split my sadness over his loss with some guy I had known only briefly but misinterpreted so completely.

With the passing of a season the pain finally started to fade. It still flared once in a while, but I felt as if I had the emotional issues mostly under control. I had been working up to this so that I would be able to face school again—my senior year which would start before I knew it. Yet there was still one strange, negative feeling that constantly hounded me. It was weird because it seemed as if it had nothing to do with grieving, but over time it had emerged as the dominant feeling, beating out the sadness and emptiness that had been so overpowering at first. It was the feeling that I was being watched; a strange and indefinable sixth sense; the certainty of unseen eyes, observing me from somewhere close by.

I had only a vague notion of the sensation after the funeral, when it started. But as spring phased into summer, and I began to spend more time outside the house, sometimes riding my bike, sometimes hanging out in the tiny tree house in our backyard, it became impossible to ignore. I felt it on the back of my neck constantly. Of course, I didn't dare mention it to my mom. She already wanted to have me committed. Telling her about this would be like calling the paddy wagon to arrange the pickup myself. No, just like everything else, I had to find a way to deal with it on my own and get past it.

Early into the summer break something happened and I realized that I was not a victim of irrational scopophobia ( _the fear of being watched_ ) after all.

It was a very warm and sunny day late in the week. Mom and Hoyt had left for work. I had gotten up late, which was normal for me. I was hungry and in the mood for cereal. After pouring myself a bowlful, I grabbed the nearly empty container of milk from the door of the fridge.

I'll be the first to admit that I have some obsessive-compulsive behaviors, and one of them is checking the expiration date on everything, even nonfood items—go figure. Milk is no exception. So before any milk was poured, I examined the blurry print on the front of the carton. This was wasted effort though, since I didn't actually know the day's date. But a sniff of the opened carton communicated very clearly the milk's expiration. It smelled like something had expired, all right. I experienced a brief moment of sadness as I considered that not so long ago I would have just headed next door to Grandpa's house in search of drinkable milk. Now if I wanted fresh milk, I was going to have to ride my bike to the new drugstore on the corner and purchase it.

I got dressed and rolled off. The store was less than a mile away, but the late morning sun was scorching. By the time I got inside the building, I didn't feel like drinking milk anymore. I needed a bottle of water instead. How ironic, I thought. If I'd just stayed home, I could have had all the free cold water I could drink. To save face with myself, I purchased a small bottle of milk along with a larger bottle of water and a chocolate bar too, since it was calling to me. The cashier offered me a sample packet of a new kind of gum, which I certainly couldn't refuse. I accepted it gladly and tucked it in my pocket after concluding my purchase.

Walking back out the door into the sunlight, I was slightly distracted with trying to open the bottle of water. The cap was on unusually tight. I set my bag with the milk and candy bar on the sidewalk once I reached the far side of the building where I had left my bike and tried again to loosen the cap. My feeling of accomplishment at opening the bottle was cut short when a man suddenly came up holding a piece of stiff paper out toward me.

Though I didn't have time to stare at his face because he was so fast, I did notice that he was swarthy and kind of hairy and that he had a huge gold chain around his neck. I was absolutely certain I'd never met this man, yet there was something oddly familiar about him.

He was smiling at me, but it didn't feel like a friendly smile; it felt like something else, and the danger alarm started to ring in my mind.

He spoke to me in an overly friendly tone and said, "Hey, do you like perfume?" It was an odd sounding accent.

That was weird. He didn't look as if he would work behind a perfume counter.

I hesitated in my confusion and growing panic. He had come from the van that I was now standing in front of because another man, who could have been his twin, started to get out of the passenger side and walk toward me as well. This must have been by design. It drew my attention, just for a second, and that was what he needed to rudely shove the paper with the "perfume" sample under my nose.

"Smell this! I think you'll like it," he said with an unpleasant-sounding one-syllable laugh at the end.

"What? No...no, thanks."

But he had surprised me with his quick move, and I did get a whiff of whatever was on the card. And it did smell nice. Just as I was thinking that, my knees buckled, and I dropped my water. It took a big bounce and splashed all over Mr. Perfume's midsection and down his legs while he cursed a blue streak in response.

Whatever I had just smelled was obviously more than perfume. It made gravity stronger and everything move in slow motion.

I tried to apologize about the water (polite to the end), while at the same time I could see the partner coming for me, his hand outstretched to catch me before I hit the pavement, having lost my ability to stand up straight, though now I realized nobody was actually concerned for my safety.

Was this really happening in broad daylight in front of the store? The accomplice was all business, no pretense of false friendliness. He grabbed me roughly and started to haul me back toward the van. I realized, with sickening awareness, that the van door was wide open, ready to swallow me whole. There was a hollow ringing in my ears, and the edges of my vision were turning dark and blurry.

Then the situation took the craziest turn. A gray-haired lady, whom I realized was no larger than me once she got close, had gotten out of her car, which was parked across the lot directly behind the van, and came sprinting over with impossible speed, while everything else around me was moving slowly, caught in a time warp. She approached from the passenger side, cutting off the approach to the van door, while both of my abductors were facing me, trying to corral me back to my feet and over to the vehicle.

It was like watching a scene from _The Matrix_ , a scene that was probably enhanced by whatever was knocking me out. In super slow motion, she flew through the air and connected solidly, elbow first, into Perfume Guy's lower back. His eyes bulged hugely, as if they were the only part of him that had absorbed the impact. But then the rest of him caught up, and he flopped, face first onto the sidewalk away from me.

The grip around my arm tightened painfully as I was pulled behind the other man's body, the way a predator might try to protect its meal from a competitor trying to steal the kill. Except that I was passing out now, and my body collapsed behind him, pulling his arm with me, and he was forced to either let go or hold on and turn with my inert weight. He let go, and I too flopped on the sidewalk, banging the back of my head slightly.

I viewed the rest of the fight from this angle. My rescuer used the brief distraction I had created to spray the man in the face with what my stoned mind at first thought was Silly String. But when he started screaming and jumping up and down, batting at his eyes, I realized it was something much better. Then she jumped up in a kung fu-like move and kicked him full in the chest. The screaming stopped, but I couldn't see what happened to him after he fell out of my field of vision. For good measure, she turned and sprayed my felled fragrance adviser as well.

In a deeply menacing tone she said simply, "Smell this."

He whimpered but didn't fuss like the other man had. It was probably because there was damage to his rib cage or spine...I hoped.

Then she turned her attention to me. Initially, her face had been a mask of rage, but it had transformed into deep concern as she looked me over, her hands brushing my face and then exploring the back of my head. My vision was almost completely darkened now, even though the late morning sun was shining straight into my eyes. Someone else was there now too, bending over me as they were talking, but I couldn't see. I felt fingers on my neck. Checking my pulse?

"Should we take her to the emergency room?" I heard a man ask quietly. His accent was strange too.

"I don't want to stay around for a police report, do you? No, let's just take her home. I don't think she'll remember any of this. She's not hurt."

I felt myself being carried now. My heroine's voice was sort of gruff and distinctly German sounding. It reminded me of something; was she the Terminator's older sister?

"We'll just put her back in bed, and she'll probably think she overslept."

And that is exactly what I thought, at first. I woke up at three-thirty in the afternoon. I was fully dressed. But that wasn't abnormal for me; I did that all the time. I had a terrible headache, and I was loopy from sleeping too much. I was also seeing flashes of an extremely vivid nightmare about being abducted and rescued. The recall made me shiver and breathe faster.

I got out of bed, a little unsteadily, and went to the bathroom. As I pulled my shorts down and sat on the toilet, something dropped onto the tile at my feet. I bent over to get a better look and was instantly rewarded with a head rush. When my eyes cleared, I refocused on whatever had fallen. It was rectangular paper packaging of some sort, with blue and white print announcing "New Longer Lasting Peppermint Flavor."

My gum sample! Were my dreams leaving behind product endorsements and freebies? I wasn't dreaming now, and the gum was real...which meant so was the part where I had acquired it...at the drugstore...this morning.

I puzzled over what had happened to me. It all seemed straightforward except for the part where I ended up back in my bed. Somebody was trying to snatch me. Somebody else saw it and stepped in (in a kick-butt kind of way) to help me. That was logical enough. But how did she know where I lived? My keys had been in my pocket, so I understood how they could get me in, but I didn't carry any ID. I just had the keys and some loose change in my pocket, but nothing to indicate where my bed might be. Yet here I was, and I shuttered to think how different things might be for me at the moment if she hadn't come to my aid.

Then I began to ponder the intervention. So someone was at the drugstore at the same time as me, and this someone had no trouble taking down two men twice her size. This someone also somehow knew where to return me while I was unconscious. And it wasn't just a return; it was a cover-up. Why wasn't I at the hospital or the police station filling out a crime report? Instead, I woke up under the covers of my bed as if it had never happened. If the gum hadn't fallen out of the pocket of my shorts, I may never have thought about it again. So was it purely coincidence that kung fu Helga was there to save me? And if it wasn't a coincidence, as suggested by her prior knowledge of my residence and the way the situation had been handled afterward, then what did that mean? Had she been watching me and followed me to the store? If so, why?

That was how it had started. Afterward, I was more aware than ever of that strange "someone is watching me" feeling. Only I didn't think I was crazy anymore. Whether my mom would agree with my psychological self-assessment, especially if I told her what I thought had happened, offering only a sample pack of gum as evidence, I wasn't so sure about.

I became far more observant of my surroundings and embraced my instincts more than I ever had before. I tried to concentrate and pinpoint the times when I would have that "being watched" sensation, because its intensity would fluctuate. It ebbed and flowed during the day, but somehow it was always there.

I had once heard the aphorism (a clever observation) that even though pieces of a puzzle make funny shapes, they fit together in the end, and the picture becomes clear. Believing in the truth of that, I set to work on gathering the pieces of this mystery and putting the bigger picture together.

# Chapter 5

I was being watched.

Despite the anxiety I felt over the realization of the meaning behind the strange, scopophobic sensation I'd been experiencing, it was a relief to know my instincts hadn't been broken after all. In fact, they were working exceptionally well, even if the rest of me wasn't. I promised myself that I would never doubt my instincts again.

I had polar reactions to the idea that someone was keeping an eye on me. It was flattering: someone had an interest in me. Of course, it was frightening too: someone who could kill me before I realized I was dead had an interest in me. And it was frustrating: someone was interested in me when I wasn't even interested in me. Why? There was no logical explanation. I never went anywhere or did anything. I was in high school, for crying out loud! Whoever they were, they had to be dying of boredom...except for when I was nearly taken, and that had probably been a nice change of pace.

It was fortunate for my peace of mind that my discovery of observers had been in conjunction with a move on their part to help me, to save my life. How much more frightened and unnerved would I be if the "helping me out part" hadn't been part of the equation when I'd made the discovery?

Second-guessing myself was a natural reaction for me, something I did constantly. So I tried to come up with a scenario that didn't involve being under surveillance but still explained being assisted and placed back in my bed. I came up with nothing. I couldn't make it fit, and I gave up trying. It was a waste of time, and there wasn't really anything I could do about it anyway. I just decided to go about my business, keep my eyes open, and figure it out as I went. The worst that could happen, if the pattern continued, was that she, he or they might help me again. And I decided that I could live with that.

But I was crazy with curiosity, so I came up with some experiments that would test the extents of their watchfulness and helpfulness.

I began by carrying a purse, something I usually didn't mess with because my money fit just fine in my pocket. For a purse to be convincing, I had to put some stuff in it. I scraped around for things that might legitimately be in one: a hairbrush, ChapStick, mini-notebook and pen, wallet, some very dark sunglasses, and, of course, gum. The final key element was a pocket-size monthly planner, purchased for a dollar at a card shop. This was going to be the key to setting up controlled experiments and conducting careful observations.

I was eager to get started with my investigation and surprised my mom by accepting a cursory invitation to join her and Hoyt out to eat dinner one evening. Normally, I would decline and just get leftovers or a sandwich because I preferred being home alone. Joining them had a double benefit: I could carry out an experiment, and I could appease my mom by doing something normal with her.

The concept was simple. When we finished eating or doing whatever, I would "forget" my purse. If my observers were any good at watching me, and if they were as close as I suspected, they'd notice. Now, whether I would get my purse back was a bit of a question mark, but I was counting on a specific reaction: curiosity. Wouldn't they want to know what was in my purse? And wouldn't they be interested in things I wrote down in my planner? And wouldn't they show up at places and times that were marked there? They would no doubt follow me no matter where I went, but if they had advance notice, like a meeting date, wouldn't that increase my chances of noticing a familiar face, when I was in control of the time and place?

My mom was so surprised and pleased that I had said yes to her offer that it made me feel guilty. I realized how very selfish I had been the last few months. She was worried for me, and she missed me—that was so clear to me now. The least I could do was spend some time with her. I could keep my emotions under control for an evening. Having something new to focus on was going to help with that.

Mom wanted to go to The Cheesecake Factory. This was normally a special occasion kind of place to go, but for them maybe my presence made it just that. It was also good because it was in the mall, and we'd probably walk around for a bit before and afterward, a good opportunity to people watch.

As usual, the line out the door was as long as the mighty Mississippi. But, bless him, Hoyt had followed the call-ahead reservation procedure, so our wait was only thirty minutes instead of two hours, like it was for other poor, dejected, and starving souls sitting around us.

As we passed time on a bench inside the mall but outside the restaurant awaiting our happy summons from a brightly flashing and vibrating restaurant pager, my mom was beaming with contentment. It just made me feel more ashamed of my recent antisocial behavior. She sat between Hoyt and me—the nexus linking us together—one hand in his and the other snugly on mine.

"It's such a pleasant evening. How would you feel about taking a walk in the park after dinner?" she asked me.

"Sure, that sounds nice."

And a good opportunity to get looks at people going by or hanging around, I thought.

"Or we could take a river cruise. There's one that sets off at eight. We could probably make that," Hoyt offered with quiet enthusiasm.

Mom was instantly sold on that idea and turned to me hopefully.

_Oh, all right,_ I thought, with a bit of concealed petulance. But again, this would be an even better opportunity since no one could move away too far, and I'd be able to get a very good look at fellow passengers.

"I've never been on a cruise. That's a really nice idea, Hoyt," I responded, trying to match his enthusiasm. Mom's pleased expression washed over me like a warm breeze. I was thankful they made it so easy to like them. It was a powerful incentive to be likable in return.

We had passed a jewelry store on the way into the mall, and I excused myself for a moment because there was something I wanted to look at again. It was just across and down the hall, within sight of the bench we were sitting on, so I could feel the eyes on my back the whole time. Thankfully, I was spared from hearing the accompanying comments, though I'm sure I could guess.

In the jewelry store window was a beautiful, beach-themed display. The background was a photograph of a sand dune, with a cloudless blue sky above and a lone seagull soaring high toward the sun. Real, sparkling, buff-colored sand was layered all around, and miniature but very real-looking sea oats were growing from it. Colorful seashells and sand dollars were scattered in strategic positions, adding interest. In the center, like a lost treasure resting in the sand, was a gorgeous aquamarine set in a platinum band with a lattice of diamonds on either side.

The stone was a rare, deep blue color, with only the barest hint of green. Normally, aquamarines are sky blue. I had never seen one like this in person. I was tempted to go inside and ask to try on the ring. But I was sure the salespeople would laugh at me, or, more likely, no one would wait on me, so the desire to feel the ring on my finger swiftly transformed into a velleity ( _a mere wish, unaccompanied by any effort to obtain it_ ). I always thought that Velleity would have made an excellent middle name for me.

I wasn't usually big into jewelry. What pieces I owned I had received as gifts from mainly my grandpa, who definitely _was_ into jewelry—well, the gemstones that eventually became jewelry, that is. I didn't wear any of them, though, because they made me sad. But the mesmerizing blue beauty of this stone, like a big drop of water from some tropical sea, was completely dazzling.

I purposely didn't look at the price tag, which was discreetly propped in the sand near the back of the window in tiny print. The fact that this single ring was displayed all alone in valuable marquee space indicated that the price was "if you have to ask, you can't afford it."

I stood there for the longest time, just staring and imagining. The bright display lights that shown down on the scene made the jewel, the diamonds, and the sand sparkle in a way that was entrancing. The lights also warmed the glass, adding to the sensation of being in some warm tropical place. The warmth felt good on my face. It was a very pleasant escape. In any case, it was nice to not have to make conversation; I'd have plenty of that to do at the dinner table.

I saw the buzzer flashing in my mom's hand when I glanced over my shoulder. Taking one last longing gaze at the beautiful blue gem, I turned and sauntered back to her side and then into the restaurant.

Dinner was good. Hoyt ordered fish, as always. Mom and I shared a pasta dish, and then we each had our own dessert. I always ordered the same thing, Chocolate Tuxedo cheesecake. It was wonderful every time, and the obvious choice, because I couldn't tolerate surprises or disappointments when it came to dessert. Mom, however, felt obligated to try something different each time, which always led to regret and dessert envy, and she would invariably end up eating my treat with me.

"Isn't that what you got last time?" she asked after the waitress was heading off with our dessert order.

"That's what I get every time, Mom," I replied, as I briefly locked eyes with Hoyt, who without saying so acknowledged that we'd had this conversation the last time with a nod.

"Don't you want to try something new?"

No.

"Mom, Tuxedo cheesecake is fabulous every time. Besides, you need to have something reliable to fall back on when yours doesn't work out like you hoped," I said with a smile because I knew I had her there.

She just smirked, but Hoyt flashed me a quick smile and arched eyebrows, validating me again.

"Neophobe," she accused.

"Homophobe," I accused right back, but with lots of cheek because I knew she would feel obligated to explain my response to Hoyt (whose expression was now decidedly alarmed) and thereby have to use the word _homosexual_ in clarifying that, although fear of such was an alternate meaning, a person with a fear of monotony or sameness was the primary definition of what I had accused her of being.

Hoyt hated our game and couldn't play even if he wanted to.

When dessert arrived, even before she took a bite of her white chocolate raspberry swirl cheesecake, she was eyeing mine lustfully. With an internal sigh, I took a knife and cut my dessert in half. Then after feigning interest in her dessert, I offered, "Mom, would you like to split and share?"

She gave me a sympathetic look, as though she felt pity for my plight of being stuck with a whole slice of boring old Chocolate Tuxedo cheesecake.

As if she were deliberating about whether she should decline and teach me a lesson or take the high road and be charitable, she paused before answering my query.

"Well...okay," she finally said with a sigh.

She finished off her half of my dessert before I did.

As we were walking out of the restaurant, she asked, "What were you looking at for so long at the jewelry store?"

"Oh, they have a very rare deep-tone aquamarine on display. It's amazing. I was surprised to see it there. I can't imagine anybody around here buying a ring like that. It's not the kind of piece you'd normally find at a mall jewelry store."

She was intrigued.

"Let's go see it," she suggested enthusiastically.

She was always especially interested in things I liked, but I entertained no false hope that she might buy the ring for me. I knew the price had to be well into the five-figure range. But she enjoyed gawking at beautiful things as much as I did, so we strolled arm in arm back to the display window. Hoyt was checking his cell phone and promised to catch up momentarily.

I was surprised to see a completely different arrangement in the window, some kind of black pearl necklace and earring set. I looked around to see if I was at the wrong window—the store did have more than one—but I was sure it had been the closest one, right near the bench. I walked over to the next window, which contained a ruby necklace display, same as before. The windows on the other side of the store entrance had the same merchandise as before.

Strange.

Mom could see the confusion on my face.

"It's not out here anymore," I muttered, still mystified.

"Why don't we go in and ask about it?" she suggested.

I nodded in agreement, and we entered the store. She did the talking when a salesperson approached.

"Excuse me, we were wondering about the aquamarine piece that was in the window before we ate dinner," she began.

The salesperson had a puzzled look on her face but then shook her head, as if banishing a thought, and smiled at us.

"Yes, the three-karat aquamarine in platinum? We just sold it, not thirty minutes ago."

She was beaming, I realized. It was, no doubt, the afterglow of a large commission enhancing her mood.

Mom countered, "Well, that's too bad. Do you mind telling me what was the price? We didn't see before."

The salesperson took on a bit of an arrogant aura as she informed us, "That piece was priced at just under fifty thousand and worth every penny—absolutely stunning. We just received it this week," she said, turning a little wistful.

Mom raised her eyebrows as she looked at me. That price sounded right to me, and my eyebrows stayed relaxed in place.

Mom wasn't done digging. "Do you mind telling me what kind of person bought it?"

The woman leaned in, happy to dish.

"It was a man buying it as an engagement ring for his girlfriend. I bet she'll say yes," she said and laughed at her joke.

It didn't seem funny to me, though. I felt a prick of jealousy.

"No doubt," Mom agreed.

"Can I show you ladies something else?" she asked hopefully.

"No, that's all right. Mystery solved. Thanks for your help," Mom concluded smoothly, as we exited the store.

Hoyt was standing across the hall at the display window of a golf shop, daydreaming, along with several other men, about a new set of clubs. He snapped back to reality when we approached.

"Do we still have time for the cruise?" Mom asked, suddenly remembering we were supposed to be on a schedule.

"Sure. It will be close, but I called while you were in the jewelry store, and they're not sold out. We'll be fine on time, if we leave right now," Hoyt assured her.

"Is that what you'd like to do, then?" she asked me, though I had already agreed.

"Sure," I confirmed as she took one of my hands and one of Hoyt's, so that she could walk between us on our way back to the car.

In my free hand I carried a doggy bag, which held two completely untouched halves of a slice of white chocolate raspberry swirl cheesecake—but not my purse.

The riverboat cruise was nice. We rode on the famous _Belle of Louisville,_ the height of luxury and comfort in river travel in the early 1900s. No other river steamboat in American history has lasted as long, been to as many places, or traveled as many miles as the _Belle._ I hoped I looked as good when I was in my nineties. She was even still racing her old nemesis, the _Delta Queen,_ in the Great Steamboat Race, held every year since the sixties on the Wednesday before Derby Day. We got to see the "Golden Antlers" on display in the captain's office. It was the trophy that resided with the winner each year. _Belle_ had beaten _Queen_ twenty-two versus nineteen times up to this year. Hoyt seemed to believe the rumors that the winner has always been predetermined, but I clung to the notion that the race's winner was determined by steam and good old-fashioned girl-power gumption, not sterile coin flipping. They had the calliope going while we sailed, and I particularly enjoyed that. As it turns out, _Belle_ has a beautiful voice too.

It was a warm night, but not too hot, and the breeze coming off the water felt wonderful on my face. The sun was low on the horizon, but it didn't get dark until close to nine o'clock, so I could see fairly well. I'd been planning to wear my sunglasses, thinking that this would help disguise my staring at people, but the dusky lighting made it too dark to get away with it. So I just had to be surreptitious about my snooping. I tried to look carefully at each face, particularly the eyes. This was trickier than I'd thought it would be because once we were moving, most people were standing with their backs to me, facing out toward the river to see the water and the scenery.

I counted thirty-eight passengers on the top deck. A handful of people were inside, below, but it didn't seem likely that someone watching me would spend the whole time out of sight hitting the bar. I did what I could to observe the people around me, but there were no suspicious or familiar-looking characters, so eventually I switched to enjoying the scenery myself. There was a gorgeous sunset, the orange and pink and purple kind, and it made the occasion all the more pleasant.

The cruise lasted for an hour, returning to the dock around nine. We were making our way to the stairs to disembark, when, in a moment of stupid forgetfulness, I had an involuntary turn-around reaction to the sensation of not having my purse with me. But then I went with it, realizing that it was exactly the right thing to do, if I had actually lost it. Mom noticed my hesitation and body language and asked, "What's wrong?"

I answered with appropriate concern, "My purse. I think I left it."

We backtracked to where we had initially been seated before rising to stand at the rails like everyone else. There was no purse, of course. I acted concerned and a little upset, though its loss, including the actual purse itself, would constitute no more than seven dollars of financial setback, I estimated.

Mom tried to soothe me by asking, "Honey, do you think you may have left it in the car?"

_No._ I smiled inwardly.

"Maybe...I hope so," I replied with real nervousness, wondering if anyone was watching and listening to this. I couldn't tell for sure, and it was frustrating.

We eventually made our way to the car. Hoyt hit the button on the remote to unlock the doors, and I climbed into the back. It was nearly dark now. I stepped on something as my feet came to rest behind my mom's seat. To my amazement and dread, I pulled up my recovered purse, placed for me where I would think I'd left it, in my stepfather's locked vehicle, while I'd been sailing on the river.

I knew for sure now that I would need to be extremely careful, from this moment on, because people with tricks I couldn't begin to imagine were watching me very closely and responding to my experiments.

# Chapter 6

Mom and Hoyt were already long gone for work one morning. It was mid-July, and I was still sleeping in late in the mornings—part of the novelty of nowhere to be while school was out for the summer. There was bright, annoying light flooding all around the edges of my "room-darkening" shades (a misnomer if ever there was one), making me feel awake, when all I really wanted was to keep dreaming.

So now I was just lying there with a pillow over my head. Adding to my annoyance with the present alignment of the solar system, my own body was rebelling. My back was starting to ache the way it does when I've been in bed for too long; a similar phenomenon was occurring with my bladder.

As I continued to lie there, laziness still winning out over annoyance and discomfort, I heard the familiar sound of the mail truck working its way up the street. My mind was drifting, and it reminded me of a conversation I'd once had with my mom about Postal Service vehicles.

"For one thing," I began, "you'd think they would buy American."

Her expression remained politely attentive, though she stared slightly through me.

"You know, right-side steering wheels? British, obviously," I continued.

Her eyebrow raised a fraction.

"And then they aren't equipped with standard mufflers, the kind that muffle sound," I added with a smile, amusing myself.

"What?"

Her reply was a little uncertain, as though she were just now tuning in.

"Think about it ... the sound, I mean. You can always hear the mail truck coming. Nothing else sounds like that, right?" I ventured.

She was looking at me but seeing something far away now as I waited for acknowledgment of my important findings. Refocusing her eyes on my face, she offered, "I gueeessss."

Her tone added the "Whatever, sweetheart. I wish for your sake that you weren't so strange."

That conversation had taken place before Grandpa died. I chuckled to myself, imagining how different her response would have been if I had brought it up more recently. She'd be totally zoned in and ridiculously enthusiastic. She'd probably even throw me in the car and run me to the post office to arrange a tour and a ride-with.

I snapped back to the present.

Was that the doorbell?

As if in answer to my question, there was a quiet knock downstairs. I jumped out of bed, fully dressed—from yesterday. I didn't go anywhere or sweat, so what's the difference?

The mailman must have known I was in there. I thought for sure he'd be heading back to his truck on the street. But he was still patiently waiting for me on the porch when I got to the door after what seemed like a long time to me.

"Good mornin'," he began. "I have a certified letter for uh ..." he looked down to read it, "eee ... lary Mayne?"

He seemed to question his pronunciation, rightly so.

"Um, yes. That's me," I replied.

"All righty then."

He secured the envelope to a clipboard and handed it to me. There was a pen with a dirty-looking string duct taped to its top that secured it to the board.

"I just need your signature right here," he said as he pointed to the line on the green form that was affixed to the front of the letter.

I made a mental note to be sure to wash my hands first thing; no telling how many germs were on that pen.

Once I signed, he tore the form off along the perforations. "Then he handed me my letter and slipped the green form with my proof of delivery signature into an envelope taped to the clipboard.

"You have a good day now," he offered cheerfully and headed to his truck.

He got back in, and though my door was closed now, I could tell when he stepped on the gas.

My eyes turned to the upper left corner of the envelope.

"The Bank of Louisville?"

I checked the address line. Sure enough, it was addressed to "Ms. Ellery S. Mayne."

"Huh."

I went to the kitchen to open it. First I washed up. Then I opened the knife drawer. It was one of my many and oddball pet peeves to see people (well, primarily my mother) rip open and destroy perfectly good envelopes when it was so much neater to just use a letter opener. We didn't have a letter opener, however, so I guess I could understand my mom's method, to an extent. But we did have knives, and they worked remarkably well for this purpose.

Inside this intriguing envelope was a single sheet, more Bank of Louisville letterhead. It notified me that a trust had been established in my name and that because I was now of legal age, I needed to meet with the trust administrator to discuss my rights and obligations. Turning eighteen had more advantages than I anticipated.

It was signed by Dwight Matthews, Legal Counsel, Vice President, Trust Administration.

"Huh."

I picked up the phone and started dialing. The number connected me with a pleasantly efficient-sounding assistant to Mr. Matthews. I told her my name, and she put me through to him directly.

"Hello, Ms. Mayne. Thank you for calling so promptly. I'd like to meet with you as soon as possible to discuss your trust. And I'm sure you have a number of questions for me."

He had a very friendly and relaxed manner, which put me at ease.

"Uh ... yes, sir ... I suppose I do."

He didn't know it, but I was still cruising in shy mode.

"Well, that's completely understandable. Now, how soon can you meet with me?" he asked.

"Um ... I'm available today, but I don't drive," I informed on myself.

He chuckled a little, no doubt at my greedy enthusiasm, and said, "Oh, that's not a problem. I can send a car for you if you'd like."

Although this had the feel of legitimacy, I decided to use common sense and some caution. After all, how hard would it be to fake some important stationery and use my own greed against me to lure me in? I certainly didn't want a repeat of the "perfume" incident, though it might be interesting to see who would rescue me this time.

"No, that's okay. I can get a ride. What time should I meet you?" I countered.

"I've got an opening from noon to two o'clock today. I was going to order in some lunch for my staff today. You can join us, if you'd like, then we can talk after that," he offered, putting me at ease again.

Mr. Matthews had a really nice-sounding voice. If he looked anything like he sounded, he would be very handsome.

I agreed, and he gave me detailed directions to his downtown office on Broadway, as well as his direct line in case I got lost. I thought about calling Hoyt and asking him to drive me down there, and then maybe we could stop over and see Mom at the library afterward. Hoyt could come and go from work as he pleased unless he had a specific meeting on his schedule. He was always pleasantly willing to help me out on spur-of-the-moment chauffeuring requests. And that was even before I became so mental. Now he and Mom both practically tripped over each other to comply whenever I asked to be taken somewhere, which, admittedly, was rare these days.

But then my thoughts took a different tack. This business about my being of legal age must have started a mental ball rolling up there. It seemed as if this was something I should go and see to all by myself.

There was only about an hour and a half until noon.

A game plan began to take shape in my mind. I hopped in for a quick shower. Then I blow dried and fussed with my hair until it was perfectly smooth and twisted into a braid down my back. I decided that this occasion called for better clothes than what was available in my closet, so I picked out an ensemble of my mom's that had looked great on her. Once I had that all in place, I decided that I was going to have to put on some makeup, too. Since I didn't have any of my own, I picked through her cosmetics drawer until I had made the amateurish improvements I thought I required. Then I did something very grown up—something I'd never done before—I called a taxi.

I felt absolutely ridiculous wearing a hat, but at the same time I didn't think I could pull off the outfit without it. It looked best with the hat, I assured myself, and I purposely turned the volume down on the internal critical commentary that was beginning to sound alarmingly like an episode of _What Not to Wear._

Besides, a hat helped to obscure and offset my extremely youthful face and hairstyle; in fact, that had been the point of the whole ensemble and the motive for raiding Mom's closet in the first place.

I pulled out five twenties from the stash in my dresser, not certain what it cost to be driven back and forth downtown, and wished that I would have gotten my license two years ago like a normal teenager. I even had a perfectly good Jeep waiting for me in the garage! Well, it was too late to lament my stunted development today.

It was unusually mild, probably after so much rain this week, so I spent the last few moments on our front porch anticipating the arrival of the taxi, stepping out into the sunshine to warm up a little. As I lifted my face to the warm rays of the sun, I had to smile when I thought about my mom's expression if she saw me at this moment, especially dressed in her outfit and then riding away in a taxi.

Just then the taxi pulled in, and I moved off the porch and out to the drive, hopping in the back, only to face more uncertainty.

"You headin' to Churchill Downs?" asked the driver, an older man who apparently was retired from his stint in the band ZZ Top.

If I could have chosen my own taxi in which to ride, based on the appearance of the driver, this one would not have made the cut. It was a clear case of pognophobia ( _fear of beards_ ).

"No. Downtown. Five hundred Broadway, please."

He shrugged, as if disappointed, and backed the car out of the driveway. I smiled to myself when, as we were getting on the highway, he turned his music back up, and sure enough, "Legs" was vibrating out of the speakers.

The ride downtown went fast. I wondered what my watchers were making of this. It was completely off the charts as far as activity went for me. I'd purposely stayed out of sight in the beginning, self-conscious about being observed and certain my awkward embarrassment would tip them off that I knew I was being surveilled. Unfortunately, they didn't give up because I was boring, and cabin fever finally won out over stage fright. It occurred to me that since they had saved my life, I probably owed it to them to be a little more interesting. That being the case, I enjoyed a bit of satisfaction thinking that today's adventure would have multiple benefits.

# Chapter 7

Mr. Matthews was heavy and very tall—an absolute giant of a person. He had a pleasant face, but he wasn't as handsome as his voice.

He and his assistant were clearly expecting my mom or some other custodian to appear from around the corner, if their repeated glances behind me were any indication. Then, wishing to settle the matter, I suppose, Mr. Matthews asked, "Uh, Miss Mayne, are you here alone?"

Suddenly, being independent and seeing to things on my own felt like a bad choice. But I wanted to speak for myself, and I knew that would never happen unless I was by myself.

"Yes, sir," I replied, trying not to sound nervous, but failing.

"Oh, it's not a problem, I just ... well, I expected your mother to be here too, but I'll provide you with a copy of all the documentation. You can share it with her later, if you like."

"Thank you," I answered quietly.

We'll have to see about that.

Being vertically challenged as I was, even normal people seemed tall to me. But when this man stood next to his assistant and several other members of his department while they made up their plates of catered lunch food, it was clear that he was big, perhaps the biggest person I had ever encountered.

I followed him along the table, where a full spread from a barbecue place had been set up. Containers of pulled pork, coleslaw, corn pudding, baked beans, and ten different flavors of barbecue sauce filled up the surface area. I hadn't eaten all day, but my nervousness in a foreign environment filled with curious strangers suppressed my appetite. As a result, I dumped a mostly untouched sample platter into the garbage when lunch was over. In contrast, the plastic cup full of ice and Cherry Coke was completely empty when I pitched that.

After lunch, Mr. Matthews (Dwight, as I was instructed to address him) guided me to a leather chair inside his office, a place where clues about his past fit perfectly with his body size. There was an impressive collection of Ohio State University football memorabilia crammed into every available square inch of wall and desk space. The sense of collegiate affiliation-based kinship washed over me like a warm breeze. Dwight was a big old Buckeye and a former national title winning offensive linesman. My grandpa had been a Buckeye, too. This shed light on the latter's selection process as it related to the handling of his estate.

I never did absorb his love for college football, but time spent in Grandpa's company had transformed me into a very enthusiastic fan of the OSU marching band. I was hooked from the first time I saw them perform their famous "Script Ohio" routine, this amazing marching formation of the word _Ohio_ in script style. Even though from the stands it seemed like a small detail, what I loved most was that a tuba player got to be the dot of the _I,_ and he gyrated and danced in the most diverting way. It seemed like a person who would choose to play tuba wouldn't be such an exhibitionist. I loved the unexpected nature of the contrast I found in that. One of our season ticket−holding neighbors said the guy was a dentistry student named Steve. I don't know why, but that made it even funnier to me.

You could purchase the band's recordings (tuba solos and all), and Grandpa had set me up with an admirable collection, once he'd ascertained my more than cursory interest there. I liked to think that I was the only person in the world who listened to the OSU marching band on my iPod.

A large photograph of the Script Ohio scene took up most of the wall above the credenza behind Dwight's desk, and I gazed at it for some time, taking a mental journey back to one fall day in Columbus. I was at a home game with my OSU alumni grandfather, the first huge sporting event I had ever attended. It was awesome. Over the blasts of music from the band and the roar of the crowd, Grandpa yelled in my ear, explaining what was happening and pointing things out, like the extremely small visiting team's fan section of wimpy, hopelessly outnumbered outsiders dressed in blue, completely surrounded by an army in red.

The Buckeyes won, of course, and afterward I was fascinated by the singular experience of walking among a huge throng of such happy, satisfied people. Thank goodness for the win.

On our three-hour drive home from Columbus to Louisville that day, Grandpa and I fell easily into conversation about the game and the stadium and the band and his days as a geology student at OSU. It was funny to think of him as ever having been young. He'd had white hair since long before I was born. He never acted old, though. Even as we flew down I-71, passing every other vehicle as if they were going backward, he seemed youthful in his enthusiasm for life and adventure. It made his comments all the more anomalous ( _jarring_ ).

"You know, Ellery, I'm getting up there in years. It's hard to say how much time I have left, though I know it isn't nearly enough. Lately I've been thinking about what I need to do to make sure that you're taken care of when I'm gone," he said as he glanced over at me before turning his attention back to the road.

"Well, that's very nice of you, but two things. One, you're as healthy as a horse, and two, I was planning on taking care of myself. I may look like my mom, but I'd like to think that's where the similarities end."

I didn't like this topic, as my snappish response must have clearly demonstrated. He chuckled and then sighed.

"So you think you're Monica on the outside and Matthew on the inside. Is that it?" he proposed, smiling at his precisely correct supposition.

"No. I'm all me, with a dash of Samuel mixed in, of course," I answered, hoping the compliment would camouflage my chagrin.

He liked that. There was a pause while the weight of the subject matter pulled both our thoughts to a lower altitude. I never let myself think about life without him. It was too painful. For someone I barely knew the first half of my life, he had taken over as king of the second half.

Grandpa wasn't finished with the topic and pushed on.

"I'm very proud of you, Ellery. I know your mother babies you, but that's for her benefit, not yours."

No kidding.

He continued, "I have no doubt that you can take care of yourself. You take excellent care of me right now. But when I'm gone, the things that used to be mine will be yours, and that includes my house, my savings, my mineral collection, and my Buckeye season tickets."

He named off his assets in ascending personal value, with the college football tickets at the apex, I noticed.

I had never given much thought to his financial worth. Doing so was too closely linked with contemplating his absence. I'd rather have him than his money.

He continued, "Now, the house you can sell, the money you can spend any way you see fit, but I want your word that you'll never part with the collection or the Buckeye tickets."

I was looking at the taillights of the traffic ahead of us when he said this. I thought he was joking about my selling the house and spending all the money, so I laughed, but when he didn't join me, I looked over at him and saw that he was being completely serious.

"I want that collection to be our family legacy. It has pieces that my father found, pieces that I found, and I want you to add to it and someday give it to your child so that he or she, or they, can add to it. You must never sell it, or any pieces of it. Do you promise me?"

This was the most gravely serious conversation we'd ever had. The intensity and finality of his words frightened me a little. I had to gulp down a frog in my throat before I could get out a very shaky-sounding, "I promise."

"It's the same way with the Bucks' tickets. It's a tradition, and I want you to keep it going for as long as you can. Will you promise me that, too?"

"Do I have to go to all the games, or can I bestow the tickets upon worthy recipients?"

"Well, I guess. Just don't give up control of the tickets. Use the money from your inheritance to pay for them, no matter what they cost. And then use them ... wisely," which I knew meant "Go to the games yourself."

"I suppose I'll need to find myself a Buckeye for a husband then," I joked.

"That's my girl!"

His clear blue eyes were bright with pleasure as he reached out to smooth my hair.

"Of course, it's going to be real tricky to find a husband for you," he said with a strange undercurrent.

I looked over at him in surprise. He never teased me about things like that. What did he mean?

The hurt and confusion must have been plain on my face. He smiled reassuringly at me and patted my arm.

"That didn't come out right. What I meant to say was that it will be a trick finding someone good enough for you. You're quite special, you know."

Yeah, as in "special needs."

"It gives me so much pleasure to see you growing up into such a fine young woman. You're not just a pretty face. You're something more. Of course, I know I'm partial, but even so, you give me lots and lots of reasons to be proud."

I was watching his face while he was talking, deciding between what was fluff and what was sincere. He was being mostly sincere, I had to admit.

"I know you're very fond of Hoyt, but, Ellery, if and when you do get married ... "

Key word if.

"If I'm fortunate enough to still be alive, would you do me the honor of allowing _me_ to escort you down the aisle?"

I was relieved and humored a little by the absurdity of his question. I chuckled and said, "Oh, Grandpa! That was never a question. The real question is, what man could I ever prevail upon to marry me?" I asked, laughing at my joke.

Then I continued, a bit more sincerely, "Well, whoever he is—if he even exists—he's also going to have to ask you for your blessing. So you need to stick around for at least that long, which may ultimately be the key to your longevity, I expect. Immortality, possibly." _Or not._

Suddenly, I was back at the Bank of Louisville. My host was speaking to me, and I snapped into reality.

"It's kind of funny, but you make me think of your grandfather," said Dwight, as I pulled my gaze away from the panoramic home game photo on the wall and returned to present time and place.

I didn't answer, but it wasn't a question, so I didn't need to. Instead I smiled politely as he studied me for a moment in quiet speculation.

"You don't look like him, but you sound like him. I think it's the way you say things," he elaborated.

I had a habit of speech chameleonism (my term). This was a reflexive, generally subtle adaptation of accent and turns of phrase to mimic the person I was speaking to. Grandpa had the same habit, which was far more pronounced than my own since he didn't know a stranger and talked constantly with everyone. This trait of his was no doubt the source of my own, though whether it was a product of nature or nurture I couldn't be sure.

He blinked out of his abstraction and smiled at me.

"You look very much like your mother, though. I met with her regarding the sale of Dr. Mayne's house."

He didn't know it, but he'd just touched a nerve. The sale of the house had happened quickly and without my knowledge. My mom had met with the executor, Mr. Matthews here, and together they had decided to sell the most personally important part of my inheritance without even consulting me. I had been too depressed and out of it at the time to kick up the kind of fuss this action deserved. Now with a little water under the bridge, some of the ire I felt over that situation had surfaced. This must have registered in my expression.

"Your mother's a beautiful lady," he added, sensing my negativity.

"Oh, I know. Thank you for the compliment. What I don't understand is why the house had to be sold so quickly. And why nobody bothered to even ask me about it. If it had been up to me, Grandpa's house would not have been sold."

He looked uncomfortable. After clearing his throat, he tried to explain his trespass.

"I'm so sorry. I can imagine that there must have been a good deal of sentimentality attached to your grandfather's home for you, but your mother assured me that it was what you wanted. In fact, I requested a meeting with you about it, but she said it would upset you, so ... "

That sounded about right. She was correct about my being upset; she also happened to be the cause.

"Well, I would have put it off until you were eighteen, allowing you to have the legal right to decide, but we received an extraordinary offer for the property and the estate. The figure was more than twice the market value that our appraiser had set. The real estate market had just tanked, and I felt like we'd never get another offer like this again. So I approved the transaction, thinking it was best for you, financially."

"I see. Well, it's spilt milk now, anyway," and I sighed, looking down at the hat in my hands.

It was obvious he had been acting in my best interests, or at least he thought he had been.

"I could inquire about buying it back for you, if you'd like," he said with a grin. "But first we need to cover the balance sheet of your grandfather's estate. You probably didn't feel any different, but when you turned eighteen this summer, you became a millionaire."

I laughed because I knew he was joking. It seemed like a cruel thing to joke about, though, given his job title. Turns out he wasn't being the least bit facetious.

"Your grandfather lived fairly modestly, so this may come as a surprise to you, but the reality is that he had accumulated significant cash reserves, a very valuable and diversified stock portfolio, and controlling interest in several business ventures. Combined with the estimated market value of his mineral collection, the total value of his estate, which fluctuates with the changes in the stock market, is currently a figure that's closer to nine digits than seven."

Math wasn't my specialty. I had to think about that statement for a minute, looking at my fingers to arrive at the correct numeric term. The shock on my face was probably nothing new to a person in his position. I imagined that certain aspects of his job paralleled the functions of the Publishers Clearing House Prize Patrol—except no balloons or oversize cardboard check.

"Your inheritance will fall to you in phases. Your education and living expenses will be paid for, obviously. You'll also receive a monthly allowance in discretionary funds until your twenty-first birthday, at which time you will legally inherit the majority of Dr. Mayne's estate."

He took a breath while he reviewed the information inside a file he had opened up.

"So I'll be issuing you a debit card for those funds today. Now, there is one notable exception. Regarding the disposition of the rare minerals collection: according to his specific directions, it will remain in trust, stored here in the vault, to be transferred to your possession, age notwithstanding, only when you present a valid marriage license and a signed sworn affidavit that you will retain the surname Mayne."

He scanned my face, trying to read my reaction to my world being turned on its end. Then he continued, "It's an odd stipulation, but I have to uphold his wishes. I think he meant for his collection to be a very nice wedding gift for you, and an incentive to keep the Mayne family name alive. If you should happen to die single, the collection will be gifted to The Ohio State University."

I had overheard people at the funeral talking about the legendary Mayne Mineral Collection, speculating on its financial value. It was one of the most complete compilations of gemstone specimens in the world. But what made it truly unique was the fact that the pieces were exclusively collected at their natural deposits by members of the same rock-hounding family: Dr. Samuel Mayne and his father, Dr. Lars Mayne. The collection contained no acquisitions, only personally unearthed specimens. That distinction made it truly remarkable and priceless. I'd seen it for myself just one time, years ago when Grandpa had first moved to Louisville. It was the first and only time I'd ever visited the inside of a vault. The stones were all in their rough, uncut form, unceremoniously jumbled together in an old shoebox. To untrained eyes, they would simply appear to be a box of rocks. In their cut and polished versions, however, they would rival the crown jewels of England, or so it was speculated. The true quality and value of a gem can only be assessed after its cutting.

So if they were depending on my romantic conquests to see the light of display someday, well, that might be an indefinitely long wait, similar to their formative days in the earth's crust. I hoped that their storage accommodations in the vault were comfortable. It seemed most likely that sometime in the relatively near future happy days would befall the earth sciences department at OSU ... and its budget.

After my paradigm-shifting conference with Dwight Matthews Esquire, things really weren't as different in my life as I would have thought. But then I realized that what Grandpa always said was true: money doesn't make you happy; people do.

No one knew the difference in my prospects but me, and Dwight, of course. And nothing was really all that different. Discretionary funds were for people who shopped. I was still depressed and lonely. I still missed my grandpa. In fact, I would trade every last penny and gem to see his smiling face just one more time, to tell him I loved him and say a proper goodbye.

He always did love surprises. Too bad he couldn't be here to see my face for the biggest surprise in the history of blindsides.

# Chapter 8

The summer was winding to a close. It seemed like an eternity. I reflected back on my summer break and realized with embarrassment that I hadn't done anything useful or profitable the entire time. Well, on occasion I had done the laundry and the dishes. I guess that's useful. But this had been the year I was going to get a summer job. Now the only experience I could detail on my resume was that I had conducted research on the nature and effects of psychotic and antisocial behavior.

School would be back in session in less than a week. I was absolutely dreading it. Though I enjoyed learning and the classroom environment, I loathed the times in between classes. The halls and the lunchroom were crowded and noisy but still lonely somehow. It seemed that everyone had friends and plans. I never had either.

Of course, it was my own fault. The year before my mom had brought home How to Win Friends and Influence People from the library self-help section and required that I read it, which I dutifully did. I did garner some useful relationship skills there. The hardest part for me was lack of confidence in a group dynamic. In a one-on-one situation I could function tolerably. But if "people" were listening, the reticent side of me would invariably take over. The adrenaline would trigger my flawed fight-or-flight instinct, and coward that I am, that dysfunctional cataplexy _(sudden loss of muscle power following a strong emotional stimulus)_ response was involuntary. My insecurities just couldn't handle the audience. Also, I found that, in general, the people who made good friends weren't sitting alone waiting for me to make contact. They were already surrounded by interesting, informed, intelligent companions and had no need for anything less, which my addition would certainly be.

It's amazing how many people you could be friends with if only they'd make the first approach. But nobody ever did, so I viewed everyone from afar. I would observe my schoolmates and form opinions and preferences, identifying the heroes and villains while perfecting the art of peripheral vision observation. But it was all in secret and pointless.

It dawned on me, sort of belatedly, that because I still didn't have my license (something else I was going to do this summer but never did), I would have to catch the bus to school. I'd played the sympathy card the last several months of my junior year, garnering car rides from one or the other parent until school had let out, but I knew it was inconvenient for them, so I considered that gravy train officially derailed. Being a senior bus rider seemed more embarrassing to me now that I had people watching. I wondered what they would think about that. Maybe that I was grounded? No car, no friends, and no life ... all summer. Short of setting the library on fire or engaging in grammatically incorrect graffiti vandalism, I couldn't imagine a universe where Mom would ever be mad enough at me to shut down my whole summer like that. Of course, giving off the false impression that I was being punished because I'd been bad was exponentially cooler than the truth of the matter: a case of terminal lameness.

I really needed to get my license. I already had a car. My grandpa's Jeep Cherokee was parked in the third bay of our garage. It had been sitting there patiently waiting for me since wintertime. I had gone with him to the dealership to "help" him pick it out the previous spring. He always joked that the Jeep belonged to me and that he was just borrowing it until I got my license. So I was shocked when my mom showed me the title. She had found it among other neatly filed important documents while she was going through his things after he died. The Jeep had been paid for in cash and was registered in my name. Apparently it was no joke.

Mom insisted on taking me school shopping, an annual event that I was glad would be over after this year. We began and ended at Old Navy. She wanted to hit every sale in the mall, but I assured her that a few new items were all I needed since it didn't appear I was growing anymore, and my collection of new school clothes from last year was still perfectly good. Appealing to her practical side always yielded favorable results, especially when money was on the line.

I enjoyed my last few days of sleeping in and tried to prepare my mind for the new environment ahead of me. This was my second year at this school, so at least I would know my way around. It was large though, with about two thousand students. On the first day of school the traffic out front was a nightmare. The buses were able to go around into a separate buses-only entrance. If I had driven and hadn't shown up an hour early, I would have been late. So my transportation situation wasn't completely without its benefits.

I could not have imagined the reversal that awaited me in regards to mobility ... and society.

# Chapter 9

I was inordinately pleased with myself. I had devised a plan to flush out a number of my observers—perhaps all of them—in the same week. I'd be taking a big risk, of course. As a result of this little series of maneuvers, I was certain that security would become far tighter, and that it would be exponentially more difficult to pull something of this nature off in the future, if it were to become necessary, that is.

I had wrestled with myself about the advisability of moving forward with my plans when there wasn't an emergency or any real reason to do it, other than to satisfy my curiosity and my desire to mess with them ... just a little.

Because I was convinced that there was a fairly large team, which must be organized into shifts, I thought it would be most advantageous to perpetrate a double- or even a triple-header: back-to-back incidents to expose the various personnel assigned to my detail over the course of several consecutive days. Of paramount importance, though, was the necessity to ensure that my actions did not appear to be the result of premeditation or planning of any sort. They had to think the breaches in security were unrelated and completely their fault. It would ruin everything for all of us if they knew the fault was mine.

My plan had taken form slowly over the course of several weeks as I became acquainted with the most ridiculous-looking person I had ever known in my life. Her name was Samantha Sun. She was into the Goth look, a style that suggests horror and mystery. To some it is simply a mode of fashion, to others an entire lifestyle. Either way, a gothic look involves very black clothing and very white makeup with edgy, tough accessories. Samantha also drew upon punk influences, incorporating a little of both to create her own hideously ugly personal style that evoked a frustrating but undeniable morbid fascination on my part.

Sitting next to her in our shared advanced senior English class provided a much closer view than would have presented itself to me in the natural order of things. People who looked like her normally frightened and repulsed me. Well, now that I was older, what they really did was irritate me with such backward attempts to gain attention—something that offended me on multiple levels.

Upon very close scrutiny, it was clear that somewhere deep beneath the layers of densely overdone black makeup and jet black hair highlighted with random streaks of white and neon pink was a perfectly pretty girl. She had great bone structure. Her eyes (and her surname) made me think she might have some Asian heritage. She was tall and thin, willowy and graceful. Her bulky black clothes (and platform shoes that made her nearly seven feet tall) combined with her heavy, painful-looking jewelry all but obscured her true self. I imagined that was the point, though I couldn't guess why.

I was ashamed of my mental bigotry, assuming that she was stupid, or insecure, or mistakenly vain. I would never, ever say such unkind things aloud, but the fact that nobody around me knew what I was thinking didn't change the ugly truth that I was being prejudiced and unfair. Who was I to judge this book by her cover? Vowing to amend my ways, I decided to see what it would be like to be friends with a person like Samantha. The upside was that it didn't seem as if I would be in anybody's way trying.

It turned out that Sam was surprisingly smart for someone who looked so stupid. Of course, she was in advanced English with me, but I didn't think of that until later. I had framed my introduction by informing her that my middle name was also Samantha, not Velleity, as perhaps it should have been.

When we conversed before and after class, I found her to be engaging and fun with a quick wit and a rather dark sense of humor, which I enjoyed immensely. I think she understood how hard I was trying and seemed pleased to be the object of such effort. She was the only girl my own age that I had ever felt so at ease around, which was ironic, considering the normal effect Goth-looking people had on me. When I quizzed her on her likes and tastes, she directed me to a whole new world of books, music, and movies I never knew I liked. I'd been avoiding entertainment of every sort for a while, and it was enjoyable to reengage that part of myself again, especially with the assistance of a knowledgeable guide.

We had only one class together, and it quickly turned into the highlight of my day. Before long I was invited to join her for lunch, which was a huge thrill for me. The joy was dampened, though, when I followed her to our table and realized we would not be eating alone. The dampening had to do with the realization that she was part of a clan and not my exclusive property. I was sliding helplessly back into reticent mode even before I sat down with them. But Samantha, who must have anticipated such a reaction, was determined to keep me engaged and interviewed me like a talk show hostess, while the three other Goth girls acted as the studio audience, keenly interested in hearing what I had to say and laughing at comments I hadn't intended to be received as funny. Much to my surprise and relief, they all seemed to accept me with a degree of pleasantness and cordiality I would not have expected. Once again, I was very happy to be wrong about things.

One day, a few weeks into our friendship, while we were waiting for class to start, I hinted that I was curious how the Goth look would wear on me, and Sam nearly blasted out of her seat with enthusiasm.

"Oh my God, Ellery! You have to let me do you up! You don't have to buy anything. You can wear some of my stuff!"

Did they make Goth miniskirts? Anything else of hers would drag the floor on me.

"I'll do you up, and then we'll go out!"

Sam was elated. I was, too. This promised to be hilarious, and I could feel that it was going to work like a charm. My watchers would never see this one coming.

It seemed as if everyone and her mother (including my mother) were always trying to give me a makeover. So it was ironic and hugely funny to me that the only person to get a shot at it would be my very own "Gothy Kay" image consultant.

I was pleased how it all came together. Samantha was very solicitous and understanding of my reluctance to be seen leaving home in Goth persona. Letting her work out the cloak-and-dagger aspects of the operation was a stroke of genius. It required neither effort nor explanation on my part. Her motivation was to surprise her Goth girlfriends, while mine was to elude a well-paid and highly sophisticated group of surveillance experts, so that I could conduct a little stakeout of my own.

She suggested that we meet her friends at Tinseltown Cineplex on Friday afternoon after class. That was perfect for me. I wanted to get a good look at the chaos I was about to cause, and that would have been harder to achieve from a distance at night. The icing on the cake was that a Friday matinee was standard operating procedure for me. The surveillance personnel would be on low alert, maybe even goofing off during the ninety-plus minutes of free time.

Hoyt was always home early on Fridays. My mom, on the other hand, usually had to work late at the library on Fridays. I wondered if it was truly mandatory or if it was a ruse to facilitate stepfather and stepdaughter bonding time. It wasn't necessary. I was as bonded to Hoyt as I was ever going to be. I really liked him. He was smart and soft-spoken, calm and courteous. He had no idea what to talk about with a teenage girl, though. That was okay. I felt his pain since I didn't either.

I think my mom had envisioned our time together as an exchange of communication and the pursuit of common interests. Well, we did spend the time on our interests, just not together. He would drop me off at the movies and then head over to the driving range. This had become a familiar routine for us. Then he would collect me after my movie and take me out to dinner, and we would enjoy the illicit consumption of foods we couldn't eat in front of Mom. For Hoyt it was red meat, and for me it was anything cooked in the deep fryer and Cherry Coke to go with it. Then we'd show up at approximately the same time that she arrived home from work, and she would be happy to see us together and pleased that we had been working on our relationship. And so our allied objectives to foil my mother's wishes did build a certain sense of camaraderie between Hoyt and me, and though she would have objected to the means by which it was accomplished, she did ultimately get her way. Though it had felt like work in the beginning, it eventually became a high point of my week, and I think it was for him as well.

I was running slightly late when Hoyt dropped me off at the box office. As I entered the theater it was very dark, and I couldn't see a thing. Someone grabbed my arm and guided me to the center of the center row. Samantha was already there with her other friends, Splash, Corey, and Rachel. I didn't have classes with any of them. It was good I hadn't known about them initially, or I might not have tried to make friends with Sam, thinking she already had buddies. Because of my newfound friendship with Sam, I decided to extend each girl a measure of credit, despite the fact that they all appeared to be battling as perpetual finalists in some kind of "World's Most Obnoxious and Unsightly Ensemble" competition.

We watched a recently released action movie that drew a few more people than was normal for this time of day. That was good, because it would make it easier to hide in plain sight.

Just before the closing credits, Samantha and I made our way to the restroom, ostensibly to get ahead of the crowd, and hopefully to enter the handicap stall in the back together without being noticed. From her cartoonishly large black bag (inside which I literally could have hidden) she pulled out a wig that had evidently been part of an Elvira costume in better days and the equivalent of a doctor's lab coat in black. She had also packed her thigh-high platform boots, which took me from five feet even to something like five eight or nine. I should have built in some practice time with those; it was like walking on stilts.

She wrapped a black belt with silver metal studs around my waist and cinched it to the very last hole. It still hung a little loose. Next, she got to work on my makeup. First was an expertly applied pale white foundation, followed by tracings around my eyes with a kohl pencil that looked like one of those fat black crayons they use in kindergarten. To this she added a number of heavy strokes of mascara and some insanely blue metallic-sheen lipstick. Next came the clip-on version of Goth jewelry. Good for trying out the look without committing to those pesky multiple body piercings, she explained. It clipped onto my nose and was connected by a stainless steel link chain to a row of studs that extended all the way up the edge of my left ear. Finally, she positioned the wig, and my new look was complete. I timed the transformation. She had done it in just under five minutes.

The line to the women's room was winding out the door by now; another movie had let out. Someone who had observed me enter but who wasn't paying close attention might assume that I had been held up by the crowd, or that the six dollar chili dog I had purchased from the concession stand on my way in this afternoon was now making me pay again on its way out.

Samantha and I proceeded to the sinks. She was gushing. I was astounded. Sam and some other scary-looking person were standing there looking back at us. No wonder I never wore makeup! It was like having an out-of-body experience. I was tall and dark and ... weird!

"Sam, you're a genius! A true artist."

I had to admit it.

"See? It feels awesome, doesn't it?" she replied.

It really did. I didn't even need to be embarrassed because no one knew it was me. It was totally liberating. I needed to tone down the happiness because it was at odds with the style.

"Are you ready, gorgeous?" she asked.

"Who, me? Uh, yeah, you bet!" I replied, partly jazzed and partly horrified.

We exited the restroom and made our way across the lobby to a bench where the others of our species were gathered. They each exhibited an amusing yet predictable amount of surprise and curiosity as we approached. Sam was triumphant as she announced, "Ladies, I'd like you to meet Kit, my cousin from Great Britain."

The effect of this news was comical to watch as it sank in. For these girls, the UK was like the holy land of culture and fashion. This revelation of my origin seemed to clear away the logical question I'm sure they had been preparing to ask, namely, "Where did you come from?" and replaced it with "Is there a magical wormhole that links Tinseltown and London in the bathroom, and which stall is that exactly?"

They wanted to know important things, like which concerts I had been to at Wembley Stadium and whether I ever saw anybody famous at Heathrow, as if my life in London were spent exclusively hanging around at the airport or waiting for outdoor concerts to begin.

In my best BBC World Service accent, I explained that most recently I'd spied the lead singer of Future Sellouts in the British Airways section of Terminal One and that the Worthy Faux concert was absolutely to die for. They had no idea what I was talking about, but it sounded appropriately cool, and they nodded with enthusiasm.

When they asked if Kit was short for anything, Sam retorted, "Kitten," and her tone added the "Duh" as punctuation.

While they interviewed me, I was surreptitiously surveying the crowd for my mark, or marks. I imagined he might take the form of a sinister-looking man in a deep olive suit, complete with black shades and an earpiece, sentinel style à la Agent Smith from _The Matrix_. But as I scanned the room I was disappointed to see no one looking perturbed. About ten minutes passed, and finally, there it was: the look of agitated concern accompanied by quick movements that had no place here on this lazy afternoon at the movies.

He wore a Dallas Cowboys ball cap and jersey, faded jeans, and high-top sneakers. Without staring, I couldn't tell if he was American Indian or just Indian; but he wasn't Latino, I was sure of that, even if his Texas affiliation might suggest otherwise. He was about five ten, with a muscular but more or less average build, and had black, sort of curly, medium-length hair and tan skin but surprisingly light, bloncket _(bluish gray)_ eyes, eyes that were wide with anxiety and despair—maybe even panic.

