Author’s Note: There’s a brief – very brief – moment of passion, but if you read quickly, it’ll be over before you know it. J

Chapter 11

Saturday, June 3

Brian cleared his throat and adjusted the small bouquet of flowers and the box of her favorite chocolates in one hand, then rang the doorbell with the other. He heard a muffled "Just a minute!" and took a step back from the door, trying to appear more casual.

He heard the bolt slide, the knob turn and then the hinges squeak as the door swung open. She stood there, in a long skirt and bare feet, her hair hanging loose about her shoulders and her lips curving in welcome. "Took you long enough," she said huskily.

Brian handed her the flowers and candy. "Sorry. There was traffic."

"That’s not quite what I meant," she said, accepting the offering. She stepped back from the door. "Come on in. I’ll put these in water."

Brian stepped across the threshold and found himself in an explosion of medical journals, anatomy books, chrome and glass. Her one concession to atmosphere were the candles, some thick, some thin, upon every flat surface. His eyes easily found the one photo they’d had taken of them standing together in the Pacific, in a silver plated frame on the stereo cabinet.

"You want something to drink?" she called out. "I got some of that German wine you took a liking to."

"Thanks. Sounds great." He strolled toward the kitchen. The acrylic dining table was already set for dinner with clear glass plates. There was a pass-through into the kitchen, so he stood there and watched her finish preparing their dinner. "You need any help?" he asked.

She stared up at him. "You’re kidding, right?" She laughed. "I’m the chief in this surgery!" She focused on chopping vegetables for their salad. "Besides, I just ordered take-out from that fancy French restaurant. It’s in the oven keeping warm."

He laughed. "Right, right. I guess I forgot. Why cook when you can take out instead?" He stretched an arm over the counter and snagged a chunk of tomato. He wriggled his eyebrows at her shocked expression, then popped the luscious vegetable into his mouth.

"Let me get you that wine," she grinned, dropping her knife on the counter. She got two wine glasses from her cupboard, then a well-chilled bottle of Liebeströpfchen from the refrigerator. She handed all to Brian and bade him, "Pour me one, too."

Brian poured two glasses and handed one to her as she joined him by the dining table. "What shall we drink to?" he asked.

"Old times?" she suggested, a twinkle in her eye.

"To old times," he agreed.

The wine was sweet. The kiss that followed, even sweeter.

*     *    *

"Honey, are you sure you don’t want to come with Dan and me?" Trixie asked for the fifth time. She stood in the doorway to her roommate’s bedroom, still in stocking feet, hair clip and a slip, concern wrinkling her forehead. Her cat, Watson, slunk easily through her legs and then leapt onto Honey’s bed.

Honey glanced up from her computer screen. "No, really. Thanks, though." She grimaced. "I just don’t feel much like company tonight."

Trixie stepped further into the bedroom. "What are you looking at-oh, Honey, really!" She felt her heart squish painfully in her chest. "Why are you torturing yourself like this?"

Honey had been looking at video clips of Bob-White functions that Anne had captured off video and put on CD-ROMs for everyone. The clip playing now was from Honey and Brian’s engagement party. She had freeze-framed on Brian’s image just after he made the formal announcement. Love, affection and a deep sense of fulfillment reflected in every pixel that composed his face.

Trixie glanced at her ex-future-sister-in-law. Honey’s eyes swam in unshed tears. With a slender finger, she brushed first at her right eye, then her left, but she did not look at Trixie. She shrugged in reply to the question.

Trixie turned and leaned back against Honey’s desk. "What say I call Dan and cancel for tonight and you and me have a girl’s-only night together. How would that be?"

"But you and Dan have already made plans," Honey protested. "It wouldn’t be fair of me to expect you to sit home, moping along with me." Watson meowed plaintively, as if to remind them both of his presence.

"I couldn’t enjoy myself knowing you were sitting here alone and miserable," she replied. "Dan and I can go to Le Bordeaux anytime, and the midnight cruise might even be cancelled, if this storm hits that’s been threatening all afternoon." As if to confirm her speculation, they heard the distant rumbling of thunder.

"No," Honey said firmly. "I’ll be fine. I can’t expect you to put your life on hold just because I’m an idiot."

"But you’re not the idiot," Trixie maintained. "Brian is."

"I’m the one who walked out," Honey reminded her.

"He’s the one who didn’t go after you." With that irrefutable logic, Trixie leaned across the keyboard and grabbed Honey’s phone extension. She swiftly dialed the number for Regan’s house. After three rings, she heard a familiar voice say,

"Hello?"

"Hi, Anne," Trixie began. "It’s me. Can I speak to Dan, please?"

"Oh, hey, Trixie. Sorry, but no. Dan raced out of here about, what would you say, Bill?" Anne’s voice dimmed as she obviously turned from the phone to confirm her information. A deeper voice spoke, and then Anne returned to the phone. "About twenty minutes ago or so."

"Oh, great. Did he say where he was going? Cause he’s not due here for another fifteen." Trixie checked the time on Honey’s bedside clock, just to be sure.

"No," she said slowly. "He was all ready, though. Let me tell you something, woman to woman? He looks really good all dressed up." Anne laughed, then Trixie heard her say, again to Regan, "All right, he takes after you."

Trixie smiled, then, hearing Regan and Anne sharing a laugh. She said, "Well, thanks, anyway."

"No problem, Trix," Anne assured her. "Or is there?"

"No, nothing’s wrong," she replied. "You and Regan got plans for tonight?"

"I’ve got some ideas I’m working on at the lab. We’ll probably get some takeout and head on over there for a bit. Depending on how things go, we might go dancing at the Roadhouse, or we might just call it a night. I’m flexible. It’s nothing so romantic as a French restaurant and then a moonlight cruise!"

"Yeah, well…" Trixie sighed. "You two have a good night, okay? Try to remember it’s a Saturday night. You’re supposed to have fun on a Saturday night."

"I’ll remember if you remember!" Anne promised. They said goodbye, and then hung up.

"He’s already left?" Honey asked after Trixie replaced the receiver.

"Yeah. He’s due here any minute now, too. I’ll just send him on back home." Trixie forced a smile that swiftly became genuine as hope lit up Honey’s hazel eyes. "It’ll be fine. You’ll see. Regan and Anne aren’t going to be there anyway, so it’s not like they’ll have to change any plans if Dan’s home early."

"You’d really do this for me?" Honey asked softly. "I hate to ask, but I really don’t want to be alone right now."

Trixie leaned over and hugged Honey, cradling her head against her as tenderly as their relative positions would allow. "I didn’t think so. And I’m sure Dan will be cool with it. And if he’s not, well, then that’s too bad. You and I were friends a lot longer than he and I have been dating."

Honey smiled and pulled out of Trixie’s embrace. "Thanks, Trix," she said. She took a moment to close the video program and then send her computer into ‘sleep’ mode. "I might actually be hungry later on," she began, but a knock at the door and the ring of the chimes alerted both women to the fact that-

"Dan’s here!" "Already!"

Trixie’s hands jumped to her head and she tore out her hair clip, releasing springy yellow curls. She hurried into her own bedroom, all the while panicking because she wasn’t dressed. Watson streaked across the room and followed after his mistress. Honey calmly rose up from her chair and went to answer the door.

"Hello, Dan!" Trixie heard Honey saying. "How’d you get in? You didn’t buzz the gate." Frantically, Trixie yanked her slip off over her head and tossed it near the clothes hamper. It landed upon Watson, who howled, then began tearing through the thin fabric. Trixie tried her best to save the slip from the cat’s claws, shooing Watson under the bed where he remained, affronted, for most of the evening. Then she rummaged through her drawers for a pair of shorts and a T-shirt. She slipped them on hurriedly as, meanwhile, Dan and Honey talked in the living room.

"Oh, yeah, about that," Dan was saying. "I buzzed your number, but I got your neighbor instead. A Mrs. Riley? She let me in."

"Oh! That was sweet of her. That stupid gate breaks all the time."

"How are you doing, Honey? Brian told me last night about what happened."

Trixie almost left her room without brushing her hair, but the curly bangs in her eyes alerted her to their general disarray. After a moment spent frantically brushing, she entered the living room, pleased to see Dan and Honey sitting on the sofa talking quietly. As she opened her mouth to greet Dan, she saw him slip an arm around Honey’s shoulders and Honey’s face crumple into tears.

Immediately, Trixie was sitting beside her friend, her arm around her as well. Over Honey’s bowed head, she read concern and empathy in Dan’s dark eyes. She smiled ‘hello’ at Dan, and he smiled back. After a moment of basking in his unspoken admiration of her general appearance, he frowned and gestured as if to ask, ‘What’s with the outfit?’

Trixie took a moment to check out Dan. He wore a dark gray suit, black shirt and charcoal tie. She saw he wore his single diamond stud earring, had recently shaved and gotten his long hair trimmed. Dan lifted the hand on Honey’s back to tug at one of Trixie’s curls. She quickly turned her face to kiss his palm and she smelled cologne on his skin. Her intentions of canceling her date to stay home with Honey suddenly seemed a bit too much of a sacrifice.

Honey finished her initial crying jag and sat up, blocking Dan and Trixie’s view of each other. "Oh, I’m so sorry, Dan," she began, "but I just couldn’t not cry any more. Does that even make sense?"

Trixie smiled tenderly at Honey’s tearstained face. "What doesn’t make sense is how you can still look gorgeous even when you cry. How do you manage?"

"Hu-uh?" Honey stumbled over the word. "What do you-? Oh," she grinned. "Now you’re being really silly." She glanced at Dan. "You look nice, Dan. Dark colors suit you." She turned her head to look more closely at the earring. "That hole hasn’t closed up yet?"

He grinned. "I still wear the earring sometimes, so I guess I haven’t given it a chance to. What do you think, Trixie? Should I let the hole close?"

Trixie thought about it, thankful for the change in conversational pace. While she hadn’t been the greatest fan of Dan’s experiment with body piercing, she realized the earring was kind of sexy. But she’d never say so out loud. "It’s your ear," she shrugged. "Do what you want."

*     *     *

Mart stared at his reflection in his bathroom mirror. He wasn’t a bad looking guy, he supposed. After all, people had always commented on how much he looked like his mother, his sister and his little brother. His mother was still turning heads, he’d always thought Trixie was a knockout (though he’d die before admitting it) and girls did chase shamelessly after Bobby, so what did that make him?

He smirked at himself. That makes me the King of Unrequited Adoration at Sleepyside’s Secondary Pedagogical Institution. Big deal.

Idly, he wondered if he should let his hair grow. He tried to imagine himself with long yellow curls. Suddenly, an image of a hairy, muscular Shirley Temple sprang into his head. He nearly fainted, sickened by the thought.

Turning the faucet, he let cold water run for a moment before scooping his hands to catch a splash for his face. Rubbing his skin dry, he stared once more at his reflection. Was he really going through with this, he wondered. Was he really planning on just walking straight up to Diana, look her in the face and tell her the truth about her fiancé?

He tugged a T-shirt over his head, grabbed his car keys and headed out the door.

The answer was ‘yes’.

*     *     *

When Ruth drove up to her front door, she saw the light in the kitchen shine from the window, as well as the blue glow from the television downstairs. She grinned and hummed a little tune as she hurried up the steps to the entrance level. She opened the front door and called out, "I’m home!", delighted to hear an answering: Mommy’s home!

Ruth dumped her things on the kitchen counter and hurried to the staircase where she met Steven rushing to greet her. "Hey, little man!" she grinned, kneeling to hug him at eye level. "How are you doing, huh?"

"Doing great, Mom! How about you?" he said, hugging her fiercely.

Ruth held him close for a moment, watching past him as a handsome redhead came into view. "Hi there," she said, smiling just for him.

Jim grinned back. "Hi, yourself. Do I get one of those?"

Ruth stood and descended the staircase. When she reached the bottom, she whispered huskily, "You certainly do. As well as one of these." Without further preamble, she kissed him softly, then wrapped her arms around him.

Jim held her tight, eyes closing to revel in the warmth of her embrace. After a moment, he opened his eyes to see Steven watching them, a speculative cast to his youthful features.

*     *     *

"So, tell me, Trixie," Dan began after Honey left them alone for a minute to wash her face. "Are you almost ready or are shorts and pantyhose the newest fashion?" They stood in the center of the living room floor, briefly alone with each other.

"Oh, dear," Trixie groaned, looking down at her shorts and her nylon-covered legs. "I meant to tell you as soon as you got here, but… well…" She sighed. "I tried to call you, catch you before you left, but I didn’t get there in time."

"Let me guess." Dan stepped closer and put his hands on her shoulders. "You decided you couldn’t leave Honey alone tonight. You knew that you’d never relax enough to have a good time if you were constantly worried about her. So you want to cancel our dinner reservations, but you do want to reschedule for another evening because you understand how important it is to have some quality time alone with your boyfriend. Am I close?"

Trixie chuckled. "How do you do that? It’s almost spooky how you read my mind." She moved even closer to him and then they were holding each other. She breathed in the comforting smell of men’s cologne on a men’s suit. For a long, wonderful moment, she enjoyed the solid feel of his body against hers. She heard Honey shut off the bathroom faucet and knew her friend would be rejoining them shortly.

Dan kissed the top of her head. "It’s not spooky. I just know you that well." He took a step back as Honey opened the bathroom door. "Besides," he whispered, "I can’t stand knowing she’s so unhappy, either, so on my way here, I stopped by the restaurant and cancelled our reservation. We can still take the cruise if you want. Those tickets are good for two weeks, either way."

Trixie smiled in relief. "Thanks, Dan. I should have known you’d understand about this."

Honey joined them then. "Understand about what?"

Trixie turned her smile toward Honey. "That I’m staying here with you tonight, instead of going out with him."

Hesitant hazel eyes looked toward Dan for confirmation. He nodded and slipped off his jacket. "I just wish I had decided before I finished putting on this suit. And this tie!" He grimaced as he loosened the knot, pulled the cloth away from his neck, then unbuttoned the collar. "I am so glad I don’t work in an office where this is required dress."

"Yeah, I guess so," Trixie mused. "When I called your place, Anne said they were going out all night, so you won’t be disturbing any plans by going home early."

Dan frowned. "What do you mean, ‘going home early’? I’m staying here with you."

Trixie and Honey exchanged uncertain glances. "Um, gee, Dan, that’s real nice of you to offer, but this is more of a ‘girl’s-only’ kind of thing," Trixie began.

"Right, Dan," Honey continued with a game attempt at cheerfulness. "We’re just going to do some male-bashing. You’d probably feel uncomfortable and out of place."

He started to laugh. "Oh, really? Well, you can just forget about getting rid of me now! I’m staying!"

"But, Dan!" Trixie protested, gently pushing at his chest. "How can we male-bash if you’re here, reminding us of the one or two ‘good ones’ still around?"

"That’s just it!" he claimed, taking her hand in his. "By being here, I can offer you a guy’s perspective, as well as gain valuable insight into the female mind." He turned conspiratorial. "Do you have any idea how much information like this goes for on the open market?"

Honey started to laugh. "All right, Dan. You can stay. On one condition!"

"Name it," he agreed.

Her smile turned sad. "Keep making me laugh?"

He brightened. "You want my Groucho Marx impersonation?"

Trixie groaned. "No! She said ‘laugh’, not cry! Trust me," she said to Honey. "It’s a terrible impersonation!"

"It is not!" Dan sounded hurt. "I worked hard on my Groucho! Come on. You be the judge," he said to Honey. "Tell me if this is a decent Groucho Marx or not. Ready?"

"Uh-huh," Honey giggled. Trixie folded her arms and looked unimpressed as Dan assumed the classic Groucho pose: slightly bending forward, holding a pretend cigar and wriggling his eyebrows. He grinned, then growled:

"If I could walk that way I wouldn’t need the talcum powder!"

Trixie raised her eyebrows and looked at Honey, clearly astonished at the absolute lack of resemblance between Dan and Groucho. Honey blinked a moment, then dissolved into helpless giggles, holding her stomach and leaning against the wall for support. "Oh, you’re so wrong, Trixie!" she managed. "That’s the best Groucho Marx I’ve ever heard! Do it again, Dan! Do it again!"

Despite the sarcasm, Dan complied. The point was to make Honey laugh, after all.

*     *     *

She was a great conversationalist. That memory hadn’t been wrong. They talked about the hospital, the staff and interesting cases they’d heard about. Brian wondered why he had ever thought she was boring.

"So, tell me," he said, setting down his fork. "What do you do with your time off?"

She blinked at him. "What do you mean?" She gestured around her apartment. "I read. I study. I look in on patients. I research online. Why? What do you do?"

He thought a moment. "Usually, Hon-" he stopped himself. "I used to go on a lot of picnics. Horseback rides. Hiking. In the winter there’s skating. Skiing."

"Uh-huh," she said, slowly nodding. "Outdoors stuff."

"You don’t sound too thrilled about it." He grinned at her.

"No, don’t get me wrong," she hastened to assure him. "It sounds very exciting. Very athletic. I’ll have to look into it someday."

"Do you ride?"

"Horses, you mean?" She seemed alarmed at the suggestion.

"Yeah. Horses." Brian drank the last of his wine, knowing there was enough for just half a glass more. He considered it. He wasn’t on duty again until 6 a.m. Monday.

"I understand the theory, but no. I’ve never actually been on a horse." She paused in concentration. "I seem to recall a birthday party for some girl in the neighborhood, and her mother had rented a pony for us to all take rides on, but the pony got sick and, well, that was the end of the pony rides."

He nodded. "Sick horses can make a mess," he grinned. "If you’d like to learn, however, I know an excellent instructor –"

She held up a hand. "No, thanks. I’m sure it’s a lot of fun, but completely impractical. It’s not like I need the horse to take me somewhere."

"Sure you do!" he contradicted cheerfully. "You ride the horse through the woods to get to the bluffs overlooking the Hudson." He lifted the wine bottle in offering.

"You mean the bluffs people keep falling off of?" She looked at the wine bottle, then shook her head. "No, thanks."

"Not those bluffs! The ones the county reinforced a couple years back and made into a sort of picnic area." He poured the rest of the wine into his glass.

"Couldn’t we take an SUV or something up there? Why ride the horse?"

He stared at her. Surely she could tell that riding the horse was part of the fun, part of the experience, couldn’t she? He emptied his glass. Riding’s not for everyone. It doesn’t even have to be for you, anymore. His mind suddenly flooded with images of Starlight and those long, moonlit rides he used to take with her. Ruthlessly, he squashed the memories. "What’s for dessert?"

She smiled. "Raspberry cheesecake. Your favorite!"

He smiled. She certainly was pretty when she smiled. "Sounds great! I’ll clear the table."

"Don’t you dare!" she scolded him. "You worked all day. You deserve to take it easy when you come home." For an instant, she smiled beatifically, then it was as if she heard what she had said. "That is, when you get off work."

"I know what you meant," he said. He smiled again, but as she collected the dishes and hurried into the kitchen, he couldn’t help remembering the first time she had tried to make dinner for them. She ended up starting a fire, setting off the smoke alarm and alerting the fire department. Horrified and embarrassed, she had almost called off the whole dating ‘experiment’, she called it, but he had only laughed, charmed and flattered that her nervousness over being alone with him had made her forgetful and clumsy. They spent the night cleaning up the mess, then going out for burgers at Wimpy’s. After that, he made sure they shared kitchen duties. But then, that was what happened the first time they made their own dinner. What happened the last time they tried was what brought him to this Saturday and this apartment.

She reentered the dining area with two dishes of raspberry cheesecake. "Why don’t we take these into the living room? We could listen to that new CD I bought. Love Songs for the New Millennium. It’s really good."

"Sounds great." He stood up, pushed in his chair and then followed Amy to the small sofa.

*     *     *

Mart knocked on the Lynch’s front door, then stood nervously. It always took a moment for Harrison to arrive and open the massive oaken portal, giving Mart plenty of time to rethink his position. When Harrison finally came, his calm, efficient, effortlessly British mien did not alter in the slightest to see this particular Belden on the front step.

"May I help you, sir?" he asked in clipped tones.

"Good evening, Harrison," Mart replied evenly, just as if it were ten years ago. "Is Diana home?"

Harrison paused. "Excuse me, sir, but I am under the impression that your presence here is discouraged. Am I misinformed?"

Mart sighed. "I won’t stay long. I have to talk to Diana. It’s important," he said sincerely. "Please tell her I’m here."

"Do come in," the butler offered, agreeing to his request. Mart stepped through the doorway and found himself once more inside the gracious entryway of the Lynch estate.

Glancing around the yellow and rose furnishings, Mart commented, "Mrs. Lynch redecorated again, eh?"

Harrison barely paused in his path toward the family room. "Every Spring like clockwork, sir. Wait here and I shall inform Miss Diana of your presence."

Mart stood in the hallway, alone. He heard the distant sound of a laugh track and knew someone was watching network TV. A moment passed, and Diana entered the hallway.

He turned at her footsteps on the tiled floor and swallowed hard. She wore shorts and a T-shirt, sandals and a ponytail. She couldn’t seem more beautiful to him if she’d been in a ball gown or a wedding dress.

"You wanted to speak to me about something, Mart?" she asked, snapping him back to reality.

"Yes," he managed. "It’s about Thomas."

She waited expectantly.

*     *     *

He had his hands in her hair and his mouth on her neck. His hormones raced. His heart thudded painfully. His mind swam with every movement of her body beneath his.

Amy wriggled and moaned. She had tugged successfully at his shirt and it now lay beside their shoes on the living room floor. She stroked his back and murmured in his ear. "Oh, Brian! I’m so glad you’ve come back to me. You belong with me, don’t you, Brian. Say it! Say you’ll always be mine!"

His breath ragged, his need growing increasingly urgent, he groaned, "Oh, god, yes, Honey. I will always be yours. I love you so much. I have always loved you. Always--"

Suddenly, he stopped all movement. What did he say?

Amy smiled, her eyes closed, and reached up with her hands. She pulled at his head, trying to bring his mouth close enough for a kiss.

Still trying to remember what he had said and determine just how it was important, he let his head be dragged downward. He let Amy kiss him. But for some reason, his heart just wasn’t in it anymore. Was it ever? he wondered to himself.

She still groaned and moved beneath him. Brian opened his eyes and stared at her in the dim candlelight. It wasn’t that she wasn’t attractive. She was. It wasn’t that she wasn’t intelligent. She was that, too. Or funny or gifted or any of a thousand other things. She was all that. But there was one thing she wasn’t.

She wasn’t Honey Wheeler.

Suddenly, that made all the difference to him.

Brian pushed up off Amy, off the sofa and onto his feet. Breathless, bemused and bewildered, Amy sat upright and blinked at him. "What’s wrong? What are you doing?" she asked.

"Don’t you even know? Can’t you even guess?" When she still didn’t answer him, he answered for her. "I called you ‘Honey’!"

"Yeah? So?" She shrugged.

"So?" he repeated. "Don’t you get it?"

"Get what? It’s a term of endearment. Like ‘baby’ or ‘sweetheart’ or ‘sugar-pie’." She turned lightly scornful. "Just because it’s also the name of your ex-girlfriend is no reason to get upset. You have to admit, it’s an awfully precious nickname, don’t you think?"

Brian slowly shook his head. "There’s so much more to it than that. The fact that you can’t see it makes me wonder about you."

"What do you mean? See what?" She sat still in the same position, leaning back on her palms, staring up at him.

Brian started laughing ruefully. "I’m an idiot. A complete idiot for being here with you when I should be taking my future wife to a romantic dinner and a midnight cruise up the Hudson!"

"What are you talking about?" Amy began to get upset. She stared, disbelieving her own eyes, as Brian pulled his shirt over his head and grabbed his shoes from under the coffee table. "What are you doing? You’re not leaving me, are you?"

Brian balanced on one foot then the other as he put his shoes on. Finally ready to leave, he grabbed his keys and checked to be sure he had his wallet before answering an increasingly irritated Amy. At the door, he turned and said, "Look, I don’t regret our time together. I really don’t. We had a lot of fun and I learned a lot from the whole experience. I don’t hold any grudges and I won’t let this affect our friendship or our professional relationship. But…" He paused, his voice trailing.

"What?" she prompted, finally facing him on her own feet.

His gaze was steady and even and he said, leaving no room in his words or tone for misconception, "I don’t love you. I have never loved you and there is no way I will ever love you. And frankly, I don’t think that’s what you want anyway. Good night, Amy." Brian laid his hand on the doorknob, turned it, and opened the door, revealing the swirling night sky beyond. A great sweep of wind rushed past him into the room, sending the candle flames scurrying across their paraffin lakes. Amy ignored the weather and rushed to Brian’s side.

"You can’t go out there now! It’s going to storm. You should wait it out inside. We can talk. We can-"

Brian laid a finger over her lips, silencing her. "No, Amy. I won’t wait another moment to be with Honey again."

They stood there, and the lightening flashed above them, but it did not flash between them any more. Brian rested his lips on her forehead for the briefest of instants. He smiled down at her. "Good bye, Amy. See you around."

He turned and headed for his car.

Rain began to hurl itself against the pavement, sending up tiny sheets of dust and dirt with each drop. Amy hugged herself, watching dully as Brian got into his car, started the engine and drove away, leaving her alone again.

She turned and reentered her apartment, shutting the door behind her. After a brief pause, she picked up the phone and dialed the first number that occurred to her. After two rings, a distracted male voice answered. "Hi," she said. "It’s Amy. How about some company tonight?"

*     *     *

"Get out!" Her low growl echoed across the tiled floor.

Mart flinched at the pure venom in her tone, but he stood his ground. "No. Hear me out! Thomas Thorne is--"

"I’m what?"

Diana and Mart both turned, surprised to see the subject of their conversation standing on the staircase. He held a script in his hands but focused intently on Mart. He said again, "What am I?"

Mart took a deep breath and told him. "You’re a homosexual. You’re gay. That’s what you are, though why you’re marrying Diana, I hesitate to guess."

Mart had to admit it. Thomas had talent. His expression of shock and dismay mingled with just the perfect dash of amused regard. The handsome blond man turned to his fiancée. "Do you hear that, darling? I’m gay. Me! Imagine!"

Diana didn’t look back at him. She kept glaring at Mart. "I heard him. I heard every word and frankly I think it’s despicable of him to repeat such a vile and hideous as well as slanderous rumor! How dare you! Come into my parents’ home, break your word to them and to me, just to insult my fiancé? A man who’s done nothing to you! Nothing!"

"He’s not done nothing to me!" Mart nearly shouted. "He kissed me! In the boathouse last Saturday, he grabbed me and kissed me."

"Uh!" Diana scoffed. "That’s so provincial of you! How typically American, regarding a simple kiss between men with such suspicion!" She oozed sarcasm. "Poor Mart. Was your manhood threatened? Did you fear the other boys would point and laugh at you?"

"Stuff it, Diana!" Mart did shout that time. "I’m through tiptoeing through life because of you! Yeah! I broke my word! I darkened your parents’ precious doorstep to tell you the truth about your fiancé. I hoped to spare you the future pain and embarrassment of walking into an empty room and discovering him flagrante delicto!" He threw his arms wide. "How horrible! How monstrous and pernicious of me! But then, what can you expect from Mart Belden, right?"

Diana crossed her arms in deep fury. Thomas just stood openmouthed but silent on the steps. Mart barely noticed the subtle presence of the remainder of the Lynch family, discreetly keeping an eye and ear on the events in the entrance hall.

"Oh, just forget it!" Mart sneered. "Go have a very nice life with your pseudo-groom. You’ll probably never notice the difference anyway. You didn’t have the guts to live your life before. Why should now be any different?"

Anger sparking with every move, Mart whirled on his heel, yanked open the front door and exited the house, allowing the heavy door to slam against the massive stone urn flanking the entrance. As he reached his car, fat drops of rain began to splatter across the lawn. He slammed his car door shut and roared the engine. After a moment, he was peeling out onto Glen Road.

Inside the hall, Diana started up the stairs toward Thomas. When she reached his level, she stared hard into his eyes. Thomas opened his mouth to speak, but Diana was quicker.

Her slap still echoed long after she had retreated to her bedroom.

*     *     *

Bobby stood inside the newly re-roofed summerhouse, staring uneasily at the growing storm. This is stupid, he thought. We should just reschedule this until the storm passes. This could be dangerous. There’s lightening and thunder…

He flinched as a massive boom! rolled up from the hollow. He knew the epicenter of the storm wasn’t too far off, perhaps a mile or so from the preserve. It hadn’t yet begun to rain where he was. He wished he had thought to bring an umbrella. Or even a rain slicker.

Five minutes, then ten, passed, and Bobby wondered when he should figure the evening had been cancelled. He was just about to start slowly along the path toward the Lynch Lodge, hoping to run into her, when he heard footsteps scrambling through the construction site. He whistled, she whistled, and in moments his arms were around her.

As soon as he could, he asked her, "What took you so long? I was getting worried." He lifted his hand from the back of her head. "You’re wet! You got rained on?"

"Yeah," she nodded. "It started pouring just when I left, but I managed to outrun the worst of it. Oh, Bobby! You should have been there! Mart was there and he and Diana were yelling at each other."

"Mart was there?" Bobby repeated. "Why? Mart never goes to your house anymore. Not for any reason."

"I know!" she grinned. "That’s what makes this so interesting. Why was he there? What did he have to tell her about Thomas?"

Bobby frowned, then gulped uncertainly. "Umm… they argued about Thomas?"

"Uh-huh!" she grinned. "I wonder why. I mean, is he just jealous? Is he still in love with her or something? Isn’t that romantic!"

He pulled her inside the summerhouse, hearing wind and rain growing closer. "Um, Kathy. I’ve got to tell you something first." In a few brief sentences, Bobby told her what he’d learned about Thomas the night before, at the poker party.

She reacted predictably. "I knew it! I just knew something was different about him! That something was wrong!" She shook her head in wonder.

"How could you tell?" Bobby wanted to know.

She shrugged. "Well, when he didn’t react to the sight of all those girls at the pool party, we kind of figured something was wrong."

He shook his head in wonder. "I just couldn’t believe it. I mean, he seemed like such a regular guy and all."

"Well, come on, Bobby! He is a regular guy," she said. "He just happens to like guys more than girls. I can’t figure out why he’s marrying Diana, though."

"I can’t, either."

They stood in silence for several moments, puzzling over the mysterious behavior of supposedly mature adults.

"Oh, well," they said at the same time, startling themselves into brief laughter.

"What do you want to do now, Bobby?" she asked him shyly.

He grinned. "You pick."

She grinned, blushed and then turned her face upward. "Kiss me. Kiss me a whole lot."

He didn’t speak. He just took her into his arms and kissed her. He was still kissing her, holding her lightly against him, when the shrieking started.

*     *     *

Brian pulled up at the dock, but there was no one there. He got out of his car and raced toward the ticket booth, slowing as he realized the boat was still moored. Rain thundered across the parking lot, pelting him with needle-like jabs as he stood confused. Then he read the large sign.

Tonight’s Midnight Cruise Cancelled Due to Rain. Sorry!

Brian cursed. Where was Honey, then? Where would Mart take her if he couldn’t take her on the cruise? He glanced around the pier. Nothing else looked open. Brian, soaked through now, hurried back to his car. He’d just have to wait for her at home.

*     *     *

"Bobby Belden! What do you think you’re doing!"

Dazed, Bobby looked up from the girl he had been kissing and saw the same girl standing in the doorway to the summerhouse. Here it comes, he thought, and took a step back. "What’s going on?" he asked.

The girl he had been kissing hid a smile as she also took a step back. "Hey, sis," she said. "What’s up?"

Bright spots of color dotting her cheeks, the newly arrived Lynch twin sputtered, "Juliet Lynch! I can’t believe you!"

"Juliet?" Bobby stared hard at the girl he’d been kissing. "She’s not Juliet! You’re Juliet!" He pointed at the newcomer. Then he squinted in the dim light. "Aren’t you?"

"No," she replied dryly. "I’m Katharina. Obviously." She held up her wrist to display her bracelet. The engraving glinted in the light.

Bobby stepped forward and grabbed her wrist. He turned the engraving upward and stared at it. In block capitals, he read Katharina. Bobby groaned.

"What’s the big deal?" Julie drawled.

"What’s the big deal?!" Kathy repeated. "You lying, cheating little tramp! How dare you! Impersonate me with my boyfriend, will you! I’ll make you pay for this!"

Julie laughed. "How? I dare you to even try!"

Bobby, caught in the middle and getting angry himself, turned to Julie. "You shut up!" he ordered. He turned back to Kathy. "Baby, I’m sorry. I-"

But Kathy wasn’t buying any apologies. "Don’t you ‘baby’ me! You’ve been messing around behind my back with my sister! You think I can forgive that? Forget about it? You think I’ll just go on as if nothing’s happened? As if nothing’s changed?"

Bobby almost dropped to his knees. He felt his legs buckle, but he remained upright. "Come on, Kathy! Give me a break. You two are identical! How could I be expected to know the difference?"

"How do you ever tell the difference?" Julie asked.

"Clothes, probably," Kathy replied sourly. "Just like everybody else. If we wear the same clothes, no one can tell the difference. We’re interchangeable. Isn’t that right." She glared at Bobby, daring him to deny it.

He flashed his most charming grin. "Aw, come on, Kathy! Have a heart! It’s not like one of you’s got a mole the other doesn’t, or one of you is scarred or something. You two are absolutely identical, right down to your--"

"Don’t say it!" Kathy warned. "Don’t even try and tell me you’ve seen her… areas," she finished lamely. She shook her head. "Mummy and Daddy were right. Stay away from the Belden boys. They’re nothing but trouble."

Julie shrugged. "Well, I don’t know about that. This one’s a pretty good kisser."

"Oh! You!" Kathy sputtered with rage once more. "I’ll never forgive you, Bobby Belden! Not for as long as I live. And you!" She faced her sister. "Revenge is sweet! Saccharine sweet! You’d both do well to remember that!" She pivoted sharply and hurried out of the summerhouse.

"Oh, no," Bobby groaned. "I’d better go after her, smooth things over."

"No, don’t," Julie urged, tugging Bobby’s arm. "Stay here with me. Things were just getting interesting."

He stared at her. "That was you in the bookstore on Memorial Day, wasn’t it!" She didn’t reply. "Then that must have been you last Saturday night, when we made the plans to meet and spend part of the day together. Wasn’t it!"

"I can’t deny it." She ran her hands up and down his arms. "So what? You didn’t seem to notice or mind that I wasn’t my sister then, why should you mind now?"

Disgusted, Bobby grabbed her hands and threw them back at her. "Forget it! For me to stay here with you, I’d have to be not only mindless but stupid as well!" He frowned a bit as he tried to figure out what he’d just said, but then shook his head. The logic didn’t matter; the sentiment did. "I don’t want you. I never did."

"You wanted me a few minutes ago," she cooed.

"That was when I thought you were Kathy," he reminded her.

She stepped closer. "You can call me ‘Kathy’. I don’t mind."

"Forget it. I-I’ve got to get out of here. Get some fresh air. Something." He shook his head, shaking the halo of curls. "I won’t bother walking you home. I assume you can take care of yourself. I think that’s your strong suit, anyway." He left.

Julie stood in the center of the reconstructed summerhouse and heard the rains come. Oh, well, she thought to herself, if Bobby won’t keep seeing me, and Kathy won’t see him, then that’s that. Game, set and match to me! He wants to date a Lynch girl, he can have me or none at all.