I felt a sickening wave of remorse. He was absolutely beautiful, and he was looking for me, worried that something terrible had happened when his back was turned and stressed out that the bad guys that someone obviously thought were after me had somehow succeeded in abducting me from right under his nose. As his eyes methodically searched the room, I averted mine just before his gaze made its way to our corner. I was certain that if our eyes locked, the game would be over, with me being removed from the scene by my ear—the side without the studs.

Then, to my absolute horror, he began moving forward in a straight line for us. Now a wave of nausea was cresting over me. He approached Sam and asked, "Excuse me. I'm looking for the little blond-haired girl that just came out of the theater. I thought I saw you talking to her on the way to the restroom."

He spoke with perfect diction and no discernible accent. Now I didn't think he was Indian, either. I just couldn't tell. Perhaps he was from a previously unknown tribe of fabulously handsome people it sure looked that way to me.

It took Sam slightly longer to respond than it should have. She must have been deliberating whether the truth or a lie would go over better. She opted for both.

"Do you mean Ellery? Long blond hair, about three feet tall?"

The girls all laughed.

"I know her from school. I said hi to her after the movie, but we didn't come together. She's probably gone by now."

Good answer.

"Do you want me to give her a message when I see her?"

Even better.

He thought for a second and then said, "Just tell her that Ash was asking about her." He paused, looked around again, then added, "I guess I'll catch up with her later. Thanks."

He turned on his heel and swiftly walked away.

Then I had an inspiration. "Kit" said to Sam in a tone he was sure to hear, "Do you think it could have been this Ellery who was retching in the last stall?"

It worked. His course veered immediately back toward the restrooms. That meant he hadn't recognized me after all. Relief. Then more inspiration.

"Perhaps we should go and check on her, see if she needs a hand," I suggested.

I was anxious to get back to the incarnation of myself that would set his mind at ease. I couldn't bear the thought of driving away with Sam now, letting him suffer through thinking the worst, only to realize later that he'd been punked.

Sam's simple reply, emulating my accent, was, "Indeed."

We excused ourselves and were on our way back to the restroom. Ash hesitated by the exit. He was talking on his phone now. It didn't look like a pleasant conversation. We strode purposefully past him through the restroom entrance and past ten people standing in line. Once inside we stalled briefly, and then I said, somewhat loudly, "Pardon me, are you quite all right?"

After the stall's bewildered occupant vacated, I stepped inside. Then, at my suggestion, Sam doubled back to where Ash was standing and informed him that it was Ellery, all right, and that we would see to her. Meanwhile, I had begun removing my disguise. Next, I set to work on my face, using several special makeup-removing cloths that I had purchased with this in mind. Sam slipped her crazy big purse under the door, and I shoved everything back in. Then I said in a loud voice for listening ears, "I'll catch up later, love. I need to clean off my boots. No worries."

Before I exited the stall, I handed out the bag, and Sam put her arm around my waist to "assist" me out of the facility. I was disappointed when I realized he was no longer in sight. He was still watching, I knew, but I wasn't going to get to see the relief erase the anxiety from his unbelievably handsome face, and I was unhappy about that. Those negative emotions playing over my own face probably added to the illusion of my illness. I took deep breaths and bent slightly forward with my arm wrapped in front of my stomach as Sam guided me to her car. She helped me into the passenger's seat and then got in on the driver's side. Her face was alight with mischief and pleasure.

She smiled hugely and said, "Capital!" She was still being British with me and asked, "So now, love, let's hear all about this Ash fellow, shall we?"

I was back to being me.

"I've never met him before," I admitted, though considering his extreme handsomeness, I was already thinking about how to remedy that situation.

As we pulled out of the Tinseltown lot, I kept stealing glances in the side mirror, trying to look for a trailing car. There was too much traffic, though. I gave up and let my mind wander over what had just happened, focusing especially on the face of the most appealing thug imaginable. There was no way he was a thug, I corrected myself. He didn't look mad when I disappeared; he looked scared. He was scared for me, about what had happened to me, and that had been instantly endearing. All my plans of perpetration instantly vaporized.

Sam let me mull over my reflections in peace for several minutes, but she wasn't done with the subject just yet.

"So, he was really cute, El. Are you sure you don't know him from anywhere?"

I was a little hurt. I had never lied to her before, and what I just said was true.

"I wonder what he wanted," I said, more to myself than to get a response.

"Probably to ask you out, Blondie," she said with a pleased giggle.

She had a wicked grin shining across her face as she glanced over to catch my reaction.

"So, you think he's a pedophile?"

That burned on the way out. I wished I could retract it. It was a mean thing to say about him, even if it was just a self-deprecating joke.

She laughed out loud, though, and said, "Hey, you're eighteen now. You better get used to it, Gorgeous. There's going to be a line of boys waiting for you."

Whatever. There was no point arguing about it.

"But seriously, he didn't seem like a boy to me. He looked a little older. Well, maybe not looked older, but seemed older, you know?"

"Yeah, that's what I thought, too. And I agree; he was totally handsome. Maybe he was in my grandpa's class at U of L. One time I visited campus to hear Grandpa give a lecture. Maybe he remembered me from there."

I was trying to flesh out a reason for Ash's interest in me for Sam's sake. It was plausible. At the funeral quite a few chemistry students, exclusively male, had paid their respects, some even trying to hit on me in the process with "sympathy" hugs, most of which I'd been able to dodge.

"Or maybe he's just a stalker. A totally handsome stalker."

Sam laughed at herself, but she had no idea how right she was.

# Chapter 10

One day a new student hit the scene. This wasn't an exaggeration, because his presence had a physical effect on everyone in his path, like a rock hitting the water. It was as if there were some force field radiating around him. It was easy to understand. The wide berth everyone afforded him was born from instinctive self-preservation. The news quickly spread about him. His name was Trevor Redmond. He was eighteen. He moved here from California. But no one needed a report to see the obvious. He was dangerous and frightening. He was tall and dark and menacing. If Sam was the prime chancellor of the Goths here, then Trevor was the new emperor, and all remnants of the old republic had been swept away.

Sam had informed me of my status as her best friend several weeks back. Though I was thrilled, my returning the favor by granting her that same status in my life was greatly diminished by the fact that she was also the only friend I had. She laughed at me when I expressed these regrets and assured me that my situation only made things more solid between us.

BFF status came with privileges. I was now eating lunch with the G3 (Goth Gal Group) on a daily basis, so this afforded me an uncomfortably close encounter with our new classmate. He was naturally drawn to this female contingent of kindred spirits, like a foreigner might be drawn to people speaking his native tongue. Approaching our table in a wake of silence and awe, he asked if he could sit with us. His words and manner seemed strangely gentlemanlike and totally at odds with his appearance.

Rachel, Corey, and Splash instantly assumed the role of contestants again, this time in a struggle for Trevor's attentions. Samantha held back. It was as if she already knew the future and understood there wasn't cause to exert any effort. It was also as if she realized there was no need to offend her friends by prematurely stepping on their hopes and dreams.

Trevor was very affable and solicitous with his three new acquaintances, or worshipers, to be more precise. He nodded pleasantly when Corey introduced Sam and me, but he didn't engage Sam or even look her way any further on that occasion. Still, I suspected that he already had some sense of the future as well.

I relinquished my position next to Sam (physically and socially) when I realized Trevor was going to be in our English class. There was only one other open seat, and it was behind her. So, beating them both to class, I headed in and sat down in that lonely rear seat as if that's where I had been sitting all along.

Feeling a little sad about my upcoming supplanting—that I was voluntarily facilitating—I cheered myself with the knowledge that the view was going to be spectacular. They didn't disappoint. She was ultra-cool, not that into him, apparently. Oh, there was a little small talk when possible, but she was all about paying attention in class. He was all about paying attention to her. He stared at her for inappropriately long segments of time. It reminded me of a scene from a popular vampire story. Yeah, I could see Trevor as a character like that. Everybody treated him like he was something ... other.

I already knew that Samantha was something wonderfully other. I was so glad I had gotten over my stupid prejudices and my ridiculous insecurities and reached out for her friendship. It was the hardest I'd ever made myself work for anything, and it had been the best reward of my life. She was such an awesome paradox: looking like one thing and being another thing altogether; appearing very negative but being the most positive influence imaginable. With her help I had broken out of the prison of my shyness and depression. She was my savior. Although I wanted to keep her friendship all to myself, she had helped me to such an extent that I really didn't need that anymore.

Sitting there in English day after day, watching them unfold into each other, I hoped with everything I had that he could deserve her.

As it turned out, my worries on that score were completely unjustified. He acted like a perfect gentleman, opening doors and pulling out chairs, with courtesy that extended even to me sometimes. He was very sharp and well spoken, and a bit reserved, but not shy. He just didn't need to hear himself talk. I really liked that. He listened intently to everything we said, which was sometimes revealed in his disconcertingly perfect recall. He had a quiet assurance about him that I appreciated, too. It was at odds with my assumption that everyone who chose to look like they did must be gripped by some insidious insecurity. Instead, I was forced to reevaluate my own insecurities and assumptions, like the assumption that I would never be drawn to Goths, male or female.

Trevor and Samantha eased into a relationship over the course of a month or so. To my extreme relief, Sam did not dump me for Trevor. In fact, she insisted that I accompany her whenever he was to be present with us. I was worried that watching them up close would be painful for me, but I was surprised, and relieved again, to find that I was genuinely pleased for them and felt no self-pity at all. I guess it's because I liked them both so much. They were similar in many respects. Their temperaments were well matched; they were the two most confident, and secretly good-looking people I had ever known.

Upon close observation, I could see that, like Sam, Trevor was a very attractive person under all the strange layers. Why would anybody want to cover that up? But again, it was something they shared. As time passed, though, their biggest common interest turned out to be each other. This was a huge disappointment to the rest of the G3, but they knew better than to be jealous. Jealousy is easily identified and would surely cut off any access to acquaintance with Trevor. So they each switched into a friendly, however hopeful, wait-and-see mode. It was obvious to me that they were going to be waiting for a long time

Another aspect of Trevor that I found endearing, yet sometimes uncomfortable, was that he did not use my shyness as an excuse to ignore me, but instead seemed to go out of his way to engage me, though this consisted mostly of good-natured teasing. It seemed as if he enjoyed the challenge of conversing with me; anyway, he must have sensed that this would please Sam, which it did. And, of course, because I'm strange in my own way, he seemed to find me to be highly amusing much of the time. So his attentions to me had the double effect of pleasing his lady and entertaining himself. Meanwhile, two birds lay dead somewhere, victims of death by stoning.

Sam had been regularly picking me up for school until one day a different car pulled in as I dithered on the porch, debating about what to do. It was Trevor, I finally realized, and he was alone.

Awkward.

Acting as if there were truly no way he could be there for me, I approached him on the driver's side, thinking maybe he needed directions to somewhere. This made him smile for some reason. I didn't know what to say, so I just stood there holding my books, looking pathetic. He didn't make me squirm for long.

"Hi, Ellery. Nice house," he complimented.

"Th-thanks," I replied, a little stiffly.

"So, I'm the new chauffeur, and you're the first stop."

There was a rogue's smile on his face.

Relief.

Sam must have put this new arrangement in place.

"Oh, that's very kind of you. But you shouldn't go to any trouble on my account."

Ugh! I sounded like a character from a Jane Austen novel. Where did that come from?

Get in the car and shut up before he reconsiders!

"It's no trouble. Get in," he commanded, and I obeyed.

Something about my getting into the backseat directly behind him was amusing to Trevor, and he laughed. I mustered my courage and explained, "You're the one who said chauffeur," but it still came out a little too tentatively.

He liked that and laughed even louder. He gave me a long look in the rearview mirror, and I, of course, lost the staring match quickly and had to look away first. We pulled out and headed away from my neighborhood.

I understood now why he picked me up first. Since Sam lived closer to school than I did, he would have had to backtrack if he'd retrieved Sam first and then come for me. I didn't know where he lived, but I assumed it was farther out than either of us, and so I would be the logical first stop.

I realized that it was a good thing that my mom and Hoyt were already gone for the day. I really didn't want to have to explain Trevor to them, though it might be interesting to try. I'd love to know what my security detail was making of this right now. Though things were changing, and I was mostly over my melancholy now, Mom still gave me a wide berth in relation to restrictions of any nature, in the hope that I would venture out. But this was untested since until recently there had been no reason or circumstance to explore the limits. Riding away with Trevor would definitely qualify as "exploring the limits."

It was quiet for a while. Without looking up at me in the mirror, he cut into the silence and asked, "So, Ellery, I was wondering if you'd like to go out with me sometime."

My mouth dropped open with what seemed to me an embarrassingly loud pop. Did I need to have my hearing checked? Or maybe my brain? Was I back to having delusions again?

No, I quickly decided. Apparently I was just the victim of a cruel joke. If he was just messing with me, that was cruel. If he was serious, and I had to say no to someone like him (and I definitely had to say no), then that was cruel, too. Plus, I was wrong about the passenger routing for this trip. This was why I was the first stop. I had no idea how to act or what to say, so I just shut down. I closed my eyes, like I would do on roller coaster, and waited for it to be over. After a while I had to peek, though.

He was finding me amusing again with a huge smile that I could see for myself because he had actually turned around to look at me, taking advantage of a red light.

"Are you okay?" he asked with too much pleasure and not enough concern.

I took a deep breath and confessed, "No," my eyes closing tight again.

"You just don't like me that way?" he pressed.

I wasn't sure what the right answer was supposed to be. "I ... uh ... I like you fine," I confessed.

I was shocked and angry with myself that my admiration for him had been so obviously plain—it hadn't been to me. Until this moment I hadn't considered myself in contention with Rachel, Corey, or Splash. And I knew I would never, ever be in contention with Sam, on purpose or otherwise. It was time for some major damage control.

"But I thought you were really into Sam. What happened? Did you two break up?"

Like I wouldn't know if that had happened, I corrected myself, too late.

His smile was mischievous now as the light turned green, and he refocused on traffic again. Answering my observation and not my question, he said, "Oh, I am. But I've been thinking that there's something about you ..." he chuckled and then continued, "and I'd like to figure out what it is."

I didn't like that, so now I went on the offensive.

"It's called being backward and lame, Trevor, and you know it. I am soooo not your type—unless backstabbing and selfish is your type. Why are you messing with me like this?"

Where was this angry courage coming from? I prayed it stayed with me through the next passenger stop. And then I froze with fright. What if he wasn't getting Sam next after all? What if the next stop was school, and we showed up together and somebody saw us?

I was feeling desperate. I wondered how much it would hurt to jump out of a moving car. I started to pay anxious attention to where we were now, hoping for another red light. I had never been happier to see the familiar sight of Sam's neighborhood coming up.

Trevor didn't answer my question about his motivations, so I took some more offensive steps.

"You know what, Trevor? It doesn't matter why you're messing with me. Just don't mess with Sam, okay? She's the best friend I've ever had, and I'm not about to go behind her back. She means too much to me, and, well, I thought she meant a lot to you, too."

I said all this while monitoring our too slow progress down the street from my window in the back.

I gambled with a look up into the rearview mirror, and there was this satisfied look on his face that seemed wrong for the moment. I thought he should look worried, but then, I couldn't imagine what that would look like. The car bumped unevenly from side to side as we slowly pulled up and into Sam's driveway.

She was too cool to be waiting outside, but thankfully she had been close to the door and stepped right out once we had pulled in. As Sam approached, I realized I was feeling guilty; this must have clearly shown, because Trevor was chuckling again as he examined me using the mirror. It's funny how you can go from admiring someone to despising him so quickly. I felt disappointed. I really wanted to admire Trevor. Now I was going to feel negative and stressed out all the time because he was always everywhere I wanted to be these days.

As Sam approached the car, I could see her assessing the seating arrangement with some amusement and a touch of ... smugness? She surprised me by passing up the shotgun seat in front and joining me in the backseat.

Why should I be surprised? I asked myself.

She was always very good to me, better than I deserved. And at least for the moment, Trevor hadn't changed that about her. But what if she got wind of our recent conversation still floating like smog inside the car?

"Are you satisfied now?" she asked as she situated her things next to mine.

There was a smile in her voice, but my eyes were closed, my head turned completely away, trying to will the inappropriately guilty expression from my face.

Thinking she was talking to me, I was about to answer, though I don't know what, when Trevor turned around, stretching out his very thick right arm across the back of his seat, fingers drumming, as he backed out of the driveway and said, "Yeah, you were right. And I'm very ... satisfied."

There was definitely a smile in his voice; it matched the one on his face, which I snapped around to look at.

Oh no!

"What were you right about?!?"

My desperate tone embarrassed me as I looked from Sam to Trevor and back again.

"Trevor wanted to know what kind of friend you are to me, which, just so you know, was never in any doubt," Sam revealed. "But since he can't seem to resist a wager, I thought we'd profit from your good qualities. He'll be buying our lunches for the rest of the year," she said, all smugness now as she turned and directed that last part to him.

"It'll be my pleasure. Hey, it's better than paying for an emergency room visit." He laughed out loud and continued, "Seriously, she looked like she was going to have a heart attack."

I was still in despising mode.

"Well, I'm glad I amuse you. But I doubt I'll be hungry for lunch today."

Or any day.

I wanted to be mad, but mostly I just felt relieved. Sam reached over and patted my hand. I pulled it away like a baby.

I wanted to be mad, but mostly I just felt relieved. Sam reached over and patted my hand. I pulled it away like a baby.

"Are you mad at me?" she asked in an incredulous but solicitous way.

I was back to staring out the window on my side of the car and said, "No ... just no more tests, okay?"

Because I can dish it out with anonymous security personnel, but I'm nowhere near big enough to take it.

# Chapter 11

Sam was out of town for the weekend. It was a Saturday afternoon in October, and I was feeling adventurous, so I accepted my mom's invitation to accompany her to her favorite grocery store, Kroger. With my social life on hold until Monday, it seemed like a good option.

I hadn't been "Krogering" in forever. I think maybe the last time I had, the cashier presented me with a small, round "I've been Krogering" happy-face sticker, which I'd accepted with interest and pleasure. This I would then affix to my hand, or the cart, or my mom's butt if she wasn't looking.

Mom was usually a solo shopper. It was kind of her thing that she enjoyed doing all alone. Even when I went with her, it was like watching her on hidden camera. She would forget that I was standing there and become deeply preoccupied with her decision making and bargain hunting.

Sometimes I felt really sad that I had never known either of my grandmas. But I was confident that my mom's shopping technique must surely be reminiscent of her own mother's or grandmother's purchasing style and economic frame of reference, and so in this way I enjoyed a connection to my female ancestry after all.

Instead of just buying the brands that were consistently good, she would switch around every week and purchase the items that were on sale. Even twenty-five cents would be a deal breaker—disqualifying Jiff Peanut Butter in favor of Skippy Peanut Butter for the week. Because even though my mom was a "Choosy Mom," she didn't always choose Jiff. It seemed to me that the pricing manager at corporate headquarters was doing the choosing for her, and by extension, Hoyt and me.

Five minutes into the first aisle, with twenty more to go—aisles, not minutes—I remembered why this was something I never did with her and that I had misinterpreted my own mood. Accepting her offer to accompany wasn't adventurous; it was masochistic. I decided to take my leave and head for the magazine and book aisle. On my way there I passed the customer service desk, which was flanked on either side by wide cork-backed bulletin board material that was pricked with numerous advertisements and notifications. Beside offers for kittens and babysitters and motor homes there was a posting that caught my eye, something that had been on my mind recently.

I pulled away one of the few remaining conveniently perforated strips of paper from the bottom of the flyer that contained the phone number and website for Green Light Driving School and put it in my pocket. Then I grabbed a _People_ magazine along with a promising-looking paperback for good measure and headed to the seasonal aisle, settling into a wicker outdoor furniture display for the long haul.

It was Wednesday afternoon, the following week, and I had just been dropped off after school by the Trevor Transit System. I ran upstairs to my bathroom to freshen up, all the while listening for the doorbell because the timing was very tight. The man from the driving school was supposed to come any minute.

I had just finished redoing my ponytail when the chime of the bell broke through the silence in the first-floor hallway. I ran down the stairs and opened the door. The person standing there was nothing like I expected, and this must have been plain by the expression on my face.

The beautiful, exceedingly well-dressed, black-haired supermodel-looking lady standing in front of me gave a reassuring smile and said, "You must be Ms. Mayne," and held out her hand, which was apparently magnetic because my own hand drifted toward hers, with no command from me to do so, to shake it.

"I'm Lidia, your driving instructor," she explained.

She seemed genuinely pleased to be there. Her accent was very slight, but possibly Italian?

What? Since when do they send a model from the Victoria's Secret catalog to teach kids how to drive?

I glanced over her shoulder to examine the car in the driveway. It matched her; it was some kind of expensive-looking SUV, and European, like her. She followed my eyes and understood the silent question there.

"Regular vehicle's in the shop. We'll be using my car this week—unless you'd rather wait for the Hyundai," she added with a sardonic tone.

I shook my head, still staring at the car. There was a brief pause. Then finally she asked, "Do you have your ID?"

Wordlessly, still looking past her at the car, I held up the card, which I had ready in my left hand.

"Okay then, let's get going."

Her words were flavored with a mixture of uncertainty and amusement. She turned, and I followed, shutting the door behind me. My anxiety lessened slightly when she made her way to the driver's side. This meant that she was going to take me to some place wide open and safe, instead of making me drive myself there.

I got in the shotgun seat and took the opportunity to study, identify, and familiarize myself with the various mechanisms and buttons on the dash. I knew it would be infinitely harder to do that later while trying to drive at the same time. She seemed to realize what I was doing and smiled with approval.

Lidia reached up to grasp her seatbelt, and I copied her motion, doing the same on my side. After harnessing up, we just sat there for a minute, not looking at each other. Then she turned to me and said, "Do you mind if I ask you a personal question? You don't have to answer if you don't want to," with that subtle accent draped around her words in the most appealing way.

With raised eyebrows and a slight up-and-down tilting of my chin, I indicated that she should proceed. But what could she possibly want to know?

"Do you ... speak?" she asked, gravely serious.

This jarred me back to my senses, and I couldn't help but laugh out loud. Then I replied, "Yeah, when I'm not being idiotic, I speak. I'm sorry."

This answer seemed to please her, and she gave me a huge smile. Then she ventured, "You're probably just a little nervous."

"That's an understatement. I've never driven before, and I'm not ... I mean ... I don't play video games, so I've never pretended to drive either." I paused and then added, "Actually, I'm so nervous I think I might have a stroke."

I laughed nervously. It felt good to confess.

She started the engine and began backing out.

"No. You won't have a stroke, but I think you might have some fun. Don't worry. I won't let anything bad happen. And by the time we're finished, you'll be the best driver you know. Besides me, of course," she assured me with a smile.

I did start to feel instantly better. Could she teach me to be awesome like her, too?

We made our way to the old Kmart plaza, now just empty retail space for lease, with its huge deserted parking lot. She guided the car to the center, far away from any obstacles like curbs or buildings. Then she began with a verbal tour of the controls, explaining their names and functions—the ignition, the gearshift, the mirrors, the turn signal and wipers, the gas and brake pedals, and, most importantly, the stereo. Then it was time to switch seats and get down to business.

My maiden voyage (no pun intended) at the helm was much less frightening than I had imagined it would be. She was right, I had to admit; it was kind of fun. After I had driven back and forth across the lot so many times I lost count, she asked, "How do you feel about going live, on the street?"

"No main streets, right? Just side streets and neighborhoods to start with?" I pleaded, with too much desperation in my tone.

She smiled and said, "You're the boss. Do you know which way to go from here?"

In fact, I did. We weren't all that far from Samantha's place. I decided to head in that direction. I knew a back way into her neighborhood from here. I was taking it very slow and easy, and fortunately for my nerves, the streets weren't busy. Though I knew where I was, it was still oddly disorienting to be viewing things from behind the wheel. My normal view of the world, while traveling by car, was almost always from a side window, in the backseat.

We were closing in on Sam's street when I realized that there was a car on my tail, almost literally. From my side mirror, I could see that it was uncomfortably close. If I so much as tapped the brakes, it would rear-end us.

I looked in the rearview mirror for the first time and felt a spasm of embarrassment. It was Trevor! He was smiling hugely at the reflection of my frightened eyes in the mirror.

"What's up with this jerk?" Lidia said testily, as she turned full around to glare at him.

"Uh, it's okay. I know him from school," I explained, trying unsuccessfully to diffuse her irritation at my favorite guy in the world (the one I knew personally, that is). She turned and looked at me.

"You know him?" she asked a little incredulously.

I nodded and sped up a bit. He backed off once he'd gotten my attention and whatever reaction he was hoping for.

"So, is he late for his job at the circus or what?" she asked, still irritated.

I laughed. Yeah, I guess he deserved that. I'd have to tell him about it tomorrow at school. On second thought, no, I wouldn't.

"He's on his way to my friend Samantha's house, I think. Guess I was holding him up."

Samantha's place was still several blocks away, and apparently Trevor had had his fun. He sped up to pass me on the left, looking my way the entire time, still grinning. I could feel the waves of displeasure radiating from the passenger seat as he sped by. I ignored them both as best I could and concentrated on the road ahead.

My driving lessons with Lidia continued on Thursday, Friday, and Saturday. I advanced from side roads to main roads, then on to interstate travel. When we reconvened on Monday, we worked on my downtown navigation skills, which included four-way stop etiquette and one-way traffic rules. Then we hit a café for an espresso while we went over the questions on the state's written driving exam. Tuesday was devoted to vehicle maintenance, and I finished our session having changed the oil and a tire on my Jeep from start to finish without any help. My final lesson was to be on Wednesday morning. I had mentioned the week before that Lidia could come earlier on Wednesday, if she wanted, because it was a teacher in-service day, and I didn't have school. She seemed to appreciate being given that option and made plans to pick me up early.

Wednesday morning was beautiful, cool and clear. It was about time for Lidia to arrive, and I checked outside for the third time because I wanted to step right out once she arrived so she wouldn't have to get out of the car.

As I was watching for her, I noticed a car coming down the street and laughed to myself. It was a Corvette! It was cherry red and sexy and way out of context on our street. Every one of our neighbors was retired and drove Japanese sedans in metallic finishes of one sort or another. It seemed that the driver of this muscle car was obviously lost—until it slowed in front of our yard and pulled into our driveway.

No way!

But sure enough, I could see that it was Lidia, looking exactly right behind the wheel. And then it occurred to me: in the not too distant future it would be me sitting behind the wheel, looking exactly wrong. It was a stroke to my ego, though, to realize that she actually trusted me enough to use a car like this to prepare for my driving test. I practically skipped over to the passenger side and hopped in.

I was completely jazzed, yet feeling a little perverse as well, so as I was getting in I asked as innocently as I could, "Is this the Hyundai?"

Her reaction was priceless. I knew it was a terrible affront—that was the fun. I could tell that something deeply sarcastic must have been ready on her lips, but in a highly controlled act of suppression she smiled, shooting me a sideways glance, and said, "You're very funny."

Apparently my acting hadn't fooled her. I was positive there was nothing that could.

"So, do you have to be back by a certain time today?" she inquired.

After making a joke like that, she was still asking about spending extra time with me?

Miraculous!

"No, just in time for dinner, I guess."

It was eight o'clock. I was delusional if I thought she'd spend all day with me. Surely she had a photo shoot or a lunch date with a rock star to attend to at some point in the day.

"Okay, that should be enough time. I've made special arrangements for us at a unique driving course. But it's a bit of a ride up Interstate 71. Are you okay with that?"

How could I not be?

"S-s-sure ... I'm good."

Actually, I was better than good. This was unbelievable. During our time in the car over the last week, Lidia had explained quite a bit to me about cars and the differences between them: why some cars were more desirable than others, which were her favorites, and the incredibly long list of makes she had driven. She was definitely in a position to opinionate, having driven nearly every kind of car ever made. She was a car encyclopedia and historian. And as her worshipful protégé, I absorbed her enthusiasm for all things automotive like a sponge. The drive north was entirely consumed with details about the specifications, features, and benefits of the Corvette ZR1.

Lidia's interpretation of "a bit up 71" meant a drive that took us halfway to Cincinnati. As we finally exited the highway an hour later and turned onto a side road, we passed a sign that read Kentucky Speedway, and I felt a hint of nausea lapping in my stomach when I realized what she meant by "unique driving course."

She must have been expecting that reaction because she quickly assured me, "We'll be all alone except for the groundskeeper. No worries."

Like I might be worried she would take me there on race day to test my newfound driving skills at 250 miles an hour!

Truthfully, I don't really know what I was worried about. I pretty much knew how to drive by that point. Some unnamed fear was still trying to break through my consciousness. I turned the volume down on my mind and concentrated on the sound of the engine, imagining its purr with my foot holding the gas pedal all the way down.

We drove through the parking lot and up to the stadium. There was an older man in a heavily patched neon-colored jumpsuit standing outside the gate that led under the stands and onto the track. Without a word he opened the gate and waved us through. We never saw him again.

We made our way slowly through an underpass that was carved out of the stands, pulling out onto the track and into the bright sunshine on the other side.

I knew better than to bring this up, but I hadn't gotten all the perversity out of my system yet, and I needed a distraction from the intense nervousness I felt about being in a car like this in a place like this. So I dove in and asked, "Lidia, is the owner of this vehicle a middle-aged man by chance?"

She looked at me as if I'd grown another head. When she recovered, instead of answering the question, she said, "Why would you ask me that?"

"Well, I thought that Corvettes were the official car of the male midlife crisis. If you actually own this car, then it's just you and Malibu Barbie breaking the trend."

I kept my expression serious.

"Malibu Barbie?" she asked.

Now I must have been sprouting antennae.

"Don't they have Barbies in Italy?" I prompted.

"You mean Barbie dolls?" and she did the hand gesture for Barbie's figure, making certain, I suppose.

"Yes. Well, you know what she drives, right?"

I was still all seriousness.

Lidia shook her head, though I wasn't sure if it was in answer to my question or a general physical manifestation of her internal thoughts about my sanity.

"She drives a hot pink Corvette. And she's the only other girl, or person under forty, that I've ever seen behind the wheel of one. So you're a bit of a rarity, you know, if it's yours."

I couldn't hold back the smile now, so I had to turn away.

She was obviously married. She wore the largest diamond I had ever seen outside of a jewelry store window, and it was flanked by a burst of sapphires, which were probably more costly than the diamond. It was a stunningly beautiful and unique piece, and it seemed like the person who gave it to her must have been trying to match the ring with the girl. He'd definitely gotten it right.

I was just curious if she was borrowing his car today, or if she'd acquired it before she'd met him. I was certain of the answer, though, and I was starting to regret having asked.

This is why it's better when I don't speak, I reminded myself.

It seemed that my savoir faire mentor didn't know where to take it from there, so I helped her out by explaining myself more clearly.

"I'm just worried that I'll be crashing this car today, and I wonder whose indentured servant I'll be for the rest of my life. So, given what I know about Corvette owners, I thought I'd better ask."

The explanation for my bizarre line of questioning seemed to release the mental pressure that had been building inside Lidia's head. She gave me that therapeutic reassuring smile she was so good at and patted my hand.

"No worries, bambina."

Then she slammed on the accelerator and threw me back in my seat as if we were launching to the moon.

I couldn't believe how much force and speed I was experiencing. It was far, far more intense than any amusement park attraction I'd ever been forced into riding. I hated roller coasters with a passion, but my dad, Hoyt, and Grandpa all loved them; therefore, I'd been goaded into my fair share of G force experiences. This blew them all away.

The very best part was that the person in control, making it happen, was a woman. I absolutely loved heroines! I'd wanted to be one when I grew up. Of course, as I got older I realized that I was more of the distressed damsel type. Just knowing a heroine was going to have to be good enough for me. And this moment, in this awesome car, at this incredible place with this amazing lady was better than any heroine fantasy I could have ever dreamed up on my own.

I was afraid to look at the speedometer, but I did anyway. On the straightaway we topped out at 210 miles per hour. I knew the car could go faster than that; maybe she was taking it easy, you know, for safety reasons. At any rate, as soon as I got behind the wheel, I was driving so slowly, it felt like we were moving backward.

We covered all the aspects of the driving test I'd be taking at the DMV. When I had performed all the maneuvers to her satisfaction, some on the first attempt, some several tries down the line, she pronounced me testworthy. To celebrate, she suggested that I try my hand at speeding, but only if I promised that this would be the last time I'd ever do it. I solemnly agreed and then mashed on the gas. I could only bear to go up around 100, and then I chickened out. There was no reproach in Lidia's eyes for me, just quiet, radiating confidence. It was the most thrilling experience of my life, and I knew in my heart that Green Light Driving School was not involved in any way. I was more than okay with that.

We were quiet as we headed south on our return to Louisville. We had spent about two hours at the speedway. I realized with a wave of sadness that this was my last day with Lidia. In my mind, I scrambled for some way to continue my association with this incredible real-life heroine.

Should I ask her for Italian lessons? She'd probably just suggest that I buy Rosetta Stone. Maybe I could ask her to help me shop for school clothes. That was asking for a makeover, and no matter how much I liked her, I didn't want to go down that road.

Lidia interrupted my scheming.

"I hope you don't mind, but I went ahead and scheduled your test at the DMV for this afternoon. I thought you might like to get it over with, and I'd really like to be there when you get your license."

I was speechless. Because of that, first I shook my head no (I didn't mind) and then yes (I'd like to get it over with and she should take me there).

She smiled and continued, "Afterwards, to celebrate, I thought I'd treat you to a late lunch at Outback Steakhouse," my favorite restaurant.

How did she know that?

This was followed by more enthusiastic affirmative head nodding from me.

Though the ride back to Louisville and to the DMV would be about ninety minutes, I knew that it would be over too quickly. Sure enough, it was, and we were pulling into the crowded lot with a line out the door for everything vehicle related. It was the last day of the month, the preferred day for all "day late and dollar short" types to transact with the state of Kentucky on matters relating to their vehicles and driving privileges.

This would probably change our celebration plans from late lunch to midnight snack. Lidia was unperturbed. She walked past at least forty people to the head of the counter. The lone male standing behind it had watched her walk in and was on his way to greet her before she came to a stop. She handed him a letter-size envelope, turned, and retraced her steps back to me at the end of the line, saying simply, "Let's go."

And we did.

She had me take the driver's side and directed me around to the back of the building. The same man who had accepted the envelope was there to greet us, clipboard in hand. He seemed far happier and congenial than I had imagined someone like him would be. It occurred to me that this was the first time I'd seen Lidia interact with someone and that she probably had that kind of pleasant effect on every male in her path. Or maybe she just got priority treatment as a representative of Green Light Driving School.

Yeah, right.

I took my driver's test in a cherry red Corvette ZR1 and passed it. I was so relieved when it was over that I nearly fainted. It was funny to contemplate the irony of nearly crashing the car after my driver's test in the lot of the DMV as opposed to crashing it at the Kentucky Speedway, while intentionally speeding. No harm done, though. I held it together long enough to get us to Outback.

I was feeling pleased and relieved about my accomplishment. Apparently Lidia was, too, because she insisted that I keep my newly minted driver's license out on the table, and she would return to looking at it from time to time as though it were some priceless and rare baseball card or the Crabby Patty secret recipe.

Finally, I couldn't resist teasing her, and I asked, "Is it really that hard to believe I passed?"

She looked contrite.

"Oh, no! I'm just very proud of you. For someone who'd never driven a car a week ago, you've done remarkably well."

I couldn't help smiling with pleasure. My heroine was proud of me!

"Yeah, well, even though I have my license now, I don't think I'm the best driver that I know, besides you ... yet."

I let that hang out there, sensing that maybe I'd struck upon the path to more Lidia time.

It worked!

Her eyes looked through me as she considered my comment and how that observation on my part might be remedied.

She responded with, "You know, we have an advanced course, where we teach defensive driving techniques. Do you think you'd be interested in that?"

Would I ever!

I tried to play it cool, though.

"Sure, but I'll have to ask my mom; she pays the bills, you know."

In truth, it didn't matter what it cost or what my mom said—though it would be interesting to see to whom the check would be made out—I'd be there with bells on when the time came.

On an impulse I interjected, "But I'm curious. Will we use your husband's car again, or do I finally get to drive the infamous Hyundai?"

Her eyes flashed with surprise, then something else. Respect? I wished. Whatever it was, she smiled hugely, stopping conversation at the next table over, I noticed, and said, "Oh, we'll take my car. And I promise you, bambina, it's much better than his."

It was now exactly one week after I'd emerged victorious from the vehicle and licensing registrar's office at the DMV with my glossy new Kentucky driver's license. Trevor had just dropped me off from school, because even though I could drive myself, it was still way cooler to be chauffeured by the Goths.

I spied a package by the door as I approached the porch, not quite sure what I was looking at. It was a medium-size cube-shaped box, packaged in wrapping paper the color of bubblegum. Though I had no doubt, I checked the label anyway, just to make sure it was for me.

If I was hoping the contents might reflect the theme of the packaging, I was disappointed, though not for long. What was inside was much better than gum, and it was hilarious.

Tucked neatly inside the box, cushioned and wrapped with what I realized were actual auto club road maps, was an authentic Malibu Barbie Pink Corvette. And sitting in the driver's seat was a Malibu Skipper.

Wow. Who had I told about that?

My first Barbie was actually a Skipper doll, the younger, shorter kid sister of Barbara Millicent Roberts. I think this was probably because my mom wanted to avoid having to answer any awkward questions about the extreme differences in my body shape (or any female's, for that matter) and Barbie's.

Skipper was a hassle-free alternative—still a Barbie, just not as grown up, kind of like me. Except that even compared with a mature version of myself, Skipper's figure was still better than mine.

As a girl, I had loved my Skipper doll so much that she was my constant companion for a long chapter of my life—the doll-playing chapter, that is. Grandpa picked up on that and had nicknamed me Skipper, in tribute to the doll I resembled.

Inside the Corvette, which was complete with a tiny authentic-looking metal Kentucky license plate, was a Skipper wearing sunglasses and a blue NASCAR jumpsuit with the legs rolled up and a tiny, fluffy pink feather tucked into her front pocket (where presumably a wrench might go if Ken were wearing it). She even had a tiny but very real-looking bottle of Cherry Coke in her cup holder. Sitting next to her in the passenger seat was a Frodo Baggins action figure. He fit perfectly, big hairy feet and all. It was funny to look at. Even funnier was the tiny piece of paper taped to his hand with MapQuest driving directions, detailing the quickest route from Malibu to Mordor.

I laughed, and then I laughed some more at the notion of Skipper and Frodo together on a road trip.

Whoever sent this seemed to know me very well, but it was an odd combination of components and themes to be able to pair up its origin with any one parent or friend. I had never spoken with Lidia about _The Lord of the Rings_ or Skipper, I didn't dare drink soda in front of my mom, and though Sam shared my love of all things Middle Earth, she was famously anti-Barbie.

Had it been a collaborative effort? That seemed highly unlikely. Well, whatever the origin, the fact that inside information and creative effort had gone into it was obvious and very much appreciated.

I had never been this pleased over a joke. I only wished I knew who the recipient of my adoring gratitude should be.

# Chapter 12

My feet were cold. It was early February, normally an ugly time of year in Kentucky, compared with other times, that is. But it's relative, since no matter which season, Kentucky will always be the most beautiful place in the world to me. In winter, though, the trees are stripped bare, and the nearly constantly overcast sky turns everything under it varying shades of gray, albeit blue-gray.

This morning was one of those occasional wonderful exceptions. A snowstorm had pushed through during the night, leaving behind a sharp blue sky and a six-inch layer of sparkling fluffy perfection over every exposed surface. The snow trucks with plows and salt hadn't made it around to our street yet, so the soft and quiet beauty was undisturbed as I gazed out the window.

School was canceled, but I didn't know that until after I was already up and dressed. I wanted to be angry about the loss of a good sleep-in. Couldn't they have canceled last night? But I was grateful for the day off.

The snow apparently was worse at the other end of the county, because the roads seemed to be okay around our neighborhood. It didn't stop Mom or Hoyt from heading off to work at their normal times.

Just as the morning news was ending, the phone rang. It was Sam wanting to know if I'd like to join in on a sledding expedition to Cherokee Park. I said yes before I thought it through, and then it was too late to back out.

I had reservations because as a young girl I'd seen someone get seriously injured on the very same hill we'd be visiting today an exceptionally steep slope that was tree-free (except for the bottom, of course) with convenient parking just feet away from the launching point.

With worries about safety and the heavy potential for embarrassment clouding my mind, I began to rationalize my presence in the party. What could it be if it wasn't to risk my life speeding downhill on vehicles with no brakes and steering that was theoretical at best? Maybe I could just hang back and be in charge of the hot chocolate and administer first aid when (not if) it was needed. I began making preparations to fulfill that role by warming a large pot of milk and grabbing the really big box of Band-Aids. I had it all in order and tucked neatly in my backpack when they pulled in.

I was curious what Goth snow attire would look like. So it was disappointing to approach a car full of relatively normal-looking though well-bundled kids. Except for the random strings of unnaturally colored hair poking out, there really was no essence of their indoor selves to speak of. Trevor, who was truly scary when he was in "uniform," looked completely different, that is to say, appealing, with no makeup or painful-looking jewelry to make him otherwise. I only knew it was him because he was driving, and I recognized his car.

As I had suspected from the beginning, he was indeed very handsome when he was normal. I warned myself that I needed to stop staring, but he caught me and let me know by flashing me a wink and a smile. That made me lose focus on my approach, and I slipped on an icy patch.

Naturally, I wished it had happened to someone other than me for a variety of reasons, but particularly because it must have been spectacular—it sure felt that way. I would have enjoyed seeing it.

One second I was trudging forward, the next I was airborne and sickeningly horizontal with a straight-on view of my boots before I made solid contact with the driveway again. After the deep impact I actually saw stars (or maybe that was just the disturbed snow floating back to earth). At any rate, I couldn't breathe, and I couldn't bear to get up and face the car, which was now full of howling hysterics, about three feet above my head, only slightly muffled by the car's frame.

Suffering from equal parts mortification and debilitation, I just lay there, pretending to be knocked out. An uncharitably long time passed until finally Trevor eased his door open, which passed over my face by mere inches, and stuck his head out to examine me, working hard to stifle a smile, but not hard enough in my opinion. Then he stepped out over me and helped me first to a sitting and then a standing position. Next he set about removing the crust of snow now clinging to my backside. When he had dusted my rear longer than I could stand, I thanked him and moved out of his reach to reclaim the backpack and take my place in the peanut gallery that was the backseat.

I made the sixth addition to the group, and the girls in the backseat squashed up to make room for me, though Trevor's late-model car was made in the era before safety (B.S., as I fondly considered it), when four people could ride comfortably side by side in the back of a sedan, as long as having your own seat belt wasn't an issue. The squashing was due mostly to the extra layers of winter wear, not the excess of bodies.

Besides the spontaneous and poorly subdued giggles of remembrance, there were various sounds of derision as I was prompted to explain about the two large thermoses I was lugging in the backpack. Apparently I was the only one who still preferred warm chocolate milk to black coffee. When I wordlessly produced a bottle of Godiva chocolate liqueur from a side pocket, the atmosphere and my social standing improved immediately.

They were all about the "special" hot chocolate within two minutes outside the car, because it felt like fifty degrees below zero as we stood in the parking lot at the top of Mount Cherokee. Coming clean, I'll admit that this didn't truly qualify as underage drinking. The supply of chocolate liqueur that the bottle once contained had been mostly used up during my mom's recent chocolatini phase. But since I was going more for perception than actual effect, I had filled the empty bottle with leftover hot chocolate, dumping in extra chocolate syrup to darken the liquid, making it appear to be something more than it was.

I was amazed at how much room there was in the trunk of this car. It actually held three sleds. I would have bet money against that, but seeing was believing as we gathered around the tail end to help unload and I could see them stacked neatly on their sides, back to back to back.

It was surprising to me that no one else was there on the hill with us. It was usually a very popular spot on a day like this. There was another car at the other end of the lot, but it looked like a businessman because he was talking on his cell phone and keying away on his laptop at the same time. Maybe he was the first to arrive on a "team-building" outing with others from his office, and I amused myself with the image of people in business attire without coats, cell phones in hands, streaking down the hill at Mach 3.

Since there were three sleds and six people, the pairing up seemed like it should have been a straightforward endeavor, but this brought on another round of subtle maneuvering. I figured it was the perfect time to do some not so subtle maneuvering of my own.

"I'm just here to watch, so one of you lucky contestants _(oops, did I say that out loud?)_ can have a sled to themselves."

Trevor snickered more loudly than he'd intended, trying to squelch it halfway through, unsuccessfully. Turning to me, he quickly added, "Sorry, babe. Nobody just watches today."

I could tell he wanted it to seem like the half-laugh and his subsequent comment were related, but in a moment of wordless communication that flowed between us, we both knew they were about separate subjects.

"I want to try a run by myself to start off," Sam called over her shoulder as she scurried over to the edge, mounted her sled and disappeared from sight with a quiet swoosh. This was a relief because it provided me a few additional moments of safety until she could make it back up the hill and force me to ride with her. But my internal smile at Sam's action was immediately wiped away as Trevor walked past and hooked me from behind with is free hand while dragging one of the sleds behind him with the other hand. For the second time in a half hour I dropped my backpack in the snow.

"You're with me. Let's go."

It was a command from the emperor, and there was no other option but to obey.

I remained stoic as I kept pace with my abductor, moving forward to my impending doom. We walked about twenty yards from the car to the middle of the crest of the hill. He set the sled down just a few feet back from the precipice and ordered me to sit in front. For a panic-stricken moment I feared he might shove me off for a ride by myself, but apparently he wasn't quite that evil. I felt his weight settle in behind and then around me as he tucked his legs around mine and slipped his feet onto the guides at the front of the sled. Then his arms clamped around my waist, and his chin was on my shoulder. We just sat there for an uneasy moment.

I could feel his breath on the side of my face.

"So, you enjoy watching the contest, too?" he asked, punctuating his question with a chuckle.

I was startled by this beginning and made an involuntary move, turning my face in the direction of his voice, trying to see his face

Wrong answer.

My movement placed my cheek squarely against his face. He couldn't resist teasing me and pushed back with a huge kiss. Even though it was cryonic outside, it felt like August inside my coat and under my hat.

He sighed and whispered in my ear, "But you don't consider yourself a contestant, do you?"

I tried to lean away from him, but he was all around me and there was nowhere to go. And then we were flying. This hill was very steep and quite a long way down. When the hillside was green it was part of a public golf course. I wondered how quickly a park ranger might arrive to shoo us away. Not quickly enough to save me now.

I wouldn't call the ride pleasurable, by any means, but I didn't feel as frightened as I expected. The confidence that constantly radiated from Trevor must have influenced my mood, perhaps transferred more efficiently through the direct contact of his tight hold on me.

I was struck at how Trevor could actually control our direction. I thought the ability to steer a sled was only an urban legend.

The extra weight of two people increased our momentum and we shot down the hill like a rocket. I was listening for the sound of our sonic boom. Instead there was an eerie quiet, broken only by the sound of the slats skimming against the snow, and my embarrassingly loud, out of control breathing.

Trevor could tell I was scared and hugged me tighter, in a move that was meant to be reassuring, I think. My involuntary response was to stop breathing all together.

Because he could actually steer, we were able to extend our time on the sled considerably. On this hill, most rides ended quickly in an 'abandon ship' style debarking technique using the ground to slow one's velocity as opposed to having a tree perform that service.

He effortlessly guided us toward and between the trees into no-man's-land and uncharted territory. I stopped being scared and opted for being amazed. He had found the cart path that wound its way down to the next fairway and beyond. Since we had launched from the highest point on the course (and the county, for that matter), our downward momentum combined with his incredible navigation skills turned an ordinary sled ride into something more like a joyride through a snowy, sunlit fairyland. I leaned back into his chest and breathed deeply, surprised to be enjoying the pleasure of the moment.

Suddenly I was in another cold place, thousands of miles and tears away, being held by different and better arms. Another voice was whispering reassurances in my ear. I closed my eyes and gave way, just letting myself be there again. All the external sensations were right: I was very cold, moving fast in a lonely, glistening white landscape. Strong arms were tucked around my shape, keeping me warm and secure. I was feeling safe and vaguely happy, instead of scared, like I should. All the sensations were there except for the feeling in my heart. That felt all wrong.

Instead of being full and bigger than it ever had been, it was empty ... at first ... then it felt heavy ... with the weight of pain. My eyes snapped open, trying to escape.

We were coming to a slow stop as the fairway leveled to an open plateau. It was stupid to hope that simply returning to present time, place, and company would ward off the emotion I'd just unleashed. Building to a huge swell, I could feel the wave cresting in my mind, the water surging in my eyes.

Great.

The last thing I needed was to cry in front of Trevor. I sniffed, hoping that he would think it was because of the extreme cold. There was no way I would be able to hide the tears from him, though. I needed time to get control of myself. It felt as if I had come unglued.

This was my first "episode" in months. I thought I was all better now. But the complex combination of sights, sounds, and temperature was too similar, like being in the very same car at the very same intersection, getting T-boned all over again.

Time was almost up. We were drifting very slowly now, just crawling. Finally, we came to rest. Sitting in silence, perfectly still, it was as if we had been painted into a glistening still frame, shimmering in the sun. I sniffed again.

I went on the offense, trying to buy time.

"Do you mind if we just sit for a minute?" I whispered, knowing my normal voice would malfunction and expose my very fragile emotional state.

"Whatever you want," was the quiet response.

In the back of my mind, I wondered what Trevor trying to be sensitive and comforting would look like. Somehow it seemed funny to me, especially since my mind constructed the scene with him in full Goth.

Yes. This was good, exactly what I needed: to laugh and be diverted. We were quiet and still for a time. His arms were still around me. It felt good. I was freezing and he was wonderfully warm.

I desperately needed to think about something else. I was inspired with more offense.

"Why do you tease me so much?" I asked, still whispering.

He wasn't ready for that one, I guess. He shifted uncomfortably, sniffed, and cleared his throat.

_Good. Have some of your own medicine,_ I thought, although that wasn't my reason for asking.

"Are you upset with me?" he replied.

Don't answer me with a question! Darn it!

"No, I just wonder why," I countered, still whispering.

"You don't enjoy it?"

Another question!

Being peeved about his debriefing style helped me find my voice.

"It just seems like other people might deserve teasing more than I do, sometimes."

It came out with a bit more bite than I'd planned.

He laughed quietly and retorted, "So what _do_ you deserve, then?"

I was done with his questions. This conversation hadn't taken the direction I'd expected. How did this end up in my explaining myself when that's what he was supposed to be doing? I started over.

"Why do you tease me so much?"

He chuckled and mercifully conceded.

"I like you, and ... I can't help myself."

He sounded a little rueful but I couldn't tell for sure.

"You can't help liking me or teasing me?" I countered right back.

"Both."

This was punctuated with a quick, slightly embarrassed laugh.

It was strange having this conversation with a person I couldn't actually see. He must have felt the same way because he picked me up and shifted me sideways on his lap.

Game over.

"Geez! Are you okay?" he was genuinely alarmed. The frigid air must have suspended my face's efforts to dry, unredden, and generally recover itself. I sniffed involuntarily.

"I'm fine. Just cold," I lied.

"The cold makes you cry?" he asked incredulously.

"Yeah," I answered, staring up at the hill, trying to hide my face.

"Tell me what's wrong," he commanded, very serious now.

I could hear him removing his gloves. Then with bare hands he wiped my face. I was still looking up and away. A warm hand made contact with my chin and towed my face back around. He moved his face in and down to the level of my eyes.

"What's making you cry?"

He was all intensity now. Even though I could finally see him, it was a very odd sensation having this conversation. He didn't look like the Trevor I was used to, so it was like confessing to a stranger.

I tried to figure out what I could say that would be true but not embarrassing. I came up with, "Being on the sled brought back some strong memories. It made me sad, but I'm okay now ... really."

I forced a weak smile at the end, trying to be convincing. He knew I'd lost my dad. I hoped that he'd assume that's what I was referring to and drop it.

More wordless communication passed between us as he searched my eyes for the details lacking in my explanation. He knew there was much more, and he knew he wasn't getting access to any of it. Sighing in acceptance, he leaned in to kiss my forehead.

Oh no. Not the forehead!

I couldn't deal with that. Now the wave broke over me, and I couldn't stop the sobs, even as I apologized, "I'm s-sorry ... I'm s-s-s-sorry."

I retreated from view and into his chest. He held me tight and patted my back and my head.

"It's okay. Everything's fine. Just ... breathe," he instructed.

And I did, that hitched up spastic breathing a little kid does after (and during) a big cry.

"Hey, hey. It's all right."

He spoke calmly, still holding me tight with one hand and rubbing ovals into my back with the other.

It took several minutes of relaxation breathing and a visit to my mental happy place before I could talk again. From the quasi-privacy of his tear-soaked chest I finally said, "Sorry about this. I'm so ridiculous."

I gave a soft laugh, trying to make light of myself.

He leaned back so he could look at me.

"I'm the one who should be apologizing. I shouldn't have forced you into this, and I definitely shouldn't tease you anymore."

He said that last part with a grin, trying to lift my mood. It worked. I laughed and sucked in another ragged breath.

"That will teach you to take advantage of someone so weak," I said in a joking tone before giving my eyes and nose another wipe down with the sleeve of my coat.

He laughed and shot back, "You've got some serious self-esteem issues, little girl." Then he added, "And I don't think you're weak," though not quite sincerely enough to be believable.

"Yeah, just mental," I clarified for him.

I pulled away and stood up. Reaching down to grab his hand, I pulled him up as well.

"Do you think we'll make it up the hill before nightfall?" I asked jokingly, trying to ease the seriousness from his expression and redirect his thoughts away from my emotional debacle.

He picked up on that and playfully responded, "Maybe. Now, where's the lift?"

A lift would have been nice because we were very far away from where we started, and very downhill. We turned in the direction we had come and began tracing our way back up the hillside, following the sled tracks as a guide.

It was quiet as we trudged through the snow. He didn't question me any further, being careful not to reignite the waterworks, I guessed. I could sense, though, that he was burning with curiosity.

Well, too bad.

Some fifteen minutes later, after crossing over a frozen Beargrass Creek, we broke through the edge of the woods at the bottom of Cherokee Hill. Sam and Splash were there to greet us. Their expressions were a mixture of relief and irritation. The irritation melted away instantly when Sam got close enough to see my face.

"What happened? Did you get hurt?"

Oh, great. Now I had to confess to her, too?

Trevor spoke up and said, "She had a bit of an allergy attack, but she's fine, aren't you, Ellery?"

His face was turned away from them as he spoke the last part to me, winking again. Good thing I wasn't moving this time—it helped me avoid wiping out again.

I laughed at myself, looking down and away.

"Yeah, I'm fine."

He took the rope from Sam's hand and hauled both sleds the rest of the way up the hill. Splash kept pace with Trevor, no doubt jockeying for the next trip downhill with him.

Sam studied me for an uncomfortable moment, not satisfied with Trevor's short story version of events.

"Are you all right? Tell me what happened."

She was sincerely concerned for me.

Okay, Mom.

But it felt good to have someone other than my mom caring about me. I repeated what I had said to Trevor. She seemed to accept this and didn't ask the obvious follow-up questions, knowing me well enough to be patient for the rest. As always, she was cool and collected in her manner, confident that in time she would have her answers. Sam was more successful at interrogating me than anyone I knew. So in essence, that made her better at it than my mom.

When we got to the top, I made my way to the car and settled myself into the front seat so that I could watch their progress. It was cold in the car, too, but at least it was out of the wind. Everybody got a turn with Trevor, though nobody, I noticed, not even Sam, got to take that extended Fairyland ride that I had been favored with.

Trevor and Sam eventually found their way back to the car. Neither one would let me retreat to the backseat. Instead, they both huddled up on either side of me, ice cream sandwich style. When I finally got my arms free, I broke into the second thermos of hot chocolate for them. It was still wonderfully warm, and I was pleased and thankful for my own forethought. So was everyone else. Apparently, the bottle of Godiva had been completely emptied while Trevor and I were away. I laughed to myself, enjoying my private joke.

To my extreme surprise, no one else ever came to sled down the hill while we were there. And the businessman never left, either, which I thought was weird.

Wouldn't a latte and a booth at Panera be a better option?

But then, with dawning comprehension, I realized, he wasn't a businessman at all. Oh, he was working, all right; he was on duty.

Because of the extreme cold, we were done by lunchtime. As we pulled away, the girls were sounding off restaurant options. I wondered if Trevor's lost wager included purchasing my lunch no matter the location, or if it was restricted to school property. I hoped it was location nonspecific. That would help offset the complications inherent in forgetting to bring money along.

Since it had just crossed my mind, I suggested Panera Bread. There had been as many suggestions as there were girls in the car, but no specific resolution or consensus. Trevor was busy driving and added little to the conversation, but I was secretly pleased when the car pulled to a stop and we all got out for lunch. I was going to get a cup of soup ... and that latte, after all. And if the cosmos happened to be perfectly aligned, perhaps I might also get a glimpse of the face of my favorite guardian angel, something I now actively sought out since my stint as a pretend Goth. The thought of that sort of treat trumped any promise of comfort food and warmed me up just like it was July.

# Chapter 13

It was a Friday night, and I was really looking forward to the evening. I would be spending the night at the home of Serena and Sean Evans. Serena was Sam's older sister with whom she lived. When I met Serena for the first time several months prior, I had to resist the impulse to gawk. The resemblance between them was astonishing. Because of the age difference and the way they favored one another most people assumed they were mother and daughter. But after extended observation it was clear to me that their relationship was decidedly sisterly in nature. They had their issues like most families, but Sam and Serena enjoyed a warm, close relationship that triggered the faintest echo of jealousy somewhere deep in my only child mind. To combat it I would remind myself that Sam routinely told me things which Serena would never hear. It was an effective self-therapy.

Sam enjoyed a large private living space in the finished basement of the Evans's luxury condominium. With a mini kitchen, living area and two bedrooms to call her own, everything was cream and tan, elegant but understated. French doors opened to an inviting patio area with a view of the lake in the middle of the development. Picture windows let in lots of light along with a lovely view of the water and its beautifully landscaped shoreline, recently frosted with snow. It didn't look like the lair of an underworld Goth creature at all. I liked it, especially with the fireplace going, all warm and inviting.

We were going to watch the three _Bourne_ movies in sequence. I had seen parts of the first installment on cable, a long time ago, but now we would see all of them, including the two movies I'd never seen, in a marathon.

I never told Samantha this, but one of the reasons I was interested in watching these movies was because Matt Damon, who played the main character, looked very much like someone I used to know. Although in truth, the real-life person I knew was more handsome than the hero of the story, at least in my opinion. I had seen Damon in a couple of other things, but in this series his unfailingly calm demeanor during disasters and the ticked off way he looked most of the time were eerily familiar to me. It was like watching someone I know get trashed and do some trashing in return. I knew it was silly, but it made me feel slightly anxious, and yet I was still drawn to watching it. And then one of the bad guys, played by Karl Urban, another actor that I liked, had also been in another series that I loved, _The Lord of the Rings._ So it was enjoyable watching him as well, though weird to see him being bad as a Russian hitman instead of being heroic as a leader of the Rohirrim.

What turned out to be not so enjoyable was the realization that I was being far too expressive in my reactions to the stressful scenes that kept rolling past. To my chagrin I noticed that Trevor was watching me more than he was watching the TV, and that was terribly embarrassing. When we took a bathroom and snack break between the first and second movies, I planned to set up a new position on the floor directly in front of Sam, with my back pressing against the couch. That way they could have the space on top of the couch to themselves, and then I wouldn't be subjected to being able to see Trevor laughing at me. Not that it would stop, just that I wouldn't have to pretend not to notice.

Trevor's presence in my life was a double-edged sword. I was flattered and pleased to be the unlikely recipient of his attention—even if most of the time it was uncomfortable for me. But he made my dear friend happy—happier than I'd ever seen her—so he was a hero in my estimation, no matter how he made me feel personally. And with the exception of his observation antics this evening, it seemed that he had backed down on the teasing somewhat, especially since our sledding episode when he thought his teasing had made me psychotic. Every once in a while being crazy did have its advantages. I'd rather be happy than crazy, though. Just like I'd rather be clean than hungry, I guess.

During our break Sam got a call from her mom, who was remarried and living in Hawaii at a resort with her new husband, the resort owner, with whom Sam did not get along. Conversations with her mom sometimes became unpleasant to overhear, so I went upstairs to investigate a more appealing prospect: the promising smell of chocolate chip cookies baking in the oven. Since they weren't quite ready, I took the opportunity to visit with Sam's perpetually good-humored older sister, Serena, and her daughter, Kailee, an adorable toddler who looked like a mini-me of her mother. I commented on that while I was sitting on the floor with Kailee, who was demonstrating for me the features and benefits of her family heirloom Tickle Me Elmo doll.

Serena was sitting on the floor in front of a coffee table. She had an elaborate setup of beads and jewelry-making paraphernalia spread across the top. It seemed like a bold move or an invitation for disaster with Kailee so close, but apparently the two had worked that out between themselves. As she maneuvered a bead onto a metal string, Serena replied, "You know who she really looks like is her aunt Sammie. Don't you, Kay-Kay?"

I couldn't be sure of that because Kailee wasn't dressed in the Goth style at the moment. Serena rose and went over to the bookshelf to retrieve something. She made a show of sneaking over to look down the stairs before coming back to where we were on the floor. She opened up what I could see now was a photo album and turned to a page near the front. At first it appeared to be a portrait of Kailee. But according to the gold inscription in the corner of the photo, it was taken in the early '90s.

Wow.

Kailee's resemblance to Sam at the same age was uncanny.

Was Kailee a clone?

Serena got the reaction she was looking for from me and smiled hugely with satisfaction.

"See? Sam Junior, huh?"

"Wow. That's amazing. Is that weird for you? I mean, you remember when Sam was a baby, right?" I asked.

"Yes and yes. But it's nice, too. It feels like home, in a way. I thought my parents had Sam just for me. She was _my_ baby ... still is."

She turned pensive as she looked at the pictures with me.

"I was born at the beginning of their relationship, and she was born at the end," she said with a sigh.

I continued turning the pages slowly, eager to soak up historical images of my friend. She looked so different, so natural. The Suns were beautiful people, and well off, apparently. There were pictures of the girls playing in the driveway with a Porsche and palm trees and what looked like a mansion for a house in the background of other shots. There were pictures of them with either one or the other parent atop the Eiffel Tower (the real one in Paris, not the replica at Kings Island) and with Cinderella at Disneyland, and Shamu at SeaWorld.

Their mom looked just like them, except her skin was darker. Their dad was dark haired, but of a much fairer complexion. The four of them were never in any pictures together, though, and that gave everything a sad undertone.

As I turned the pages and took in the fascinating collection of images documenting my friend's past, I came across a section that I had to scrutinize very carefully, because at first I thought it might be some kind of photo manipulation joke.

It looked like Sam might have been eleven or twelve, and she was smiling beautifully holding three bouquets while surrounded by three identical boys. Significantly, this was not a portrait from a studio or a print-off from the computer; it was the carefully clipped cover of a celebrity magazine.

_Me Three_ was a program that I had watched faithfully when I was eleven or twelve. It came on at seven o'clock on weeknights. It was my favorite show on my favorite network, Nickelodeon.

Each week over the next few years millions of other tweens and I had tuned in to watch the crazy hijinks of identical triplets pretending to be identical twins, so that someone could always have the day off. All three boys had a crush on the same beautiful girl next door, Kristy Elliott, played by Sarah Sun, or Sarah Samantha Sun, according to her birth announcement in the front of the album.

That explained a lot.

Serena smiled big at the shock and awe playing across my face. That was definitely the response she was hoping for. Then she got down to explanations.

"Our dad's a television producer. He got her that job. Turned out to be a blessing and a curse," she explained, as she looked at the gossip magazine cutouts with me.

"After the show got canceled, she came to live with me. The glamorous life is harder than it looks, I think. You never know who your real friends are. She's so much happier here," she said looking down at me with a beautiful but tired smile.

Serena was still on guard for the approach of my two companions downstairs. Apparently I was being leaked some highly classified information.

There were four or five pages in the album dedicated to _Me Three_ memorabilia, including some photos of Sam with various famous personalities when she had been a presenter at the Nickelodeon Kids' Choice Awards. It was weird because I remembered watching that.

Huh.

To my deep gratification, the last page to be completed was a collage of Sam and me in our various exploits over the last few months, including a self-portrait of the two of us in Goth inside the handicapped stall at Tinseltown. Seeing my image gathered in a collection of my best friend's history made my heart swell.

This important new data was cool, but it didn't change how I felt about Sam. I couldn't love her any more than I already did. But it explained the whole obscuring herself thing. She just wanted privacy, and being in Goth was how she achieved it, allowing her to hide in plain sight. Plus, it was a very good way to weed out true friends from false. As far as that went, I put up with Trevor; she'd never have a truer friend than I was.

Suddenly, the album was gone, and I was looking at the carpet instead. Serena snapped it up and hurried to replace it on the shelf. I quickly jumped into a game of tickle monster with Kailee, and Serena moved into the kitchen area to answer the call of the oven timer.

Trevor and Sam emerged from the lower level hand in hand and made their way over to where Sam Junior and I were still having an epoch battle of clash of the ticklers.

Kailee's demeanor changed immediately. It was funny to me that even though Trevor and Sam were basically the same in their scary looks, the toddler regarded them each very differently. She was terrified of Trevor and kept trying to pull Sam away, as though she were worried for her aunt's safety and could do something about it. Or maybe she was just jealous—I knew how she felt.

Trevor didn't seem offended, but was amused, like I was. I'm sure he knew just how frightening he was and didn't need someone thirty inches tall to confirm it. The part of my brain dedicated to involuntary and abstract thoughts wondered what TV show _he_ had starred in. Something on Syfy Channel, no doubt.

# Chapter 14

Sam invited herself over for the night. It was an unusual move for her because she did not generally enjoy time spent at my house. But it turned out to be the lesser of two evils for her. She explained that she was looking for an escape while Serena hosted one of her former Laker Girls team members, who was visiting for the weekend. Sam would rather stay with me and be herself than pretend to be pleasant for company she didn't enjoy. Her story was very convincing, but I knew there was more to it: she was worried about me.

It had been a year since losing Grandpa. I'd been feeling melancholy all week and Sam was aware of the reason. She must have decided that I needed a distraction. Part of me wanted to be left alone, but the other part couldn't get enough of her flattering attention. It never got old.

This would be my first endeavor at hosting a sleepover. I wasn't nervous about entertaining her. She was easy to be with. What made me nervous was the "worlds colliding" aspect of being around Sam and my mom at the same time.

Mom's presence, or, more specifically, my behavior in my mom's presence (cheery acquiescence), did not always meet with Sam's approval, and at times it even fired her annoyance. She was an extremely free spirit, the epitome of self-directed maturity, and my most treasured hero; she was also my exact opposite.

My mom's pleasant but intractable insistence upon healthy eating, limited exposure to television, and everyone getting no less than eight full hours of sleep each night greatly cramped Sam's style. As she came to know me better, Sam developed the conviction that I was suffering from the ill effects of a "mommy knows best" style of parenting. After my two biggest female influences had their first meeting, Sam made it her new mission in life to set me free from repression. The crazy thing was that my mom was unaware of her involvement in the battle for my soul. Because it was clear to her that Sam loved me, she in turn loved Sam—unconditionally.

As we moved into my room for the night, my guest carried in a grocery bag, a duffle bag, and something on a hanger.

"Can I hang this up in your closet?" she asked as she opened the door, not waiting for permission. The chagrin settled on me while the scene on the back of my closet door settled on Sam. She stared at it wordlessly for thirty seconds or more.

With a look of pure amusement, especially when she recognized her own image among the others arranged there, she looked over at me, eyebrows raised.

"Wall of Heroines," I explained, without flourish.

Though I felt embarrassed, I decided to take a page from Sam's manual and not act ashamed of my own preferences. Besides, she deserved to know what she was dealing with.

"This is awesome!"

She was being genuine. I felt relief, but not surprise. She always seemed pleased to unearth evidence of my strange personal preferences, probably because I was so secretive about them. She was invariably intrigued, but I was certain that eventually she'd make that final bizarre discovery that would end her charitable fascination with me once and for all. Apparently the collage of celebrity magazine clippings featuring my very favorite lady heroes wasn't the end game discovery I feared it might be.

"Elizabeth Bennett, Eleanor Dashwood, Anne Elliot, Arwen, Eowyn, Trinity, Alice," she named them off as she identified them. "Who are these?" she asked as she pointed to some characters in the animation section.

"That's Red Riding Hood and Granny Puckett, from _Hoodwinked._ And those are Elastigirl, Violet, and Edna from _The Incredibles,_ " I said.

"Who is this?" she asked, pointing to a recent photo cutout.

"My driving instructor," I replied, shrugging.

I braced for a line of interrogation, but she let it go.

"How many are on here?" she asked as she bent down to look at the faces that covered the entire surface of the door, all the way down to the floor.

"Several years' worth. It's been a hobby of mine for a while," I admitted, then laughing once I said, "Incidentally, Monica does not approve."

I knew that would get her fired up. She didn't disappoint.

"Why?"

She was totally indignant.

"She thinks it's beneath me. _Puerile,_ I believe, was the word she used."

"Okay, I'll take the bait: what does _puerile_ mean?"

"Silly, trivial, immature," I explained.

She drew a breath as though she might retaliate with an insult of her own but then thought better of it.

Sam spent a gratifying period of time closely scrutinizing all the faces on the door, chuckling approval at some, questioning others. When she was finished with her analysis of a very real window into my psyche, she placed her things inside the closet, purposely leaving the door open, then moved to my bed.

"Tell me the truth, doesn't your mom drive you crazy, El?" she asked as she stretched out on top of my comforter, with her back pushed up against the pillows at the headboard.

I shut the closet door and crossed the room to join her, sitting cross-legged at her feet.

"She's entitled to her opinion. She's really not that bad."

And she wasn't. She was always very pleasant in her pursuit of health and happiness and decorum. I had never been yelled at or spanked in my entire life. I knew most people, including Sam, couldn't say the same.

"That right there! That's what's so disturbing! You're sticking up for her. You don't even know how bad it is."

I sighed. We had this kind of conversation frequently because Sam was always pushing me to break the barriers I lived within. And cowardly as always, I would blame anything I didn't want a part of on my mom's rules.

"You're right. She's pretty strict, I know. It's just that she's lost everyone she's ever loved, well, except for me and Hoyt. I understand why she's so protective. I don't mind, for now. It'll be different when I'm on my own. I can be patient with her until then."

She brightened at that last part.

"Speaking of moving out, I wanted to talk about college, about you and me getting a place together."

She was excited.

I sighed again.

"Sam, I don't see how that can work out. There aren't any earth science programs in the schools you applied to."

"You're not serious about majoring in geology, are you? I'm sorry, but that seems like a huge waste of your talents."

"Which talents are you referring to?"

"Hello, Miss Walking Dictionary. How do you do? Miss Coin Aficionado. Greetings, Miss Exact Ethnicity Guesser. Good day, Miss Speaks Dead on in Foreign Accents. Come on, Ellery. Rocks? Really? You have so much more to offer. There's got to be a better fit for you than rocks."

My strange interests lent themselves to employment in a traveling circus perhaps, but nothing purposeful or particularly gainful.

"Minerals, actually," I clarified.

"Minerals? How can minerals make you happy?"

"Diamonds are minerals, you know," I teased. "Girl's best friend and all?"

"Wearing them, El, not digging in the dirt for them! Please!" she said with a huff.

"You know who you sound like now, don't you?" I asked.

"No, who?"

"Monica."

I smiled big, knowing that she'd hate being compared to my mom.

"Shut up!"

She laughed and pushed at me playfully with the balls of her feet. Then she was serious again.

"Ellery, please just consider some alternatives, okay? Here are the schools I'm seriously considering," she said as she handed me a folded sheet of paper.

I opened it up to see a printout of various schools with bullet points about their programs. I had a feeling that each of the respective admissions offices already had applications from me.

"Look at everything with an open mind and see if maybe there could be something better for you. I'll go to any of those schools. They all have top-rated journalism programs. Just say the word."

Sam's master plan was to pursue a career in sports broadcasting, with an inside edge as a former child star and connections like her NBA brother-in-law and who knew how many celebrities from her Nickelodeon days. Once she got established as a reporter, she would work on producing her own show on cable, possibly a travel show. That sounded good to me. I'd definitely watch it.

I wished I had a master plan like that. Unfortunately, a gift for strategy was not one of my "talents."

"Are you that sure you'll be accepted?" I asked.

She was smug.

"Absolutely."

"And you'd actually let me decide ... for both of us?"

I was touched.

"Of course. We're like family. We're going to share a place on our own, just you and me. It's gonna be fantastic."

"And what about Trevor?"

I was skeptical. There was no way she would choose me over him.

I'd finally called her bluff. She looked away, avoiding my eyes.

"I don't know about that part yet, El. He keeps avoiding the subject of college, so I guess we'll see. Don't you dodge me, too. I need a straight answer, all right?"

The look in her eyes was pleading.

I nodded.

"I'll think about it," I said as I scanned the list. "Maybe you're right. I would love to be on my own ... with you."

With you running my life instead of Monica?

I laughed at the reversal that would represent.

"That'll be a valuable education in itself, won't it? I wonder if that would count as a minor," I mused out loud.

She smiled hugely at my response, as if she'd won or something.

"So, what did you bring me?" I asked, looking toward the brown grocery bag that came upstairs with us instead of into the kitchen.

"Your favorites: Pop Secret with extra butter, Nestlé Toll House chocolate chip cookie dough, and for breakfast, Peanut Butter Captain Crunch."

"I love you," I said with deep feeling.

"I know. And just think how good it'll be this fall," she said, trying to tempt my junk food−loving inner child.

"Yeah, I'll miss all my classes while I sleep off the mother of all sugar comas, thanks to you," I said.

I scooped up one of her feet and started rubbing her toes with both hands, pulling and twisting them one by one.

"Sam?" I was nervous about asking this next question.

"Yeah?" she had lain back to enjoy an impromptu massage.

"Do you think you and Trevor will ever get married?"

I kept rubbing even though she didn't answer me for a while.

"Absolutely."

There wasn't a hint of doubt in her tone. I looked up in surprise as my hands dropped her foot on the bed.

"Are you two engaged?" I was instantly unsettled.

She picked up on my turmoil and propped herself up with an arm, turning toward me.

"Does that make you nervous?"

"You're engaged!?" I blurted out, definitely panicked.

"I didn't say that. But what if we were?"

She was enjoying herself too much. I picked her foot back up and tickled it in retribution. She jerked it away and yelped in playful alarm at the same time.

"Don't do that to me! I need lots of notice before you two leave me. I'm serious," I warned.

She laughed and scooted to the end of the bed, taking my hands in hers.

"Do you think that when I'm married to Trevor we won't be friends anymore?"

I shook my head.

"No. We'll always be friends, I know. But things will be different. I mean, I'll be totally happy for you and everything. Trevor's awesome. But you two will need time to be ... you two ... not ... we three."

I sighed and smiled at her, trying to be reassuring.

"When I'm on my own more, I know I'll start wishing I had what you have. You're so happy and in love. I want that, too. It's hard for me sometimes." I laughed and continued, "You scared me just now. I thought I had lots of time to get used to the idea of Mrs. Samantha Redmond."

She laughed too and squeezed my hands.

"Okay. Here's the deal. He asked me if I would marry him ... someday ... and I said yes, someday. There's no ring, no date, nothing official. I'm going to go to school, he's going to work and save up some money. Then, in a couple of years we'll tie the knot. Does that meet with your approval?"

I reached over and hugged her tight.

"Oh, Sam! That's wonderful. I'm so happy for you. I knew this was going to happen. The first day he came, I knew it then."

She reached up and smoothed a tear off my cheek. I was surprised at myself.

"These are tears of joy, right?" she asked, unconvinced.

I tried to wipe my face with my forearm and nod in the affirmative at the same time.

"Don't be sad, El," she said, hugging me back. "Right now there's a boy out there wishing for you just like you're wishing for him. You're both on paths that will cross someday, just like mine did with Trevor's."

My path crossed with one boy's already. But it was probably too much to hope for some kind of destiny with him.

She patted my shoulders and then reached up to push my hair behind my ears.

"So here's the plan: keep rolling. That day will be here before you know it, and when it finally happens, all this fun we've had on the way will be just like hors d'oeuvres before the main course, or like fun stopovers on the road trip of destiny. You'll see. There's plenty of happy to be had right now, all along the way. Speaking of which, do you want popcorn or cookies?"

She reached over and picked up the grocery bag.

"Popcorn. Is there any Cherry Coke in there to go with it?" I asked jokingly.

To my delight, she pulled out a couple of twelve-ounce bottles. They were still pleasingly cold.

"Here's to destiny," she said.

Then she opened her bottle and took a sip. I took a sip of mine, too, and smiling big I added, "And sugar comas."

# Chapter 15

It was late April. My mom was very pleased with the arrangements I'd made to spend the weekend with Sam. Sometimes it was difficult to gauge who was happier that I had a best friend now, my mom or me. When I'd first introduced Ms. Sun to my mom and Hoyt, I'd been careful to do so only after it was well established that my new friend was the highlight of my life. That way when they met her, out of pity for me and a desire to keep me happy, no matter what the cost, they would smile and be pleasant to my horrifying Goth girlfriend, instead of diving in front of me like secret service agents when they saw her for the first time.

But just as with any truly good person, the shell seems to become less and less important as the inner core becomes more and more apparent. Sam was extremely mature and easygoing and engaged my mom's affections instantly. Her being good to me was truly all that was necessary, though, and she excelled at that.

I suppose Mom thought that we were just going to hang out at Sam's after school and then have a sleepover. She didn't ask for specifics, and I didn't offer them. The real plan was to cut school and head to Mason, Ohio, a northern suburb of Cincinnati and the home of Kings Island amusement park.

I had been extremely skittish about cutting class and leaving the state overnight, but it was in the name of fun, and Sam was counting on me. Her insistence that I always be present when Trevor was around had never diminished, and with a hotel reservation mixed into the plans, she'd made it clear that my presence was mission critical. She didn't use the term, but eventually it dawned on me that I was their chaperone.

Goths needed chaperones?

Mine did, apparently. Maybe it was the "sophistication" I added to the trio. Probably it was that they needed a normal-looking person to represent them in front of the authorities. Whatever the draw, I was, as always, flattered and grateful to be included.

A day at Kings Island was the opposite of my idea of a good time, but I simply couldn't say no to them, though I had made it clear that I would ride only one roller coaster one time and that if I even sensed the mental vibration of coercion to do any more than that, I would hide from them the rest of the day until the fireworks at ten o'clock.

Leaving the house at our normal time for school put us at the park at exactly the time that the gates were opening. I had debated about how I could let my security people know my plans, but short of writing a leave-behind confession in a diary, there didn't seem to be a way to tip them off appropriately. Instead I decided to let them earn their keep and scramble, the way they would if I didn't know about them. So when our car took the ramp toward I-71 north, instead of staying straight on our way to school, I knew that several people were on their way to having a bad day ... or maybe just an interesting one. Unfortunately, nobody would have time to pack clean underwear or a toothbrush.

They had those things in Ohio, right?

Because it was a weekday, the crowd was sparse, though some people had come to celebrate their spring break. Neither Sam nor Trevor had ever been there before, and they were both very excited about the opportunity to ride everything with absolutely no waiting. Though I felt sick with dread, I dutifully marched them straight into Rivertown, the neighborhood of the park that was the residence of The Beast. It was a fitting introduction to their experience at Kings Island.

For a person who hated roller coasters so much, I still proved to be an excellent source of historical and technical information about the world's most famous roller coaster. I explained interesting details, like the fact that it's the longest roller coaster in the USA and the longest wooden roller coaster in the world, sprawling over thirty-five acres and producing a ride that tops out at nearly seventy miles an hour, but still takes over four minutes to complete. Some forty million riders had experienced The Beast since it first opened in April 1979. As of this morning, it would be forty million and three.

Though they thought I was humoring them, which certainly worked to my advantage, I had other reasons for riding The Beast. It was a connection to the past, and to my father and grandfather, who had indoctrinated me with all the technical data related to this attraction. Both of them were G force junkies, and this ride provided three G's on the big 141-foot drop of the first hill. I always rode with my eyes closed, and this day was no exception. In fact, it was a helpful way to facilitate the fantasy that I was riding with my dad by my side, instead of Trevor. It was bittersweet. The last time I'd ridden it on a cool spring day like this, my pilot dad was holding my hand, hooting and hollering like a kid. The discomfort was worth the memory, though, and surprisingly, I didn't cry—because of the discomfort or the memory.

Once my duty was fulfilled, I took up residence at a table in the sun near the food court area of Rivertown. They hurried off to experience the Diamondback roller coaster and its 74-degree, 215-foot drop.

No thank you.

I'd been itching for a chance to read my latest paperback purchase, the third book in a best-selling series—a story about a teenager like me and her dark and mysterious love interest, an older man who wasn't exactly human. Apart from the supernatural, there were some seriously relatable factors at play here.

Sam had recommended the story when we first met, back in the fall. It wasn't normally my kind of story, and I wasn't inclined to read anything remotely romantic at that time, but she assured me that I would love it—which of course I did—until I got to the second book in the saga. The story took an unexpected turn down heartbreak highway, and I could barely get through it. In fact, when I realized that the hero was planning on leaving the heroine for her own safety, I wanted to jump into the story and warn her, suggesting that she take off on him instead, and see how he liked being left high and dry. I even designed an exit strategy for her, because after researching it I learned that the small town in which the story takes place actually does have a Mailboxes Etc.

When I had angrily confronted Sam about the upset the turn in the plot had caused me, she said, "Ellery, the sad part of the story is important. It makes the happy parts ... happier."

"Well, can I skip it, or will I miss too much?" I countered still very miffed.

"Yeah, you'll just miss whatever you skip."

Her logical assessment along with my own burning curiosity helped me muscle through the unpleasant parts of the second installment. The story was very well written, but the stunningly accurate descriptions of the feelings that go with losing a loved one and losing the future you'd planned to have with him were nearly too much for me.

Ultimately, Sam was right, and by the end of the story, things had gotten back on track, more or less. I was eager to see where things would lead in the third book of the saga, blocking out all sensation of where I was to escape into a much more interesting and enjoyable fictional landscape.

The scopophobic sensation, however, could not be blocked. I fought it for a while, but then I had to look up. Even a normal person would do that periodically, I told myself, if for no other reason than to look around for her friends. So I allowed myself brief glances at regular intervals. I smiled internally with slightly pernicious satisfaction over the fact that the security team would have to work extremely hard to stay out of site today, since practically no one was here besides the Goths and the attraction operators, and the cashier at the Steak Fry and Funnel Cake shack.

The Goths were aglow with excitement and pleasure from all the death-defying amusement they'd been hopping around to, unimpeded by others getting in the way, trying to do the same. This really was the right time to come. Besides, there being no line at any ride, it was also quiet and nice for reading. The fact that I'd paid forty-eight dollars to do so was just part of the "stupid tax" for which my abnormalities and insecurities and preferences made me constantly liable.

I had explained to Sam and Trevor in the car on our way north about the concept of "framily." In life, you can't choose your family. And sometimes certain family members aren't necessarily your friends. But you can choose your friends, and when you love them as much as family, that makes them framily.

It was my sad and pathetic little way of explaining how much I loved them. They liked it, though, and agreed about all of it—especially the part about the family not always being friends, an obvious side effect of life as a Goth ... or maybe the cause?

Throughout the day I would take breaks from my book to join them on Ellery-approved, and therefore totally lame, rides and attractions like Scooby-Doo and the Haunted Castle, the Grand Carousel, and the king of lame rides, the Kings Island and Miami Valley Railroad. There was lots of vindictive pleasure to be had in making everyone ride in a circle at five miles an hour around the park on an old-fashioned train ride. But they did it anyway, because despite all that was backwards and unlikely and lame about me, I was still, after all, framily.

# Chapter 16

We didn't stay at Kings Island until it closed at ten o'clock. Thank goodness for that. There are only so many times you can ride roller coasters with no waiting, over and over again, until you get bored with it...even if you are mentally unbalanced enough to enjoy riding them in the first place.

We finally pulled away from King's Island around four o'clock and pulled in right next door to our hotel, Great Wolf Lodge. Once inside our room that had three queen size beds, one of which was positioned in a cool upstairs loft, with its own bathroom up there, we took turns cleaning up.

Sam went first in our shared bathroom and Trevor used his own private facilities in the loft area. I was surprised when he came down looking completely normal. I'd seen him this way only very rarely...just a few times during the winter. It was a little unsettling because it wasn't what I was used to, though he was so incredibly handsome I felt sure I could get used to it pretty quickly.

Why couldn't they both just be gorgeous all the time? But then again, how would I feel about myself if they were? Makeup notwithstanding, I would always be the odd one out, but it would still be worth it. They both had their reasons for going Goth, though, and I loved them no matter how scary or gorgeous they chose to be.

I was sitting on my bed digging in my wallet and dumped out a handful of change. I had noticed a pop machine in the hallway on our way in, and I wanted to get a bottle of Cherry Coke that I could stash in the refrigerator for later. As I carefully picked through the coins, I separated out the quarters I would need for my drink from the special quarters (state quarters) I hadn't had the chance to review and isolate since I'd received them in change earlier in the day. I'd been distracted at the time thinking I'd seen Ash, but it was a false and disappointing alarm.

It happened after lunch, during a Goth free period, after I'd just bought a cherry Icee at the concession stand. I felt the eyes on me and glanced up in a different direction so that I could get a quick peripheral view. It was a young man with medium length curly black hair and light coffee colored skin sitting at one of the tables on the far side of the food court, facing me. My heart skipped a beat as I raced in my mind to explain why Ash would show himself so plainly, looking directly at me, after months of careful, but not always successful concealment.

I couldn't come up with an answer that made any sense, but I was thrilled any way and turned my gaze directly at him, only to be deeply disappointed by the face of a stranger. This face wasn't handsome at all. It featured a disproportionately large nose, beady dark eyes and a scruffy goatee. It was a huge let down, like black licorice instead of dark chocolate. Plus, moving the encounter even deeper into dissatisfaction was the dawning realization that he was leering at me, intentionally moving his eyes up and down my body until they rested back on my face. Then he took long drag on a cigarette and stood up like he was coming over.

The warning bells in my mind were ringing furiously as I scurried away in a panic to the Ladies' Room, as if that would actually deter a bad guy. I hung out for a while inside the handicapped stall with my feet up, all alone, listening intently. No one ever came in, either to use the facilities or to accost me, and after a good five minutes of cowering, I summoned the courage to step out into the sun again. I'd given myself a pep talk about not being paranoid and trusting the security people to do their job, and how cool it would be to see someone like that guy get his butt kicked, possibly by Ash! That last line of reasoning had me rushing out the door actually hoping it wasn't too late to run into creepy goatee guy. But alas, I never saw that character again, though I was on high alert the rest of the day.

That episode had disrupted my normal change review procedure where I check for quarters received in change that appeal to me. Now as I looked through my money, I made a point to separate out the coins that were important, generally any quarter that pictured something other than an eagle on the back, carefully sealing them away in a separate little zipper area of the change purse section of my wallet. Then I put my wallet on the dresser and picked up the room key card. I'd been so engrossed in what I was doing, and rethinking the paranoia episode, that I didn't realize Trevor was standing over me, watching my entire obsessive-compulsive ritual as it played out unmistakably.

"Do you have enough quarters there Ellery?"

He was amused, of course.

"Yeah, I brought extra in case we ended up at a laundromat," I joked and moved away, not wanting to be interrogated any further on this subject.

Then I stepped out into the hall and purchased my drink. When I returned to our room, Sam was out of the bathroom so I moved in for my turn. I took a quick shower. The water was off now and I could hear the conversation fairly well on the other side of the door.

"Do you want anything? My treat," I could hear Sam asking, and then she laughed after the last part.

She was right outside the bathroom, by the hallway door. Trevor's voice was harder to understand since he was farther away.

"Okay. I'll be right back," she said and then I heard the door click shut.

Wait a minute!

What was Sam going to do at a vending machine with her debit card? She was the incredible cashless wonder girl. I'd never seen anybody get by so smoothly with no actual money. I'd even witnessed her buy a pack of gum with her card, which had embarrassed me, on her behalf. Then with sickening clarity it dawned on me. They must have been discussing the quarter situation in my wallet, and she'd just helped herself to my collection.

NO!

In a panic, still dripping wet, I pulled on my jeans, not wasting precious time with underwear first. Then I desperately grabbed a towel and wrapped it around my top and bolted out the door and down the hall to the scene of the crime, hoping I wasn't too late.

I called frantically to her before I got there, "Sam! Wait! Don't use my quarters!" but I could hear the clinking sound of deposited coins even as I approached.

She looked shocked as I rounded the corner in double-time, making the turn bouncing on one foot, crazy half dressed outfit and all.

"Sam! Stop! Let me have those!" I demanded breathlessly.

I was being totally ridiculous and I knew it, but it was the principle of the thing, and I was afraid she'd taken my special quarters. When I grabbed her hands and emptied them of my coins, sure enough, she'd taken all of them, including the very ones I was most loath to part with.

I scanned the face of the machine, searching for the tally in red lighted digits. It read seventy-five cents. So she'd sacrificed three already.

Darn it!

I carefully pushed the metal 'change return' button, the vending machine equivalent of a parking brake on a car; a feature with the appearance of purpose but not always accompanied by actual functionality.

To my amazed and thankful great relief, that familiar clinking sound tinkled out again, as the quarters dropped into the change bin with the little clear plastic door, and I rescued my treasures from certain doom.

If only there was a way to rescue my dignity at this point! Nope. That was now completely forfeit.

I fingered through the pile in my hand and pulled out six acceptable quarters, the kind with the eagle on the back, and turned them over to her.

"Here. Use these. And please ask me before you get in my wallet next time. You can't spend my Kentucky Quarters in a vending machine," I pronounced with finality and deep conviction, at the same time hitching up the towel around my middle and pushing a section of tangled, dripping wet hair out of my eyes. Then I turned and quickly walked away before she could respond or anybody saw me half dressed and totally crazy.

After that, we headed out to get some dinner at the Outback Steakhouse that we had spotted when we were getting off the exit for Kings Island that morning. I ordered the coconut shrimp (our food choices really are indicative sometimes), which was great, as usual. We took our time, ordering appetizers, our entrees and then dessert, but afterwards we found ourselves at a loose end and it wasn't even seven o'clock.

My interpretation of 'loose end' was greatly mistaken, though, when it was revealed that the hotel Sam had chosen for us had its own indoor water park. This fact had been suspiciously concealed from me until the last moment, but I didn't really care. They could go swimming if they wanted. I had my book. I had finished it, but I would just start over. I was tired anyway; so hanging out in our cool room that looked like a summer camp was fine with me.

Neither of them was having any of it, though. In fact the whole conspiracy became shockingly clear once we were back in our room and Sam produced a swimsuit for me to wear. She guilt tripped me into joining them downstairs with the whole 'Please? I need you' thing that worked every time, no matter how bad the consequences seemed like they would be for me.

Her dark sense of humor never failed to assert itself, even in her attempts to be solicitous, though as things unfolded, 'dark' didn't seem to capture the essence of the situation. Upon my inspection of her gift, 'evil' seemed a more fitting description.

The swimsuit, a misnomer, as there was nothing remotely 'suitable' about it, but evil in and of itself, was not a swimsuit at all. It was a bikini; something I would _never_ consciously choose to wear. Oh, but it got better. It was a Hannah Montana bikini.

I had no ill will towards Hannah herself; I would just prefer not to be identified with the demographic of her fan base, even if every person knowledgeable enough to make such determinations would put me there, based on my appearance, whether my bikini actually said 'Hannah Montana' on my butt or not.

"Do you hate me?" I asked as I exited the bathroom, fully clothed over the top of my joke swim fashions underneath.

My button-up shirt was open so she could see I was in compliance, though highly passively aggressively so.

"Would you be serious?" Sam replied, rolling her eyes in mock affront.

"Right after you."

It was the most edge I'd ever used with her. There was a deeper nervousness at play here than being embarrassed about my swimsuit. She thought she knew exactly what I meant and didn't play dumb about it.

"It was the only thing I could find that would fit. You're a stick you know."

"Yes. I'm quite aware of my figure, thanks," I cut back, with more edge.

"Now Ellery, you know that's not what I meant. There are people who would trade their soul for your figure, so I don't want to hear it. Now, let's go have some fun. We're having fun on this trip, remember?"

I just shook my head.

Well I can see that you certainly are.

I moved past her out the door with a towel in one hand and my book in the other. Trevor was standing there with us, but had remained intelligently silent throughout the exchange. He closed the door behind us as Sam led the way to the water area.

The chlorine smell grew in intensity until we passed through the doors leading into the water park and I could actually feel warm wet waves of the chemical in its semi-liquid gaseous form sticking to my face and burning my nose and throat.

I hated swimming pools. I always had.

So gross.

Chlorine might kill the germs, theoretically, but the bodily fluids mixed in the water in which those germs were transferred remained completely unaltered by the chemical...diluted a little, but still... _so gross_.

As if in answer to my silent reflections, the first person I saw was a toddler, probably only a year old, ready to have big splashing fun in the pool, his swim diaper in place making him all set to go—literally.

So gross!

I tried to distract myself from the growing panic attack gathering strength like a storm at sea heading for shore. An interesting way to do that was to closely scrutinize my uncharacteristically natural looking framily members. They had both shed their Goth personas when they got cleaned up for dinner, in preparation for pool time, I now realized. Sitting across the table from them had not been the best venue for gawking, obviously, but now in the pool as they held on to each other and fooled around splashing and dunking and enjoying being semi-dressed together, I had ample opportunity to observe.

It was no secret now. They were both fabulously good looking—especially when you put them together, even wet, maybe more so that way.

As I stood ankle deep in the water, I felt an overwhelming need to turn and run. My theme song was starting to play in my mind, a song called 'Creep" (radio version, of course). This had been a key mental soundtrack in my life, which had become distinctly and pleasantly absent since I'd made friends with Sam. I could hear the music now and my own voice singing "What the hell am I doing here? I don't belong here."

No, I did not. I slowly turned my back on them, preparing to slink away since I wasn't part of what was happening anyway.

I got as far as the table, one hand on my book, the other reaching for the keycard, when hands on both sides looped under my arms and picked me up off the ground, hauling me backwards towards the pool.

"I can walk guys. Put me down."

They didn't. The hurricane was breaking ashore now. The panic was rolling in like a storm surge.

"Seriously, let me down. NOW."

It was like I was talking to myself. We kept moving, maybe faster. I couldn't even see where we were going because I was turned around the wrong way, though I already knew, I guess. My feet hit the water now, but we kept moving.

"Okay. _Please_?"

I sounded panicked to me. They didn't care.

We were moving into deeper water now. The imaginary storm turned real as the wave pool waves started up. It was very serious now. I couldn't swim and they were going to let me loose in deep water in the waves. My friends were actually going to kill me. Well, at least they'd feel guilty when they had to explain what happened to my mom and the police. There was some satisfaction in that. No, actually there wasn't.

How about if I just confess that I can't swim while they still have me? Will they believe me or think it's just a trick to get released so I won't get my hair wet? Too late.

They hoisted me so that I broke free of the water, just as a break between the waves rolled through, so that I would fly farther into the deep end. Would it be my pride or my friends that was the death of me? A little of both I thought as I sucked in a last breath of air and then plunged under the water.

Just like that snowy day when I slipped on the ice, I wished for so many reasons that it wasn't happening to me. Though, I hadn't actually expected to die that time. This time I was counting on it. Even my security team couldn't help me now. This would be fast, and the waves would obscure the situation somewhat, costing me critical rescue response time.

Oh well.

That's what I got for cutting school and being deceitful with my mom and wearing a Hannah Montana bikini.

I tried to fight and stay afloat, but I had precious little experience with that, and as soon as I got nasty pool water in my mouth I panicked and started going under. And that was it...

"Oh God! I'm sorry! I'm so sorry! Ellery! Ellery!"

Sam's voice was fading in and out. She was crying and pleading at the same time. I couldn't see but my ears were working.

"I'm sorry, man."

Trevor's voice was apologetic too. Then he spoke soothingly to Sam.

"Just give her some space. She's gonna to be all right."

Sam was still having frightened hysterics.

"Honey, she's gonna be fine. Look, she's sitting up. It's fine. She's fine."

I was in a sitting position, but a very loose interpretation of that pose, doubled over, my legs wide apart and bent. It felt like I was having a dream about throwing up and choking and being beaten all at the same time. It was painful and awful and gross and embarrassing and the scopophobic sensation was all over it.

Great.

I played high low in my mind with how many people might be gathered around me, rubber-necking. I was not fine—Trevor was delusional. I was the opposite of fine. I was still coughing convulsively but the beating on my back had stopped. I couldn't bear to open my eyes. I took a chance and started to slump, hoping somebody would catch me, but if I happened to knock myself out, that would be good too, maybe better.

"Okay. Let's get you to a chair," Trevor directed.

His voice sounded authoritative and calm. If no one had been paying attention, as I suspected, he would get all the credit for my rescue and none of the blame for being one of the culprits in the first place.

I kept my eyes closed tight and purposely made myself into dead weight, not helping a bit. I wanted them to sweat. I would have loved to play dead, but I couldn't control the coughing—just one of the many facets of disappointment the evening had produced.

I was placed in a chair. I could feel Sam's hands on me as she was putting towel after towel over and around me. Then she was on her knees in front of me holding my hand.

"Ellery?" I had smoothed out some. The coughing was toning down, starting to recede.

"Yes?"

My voice broke, even in a one-syllable reply.

It hurt to talk. My nose and throat burned terribly. I opened my eyes to her upset face, streaked with tears.

"I'm so sorry."

She was still crying.

Oh whatever.

"Sam?" It hurt but I had to say it anyway—I sounded like the Albino dungeon guy from the movie Princess Bride.

"Yes?"

Her red-rimmed wet eyes were wary.

"Are you sure you don't hate me?"

I couldn't stifle the sarcasm, but it made me smile. She laughed and sniffed, shaking her head vigorously.

She rose and leaned into me, wrapping her arms tightly around my middle. So tight, in fact that it was difficult to breathe. My prideful side wanted to be angry and indignant about the attempted involuntary manslaughter thing, but the vulnerable, lonely, affection starved emotional refugee was, ironically, the stronger side of me, and would take even more oxygen deprivation, welcome it really, if that was the price for feeling loved. I couldn't imagine a better bargain.

# Chapter 17

It was definitely a cause for celebration. I don't know how he pulled it off, but Hoyt was able to get my mom to agree to go on a cruise for their anniversary. I was glad for them to have a vacation. They needed it badly after months on suicide watch over me. I also took this to mean that they were over the worst of worrying about me. I wasn't the house party type, by any means, but the prospect of having the place all to myself for nine days was exciting. Their package was actually a five-day cruise out of Cape Canaveral in Florida. But since my mom wouldn't fly there, they had to drive and so they were taking extra time on their way down and back for the road trip.

I wouldn't say this to her, but it seemed like being on a cruise ship for a week would be much more risky than flying in a jet for a few hours, back and forth to somewhere. No matter how big the buffet or fabulous the shows promised to be, rogue waves and dysentery were a turn off to me—but to each her own.

I mentioned my parent's last minute decision vacation plans to Lidia, shortly after receiving the news myself, and she seemed oddly concerned. She asked if I wanted her to come and stay with me at night or if I might like to visit at her place while they were away.

Wow.

I wasn't going to say no to that. But I didn't want her to think I was totally pathetic, either. I'd have to think about the best way to proceed. I accepted her offers without being specific as to which, or when.

As the date drew nearer, Lidia was trying to nail down some timing, and I knew I was being rude by avoiding giving her a straight answer. But I wanted to have Samantha and Trevor over during that time as well and they hadn't gotten back to me yet. I decided to make plans with Lidia and just fit the other two in where I could.

First, I invited Lidia and her husband to join me for dinner at my place at the beginning of my solo time, the day my parents were leaving. Then I agreed to stay with the Laurences at their place for the weekend. This would leave plenty of opportunity to make plans with my Goths during the week. I had to laugh when I thought about the differences in my two sets of friends. It was what they had in common that I longed for, though. I imagined that it must be very nice to be part of a couple. But for me, being odd also meant being the odd one out. Still, it was better than being a party of one. Yes, I had my mom, and as much as I loved her to pieces, sometimes she felt more like a landlord, or a dietician, or a warden—my parent, in other words. Odd one out was great. Really.

I enjoyed cooking very much, but I had sort of given it up after my grandpa died. He was the only person I had played chef for, and I just felt empty and sad when I thought about cooking in my mom's kitchen, especially with her hovering over me, scoffing at the fat or cholesterol content of any given ingredient. But this was different. I wanted to make something really nice for Lidia and her husband, and prove that I wasn't completely inept. That last part was a stretch, I knew, but I would enjoy trying.

Thanks to my mom's nearly psychotic fixation with having a clean house, the only thing I needed to get ready for company was the food. She had left me a credit card and the keys were in the usual spot, so I hopped in my Jeep to make a trip into Middletown to go Krogering.

I realized while I was there, that this was the first time I'd ever actually been on a shopping trip (for more than just some gum or school supplies) on my own. It felt really adult. Of course, being as inexperienced as I was, I didn't realize that being a grown-up at the grocery store is over-rated.

I picked out the items that I needed—feeling weird the whole time because I was usually with an adult when the shopping cart was this full—and made my way to the register. I must have looked weird too, because the cashier kept searching behind me, like she was waiting for my mom to return with whatever item she had forgotten to pick up in the first aisle. It seemed like she was really dragging it out too, moving in super slow motion, trying to give my parent a chance to make it back before it was time to pay.

When the last item was finally scanned, about ten minutes later (good thing I wasn't in a hurry) and a variety of hopeful customers had abandoned the line behind me for more promising service in lanes on either side of me, I produced the credit card and handed it wordlessly to the cashier. She seemed a bit contrite, but didn't apologize.

I laughed to myself thinking about how my mother would have regarded all of my product choices. Using her credit card, I purposely bought exactly what I wanted, price or artificial ingredients be darned. I made a mental note to destroy the receipt, though, just to cover my tracks. After loading up the trunk and returning the cart to its corral, I headed for home.

I had decided to use a recipe from my Paula Deen cookbook. It was easy and there was no way to mess it up, unless I forgot to take it off the grill. After I put everything away, I placed the things I needed out on the counter and started to assemble our dinner.

The Torrences arrived just as I'd finished putting the chicken on the grill. I placed the platter in the oven to keep it warm, washed off my hands and went to answer the door.

As I passed the front window on my way, I noticed they had traveled in the Z. If it worked out, maybe we could go for a drive in it later, I schemed to myself.

Standing inside the foyer, Lidia introduced me to her husband, Ray. He looked so much like the actor Denzel Washington that I had to struggle to control my impulse to gawk. She was obviously a supermodel. Would it be such a stretch for her to be married to a movie star? It was strange but I noticed that he seemed to be as taken with me as I was with him—except whom did he think I was?

Lidia was clearly enjoying our reactions to each other. I swallowed down my shyness, giving myself an internal pep talk about how much she must like me to waste a Friday night like this.

I welcomed them both as warmly as I could, trying hard not to sound nervous, but without complete success. I invited them to join me in the kitchen while I finished up staging our dinner. I tried not to notice, but from the edges of my careful concentration I could see that they were both watching my every move with rapt attention. Was it really that novel to be entertained by someone like me? Apparently so.

I forgot that wild rice takes about twice as long as white rice to cook, so it wasn't finished and it wasn't something I could rush. It would be at least another twenty minutes.

To stall, I suggested that we have drinks and I'd show them how to play corn-hole.

"Would you like to choose the wine?" I asked to no one in particular with my back turned.

My parents were really into wine and kept a very nice selection in a special wine valet next to the refrigerator. I opened it up and Ray stepped forward to oblige.

"We're having grilled chicken breast stuffed with swiss and prosciutto, topped with a balsamic and cherry glaze. I don't drink wine, but I think that a dry white might go well, or a Zinfandel. But, since you'll be doing the drinking, just choose whatever sounds good," I said as I set out two wine glasses.

I couldn't help but be slightly smug about my wine pairing knowledge. They seemed sufficiently impressed. Ray chuckled in pleasure and said, "If our hostess recommends a dry white, then that's what we'll have."

He selected a bottle, manipulated the complicated bottle opener with the motions of an expert, and poured a glass for his beautiful wife, and one for himself. It could have been a commercial.

We stepped outside and into the back yard. I already had the corn-hole game set out, but I had forgotten the bags that were kept in a storage area under the deck. When I went to retrieve them I realized, to my great dismay, that several of the bags had been vandalized, probably by a gang of field mice. I scrambled for a remedy and an idea came to mind. It was a long shot, but I thought it was still worth a try.

I explained the situation to my confused guests and excused myself, promising to return with usable game pieces momentarily. Walking out my backyard in a diagonal trajectory toward the corner of our property, I crossed part of one neighbor's yard and entered the next. Moving along the edge of this yard, I made my way to the place where I knew corn-hole bags would be available. But getting their present owner to hand them over might be the hard part. I wasn't certain whether he would even answer the door.

This neighbor who had purchased my grandpa's home and nearly everything in it was an absorbing mystery. I'd never gotten a good look at him. He kept odd hours. I'd seen him coming and going in his car just a handful of times, but the windows were heavily tinted and he always shut the garage before he got in or out of his car. A lawn service cut the grass. The realtor told my mom that he was a computer software engineer. He obviously traveled quite a bit because at night his house was dark more often than not.

I knew that he was in town today because I had seen his SUV pull into the neighborhood as I was coming back from the store. I rang the doorbell a total of four times, not in rapid succession, but with appropriately polite spacing in between. I think perhaps he meant not to answer, but when it became clear that I had nothing better to do but to annoy him all night, he must have changed his mind. I was about to go for five rings when he suddenly materialized out of thin air. It startled me because I hadn't heard or seen him approach. The door went from being closed tight to open with him standing there looking at me, as though I had missed the part in the middle where you hear the footsteps coming, the lock un-clicking, and the door swinging open.

Suddenly we were face to face. It was like standing in the sun. I could feel the heat on my skin, and just like staring at the sun, I knew it was a bad idea to keep looking, but I didn't stop.

It was HIM! The one called Ash! As Sam had once put it, my 'totally handsome stalker.' The one who nearly freaked out when I disappeared at the theater. The one whose face starred in all my girlish fantasizing these days...

And now several pieces of the puzzle of my watchers came together simultaneously. It explained why I couldn't go outside in my own yard without instant scopophobic sensations cropping up. It also explained his reclusive, retiring habits. And it made perfect sense that he, or someone like him, would now occupy the house that backed up to my own. It was shocking to think perhaps he'd been living there all along, but not unpleasant...no, not unpleasant at all.

He was just so beautiful to look at. Very different. What was he? I couldn't decide. Not Hispanic. Not Indian (the Native American kind or the Asian kind). Usually I could guess a person's ethnicity accurately—it was a secret talent of mine. But I'd never seen anyone in real life or on TV that looked like him, so I had no frame of reference. He was a completely new kind of gorgeous—a very pleasant mystery, too. I think what was throwing me off were his eyes. They didn't seem to go with the rest of his 'décor'.

He had black, sort of curly, medium length hair. No beard or even the hint of one—he seemed too young for that any way. His nose was perfectly straight and there was a suggestion of a cleft in the center of his chin. His skin tone was like a cup of coffee where the normal proportions of java and cream had been reversed. But his eyes, the very best part of his face, seemed so unlikely, yet there they were. They were bloncket: a soft, light color, not quite blue, but not grey either—something in between that sort of changed back and forth the more I stared at them. And those eyes were staring a hole through me now, too.

How long had I been gawking? I suddenly remembered that I had been ringing the doorbell, so I should be doing the talking now.

"H-hi...I'm...uh...( _what was my name again?_ )...Ellery..." I struggled to concentrate and communicate, "I-I live...next door."

Yeah, in the group home for mentally handicapped people, he was probably thinking by now.

I commanded myself to breathe and took a generous gulp of air. His expression was like a parade, something new every second. First it looked like shock, then it was inquisitive, next it phased into confusion as I gawked, standing there speechless. When I had finally stumbled through my introduction his expression looked amused.

My mind was racing to chase down the reason I had come here.

Oh, right.

"I was hoping to see if I could borrow the bags to your corn-hole game?" I asked, spitting the request out in double time.

There was no comprehension in his face. To help explain myself I used a hand gesture, pretending to throw something from my open palm up and away, while slowly enunciating the words "C o r n - h o l e?"

A glorious, bemused smile broke across his face, like a solar flare. It warmed me. He must have gathered that I was questioning his local language skills and he wanted to put me at ease. In perfectly articulated English with no discernable accent, foreign or American regional, he said, "Oh...I mean yes. Certainly. You're welcome to whatever you need from me. Any time."

I thought about how wonderful it would be to have him make good on that promise...

He was still smiling at me and it was disrupting my thinking ability. I couldn't decide if he was gorgeous, or adorable, or handsome, but the sum of his attractiveness was greater than the combination of the individual adjectives that described him.

After another embarrassing interval, I realized that I was copying him...just standing and smiling, except my mind was whirling in a way that I doubted his was.

I almost thanked him and excused myself. Then I had a moment of clarity, the first I'd experienced since looking at his face. The clarity didn't translate into anything cool or pithy. It just made me repeat myself.

"C o r n - h o l e ?" I asked, gesture, and all.

He gave a short nervous laugh and said, "Oh yes. Okay...I have to admit, I don't know what that is, exactly."

I laughed too and replied, "Oh, sorry. It's the game where you throw the bag of corn into the hole..." I knew it sounded ridiculous. I started again. "Did you clean out your garage after you moved in?"

This must have seemed like an odd question. He looked like he was struggling to come up with the right answer. I continued.

"It's just that if you didn't move it or throw it away, I probably know where to find what I need..."

He seemed to accept that and immediately stepped aside, indicating for me to enter, and proceed. As I moved through the door, it occurred to me that this might be hard for me. The nostalgia and sentimentality might be too much. Reminding myself that I was here on a mission seemed to help me maintain my focus, and keep the emotions at bay.

He followed me through the foyer, down the hall and into the kitchen, where I turned and headed out into the garage. There was a bank of cabinets just outside the kitchen door, and the corn-hole set was stored in the nearest section. The bags were sealed in a clear plastic container.

That was smart.

I took the rectangular container out and closed the cabinet door.

"Here they are. So I just need them for tonight. I can bring them back when we're done... or..." a wonderful plan had just materialized in my mind, "or would you like to come over and... be my partner?"

His eyes widened and some inscrutable thought flashed through them, and then out again. His smile was soft, and a little sad, it seemed. Maybe he already had plans. I pushed ahead anyway.

"I mean, if you don't have plans, that is. I made dinner...and there's plenty," _Duh! That was stupid, he could eat my share if there wasn't plenty,_ "and when we play, well, you're supposed to play on teams, and well...we could be a team."

I wondered if he had any notion of how much I wanted there to be a double meaning to that last part.

I was starting to feel embarrassed because he hadn't said anything since I had walked in. Finally, he broke the silence.

"Amazing! I just went from a TV dinner all alone to a gourmet meal and a game night. I gladly accept your invitation. What time should I arrive?"

He was radiant with pleasure and it warmed me again. I had to gather all my focus to wrap my mind around his answer.

So that was a YES! What did he ask me at the end, though?

I knew I was just smiling stupidly now. Seconds passed. I was so happy he said yes I didn't know what to do next. He helped me.

"Shall I escort you home now, or would you like me to stop by a little later?" he asked very sincerely.

His expression held no trace of the mockery I deserved.

"Oh! You can come with me now," I said in a tone that was overly enthusiastic.

Then like a gentleman from one of my Jane Austen novels, he took the box from my hands. Then he held out his elbow for me and I looped my hand through and around it. I was smiling so big it was almost painful, but in that ideal moment of receiving acceptance from the most handsome man I had ever encountered—just by a nose, but still—I could have been hit over the head with a frying pan and felt no pain!

He escorted me back into his kitchen and then out through the back of the house to the yard and on to my own. The whole time I clung to his arm as if he might de-materialize if I loosened my grip by even a fraction. Could I hold on to him and still eat dinner or play corn-hole? My mind was on random access, searching for a way to work that problem out while I switched to the issue at hand: introducing our fourth.

Of course I hadn't thought about what my original guests would think about the addition of my new one to our dinner party. As different as their reactions were, they both seemed as though they were trying hard to control them.

Ray seemed pleased. At first I thought maybe he was glad to have another man present, but I realized that wasn't it. There was something more, but I couldn't put my finger on it. Conversely, Lidia seemed displeased. It was as though she didn't like him, but how could that be? I knew that I was missing something here, and I wished that I could understand.

I embarrassed myself when I attempted to make the introductions.

"I found some corn-hole bags, and someone to help us play. Lidia and Ray, this is...my neighbor...whose name escapes me...at the moment."

They all laughed at me. I was still too happy to be overly self-concerned. I looked up at the nameless angelically beautiful one for his assistance. He wasn't nameless in my mind, but he needed to think so.

"I'm Ash," he said to me alone.

A drift of smoke from the grill reminded me that I was supposed to be cooking.

Oh no! How long had it been? Did I burn the chicken after all?

"I have to check on dinner...I'll be right back."

Then turning, I sprinted to the grill. A big cloud of smoke released when I opened the top, but thankfully, the meat didn't appear to be burned.

Lucky.

With relief I marched into the kitchen to retrieve the platter from the oven where it was being warmed and then set about arranging the miraculously perfectly cooked chicken on to it, piece by piece. Then I toted the platter into the kitchen, setting it onto the counter so that I could finish garnishing each breast with more glaze and fresh cherries that had been warming on the stove. Then I carefully covered the platter with its matching lid. Next I checked the progress of the rice. It, too, was perfect and ready to serve. I transferred the contents of the rice into a ceramic bowl, replacing the lid to keep the contents warm.

Lidia joined me now and we worked together to transport the food to the table outside. At my instruction she retrieved the bowl of salad from the refrigerator. The men joined us on the deck and my three guests took their seats. I remained standing as I removed the covers from each of the dishes. All the while, I carefully observed their reactions to the sight of my culinary productions.

Everything looked great, and I knew it. So I should have been insulted at the surprise that unfailingly registered on every face at the table.

What were they expecting? Spaghettio's?

I couldn't feel the proper affront, though. I was just too happy with myself. To her credit, Lidia's surprised expression transitioned more quickly than her male companions, morphing into approval and, was it possible, pride? I wasn't sure which was more satisfying, the fact that I had pulled off a decent meal or that there were witnesses to that fact. I must have been reveling in my triumph for too long because I awoke to the realization that no one was eating, and everyone was looking at me.

"Is something wrong?" I asked as I sat down.

Ray spoke up.

"So...I'm guessing you're not that serial killer known as the Teen Gourmet, are you?"

The aura of self-satisfaction around me burst like a bubble.

Why would he say that?

Lidia shot him a dark look, dripping with disapproval. Ash's expression was negative as well, but something more like disappointment, it seemed.

Ray chuckled nervously and continued, "Well, it looks like you're not planning to eat, and I was just curious about that."

What?

I was starving. I hadn't eaten all day. Of course I was planning to eat. As the faces all turned back to me, I looked down nervously and it made sense now. There were only three place settings on the table and I was sitting at the end that was empty.

Why do people feel the need to tease me all the time?

Scraping together what little maturity I possessed, (which seemed to be more than Ray had, at least) I smiled graciously, with just a hint of chagrin, and said, "Oh. There are four of us now, aren't there? I'll be right back. Or would you feel better if I did a safety taste test first?"

I was all pleasantness and no sarcasm.

They laughed in unison, and with that, the intensity around the table evaporated. Lidia began to serve herself a piece of chicken. Ray started to spoon into the rice. I noticed that Ash was still looking at me, his expression unreadable. Being caught in his gaze made me feel warm again. In a mental aside I thought that having him around in the winter would be very good for my comfort, temperature notwithstanding.

I noticed that he had nothing to drink so I asked him about it.

"What can I get you to drink? There's wine, beer, soda....or you could help me finish off the Kool-Aid."

They all laughed again. It was a relief to get laughs when I was actually trying to be funny. More often than not, my comedy routines tended to be unintentional in nature.

I rose from the table to go retrieve some eating utensils for myself and see to Ash's beverage requirements. To my relief, he'd asked for whatever I was having. This was good for a couple of reasons. It took the childish edge off of my not drinking wine, though his reasons for abstaining were obviously different than mine, and it spared me from having to explain that the Kool-Aid offer was just a joke. Though making it clear that I did not actually _ever_ drink Kool-Aid probably would have been good for my self-esteem.

Dinner was pleasant. I was happy to realize that I wasn't nearly as nervous with these three people that I didn't know very well as I could have been. There was this strange sense of familiarity at the table that I couldn't understand, but couldn't deny, either. We plied each other with polite questions and the conversation kept moving forward in an admirable way, considering the hostess' nearly disabling tendency toward shyness. Again, I felt very happy with myself. I was looking people in the eye, I was asking questions, and I was being the kind of person I actually wanted to be for once.

Ash jumped up to help me clear the table; and I couldn't hide my pleasure with this chivalrous notion. He was the first male I'd ever encountered to do that. Because I'm short and I appear to be much younger than I am, or maybe because I just exude ineptness, it seemed like everyone was always trying to assist me with everything, except the dishes. There was never any help to be had on that front...until tonight. And I couldn't have imagined a more fantastic way to break that streak. It felt surreal to be standing in front of the dishwasher, of all things, in company with this perfectly beautiful boy. It was a good thing that he was doing most of the work. It freed me up to stare unabashedly at him while he labored.

"So about the Kool-aid..."

I couldn't stop myself from setting the matter straight on that. I was just too insecure to let that go without being totally clarified. He looked down and over at me, inquisitive and amused. It disrupted my train of thought and the words spilled over in a less than controlled way.

"Well, it's just that...I don't...I mean wouldn't ever...be allowed to have Kool-Aid."

Darn it! That is NOT how I wanted that to come out.

"I mean, I wouldn't want to anyway... I uh... I don't drink that stuff."

Just shut it. Stop now. Are you happy you made your point? Was it worth it, idiot?

"So your mother is concerned about the negative effects that artificial colors and flavors might have on you? That sounds reasonable to me. It makes me wonder about the presence of Cherry Coke in your house, though," he said, smiling archly.

"Yeah, that's contra-band too. I bought that at the grocery today. I bought all kinds of stuff I'm not supposed to have. But I've got nine days to consume all the evidence," I confessed.

I laughed self-consciously at my sad little passive aggressive victory: stickin' it to the man (or the mom, in this case) while she sailed the high seas.

"Let me know if you need any help with that," he replied.

He didn't look at me when he said this, so I wasn't sure if it was a joke or an offer. Probably a joke.

The dishwashing business didn't take nearly as long as normal, or as long as I would have liked, and it was time to do some more entertaining. We moved out into the yard to try out the Corn-hole game that was new to my guests, including the one who owned his own set.

The concept is simple. Contestants toss small bags of dried corn toward a wooden target with a hole cut out in the center. Points are awarded based on the accuracy of the toss. A bag through the hole is worth three points. A bag on the box is worth one. Matching efforts by competitors cancel each other out. Each player gets four throws. The game is played to twenty-one.

I always especially enjoy the discomfort and embarrassment of men playing Corn-hole for the first time. I am not by nature a sadistic person, but it's satisfying to see a good 'dose of your own medicine' play out from time to time. For such a seemingly easy game, victory can be surprisingly elusive. As your skills improve, usually do those of your opponent. But there's nothing more humiliating than competing with a person of skill. And that's where I came in.

I explained the rules and encouraged everyone to take practice throws, though I didn't engage in the warm up exercises. Just as normal, there was secret pleasure to be had in each man's reaction to his initial throw, far wide or short of the box in each case. My secret sentiments were more generous for Lidia.

After an unusually long stint of practice throws the game began in earnest. In a tradition as old as time, we paired into teams of boys versus girls. I smiled inwardly, feeling like a cat with canary feathers in my whiskers.

I had subtly maneuvered the pairings so that I would be throwing against Ray. He needed a little pay back for the "Teen Gourmet Killer" bit at dinner, and I was just the gal to bring it.

With me holding back, the game was fairly even. Nobody was throwing in the hole yet, so neither did I. Of the three of them, Ash seemed to have the most natural ability. He was able to get most of his bags on the box, usually at least three out of the four. Lidia's bags would hit the box, but invariably slide off the back. I would vary my throws so that sometimes they landed on the box, and sometimes they dove off the edge, taking Ray's bag along for the ride.

The score was very close. They were all extremely competitive, and the trash talk had started immediately and was escalating with every throw. The score was boys nineteen and girls sixteen. Ray and I were up. Ray tossed first. His throw was perfect. The bag passed through the hole like it had disappeared into another dimension. Because he knew it was ungentlemanly to gloat in my poor little face, his victory celebration took the form of a very expressive arm pump action.

The score was now twenty-one to sixteen. They had won if I couldn't counter...a lot. With feigned nervousness I stared long and hard at the target, some thirty feet away. Then with a quick toss, my bag joined Ray's in the fifth dimension. Behind me I heard a muffled curse and a big sigh. I suppressed the answering gloat I had for him. He squared up and tossed again. It was another perfect, seamless throw—straight in the hole, which was followed by more vigorous arm pumping.

I took a deep breath, concentrating hard on the target, and released my bag into the air. It was another copycat throw in the hole. Ray was unhappy now. There was no muffled sound, just fierce determination as he made his third toss. The pressure must have disrupted his newfound technique. The bag smacked hard just above the hole, still on the box, but just barely.

I shooed the imaginary bird feathers away from my face and made my throw. It too, hit the box, just at the top edge of the hole, but unlike Ray's toss, my bag took a lucky bounce and slid through the hole, but not before the displaced inertia shoved his bag off the edge of the box and onto the grass behind.

Helpfully, I announced the new score.

"Nineteen all," I proclaimed cheerfully.

Ray was feeling the pressure of his final throw. He knew now that he had it in him to throw to hole and win the game. He was digging deep, probably thinking something like 'Be the Bag.' I certainly hoped so.

I knew on his release it was over...and so did he. The bag weakly glanced off the very front edge of the box, and then slowly slid backwards, into the grass. He couldn't suppress a curse, but he apologized immediately.

I stepped up and took a deep breath. Then I took another deep breath. Then I took time to look at Lidia, who was all intensity, and hope and excitement, ready with her trash talking victory speech, no doubt.