She gloated for about fifteen minutes, then realized the rain was not letting up. She sighed, realizing she’d have to run through the storm in order to get home. She shrugged, then started running toward the road, not willing to chance the trails during a storm.

*     *     *

"Jim?" Ruth asked softly. "Are you staying here all night?"

Startled, Jim sat upright. He’d been stretched out on Ruth’s sofa, having fallen asleep while watching her TV. "Sorry! I guess I drifted off." He blinked at her, still shaking off slumber.

She smiled. "It’s okay. I didn’t know if you wanted me to just leave you here or… what." When he moved his legs out of the way, she sat down beside him.

He looked sideways at her. "You want me to spend the night here? With you?"

They held each other’s gaze for a long moment. Simultaneously, they said, "It’s too soon," then they laughed together.

Jim put his arm around Ruth’s shoulders and pulled her close. "I should go. It is getting late." He stood and gathered his keys. "I took my things back to the house this morning, anyway, in prep for you two coming home today. I’m glad you spent time with your family. Your mother sounds like a real nice lady."

"She wants to meet you," Ruth admitted. "She thinks you’ll be good for me."

"Oh?" Jim’s green eyes twinkled. "Now I really have to meet her!"

Jim led Ruth up the stairs to the front door. Once there, he turned to face her.

"Thanks again for house-sitting for me while I was away," Ruth whispered.

"Glad to do it," he replied. With both hands, he stroked her face and hair. "Although, the next time I sleep over, I’d kind of like to have some company."

Ruth swallowed, suddenly nervous. She began to nod her assent, but Jim’s face drew near and they kissed instead. After a moment, she was able to say, "I need some time to figure things out. This thing with Steven. It’s been mostly all I can think about."

"Mostly?" he teased.

"Mostly," she confirmed. "A certain redhead has been worming his way into my thoughts as well."

"How about that," he marveled. "Anyone I know?" She smiled at him. It was a several minutes more before he finally left, reminding her to check the doors and windows before going to bed.

*     *     *

"Diana? Diana, darling, please let me in!" Thomas knocked repeatedly on her bedroom door to no avail. Finally, he said, "Diana. I can explain everything. Please! Don’t leave me standing here in the hallway."

He heard a noise, and then the door opened. Diana stood there, her face tearstained and her back rigid. "Come in," she said, "And make it good." He did as she requested. She shut the door, then joined him in her sitting room.

"It’s like this," he began, after seating himself on her small, overstuffed sofa. He clasped his hands and summoned his most boyish, innocent mannerisms.

"I’m waiting," she said, expressionless. She sat in her favorite wing chair and propped her feet up on the coffee table. "Well?"

He coughed. "Well, it’s like this." He took a deep breath, let it out, and told her everything. "It’s true. Sort of. What Mart said. About me. It’s, well, mostly true. I mean, it’s true I did kiss him."

Diana didn’t react. "Then what part isn’t true?"

Thomas rubbed his hand over his chin. "Um, well… Let’s see now. What part isn’t true. I did say something wasn’t true, didn’t I… Oh, dear."

"Spill it, Thomas!" Diana nearly barked at him. "You may as well tell me everything. You’ll never get a better opportunity to convince me of your innocence."

"Uh, right, right," he nodded. "My innocence. Right." He swallowed hard and glanced around the room. "This is a really nice room, by the way. Did you decorate it yourself?"

Diana’s patience had run out. "Get out." She pointed toward the door. "Now!"

"No! I’ll tell you. It’s not so bad, really." He smiled at her, willing her to look favorably at him once again. "See, I can give you what you want."

"What’s that?" she scoffed. "Public humiliation? Scandal? What?"

He shook his head. "No, no. Marry me and you have exactly what I promised you months ago. You’ll be married to a man who is, by all accounts, handsome and charming, if not particularly well-received in the state of New York at this time. I promise to never divorce you, never shame you publicly and give you children." He spread his hands. "That doesn’t have to change."

"Children?!" she laughed. "You think you can give me children?"

He shrugged. "Diana. It’s not like you didn’t enjoy yourself those few times we were together in London."

"Yeah, well," she said, dismissing the incidents with a wave. "If that’s as good as it can get…"

"No, no," he scooted on the sofa closer toward her. "I can take direction. I’m an actor." He smiled. "This can still work."

She regarded him suspiciously. "What about you? What do you get out of this?"

He glanced away. "I, uh, get citizenship, obviously. And a comfortable lifestyle. And, hopefully, one day in the future, children. I do want children, you know," he said, looking directly at her.

"Adopt."

"I kind of want them to look like me," he admitted. He waited for her to speak. Finally, he broke the silence. "It’s exactly what you said you wanted. Come on, Diana. What do you say? Are we still going through with it?"

"Get out of here and let me alone!"

"But, Diana--"

She shook her head. "I don’t know. I have to think about it. I’ll let you know my decision in a few days."

Thomas stood and nodded, agreeing to her terms. "If you want to discuss this further," he said, but she shook her head again. He left, closing the door after him.

Oh, dear God, Diana thought miserably. What am I going to do now?

*     *     *

Brian slowed his car on the approach to Honey’s apartment complex. He turned into the entrance and stopped the car by the electronic speaker and keypad. He rolled down the window. While rain began pouring through the opening, he entered Honey’s apartment number on the keypad and waited.

Lightening flashed and immediately thunder roared. He heard a voice ask, "Hello? Who’s there, please?"

Brian didn’t recognize the voice, but figured it could be the electronics. He spoke loudly. "Yes, it’s me, Brian. Let me in, okay? I need to talk with you."

"Brian? Brian who? Who is this?"

Puzzled, Brian wiped his face free of rain and tried to get closer to the intercom. "It’s me, Brian Belden! Who do you think this is?"

"Listen! I don’t know any Brian Belden. You’ve got the wrong apartment!"

Brian stared at the keypad. How could he have dialed the wrong apartment? "Sorry!" he called out. He cancelled the call, then tried bringing Honey’s name up on the electronic address book. He found Belden, B & Wheeler, M, highlighted the names and pressed the enter key.

"Hello? Yes?"

It was a man’s voice. Sick with trepidation, Brian asked, "Can I speak to Trixie, please?"

"Who? There’s no Trixie here!" The line went dead.

A car pulled up behind Brian and flashed its lights. Angry, but controlling his temper, Brian pulled his car into a parking spot. He didn’t turn off the ignition; he figured he could follow whoever it was inside.

That plan didn’t work. By the time the car had passed through the gate, and Brian had backed out and moved to follow it, the gate had begun to close. "Fine!" Brian said aloud. "I’ll get out and walk."

He re-parked his car and stepped out into the rain. Brushing his hair from his eyes, he approached the electronic gate. The gate had been designed, however, to discourage people from the sort of activity Brian contemplated. There simply wasn’t enough room between the bars to allow him to squeeze through, and the height of the gate likewise gave him pause. He knew his clothes were soaked, but they weren’t ruined. They would be if he climbed the gate. He glanced around. The pedestrian pass-through required an ID card. He didn’t have one.

He returned to the intercom. He tried entering Honey’s apartment number again, but halfway through…

…thousands of volts of electricity vaulted into the sky from a nearby transformer stinking of burnt ozone reversing the charge on every possible ion in a diminishing radius photons blinding photo-receptors scrambling electronic pathways data bits slamming air particles one into the other creating deafening shock waves…

…he jumped. The hair on his head tightened and stood on end. He smelt the ozone and he saw spots. Carefully shaking his head, he determined that he was unharmed. The transformer sparked, but continued to function. Sort of.

Nervously, absurdly watching the sky for the next lightening bolt, Brian returned to the keypad. Half of Honey’s apartment number had been entered, but the connection indicator light was on. Hesitantly, he asked, "Hello? Honey? Can you hear me?"

"Honey? Who’s Honey?" "Darla! Come here! Listen to this! Somebody’s out there!" "Hey! Is this that same pervert who’s been calling all night?" "There’s no one here by that name."

Brian stared at the intercom. Somehow, he’d gotten access to all the residents. Voices of all kinds were speaking to him, demanding to know what he wanted with them and why he was calling them.

"Hey! Listen a minute! My name is Brian Belden and I just want to talk to Honey Wheeler. If someone would let me in, I could find her and –"

"Uh-uh! Management’s clear on that sort of thing!"

"I ain’t letting in nobody I don’t know!"

"What kind of idiot do you think I am?"

"Oh, dear, I don’t think I should do that!"

"Get bent, you creep!"

His stomach rolling in despair, he was about ready to contemplate more drastic measures when he heard a more familiar voice.

"Brian? Is that you?"

"Honey! Don’t do it!"

"Please, Trixie! If he’s come all this way, don’t I owe him the courtesy of listening to his explanation?"

"Oh, thank God, Honey! You’re there! You didn’t go out with Mart!" He nearly collapsed in relief.

"Of course not! But that’s because he said he had something else to do tonight. What are you doing here?"

"Can you buzz me in?"

"Hold on."

He waited, but nothing happened. "Honey? Are you there?"

"Who are you talking to?"

"Who are all you people? Is this some kind of joke?"

"Hey! I can hear everyone! Mom! Dad! Come quick! The intercom’s busted!"

"Is it working, Brian? I don’t hear anything. Usually I hear a set of tones, but I don’t hear anything now."

"Oh, no," he groaned. "It isn’t working."

"Brian, talk to me. What are you doing out there. Isn’t it raining?"

"Yes! And lightening struck a transformer--"

"Lightning! Oh, dear!"

"Cool! Did you get struck?"

"Hey, Mom! He got struck by lightening! Like Thor!"

"Brian! Are you okay?"

"I’m fine. The transformer got struck. I’m okay. Listen, Honey, I just needed to tell you something."

"What?"

"I love you. I have always loved you. I will always love you. I can’t imagine myself ever loving anybody else for as long as I live." Now that he had told her that, he couldn’t stop himself from saying everything. "I am so sorry about Amy. I don’t know what made me keep her a secret, but I’m sorry. So sorry for it. You’ll never know how it’s been eating at me, having her in town and not being able to tell you about it, afraid you wouldn’t understand."

"I wanted to understand. But you told me to just deal with it."

"I know, and I’m sorry." Brian brushed his dripping hair off his face once more and leaned on the intercom. He closed his eyes, feeling every ounce of the shame and guilt he’d been keeping at bay ever since returning from Florida in March and finding Amy working in his department.

"Wait. He cheated on you? Dump him, honey!"

"Did you sleep with her? Was she hot?"

"How could you! Is this that sweet girl in 216? Such a lovely young thing."

"Aw, forgive him! He sounds like a nice guy."

"I am a nice guy!" Brian insisted. "I just. Got. Confused for a moment. Can’t you understand that? I was lonely when I met her. She filled a need I had for companionship. Only she didn’t really fit me. Only one woman has ever really fit me. Has ever really mattered to me. Only one woman, Honey Wheeler. You."

"Honey! Don’t! Wait!"

"Honey? What’s going on? Oh, Honey," he begged. "Please listen to me. Please hear me out." He sank onto his knees and laid his face on the metal plate next to the intercom speaker. "You’re everything I ever truly wanted and so much more than I deserve. If you take me back, if you agree to marry me, I’ll spend my life making sure you never regret it. I can be a good husband to you. I know I can! Please, I’m begging you. I implore you. I’m literally on my knees in the mud, beseeching you to take me back."

"Aw! Take him back, Honey!"

"If you don’t marry that boy, I will!"

"Oh, man! This is just mushy stuff!"

"Don’t beg, dude! It ain’t macho!"

"I’ll take you back. Come to number 159-"

Hot tears swam in Brian’s eyes, mixing with the cold sting of rain. He heard the sound of grinding motors and chains and saw a slim figure pushing through the pedestrian gate. He stood, amazed to recognize the absolute love of his life shoving with all her might against the gate, slipping through it to be with him. He raced forward, then stopped, uncertain of his reception.

They stood in the rain almost three feet apart from each other.

Rain had drenched her. She stood in bare feet, soaking wet denim shorts, a dark shirt now plastered to her body, her hair sticking to her face, a smear of mud on her cheek where she had scratched an itch. She had never been more beautiful.

"You love me?" she asked in a tiny, hopeful voice.

He nodded. "With all my heart."

She fairly flew into his arms and began covering his face with kisses. "Oh, Brian!" she cried. "I didn’t mean- I didn’t want- I was stupid. I love you. I want to be with you always. Can you forgive me?"

"Forgive you? For what? I’m asking your forgiveness. I shut you out when I needed you the most."

"No, Brian," she contradicted. "I wasn’t thinking of you and your stress. I’ll never come between you and the hospital again. I promise you."

But he was shaking his head. "I don’t care about the hospital." She drew back, amazed. "Don’t get me wrong, but it’s true. I hate that place. I love medicine and I love helping sick kids get well, but I hate the politics, the insurance companies and the games you have to play to get anything done." He took a deep breath. "I want to open a clinic. A free clinic. To help poor kids, and families without insurance."

"Why, Brian! That’s wonderful!" Her hazel eyes shone with admiration, approval and hope. "Can I-- can I help you somehow?"

He smiled tenderly at her and pulled a thick lock of hair off her cheek. He kissed the tip of her nose, then brushed at the smear of mud. "I’d like it very much if you would consent to back the project. With your inheritance."

She gasped. "But I thought you wanted us to leave that in trust for our kids’ education?"

"Forget that," he told her. "That was some selfish, insecure boy talking then. Thinking only of some outmoded idea that a man must be the sole support of his family. I don’t know why I was thinking that way. It’s so stupid, you know? So what if you have money? There’s a lot we can do with it. Why shouldn’t we do some of the things we’ve always dreamed of?"

"You mean it?" She blinked at the rain and the rivulets dripping off his face onto hers. She grew excited, thinking of the possibilities. "You mean we can go traveling? Buy a house right away? Maybe… maybe start a family sooner?"

Pure love shone from her eyes, love and hope for the future. It warmed Brian’s heart and restarted the fires that burned in his soul. "God, yes, Honey! Would you?"

She turned coy. "Would I what?"

"Bear my children?" he asked humbly. "Be their mother? Raise them to be as wonderful and caring and kind and honest and--and as beautiful inside as you are?"

"With you as my husband and their father," she assured him, laying her hand on his warm cheek, "it’ll be a cakewalk. And a dream come true. All my dreams come true, you know, when you’re with me."

He scooped her up into his arms once more and shouted, "I love you, Honey Wheeler! And in just two weeks I’m going to make you my wife!"

From the small intercom, the tinny sound of cheers, congratulations and muffled weeping carried across the rainswept drive.

He set her down once more and held her face tenderly in his hands. "I want you to know something. Amy can’t hold a candle to you. Not in anything. She never could. I was with her tonight and it all came clear to me. No," he said, forestalling her question, "nothing happened. You were there."

"What do you mean?"

"I didn’t do anything with her because when I close my eyes, all I can see is you. At night, all I can dream of is the time when I can be close to you, touching you, holding you in my arms, making love to you. It’s you I want. It’s you I love. It always has been and always will be. Marry me, Honey Wheeler, and make my dreams come true."

She whispered yes and they kissed, their tears mixing with the rain. After a moment, she pulled back and looked him in the eye. "I’m still just a bit nervous about the wedding night," she admitted. "But I know that you’ll be there with me, and you’d never hurt me, or let anything bad happen." She looked up at him. "I’d forgotten how much I can trust you. I do trust you. With everything."

"And I was just feeling pushed out of the wedding plans. I know I said I was too busy to help you with them, but now I realize how much I missed out on. I could have been helping you instead of belittling you for caring so much about seating arrangements and the menu."

"That’s okay," she smiled, holding him tight. "Mother really handled all the details herself."

"She left all it up to François?"

"Mm-hm." Honey giggled. They stood for a moment in the rain. Then Honey asked, "Brian? Would you mind terribly if we went inside now and dried off?"

"Yeah," he laughed. "If we can figure out how to get back through the gate. I assume you brought your access card?"

She nodded, then pulled her card from her pocket. She hesitated a moment, then pointed out, "You have your car. We could just go back to your place." He stared at her. "To dry off and talk," she clarified. "I still intend to wait, but there’s a lot more we need to settle, don’t you think?"

He smiled, took her hand and led her to his car. "You’re a wise woman, Honey Wheeler, to understand that things can’t be settled with one or two passionate speeches in the middle of a downpour!"

She grinned back at him. "True. But I do so adore those passionate speeches!"

"I’ll remember that," he promised, and opened the car door. In moments, they were back on the road to their new life.

*     *     *

Something woke her up. Some noise, some smell, some sense of something wrong. She rubbed her eyes and raised her head off the pillow and listened. She heard the hum of the refrigerator, the thump! of the air conditioner turning on, and the hisssss! of Steven’s air purifier/humidifier. She laid her head back down on her pillow. Then she heard something else.

Alarmed now, she carefully got up. She bent and reached under the bed for the staff Lester had spent hours training her to use, if she ever found herself having to defend herself against attack. Holding the slender, but potentially deadly, length of wood in her hands, she stepped carefully into the hall.

She didn’t see anyone. She didn’t hear anything more, either. She reflected that it could have been an animal on the roof she had heard, or a branch breaking off one of the huge trees outside. She peeked in Steven’s room.

He wasn’t in his bed.

Puzzled, but controlling her immediate reaction, she checked the bathroom next. The door stood open. Steven was not inside. Making her way to the kitchen, she passed the sliding glass doors that led to the deck. She felt a hot wind brush against her bare legs. She whirled and almost dropped the staff. The doors were wide open.

Ruth hurried through the sliding glass doors, but still found no sign of Steven. She turned, her heart sick. Was he sleepwalking? Was he lost? Was he… Her eyes fell on a muddy boot print. She found another print. Then another. All leading into the garage apartment. There were less-muddy prints coming back the other way.

Ruth followed the exiting prints across the deck to the stairs, down the stairs to the driveway, across the driveway to a puddle of mud leftover from the torrential rainstorm to a set of tire tracks. The set of tire tracks led out toward the road.

Ruth dropped the staff into the mud. She whispered, "Steven?"

* adult themes

Previously in The Pleasure of Your Company:

Brian and Honey made up and the wedding is back on schedule. Julie was impersonating her twin sister to fool Bobby. Kathy discovered her sister’s game in the summerhouse and broke things off with her boyfriend, promising sweet revenge on both Bobby and Julie. Mart told Diana that Thomas kissed him. Angry, Diana threw Mart off the Lynch property, then demanded Thomas come clean with her. Thomas confessed everything and asked Diana to marry him anyway. She’s thinking about it. Steven is starting to get suspicious of Jim’s intentions toward Ruth, who discovers her son’s disappearance. He’s apparently been kidnapped out of their home in the middle of the night.

We now return you to The Pleasure of Your Company…

Chapter 12

7:30 a.m. Sunday morning, 13 days to go

Trixie arrived at the crime scene thirty minutes after Jim’s phone call. She had found Honey at Brian’s apartment, congratulated her brother and her once-again future sister-in-law on their reconciliation, then shared her own news. Honey agreed to meet Trixie at Ruth’s home as soon as Brian could drop her off.

While apprenticing a private detective in Manhattan, Trixie and Honey had been present at hundreds of crime scenes ranging from simple burglaries to mass murder. Though they had steadily gotten used to the sight of blood, gore and the remains of violence, they never got used to the varying expressions of pain and suffering that survivors of the more horrific crimes displayed. Whether it was uncontrollable weeping, fury or guilt, it never failed to remind them each of the reasons they became detectives in the first place. It never failed to remind them of the importance of helping people in distress. This morning was no different.

Trixie arrived at Ruth’s garage apartment first. She parked her Mazda well out of the way of the several police cars jamming the driveway. She easily spotted Lt. Molinson, directing the official investigation from inside the perimeter of Crime Scene tape, and Jim and Ruth standing near him, talking to a female officer. Trixie spied Mrs. Hartman on her front porch. An officer had just left her and was tucking a small notebook into his front breast pocket. He nodded to her as he passed by.

Trixie greeted Mrs. Hartman and joined her on the porch. "Terrible news this morning, isn’t it," Trixie began.

"Oh, my, yes! That sweet little boy!" Mrs. Hartman agreed. "I didn’t know anything had happened until Ruth came over and knocked on my door at almost five this morning to see if I wouldn’t mind calling the police! You see, her phone lines were cut."

"Really?" Trixie hadn’t realized that. "Then when Jim got here, he must have called me from your house, too."

The elderly lady nodded. "Jim called everyone. You, his lawyers, everyone."

"His lawyers? Why them?" Trixie asked, puzzled.

Mrs. Hartman frowned. "I’m not sure now whether they were his lawyers," she decided. "Just a lawyer, I suppose. He’s on his way, I hear. To talk to Ruth."

"Oh," Trixie said, suddenly understanding. Jim had called the lawyer Ruth had spoken to about formally adopting Steven. It would be important for her to know her exact legal rights regarding Steven and his disappearance. "Have the police told you anything about what they’ve found?"

The woman shook her head. "No, my dear, they haven’t found anything much. Except some sort of cotton pad soaked in knockout drops. They asked me if I had anything like that in the house." She shuddered. "An officer asked permission to search." She sighed, shaking her head. "Somehow, I just know that if Charles were still here, he’d have heard something or seen something helpful. I’m just no use at all. I slept through the entire thing! Some good neighbor I’ve turned out to be."

Trixie leaned forward and patted her arm. "Don’t you start thinking that way, Mrs. H! You’ve provided a good, safe home for Ruth and her son. You can’t be held responsible for the actions of some nutcase! Besides," she added swiftly, "I feel certain you’ll be doing a lot in the days to come, helping Ruth keep herself together so she’ll be strong enough when Steven comes back."

The old woman’s eyes lit with hope. "Do you really think they’ll find Steven?"

Trixie smiled. "I guarantee it. Don’t you worry, Mrs. Hartman. Steven’ll be back quicker than you know." They chatted for a few more minutes, and then Trixie excused herself to check on the investigation.

Molinson glanced at Trixie as she approached. He held up a hand in warning. "Don’t get in the way, Detective," he told her. "We’re bringing the Feds in on this one."

Trixie nodded. The FBI had to be called in every kidnap case. "When should they get here?"

"They’re only coming from White Plains. I expect them any minute now." As he spoke, a black Lincoln turned into the driveway.

"That must be them," Trixie commented, even as Molinson began moving toward the car. She called after him, "Try and be nice this time, okay?" She caught the aggrieved look he threw back at her, then she headed for Ruth and Jim, still being questioned by the female officer.

While keeping a discreet distance away, Trixie took full advantage of every people-reading skill she’d ever acquired. The uniformed officer, a fairly new presence on the force, stood politely but confidently, methodically cataloging Ruth’s responses to each question. The officer’s expression was the perfect mix of empathy and professionalism. I bet Molinson thinks highly of her, Trixie thought with an inward smile, which probably means she thinks he hates her.

An odd feeling pricked at her as she turned her attention to Jim. From her perspective, she could only guess that he had his hand on Ruth’s back, gently comforting her. He kept his eyes on Ruth’s face, only glancing occasionally at the officer in order to clarify a response or answer a direct question himself. He really cares about her, Trixie realized. It’s funny, but in all the years I’ve known him, he’s never behaved that way about me… hmmm.

Trixie forced herself to focus on Ruth. She regarded the other woman as objectively as she could. Ruth’s ice-blue eyes were red-rimmed and bleary; she obviously had been crying. Her complexion had splotched and her hands trembled; she was definitely still upset. Her jeans had muddy stains on the knees and seat and she wore a man’s flannel pajama top; she hadn’t bothered to put on more than her jeans and was that Lester’s pajama top or…? No, she answered her own question. Jim told me Ruth called him at home. He called me when he got here. Jim wouldn’t lie about spending the night at Ruth’s. Jim never lies.

As Trixie watched, Jim caught her eye and motioned for her to stay there. He quickly kissed Ruth’s temple, then hurried over to steer Trixie away from the police. Even as he tugged at her arm, Trixie saw that Ruth hadn’t noticed Jim’s kiss. That bit of information tucked away, she faced Jim. "What’s up?" she asked.

"When’s Honey getting here?"

Trixie hesitated at Jim’s brusqueness, but put it down to stress. "As soon as Brian can get her here. I woke them both up when I called," she replied.

"They were together?" Jim asked, more than a bit incredulous.

Briefly, Trixie filled Jim in on the reconciliation. As soon as the news seemed to sink into his brain, Trixie steered the conversation back to the larger problem. "What’d you want to talk to me about?" she repeated.

"Are you going to search for Steven?" he asked.

"Well," she replied, "that’s more of a Bureau thing. PI’s usually take over missing persons cases either when the regular authorities give up or when they don’t think anyone’s actually missing."

"Huh?"

Trixie grinned. "Too early in the morning?" She shook her head. "Sorry. I’ll try to be less Trixie-ish in my speech." She rephrased. "Before an adult can be considered missing, they have to be gone more than 24 hours. Sometimes, depending on that adult’s prior behavior, that amount of time can be extended." She went on to describe a hypothetical situation. "Say Mr. Maypenny was still mostly a hermit. After what point would you say he had gone missing? He only went to Lytell’s for fifteen minutes every six weeks or so. Do you send out a search party after 24 hours? No. You’d give him a few months to turn up. Unless you had evidence of foul play. Say, like his cabin was trashed or something."

"Okay, fine, whatever," Jim said, clearly not interested in hypothetical situations. "This is a kid. An eight-year-old kid stolen out of his own house, out of his own bed, in the middle of the night. This is cut and dried kidnapping."

"I hate to be the one to break it to you, Jim," she said, "But the first thing the FBI is going to do is think Ruth killed her son and hid the body somewhere."

Trixie braved the next few minutes of Jim’s intensely verbalized fury without so much as uttering a syllable in reply. When he finally closed his mouth, she only had to lay her hand on his arm for him to begin to apologize profusely.

"Don’t think twice about it, Jim," she urged him. "It was part of my training to learn to think everyone’s a suspect until proven innocent, and part of my nature, as well. My old boss used to say that everyone was guilty of something and that a good detective should be able to figure out what that something is." She grinned wryly. "You’re guilty of caring too much about people."

He shook his head. "I’m still sorry. I shouldn’t have blasted you like that. I can’t expect you to know Ruth like I do."

"And no one’s seen that mysterious visitor but you," Trixie reminded him. "That fact could go either way."

"What do you mean? Doesn’t that prove that Ruth’s been telling the truth?"

Trixie grimaced. "I’m afraid not. It only makes you a suspected accomplice. I’m sorry, Jim," she hastened to assure him. "But that’s just how the Feds see things. They won’t believe there’s a kidnapping until there’s a ransom note, or more evidence or a less impeachable witness…" She spread her hands and gestured helplessly. "I’m sorry. I truly am."

Jim was silent for a long time. When he finally spoke, he looked directly into her eyes. "Will you help us find Steven anyway?"

Trixie pulled Jim into a comforting hug. "Of course, I will," she told him. "Everything will work out." But that was easy for her to say. It’s what she always said. The first order of business was to tell the victims what they needed to hear, whether she believed it or not.

She saw Brian’s car pull into Mrs. Hartman’s driveway and stop. After a moment, Honey got out of the passenger side and hurried toward Trixie and Jim, still in the side yard of the Hartman house, Brian just a step behind her.

After the usual round of greetings and congratulations, Honey pulled Trixie aside. "Tell me everything. What’d I miss?"

Trixie filled in her partner as quickly as she could. From her view over Honey’s shoulder toward the garage apartment, she saw Molinson lead the Agents to the muddy prints on the deck and up into the house while the female officer completed her interrogation of Ruth, turned and left the woman alone. Trixie pulled Honey along with her and approached the grieving mother.

Ruth wiped at her eyes and smiled tremulously at the detectives. "Morning," she said with a raw voice, "I’m glad you came."

Trixie and Honey sat on either side of Ruth, immediately establishing a protective, supportive and emotionally responsive rapport with her. "How are you holding up?" Honey asked first.

Ruth nodded. "Okay, I guess." She shrugged, then said incredulously, "They haven’t found him yet! He can’t be too far away. I feel certain I woke up just after they t-took him!" She shook her head. "I should have just gotten in my car and gone after them! I shouldn’t have bothered with the police!"

"No, no," Trixie said firmly. "You did the exact right thing. I’m sure the police have put up roadblocks and an APB on Steven, and on Lillian Nichols, just in case. I have a major hunch she’s behind all this."

Ruth nodded and wiped at her eyes. She moaned, "We should have left town. We should have left the country. We had our chance and I blew it!"

The detectives remained with Ruth for another twenty minutes, comforting her and reassuring her of the eventual success of the investigation. Simultaneously, Trixie was doing her best to ferret out any tidbit of information the woman might not know she knew, or the police might not know to ask about. When Molinson returned from the house and headed straight for them, a tight-lipped frown on his face, Trixie stood and met him halfway.

"What’s the story," she asked him bluntly.

Molinson groaned. "Don’t tell me you’re taking on this case?" Trixie just stared up at him. "Fine, fine. Go ahead. Tilt at another windmill."

"Come on, Molinson," she retorted evenly. "You can’t tell me you don’t want the help!"

The police officer jammed his fists on his hips and stared down at her from his height of six feet. "If you had gone to the Academy like I told you to, and then come to work here for me like I promised you could, then I’d say I want the help! But you’re just a PI and they only get in the way."

"You’re such a hypocrite," Trixie told him. "Do you want my help or don’t you?"

He sighed. "If you can find evidence that this kid wasn’t killed and the body buried somewhere, then that would be helpful." He glanced meaningfully at Ruth and Honey.

"I understand," she said quietly. If she couldn’t prove that Ruth hadn’t killed her own son, then the FBI wasn’t going to pursue the kidnapping angle as assiduously as possible. "Can I have access to the crime scene?"

Molinson rubbed a hand over his eyes. "Yeah, sure, fine, whatever," he nodded. "Don’t forget your sidekick."

Moments later, Honey and Trixie ducked under the yellow Crime Scene tape and approached the garage. They examined the muddy tire tracks first, then followed the footprints toward the stairs. The detectives avoided eye contact with any of the officers on the sun deck. They looked at the sliding glass doors, instantly realizing one of the heavy panels had been lifted off its tracks to allow access to the apartment. They followed the trail of mud toward Steven’s room, saw the marker, which indicated the location of the suspiciously drugged cotton swab, then glanced around the room.

The Agents were in Ruth’s bedroom. Aside from the officer in the hall, Trixie and Honey were alone in Steven’s room. "Well, partner? What do you think?" Trixie asked.

Honey closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them, shaking her head. "He was kidnapped. This doesn’t feel like a room where someone was killed."

Trixie almost grinned in relief. She trusted Honey’s almost-supernatural instincts for this sort of thing. She jumped when a deep, sardonic voice asked from the hallway, "So what are you, the town psychic or something?"

Coolly, Honey smiled at the FBI Agent in the doorway. "Isn’t it obvious the boy was kidnapped?"

"Is it?" The Agent, a not unhandsome man about thirty-five years old stopped in the doorway and regarded Honey with detached amusement.

"You’ve got footprints going into the house under footprints that go out of the house," Honey said, as if lecturing to a backward child. "These footprints are too big and too deep to have been made by Ruth Kettner-Mundy, and if she’d been carrying Steven, the prints wouldn’t be so regular or so far apart. She’d have struggled more with the weight. Ruth Kettner-Mundy is not a physically strong woman."

The Agent nodded, his amusement growing. "You must be this Trixie Belden I’ve heard so much about. It’s nice to meet you," he said, extending his hand to Honey. "I’m Special Agent Geoff Pinscher. My friends call me ‘Doberman’."

Honey took his hand, then informed him, "You’re not that ‘special’. I’m Madeleine Wheeler. My friends call me ‘Honey’. This is Trixie Belden."

Trixie stepped forward and offered her hand in greeting. "Nice to meet you, I guess. Though if this is any indication of your detection skills, I’m afraid the taxpayers of this county aren’t getting their money’s worth."

Stung, Pinscher barely touched Trixie’s hand. "I’ll have you know, detectives, that I’ve covered more of these so-called kidnappings than any man should have to. I know a set-up when I see one."

"And you think Ruth set this up?" Trixie asked. "Despite what my partner just told you?"

Pinscher nodded. "She’s got a boyfriend. He seems strong enough to handle a little kid and he seems quite devoted to ‘Blondie’ out there. I don’t think he’s above suspicion."

"That ‘boyfriend’ out there-" Honey began.

"That’s James Frayne you’re slandering, Agent Doberman!" Trixie said, even more hotly. "That’s her brother and one of my best friends! If you bothered to do a little research before jumping to conclusions, you’d know that there is-"

But Pinscher spoke even louder. "I have done my research and I already know what men will do for the women they want to sleep with!" Maybe it was the militant stances of the two women, or the realization that he was supposed to be a professional, but Pinscher controlled himself. "Excuse me, ladies," he said tightly. "Have you found anything concrete or useful to share with the authorities? Or are you both just getting in the way?"

Trixie glanced at Honey. This was usually the point at which Honey ceded control of the situation to her. It was part of what made them such a good team. Honey soothed the victims while Trixie took care of any sexist or elitist law officers. Surprising them both, Honey spoke up.

"We’re not in the way," Honey defended. "We’re on the case ourselves. We have Mrs. Kettner-Mundy’s permission, as well as Lt. Molinson’s, to be here."

Pinscher nodded. "Fine. Do try and remember we’re all interested in the same thing, okay? The safety of one little boy?"

"You mean the safe return, don’t you?" Honey clarified.

Pinscher shook his head. "He’s not going to be returned. Blondie out there’s not the legal custodian. Frankly, we’ve got Legal working out the details right now, but this might not even be a kidnapping." He paused a moment, clearly pleased to be the one to tell them. "If this Lillian person is his mother, we’ll probably just let the boy remain with her. Once we clear up the paperwork, of course."

Honey and Trixie exchanged meaningful looks. This wasn’t going to be easy.

*     *     *

A few hours later, Ruth was finally allowed to return to her home, but only in order to collect a few changes of clothing and some personal care products. Mrs. Hartman graciously offered her second bedroom as a temporary home for the woman, at least until the police and the FBI were satisfied they had dredged up every clue possible from the garage apartment.

Trixie and Honey sat together on the Hartman’s front porch and outlined their notes.

1. Steven was kidnapped. The evidence made that clear. Besides, they trusted and believed Ruth’s story.
2. Lillian Nichols had not struck Trixie as being particularly trustworthy. Plus, her interest in Steven’s welfare had a ring of insincerity about it. There was still no hard evidence Lillian had actually taken the boy, but both detectives realized the chances of this being a random event were slim.
3. They trusted and believed Jim about the mysterious male visitor. But who could that have been? What was his connection to Steven and/or Lil and/or Ruth?

"I started some inquiries into Lillian Nichols’ past," Trixie told her partner. "But I haven’t had a chance to see if any of my queries have been answered." She nudged Honey. "I’ve been a bit too wrapped up in my partner’s on-again, off-again love life to check for results."

"Sorry," Honey told her, although she didn’t look the least bit contrite. "We should check that out. Is that lawyer Jim called for Ruth done yet, do you think? He’s been talking to her a long time."

Trixie twisted in the porch swing and peered through the window into the Hartman living room. "I’m not sure, but they must be by now. I see Jim smiling. Let’s go in." She stood and Honey followed her inside.

Matthew Costello, a family law specialist, glanced up as the detectives entered the living room. Trixie asked, "Are we intruding?"

"Not at all," Matthew smiled. "I think I’m almost done here."

"Where do we stand?" Trixie asked, unwilling to read Ruth’s obviously distraught expression.