Ash's expression was not what I expected. It made me feel guilty—like he knew my secret, and that he disapproved of my using my superpowers for selfish means. It sucked some of the joy out of this otherwise sublime moment. But I didn't let it stop me. My final throw was a very show-boatingly high arched toss that whistled its way straight into the hole like it had been dropped in from directly above. And that was game.

Lidia gleefully announced the final score, "Girls twenty-two, boys nineteen!"

She was inordinately happy (considering her contribution of points) to share the victory with me and bounded over to give me a huge hug and kisses too.

"We won! We won!" she kept shouting.

Ash had approached as well and came over to shake my hand. Just like before, I felt warmed by him. The look he gave me was piercing, though. He knew. Of course he knew. He'd probably watched me practicing mindlessly for hours at a time because I had needed it to look like I was doing something, but I couldn't take being with people or being in my room any more.

Something without words flowed between us. He knew I knew that he knew. There was a knowing smile across his face.

He said, "That was well done. I think I should start practicing with you."

My heart skipped a beat, but in my eagerness to acquiesce I still managed to say, "I'd love that! Mom and Hoyt won't play with me."

That wasn't really true anymore, though. They were still way into indulgence mode and would play anything I wanted, corn-hole included. Though I wondered how far the indulgence would go if I tested it by playing in the backyard with my adult male neighbor, the one who I'd love to help me round out the numbers in social settings.

# Chapter 18

I couldn't deny it any more. After spending an evening in his company, and then replaying every blissful second over and over in my mind like a pathetic junkie, I had to admit to myself that I was truly obsessed—worse than I had ever been before. It was bad.

I'd seen Ash off and on after that first encounter at Tinseltown, though I don't think he was aware of that. Never on Mondays, though. I determined that Monday must be his day off and then I had a new reason hate Mondays all the more. I wondered what he did with himself when he wasn't babysitting me. Was he a car enthusiast, like Lidia? Did he enjoy music? Maybe he traveled to interesting places, happy to get away from the boring monotony of watching me living my stupid life. Was there someone special? I switched off my questions after that one popped up. I felt a familiar stab in my chest the instant I'd thought it. I quickly turned my mental channel to something more enjoyable.

I'd had the most wonderful dream about him recently. It was very vivid and pleasurable. In fact, I was certain I'd had this dream before, but this time his face and voice were very clear, whereas before they had been muddled. We were walking in a field of fireflies at night. He was holding my hand and telling me that he loved me. I was telling him that I liked chocolate and the color magenta.

After I had invited him over for dinner it occurred to me, belatedly, that he could have gotten fired over that. There had been two agents in the past, both of whom I was sure had been dismissed because of my interactions with them. That was fine; I didn't feel bad about them at all. In fact, getting them fired had been my aim. I'm not a mean spirited person, but I have no patience for self-important, discourteous behavior, especially when it's directed at timid people like me. I had a feeling that these 'security' personnel made a decent wage, and although I hated the waste that their care over me incurred, I'd be darned if I'd allow a jerk to profit from it.

One watcher had been following Sam and me around the mall on a Saturday and settled into a booth directly behind us at Ruby Tuesday's when we all took a break for lunch. This fellow was fairly new in the rotation, but had made himself noticeable right away simply through his body language, but also through stunts like sitting too close—it creeped me out. He exuded self-importance; something I had instantly picked up on, like a whiff of dead mouse in the garage. I have nothing against important people, but treating others rudely to create a false sense of superiority offended me on many levels. None of the other personnel stood out in any way, (apart from the impossibly handsome one, though even he was hard to spot in most cases) so I wondered about this new guy, and how he came to be one of them.

I ordered a quiche, which came with the salad bar, so I'd been up a few times, back and forth to get this and that and I had noticed him being very rude to his waitress, more than once. In fact, at one point, from where I was standing at the salad bar near the kitchen, I could see her inside near the service line waiting for a plate of food to be redone at his insistence, while wiping her eyes with a tissue.

I was curious about something so after Sam and I left the restaurant, with him following right on our heels, I did an about face, nearly knocking into him, and marched right back over to the table where he had been sitting. The waitress was standing there and the bus boy was moving in that direction. Just as I suspected, he'd left her a penny, which she was holding up to inspect in disbelief.

I went right up to her and handed her a ten—my entire cash reserve.

"He's an idiot. You're a great waitress. Just walk it off. Oh, can I have that?"

I took the penny out of her hand and walked swiftly away and back out into the hall where I knew he'd be loitering around. Then I marched directly up to him and said, "I think you forgot something."

He looked like a deer in the headlights, or maybe more like a skunk in the headlights. He must not have anticipated what I was about to give him because he opened his hand expectantly while at the same time looking away, or maybe around to see if anyone else was watching. I pressed the single penny back in his palm and said, " _This_ is for poor service. I hope it was worth it," and I turned and stormed away.

I never saw him again.

My Goth friend had been shadowing me in stony amazed silence. As I stomped off in no particular direction, still seeing red, she said, "Who are you, and what have you done with my non-confrontational best friend?"

As time moved forward and winter phased into spring I began to actively seek opportunities to be out and about. At first I didn't consciously understand my own motives. I just thought I was making up for lost time from after the funeral. But when I began to reflect on the difference in my moods after outings that included an Ash sighting and those that did not, it occurred to me that the common thread to a pleasant and successful venture was the thrill of spotting my perfectly cast angelic looking guardian angel.

From there I progressed to orchestrating 'lost and found' scenarios, but only if he was around, and of course, never on Mondays. I'd 'lose' my iPod anytime I downloaded new material, so he could hear what I was listening to. I left books behind so he could see what I was reading. I loved a news parody website called 'The Onion' and I'd print off bogus articles from there that made me laugh and then leave them laying around for him to find. I wanted to make his job as interesting and enjoyable as I could with what little resources I had to work with.

There was, however, a serious potential flaw in my logic to consider: Was I truly making things interesting for him, (after all, tastes in entertainment are highly subjective) or was I simply working to confirm what he must already suspect: that he was watching the most foolish and forgetful person on the planet?

Finally I got to the point where I couldn't stop the mental stream of fantasizing and the old familiar sick twist of my stomach and polar emotions began creeping up on me. I really wanted to believe that he was fond of me like I was fond of him, but he was probably just fond of having an easy job. Could he ever possibly be interested in me for reasons other than work? Since he knew my life inside and out, and the complete lack of anything remotely interesting associated there, the answer was probably no. After all, nothing had changed since the last amazing guy I fell for didn't want me. I still wasn't cool, gorgeous or grown up.

My mind kept spinning back to the one and only time I'd actually had him to myself, first at his house for five minutes and then in my kitchen for five more. He was kind and polite and smooth and divinely handsome. And then there was the Ash of my dreams. Holding my hands, hugging me and telling me how much I meant to him. I had to hand it to my subconscious, when it came to pleasant mental concoctions featuring the men I loved, mine were world class.

One day I was toying with the idea of leaving a love letter behind for him. I wasn't sure if I could really go through with it, but I thought it might be therapeutic to get my feelings out in the open, so I sat down at the computer and began to type.

Please don't be mad at me. I'm not trying to get you in trouble or fired. I'm just frightened that you're going to disappear before I get the chance to tell you how I feel about you. I know I'm too young for you. I know you're just doing your job. And I'm so sorry if you don't want to hear this.

But, I think I'm in love with you. I can't stop thinking about you. I dream about you all the time. Sometimes I see you when you're on duty and it makes my day. When I don't see you, I miss you, and I wonder where you are and what you're doing, wishing I was there too. I feel happy when I think of you, more than that, actually, but then I turn around and cry because I'm probably wasting my time hoping for something that won't happen.

It's scary to confess all of this, but dealing with the suspense is even worse. I can brave the embarrassment. What I can't brave is not knowing where I stand in your eyes. If you don't return my sentiments, then please don't worry. I won't make things hard for you. I promise. I care about you too much to be mean. Just please tell me either way so I can breathe.

Normally, with any other creative endeavor, I would make so many passes and edits that the end product was only a vague evolutionary ancestor of the first draft. But with this note, the apologies, the confession and the pleas keyed out perfectly from my mind and onto the screen—no correction or fine-tuning was necessary. I read it over one time, instead of a hundred, saved it, and didn't make a copy for myself. Desperation had an unexpected side effect: efficiency.

My main concern was that he might not be the one to find my note. Sometimes I'd see him and leave something behind, but then another agent would collect it. A note like this would be highly damaging if someone besides Ash were to discover it. How could I get around that, short of handing it to him myself, which would probably be even more damaging?

He looked to be the youngest person on the team, which perhaps meant that he was also the most technologically savvy. I decided to take a chance using a trick someone had played on me in class once.

I had worked for the better part of a week preparing a presentation for a Senior English project. My document was up on one of the class computers and I had walked away to make sure that the printer was on-line when an error had popped up.

When I came back, my file was still open, but there was nothing there—nothing but blank pages. I clicked the undo button from the Edit menu, but nothing had been deleted. I nearly had a panic attack induced seizure and the freak-out must have given the perpetrator exactly the sadistic pleasure they'd been going for. Sam came to my rescue and wordlessly put my document back the way it was by highlighting everything and changing the font color from white back to black. Someone had done the same thing to her recently.

I don't think I would have figured that out. But I had a feeling that in his group, if anyone could figure it out, it would be the one person I'd want to. Just to provide a slight hint, I named the file 'Change_The_Color'. Then I left it behind on a jump drive one afternoon at Panera just before Sam, Trevor and I headed off to the movies.

As soon as we were on our way the second guessing began. Was I insane? How could this not be a train-wreck in the making? I had no business declaring my feelings for this man. Yes, he was really, really handsome and he looked young, but I knew very good and well that he was not a kid like me. So what if he was handsome? So was Ted Bundy. And, okay, it was a long-shot, but what if he liked me too? Then what? Exactly what did I believe I had to offer him—besides the opportunity to get fired while at the same time discovering how very strange and so not worth it I actually was? I'd never dated or come close to it—I had no idea what to say or how to act. Oh yeah, this was a runaway train headed straight for disaster gulch.

I tried not to think about what was happening while I watched the movie. But I knew it was either one of two things: Ash was figuring it out and making his response...or he wasn't. I had a feeling that the little jump drive would end up back in my purse somehow before the movie was over and I'd have to wait until I was home to see if he had added any response inside. And then it occurred to me that maybe his response would be a detailed rejection; and having a written refusal that I could review over and over again might be the makings of Heartbreak Debacle two-point-o.

I decided to focus on the movie and skip the negativity until I had something for sure to be negative about. I also decided to leave my purse behind in the seat next to me to give him an extra opportunity to place my response, since by the end of the movie there was no jump drive inside.

It was a pretty decent sized audience for a matinee and it took a while to merge into the exiting crowd pushing out the main aisle. Sam and Trevor had no problems cutting into traffic because of the invisible barrier they enjoyed as part of their special Goth super powers. If they'd been holding me between them I could have gotten in on that, but I was lagging behind and had to wait for an opening like a mortal.

I was thinking about how it would feel go to a movie with Ash and hold hands on the way out, and all during the movie, for that matter. As if in answer to my fantasizing I felt a warm firm grasp around my left hand as I was pulled slightly backwards and into the last row. I wasn't scared, or even surprised. He got my note...and just maybe...he liked it! Whatever the case, he felt a face-to-face response was in order, and that had to be a good thing.

He pulled me back towards the center of the row, searching my face to make sure I wasn't alarmed. What I was could best be described as euphoric. His gorgeous, magnificent face was peering down at my own, and his expression was every bit as euphoric as mine had to be. Then he spoke to me.

"I think this is yours," he said in a smooth, quiet voice.

He still had my hand and turned it up to place something small and plastic inside: a jump drive, but it didn't feel like mine. It felt like a different kind, with edges that were more rounded.

Huh.

He closed my fingers around it and pulled my hand up to the spot over his heart, resting it gently on his chest, adding, "and this," he said through lips graced with a wonderful warm smile.

Yes! He loves me too! I knew it!

My instincts had told me he loved me but I didn't believe them, fearing disappointment or delusion. Now I _swore_ I'd never doubt them again. I didn't care that he was a grown-up or that he was sort of a stranger or that I had zero experience in romantic situations. It felt like I was on some kind of emotional autopilot and also bulletproof.

This was like a dream come true and since something I'd always dreamed about was what it would feel like having his hand on my cheek, I took a chance and moved his free hand to the prerequisite spot. It felt every bit as good as I'd imagined—soft and warm. And just like before, facing him was like standing in the sun. I could feel my skin glowing in response to his warming presence. My instinct was to reach up and kiss him, but I wasn't remotely bold enough for that so instead I turned his hand that I was holding to my cheek and kissed the top of that. I wasn't bold enough for that either, but this was a new version of me with feelings that overruled and shoved my shyness aside. I was a little embarrassed with myself, but it felt so good I didn't care.

He must have really liked that little move because his breathing picked up and suddenly I was in his arms in the middle of a wonderful close embrace. I squeezed him back as hard as I could.

"I knew it," I said softly, my words finally catching up with my mind.

I could have held on to him like that forever. After so many months of imagining it, the real thing felt exactly as good and perfect and right as I had expected it would.

But much too soon he let go and said, "I have to leave. And you need to go back and get your purse," a little smugly, it seemed.

I considered our very recent embrace and the jump-drive in my hand and thought, _No, not really. I've got exactly what I need right here._

Then he pulled my hand up and kissed the top, just like a gentlemen from a BBC period piece.

"They're coming," he said softly, looking over my shoulder at the now empty aisle.

We were the last people in the theater. He needed me to go now.

"Oh, Okay. Here. Call me," I said as I awkwardly fished for an item in my pocket and then handed it over. "I knew it" and "Here, call me" were my brilliant first lines but mercifully he looked very happy with no trace of disapproval or disappointment.

I had decided that if somehow he'd want to engage me further after my jump drive inquiry, I should give him a way to do that. As part of that plan, I had recently dug out the cell phone I'd been given in Iceland along with the instruction card with its phone number printed on the top. Now I handed him that card and wondered how quickly I might hear from him, knowing I'd be in a high haze until I did. He took the card from my hand and kissed it, laughing a quick, self-conscious sounding laugh, which pulled an involuntary nervous laugh out of me as well.

He's even cuter than I thought! How is that possible?

I couldn't stand it and I had to look down and walk away. At the end of the row I knew I was supposed to go back to my seat, but I was having trouble remembering why.

Oh! My purse. Right.

I turned back around to look at him one more time but he was already gone.

# Chapter 19

I was living in the happiest moment of my life. I felt high. I'd never been high before, but I knew this is what it felt like. Good thing I'd been with Sam and Trevor the entire movie or they might accuse me of substance abuse. I needed to get myself normal before I had to explain anything. Sam was heading back into the theater when I bumped into her as we collided at the corner where the end of the aisle met the vestibule leading back out to the main hallway of the Cineplex.

"Where'd you go?"

She was slightly concerned.

"I...uh...forgot my purse," I responded truthfully.

She looked down at my hands to see if I was at the beginning or the end of the process of handling that situation.

Eyeing my purse she said, "Are you ready?"

I am so ready! In fact, I might die of readiness tonight.

Our plan was to head over to Graeter's for ice cream after the movie. It wouldn't go over well and I might be forced into a lie if I tried to talk my way out of that, so I just had to settle into patient mode until I could get home and pace like a caged animal in the privacy of my bedroom, waiting for him to call me. Thinking about Ash calling _me_ made me lose focus and I tripped over nothing, very nearly performing a face plant. But Trevor was close and caught me just in time.

"Hey there space cadet! You all right?"

He was amused. But I was too out of it to give him the full helping of embarrassment to go along with it.

"I'm...uh...I'm...ready."

They sensed and saw I was not right and silently took up posts on either side of me, each taking an arm as they guided me to Trevor's car.

I don't remember ordering any ice cream but once we were at our table I was eating some. I put the spoon down after a couple of bites. I just couldn't do it. All my energy, even the involuntary motion of eating double chocolate mousse, was redirected into analyzing the new and euphoric landscape in which I now resided.

Someone loved me! Not just someone, but the one I loved! The risk of writing a pathetic plea for his affection had paid off! Something was actually going right—incredibly right—for the first time in my life. The feel of his hand on mine, the look on his face, the warmth of his chest when he had indicated that his heart belonged to me—it was all too much. But I was greedy for it and I worked hard to horde all these happy feelings and reflections into myself, letting nothing escape as best I could without being too obvious.

"What's wrong with Ellery?" Trevor asked Sam, like I couldn't hear.

"I don't know what it is, but something's definitely wrong with her," she replied, like I couldn't hear.

Through my abstraction I heard someone's phone ringing. It just kept on ringing. Suddenly, I realized it was my phone! No one had ever called me on it, so I didn't know what it sounded like. In a panic that I'd miss his call and then he'd never call me again, I scrambled for the cell phone the way a person with a grenade in their purse might move when they were trying put the pin back in before it exploded.

Miraculously, I was able to answer the call before it went to voicemail. I paused for a second or two to summon a bit of false decorum. Then the euphoria washed back in like the tide.

"Hi," I said.

The happiness was impossible to suppress.

"Is it all right if I call you now?" asked a voice that was every bit as appealing as the face that went with it.

"Yes. I was hoping you would. Where are you?"

It was getting dark now and I could only see myself in the windows and not the world beyond.

"I'm parked at the bakery across the street."

I turned in the direction he'd indicated and I sent him a slightly embarrassed but still very happy feeling smile. I wished so badly that I could see him as well. He responded to my signal with a quick one-syllable laugh.

Then he asked, "Wasn't your ice cream any good? You seem very distracted tonight."

It was so obvious that people across the street could tell. I felt my cheeks burning in response. Sam and Trevor were watching me like a traffic accident on the shoulder. I needed to work out some subterfuge _(an expedient used to hide something or escape a consequence)_ immediately.

"I am. I'll be home soon. We're almost finished here."

I turned to look at my rubbernecking framily as I said this, for their benefit. It was hard to tell if they were buying it or not.

"Is there a way we could talk for a few moments before you turn in for the evening?" he inquired.

Now things really were going my way. I'd already thought this through and had my answer all ready to go, plus it played into the subterfuge.

"Oh, I think that's in the tree house. I'll check before I come in, okay? See you in a bit."

I wasn't sure how long I could keep cool, so I was in a hurry to wrap up this public discourse, doubling as my phone conversation.

"Wait. One question," he interjected before I could disconnect. "When did you get a cell phone?"

I hadn't thought that one through at all. I chose to dodge it completely.

"Later, okay? Love you. Bye."

I closed the phone and put it back in my purse.

My friends were testing me, I believe, to see if I would make a move or say something to tip my hand. As much as it was killing me, I didn't play into it. I didn't ask about leaving or give off a single vibe of impatience. Instead I used the extended period of time that we sat there at Graeter's—long after their ice creams were gone and mine was a bowl of lukewarm chocolate soup—preparing for what I would say to my love in our private follow-up encounter. This was the aspect that I had not allowed myself to plan for, out of respect for Murphy's Law and the dominant role it usually played in my life.

After I stepped out of Trevor's car and made my way to the porch, I turned around like I was watching them drive away. Then I hesitated for a few moments, checking to see if Mom had seen the headlights pulling in. She didn't come looking for me so I decided to head directly for the tree house. There was moonlight providing subtle illumination, but once I made it inside the arboreal mini loft, the difference between eyes open and shut was indistinguishable. Mercifully, he didn't make me wait.

"Ellery?" he called quietly. "May I come up?"

"Yes."

Oh please, please do!

He climbed up and positioned himself across from me, his feet touching against my own. As soon as he was settled, I clicked on the flashlight lantern that I had left for myself earlier in the day and its warm glow filled the very crowded space. He blinked as his eyes adjusted to the light, and then a glorious, warm and inviting smile lit his features, adding extra brightness to the room.

I offered my hand like I was introducing myself and said, "This is a little redundant, but....my name is Ellery Mayne."

He understood and shook hands with me. It felt so good just to touch him. It helped to dispel the sense that I was dreaming.

"And my name is Ash Ryan. I can't tell you how happy I am to finally meet you," he said with a smile that was spiced with a trace of humor.

"I'm happy too," I replied in complete understatement.

"I hope you don't mind, but I have a few questions for you," I continued.

I felt awkward and shy, but I was still very high and it helped me cope.

"You can ask me anything you like," he assured me.

"Why are you and the others watching me?"

It seemed like that was the best place to start.

His manner was open and not at all defensive or evasive.

"I work for a security and surveillance company and we were hired to provide transparent protection for you. That means we are paid to keep you safe, but not interfere in your life, if possible. Our employer wishes to remain anonymous. It's one of the terms of our contract."

So even they didn't know who wanted me followed.

Interesting. Not the least bit helpful, but interesting.

Also, I'd say they had applied the very loosest interpretation to the guideline about not interfering in my life, but I wasn't complaining. As I thought these things through he asked me a question in return.

"May I ask you a question?"

He was so polite and sincere. I loved it. I loved him. I was actually getting higher, it felt like. I hoped it wasn't a hard question. I didn't want him to be disappointed with me only seconds into our conversation.

"Okay?"

"When did you realize that we had you under surveillance?"

Shoot!

I should have required that he submit a list of all questions prior to our meeting so that I could be prepared. Oh well. Being honest was the right way to go, plus it would take less brainpower.

"It was the day that I was almost abducted by those two thugs in front of the drugstore."

I searched his features trying to sense his response to what I was certain would be a shocking reply.

His reaction was extremely satisfying. He was lost in thought for a long time, probably seeing scenes of our life in close proximity through a completely new filter. Once his eyes stopped darting and I felt reasonably sure his mind had returned to present time and place I asked the most important question of all, as bravely as I could. It was nearly inaudible.

"When did you...realize...how you felt about me?"

He didn't stop to think; his answer was automatic.

"It was love at first sight," he replied, very sincerely, holding my gaze.

It completely silenced the cynical naysayer in my mind who insisted that his attraction must surely be rooted in some financial motivation, as opposed to a truly romantic sort of magnetism. The peaceful quiet in my mind matched the silence inside the tree house for a time and that euphoric tide washed back over me again. But then I realized that he was going to ask me the same question, and I could feel the embarrassment building over having to confess my shallowness to him.

"May I ask the same of you?"

Honesty. Go with honesty.

"The very same," I confessed.

He seemed pleased with this answer. That was a relief.

"When was that, exactly?"

Oh no.

I didn't think honesty was going to go over quite so well this time. But it was his reaction to what I'd done to him that had endeared him so much to me in the first place. I decided to make a full confession. It would be a good test of his character to see how he handled my stupidity; something he'd need to be an expert at if he intended to spend any additional time with me in the future.

"The day my best friend, Sam, took me home when I got sick at the theater last fall."

His eyes started darting in that unfocused stare into the past, back to Tinseltown, to what I knew had been a very bad day for him. I watched him reviewing the entire episode until his eyes flashed back up to mine. There was no anger at the memory, just confusion, it seemed. I was bracing myself and it must have been pretty obvious.

"What is it? What am I missing?"

What you're missing is how I wronged you!

"Do you promise not to be mad at me? It was very early on, before I'd ever seen you, and I never would have done it if I'd known what it would be like for you. I felt absolutely horrible afterward."

He was still at Tinseltown. His eyes had fallen to the floor while he replayed the events in his mind. I decided the best way to explain would be to recreate the soundtrack to a particular scene. So Kit, my British Goth alter ego, spoke up and said, "Do you think it could have been this Ellery who was retching in the last stall?"

Just like when he had physically responded by veering towards the restrooms that day, his head snapped up from looking at the floor, and veered back to my face. Those unusual, gorgeous, intense eyes were now about three times their normal size, as they bore into my own. I observed him carefully as full understanding dawned over him. He looked totally shocked. I had to remind myself that there is power and advantage in being underestimated, and that I had no business being affronted.

My business now was to explain myself to him.

"Sam thought it would be fun to trick our friends and I agreed to let her dress me up in Goth, though my reasons were different. I had never seen any of you at that point; well, accept for Helga. And I thought it would be a good way to flush you, well, not specifically you, but one of you...out. It worked."

His eyes were looking through me once again, taking his thoughts back to the lobby at Tinseltown, to the Goth consortium he'd approached for help.

"Then, when you came up to us, to ask about me, I thought I was going to pass out," I explained, laughing at myself.

"But you didn't recognize me, and all I could think about was that you were worried for me, well, more than that. You looked kind of...panicked."

I cringed at the memory of that.

"So it was a combination of things. You were the most handsome boy I'd ever seen in real life; but I'm not shallow, I mean, looks aren't everything to me, that is. But it was the way you looked, your expression. Not ticked off, like I'd given you the slip, but genuinely worried, like you cared about me, about what had happened to me."

I was searching his eyes for the final judgment and overall reaction to my unkind deed.

He spoke calmly, and a soft reassuring smile played in his expression.

"I was. I did then and I do now."

Oh good.

My stupidity hadn't chased him off...just yet. His eyebrows pushed up and into each other.

"Who's Helga?"

I laughed once.

"Oh, that's my nickname for the little Austrian lady that kicked butt in front of the drugstore."

That shocked look flashed back, for just a second before it evened out and he said, "Her name is Petra Von Hirt. She and her husband Max were there that day. They put you back in bed because they thought they would be fired if you remembered them. We get released if you engage us. There's a zero déjà vu policy in place. We can't be transparent if you recognize us."

We both smiled at the irony.

So it was just as I'd suspected. When I had approached any agent directly, they'd been dismissed directly. I knew Ash was special, obviously. But under these rules my idiotic stunt with the corn-hole game pieces should have been our final encounter. Though I was burning with curiosity over this anomaly, I decided to let that mystery go for now, and just be thankful for the atypical outcome.

He asked the obvious follow-up question now.

"So, I saw you leave the theater, looking pretty sick. How was that possible if you were dressed up, in...Goth?"

In a tiny voice my self-preservation instinct objected to giving this secret away, but it was overruled by the rest of me that wanted to make the full confession.

"Well, right after the movie, we went to the Ladies' Room and dressed me up in the handicapped stall: clothes, makeup, wig, and platform boots. Then we came out and she introduced me to our Goth friends as her cousin from England. Not long after that, you came up asking about me. I felt terrible for tricking you when I realized you thought something bad had happened to me. That's when I decided I'd better say something about how maybe it was Ellery getting sick in the last stall. We went back in, supposedly to help 'Ellery', and I changed back into my normal clothes and cleaned all the make-up off. Then I pretended to be sick and Sam walked me out and drove me home. Except after I saw how upset I'd made you...I really did feel sick. I'm so sorry."

Although I wasn't sorry for the way it had all turned out, leading to this unlikely but still very likable encounter tonight.

There was a moment of pause while we gathered our thoughts. I began to feel that same old self-conscious burn because I'd done too much talking, wondering which admission or turn of phrase had done the most harm to his estimation of me.

"Ellery, you can't imagine what it means to me, to be here with you, speaking face to face. I've been dreaming of this for a very long time, but I never thought it would happen so soon. I have feelings for you that I realize are inappropriate, or perhaps premature, considering the difference in our ages, and the circumstances of my employment."

Hey, don't worry about my age! Sam thinks I'm old enough...

"What I want is to get to know you and for you to get to know me. Then, if it turns out that I'm what you want, I'm hoping you might consider me...as a potential marriage mate...someday," he explained, all the while carefully scrutinizing my reaction.

Did he just use the word marriage in connection with me?

I couldn't suppress the outward expression of the inward elation I felt over that. He smiled in relief and continued.

"I know this is a lot to lay on you during our first conversation. Probably too much, and I'm sorry about that, but I'm just trying to say that even though my regard for you isn't accompanied by good timing on my part, I have nothing but honorable intentions toward you. I just want you to understand my interest in you."

So apparently he has a high tolerance for idiocy. What a relief! I've definitely found my soul mate!

I needed to conclude this session while I was ahead. He was fabulous and amazing, but even he couldn't top what he'd just said to me. I wanted to be alone to get my mind around it and make my exit before I said something I would regret. But there was one more question I needed to ask.

"Those two thugs at the drugstore—do you know who they were or what they wanted?"

I cringed at my own foolish question. Did I actually expect him to know the answers to either of those questions? I found that I was suddenly feeling very nervous over what had always felt like a bad dream as opposed to an actual event.

His demeanor darkened a bit before he seemed to sense my scrutiny and he adjusted his expression to reassure me.

"No, unfortunately, a police officer happened upon the scene shortly afterwards and the agents on duty didn't get to...learn any more about them," he explained in a soothing manner, though I sensed there was more which he chose not to say.

"Do you think they'll come back for me?"

I sounded distinctly pathetic as I asked this.

He smiled a little sadly, tilting his head as he reached out to pat my hand in a reassuring way. But then a sardonic expression formed in his eyes as he replied, "We're all hoping for that, actually. But I really doubt it. It's likely that it was a random attack. I'd try to steal you, if I were a bad guy, I think," he paused, smiling self-consciously and then added, "But please don't worry. You're very well protected—all the time."

The attack seemed about as random as the security team in place to foil it. Still, I felt certain that he wasn't trying to mislead me, so much as comfort me. And speaking of being over protected, I sensed that my mom must have already switched into 'worry mode' since it was so late.

"Okay. I'd better get inside. May I see you again tomorrow night: same time, same place?"

I wouldn't be able to live through time out of his presence without concrete arrangements for my next hit.

The smile and the nod he furnished in response to my request nearly stopped my heart. Then the accompanying jolt of adrenaline shocked it back into quadruple time. At any rate, I had some reading to do, as it occurred to me that I needed to review the contents of my new and improved jump drive—his first present to me. But then again, thinking back over the last few months, this would just be one more gift in an amazing series...

# Chapter 20

#

I felt sorry to mislead her. But it was necessary, so I let my mom believe that I was spending my Saturday with Sam, when she wrongly assumed that, as I was gathering my keys and purse on the counter by the garage door.

"Give Sam my love," she offered sweetly and I knew she meant it. She loved anybody who loved me—unconditionally. No matter if they looked scary, and I hoped, no matter if their job was watching my every move from the house next door.

It was exactly one week since my life had started over. Though it was a new and improved existence, I noticed that time now behaved erratically with some stretches moving like ketchup in a glass bottle while other moments shot by like whipped cream from a can. I soaked up the whipped cream moments with the same enthusiasm I felt for the topping: eager addiction. These took the form of short phone calls once or twice each day and even shorter late night tree-house encounters, about every other evening with Ash—the guy of my dreams and now my reality! Today was to be our first real date, and my first date ever. I was beside myself wrapped up in a painful yet pleasurable mixture of anticipation and nervousness.

I headed off in the Jeep and glanced at the instructions one more time, though I felt like I knew where I was going.

Oldham County was fairly close to where we lived, but further away from Louisville, and more rural and picturesque with horse and cattle farms linked between rolling hills and open spaces that were dotted with woods and lakes. After a twenty-minute drive, which was an enjoyable activity in itself, especially with the windows down and the radio cooperating with a pleasing string of favorite songs, I came to the neighborhood called Hidden Falls. It was heavily wooded and each home looked to be custom built with large tree-filled properties providing lots of space between neighbors. The area was very hilly and this place seemed sort of precariously perched on the edges of a fairly steep ravine running along the back of the development.

The address I was looking for took me to the very end of the road, to the last house. There was a 'For Sale' sign near the end of the driveway and I realized with amusement that I knew the person whose picture was smiling back at me. The last time I'd seen Leah Shelby and her husband, Jim, was at our house for a cookout last summer.

Had it been that long? Well, probably so.

It was hard to get with them because she was so busy, especially on weekends—a common side effect of being a successful realtor.

But then I had a scary thought. Was Ash planning to move away from me? Was I going to have to pretend to like this house so as not to hurt his feelings? I wasn't sure my acting skills were up to that. He hadn't explained anything about this place or why we were meeting here, other than we were having a picnic. I decided to hold off on the panic attack until he gave me something definite to panic about.

As I pulled around to park next to his Hyundai SUV (an odd vehicle choice for a security professional, but one I hadn't inquired about) he appeared from inside the garage and walked over to open my door for me; helping me out of my vehicle in an ultra-polite, gentlemanly, and totally unnecessary move—but I loved it anyway.

"I hope you're hungry," he said with a warm and wonderful greeting smile.

I still couldn't get over how gorgeous he was. When I was away from him I felt certain I must be greatly exaggerating his appeal quotient in my mind, but the real thing, so obviously happy to see me, was even better—far better—than my distinctly rose hued mental reflections of him.

Poor thing.

Watching my psychotic life had made him crazy too, and now he thought he wanted to date me. Just because I didn't understand his choice didn't mean I wasn't willing to humor him. I was certainly charitable enough for that.

He guided me, hand in hand, through the empty garage passing inside to the kitchen. Looking around I could see that the house was unoccupied, totally vacant and ready for a quick sale. We kept moving across the kitchen to a door that led to the decking off the back of the house.

Set up on wide deck suspended over what I guessed must be a sheer drop to the ravine and creek far below was a round table with two chairs. It was very elegant with a lace tablecloth and fabric skirts on the seats. As I approached I noticed the centerpiece was a stunning floral arrangement which smelled as beautiful as it looked.

"Lily of the Valley?" I asked as I turned to him, surprise flavoring my tone.

"Do you like that?" he asked, seeming pleased, or maybe amused was a better way to describe his expression.

"I love that, and yellow roses too. How...how did you know about that?"

Nothing surprised me much anymore, but I was certain we'd never talked about my floral preferences. They weren't normal yellow roses. They had a gorgeous kiss of deep red on the very tips. I'd never seen anything like it before. I couldn't take my eyes off them...until I saw it, resting on one of the plates. Just like a bee to nectar, I was instantly drawn to the exquisitely miniaturized bouquet of just four flowers: another yellow red tipped rose, flanked on each side by a red rose and a yellow rose, with a tiny spray of lily of the valley in the front and center, all tied together with a simple piece of twine. The understatement of the string was in perfect contrast to the glory of the floral quartet it bound. My hand closed around it and I drew it up for a closer look and smell.

I was completely dazzled. I didn't know the first thing about flowers or their meanings, but I knew for certain that this piece of nature's artwork could have no other combined sentiment than 'I love you' as its theme, and that notion made my heart race wildly.

"Just lucky, I guess. I'm glad you like them. Will it be alright for you to take them home later so that you can enjoy them while they last?" he asked.

Apparently he was thinking the same thing that I was, or would be, once I recovered from romantically induced cardiac arrhythmia.

"I wish. But how would I explain them to Mom?" I wondered out loud. Then a happy solution took shape in my mind. "I guess it would be true to say they're from a secret admirer."

He gently drew me closer and said, "Well, as long as my admiration is no secret to you, then I'm fine with that explanation, and I'll bet she will be too."

Then he drew up my hand, the one holding the tiny perfect bouquet, and held it so that we could both smell the fragrance while looking into each other's eyes. The pounding arrhythmia was coming back stronger. My poor heart could barely handle the glorious assault of those gorgeous, unusual, piercing eyes, the heavenly fragrance of rose and lilies, his warm hand on mine, his other hand on my back, this place, this day, and this fantasy come true!

"Come and sit down so I can serve you lunch."

He probably sensed I was close to swooning and decided it was a good time to seat me.

I don't know how I overlooked it, because it was obviously the reason we were there, but once I was seated I guess I could no longer miss the stunning, forty-foot waterfall flowing over the rocks of the other side of the ravine, just like the main attraction at a state park. With all the rain we'd had recently it was thundering, and obviously had been the entire time, but as I became aware of it, the sound turned on in my head and then it seemed suddenly very loud to me. It's amazing what being so well distracted can obscure.

He laughed at my reaction to the waterfall. It must have been very plain that I'd only just now noticed its amazing beauty and sound...and presence.

"This is the hidden falls...of Hidden Falls," he explained. "I thought you'd like this secret place, in fact, I thought of you the first time I saw it, and I've been hoping to bring you here to see it ever since."

He looked at me with a wistful expression.

"Well, then I'm honored to be involved in your wish fulfillment. Is there anything else I can do?"

Did I just say that out loud?

I was being flirtatious. I'd never done it before, but I was glad it was coming naturally. Of course, there would have to be something seriously wrong with me if it didn't, present company being what it was. No, I realized that I was feeling more healthy and feminine than I ever had in my life.

Considering the knowledge that Ash did not cook, ever, I was extremely impressed with what he'd orchestrated for our lunch. In fact, as I took it all in, I concluded that he must have had some female assistance. It was too perfect for a single guy to have conceived and executed a presentation this well coordinated and elegant. I was sure he could take credit for the concept and the main elements, but not the details like fine china, a crystal container with lemonade and matching mini goblets, chicken salad on croissants, the tiniest baby carrots I'd ever seen, and chocolate covered strawberries for dessert. I'm not sure whether Martha Stewart could have come up with something nicer—but then maybe that's who he'd gotten to help him.

It was the most romantic, perfect, enjoyable picnic ever in the history of picnics. The best part was the view. Oh, the waterfall tumbling over the rocks with the afternoon sun making the water and the spray glisten in rainbows was pleasant, but the incomparable masculine magnificence sitting next to me was a difficult sight from which to break away. I had hyped up butterflies bouncing in my stomach, making it difficult to eat, though I still managed to get down almost half the sandwich and several strawberries despite myself.

After we were finished eating and he had cleaned off the table, putting things back inside a large and cheerfully lined picnic basket, we just sat in the shade, holding hands and talking, watching the waterfall. I couldn't imagine a more perfect setting. Just like the time he'd agreed to join me for dinner, I was smiling so much that my face hurt—in a good way.

The intense nervousness I'd felt at the beginning of the day had slipped off almost immediately, the way a heavy winter coat would be shed by a person arriving at a beach near the equator. Being with Ash was easy and somehow comforting. He made me feel safe in a variety of ways: safe from danger, safe from embarrassment, safe from loneliness, and completely safe from unhappiness.

With a deft mixture of polite questions and intriguing commentaries he kept any threat of awkward silences completely at bay while we enjoyed our time together. He asked me about my friendship with Sam and my impressions of Trevor. I explained the deep sense of gratitude and attachment I felt for my best friend and the ways she had helped me to crack out of my shell over the past few months. I also explained the love/hate nature of my relationship with my 'best-friend-in-law', Trevor. It occurred to me that perhaps Ash may have thought I had feelings for Trevor at some point, and looking back at the big brother-like torture he'd put me through on an almost daily basis, that notion was truly laughable. When I questioned him about his own impressions, especially of Trevor, his only comment was that he made a decent spotting partner at the gym. He seemed unwilling or unable to give me anything more than that. Then in a move to guide the conversation elsewhere he directed the focus a little closer to home as he began with a new line of thought about a different intimate associate of mine.

"Hoyt seems like an agreeable step-father," he said. As I thought about the elegant truth of that observation he continued, "You can't imagine how jealous I used to be of him, and your date nights," he added, as a quiet laugh punctuated his comment at the end.

I was pleased by this confession and couldn't help but smile as I nodded in agreement.

"He's very agreeable; that's a good description. But you should know those date nights were horrible at first. Hoyt's not shy, well, not like me, but he's a man of few words and in the beginning we were like two monks observing a vow of silence," I informed him, chuckling softly at the memory. "He tried harder after Grandpa died. We both did."

I could feel a dark cloud of sadness building on my mental horizon, threatening to dampen the sun-soaked happiness. Taking a deep breath as if I could blow it away, I refocused my thoughts on something funny and chuckled in an exhale.

"What?" Ash was watching my face the entire time and had seen the dip and turn in my thoughts.

"Hoyt and I had our first real breakthrough when we realized how much we both hate Monica-style nutritional imperialism."

It took him a half-second to compute my meaning, but then he smiled in understanding.

I continued, "She's like a June Cleaver version of Darth Vader, but she doesn't strangle you with the force. She uses logic, and sweetness, and worst of all: guilt! Ugh! You know how the Emperor in Star Wars could use force lightning? Well, I swear, she's got some kind of invisible 'guilt lightning.' It knocks me on my butt every time," I said, shaking my head and rolling my eyes, feigning aggravation but then giving way to a laugh.

He laughed indulgently. I wondered if he was being sympathetic or empathetic. That would depend on his mother, I supposed.

"But don't get me wrong. I love my mom to pieces—most all of the time. She's very sweet and I would never trade her, even for June Cleaver. But she definitely puts the 'mother' in 'smother' sometimes. I know it's because she loves me," I finished with a sigh of resignation. Ash made no comment, and though he was looking at me, his mind seemed distant, for the moment. I kept talking anyway.

"Hoyt and I have an inside joke about how freaked out she would be if I ran off and joined the Air Force some day. That was his idea. I always thought of myself as more of a Marine, but whatever."

Ash laughed indulgently once again, though I sensed a slight edge of wariness within it. I tried to reassure him.

"Oh, don't worry. It'll never happen. I'm pretty sure they won't let me in. I've heard that they have standards—or something," I added in a slightly conspiratorial tone.

He smiled and shook his head in simulated disagreement.

"But I can totally picture my assignment. I'd be the back-up light bulb changer at some frozen airstrip in Alaska. Of course, in my fantasies I pilot a C5 Galaxy Transport, because there's nothing funnier than a really little person at the controls of a really big piece of equipment, especially the kind that flies, and especially a girl, right?"

"Exactly," he replied, with an expression that was a mixture of amusement and puzzlement.

"So you'd like to follow in your father's aviation footsteps, then?" he proposed.

Of all the times that Hoyt and I had joked about it, the very notion of me behind the controls of aviation equipment remained just that: a joke. Now in a fleeting instant I could picture how proud my dad would have been if the scene I'd just described was real and he was there to see it. Suddenly I realized that my own joke had bitten me somewhere deep in my heart and I was looking through that hole in my future that would never be. Once again, the same cloud of tears threatened to block the sun in my mind. Working to mask the self-inflicted damage, I sighed and smiled at Ash, though I knew I'd accidentally let a little bit of the pain I felt slip out in my expression. There was clearly a look of regret in his eyes. I hurried to dispel it.

"Yeah. Maybe for pleasure, but not for a career. That would be too hard on my mom, and I'm not quite that evil," I confessed. Then switching up and tossing it back I asked, "So what do you fantasize about driving?"

He smiled enthusiastically, as happy as I was to embrace the change in topics.

"Any vehicle, as long as you're the passenger. A bike will even do—if I can fit you safely on the handle bars, that is," he joked.

"Or in the basket, like Toto?" I joked back.

He laughed with a slight edge of discomfort. Then side-stepping the pet reference altogether he said, "Again, I was quite jealous of you at the Kentucky Speedway. You got to live one of my dreams that day: topping out in Corvette ZR1."

"Oh. You saw that, huh?"

I felt a twinge of delayed self-consciousness at the notion of observers in the stands, though by that time I knew I had them. I must have been too nervous about wrecking the sports car to think about who might be watching.

"Now tell me the truth. Were you afraid for the car? I was," I said very seriously.

He laughed like I'd told a great joke.

"That was awesome, but we didn't top out. I was watching the speedometer like a big baby and Lidia took it easy on me. She's very considerate."

He didn't respond but for split second it looked like he wanted to disagree with me and then decided not to.

So the strange discord between them that night at my house was not my imagination after all. This intrigued me to no end, but something in the back of my mind warned me to steer clear of that path, for now. I chose a different dangerous path instead.

"That's twice you've mentioned it. Are you by chance the jealous type?" I was going for playful ribbing, but his response indicated he had interpreted my question as though it were a serious accusation. His eyes darkened a shade and he looked positively mortified. I felt instantly awful and angry with myself.

He caught that too and now he was working to dispel my discomfort, smiling big with a chagrined look in his eyes.

"It would seem so. But Ellery, I ... I hate jealous behavior. It's what tore my parents apart, and I swore I'd never give in to it, no matter what the situation. Of course I never expected to have anyone to be jealous over, and now I see I was being a bit idealistic in my resolutions," he said with an apologetic looking smile.

There was a slightly uncomfortable silence as I worked furiously to come up with a way to plug the hole I'd just created with one of my signature idiot bomb questions.

"Am I even allowed to ask about your parents?" I finally ventured, certain that it was just as dangerous a topic but unable to come up with anything better.

"Allowed? You can always ask me anything, Ellery. Always," he replied, his eyes pushing so deeply into mine that I couldn't even blink.

Eventually he released me to look at a bright red cardinal that landed on the rail just inches away from us. When the beautiful little bird flitted away he began again.

"From what I understand, they were very happy in the beginning. They met in college. She tutored him in English and he tutored her in Chemistry. She was in nursing school and he was studying to be an engineer. My mother was a very smart, generous, and hard working young woman and exceptionally beautiful, but with a very modest opinion of herself. My father tended to be somewhat serious, but they say he absolutely adored her, perhaps to a fault because over time he became consumed with jealousy. The lack of trust and reasonableness on his part eventually drove her away," he sighed. "They divorced when I was eight. I lived with her until she died in a car accident when I was ten—"

He paused and closed his eyes, just for a second, but in that second I felt the pain and emotion and the presence of the same kind of mental storm cloud that loomed in my own mind. I rubbed his arm in reassurance and his eyes instantly met mine, a mixture of sadness and embarrassment there.

"Anyway, I don't mean to be so serious and dark. It's just that jealousy happens to be one of those emotions I try to keep in check, and I wanted you to understand why," he smiled at the end, sounding very final regarding this line of conversation.

It was bad timing and very inappropriate but I had to laugh at the thought of anyone—especially the poster-child of handsomeness by my side—ever experiencing anything remotely related to jealousy in connection with me. Ash looked puzzled by my outburst, and slightly hurt.

"I'm sorry. It's just that between the two of us it seems more likely that I would be the one to struggle with feelings of jealousy and suspiciousness. I mean, have you looked in a mirror—ever?" I was trying to hold down the sarcasm but it was slipping through in chunks.

"Have you?" he replied with raised eyebrows and a lopsided smile.

"Alright. Fair enough. I hereby declare our association to be jealousy-free. And that will conclude this week's meeting of the Mutual Admiration Society."

He chuckled and nodded, patting my arm now and looking away at the waterfall again.

I didn't want him to think I was fishing for compliments so I tried my hand at conversation control and switched topics, though it was more abrupt and less sophisticated than I would have preferred.

"New topic. Did the realtor help you set this up?" I asked motioning toward the table and picnic basket.

I was extremely curious about his handiwork for this occasion so I decided to ask him about the extent of his contribution. It occurred to me that if Martha Stewart wasn't available, Leah Shelby would make a worthy stand in.

He looked surprised, but then smiled with only the barest trace of chagrin flitting across his expression.

"Yes, as a matter of fact she did. But the more questions you ask about her involvement, the less impressed you'll be with me," he said with a half smile.

"Well as long as this was your idea, you get full credit...for all of it. Thank you for all the trouble. It was absolutely amazing—just like you."

I was back to flirting. He didn't respond with words, but the look in his eyes was the best thing I'd seen all day. It was pure limerence (the powerful exhilarating rush of falling in love) and I knew it was perfectly mirrored in my own eyes.

Eventually my insecure side resurfaced and I got back to asking questions to which I didn't really want to hear the answers.

"When you were here the first time, were you house-hunting?"

I tried to seem casual, as opposed to pathetic and desperate.

"Yes. And though this is phenomenal," he paused as he waved at the waterfall, "there were several factors that knocked it out of contention."

It seemed like he was going to leave it at that until he saw the expectant look on my face, expecting to hear those factors.

"Well, the layout of this house is very strange. I'll walk you through it before we go and you'll see what I mean. It looks like the person who had it built designed everything around his artwork. I understand he was a painter. So unless you'd be willing to do some water colors for me—very large ones—I think it would be awkward at best to try to fit a normal décor into this space."

He'd been looking back at the house while he spoke, peering in through the windows. Now he turned to face me.

"But the most important factor was distance. It's much too far away from you. Everything was. So I gave up looking after a while. I'm glad I did. I like where I live now, and I'm especially fond of one of my neighbors."

He said that last part with a jillion dollar smile, while squeezing my hand slightly. I nearly passed out with pleasure from the multiple forces acting on my senses and my heart.

After I recovered from my close call with a pleasure pass-out I said, "I haven't seen Leah since last summer. It sounds like you've had more interactions with her than I have in the last twelve months. She's my mom's cousin," I explained.

His eyebrows raised and then crinkled together in a bit of a smirk and he asked, "Wouldn't that make her your cousin as well?"

I laughed once and agreed.

"Yeah, I guess so—second or third removed or something like that. She's my mom's age, so if anything, she seems more like an aunt. Leah's the relative who gets things done in our family. If I ever got married, she'd be the wedding planner and tell us all how it was going to go, and my mom would roll over and let her because she's always right."

And then I waved my hand at the table and the picnic basket making my point with an example.

He nodded in acknowledgement. We stared quietly at the waterfall for a while again. This time there was no awkwardness in the silence. It was peaceful and pleasant. I mused over the idea that Ash had unwittingly engaged the services of my wedding planner, and then I switched it off. Getting too far ahead of myself on that tangent—especially if things didn't turn out—would absolutely be the makings of Heartbreak Debacle two-point-o, Nuclear Winter version. To combat the sudden chill, I concentrated on the feel of his warm hand around mine and the ray of sunshine glowing warm over top of that.

"So you see yourself being married someday?" he asked in a hushed tone, his face searching mine as I turned to the sound of his voice. It felt like maybe he'd been thinking about that during the entire quiet interval.

There was no thought in my response, just a straight confession.

"I see you there too," I nearly whispered, shyness taking over at the end so that I had to look away, even though I didn't want to.

Even from the corner of my eye, I could see that the happiness my response had elicited from my companion was enough for me to give myself full permission in constructing a new tangent-like game in my mind called Romantic Triumph Odyssey. In this game a Nuclear Winter of heartbreak was melted away with miracles, sunshine and joy, and things turned out fine and every day was as sweet as a chocolate covered strawberry. It would be set up for two-players, and because my partner seemed every bit as eager to play as I was, this would be a game I would truly enjoy—and possibly even win, from time to time.

# Chapter 21

The uneasy feeling was morphing into something more serious. As I settled myself into the backseat of Trevor's car I began the search for my wallet in earnest. Trying to dig through a bottomless pit backpack while keeping pace with one's Amazon Goth companion in the free-for-all exodus after last bell is harder than it may appear.

Pulling out of the school parking lot, I became increasingly anxious as I searched from one compartment to the next until I had exhausted every possible absentminded wallet stashing location. In a final act of desperation I turned the backpack upside down and dumped the contents: books, papers, pens, candy, flotsam, jetsam and keys, but no wallet.

Exhaling in frustration, I began the absolute last-ditch procedure: patting down the emptied flattened backpack in the hope that the shape of my trapped wallet could be felt, if not seen. No dice. It was gone.

The last time I had it was in the cafeteria. I'd taken to finding errands to perform so that Trevor and Sam could have a few moments of 'couple time' at lunch. He faithfully stuck to the business of buying our meals every day—the consequence of having lost a wager early in our acquaintance regarding my loyalty to Sam—but sometimes I'd take a leisurely stroll back through the lunch line to get something else at my own expense. I felt confident, though, that if I wanted to, I could have turned these occasions into Ellery and Sam time, all expenses paid. But that would have defeated the purpose, and robbed me of my private, self-awarded good citizenship medal.

Today's excursion had been a banner day for quarter collecting, a secondary and admittedly self-serving motivation for my behavior. I'd received three Kentucky quarters in change when I bought some chocolate milk toward the end of the break. Just finding one 'KYQ' would make my day. Catching three was like winning the lottery, except on a sad underachiever's scale. And subsequently losing my wallet, with my triple prize inside, was like losing that winning lottery ticket. Who cared about the four-dollar wallet or the five-dollar bill inside? Well, my driver's license and my Anne Geddes themed debit card were in there too.

After my visit with Mr. Matthews the year before I had been setup with my own account into which my monthly allowance of discretionary funds was deposited. I purposely chose a whimsical theme of a chubby baby dressed up like a strawberry for the card in order to offset the nervousness I felt about owning it in the first place. After months of using it to buy things like gum and candy, I still had enough in the balance to purchase a decent sized home—in Monte Carlo.

Darn it! How could I be so careless?

"Are you looking for this?" Trevor asked, holding my wallet up, without looking at me, while he drove.

"Where did you find that?" I demanded—more peeved than relieved due to the non-coincidental timing of his question.

He could have returned it to me moments later in English class after lunch or at any point during the second half of the day, but he chose to wait until after I'd panicked and dumped everything out like a two-year old.

Nice.

As I quickly snagged it out of his hand he offered a patronizing, "You're welcome."

I caught a glimpse of his satisfied smile in the rearview mirror.

"Thanks for finding it...and for making me sweat it out; that was gallant," I shot back.

Ever since the whole drowning thing where I realized that my friends weren't perfect, or able to read my mind, I'd taken to voicing my feelings in slightly less guarded ways. It usually felt very good initially, only to cause second-guessing and lingering guilt afterwards.

Trevor seemed to get a lot of pleasure from my discomfort, even if it was self-induced much of the time. My transition to a more open style of communication only added to his amusement. He had to be one of the happiest Goths of all time, thanks to me.

"Gallant Sir Trevor. That has a nice ring to it," Sam interjected from the shotgun seat.

She was mostly neutral in the skirmishes between the Emperor and me. Instead, she made it her business to be irenic _(peace promoting)_ and find segues to alternate and more pleasant topics after these recurrent tussles.

"Lovely Lady Samantha has an even nicer ring," he rejoined, the well-pleased smile still reflecting in the mirror.

He pulled her hand, which he was already holding, up to his lips and kissed the top; stealing a glance at his beautiful, though darkly disguised lady, before turning his attention back to the road. She sighed wistfully while smiling radiantly.

It was ironic, but the scariest looking people I knew were also the most romantic. Sometimes life around them was like being in a movie...on the Sci-Fi channel, where I was the alien orphan, under the care of two mysterious, clandestinely gorgeous humans. One day the mother ship full of oddball shorties would come back for me...

Just moments later we pulled into an uncharacteristic destination: Applebee's. It was a little early for a sit down meal, but I assumed that one of the Goths must have been particularly hungry. As we settled into our booth, quite literally the only customers in the place, Sam excused herself to get something she forgot in the car.

Sitting across the table from Trevor, I realized with apprehension that he was smiling, as though enjoying some exceptionally funny inside joke. My intuition told me it had to do with whatever Sam was retrieving from the vehicle.

Sure enough, as she rounded the corner her face was beaming with a brilliant Sam-style smile (nobody smiled like Sam) as she toted a medium sized gift bag back to our booth.

"Okay, El. Don't be mad," she began, scooting into her seat next to Trevor while placing the gift next to me on my side of the table.

Great.

This was always the opening line to something guaranteed to be unpleasant, or madness inducing _._

"So, Trevor and I felt really horrible about what happened at Great Wolf..." she began.

Oh really? Then why bring that up again...ever?

"And we wanted to make it up to you, and be practical at the same time. Open it up," she said, enthusiastically, gesturing toward my present.

I knew I would regret not running away while I still had the chance. My house was less than five miles away. I could make it home before nightfall, especially if I ran...

Propriety won out over my instinct to flee and I moved the bag in front of me. After pulling off the top layer of decorative tissue, my fingers made contact with what felt like clothes.

Folded neatly, until I released it from the bag, was an oversized white cotton tunic with three-quarter length sleeves. Before I could comment Sam added, "Keep going, there's more."

The next layer felt like a slick synthetic fabric of some sort. When I pulled it out, I thought I was looking at a set of lingerie—twilight blue and ruffled. The guilty part of my mind immediately concluded that they knew about my impossibly handsome boyfriend. But how?

Now that my expression was even more befuddled Sam said, "It's a tankini with hipster bottoms...by Marc Jacobs, exclusively at Nordstroms," she added, as if referencing the designer and the store might clear up my confusion.

Of course, a swimsuit and cover-up seemed more in line with her opening comment about Great Wolf. Then she continued, "It'll make sense when you see the last part. Keep going. There's one more thing in there."

The final item is what gave the bag its weight. Pushing past a last layer of tissue my fingers came in contact with a book.

Now that's more like it.

Pulling it free and then turning it around to see the title I read, "Conquer Your Fear of Water. An Innovative Self-Discovery Course In Swimming."

It was a 'how to' book on swimming. This must have seemed like a kinder gentler option than the "Swimming For Dummies" guide that they probably really wanted to get for me.

Trevor's face was ambiguous; it was in complete contrast with Sam's excessive eagerness for whatever this care package portended for my fears and me.

"Oh, it's too late guys. I've already 'discovered' that I'm hopeless."

I tried to sound as final as possible, but short of spontaneous combustion, nothing I could do or say was going to compete with Sam's zeal for whatever scheme they were about to hatch on me. Though it wasn't in the bag, it was obvious there was more.

"We've arranged for you to have private swimming lessons. You'll be getting one-on-one time with a certified swim instructor who teaches this method," she said while pointing to the book. "It's all set up for early evening, right around dinner, so you'll have the pool to yourself...starting tonight. That's why we're treating you to an early dinner," Sam explained, cringing a bit as she related the heavy news at the end.

It took me a minute to process the awful truth of what was looming just a short time from now. My appetite had done the full three-sixty since we'd arrived. I wasn't hungry when we pulled in, just after three o'clock, but the wonderful aroma of grilled food outside the restaurant changed my mind. Then, after opening my gift and being informed of my upcoming fate worse than death, I'd managed to lose that appetite again—possibly forever.

"That was really sweet of you two, but you should have asked before you signed me up and spent money. I'm sorry, but the answer is no."

I looked around in shock. Whose authoritative resolved sounding words were coming out of my mouth?

"I bet she'd change her mind if she saw the instructor," Trevor said with a chuckle at the end.

I refused to be baited. Sam took over where Trevor left off.

"He's Trevor's friend from the health club. You know who he reminds me of El?" she asked, baiting me some more.

I just stared at the space in between them.

"Remember that guy at Tinseltown? The one who was asking about you that day we dressed you up in Goth? What was his name?" she asked, trying to engage me.

Trevor and I both took the bait on that, staring intently at her now that she had our full attention.

"Ellery dressed up in Goth? Are you serious? Do you have pictures?"

He was more serious and less amused than I thought he'd be. Why would that matter to him? This tangent diverted my attention for a moment, but then I got back to concentrating on not getting sucked in. It felt like a trick. Besides, Ash would flip if I said yes to them so quickly when he'd begged me to take swimming lessons every day of the first week we started dating, until I threatened not to love him anymore if he asked me again. We both knew that was an empty threat, but in the end I had held him off with a qualified 'maybe'...as in 'maybe when pigs fly'.

"Sure I do. At home. I'll show you later. She looked awesome. Kind of a one hit wonder sort of thing, though. She's never done it again, though I wish you would," Sam turned from speaking to Trevor to addressing me.

"But any way, that guy, the really cute one...your totally handsome stalker, remember?"

He was all I thought about around the clock, of course I remembered him.

I just shook my head, feigning ignorance.

"You don't remember that boy who came up asking if we'd seen you? Oh, what was his name?" she asked, getting impatient at my lack of acknowledgment and her own poor memory.

"Well, any way, the instructor reminds me of him, a little. Except your swim instructor is really hot. Not my type," she qualified, glancing at Trevor with open, up turned hands, "but _you'll_ really like him. And he's very polite and nice. We interviewed him first, to make sure you'd be comfortable around him. Believe me, you will be."

That Sam-style smile was turned all the way up to blinding.

"You interviewed him?" I asked, skeptically.

"His name is Raffi," Trevor said. "He's my spotting partner at the gym. He's big into swimming, but he's also into helping people overcome fear of water; very committed to the cause. I think he almost drowned as a kid or something."

He was being sincere, but I still felt wary.

"Trevor introduced me to Raffi so we could discuss the training program and make sure it was a good fit for you before getting you involved."

Leaning closer to me from across the table she continued, "Ellery, it's really different. I think it's going to be a very good thing for you. It's not like traditional swimming lessons. Instead of forcing you to focus on surviving, you spend time getting comfortable in the water and then take as long as you need learning swimming skills at your comfort level and pace."

Taking the book from my hands she opened to the table of contents and then handed it back to me.

"It's all outlined in the book. You don't even have to get wet at first, if you don't want to. I have a really, really good feeling about this. Please just try it," she concluded with a bit of wheedling in her tone.

Here comes the guilt trip portion of the monologue.

"You don't know how bad we felt about what happened. If we'd lost you..."said Trevor, shaking his head as though he couldn't continue.

I had to give him credit. He was very convincing and intense as he took the lead in the guilt tripping.

"The ability to swim is an extremely important life skill," he continued. "You owe it to yourself to at least try; especially when we've gone to so much effort to make it easy and enjoyable for you."

That was impressive. I couldn't think of a single ungracious response.

"So you'll give it a try then?" Sam beamed, jumping back into convincing mode.

Just then the waiter came up. Who knows what he'd been doing up to this point. Sleeping, maybe?

"What can I get you folks to drink?" he inquired.

Trevor replied, "We'll have two cokes, and what about you, Ellery?"

"Looks like I'm having water."

The ride across town to the aquatic center took twenty minutes or so. We passed the drive in quiet reflection, just listening to the radio. During our early-bird special dinner and afterwards I'd had time to reasonably assure myself that the scope of the conspiracy was larger than my two companions, and that somehow they had been manipulated by the security team in regard to my swimming lessons. Thinking through all that might entail made me feel more positive about the upcoming experience than I would have ever believed possible.