Matthew sighed. "Not good. Ruth has no legal claim to Steven, as she’s not the natural mother. Still, there’s a chance Lester’s parents might take action on their son’s behalf, or that Ruth could get visitation rights. Judges favor biology."

Trixie looked at Ruth then. The woman had showered and changed her clothes, but her eyes hadn’t lost the red rims, nor her face the increasingly anguished expression of torment. She sat with her legs pressed together, her arms folded tight against her stomach and her neck bent. Her long hair had been carelessly pulled back in a clip. Several whitish strands fell haphazardly about her pale face.

Pushing past Jim, Trixie sat next to Ruth. "Don’t worry. We’ll find Steven and bring him home to you. I promise." Trixie knew Honey and Jim and even Matthew would have preferred her not to make such a vow, in light of all the legalities involved, but she didn’t care. The spark of hope in Ruth’s ice blue eyes was enough for Trixie.

*     *     *

Trixie dropped her purse, keys and her Wimpy’s takeout bag on her desk and eyed the flashing red light on her answering machine. She heard Honey in the outer office of Belden-Wheeler and called out to her. "There’s a message. You want me to wait for you?"

"No, go ahead," Honey replied.

Trixie punched the PLAY button and began to organize the current mess on her desk. A tinny voice filled the office.

‘I hope I’m doing the right thing. I’m the Desk Clerk at the Dew-Drop Inn. Yesterday one of our ‘guest’ skipped town without paying. Well, she paid, just not with her own credit card. It was stolen. Do you handle that? I called the police, and they said to just let the credit card company know and that would be that, but I want my money! My boss is going to take it out of my check and I can’t afford that. Give me a call. The number is 555-DDIN.’

Trixie looked up from her burger and fries. "Did you hear that, Honey?"

"I surely did," Honey drawled in reply. "Looks like we got ourselves a lead!"

"Let’s check out the Dew-Drop. I’ll drive." Trixie gathered her lunch, her keys and her purse and headed for the door. Honey hurried along a step behind.

*     *     *

The clerk at the Dew-Drop Inn was more than pleased to tell Trixie and Honey every last detail of Lillian Nichols’ temporary residence.

"The woman was nothing but trouble," the skinny-to-the-point-of-emaciation clerk said. "It was nothing but complaint, complaint, complaint, all day and all night. The water was too hot. It was too cold. Not enough towels. The bed was too hard. The mattress too lumpy. The pillows smelled. The cable didn’t work. No room service." The clerk cursed. "It was like renting to my mother!"

Trixie said patiently, "I see. And was there anyone staying with her at any time? A man, perhaps?"

The clerk snorted and glanced at Honey. "You think she was ‘working’?"

Trixie maintained a bland expression. "Was she?"

The clerk rubbed a lanky hand over his stubbly chin. "I don’t know. I mean, she could have been, but she didn’t offer any to me."

Trixie refrained from comment.

The clerk shrugged. "There was that guy I’d see hanging around. All dried-up and dirty, he was. He never came in here, though."

"And the name on the credit card Lillian Nichols tried to use?" Honey asked.

The clerk pulled out a voided credit card slip and handed it to the detectives. Trixie looked at the imprinted name. It read ‘Calvert Grenold’. She frowned, not recognizing it. She showed the paper to Honey, who shook her head as well.

"Anything else to add?" Trixie sighed, fearing the answer.

The clerk grinned. "We haven’t cleaned the room yet. Want a peek?"

*     *     *

An hour passed before the police and the Feds showed up. Trixie took them immediately to the collection of guide books and maps that had been found under one of the beds in the small motel room. Pen marks on the Northeastern United States and Canadian Provinces map seemed to indicate Lillian and her male friend’s intention of fleeing the country. A map of Westchester County, the route to Glen Road and Mrs. Hartman’s house highlighted, further proved Lillian’s involvement in the kidnapping. To Trixie’s satisfaction, it was Agent Pinscher himself who called in the APB, set up the roadblocks and alerted Customs and the Border Patrol.

Took them long enough, Trixie thought. This is why I stayed out of any sort of civil service. Too much red tape.

"Why is there a border patrol for Canada?" the desk clerk, who hadn’t had so much excitement since the local call girls hosted their New Year’s Eve party at the motel, wondered. Nobody bothered to answer.

*     *     *

Assured that Ruth and Jim were being downgraded from Public Enemies #1 and 2, Trixie and Honey returned to their offices in separate cars. Exhausted and hungry, the detectives slumped in their chairs and faced each other across their desks. "What’s the plan for dinner?" Honey asked.

"I don’t know," Trixie replied. "I’m starving, but I don’t know what I want. Lunch was much too long ago."

"Story of my life," Honey chuckled. She pushed hair from her face and leaned farther back in her chair. "Why don’t you see if you’ve got any response from your Net searches and I’ll think of something for dinner."

Trixie nodded and focused her attention on her computer. In a few moments, she had stopped the screensaver, accessed the Internet, downloaded her email, sorted it, and then opened her search results file. Her fatigue swiftly dissipated as she scanned the information.

"Get this, Honey!" she said. "Lillian Nichols has got a huge arrest record!"

"For what?" Honey asked, flipping through her collection of takeout menus.

Trixie shrugged. "Name it. Public Disturbance, Drunk & Disorderly, Possession, Solicitation, Petty Theft, Identity Theft, Fraud. The list goes on and on."

"Really?!" Honey dropped the menus in a confused heap on her desk, closed her eyes, and picked one of the colorful papers. She opened her eyes and frowned. "But I don’t feel like Thai!" she muttered. She glanced up at Trixie. "Was she ever convicted of anything?"

Trixie kept scanning down the page. "Just one or two counts of the small stuff. She’s spent time in the County Jail. Almost a year, but not all at once."

"Was she arrested with anyone?" Honey asked. She moved the Thai menu to one side and redistributed the remaining menus in another confused heap. She closed her eyes and selected again. "You up for Mexican?"

"Pizza sounds great," Trixie said, her mind clearly not on dinner. "Yes! Some loser named – get this – Jethro Nichols!"

Honey sighed. "Pizza again?" She picked up her phone and speed-dialed the delivery number. "So is Jethro her husband or what?"

Trixie kept paging through the documents on her screen. "Looks like Jethro’s her brother. But then, this is the South we’re talking about."

"Trixie!!" Honey scolded her friend. Then she spoke into the phone. "Yes, this is Honey Wheeler over at –… Yes, that’s right. Could you make that with extra pepperoni this time? Thank you!" She hung up the phone and glared at Trixie.

"Sorry," Trixie grinned, though she was in too good a mood to be terribly concerned about slandering a perfectly nice and normal segment of the population. "It says in this police report that they’re brother and sister. Let me see…" She clicked on another link and waited.

The computer prompted her for her law enforcement access code. Being from New York, and not an actual law enforcement officer, Trixie did not have such a code. Being a good friend of a gifted computer hacker, she had a program that figured those things out for her. As she watched, one of Anne’s crafty encryption-decoding programs went into action. In seconds, a viable code was found, entered and more information appeared.

"Come over here, Honey, and look at this," Trixie urged. As Honey rolled her chair around to the other side of the office, Trixie scrolled through the latest page of information.

It was an arrest record from the year before. Jethro and Lillian Nichols were accused of selling drugs to an undercover agent. Due to a mix-up with paperwork, the Nichols siblings were released on time served.

"Anything linking them to Ruth and Lester?" Honey wondered.

Trixie shook her head. "Nothing yet. This is all in the last four or five years." They lapsed into thought. After several minutes, Trixie said aloud, "We might be attacking this from the wrong angle. Maybe we should start from when Lester and Lillian first met."

"Sounds okay," Honey agreed. "If Steven just turned nine years old, then his parents would have met almost nine years ago this summer. Right when Lester graduated high school and entered the Army, right?"

"Right," Trixie agreed. "In 2000, same year as Dan, Mart and Anne. A year before us." She began another search. "Which means he went to Basic Training at Fort Benning that same summer. There’s a web site for every military base…"

Seconds later, Trixie found the Ft. Benning web site. A minute later, she had maneuvered her way through the main menu to the complete list of recruits and soldiers who had ever been stationed at the base. She easily located Lester’s name.

"Now what?" Honey wondered. "We already knew he was there at that time."

Trixie nodded. "Now I’m going to figure out where Lillian was working. She told me she was an exotic dancer, so naturally, I’m looking for strip clubs."

Honey sighed. "Why do we always end up looking for strip clubs?"

Trixie laughed. "We do not! It only seems that way." She cast a sly grin to her future sister-in-law. "Besides, there have been one or two clubs we’ve been in you haven’t been so upset about."

Honey blushed. "That’s different. Male strip clubs have a completely different atmosphere. They’re not so… so…"

"Sleazy? Exploitative? Sexist?" Trixie supplied helpfully.

Honey sighed and tucked a lock of hair behind her ears. "Okay, maybe they are. But at least I never dated one of the strippers!"

"What!?" she protested. "That was all in the line of duty! I was just pumping him for -"

"Uh-huh," Honey nodded knowingly. "I’ll just bet you were."

"For information." Trixie stressed the word. They heard a noise at the front door. "Pizza’s here. Take it from petty cash. There should be plenty."

Honey nodded, still smirking, rose and found the cash. While she paid the delivery person, Trixie opened another search.

By the time half of the pizza had been devoured, Trixie and Honey had searched through ten strip clubs without finding a single mention of Lillian Nichols.

"This is getting us nowhere," Honey moaned.

"Nonsense," Trixie contradicted. "We’re narrowing down our search with every ‘no’. This is a good thing."

"This is a tedious thing."

Trixie shrugged. "You got any other plans for tonight?"

Honey laughed. "You mean, besides work?" At Trixie’s sheepish nod, she shook her head. "No. Brian’s on all night. Since we’re back on track with this wedding thing, thank you, God," she interjected her recitation with a fervently appreciative glance toward the ceiling, "we aren’t meeting up again until Tuesday, when we visit the florist and the caterer to check on some last-minute details. What about you?"

"Nothing planned," Trixie confessed. "Dan had some church function this afternoon. He invited me along, but when this whole thing broke, I cancelled."

"How’s that religion thing working out? I never think to ask, but it must be awkward."

"Not really." Trixie chewed on a bit of leftover crust. She waved the length of crust in the air. "He’s never pushed it on me, and I don’t let myself get intimidated by it, either." She grinned. "Actually, there’s something rather appealing about a guy who’s got that much faith."

"Don’t tell me you’re going to convert!" Honey said with mock horror.

Trixie flashed a grin. "You know my parents were always open to us kids choosing our own path to God. I'm just not sure which path I'm on." She took another thoughtful bite of crust. "It feels right to me, though."

Honey slipped an arm around her friend’s shoulders. "You’re a good person, Trixie Belden. You’ve got an open and generous heart. That’s all that’s required, you know."

"Thanks," Trixie smiled.

"So we’re both dateless, then? Typical."

A new series of images on the monitor interrupted Trixie’s reply. "So’s this. Typical, I mean." She moved the mouse pointer over the screen.

‘Live Nude Girls Nightly!’ read the screaming headline. ‘Come to the Hottest Show in the Hot, Hot South! Belle’s offers only the finest in nude entertainment for today’s discriminating connoisseur of Adult Entertainment! Established in 1977, Belle’s has a longstanding tradition of erotic excellence and…’

"Yadda-yadda," Trixie said, scrolling down the page. "Let’s see if they’ve got any promising links. Bingo!" She found links to Merchandise, and History, as well as Popular Photographs of Belle’s Beauties. "Which one first?" she asked Honey.

Honey thought a moment, then suggested ‘merchandise’. "Maybe there’s a calendar or something."

Trixie nodded and clicked. A moment later, they discovered that Belle’s did, indeed, offer calendars, and had since 1986. Locating the year 2000 wasn’t hard.

As with most adult-subject web sites, the actual photos were somewhat blurry. The idea was to get the customer to order the item, not simply download it him- or her- self free of charge. Still, Trixie was able to distinguish Lillian’s picture.

Honey leaned closer. "That’s her?"

"Yup. What do you think?" Trixie asked.

"She’s pretty, I guess. But wearing way too much makeup and not enough clothes."

Trixie laughed. "I wonder when this photo was taken. Probably the year before. Let’s check out the ‘history’ section."

A few more clicks, and they found a trove of photographs, arranged by year and function. Apparently, Belle’s had a party for every graduating Boot Camp class, as well as regular ones for holidays and staff birthdays. The detectives soon hit pay dirt.

"Is that Lester Mundy?" Honey asked, uncertainly. She tapped the monitor with the tip of a slender pencil.

"I think so," Trixie said slowly. "It’s so hard to tell. All these guys really look alike. I mean, they’re all wearing the same type of clothes and they all have that really short hair. But, yeah. I think that is Lester. But who’s that?"

Lester had his arms around a pretty girl and was smiling into the camera. Lester had a beer in one hand; so did the girl. Lester wore a white T-shirt and desert camouflage pants; the girl wore a g-string and a smile. It was not Lillian Nichols. Lillian was sitting on the lap of a different young soldier and they were touching each other rather intimately. Leering, drunken faces, beer bottles, scantily clad women and assorted remnants of streamers and balloon decorations made up the rest of the assembly. The caption read: Class of August 2000’s Graduation Party.

"There’s things you just don’t want to know about people you went to high school with," Honey commented. Trixie nodded, but didn’t speak. "See what else there is."

Trixie continued to hit links until she got to ‘Easter 2001’. "Lester married Ruth in January, right?"

Honey nodded. "He got leave at Thanksgiving, which is when he asked her, then they married just after New Year’s," she said. "Why?"

Trixie thought a moment. "Here’s what we know. Lester met Lillian at Belle’s in August. When was he transferred to Savannah? Right after that, right?"

"Well, yeah," Honey agreed. "That fits. That’s where he and Ruth set up housekeeping, anyway. Why?"

Trixie turned a crafty smile to Honey. "Just this. See this picture?" She moved the mouse to indicate a small picture on the screen.

Honey leaned close. "Yeah? So? It’s Lillian. But that’s not Lester."

Trixie’s smile turned even craftier. "No. It’s not. See this?" She highlighted the caption under the photograph. "’Easter Bunnies at Belle’s Bring Bountiful Baskets of Goodies’," she read aloud. "March 2001. This is Lillian. Notice anything?"

"Like what?" Honey asked. "She’s got a stupid bunny costume on, ridiculous ears and she’s on some slobbering guy’s lap. What’s the big deal?"

"It’s March." Trixie stressed the word, then waited for the same light bulb that illuminated her brain to turn on in Honey’s. "Think about it!"

Honey thought about it. She frowned. She turned quizzical. Then her mouth dropped open in shock. "March! But!"

"I know!" Trixie nodded in shared amazement. "Steven was born in April. How could this be Lillian in March? Check out that flat stomach. I doubt she was ever pregnant."

"But! But! Lester told Ruth it was-"

"His child," Trixie interrupted. "And that’s all the Army would have been able to test for, if Lil left town like she did. They’d have had no way to prove maternity."

Honey slumped back in her chair and slurped the last of her soda. "So who is Steven’s mother, if not Lillian Nichols? And what does Lillian want with Steven? Why dump him off at Lester’s, if you’re only going to kidnap him years later?"

Trixie tapped the mouse thoughtfully. "I don’t know. But we’re going to find out!"

They each had another slice of pizza before boxing the remaining pie and shoving it into the refrigerator. Trixie refreshed their sodas, then they both sat down again at their desks and thought about all they had learned.

Honey won the coin toss and called Agent Pinscher. Telling him they had evidence to suggest Lillian was not Steven’s mother, and therefore not to be treated as if she automatically had custodial rights, made her very happy. "He said the roadblocks and checkpoints are in place and that they got a picture of Jethro to Jim and he positively ID’d him as the same guy who stopped in to see Ruth last weekend," Honey said, bringing Trixie up to speed.

"So they’re finally admitting it’s a kidnapping?" Trixie asked.

Honey nodded. "Which takes it pretty much out of our hands. What now?"

Trixie sighed. "I’m still wondering why. Why would anyone take someone’s child just to turn it over to the natural father, then kidnap him back? I don’t get it."

"Fraud was one of the charges on her rap sheet," Honey pointed out. "Maybe she’s working some sort of con?"

"Where’s the money?" Trixie asked. "What’s the payoff? Why go to all this trouble?" A thought occurred. "And who is the girl on Lester Mundy’s lap?"

The two detectives sat and thought for several long moments. Nothing occurred. The hour grew later and soon all outside light from the summer sun faded, leaving the offices of Belden-Wheeler dim and quiet. Not until the sound of running feet and childish laughter, from outside on the sidewalk, disturbed their contemplation did the women realize the lateness of the hour.

"It’s just Isabelle’s kids," Honey announced. "From the beauty parlor down the street. Must be going to get ice cream from Sweet Endings."

Trixie nodded, then yawned and stretched. "I don’t know about you, but I’m getting nowhere and I’ve no idea how to get anywhere I’d recognize."

Honey started to giggle, but found she lacked the energy for more than a smile. "I didn’t sleep much this morning," she confessed. "Brian and I were up most of the time talking."

Trixie smirked. "Talking?"

"Yes! Talking!" Honey averred. "About everything. Money. Finances. Children. The Bob-Whites. Family. Career. Medicine. Detectives." She sighed, lifted a hand and dropped it to her side. "He wants to open a clinic for underprivileged kids and their families. He wants to fund it with my inheritance."

"What!?" Trixie jumped to her feet. "That’s wonderful!" She hurried around the desk and wrapped Honey in a huge hug. "How can I help?"

"Oh, please!" Honey grinned gratefully. "It’s much too soon to ask you to hold a ladder steady while I hang curtains. Or anything like that. We’re just discussing the idea right now."

Trixie straightened and let her arms drop. "Oh. I see." It suddenly occurred to her that Honey would be Brian’s wife more than she would be her best friend – or even her business partner. And that Honey and Brian would necessarily be a team. They would come to rely on each other more, and in a quite different way, than Honey had ever relied on Trixie. The medical clinic was the perfect example of this. Trixie knew her help would be appreciated, but her interference in the plans would not. It needed to be their project. Theirs alone.

Trixie saw the uncertainty in Honey’s eyes and knew that her very best friend recognized the fundamental shifting of their relationship, too. She smiled to let her know she didn’t mind, that she even approved, of the change. Despite feeling like a large piece of her had just broken off into the swirling Hudson, never to be seen again, Trixie wanted beyond anything to support Honey’s independence, as well as her interdependence on someone else. She wanted beyond anything for Honey to fully realize herself, to become the person Trixie had always known she could become.

"I think you’d better head home," Trixie said. "You’ve got a lot of stuff to take care of if you’re going to move into my brother’s apartment next month."

"Ugh," Honey groaned. "Just thinking about it makes my head hurt!" Nevertheless, she gathered her purse and car keys and soon Trixie was locking the office door behind her and pulling the window shades for privacy.

"Now to get some work done!" Trixie said out loud. She forcibly removed all personal thoughts from her head and began once more to concentrate on the task at hand: finding Steven Mundy. She refreshed her glass of soda, sat down at the computer and refocused on the job.

Knowing that Anne Maypenny had used medical records to determine her true parentage, and that hospitals were notoriously lax on security, Trixie first proved that Lillian Nichols could never have given birth to anyone. She found a report on a hysterectomy performed on the girl when she was just fifteen, due to complications from an undetermined infection. Prison medical records then showed evidence of drug use, alcohol abuse and self-inflicted wounds. Psychiatrists dismissed her as ‘borderline’, and she received some treatment while incarcerated, but apparently, nothing too lasting.

As the hours passed, Trixie sorted through the extensive arrest records, depositions and sworn statements the Georgia police had accumulated regarding Jethro and Lillian Nichols. Since most records were organized recent to earlier, she had to wade through several years’ worth of minutiae and detail before finding the information that began to click. She had hoped to find a mention of the girl on Lester Mundy’s lap. A quick call to the Hartman residence hours earlier had proven fruitless. Ruth told her Lester had only mentioned Lillian by name, though he had confessed to being drunk the night in question.

Eventually, Trixie found herself reading the files on Belle’s, and not just the ones mentioning Lillian’s name. That’s when the picture began to make more sense. One officer had written a rather dry report detailing a sting operation at the club.

Apparently, an anonymous informant told the police about a man selling drugs to the club’s clientele. The man was also reportedly attempting to pimp several of the dancers, but the report focused on the drugs. The officer wired his informant and sent her into the club one night to gather incriminating evidence, in the stated hopes of discovering more information about the dealer’s suppliers without alerting those suppliers of the police’s involvement. That’s when things got interesting.

The wire was discovered and the sting went south. The few police personnel actually listening to the conversation in a nearby van responded as quickly as they could, requesting backup and medical aid. The dealer shot the informant a lethal dose of heroin and left her for dead. The dealer’s sister was held for questioning, but released after twenty-four hours without giving up a single bit of information about her brother. Her brother, Jethro Nichols.

Trixie carefully reread the report. It was dated May 9^th, 2002. Quickly, Trixie redialed the Hartman’s residence. Without sounding too eager, Trixie asked Jim to please wake Ruth – unless he knew the answer to a very important question: what’s Steven’s birthday and when did he arrive at the Mundy household in Savannah?

Jim happened to know the answer. Steven was born March 25. Lillian showed up on the Mundy’s doorstep on the 13^th of the following May. He asked why Trixie wanted that information.

"I think I’m on to something, but I don’t want to say just yet. Thanks," she told him, and hung up the phone.

That still doesn’t connect Lillian with Steven. Not exactly, anyway. I wonder if I can get… oh, my God. Why didn’t I look here before? Trixie located the link on the officer’s Vice Report leading to the Homicide Report on the informant. The police photographer had taken, as was SOP, a head shot of the dead informant. Trixie had found her. The girl on Lester Mundy’s lap.

The coroner’s file was extremely detailed. Trixie discovered that Ivy Lane had been shot full of a lethal dose of heroin. Cause of death was heart failure. She had no track marks, no build-up of drug residue, no evidence of drug addiction or abuse of any kind, in fact, including cigarettes or alcohol. Aside from her career as an exotic dancer, she apparently lived a clean and respectable life.

The coroner, however, also made mention of certain other physical conditions. Ivy had recently given birth.

Trixie felt like jumping into the air. There was still no concrete evidence, but her hunch detector was ringing full blast. She examined the coroner’s photographs, as well as the police photographer’s, and decided that Steven did resemble Ivy, especially around the nose and mouth. If only she could find… Steven’s original birth certificate!

Trixie easily found the certificate the Army had provided, which listed Steven Mundy as the son of Lester Kettner-Mundy and Lillian Nichols. But what she needed was a document listing Ivy Lane as a mother. She came up empty.

She searched for the last name of ‘Lane’, but no Lanes had given birth in Georgia in February, March or April. It struck her that maybe Ivy Lane was a stage name. It did sound a bit theatrical. Still, she took another chance and searched for a mother with the first name of ‘Ivy’.

She found Ivy Winchester, mother of Garth Winchester. Garth’s father was listed as ‘Unknown’.

"Garth?" she repeated. "She named him ‘Garth’?" Shaking her head at strange Southerners, Trixie began digging up information on Ivy Winchester. When she found Ivy’s drivers license, and high school yearbook photograph, she knew she’d found the same Ivy Lane as died in the strip club. What she also found was a pretty, outgoing, popular cheerleader, daughter of a prominent Atlanta family, whose stated goals in life were to marry well and live happily.

Trixie sighed and noticed the time. It was well after 2 a.m. Her soda had been refilled three times already, and she’d made five hurried trips to the bathroom in consequence. She wasn’t a bit tired, however. Instead, with each discovery she felt a renewed sense of purpose and commitment to her work. This is why I love this job, she thought happily. I’m really getting somewhere and I just know I’ll be able to use this information to help Ruth get her son back. Somehow.

Trixie returned to the original photograph of Lester at Belle’s. Zooming in on Ivy and Lester’s figures, she began to put her extensive people-reading skills to work once again.

Ivy’s smile was shy, her pose a bit uncomfortable. She had her arm on Lester’s shoulder – not around them – and kept her back straight. She seemed to lean slightly away from him, though her head tilted toward his. Her legs were crossed high on her thighs and her left arm, the one with the beer, just blocked the camera’s view of her bosom. She looked down at the floor.

Lester’s smile was shy, but in a drunk sort of way. He leaned toward Ivy, his face turned toward hers, but he still smiled into the camera. He rested one hand on the edge of her uppermost kneecap, while the other held the beer behind her back.

Trixie realized that Ivy and Lester, while in a seemingly intimate pose, hadn’t been intimate yet. Ivy seemed nervous, upset and unwilling to participate in the general goings-on at the club. Not for the first time that night did Trixie wonder what brought the high school cheerleader to such a tragic and untimely end. And how hard it would be to prove Jethro Nichols was a murderer.

She sat for another hour or so, completely lost in thought and planning. She decided she’d have to go to Atlanta, to see the Winchesters, and quickly located their current address. They must have some clue what happened to their daughter. Maybe Lillian was a friend of Ivy’s. Maybe Lillian was the one who got Ivy the job at Belle’s. Maybe, at the very least, the Winchesters might have an idea why Lillian would steal Ivy’s baby – twice – and maybe that would help Trixie bring Steven back home.

She called Honey, waking her from a sound sleep, and told her the travel plans. "I’ll get as early a flight south as I can. I’ll just sleep here tonight. I’ve got some things I want to print out anyway. Notes I want to be sure to have with me. That sort of thing."

"Are you sure?" Honey asked with a yawn. "Maybe you could just call the Winchesters."

"No," Trixie replied. "I want to see them. Show them a picture of their grandson. Maybe I can get them to help Ruth seal her bid for custody."

"Have you told her yet? About the Winchesters, I mean?"

"I’ll call Ruth around six-thirty or so, when I get up."

Honey laughed. "I guess you get to be the one to rub it in Pinscher’s face this time, huh!"

"About the new evidence?" Trixie chuckled, too. "I can’t wait. After how he just assumed Jim would do anything even the remoteliest wrong!"

Now Honey sighed. "I know. He’s honorable to a fault. He could give an Eagle Scout a run for conscientious behavior. But he’s my brother and I still love him."

"I know," Trixie surrendered. It was an old argument between them and she knew it did no good to harp on the subject. "I’ll call you from Atlanta. Earlier if there’s any problems." The detectives thus agreed, Trixie hung up the phone and prepared for a stint on the reception area sofa.

*     *     *

Morning sunlight peeked through the blinds, startling Trixie awake. The office alarm clock blared the local morning show. She grimaced and shut it off, noting the hour. "Hmp. Only took me nine minutes to hear it that time," she mused.

In short order, she had washed her face and freshened up in the small bathroom. She opened her lowest desk drawer and pulled out a fresh pair of jeans, clean underwear and a soft pullover. She mentally thanked Honey for the fresh laundry. Herself, she had a tendency to leave the dirty change of clothes a bit too long in the office. She hurriedly changed, then made her phone calls to Ruth, and then Agent Pinscher. She thoroughly enjoyed each.

Grabbing the last piece of pizza from the refrigerator and the last can of soda too, Trixie took the satchel full of documents, photographs and computer disks, her purse and her emergency overnight bag and headed out the front door.

She aimed straight for her Mazda, still parked beneath a streetlight. As she manipulated her keys, she heard a voice call, "Hey! Trixie! There you are!" She cursed under her breath, then turned with a weak smile.

"I just came to see you," Dan said, hurrying across the street toward her. "Honey told me you spent the night here last night. That you got a lead on Steven. That’s great!"

Trixie’s intention was not to hug Dan when he hugged her, nor kiss him back with any interest when he kissed her good morning. But she’d grown too accustomed to the feel of his arms around her, and the taste of his lips on hers, to follow through very well on her intentions. Still, Dan must have sensed something different about her, for his posture changed and he stopped smiling.

"Going somewhere?" he asked, eyeing her bags.

She took a deep breath. "Atlanta," she gamely replied. As briefly as she could, she explained what she had discovered on the Internet.

Dan nodded slowly, his eyes shuttered. "I see. So you’re off to Atlanta to check into this Winchester couple?"

"Right. I hope they-"

"I know what you hope to find," he said coolly. "I studied law enforcement a bit myself, you know."

"I know." Trixie hated when her voice got small. She glanced away. "But the plane leaves in a bit over an hour. I’ve really got to get there ASAP."

"Sure. Fine. Whatever." Dan straightened and stood even taller than Trixie thought possible. "Have a good trip. I wish you success. Give me a call or something sometime when you get back in town, okay?"

Disbelieving, Trixie watched as Dan turned and walked away. Sputtering mutely for a moment, Trixie stared, then shouted, "Hey! Dan! Wait a minute!" He stopped, shook his head, then turned to face her again. "What’s that all about? ‘Give me a call sometime’? What gives?"

He shrugged. "What do you think? It’s over. That was it."

Suddenly Trixie didn’t care about the plane taking off without her. There was always a plane to Atlanta. She didn’t care about the early shopkeepers arriving to open their stores, or the foot patrol officers ending their nightly vigils. She dropped her satchel, put the soda on the roof of the car and tossed the pizza into a nearby garbage can. She approached Dan, but found she couldn’t move closer to him than a few feet. His eyes, his expression, his very self seemed cold and inhospitable. "What’s over? What’s ‘it’?"

He didn’t immediately answer. "Isn’t it obvious? You’re leaving town without a word to me. You-"

Trixie had to interrupt. "Nu-uh! I’m telling you now, aren’t I?" She ignored the fact that he had found her.

He scoffed. "Not by choice. That much is perfectly clear." He jerked his chin at her. "When were you planning to call and tell me? At county airport?"

He waited. She didn’t answer. He pressed harder. "From the plane?"

She still couldn’t answer. Incredulously, he asked, "Atlanta?"

She managed a shrug.

"You weren’t going to call me. Were you," he stated flatly.

Trixie couldn’t look at him. Why hadn’t she called him? What could she say? What would he believe? What was the truth? She felt a twist in her gut as he turned once more, waving a hand dismissively at her. He took a step and suddenly Trixie could move. She fairly leapt forward and grabbed hold of his arm, turning him to face her. "No! Wait! Just a minute. Please, Dan. Don’t go."

Trixie dared herself to look him full in the face, straight in the eye, and let him see everything – her pain, her misery, her confusion, her fear – everything. Once they made eye contact, she realized that Dan’s eyes weren’t shuttered at all. They were open pools of black misery and despair – just like hers. She read fear, and pain, and anguish. She also read something else. Need.

She allowed her eyes to reflect that need back to him, and magnify it. In a second instant, the truth came stumbling out of her, surprising her and, she hoped, explaining her behavior to him.

"I’m not sure – no. I am sure. I didn’t want to call you. I’m sorry. But I didn’t. I thought about it. But I couldn’t," she began. "Every time I ever told someone, someone besides Honey, my plans, that person always told me I was being foolhardy. Stupid. Reckless. That person always told me I should let someone else take the risk, let someone else do whatever it was I felt I had to do myself."

She gasped a moment for breath, praying he didn’t interrupt her. He didn’t. She went on. "I always told that person I was going anyway, and then that person would get angry and that would be it. Recriminations and accusations and all sorts of arguments later, and I still wouldn’t do what anyone told me I should do."

He opened his mouth, but Trixie waved her hands impatiently to shush him. "Oh, please listen! I’m not done."

"No, Trixie!" Dan insisted, easily and angrily pushing her hands from in front of his face. "I have never, nor would I ever, tell you not to do something you felt you had to do. I’m not that kind of guy!"

"I know that! Don’t you think I know that?" Trixie felt the twisting in her gut tighten harder, then release. "That’s the point! I knew that if you asked me not to go, not to do something dangerous, that if you told me it was stupid or reckless or foolhardy or I was going to get myself killed, I wouldn’t do it!" She breathed hard with the strength of her emotions. "I couldn’t do it! I care too much about you to dismiss you or your concerns or fears or whatever. I respect your instincts and I trust your opinions on too many things for me to just ignore what you might have to say."

He stared down at her, a strange look now crossing his face. "What are you saying? If I asked you not to go you wouldn’t? Just like that?"

She lifted a shoulder in a half-shrug. "I guess. Sort of."

The strange look was a mixture of wonder and awe. "You’re kidding." He rubbed at his temple. His voice was small. "All I wanted was a phone call."

And Trixie knew that was true. He hadn’t known she was afraid of calling him, of acknowledging the influence he had on her. All he could have thought was that she didn’t care enough to tell him, which was hardly the case at all. "I guess I thought you would have told me not to go," she managed.

"Trixie," he said patiently, "I’m not ‘other people’, you know."

Trixie felt a smile tug at her mouth. "I know," she said. "And I’m so glad."

She couldn’t help responding to his hug and kiss that time.

Minutes later, Dan helped Trixie retrieve her bags and her soda can. He took the ring of keys from her hand, however, and told her flatly he was driving. "From the looks of you, and that rather uncharacteristically emotional display just a few minutes ago, not that I minded it so much, you understand, but I don’t think you’re exactly up for driving yourself to the airport."

Trixie chuckled and nodded in agreement. "I didn’t get much sleep. I’m hoping to catch up on the plane." She quickly got into the passenger seat and buckled up.

"Besides," Dan added as he adjusted the drivers seat as far back as it would go. "This way your car doesn’t end up in long-term parking and you have someone to see you off and meet you when you arrive. Makes for a better flight that way."

They shared a grin and Dan headed for a drive-through serving breakfast.

*     *     *

"Did they just call the flight?" Trixie asked. She hurried toward Dan. She had left him in the newsstand across from the gate while she went to the restroom one last time.

"Yeah. But you still have plenty of time," he told her. "Want a newspaper or something?" He glanced around the crowded airport shop.

"No," she said. "I really want to get some sleep on the flight. My cell phone’s charged and Honey’ll be in constant touch with me, so if-"

"I have your cell phone number and your email address," he reminded her patiently. "And your promise to at least call me from the hotel room so I can wish you good night. You got your ticket?"

"Right here," she said, patting her shoulder bag. She eyed the growing line of passengers for her plane. They began boarding steadily. "I suppose I should go."

"I suppose so."

They moved out of the newsstand, out of the way of other commuters and travelers. They didn’t look at each other.

Trixie fumbled a bit with the shoulder bag, then pulled out her ticket and prepared it for the attendant. She took a deep breath. "The line’s pretty short now," she said.

"Yeah," Dan agreed. "They’re probably almost full by now."

"Well!" Trixie smiled brightly, ignoring the renewed tightening in her lungs. "Guess I should be getting on board, huh."

"Guess so," Dan agreed again. He forced a smile. He looked away from her, then at her, then away from her again. "Aw, hell, Trixie-"

Suddenly, Trixie felt herself surrounded by Dan’s strong arms as they gently lifted her off her feet. She smelled the soap on his skin and the shampoo in his hair. They turned their faces toward each other and she tasted coffee and sweet roll and she never wanted to be parted from him not even for an instant absolutely not ever.

She surprised herself by clinging to him even after he set her back on her feet. What surprised her more was the certain knowledge he clung to her just as fiercely, just as desperately. He needed her.

Last call for Flight 124, Westchester County to Atlanta International. Final boarding call for Flight 124. In a moment we’ll be calling names for Stand-By. If you have a Stand By ticket-

"Now you really have to go," Dan said, "Or they’ll give your seat away."

"Right. I should go," Trixie forced herself to say. She pulled out of Dan’s embrace, shouldered her luggage and strode quickly to the attendant and presented her ticket.

The attendant wished Trixie a pleasant flight and handed her the carbon copy of the ticket. Trixie moved into the tunnel-like gangway, wiped at her eyes, paused and turned. She saw Dan, still standing out of the way of the crowds, staring at her. The morning sun streamed through the windows full-strength, and made his eyes shine. He smiled and then mouthed a few words at her. Trixie grinned and mouthed a reply.

Realizing she couldn’t stay where she was, Trixie turned and hurried onto the plane. From her window seat on the boarding side of the plane, she could look straight into the airport. Thanks to the glare from the morning sun, however, she could only make out a single dark figure standing very close to the glass. She lifted a hand in farewell, then sat back and fastened her seatbelt.

Take care of yourself, he had told her.

I always do, she had replied.

Author’s Note: Parts of this chapter are based on actual experiences. I’ll leave it to the reader to determine which parts those are. Oh – and the first part of this chapter takes place during Chapter 12, the second part is, of course, the next day.

Chapter 13

Sunday, 13 days to go

"Can’t you make that brat shut up?" Jethro growled to his sister. "He’s making me freaking nuts."

"How do you expect me to do that?" Lillian snarled back at him. "Smack him?"

"Why not?" Jethro snapped. He concentrated on maneuvering his car along the DC beltway through the Sunday morning traffic.

Lillian scoffed. "Oh, that’s good. That’s smart. Real good thinking there, big brother!" She shook her head and then glanced into the back seat. She saw the object of their argument lying flat on his back as they had instructed, staring up at the green velvet headliner. "I knock him around and then he has marks and that’s just not real smart, okay! He’s supposed to be in perfect condition, remember?"

"Yeah, yeah," Jethro groused. "Where we supposed to get off from here? Do we stay on 495 or what?"

Lillian picked up their road map. "No. Follow the signs to Richmond. We get on 95 and take that a ways. Then we go through Richmond to West Virginia, then on down south through Tennessee to Georgia on 75."

"Why do you tell me all that now?" he whined. "You expecting me to remember that? I ain’t going to be doing none of that. All I need to do is know where to get off. Got that?"

"I’ll tell you where to get off!" a small voice piped up from the back seat. "I’d be real glad to!"

"You shut up!" Lillian shouted at him. "Or I will go back there and smack you so hard you won’t know your own name!" She laughed. "Which you don’t. So there." She shrugged as Jethro began to smile.

"Now that’s real good, sis!" he cackled. "He don’t know his own name! That’s real good! Y’all should be on that Jay Leno show or something!"

Lillian smiled with deep satisfaction. In the back seat, Steven just began to howl.

*     *     *

Mart spent that afternoon punching a bag at the gym. He didn’t usually work out on Sundays. He preferred instead to spend the day with his parents or cultivating one of his bonsai trees. But this Sunday, he needed to manage his anger and his frustration. So he asked one of his gym-friends to hold the heavy bag while he punched it.

SMACK!!

He slugged the bag and noted with satisfaction that his spotter needed to take a step backward.

SLAM! SMACK-SLAM-SMACK!

Mart fell into an instinctive rhythm of left-right-left. He began to bob a bit, and then weave, ducking his imaginary opponent’s jabs and feints.

It felt good to punch something. Good to stretch his muscles - to really use them. His enjoyment level rose as his muscles contracted, then exploded with energy and sheer force into the solid bag. Again and again, he brought his arms back and then let his gloved fists fly. With each implosion of flesh against glove against leather-covered bag, he felt a bit of his frustration and tension slip away. This was more than a workout. This was therapy.

"Hey, Mart! Ask you a favor?"

Mart paused, still hopping a bit on his toes, and regarded his interrupter. "What?" he asked brusquely. It was one of the managers of the gym, Todd Heflin. Todd stepped forward and then indicated a young man nearby.

"You mind sparring with him? His regular partner got sick and I thought you might not mind filling in," he asked Mart.

Mart looked at the younger guy, all suited up for a boxing match. Mart figured the guy was about 10 pounds or so heavier, although the same height as himself, with light brown hair and dark eyes. He turned to Todd. "No, thanks. I’m just about done here for today."

Todd nodded his head. "That’s okay. I appreciate it." He turned to the young guy. "Sorry, Tommy. I’ll try to find someone else. Or maybe someone’ll come in." Tommy nodded his head, clearly disappointed.

"Wait," Mart said, bumping Todd on the elbow with his glove. "Maybe I spoke too soon. Your name is Tommy?" he asked the other guy.

"Yeah. So?"

Mart smiled. "Nice to meet you. I’m Mart Belden. Let me get some headgear and I’ll be glad to spar with you."

"Thanks, Mart!" Tommy grinned with relief. "I was afraid I’d gotten all warmed up for nothing!"

"Don’t thank me too soon," Mart warned. "I’m aberrantly disposed today."

*     *     *

"You idiot!" Lillian screamed. "If you had just paid attention to me and not tried to follow that US Senate car, we’d be in Virginia by now and not this – this – here!" She gestured angrily at the rows of townhouses and convenience stores that lined the street.

Steven chanted: You got us lo-ost! You got us lo-ost!

Jethro gripped the steering wheel and stared straight ahead. "You told me I had to follow the signs. Well I was!" he insisted. "I saw the signs and I followed them! That’s what got us here!" He cast a glare at his younger sister. "Now why don’t you just go ahead and look up on that there map where we are and how we get to where we’re supposed to be going?"

You got us lo-ost! You got us lo-ost!

Lillian sighed through gritted teeth. "Fine. I will." She unfolded the map to the rectangular patch that showed Washington, DC. "What exit did you take to get here?"

You got us lo-ost!

"I don’t remember."

You got us lo-ost!

"Then how am I supposed to know where we are if you don’t know how we got here?" she asked, less than patiently. She turned and shouted into the back seat, "Would you just shut up?!"

You got us lo-ost!

"Maps are your department!" Jethro shot back. "You’re supposed to be keeping track, not me. Hey, kid! Don’t make me come back there!"

You got us lo-ost! You got us lo-ost!

"Then go where you’re supposed to go and not where you think you’re supposed to go!" Lillian retorted. "Dadburnit! Why don’t you just stop somewhere and ask someone for directions?"

You got us lo-ost! You got us lo-ost!

Horrified at the suggestion, Jethro turned and stared at her. He kept driving.

You got us lo-ost! You got us lo-ost!

*     *     *

"Oh, it’s beautiful, Micah!" Alicia said. "You have some lovely property!"

Micah smiled his thanks and waited so she could take a good look around. He had offered her a tour of his home several days ago, and to his immense satisfaction, she had finally taken him up on it. That morning, he had journeyed down to Crabapple Farm for brunch, then he escorted Alicia back up the trail to his home. He realized Alicia was unused to much outdoor walking, and fully expected her to request frequent stops and rests, but her fortitude and stamina surprised him.

When they reached the clearing, his house in the center, the gardens in full bloom to either side, they did finally stop. Micah tried to see his home through her eyes. The log cabin, now expanded into a proper house; the outdoor fire pit, with iron spit, pots and pans; the gardens, one full of vegetables, the other of flowers and herbs.

Alicia’s blue eyes shone with appreciation and wonder. "It’s absolutely beautiful! Wait a minute," she said, then fumbled in her huge shoulder bag. "I brought my camera just in case."

Micah’s eyebrows knit in confusion. "You’re going to take a picture of my house? Why?" The thought of photographing his own house just didn’t make much sense. He always knew what it looked like. Why the reminder? Just as suddenly, he realized that she wanted to remember.

Alicia framed the shot, snapped it, then smiled cleverly. "I’m going to turn this picture into a cross-stitch and send it to you. You’ll see. You’ll love it." She replaced her camera in her bag and turned to him. "Now. Show me around?"

Micah first took her to the gardens, and for almost a half hour Alicia waxed rhapsodic about his asparagus, his beans, his carrots and his tomatoes. The lettuce was doing well, and the pumpkin vine showed great promise. His fruit trees likewise seemed pregnant with possibility. He led her to the wild blackberry vines and expertly plucked a few and offered them to her.

Alicia gobbled them up with pleasure. "I adore blackberries," she confessed. "I have never been able to turn them down."

"I’ll remember that," he said. "I have a recipe for blackberry cobbler handed down from my grandmother’s time at least. I’ll make one for you before you leave."

"I’d like that," she said with a light blush. "Now. Show me those flowers!"

For the rest of the hour, Alicia gushed about the sturdy stems, the brilliantly colored petals and the wide blooms of the marigolds, the chrysanthemums, the hollyhocks, the dahlias and the roses. "And this is all organically grown, too?"

Micah nodded. "Of course! I use only natural fertilizers and insect repellants. All that chemical soup just destroys the environment, despite what the experts say."

They moved on to his herb garden, an explosion of tiny flowers, tall green stalks and lots and lots of miniature leaves. Micah pointed out the oregano, the thyme, the basil, the pennyroyal, the mint and the dill, as well as several other herbs. "I don’t use them all for cooking," he explained. "A great deal of all this is useful for medicine, too."

Alicia nodded, impressed. "And you do all this yourself?"

"Well, my daughter helped me a great deal when she lived here," Micah explained. "We dug out most of the flower garden together, and cleared most of the lawn back here." He gestured at the sloping back yard.

Alicia turned to see, then squinted into the sunlight. "Is that a graveyard back there?"

Micah nodded. "Yes. My family’s been buried back there since before the Revolutionary War." He hesitated a moment. "Would you like to meet them?"

Alicia’s clear blue eyes met his. "Yes. I would."

Micah nodded, offered her his arm, and together they walked to the Maypenny family cemetery.

*     *     *

SMACK! SLAM-SLAM-THUD! THUD-THUD-SMACK! SLAM-THWAP! THUNK-THUD, THUNK-THUD, THUNK-THUD!

Mart bobbed and weaved, ducked and danced away, then tormented his opponent once more. He landed punch after punch, jab after jab, pummeling the other boxer mercilessly. He drove him into the ropes again and again. When the bell sounded, he broke his attack and returned to his corner.

Tommy just hung on the ropes, his arms looped around them, holding himself off the mat. "No… no more," he panted. "I give up." He waved his glove at Todd, who hurried to him.

"You sure, man?" Todd asked. "You okay? How many fingers am I holding up?" He waved his hand in front of Tommy’s face.

Mart sneered. "He’s okay! Let’s get this over with! Come on, don’t be a baby!"

Todd ignored Mart taunts. "Don’t worry, Tommy. We’ll get you checked out. I’m sorry," he apologized. "I didn’t know he was going to take this so seriously."

"What are you talking about?" Mart called, still in his corner as boxing protocol demanded. "You asked me to spar with him. I did! So what? If he can’t take it, then-"

Todd turned to look at Mart, fury in his eyes. "Don’t you have any sense? This is Tom Aronson. He’s fifteen years old. He’ll be in one of your science classes next semester."

Mart froze. "That guy is fifteen years old? No way!"

Todd nodded. "Way! What’s more, he’s only been boxing for less than a month. I only wanted you to spar with him, not beat the tar out of him!"

"But! But he’s!" Mart finally stood and gestured at Tommy.

"He’s what?" Todd stood, blocking Mart’s access to the teenager. "Big? Built? What?"

Mart nodded, clearly confused.

Exasperated, Todd flung up a hand at him. "So he’s hit his growth spurt! That doesn’t mean he’s fair game for any grown man to go knocking him around! You’re out of here! I don’t want to see you around here any more today. Go home and beat the walls or something. You’re not welcome back in the ring until I’m sure you won’t do this again. Now, beat it!"

Mart knew better than to argue. He just apologized to Todd, who maintained his angry stare, then to Tommy, who shrunk back in fear, then climbed out of the ring and headed for the men’s showers.

*     *     *

"Turn here! No – not up there, right here! NOW!" Lillian screamed and pointed vigorously at an onramp two lanes to the right.

Squaring his jaw, Jethro jerked the wheel, hit the gas and swerved the car in front of a delivery truck and a Mercedes-Benz and shot up the onramp. The ramp, with a speed limit of 10 mph, made a hairpin turn. As tires squealed and the motion threw Steven onto the car floor, a roadblock loomed large directly in front of them.

Jethro slammed on the brakes and cursed.

*     *     *

"So the Langs had their daughter’s body disinterred and then reburied in Pennsylvania?"

Micah nodded, remembering.

"Then why is the gravestone still here?" Alicia pressed gently, but still the question bothered her. Why keep a marker for a child who lived?

Micah stared into the trees and the thick foliage of the preserve. "Because she did die. My little girl, the light of my life, still died that day. When she came back to me years later," he explained, "she wasn’t my child, nor my wife’s. She was someone else’s doing." He paused a bit longer, then added, "She wasn’t the girl I would have raised and it took a while for me to understand the woman she was becoming."

Alicia nodded. "I think I understand. Those first days must have been difficult."

He grinned suddenly. "They were among the most difficult and painful days of my life. I wouldn’t trade them, however. Not for anything. It took some time, but she’s my daughter now. I’m right proud of the woman she’s become."

"I understand she’s going to marry that Regan fellow?" Alicia asked casually. Micah nodded. "I take it you approve of the match?"

"Regan’s a fine young man. I couldn’t be prouder. I tell you," he chuckled. "When they came and told me what was going on, that they were in love and going to be married, my first reaction was, what in tarnation took you two so long to figure that one out?"

A bright trill of laughter burst from Alicia’s lips. "You mean you were expecting the announcement? How funny! I bet they thought they would be shocking you!"

Micah nodded. "That was pretty much the way of it. Regan had gotten all serious and quiet. Nervous, really. I was at Anneka’s for dinner and he was invited, too. We got all the way to dessert, as it happened, before Regan broached the subject of marriage." He invited her inside the house, then, as ‘a graveyard’s no place for such talk.’

Inside the cozy living room, Micah invited Alicia to have a seat while he told her the rest of it. How Regan had formally asked permission to marry Anneka, and how Micah had startled them both when he said he’d known their true feelings for years. "I was just about to give up hope on letting Nature take Her course," he told Alicia. "But I’m glad they figured things out on their own. Love’s sweeter that way. More of a ‘happy discovery’."

Alicia, balancing a teacup on her crossed knees, smiled nervously and blushed. It was clear she agreed with his assessment.

*     *     *

Hours later, Jethro and Lillian found themselves in Richmond. The roadblock in DC had been to reroute traffic from a five-car pileup. The Nichols’ and their youthful contraband hadn’t been delayed for long. They realized they needed to stop for food, so they found a small roadside diner and pulled off I95.

"You listen to me and you listen good, you hear?" Jethro growled at Steven. "We’re going in there and you’re going to be quiet, say nothing and eat what’s put in front of you! If you don’t," he warned, "if you even look like or make me think you’re going to say a single solitary word about what’s going on here, I’ll kill you. I could kill you now, but you’re worth something to me in one piece. But my getting you to where we’re going is worth more than that, so you’re going to behave. Got that?"

Steven felt his head swim with lack of food and exercise and an overdose of tension, stress and the remnants of panic. He nodded, but he didn’t clearly understand the threat being made against him. Was his safety important or not? And if it were truly important, would Jethro really hurt him? Could he manage to get away from them and call his mom? She’s probably worried sick about me, he thought miserably.

Steven did as he was told. There wasn’t much chance of getting away in the tiny restaurant, anyway. There was only one waitress, and she didn’t even smile once when getting their orders or bringing their food. He ate in silence, hoping Lillian and Jethro would drop some clue about where they were taking him.

When he woke up that morning, in the back seat of the car and speeding through somewhere gray and smoggy, he had immediately asked where he was, who they were and where they were taking him. Lillian snarled a reply to him in no uncertain terms: he was in a car in New Jersey, they were Lillian and Jethro and they were taking him south.

Steven asked if she was his real mother, but Lillian just laughed, making him feel stupid for even thinking it might be true. He was glad it wasn’t true. Lillian didn’t seem like a nice lady. She wasn’t even pretty, not like his Mom. His mom always smelled nice and she always looked nice and she always had a smile for him and on Sundays, which this was, she would dress up pretty and take him to church with his father’s brothers and sisters and his cousins. He had so many cousins he wondered how anyone could tell them all apart. And then afterward, his mom would go to work or she would do some project and he and Mrs. Hartman would walk to Mr. Lytell’s store and have flavored ices.

Who would walk with Mrs. Hartman today? Who would have one of those special strawberry-banana ices that only Mr. Lytell had in stock? Would some other little boy take his place?

Steven felt very sad and lonely. He wanted his mother and he wanted her now. What if she thought his real mom had taken him and she thought he was happier? What if she didn’t know he wanted to come home to her? What if, right now, she was telling Jim and Regan and Anne and Dan and Marcia and Sam and even Frodo that Steven was happier wherever he was and didn’t want to come back? What if they believed her? Would they be sad? Would they miss him? Would they even care? If he went back to them, would they even remember him?

Jethro tossed a few dollars on the table, grabbed Steven hard on the shoulder and the trio exit the diner. The swinging door startled a tomcat that had taken up residence on the diner’s shady front steps. The cat stretched, then regarded the humans silently.

Steven got an idea.

"Here, kitty-kitty-kitty," he cooed, hoping it would work. It had to work. Didn’t it?

The cat sniffed, its pink eraser-nose wriggling hesitantly. The cat stepped forward, then brushed along Steven’s legs. Thanking his luck, Steven grabbed the cat, shoved his face in the fur and inhaled deeply.

It had to work. It just had to…

*     *     *

When Mart got home, he found a message on his answering machine. It was from Dan, asking him if he wanted to go horseback riding that evening, hoping they could talk. Mart thought about it. Dan was the best friend he’d ever had, outside his family. He dialed the stables and arranged to meet him. It would be better to talk things over with a sympathetic friend than beat up another teenager.

*     *     *

"You mean you built all this yourself?" Alicia marveled at the obvious workmanship and care Micah had taken with his house.

"Not exactly," Micah explained. "The lodge originally composed just that one room, without the wall separating the kitchen. When Katrina moved here, she wanted an upstairs, and more of a traditional house to live in, so I built that wall to make an indoor kitchen, finished off a second floor and made plans to double the square footage. When Anneka was born, we put her in that second bedroom and concentrated on making the place feel like a home, with curtains and flowers and like that. There wasn’t any point when she wasn’t living here to complete things. It wasn’t until she went off to college that I felt like finishing what I had started and build the other half. It’s for Anneka’s future, you see."

Micah showed Alicia the study, where he kept his collection of science fiction classics and Anneka had insisted on installing a computer system. "I confess, I surf the net every now and again. There’s a lot of information on organically grown gardens," he explained.

He showed her the modernized kitchen and laundry room. "Anneka insisted that if she were going to be required to cook, there was no way she was going to learn on an open fire. And she was also quite certain she was not going to take her designer clothes to the creek to wash, nor to the Laundromat in town."

The upstairs now had two more bedrooms which Micah proudly explained ‘are intended for Anneka and Regan’s children’.

"It’s a beautiful home," Alicia said. "You’re quite talented."

"I cook, too," he told her. "May I interest you in an early dinner?"

"I’d like that," she replied. "And Helen isn’t expecting me back until much later."

Micah smiled softly. "How fortunate."

*     *     *

Steven had had asthma attacks before, certainly. He’d had allergic reactions before, too. He’d been hospitalized for them, in fact. He’d once had his stomach pumped for drinking too much of his sweet-tasting medicine, even. Steven was used to feeling bad.

This time, however, ‘bad’ didn’t cover it. Steven felt awful. Terrible. Horrible. His lungs couldn’t seem to inhale nor exhale. His heart couldn’t seem to pump a drop of blood. His vision swam, his head ached and his mouth tasted of lint. There was one thing good about this, however: Lillian and Jethro were now forced to take him to a doctor. Weren’t they?

They pulled into a pharmacy. Lillian dragged an unprotesting Steven into the pharmacy while Jethro stayed in the car, the motor running. She quickly located the pharmacist and shoved Steven in front of him. "Tell me what’s wrong with him!" she demanded.

The pharmacist stepped around the counter and approached Steven. He leaned forward and asked cheerfully, "Not feeling too well, are you?"

Steven solemnly shook his head and whispered hoarsely, "I got asthma."

The pharmacist glanced up at Lillian. "Shouldn’t he have his medication with him?"

"He’s my sister’s kid," Lillian explained, smiling to soften her original impression. "I don’t have his stuff. We left it at his house. What can I do to stop it?"

The pharmacist calmly stepped to a rack of merchandise and selected a box of Primatene Junior. "Try this," he said, handing it to her. "It should work. It’s designed to be effective against-"

Lillian snatched the box from the pharmacist’s grasp, ripped it open and shoved the inhaler into Steven’s hand. "You know what to do," she told him. "Do it!"

Despairing of getting a moment alone with the pharmacist to explain, Steven did as he was told. He soon felt better. He began to say, "Mister, you gotta help me! She ain’t my-" but Lillian wasn’t giving him a chance. She grabbed him and pulled the boy outside and into the car.

"Drive!" Lillian ordered Jethro, who immediately peeled out onto the street. The pharmacist hurried out after them, shouting,

"You have to pay for that! You forgot to pay!"

They didn’t stop.

*     *     *

In the upstairs bathroom, Bobby adjusted his necktie and smiled at his reflection. He wondered if he should get his hair trimmed. He wondered if the three nicks and a cut he’d gotten from his razor would show too badly. He wondered if this would all backfire.

He brushed his curls into a semblance of order and then opened his favorite bottle of after shave. It was the scent Dan was wearing in Clearwater and Bobby found he liked it on himself, too. Certainly, Kathy had liked it. She had even bought him a gift package, with soap, cologne and lotion, all in the same spicy-musk scent. He splashed some of the after shave into his palm and then slapped it on his face.

An instant later, his yowl reverberated through the farmhouse. Luckily, his parents were out at the Country Club having dinner, his Aunt Alicia was somewhere with Mr. Maypenny and Mart hadn’t come over at all. This was the perfect opportunity. He had to do it. Besides. He had made an appointment.

Bobby checked his look in the mirror one more time, then left the bathroom. Soon, he was in his car and on his way.

*     *     *

Two hours later, they crossed into West Virginia.

"I have to go to the bathroom!" Steven insisted for the eighth time.

"I don’t care!" Jethro replied. "Hold it! We’re already late. We were supposed to be there by now!"

Lillian sighed. "We only told them maybe. If we’re a little late, we’re late, that’s all. They have no choice but to understand."

Ten minutes later. "I really, really have to go! I’m not making this up!"

"What did I say?" Jethro snarled.

Fifteen more minutes. Lillian asked, "What’s that smell?"

Jethro sniffed the air suspiciously. "What smell?"

"You don’t smell it?" she asked. "How can you not smell it?" She turned to look into the back. Steven sat in the exact center of the seat, an angelic expression on his face.

Lillian faced Jethro. "You stop the car right now! Stop the car! Stop it! STOP!!"

"What? Why?" Jethro demanded an answer.

"Take a good whiff!" Lillian shouted. "He didn’t hold it!"

Jethro glanced up at the rearview mirror, adjusting the reflection to show Steven, now holding a hand over his mouth and fighting back giggles. Jethro cursed. "Roll down the windows. We’re no way stopping in West Virginia. Ain’t nobody stops in West Virginia!"

Tears in her eyes from the growing stench, Lillian shook her head. "No! You stop the car at the first place we come to and you get me another car!"

The very next exit, as Fate would have it, advertised a Super 8 Motel. They stopped for the night.

*     *     *

7:25 a.m., Monday, 12 days to go

Jethro easily made friends with the family from Florida heading up to see relatives in Cleveland. He helped them carry their luggage to the car, he helped them check to be sure nothing was left behind, he suggested a better route through Ohio and told the kids how great the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame really was. Then, while the family was occupied checking out of the room, Jethro pocketed the man’s car keys, got Lillian and an unsuccessfully protesting Steven into the car, ignored the screams and protests of the man’s kids, standing just outside the lobby, and took off north through West Virginia.

"We’ll go two exits," he explained, "then head back South again, just to throw them off the trail."

"You know, I like this car," Lillian said, admiring the leather interior. She turned to look in the back. "Just don’t go messing this one up, too, you hear?"

Steven, angry that his plans had so far failed, that he hadn’t even had a single chance to run away, that Lillian had been able to convince the pizza delivery person that he was mentally disabled, that they had actually tied him to the chair to sleep, said nothing and stared out the window. Maybe he’d have better luck when they got to wherever they were going. Although, according to what Jethro had told him last night, maybe his better luck would be if he didn’t go back to New York.

Jethro told him his mom didn’t want him anymore. That when she found out she wasn’t his mom, she just didn’t want him at all. Steven thought there was something wrong with that. Hadn’t she always told him he belonged with her? Jethro just said she lied. He said all mothers lie. That’s what they did. The sooner he realized that fact, Jethro insisted, the happier Steven would be. Jethro gave Steven a lot to think about.

*     *     *

"Lowell? Do you see anything yet?"

"No, Mary," Lowell replied. "It’s just the neighbors’ lawn service." Lowell let the curtain drop back into place. It had been too hard a wait and the last hours had begun to drag. He regarded his wife. The strain had begun to show around her eyes and mouth years before. He wanted to see that strain lifted, relieved, and the smoothness of her cheek return.

Mary nodded and focused on her knitting. "What did that woman say when she called? Car trouble, was it?"

"Yes," Lowell replied. "She said they had car trouble and would be here sometime this afternoon." He looked at the antebellum grandfather clock, calmly ticking away in the corner of the parlor. "I really shouldn’t expect them until two or so."

Mary sighed. "Yes, dear. That does make a bit of sense."

The time passed and Lowell was able to get Mary to eat a small portion of the lunch their maid brought them. Still, there was no word from their impending guests. No word, no call, no indication of any further trouble or delay. There was just the delay itself.

Lowell managed to find some distraction in reading an old copy of Reader’s Digest, Mary in her knitting, when they heard a car pull up in front of the house and the engine stop. Lowell and Mary glanced at each other. Could this be it? The end to their nightmare?

The maid appeared in the parlor. "Mr. Lowell, sir, Miss Mary," she began. "There’s a lady here to see you?"

"Show her right in," he said, standing. He motioned to his wife that she should remain seated; he would handle everything.

The woman appeared in the doorway. She was alone. Lowell felt something crush his heart. What had gone wrong now?

*     *     *

"Which house is it?" Jethro asked for what seemed like the hundred thousandth time.

"It had columns," Lillian replied. "That’s all I really remember. Big white columns. And a long driveway."

Jethro grunted unappreciatively. "That don’t help us at all. Every one of these houses got columns and a long driveway. Why don’t you remember the address?"

"Get off my case! It’s one of these houses, all right?" Lillian folded her arms and crossed her legs, continuing to stare at each house as they drove past. After about a half hour of this, she finally cried out, "That’s it! That’s the one! Turn in there!"

Jethro turned up a long driveway, passing a brick-enclosed mailbox with the words ‘The Winchesters’ in wrought-iron scrollwork on the side. He easily maneuvered the car into place, the front end pointing toward the road so he could make a quick getaway. He turned off the engine and stared at Lillian. "Go ahead. It’s your show. Just don’t mess it up and everything’ll be fine."

Lillian got out of the car and told Steven to do the same. "Come on, kid. End of the line for you. Welcome to your new home." As Steven slid across the leather-lined seat, she told him, "Now ain’t you feeling stupid for complaining? This is a whole lot better than that tiny place you was living in!" She grabbed him by the arm and hastened him toward the front door. Shouldering her heavy purse, she rang the doorbell and waited.

A solemn faced maid answered the door and admitted them inside. "I’ll inform them of your arrival," she said, then left them in the huge foyer.

"Isn’t this something?" Lillian cooed to Steven. "You’re awful lucky, to be growing up here. You should thank me."

Steven stared up at her, too confused now to say anything. A moment passed, and then the maid came back. She told them to follow her, so they did. Lillian grinned, her eyes and teeth glittering in triumph. "My life’s just about to get better," she told him. "Now don’t screw this up!"

Inside the parlor, Steven saw an old couple. The woman sat in a huge chair, the man stood beside her, leaning against the mantle of a fireplace. They almost jumped when they saw him.

Lillian’s hand settled on Steven’s neck. He felt her nails dig in slightly. He stood very tall and straight, like a soldier, like his father had taught him. The old woman leaned slightly forward. Steven saw she wore a blue dress with flowers on it, and a long strand of white beads around her throat. Her hair, vanilla ice cream white, had been piled on top of her head. The old woman smiled at him. "Are you Garth?" she asked in a gentle Southern accent.

Steven shook his head. "No, ma’am," he replied, instinctively knowing he should be on his Best Behavior. The woman glanced up at Lillian.

Lillian’s hand tightened on Steven’s neck. "You’ll have to forgive him," she explained. "I changed his name to Steven years ago. It was Lester’s middle name."

Steven knew ‘Lester’ meant ‘Daddy’, and that he himself was named after one of his dad’s Army buddies. Something told him not to contradict Lillian, however. The old woman nodded, a bit puzzled, then she turned to look at the old man.

The old man stepped forward, hobbling slightly. "You have the identification papers? To prove he’s genuine?"

Lillian kept grinning. She reached into her purse and withdrew a thick sheaf of papers. "Everything’s right here," she said. "His birth certificate, some medical info, and a few recent pictures. Plus his second grade yearbook. I marked the page." She handed everything to the old man.

The man opened the yearbook first, handing the other papers to the woman. He quickly glanced over the list of names, then stared at Steven’s picture. "Kettner-Mundy?" he repeated. "Explain that."

Steven glanced up at Lillian, wondering what she was going to say. Lillian just smiled more broadly, however, and replied, "Do you like it? I just made it seem like I was married. That’s all." She started tapping her nails against Steven’s neck. "You’re satisfied, right? I mean, it’s obvious this is the right kid. You can see the resemblance, can’t you?"

The old woman set aside the papers. "I think it’s him, Lowell," she said softly. Leaning forward once more to look at Steven directly, she smiled and said, "Would you like to get some cookies and milk in the kitchen while we adults settle some of this dull business?"

Since that implied he’d get away from Lillian, and her hand began to tighten warningly against his neck, and he realized instinctively that she had to stay here with the old man and let him leave without a fuss, he nodded eagerly. "Yes, ma’am, I would!"

The old woman smiled and indicated a side door. "Just go right through there," she said. "And you’ll be fine."

Steven stepped away from Lillian and, without a second thought, pushed through the wood paneled door. He found himself in a short hallway that led only one way. As he approached the open end of the hallway, drawn by the smell of cooked sugar and the sound of quiet conversation, a figure suddenly appeared in front of him. He almost screamed, but he didn’t. He knew this person.

*     *     *

"That was my sister?" Brian asked, finishing off his carton of juice.

Honey nodded. She replaced her cell phone in her purse and grinned at him. "They found Steven and he’s none the worse for wear. Apparently, the little guy managed to slow the Nichols’ down long enough for Trixie get where he was being taken to in advance!"

The young couple sat in the outdoor section of the hospital cafeteria, enjoying a rather bland lunch but rather wonderful company. A constant breeze from the direction of the memorial gardens lent a romantic scent to the air that was always too redolent of Lysol and disinfectant.

Brian shook his head. "How did Trixie know that’s where they were taking Steven? I thought all she knew was that the Winchesters were Steven’s grandparents. I mean, weren’t the FBI thinking they were headed for Canada?"

Honey grinned. "I know! But that’s Trixie for you! Hunches are her specialty!" They laughed together a moment, then she explained. "It was just luck, really, that Trixie got to the Winchesters before Lillian and Jethro did. She had to work fast once she put it all together, to get the police and the Feds alerted and the sting set up in time. She said they didn’t have much of a chance to go over the plan with the Winchesters before Lillian showed up with Steven. Luckily, they played it perfectly and Steven didn’t even witness the arrests."

"Amazing," Brian marveled. "My sister is simply amazing. How she manages to always be at the right place at the right time!" He glanced at Honey’s lunch tray. "You want the rest of that cake?"

Honey sighed. "I really shouldn’t. I’ve got a fitting on Friday for my gown. I’m afraid Ella’ll have to let it out two inches, with all that I’ve eaten." She pushed the plate and fork over to his side of the table. "You can have it."

Brian unwillingly recalled the tailor’s admonition to ‘suck it in’ and the small roll of softness over his belt. He decided he was full enough from his salad. "So how did Trixie manage it this time? Being in the right place and all."

"Well, I told you how the Internet search went," she began. Brian nodded. "She really just thought she was attacking the problem from a different angle. You know, trying to figure out why Lillian stole Steven from his mother, then dumped him off at his father’s, only to steal him back again."

"So she really never expected to find Steven there?" He whistled low in astonishment. "She must have been stunned when the Winchesters confessed they were expecting Steven any minute!"

"Yeah." Honey grinned. "That’s the best part of the job. Those little happy surprises." She turned her attention to straightening up the mess on her tray. For a woman raised with servants to wait on her hand and foot, she never failed to clean up her own mess when dining out – even al fresco.

Brian thought a moment. "I guess it’s kind of like being a doctor. You’re going on rounds and expecting to find only misery and pain everywhere you look, but instead you go into the wards and find all the kids having a pillow fight or something."

Honey laughed at the image. "I guess so. Any more questions?"

"Well," he began, "what did the Winchesters want with Steven in the first place?"

Briefly, Honey filled Brian in on the details Trixie had been able to ferret out in Atlanta. Ivy Winchester was a bright, attractive, outgoing high school senior. When her parents caught her in bed with her boyfriend, a rather disreputable older man, they gave her two options: house arrest with early marriage or move out on her own. She moved out.

Ivy’s boyfriend introduced her to Lillian Nichols, who got her a job at Belle’s in Columbus as a dancer. The boyfriend soon left her. Ivy made good money, but she wasn’t thrilled with the work. She met Lester and quickly became entranced with his stories of Sleepyside and the small town life he missed so terribly. When Lester shipped out to Savannah without more than a quick goodbye, she felt her heart break. When she realized she was pregnant with his child, she felt her heart grow warm with the hope he would come back and marry her. She tried to find him through the Army, but government red tape is notoriously difficult to navigate and Ivy had no legal standing to demand knowledge of Lester’s whereabouts.

It wasn’t until February of the following year she discovered that Lester had married his high school sweetheart. Despairing, she confessed all her dreams, anger and unrequited love to her best friend, Lillian. Then Lillian’s brother Jethro was released from jail.

Jethro’s main line of work was drug dealing. He set up a small operation at Belle’s and tried to interest several of the girls, including his sister’s friend and roommate, in an illegal sideline to their regular jobs. Ivy knew of the drug dealing. After she had given birth, she brought her son, Garth, to the club before it opened one day to introduce him to her other friends and coworkers. A police officer who had grown to care about Ivy and her situation, was present that day. So was Jethro and so were Jethro’s drugs. Jethro used the baby’s diaper to smuggle heroin out of the club, but Ivy found it before she got Garth home.

Ivy called the police. Her friend and would-be paramour was a regular beat cop, not a detective and not in Vice. She found she had little credibility with the Vice cops. It took a few days, but a sting was finally set up and Ivy tried to catch Jethro on tape, admitting to dealing and giving the name of his suppliers.

But Jethro caught on to Ivy’s plan. He stabbed her with a syringe full of heroin and escaped out a back door. Ivy died almost instantly. Lillian, babysitting Garth that night, soon learned of her friend’s treachery regarding her only brother. Vowing revenge and once she talked her way clear of the police, Lillian took Garth to his grandparents. She spun a story of drugs and sex so lurid and detailed that the Winchesters were only too glad to pay her $500,000 cash to take Garth, and the truth about their daughter, and never visit them again.