When we arrived Sam pulled part two of her care package out of the trunk: a trendy looking swim bag filled up with things I'd need like matching flip flops, two towels (one for after the pool, and the other for after the shower) and a collection of sample sized Aveda bath gel, shampoo, conditioner and body lotion products. My best friend was annoying and pushy, yet pleasingly thoughtful and thorough.

They wouldn't just let me out at the door, fearing I'd hide out in the locker room or possibly run off. But once I'd been transferred to the custody of my 'instructor' I made Trevor and Sam promise to leave the premises, making it clear that I would not cooperate if I thought they were watching. After all, they were not my parents, and I had a right to some privacy.

When it came to my reaction to the instructor, they were more right than they'd realized. I did like him. He was really hot. He was everything I'd hoped for, and less. Less clad, to be specific. His perfectly cut body, especially the musculature gracing his chest and abdomen underneath that gorgeous light coffee colored skin made my urge to gawk and touch him nearly impossible to override. In fact I failed at this multiple times—the gawking and the touching.

"Who's Raffi?" I asked him once they were gone.

"It's actually a nickname my grandmother gave me. My first name is Ashraf. It's Persian. Raffi is a familiarized shortened version," he explained through a big warm smile.

I knew the happiness had nothing to do with explaining his name. I was happy too, sort of. My hunch had been dead on.

"Thank you for finally agreeing to this. I'll be able to relax whenever you go near water now," he said while taking my bag from my hands and placing it on a nearby pool chair.

Just as promised, the large indoor aquatic center was mostly deserted. There were a few senior citizens doing laps in the lanes at the far end, but everyone else was off having dinner.

"Are you really a certified swimming instructor?" I asked.

"Not in this country, but I used to work as a lifeguard when I was younger. I had to study up on this particular teaching method, but it's very straightforward—ingenious really. And it's perfect for you. You'll be swimming circles around me in no time."

He took my hand and guided me to the edge of the pool, indicating that we should sit with our feet in the water. The smell of the chlorine and the droning sounds of pool pumps and exhaust fans were bringing on a panic attack of memories associated with my last swimming experience. I tried to block the unreasonableness by diverting myself in mystery solving.

"I have a question," I asked, after we'd been sitting for a moment. "How do you know Trevor?"

He looked a little guilty, or maybe it was chagrin.

"I thought it was important to know the strange looking person who befriended and now transports my love nearly everywhere she goes," he explained in all seriousness.

"So I trailed him when I wasn't on duty, to make sure he wasn't being evil in his private time," he smiled a little at his joke, "and then I joined his health club and made friends with him in the weight room. He's nicer than he looks."

"That's debatable. What did you think of Sam?"

"She's nicer than she looks, too," and he chuckled again, but then he turned serious and added, "It's obvious that she cares very deeply for you. If I didn't know the relationship, I would have assumed you were family."

"We're 'framily', actually. Those are friends that you love like family, so they're called framily," I explained.

We had never discussed my specific term of endearment for the Goths.

"Ellery, do you consider me...to be framily?" he asked, deeply serious, searching my eyes.

My stomach did a flip and a twist, but I held it together and confessed the truth.

"Temporarily, I guess. But that'll never be good enough for me."

I looked out over the water as I said this.

He still had my hand between his and squeezed it a little tighter in response to my admission.

"Or me."

# Chapter 22

My Jeep was a federal disaster area. Ever since I'd started dating Special Agent Fabulous, I'd been busy having too much fun and ignoring the business of personal responsibility, which included keeping my vehicle looking nice. Of course, it's difficult to do anything useful when you're high all the time.

When I called Ash to check in and inform him about my car-care chore plans for the afternoon, he'd arrived seconds later, reporting for duty. It made me feel a little embarrassed and guilty. I hadn't intended to rope him into some grunt work, I was merely explaining an item on my 'to do' list for the day. But in his presence, even washing and vacuuming out a filthy vehicle had a certain pleasure about it. Perhaps it was the smell of the fabric freshener I was using on the carpet...

"So what would you like for your graduation?" he asked without looking up. He'd shown up in a sleeveless tee shirt and nylon shorts, slowing down my progress because I kept looking at him instead of the car I was supposed to be cleaning.

He was on one knee at the front, working methodically to remove a series of stubbornly stuck on road bugs from the bumper, being careful not to scratch the paint in the process.

"My diploma?" I replied, trying to be funny.

He humored me with a laugh.

It was the last week of school and the big day was looming on Saturday. As seniors, we got half days off until school was out. I'd driven myself to school that morning because Sam had a dental appointment afterwards, clear up in Cincinnati, which Trevor was taking her to. When I asked her why there wasn't a worthy dental professional in Louisville to suit her needs, she explained that Dr. Alex was the regional dentist to the stars, most particularly sports stars. He was the team dentist for the Cincinnati Reds, extending his practice to Bengals and Cyclones as well. He also cared for the emergent dental needs of the occasional traveling dignitary or rock star. Once she'd learned of his special skill and artistry through word of mouth from her sports star brother-in-law, no other provider would do for Miss Sun. They wouldn't be back until very late.

Returning to my Jeep in the parking lot when school let out, and taking in the full extent of the dirt and gunk in the bright sunlight, I had hit my limit of tolerance and vowed to make cleaning it up the first priority for my afternoon off.

Ash was on duty and my parents were both at work. We had finished washing the Jeep in the driveway and vacuuming out several weeks' worth of debris from the floor and seats. Now we were back inside the garage, out of the sun. He was preparing to apply a coat of wax and I was detailing the inside. I had stepped out to grab some more paper towels from off the counter.

"I mean for a gift. You're surprisingly difficult to shop for, you know," he explained.

"Maybe you should go to a gift shop, then," I said, trying to tease him and dodge the issue simultaneously.

My real answer would embarrass us both. I didn't want anything...but him...and not in a way that I could have at this point. So there was no point in bringing that up.

"Does that mean you'd like an inspirational plaque of some sort, or a large scented candle?" he shot back with a smile.

"Sure, but only if its Ash scented," I said as I grazed my fingers through his hair while moving past him on my way back to the driver's seat.

"Seriously, Ellery. Is there something, anything you've had your eye on? Just a hint would be nice. You're the least materialistic girl I've ever encountered."

"Flattery will get you everywhere," I replied, with my head out the window.

I was as materialistic as the next girl. I'd just been in a slump. Then I met him and nothing else mattered.

"It's true. It's very difficult to tell where your fancy lays. You're not into jewelry. You don't care about expensive handbags or gadgetry. In fact, I've never seen you buy anything fun for yourself, and believe me, I've been watching for that."

Yes, I would imagine you have.

I wondered at this line of questioning. He'd sent me one cool gift after another, anonymously, of course. Those were proof that he knew exactly where my fancies hung out. Maybe he'd just exhausted his idea base, or thought that I'd grown tired of wonderful surprises.

"Well, there is one thing."

A thought occurred to me and I started saying it before I realized that I shouldn't be saying it. Ash looked up from his toil at the hood of the Jeep in eager expectation. I tried to backpedal.

"But I'm pretty sure it's not a good idea...right now. So never mind."

I picked up the Windex and started working on the inside of the windshield. He stood up and came around to the passenger side, opened the door and got in.

Great.

I needed to come up with something quickly.

"Let's hear it," he encouraged.

"Well, maybe a chocolate diploma would be nice. But they probably don't make those. You could check it out, though," I said as I squirted the windshield again and started the wipe down for a second time. I stole a quick glance at him to see if he'd bought the switch-out.

He hadn't.

"What's not a good idea?" he asked, ignoring my nonsense.

I took a deep breath and then let out a long sigh. Then I looked at him. Those piercing blue-gray eyes trapped mine in a tractor beam. They were the best part of his face, which made them ultra perfect. Sometimes I couldn't get over how beautiful he was. How in the world did I end up with him? I had always believed in miracles. I just hadn't believed in miracles for myself. They happened all the time; I was sure, but only to people who deserved it. Sitting here in my Jeep, though, looking at the face of the smartest, kindest, cutest boy in the known universe, I had to acknowledge that miraculous events were touching my life, whether I deserved it or not. In fact, Mr. Miraculous was touching my face at that very moment. I must have taken too long in reflection mode.

"Ellery?" he asked, pulling me back from deep thought.

Though my eyes hadn't been allowed to leave his, my brain had taken a trip. When it pulled back into the station I blinked and shook my head.

"What's not a good idea, Love?" he pressed.

I was going to regret this, but I didn't dare go for two side stepping attempts and risk offending him. I took a deep breath and tried to explain myself.

"When I'm with you, I'm so happy; the happiest I've ever been. It's like I feel pinched," I began.

When his eyebrows scrunched together in question I explained, "You know, like, 'Pinch me, I'm dreaming?'"

He nodded, waiting for the rest.

"But when we're apart, sometimes I have these little panic attacks, where I think that maybe you really are just a dream. After all, I'm the only one that knows about you. If you disappeared, I'd have no proof you ever existed outside my fantasies."

There was that jump drive he'd given me, but mentioning it would detract from the case I was trying build.

"I know it's dangerous, but I'd love it if I could have a picture of you—even if it was really small. If I could just have something that I can hold and see when I'm missing you, well, that would be really...therapeutic."

His face was hard to read. Now he was the one lost in thought. After an increasingly uncomfortable silence I started to back track.

"It's not a good idea. I know. Just...never mind. Don't worry about it. How about some car wash coupons so you don't get stuck doing this again?" I suggested, trying to divert him from what was turning into deep distraction.

"The next time you have a panic attack please call me and I'll talk you through it, alright?"

He smiled when he said this, but he was being sweet and sincere, not teasing.

I nodded.

"Coupons," he said flatly.

Then smiling down at me he said, "The woman of my dreams graduates from high school, and I get her some car wash coupons to celebrate that important milestone in her life," shaking his head he continued, "and she subsequently dumps me within seconds...as she rightly should."

I laughed.

"You'll have to get more creative than that if you want me to dump you, Ash. The truth is, I'm afraid you're stuck with me; kind of like the bugs on the hood," I said, nodding to the front of the Jeep.

We both laughed.

"Is that a promise?" he asked.

He was still smiling but there was seriousness in the undercurrent.

"Oh, absolutely. I promise to complicate your life, and cause you trouble, and make you do my chores with me for as long as you can stand the abuse. You have my word on that."

He smiled happily as though I had said something nice. The truth was that he would have to kill me himself before I'd ever willingly relinquish my hold on my own personal miracle.

# Chapter 23

Graduation was the embarrassing protracted ordeal I knew it would be. It was held on a very warm day in early June at Freedom Hall, where apparently someone forgot to let them know we were coming so they could turn on the air. My mom had tried to 'encourage' me to wear makeup, but it was clear now that uncharacteristic stubborn refusal on my part was the right choice; it would have melted off within moments of entering the building. I don't know how the Goths pulled it off, but then they were both naturally cool.

I hung out with Sam and Trevor as long as I could, but when the commencement exercises began we had to take our alphabetically assigned seats on the floor. Ash told me to look for him in a section that ended in the number nine. Methodically searching the crowd in section one-o-nine, then two-o-nine, then three-o-nine, I began to get impatient and a little miffed at how many nines there seemed to be. But then my eyes landed on the most beautiful face in the whole audience, lighting up section four-o-nine with a big smile just for me when he caught my gaze.

Even in this place I didn't want to be, I felt joy just seeing his face. It was a considerable distance across the floor and into the stands, but we still managed to lock eyes and I smiled at him in return, hugely. I could feel my cheeks burning, but I was used to that by now; it meant that Ash was near, so it was a welcome sensation, even when I was already too hot.

I wondered if anyone else from the team had come to watch me graduate; at least one other person, who drove separately, no doubt. I considered it a huge importunity, but at my mom's unwavering insistence, I sent an invitation to Lidia. Still, I certainly didn't expect to see her on this unequivocally boring occasion. She was my friend, but we weren't close enough for her to waste a perfectly good Saturday on me like this. Even an insurance seminar would be more fun, or an elective root canal.

After my turn on the stage, where everyone present witnessed one of the most amazing achievements in my career as a student thus far: me managing to make it up the stairs, across the stage, and back down again without tripping over my gown, which was too long. Making off with my diploma without a single misstep, I moved back to my seat as instructed, to sit and watch the other half of the class repeat the process, some of them meeting the principal for the very first time. Watching the audience watch Trevor and Sam (each in full Goth with gowns overtop) receive their diplomas was the highlight.

Afterwards I really wanted to bolt, but my folks seemed to be in no hurry to leave. Mom wanted to congratulate Sam, so we visited all together with Trevor and Sam, and her big sister Serena and brother-in-law Sean for a few awkward moments in one of those 'worlds colliding' situations that made me so nervous.

Ash was out of sight now, but I knew he wasn't gone. I'd been racking my brains trying to think of a way to get a few minutes alone with him, but all my schemes kept unraveling.

I think graduation ceremonies must be more for the parents (or big sisters, in Sam's case) than the kids. Neither of her parents had been invited to this occasion. I would have preferred to get my diploma in the mail as opposed to all this fuss. But Mom was clearly enjoying herself, and since it felt like I was still way into the red zone of her emotional bank account with me, I tried very hard to enjoy myself, too, for her sake. I was a lousy actress, though. So instead I tried to imagine how I would feel at a different kind of ceremony, where my outfit was white and fit better, and where promises were exchanged and eternal devotions were bestowed. Day dreaming about that kind of day made a difference.

Sam called me on it.

"Did you finally get over your nerves?" she inquired.

"I guess," I replied, resurfacing from pleasant distraction.

"Congratulations El. Just so you know, this doesn't change a thing. You're still my BFF."

"Best Framily Forever?" I asked.

She laughed like it was a joke, but it was a gravely serious matter to me. My best friend forever and I still needed to work out our post graduation living arrangements and college destination in a way that was universally suitable. She had been trying to nail me down for months, but I asked for a reprieve from big decision making until after graduation. That being the case, I knew I could expect a new round of grilling within minutes. Knowing Sam, though, she had most likely moved ahead with the plans she was going to talk me into eventually any way.

To my extreme surprise and pleasure, Lidia and Ray approached our group. It must have been a slow day in the fabulous life.

They looked like they'd taken a wrong turn off of a Hollywood red carpet movie premier event. Glamorous and stunning, Lidia wore a cream colored strapless dress with her curly black hair pinned up so that her long graceful neck was even more obvious and appealing, especially with an amazing sapphire pendant resting just above her magnetically visual, amply proportioned cleavage.

Sam had that same uncertain reaction about Ray's identity that I had experienced the first time I'd met him. In her case, though, maybe she thought she already knew him...

Having made the introductions, my two favorite couples were no longer unacquainted. Ray and Lidia exhibited amazing control in repressing the impulse to stare at my fully Goth and gowned framily members. Perhaps like Hoyt and Mom, they'd gotten all their gawking in during the ceremony.

After small talk and more congratulations and hugs, all the happily in love couples standing around holding hands began to be too much for me and I had to go find my other half as well. Being the odd one out simply wasn't cutting it for me any more—and it didn't have to.

Making some claim about my need to find a restroom, I made my way off the main floor and out into the circular corridor surrounding the arena. In a moment of inspiration, I headed for the other side of the building, setting a course for a place that might suit my needs quite well.

There was a crowd gathered in front of the Cardinal Shop, peering at the merchandise in the darkened windows of the most expensive place in town to purchase every manner of red tchotchke _(a knickknack or trinket)_ available to honor the University of Louisville Cardinal Basketball program.

Working my way to the center of the crowd, near the tallest people, seeking a measure of cover behind them, I stood and waited for happiness to find me. I'd only been in my spot for thirty seconds or so, long enough to remove my disposable 'gown', which could be recycled into a tablecloth or perhaps a low budget parachute.

As I worked to neatly fold the blue nylon material into a compact square, strong arms gathered me from behind and soft lips touched my ear whispering, "Congratulations, Ellery."

I took a deep breath like it was my first helping of air for the day.

"I couldn't be happier for you...or me," Ash continued, with a quiet laugh at the end, briefly nuzzling my neck at the hairline. I could feel his breath on my skin. I was still too hot, but I shivered in pleasure despite myself.

I turned around so I could see him. He was dressed in a tan suit, a perfect collaboration with his complexion and dark hair, which was neatly smoothed back, and not as curly looking as normal.

"I'm happy for me right now too. But not because of this," I said, holding up my diploma.

"I think it has more to do with this," I explained, as I tugged lightly on the middle button of his suit with my free hand.

"You clean up well. In fact, you look amazing. Thanks for being the most handsome boyfriend...in history."

He actually blushed! It was fabulous. I'm sure I was blushing too. I felt warm all over, and not because of the shortcomings of the facility's air conditioners.

"I'm sorry to rush this, but..."

He looked around as he spoke, turning my body to face away from him again.

I sighed. I couldn't be too unhappy, though. At least we'd hugged and spoken. That was actually more than I had expected.

"I'd better give you my gift before we get interrupted," he explained as he pulled something from his pocket and his hands quickly passed in front of me, then up and around either side of my face, out of sight.

I could feel his hands brushing past my hair as he pulled the bulk of it up and over a chain he'd just clasped. The cool metal came to rest on the back of my neck.

I looked down to see a glistening round pendant, sterling silver perhaps, resting on my chest. As I pulled it up for a better view I realized it was an extremely customized gift indeed.

Inside a delicate locket style frame was a mint condition Kentucky Quarter with the scene of Federal Hill—the inspiration for the song 'My Old Kentucky Home'—and a Thoroughbred horse in the foreground looking over a plank fence.

"Oh!"

I was absolutely thrilled! What an unbelievably cool, perfect, insightful present—just like its presenter!

"This is just wonderful! I love it! Oh, thank you so much!"

I was all grateful enthusiasm, as I swung around and hugged him tight. Then I stepped back in case maybe I shouldn't have done that. He didn't seem too alarmed as he beamed back at me. There was a trace of humor in his expression as he appraised me.

"Look at it very carefully," he suggested.

I turned it over to inspect the back. The convex surface was rounded and intricately detailed with a vine work motif, reminiscent of Middle Earth style Elf artisanship. In the center there was an exceedingly ornate calligraphy inscription of the letter E in relief. It was an absolutely gorgeous production, and one of a kind beyond all doubt.

"Thank you so much, Ash. This is amazing," I said, my eyes glued to my present, admiring the exquisite artistry in every element.

"Did you notice the hinge, there?" he asked after a quiet moment where my gaze was still held by the jewelry and not his face for the first time ever.

"The hinge?"

"Yes, it opens," he explained, "but you have to push this part here to release the lock," he continued as his fingers brushed over mine, demonstrating the proper technique.

My thumbnail found the hidden latch while my fingers pried it open. The true treasure was now revealed: a tiny black and white laminated photo of my soul mate. It was a head shot, no doubt the production of a photo booth at the mall. His expression was serious but not severe—just contemplative. Probably at that moment he was wondering how much trouble fulfilling my ill-advised request would ultimately cause him.

"Ha!" I yelped in childish glee, my emotional response catching up with the visual stimulation.

I literally jumped into him and hugged him fiercely. He hugged me back but then he extracted himself with firm hands on my waist, opening the distance between us with irresistible force.

"Thank you! Thank you so much!"

I was almost as happy about this picture as I was about him in general—and that was on cloud nine in Blissville.

"You're quite welcome. I'm glad you like it," he said with a chuckle. "I have to go now. Enjoy your big day, and I'll see you tonight?" he asked.

"And I'll see you sooner!" I said as I held up my little Ash icon.

He took a deep breath, the look of concern gracing his features. Before he could voice his thoughts I tried to reassure him.

"I'll be careful not to make a big deal about it. I don't want anybody getting too curious about my gift."

"Just be careful about having it open around any one. With the hidden latch, its locket quality is quite well disguised," he said, preparing to walk away.

I looked up at him with a confused expression.

"What?" he asked.

"Just one question," I said, tilting my head.

"Yes?"

"Where are my candle and my coupons?"

I couldn't control the impulse to tease. Even as delighted and joyful as I was, I still had to be perverse.

He smirked, reached out and tousled my hair while shaking his head. Reconsidering, he reached out once more to smooth my hair back into place with soft strokes from his fingertips, all the while fixing me with a long look that awakened every dormant butterfly as my stomach did a happy flip. Then he turned and disappeared into the crowd. But now I could assure myself that he was real, even when everything about him was like a dream.

Holding my little reality check up to my lips, I clicked it shut and kissed it. _Take that, panic attacks!_

# Chapter 24

It was a very pleasant evening: warm and breezy. We had eaten our dinner outside and just finished clearing off the table. I was loading the dishes into the dishwasher when the doorbell rang. Mom and Hoyt were still out on the deck, so I wiped off my hands and headed around to the front door. I didn't recognize the car in the driveway, but it looked like the tags were from out of state.

I pulled the door open to a vision standing on the porch, backlit with the glowing sunset. My mind was stuck because I just couldn't process what I was seeing. It was a familiar sight, but totally out of context, and therefore very confusing. It was incredibly rude to just stand and stare but that was the best I could do.

When my brain finally rebooted there was just one question flashing on the screen: _What on Earth is HE doing here?_

My visitor—there was no doubt about it, he was there to visit me—was dressed like he'd stepped out of a Banana Republic advertisement. I wondered if he would be able to keep topping himself like this every time I encountered him; it might be fun to find out. Wearing brown cargo shorts and a red v-neck t-shirt, his tan skin was darker than I'd ever seen it. He was handsome casualness incarnate with tousled sandy blond hair and comfortable looking leather flip-flops on his feet. Was he heading to the beach after this? Could I come, too?

He had a big smile for me as he reached up and took my hands in his.

"Remember me?"

You bet. How could I forget?

He had a way of showing up at just the right time to prevent that. I had to remind myself that my affections were already engaged...

"You seem familiar. Have we met?"

Though it came out sounding less smooth and more like a dumbfounded question than I had intended, I was still pleased that I'd actually come up with a marginally cool reply! It balanced out my foolish open-mouthed gawking—sort of.

"Not as many times as I would have liked," he said with a wicked grin.

Yikes!

That sounded a lot like flirting to me. Not so long ago I would have been thrilled out of my mind. I was still flattered, but not flattened like I would have been before. Still, that same old sense of adoration I felt for him was stirring awake, when I had thought it was expired, not dormant.

"It's nice to see you again, but...what are you doing here, Gray?"

I was far more composed than I would have expected me to be.

"Well, I came to visit you, and to extend an invitation for a job offer," he said, a little tentatively—it seemed I was more composed than he'd been expecting me to be as well.

"Would you like to come in?" I asked, my manners finally rising to the surface.

"More than anything," he replied, flashing another big, pleased looking smile. I couldn't help myself; I had to smile back.

He didn't let go of my hands right away so I pulled him through the threshold. He released one hand so that I could shut the door behind him, but he held on to the other one tightly enough that it would have been very awkward to get free, if I tried. It was easier on so many levels to just go with it, so we walked hand in hand back through the kitchen and out to the patio to join my very surprised folks.

"Mom, Hoyt, this is Grayson. He works for GGR. He was friends with Grandpa," I explained.

But, mostly with me.

They rose to greet him and he released me to shake hands with them both.

"It's nice to see you again, Grayson. I didn't get to meet you...before," said my mom, trying to be sensitive to my feelings about the occasion we'd all been together last.

"Thank you. It's a pleasure seeing you again, too. I was hoping to have a visit with Ellie this evening. May I have your permission to take her out for some ice cream?"

He remembered my weakness, well, one of many, I supposed. But he was also asking my mom like I was five years old, and that was embarrassing; though she seemed to be eating it up.

"Well, that sounds very nice. Why don't you go to Graeter's? I bet he'll like that."

She was all for the plan, making suggestions, even. This was truly surreal. In another life I couldn't have imagined a happier moment. Now I just felt irritated. The cosmically bad timing at work here just wasn't fair. One minute I had been slopping through dirty dishes, looking forward to midnight, the next I was going on a date...except Gray wasn't my boyfriend, though it was sure adding up to look like he thought he might be. Plus, my real boyfriend wasn't going to like this. And I'd be worrying about that the entire time while he watched us.

"Sure. That sounds nice. We won't be out too late," Gray replied in smooth assurance.

He snagged my hand again and gently, but irresistibly guided me back through the kitchen, out the front door and on out to his car, a black Porsche convertible with black leather interior. He walked me around to my side, only then releasing my hand as he opened the door for me. I got in after shooting a wary glance at the house on the cul-de-sac behind us. It was getting too dark for me to see, but I could feel the eyes, and the upset.

We drove off to Graeter's, my very favorite ice cream shop, about three miles away. It was a short trip in the car, but I decided that it wasn't my responsibility to make conversation. He came to see me. He would have to do the work. Besides, there was nothing new or exciting or wonderful going on in my life...that I could talk about. He would probably mistake my silent petulance for shyness—and that made me feel even more petulant.

Just like our time together in Iceland, Gray insisted on ordering for me—without consulting me about what I wanted—though to my never ending amazement and chagrin, he always chose correctly. This time he ordered me a scoop of double chocolate mousse on a sugar cone (which was spot on) and some butter pecan in a waffle cone for himself.

The store was busy but there were still some seats to choose from—some inside and a few outside, as well.

With our treats in hand, he followed me outside, to the most visible table available, an automatic move on my part to accommodate my ever-present safety detail. Though not knowing what liberties Gray might take with me, I regretted the choice instantly and wished I'd opted for a more obscure inside seat instead, like in the restroom.

"Still a chocoholic, I see," he said, grinning with satisfaction as he bit into his ice cream.

"Still a nut, I see," I answered right back, with a glance at his cone.

But my smile didn't feel as happy as his looked.

Wow. That sounded amazingly self-possessed.

He laughed once at my joke. It seemed funnier to him than I'd expected, or intended. I worked on my ice cream very carefully, wary of the danger of getting dark chocolate on my face or shirt. These things mattered to me now that I was always on display, and especially at this moment, which felt very much like being on a date.

He finally broke into the silence.

"So you're a high school graduate now. That's big."

"I am...it is, I suppose," I nodded, careful to curb my enthusiasm.

"So what's next?" he asked, and I wondered if he meant what was next for me, or for us.

"I'm still narrowing my choices. It's been a trick finding a school with decent Earth Science studies, and a good Russian program."

And a good journalism program.

The Russian bit was something new I'd been toying with recently. It didn't hurt that it sounded ambitious.

"A double major. That's impressive. Still doing things the hard way, I see," he said with a wry smile.

Then as my announcement really sunk in, his expression became inquisitive.

"Russian?"

He was genuinely surprised.

"Vy govorite russkiĭ?" (You speak Russian?), he asked.

I didn't realize that he did. It was just one more reason to be impressed with him.

"Net (no). Pok a ne. (Not yet). But I'm working on it."

I looked away, hoping he wouldn't try to engage me any further in Russian. The interest I had in the language greatly outpaced my actual ability to speak it. My skills were better suited for note passing, with a translation dictionary in hand.

"That's an interesting choice. If geology doesn't work out for you, then I'm sure the CIA will want to talk to you," he said, sounding very amused.

The idea of me as a spy or working in some dark government program was funny; I had to admit. Then he rolled something off very quickly, testing my skills.

"Vy ochen' spetsial'noe, i YA v vas vlyublen. V samom dele, ya planiruyu imet' vas kak mozhno skoryee."

He smiled angelically at me after saying this, but made his eyebrows dance up and down in punctuation. This meant he wasn't testing me; he was teasing me.

I only understood a few words, I think: special, plan, and soon. Trying to be cool, I played it off with a short answer involving the one word I was pretty sure I'd understood.

Nodding, I replied "Horoshiĭ plan" (Good plan).

He laughed with feeling and reached out to tousle my hair. He was definitely teasing me and I had to wonder what I'd just affirmed.

"So let's hear about this invitation," I said, trying to hurry things along before he could tease me some more or offer to tutor me in Russian, or espionage.

"Well, you get right to the point. Are you in a hurry?"

There was the slightest edge of irritation in his voice, though his handsome features revealed no hint of affront.

"I'm sorry, no. It's just that I'm so surprised to see you, and I'm really curious about what brings you here. It's been so long I'd nearly forgotten what you look like."

All true.

"Were you trying to remember?"

He seemed enthused by my admission. I shouldn't have put it like that.

"I have some nice memories from Iceland. I didn't want to forget them," I replied, shrugging.

True and false.

"I was hoping to make some new memories together..." he said, wistfully, and my heart jumped a little, despite myself.

"We're going to do some survey work in the Canadian Rockies this summer. It was on the slate for last year, but....well any way, my dad asked me to come here and invite you personally. We'll actually have to work this time, though, no goofing off; well, not as much."

He half smiled, with one eyebrow raised—it was my very favorite expression of his—at least, when I used to keep track of things like that.

I thought about how important it was that from now on I be more careful what I wished for. Sometimes I got what I wanted. It just happened way after the fact, when it wasn't what I wanted anymore, and had the potential to ruin the thing that I wanted currently. I concentrated my thoughts for a moment on Ash's incomparable face—comparing.

"Are you up for some back country hiking?"

Again, it was another fantasy of mine unfolding way past its expiration date.

"Where are you going, exactly?" I asked.

It was getting harder to hold down the enthusiasm.

"We'll fly into Calgary and then head west. It's in the vicinity of Lake Louise," he explained.

"Glacier work?" I asked apprehensively.

Hiking in the cold didn't sound as good.

"No, we'll keep to lower elevations. It's an initial survey, sponsored by the park service. I'm not really supposed to talk about it, actually."

He finished off the last of his waffle cone. I was a slow eater, still working on the mound of ice cream atop my sugar cone.

I didn't know what else to ask if he wasn't supposed to talk about it. So I just waited for him to continue while I ate some more of my ice cream, trying to catch up.

"You haven't been to that part of Canada, have you?" he asked, but he already knew the answer.

"No, I've only been as far as Niagara Falls," I confirmed.

"Well I'd really like to take you there. It's one of the most beautiful places on earth. When we're not working I want to show you Lake Louise, and Lake O'Hara, and take you to dinner at The Fairmont in Banff. What do you say to that?"

"Gray, I don't think I can afford to—" he cut me off.

"You won't have to pay your own way. It's company business, expenses paid," he said with a disapproving look, like he thought I should know better.

I did. But he didn't realize that I wasn't speaking in monetary terms. Taking advantage of that misunderstanding, though, was my only caviling _(raising trivial objections)_ excuse to say no. Or I could just say I didn't want to go—but he'd never buy that, and it wasn't quite true any way.

"Well, I'll have to ask my mom."

Ugh! I hated saying that.

"Would you like me to ask her for you?" he proposed, with a wicked look in his eyes.

He knew I'd hate that even more.

"Sure. Be certain to explain how many different planes and helicopters we'll be riding in; she'll be very interested in that."

My annoyance was turned up full strength.

Gray picked up a napkin and dipped the edge in his cup of ice water. Then he leaned forward with it, aiming toward the corner of my mouth.

Great. How long had he let me go with chocolate on my face?

Only until he needed to rein me in with a little embarrassment, while at the same time providing an object lesson in my dependence upon him.

I held very still as he cleaned the chocolate off my chin, taking far longer than my dignity could stand. It never paid to resist him. I remembered that now.

"So it's settled. You'll go...if you have permission?" he asked after he'd fixed my face.

His face looked very satisfied with no misplaced ice cream anywhere. I could only imagine what Ash must have been thinking. I glanced around the parking lot repeatedly, but I hadn't been able to pick him out.

"You came all the way from...where did you come from?" I asked.

"Raleigh. I got back from Cambridge...recently," he answered, lost in thought for a moment.

"You came all the way from North Carolina to ask me this? Why didn't you just call?"

It was a valid question, and the answer was important to me.

He seemed to sense that and chose his words carefully.

"Last summer was a huge disappointment, and I wanted to make sure it didn't turn out that way again."

He was very sincere and I smiled and blushed in response, despite myself. I could say the same for my summer, though calling it a 'disappointment' wasn't accurate enough—the way describing a great white shark as a fish wouldn't be accurate enough.

Just as I expected, after he made the pitch to her, my mom was ready to hand me over to Gray on the spot, perhaps even transferring legal custody, if that's what he required. She actually seemed a little disappointed that he didn't want me for another few weeks. Before he left that evening, Gray had promised to send a detailed itinerary, with dates, addresses and phone numbers. He made definite plans to pick me up himself on the morning of our departure, the third week in June, some twenty-odd days away, but who was counting?

If I was being truthful with myself, I had to admit that I was kind of excited. This was the trip I had been looking forward to taking last summer, though I'd had no advance dinner date plans at The Fairmont Banff Springs by this point. I was keyed up, but I knew it wasn't just about going to such an awesome place. It had more to do with trying to understand why I was invited. But I was also nervous about who I'd be leaving behind...and explaining myself and my plans to him...shortly.

Ash met me in the tree house around midnight, as had been our plan before my evening had been commandeered. He was there first, waiting for me for who knows how long. I felt completely guilty, but what was I supposed to have done? Besides say no to going on a trip with my former heartthrob, that is?

"Are you mad at me?" I asked, very sheepishly, as I came to rest on the floor of the structure, my back pressed up against the opposite wall, mirroring his pose, my bare toes touching his, which were also uncharacteristically bare as well.

"Should I be?"

His voice was calm, with no accusation flavoring his tone, to my great relief. It was very dark and my eyes hadn't adjusted yet, but I wished I could see his face more clearly, to gauge his mood. The batteries had died in my little lantern style flashlight, and I hadn't gotten around to replacing them.

"That was Grayson. He's an old friend, in town from North Carolina, just for the day. He wanted to go out for ice cream, for old time's sake," I said as evenly as I could, fighting down the nerves.

"He seemed very....enthusiastic...about you," Ash replied, after an uncomfortable pause.

_Here it comes_ , I thought and braced myself. Then my mind took a different tack, an offensive one.

"As enthusiastic as you are?" I asked, trying to be coy.

"Something like that, yes."

His voice was too smooth and low. It made me nervous. That was a first. I'd never ever felt nervous around him before. It seemed like something important to share. I leaned forward and wrapped my arms around his bent knees. He pulled back from me, slightly, but in such close quarters he couldn't completely escape.

"You know, this is the first time I've ever felt nervous around you. Normally, your presence relaxes me."

He didn't respond, so I continued.

"I had a feeling you'd be unhappy about the way I spent my evening. I'm sorry."

I dropped my hold around the top of his knees to find his hands. They were loose and non-committal—they didn't hold mine in return.

So a jealous Ash is a sulky Ash...but not an angry Ash. That's a good thing. But how can I achieve an appeased Ash?

"Would you like to hear what we talked about?" I began.

"What is his last name?" he asked, rather abruptly, ignoring my offer.

"Gregory."

That was rude.

He would have to ask nicely now before I'd let him in on my evening, and my upcoming plans.

"Do you have some romantic history with this boy, or was he just being incredibly forward with you?"

There was the accusation I'd been expecting. I understood exactly how he felt, and the empathy helped to restrain the hackles that were beginning to sprout on my back.

I took a deep breath, composing my thoughts and myself.

"I met Gray two summers ago when I went with my grandpa on a trip to Iceland. He was working on a survey with Gray's dad there. Gray was supposed to be helping with the survey too, but he was nice enough to baby-sit me while we were there so my grandpa could focus on work."

My eyes were starting to adjust. Ash was looking at the ceiling. I pressed on.

"Gray's a lot of fun, and I had a huge crush on him. But I haven't spoken to him since Iceland, until tonight. I was surprised to see him."

I'd seen Gray more recently than that, but the speaking to him part was the truth. I paused again, trying to get the words just right in my head.

"Let me just be clear on a few things. I don't dream about him, and I don't imagine being married to him, and I don't hang out in tree houses at midnight with him, understand?"

I was abruptly turned around and in Ash's lap, facing the wall I had been sitting against just a second ago, with his arms wrapped securely around me and his lips at my ear.

"I'm sorry. That was unforgivable—pressing you like that. It's none of my business. You should have told me so."

I could feel his breath against my ear while he spoke. My own breathing was uneven from the surprise and pleasure of such a bold move. He was normally very careful about touching me. Up to this point it had been strictly hand holding and the occasional hug and, of course, my numerous but thwarted experiments.

I laughed a little nervous laugh and said, "Are you kidding? And miss out on this?"

Then I crossed my arms up over top of his and squeezed. He sighed and I felt the air move across my neck. It made me shiver with happy pleasure. He squeezed a little tighter in response.

"Besides, I thought I was your business," I added, pleased with my joke.

He chuckled lightly. I didn't want to ruin the moment, but he seemed appeased, for the moment, and I needed to get on with the news. I sighed and moved forward with it.

"Mr. Gregory, his dad, offered me an internship position this summer on a survey project in Canada. Gray came to extend the invitation in person."

I let that hang out there, concentrating on analyzing his reaction. He loosened his grip on me by a fraction.

"I really want to go. It's in Alberta, in the Canadian Rockies. It's always been a dream of mine to go there ... but ... I don't know ..."

I realized that I wasn't playing fair now, framing things in this way, but at least I was being honest.

"What don't you know?" he asked, squeezing the tops of my arms in his hands.

Being in his lap, feeling his warm shape around me and his hands on my body felt wonderful. I had to regroup to concentrate on speaking again.

"Well, I don't know if I can go that long without you. It would be for a whole month. Plus, I'm not sure you'll say yes, so ... "

It was more honesty on my part. I wanted to reassure him that I wasn't planning to make this decision independently, though I actually already had, technically.

He made a nervous one syllable laugh—I felt it in my hair.

"I'm flattered that you feel you need to ask my permission, but no matter what you decide—and Love, it is _your_ decision—we won't be apart. Even if I wasn't madly in love with you, I'd still be following you to Canada or around Louisville this summer, either way."

It sounded like a smile in his voice at the end.

I chuckled.

"Yeah, I guess that was dumb. Like my taking a trip into the wilds of the Canadian Rockies wouldn't require security."

He dropped his hold on me completely and exhaled deeply. I turned to face him, trying to get a better view of this extreme mood change.

"What is it? What did I say?"

I was back to being nervous again.

"Will you be...camping?"

He said 'camping' like it was a dirty word. Was he skenephobic _(fearful of tents)_?

"Yes?" I replied, tentatively.

I didn't understand the issue here. Geologic surveys were not conducted indoors. He was infinitely smarter than me. Surely he knew that much.

"Is that a problem?"

There was a long pause. Finally he broke through the silence that was starting to get very loud to me.

"I've never...camped before. It seems I have some preparations to make."

I could tell it was hard for him to admit this. But I was pleased. If his problem was more about camping than about Gray, then this would be easier than I thought.

"Thank you," I said, turning around to hug him chest to chest with my arms around his back, below where it was pressed into the wall of the tree house. I squeezed him as hard as I could and tried to concentrate on how it felt having him inside my arms. I still had him trapped when I announced, "Now I get everything I wished for."

Then with a happy sigh I turned my face to listen to his heart—it was racing. Always cautious and extremely gentle, as if I were a china doll, he rested his chin on my head softly and warned, "Be careful about that."

I knew exactly what he meant. All of my wishes, the old and the new, were on a collision course. I only hoped that when the dust settled, Ash and I would be able to walk away from it—still holding hands.

#

# Chapter 25

I was in need of a plan. I was searching for a solution to get myself as capable as possible for my upcoming outdoor adventure, which was now less than two weeks away. Ash had informed me that he would be spending the better part of the coming week out of town with Ray Torrence, of all people, 'brushing up' on his survival skills. I'd called him on it when he tried to make it sound like he thought of asking for Ray's help because it had come up in conversation during our dinner together that Ray used to be a Marine.

Though he obviously knew I was aware of my security team, he never brought them up, and I took this to mean that he would rather not discuss it. He seemed surprised, though, when I revealed that I knew Lidia and Ray were on the team, something I had pieced together after our dinner at my house. I'd made a point to clear up his misconception, assuring him that I wasn't stupid enough to actually believe someone like Lidia Torrence would work for a driving school, and then take time on a weekly basis afterward to be my friend and mentor.

When he thought I had expressed doubt about the sincerity of the 'friendship' aspect of my relationship with Lidia, he'd surprised me by taking up for her, affirming her genuine fondness for me. I knew he didn't care for her, so the candor in his begrudgingly favorable admission added weight to its veracity.

Though she was very feminine and fashionable, I had a hunch that there was more to Lidia than her exceptionally beautiful surface. I decided to test my theory and see if I might be able enlist her help with a girl version of survival training.

We met once a week on Sunday afternoons to visit and catch up. This time we were having brunch at Panera.

"I've been invited on a trip to Canada," I began as I took a bite of bagel and a sip of cream flavored with a hint of coffee.

She looked surprised though I knew she wasn't really.

Life will be so much better when this stupid game is over, I thought in a moment of concealed peevishness.

"Wow. That's exciting! Who are you going with?"

You, your husband, Ash, and everyone else on your security team.

"Some friends I met through my grandpa. They own a research and mining company and would hire out Grandpa's services from time to time. Anyway, I'm invited to help with a survey project near Banff, in Alberta. It's an intern job, but there's kind of a complication."

I wondered if I would regret going down this path, but it was too late to abort now.

"What kind of complication?"

She seemed more worried than she should be. She hadn't been briefed about this part and I smiled inwardly at that thought.

"I'm going to be spending most of my time with a guy that..."

I realized this was hard to say out loud—I never had before.

"A guy that...?" she encouraged.

"Well, I just...suffered through a really bad broken heart over him. He didn't dump me or anything. It's not like we were together."

"What happened?"

She was very serious.

"Well, it's been a couple of years ago, now. His name is Gray. I met him when I was traveling with my grandpa for work. I had a huge crush on him. But when Grandpa died I figured I'd never see him again. You know, connection closed. I guess I sort of gave myself a broken heart. Then out of the blue he shows up on my doorstep acting like he was the one who had the crush and invites me on a month-long date in Canada. I don't know how to feel about this ... and, well...I'm terrified of a set-back."

Every word was true.

"Why did you say yes?"

She was smiling but serious.

I couldn't explain my primary reason: getting to the bottom of her association with me and the presence of a secret service unit in my life. I had no proof that Gray had anything to do with it. All I knew was that it had to be expensive, and the Gregorys were the wealthiest people I'd ever heard of. I never felt certain about anything these days, but if they were behind this high-end babysitting contract, I could be certain it wasn't because of my money—they had more than plenty of their own.

I decided to expound on the other side of my reason for going.

"I guess I just didn't want to close my connection with the Gregorys. It reminds me of my time with Grandpa, and I want to be a geologist, like him, I think. So this is a valuable experience. Plus, geology aside, I've always wanted to see the Canadian Rockies; and that's never going to happen with Mom and Hoyt. Dan and Gray will make it really fun, I'm sure. I've been shut up for so long," I sighed and used the moment to choose my words.

"It's just that I think Gray might want more from me, and I'm not sure if I can handle it. You know?"

She put her hand over mine and squeezed it reassuringly.

"You can handle anything. You just need to be sure about what you want, and really think it through. He probably does want more. I think any man would, especially because it's you, bambina bellina _(Italian for pretty girl)_. But that doesn't obligate you. If you were offered an internship, then make it clear from the beginning that is what you're there for. If he's advancing on you in a way that you're not comfortable with, you should say so. Don't you dare feel guilty. Understand?"

It was exactly what I needed to hear. I nodded gravely.

"He doesn't happen to be extremely rich and handsome, does he?" she asked with a grin.

"Of course. And charming too. I was too flattered to say no. I just hope it's not a mistake. I mean, he never called me or wrote me or anything. I don't know what to think."

"Do you still like him?" she asked.

It occurred to me that she may actually be rooting for us, having no knowledge of my romantic ties to Ash, and might do so all the more, if she did possess such knowledge.

"A little. I just don't want to be left high and dry. I got over him once, but I don't think I could pull it off twice."

I laughed at myself.

"I can't imagine _you_ having to 'get over' anyone. Maybe it was more about timing than that he wasn't interested in you. Do you think that's possible?"

I arched my eyebrows but didn't answer. I had never considered that. It was possible. Why would he waste time with a high school girl? But now that I was older...

I would need to file that away for further consideration.

I continued with the details that she already knew. We'd be flying into Calgary, then we would head west to Banff where we would do some site-seeing and then take a few back country back-packing trips to do a geological survey in an area determined by satellite photos.

"But there's something I'm concerned about with the back-packing. I've camped before when I was a lot younger and I was with my dad or grandpa so I didn't put tents up, or build campfires or cook. I would really like to be self sufficient around camp while we're out there, pulling my own weight..." I trailed off, wistfully.

"So you'd like some survival training? Is that it?"

She seemed to be enjoying an inside joke—without realizing that I was secretly in on the punch line!

"Didn't you say that Ray was in the military? Do you think he would mind showing me a few things?"

That wasn't what I really wanted, but I was curious to hear her response.

"Oh, I think you can do better than that, Ellery."

There was a devious look in her eyes now.

"I can?"

I was all wide-eyed curiosity.

"Did you ever watch the Eco Challenge races on cable?" she asked, looking somewhat smug.

Yes, in fact I had. It was one of the first shared activities I enjoyed with Hoyt when he and Mom had started dating. I rummaged through my memories of the different races we had watched together. I was always particularly interested because the races featured teams with both male and female contestants, which fed my love of heroines. The teams would race through the jungle and climb mountains, kayak rivers, swim the in the ocean, repel into canyons, and of course, run.

Then it clicked. I laughed at the absurdity. But it explained a lot.

"You're _Lidia Ferrari?"_ I asked with excited incredulity.

From Team Ferrari Italia on the Eco Challenge Fiji Adventure Race. I remembered that team because they were famous, sort of—all from the Ferrari sports car family. Though, I had been zoned in to the program because the actor Hayden Christensen (Anakin Skywalker from the newer movies of the older Star Wars stories) was on a team with his brother and sister, representing Canada.

"So you did watch it. I wasn't sure if you were old enough to remember."

She was pleased.

"I remember that your team actually finished the race."

Some fifty or so of the eighty plus teams competing had to drop out due to injury or disease. The 'Force' had not been with Hayden's team.

"And now I understand your car sense a little better."

I couldn't hold back the smile wondering how in the world she could have ended up here with me now. It was crazy, but in a good way.

"So, did you meet Hayden Christensen?" I couldn't resist asking.

"Yeah, we dated for a little while. But he was more interested in my cars than he was in me."

Her tone was disinterested.

"That's too bad," I lamented, feeling a vicarious sort of disappointment.

"No, it was okay. I was more interested in my cars than I was in him."

She smirked and rolled her eyes. Then she got back on topic.

"Any way, I think I'll be able to show you a thing or two about camping."

The smug look was taking up residence again.

"So when you're finished with me, I'll be the best campfire builder I know?" I grinned as I asked this.

"Besides me, of course."

And she smiled at me.

# Chapter 26

#

It used to be my fortress of solitude. Now we met nearly every night in my silly little tree house, constructed for the small kids of the property's previous owners, with a Fire Marshall's maximum capacity rating of three children. It had become my favorite place in the world because it was where I got to visit face to face and hand in hand with my favorite person on Earth. Tonight would be the last time, for a while, since we would be traveling out of the country the next day—but not together, exactly.

Ash was very strict about every aspect of these encounters. We could only visit for a half hour. It was obvious why a late night visit was more convenient, but he was concerned that I needed my rest, especially in the beginning, when we had met on school nights, thus the abbreviated time frame. After school was out and we were secretly spending his days on duty together, we would meet here in the tree house at night, sometimes for longer periods now on the evenings of days we couldn't be together, sort of like dating on third shift.

One of his unbendable rules (shameless, relentless testing on my part certified the 'unbendable' descriptor) was that we could hold hands but nothing beyond that. When I experimented with caressing and kissing his hands, he took those away from me too.

He had made it clear from the beginning (and was occasionally forced by me to reiterate) that his intentions toward me were nothing but honorable, and that moving beyond handholding would only escalate into dishonorable behavior on his part.

He had explained it this way, "Though going beyond is what I want with all my soul, I'm willing to be patient for it, for you, for when we're married, if you were to eventually accept me, that is."

Like my presence in the tree house night after night didn't constitute acceptance! But his words were so incredibly romantic to me that I nearly attacked him on the spot. Maybe that was the intended effect. No. As I thought it through, I was sure it was not. I believed him. There was no way to doubt his perfect sincerity. Anyway, though it was disappointing at times, it was also a relief. My better judgment screamed at me about the acrasia _(lack of self-control)_ of being in a private dark place with this man, who although angelically beautiful and impeccably polite, was, never-the-less, a stranger to me—initially. His rules soothed my conscience and my insecurities, and kept me honorable too, despite myself.

Thirty minutes felt like thirty seconds—it flew by so quickly every night. We used the time to piece our various puzzles about each other together, though obviously, he had far more to reveal about himself that I did. Still, he managed to control the conversation most nights, digging into topics about me: my daily happenings, my history, and my hopes. I let it slide because I could see how happy it made him, and I wasn't very good at controlling conversations in any case.

One evening, after several nights in a row of being manipulated into doing all the talking, I proposed a new arrangement.

"Ash, you're not being fair to me," I began.

My mood was mischievous, not indignant. But in the dark he misread me. And apparently I'd inadvertently touched a nerve.

Before I could explain myself he responded back with, "You're right. I'm so sorry. I should leave you alone. I should never have entangled you this way. I'm trying to snap you up, like a rose before it's bloomed. It's wrong and very unfair to you," he said, releasing my hand.

It felt exactly like I had shot myself in the foot, or the heart. I scrambled to undo the damage.

"Oh no Ash! That's not what I meant at all!"

My tone was pitifully desperate. I grabbed his hand back, like something that had been unjustly snatched away.

"I'm glad you picked me. There's no point in blooming if it's not for you. You're the sun that makes me grow. If you unwrapped your love from around me now I would wilt, or worse."

Uncertain if I was healing the breach with my metaphoric assurances, I added heavy incentive.

"You've seen me like that...you...you wouldn't let that happen to me...again."

The fear and pain in my plea were more real than I had intended.

He inhaled sharply and broke his own rule, gathering me into his arms, tucking his chin over my head, and rocked me slowly. It silently communicated what I needed to hear. No. He would not let that happen again.

I rested my face against his chest, listening to his heart, one of my favorite sounds, second only to the sound of his voice, soaking in the pleasure of unruly behavior. Eventually he pushed me away, but very gently.

"What did you mean?" he asked timidly.

"Just that it would be fairer if we took turns asking and answering questions. I want to hear more about you. I'd like to know more about the past of the person with whom I hope to spend my future," I said with a smile.

I was going to have to replace complete sincerity for my usual flippant banter until after he was accustomed to my sense of humor. Otherwise, I might accidentally scare him off, and get exactly what I deserved.

I had learned my lesson on that occasion, and this night I was determined to be extra careful and unplugged from my perversity. He'd been gone for most of the week on his survival training exercises with Ray, and given the emotional climate in which he would be immersed over the next several weeks he deserved a break from anything but calm adoration coming from me this evening.

I didn't want to miss a single sensation this time, so I had loaded new batteries in my little flashlight lantern.

When I had settled in the tiny space across from him, I clicked it on and soaked in his beautiful face, my first real breath of air for the day, as he had been off duty and completely out of my sight. He took my hands and smiled, as pleased as I was at the extra view we'd be sharing tonight.

"I'm curious about something. If you're not comfortable answering, I'll understand," he assured me.

I did not feel assured. I was bracing for something uncomfortable, but I nodded, letting him know it was all right to proceed.

"When did you get a cell phone?"

He was gravely serious.

I laughed out loud in relief. I thought he was going to ask me to detail my 'romantic history' with Gray, something I'd lived in fear of since that fateful evening when my summer had been rearranged. This I could handle.

"It was for when I was away from my grandpa during the day when we were in Iceland. So, roughly two summers ago."

That was easy...and true.

Please let that be the end of the matter.

"It's a strange area code. I was just wondering about that..." he trailed off.

He was trying to lead me around to a conversation about Gray, and I wasn't about to be led down that path.

"Is it? I never called it."

Could I get out of this topic without lying to him? If he stopped asking questions it might be possible. I didn't want to discuss Gray. The only thing to discuss would be my feelings and how I thought they had been unreturned, and then having to admit that maybe now they were ... in a belated, totally irrelevant way.

"Oh. Well, here's your instruction card. I have your number now. You might need this back," he said as he presented me with the card I had once given him.

Actually, it was very thoughtful of him. I was going to need that if I ever wanted to check messages or do anything else beyond making a call.

"Thanks. You're right, I might. And I have something for you," I said, childishly enthusiastic as I handed him a wrapped present that I had concealed behind me before turning on the lantern.

He looked surprised.

"What's the occasion?" he asked.

"Oh, don't start with that. I don't need an occasion to be generous with you. If I see something I think you'll enjoy, I'm not going to wait around for the proper 'occasion' to give it to you. Where's the fun or spontaneity in that?"

He appeared to accept my explanation and looked down at me, thinking deeply, it seemed, while he held his present in his hands, motionless.

"I was hoping you'd open it while we were together so I could explain some things about it," I said after what seemed like a long time with no move on his part to investigate his gift.

He snapped out of his abstraction then and smiled big; carefully pulling at the silver ribbon I had tied around the middle. Then he gently lifted the edges of the paper, pulling up the tape to unfold the glossy black wrapping paper, releasing his gift without a single tear.

"A Walk in the Woods, Rediscovering America on the Appalachian Trail, by Bill Bryson," he said, reading the cover out loud.

"Has our destination changed?" he joked, and then looked up expectantly at me.

I shook my head, smiling.

"It's considered travel literature, but to me it's more like comedy. I love this book and this author. I used to think he was my soul mate. I can't believe I've never mentioned him before. Do you know him?" I asked.

He shook his head.

"Your soul mate?" he replied, a little guarded, but still playful, acting jealous.

"Just sense of humor wise. He's old enough to be my dad, or maybe even my granddad," I shrugged and continued, "It probably wouldn't work out anyway. I'm not really into older men."

Here I was, teasing him...again.

I let that hang there for a minute, and sure enough, a pained expression was forming on his face. I quickly amended with, "Well, I mean, unless they're into me, that is."

I searched his face, hoping he'd interpret my comment as a joke and not a jab. The pain rapidly gave way to a smirk.

"What drew you to this book?" he asked.

"Mom brought it home from the library for me. After that I read everything of his that I could get my hands on. I love all of his work. It's not all travel related, though. There's some on science, some memoirs. Then there are a few books on the history of the English language, even one on often misused words, which I looove," I said, drawing out the word 'love', "because I'm strange like that," and I chuckled at myself.

"I'll need to see that one right away, because I'm strange like that, too," he said enthusiastically.

"Here's the thing. He's got this great low-key sarcasm, from which no one is spared, especially himself. I love that the most, I think. And the way he uses language makes scenes that were already amusing take on a higher level of...of...hilarity."

He smiled at me during my word search.

"The other thing I like is that he makes me laugh out loud, about every other sentence, but I come away smarter after I've read him. You don't often find that kind of intellectual value added feature when you're being so well entertained. It's like a literary version of carrots in carrot cake."

I chuckled thinking about some of my favorite passages in the book Ash was holding, including some totally new perspectives on camping, and Hostess Cupcakes and bears. I continued.

"There's something else. This man has the most unique voice. I listened to his memoirs on a digital audio book, which he reads himself. And now when I read any of his books I can hear his voice in my mind. I just love that; it feels so...personal."

He seemed lost in thought as I said these things to him.

"And this one is your favorite?" he finally asked, turning the book up.

"I can't commit to a favorite. I got you this one because camping is on our agenda and I know you'll appreciate what he says about deprivation on the trail and about how simple things in civilized life take on new wonder and delight, once you've had to do without them for a while. I'd forgotten how much I enjoyed this. I hope you will too."

"I like anything you like," he said, with a touch of wistfulness, while he looked at me, and not his present.

"I have something else for you, but you might think it's weird," I began.

His eyebrows raised in surprise.

"I'm starting to feel very unprepared and ungenerous here, Ellery," he said with an uneasy smile.

"Don't be. Okay, so, this is kind of different. I won't be offended if you don't like it. I debated with myself about whether I should even give it to you ... " I qualified, trying to set up an easy way out for him, just in case.

He looked very curious, but a little uncertain, too. He knew me well enough now to be expecting something truly bizarre.

"Now I'm serious, Ash. If this isn't your thing, just say so," I offered.

Then I pushed up the sleeve of my sweater (it was a slightly chilly night, even for June) to reveal my wrist. Using my thumb and index finger I twisted the magnetic latch pieces apart to release a rather loose fitting bracelet from around my arm and tentatively handed it over. His expression was hard to read. It looked like uncertainty as opposed to enthusiasm. I tried to explain.

"So, I'm not into crafts or anything, but Serena made this really unusual bracelet from a tiny braid of Kailee's hair. I thought it was a neat idea, so I made one from mine. It seemed like a sentimental, personal way to be reminded of someone you love—if you're not grossed out about it being made of hair, that is," and I laughed a nervous laugh in punctuation.

He didn't join me in the levity, however. His gaze was fixed on the band in his open palm, fingers from his other hand slowly tracing the twist.

"Serena intertwined a tiny gold chain with Kailee's hair, but mine is lower budget than that ... sorry," I added, with growing nervousness at his silent response.

He still hadn't spoken. I was starting to feel disappointed and foolish. I should have listened to the logical side of myself who assured me that guys don't wear bracelets, especially ones made of hair. I had put him in an awkward position, and now he was searching for a way to tactfully decline my strange gesture, or possibly disengage himself from me completely.

"It's too weird," I pronounced when I couldn't take the silence any longer. "I'm sorry. I knew better. How about I just give it to my mom, instead? It'll be like a kindergarten craft project to her; she'll love it—" I suggested with a smile, trying to put on an air of nonchalance, while I reached out to retrieve my rejected and sad little offering of love.

In a lightning fast move his hand and the bracelet were gone, out of my reach, cutting me off in mid-apology. Turning his body slightly away from me, he used one hand to fasten the band around the wrist of his other hand. Then he turned toward me again with a glorious, radiant, heat wave of a smile lighting his face and the space.

"This is the most perfect, priceless gift I've ever received, besides your friendship, of course. I'll treasure it always. Thank you, Ellery," he said with deep conviction as he raised it to his lips and kissed it, smiling happily. His eyes were just slightly wet looking, though in the dim light it was hard to be sure.

As his comment really settled in my mind and began to wrap itself around my heart I could feel the beginnings of moisture in my own eyes, especially as I considered what his friendship meant to me.

"Well, if that's the case, then maybe we're even now," I suggested.

"Even?" he asked.

I pulled the perfect sentimental keepsake resting on a chain around my neck out from under the cover of my shirt. It was warm from my body heat at all times except when I would take it off to shower.

"Remember this? I thought I'd be working the rest of my life to top this," I explained with a sigh of happiness at the end as I got sucked into staring at my most treasured material possession of all time.

"I'd really love that, you know," he said, completely serious without even a hint teasing.

I picked up his left hand and fiddled with the bracelet so it hung with the clasp on the bottom of his wrist as opposed to the top. Letting go with another well pleased and happy sigh I replied, simply, "Me too."

# Chapter 27

The day finally came for me to embark on the adventure of my life. It was bittersweet for a variety of reasons. I was overjoyed to be traveling to a place I'd dreamed of visiting since I was a 'littler' girl. Yet, for obvious reasons, I was anxious about what might happen once I got there. I felt sorry for both the guys who seemed to like me. Gray was going to all this effort to court me, not knowing that his opportunity with me had already come and gone. Ash was going to all this effort to watch Gray court me, not believing that Gray's opportunity with me had already come and gone—though I did and said everything I could think of to reassure him, except decline to go on the trip in the first place. I knew it was all going to come to a point soon, and then take a rapid downhill trajectory, and I'd be lucky if there was anybody waiting for me at the bottom once this scary ride was over. If I ended up walking away from all of this alone, it would be no more than I deserved. If that was the case, I hoped I'd at least have some answers as a consolation prize.

Gray picked me up very early that morning. He'd caught a red-eye flight from Raleigh to Louisville and then made a detour from Louisville International to Eastwood to come and collect me personally and convey me on to the friendly skies. It was so early, in fact, that neither Mom nor Hoyt had left for work yet, though I think they would have gone in late or stayed home, if that's what would have been required to see me off properly.

They walked us out to the car and my mom tried to get a month's worth of embarrassing me into a single departing embrace, replete with kisses, which lasted so long I actually considered faking a faint to free myself. But, bless him, Hoyt intervened just before I hit my breaking point—like a preferred dance partner cutting in. His hug was short and sweet and infinitely more appropriate. Everyone should have a Hoyt in their life.

As soon as we pulled away, Gray had my hand. I sighed internally. Would it be wrong just to go with it? I couldn't deny that it felt good—like having a fantasy come true. But I reminded myself that I was over that fantasy and had moved on to a very good reality. A messed up and confusing reality, but very good none-the-less...especially around midnight.

I waited for an appropriate time frame and then pretended like I needed my hand to open my bottle of water. Then I carefully occupied my left hand with holding and drinking the water for the rest of the ride.

I decided to take Lidia's advice and make my intentions clear here at the beginning, on the way to the airport.

"Gray? Thank you so much for setting this up for me. I really do intend to pursue a career in geology, and this is invaluable experience. I owe you."

I wanted to see if the truth mixed with a little reverse psychology would get me off the hook, just slightly.

He glanced over at me and half smiled, with one eyebrow raised. Then he yawned and said, "Thanks for coming, Little Feather. I'll get back to you on the payment plan."

Well, that didn't go like I'd hoped. Little Feather? What's that supposed to mean?

I thought about letting it slide; letting fear of embarrassment beat out curiosity. But Gray was clearly disappointed when I didn't pursue it, so against my better judgment I asked, "Little Feather? Is that my Indian name?"