Lillian took the money and drove almost immediately to the army base in Savannah. There, she located Lester and, as a final revenge on her dead friend, gave Garth to his father to raise.

Brian interrupted Honey’s narrative to ask, "How was that getting revenge on Lester? He loved that kid."

Honey frowned. "I think and Trixie agrees that Lil’s main purpose was to throw Ivy’s beloved son into a situation where he’d only find unhappiness and misery. She didn’t count on Lester and Ruth falling in love with him, or being able to set aside the circumstances of his birth. She thought Garth would end up pushed aside and abused, not adored."

Brian was silent for a long time. "I suppose the Nichols weren’t treated well by their own parents?"

Honey smiled. "You are a detective! That’s right. They were sent from relative to relative as they grew up. They were never in one home for more than 10 months at a time."

"And then the Winchesters had a change of heart?"

She nodded. "That’s right. Apparently, Mr. Winchester had a serious heart attack several months ago. He got worried that he’d never have anyone to mention in his will, so he got a private detective to locate Lillian Nichols, and then he asked her to return his grandson."

"How much were they going to pay to get him back?" Brian asked.

"Five million."

Brian’s lifted eyebrow was his only reaction. "That much?"

Honey hesitated. "Well, Trixie got the impression that Lil talked them up a bit." She grabbed his wrist and turned it to read his watch. "When are you supposed to go on duty again?"

Just then, another doctor, Brad Gunderson, hurried up to the couple and sat down. "Hey, Honey! Hey, Brian!" he greeted them with typical casualness. "I got a favor to ask. Can you switch with me tonight for Wednesday? There’s a girl coming by to visit her niece and I want to be there to answer any questions she may have."

Honey smiled. "Questions like, ‘where’s a good place to get something to eat’ and ‘would you take me there’?"

Brad grinned and nodded. "Something like that, yeah." He laughed. "What do you say?"

Brian glanced at Honey. "What works better for you?"

Honey thought a moment. "Better do what he wants," she told him. "I have a feeling this woman could be The One for good old Dr. Gunderson."

Brad sat up straight. "Really? You think so?" Then he looked worried. "Maybe we shouldn’t switch."

"Forget it!" Brian laughed. "I’m getting tonight off to spend with my fiancée! We are not switching back!"

Ten minutes later, Brian and Honey walked quickly through the hospital corridors, his arm gently around her shoulders. "I won’t be long," he told her. "I just have to shower and change and then we can go."

Honey beamed. "I’m so glad Brad wanted to switch shifts with you! This is such a surprise, you taking me out on a Monday!"

Brian’s laughter softly echoed along the gray and cream checkerboard tiled hallway. "Tell me about it. This is a treat for me, too, you know."

They reached the doctor’s lounge moments later. Brian pulled Honey into a strong embrace and whispered in her ear, "I’ll be right back. Have a seat over there." He pointed to a small alcove some yards away that had two sofas, tables and an assortment of magazines, dropped a quick kiss on her earlobe, and then disappeared through the door. Honey smiled to herself, then took a seat on a couch and dreamed of her wedding day.

The songs she had picked out for the reception drifted through her head and she tapped her fingers on the arm of the sturdy vinyl sofa and waited for her fiancé. She pictured herself in her long white dress, the gilt flowers in her hair, her wedding ring sparkling on her finger and Brian, tall, handsome Brian, waltzing her across the outdoor pavilion in perfect rhythm and grace-

"Excuse me, but aren’t you Honey Wheeler?"

Honey glanced up, blushing to be caught fantasizing, and nodded. A female hospital employee stood a few feet away. She was a rather pretty brunette, Honey thought, with a trim figure and interestingly-shaped eyes. Honey tried to look without looking like she was looking, but the woman held a clipboard close to her chest, obscuring her nametag. "Can I help you with something?" Honey asked, when the woman made no further comment.

"Not really," she replied. "I was just making sure. I’ve seen your picture in the papers and, of course, Brian’s spoken of you."

"He has?" A stab of confusion struck Honey’s gut, but she forced a polite expression onto her face. She began to say, "and you are-?" but the woman barely gave her the chance to speak.

"I know all about you," the woman said, obviously relishing her advantage.

"Indeed?" Honey said coolly. "Then you must be Amy Law."

*     *     *

"When can I go see my mom?" Steven asked over and over again. "I want to see my mom!"

Trixie rubbed his back. "It can’t be until tomorrow, I’m afraid," she explained. "These agents need to question you, and then they need to be sure you’re all right, and then they’ll take you back to your mom. And your grandparents," she added with an eye to Agent Pinscher. The threesome sat in the main living room of the Winchester’s house. Atlanta police and Georgia FBI agents commingled nearby, coordinating their efforts and comparing notes.

Pinscher nodded. "That’s right, buddy! You’ll see your mom tomorrow afternoon at the airport. We’ll make sure she’s there waiting for you, okay? How’s that?"

Steven groaned. "She’ll forget all about me by then! She won’t know who I am!"

Trixie pulled the little boy onto her lap and hugged him. "That’s simply not true," she told him. "Your mom loves you very much and she’s done nothing but worry about you since you were taken. Believe me. She’s aching to see you just as much, but she knows that tomorrow’s coming. You can’t hurry it up but nothing’s going to stop it either."

Steven turned watery eyes to glare at Pinscher. "It’s because you want to keep me here! That’s why I can’t go! Because you won’t let me."

Trixie couldn’t stop the chuckle that erupted from her throat. "Out of the mouths of babes," she said.

Pinscher just glared in return. "Procedure and protocol," he reminded her. "The Bureau just can’t take this kid back to New York without the proper paperwork being filed and all the parties concerned being questioned and all the statements taken. Tomorrow is as fast as that’s going to happen."

Steven huffed. "Can I at least call her?"

Pinscher blinked. "Of course. I’m sure I can arrange that. Give me ten minutes, okay?"

"Pinscher," Trixie said with a groan. "Why can’t he just use my cell phone?" With a smooth gesture, she pulled the phone from her purse at her feet. The Agent nodded resignedly. It was clear he wanted to be seen a hero at some point during the investigation.

Trixie dialed the number to the Hartman’s. When Jim answered, Trixie couldn’t help but grin. "Get Ruth on the phone," she said. "I’ve got someone here who is simply dying to talk to his mother." She handed the phone to Steven, who listened intently.

The next sound out of the cell phone was a tremulous, "Steven? Is that you? It’s Mommy!"

Steven began to cry. "Mommy? I miss you!"

*     *     *

If Honey expected her guess to be greeted with denial or shock or even surprise, she was disappointed. Instead, Amy responded with an amused grin and a dry "Why, that’s right. You’re a detective, aren’t you."

"It’s very nice to meet you," Honey said, again politely. "Brian has spoken of you." Amy stepped closer, still clutching her clipboard. Honey noticed how tightly Amy held it to her chest. She’s guarding her heart, using the clipboard like a shield. She’s afraid I’ll hurt her somehow, she thought, and suddenly, Honey lost any fear or anxiety she had ever had concerning Brian’s ex-girlfriend. She can’t hurt me. I have, and I know, everything I need.

Amy shifted her weight and grunted a bit of laughter. "Has he? Has he really? But surely he hasn’t told you everything! Surely, dear, considerate, thoughtful Brian Belden hasn’t told you the entirety of things between us. That would take at least as long as we were together and I know for a fact he didn’t tell you about us until recently."

Honey refused to be baited. Not only was it impolite to argue with a virtual stranger, it was rarely worth it. "He told me everything I need to know," she said instead. "You were lovers. You lived together. You broke up. He claimed it was a mutual decision and that he never really loved you." Honey smiled wistfully. "I wish that were true."

At that, Amy did seem surprised. "It’s not?"

"Of course, it’s not." Honey shrugged and maintained her serene gaze into Amy’s green eyes. "I know Brian. He would never have slept with you if he didn’t love you to start with, if there weren’t any genuine feeling at all. Brian’s just not capable of sex without love."

Amy broke their eye contact. She glanced up and then down the hallway, then at the floor – everywhere, but at Honey. "He told you he loved me," she said without emotion.

"Not exactly," Honey admitted softly. She sensed the other woman’s conflicting feelings. She waited for her to speak again.

"He never told me." Amy’s voice was even softer, more hushed, yet Honey heard her perfectly.

"And he won’t tell me that, either," Honey said. "Only Brian knows what is truly in his heart, how he really feels. He can tell us he loves us, he hates us, he thinks we’re both fools. It doesn’t matter what he says. It’s what he does that counts. Love is in actions, not words. It’s what we do, not what we claim."

Amy slumped onto the opposite couch. She wiped her hand over her mouth and let the clipboard slip to the tiled floor. Her eyes darted from side to side as if searching for or hiding from something. She took a shuddering sigh. "He cared about me, then," she said finally. "But we weren’t in love. I know that. I was an idiot to let him go, but he was smart for letting me."

Honey moved to sit next to Amy. With a gentle hand, she brushed the woman’s hair away from her eyes and smiled tenderly. "Then let your anger go. Just let it go. It has no place in your life."

Amy turned glistening eyes to Honey. "But if I forgive him and forget my anger, what will I have left to hold onto?"

Honey bent forward and rest her head lightly against Amy’s temple. "You have nothing left but the rest of your life. Please, Amy. Make the most of it." She sat upright and turned Amy’s face to hers. "Brian must have seen something wonderful in you, that he allowed your relationship to develop. Try finding those qualities he admired in you and focus on them. Your life will turn around soon enough. I promise."

For a long moment, Amy regarded Honey with a mix of innocent wonder and child-like hope. Then she started to laugh. "You’re really something, you know that?" She laughed harder, brushing aside the tears that now spilled from her eyes.

"What do you mean?" Honey asked, feeling a build-up of sympathetic laughter.

Amy shook her head, trying to stop laughing. She managed to get out, "Just that, here you are, a woman about to be married, consoling her fiancé’s ex-girlfriend. Telling her how the man in question loved her and that she basically shouldn’t feel ashamed that her original intention in accosting the fiancée in the hallway was to humiliate and embarrass her!"

"You were going to humiliate and embarrass me?" Honey asked, her voice rising to an innocent pitch with the question.

Vigorously, Amy nodded her head. "You bet! I had big plans! Big! I had it all figured out. What I would say, what you would say back. It was going to be so awful!" Her eyes got huge, and then she burst out laughing again.

Honey couldn’t help but smile and say, "Oh, dear! And there I had to go and make friends with you and ruin all your plans!" She patted Amy’s hand reassuringly. "There, there," she said. "Why don’t you go ahead and tell me now what you had planned to tell me, and that way you won’t feel like all your plans have gone to waste?"

Amy threw her head back and slumped against the cushion, helpless in her laughter. "I-I-I’ll try," she managed to say. "But I don’t think it’ll have the same impact anymore."

"Probably not," Honey agreed tartly, "if that’s the way you’re going to deliver your lines."

The two women kept giggling and laughing, egging each other into higher hysterics, when they suddenly noticed a tall figure dressed in jeans and a collared shirt, standing at their feet. They looked up. Amy smiled and said in a weak voice, "Hi, Brian! What’s up?"

Something about that question or his expression drove Honey into a red-faced frenzy of laughter. She and Amy ended up hugging each other, their shoulders shaking with each laughing breath. Brian just stared mutely at the sight. What could he do? He’d just come out of the Doctor’s Lounge to find his ex-girlfriend and his future wife laughing like hyenas at the baby wildebeest playground. "It’s me, isn’t it," he said. "You’re laughing at me." He waited while they burst into more laughter. "I knew it. I took too long in the shower."

"F-F-Face it, Brian!" Amy chuckled. "You always took more than your share of the hot water!"

"I’ll have to remember that. I shower first!" Honey vowed, and the two women dissolved once more into giggles.

Stoically, Brian sat down on the opposite couch and prepared to wait them out. This wasn’t quite the nightmare situation he’d expected upon first discovering Amy and Honey in close proximity. It wasn’t a nightmare, but it wasn’t exactly a dream come true, either, to realize they preferred to laugh at him rather than fight over him. It would be awhile before his ego recovered, but Brian figured that was probably a good thing. A doctor’s ego got too much attention, anyway.

*     *     *

"Thank you again, Mr. and Mrs. Winchester, for your offer of hospitality," Trixie said. "But I really can’t accept it, either. I have a hotel room already reserved, on the same floor as Agent Pinscher has arranged your grandson’s accommodations."

"I see," Mrs. Winchester said. "I just wish we weren’t so foolish and hadn’t sent our only daughter away."

Mr. Winchester added, "Our only grandchild, too."

"His mother is a kind and generous person," Trixie assured them both. "I’m certain Ruth would be delighted to allow you time to get to know Steven, and him to know you. Once the legal issues are settled, of course."

The Winchesters nodded. They hadn’t been formally arrested, and due to their advanced age, jail time was unlikely. They would still have to face a judge and answer charges, however, and there was still the issue of legal custody of the minor child Garth Winchester, as that was his legal name.

Trixie drove Agent Pinscher and Steven to their hotel. The government foot the bill for room service, Steven watched the Disney Channel and Pinscher and Trixie talked shop.

"So you’ve been involved in pretty much every kind of crime," Pinscher summarized. He tossed his folded napkin onto the table between them.

Trixie nodded. "Pretty much," she agreed. "Industrial espionage, bank fraud, identity theft, various cons, smuggling, kidnapping, missing people, theft, murder, missing wills. Sheep theft…"

"Excuse me?" Pinscher did a double take. "Sheep theft?" At her answering nod, he insisted. "You must tell me about that one!"

"Okay," she grinned. "It was just before I turned fourteen-"

"Wait a minute, wait a minute," he said, forestalling her narrative. "You were only thirteen years old?"

"Uh-huh," she replied cheerfully. "I turned fourteen a few weeks afterward. As I recall, I solved a mystery then, too. But it had nothing to do with sheep."

He leaned back in his chair. The song ‘Kiss the Girl’ drifted from the television where Steven sat, rapt with attention. Pinscher encouraged her solemnly. "Go ahead, then. Tell me about the sheep thieves."

"Well, first thing is, the thieves were very clever."

"I’ll just bet they were."

"They were using pans of mush to lure sheep out to a rather deserted corner of their pasture, near a rather deserted country road. Then they grabbed the sheep and stuffed them into a truck and sold them to meat lockers throughout the county."

"They slaughtered the sheep right there on the spot?" he asked.

She thought about it. "I’m not sure. I think so. I found a knife, anyway."

"Messy business."

"I haven’t even gotten to the part about the flood, yet."

He leaned forward, a smile creeping up one side of his mouth. "I’m all ears."

Trixie smiled, leaned back in her chair and propped her feet up on the bed. "Let’s see… It was spring break of 1997. My Uncle Andrew was running a sheep farm in Iowa, and he invited my friends and my brothers to spend the week…"

*     *     *

The plane hadn’t yet taxied to a complete stop, but the passengers had already begun to gather their belongings from the overhead compartments and clog the main aisle for traffic.

"I thought the lady said not to stand up yet," Steven said to Trixie.

"She did," she replied. "And you’re very smart not to jump up like everyone else. Just let them get out of our way and then we’ll have no trouble at all getting our things together."

Agent Pinscher, leaning over the back of the seat in front of them, smiled at Steven, then asked Trixie, "Now that we’re back in New York, the case is pretty much settled, so I’m free to ask you to join me for dinner tonight. Won’t you? I know a wonderful French restaurant in your neck of the woods. Le Bordeaux. It’s a little fancy, but I hear it’s got terrific food. What do you say?"

Trixie smiled her appreciation, but told him, "Thanks, but no thanks. Le Bordeaux is a terrific restaurant. I’ve been there quite a few times since it opened."

"Then why not?" he asked.

Most of the passengers had emptied the plane, so Trixie and Steven stood to gather her belongings. Steven had only the single change of clothes which Trixie had purchased for the boy in Atlanta, and they were packed in Trixie’s overnight bag. With the bustle of disembarking, Pinscher had no opportunity to repeat his invitation until they were through the gate and into the airport itself.

"Why not?" he asked again, a hand on Trixie’s shoulder to make her wait.

But Trixie wasn’t waiting. As soon as a break in the crowds appeared, she saw them. She raised her hand to catch their attention. Immediately, smiles of relief and joy broke upon their faces. Ruth, her long white-blonde hair flying out behind her, ran with arms outstretched to her son, who suddenly darted from Trixie’s side and screamed, "Mommy! Mommy!"

Ruth scooped Steven into her arms, turned and allowed Jim to hug them both. Grinning at the happy reunion, Trixie saw Jim kiss Steven’s cheek, then look up and smile his thanks to her. She turned her head and immediately made eye contact with Dan, who stood still for a moment, drinking in the sight of her, a smile playing about his lips. He held up his arms to her and she joyfully stepped into his embrace. Within seconds, his mouth claimed hers in a ferocious kiss. She barely heard Steven cry, "Jim! You’re here, too!" and then Jim’s answering "I missed you, buddy! How are you?"

"That was supposed to be my line," Dan whispered hoarsely in Trixie’s ear.

"Huh?" Trixie asked, her face snuggled in the warm spot that was his neck and shoulder.

She felt and heard him chuckle. "That I missed you. God, Trixie. I missed you something awful!" He gently rocked her from side to side, his arms still gripping her body tight against his. "Don’t go away again, okay? Unless you have to, that is."

"You got it," she promised him. They broke apart only slightly when they heard Steven say,

"Dan? Aren’t you going to say hello to me?"

Dan laughed and fondly mussed Steven’s hair. "I know someone, or should I say a pair of someones, who missed you like crazy!"

"Who?" Steven asked, perplexed.

"Do the names Samwise and Frodo mean anything to you?" Dan asked with a twinkle in his eye.

"Do they ever! Mom!" Steven turned to his mother, now holding Jim’s hand and brushing tears from her cheeks. "Can I go riding when I get home? Can I? Huh? Can I? Please?"

"’May I’," Ruth gently corrected him. "And probably not tonight but tomorrow. You’ve had a lot of excitement in the last couple of days. I want you to take it easy tonight. Besides," she smiled. "There’s an awful lot of people who’ve been worried about you. Most of them are waiting at home. Don’t you want to see them?"

"I want to go home," Steven agreed. "Let’s go home right now!"

"A wonderful idea," Jim said. "We’re free to take him home, I assume?" he asked Pinscher.

Pinscher hastily assured them that, as long as Steven followed through on his scheduled court appearances, they were free to take Steven pretty much wherever they wished. "A judge is issuing Mrs. Kettner-Mundy a temporary order of custody until a more formal hearing can take place. I wouldn’t worry, though."

"How can I ever hope to thank you for all you’ve done, Trixie?" Ruth asked. "You’ve brought my son back home to me."

Trixie shook her head. "This is thanks enough, seeing you and him together. I take it there’s a party at your place later on?"

Ruth nodded. "Everyone’s invited, Agent Pinscher," she said.

"I may have some paperwork to finish up at the office," he declined. "I’m glad things seem to be working out so well."

Jim and Ruth grinned at each other, then at Steven. "If that’s it, then let’s get home!" Jim said. He took one of Steven’s hands and Ruth took the other. Together, they led the little boy to his new life.

Dan, his arm still around Trixie, stuck a hand out to Pinscher. "Thanks for all your help, Agent," he said.

Pinscher solemnly shook Dan’s hand. "No problem. Anytime." He took a pair of business cards from his jacket pocket and handed one to each of them. "If you two ever need anything, to get in touch with me about anything, just call." He picked up his duffel bag and nodded to Trixie. "You’re a good detective. You ever want an ‘in’ at the Bureau, you call me, okay?"

Trixie laughed. "I thought I told you already how much I’d hate to work for the government! But thanks for the offer anyway." He turned to leave, but then Trixie called out, "Hey! If you ever need anything, don’t hesitate to call me, okay? It’s the Belden-Wheeler Agency. We’re in the book."

Pinscher cast a wry grin over his shoulder, then left her and Dan alone amidst the crowds of travelers. Trixie turned back into Dan’s arms. She smiled up at him. "Do me a favor?" she asked.

"Anything," he breathed softly, staring into her brilliantly blue eyes.

"Welcome me home again?"

He did.

Author’s Note: As you’ll no doubt realize from this chapter, I really don’t know Manhattan all that well. But I have a street map, and an imagination. So if I make an error in this regard, just figure that this is ten years in the future, anything can happen and after all, this is only a story! (Certain other details are accurate, by the way.) Oh. This is the Bachelor & Bachelorette Party Chapter. Some passages may be too intense for some readers, but it’s still not quite what you’re expecting! Thanks to my sweet husband, Chris, for his suggestions regarding the following events.

Chapter 14

Thursday, June 15, 2 days to go

Mart parked his car near the old stables, got out and pocketed his key. He ran a quick hand over his lengthening hair and grinned. Tonight was going to be fun. He heard the crunch of shoes on the gravel drive and saw his younger brother approaching. He called out to him. "Hey, Bobby! You ready for tonight?"

Bobby’s face lit up into a salacious grin. "My first bachelor party? You kidding? I’ve been waiting for this my whole life!" His hands stuck casually into his best jeans, a short-sleeved, mostly turquoise patterned shirt setting off his golden curls and his bright blue eyes, Bobby was the picture of youthful male exuberance.

"Just try to keep out of trouble, okay?" Mart asked. Together, the brothers headed up toward the back door of Manor House, where the other guys had gathered for a pre-party dinner in Jim’s family/recreation room.

It was pizza and pasta for dinner that night. While Jim’s cook had trained at Cordon Bleu, he delighted in traditional American favorites. No one was going hungry.

Mart noticed with supreme delight that Brian still had no clue what had been planned for the evening’s entertainment. He had only been told that all expenses were taken care of, and that he’d be home by 7 a.m. the next morning. Brian had started his vacation from the hospital at 10 a.m. that day, and was clearly looking forward to the next twenty days off from work. Dressed in jeans and a crisply-pressed, dark green shirt, Brian looked every inch a preppie physician. Where’s that hell-raiser who used to be my big brother? Mart wondered. The guy who beat up Mitch van Durst when he tried to take my lunch money my first day of first grade?

Brian stood next to Jim, his Best Man and best friend. Mart wasn’t upset Brian didn’t ask him to do the honors. ‘I want the guests to understand the toast’, he had said, joking about Mart’s reputation for obfuscation. Mart knew the other reason was that Brian felt Jim’s idea of a bachelor party would run along a fairly strait-laced path. Since the Best Man was in charge of those details, Brian’s trust was well placed. In fact, Brian fully expected a camping trip, or an all-night poker party (guys only), or even (if it came down to it) a night spent at Manor House, or the clubhouse, getting wasted. Jim, however, had been amenable to Mart’s and Dan’s persuasion. The evening would run along much more traditional lines.

Jim, in his usual jeans and green plaid shirt, resembled a Nordic lumberjack. A regular Paul Bunyan, Mart thought, grinning. Dan, however, dressed in black. Black shoes, black jeans, black long-sleeved shirt. He sipped at a soda and stood deep in conversation with Ben Riker, just arrived that afternoon from his home in Miami. Ben was not dressed to go out. And where was his wife?

Mart, seeing Bobby wander over to the buffet table, approached and greeted Ben and Dan. "Where is she?" he asked. "I mean, isn’t she around somewhere?"

Ben nodded. "Hey, Mart. Yeah, she’s ‘freshening up’," he said. "She should be back any minute. How’s it going?"

Mart smiled. "Great, now that school’s finally out. Grades are done and I’m on summer vacation! I love teaching!"

Voices began to overlap as the six young men shared and spun off conversational threads and tangents. Laughter echoed in the wood-paneled rec room. Put downs and one-ups, brags and zingers all came to a screeching halt, however, with the sound of a slender throat being delicately cleared.

"Excuse me, but is this a private party or can any woman join in?" Hallie Riker stood framed in the doorway, the setting sunlight glinting off her ebony hair, her eyes glittering in the twilight, her smile soft and inviting.

"Hallie!" Mart cried out. "Long time, no visual recognition, cousin!" He hurried across the room and embraced his favorite former Belden female in a fond hug.

"Mart! It’s good to see you, too," she said sincerely. "How’s it going?" She looked past Brian, whom she had previously greeted, and spied – "Bobby! You don’t stop growing, do you!" Dutifully blushing, Bobby ducked his head and kissed Hallie on the cheek.

"Hey, Hallie," he said. "How’s Miami?"

"Oh, fine, I guess," she said. "Hot and humid, rains every day from 4 to 4:30. Nothing different." She thought a moment, then grinned. "I’m on the cover of Cosmo next month!"

"So that modeling thing is really working out for you, huh?" Mart cracked. Hallie’s modeling career had never been in question. Ever since she’d been discovered walking down the street of her Idaho hometown, ‘minding her own business’ she would always say, her life had been blessed with the good fortune that seemed to follow the beautiful and the wealthy. This, of course, included her marriage to Ben Riker, a renown human rights lawyer and advocate.

It was Ben, in fact, who got Hallie to agree to donate 50% of her modeling fees for a six month period to human rights organizations such as Amnesty International. Once word got out about the deal, Hallie’s visibility and exposure increased twenty-fold, making hers the most recognized face in the world. It was reported her ripened-blackberry eyes had been insured by Lloyd’s of London for ten million dollars.

Hallie basked in the masculine attention. She smiled and flirted with each of them in turn, subtly egging them on to outdo each other in compliments and verbal sparring. If she noticed her husband’s patient tolerance or her ex-crush Dan’s restraint, she did not let it affect her perfectly lipsticked smile.

Then the others showed up.

Honey and Trixie, their arms linked and their eyes dancing with excitement, rounded the corner into the recreation room first. They stopped in happy surprise and, in unison, shouted the name of their respective cousin. In moments, Trixie hugged Hallie and Honey hugged Ben, then they switched and each hugged the other one. Diana and Anne followed more slowly behind.

Diana, an old, sometime-confidante of Hallie’s, appeared happy enough to see her friend. She kissed Ben’s cheek, however, and clutched his hand tightly. "It’s so good to see you again!" she said to him.

Anne, however, a crafty smile on her face, waited until the family members had greeted each other before saying a word. She lifted her face to the tall, dark-haired man and said slowly, dragging out his name, "Bennnn-jamin. So good to see you, as always." She held out her hand.

Ben snickered at her manner, but gallantly took her hand and raised it to his lips. "Anneka, always a pleasure. May I serve you something to drink?"

Anne removed her hand from his grasp and shook her head. "I like to think I’ve learned my lesson." She faced his wife, who stood, tight-lipped and frozen. Anne grinned, clearly enjoying the moment. "Mahalia! Always a pleasure to see you," she said, using Hallie’s hated full name.

But Hallie refused to allow anyone – especially Anne Maypenny – get the better of her for long. "Nice to see you again, Margaret –oops! I mean, Anne." She shook her head in mock dismay. "It must be so troublesome to keep your name straight."

"Girls, girls!" Brian interrupted them. "Come on, this is a party! Let’s be civilized."

"I am being civilized, Brian!" Hallie insisted.

"I was only saying hello," Anne said at the same time. "Honest!"

Brian just looked at them both, then turned to Jim, "Shouldn’t we be leaving soon?"

"That’s right!" Jim said cheerfully. They didn’t actually need to leave for another twenty minutes, but an escape from the return of the Anne & Hallie Show was not something he intended to pass up. "You coming with us, Ben?"

"No," Ben said, his envy at their upcoming evening apparent even in his refusal. "I’ve got to get some paperwork done tonight since I won’t be able to this weekend."

"What’s so important now?" Mart asked.

Ben sighed. "We’re trying to get a dissident released from house arrest in Pakistan. She’s been kept isolated for the past twenty years with little hope of rejoining society, but we think we’ve got a chance with the new government there to get her case heard."

"It may mean a trip to Pakistan, however," Hallie said, all trace of her former flirtatiousness gone. "Which isn’t so bad except he’d likely be overseas for months."

"So?" Anne asked bluntly. "You’ve been separated before. There’s flights out of Miami every day. So you visit. Why the long face?"

Hallie glanced at her husband. He took her hand and said, "You go ahead. You’ve been dying to tell people."

Hallie smiled then, and looked at the floor a moment. She took a hesitant breath, then blurted out, "It’s because I’m pregnant. Ten weeks already!"

Excited grins spread onto everyone’s face and Hallie and Ben were enveloped in more hugs and congratulations from everyone present. Except Anne. As that fact became apparent, that Anne had not joined in the general well-wishing, the small crowd grew silent and waited.

Anne took a moment, sucked up as much sincerity as she could, and said, "Congratulations, both of you. You must be very happy."

Solemnly, Ben thanked her. Hallie, however, shook her head slightly and bluntly dismissed Anne’s lack of enthusiasm. "Jealous, are you?" she smirked.

Anne’s reply was simple and quiet. "Yes. I am." Abruptly changing the mood and the subject, she turned to the guys and said, "Aren’t you going to be late? Go! Get out of here! Get started on those primitive male-bonding rituals you guys think are so important and leave us women to our own!"

With a few quick words of ‘be careful’ and ‘you have the cell phone number, right?’ and ‘don’t trash my house while I’m gone’ and ‘but it was my house first!’ and ‘don’t let Bobby drink too much!’, the men were in their rented van and on their way.

*     *     *

The women, and Ben, returned to the pizza and pasta spread, and spoke for some time about babies, nurseries and the wonders of parenthood. Honey confessed her desire to have several children "plus," she said, "we think it would be wonderful to adopt later on."

Diana said having a child was always a dream of hers, "but now and again, I think kids are awfully troublesome."

Trixie laughed at the thought of ever having kids. "I’m still enjoying my life. Kids make you grow up."

Anne remained silent. When Diana pressed her friend on the subject, however, she gave a half-smile and said only, "An unplanned pregnancy would be dangerous for me. Diabetes, remember?"

Ben confessed that, if he were to get any of his work done, he needed to return to his rooms at the Glen Road Inn. Hallie, feeling tired and a bit morning-sick despite the late hour, decided to forgo the bachelorette party and return with her husband. They left soon afterward. Finally, the Female Bob-White Bachelorette Party had begun.

Upstairs in Honey’s old room, the location of the evening’s festivities and slumber party, Anne unpacked a huge shopping bag. With a saucy grin, she held up a stack of videotapes and DVDs. "Guess what I got for us, ladies!"

Honey sank slowly onto the long couch in her old sitting room. "I can hardly wait," she said, with a weak smile.

*     *     *

"I can’t wait any longer! Tell me where we’re going!" Brian’s frustration caused him to consider – very briefly – yanking the wheel from Jim’s grasp and taking control of the rented van. So far, Jim had driven into Sleepyside, dropped Mart off at the drug store, Dan at the convenience store and then picked them both up minutes later. As near as Brian could tell, they had each made small purchases, but the brown paper bags offered no clue to their contents.

In the rear-most seat, Bobby stretched out his long legs, slung his arms on the backrest and crowed, "Woo-hoo! Gentlemen, let us start our engines!!"

Dan and Mart, sharing the middle seat, sneaked peeks into their bags and snickered to each other. Jim carefully maneuvered through the small-town traffic, making his way back onto Albany Post Road, or 9W, as it was mainly known.

At the turn light onto 9W, Jim saw Lt. Molinson, conspicuously out of uniform, striding along the sidewalk, talking to a semi-familiar looking woman. As Jim drew the others’ attention to the sight, Molinson actually slipped his arm around the female in question. To Jim’s amazement, the woman did not squirm away. She actually smiled into the man’s face and moved closer.

"Guys!" Jim managed. "Check this out! Molinson’s got a girlfriend!" His passengers craned their necks to catch a glimpse of the unexpected sight and were rewarded immensely when Molinson happened to glance up and recognize the quintet, even in the rented van.

His look of astonishment, dismay and embarrassment caused no end of delight among the men. "Who is that?" Brian asked.

"I can not wait to tell Trixie!" Dan laughed.

"That’s Frieda Miller!" Mart exclaimed. "I took her out a few times last year."

"Gee, Mart," Bobby said dryly. "Drove her straight into Molinson’s arms, did you? I think you may want to look into improving your ability to attract girls."

"I don’t see you with anyone," Mart cracked back.

Bobby laughed loudly. "Ha! I got no complaints in that department! None whatsoever!"

*     *     *

"I don’t mean to complain, but what is all this stuff?" Trixie asked, marveling at the sheer variety of material Anne and Diana had brought to the party.

Anne blushed a light pink. "You ever hear of the Red Shoe Diaries?" Honey shook her head, Trixie frowned in concentration and Diana giggled. "Well, it was this series on ShowTime in the 90s. It was set up to be about this guy, played by David Duchovny, by the way, who had lost the love of his life. He puts an ad in the paper asking for people’s tales of love and loss and all that. He reads the letters he gets and that sets up these little stories."

"There were some wild episodes!" Diana laughed. "Each one was different, but each one was about sex."

"Basically," Anne agreed. "It’s not porno. It’s more like erotica. There’s a difference."

"Oh?" Honey finally asked. "Is there really?"

"Yup," Diana told her firmly. "Porno is for men. Erotica is for men and women." She picked up one of the tapes. "These are a lot of fun, actually."

"Yeah," Anne said. "Bill and I have watched some of them. This one," she said, holding up a particular tape, "is a favorite."

"Why?" Trixie asked, almost dreading the answer, but wanting to know all the same.

Anne blushed scarlet. "It involves a boxer and a bored housewife. And a horse. But not in the way you might think!" she hastened to assure them. "It’s actually quite beautifully filmed."

"Uh-huh," Honey said after a moment. "What else you got?"

Anne wiggled her eyebrows. "How about David Duchovny in the buff?"

Honey’s thoughtful expression indicated her increased amenability.

*     *     *

"New York City?" Brian asked. "Why are we going to the city?"

"That’s where the place is we’re going," Jim said patiently. The traffic along 9W slipped along the route of the Hudson, rushing swiftly and without complaint south. They had driven through Tarrytown, past the Tappan Zee, and were almost to the point where they could no longer claim they were not going to Manhattan or some other borough of New York.

"Why won’t you just tell me already?" Brian asked. "It’s not like I’m going to get out and walk home or something."

"Relax, man," Dan told him. "Just let the festivities happen. Don’t analyze things, okay? Takes all the fun out of life if you’re always planning ahead."

"Plan ahead and you don’t get caught in bad situations," Brian informed him.

"Thus speaks the Good Doctor," Mart said with a gesture of obeisance to his older brother. "We should all plan ahead and rob Life of its chance to surprise us."

"That’s not what I meant," Brian groaned. "It’s just good to have an idea what to prepare for. Then you can let what happens happen."

Jim nodded. "I see what you mean. You need to plan for spontaneity."

Brian finally grinned with self-deprecation. "Yeah. Something like that."

Another half hour passed and finally Jim had entered the city limits. New York traffic never quit, and soon the van was forced to a virtual crawl, stuck in the constant rush hour of Manhattan. Jim carefully avoided the traffic as much as he could. While he hadn’t spent a great deal of time in the city, he did have a native with him, who was an extremely capable backseat driver.

"Turn here, Jim. Take this road to the third light and hang a left. That’ll avoid the traffic ahead and get us onto Broadway." Dan’s knowledge of the city had not diminished, despite having lived the past 12 years outside it.

"Wait. We’re going to see a show?" Brian asked.

"Nope," Jim replied, then followed Dan’s instructions.

Soon, they were on Broadway and well out of the crush of cars.

"We’re going to your parents’ penthouse?"

"Not at first," Jim replied. "Although we may end up there. That depends mostly on your condition by the end of the evening."

Brian continued to guess wrong and Jim continued to drive unerringly through the maze of streets. Still stretched out in the back seat, Bobby asked Dan, "So, you miss living here?"

"Not one bit," Dan answered. There was a pause, then he said, "Well, maybe one bit. I have some good memories of this place. It’s a fun town to grow up in. Always somewhere to go, something to do. People to look at."

"Would you move back if you could?" Bobby wanted to know.

Dan thought a long moment, avoiding Mart’s undisguised interest in his answer. "I don’t think so," he finally replied. "Not by myself, anyway."

Bobby nodded sagely and let the subject drop. Mart regarded his friend through narrowed eyes, but said nothing. Dan remained quiet and thoughtful.

*     *     *

"So what’s the deal with you and Dan?" Diana asked Trixie. The women had changed into pajamas and were sprawled on Honey’s floor and sofa. Anne sat in front of the TV sorting through the stack of videos she had brought. Trixie had served everyone sodas and snacks and Diana had passed out a selection of adult magazines.

"What do you mean, the ‘deal’?" Trixie asked, sitting cross-legged at one end of the sofa, a magazine spread out on her lap.

"The deal," Diana repeated. "The situation. The relationship. Where things stand." She popped a rum ball in her mouth and pulled up an ottoman to sit on.

Trixie focused on the beautifully photographed and perfectly formed male bodies in her magazine. One in particular caught her eye. He was tall, well-built and had long dark hair. He stood in a large shower, like in a locker room, the water cascading over his muscles and skin. Trixie’s mind drifted… then was brought back to reality by Honey’s hand shaking her knee. "What?" she asked. "What’d I miss?"

"Diana’s been talking to you," Honey chided gently. "And frankly, we’re all curious. Where do things stand with you and Dan?"

"Ummm," Trixie hemmed. "Well. We’re dating." She smiled, hoping that would be enough.

"That’s it?" Diana asked. "Dating?"

"What’s wrong with that?" Trixie asked.

"Have you… um… you know… yet?"

"Have we what yet?" Trixie asked, a bit confused.

"She wants to know if you two’ve made love yet," Anne translated flatly. "Actually, I think everyone’s curious." She selected a video and slid it into the VCR.

Trixie blushed. "No. We haven’t."

Diana seemed disappointed. "Oh? Why not?"

"We just haven’t, that’s all!" Trixie readjusted her position on the sofa. Three pairs of eyes, one hazel, one violet and one brown, regarded her patiently. She groaned in frustration. "It’s kind of hard to get intimate when you’re roommate might come home any minute, or is just in the next room, or his uncle is expected back with his own girlfriend, or-"

"Okay! Okay!" Honey laughed. "We get the picture! Gee," she said. "I had no idea I was cramping your style."

Anne’s face showed her surprise as well. "Sorry, Trix. I’ll try to keep you and Dan in mind in the future."

"Well," Trixie blushed. "With Honey moving out this weekend…"

The quartet squealed with girlish laughter, recognizing the implication. In a moment, Anne hit PLAY and the video started.

*     *     *

"Okay, Dan. Where are we?" Jim’s temper was still in check, but his frustration level had risen.

Dan leaned across Mart’s lap to stare at the tall buildings outside. "I thought it was West 85^th. But maybe it was East 85^th?"

"Um, Dan," Jim said slowly. "Far be it from me to question your knowledge of New York City, but there’s a major difference between West 85^th and East 85^th."

"I know, I know," Dan conceded the point. "I don’t remember exactly what the guy told me. Turn on 85^th, go two full blocks and then find a place to park."

"Maybe it would help if I knew where we were going," Brian said calmly. "Then I could help navigate, too."

"Don’t tell him!" Bobby shouted from the back. "Make him guess!"

Brian glared at his youngest brother, but as he sat two seats in front of him, his scowl carried little threat.

Finally, Dan reached his decision. "It’s West 85^th. Definitely West. Keep going, Jim."

"Can’t you even give me a clue where we’re going?" Brian asked as Jim pulled the van back into traffic.

Jim shrugged. "Okay, here’s a clue. It’s a place Dan remembers from way back."

"But it’s a classy place," Dan assured Brian. "Or it was twelve years ago. But I doubt it would change much."

"Classy?" Brian asked. "We’re not exactly dressed for classy."

"I meant ‘respectable’, I guess." Dan hesitated, then said, "It’s a club, all right? My dad played there once."

"No kidding?" Brian’s interest perked. "It’s a rock club?"

"My dad played more than rock & roll," Dan said dryly. "He was actually trained as a jazz guitarist, if you remember. There’s just more money in rock."

"So, it’s a jazz club?"

"Sort of," Dan allowed. "You’ll see when we get there."

"IF we get there," Jim groaned. "See?" He gestured ahead of them. Police had cordoned off the street and were detouring traffic away from Central Park and away from West 85^th street.

"Now what?" Brian asked.

Jim glanced in the rear-view at Dan. "Your call. You’re the map."

Dan thought quickly. "We park as close as we can get and then walk. It shouldn’t be that far."

"Sounds good," Jim agreed. He waved at the police officer directing traffic and they were on their way once more.

*     *     *

"Oh. My. God." Honey breathed. "David Duchovny, why don’t you love ME?"

Anne laughed. "Isn’t he something?" Shaking her head, she opened another can of diet soda. "I mean, who’d think he was in such good shape during all those X-Files shows?"

"I would have," Trixie said. She stretched out her legs and propped them on the coffee table, her magazine open and forgotten on her lap. "Wasn’t she the girl from Twin Peaks?"

"Never saw it," Honey said.

"Yes," Diana said at the same time. "She played Laura Palmer, wasn’t it? The dead girl."

"Twin Peaks?" Anne asked.

"Old TV show," Diana explained. She knew that the Langs, the people who raised Anne, had never allowed her to watch anything but educational television. "You can find reruns on A&E late nights."

Anne nodded. "Was it any good?"

Diana smiled. "I’ll let Trixie take that one."

Trixie huffed. "Well, there was this big mystery built up over who killed Laura Palmer, but it wasn’t much of a mystery, if you ask me. The clues were there the entire time--oh, wow!" Her attention successfully diverted by the video, she misplaced her train of thought.

"You know," Diana said slowly. "David Duchovny was in Twin Peaks, too. He played a transvestite." Anne glanced uncertainly at her. "No, really. He actually makes a pretty attractive woman."

"Ugh!" Anne stuck her tongue out. "Do not put that image in my head!" She tossed a potato chip at Diana, who laughed and batted it away.

Honey pulled a small pillow from behind her and hugged it to her stomach. She sipped at her second glass of wine. Soon, she thought to herself, soon I will be married and I’ll know what the Fuss is all about.

*     *     *

"I don’t believe this!" Dan shouted in sheer frustration. "This can’t be happening! You don’t understand! We had this planned for weeks! I made reservations! You can’t do this!"

The police officer at whom he was shouting, however, could do it. "I’m sorry, sir," he said patiently. "But the city has ordered all businesses here to close up due to this gas leak. It will all be taken care of by the weekend. I’m sure you can change your reservations, but you’re not getting past this barricade."

Upon reaching West 85^th, the men had discovered the reason for the earlier detour. A gas leak had been discovered that afternoon, prompting the city to close down shops and businesses, evacuate any residents and restrict traffic until the area was safe again. This included the jazz club.

Dan turned to Brian. "I’m sorry, man. I didn’t know this was going to happen-"

"It’s okay," Brian assured him. "I appreciate the effort you went to. We’ll have to go out when I get back. Just us guys, and try this again."

Jim shook his head. "Won’t be the same, though, but thanks for not minding too much."

Mart frowned. "Darn. I was really looking forward to finally seeing the inside to The Blue Mambo."

Bobby frowned, too, his expression remarkably similar to his older brother’s. He said, "Me, too."

"You guys were going to the Blue Mambo?" A paunchy man with a well-sprayed comb-over approached them. "Couldn’t help but overhear," he explained.

"Yeah, we were," Dan answered, instinctively responding with a ‘what’s it to you’ posture and tone. "So?"

The man shrugged. "Nothing." He lifted his hands as if to emphasize his harmlessness. "It’s just that I happen to own the place. I’ve been trying, without success I might add, to get past this helpful public servant so that I might retrieve my books and figure out what amount I’m going to sue the city for, for keeping me out of business so long!" His last remarks were clearly meant for the nearby police officer’s benefit, and got him nowhere. The officer said something uncomplimentary under his breath and walked away.

"Yeah? You own it?" Bobby asked. "Cool!"

Dan frowned. "What’s your name?"

"What’s it to you?" the man shot back. Dan just stared. After a moment, the man relented. "Name’s Gil Lorenzo. Gilberto Lorenzo, Junior, in fact," he said, a definite Brooklyn accent overriding his vocal cadence.

"No kidding," Dan said, a bit taken back. "You’re Gilly?"

The man blinked, astonished. "You know me? I mean, I ain’t been called ‘Gilly’ in years. Don’t nobody call me that nowadays. Not since I got so high-class and respectable, anyway."

"His dad used to play the Blue Mambo," Mart offered.

"No kidding!" Gil took a step closer to Dan. "What’s your old man’s name?"

"Tim Mangan."

Shock, mingled with disbelief, sadness, recognition and joy swept Gil’s face. "No s-," he said. "Excuse my French." He looked closer at Dan. "You know, you do kind of look like him. But there’s no way you’re Little Danny!" With a hand, Gil indicated a two-foot height.

Dan’s cheeks pinked at the old nickname. He folded his arms. "Yeah, that was me."

"I’ll be! Ain’t this a kicker!" Gil glanced at the others. "This kid used to come to all his dad’s practices. He’d climb up on a stool at the bar and just listen as his dad would play song after song, lick after lick. Good as gold, this kid was. Didn’t complain, didn’t whine. Just sat there and listened."

"His dad was really good, then?" Jim asked.

"The best!" Gil insisted. "That guy had real talent. Course, back then, I couldn’t pay him what he was worth. He had to go to rock clubs for that."

"He did some session work, too," Dan reminded them.

Gil nodded. "Yeah, a lot of that." He grew silent. He looked Dan in the eye. "I was at your dad’s funeral. You probably don’t remember. How is your mother these days, by the way? What an angel she was! So beautiful. All that red hair. I have such a weakness for a redheaded woman."

Dan smiled at the compliment and shook his head. "She died a long time ago."

"Ah," Gil said with regret. "Then she’s finally with your dad. That was a couple never meant to be apart."

They talked a bit longer, discussing the club’s rising fortune, the current state of jazz in the hierarchy of popular music, Manhattan and possible relocations for the bachelor party. Gil finally suggested a recently opened blues club five blocks north. The guys agreed it sounded like a doable alternative. They thanked Gil for his help, Dan and he exchanged email addresses, and they headed back to the parked van.

What they found, however, was little more than a metal and fiberglass frame, a few fluffs of cushion and a scrap or two of leather.

Bobby’s summation of the sight was, as usual for him, succinct and obvious. "We’ve been robbed."

*     *     *

Anne held up two more videos. "Which shall it be, ladies? More ‘Red Shoe’ or do we want to try a ‘Blue Moon Studio Production’?"

"I don’t think I can handle any more right now," Honey admitted. "That last one – whew! It’ll take me a moment or two to recover!"

A peal of laughter erupted from Trixie. "Finally! You admit you’ve always had a crush on David Duchovny!"

Diana clapped a hand over her mouth and proceeded to giggle uncontrollably. She ended up having to set down her glass of wine in order not to spill any.

Honey flushed scarlet. "I never said I didn’t. Besides," she said firmly. "He reminds me of Brian. So there." She picked up her own glass of wine and toasted the television. "I can only hope the rest of him will, too."

Trixie, realizing Honey’s meaning, laughed harder. "Oh, Honey! I don’t know how to break it to you, but I wouldn’t count on it!"

"What are you talking about?" Honey asked, unwilling to watch as her best friend wiped tears from her eyes, almost grimacing from the pain of the constant laughing.

Trixie gestured helplessly. "Just that, well, I’ve seen him recently, and, well… It’s nothing to write home about." As Diana and Anne began to join in the chuckling, a worried look crossed Honey’s face, which only served to make her friends laugh harder. Trixie almost choked trying to stop laughing long enough to say, "Oh, Honey! I’m kidding, really. I’m sure that he’ll measure up just fine."

Honey had to giggle. It was too difficult to resist the silly mood her friends had been in all night. She asked rhetorically, "Compared to what, though, I wonder?"

Anne stopped laughing. She stared hard at Honey. "What do you mean, compared to what? Haven’t you been with anyone other than Brian? I mean," she explained, "I know you haven’t slept with anyone, but certainly you’ve done other things. You must have some idea how Brian rates as a kisser, for example. Don’t you?"

"No, not really," Honey said thoughtfully. "I mean, I’ve kissed other guys, but not more than that. Brian’s, well, he’s really good. The other guys couldn’t hold a candle to him."

"Not in any way?" Anne asked. "Cause every guy’s got his good points when it comes to kissing."

Diana nodded her head. "Definitely. And I’ve kissed a lot of guys. Actors, boyfriends, dates. Mart. Dan. They’re all different. They’ve all got something to recommend them."

"Wait a minute," Trixie said. "When have you ever kissed Dan?"

An expression of pure horror crossed Diana’s face. "Did I say that?" Trixie nodded. "Oops. I mean, well." Diana sighed. "I’m sure Dan wanted to be the one to tell you. But that time he spent in California with me over Christmas?" She checked to make sure they knew the time in question. "Well, I sort of made a major pass at him. A pass he declined, by the way. Quite firmly, too." She explained how she tricked him into thinking she was someone else, and that when he discovered it was her, he stopped her. "He’s a pretty good kisser, by the way."

"I’ll say!" Anne agreed. "Not too much moisture, not too much pressure. Very nice kisser, indeed."

Trixie shifted uncomfortably. "You two have both kissed him? I mean, I know you have, Anne." They nodded. "Great. Just great. My two very good friends have each had a relationship with my boyfriend."

"Don’t feel bad, Trixie," Anne hastened to soothe Trixie’s possible bruised feelings. "Bill’s a much better kisser than Dan could ever be!"

"Oh. Like that makes me feel better!" Trixie joked.

Now it was Anne’s turn to shift uncomfortably. "Well, he is. And he’s way better than Mart, too."

"When did you ever kiss Mart?" Diana demanded. "You never told me!"

"Well," Anne hedged. "It wasn’t much. The year Mart got his job at Sleepyside High, he needed a date for the big county-wide school board reception, so he asked me. We just went as friends. At the end of the night, he asked if I wanted to go see a movie. I said yes. After that," she explained, "he kissed me."

Anne took a sip of her diet soda. "It wasn’t bad, but bells didn’t go off, either. Of course, I was hopelessly in love with Bill at the time and thought he didn’t care about me so why shouldn’t I try finding happiness with someone who wanted me that way, but Mart and I both knew it wasn’t meant for us." She laughed. "I guess I didn’t set any bells off for him, either."

Honey shook her head. "I can’t believe it. Did you kiss Jim and Brian, too? Or did your womanly wiles not affect them?"

"Um, actually," Anne said, "That year Jim was at Harvard? Well, one night we were in my room at MIT, listening to music." She coughed to clear her throat. "At one point during one particularly passionate song, he leaned over and kissed me. That was pretty good."

"That’s right!" Diana said, pointing a finger at her best friend. "You told me about that!"

Anne nodded. "I did, didn’t I. If my friend Jenna hadn’t chosen that moment to knock on the door to tell me I had a phone call from home, I don’t know what would have happened. As it was, we just agreed it was a good thing we didn’t go any farther and possibly ruin our friendship."

"Who was on the phone?" Trixie asked.

"Bill was calling about my dad’s stroke," Anne said softly. "I’m glad Jim was there, actually. He got me packed and on the train back to Sleepyside in less than four hours."

The women sat in silence for a moment, then Honey said, "So let me get this straight. Each of you has kissed more than one Bob White except me?" They each nodded. "I didn’t realize I missed out on so much fun. I could’ve been making out with Dan and Mart and – well," she admitted, "not Jim. That’s just too weird."

"Didn’t you ever want your parents not to adopt Jim?" Diana asked. "He’s so cute!"

Honey laughed. "Every redhead I see reminds me of my dad. Ick!"

*     *     *

Brian watched as Jim closed his cell phone and pocketed it. "The police coming soon?" Brian asked.

Jim shrugged. "It’s not a priority. I figure a couple hours." He glanced up and then down the street. "Anyone have a suggestion what to do in the meantime?"

Dan frowned, deep in thought. Bobby, facing him, watched (he hoped) without looking like he was watching as a group of scantily and provocatively clad women in impossibly high heels strut toward them along the sidewalk. He swallowed hard as the women stopped several feet away and exchanged significant looks and glances with each other. Dan turned and stared down the street, seemingly blind to the presence of the women. "I think there’s a restaurant and music club a few blocks that way," he said. "If it’s still there. If not, something had to have taken its place. Worth a shot, anyway."

Bobby watched as Dan turned his back to the women without even once glancing in their direction. How does he do it? Bobby wondered. Ignore those girls when they’re all… so… hot. I mean, he’s got a girlfriend, but I’m still noticing them.

Even as Dan began to further outline the group’s possibilities, the oldest-looking woman sauntered up behind him. Bobby, about to let Dan know of the woman’s marked interest, could only sputter as she reached her arm down low. Almost immediately, Dan jumped and whirled about. "What the-?" he began, then stopped short. "Carmy?"

The woman, Bobby saw, was a Latina, and quite pretty. She was a lot older than even Brian, but she dressed as fashionably as any college student. The woman nodded, a salacious grin on her purple lips. "Danny! All grown up, I see. Very nicely too." She ran a hand along Dan’s shoulder up toward his neck and gave the ends of his hair a little flick with her fingernails. "Girls," she said over her shoulder to her friends. "This is Dan, one of my guys from way back."

The women smiled knowingly. "Nice to meet you, Dan," they said, winking and giggling. Dan smiled back a bit weakly and waved a hand at them.

"Uh, Carmela," he said, "These are some of my friends." He introduced each of them to Carmela. Jim and his brothers, Bobby noted with relief, kept their eyes politely on Carmela’s face. They nodded to the group of girls, still standing a few feet away.

Carmela gestured to her friends. "These are some of my girls. They work for me," she explained. "This is Sharla, Tonya, Joy and Bliss." After the usual rounds of ‘nice to meet you’, Carmela asked, "This your van?"

"Yeah," Jim said. "Well, it’s a rental, anyway." Briefly, he explained about Brian’s bachelor party, the gas leak and the rented van. "We were just about to figure out where to wait for the cops when you ladies showed up."

Sharla, a rather blowsy blonde in short-shorts and a thin crop-top, sauntered close to Jim. She laid a hand on his shoulder. "Cops don’t care too much about stripped cars," she said. "It’ll be awhile. You can leave a message for them, though, and they’ll find you when they’re ready."

"Leave a message?" Jim asked, turning to face Sharla. Bobby noticed that, as he turned, Sharla’s hand slipped off Jim’s shoulder.

"Yeah," she said. "NYPD’s got email, too." She waved a hand at the van. "They don’t really need your statement for this. It can all be handled much later on."

"But what are you going to do about your bachelor party?" Joy giggled.

The Belden brothers glanced at each other and effectively left it up to Brian to decide. Brian announced, "We were just going to decide about that. Guys, what about trying for that blues club Gil mentioned?"

Carmela and her friends likewise shared meaningful glances. Then Carmela slipped her arm through Dan’s and said, "No way. Our evening got cut unexpectedly short. My place is just a few houses up the street. Why don’t you gentlemen join us? I’ve got a pool table, a satellite, plenty to eat and drink, and you’d be nearby for when the police do decide to show up. What do you say?"

Dan shrugged and turned the suggestion to the others. "What do you guys think? It’s not in the plan, but it could work out."

Mart elbowed Brian. "Come on," he urged. "Be spontaneous. It’ll be fun!"

Brian reluctantly agreed.

*     *     *

"Okay, okay," Diana laughed. "This guy reminds me of Ben. See what you think." She tossed a magazine, folded open to a particular page, into Honey’s lap.

Gingerly, Honey held the photograph to her face. "I don’t know… Could be, but… This guy is way cuter!"

"Let me see that!" Anne snatched the magazine from Honey’s grasp. She stared at it. "Well, if this guy were your cousin, I might be having second thoughts about the way I treated Ben in the past. Might, that is!"

Trixie leaned over Anne’s shoulder. "Yeah, I’d have to agree. If this were Ben, I’m not sure I would have been faking that crush!"

Honey laughed and blushed. "Okay, you guys, then here’s Mart!" She folded back another page and handed it to Diana.

Diana took one look at it, then snickered. "Not even close!" She handed the magazine back to Honey.

"Care to tell us why not?" Honey asked slyly. Diana covered her face with one hand and shook her head.

"What do you guys think the guys are doing right now?" Trixie asked suddenly.

They thought about it. "Probably they’re getting drunk," Diana mused. "Don’t guys get wasted at bachelor parties?"

"They did at the one I went to," Trixie said, then explained. "I was working undercover in New York. A woman hired the firm Honey and I were interning at to see if her husband was cheating on her. We followed the guy to his friend’s bachelor party. To get in, I posed as part of the entertainment."

"You’re kidding!" Diana laughed in shock. "What did you do?"

Trixie thought back. "I paid off one of the girls, got into her costume, and infiltrated the party. It’s not what you’re thinking, though. Yes, the costume was kind of small, and it didn’t cover all that much, but I was just there to serve drinks."

"Was the guy unfaithful?" Anne asked.

"Well," Trixie allowed. "He did try to arrange an under-the-table meeting with me, which I dutifully reported to the wife the next day." She laughed. "That’s when the wife blew up. She claimed I came on to her husband! That I set him up, that he would never think of being unfaithful if I hadn’t put the idea in his head to start with! I told her to have a nice day and she could take care of her bill on the way out the door."

Honey joined in the laughter that followed. "I remember that woman! As she walked out, I was in the hallway waiting to meet with Trixie about another case. She stopped and looked me up and down and said, ‘if they had sent this one, he never would have thought about cheating on me!’"

"That’s awful!" Anne said. "She actually said that?"

"Yeah," Honey said. "But she only meant that her husband liked women who were a little more developed."

Trixie flushed scarlet. "That’s not my fault! Blame my mother’s side of the family. The Belden women were all strictly compact."

*     *     *

As soon as Brian entered Carmela’s house, he immediately realized what kind of house he was actually in. But the others didn’t seem to mind, and Dan and Carmela certainly did seem to be old friends. He followed the crowd into a large, wood paneled study that almost reeked of pipe tobacco and whiskey.

"Don’t worry," Tonya said, dragging Brian along with her. "No one’s expected tonight. Have a drink?"

Brian thought a moment. "A screwdriver would be great." Tonya winked and told him to have a seat; she’d be right back.

Brian sank onto a comfortable, butter-soft leather couch and looked around. An ornate pool table dominated the left side of the room, an equally polished baby grand piano stood to the right. The couch backed up under a tall window, currently shuttered against the night. He watched as Joy opened a maple armoire and reach inside. A moment later, he heard an old BB King tune begin to play. Joy turned and winked at Brian over her shoulder.

Carmela stood in one corner and chatted with Dan. Brian wondered how the two were actually acquainted. Carmela was clearly a good five years older than he was, which made her even older than Dan. Was she a gang member, too? Or otherwise connected to the underworld? Of course she is, he told himself. She’s a prostitute. That’s not exactly a legal profession. Not in this state, anyway.

Brian noticed that Mart seemed quite taken with Bliss. Ridiculous name, Brian thought. Who would name their kid ‘Bliss’? He decided that, since Mart was otherwise unattached to anyone, he’d let his brother alone for the time being. He’s an adult. He can decide these things for himself.

Then Brian noticed Jim. Jim seemed to be fending himself off from a rather obvious attempt by Sharla to get him to dance with her. Brian smirked at his friend’s attempts to be true to his relationship with Ruth. For a moment, he allowed himself to wonder what it would be like if Jim had married Trixie…

…Jim wanted marriage, family and kids. He wanted a wife like his mother was, a homemaker. A devoted mother. Brian suspected that Jim was more than ready to settle down, even though he hadn’t done a great deal of wild living so far. Being that focused on your career can do that to a guy, he knew. Take yourself for example, he told himself.

…Trixie wanted a career. Brian wondered if she wanted kids. She never talked about it, not like other girls did. He guessed it just wasn’t a priority with her. If she got married, he knew getting pregnant would not be the next thing on her Life List.

Then he considered Dan. What would it be like if Trixie married Dan? Then he wondered if two of the most independent people he’d ever met would ever consider marriage, even to each other. He started to laugh as he imagined his parents’ reaction to Dan and Trixie living together ‘in sin’.

"Something funny, husband-to-be?"

Startled, Brian glanced up to see not Tonya, but Carmela handing him his orange juice and vodka. "Uh, thanks," he said, taking the short glass. "Where’s Tonya?"

Carmela sat down next to Brian, very close, and shrugged a shoulder. "I sent her off to entertain your brother Bobby. But don’t worry," she leaned closer. "She’ll take very good care of him."

"Uh," Brian began. "Bobby doesn’t have any money and I-"

"Not to worry," Carmela assured him. "We take credit cards."

For a moment, Brian prepared to grab his friends and high-tail it out of there. Then he saw the amused twinkle in Carmela’s dark brown eyes and he knew she was teasing him. He relaxed. "He’s just a kid. Barely nineteen."

"That’s practically a man," Carmela said. "He can decide these things for himself, right?"

Since that was just what Brian had decided about Mart, he felt he couldn’t make an opposite decision about Bobby. Still… "I’d rather he didn’t."

"That’s fine," she said. "He’s over there. Right in plain sight." She indicated Bobby and Tonya, chatting animatedly by the baby grand. "If he leaves, you’ll know. He’ll go right out that door and up the stairs."

Brian gulped. "I don’t know about this…"

"Relax!" Carmela urged him. "You’ve got a wedding coming up. And a honeymoon. Tell me," she said, winking at him. "What do you have planned for the wedding night?"

Brian gulped again. "I really don’t know about this!"

*     *     *

"I don’t know," Anne said. "Bill’s been to bachelor parties before. He says they’re all the same. A bunch of guys either go to a strip club and get drunk, or they go to someone’s house or a hotel room, hire a stripper, and get drunk." She shrugged. "Sounds pretty boring to me."

Diana frowned. "Somehow, I don’t think Jim would plan something like that." She rolled onto her back in front of the TV. The fifth video selection was playing, but they had muted the sound in order to concentrate on their own conversation.

"I agree," Honey said. "At least, I hope that’s not how it goes!" She had paged through a stack of magazines and decided that none of the men seemed as attractive to her as Brian. Slightly disappointed and yet relieved, she closed the last one and laid it on the cushion between her and Trixie.

Trixie, her attention riveted on her magazine, ignored the flow of voices around her.

"And Bobby’s there, too," Diana pointed out. "I doubt Jim, or any of the guys, would let Bobby go along if it were just going to be strippers and beer."

"Why didn’t they invite Terry and Larry?" Honey wondered. "Even just to keep Bobby company?"

Diana laughed. "Terry and Larry have dates! Can you believe it? They actually convinced some girls to go out with them!"

"Well, they are-" Anne began.

Diana shrieked. "Don’t you say it! Don’t say that my brothers are cute! You always say that our little brothers are cute. I’m beginning to worry about you."

Anne laughed hysterically. "No! That is not what I was going to say. I was going to say ‘they are rich’. That helps since they share a brain. And a personality."

Diana glared at her friend, then relapsed into giggling.

Trixie shrieked. "I knew it! I knew it!" The others asked her what she was going on about, so she held up the magazine she had been reading and almost shouted, "These magazines aren’t for women! They’re for men! Here!" Trixie showed Honey the article she had been reading. "Check this out. It’s all about two guys." As Honey began to read, her eyes beginning to widen, Trixie continued. "I wondered about it, but most of these magazines aren’t in English. This one is. That’s how I figured it out."

"Well, yeah," Diana said, rather matter-of-factly. "They don’t make magazines like those for women. Just Playgirl and one or two others. I actually got most of those the last time I was in Amsterdam."

Honey shrugged. "So what? They’re still some pretty fine looking guys." Perhaps it was the rather unusual amount of wine running through her veins, but she didn’t seem to be too shocked.

Deflated, Trixie took back the magazine she’d handed to Honey. "I don’t know. I guess I feel cheated or something."

"Why?" Anne wanted to know.

"Don’t women have as much right to look at naked men as men do to look at women?"

Silence.

"What are you saying, Trixie Belden?" Honey asked slowly.

A smile spread across Trixie’s face. "I’ve got an idea…"

*     *     *

"Good break, Bobby!" Tonya purred. She handed the block of chalk to Bobby as he prepared to line up his next shot.

Bobby didn’t waver in his concentration. The long hours he’d spent playing pool at Manor House while his older brothers and sister were at college were paying off. Regan had taught him how to shoot pool, and Miss Trask had used the game as a means to teach him geometry and physics. In high school, he regularly cleaned out the Lynch boys, and any other challengers. He loved the game.

He had never played against Dan, though. After making that realization, he challenged the guy to a game. Dan, being a gracious competitor, allowed Bobby to break first. Bobby got solids, and sank two balls in swift succession. Then it was Dan’s turn.

Without a single hint of worry, concentration or concern, Dan cleared the table of every striped ball. Then he focused on the eight. "Eight ball, side pocket," he announced. A moment later, the eight ball plunk!-ed into place. "Rack ‘em up, Bobby!" he said.

"Oh, man!" Bobby groaned. "Where’d you get so good?"

Dan shrugged. "Blame it on my misspent youth." Then he grinned. "That, and all that time spent playing Uncle Bill in our basement."

As Bobby began sorting the balls in the triangle-shaped rack, he protested. "But he showed me! We should at least be more evenly matched!"

Dan laughed. "Who do you think showed him how to play?"

Nearby, Jim leaned an elbow on the edge of the bar. "Tell me, Sharla, how’d you get into this line of work?" He glanced around the room as he waited for her reply. Dan and Bobby were showing off their pool-shooting skills, Mart was wrapped up in some book he’d found laying about, and Brian and Carmela were deep in serious conversation about something.

Sharla guffawed, drawing Jim’s attention back to her. "You’ve got to be kidding. That’s the best you can do?"

"What do you mean?" Jim asked, a bit affronted. "I’m honestly curious. How do women decide this is what they’re meant to do in life?"

Sharla sighed, then poured herself a finger of scotch. "Just lucky, I guess. Sure you won’t have some?" She lifted the bottle.

"No, thanks," he said. "I’m driving."

"That’s cool." She took a sip of the scotch, then launched into her tale of woe. By the time she got to the death of her dog Scruffy and the mass suicide of her goldfish, Jim realized he was being put on.

"Okay, forget I asked," he said. "It’s none of my business. I was just making conversation."

"That’s okay," Sharla said, a bit shame-faced. "I was being rude. I’m getting the impression I’m not going to get anywhere with you. You don’t have a ring. You seeing someone special?"

Jim nodded. "We just started going out a couple weeks ago, but yeah. She’s pretty special. Besides," he continued. "I’m not the kind of guy who enjoys casual flirtation. It’s not worth potentially ruining a long-term relationship."

Sharla laid a hand on Jim’s arm. "That is so sweet! And very rare. I wish I had met you first."

"Gee," Jim said. "I’m sorry?" He smiled at her, and she smiled back. It was a genuine moment of mutual admiration and, for Jim, the realization that, if he hadn’t met Ruth first, and hadn’t met Sharla quite the way he had, things might very well have turned out differently.

Their conversation turned to matters outside their situation. They began to relate as adults and individuals. Jim found that Sharla had grown up in Rochester, too. She had attended the same elementary school, in fact, although not at the same time as himself, of course. She had visited her folks a few months ago, and was in the middle of telling Jim what had changed in the past several years, when they, and the evening, got completely interrupted…

*     *     *

"I can’t believe you’d suggest this, Trixie!" Diana giggled. "But I think it’s great!"

"Yeah!" Anne agreed. "Why shouldn’t us womenfolk have some fun!"

Honey giggled hysterically. "I can’t wait to tell Brian he’s not the only one who’s out sowing some oats tonight!"

"Oh, dear," Trixie snickered. "You want to do some farming? I don’t think they exactly allow that where we’re going!"

The quartet were in the middle of changing from their pajamas back into street clothes, giggling and laughing with the excitement and anticipation of their change of plans, when the phone rang. They froze, a question on each one’s face. Who should answer the phone?

"I’ll get it!" Honey laughed, then picked up her extension. "Hello? Manor House! Honey Wheeler speaking! And not for very much longer because soon I’ll be Mrs. Dr. Brian Belden! Or something like that. I can’t figure out if I’ll be ‘Dr. Mrs.’ or ‘Mrs. Dr.’. I mean, he’s the doctor, but does his title, his accomplishment, come before me or after me? And why should it be part of my name? It’s not like I’ve done anything to earn it. But I suppose I’m entitled to something. I mean, or otherwise, that is, because I did manage to snag his tight little butt! Huh? Who is this? What?"

Honey held a hand over the receiver and shouted, "It’s Jim!" She returned to the phone. "What’s going on, Jim? Don’t tell me. Let me guess. I’m good at guessing! Huh? Nooooo! I’m not drunk! I only had three-, no, wait. Four. I had four? Really? Glasses of wine. Oh. And some rum balls. But that’s candy."

Honey listened, then shook her hand. "No, no! We’re not all drunk! Anne didn’t have any rum balls. She’s sober as.. as.. as fudge. Or something. Wait. That doesn’t sound right. Huh? What are you talking about? You know, Jimmy, you’ve got this bad habit of not letting me talk or finish my thoughts. You just interrupt and plow on ahead as if what you’ve got to say were so very much more important than anything I might have to say. Well, soon I’ll be a respectable married woman and have much more important things to say so you might as well- WHAT!??"

Exasperated, Honey put the phone down on her lap. "He’s yelling at me now. Some full-blooded adopted brother he’s turned out to be!" She stared at her friends, still putting on their regular clothes, looking just as bewildered as she felt.

Anne, sensing that perhaps Honey wasn’t the best person to be on the phone at this particular time, gently took the receiver and spoke into it. "Jim? Hey. It’s Anne. What’s up?" She listened a moment, her eyebrows climbing higher and higher with each passing second. "No kidding! Wow. Huh. Okay." Anne checked her watch. "Don’t panic. We’ll be there as soon as we can. No. Really. I’ve got my car. No, Jim! I don’t drink. Don’t worry." She listened a moment, then burst out laughing. "Oh, yeah! You got that right! They drink like fish! Don’t sweat it. We’ll be there in two hours, tops. It’ll be fine." She hung up the phone.

"What’s wrong with Jim?" Diana asked. "What happened?"

"I’m not sure how to tell you this, guys," Anne said, fighting back a bit of laughter, "But the guys have been-"

*     *     *

"Arrested!" Bobby slammed his fist against the cement wall. "I don’t believe it! Of all the rotten luck!"

"Relax, Bobby!" Dan said with supreme confidence. "Jim will get the girls down here to bail us out. We’ll survive."

Mart, stretched out on the bench in the holding cell, just laughed. "You know, I’ve been threatened with imprisonment, but I’ve never actually been in a jail cell before. It’s not quite what I pictured."

"Yeah?" Brian asked. "What’d you picture?"