He laughed and replied, "No. That would be 'Runs From Shadow', I think," and he laughed some more at his joke.

I laughed too. It was true.

"Little Feather is what I started calling you behind your back after we talked about that Radiohead song you like, where he says "you float like a feather...in a beautiful world," he replied, singing it in a perfect mimic.

I just smirked and rolled my eyes, refocusing on the view out my side of the car. We'd had lots of discussions about music, lyrics in particular, during travel or down time in Iceland. Understanding the lyrics to songs I liked, and even those I didn't, was an obsession for me. He had quizzed me exhaustively about the content and my interpretation of countless tunes. When it came to one of my favorites, he couldn't understand why I identified with the singer and not the subject in the song 'Creep'. I couldn't understand why it mattered so much to him—still mattered, apparently. Now I absolutely let it go. Mercifully, he didn't pursue it any further, and we finished our drive to Louisville International in companionable silence.

After dropping off the rental car we made our way through security and then checked in for our flight. Once we had our seat assignments, in first class, of course, Gray accompanied me as I followed the smell of Cinnabon to its source. Having this particular brand of monster size sweet roll swimming in butter and sugar was very nostalgic for me. It reminded me of Grandpa. He had always indulged my sweet tooth the way beloved grandparents often do, and we both especially loved Cinnabon in this regard. If things had been different for him, he'd probably be sitting here now, eating one of his own and then helping me with mine. Then again, probably not. It would have already happened, about a year ago, and none of us would be here today.

Our first flight carried us to Minneapolis for a brief stopover to refuel and switch out a few passengers. It was only for twenty minutes but I had no desire to leave the plane, so I declined Gray's offer to join him while he stretched his legs and picked up a USA Today. My desire was to see my very well concealed love interest. He was supposed to be on our flight but I had not yet identified him, even though I had been carefully searching for him. I began to wonder if perhaps he'd reconsidered.

So it was with a mixture of relief and pleasure that I finally saw his gorgeous face seconds after Gray deplaned. He did not speak to me. He just caught my eye and nodded to the back of the plane as he stopped at my row, as if allowing me to exit. I jumped right up and walked purposefully past the first class lavatories for the more distant facilities in coach, at the very rear of the plane. No one was looking when I stepped inside the unoccupied airplane bathroom, and I thought he'd follow me in, since that obviously seemed to be the plan. But he did not. He turned and stood, as though waiting for me to waste my precious stolen moment with him taking a pee!

Whatever.

I grabbed his arm and pulled him inside with me, pushing past him in the cramped space to lock the door.

"What are you _doing_?" he demanded in a whispered version of yelling.

What was his plan supposed to have been? Meeting up in the cockpit?

I felt embarrassed for a split second, but I was so happy to see he hadn't abandoned me that I completely forgot the rules and acted on instinct. I stretched onto my tiptoes to kiss him. Since I was still miles wide of the mark, I had to use my hands to tow his glorious, yet hilariously confused face the rest of the way down to my lips. It was brief, but very, very sweet.

I thought he might 'yell' at me some more, but instead he wrapped his arms around my waist and pulled up and away to rest his chin safely on top of my head. I hugged him tighter, since that was the only option left at this point. Then, in one of those moments where afterwards I remind myself why it's a good thing I don't speak very often, I sighed, taking in the pleasure of the moment, and said, "I think the Mile High Club must be over-rated. Being together like that while camping would still have to be more comfortable, don't you think?"

I was alluding to our 'deal' when he talked me out of going on his camping trip with Ray.

Wrong answer.

He was visibly shaken and pushed back, in the non-existent space available to do that. I was immediately apologetic and repentant.

"I'm sorry. That was a bad joke."

He let me reel him back in to a hug. I tried to make atonement by correcting myself with, "On our wedding night, in some romantic and beautiful setting. That will be the most comfortable...and proper."

I moved my chin in an affirmative nod, trying to underscore my absolute conviction in those words, while also trying to catch his eyes to see if he was buying it. He still looked shocked to me, but he nodded back in return. He was truly honorable. I hated myself for teasing him. He deserved better than that.

"Ash? Promise me that you won't let me scare you off with one of my bad jokes, okay?"

If I did, I'd definitely deserve it.

He nodded speechlessly again.

I paused to collect my thoughts. Then I said, "I want to tell you something. I didn't mention this before because I thought you'd probably try to talk me out of it..."

There was absolutely no doubt he would have done just that.

"But, I just want you to know that I'm not going on this trip to make you jealous, or to see what life would be like with Gray, or because I couldn't wait for you to take me yourself..."

His face was ambivalent.

"It's because I think I'll be able to figure out the reason for the surveillance while I'm with Gray. But don't worry, I'll be very careful not to get you fired—" he interrupted me with a real yell, fueled with angry energy.

"Ellery Mayne! You will do _no_ such thing! You do _not_ have to put yourself though this, not like this—"

I suppose I should have felt hurt at his tone with me, but instead I was jazzed. I'd never heard him speak my whole name before. It was silly, but it stirred up that happy but sick twist in my stomach that I usually felt just before seeing him.

Somehow, my mind stayed focused, despite his tone and my abstraction, and I knew exactly what to say to cut the power as I interrupted him right back.

"Ash! I'm ready to start my life with you. The sooner I figure this out the better...for _me_."

Putting it like that pulled the plug on his argument. His eyes turned from winter to spring in an instant...warming me...again.

For the millionth time, I tried to reassure him of his hold on me.

"Now, don't forget. This isn't any more fun for me than it is for you. In fact, to help me through it, I'm imagining a time when I'll be on a trip like this...with my husband."

And then I gently patted my most treasured organic possession of all time and for all time: his heart, leaving mine behind in his custody as I slipped out and returned to my seat in first class.

# Chapter 28

The plan was to couch the actual survey work in between fun things. Gray's father, Dan Gregory, would be joining us in a day or two, so we would be on our own to do some tourism until then.

It felt so grown up to be travelling internationally without a parental authority fussing over me. Of course I had Gray holding my hand (literally) the entire way and a squad of protectors at my back, so the sense of freedom and maturity was mostly imaginary. I wondered what it would be like for all of us if I were to disappear.

We flew into Calgary, collected our rent-a-Jeep, and drove west to Banff, a trip of about two hours, one hundred and ten minutes of which I slept through, because invariably, extended time in the car puts me out like a narcotic.

Our first destination was The Fairmont Banff Springs, the very finest hotel in the city. It looked like an old world castle nestled at the edge of a stately pine forest with a lofty snow capped mountain as a backdrop. I was intimidated and immediately felt self-conscious about my choice of clothes. I probably wouldn't have gone quite so casual if I'd known what to expect here. Seeing the people come and go in the lobby was like watching a parade of beautiful and rich tourists, where each one was more lovely and wealthy than the next. Gray melded seamlessly with this scene, of course, but I felt like I stood out in erroneous contrast.

He must have anticipated something like that from me because after arranging for the Bell service to transport our luggage to our rooms, he guided me back out to the car and down the street to the shopping district and into a specialty clothing store. I recognized the 'Roots' logo from the winter Olympics a few years back.

Oh good. Champion clothes—very appropriate.

"We have an expense account to use, and part of that is for proper apparel while we conduct the survey. This is something we need to take care of, so let's get it out of the way now, and then we'll be able to focus on having fun."

He'd caught my mood and was smoothly trying to corral my insecurities, which were always on the verge of a stampede in his presence.

The store's manager, Sherri, reacted to him in exactly the manner you would expect any female might to an unbelievably handsome customer with a bottomless wallet, enthusiastically providing her services as my personal shopper. I did not hear what the bottom line was on the apparel allowance. I figured it was probably imaginary anyway.

There was no telling what he said I needed (maybe one of everything) but she brought out more clothes than I had in my closet at home for me to try on. Because the store's focus was on the rugged and rustic side of fashion, I felt confident that I'd be the most expensively dressed hiker ever to hit the trail. Now I had a new reason to be embarrassed. I just couldn't seem to win the battle of the self-abused self-esteem. But the upside was that I would look good trying.

Though I had been very skeptical when she handed it in to me, one of the outfits I tried on was, I had to admit, adorable, once it was on. I said as much to myself, and to my chagrin, Gray had been standing closer than I thought and must have overheard me. I figured that out when the sales lady very firmly insisted that I come out and let her see how it fit. They were both smiling encouragingly at me as I stepped out to be reviewed. I just couldn't imagine being less comfortable. Even a chat with a psychologist about my feelings seemed preferable to this.

"Well, that looks very nice. Why don't you just wear that out of the store? Can we get some scissors for the tags?" Gray inquired.

Through foot-dragging and passive aggressive attempts at uncooperativeness, I was able to limit the actual number of runway walks to about four or five outfits, but we came away with six heavy bags full of clothes. He probably told her to just pick out what she thought would look good on me, in fact I was certain that's what he had done, because the clothes I actually tried on could have fit in one bag.

What my mom couldn't get me to do after months of failed attempts, Gray had accomplished in about thirty-five minutes, on his first try. And as embarrassed and self-conscious as I was, at least I felt more like I looked like I fit in at our hotel. And the whole episode seemed to please Gray very much, so I guess it could have been worse.

More discomfort was on the agenda, it seemed, as we drove right past the hotel. Gray saw my look and quickly explained.

"There's a place I want you to see while it's still sunny. It's particularly beautiful in the late afternoon. The weather is unpredictable around here, so it might be now or never. We don't have to stay long...I know you're tired. Will you humor me, though?"

How could I say no that that? I just shrugged and smiled, unconvincingly, I was sure.

We pulled into a mostly deserted, tree-lined parking area that opened to a fairly wide turn in a riverbed. 'Mostly deserted' meant only two or three cars in the lot and a handful of people—a couple with two small children, and a lady jogging with her dog. There was a thick layer of medium to large rocks, some ranging up to boulder size, lining the shore. As we made our way across the lot and around the paved path, I could hear the sound of a waterfall, the unmistakable aquatic thundering noise you can hear with your ears and feel with your feet and in your chest. Gray scooped up my hand and I just went with it, too tired to resist or scheme my way out of it, and too interested in discovering the source of the sound to do any mental wrangling.

"This is Bow Falls. Isn't it beautiful?" he asked.

It was exactly that. The water tumbled down and over large boulders in a straight edge across the entire river, bowing slightly as it raced toward lower ground. It reminded me of Niagara Falls, especially the jumbled chaotic look of the big rocks at the bottom, with misting white froth—just not as tall, and no annoying site-seeing boats in the way. I could understand now what he meant about the afternoon sun. As I looked past the falls, upstream through a valley into the heart of the wilderness, the long rays of sun and the deep afternoon shadows added an ethereal quality to the slopes and peaks that stretched out for an eternity beyond. It evoked Fanghorn Forest, from Lord of the Rings, and I began to hear melancholy sounding Middle Earth theme music in my mind.

We sat on the ledge where the concrete of the path met up with the big rocks of the shoreline. I considered the idea of hiking in the middle of that trackless wilderness, and living for a time inside its borders. It was deeply appealing but at the same time intimidating, frightening even. It was something I could never do alone and it was one of the reasons I was here with Gray now.

I was lost in my thoughts when he pulled me back to reality while at the same time he pulled me up from the ledge, my hand still captive inside his own. I knew I should resist it, but maybe because I was tired and worn down my mind played tricks on me and I imagined how I would feel about this moment with this man if there were no other. Was there another? If I needed proof from friends or relatives I couldn't get it. Was he a figment of my imagination, tiding me over until _this_ dream had come true? There was a digital love letter on a jump drive and an amazing locket he'd given me, but I didn't have them at the moment. Had I dreamed them up as well?

I looked around for Ash, trying to set myself straight. It was completely empty now—no people and no cars...anywhere.

"You should take a nap when we get back," Gray observed, and he laughed softly at me.

I guessed that I must look as tired as I felt.

"I can carry you back to the car, if you'd like."

He said this so seriously that I couldn't tell if he was joking or not. That might be a good way to smoke Ash out of hiding though. Yes, he was real all right. And he was here now, watching from somewhere close by; my senses were confirming it.

I made it back to Gray's car under my own power and we returned to the hotel. He handed me my key card after he opened the door for me, stepping inside to drop off the entire size four short inventory of the Roots apparel store.

"We've got dinner reservations at eight, so that gives you about an hour and a half. Can you be ready by about five till?" he asked.

I will never be ready for this.

But I nodded and turned to enter my room.

Then as if remembering a lost thought he said, "Oh, this is a five star restaurant, so it's formal. I wasn't sure if you'd be prepared for that, so I had something appropriate sent up for you to wear...if you want it...just in case."

And he smiled that mischievous half smile I loved but feared before disappearing from view.

Formal? Oh great! Something 'appropriate'? Even better.

There was nothing in the outdoor store that could remotely be mistaken for formal, so now I was really curious where he'd had my mystery formal outfit sent up from. I opened the closet, but it contained only my two bags, neatly stowed by a helpful Bellman. I moved forward into my large and very well appointed room, where the curtains had been opened to reveal a breathtaking sunset colored view of that mountain backdrop dominating the horizon.

In a nook area to the right of the huge picture window was a small garment stand, like a miniature version of a coat rack. And hanging there all alone was a silky black tea length gown resting on its own matching silky black hanger. It had a cropped three quarter length sleeve jacket made of black but very sheer crimped material that was piped at the hem and sleeves with the same black silk as the gown. The tag on the inside said 'Gucci'.

I didn't know much about designers, but I was pretty sure that wasn't Canadian. On the floor next to the rack were black high-heeled shoes, in my size, which upon closer inspection I found were covered in black silk that matched the dress, also labeled Gucci.

On the dresser was a thin, medium sized, rectangular box. I lifted the edge and moved back the cream-colored tissue paper to view the contents. Inside, on one side of the box, folded neatly, was a pair of department store pantyhose—not the kind from an egg—and on the other side, displayed to their best advantage, were a black bra with matching lace panties. I was so embarrassed I turned around, as if I had accidentally flipped to an R-rated movie scene I shouldn't be watching.

I'd had enough and didn't look back as I escaped to take refuge in the bathroom, locking the door behind me for good measure. Then I turned the hot water in the tub on full tilt and let it fill to far beyond the level my mother would ever allow.

On the spacious marble counter was a huge gift basket full of bath bombs, sugar scrubs and herbal shampoos and treatments from a place called Lush. This gift would have been like a dream come true if I hadn't felt horribly embarrassed by it, too.

Embarrassment aside, I tore into the basket searching for the bath aid that could remedy my emotional upheaval. There was quite a selection but I decided to go with the one called 'Happy Pill.'

Whereas the other bath bombs were more or less spherical, this item was shaped like a cartoonishly large pharmaceutical, brightly colored in two tones, one half orange and the other deep yellow.

As I soaked in the tub, the scents of Bergamot, Frankincense and Gardenia first relaxed me, then "brightened my mood to match the soft sunrise color of the water," just as the packaging had promised. While I steeped in that wonderful smelling brew I thought about the appropriateness of the ensemble lurking in the room outside. As I mulled it through, I concluded that there was no way in the world Gray could have put that together himself. After puzzling out the possibilities, I decided that he must have enlisted the help of the lady at the outdoor store. She would have seen my clothes and shoe size in the dressing room and would know to buy things like matching undergarments and fancy pantyhose.

Sherri had done a lot of good work in a fairly short time frame, I realized—the time it took to view and contemplate Bow Falls. Probably as incentive for a job well done, he told her she could keep the credit card when she was finished.

I felt better when I decided on that version of things. The thought of Gray selecting panties for me had made me flee the scene in the first place. But now I had the courage to return and check out the rest of her handiwork.

Working through my bath, I used every product category in the basket, trying hard to keep the fragrances in the same family so that there would be some continuity to the smell of me when I was finished. After drying my hair I stepped back out into the room to fetch the new underwear and see if there was anything else of interest in the care package on the dresser.

Of course there was more, including an adorable little matching purse, a full complement of cosmetics in their own cool looking case, some exotic hair pins, and another box, this one from a jewelry store. I gulped at the thought, but I couldn't resist the suspense.

The necklace and matching earrings inside the black velvet case were understated, but flawlessly sparkling and beautiful. A thin chain of braided platinum looped through a pendant that featured a cascade of six successively larger gemstones, transitioning in color from black to purple to magenta, linked together by more of the platinum braiding. The earrings were a smaller version of the necklace, but with three stones each.

It reminded me of costume jewelry, except that I knew the stones were real, and I knew that this was not something Sherri had picked out for me.

When I'd fixed everything in place, including the make-up and the jewelry, I had to admit that I looked pretty good. Well, probably the best ever...for me, that is. Which I reminded myself was not that big of an accomplishment. I took deep breaths and tried to think happy thoughts. Gray had gone to a lot of trouble to bring this 'accomplishment' about, or at least he'd paid Sherri to, and I owed it to him to wear a pleasant expression to go along with the rest of what I was wearing.

At exactly five till eight he knocked on my hallway door. I was relieved that he hadn't attempted to enter through the adjoining room door. I had been troubled by its presence ever since I realized what it was. In fact, my room had two adjoining doors, one on each inside wall, and though there were locks in place, I still found it unsettling, somehow.

I was standing just inside the main door, but I counted to fifteen before I answered and stepped out. To my surprise, and I'll admit it, my gratification, Gray's eyes actually popped open wide at the sight of me, before he adjusted his expression to reflect more genuine delight than astonishment.

"Wow," was all he said, in tandem with a huge smile. Then, with a soft chuckle, he added, "That worked out well," seeming a little too proud of himself as he spoke.

"Thank you for thinking of this," I said softly as I pulled at the sides of the dress, unable to meet his gaze, which was burning a hole in me. Reaching up to finger the necklace, I spoke with perfect sincerity, even more softly, still addressing the floor, "It was very kind of you."

He helped me correct my perspective with a soft hand guiding my chin upward to meet his gaze.

"It was kind of you to go along with it...and I'm pleased at how...beautifully...it all came together."

He smiled like he was enjoying an inside joke and he made a show of looking me over.

"You'll need to drive me back over to the store so I can thank _Sherri_ personally."

I was serious, though he still laughed at me.

"If you'd like," he said, as he held out his elbow for me.

I hesitated for a moment, but then wound my free hand up and through, while my other hand carried my matching clutch with various quickly corralled portable beauty aids stowed inside.

"And you can get your credit card back from her while we're there," I added.

His only response to that was to smile even wider, and shake his head slightly, while looking straight ahead as we rounded the corner heading for the elevators.

When we walked out into the lobby, that scopophobic sensation ballooned larger than I'd ever felt it before, except that it wasn't from unseen eyes. It was from eyes coming toward me, and eyes walking behind, and eyes from the other side of the room. It felt like I had a huge spotlight beamed directly on top of me, tracing my every step. I could feel myself stiffen in response and worked furiously to stay loose, otherwise I might trip and give everyone a real reason to stare.

Gray was not oblivious to the situation, the looks or my reaction to them. He put his arm around my shoulder, in a reassuring hug, then held me a little tighter while we were waiting for our turn with the maître d'.

I laughed at myself when I thought about how uncomfortable I thought I'd been modeling clothes that afternoon in comparison to how I felt at the moment. It was like the difference in comfort levels between a dental cleaning and a root canal.

The pain got worse before it got better. As we were led to our table, if one person turned to look, I swear they all did. It was ridiculous. I wanted to bolt, but I held it together and pretended to ignore everyone. As Gray held my chair for me, I noticed that the table was set with wine glasses and I had an epiphany. I'd just discovered a way to hold at bay everything unpleasant this evening was threatening...vino.

Unwittingly playing straight into my strategy, Gray studied the wine list before reviewing the menu. I spoke up and asked, "Did you know that here in Alberta the legal age for alcohol consumption is eighteen?"

He looked up at me with a strange mixture of amusement and caution in his eyes.

"Are you sure about that?"

"Positive. Would you allow me to have some wine with my meal tonight?"

I assumed he was buying, since I hadn't even been allowed to purchase my own Cinnabon at the airport earlier in the day.

"Of course. I guess it would be rude to partake myself and deny you the opportunity, wouldn't it?"

He was smiling at me now, but his expression was hard to translate. He turned back to the wine list and my scopophobic sensitivities directed my eyes to the corner of the room, over Gray's shoulder, to the source of the sensation: Ash's eyes.

He smiled at me, though I knew there wasn't a drop of pleasure in it. I could only imagine what he must be going through. I wondered where he'd been all day. I hadn't seen him since the airplane lavatory. The thought of that encounter made me smile, self-consciously. This whole situation was like a mean joke, or a really awful play with a terrible leading lady. I felt so bad for him. I looked away before I got caught.

Gray ordered the salmon steak and a glass of Merlot for himself and the lobster stuffed ravioli with a glass of Zinfandel for me. How did he always manage to get my order right? I thought he might quiz the waiter with a drinking age trivia question as well, but to his credit, he let it go.

Moments passed and we chatted pleasantly about the places he planned for us to visit. Some places I had seen in pictures, others I could only imagine as he described them. It was an absorbing and pleasant distraction. Then I became aware of an unfamiliar sensation on my lap. What I felt was my purse vibrating and I realized that someone was trying to call me. This was definitely not the kind of place to take a call at the table, so I excused myself and headed toward the Ladies' Room to see who it was and what they wanted.

That annoying spotlight switched on as soon as I stood up and followed me all the way into the bathroom, not switching off until I was inside a stall.

I had the option of looking at the missed calls or checking the voicemail that was left. I opted for the voicemail, since I was in no hurry to leave. Pulling out the little instruction sheet from my wallet, I followed the steps for message retrieval. I had never done it on this phone before, which reminded me...I had better keep this thing out of Gray's sight or he might steal it back, since it was his, technically.

The system informed me that I had four new messages.

Four messages? Did somebody die?

"First message...Saturday, August 30, 3:15 p.m. ..."Ellie, this is Gray. You forgot to give me my phone back. If you happen to check messages, could you call my company voicemail and let me know if you want to keep it or send it back? I'm at extension 2009."

Whoops. Guess I should have checked these messages a long time ago.

"Next message...Friday, September 5, 1:22 p.m. ... "Ellie, I'm guessing you didn't figure out how to check messages yet...well that's okay I guess. There are a couple of numbers in the contacts I'd like to get, though. If you get this message can you please call me? 919-555-2000, extension 2009. Thanks."

Oh well. He really should have called me on my home phone if he wanted his phone back. Would that have been so very hard?

"Next message...Saturday, February 12, 2:09 a.m. ... "Hi Ellie. I was just thinking about that night in Reykjavik, you know, the one with the uh...fireworks? Did that mean as much to you as it did to me? Yeah, huh...anyway I was thinking about you. I really, really miss you."

What the what?!?

I quickly scanned the instruction sheet for the button to replay.

Five.

I pushed the five and listened again. I listened to his message four more times.

What just happened the _February_ before last!?! And what did he mean about the _fireworks_? Did I blow my chance with him because he thought I blew _him_ off? _No!_

_NO, NO, NO!!!_ Months of pain and loss swirled through my mind and settled in the pit of my stomach. Had it all been _accidentally_ self-induced? Being sad because I thought it was over was understandable. It being over because he thought _I_ wasn't interested was the zenith of wire crossing. Or was Lidia right about it being more about timing, now that I was old enough to drink wine in Canada?

Speaking of wine, I should have brought the glass in the Ladies' Room with me. I wasn't sure if I could face Gray again un-medicated. But what had changed, from his perspective? Nothing. He didn't even know I was on the phone. I could go back out, and only I would know for sure that I was the biggest idiot in the northern hemisphere, maybe even the southern as well.

The fourth message, the one I was there to hear, was from my mom.

Darn it!

I was supposed to call her when I got in and I'd forgotten. I gave her a quick call, explaining my exact location as an excuse to keep it brief. Yes, the flight was fine. Yes, the hotel was beautiful. Yes, I missed her already too. Our conversation was fairly short, but not rudely so. After I disconnected, I exited the stall, washed my hands, and then accompanied my spotlight back to our table.

They must have been watching for me because our food arrived just seconds later. I had no appetite, but I ate a few bites anyway to avoid appearing incomprehensibly rude. My glass of wine was gone far too soon, but happily, the moment I put the emptied crystal back on the table the wine steward materialized out of thin air, querying whether I'd like a refill.

"Yes. Please."

I don't know what kind of escape I thought wine would provide. I guess inebriation is different for everyone. For me it did not furnish the kind of blissful solace from unpleasantness that I had hoped for. I think only unconsciousness or death could deliver what I was looking for. Instead there was something faintly familiar in the way everything looked when I turned my head, like space and time were struggling to keep pace with my vision and movements. The only thing missing was the smell of unwanted perfume. In my mind, the lag between my vision and my movements reminded me of the way something that's pulled will bump into what's leading it, once the thing pulling has stopped moving. There were all kinds of starting and stopping and bumping going on in my head now. Though strangely I did seem to feel happier after that second glass of Zinfandel, and I wondered if true joy could be found at the bottom of a third. But when the steward came back, Gray dismissed him before I could engage his services once more.

"Why don't you save room for dessert?" he suggested.

As if on cue, they placed a cake in front us, or maybe it was just a slice...from a Paul Bunyan sized cake pan. I didn't remember anybody ordering dessert, and that was a little disconcerting. What else had already happened that I already didn't remember?

Though this dessert certainly looked like something I'd order: chocolate with equal proportions of icing and cake.

"We're supposed to share this?" I asked, trying to sound incredulous _(doubtful)_ , but coming off more incongruous _(absurd)_ , instead.

Either way, it must have been funny to Gray, because he laughed out loud.

I said yes to the offer for coffee, though I knew it would do absolutely nothing for me, except give me worse breath than the job that lobster ravioli, wine and chocolate cake were already doing. Of everything I'd shoved into my tiny matching purse, gum or Tic-Tacs had not made the cut, I lamented.

I was dreading our departure. I had been stringing out the eating of the cake, hoping to buy time, but finally Gray was standing over me, so I was forced to rise. I just wasn't convinced I'd be able to do more than stand up straight. Good thing the spotlight was on, so I'd be able to see where my face was going to land. Gray was very good to me, though, as usual, and supported me around my waist as we exited the dining room, making it appear to be a romantic gesture as opposed to a logistical maneuver—though I was certain that for him it was both.

It seemed that he was trying to help me save face by suggesting that we take a stroll through the gardens, even though we both knew there was no way that was really going to happen. The more I walked, even with him holding me, the more off balance I felt. This was aggravating because Gray was enjoying my dependence on him to remain upright far more than he should have. There's no telling what else I said, but I remember that Gray seemed to be having a wonderful time with me.

No, the wine hadn't worked out like I'd planned. I just hoped there wasn't more disappointment waiting for me in the morning in the form of a hangover.

The next thing I knew, it was morning and Gray was sitting on the edge of my bed. There was bright light streaming in from the window. The clock said eleven thirty-five. I was disoriented at first...but then it all started coming back to me. My last real memory was the phone conversation with my mom. After that everything was very sketchy, though I seemed to recall a cartoonishly large piece of chocolate cake. Then I panicked when I realized I was wearing nothing but my black bra and undies and Gray was in my room with me on my bed. I quickly scooted under the cover of the covers. The wide-eyed terror playing across my face must have read like a stock ticker. He knew exactly what I was thinking and decided he'd better calm my fears, but not before he got a good tease in first, of course.

"So, was that the wine talking when you asked me to marry you last night?"

Even if I'd drunk the whole bottle of Zinfandel, I'm sure I would have remembered that. I rolled my eyes at him but glanced at my left hand, just in case. He saw my fleeting visual confirmation and laughed at me, with feeling. I felt forced to retreat so I pulled the covers over my head. From my concealed position I asked, "What are you doing in my room, Gray?"

My unhappy tone, however, was not concealed.

"You left the adjoining door open last night. I decided to make sure you were still alive. I hope you don't mind."

He was totally unrepentant.

"That I'm still alive or that you came in?" I answered back in a snappish tone.

He ignored my question and asked his own, sliding closer down the edge of the bed toward me. He pulled the covers back so he could see my face.

"Speaking of that, how's your head?"

"Did I hit it?" I asked in all seriousness. It was totally plausible, considering how hard it had been for me to walk.

He laughed out loud again. Why couldn't I be this funny when I was trying?

"No. I meant...well...do you have a headache?"

He was trying to avoid the word 'hangover', saving me from further embarrassment; like that was even possible now.

"No. The only thing that hurts right now is my pride. Could I have some privacy so I can get dressed?"

He stood up immediately. Then I added, "By the way, what are we doing today so I know what to put on?"

"Oh, I hope you don't mind, but I set some clothes out for you. They're on the dresser."

The idea of him rummaging through those bags assembling my outfit was funny and disturbing at the same time.

"We're going to hike in a place near Kicking Horse River. But we're a little behind schedule, so if you're feeling up to it after all, I'll leave you to get dressed and we'll go as soon as you're ready."

Then he reached out and squeezed my foot through the covers.

"Thanks again for last night. It was...interesting, but...wonderful," he said playfully smiling hugely.

I flipped over onto my stomach, pulling the pillow over my head as well, but really wishing for an avalanche from the mountain outside to hide me and my extreme embarrassment, a monkey-like resident, with the deed to the property on my back these days.

As we returned to Banff from our abbreviated day of hiking and sight-seeing at Kicking Horse River and Upper Waterfowl Lake—both peaceful and picturesque in the extreme—I suggested stopping for some fast food and made it clear that I was looking forward to going to sleep very shortly after we returned to the hotel. It was certainly a defensive strategy on my part, but I needed the rest very badly. I had been dragging the entire day and fought to stay awake whenever we were moving in the car. That being the case, Gray did not argue, but complied without complaint or question.

Even though I ate there all the time back home, seeing the familiar golden arches in this foreign, faraway place felt comforting and inviting. The foreignness was affirmed by the fact that this McDonalds had no drive thru; a configuration, Gray assured me, that was quite common most everywhere besides the United States.

Though I normally would have ordered a Happy Meal, not for the prize, but simply out of habit, and because the portion size was, after all, exactly right for me, pride was going to force me to take the long way around, and I was preparing to order the very same meal ala cart.

But then, as always, Gray did the ordering without prior consultation.

"I'd like the number one with a Coke, and a Cheeseburger Happy Meal, for a girl, with a Coke, please."

Then he looked over at me with raised eyebrows, daring me to protest. But why would I do that? Because he was teasing me again? Well, tease or no tease, it was actually what I wanted, and besides, the prize was a good one: a tiny Barbie. I was secretly happy about that. But I guess that's why that menu option is named the way it is.

Instead of feeling peeved or embarrassed, I just smiled at my own foolish pride. Why did I keep trying to hide what I really was when no one was ever fooled, not even me?

We returned to The Fairmont where I followed Gray and the McDonald's bag into his room and ate fast food with him on his couch while he flipped channels.

It seemed an extremely unlikely choice on his part, but he landed and stayed on a channel showing the movie "The Princess Bride." It was the scene where the kidnapped Princess Buttercup is being hoisted up the 'Cliffs of Insanity' by her abductors, one of which was Andre the Giant.

I was struck by the irony. I'd recently had my own climb up the cliffs of insanity—pulled to safety by Ash the Agent. And now I was sitting here at the top of the cliff eating my Happy Meal with the reason for the climb in the first place: the Dread Pirate Grayson. Inconceivable!

When I settled into my room for the night, I was surprised, but very pleased to find that Ash had been there. It was unmistakable, because resting on the table by my bed there was a single, petite-sized yellow rose, with a thin red ribbon wrapped around its short thorn-free stem. After receiving a similar gift from him not long ago, I had been curious about the significance of flowers and their colors, especially of the ones he'd chosen for me. I understood now the secret message this single flower conveyed.

I picked up my phone and texted the translation to him; my sentiments were identical, after all:

I love you, my friend.

Remember me, too.

I kissed the flower, and then placed it carefully in the arms of the tiny Barbie now sitting at the base of the lamp next to my bed, who had promised to watch over me while I slept.

# Chapter 29

This was the day I'd been looking forward to since my last day in Iceland. We left the hotel before seven heading north and west for approximately forty miles to a place called Lake Louise, renowned as one of the most beautiful lakes in the world. Set at the base of Victoria Mountain, adorned with a glacier at her top, the jewel-like water of Lake Louise is said to change shades throughout the day, depending on the angle of the sun and the color of the sky. And though we would certainly do some sightseeing while we were there, the principal reason for the visit was to meet up with Gray's father, Daniel Gregory, along with a group of GGR employees assembling for a meeting being held at the lakeside Fairmont Chateau Hotel, before the various parties struck out on their separate survey assignments in the wilderness at the feet of the Canadian Rockies.

We arrived just before eight and joined the group in a conference room that was set up in a horse-shoe arrangement, with a dozen or so casually dressed men visiting or having breakfast at their seats.

When we walked in all conversation paused and every eye turned to look at Gray and his 'survey partner.'

Right.

I could feel my cheeks burning. I think perhaps I even saw a wisp of smoke rising from them. Dan Gregory excused himself from his conversation, which was shut down anyway, and came up to greet us.

"Excuse me, gentleman," he announced in an unnecessary attempt to get the attention of the group. "I'd like to introduce Miss Ellery Mayne, granddaughter of our esteemed colleague, the late Dr. Samuel Mayne. She's joining us for her first official survey project, but if she's anything like her grandfather, she'll be running these meetings before long."

They all laughed and a couple people clapped. I had to admit, it was laughable. People started talking to each other again and Dan spoke to me directly as he moved in closer to give me a big hug.

"Hello Ellie! I can't tell you how happy I am to see you. How are you enjoying Canada so far?" he asked after he released me.

It was like talking to a version of Gray from the future, but with shorter salt and pepper hair. Arrestingly handsome, he had that familiar easy manner, and those same enigmatic eyes...eyes that probed mine like there was more to his simple question than could be answered with words alone.

"Gray is taking excellent care of me. You can be very proud of him. He still can't resist teasing me, but I guess I bring that on myself most of the time."

With the eyes of the most handsome father and son duo in history looking me over I could feel the flush firing up and I had to look away to breathe and collect my thoughts. After a beat I forced my gaze back up to look Dan in the eyes and continued, "But, yes, I've been having a wonderful time. Thank you so much for inviting me here. It means everything to me."

Gray looked at his watch and said, "Why don't we get a bite to eat? The meeting's going to start in about five minutes."

Then he guided me away from his dad and toward the food. I don't think I was supposed to see it, but there was a look that passed between them, some wordless but meaningful communication that only they understood.

There was a buffet set up against the back wall replete with every kind of pastry and fresh fruit imaginable along with a broad variety of juices, coffees and teas.

I selected a cheese Danish and garnished my plate with a few big chucks of fresh pineapple and a huge, bright red strawberry. Then I made myself a cup of Earl Grey with extra cream and sugar.

I must have been hungrier than I'd realized because the meeting did begin within the next five minutes, and my breakfast was long gone before Dan called it to order.

It was a mostly informal affair. Using a LCD projector, a map of the survey area was displayed on the screen and Dan used a blue laser pointer to identify portions of the photos and maps as he spoke about them.

They discussed the pattern and scope of the survey in the various locations it was to be conducted including goals and checkpoints and then a recap of the various minerals known to be present in the areas we would be visiting. They were looking for surface deposits especially at the confluence of major drainage areas. A summary of their findings would ultimately be submitted to the Canadian Government, for whom this initial survey was being conducted.

Each seat had a set of maps and handouts from the presentation and Gray leaned over to point out the survey assignment we would be covering: the Allenby Pass area between Bryant and Brewster creeks. There appeared to be some elevation on our way in and out, but that would make for some beautiful views, he assured me.

After about an hour and a half of briefing and planning they took a break and Gray suggested that we head outside while the sun was shining. We'd been in a hurry to make it to the meeting on time and hadn't had a chance to look at the lake of Lake Louise.

It was breathtaking—too beautiful to be real. At the head of the very long, somewhat narrow, deep blue lake was a mountain pass with its crowning glacier high above, inching its way to lower elevations, year after year since the dawn of ice. There was a paved path all the way around the lake, probably a loop of a mile and half or more, with benches thoughtfully spaced so that one might sit and enjoy the incomparable views from every angle.

Gray's object in bringing me out here was to tempt me with this spectacular view and release me from the next part of the meeting that had to do with the financials of the upcoming survey and a review of the bidding and permits process if the survey work should yield the desired results.

Gray explained that as an intern, I was only here to look at rocks, (though the truth was probably more like, I was only here to be looked at, by him) and I wasn't required to waste time inside on a gorgeous morning like this, if I didn't want to. He however, was responsible for presenting portions of the meeting, and had to return and be involved for about two hours more.

"Are you sure I shouldn't be in there? I'd kind of like to hear you make a presentation to the group. I don't want to abandon you, plus what will your dad think of me if I do?"

"He'll think you're smart and he'll be jealous, wishing he could ditch too. Just take your time and really get the feel of this place, then we can take the hike up to the Tea House later on today. I'll meet you inside the restaurant at noon. We have lunch reservations."

Then he hugged me tight and kissed my forehead. The blush burned on my cheeks as the emotion transferred from his lips directly into my mind and quickly found its way to my heart, stirring it up and melting it at the same time.

"You know something? You're the most beautiful intern... _ever_. I'm so lucky that you were assigned to _my_ team."

Smiling at his joke, he cradled my chin in his hand and chuckled softly at my deer in the headlights expression. Then he let me go and walked across the plaza toward the hotel. I watched his back until he was gone.

There were a few people milling around in the plaza outside the hotel and walking around the lake. Although the paved path was carved straight out of the forest in some places, it did not seem too remote or dangerous for me to walk it by myself. So I began to make my way around the loop.

Though the view was unimaginably beautiful on a titanic scale, I was seeing nothing as I thought about what just happened, and how I could still feel the pressure from Gray's arms where he'd hugged me and the warmth from his lips on my forehead where he'd kissed it. Being hugged and kissed by him felt far better than it should and I scrambled around in my mind for a way to banish what felt like very unfaithful feelings blooming inside me, fed by my inability to turn off the replay reel, looping continuously in my mind.

I made myself focus on the water and the mountain slopes all around and the look of the sharp blue sky where it touched the white of the snowcapped peak many thousands of feet above. I breathed in the cool air, concentrating on how it felt on my skin when the wind would blow and how it smelled like pine and lake and snow.

I had made it to the farthest point of the loop, just at the place where it began to turn and reach back towards the beginning. I decided to sit down and view the lake from this angle. I had the bench to myself. The morning sun was warm and bright and I leaned back to let it warm my face. The sound of the wind in this place was like nothing else—high and far away and timeless. As I was contemplating the idea that the wind had sounded exactly like this on a day like this ten thousand years ago, my reverie was interrupted with an unexpected but wonderful sensation: the feel of warm lips kissing my own.

My tendency toward cataplectic reactions wasn't always associated with scary situations. Over time it became clear that romantic situations could trigger the response as well. That being the case I remained perfectly motionless as I felt my kisser settle in beside me on the bench and then take my left hand in his, fiddling with it actually. I couldn't keep motionless for long though because a huge smile burst across my face and broke me out of the trance as it dawned on me that he had put a ring on my finger. I sat up and blinked, still seeing spots from the sun shining through my eyelids.

When the spots in my vision finally cleared and I got a good look at my present, I gasped. Then I looked over at its presenter, Ash. He was looking at me with deep feeling, something more than happiness to see me. I looked back again at the ring. It was THE RING! The aquamarine from who knows how long ago! The one I had stared at and dreamed about. The one that someone bought for his lucky girlfriend....as an engagement ring!

I don't know why, but my tears always seemed to surprise me. If ever there was a moment to weep with joy it had to be this one. I knew what this gesture meant and it was deeply moving. He'd been watching me from the start. He'd bought the ring for me, making plans for me, long before I even knew he existed. He was so kind and thoughtful and romantic and perfect! And somehow through some mix-up of destiny he was mine and no one but the two of us could know about it!

The tears just rolled. I had so much I wanted to say but I was speechless. I looked deep into his eyes trying to transmit my joy and love and need for him. He brushed my hair back behind my ears and wiped away my tears with his fingers. He smiled reassuringly, though his expression was mixed with deep emotion too, and his eyes were wet, though not leaking, like mine. Then he pulled me in to his side, wrapped his arms around me, and buried his face in my hair, inhaling and exhaling deeply.

A few quiet but sublime moments passed as I composed myself, feeling his warm and secure hold on me, while staring at the fabulous piece of jewelry wrapped around my finger. It was a perfect fit. He reached up and held my hand, moving it closer to himself to share the view.

"The last time I was sitting on a bench like this, you were staring at your ring from behind thick glass. I'm glad to finally place this where it's belonged since it was first made."

He brought my hand up to his lips to kiss the ring, and I could feel the warmth around the edges of my fingers on either side.

"Though I'm not going to ask you to make any promises to me, I want you to be sure about my promise to you: that you will always own my heart and my love. I want this ring to remind you of the way I have always, and will always see you: precious, rare and stunningly beautiful."

And he kissed my lips again, but with more emotion this time. It was glorious. The high of this moment put me right up where the ice was touching the sky—a dreamlike moment, enriched with more beauty and pleasure than my most elaborate crystalline fantasy. I let my mind drift and glide in the joy.

Eventually, I passed back over into reality again, but somehow Prince Charming was still sitting on the bench with me, and I spoke to him as an ironic thought occurred in my mind.

"So I guess all along I was jealous...of me!" I laughed and sniffed in quick succession.

"What do you mean?" he asked, intrigued.

"When Mom and I went back to see the ring, the sales lady said that a man had bought it for his girlfriend, as an engagement ring. I was jealous....of me."

I smiled and sniffed again, wiping away fresh tears.

"You didn't need to be, did you? This ring is one of a kind, just like its owner. It could never have been anyone else's. It was meant for you, Ellery."

He was being very earnest, but his eyes were happy.

"Well then, since I'm planning on keeping it, and you, forever, you should consider yourself engaged, Mr. Ash Ryan."

The joy and triumph transforming his features was even more beautiful than the ring or this place. It took my breath away. Then he took my breath away some more with a huge kiss. A kiss that nearly made me faint with pleasure, or perhaps it was because I forgot how to breathe. In fact, I wouldn't have known my own name if he'd asked me.

I tried to steal a moment to etch this time and place and feeling in my mind. It was the happiest experience of my life, possibly from now on. But it was still a secret: a magnificent, dazzling, splendid secret.

How in the world was I going to keep the glow in my soul from showing through, or worse, from being misinterpreted? How in the world was I going to explain it when the time came to let it shine?

# Chapter 30

I didn't think the beauty of Lake Louise could be outdone. Yet, once I saw it for myself, I had to admit that Lake O'Hara was something more...or maybe the key was that it was less—less crowded and commercialized, but more private and tranquil. It was undoubtedly one of the most beautiful spots on the planet. Because of that, the flow of visitors was tightly controlled to minimize the impact of curious humans and their footprints in this majestic yet delicate place.

Only a short busload of people drove in each day, by reservation, usually made months in advance. The quiet exclusivity of the place added to the natural beauty and appeal.

The bus ride meant time standing around together in the parking lot before and after, which meant that Ash would probably not be accompanying us today. I was curious what the security solution would be, but I didn't have to wait long for my answer, in fact I heard it before I saw it: a familiar Austrian accent, two of them, conversing in low tones from somewhere behind me, during our shuttle ride on a private road through the woods and over to the lake.

Our group was made up of about two dozen visitors, here to enjoy a day of hiking and views singular in all of nature. Petra and Max maneuvered themselves to be as far away from me as possible, a reminder that only Ash knew I was aware of my security team. So I behaved obliviously and tried to make it easy for them. Gray was not making it easy for me, though.

It was misty and kind of cold for June and I must have been too open with my temperature issues because without a word he came from behind and wrapped his arms around me, cocooning me inside his jacket. At the same moment, from my peripheral vision I could have sworn that Max took a picture of us.

Great.

But I had to concede that the increasingly physical relationship I seemed to have with my host would be an important development, from their perspective.

I reached into my day pack and pulled out one of Hoyt's most treasured possessions, second only to my mother herself: a Nikon D700 Digital SLR _(Single Lens Reflex)_ camera. I hadn't even considered asking him for it, since I knew for a fact that it actually cost more than the huge fifty-two inch flat screen TV he'd bought when they finished the basement, a four digit figure that appalled and upset my mother much more than her gadget loving husband would ever know. But just before I had walked out the door with Gray, he handed it to me, with meaningful purpose, as though it was the reason for my trip in the first place.

Mentally, I was hesitant to accept it, but it was obviously a very significant gesture on his part and I didn't dare step on his feelings by refusing it. It would definitely make documenting the journey more enjoyable, and the memories, aided through visual reference, could have no better source. I accepted Hoyt's temporary bequest gladly, with enthusiasm and profuse offerings of thanks, which apparently made an impression upon Gray.

The next morning at breakfast, in another turn of overwhelming indulgence, but unassailable logic, Gray presented me with a newer version of the same camera, but with even more memory and upgraded features. I tried to dismiss the gift in embarrassed irritation, but he assured me that I'd thank him later if I dropped, or splashed water on, or heaven forbid I lost, what was, in effect, my baby stepsister. Thinking through the ramifications of such plausible scenarios changed my mind, and Gray's suggestion that I simply place the memory card full of pictures back inside Hoyt's camera before returning the camera to him appealed to my fondness for sly ruses, perpetrated on parental authorities, sealing the deal.

I was secretly, however begrudgingly, delighted with my awesome new toy, which Gray also referred to as my graduation present, and I used it to gather images of our hotel and the incredible surroundings. I collected shots of scenes around Upper Waterfowl Lake, Kicking Horse River and the Canadian Pacific Railway, as it cut a path through the wilderness. And then there were the views at Lake Louise where the camera's password protection feature that could be used on individual images proved invaluable—just like the digital memories it guarded.

This place I was standing in today was so panoramically diverse in majesty, grandeur and picturesque perfection that I could have been legally blind and still shot cover photos for National Geographic. It sounds like an exaggeration, but the description couldn't do justice to the beauty. Words simply weren't up to the task.

Gray was highly perceptive and I knew he had sensed the change in me after my life-altering encounter at the head of Lake Louise. Even an unperceptive person would have picked up on it, but to his credit, he did not ask me to explain myself. Yet just as I had feared, there was no way to contain the aura of joy radiating out of me, and broadcasting with particular and intractable intensity from the vicinity of my chest.

After a stern lecture from the park representative about staying on the trails, and not picking flowers and avoiding the bears, we set off from the parking lot to explore the paradise beyond. The trail took us along the edge of a lake which color was the very same shade as my engagement ring. Perhaps my ring wasn't made from a frozen drop of water from a tropical sea after all. Maybe it was truly a drop of Lake O'Hara, turned to stone. That possibility made me smile as I unconsciously patted my chest and the forms of my locket and my ring securely stowed there under my shirt, reassuring myself of their presence. It would be so wonderful when I could wear them openly without any fears.

We left the view of the most dazzlingly beautiful lake imaginable behind us as the trail opened to an Alpine meadow, bearing a profusion of wildflowers. I had to stop every several yards to take pictures, as one vista was topped by the next in this place.

After crossing over stepping stones at the edge of lazy tarn and a footbridge spanning an icy stream, the trail led us into a climb up the side of a glacier-clad peak. Gray was quiet while we walked, taking my hand as we crossed over wet spots, but then releasing me when the trail was more suited for single file progression.

We reached a ridge and made a sharp turn into a completely different environment, leaving green behind for a strange, rocky landscape that was somehow just as beautiful, in a bleak and barren way. Gray explained that we were walking over a massive rockslide. Passage here became more difficult and I had to really concentrate on my footing. There simply could be no walking and looking at the scenery on this portion of the trail, unless I was interested in viewing things from the perspective of belly or my butt. My close attention to the two feet of ground ahead of me helped to preserve the shock and surprise of the vista that awaited me as we finally crested to a more level place, with large flat rocks on which to sit and observe the part of the trail that I had missed while concentrating on moving but not falling.

Here high in this moonscape indentation in the mountain was an opalescent lake, rich with minerals leached from the glacier high above, sitting like a sunken iridescent jewel in the side of the mountain. It was completely hidden from lower elevations, but the view was a huge reward for the energy expended to reach the spot.

We settled on one of the large flattened boulders perched above Lake Oesa and stared quietly at the scene. I lost myself and all track of time peering at the strange but lovely colors of the unusual body of water below. Eventually, I became aware that Gray was not looking at the lake—he was turned slightly and staring at me. I tried to ignore this for as long as I could, but I started to feel rude and I was tired of pretending not to notice any way, so I turned to meet his gaze. The look in his eyes was intense and brooding, and kind of scary, actually. My reaction quickly registered with him and his eyes seemed to soften a degree as they bored into my own, mining for secrets, it felt like.

"Did you know that you were with me the last time I sat here? But I prefer this version of you infinitely more."

He smiled, breaking free of his dark abstraction and taking my hand, rubbing it between both of his own to warm up my icy skin.

"That was about this time last year. What were you doing last June?"

"Sleeping."

And thinking about you, and being miserable when I wasn't sleeping. How ironic.

He chuckled at my non-committal answer.

"I wondered what it would be like to bring the most beautiful girl on earth to the most beautiful place on earth. Now I know. It's nice."

He brought my now warmer hand up to his lips to kiss it. I started to pull back before I could catch myself, knowing I'd have to answer for my behavior—for that action and all of them that had led me to this moment here with him today.

"Something's changed in you, and I'm trying to understand it. I thought you felt the same for me as I do for you...but now...it doesn't seem like it. Tell me what's wrong."

It was coercion. He had not let go of my hand, and I knew he had no intention of doing so until he got his answer from me—the answer he wanted. I breathed deep and sighed longingly.

How could I frame the truth in a way he could understand, and accept? I knew it was impossible. He wasn't going to take any variation of 'no' for an answer from me. I still had to be truthful with him, though. He deserved that much from me.

"You're right. About everything. I used to have a huge crush on you. At Grandpa's funeral, seeing you again, holding me the way you did, made me lovesick for you, all over again. But you never called. I was depressed and heartbroken and miserable. I knew I was too young, and that you had better things to do. It took a while, but I finally got over it. I met someone else, who does call me. I'm better now."

His calm façade would have been convincing, if I hadn't seen his eyes. There was a violent storm brewing there, ready to break out over me.

"Why are you here then, if you love someone else?"

He had moved in closer. His tone was even, but there was an edge of desperation.

"Because I was invited to be an intern on a geological survey."

I was starting to feel and sound very defensive.

"And you didn't think there was any more to it than that?" There was derisiveness in his tone now. My hackles were all the way up.

"I think my suspicions were correct, that my 'intern' job was just a joke, a ploy, so that you could have another one of your pets with you on your trip...like Dana."

Dana was his girlfriend who had accompanied him to Reykjavik. She wasn't really an intern either.

His face looked like I'd slapped him.

Good.

There was a very long and uncomfortable pause, but I had nothing else to say. I returned to gazing at the lake.

"Ellie, honey, the only person here with a master...is me."

His demeanor transformed. He looked defeated. I frowned, but the uncertainty I felt must have played clearly in my eyes. He explained.

"You've owned me since the night I met you. You don't understand that do you?"

He looked away, seeing something far away. He was still looking away when he began speaking again.

"When you came to Reykjavik, and my dad asked me to take you with me on that snowmobile trip the first week, I was pissed. I'm the future president of the company, right? Not a baby-sitter. But part of running a company is handling the details and accepting challenges. So I sucked it up and played Grayson Poppins. But then you turned out to be so smart, and cute, and ... funny."

He looked over at me, checking my reaction to see if he was giving offense.

"I couldn't read you at all, obviously, but it seemed pretty clear that you weren't impressed with me. I'd never encountered that before ... in girls, at least."

He smirked and raised an eyebrow, wordlessly acknowledging his own arrogance.

"When it dawned on me how I was feeling about you, I was disgusted with myself. You were just a little girl, for crying out loud. I didn't want to believe I was in love with you. I was angry and way into denial. I went back to school and things got better after a while, but then I saw you again at the funeral."

He paused, thinking deeply for a moment. Then he rubbed his forehead, as though it hurt.

"That pushed me over the edge. Once I got back to Cambridge, I was miserable. I couldn't stop seeing your face and hearing your voice in my mind. I couldn't function. It was so bad I was ready to pack up and move to Louisville."

He looked away again, shaking his head as if to banish an unpleasant thought. After a pause he began again.

"Dad showed up unannounced in England; he was that worried about me."

He sighed and his expression looked like he was admitting a fault.

"I told him everything. I had to confess because he wouldn't leave until I explained why I was so messed up ... and depressed."

He looked deep into my eyes now, searching for something. I could tell he was deciding about what to say next.

"Then he made me a deal. He promised to keep an eye on you for me if I'd just get my head on straight and finish my obligations at Cambridge and let you finish yours in high school. It was only for a year or so."

There it was: that final piece in the puzzle, making the picture perfectly clear. If only I had known. Why did everything have to be a secret?

He laughed, nervously, but there was only discomfort in the sound of it—no mirth.

"Ellie, I've been in love before. But not like this. _Never_ _like this,_ but in a way. I know what it's like and I just couldn't do that to you, not until you were old enough to handle it, to do something about it. I had to sit back and bide my time, waiting until I thought you were ready, hoping no one would steal you before I came back...but keeping an eye on things to make sure. If anybody made a move on you, I was going to be right there, blocking."

He laughed, but again, there wasn't any humor.

"Guess I couldn't block what I didn't see."

What I didn't see ruined my life for a while. What he didn't see brought me back from the dead. And now I had one foot in both worlds.

I was starting to understand him but I was still on the defensive.

"Why didn't you call me or send me a postcard or an e-mail? I figured you didn't care. What was I supposed to think?"

He nodded, acknowledging my logic.

"I didn't trust myself. I didn't feel like I could engage you directly and not take it too far. So instead, I settled for sending you care packages every month, always on the seventeenth, until you turned eighteen, then always on the eighteenth. Did you not receive them?"

Care packages?

"What are you talking about? What care packages?"

I asked the question, but a sickening awareness was settling in, and I knew that hearing the answer would be like opening the door on a monster in the closet.

"Well, the first month I sent you seventeen yellow roses."

I remembered that. I thought they were a belated gesture for the funeral from a tardy sympathizer, wishing to remain anonymous. I nodded, confirming their receipt.

"The next month I sent you the big box full of every size Hershey Bar they make."

I remembered that too. It was sort of like the game show 'Who Wants to be a Millionaire?' but with the theme 'Who Wants to Eat Chocolate?' instead. I chuckled at the memory. I was delighted, initially, at the jackpot of chocolate I'd received, and the funny, homemade trivia game that accompanied it, but ever since then I hadn't been able to eat another Hershey Bar. I probably never would again.

"When you got your license I sent you the little pink Corvette."

He smiled big at his memory of that. I did too.

"That was _you_? I _loved_ that! But how did you know to include a Skipper, instead of a Barbie?"

He seemed pleased to explain.

"Well, I heard your grandpa call you 'Skipper' and I took a chance. It seemed pretty likely, though. You do look very much like a Skipper doll, you know," he teased me.

"Yeah, I know. Short, skinny and no chest. A perfect likeness. Wonderful isn't it?" I retorted in a self-deprecating huff.

His eyes melted and I could feel the answering warmth in my chest.

"Yes. You're wonderful, Ellie. I think you...and your chest...are absolutely perfect."

He smiled that rakish grin I loved and I tried to focus on that instead of being embarrassed about my Skipper figure, which he'd just commented on.

So the truth about the packages wasn't like a monster after all. Instead it was a happiness to learn the real identity of my generous and humorous secret admirer. But it also meant I'd been wrong about whom to be grateful to.

"Those were from _you_?" My words were still catching up with my thoughts.

"Who did you think they were from?"

He laughed like I'd said something funny.

"Well, it was hard to tell. There was never a return address or card inside, Gray. Did you forget you were dealing with me, and that I'm not the brightest bulb in the fixture?"

He shook his head in disagreement.

"You're as brilliant as the sun...and just as warm."

The smolder in his eyes was back in full strength.

"I have something else for you, another care package, sort of," he said as he pulled something small out of his pocket.

"This is something I had specially made, just for you. I designed it myself. I've always imagined giving it to you here, in this place."

His eyes were bright with enthusiasm.

Then he took my left hand and slipped a ring on the third finger.

How unbelievably surreal was that?

When I examined my hand, my heart skipped a beat and then screeched to a halt. It was exactly the same ring as the one I already owned, with one notable exception. The gemstone was not aquamarine. It was deep pink, nearly magenta in tone, perfectly flawless and without equal. I couldn't take my eyes off it, trapped in stunned amazement.

Gray was extremely pleased at this reaction and he reached over to pull me in and kiss the top of my head.

I knew what it was, but I still couldn't believe what I was seeing. Bixbite. He'd actually had a bixbite ring made—for _me!_

Grandpa found a piece of bixbite on a mineral-collecting trip he'd taken years ago. I'd heard the story a hundred times; it was my very favorite. That rock was his most prized possession, and he had some sweetheart possessions when it came to his rock collection. He'd found his one and only bixbite specimen in the Thomas Range, a mountainous area in the western desert of Utah, one of only two places it has ever been found.

Bixbite is so rare, so scarce, that it holds the distinction as _the_ rarest gem on earth. In fact, it's so rare that most people have never heard of it. Despite that it's highly valuable due to its unique beauty and extreme scarcity. And this specimen, resting on my finger (very heavily all of the sudden) was almost three carats in size, and possibly the largest cut piece of bixbite on earth. And it was on _my_ hand! I'd felt ill when I realized how much Ash had paid for my aquamarine...now I felt terminal.

"Do you know what that is?" Gray asked, smiling, and looking just slightly smug.

"Bixbite," I whispered, as if in the presence of great majesty.

"That's right."

He seemed slightly surprised, but he gave a short laugh of pleasure and said, "I'm glad you know your gems. It saves me the trouble of explaining the similarities between you and this little treasure. Though, all the descriptions would be interchangeable: perfect, pure, and priceless. I could be talking about you or the stone."

His eyes burned with sincerity as he spoke.

I gasped for breath like I was being held under water. Then I started to take the ring off, but he stopped me with gentle yet irresistible finality, holding my right hand by the wrist.

"Gray, I can't wear this. I don't want to be responsible for this. It should be in a museum. There are people who would bite my finger off for this!"

He laughed with pleasure, totally blowing off my fears and insecurities.

"Ellie, this isn't 'The One Ring.' It was made in North Carolina, not Mordor. But if it makes you feel any better, I'll keep an eye out for Gollum," he said as he made a show of looking over his shoulder.

It was funny, but I couldn't laugh. I still couldn't breathe.

"Besides, you can't give back what's already yours—it's your inheritance."

He smiled like it was an inside joke.

"Now what are you talking about?"

He was speaking in riddles, it seemed.

"Did you know that your Grandpa found a piece of bixbite?"

"Yes?"

"My dad told him about my hobby—ring design—and he sent the raw piece of bixbite to me, to have it cut and set, for you. In fact, I received the uncut stone the month before he died. It was ironic because I had already made a ring for you: a very rare aquamarine. But when this came along...well, I had to start over, but I'm glad I did. I knew this would mean more to you. It would represent the people who love you, who know that the real treasure...is you."

My mind had been racing hard to keep up with all the new information. Finally, it spun out. Everything I believed ten minutes ago had been knocked askew, like a curling stone pushed out of the bull's-eye and off the course.

Every single _real_ thing I'd attributed to Ash had actually come from Gray. Who really knew me so well, and who was I truly in love with after all? This was a far bigger question than my rapidly collapsing mind would be able to contain or contend with. I was scrambling to get a handle on the moment, and on my feelings about my recently revised frame of reference.

"So tell me about this other boy. Did you go to school with him?"

I guess I should have seen that line of questioning coming.

"No, he didn't go to Eastern. He lives in my neighborhood, though."

Truth.

I knew I had to tell the truth. It was already bad enough without lies to make it worse.

"What's his name?"

Gray was all interested politeness.

"Ash."

It felt strange to speak of him, especially to Gray.

"No last name?" he asked, nudging me.

"Why? Are you going to Google him?"

The hackles were making another stand.

"Just curious."

Gray was still emitting friendliness. When I didn't answer he asked, "So, how old is he?"

I shrugged.

"You don't know how old he is?"

There was a strange undercurrent in his tone, something more than disbelief.

"I didn't card him when I met him, Gray. He's older than me. So is everybody else. So what?"

He seemed to consider my answer, though I couldn't translate his expression. He dropped it and moved on.

"What do you like about him?"

I thought about how I would be enjoying this conversation if I were having it with Sam. Now it felt like I was walking on eggshells, or landmines. But I pushed ahead with the honesty, trying to be tactful.

"Ash makes me feel very...happy and safe. He's kind of serious. In fact he's the only person I've ever met who's easier to tease than me. It took a while, but he's finally starting to understand my sense of humor now."

Gray raised an eyebrow and grinned, definitely in on the joke.

I continued, "He's a big reader, always suggesting books that I end up loving. He speaks several languages, so he can recite love poems to me in French and Italian, or just make some up, and I like that. He grew up in Australia, so he loves all the same Aussie bands and actors that I do."

I'd been watching Gray's reactions to the things I'd said, but now I had to look away, back down to the lake.

"He'd never dated anyone before me. He's a virgin, like me, and very strict about keeping it that way until we're married. I really like _that_."

"Wait a minute. You've already had a conversation about getting married?"

The friendliness was completely gone.