"I don’t know," Mart said, sitting upright. "Ruder cops. A few bruises. Cuff marks. A huge sweaty guy named ‘Chuckles’. I don’t know. Something else."

Their collective experience with the NYPD Vice Squad had been anything but unpleasant. The officers had treated the men with respect and had even joked with Brian, saying ‘now you have a story for the grand-kids’. They had offered them soda to drink and their choice of snacks from the machine.

"Hey," the officer in charge had explained, "We know you weren’t actually doing anything wrong. Yet. And it was just a series of bad luck that got you guys involved in this mess. But we still got to do our job, which means booking and processing. But I wouldn’t worry. Call your fiancée for bail money and you’ll be out of here first thing. It’s the girls you were with that we want."

Dan had seemed a bit concerned about his friend’s welfare. "Carmela. Is she in a lot of trouble?"

The officer shook his head. "Nothing she shouldn’t have expected, running a House. She’s been in the slammer before. She’ll be here again."

Dan had accepted the officer’s word and set about making himself comfortable on the other bench.

"Good thing I’m quitting the hospital," Brian said after a while. "I don’t think Administration would look on this too kindly."

"You don’t think so?" Mart laughed. "Their best pediatrician getting arrested for soliciting the favors of a prostitute?"

Brian cast a dour look at his brother. "I just hope Moms and Dan don’t freak out too much."

A moment later, they heard the main cell block door opening up. They heard and then saw Jim enter, escorted by an officer.

"How’d it go?" Brian asked. "Did you get in touch with them?"

Jim shook his head as if to clear it. "Did I ever! Sounded like they were having the time of their lives. I’ll tell you, though. Drunk off her feet, Honey Wheeler is one scary girl! If you ever thought you couldn’t understand her sober, you don’t know what a migraine IS until you try to make sense of her drunk!"

"Honey was drunk?" Brian repeated, stunned. Then he began to laugh. "Now, that IS a scary thought!"

"But they’re coming, right?" Bobby pressed. "We won’t have to stay long, right?"

"Yeah, yeah," Jim assured him. "They’re coming. What’s the problem?" The officer unlocked the door, allowed Jim to enter, then closed and locked the door behind him.

"Problem?" Bobby smiled weakly. "No problem. I just don’t want to stay here all night. That’s understandable, right?" He looked from one man to the next, finally noticing another officer standing straight and tall outside the bars, staring directly at him. "I mean, isn’t it?" he said, aiming for rapport with the officer.

"Sure it is," the new officer agreed, drawing everyone else’s attention as well. "Robert Belden, right?"

Bobby nodded and gulped. He couldn’t say anything.

The officer smiled thinly. "Why don’t you come with me? I have some questions to ask you."

Brian, Mart, Dan and Jim each leaped to their feet in Bobby’s defense. "What’s going on?" "Why?" "What do you want with him?" they asked.

The officer’s eyes narrowed. "Mr. Belden has quite an interesting arrest record. Tell me," he said to the trembling young man. "Who you stalking now?"

Author’s Note: Info on bails and fines came from Deb Smouse – but if there are any errors, blame me for misunderstanding her and/or adjusting the facts to fit what I wanted. Let’s see… a ‘JP’ is a Justice of the Peace, ‘shag’ is more than carpet but still not a really bad word in the US, and everyone’s getting their hair cut and manicures done ‘today’ because there won’t be enough time ‘tomorrow’ since the wedding’s in the afternoon.

Chapter 15

4 a.m., Friday morning, June 16
1 day to go

"Tell me again what Jim told you," Trixie said, allowing the rushing wind to clear her mind of the dizzying webs of alcohol. She leaned her head against the leather seat cushion and stared up at the night sky as Anne sped her red mustang convertible along 9W toward Manhattan. They had left Manor House within moments of receiving Jim’s call from jail, then stopped at Anne’s house so that she could get enough cash for the fines.

Anne adjusted the volume on the radio. "It was apparently just a misunderstanding. The guys were all set to go to a club, but it got shut down due to a gas leak, then their van got stripped and then an old friend of Dan’s showed up and invited them all to her house to wait for the cops." She started to laugh. "Of course, that old friend runs a House of Ill Repute, and they all got arrested in a raid."

Trixie knew all that; the details weren’t in question. It was the part about ‘Dan’s old friend’ and ‘house of ill repute’ that bothered her. What was Dan’s history in that regard? Didn’t she have a right to know all about it before she and he pursued their relationship any further? She knew the basic outline of his life, of course. There was that horribly painful confrontation the Bob-Whites had had with him regarding his life on the streets all those years ago. She had no wish to revert to that inflexible inquisitor she had become at that time. She’d like to think she’d outgrown all that, become more mature and more tolerant. Surely, her years in the city had accomplished such a feat. Hadn’t they?

Then where was all this – was it jealousy? – coming from? Why was she suddenly so insecure about her relationship with Dan? Did it have to do with the confession she’d made to him just before leaving for Atlanta?

And why didn’t the knowledge that all three of her brothers, as well as Jim Frayne, had also been arrested in the raid bother her in the slightest? She’d have to think about that one some more.

The trip to Manhattan passed quickly enough, thanks to Anne’s predilection for testing the performance of the car as much as possible, and the radar detector/scrambler she’d devised and installed. The basically illegal device didn’t render her invisible to patrol cars, but it did warn her of their two-mile proximity. They therefore made the trip, at that late/early hour, in record time.

Thanks to Trixie’s knowledge of the city, and Anne’s excellent sense of direction, the women easily located the precinct house. It happened to be one Trixie had never visited, however, so she despaired slightly of finding an officer she knew whom she could press for a favor regarding the arrested men.

As it happened, however, the desk sergeant turned out to be a man Trixie had met while doing her PI internship. There was a moment of surprise, then of greeting and they quickly updated each other on their personal status. Anne regarded them politely, knowing they’d soon get down to business. In minutes, the sergeant had pulled up the guys’ file on the computer, and announced the total fines that needed to be paid before they would be released.

Trixie gaped at the unexpectedly large amount, but Anne calmly pulled out her wallet and asked, "You take cash, right?"

The sergeant nodded at Anne, then explained. "The four of them are just the basic fines. You know, to cover their arrest and the paperwork. It’s just ‘suspicion of solicitation’. It’s the guy with the record that’s the problem."

"I thought juvenile records were sealed?" Anne asked, referring to Dan’s rap sheet. She began counting out the bills.

"They are," Trixie groaned. "It’s Bobby, isn’t it. Bobby’s arrest in Clearwater."

The sergeant nodded. "Turns out your brother’s got a prior for stalking. Now he’s been arrested in the company of prostitutes. That doesn’t look too good. The city’s taking an active role regarding stalkers, especially since that incident a few years back with that soap star." The sergeant looked up. "Well, you know what I’m talking about. You worked that case for a time, didn’t you."

Trixie nodded. "Yeah. I did." She glanced at Anne, who was now recounting the money. "But Bobby’s been released, too, right? There’s nothing pending on him, right?"

"Right," the sergeant agreed. "We got nothing to keep him on, but he’d better stay out of trouble from now on. Oh," he said to Anne. "You want to take that to the county clerk over there and sign some papers." Anne walked to the clerk’s station and began arranging for the release.

After ten minutes of filling out paperwork, Anne finally returned to Trixie, still chatting up her old friend. "So?" Anne asked. "Now what?"

Trixie shrugged, then turned to face the rest of the precinct lobby. Two long rows of wooden benches lined the opposite wall; citizens of all types lounged and slumped, some staring at the ceiling, others at their laps. Nope, Trixie thought to herself, I still wouldn’t want to be a police officer. All these late hours.

The sergeant told them it could take a while; they were welcome to wait on the benches. Anne swallowed her elitist impulse to demand a private waiting room and joined Trixie on a bench to wait.

It only took a half hour, but the men in question soon stood in front of them, slipping their wallets into their pants and adjusting rings and other previously-confiscated jewelry. For the most part, they regarded their female saviors with defensive postures and humbled gratitude. Except Bobby, who kept begging his sister to please take him home right now.

Anne just chuckled at the sight of the over-tired men, got her keys from her purse and led the exodus to the parking lot. Trixie followed along behind. If Dan noticed her lack of enthusiasm in returning his thankful peck on her cheek, he didn’t say anything within range of the others’ hearing.

"Is an officer going to contact you about the van?" Anne asked, drawing Jim’s attention. He began to answer her, and the other guys followed closely behind, leaving Dan and Trixie to catch up as they would.

Holding the door open for her, Dan allowed Trixie into the cool late-night air first. She started down the stone steps after the others, but he laid a hand on her shoulder, stopping her and turning her to face him. "Trixie? Is there something you want to talk to me about?" he said softly.

Trixie looked at the street, the early-early morning rush hour, the slowly brightening sky, the less-dark shadows of the tall gray buildings. She summoned up her courage and she answered, "Yes. Tell me about this old friend you just happened to run into."

Dan almost laughed, but saw the serious look in her eyes and stopped himself. "You mean Carmela?" Trixie nodded. "That’s a long story, but I’ll tell you. If you really want to know."

"If this relationship is going anywhere," she said, "and I think I want it to, then don’t I deserve to know about all your ‘old friends’?" As he seemed to ponder her thoughts in a favorable light, she added, "I know about Diana, by the way."

He was instantly on the alert. "What do you know about Di?"

Briefly, Trixie shared with him what Diana had shared at the Bachelorette Party. "Why? Did she leave something out?"

Dan hesitated. "Nothing important," he said finally. "Look. The others are waiting. Let’s go home, get some breakfast and then we’ll talk about it. All about it. Okay?" He paused, then added, "I don’t want to keep anything from you. I want us to work out, too. It’s become very important to me. You’re very important to me. I do not want to mess this up."

Heartened by the sincerity of his words, Trixie smiled at him. "Well, I don’t want to mess anything up, either. We can talk about it at breakfast, or even wait until after the wedding tomorrow if you like." She laid a hand on his neck and brushed her thumb along his whiskered jaw. "You look good with stubble," she said.

"You think?" he grinned. Then he leaned down to kiss her. At first, their lips met gently, with a light brush of warmth against warmth. Then, almost with a laugh, Dan wrapped his arms around her and buried his face in her neck, rubbing his stubble into her soft skin, his strong arms not allowing her to escape.

Shrieking with surprise, the sudden friction and the delight at the unexpected PDA in front of her brothers and her friends, Trixie laughed. She kept giggling, even after Dan released her from his tight grip and escorted her to the front seat of Anne’s mustang.

Eyeing the four men cramped in the back seat, their long legs a tangle of knees and ankles, Dan took the front passenger seat and spread his legs. "Come on, Trixie," he said invitingly, "there’s plenty of room."

Trixie looked at Anne, who simply smiled and said, "You ain’t sitting with me, sweetheart!" With more than a share of trepidation, Trixie sat between Dan’s legs on the leather seat and allowed him to stretch the seatbelt over them both, then shut the door.

"See?" he said, his mouth very close to her ear. "You’re perfectly safe." He wrapped his arms around her waist and held her securely against his body.

As Anne started the engine and smoothly exited the parking lot, Trixie snuggled into Dan’s arms and stretched out her legs as far as they could reach under the dash. Yeah, she thought happily, with Dan, I guess I am perfectly safe.

*     *     *

"Oh, god, help me!" Honey groaned, barely able or willing to pick her head up from the blessed coolness of the bathroom tile.

Diana just laid another damp cloth over her friend’s forehead and rubbed the inside of her wrist. "Do you think you can handle some more of Jim’s sports drink?" she asked.

"I don’t knooooowww," Honey moaned. "Maybe? The room just keeps spinning and spinning and tilt-a-whirling. Why won’t it stop? I mean, I stopped drinking a LONG time ago. This should all have been over already!"

Diana just chuckled to herself. "You’ve got a hangover, Honey. That’s all. It’s not fatal and I’m certain if you just threw up you’d feel better."

"I can’t throw up," Honey whined. "I’ve never been able to. Maybe I should just go get my stomach pumped."

"That’s disgusting," Diana said flatly. "I saw that happen once to a friend of mine. They stuff charcoal down your throat. You don’t want to know."

Honey moved her head slightly, trying to glance sideways at her friend, sitting beside her on the bathroom floor. "Are you sure? Cause if it would help…"

"Why can’t you throw up? Haven’t you ever been sick to your stomach before?"

Honey closed her eyes. Staring at Diana just seemed to make everything worse. Staring at anything made it worse. "No," she confessed. "I mean, I’ve had upset stomachs and stuff. Who hasn’t? But I never threw up or anything. I’m just one of those kinds of people, I guess."

Diana thought a moment. "Maybe if you ate something disgusting," she said. "Like one of those old-fashioned hangover remedies that involves tomato juice and cayenne pepper and that stinky oil they put in pickle jars."

"Eww!" Honey shuddered, then instantly regretted her shuddering.

Diana leaned closer to Honey’s ear. Carefully brushing a lock of the honey-blonde hair off her neck, Diana whispered, "Honey? You want some crackers? Some soda water? Some lukewarm pork?"

Honey’s hazel eyes flew open.

Diana barely managed to get Honey upright and bent over the open toilet in time. While Honey retched her guts out, Diana held her friend’s hair back and gave her words of encouragement while simultaneously telling her to keep her head up as much as possible.

When it appeared Honey had finished, Diana shut the lid, flushed the toilet and handed her another damp washcloth. Dazed, with tears rushing down her cheeks, Honey started shaking. Diana gently guided Honey into a comforting hug. "There, there," she said. "It’s all over. Congratulations. You threw up. Isn’t that wonderful?"

Honey brushed the tears from her face and sat back on her knees. "That was the single most disgusting moment of my life," she confessed. "Ugh. I never want to do that again!" She patted her stomach, then moaned. "My ribs hurt!"

Diana smiled. "Then you probably shouldn’t drink so much. Just take it as a warning."

Honey frowned. "But you drank more than I did. Why aren’t you sick?"

"I’ve developed a tolerance?" Diana suggested with a shrug. "Seriously, I used to get hangovers all the time, but then it started taking me longer to get drunk. Now I can drink a whole six-pack before feeling a buzz. It’s not something I’m proud of." She held up Honey’s face and looked directly into her eyes. "And it’s not something you should emulate, either. This all happened when I lived in Hollywood, and it’s a major reason I came on to Dan when I did. It took me a long time to get myself straightened out and I wouldn’t go back to that life for anything."

Honey nodded. "I think I can understand that. And I think I want to brush my teeth. I’ve got this horrible taste of--"

"I know what that taste is," Diana hastened to interrupt. "I don’t need to be reminded! But just wash out your mouth and then drink the rest of that sports drink first."

"Why?" Honey asked, standing a bit unsteadily. "Why do you keep pushing that stuff on me?"

"It’ll restore your electrolytes and stuff. It’ll help replenish your fluids. Drinking dries you up and contributes to your hangover," Diana explained. "This, and some aspirin, and a lot of rest, will help you recover."

Honey nodded. "But I’ve got an appointment at the hairdresser at 9:30, then lunch with Helen and my mother at noon, then I have to be back here to meet the houseguests, then get ready for the rehearsal, then the Belden’s rehearsal dinner, then-"

Diana smiled. "I know. Then you can try and get some sleep before the Big Day." She lead Honey to the bathroom sink. "First things, first. Rinse out your mouth, then drink the juice and take the aspirin. Then I’ll put you to bed. You don’t have to do more than shower and dress before your appointment, so I’ll set your alarm for 9. That gives you almost five hours. Maybe you’ll get a chance to nap this afternoon. At any rate, you’ll probably be so wiped you’ll fall asleep no problem tonight."

Honey stared at her reflection. Her eyes were bloodshot, her hair a tangled mess, her skin blotchy and the tile grooves had embedded their pattern on her cheek. "No problem. Right."

*     *     *

Anne dropped everyone off at Manor House, then drove herself home. She checked her blood sugar, happily discovering that, despite the unusual activities and food consumption, her levels were not terribly out of whack. She fixed herself a light breakfast and checked her messages. One in particular, from her old advisor at MIT, disturbed her, the one from NASA intrigued her and the one from her old friend Jenna cheered her, but as she had no plans to even think about work until Monday morning, she dismissed it from her mind.

As she got herself ready for bed, Anne contemplated Hallie and Ben’s announcement. So, Hallie got herself pregnant, she thought. It’s so like her to find the one thing I want more than anything and claim it for herself. Darn it! It’s just not fair!

The one thing Anne wanted above all others was to be a mother. Since discovering how wonderful life could be with the right man, her need for motherhood threatened to almost overwhelm her sometimes. She knew she would not trap Bill into fatherhood; that was a solution she would never accept. But would she ever be healthy enough to become pregnant? Would her already-damaged system even survive the strain of pregnancy? And what about the baby? She knew that, if she weren’t in the best control of her condition, her baby had a fairly good chance of developing birth defects of the spine and nervous system.

She didn’t know the answers, and that was the one thing she couldn’t tolerate: an unanswered question. If it’s possible, and if he agrees, she thought as she slipped between her cotton sheets, I intend to have his baby. Lots of his babies. Of course, we should probably get married first…

With a happy grin, Anne snuggled into her bed and closed her eyes. Soon, she dreamt of a laughing little girl with bright red hair, running after a tall man in jeans leading a horse, herself following behind with a picnic basket…

*     *     *

Dan caught Trixie’s arm as she left Manor House, her overnight bag in her hand and headed toward her car. "You still up for some breakfast?" he asked her. Anne’s mustang drove off down the Manor House driveway, Brian and Jim were already in the house and Mart had long since driven Bobby to Crabapple Farm.

Trixie thought a moment. "Yeah. That’s actually sounding better and better. Your car or mine?"

Dan laughed. "Look around. Brian picked me up last night. Jim was supposed to drop me off at my house."

"Oh," Trixie said, then grinned. "Okay. Hop in!"

In half an hour, they were sitting at The Brunchery, ordering breakfast. "I can’t believe Brian and Honey are finally getting married! It seems so unreal!" Trixie confessed.

"I know!" Dan agreed. "It’s like, just yesterday, he was telling me she was a ‘nice girl’ and I’d do well to look elsewhere for female companionship."

Trixie was stunned. "You’re kidding! Brian warned you away from Honey? When?"

Dan laughed. "When I first got here. I got some pretty interesting glares from Jim and Mart, too. Jim, for instance, wasn’t too happy that I spent most of that winter carnival skating with you."

Trixie frowned. "But he was busy skating with Lupe!" she pointed out. "He had no business glaring at you!"

He laughed even harder. "But he did! Besides Trixie," he said, quieting down a bit, "I was noticing you. A lot. You were pretty, even then. But you were too young for me."

Trixie just stared. "It’s the same age difference now," she said bluntly.

"I know," he replied, with a patient expression. "But I had lived a lot already. You were still… I don’t know… Innocent, I guess. I suppose it’s what kept Jim from chasing you more than he did, too. The idea that it would be best to keep you all starry-eyed and convinced the world was a wonderful place, because we had both had ample evidence to prove it wasn’t."

"I see," Trixie said, lapsing into thought. After a moment, she said, "I guess I had a lot more growing up to do than I supposed." She smiled ruefully. "I always figured I was so mature. So sophisticated. I’d helped the government. I’d stopped master criminals. I’d foiled thieves and burglars and con men." She looked into Dan’s dark eyes. "But I hadn’t really grown up, had I."

"No," he said. "Not until you were forced to." He reached across the table and took her hands in his. "I wish I had been a better help to you, then. But I was with Anne and, well… she needed me, too."

Trixie rested one of her hands on top of his and brushed his knuckles with her fingertips. "I don’t begrudge your relationship with Anne. She did need you then, and you needed her. I needed to work that whole thing out on my own. It was what pushed me to rely on myself for things, and not some boy or my parents or anyone else. I learned I could count on myself, really trust myself." She smiled tenderly. "And you were a huge help to me. You were the one constant in my life then. Just like you are now. I like it. And I like you."

Laughter bubbling up from his chest, Dan said, "You like me? You only like me? That’s it?"

Spying the waitress bringing their breakfast, Trixie opened her napkin and made room on the table for her plate of waffles. Blue eyes twinkling merrily, she teased, "That’s all you’re going to get, Mr. Mangan! Now eat your breakfast!"

"Yes, ma’am!" he replied. It was a long while before he stopped grinning.

*     *     *

As Diana came down the main staircase of Manor House, she saw Jim and Brian in the formal living room. She popped her head in the doorway and asked them about their adventure. Briefly, and without flourish or exaggeration, Brian brought her up to speed. He finished his brief recitation by asking, "How’s Honey doing?"

Diana just shook her head. "Let her wake up when her alarm goes off, okay? And no loud or sudden noises, please! She won’t be feeling too well."

Stunned, Brian could only stare. "She really got drunk? Honey Wheeler? The same Honey Wheeler who could sip a single glass of wine through an entire six course dinner and dessert?"

She laughed and nodded. "The same! Don’t forget the rum balls, too. Harrison has never skimped on the rum!"

Jim groaned and rubbed his forehead. "You got any left? My parents are due in three hours and I’m supposed to be having breakfast with them. I have a feeling that if I can’t get any sleep, I may as well not be feeling any pain."

"Sorry, Jim," she said. "But Honey hoarded the last ten or so for herself."

"Ten-?" Brian repeated weakly. "She’s at least sleeping it off now, isn’t she?"

"Oh, don’t worry so much!" Diana scoffed. "She’s thrown up and she’s taken some aspirin and some juice. She’ll be fine by tomorrow." She glanced at her watch. "Listen. I’ve really got to get going. There’s things that I need to do at my house, too."

"Before you go," Jim asked, "I don’t mean to pry or anything, but should we expect Thomas for the wedding?"

Diana sighed, then filled them in on the pertinent details.

*     *     *

"Mart?" Bobby asked as he and his brother drove toward Crabapple Farm. "You ever think about what would have happened if you and Diana had gotten married right out of high school?"

"Excuse me?" Mart asked sharply. "Where’d that come from?"

"Nowhere," Bobby hastened to assure him. "I just was wondering-"

Mart glared at him. "Well stop wondering, okay? Diana and I are over and done with. There’s no going back. Not ever. Frankly, I’m a little tired of being interrogated on the subject every time I turn around!" He turned the car into the driveway, still denying there was any possible future relationship between him and Miss Lynch.

Bobby got out of Mart’s car and watched as his brother just turned the car back toward Glen Road. Softly, he protested, "But, that wasn’t my question at all!"

*     *     *

Diana walked silently across the marble tiled foyer of her parents’ house to the wide staircase. Shouldering her overnight bag, she started walking, step by leaden step, toward the second floor landing. She opened her bedroom door, tossed in her bag, then forced herself to cross the hallway to the guest room. She knocked, not really expecting a reply.

"Come in."

Diana took a breath and entered. To her surprise, Thomas was dressed and almost completely packed. "You agree, then?"

He nodded. "I have no choice but to agree." He laid a short stack of folded shirts in his oversized Pullman suitcase, which sat on the floor propped upright against the bed frame.

"Please, Thomas! It’s not really like that." She closed the door behind her, then moved to stand near the foot of the bed. He didn’t look at her. Diana ran her fingers through her hair, scratching her nails to stimulate her scalp. She needed to take a shower soon, but this could not wait any longer.

"How is it, then? Hm?" His dark blue eyes cast a skeptical glance at her. "How could I possibly have misread that note you left for me?"

"It was more than a note," she corrected him. "It was a-"

"It was a delicately scripted piece of literature," he interrupted, gently sarcastic. "Composed to strike the perfect balance between friendship and sheer, unadulterated disgust."

Diana’s jaw dropped. "I am not disgusted! By you or by anything you represent!"

"Oh, really!" It was clear by his tone he did not believe her. He finished stacking his clothes in the suitcase and shut the lid. In moments, he had fastened it tightly closed.

"Really!" Diana insisted. "The only thing I’m still upset about is the fact that you found it so easy to lie to me all this past year. You lied to my face and to my heart." He grunted then, a noise of ‘so what?’ and she watched him set his Pullman next to his other two suitcases. "You did lie, Thomas. You can’t deny that."

He turned to face her. Seriously, he nodded his head. "You’re right. I withheld information from you. But I really didn’t think it mattered. No, let me rephrase that," he said when she would have spoken. "I thought it would only matter to me and I thought I could handle it."

"Well, sooner or later," she told him, "I would have discovered your ‘secret’. I would eventually have known and the longer you had deceived me, the worse it would have been. The more betrayed I would have felt. The more stupid I would have felt."

He shook his head at that. "You know, Diana, you’re one of the most intelligent women I’ve ever met. How you can think you’re stupid is quite beyond me. But we’ve had that discussion before and you’ll probably never believe me now!" He smiled with self-deprecation.

"I know, I know. You’ve told me often enough." She sank onto the foot of the bed and looked at him, dressed in collared shirt and faded jeans, dock shoes and no socks. His hair was perfectly arranged to fall carelessly across his forehead, his blue eyes shone in the early morning light, his grin perfectly formed to charm a girl’s heart. Unfortunately, he truly wanted to charm boys’ hearts.

Diana heaved a heavy sigh. "I’m sorry about how this ended up. I’m trying to be civilized and all that, but…"

He waved a hand at her. "Don’t worry. I’m British. We’re specially bred to be civilized. Can’t help ourselves." He almost laughed, but then he stared deeply into Diana’s darkly purple eyes. "I do still love you, you know. As much as I ever did."

"I know," she said. "But I deserve more." When he didn’t reply, but simply waited for her to continue, she explained. "I realized I deserve love, but more than that, too. I deserve true companionship. Respect. Friendship. Desire, even. I deserve to be the most important person in a man’s life, just as I deserve to have a man I can point to as the possessor of my soul. I deserve to be truly married to one man for the rest of my life and if it takes me the rest of my life to find him, then that’s just as long as it’s supposed to take."

Thomas did laugh, then, loud and heartily. When his laughter finally subsided, he said, "I suppose I should be saying the exact same thing!" Then he shook his head and picked up the smaller of his bags. "Should I have Harrison arrange for a taxicab for me?"

"Oh, no," Diana assured him. "Mummy and Dad have hired on an extra chauffeur for the weekend, to help with all the houseguests. He’ll take you to Manhattan and the Plaza. I arranged for you to have a suite there for the week."

Thomas handed her the smaller bag and picked up the two larger ones himself. Diana opened the door and led her ex-fiancée downstairs. As they progressed, she continued, "Feel free to order as much room service or whatever as you wish. All your expenses will be paid, whatever they are. Let me know your plans and I’ll either help you locate an apartment in New York, or give you a plane ticket to LA or back to London. Your choice."

They reached the foyer and Harrison magically appeared to take charge of Thomas’s transportation and belongings.

"You’ve thought of everything," Thomas commented.

"I tried," she confessed. "I don’t want this to be an undue burden on you. I fully intend to support you professionally as well. Don’t think I’m going to let our friendship suffer because of all this. I’m way beyond petty modes of revenge."

"I’m very glad to hear that," he told her sincerely.

Harrison opened the front door and allowed the temporary chauffeur to load up the limousine with Thomas’s luggage. Thomas glanced around the front porch. "Will your family be wishing me good riddance as well?"

"Oh, Thomas! I’m not at all!" Diana scolded him. "I truly want you to be happy and I intend to help you get that way, if I can. We were friends first, you know, and I want to honor that." She reached up and laid her hand on his lean cheek. "I have too few friends in this business."

She took her hand away, but Thomas grabbed it and laid her hand against his cheek as before. His blue eyes burning into hers, he pressed a kiss into her palm. "I love you, Diana. You’ll always be the first lady of my heart."

"You’d better go now," she said after a moment. As he got into the back of the limo, she indicated to the driver she’d shut the door herself. Harrison discreetly returned inside and the driver busied himself in the front seat. Diana leaned into the dark interior. "Thomas, whatever you decide to tell the press about our breakup is up to you. I’ll back your story. But I really think you should give up this pretense. Once you stop lying to those closest to you, and to yourself, your talent will really take off."

He laughed harshly. "I have no real talent," he averred. "I just look good on film. I know that."

"No," she contradicted him. "You have a tremendous talent. But like me, you’re afraid to be honest. Actors are the best liars, they say. But you have to be able to tell the truth in order to become a great actor. Think about it." She straightened, shut the limo door and stepped back, but not before catching Thomas’s thoughtful expression.

In moments, the limo had turned onto Glen Road, leaving Diana alone on the wide front porch of her family home. A slow summer breeze blew up from the thickly wooded preserve, bringing with it the scent of wild honeysuckle and warm grass. Diana turned and went inside.

*     *     *

Scenes from a Hair Salon

"But, mother," Honey protested, "I’ll be fine by this afternoon. I’m just tired, that’s all."

"But, darling," her mother protested, "A cucumber facial will cure you of that hangover complexion. Trust me. Take the time for the facial."

~~

"Trixie?"

"Yes, Moms?"

"You are going to trim your bangs, aren’t you?"

"Yes, Moms!"

~~

"But if you mix that gold with that blue, won’t you get that shade of green?"

"Uh, sure, Anne, but are you sure you want to try changing your color this close to the wedding? I mean, if it doesn’t work out, I don’t exactly have the time to fix it, you know?"

"Of course, it’ll work out! My chemistry equation is perfect!"

"Anne!" Honey shouted from across the room, wincing at the echo of her own voice.

"What!" Anne shouted back.

"Keep it red! That’s an order!"

~~

"You have such thick hair, Ms. Lynch."

"Thanks, but call me Diana, okay?"

"Sure thing, Ms. Diana. Wow. I never thought I’d be working on anyone famous’s hair. This is too wild! You think maybe if I do a good job you could recommend me to do your next movie?"

"Well, I don’t really have a say in that." Please, God! Let her believe me!

~~

"I’m sorry, but I can’t let you use that product on my face."

"Why not? I use this on everyone’s face!"

"I have a contract with another manufacturer. I can’t use anything but their facial products."

"I thought you looked familiar! You’re Hallie Riker, aren’t you! The supermodel!"

"That’s right."

"Oh, I hope I didn’t hurt your feelings or nothing by not recognizing you right away. It’s just that today’s a big day and all, preparing for the wedding. Not to mention all that has to be done tomorrow."

"I understand. Believe me, I’m not hurt." Hallie, sitting at the station next to Anne, caught the other woman’s eyes rolling in disbelief. "I get recognized often enough that it’s a relief not to be mobbed sometimes."

~~

"Mrs. Lynch! When did you start going gray?"

"Um, I’d say around the time the doctor told me I was having twins. The first time!"

~~

"Miss? I was wondering if you thought I could use a little updating in my ‘do, if you know what I mean."

"Oh, Miss Johnson! I’d be thrilled to cut your hair! I know just the style to frame your face. I’ll get the book and just see if you don’t agree!"

"Alicia! You’re changing your hairstyle? How radical of you!"

"Please, Helen. A little change for my nephew’s wedding is nothing worth commenting on. I want to look nice for the pictures."

Across the room, Anne felt a shiver run down her spine. Alicia is worried about her appearance? I’m not sure I like thinking what I’m thinking that’s about!

*     *     *

Scenes from a Barber Shop

"A little off the top, I guess, then shape up the rest."

"Sure thing, Brian."

~~

"A little off the top, I guess, then shape up the rest."

"Sure thing, Jim."

~~

"A little off the top, I guess, then shape up the rest."

"Sure thing, Mr. Belden."

~~

"A little off the top, I guess, then shape up the rest."

"Sure thing, Mr. Wheeler."

~~

"A little off the top, I guess, then shape up the rest."

"Sure thing, Regan."

~~

"Trim the layers, but keep the length."

"Sure thing, Dan."

~~

"Let me guess. Another crew?"

"No… Just trim up the sides and let the top grow a bit this time, okay?"

"Uh… sure thing, Mart."

~~

"Hey, Bobby. How about letting me get my scissors at those curls of yours?"

"A trim, got that? I lose so much as a single curl and it’s your neck!"

"I got it! I got it!"

*     *     *

That afternoon

"Are they here yet? Are they here yet?" Terry and Larry raced from the family room to the foyer of the oversized Lynch mansion in time to see a limousine pull up outside. In seconds, and before Harrison could react, the boys had opened the door and run outside.

A relatively thin man with silvery hair and bright blue eyes exited the back seat of the limo. "Terry! Larry!" he cried.

"Uncle Monty!" they greeted in return.

The uncle hugged his nephews, then turned and helped his still-beautiful wife from the limo. Both young men hugged their aunt exuberantly, chattering on about how wonderful it was they had finally come East to visit. "Sure must be a change from Arizona, huh!" Larry asked.

"It sure is," she agreed. "All these mountains. And all this green all the time! It’s a bit overwhelming. But I’m glad to be here." She turned and saw her son had gone ahead out the other side of the limo, not wanting to wait a moment longer to take his first real breath of Sleepyside air.

"Whoa, man!" Terry laughed, elbowing his brother and pointing at the other guy. "You grew!"

Their cousin turned and flashed a bright smile. "It happens when you don’t see a person for five years. How’s it going, guys?"

The twins met their cousin around the back of the limo, shook hands and commented on the differences those five years had made. "Look at you! Is that razor stubble on those cheeks?" Larry teased.

"It might be," his cousin grinned. "Did your voice ever finally change?"

Larry flushed, remembering good-naturedly the last Christmas in Arizona, when the twins and Bobby had all gone to his uncle’s dude ranch to spend vacation. Terry’s voice had changed before Thanksgiving, but Larry’s vocal chords proved more stubborn.

"Uncle Monty! Aunt Maria!"

The girlish squeals of greeting signaled the arrival of Julie and Kathy. They hugged their uncle and aunt, then, with shining faces, greeted their handsome cousin.

"Hi, Peter!" the first one said. "Guess who!"

Peter smiled. "These can’t be those pesky girls who used to follow me around the ranch! These can’t be my cousins! They’re too beautiful and charming to be related to these jokers," he said with a devastating smile and a gesture at the boys. "Kathy," he said, gently pulling her into a hug, "it’s wonderful to see you. And Juliet," he said with a formal bow, "a pleasure as always." He looked directly at her, then frowned. "But why are you wearing all that makeup?"

Julie stiffened. "It’s for the rehearsal dinner tonight. Kathy and I were just trying a few things out. Figures a Philistine like yourself wouldn’t understand!"

"Ah!" Peter said. "Now it all makes sense. It’s about a boy."

"Come on, kids," Monty said finally. Ed and Elayne had followed their brood outside and had spent the past several minutes quickly catching up with their brother and sister-in-law. "Let’s get inside and relax a bit, shall we? And I’m sure Maria would like a chance to freshen up."

"Of course," Elayne said, tucking her arm into Maria’s. "I’ll show you where you’ll be staying and give you a moment or two to yourself. I want to hear all about the plans for expansion. Will you really be offering to send people on cattle drives?"

"Oh, yes," Maria said, allowing Elayne to lead her inside. "And we’ve been participating in the local chapter of the Creative Anachronist’s historical recreations, you know, so…"

Ed told his sons to take in the luggage, then brought Monty inside. Peter helped them with the mountain of suitcases; Kathy stepped forward to try and carry as many of the lighter ones as she could while Julie protested that the freshness of her manicure forbade her from aiding them.

Peter manfully handled as many of the bags as he could, telling his cousins he may as well since, "I’ll be staying here so long, most of these are mine anyway."

"No kidding!" Terry said. "You got in?"

"In to what?" Julie asked, suddenly curious.

As Peter passed by her on his way inside the house, he told her, "I got accepted into the Ossining School of Veterinary Medicine here in Westchester. It’s the best in the country for equine medicine."