"Sure. It was one of the first things we talked about, in our first conversation, in fact. He was trying to explain his interest in me, and his intentions. It was nice to know going in that he had long-term commitment in mind."

Gray was lost in his thoughts for a very long time. I thought maybe he was done asking about it, and I was starting to feel relieved.

"So, _do_ you have plans to marry him?"

The 'All Clear' was revoked. The sound of his question didn't have that false sense of friendliness anymore, but Gray's tone was still even, and in control. In fact, he was unnaturally calm and easy given the situation. I was afraid to answer his question, but my hesitation indicated the reply as clearly as if I'd actually spoken the words.

He abruptly pulled me inside his arms and hugged me tight, kissing the top of my head, as though he were comforting me after I'd received tragic news, as opposed to being the recipient of such a declaration himself.

"No!" he pleaded.

It was heartbreaking. I thought about the wire crossing, about the patience and restraint he had shown on my behalf; about the perfect little 'I Love You' care packages he'd faithfully sent me, month after month, but received no credit for; about the time and effort he'd gone through to bring me here today; about the fabulous, priceless heirloom on my finger that confirmed my feelings for him and my feelings for my grandpa would somehow always be connected, brought together in platinum and diamonds and bixbite in a perfect fit.

And I thought about the pinnacle of injustice: the engagement ring in my pocket; the one _he_ had designed for me, which somehow his rival, employed for the chief purpose of keeping suitors at bay, had obtained and used to secure me!

I was overwhelmed. The future I used to dream about with Gray at its core, the one I had mistakenly laid to rest in tears and pain, was now looking me in the face, here for an accounting of all my actions. Now it occurred to me that I might have engaged myself to the wrong person.

How could this have happened? It was so unfair!

As if he could hear the words as I thought them, he asked, "Is there any way you would be willing to reconsider your options, before you get married?"

That was a far more generous request than I would have been able to make, if our positions were reversed. He had moved his face so that it was level with mine, just inches away, searching my eyes, desperately seeking the answer to his question.

Just like always, the hot tears falling on my skin shocked me. Then my instinct, overpowering and undeniable, shocked me again. I grabbed Gray's face and kissed him as hard as I could. That was silly though, because I didn't really know what I was doing. Fortunately, Gray knew exactly what he was doing and I let him take over. It was far more intense and intrusive than a kiss from Ash, but then I guess their kissing styles were representative of their personalities.

It felt horrible and heavenly at the same time. Horrible because I was breaking a promise to someone who loved me dearly, while enjoying every second of it. Heavenly because I was breaking that promise with someone who loved me dearly, who seemed to be enjoying every second of it as much as I was.

How could this possibly work out? We couldn't all win. Someone's loss would be my own and it would be very bad. There was no way for me to have complete happiness now, no matter what happened next. I realized that my behavior didn't warrant happiness now, and it would quite likely spoil the happiness of whoever walked away with me. Maybe that was how it would be: no one got to be happy.

After he'd had his way with me, in the way you might expect when out in the open with people coming and going every so often, and two Austrians about a quarter mile away on the other side of the lake facing our direction taking pictures...

After my introduction to being kissed by Gray, he pulled me onto his lap, and I sat facing the water, recovering for a while. I felt intensely happy but immensely guilty. I was going to have to get myself together, especially my weak knees, if I wanted to maintain my status as a visitor and not a resident of this place.

Just like at Lake Louise, I was surrounded by incredible beauty and managed to see nothing while I walked on autopilot, mostly hand-in-hand with Gray, up and out of the Lake Oesa basin to the trail that led back down to Lake O'Hara. It was very slow going. Every so often he would stop and kiss me again, holding my waist, or my shoulders or, most often, my face. The intense waves of pleasure followed by the agony of guilt was nearly too much for me. Gray probably thought I was a victim of first love, and in a sense, that was actually true.

He was generally a good-natured, enthusiastic sort of person, and he was the same now, just turned up a couple of notches so that he was levitating slightly. I would have been like that too if the tremendous guilt I felt hadn't been weighing me down, like heavy baggage. Or maybe the weight was from my own feet, dragging and stalling, trying to delay what I knew would be an impossible task: returning to the hotel and facing Ash.

Every so often I would become aware that I was shaking and I would try to will myself to stop. The adrenaline and whatever other self-produced drugs flooding my system made me feel something more than just high. I felt a powerful desire to run away from Gray but also to hold him and kiss him. I wanted to cry and laugh, and then scream and sigh. I was a mess.

While standing around in the parking lot waiting for the shuttle bus with the other hikers, Gray was very at ease and open with his affection for me, though it was far more toned down than it had been up at Lake Oesa. I squirmed around hoping he would get a clue, and knowing him, he probably did, but it didn't translate into better behavior on his part. When I was too embarrassed to let him kiss me in front of other people any more, I turned my back on him and tried to step away, but he reeled me back in, holding me from behind in a warm inescapable hug around my arms just below the shoulders, with his chin resting on my head.

By the time we made it back to the Jeep, I was mentally and physically exhausted, falling asleep before we had made it out of Yoho National Park. He woke me up with a kiss in the hotel parking lot at Banff. I was disoriented, thinking maybe I'd just had a scary dream, but his face on mine was proof otherwise.

"It's time to wake up, Sleeping Beauty. You can finish your nap upstairs. Come on."

I realized he was talking to me from my open door. He pulled me out of the Jeep, steadying me, and then he held me around the waist with one arm, similar to the other night, while carrying our things with his other hand.

Just like on the trail, he took advantage of standing still to kiss me, as the elevator doors began to close. I was still so dazed and sleepy that I accepted this gladly, instead of nervously, as I should have, considering who could be watching. My conscience stung me belatedly over this, though it happened so quickly that I probably couldn't have avoided it in any case.

When we reached my door he used his copy of my room key card to let us in, and once again he entered his room through the adjoining door, leaving it wide open. I wasn't about to go near the bed at this point, coward that I was, so I quickly retreated into the bathroom, filling the tub with hot water once again.

This time I chose a bath bomb called 'Waving Not Drowning,' though the reverse didn't sound like a bad option either. The packaging promised to relax and soothe my soul like a field of lavender and suggested that I use it before bed to bring on sweet dreams.

Speaking of bed, what was I going to do about that? I was absolutely certain that Gray wasn't going to be following any set of rules in that regard, probably the opposite—unless I was brave enough to lay them down myself. Since I couldn't remember ever having won an argument with him, and I had absolutely no clue how I would explain what I wanted, I knew I'd have my work cut out for me.

While I was thinking through that dilemma, a new one presented itself in the form of a knock on the bathroom door.

Really?

"Ellie, can I come in for a minute?"

But he didn't wait for my answer as he opened the door and let himself in. I sunk down in the water, until everything below my chin was submerged, thankful for the cover that 'Waving Not Drowning' provided by clouding and coloring the water a bluish purple tint.

He was polite—if that even applied, given the situation—and did not look at me directly. Instead he faced the mirror so I could see him while he talked to me.

"You were asleep so I didn't get to ask you what you wanted to do tonight. Do I need to make reservations downstairs, or do you want to go out somewhere in town, or would you rather have room service brought up?"

I didn't feel like dressing up or going out, but I was afraid of the third option for some reason. Being out of the bedroom while discussing the 'rules' seemed like a better idea to me.

"Let's find a pub to eat at tonight," I suggested.

"Okay. Did you want to finish your nap after your bath?"

He sounded far too hopeful.

"I'm kind of hungry. I'll just finish up in here and then maybe we can go eat?"

He seemed a little too disappointed now, though his words tried to make it appear otherwise.

"That's fine. Just come over when you're ready. I'm going to take a quick nap."

But he didn't leave. I noticed he was looking at the basket of bath products. I wanted to dive under the water completely as I realized which one of the bath bombs had caught his eye. It was jasmine scented and mostly pink with a swirl of purple and featured pink rice paper rose petals that would float on the surface of the pink bathwater once the rest of it was dissolved. But it was the name that was embarrassing me so badly.

"Sex Bomb?"

He smiled rakishly and turned around to look at me in the tub.

"Saving this one for later, are we?" he asked as he held it up for me to see. "Which one are you using now?"

I was trying to pretend he wasn't there anymore. He bent down to pick up the wrapper on the floor next to the tub. He laughed out loud when he read it.

"Waving Not Drowning. Well, I certainly hope so."

Then he turned to the place on the counter where the cream colored towels were neatly rolled and picked up two of them, spreading out the bath mat floor towel in front of the tub, placing the bath towels on a corner of it, touching the base of the tub, where they would be easy for me to reach once I stepped out.

"I'm hungry too. Please don't take too long."

And then I was alone again.

We parked in the center of town and walked a few blocks down the main strip looking for a pub, though I had a feeling Gray knew exactly where we were heading. It was a pleasant evening, still chilly enough at night to wear a jacket, though. I liked that: wearing a jacket in June. Although I liked a warm day at the beach as well as anyone, my preference was for weather in the fifties. Rain or shine. I liked both.

As we waited for our meals in a cozy high backed booth, which felt very private, I deliberated about which unpleasant topic to address first. I decided that laying down the rules when it came to bedtime was the priority.

"Gray, I need to...ask you about something."

I was already mortified and I had barely begun.

"I'm new at this relationship thing, but I was just wondering if you could ... well, you know ... tell me ... your intentions ... you know ... towards ... me?"

There. I actually got it out.

Of course, my eyes were glued to the table now. I didn't have the strength to ask a question like that and look him in the eyes while doing it.

He chuckled softly and reached across the table, lifting my chin with his hand, forcing me to meet his gaze.

"Let me ask you something. Whose idea was it to stay virgins until you were married?"

"It was Ash's idea. I never thought that far ahead. I guess I'm an idiot."

I laughed nervously at myself. He shook his head in disagreement.

"I think the word you mean is innocent. I love that about you. I'm in no hurry to change that, Ellie."

He was very sincere, no hint of teasing.

"So you want to know my intentions? I guess you can't read my mind can you? That's probably just as well."

He smiled that rakish smile from the bathroom.

"My intentions? Well, let's see. I intend to marry you, when you're ready for that. I intend to have fantastic adventures in far away places with you. I intend to be entertained by your amazing sense of humor. I intend to feel smug about having the most beautiful wife on Earth. I intend to be proud of the incredibly capable and loving mother of my children. And I intend to love you the only way I know how—forever."

The big splashes of tears bouncing off the table in front of me were, as always, a surprise. They seemed out of place considering the huge smile on my face. That had to be the most romantic thing I'd ever heard. It sounded like a scene from a movie; a scene that I would replay a thousand times because I loved it and wished someone in real life would say those things to me.

As I was reflecting on his beautiful words he reached over to take my left hand, turning the ring this way and that. It was slightly loose, but not dangerously so. I was a fool if I thought I'd be size four forever. It was nice to have some room to grow, though I would probably take to wearing the ring on my right hand for a while since it fit more securely on that side.

"Given that the stone here already belonged to you, I'm not sure if this ring qualifies as a proper engagement ring. I could make you something else...if you'd like."

He was looking at the ring while he spoke.

I sniffed and used the napkin in my free hand to dry my face. "I wouldn't waste your time on that."

Besides, that finger is maxed out on parking space as it is.

"You know, there's no reward for good intentions. I need you to agree to marry me before I can make good on any of those."

He smiled holding my eyes, searching my expression.

At that moment the scopophobic sensation, which I had completely lost track of, resurfaced, weighing heavily on my neck. My eyes followed the unseen source to its origin. At a window seat, close to the door, over Gray's shoulder, sat Ash, facing me, staring at me, a depth of emotion and turmoil in his eyes I had never seen before, even that fateful day at Tinseltown.

Had he heard our conversation? Or was he reacting to the tears on my face? The tears accompanied by a joyful smile that would be difficult to misinterpret, especially as the man sitting with me played absentmindedly with a new ring on my left hand. I felt ill. I felt horrible and evil and mean. I looked away and back down at our hands. Gray had just asked me to marry him and I had to get my face together before I mortally wounded him, too.

Stalling for time I said, "Can you ask me this again, when I'm not such a mess? In a more memorable place, instead of over a cheeseburger?"

I laughed a short laugh, but it sounded off, and I knew it.

Gray had seen the turn of my countenance as it played out, and then combined with my request, he too must have sensed the watching eyes. He leaned out of the booth to look behind towards the direction of the windows and the door. The table was empty.

# Chapter 31

I already missed the warmth and comfort of my king size bed. As I dawdled under the covers, enjoying the novelty of a morning to sleep in, I contemplated my fascination with contrasts, and how fully such matters could be explored and evaluated during the coming week while camping. We had just spent our last night at The Fairmont Banff Springs for the next three nights, though we did not check out because apparently the expense account Gray was working from funded high end hotel rooms whether they were being used or not. In this instance they would serve as very expensive closets for our things while we went backpacking.

I was starting to become anxious over the fact that Ash seemed to have disappeared. I knew I should call or text him, but I was having trouble figuring out how to begin, and even more trouble with how a conversation with him should end.

So I kept procrastinating, hoping that he would contact me—as if somehow that would make it easier for me—but he didn't. In fact, when I heard noises from next door and peeked out into the hall, I found that people with two small children and loads of luggage were moving in. My heart sank at the realization of what that might mean. Had he given up on me so quickly? Without even talking to me about it first? Would he really just walk away, even after we were supposed to be engaged as of two days ago? If that was the case, then he definitely had made it easy for me. He was certainly honorable enough for that. But my heart ached for him. I tried to put myself in his position, viewing the situation from his perspective while turning the ring he had given me back and forth in the morning light, streaming in a warm ray through the glass. It felt like I was sinking in emotional quicksand. Contemplating the contrast in his expression when he had given me the ring as opposed to the look in his eyes the evening before at the pub brought tears to my own.

Gray came in on me through the unlocked adjoining door just as I had sunk to my lowest point. He was very sweet, opting not to ask me questions I wouldn't be able to answer any way. In fact, he didn't say anything, he just led me from where I was standing in front of the dresser over to the couch and sat me down on the edge, sitting close by me with one arm around my shoulder and the other holding my hand. He had picked up a box of tissues along the way and they were now conveniently resting on my lap.

After I had literally blown through what was left in the tissue box I began to settle and smooth out. Then I realized I still had the aquamarine in my hand and that Gray was looking at it with me. I was shocked at my reckless carelessness. But then I decided that maybe it was for the best. Why should I hide anything from him? Hiding things from each other is how we found ourselves in this position in the first place.

When I felt like I had a voice again, I began.

"I imagine you're wondering how I came to have this, aren't you?"

I smiled weakly. His eyes, which had been gazing at the ring, turned up to gaze into mine. His expression was unreadable.

"I saw it in a jewelry store window. Huh. I guess that would have been about this time last year. It was the most beautiful ring I had ever seen. I wanted it. I stood there looking at it for a very long time, fantasizing about what it would be like to wear it on my hand. Then, not too long ago, Ash surprised me with it when I agreed to marry him. I never dreamed it had a sister."

I was looking at the ring while I spoke. I couldn't bear to look at Gray, too fearful of his reaction, and worried it might spark a whole new and embarrassing episode of copious lacrimony _(uncontrollable crying)_.

I put the aquamarine on the third finger of my right hand. It was slightly tight, but it fit. Then I bent my fingers and pressed the ends of my knuckles from each hand together comparing the rings as they sat side by side. They were deep shades of pink and green, with opposite proportions of blue: the bixbite just a hint, and the aquamarine more blue than green, giving them each their own rare and resplendent coloring.

Since I had decided to be open, I wanted to give Gray that opportunity as well.

"What did you mean when you said your Dad promised to keep an eye on me?"

Though, I already knew the answer. It was a test to see if he felt the same way I did about honesty and openness.

He looked deep into my eyes. Then he kissed me. It wasn't long or deep. It was soft and sweet and reassuring.

"I'll be right back."

And he stepped through the adjoining door into his room. When he returned he was carrying a leather binder. He sat back down next to me and examined my face once more.

"Now, you have to understand something. This kept me going all that time I was waiting for you. It was my life line. It made life bearable for me. It made my week, every week. And I just wanted you to be safe. So please don't be angry."

Then he opened the binder. Inside clear sheet protectors held in place by a golden and brushed leather version of a three ring binder were color images on letter size paper, laid out sort of like a newsletter, or a magazine article with captions under the pictures and paragraphs providing more detail on the activities and events pictured.

Each page had between two and four shots. Each shot was a picture of me.

Gray looked at me warily but began to relax as he sensed my lack of surprise, anger or revulsion, or even embarrassment. But that gave way to confusion as it registered with him that I should have all of those reactions and worse, in the realization that he possessed a secretly compiled scrapbook of the last year of my life in his hands.

It was interesting and educational to see where it started and exactly what they had captured. I had struck upon them very early indeed—within the first few months, in fact. The very first picture was of me outside on the deck, just staring off into space on a warm spring day—the leaves on the trees were barely there. I was probably thinking about Gray. At that point I rarely thought of anything else.

I noticed that there was no mention of the drug store or Great Wolf incidents, but that made sense when I considered how explanations of either situation would have gone over with the client.

The pages of the spring were very boring. In the beginning, some weeks only had pictures of the back of my head in a car as I was being driven back and forth to school. Those were the really bad times, when I slept as much as I could stand. Then there was a picture of me on the Belle of Louisville with Mom and Hoyt. In the picture I looked oblivious, though I wasn't really by that point.

My finger played over the picture of me in my mom's Derby outfit the day I went to the downtown branch of The Bank of Louisville.

Gray chuckled and said, "I really liked the hat."

But I kept moving, not wanting to explain.

You could see where things began to pick up for me life-wise when my pictures started to include my new Goth friends. I had been looking silently at the pages until this point. When I saw a zoom in on Trevor looking particularly scary, (one of the few times I wasn't in the frame) I laughed out loud.

"What did you think of my new friends?" I inquired, unable to hide my amusement.

"I was worried at first. Especially when I thought you might get hit on by that," and he pointed at Trevor. "But it was obvious that you were very happy so I figured it was a good thing. A strange thing, but a good thing."

"Just like me," I said, a little bit sourly.

"A very good thing," he replied and leaned in to kiss my cheek.

The pictures of my driving lessons in a cherry red muscle car were funny to look at. Apparently we had not been alone at the Kentucky Speedway or the DMV. And somehow they were able to get a copy of my driver's license to include with the report for that week.

Gray said, "You looked really good behind the wheel of a Corvette. Would you like me to get you one like that?"

I was fairly sure he was joking but I played along any way and said, "Sure, so long as it's pink."

He chuckled and kissed my cheek again, squeezing me in a tight embrace this time.

I was only about half way through but I flipped to the end, out of curiosity. To my surprise, the pictures on the last page were from _this_ week. There was a shot of Gray and me sitting together on the banks of Bow River. Next was an image of us walking into the dining room downstairs. It had not been my imagination. People in the picture were definitely looking at me. Another shot captured our lunch together at Lake Louise. I was staring off into space again, but in a different galaxy—no surprise there.

Nothing I had seen so far had made me too uncomfortable, not until I reached the last picture. It was on the flat boulder at Lake Oesa, and I had Gray's face in my hands, kissing away at him. That was damaging. It was probably exactly why I hadn't heard from Ash, and might never again—that along with whatever he had seen and heard at the pub.

"That picture alone was worth the entire program. They got the best moment of my life on film."

Gray's smile was decidedly victorious looking.

I closed the book.

"You don't want to look at the rest of it?" he asked, clearly disappointed.

"I don't need to." I replied.

I could feel the emotions coming back and I knew some of the things I would see next would cause them to spill over in the form of more tears.

Gray examined my face while I stared straight ahead, scenes of my life in the spotlight scrolling through my mind. Finally he sighed and took my hand in his.

"You took that remarkably well, Ellie. You don't seem as surprised or upset as I thought you'd be. Why is that?"

He was very sincere. Now I was the one being tested.

"As of the Belle of Louisville picture, I knew about the 'transparent' security team. I found out about them by accident, but I decided to play along because they turned out to be very helpful," I said, with a tone of finality.

Gray wore a dumbfounded expression—something I'd never, ever seen—it was very satisfying.

"Do you mind telling me how?"

I just looked at him and shrugged.

"You're amazing. When are you going to stop surprising me?" he asked, his hand framing my chin.

I switched gears while he was being pleased with me.

"Does it upset you for me to wear this?"

My mind had settled on the most helpful of security agents as I fingered the aquamarine he had given me. He thought about that for a while, and I knew he was deciding between what he wanted to say and what he thought I'd want to hear.

He drew in a breath and sighed in a long exhale.

"As long as it doesn't upset you. I had your hand in mind when I designed it. As long as you wear it on the right side, I'll never complain."

Then he tenderly kissed my left hand, starting with the bixbite ring and continuing in a line along the top of my hand. Gently turning my wrist upward, he kissed there too, following a path all the way to the inside of my elbow. For movements that had nothing to do with my lungs, his actions made it surprisingly hard for me to breathe.

I had been longing for the time when I could wear my aquamarine openly. I had no idea what bittersweet emotions the fulfillment of that wish would involve. The two incredible rings, mirroring each other on both my hands made very fitting symbols of the men they represented. The aquamarine stone and Ash: I had stumbled across them both, stared long and hard, imagining that each was mine, and somehow I got my wish for both at Lake Louise. The bixbite stone and Gray: Both were something my grandpa wanted me to have, and I discovered at Lake Oesa that both had been mine all along without realizing it.

I couldn't rightfully hold on to both rings or men. There was no justice in that. But parting with either would be horribly painful for me, and potentially fatal for one of them—if my own reaction to being on the receiving end of a rejection from either of them was any guide.

Then it occurred to me that the solution lay in the notion that I probably shouldn't be wearing any rings at all.

# Chapter 32

After the bizarre trip down memory lane, Gray put the scrapbook away and led me into his room where our backpacking equipment was arranged on the floor in front of the window. He'd had his things shipped to the hotel from his place in Raleigh, and at his instruction, I'd had mine shipped from home, though nothing was technically mine. The tent, sleeping bag and mat, even the backpack itself were all from the Lidia free store. Now we were going to check through our gear and provisions in preparation for our outdoor adventure, which would begin early the next day.

Not long after, there was a knock on the door and Gray jumped up to go answer it. I don't know who I was expecting, though the unreasonable side of me was hoping it might somehow be Ash. Instead, he greeted a petite, dark haired lady who marched purposefully right into the center of the room. She was dressed very casually in jeans and a tee shirt with a Banff National Park logo on the chest. She wore her longish curly brown hair in a braid, very similar to the way I had my own hair tied back at the moment. She was one of those very healthy but slightly weathered looking people who could be in their twenties or forties, with no way but a birth certificate to be certain. Her eyes were dark and piercing, and she exuded business-like confidence as she assessed the look of the room, our gear, and Gray and me.

"Ellie, I'd like you to meet Elsie. She's going to be our guide this week."

Even in a formal introduction, Gray used my sobriquet _(an affectionate or humorous nickname)_. In fact, I had never heard him speak my given name. I wondered if he actually knew what it was. I tagged that question for follow-up.

Rising to my feet, I approached to shake her hand. She seemed so businesslike that I almost aborted my opening joke, but on an impulse I pushed ahead anyway.

"So you're the person who'll be taking me to pee in the woods at night? It's _very_ nice to meet you."

There was that normal interval of time where people questioned whether they'd heard me right and then decided on the proper reaction. To her credit, she accomplished these mental calculations faster than most and laughed out loud, with pleasure.

Then she said, "Well, it's nice to meet you too. But you should know it will cost you something extra if you expect me to wipe!"

I bet we could expense that.

I loved her immediately, and apparently my joke did positive things to her estimation of me.

After some opening pleasantries with Gray, who apparently knew her from before, she explained to me that before she would accompany any hiker into the woods as a guide it was mandatory that she be allowed to check the contents of their pack and the quality of their gear. I could see the logic when she explained a few of the scenarios that had led to this unbendable rule.

"First there was the time that these two guys forgot to pack the tent they were supposed to be sharing and we all three had to cram into my one person digs."

She shook her head and laughed.

"Then there was the time this idiot brought fresh beef to make chili around the campfire. We had two grizzlies show up before dinner to help unpack the meat. After that I decided I wasn't going to die of vicarious stupidity and I always check packs or I don't go. No offense," she said, giving me a rueful smile.

I wondered if she was arktophobic ( _fear of bears_ ) or just idiophobic ( _fear of idiots_ ).

"I know I can trust Gray here, but I'm afraid I'll have to check your stuff out before we go. I've seen things in people's packs I never would have known to ask about. It's just safer if I have a look for myself, little girl."

That was kind of funny because she wasn't all that much taller or bigger than me. In fact she was probably smaller in her frame than me, just more muscular than me over top it. I bet we could probably wear the same clothes. I loved it that she was going to be our fearless leader as we trekked though the wilderness. I had found another heroine to admire and I couldn't be happier.

She got to work examining my things. I had no fears though. I knew everything would be just as good and appropriate as anything Gray possessed, possibly better.

"Is this _your_ gear?" she asked as she picked up the neatly compacted tent that looked brand new, though I had been assured that Hayden Christensen had once been a guest inside it.

"It's on loan. It all belongs to a friend back home in Louisville," I explained.

"Louisville? As in the Derby City?"

She even pronounced it correctly with me, saying it like the locals: Loo′ – uh – vul.

"That's the one. Have you been there?" I was enthused.

"A couple of times. I was at the Derby when Big Brown won a few years ago. And I went down last year with my boyfriend to the Kentucky State Fair to watch him show his Arabians. He won first place."

This was punctuated by a big smile of remembrance and pride.

"Wow. That's really cool." I thought about how if it had been any other year besides the most recent, I probably would have seen those Arabians myself. The equine competitions were among my mom's favorite features of the Kentucky State Fair, which we always attended together, and never missed, except for last summer, when I'd misplaced my will to live. Scenes of animals, quilts, farming exhibits and tractor pulls were among the earliest memories I possessed.

"It really was. But driving the damn horses from Calgary and back..." she shook her head, "not cool. I'm never doing that again," she said and laughed.

Elsie had created a 'pack' and a 'pitch' pile in front of my stuff. I was alarmed at the items that I had considered most critical which had landed in the pitch pile, namely deodorant, soap and shampoo.

She explained that part of bear safety is making sure you don't smell too good or interesting. An antiperspirant was fine if it was unscented, and soap and shampoo needed to be nearly scent free, especially in my case with all my hair, which holds more smell.

So my vanilla body wash and piña colada scented shampoo were dangerously unacceptable.

"You can borrow my stuff," she offered.

Though she assured me the tent I had was world class, it landed in the pitch pile too because we didn't need the extra tent or the extra weight it would put on my pack.

"Besides, you'll be with me in the girl's tent, right?"

I automatically looked at Gray, just now realizing that he probably had other ideas about that. To my chagrin, he seemed amused that I would question her statement so quickly, and he smiled at me, confirming my translation of his expression. There was an awkward pause as Elsie looked between us, when I didn't answer her right away.

Then Gray spoke up.

"I didn't make the proper introductions before. Ellie is my fiancée and we'd prefer to sleep together, if it's all the same to you."

The rakishness was turned up full blast. That got my heart going and I turned away to be suddenly very occupied with my now mostly empty camping toiletry bag, trying to hide the blush that was all the way up to my hairline.

I thought we talked about that.

I wasn't sure if I could make it through that particular conversation a second time around, and especially not at camp!

After a surprised and hastily made offer of congratulations, Elsie got back to the inspection. Holding a Nalgene water bottle up she asked, "Was your friend in the Eco-Challenge?"

How did she guess that?

My look of surprise must have been clear. She turned the bottle around to show the picture on the front of the container. It was the logo for the Eco-Challenge Fiji Adventure Race, produced by the same fellow who would go on to create a popular Survivor reality game show.

"You can't buy these," she explained. "They were a special gift for the contestants only. I know that because my brother has one just like it."

What were the chances of that? It was turning into six degrees of Hayden Christensen. If Gray knew George Lucas or the Emperor as business contacts the circle would be complete.

Just then my phone vibrated. I pulled it out to look. It was a text message.

Sorry I've been out of touch.

See you soon.

I love you Ellery Mayne.

It was reassuring to get an apology, information about when I could expect to see him again, and a confirmation of his affection all in less than fifteen words—very efficient.

I had mixed and opposite emotions about the prospect of seeing Ash again soon. I wanted to see him. I ached to see him. But I was afraid to see him. I had no idea what he might ask me or what I might say. If he _really_ loved me he probably wouldn't kill me for accepting Gray's ring. And despite what Gray had just told Elsie, accepting it did not mean that we were now officially engaged. I specifically evaded giving Gray a straight answer on that issue, though apparently I was the only one of us who saw it that way.

Gray and Elsie sat at the table and reviewed trail maps of the locations we would be hiking, discussing possible camping spots and key survey areas. She mentioned that there would be another hiker joining us, her counterpart visiting from a national park in New Zealand. Gray welcomed this news explaining to me that it meant more noise to alert nearby bears, increasing the odds of preventing the often bad consequences of taking one by surprise. In addition, camp life would be slightly easier with another expert to help set up and break down and tend to the fire. But most importantly, according to Gray and with Elsie's concurrence, it meant that they could divide more weight between themselves, reducing the size of my pack even further. This miffed me just slightly—like I couldn't carry my weight or something. I was looking forward to proving that I was as capable as the next person who looked like they were still in middle school.

Their planning session lasted for about an hour and I tuned in and out periodically, but my mind kept switching over to thoughts of Ash, wondering where he was, and what was going through his mind at the moment. Somehow I'd wound up desperately in love with two men at the same time. It would have been funny if it wasn't so stressful—for all of us.

I really wished I hadn't told Ash to consider himself engaged. If I hadn't said that, things would be slightly less complicated for me right now. But I reasoned that since I didn't have all the facts at Lake Louise, I shouldn't beat myself up too badly if I decided to break it off with him, which I was nowhere near having decided to do just yet. It seemed crazy that someone as young and backward as I was would have any followers at all, especially both so amazing and handsome, each in his own way.

Elsie stood up to leave and I phased back into the moment to say good-bye. We would meet at seven in the morning at the Mount Shark Trailhead. She was brimming with enthusiasm and anticipation. I wasn't quite sure how I felt yet, but I was looking forward to life out of doors for a spell, and getting to know another heroine.

After he closed the door behind her, Gray came back over to where I was sitting on the floor and studied me as I looked forlornly at the pitched pile of things I really wished I could take. He sat down behind me and pulled me into the circle of his arms to sit inside his lap. I must have looked like I needed a distraction.

We were facing the window and I gazed at the beautiful mountain backdrop to take my mind off not being able to wear deodorant during what was sure to be a highly sudorific _(sweaty)_ endeavor. The upside was that I'd probably stink so badly that the bears would run the other way once they got a whiff of me. At least I'd be contributing to the safety of our journey in that way.

Gray had his hands on the curves of my shoulders, squeezing intermittently in a move designed to release my embarrassingly obvious tension.

"You can wear whatever you want, Ellie," he said reassuringly, correctly guessing my quandary. "You just need to be prepared for the admirers you may attract and the consequences of their interest in you," he added, laughing quietly at his joke.

It was obvious this was about more than the bears.

"But I'm with Elsie. When it comes to what _you_ wear, less is more, in my opinion."

My heart jumped into overdrive when that last part registered. I could hear the mischief in his voice, but his face was behind me, kissing my neck now, so I couldn't see it for myself.

I wanted to object to his teasing, and to his tightening hold around me and to the kisses that were about to make me lose my mind, but just like at Lake Louise cataplexy won out over fighting or fleeing.

His lips made the circuit back and forth from my hairline at the base of my neck to where the skin ended at the fabric of my tee-shirt over my spine. I had no idea such a thing could be so entrancing. It was a completely new sensation and it felt so good I nearly passed out—or maybe it was because I couldn't breathe. Whatever the reason, after a few short moments of the best thing I had ever felt in my life, I went completely limp, landing solidly against Gray's chest, and he chuckled in response, obviously pleased with how little effort it took on his part to chop me down like a tree.

Then I realized that this was exactly the sort of thing Ash meant by 'going beyond' and that Gray had a completely different opinion on the matter.

When I found my voice again I informed him, "Gray, I'm pretty sure you know this, but it makes me uncomfortable when you tease me like that."

And kiss me like that.

Though, actually it felt amazingly good, so 'uncomfortable' wasn't quite the right word. Perhaps 'unnerved' was more appropriate. I could absolutely understand the logic of Ash's rules now. But at the moment logic didn't seem so important, and it couldn't possibly feel as good.

"I don't know Ellie," he whispered in my ear, "you seem pretty comfortable to me."

He laughed softly and kissed the top of my ear. I felt dizzy and faint from the illogical pleasure of going beyond with Gray. But then the phone rang. When it didn't seem like it would ever stop, he reluctantly disengaged himself from around me to go and answer it, sighing heavily as he stood and crossed the room to take the call.

Once I was free from his hold and his spell, I rose and retreated to my room, like a mouse making a break for it while the cat's back was turned. Then I reached for my own phone and entered the romantically neutral safety zone of a long overdue call to my mom, hoping to find my misplaced logic along the way.

The rest of the afternoon was spent running errands that mostly involved collecting last minute supplies for the trip, including scent free toiletries. Our final stop was the grocery store. He caught me smiling big several times while we walked down the aisles with a grocery cart, Gray doing the pushing. I refused to explain myself, but the mirth was rooted in the idea that even Grayson Lionel Gregory the third (he was named after his grandfather) had to get his camping supplies just like normal people.

Lidia had given me some nice outdoor meal ideas which paid dividends in impressing Gray as I led him away from the dried camp food section to the rice and pasta mixes and aluminum pouched chicken and fish products. We gathered protein bars, and nut mixes and yogurt covered raisins and pretzels. Breakfast meals would include granola bars or instant oatmeal and instant hot chocolate—he picked out the kind with the tiny marshmallows without any prompting from me. I selected some on-the-go water additives to give a little flavor variety to the beverage selections during the day, but especially with dinner.

During a pass down the candy aisle Gray reached for a bag of miniature Hershey Bars, not for himself, but according to his historical information about my preferences. I stopped him, though, and explained that although they had once been a favorite, thanks to him, that avenue of indulgence was now closed to me forever. He laughed hugely and kissed me full on the lips, right there in the aisle...people saw.

When I could safely wiggle free from his affection without offending him, I chose a bag of fun size Snickers and a package of Swedish Fish for my dessert on the trail. He didn't select anything from that section of the store and it made me wonder just what his notion of dessert might be, though I felt like I already had a pretty good idea.

# Chapter 33

It was just before seven and the morning was cool and clear. It was a reassuring and inviting way to begin a trek into the wilderness. We pulled into the gravel lot at the trailhead in the vicinity of Mount Shark. There were two other vehicles already parked there, and ours made the third in a row. I could see Elsie standing behind her pick-up truck, tinkering with something that was hanging off the open tailgate. The fourth person in our party was standing next to her, his pack on the ground at his feet, back turned to us, assisting Elsie by holding something in place while she worked to secure it.

We stepped out and moved to the back of the Jeep. Our packs were ready to go, they just needed to be pulled out and secured on our backs, which is a particular science, I learned: the proper placing of one's pack for optimum comfort and ease of movement while trekking.

I was turned away, leaning over my pack, about to place my water bottle in a side compartment when Elsie came over to our vehicle to greet us and make the introductions with her counterpart.

"Gray Gregory, Ellie Mayne, I'd like you to meet Phil Boyens."

I had been squatting over my pack and had my water bottle in my hand as I rose and turned to greet the new person, taking my turn after Gray. In one of my signature smooth moves I dropped my water bottle in the gravel as I got a good look and shook hands with the naturalist from New Zealand, who wore an unusual bracelet on his left hand ...

I just let the bottle roll away like I wouldn't need it and smiled nervously at my other fiancé, or 'Phil,' as he would be known on our journey.

Gray leaned down to retrieve the escaping bottle and laughed as he teased me.

"That's good thinking Ellie, getting any and all clumsiness out of your system right here in the parking lot."

From my peripheral vision I could see that Gray was smiling at me as he returned the bottle to my hands. But I was caught in uncertainty as 'Phil' spoke to me. The words were clear, just articulated in a perfect Auckland accent, making the scene and accompanying soundtrack surreal and bizarre.

"It's a pleasure to meet you Miss. I understand from Elsie that congratulations are in order."

He was like a different person. If I closed my eyes it would be almost bearable, sort of like the famous Kiwi director Peter Jackson was talking to me. But my eyes were stuck open. I hadn't seen him in a day and a half and I felt huge relief followed by sudden and heavy trepidation. His opening statement had set the tone and I was convinced that things could only go downhill from here. I cheered myself with the idea that if the situation got too unbearable for me, I might be able to talk Elsie in to sneaking me out when their backs were turned.

All I could muster in reply was a very weak sounding "Thanks."

And then I was back to pressing business with my water bottle and my pack.

Elsie filled in some details about Phillip Boyens.

"Phil is a naturalist from Kahurangi National Park. He's here on a personnel exchange initiative to facilitate idea sharing in tourism impact strategies and wildlife management techniques. We'll be comparing notes now and again, and taking a few short side trips, but we're both more than happy to help out with the survey," she informed us.

Phil added, "Yes, just let me know what I can do to assist and I'll get on it. Even if it's just carrying the rocks, I'm happy to do it," he said to Gray, very genially.

To his credit, Ash was an excellent actor. He never went out of character, and listening to his conversations with Elsie and Gray from behind I would never have suspected that he was actually just an incredibly handsome and well-briefed imposter, here to keep an eye on me, and his claim, no doubt.

We loaded up and I experienced a bit of self-conscious unease as Gray and Elsie both tinkered with the straps on my pack, positioning it and then repositioning it until _they_ judged that I was comfortable, instead of taking my word for it five minutes prior to fiddling with it.

"We were able to get her pack down to around fifty pounds after your fire sale inspection, so she should be good to go," Gray said with a wicked grin.

Elsie laughed out loud at that, and I was feeling a little miffed about being at the brunt of a joke I didn't fully understand. I had no idea how heavy my pack actually was, but fifty pounds sounded high, and I doubted I was carrying half my own weight on my back, though as the day progressed it certainly began to feel that way.

The trail we were on was a bit of a highway in backpacking terms. There were mountain bike tracks and horse shiate and dog prints in evidence along the open fire road path we were walking. Elsie was in the lead, followed by Phil who kept up a running conversation with her. I came next and Gray headed up the rear. He was being very kind and patient. My legs were considerably shorter than his and I knew he was greatly reducing his pace to stay close to me.

At regular intervals he would inquire about my pack or my feet or whether I needed a break, but I trudged on, determined not to hold up our progression any more than I already was.

After about two hours of mostly uphill trail we stopped at the edge of Bryant Creek where two tributaries fed into the stream from opposite directions. Gray removed his pack and indicated for me to do the same. We had reached our first survey point and it was time to do some rock collecting by the water.

After about thirty minutes combing up and down the bank, poking here and there and taking care not to completely submerge our boots, we finished up and Gray carefully labeled and stowed the specimens in a Ziploc bag in his pack. Then he pulled out some yogurt covered pretzels and shared a handful with me. We sat on a log for a couple minutes while we ate our snack. I looked around for the other two but they had moved on. He explained that we were going to catch up with them at a pond further ahead.

Gray was glowing with pleasure. He was in his element doing what he enjoyed and doing it with me. I loved seeing him so content and though my guilty feelings were never far or ever gone, it gave me pleasure to know that somehow my presence added to the happiness of this amazing person.

While we had the place to ourselves he took the opportunity to kiss me, and the warm rays of sun on our faces and his hands moving gently across my face and in my hair gave it a dreamlike quality. As I examined him from this extreme close up, using every sense to collect information about him, I mused about how wonderful being kissed by this incredible guy would truly be if my own guilt and confusion weren't messing it up for me.

With Gray, privacy had never been a restricting factor up to this point, though I desperately wished it would be, and I resigned myself that Ash was going to see this new aspect of our relationship at some point. Ash and I still had not had a chance to speak privately about where things stood between us and at this point it sounded like he thought I'd switched sides. What was frustrating, though, was that the more tentative I seemed to be in his embraces, the harder Gray worked on me, trying to coax a corresponding emotional sentiment out of me, not giving up until he was satisfied that I was trying, or at least enjoying myself. With the element of guilt swirled into the mix, there would never be a way to truly win at this, though even losing felt shockingly good, and certainly gave the appearance of transferred loyalties.

"Gray?" I began, breathlessly after he released me. He looked at me in answer, leftover fire still making his eyes smolder. "Do you think there's any way we could reserve the affection, especially this kind, for times like this, when our friends aren't watching us? It ruins it for me when I get embarrassed."

I had to look away from his eyes while I asked this.

He laughed softly and pulled my face back around to see my eyes while he spoke.

"I'll do my best, but you need to get over being self-conscious. Your kind of beauty will always attract an audience."

He was very sincere. The combination of physical affection and then receiving compliments about my appearance from Gray had abrupt and potent effects on the core of my stomach, making it contract and then vibrate in the best and worst ways.

"You don't need to worry about them. They both know how it is. Elsie's got her boyfriend and she told me that Phil is engaged to a girl from back home."

Though I already knew that second part, obviously, hearing _Gray_ say it was like pouring lemon juice on my emotional paper cut. I felt incredibly unfaithful and disloyal at the moment. Even so, I did an admirable job of disguising the bitter kind of pain and the acidic sort of burn coursing through my mind and heart.

Eventually we loaded up again and moved on. After another hour or so we met up with the 'naturalists' and dropped our packs to break out some lunch. We had actual lunchmeat sandwiches from Subway, but once they were eaten, that would be the end of 'eating fresh.' I mixed in some lemonade powder with the water in my bottle and had a very pleasant picnic. We sat with Elsie and Phil in an open spot off the trail while we ate.

I had settled into shy mode, for obvious reasons, only listening, and not partaking in conversation. I surreptitiously stole glances at the one with the Kiwi accent while he ate. He had done such a good job of staying in character that I was beginning to feel slightly at ease, sort of how I might feel if he really had been who he was pretending to be.

Upon close examination of his clothes, I noticed that he had on a rather worn looking Kahurangi National Park logoed tee shirt.

That was a nice touch.

Apparently Elsie was the one who had spread the word about Subway for lunch because they both were enjoying subs like Gray and I were.

I had intended to leave my museum grade jewelry at the hotel during this trip but Gray insisted that I wear his ring, though he didn't care what I did with the other piece. In the end I decided to wear them both, fulfilling the premonition I'd had about being the best-dressed person on the trail—or at least the best accessorized.

I noticed from my peripheral vision that at one point Phil was looking at my hands. To my surprise he engaged me and asked, "That's a bit of a bold move, wearing such fine pieces of jewelry on your fingers out here. Aren't you afraid you'll lose them?"

Three pairs of eyes were on me as I scrambled for something appropriate to say. More quickly than I expected I came up with, "It's okay. They're both on me pretty tight, and I feel safer having them with me. I guess that's because they remind me of people I love."

No one could take offense at that line of reasoning, I thought, giving myself a mental pat on the back.

We walked on, enjoying views of the flat face of Mount Turner and beautiful vistas of meadow and stream and sky. We stopped twice more at creek side points for rock collecting before catching up to Elsie and Phil in the late afternoon at our campsite for the night.

The other two already had their tents up and the fire going when we finally arrived. Phil came out of nowhere to help me lift off my pack while Gray's back was turned, doing that same thing for himself. Gray wasn't being unchivalrous; he would be better able to help me once his own load was undone, which was normally quickly accomplished. So he was surprised and a little annoyed to see the job was already completed. Phil didn't linger afterwards. He was in and out quickly so that he was already walking away by the time Gray realized what had occurred. He'd managed to help me off with my pack, which I'd now swear really did weigh fifty pounds, and still somehow get my heart moving in double-time.

I willed myself not to respond to the gnawing desire to look over at Phil as Gray worked efficiently at setting up our home for the night. At the point which he must have realized I wasn't going to be using Lidia's or Elsie's tent, there was a rather loud bang, perhaps a metal cooking lid sliding home rather abruptly on an obliging rock. The shock of the sound made me look involuntarily, but I was only greeted with the sight of him storming away, into the woods. Elsie was inside her tent, and Gray was still working on the far side of ours, so there were no witnesses to the outburst, apart from the one person who would feel it most acutely.

I decided it was a very good time to go and get some water for dinner and I grabbed the pan from my pack for that purpose, after explaining to Gray where I was headed, and assuring him that I was going in the same direction as Phil, so that I would not be alone. Though my intentions were duplicitous, my words had not been.

I followed what looked like an animal path through the woods and around the bend to a slight incline where I could go up to another clearing or down to the creek bed. Phil was at the water's edge, throwing rocks. For a second I thought about aborting, but he looked up and caught me, so I moved forward like there had never been any thought of hesitation.

I walked right up and hugged him, my face in his chest, not sure how long we would have and wanting to reassure him physically in what scant private time this occasion could offer. He hugged me so tightly that I had trouble breathing, but I didn't dare complain. I just rubbed his back with my hands and squeezed him with my arms. Then he released me, moving his hands to capture my face and kiss me.

No one—not even Gray—had ever kissed me like that before. If the kiss had an essence, it could only be described as desperation. It absolutely broke my heart. I could feel the tears building, and apparently so could he. He made a little disgusted with himself noise and released me from the kiss, hugging me tightly one more time. Then he let go completely and walked a few yards away, picking up his container and mine and then returned to the stream to gather the water.

I followed and bent down next to him to retrieve my pan, which he'd already filled for me. I had no idea what to say, though I instantly wished I had been controlling the conversation.

"Ellery, will you be... _sleeping_ with Gray tonight?"

He wouldn't look at me.

"I'm sorry to press you like this, but I need time to prepare myself, if that's how it is."

He said this like Ash, not Phil. His tone was controlled, but the desperation still hinted around the edges of his words.

I felt ill. I wanted to die. I honestly didn't know what might happen to me in the night and that was inexcusable. I knew that I should be able to control myself, and my destiny, just a little better.

Just then, the answer presented itself in the form of an unexpected body, right next to me, bending over the creek, matching Phil's pose.

Elsie wore a befuddled yet vaguely bemused expression as she regarded us, but mostly me.

Perfect.

Was she going to be the whistle-blower type or the blackmailer type?

I moved forward with the plan that had taken shape just seconds before her approach, probably in unconscious recognition of her presence.

"Elsie, how would you feel about me joining you in the girl's tent after all?"

She laughed out loud once, but then gathered her tone into more sincerity and said, "That'll be fine. Is everything all right, though?"

Concern graced her wizened eyes.

"Um, I haven't said anything to Gray yet...I thought I'd better check with you first. But I'm just thinking that since I'm not married to anyone here, it would be more _proper_ if maybe we girls stick together, if you don't mind."

She patted me on the back, assuring me. I must have looked as bad as I felt. It's a wonder she didn't perform CPR on me, or last rights.

"Do you need me to tell Gray for you?"

She was perfectly sincere, and just like the coward I was, I actually considered it for a split second.

"No, but if you two could give me a few minutes, I'll go say something to him right now. Thanks. I really appreciate it. I feel better already."

And I did. And apparently so did Phil. His demeanor was totally transformed as he struck up a conversation with Elsie, like she hadn't seen anything and nothing was remiss.

I turned and headed back to camp, petrified and clueless about how I was going to do what I had to do next.

I set the pan of water in the fire, with the handle facing out and approached the tent. Both our packs were inside now, so I needed to go in no matter what to retrieve my things. Unzipping the door, I moved inside and then re-zipped it behind me, keeping the bugs out.

He looked up at me and smiled in warm welcome. He had spread out his sleeping mat and bag, but hadn't touched my bag, opting for giving me my privacy, and trying to avoid invasive behavior, even if it was conducted in the name of helpful administration of my comfort and care. It was a relief—moving out would be far less humiliating and traumatic by simply transferring an unopened backpack.

"Gray? Please don't be upset with me." I began, and my voice shook, embarrassing me. That got his attention and he dropped what he was doing to move over to me and take me in his arms like a child.

"Did you lose the pan in the creek?" he asked, slightly amused.

I wish.

"No, it's about tonight _._ I'm...scared."

That was true. The amusement in his face evaporated.

"If you're worried about the bears, don't be. We'll tie all the food up in the air, and thanks to Elsie, no one smells good. We'll be fine. I'll keep you safe. I'll hold you all night if it will help you sleep."

I couldn't deny that part of me would love that, but instead I had to move forward with preventing exactly that. Wiggling free of his hold, I turned and faced him.

"Gray, it's not the bears...it's the holding me all night part that I'm worried about. I think you're aware of how weak I get when I'm around you...like that."

I thought of the kisses on my neck in front of the hotel room window, and about falling trees.

"I'm very serious about waiting to be married before taking things to the next level. It's just that...well...I'm finding out that my body and my mind aren't always on the same page...when I'm close to you."

He smiled hugely. This confession was obviously very good news to him, though that had not been my intention, and apparently it wasn't helping my cause here.

"Plus, I haven't broken off my engagement to Ash. So all things considered, I think the best thing for me to do here is to sleep in the girl's tent, where I belong."

I wasn't sure if it was my reference to my prior engagement or the fact that I was resolved to sleep somewhere other than with him in his tent that caused the most displeasure in his expression. There was enough storm raging in his eyes to accommodate both unpleasant issues.

With no further speechmaking, I unzipped the tent and hauled my pack to the opening. Suddenly he was in my space, and in my face, blocking the way.

"Look, I won't argue with you, if you feel it's what's best. But I want you to know that I had no plans to take you...with me to any levels out here. I have very different ideas about what our first time together, in that way, will be like."

He was hot and his eyes matched his temperature. I felt myself melting from the heat, and the possibilities, but it reconfirmed that moving out was definitely the right choice.

"And I'm sorry I got ahead of myself, telling Elsie we're engaged. That was unfair to you. I realize that now. Will you forgive me for that?"

The intensity had eased a bit and I nodded in assent. He wasn't finished, though. He framed my face with his hands.

"But, Ellie, you belong with me, and no one else. I'm going to do everything in my power to make you believe that. I love you far too much to ever give up on you...just so you know."

Then he kissed me. It was soft and sweet and seductive and mind blowing. I had to get out of there before he had me pleading for some level-taking with him.

Phil was very pleasant the rest of the evening. There seemed to be a total transference in moods between the two men. I felt bad to have upset Gray, especially since he'd been so blindingly happy up to the point where I'd switched it off with my resolutions. The difference was obvious and unpleasant for me.

Elsie, fully aware of the cause, was trying hard to keep the emotional atmosphere around the campfire upbeat, as opposed to lacrimonious. This consisted principally of distracting and keeping me engaged with funny stories and the occasional question about me and my short past, which were met with even shorter answers. When that didn't work she changed her approach to simply trying to relax me.

"Ellie, would you like me to brush your hair?" she offered, pulling out the last stop.

No one had ever touched my hair, in that way, but my mom. I absolutely loved having my hair brushed, though I experienced it very rarely. So without a word I rose, went over to my pack, now inside 'Chet Elsie', and retrieved my hairbrush. Then I parked myself in front of her, sitting parallel to the campfire on a small foam mat, slightly larger than the size of my butt, and handed her the brush. I leaned forward with my hands around my bent knees and rested my chin and my eyes.

"Elsie, I'd really love that. Thank you so much for offering."

She chuckled quietly in pleased satisfaction at her success while she began fingering through my hair. Then she engaged the brush, guiding it over the long strands with the soft touch of an expert, careful not to yank or pull. It was fabulous.

Through surreptitious peripheral view glances I could see that both men were paying rapt attention to the philocomal _(love of hair)_ activity taking place on the girls' side of the campfire. I wanted to be self-conscious, but the stress and anguish of the afternoon were melting away so nicely with every stroke from the brush that I could only concentrate on how good it felt.

I wondered if either of them had the same vicarious pleasure reaction to seeing another person getting their hair brushed that I always did. Just watching made me feel instantly sedated. Being the recipient was something more blissful than mere sedation. Elsie had struck upon exactly the right therapy for me.

Her final procedure was to assemble a ponytail and then take sections of hair and twist them into small strands of golden rope—eight in all.

"This will look really cool in the morning when you take it out," she explained, enthusiastically.

I smiled to myself. I'd found another friend with unexpected talents. Who would have thought that Elsie Wilderness had 'really cool' hair techniques to share?

Just as I had predicted at our introduction, Elsie took me into the woods to pee before we turned in for the night. I broached the embarrassing request for accompaniment with, "So...I'm gonna go take a pee now. Do you want to come along and get killed with me now...or do you just want to get killed looking for me?"

She did those speedy mental computations after I spoke my normal nonsense and shot back with, "Listen here, little girl. I'm in charge of this operation. Nobody dies unless I say so."

Then we made our way into the moonless dense darkness.

She'd brought along a really useful plastic device that reminded me of an ultra-squat watering can with an exaggerated extra-long thin spout. The base was much more shallow than a regular watering can, and oval shaped. The opening at the top was as large as the circumference of the base itself with a smoothly turned down edge. She explained that it was a female adapter, designed to direct urine out and away from your lowered pants and shoes.

This was a welcome innovation, though I found it highly comical to imagine a team of designers and injection molding professionals devoting time to such an endeavor. Clearly, though, the product filled a particular need. I'd experienced such troublesome issues when relieving myself out of doors on camping trips with my dad and grandpa, where no female direction or support had been available since my mom did not camp.

It had gotten fairly cold once the sun had set, so it was nice not to have to pull my pants all the way down, or squat near the cold ground. Once we were done she simply rinsed it out with water from a container she had brought along for that purpose.

Neither man had moved from their spots near the fire, probably because one was making sure I'd be staying with Elsie, and the other was hoping I might give him a look saying I'd changed my mind about that.

I was about to follow her into our tent for the night when Gray came out of nowhere and hugged me from behind, kissed my neck and whispered, "I promise I'll be good if you come stay with me. No levels." The feel of his warm lips touching under my ear in tandem with his assurances was nearly enough to override my decision—a ridiculously easy call to make—but then I caught myself undercutting my own resolve and wiggled free before it worked on me.

"Good night Gray."

I turned to face him and smiled. Then I punctuated my intent with a yawn.

"I love you, Ellie," he whispered, full of feeling.

I had never expressed that sentiment to him before, out loud, that is, and though I was certain it would sting him, this was not the time to begin.

"I know," I whispered back, moving as quickly as I could to take refuge in the girl's tent, zipping the door behind me.

It was one of the longest nights of my life. It would have been anyway because the sounds of the night were loud and strange and scary when heard through the filter of my grizzly bear alert early warning system. But I had other unsettling thoughts flashing in and out of my head.

Had I already crossed the line and ruined things with Ash? Was he here in a tent just feet from mine strictly to do his job now, and not because he loved me? I absolutely deserved it, if that's how it was, but it caused me physical pain, in my head and my stomach, just to consider that very real possibility. Then the pain would intensify when I thought about my actions, and how they had surely caused this same kind of pain to him. He didn't deserve that. Ash was good and kind and honorable and I loved him to the point of obsession. But after Gray had explained some missing details to me, I was astounded to realize that there was room in my heart and mind to obsess over him as well.

What was wrong with me and what was I going to do about it? I wished I had some fresh beef. I'd strap it to my butt and let the bears take care of the rest.

The next morning Elsie got me up early. I pulled at the twists she had put in my hair the night before, interested to see the results. The twists did amazing things to the look of my hair. Once undone, the strands of hair cascaded in perfect ringlets, falling from every direction. It looked familiar, but I couldn't place it.

Satisfied with her hair styling handiwork, she unzipped our tent and we quietly left camp to go downstream to bathe and wash out some sweaty clothes from the day before. We found an eddy in the creek and stripped to our underwear, using her unscented soap to clean up. She had brought along a pan of hot water from the fire that we used for making our washcloths warm. It made the experience almost pleasant. After switching into fresh clothes, I took yesterday's sports bra and panties and washed them out in the creek, wringing and re-wringing them. We were not breaking camp today so we'd be able to hang up our wet clothes and towels during the day, letting them dry in the sun.

The plan was to take several day hikes from our base camp, meeting back for lunch and then again for dinner. While we worked quietly at the stream on our bodies and our clothes, Elsie finally brought it up.

"So, I'm hoping that you know Phil from somewhere?"

It was a statement but she asked it like a question. I saw no need to lie to her. She'd already seen the worst.

"Yes. He's my fiancé."

That information wasn't what she was expecting and her mouth hung open in shock.

"Gray knows I'm engaged to a boy back home, and I never agreed to marry him instead, I just agreed to reconsider my options, once he explained his feelings for me."

She collected her expression and now it was downgraded from shocked to just very intense.

"But, as I'm sure you've figured out, Gray's extremely optimistic, and he doesn't take no for an answer."

She smiled at that and I could tell that she knew what I meant.

"We got our wires crossed. He was in love with me and didn't tell me, I guess because he thought I was too young. Then, while he was waiting for me to grow up, I fell in love with one of the security people he hired to protect me without my knowledge."

I shook my head and got back to gathering my things, making ready to head back to camp.

"So it's all messed up now," I summarized.

"I see you're wearing two rings," she observed as she looked at my hands.

"Could you say no to either one of them?"

It was a weak defense, but it was all I had.

"Sounds like there were a few mitigating circumstances."

She smiled with a gleam in her eye, reassuring me slightly.

"Listen, honey, if I could trade problems with you, I certainly would," and she held me with her eyes, looking for my reaction.

I laughed at that. I knew she was right. But it wasn't about who would make me happier, the problem was about who would be hurt that was upsetting me so badly. If I could know which person I was better for, if I could tell who would get past me sooner, if there was a way to be at peace with whatever I decided—for all of us to be...

"It sounds like you need to put your foot down. Tell them both to back off and give you some space, and some time, for crying out loud, what are you about fifteen?" she chided.

"I'm old enough to drink wine at The Fairmont Banff Springs, actually older than that, by a year," I replied, sounding like it was some accomplishment on my part to be nineteen.

"Well, you're not old enough to marry either one of those characters, or anyone else, for that matter. You need some time. You've got to live on your own, make your own decisions, and be in charge of your life for a while. If you hand control over to one of them before you ever taste it for yourself, you'll always wonder how it might have been, what you missed, and whether you were rushed into a decision that was made for you."

She paused while she wrung out her washcloth.

"Look honey, if either of them loves you as much as they think they do, then they can wait a little longer, if it's best for you, which it is."

That was the most reasonable, no nonsense advice I'd probably ever get on this topic and I filed it away for further consideration, feeling enormously grateful for Elsie's presence in my life this morning. I nodded in agreement.

"So what's the story with Phil?"

I knew that was coming. I decided to continue with the truth. She deserved it.

"He's Australian actually, though he lives in the house behind mine in Louisville right now. And he'd never camped in his life before this time last month," I said with a huge smile.

She had that open-mouthed shocked look again.

"He's a quick study. He had some pretty intense training a few weeks ago to get ready for this. I'm not saying he's not capable. He's just not a veteran. But it would be very much like him to research everything there is to know about Kahurangi National Park, so whatever he tells you in your idea swapping sessions is probably good information."

She raised her eyebrows, just now considering that aspect of their relationship.

"Please promise me you'll play along. They might actually kill each other if Gray finds out who he is. It's only for two more days...please? Please promise me, Elsie?" I pleaded in the most pitiful tone I could muster.

"All right, if you'll promise me in return that you won't let either one of them push you into making a decision right now. Do we have a deal?"

She was serious as she looked at me with those piercing eyes, her expression shrewd while she assessed my reaction.

"How 'now' is right now?" I asked, trying to get advice on exactly how much time I should take.

"I'll leave that to you, but you should give yourself enough time to think about what kind of life you'd like, what you want in a mate, and how each of them fits in to that frame of reference."

Talk about a fearless leader! I actually felt hopeful with some sort of direction to follow and not stricken blind for the first time since Gray had appeared. She was right and I could feel the truth of her words down deep. It would be the worst kind of self-inflicted pain to part ways with either of these men, but if it would make me a better person and make for the best resolution in the big picture of things, working out best for all of us, then I would take the pain, gladly. It would be like an unpleasant operation: terrible and excruciating, but ultimately a lifesaver.

When we returned to camp both men were working around the fire. I avoided eye contact with either of them and joined Elsie in hanging our wet things on a line stretched between two trees. After I couldn't stall any more, I headed over to the campfire to work on something to eat. Gray rose to meet me, putting whatever he had been holding down so that he could hug me around the waist and kiss me briefly in hello.

"Good morning, Princess Bride."

Then he whispered, "How's life at the girls' tent?"

But I was still stuck on the 'Princess Bride' comment and my eyes automatically locked with Phil's. There was pain and anger clearly visible, before he looked quickly away.

Gray was pulling at my hair, which had fallen around to the front. Then I realized what he was referring to, and why the look of my hair had seemed familiar to me. It looked just like Buttercup's hair the night she was supposed to marry Prince Humperdink, in wavy ringlets around her face.

I laughed in relief and said, "Does that make you the Dread Pirate Roberts or Miracle Max?"

He chuckled and let me go, directing me to a place next to his spot near the fire. I passed Phil on the way, who was staring at the flames, and I sat down between my two lovers.

Gray had my breakfast staged, and poured the boiling water for my hot chocolate. I opened one of the packets of oatmeal he'd set out, emptying it into a bowl and he poured hot water into that for me as well. Then he handed me a spoon and I stirred the contents until it resembled lumpy paste.

"The breakfast of Champions—or in my case, Quakers," I commented to myself as I stood my spoon up in the middle of the oatmeal, letting it cool.

I knew it was a waste of time, but I blew on the hot chocolate anyway, trying to cool it down from boiling lava hot to just scalding.

"Would this make a difference?" said Phil, holding a sample size bottle of Godiva chocolate liqueur up for me to inspect. I smiled and nodded with enthusiasm. He'd stolen my inside joke, turning it into a new one for us to share.

"It might," I acknowledged as he handed it over, slightly recovered, a knowing smile gracing his now somewhat rougher, though still gorgeous face. I stared at him briefly when I realized I was seeing the shadow of a beard on his face. I smiled and shook my head again, this time in embarrassment with myself, when it occurred to me that until this moment I'd actually thought he was too young to shave.

"What?" He asked, having caught the turn of my countenance.

"It's nothing."

I tried to dismiss it and divert him by making a show of trying my enhanced and temperature controlled version of hot chocolate. It was now only blisteringly hot, but even served over ice it would now have a certain warmth to it.

"That looked like something to me. What were you thinking just now?" he asked quietly.

It was still so strange to hear him speaking like a Kiwi. It was kind of like flirting with a stranger. His smile made me smile even more, which didn't help my cause.

"Well?" he prompted.

"How old are you, Phil, if you don't mind my asking?"

The happy mischievousness in his eyes evaporated. A stone wall seemed to instantly pile up in its place. Why was that a hard question? But I knew the answer already. Little comments he'd made along the path of our relationship had made me think that the difference in our ages was a sore point for him, though I had never inquired about the specifics before this moment. I'd always attributed it to my just being too young. Did he really think he was too old?

I waited patiently for his answer, while he did some internal deliberating, probably deciding on how he could most tactfully request for me to mind my own business.

"Yeah, I was wondering that too," Gray added.

I'd turned my back on him to face Phil, and I'd forgotten he was there for a moment. I think he must have sensed that and this was his way of reminding me.

"I turned twenty-eight in May."

He said this like he was making a murder confession, staring warily at my eyes, searching there for the reaction he feared.

"Huh, that's interesting. You could pass for much younger."

I tried to communicate as much as I could with my smile and my eyes, which were still glued to his. What I tried to say was, 'I love you. I want you, no matter what your age. Please believe me.'

He had to be careful with his response because, unlike my own, Gray could see his face.

"You too," he replied softly, some of the stones in his countenance knocked away by my attempts at non-verbal communication.

"How old are you Gray?"

Elsie had emerged from her tent and jumped right into the census taking.

I turned to view his response. He seemed about as comfortable answering the question as Phil had been, but he didn't take as long to reply.

"I turned twenty-four in May."

His answer was flat and he didn't look up from his oatmeal.

I was secretly pleased with myself. At least my guess of his age had been in the right neighborhood. I'd been in the wrong state with the other one.

"Well, I guess that makes me Mother Hen," Elsie said, with feigned irritation.

"Speaking of care giving, would you like me to do your hair this morning, Ellie?" she asked as she sat down on a log, directly across from me.

I thought I _had_ done my hair...and in that I had my answer.

"Thank you. I'd love that."

After she finished her granola bar and instant coffee I sat down in front of her with my pad and handed her my brush and a couple of hair bands. It was obvious from her own appearance that she could do more than ponytails.

Once again, I had the satisfaction of seeing the glazed look on both men's faces as they paid unwavering attention to Elsie's hair brushing techniques.

I could really get used to this for a couple of reasons. I knew my hair would look great and stay put, and it was such an amazing way to start the day, though it made me feel like slipping back into my sleeping bag and zipping it completely over. Once she was finished brushing through and then tying down my hair, she released me and I began staging my daypack for the morning's activities.

Gray had shown me how to use the water purifier and I worked on that to pump out clean water into my hiking bottle. Then I rooted around in our food bag for a protein bar and some Swedish Fish, placing both inside a triple smell-proofing barrier of Ziplocs. Next, I folded a handful of tissues, tucking them in an outside pouch, in the event of an emunctory _(nose blowing)_ emergency, hoping I wouldn't need them, but knowing I'd be glad to have them if I did. Then I zipped up the daypack and retied the laces of my hiking boots.

Gray finished with the food bag as well and walked over away from camp to the spot where Elsie had set up the high wire hungry bear-foiling apparatus. I watched him work on this because I hadn't seen how it operated the night before, when they had done it in the dark. It was a winching technique, pulling the rope until the bag was suspended twenty feet in the air between two trees.

The clothesline was attached to a set of adjacent trees, though it was not quite so high. Just then a really big gust of wind hit the clearing and I thought that everything on the line might blow away into the next province. But only one casualty hit the ground...and of course it would have to be _my_ panties.

Gray bent down to retrieve them, but to my chagrin, he did not place them back on the line. Instead he looked at them for a moment and then folded them before turning and heading back over to me.

I don't know why this embarrassed me so much, but I could feel the heat in my face as he approached to return them to me. He caught my mood as he closed the distance, gathered me into an enveloping hug and pressed a kiss on my forehead while pressing the underwear into the pocket of my jacket.

"These are dry. You should put them away or they'll probably be gone by the time we get back."

His logic soothed me slightly, but only for a moment before he continued.

"I wish you wouldn't be so embarrassed. It's just underwear. I plan on touching more than that someday, you know."

The bottom dropped out of my stomach, like a ride at King's Island. He hugged me tighter, enjoying my reaction to his suggestive words.

"I'm sorry. Teasing you is so much fun, though," he whispered in my ear, managing to work in another tease along with his apology.

Our plans for the morning took Gray and me along an unmarked path to a spot where the creek passed near a pond and then descended in elevation through a narrow ravine. There were places where huge slabs of rock jutted out of the earth at sharp angles and Gray was very interested in inspecting the stones and debris around them.

He found a few pieces that interested him, once again carefully documenting their location with his GPS device and labeling them in detail before stowing them in Ziplocs in his pack.

One enormous slab of rock near the edge of the trees at the ravine was smooth and somewhat wide on top. Gray had found a nice view there and summoned me to join him. After a bit of scurrying between roots and rocky footholds, I finally made it to the top. It was farther up than I'd realized.

He was waiting for me at the edge and pulled me up by my armpits the last three feet to join him on the surface. He didn't let go of me right away and I guess I looked like I was bracing for an attack, because he looked a little hurt, releasing all but my left hand. Without a word he turned to guide me to the side with the view and settled me down next to him.

From this elevated perspective we could see the creek all the way back to the pond. It was a lovely sight in the morning sun, with wildflowers dotting the grass, bending low in response to the intermittent gusts of wind. After a few moments I noticed that he wasn't looking at the view. Instead, he was inspecting the new arrangement of my jewelry. I pretended like I didn't notice and went back to enjoying the view, the warmth of the sun, and the coolness of the wind, listening to it blow through the trees and up the mountain.

"What does this mean?"

He wasn't about to let me off the hook, no matter how much I ignored him.

"It means that I don't want to lose my rings. The aquamarine is smaller and it fits better on my left hand. The bixbite fits fine on either hand. This way is more comfortable...for now."

I tried to sound unapologetic.

"You only need to wear one ring, Ellie."

There was an emotional edge to his tone, but I refused to look at him, worried he might convince me of something I didn't believe.

"I know, Gray."

I'd be lucky if anyone wanted me to wear his ring after this trip.

# Chapter 34

A few moments passed as the wind blew and the birds sang. It was beautiful and tranquil and totally at odds with my state of mind. I'd spent the night thinking about what I needed to do today. I decided to get it over with. This was as private a venue as we were ever likely to encounter and I was certain that being alone for this was critical.

"Gray, if I ask you about something, will you promise to tell me the truth, no matter what?" My voice shook as I tried to muster up the courage I needed.

I turned to look at him for the first time since joining him on this perch.

He smiled like something was funny, but then I could see another thought play across his eyes and he turned more pensive.

"Only if you promise not to be mad at me for whatever you make me tell you," he responded strategically.

That was a fair request, and not one I had anticipated having to agree to.

"Okay."

I paused to get my next words in order.

"Tell me what happened between us the night of the fireworks, in Reykjavik. I know something happened, but I have no memory of it."

He looked stunned and totally guilty. It was just as I'd feared. It was bad and I was right to have waited until I was certain we were alone to get the story.

"If you have no memory of it, how did you know to ask about it?" he countered, once he had gathered his thoughts to make a defense.

"You know that phone you let me borrow, that I never gave back?" I asked.

He nodded but there was no comprehension in his eyes.

"Well, I just recently checked the messages, and there was one from you..."

That still didn't register with him. But that would make sense because he'd sounded a little out of it to me. He probably had no recollection of leaving that sentimental message at two in the morning, not long after Grandpa's funeral.

"You asked me if that night in Reykjavik with the fireworks meant as much to me as it did to you. I was wondering what happened, and why you'd ask that question."

I spoke in a hushed tone. I could barely get the words out.

He looked stunned again. He was tense as he stared at me, clearly trying to manage the inner conflict about being truthful and upsetting me or lying to me and upsetting me.

"Just tell me the truth. Please?"

I tried to be soothing instead of accusatory. After a long pause when I thought he just wasn't going to answer me, he finally began.

"So that was your first day in Reykjavik. And you'd spent the afternoon with Dana, as I recall."

Though his eyes were turned out over the meadow, his mind was much farther north and east.

My luggage had been lost on the final leg of our journey. Dana was the only other girl in our group, though she was at least five years older than me, which made her a grown-up, in my estimation. Dan Gregory had given her a credit card and instructions to take me into town and buy me the things I would need until my luggage appeared. As it turned out shopping was her favorite thing in the world, and shopping with a bottomless credit card was the coup d'état _(revolutionary seizure of power)._

I met Gray for the first time at dinner that night, after having undergone an extreme makeover where Dana had purchased clothes and makeup (for both of us) and then dressed me up so that I looked like her twin. My own Grandpa hadn't recognized me at first...that's how different I looked.

"I thought you were older," he said, already apologetic.

I was beginning to think that ignorance might be bliss in this one instance and that I should never have asked about this.

"Did you notice how taken I was with you that night when we all had dinner together? Dana did."

He smiled ruefully. I didn't answer, but no, that had not been my impression—a convincing accismus, _(feigning disinterest in something one finds extremely interesting)_ and quite reciprocal, if I was being honest.

"Are you aware that you're a sleepwalker?"

Significantly, there wasn't a trace of teasing in his question.

"Sometimes."

Oh no.

"Well, I wasn't."

He stopped talking for a while, deciding what he would tell me, and how to do that, I imagined.

"Anyway, Dana was mad at me and she'd gone back in to Reykjavik to do some clubbing...alone."

He laughed, shaking his head and rolling his eyes.

"I'm pretty optimistic, or maybe arrogant is the right word. When you came into my room so late I just thought you'd picked up on my vibes and that you were being very...friendly."

He chuckled at his joke.

I was feeling more ill than I ever had up to this point, which was an extreme low for me. I was so thankful to already be seated.

"It was strange though. You were there, but you weren't. The bold move of showing up like that was offset by the total silence," he continued, laughing softly at the memory.

"That didn't occur to me at first, though. It was dark, but I knew it was you. The only other girl in the house was never quiet, especially when she was angry at me."

I was breathing in tiny breaths that were too shallow. The edges of my vision were starting to blur.

"So I pulled you close, but when I kissed you I realized something was wrong. You were soft and warm, but you were like a statue. I wasn't getting any response. That's when I switched on the lamp and figured it out. It was a totally different version of you than what I thought I'd been kissing. You had no makeup on, your hair was in two braids and you had pink socks on your feet. You weren't even looking at me."

He smiled, wistfully, his mind still far away.

"So I walked you back out into the hallway. Then the fireworks started."

The suburb we were staying in was having a founder's celebration and midnight fireworks were shot off the entire week.

"I grabbed a couple of blankets and took you out on the deck to watch them with me. Do you remember that?" he asked, hopefully.

I shook my head, completely speechless. I had watched the fireworks on a different night, probably the next night, but I was with Grandpa, not Gray.

"It was nice. I could tell you were still asleep, but you'd started talking, well, answering questions, that is. I don't know how, but you managed to stay asleep during all that racket," he chuckled.

"I was just playing around and I asked you if you liked me the way that I liked you. I thought I was just being facetious, but later I realized that even then I meant it. Seeing you so innocent and sweet like that, tasting you like that, I was totally addicted. I wanted to believe there was meaning to the way you'd been drawn to me, even unconsciously."

He paused, replaying scenes of our time in Iceland. I was doing the same thing.

"Then over the course of the next few weeks, when I really got to know you, there was no going back. You treated me like a friend, instead of a...conquest."

He was playing with the ring on my right hand. Then his eyes flashed up to mine, capturing them inescapably.

"I couldn't tell how you felt about me, but I knew I had to have you, Ellie. No one else would ever do for me. But I wanted you for every reason, not just the right ones. That's why I had to back off, and keep my distance...across the Atlantic."

He smiled that half smile I loved, though it was dusted with a bit of ruefulness.

It was a tremendous relief to hear that things hadn't gone nearly as far as I was beginning to fear.

"What did I say?"

I would probably be sorry I asked this.

There was a tender sweetness in his expression that melted my reserve.

"I asked you if you liked me and you said 'Yes.' So then I asked you if you'd like to be my girlfriend and you said 'Yes.' On our last night in Reykjavik you stopped by to see me again. I asked you if you'd marry me and you said 'Definitely yes.'"

He laughed quietly and I realized I was in his arms now. I'd been concentrating so hard on what he was telling me that I'd missed that part. It was a familiar pose. His lips were on my neck, kissing in a path that started under my ear and made its way down and around to the top of my spine and then across to the other ear. The guilty pleasure was astonishingly immobilizing. It felt like I was dissolving. Before I was overcome by speechlessness I managed a caveat, though weak and unconvincing.

"If you keep that up I'll never be able to climb down from here," I warned without moving, in a voice that was barely there.

I couldn't make myself pull away, even if I wanted to. He needed to learn to respond to verbal cues anyway.

He paused for a moment and said, "It'll be worth the wait. Besides, you recover amazingly quickly."

And he started in on the kissing once more. When it seemed like I might truly pass out—the old familiar blurred edges of vision in combination with that strange hollow roaring inside my ears—I dropped back into his chest, blocking any further advances from that angle. He held me silently for a while, just breathing.

My mind was sorting though a basket of recurring dreams. What I used to consider world-class mental concoctions regarding the men I loved began to take on new dimensions in light of the information Gray had just provided. Which were truly dreams and which were actually memories, masquerading as dreams?

If he asked me to marry him during one of these sleepwalking episodes—the very thing my soul would have craved above all else at that point—then it was no wonder I imploded after Grandpa died and I thought I'd never see Gray again.

It was unfortunate and pitiful, but my response to the facts of my conscious knowledge being at war with what was true in my subconscious mind explained so much. It was almost a relief.

Then I began to consider some of the more intensely physical, 'next level' dreams I'd had about Gray...

"Do you still sleepwalk?" he eventually asked.

"Apparently I'm not the right person to ask. It's pretty scary, but I have to admit, I honestly don't know."

My mom hadn't mentioned it in ages, so I thought it was a thing of the past.

"Hmm. When we're married I guess I'll just have to handcuff you to our bed at night."

And he laughed at his joke, nuzzling the top of my head with his nose and chin.

I could hear the click in my mind. It was the sound of the switch as my vision went slightly red, but sharper and more in focus than it had ever been. It was just a stupid joke. But it was also a symbolic truth. I was never going to be given a choice in this. It was long past being a done deal in Gray's mind. In fact, he'd paid a whole group of people to watch and 'block' me from making any choices for myself. He was so good at manipulating my emotions and my memories that I'd never be sure whether any decision I made was truly mine.

It felt deceptively good at the moment, but I knew that this lovesick hormone induced haze would burn off eventually, probably in the bright light of hindsight, once I was married to someone infinitely more powerful and intelligent than me, who possessed me body and soul, who would handcuff me so that my spirit and will were no longer mine to direct, and never ever would be.

Though this spot felt very private, seconds later when the scopophobic sensation broke through my consciousness, I realized that we were actually perched upon what was a natural stage. I was certain that Phil and Elsie must be nearby, and that _he_ was watching me now—watching Gray have his way with me. And watching me let Gray do it, consciously, this time. I hated myself. I hated being manipulated and I hated being watched. I was done.

The self-disgust and anger translated into action as I abruptly pulled away from Gray's hold, stood up and moved to the place where I had come from, trying to get down. He didn't understand my motivations, but he understood my object, and gently pushed me aside.

"Let me go first, and then I'll help you down," he suggested, cautiously.

He knew he'd crossed the line and that an apology wouldn't undo the damage at the moment. I tried to hide the tears as I walked silently back up the path toward the main fire road in the direction of our campsite. The tissues were a good idea after all, and I quietly wiped my way through all of them. Gray walked by my side, kindly redirecting me with a hand but no words at several points when I started to head in the wrong direction. He knew I was aiming for the relative comfort and solitude of my place in Elsie's tent.

When we got back to camp we were alone. I headed for cover. He stopped me before I could unzip the door, holding my wrist.

"Can we talk about this?"

I shook my head. I couldn't talk at all...about anything.

"Ellie, honey, I've really upset you. I'm so sorry."

He was perfectly sincere.

"I'm sorry too," I whispered, tears surging.

Then I pulled my hand away, turned my back on him and escaped inside the tent, zipping the door behind me. I tried to be quiet, but I couldn't stop crying. I was too distraught for the normal censor of embarrassment to quiet me.

Walking back to camp, I'd made my mind up about what I was going to do next but I was having trouble psyching myself up for it. It was really going to hurt, if it worked, that is. The tears had more to do with the finality of my decision and its repercussions, as opposed to offense at Gray's faux pas joke, though that offense had sparked my new determination. I felt bad for him about that; he would not know there was a distinction.

About ten minutes later Elsie came inside. She was all concern.

"What's wrong Ellie?"

"My back is really sore...and...it hurts when I pee."

It wasn't exactly true, the way that saying 'my head is really sore, and it hurts when I think' would have been, but I was preparing to fly standby on my only ticket out of there.

She felt my forehead, checking for fever. All I needed to do was think about the handcuff remark, or one of any number of 'dreams' and a convincing fever simulation could be arranged.

"When did it start?"

"Yesterday, I guess. I don't know. I wasn't paying attention."

I was still weepy. That was good. It camouflaged my weak acting skills with some realism.

"I didn't think you were drinking enough. Damn. Well, I'd walk you out today but it's a little later than I'd like, and you'll be moving even slower than normal. The boys could take turns carrying you..."

"No!"

That was way too desperate sounding.

"No. Can we just go first thing in the morning?" I suggested.

I knew both men were listening intently to our conversation.

"Did you bring any aspirin?" I asked as pathetically as possible in a tone that was low but not too low.

"Yeah, but you need Advil. It'll help with the inflammation. Do you have your water bottle in here?"

I could hear movement outside the tent now. That would be Gray getting my water bottle out of my daypack that I'd dropped at the edge of camp.

"No," I said, very weakly.

"I'll be right back," she said reassuringly as she patted my hand before she turned to exit the tent.

She stepped outside to get my water and to inform my loved ones of her diagnosis and the recommended procedures.

"What's wrong?" demanded Phil, who sounded far more alarmed than he probably should have.

"She's got a U.T.I.," Elsie informed, and because someone's face must not have registered understanding, she elaborated, "Urinary Tract Infection. She probably hasn't been drinking enough water or she took one too many hot baths."

That was genius! I hadn't thought of that. Now Gray might actually think it was true instead of me just faking my way back to civilization because he'd hurt my feelings.

"What does that mean?" pressed Phil, who wasn't finished being overly concerned yet.

"Usually it means you feel like crap. It burns when you pee. You get muscle spasms in your bladder that hurt like the devil. Walking is uncomfortable. Fever is uncomfortable. It's serious. It can go into kidney failure if you don't catch it quickly enough. I have to get her to a doctor. She'll need to start antibiotics right away, and probably pain medication."

Elsie was doing a great job sounding just like a doctor...or someone who had experienced a U.T.I. And she was making it sound far more serious and urgent than it really was, especially considering it was a hoax.

# Chapter 35

Events were in unchangeable motion now. I thought I had overnight and most of the next day to make peace with my decision, to spend time with Elsie and say goodbye in a circuitous way to the two best things that had ever happened to me. What I had not anticipated was Gray's solution.

The Medevac Helicopter arrived about an hour and a half later and landed on the fire road in an open section about a quarter mile away from camp. They were all packed and ready to leave by that time, though now I felt truly ill, after watching them tear everything down with determined, business-like intensity, stealing deeply concerned glances my way, each in their turn.

I hoped there were no truly sick or hurt people having to wait their turn for aid while I ran from my problems using public emergency response equipment and resources. The intense guilt I felt over this aspect of the situation played just as realistically as true pain from a U.T.I. would have. What I hated most was the upset for everyone involved.

Elsie had turned into my mom, holding me like a sick child, patting my hair, massaging my back and speaking reassuringly to me. I knew that the other two wanted to be doing that, but had been overruled by the feminine nature of the tragedy.

We lifted off and were standing on the ground in Banff less than ten minutes later. I however, was immediately transferred to a gurney. A voice in my head kept reminding me that I'd done it to myself. Though the way things were playing out now definitely had Gregory written all over it.

All three of my companions stayed with me as I was transferred by ambulance to the medical center in town. I wondered whether the helicopter crew or the ambulance personnel knew they were transporting a U.T.I. victim, though it was likely that Gray's version had been something more like hiking induced kidney failure.

At my request, only Elsie accompanied me when the nurse saw me in my own little curtained off area of the ER. I had to give a urine sample, which was convincingly dark due to the fact that I hadn't peed since about seven that morning and it was close to four now. Color notwithstanding, I knew it would prove me a faitour _(imposter)_ in fairly short order, though pain of that nature could be symptomatic of other problems...

The nurse was very sweet to me, making me feel all the more guilty to take up her time when she should be seeing to real patients.

"If there's anything you or your daughter needs, just push this button right here," she said to my 'mom'.

Elsie gave me a look that was priceless—equal parts offense and gratification.

When the nurse stepped away I said, "Oh, don't worry about it Elsie. You can't really blame her because I look like I'm twelve and you look like you're thirty. It's plausible. Besides you'd be the coolest most awesome mom ever."

That seemed to mollify her creditably.

I noticed that there was a post-it note pad and pen next to the phone. I pointed to it and said, "Do you think I could have your e-mail and phone number so I can contact you some time? You're my new hero and I'd like to keep track of you...if you don't mind."

She wordlessly began writing the requested data and handed it to me. Though she didn't ask for it, I did the same for her. Then I scanned her information.

Pamela Elsinore?

"So 'Elsie' is short for Elsinore...like the beer?" I asked, a little incredulously.

It was a made up beer that featured heavily in a cult classic movie from the eighties.

"Now how do you know about _that_? Weren't you born in the nineties?"

She was amused.

"I love Strange Brew. It's a classic. It's one of my guilty pleasure movies. Sorry about your name, though. That had to be pretty inconvenient."

"Why would having the same name as a rich beer heiress be inconvenient?" she shot back, her eyebrows arched at full capacity.

"So at some point in the early eighties you switched from Pam to Elsie?" I surmised.

"You got it."

She seemed satisfied that I'd made the connection.

"Beauty," I pronounced.

It was a line from the movie. It expressed enthusiasm or satisfaction with a circumstance or statement.

I cradled her contact information between my palms and smiled big.

"What would you say to guiding a girl's trip sometime?"

Her return smile was enormous.

"Those are the very best kind. You're on, little girl. Just name the day and time!"

After close to an hour, the doctor came in with the lab results. He spoke to Elsie.

"She has a few more white blood cells in her urine than normal, but nothing too serious. It looks like we caught this on the upswing. I'm going to prescribe some Cipro and lots of water. She can even mix in some cranberry juice, if she'd like," he suggested. Pausing to look at the chart a moment he continued, "Give her some Ibuprofen for the pain, but that should clear up after her second or third dose of antibiotics. I'd keep her off the trail for a couple days, though."

"Thank you, Doctor," said Elsie, every bit as relieved as my own mother would have been.

It was nice, and it made me a little emotional.

Once the physician was gone she was back to rubbing my back and speaking reassuringly.

"Did you hear that? It's not too bad at all."

"Yeah, I heard that. They just airlifted me because I had a few extra white blood cells in my urine. I'm so embarrassed I might actually die anyway."

"Well that would be counter-productive to our intentions here, wouldn't it?" She laughed softly and continued, "Look, don't worry about it. You're not the one who asked for the helicopter, and you're not the one paying for it."

I knew she was dead right about that.

When we finally walked out into the waiting room, about two hours after arriving, the sight that greeted me caused another massive wave of guilt.

Ash was sitting in a chair listening to messages on his cell phone. Gray was standing in the corner with his dad! That meant that another helicopter had probably been commandeered to lift him off of whatever backcountry trail he'd been walking not two hours ago. It was beyond ridiculous.

When they saw me, they all rushed around us to hear Elsie's report. You'd think I was the lucky survivor of a bear attack instead of the victim of a slight imbalance of the naturally occurring bacteria in my urinary tract. They'd probably used the time in the waiting room to get themselves typed for organ donation, just in case those kidneys hadn't made it after all because the helicopter ride hadn't been quick enough.

The sweet and sincere and anxious concern that was obvious on both Dan and Gray's faces, and really this whole situation, was a very clear reflection of what life would probably always be like for me as a Gregory. If that's the path I chose, I'd be one of the best loved and kept, most lavishly cared for princesses in the history of spoiled people.

I looked at Ash. He seemed to be drawing those same conclusions as he gazed at the Gregorys before he felt my look and returned it.

Dan and Gray were listening to Elsie as she related the anecdotal details of another health crisis she'd averted with a previous unfortunate soul the month before.

With my back to the group, I stepped out of their circle toward the pretend Kiwi.

"That was quite a scare, Miss. But you'll be feeling better in a hurry, yes?" he asked.

I loved 'Phil's' Auckland accent.

"Are you going back to New Zealand now or will you be staying in Canada for a while?"

My voice was a little shaky as I asked this.

"I don't head back for a few weeks. I'm just playing it by ear."

There was a sad smile to go along with that last part as his eyes plumbed the depths of my soul. I wondered what he was making of all this.

"Well, it's been a pleasure. I'm sorry for messing things up for you."

He would never know how true those words were. And then I reached up to give him a hug. I quickly whispered "I'll catch up with you later. I love you."

And that was the best I could give him, for now. He nodded at me, his expression completely empty and unreadable. Then he turned and walked away. I didn't know if I'd ever see him again, but I knew I was going to break his heart in a few short hours and it was killing me.

Elsie pointed to my hand with the post-it note and said, "All right little girl. So you know what to do with that then?"

"I'm going to use it."

I was perfectly sincere.

"Okay honey. You take care. Call me and let me know how you're doing. Phil and I have to go figure out what we're going to do about our cars."

She hugged me and then she too turned and walked away. Another person I probably wouldn't be seeing for a very long time, if ever again.

Gray stepped over into the spot where Ash had been standing. Then he put his arm around me, holding me securely at the waist, just like before.

"Let's get you back to the hotel so you can get some rest."

He loaded me into the back of a large Mercedes sedan which was waiting by the door, going around to the other side to get into the back seat with me, while his dad got in the driver's seat and chauffeured us back to the hotel. I scooted closer to Gray and leaned against his chest. As his arm gently wound around me, I settled deeper into his side, and he kissed the top of my head. I felt loved and warm and secure. It was absolutely wonderful. I closed my eyes and wished this time out from my escape plan would never end.

# Chapter 36

I wanted my last moments with Gray to be peaceful and pleasant. So I pretended like there had never been any course altering upset between us. It was easy to play sick. I felt that way. Tears were poised to break out any second, lending credibility to the pain I was supposed to be having.

He was so sweet and solicitous that I nearly aborted my plan. It was unbelievably pleasant to have someone so smart and handsome and amazing waiting on me hand and foot like a slave—a very enamored slave. I was an easy mistress. I only required that he keep my water glass full and cold and that he rub my feet. The later assignment was more for his benefit than my own, but I made the best of it. Besides, it gave him something useful to do.

Depending on the answer to my question for the lady at the front desk, I'd be leaving in a few minutes or tomorrow sometime. I sent Gray on an errand down the hall to see if there was any cranberry juice in the vending machine. Once he was gone I made the call.

"Hi. If I needed to ship a box home when would that go out?"

"The mail is picked up at noon. UPS picks up at ten and Fed-Ex at nine. You can bring your package to the business center located just off the lobby, or request a bellman to pick it up."

"Okay. Thank you."

Gray was incredibly fast. He was walking back in the door just as I'd put down the receiver. He had a bottle of cranberry juice for me, which I now had to drink, even though I hated that stuff. I scheduled two bathroom breaks around the rapid bursts of consumption (by the toilet) of what I considered to be the bitterest of widely available red colored fruit juices—though I would have consumed it gladly if my illness were real.

So according to the front desk lady, I had until about ten tomorrow morning. That was good. It was a relief not to rush. Being cared for like this by Gray for a few more hours wouldn't kill me. It could make me change my mind, though, and in the end that might be worse.

I knew I was giving him the wrong impression and being horribly selfish at the same time. But I wanted to see him happy, and he was definitely that.

I let him rub my feet for about an hour while we watched a talk show. The host was one of my very favorite celebrities, but his sidekick, Andy, was even higher up on my list of people I loved. When Gray pressed for more I explained that it had to do with understatement, and the fact that, in my opinion, Andy had the best off screen laugh I'd ever heard. Kind of like a soloist in front of the choir that was the studio audience.

Just like always, Gray was amused by my strange preferences and the reasoning behind them. He never seemed to tire of squeezing my feet and toes and I wondered exactly how long he would have kept at it if I hadn't pulled away to go to the bathroom. While I was in there, the room service food came, so I just hung out until they were gone, since I had my pajamas on by that point.

Gray ordered a grilled chicken sandwich and I had grilled cheese. He'd laughed at me when I asked for that, but I explained that it was my idea of comfort food. Interestingly, my platter came with a juice box and smiley face potatoes. This was a great source of amusement to him as he pulled off the lids and examined the differences in the plate presentations of our meals. And like the thoughtful and overly indulgent lover he was, he'd had another Paul Bunyan style Chocolate Cake dessert sent up, especially for me. He didn't fight fair at all.

After dinner he brought out the really big guns.

"Ellie, can I brush your hair?"

I wasn't sure how I felt about that. I knew feeling that good and relaxed around him was a calculated risk—any form of sedation in his presence would be. But I was certain he already had whatever he was planning for me all calculated out to perfection anyway, and given my pretend medical condition, the danger seemed remote.

So I agreed. Peaceful and pleasant. Why not?

It was different having a man I loved brush my hair. It was extremely sensual and at the same time very relaxing. I was sitting on the floor in front of the couch and he sat behind me on the cushions, brushing through my still fairly damp hair—I hadn't bothered drying it after a long shower. So the brushing felt good, but it wasn't as smooth as it would have been with soft dry hair.

After a while I suggested that he just rub my head instead, an idea that was received with great enthusiasm as he drew me closer to facilitate my request. I lay stretched out on the couch, with my back to him and my head resting on his chest, while his hands moved through my hair and along my scalp, down my neck and out across my shoulders. It was the most relaxing and enjoyable thing I'd ever experienced.

This is how it could be. What's wrong with this? Peaceful and pleasant.

I drifted off to sleep uncertain of who I was or what I wanted.

My peaceful passage into nighttime sleep smoothly transitioned into peaceful dreams. One dream was a recurring vision, or really a memory, because it was like watching a movie of something that really happened. I always enjoyed this dream, though I was sure I hadn't had this one since before Grandpa had passed away.

I was ten years old again. I was with my dad on a date at Applebee's. Being on a date had led into a discussion about the future and about my getting married someday.

Dad said, "Being single is like being the captain of our own plane. You can fly anywhere you like. And that's great, especially if you enjoy being in charge and doing whatever you want. But if you fall in love and decide to get married someday, you'd better make sure the man you marry is good enough to be a captain. Because just like in a real jet, you can only have one captain and one co-pilot, and if they argue about where they're going or how to fly, what can happen?"

"They could crash?"

"That's right. I want you to be happy and get where you're going without any crashes in your life. So make sure you choose a good captain, one you can trust with the direction of your life and someone who'll always treat you like a partner. Will you promise to do that?"

"I promise. I'm going to find someone just like you, Dad." I announced in perfect sincerity.

He liked that. It was one of the last heart to heart conversations we ever had.

It was a mental love letter from my dad, playing in my mind precisely when I needed to see and hear it. Even in my sleep I was working out what I needed to do and why it was so important.

When I awoke it was to that scopophobic sensation. I opened one eye and then the other. Gray was sitting on the edge of the bed next to me. He laughed softly and greeted me with a wonderful warm smile.

I love you, I thought to myself. Too bad I'm leaving today.

Then I sat up straight, slightly alarmed because it looked very well into daytime time outside the window. I turned to look at the clock.

Five after nine. Shoot!

Gray watched all of this play out and asked, "Are you going to be late for an appointment?"

Yes, as a matter of fact.

"I need to get up," I said in a crackly first voice of the day, heading into the bathroom.

After splashing and drying my face, I tied my hair back in a ponytail and put on some blush for color in my cheeks, a few quick swipes of _waterproof_ mascara and a stroke of lip gloss. I had things staged for departure under the counter. Inside my daypack, which was a decent size, I'd placed couple of fresh, tightly rolled outfits and undergarments. Also stuffed inside were my toiletry bag and a few of the Lush bath bombs I hadn't gotten to yet. My wallet and passport and cell phone were jammed in outside pouches. The memory card—holding digital copies of my memories—from the new camera was securely wrapped in Ziplocs and tucked in an inner compartment. For good measure I pulled out a huge wad of tissues and shoved them down inside an open pouch as well. On top was the blue ball cap with the Kahurangi National Park Logo given to me by a pretend Kiwi. I zipped the daypack shut and walked out.

Gray looked up from the TV as I stepped back into the room. Appraising my fully dressed and shoed appearance, he said, "Ellie, maybe you should take it easy today. We can have some breakfast sent up and just...hang out this morning. I think you need a little more time to recuperate."

His tone was very persuasive. I sighed in response.

"I don't want to sit around here, Gray. I'll just end up thinking more about it, and that will make me feel worse. I think I need to get away...for awhile."

Every word was true, but it had nothing to do with having a U.T.I. I continued with my plan.

"So there was a music box in the gift shop that I saw the other day. I was thinking it might make a nice present for my mom. I want to go down and see if it's still there, and then see if I can get it shipped to her today."

He was waiting for me on my couch, long since dressed and ready to go.

"Okay. I figured as much. We have plans with Dad at ten. That should give you enough time. Are you ready to go now?"

Forever? I don't know. I thought so last night, but now that I'm here about to go through with it...

"Yes. I'm ready."

I could feel the emotion swelling. I bit back on it. I was already at the door and Gray turned off the TV as he crossed the room to where I was. I was blocking the way deciding on the precise wording of my farewell speech. He looked at me, waiting for me to say whatever it was I was thinking. I breathed deep and said, "Thank you so much, for everything. You've been so good to me, much better than I deserve."

The emotion was seeping through.

He looked a little concerned as he put his hands on my shoulders.

"Of course. It's my pleasure. Being good to you is the best part of my life. And you're the most deserving creature imaginable."

I bet you won't feel that way in an hour from now...

"I wish that was true. Maybe someday you'll find the perfect girl for you."

I had to have the courage to look him in the eyes. He deserved that much. He was still a little unsure about where I was coming from or going to with this, but he joked and said, "Well, until then, you'll do nicely."

And he kissed me. It was soft and sweet and heartbreakingly romantic.

"Until then," I agreed with a smile, after he'd released me, eyes moist but not leaking. Then I opened the door and stepped out into the hallway.

# Chapter 37

The gift shop was deserted except for the clerk. She rang out my gilded music box with a ceramic maple leaf painted in high gloss red on top. She was gone in the storeroom for a minute or two to find the box that came with it. I used the time to wind it slightly and listen to a few notes of 'Oh Canada!' while I waited.

Looking triumphant, she returned with the gift's original packaging and lovingly re-secured it in preparation for shipment with the movements of an expert. Handing me my packaged up purchase with a look of satisfaction she smiled and bid me good day. I began to walk out of the store, but an idea had just sparked, so I turned back and asked, "Oh, and can I get the largest bag you have?"

She looked at me like I was crazy but complied wordlessly. I thanked her once again and stood there for a moment folding it down to maximum compaction, stowing it inside my daypack.

Gray was sitting down just outside in the lobby, reading the sports section of a USA Today. I moved toward him.

"Why did you bring your daypack down here?" he asked as he looked up to view my approach. If he searched it I would be dead in the water.

"It makes a nice purse," I answered and then pressed on to the next item on the agenda. Holding up the music box I said, "I'm going over to the business center to see about having this shipped. It shouldn't take long. I'll be right back."

"That's fine. You've got about ten minutes still."

He looked back at the article I'd interrupted and began reading again.

In the business center the young man was very helpful and re-packaged my music box in a slightly larger box with foam peanuts to make it more secure. I filled out the paper work and the UPS label and paid the shipping charges. But instead of handing over my box I said, "Now, I'm wondering if I could ask a favor. I'd like to talk the UPS person myself when he gets here. It's sort of confidential, but very important to me. Could that be arranged?"

He looked totally bewildered but was still pleasant and said, "Certainly."

"Good. Here's my cell phone number. Please call me when he's ready to leave and I'll come right over. I'm just going to be next door in the restaurant. I'd like to be able to talk to him in private, so would you have him wait for me back there?" And I indicated the service area behind him. "I know it's kind of unusual, but it's really important."

"Okay. He should be here any time now. I'll call you before he goes. And you'll bring that?" he said, pointing to my box.

"Yes. Thanks so much."

Dan Gregory had arrived slightly early and now father and son were coming toward me, checking on my progress in the exportation of Canadian souvenirs.

Dan scooped me up in a big, decidedly fatherly hug, complete with back rubbing.

"You look lovely, but how are you feeling this morning, Ellie?"

He was all gentlemanly and sincere concern.

"I'll live."

It was supposed to be a joke, but it was a little off. They still laughed indulgently.

It was nice that his dad was here with him. At least he wouldn't be alone; although once Gray figured out what I'd done he might prefer to be.

I had the cell phone in my pocket, so that I would be sure to feel the vibration of an incoming call. We ordered our breakfast and I messed with my tea, somewhat absentmindedly, while the Gregorys discussed the previous evening's baseball highlights. Apparently they'd watched about an hour and a half of one game live in the ER waiting room.

I checked my phone to make sure I hadn't missed the buzz, but there were no calls. It was quarter after ten. He must be running behind. Oh well, it would be nice to eat breakfast first.

And I did. Scrambled eggs with cheese, four slices of thick bacon, a slice of white toast and a huge glass of fresh squeezed orange juice that cost more than my breakfast entrée.

At ten forty-five my phone buzzed. I held it up so that Gray could see I was getting a call.

"Oh, I need to take this. Please excuse me."

I put the phone up to my ear, but in a distracted manner I said to Dan, "If I don't see you again, thank you so much, for everything."

Hopefully he'd think that I was assuming he might be taking off soon, instead of the other way around.

"Hello?"

"Ms. Mayne? The UPS man is here and he's ready to leave."

"I'm on my way."

When I approached the business center I walked right around to the opening at the counter and the clerk showed me through the door and out to the dock area. Then he stepped back into the office to give me some privacy with the handsome and muscular and very curious man in the brown uniform.

"Good day. So...what can Brown do for you?"

It sounded off the cuff and I laughed. He was alluding to the company slogan. I had a brown tee shirt that asked that very question. It had been sort of a lame re-gift from Hoyt when they'd first rolled out the slogan. It was lame, but it didn't deter me. I wore the shirt constantly.

I looked over my shoulder and feigned concern, though it was rooted in realism.

"I need _help_ ," I said in a low tone. "I'm trying to run away from my boyfriend and I want to ride with you out of here."

He was instantly concerned, taking me very seriously.

"Why don't you just call hotel security, or the police?"

"No," I shook my head and then added, "let me show you something."

Opening my wallet, which I had ready, I pulled out a brown business card. Pointing to the name printed in gold I explained, "That's my dad. If you can get me to your branch, he can get me out of here. I'll catch the first jump seat back to Louisville, where I live. _Please_."

Hoyt would like it that I'd called him my dad.

He did some quick deciding and then eyeing the UPS label on the top of my box asked, "Is that going too?"

"Yes."

He took it from my hands, nodding big in an exaggerated movement.

"Okay. We're on camera here. You'll need to step out the front of the hotel and walk down the entranceway. Turn right on the main street and I'll pull up from behind. You can jump in the passenger side and then we'll be on our way."

He seemed excited. I definitely was. This was going to work. I could feel it.

"Okay. I'll see you outside. I'll be the one in the blue cap," I said.

He headed off to his truck with my parcel and I went back inside to the business center. I thanked the clerk and walked back across the lobby stepping inside the Ladies' Room. Securing the handicapped stall door, I quickly switched into the brown tee shirt I wore constantly, the lame one, pushing the old one back in my pack. Then I tucked my hair under my blue Kahurangi cap, placed my pack inside the large gift shop bag and proceeded through the lobby and out the front entrance.

In a calm but quick pace I made my way out of the parking lot and down the drive until I had reached the main drag. Turning to the right I started walking on the sidewalk, away from town. I'd made it about a half a block when I heard the sound of a truck engine in the distance behind me. I didn't turn around or slow down—I just moved closer to the curb continuing onward until it pulled up beside me.

As I walked down the sidewalk, it felt absolutely surreal, this notion that here I was taking a stroll down a beautiful flower lined avenue on a pleasant sunny morning in a town overshadowed by a huge and majestic finger of the Rocky Mountains, knowing that in a second or two I'd be hopping on a UPS truck as a getaway vehicle.

There was a steady flow traffic going by, but I heard the deep engine sound of a large, diesel powered vehicle downshifting as it slowed behind me.

At exactly that moment someone grabbed my hand and swung me around.

"What are you doing?"

Ash's eyes were dark, angry almost.

"Taking a walk?"

It came out like a question. I glanced fleetingly over his shoulder to confirm the approach of my brown transport, now rolling more slowly, unsure of the maneuver now that I had been approached by a third party, who had not been anticipated by either of us.

Why did I think I could get away with this?

"Are you running away?" he demanded, not letting go of my hand. The anger I thought I was seeing became more clearly evident as pain, only tinged with anger.

"No. I'm just walking..."

Away. He's not stupid—he's not going to buy it.

I tried to sound innocent, but I was busted, and we both knew it. The UPS truck reached me now, pulling to stop as Ash looked over at it, confused. I glanced at the driver and flicked my eyes and chin forward, as if to indicate 'leave now, but come back in a minute.' He seemed to get it and drove off.

"What's going on? Were you planning on hitching a ride with the UPS guy? Is that why you were talking to him before?"

Oh, of course he caught that. Why did I think this would work?

"What are you talking about?" I asked, digging deep for as much dumbfounded uncertainty as I could channel. After all, faking stupidity shouldn't be too hard for me.

He just looked at me, those piercing eyes cutting through all my nonsense.

"Ellery, would you really try to leave without telling me?"

He was hurt. His warm thumbs were rubbing tiny soft circles into the top of my hand that was still in captivity.

Yes. I'm just that ridiculous—especially for thinking I could get away with it. The truth then. Just give him the truth.

"I just need some space and a little time, okay? Please don't take that away from me. Just let me take my walk before somebody sees you. Don't worry. I'll be fine. What I need most right now is for you to trust me."

He let go of my hand.

"What are you doing? I don't understand," he pressed.

I knew you wouldn't, that's why I planned on asking for forgiveness as opposed to permission.

"I'm walking away from Gray. And the less you know the better," I said, looking back toward the hotel.

Taking a deep breath, I held it, and then started again.

"I'm going away for awhile, but when I come back, you're the one I'll be looking for, so don't be too hard to find, okay?"

I turned around like that was it, and started walking again. That wasn't it, though. He grabbed my wrist again, tighter this time.

"Ellery, no! Please Love, just listen to me. If you want to get away then let me take you. I can help you. I'll hide you better than you can hide yourself. I'll keep you safe, and we'll be together."

It was the most desperate and out of control state I had ever witnessed in Ash. It was also the most direct and nearly impossible to decline plea he'd ever made. It almost broke my resolve. It sounded like a great plan—way better than mine. I could feel my body starting to slide into him as I fought with myself. After all it was exactly what I wanted...right?

"I'll marry you, if that's what you want," he offered, then sensing my reservation he continued, "or not. I'll still take you anywhere you want to go. Please. Please Ellery. I'm begging you. Just please don't leave like this. Please don't leave without _me_."

His eyes were red around the edges, and wet looking. They held my own eyes in a beam that I couldn't escape. Through an act of sheer will I closed my eyes and experienced immediate release. I opened them up again but kept them carefully downcast and out of locking range.

It was perfectly sunny but a huge drop fell from the sky at my feet, where I was now looking. And then another.

Ash's fingers were on my face, wiping my tears.

Tears? I reached up as well, and sure enough, my eyes were draining in torrents.

I laughed, feeling embarrassed. I had promised myself I wasn't going to cry. That was what yesterday had been for—to get it all out of my system.

"Was it my shirt?" I asked, diverting myself and him, hopefully.

"What?"

He was confused.

"My shirt. My old brown UPS shirt. Did you recognize my shirt?" I asked.

"Yes, but I was expecting something to happen when you went to the Ladies' Room given your history with quick changeovers there."

I took a chance and looked at him. He smiled, but it was sad and tentative, not humorous, but not piercing, either.

"Darn it." I sniffed and laughed in quick succession. "I knew I shouldn't have given that part away."

I wiped my eyes with the front edge of my tee shirt. Clarity returned, along with my sense of purpose. This was going to work out. I was going to do this the right way. I was not going to give in to temptation. I was going to be strong. I was ready now. But it already hurt. I took a big breath and spoke in a rush.

"You have to let me do this. It's not about turning my back on you, Ash. I just need to prove some things to myself, to test myself. If you're there making it easy, doing everything for me, I won't get the answers I really need. I have to prove I can make it on my own for a while. I have to see what it's like to make my own decisions with no safety net to bounce into. I just...I need to grow up."

I paused to gather courage for the hard part that was coming up next. He was scanning my face, searching for the chink in my resolve. Or maybe he was agreeing with me. There was no way to tell. I pressed on.

"Monica, and Gray....and the team, and...even you...all of you make too many decisions for me that I should be making for myself. I don't want to be a puppet any more. And I don't want you to marry one—you deserve better than that. I have to learn how to pull my own strings. Starting now," I said, imploring him with my eyes.

He dropped my hand again. With my fingers free I slipped the aquamarine off and handed it to him. He sucked in a quiet breath, no doubt in surprise at this unexpected, totally callous move. I noticed his free hand immediately moved to cover his wrist, perhaps in defensive anticipation of some kind of mandatory accessory exchange on my part.

"I need you to have this reset...if you ever want to use it again...on me or somebody else," I explained.

His eyes looked through me and far away, maybe to the future, maybe to the past, but he wasn't there with me anymore.

It was selfish and wrong, but I moved in and hugged him as tight as I could. He didn't hug me back. Then I reached up and pulled his face down close to mine, staring into his eyes until he came back from where ever he'd been. Peering deep into my eyes, his possessed a look of loss and deep sorrow that seemed to change their very color, making them darker than I'd ever seen them before.

I decided I needed something I could refer back to, something that would make this terrible moment slightly sweet, and bearable, since I knew my mind would keep coming back to it, without my permission. So I kissed him, not hard, just passionately, with as much emotion and need and love as I could transfer, feeling his warm skin on my hands where I held him just behind his ears where his neck and hairline met. I pushed my fingers in, just slightly, feeling his soft hair as it brushed in between and over my fingertips. I felt, and smelled, and tasted, and listened to him, but I didn't look. I just imagined happiness instead. I knew I wouldn't want to remember the look on his face at this moment. I would just imagine his look when we did this again...when I was coming and not going...whenever that would be. Then I moved my lips to his ear.

"I love you, Ash. Only you. Never doubt it. But...you, uh...you don't have to wait for me, if you don't want to. I'll understand."

I could barely get that last part out.

"Yes, I do, Ellery. Take what time you need—and don't feel bad about it. I'll be waiting for you, patiently. Waiting for my woman to come back to me...I promise you," he said, and he put the ring in his pocket.

I couldn't stand to look in his eyes. I turned quickly, free now, and started walking again. A little faster than before, halfway hoping to be grabbed again, but relieved more and more as it appeared he truly was honoring me by honoring my request.

After a minute I heard that low engine sound coming up from behind. I turned around and Ash was gone.

Amazing!

Up pulled the truck, stopping for me this time, and then I was on my way.

"How many more stops do you have, Doug?" I asked as I put on my seatbelt.

I had seen his UPS identification on the dash.

"Just a few. Is everything all right? You can hide out in the back if you want," he suggested, no doubt in response to the delay we'd experienced on his first approach.

"It's fine. That was somebody I met when we were hiking this week. He just happened to see me and wanted to say hello."

I tried to be cool about it, instead of flipped out. I don't think I succeeded, but he was polite anyway and didn't press it.

"Do you have another hat? I could pretend to be a ride-with, like a new hire or something," I asked after a moment of silent appraisal on his part while we waited at a traffic light.

He smiled big as he took in my change of apparel.

"You've really thought this through."

He reached into a compartment in the dash and pulled out hat and a clipboard, all without looking.

"Now you're official," he pronounced.

It felt that way.

We made six more stops. They were quick and took us further away from Banff until we were finished and on our way back to Calgary. After a number of miles had rolled by in companionable silence heading east on the Trans Canada Highway, he asked, "So what kind of idiot is this boyfriend of yours, chasing a girl like you away?"

It was a logical question, but it stung me anyway. I'd been working hard to think about what was ahead, and not what was behind me now.

"Oh, he's very smart—just a little too controlling. I know he loves me, but I also know that I can't live in chains...even if they're gold. He's got some pretty heavy connections so I had to find a way to travel off the grid. Thank you, I really appreciate this."

I was staring out the windshield while I spoke, imagining Gray and Dan and everyone else scrambling in a panic over me...right now. And imagining Ash pretending to do that. It nearly derailed me, but I was thankful he'd caught me the way he did. Telling him not to doubt me would have been less convincing by some electronic mode of communication, especially with the separation I was planning for us. I wondered about the fallout, though. I hoped no one would get fired. Probably they wouldn't. Gray would need them to track me down, once they realized I didn't end up in Louisville, and that my folks didn't actually know my whereabouts either. It would be a very bad time to recruit a new team, especially one that didn't know me at all.

"This is the best thing that's happened to me since I started. Maybe I'll get a promotion for good deeds done on the job," Doug said, breaking through my reverie.

He was kidding but Hoyt could probably pull some strings...

"You might," I agreed. "Listen, when they will find you they'll make it sound like something terrible will happen if you don't spill. But you have to pretend like this never happened—zero residual presence. Okay?"

"I'll disavow all knowledge of you, your boyfriend and your chains."

He was a Mission Impossible fan as well. I laughed at his joke.

"If you can't do that, then just tell them the truth; that I pulled some strings with my dad and you helped me out. I was upset and I wanted to go home. You might as well just start with that. It's the truth. It'll go over better, and that way they might not kill you."

I let that hang out there just to make it exciting for him, and to incent him to take the honest route from the get go.

From the time I set foot in the truck to the moment we pulled into base, a period of about two and half hours had elapsed. There was a chance that the security team would already be on hand to collect me, but I decided not to stress over what I couldn't control. The timing would be close, but I had enough of a head start to make it to Calgary before they did...I hoped.

During quiet time on the highway, where I pretended to be catching up on some rest, I tried to think through my reasons for running away like this. I had no gift for strategy. This was me taking Elsie's advice.

I was not just skipping out on Gray, but also Monica and Ash; but for very different reasons in each case.

Poor Gray. I knew he loved me very much, or at least he thought he did. But he'd cut himself out of contention when he decided we were engaged without a solid yes from me. The handcuff remark was my wakeup call, but the ax fell that day we met with Elsie in the hotel room, discussing sleeping arrangements.

He'd asked for forgiveness on that, which I had granted, but it didn't change how things had always been between us. He was in total control, and when I didn't like a decision he would tease, or distract, or romance me into submission, instead of just asking me first, or listening to my opinions, or accepting no for an answer, even once. I couldn't be happy in that kind of relationship—I doubted anyone could be. He had been sexy and sweet and solicitous, but he simply wasn't my soul mate. I didn't have the heart or the guts to tell him that to his face; so here I was skittering away like a rat, hoping my absence would make my point clear for me.

Then there was poor Monica. One of the reasons I could be patient and not rebellious in my relationship with my mom was that I understood where she was coming from. But more importantly, I understood that it wasn't a permanent situation. Anticipating the freedom of my approaching adulthood had reduced the temporary irritation and resentment of over-parenting from which I occasionally suffered at her hands. She would not take this decision I'd made very well at all. Thank goodness she couldn't send people with guns and helicopters after me too.

And poorest of all was my dear sweet soul mate, Ash. I never anticipated falling in love with someone like him, and then being so strongly tempted to forfeit a normal, self-directed rite of passage into womanhood with all the associated features and benefits of autonomy I had been so eagerly awaiting.

But I had to be realistic about my hopes, especially those I had entertained before I ever fell in love. If I willingly transferred custody of life from Monica to Ash, did I truly believe that I could escape the fallout of selling my freedom out from under myself? Especially when anticipating that freedom had kept the bitter resentment at bay? I couldn't bear the thought of experiencing the same longing to be free and alone and unanswerable to Ash that I felt with my mother. It would poison our love someday—quite possibly sooner than later.

With my heart now anchored to the idea of love and happiness with Ash, could I find the strength and faith to fly away, taking my own helm for a private flight, and then return more confident and qualified to enter the port of marriage?

Why couldn't we just be engaged and date and have fun together while I lived free and on my own for a while somewhere around Louisville or wherever I decided to go for school? Wouldn't that be a workable alternative?

I had to admit that the answer was no. I already depended upon him too much. Not that such dependence was a bad thing, not at all. I knew in my heart that Ash was that captain I promised to find for myself. But we weren't perfect people. Someday we would have problems in our relationship like everybody else. Having faith in his ability to direct my life required that I try my hand at it first. My respect for his role as captain needed the right foundation: personal experience as a captain myself. If I didn't get the opportunity to run my own life and make my own good (or bad) decisions, when things got difficult in our marriage, I might question my decision to marry him in the first place, and that would be unacceptable.

Elsie was right. Experiencing this true freedom and self-reliance required a clean break, not permanent, but complete for its duration. I needed space to make decisions for myself and set my own headings. If we were together, every move I made would tie back to him, and to us. I would be more like a balloon on a tether than a bird on the wing. Someday I would regret it if I settled for floating when I had the chance to fly.

Of my three victims, Ash was the one who willingly let me go. I knew I would never get that from Monica or Gray. That truth helped me assure myself that I was right—he was the one for me and I was on the correct course to be the best I could be for him.

Back at the UPS hub in Calgary I used the location manager's office phone to call Hoyt at his desk. It was early afternoon and he'd be back from lunch by now.

"Hoyt? It's me. Something's happened. Everything's fine, but I need help. I was wondering if you could help me make arrangements to hitch a ride out of Calgary."

In vague terms I explained that some unexpected business had called the Gregorys away, but that I didn't want to come home while I was still supposed to be on vacation and enjoying a measure of freedom. Instead of returning home I asked if he could help me get myself to where Samantha was going for part of the summer. I explained that I didn't want to stress Mom out unnecessarily with news of another jet ride and that I'd just tell her about my change of plans and location once I arrived at my next stop. He promised to handle things confidentially and calmly agreed to make all the arrangements I asked for, as long as I promised to check in with him at regular, pre-determined intervals. Everyone should have a Hoyt in their life. I was so very glad that I did, and never more than at that moment.

Much later that evening I had dinner with an out of uniform Doug Thomas and his wife Kim at a local pizza place instead of their home because there was every chance that someone from the team, or Gray himself, might already be there with a net and tranquilizers.

Thankfully, I avoided predation, and they returned me to the UPS hub without incident, where I boarded a brown cargo plane bound for Louisville. Sitting in the jump seat _(the no-frills extra passenger seat on a cargo plane)_ , the flight crew dutifully followed directions by not engaging me...at all, as though I were just another package bound for the sorting facility. Loads out of Calgary were routed through the main hub in Kentucky. I had to go home first whether I wanted to or not.

In the very early hours of the morning I boarded another UPS plane at Louisville International that was headed for Los Angeles. Being so close, and knowing how very far away I was going next, there was a huge temptation to go home first and say proper goodbyes, holding the people who loved me just one more time. But it would ruin all my plans, and anyway, we'd already said extended goodbyes last week. That would have to be enough. It wasn't forever, after all. It would only feel like it.

After four hours in the air and then another two on the ground refueling and switching out loads in L.A., the same big brown plane took to the sky again, carrying me to the place that was going to be my safe house for a while. I had even been accepted at a college there, though I had not been the one to apply, and it certainly wasn't for an Earth Sciences education.

This destination held the promise of freedom to live on my own, make decisions for myself, grow up a little and really think about what was important and best for me. And do it without manipulation or guilt...and absolutely no spotlights.

After I'd checked all of those things off my to-do list, I'd have a special event to arrange. I only hoped that when that time came, the names on the guest list matched the names of the people who still loved me.

# Epilogue

Grayson Gregory

I had waited two very long years for this girl. The sad thing was that I did it to myself. The decision to wait was my choice, not hers. Dad was right and I was wrong; I shouldn't have waited.

I was thinking that my time with Ellie in Canada would be like a dream come true—not a nightmare. Now I desperately wished it was a nightmare from which I could awake and escape.

First I found out that she was secretly engaged to a guy who knew how to hide their relationship from her security team. After some serious hoop-jumping, I finally got her to at least consider her options and the idea that being a Gregory might be a better one for her. But then I nearly blew it by making a stupid comment that upset her so badly she actually faked an illness to get away from me. To my surprise she seemed to change her mind on the way back from the hospital and it felt like the resistance was finally gone. But the next morning she walked away at breakfast and disappeared into thin air.

It would have been hard enough to deal with it on my own. But I also had my dad and horde of security people gathered to consult and debate about the next steps to take in my personal disaster.

But the real kicker was that I found myself sitting across the table from the guy who had ruined everything for me and I had to play it cool and pretend that I didn't want to strangle him with my bare hands. Of course that would be very satisfying, but then I'd never find my Ellie. I was absolutely certain he knew her exact location because along with a boatload of con artist gold digging propaganda that messed with her sweet and trusting little heart, he'd also given her a fancy locket with his picture and a GPS chip embedded in the frame. So I would just have to be patient and smarter than him this time as I worked through this nightmare with a 'To Do' list:

— Find and marry Ellie Mayne

— Make Ash Ryan pay double in damages

— Stop dreaming and start living happily ever after with a girl who was worth the wait

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# An Author's Request

Did you enjoy _Mayne Attraction: In The Spotlight?_ If so I would deeply appreciate your support by leaving a brief review on the site of your preference. Your e-reader may even have a rating link after this page. Ratings, reviews and comments are worth their weight in gold (or bixbite) to authors, and I would be thrilled to hear your feedback. Thanks so much for your kindness! I hope you are looking forward to reading a new perspective in this series' next installment: _Mayne Attraction: In The Smoke!_

Ann Mauren

#  Coming Attractions

### Barefoot Heroine

A Mayne Attraction Short

Former CIA agent Ash Ryan has finally found a stress-free dream job. But his life turns bitterly painful when he falls desperately in love with Ellery Mayne, the entrancing but clueless subject of his company's security contract. This excerpt from the Mayne Attraction series reveals the secret life of Ellery as seen through the eyes of a man who adores her but believes he will never get to meet her.

Available Now at Smashwords.com

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### Coming Soon

Book 2 of the Mayne Attraction Series:

In The Smoke

Book Two of the Mayne Attraction Series, "In The Smoke," continues the story from Grayson Gregory's point of view. Pushed by his father to pursue Dr. Mayne's very young granddaughter, he unwittingly breaks her heart, though all he meant to do was give her time to grow up. When the multi-million dollar company he's poised to inherit is threatened with a hostile takeover, it becomes clear that his interest in Ellery runs deeper than purely romantic attraction, and he battles with himself and his father to balance the line between love, livelihood, family and fortune.

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### Coming Soon

Book 3 of the Mayne Attraction Series:

In The Shadow

Book Three of the Mayne Attraction Series, "In The Shadow," presents the exciting conclusion of the trilogy with a narrative from Ash Ryan, a security specialist enjoying the best paying, easiest job of his career. His life turns bitterly painful, though, when he falls desperately in love with Ellery Mayne—the beautiful subject of his secret surveillance assignment. His anguish turns to joy when she unexpectedly reaches out to him. But then another suitor with a previous claim on her affections appears, and Ash must choose between loyalty to his colleagues and fighting for the girl of his dreams.

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### Feeling Attracted?

If you would like to be notified when the newest books in this series are released, please visit www.MayneAttraction.com and register for "Mayne Attraction Updates." While you are there be sure to check out excerpts from all three novels, bonus material, and experience the sights and sounds of Mayne Attraction.

www.MayneAttraction.com

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### Mayne Attraction: In The Spotlight

### By Ann Mauren

Smashwords Edition

Published by Ann Mauren Media

Copyright © 2010 by Ann Mauren

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

To learn more about the Mayne Attraction Series and its author, visit www.MayneAttraction.com

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