"But I thought you were going to the University of Arizona!" she protested, following him inside.

"I was," he said, slightly daunted at the size of the staircase and the weight of the luggage. He began to take the stairs, one at a time, and simultaneously explained, "I got accepted and all, but the recommendations from Howie and Dr. Stetson got me into Ossining. Didn’t you know? I’ll be living here while I go to school."

"Living? Here?" Julie asked, slightly dazed. She heard her brothers and sister laughing just outside, then saw that Peter had almost reached the top of the staircase.

"A little help?" he called out.

"Huh? Oh! The room." She hurried up the stairs, then brushed past him to the main guest bedrooms. She knew that Thomas Thorne had left that day, but she also knew that her parents originally intended the Wilsons to stay together for their two week family vacation, so she directed Peter to the larger guest suite. She saw her mother sitting on the flowered-print sofa in the main sitting room waiting for Aunt Maria to finish freshening up. "Mummy? Will Peter be in here on the sofa bed or where?"

"Oh!" Elayne blinked. "Just put him in the room across from Diana’s. He’ll be much more comfortable in there and now that Thomas is gone, so will everyone. We were going to put him there, anyway, afterward."

Julie returned to the hall, almost bumping into Peter. She briefly laid her hands on his chest to steady herself. His body felt warm and strong and a sudden sensation swept through her. "Excuse me!" she said, realizing she could smell the cologne on his face. "You’re in the other room," she mumbled hastily, and quickly sidestepped down the corridor.

Peter frowned curiously, but followed her to the room they’d just passed. He watched as Julie opened the door with a flourish, and stepped aside to let him enter. Setting his bags down, he glanced around the room. It was a masculine room with plenty of hunter green, polished wood and wrought iron fixtures. The windows faced east, which suited him quite well. As a horseman, he was more than used to getting up before the dawn.

"What will you be doing until school starts?" Julie asked.

"Hopefully, working," he replied. Anticipating her next question, he told her, "I understand that there’s a stables down the road, that this Regan guy I’ve always heard about but have never met, owns? Uncle Ed’s gotten me an interview. If it pans out, I’ll be working there, learning as much about horses as I can until the semester starts, then hopefully continuing on through school."

Julie nodded. "Regan’s a good teacher. You’ll like him. He’ll like you."

Peter grinned. "You think? Thanks!"

"Well, sure he will," Julie said, unsure why she should suddenly feel so uncomfortable alone with her cousin. But he’s not really your cousin, a little voice pointed out. He’s just your Aunt Maria’s son. "You’re a nice guy and you really do have a way with horses already. Regan respects that quality in people." She wasn’t sure if Peter were going to reply to that or not, because her brothers and sister, laden with the rest of the luggage suddenly burst through the door, protesting they couldn’t move another step.

"Petey!" Terry groaned. "Was it necessary to pack the entire ranch?"

*     *     *

Later that evening (but still relatively early)

Once the Pastor arrived at the church, and François the fancy New York wedding consultant had given his orders, and the bride and groom had agreed on the vows and the order of the ceremony, the actual run-through of the ceremony began.

Thankfully, the church organist was there to practice for Sunday services, so she was able to play some background music. The trills and peals of the massive pipe organ lent an air of tradition and solemnity to the otherwise frenetic and free-spirited evening.

The big question for Honey was how to pair up Diana, Anne, Hallie, Mart, Bobby and Dan. Tradition told her to arrange them by past relationship, but not knowing Di’s and Mart’s current level of animosity, she leaned toward mixing the couples. But then, too, she had a hazy recollection that Diana had once slept with Dan. Or something like that. She wasn’t sure about the details; she was only sure that alcohol had somehow been involved. She could put Hallie with Dan. But that probably wouldn’t go over well with Ben, Hallie’s husband. Or with Anne, who always had such a problem seeing the two of them together even in the most innocent of circumstances. Besides, Bobby and Anne had never really bonded, either, owing to Bobby’s tendency to refer to Anne as ‘that strange girl’. So she decided to keep things traditional. But that meant that Anne would be escorted by her current boyfriend’s nephew who was now dating the Maid of Honor, while the Best Man, who used to have a crush on said Maid of Honor was now dating someone else, but if they were all required to dance with their partner at the reception, would they all still be on speaking terms?

Honey suddenly had a vision of the reception. Jim mooning over Trixie, Trixie mooning over Dan, Dan mooning over Anne, Regan furious at the both of them, Diana and Mart not speaking, Ruth crying in the corner because she felt left out of everything, Hallie and Anne fighting in the reception line, Bobby throwing a tantrum because no one would read him Peter Rabbit now! Now! NOW!

Her head began to swim and she felt quite certain she’d find the wherewithal to throw up again soon. Very soon. All over the rather interestingly patterned carpet.

Brian slipped his arms around his future wife and whispered in her ear, "What say we shag this whole thing and just elope? We could be in Jersey in a couple hours, get a JP, then get a hotel room in Atlantic City and watch the sunrise over the Jersey shore as Mr. and Mrs. Brian Belden."

Honey pulled back in his arms and stared up at him. "Isn’t it ‘Dr. and Mrs.?’ "

*     *     *

By the time the wedding party had arrived at Crabapple Farm, the caterers had set out the food and the DJ had begun to play a variety of dance tunes. A few couples two-stepped around the back yard, well lit by Chinese lanterns and citronella torches. The buffet tables stretched along the wall of the farmhouse, and tables and benches had been placed near the scenic vegetable and flower gardens. The party had begun.

The Idaho Beldens had arrived late that morning. Harold and his wife, Lorelei, were staying at the farmhouse, while Knut and his wife, the former Linnie Moore, bunked down the street at Anne’s house, and Cap and his young son, Loic, roomed with Mart. (Anne had graciously volunteered to temporarily move to Regan’s house for the interim of the Beldens’ visit.) Andrew Belden had arrived by mid-afternoon and was firmly ensconced in his old room at the farmhouse, which had been Trixie’s old room as well.

Peter Kimball had arrived in the late evening. He had driven up from Cobbett’s Island with his neighbor, Dr. Ed Hall. They were taking over Brian’s apartment for the weekend.

The Wellington kids took up residence at Manor House, their father too ill to travel. The Hubbells, Barbara, Barb’s husband Rick, Bob and Bob’s wife Shelley, threatened to crowd the Wheelers, who had barely managed to find enough beds in Manor House to suit everyone. As it was, they resorted to opening up the twin garage apartments.

Ben and Hallie had, of course, rented a room at the Inn. Also at the Inn were Gaye Hunya and her husband, Georg Wechsler, a classical concert guitarist. Carl Anderson almost refused to come, but relented at the last minute. He and his grandson took rooms at the Inn as well.

The greetings and introductions, naturally, provoked a great deal of laughter and remembrances, as each person wanted to tell their tale of ‘how I met Trixie and the Bob-Whites’.

Brian caught up with his brothers and pulled them away from the lights and noise for a moment. "Hey, guys. I want to talk to you two about something, okay?"

"Sure thing, Brian," Mart said, matching his brother’s serious tone. "What’s preoccupying your frontal lobes?"

Bobby tried to look grown up as well, sensing this was to be a Serious Discussion. Brian smiled at them both, then began.

"A lot’s been going through my mind the past couple of weeks," he said. "My life is changing fast and by this time tomorrow, I’ll be a married man." He paused a moment to let his own words sink into his consciousness. "That sounds so odd. I’m going to be Honey’s husband. Wow."

He smiled then, and his gaze involuntarily turned to the growing, glowing throng of family and friends in his parents’ back yard. He caught a glimpse of his hazel-haired bride to be, laughing and smiling with his sister, and he almost shuddered with the certain knowledge that, in a short twenty-four hours, they would be each other’s closest family. He returned his attention to Mart and Bobby.

"Although we’ve had our share of arguments and fights, all three of us, and even though we’ve played tricks on each other from time to time, and teased each other mercilessly and generally tried to make each other’s lives torture, we’ve always come back to one inescapable fact." Brian smiled at them. "We’re brothers. It’s all for one and one for all, long before the Bob Whites and long before we even thought there might be a use for girls after all."

Mart grinned, clearly remembering a time long, long ago. Bobby asked, "What’s this all about, Brian?"

Looking his youngest brother in the eye, startled to realize he had to be sure to stand straight to do so, Brian told him. "I want you guys to know that I love you. And I’m glad I got to grow up with you in the same family. I know you will anyway, but I want you to think of Honey as your sister, not just as my wife or your friend. Make her a real part of the family."

Bobby frowned. "You mean we can play tricks on her and tease her and generally make her life torture?"

Mart sneered, "Of course not!", but Brian laughed.

"Sure, Bobby," he said. "If that’s what it’ll take. She’s never had so much family all in one place. I think she’ll get a big kick out of being a Belden."

"You think?" Bobby asked thoughtfully. "Well, okay…" He clapped a hand on Brian’s back, then headed back toward the party.

Mart just shook his head at the slender departing teen, then shook his older brother’s hand. "Good luck tomorrow and all that, in case we don’t get a chance to talk until you return from France."

Mart turned to leave as well, but Brian stopped him, saying, "One more thing. I meant what I said. You’ve been the best little brother any guy could ever have, Bobby included. But don’t tell him I said that."

"Heck, Brian," Mart mumbled, pushing his hand through his slightly curling hair. "You always made it easy for me. I… I love you, too."

The two men hugged, slapped each other once and twice on the back, then stood abruptly apart. They didn’t look at each other for a long moment. Mart glanced at Brian, and then Brian glanced at Mart. "Guess we’d better be getting back to the party, huh," Mart said.

"Yeah," Brian agreed. "Let’s go." He slung his arm around Mart’s neck, gave him a half-hearted ‘noogie’, then walked with him to rejoin the festivities.

Across the yard, Peter and Helen Belden moved slightly apart from their guests and spoke in the quiet confident tones of old friends, who know they need not shout or look directly at each other in order to be heard or understood, even in the midst of a boisterous crowd. "Did you see what I saw?" Helen asked.

"Mm-hmm," Peter nodded. "I’d have to be blind not to."

"You think we should do something about it?" she wanted to know. She took a forkful of broccoli florets off her plate and contemplated the amount of butter sauce dripping off the tiny ‘leaves’.

"Eh," her husband replied uncertainly. "Let’s see how she handles it, then step in if need be. That’s best, don’t you think?"

She laughed, her teeth crunching happily on the steamed vegetable. "It’s not her I’m worried about!" She nudged her husband with her shoulder in an easy way, agreeing to let events unfold as they would.

Julie and Kathy had chosen that evening to dress identically. In fact, Julie had urged her sister ‘let’s be twinny twins all weekend!’, which meant wearing their hair the same way, their makeup the same, the same jewelry, the works. As a result, the pair caused a number of double takes among the out-of-town guests, most of whom had never met them before.

The Wellington kids, in fact, only remembered the girls as three-year-old thumb-sucking crinoline-petticoated pony-tailed brats. Sally, Bob and Billy spent most of a quarter hour trying to find one physical difference between the two and failed horribly.

"You’re sure you’re both right-handed?" Bob asked.

"And neither of you has a birthmark?" Billy asked. "You checked everywhere?"

"And you don’t have any scars or marks or anything?" Sally wanted to know. "Gee! How does anyone tell you apart?"

"It’s easy," Peter Orlando-Wilson interjected, from behind the twins. "This is Juliet, and this is Kathy." He laid a hand on each girl in turn, unerringly naming them.

"How do you do that?" Kathy asked with a laugh, turning to smile at her cousin.

He leaned his dark head toward hers and whispered loudly, "It’s a secret."

Julie humphed and crossed her arms. "I’ll bet he overheard someone in the family addressing us and just kept his eye on one of us until now so he’d know."

Peter just smiled at her. "You’ve never been able to fool me, Juliet," he said. "Not even when you were very small."

"Oh, relax, Julie!" Kathy urged her sister. "You’ll have to forgive her," she said to the Wellingtons. "She’s got this thing about us always having to be identical."

"I do not!" her sister nearly shouted. "I just don’t understand how virtual strangers can tell us apart! What’s so different?"

Hearing that, Peter laughed loud and long, drawing amused attention from the other guests. "I’m hardly a stranger, cousin," he said, drawing out the word. "We’ve been related ever since my mother married your uncle almost eleven years ago."

"You’re not blood-related," Julie pointed out pertly.

Kathy began to take her sister to task for treating a family member so rudely, despite his origins, and for behaving so childishly in front of the Wellingtons. Sally, Bob and Billy, however, just watched, fascinated, as the young women began to bicker and argue, becoming even more identical as their eyes flashed and their cheeks flushed red. Peter, however, grew quiet and regarded the sisters speculatively, his dark eyes resting more and more upon Juliet’s countenance.

After several moments of escalating discussion, the girls’ parents began to approach. Knowing the likelihood they would be sent home for their behavior, Peter tucked his arm inside Julie’s and led her away, saying, "Why don’t you introduce me to Mr. Regan? That’s him over there, isn’t it?"

Kathy watched her sister leave with their cousin and sighed. "Some days, I don’t know what’s up with her."

Sally laughed. "She’s a teenager. She’ll grow out of it." She moved to stand in front of her older brothers, subtly excluding them from her ‘girl-talk’.

"But I’m a teenager and there’s nothing wrong with me!" Kathy protested.

"I know," Sally said soothingly. "Some days are just like that."

Ed and Elayne, suddenly finding themselves with no sibling squabbling to stifle, stopped short in surprise. Ed turned to his wife and, with his usual good humor asked, "Who was that masked man?"

Elayne quirked a grin. "You mean the one who stopped the fight and saved the day? Why, Sheriff! I have no idea!" She lay a hand coquettishly on his chest and batted her huge blue eyes at him.

Ed took her hand in his and beamed at her. "Why, Miss Elayne," he drawled, "I think you’ve gone sweet on me!" Elayne just looked at her husband through her lashes, a devilish grin playing on her lips.

"When does your cousin arrive, Jim?" Ruth asked, licking a bit of frosting off her finger. She handed a small piece of cake to Steven, who thanked her and ran off to eat it with TJ and the other little kids.

"Tomorrow, unfortunately," he said. "Julianna would have loved to see everyone again before the wedding, and I know Hans would have preferred to get any jet lag out of the way, but as it was, they took the earliest flight they could get."

"I look forward to meeting them," she said. "Do you think they’ll like me?"

"How can they not?" he asked. He gestured at her mouth. "You’ve got chocolate. No, don’t. You’ll get your hands all sticky," he said as she raised a finger to wipe off the smear. He lifted her chin and then removed the chocolate himself. He didn’t get his hands sticky, either.

Anne was busy filling in her own cousin, David Maypenny, on the most recent events of the past twenty-four hours, since she hadn’t had a chance to email him about it yet. He hung on every word, laughing at all the right parts, his wife standing nearby, a huge grin on her face as she stuck a stick into an ear of corn-on-the-cob in preparation for their young son.

Elsabeth handed the ear to little Davy with a flourish, smiled as he carefully nibbled at the kernels, then straightened to ask, "This is your nephew, right, Regan?" Regan nodded wearily. "And these are his idea of old friends?" She laughed. "David’s old friends are all scientists and lab techs. Mine are all schoolteachers. That boy has certainly done some living, hasn’t he!"

Regan had to chuckle at that, and was thinking up a suitable reply when Julie Lynch strode up to the group, her arm entwined with a handsome, dark-haired young man. "Regan?" Julie said. "I’d like you to meet my cousin, Peter Orlando-Wilson. Peter, this is Bill Regan."

"Oh!" Regan said, realizing this was the young man Ed Lynch had talked to him about. "Great to meet you!" He indicated David and Elsabeth, and little Davy, and introduced them. "I think you’ve met Anne, right?" Peter nodded, greeting the small family with a smile, and Anne with a grin and a wink. He composed himself as Regan continued. "Your uncle told me you’re looking for a job."

"That’s right, sir," Peter confirmed, finally disengaging himself from Julie’s arm. He shook Regan’s hand and looked him straight in the eye. "I’m good with horses, sir, if I do say so myself. I’ve been around them since I was six years old and my family moved to the ranch. I was given a great deal of responsibility for the horses’ care and training, and was always included when they needed medical attention. I’ll be going to the Vet College, you know, and-"

"Whoa!" Regan said with a laugh. "You don’t need to tell me all at once. A wise man once told me when I was asking for a job, ‘don’t tell me what you can do. Just show me’."

Peter nodded. "And did you, sir?"

Regan glanced at David and Elsabeth, then slipped his arm around Anne’s shoulders. "I did. You can start showing me Sun- what, Anne?" He turned as Anne nudged him with her elbow. She stared up at him for a moment, then he turned apologetic. "Of course, you’re on vacation. You tell me when you’re ready to start."

"Oh, I can start any time," Peter hastened to assure him. "Just as soon as you like. Tonight if necessary."

Regan held up a hand. "That’s not necessary. Sun-" Anne’s elbow collided with Regan’s ribs once more. He frowned at her, mouthed ‘what?’, and she glared at him. As a guilty expression crossed his face, he continued, "As I was saying, you can report on Monday around 6 a.m. I’ll be out of town until that afternoon, but Dan Mangan will have something for you to do. He’s in charge of duty assignments and that sort of thing."

"Thank you, sir!" Peter said with an emphatic nod of his head.

"One more thing," Regan requested. "Don’t call me ‘sir’. Just ‘Regan’ is fine by me, okay?"

Peter grinned and visibly relaxed. "Thank you, Regan. I’ll be there for sure by 6 a.m. Monday!" With another round of smiles and nods, he put his arm around Julie’s waist and they left the small group.

"He seems nice," Elsabeth commented.

"He is," Anne agreed. "Very nice. He’s my friend Diana’s cousin, you know. I was invited out to the ranch one year and had the best time. Peter’s a very good storyteller, especially when it comes to old Native American and Mexican myths and legends."

Regan grunted. "He had a crush on you."

Surprised, Anne just blinked. "News to me!" She caught her cousin’s eye and they started to laugh, as if sharing a private joke, when the entire assembly’s attention was caught by a tremendously loud shriek.

Honey Wheeler stood in the center of the dance area, jumping up and down, shaking her skirt and pulling at her dress, her carefully prepared hairdo in stringy shambles down her back, her bewildered fiancé clearly unable to figure out what could possibly be wrong with her.

"Get it out! Get it out!" Honey screamed.

"Get what out?" Brian wanted to know. Determined to be of some use to her, he stepped forward and proceeded to duplicate her actions, except that while Honey was pulling out, Brian was pushing in. Hard. On her chest.

"Stop it!" Honey started insisting, blocking Brian’s slapping hands. "That hurts!"

Finally at a complete loss, Brian stepped away from her again. Honey, shuddering so hard she didn’t move, gulped and shut her eyes. A moment later, the astonished and dumbstruck crowd watched as a single, tiny frog fell from within Honey’s dress, onto the ground, and croaked in surprise.

The only sound other than the croaking frog was the sudden, irrepressible cackling laughter of one Robert Belden. Seething with supreme fury, Honey turned and faced her future brother-in-law, her fists clenched and her jaw set.

"Bobby Belden!" she growled. "You’re going to pay for that!"

Bobby just gaped at her, then started laughing again. "Oh, Brian! You’re so right! She’s one of the family now!!"

"What!?" Honey fairly barked the word. She turned her fury on Brian. "YOU put him up to this? Stuffing a frog down my dress in front of everyone?"

"Of course not!" Brian glared at his little brother. "Bobby! Explain yourself!"

"What?" Bobby asked, his blue eyes all innocence. "You said we should make her feel like one of the family instead of just a friend. Like another sister." He shrugged as if it were self-evident. "I did this to Trixie all the time."

"Well, yeah," Brian reluctantly agreed. "You did. But that was when you were growing up. You’re supposed to be an adult now."

"Come on, Brian!" Bobby begged. "I’ve got nineteen years of teasing and tricks and torture to catch up on! Give me a break! Please?"

"Fine!" Brian threatened. "Where do you want it? I’m a doctor, remember, so I can be extremely specific on your skeleton." He advanced on Bobby, who had rapidly progressed from childish glee to protestation to remorse and was rapidly approaching fear, when he heard an unexpected noise.

More laughter.

Honey’s laughter.

Brian turned and saw his fiancée giggling helplessly. "Oh, forget it, Brian," she managed to say. "I actually think it’s the best present anyone could ever have given me!"

With that statement of forgiveness, the crowd relaxed into grins, chuckles and scattered applause. The DJ loaded up the next song, Honey asked Bobby to dance with her, and a dazed Dan and Trixie emerged from the crabapple orchard wondering aloud, "What’s going on?"

*     *     *

At midnight, Honey’s bedside telephone rang. She answered it quickly, knowing who it would be. "Hello, Brian," she said.

"Hi," he replied. "You in bed yet?"

"Uh-huh," she said. "I just turned out the light. What about you?"

"Oh, I’m about ready to hit the sack myself. That was some party tonight, wasn’t it."

She started to laugh. "Oh, yeah. Bobby really got me, huh."

"You’re not mad about that, are you?"

"Oh, I was for about two seconds, but not really. Not anymore. He meant it as a ‘welcome to the family’ thing. It was actually kind of sweet."

"You’re what’s sweet."

She stuck her tongue out at the phone. "That’s such an obvious compliment," she said. "My nickname’s ‘honey’, therefore I’m sweet."

He laughed. "Sorry. I’ll try not to tell you that anymore. Listen, about tomorrow."

"Yes?" she asked dreamily. Tomorrow…

He coughed. "You’re going to show up, right? I mean, you’re not planning on leaving me standing alone on the altar like some idiot, right?"

"For heaven’s sake, Brian! What kind of jerk do you take me for? What kind of vengeful fool?" She pulled herself more upright in bed. Aware that she wasn’t in her apartment, and that her parents down the hall might very well overhear her if she got too loud, she controlled herself. "I did not spend the last thirteen years of my life, a full half of my life, I might add, working on getting you to marry me just so I could change my mind at the last minute!"

There was silence, and then, "Really? Half your life? You spent half your life trying to marry me?"

"Yes!" she shouted. She thought she heard a noise outside her room, so she hushed up immediately.

"Wow. I’m flattered."

"Well, don’t be. I’m beginning to reconsider."

Brian gulped audibly. "Please don’t," he said quietly.

She hesitated for effect, then relented. "I’m not, don’t worry. I’ve loved you a long time, Brian Andrew Belden. I’m not going to let a little thing like a frog down my dress stop me from saying ‘I do’ to you."

"That’s good to hear, but," Brian said thoughtfully, "I just hope Bobby doesn’t test that theory tomorrow…"

Author’s Note: This is the last chapter of The Pleasure of Your Company. Thanks to everyone who has posted or emailed their comments, criticisms and compliments. I appreciate that you took the time to write, and if I have not thanked you personally, please accept my apologies for the oversight.

The song ‘Crabapple Farm Waltz’ was composed by Christopher Powers, who holds all applicable copyrights, and is used by permission.

Chapter 16

June 17, 2009

The last morning she would ever live as ‘Madeleine Wheeler’, she was awakened by the giggles and squeaks of her closest friends as they barged into her room, pushing a rolling cart full of breakfast.

"Wake up, Sleepyhead!" Trixie laughed. "You’ve got a big day ahead of you!" She jumped onto Honey’s bed and bounced up and down.

"All right! All right," Honey grumbled good-naturedly. "Give me a moment to breathe, okay? I was just in the middle of a dream." She pushed her long honey-colored hair out of her face and stared at her friends, all dressed comfortably in summery shorts and t-shirts.

"Oooo!" Diana sighed. "Was it about Brian?" She clasped her hands melodramatically and leaned against the bedpost.

"No," Honey told her. She frowned, trying to recapture the fleeting images. "Not exactly. It was about all of us. Laughing and talking together, except we weren’t ourselves, exactly. We were older and had all these kids running and screaming around us. The guys were arguing about football or something just off to one side," she said, gesturing with a hand, "and we were all at Ten Acres, I think."

Hallie smiled. "We were all together?" She patted her stomach thoughtfully.

"And there were lots of kids around?" Anne said, stepping closer.

Honey nodded. "I think so. Of course, I could have dreamed more if you guys had let me sleep in a little!"

Trixie laughed at Honey’s attempted scowl. "But it’s almost seven-thirty! You have to be at the church by 9 so they can start doing your hair and makeup. Get moving, girlfriend!" She grinned widely. "Some of us have showered already. We’ll start breakfast while you take yours."

In fact, Hallie had already poured herself a cup of coffee and taken a cheese Danish from the cart. Honey grabbed a glazed doughnut and headed for the bathroom. "I won’t be long," she said. "Save me some food, okay?"

*     *     *

At Crabapple Farm, the showers had been going all morning. Helen, Alicia and Lorelei made breakfast in the large kitchen. They had dressed casually in shorts and skirts, not wanting to get dressed up too early. As the men finished their showers, they joined the women downstairs. Halfway through the breakfast preparation, Mart, Cap and Loic showed up, looking for food. About ten minutes later, Brian drove up, having left an exhausted Peter Kimball and Ed Hall with a map to the church and directions to The Brunchery. Then, after being dismissed from his own home by the giggling bridesmaids, Jim arrived. Within minutes of his arrival, Dan parked his truck as close to the farmhouse as he could manage and headed up to the farmhouse kitchen.

Breakfast had quickly turned into a mammoth undertaking. Helen, Alicia and Lorelei wondered if any Belden woman had ever had to feed quite so many all at once. Between the three of them, however, they managed to turn out scrambled eggs, bacon, hash browns, waffles, pancakes, toast, juice, coffee and milk for themselves and the other nine adults, all men with healthy appetites, and one little boy.

"Have your cousins showed up yet, Jim?" Brian asked amidst the cacophony of the dining room. The guests had agreed to leave the kitchen to the cooks.

Jim nodded, swallowing the last of his first cup of coffee. "Tom picked them up last night at La Guardia. They’re getting some sleep at the house."

"Is Katje going to be able to do it?" Brian asked, referring to Hans and Julianna’s five-year-old daughter.

His friend grinned. "Yeah. She’s looking forward to it. Apparently, she’s been practicing for the last month."

"Practicing?" Brian repeated. "How do you practice being a flower girl?"

"You take your mother’s prized tulips, pluck all the petals off and throw them around the house."

Brian groaned, closing his eyes. "Julianna must hate me for that!"

"Not at all," Jim laughed. "She said she was shocked at first, because she came home one day to see the broken stems instead of her beautiful flowers. When she saw the petals in the hallway, she knew what Katje had done. She got reprimanded, of course, but I’m pretty sure Julianna’s just chalking it up to Katje’s enthusiasm."

At the other end of the table, Cap tried to get his son to eat. "Come on, Loic. You like toast. Try some. Just one bite, please?" Loic sat on his father’s lap, staring wide-eyed at the room and the men in it, some familiar, some not.

Bobby sat down at the vacant chair next to his cousin. "Hey, Cap, how’s it going?" he asked.

Cap sighed. "Not too well. Loic’s decided he doesn’t want to eat today."

Bobby frowned. "He do that often?" He stirred his eggs, then salted and peppered them.

Cap shrugged and pushed a long strand of his yellow hair over one ear. "Just when he’s nervous. When he started day care, for example."

"How old is he?"

"He’ll be five in two months."

Bobby nodded, then began digging into his scrambled eggs. As he did so, Cap tried to ply his son with the toast again, but Loic focused his attention on the stranger with the curly blond hair. "I want eggs!" Loic proclaimed. "Like he got!"

"Like he has," his father corrected patiently. "Stay here and I’ll get you a plate of eggs, okay?" Carefully maneuvering his chair away from the table without bumping into anyone, he stood and set Loic in the chair. "Daddy’ll be right back, all right? I’m just going to get you some eggs." Loic nodded, then returned his attention to the curly-haired man.

"Grandkids," Harold sighed, watching Cap leave. He sat between his younger brothers. "Just wait until you guys start having them."

Andrew laughed. "I’ve got to get married first!"

At the same time, Peter groaned. "Grandkids! I think Helen would have a thing or two to say about that."

"She doesn’t want them?" Harold questioned. "That’s strange. When Lorelei gets around Knut and Linnie, that’s all she can talk about. ‘When are you going to have kids?’ she asks them. Morning, noon and night."

"What do they say?" Andrew wanted to know.

Harold shrugged. "What can they say? When they’re pregnant, she’ll be the first to know."

"You’d think she’d be happy with Loic," Peter observed quietly.

Harold turned serious. "She is. But Cap’s case is different. That whole situation bothers Lorelei more every day."

"You still haven’t heard from that girl?" Andrew asked, referring to Loic’s mother.

Harold shook his head negatively. "Cap just came back from a year in the woods, with the baby, handed him to us, said, ‘meet your grandson, his name is Loic’ and that was that. If we hadn’t overheard Cap talking to Knut and Hallie, we wouldn’t even have known there was a woman, much less her name."

"That’s strange," Peter said, and would have continued, but Cap returned from the kitchen with the promised plateful of bacon and eggs.

"All done, Daddy!" Loic crowed, waving a fork in the air.

"All done?" Cap repeated. "How could you be all done? I just brought… oh… Bobby. You gave him some of yours."

"Uh, yeah, Cap. Sorry," Bobby said, getting up from the table, "but he was hungry and he asked, so. What can I say? He was hungry. And he’s family. And I can’t eat another bite." He tossed his napkin onto his plate, picked up his place setting, rumpled Loic’s black hair, shrugged apologetically to his cousin, then left the dining room. Puzzled, Cap set his plate and then himself in Bobby’s vacated place. Aloud, he wondered, "How can a Belden be too full off one plate of food?"

*     *     *

"I’m glad we all got manicures yesterday," Diana said, helping Hallie carry Honey’s wedding dress down the main staircase. "We don’t have that much time to spend today."

"That’s for sure," Hallie agreed. As they reached the bottom steps, Sally Wellington met them.

"Is that Honey’s gown?" Sally moved as close as she dared for a better look. "Oh, it’s so beautiful!"

"Could you get the door, Sal?" Hallie asked, finding the massive dress a bit awkward to carry.

"Sure thing, Hal," Sally cracked. She opened the oversized front doors and the two women carried the dress as carefully as possible outside. The Wheelers had arranged for a series of limos to take the wedding party to and from the church. This first one was for the dress, the bride and her maid of honor and her dress. Nothing else would fit inside. A second limo, now pulling into the drive, was for the other bridesmaids and their dresses.

Sally watched as Hallie and Diana, with the help of the chauffeur, placed Honey’s dress inside the car. Satisfied, the bridesmaids turned and hurried back up the steps and into the house. It was so odd, Sally thought, to see everyone in shorts and t-shirts, when in a few hours they would all be participating in the most formal of ceremonies.

Next down the steps were Trixie and Anne and the bridesmaid’s dresses. Each dress had its own protective plastic covering which crinkled, squeaked and rippled with every step. These dresses went into the second limo with the help of the second chauffeur.

Miss Trask and Mrs. Wheeler, their arms around a surprisingly serene-faced Honey, descended the staircase. Standing in the foyer, Mrs. Wheeler hugged her daughter. "I’ll meet you at the church," she said. "Don’t worry. Everything will be fine."

"I know it will, Mother," Honey replied. "Nothing can spoil today." She turned and faced Miss Trask, who pulled her into a hug as well.

"Your mother and I will be along shortly," she said. "Go on now and get started. I’m sure François is already at the church with the hairdressers and makeup artists."

Honey nodded, then grinned at Sally. "I’m so glad you were able to come!" She briefly hugged her, then called to the others to get a move on. "No one wants to see François upset, after all!" Laughing, she fairly scampered down the steps to the limo.

Trixie, after a quick hug with Mrs. Wheeler and Miss Trask, grabbed Honey’s emergency kit, their purses and hurried after her friend. Once inside the limo, the chauffeur started the engine and soon they were off to the church.

Anne dashed back upstairs to get her insulin kit and purse, then she, Hallie and Diana got into their limo and followed after. Sally, thrilled to witness that small behind-the-scenes moment, ran off to find Barbara Hubbell, still in the breakfast room.

Miss Trask closed the front doors and turned to her employer. Madeleine Wheeler had tears in her hazel eyes. She looked at the former governess and said only, "She’s our little girl." Miss Trask nodded and the two women hugged.

"Come now," the former governess said kindly. "Let’s get you ready to go." Together, they ascended the stairs.

*     *     *

Because the ladies had provided breakfast, the gentlemen were put in charge of clean-up. Because they had to get ready for the ceremony, Brian, Mart, Dan, Jim and Peter were excused to get dressed. The women took over the master bedroom. The men took over Brian and Mart’s old room.

"Hey, Dad, can I borrow some black socks?"

"Sure, Mart," Peter replied. "I’ll go get a pair. Anyone else forget socks?" he asked the others. Collectively, they replied, ‘no, thanks’. He nodded and left the room.

"How could you forget socks?" Brian asked.

"Yeah," Dan wanted to know. "Now you’ve got to wear someone else’s."

"They’re just my dad’s," Mart said. "And socks aren’t something I usually think about."

The others nodded, then continued to help each other into their cutaway tuxedoes.

"Hey, Brian. What are we supposed to do with these?" Bobby asked, holding out a collection of shiny black metal objects with no readily discernible function.

Brian glanced at the items. "Aren’t those your cufflinks?"

Bobby looked harder. "I guess so. How do they go on?"

"I’ll show you," Jim volunteered. "I’ve had more than my share of practice with those things, believe it or not."

"What?" Dan asked, his tone teasing. "You, the heir to the Frayne Fortune, have a more than passing familiarity with cufflinks?"

"Show a little respect or I won’t help you out," Jim countered with a grin. "Come on, Bobby. They’re really quite simple." He briefly demonstrated how the prongs of one stud fit through the cuff’s buttonholes, and then how the clip fit onto the prongs, ‘linking’ the ends of the cuffs together.

Bobby watched as Jim did the others, then he did up Jim’s. "That’s easy!" Bobby said. "But why do I have leftovers?" He gestured at the remaining jewelry that had come in the tiny plastic bag with his tux.

"Those are shirt studs," Jim told him. "Brian? Are we wearing them, too?"

"I guess so," Brian replied. "I mean, Honey picked all this out. I guess she wants us to wear them."

Jim sighed, then began showing Mart and Bobby where the shirt studs fit into the shirt buttons.

"Now, which way are we wearing our collars?" Dan asked, "With these pointy ends poking out or tucked under?"

A general discussion of the relative fashion consequences and historical underpinnings of collar points followed. It was decided to let the points tip up and out. The four-in-hand ties, however, lent themselves to a third general discussion. "I know how to tie a tie," Jim said, "But this thing has got me completely stumped. Brian? Any clue?"

"Didn’t this thing come with instructions?" Brian asked, helplessly lost and beginning to panic. "Or is it too late to get a bow tie?"

"What was Honey thinking when she picked out this tux?" Dan moaned. "This thing is unreal!"

They did find a helpful slip of paper that, in five simplified drawings, illustrated how to knot a traditional four-in-hand tie. It took them thirty precious minutes to get all four ties in a semblance of order. By that time Peter arrived with Mart’s socks.

"That was an experience I’ve no wish to repeat!" Peter announced as he returned to the room. "Word of advice, Brian, and this goes for the rest of you, too! Never, and I mean never," he held up a hand, "get involved in a discussion of dresses, makeup and hairstyles on a wedding day. Got that?"

Each young man nodded solemnly. They understood.

*     *     *

St. Brendan’s Church, Sleepyside, New York
The Bride’s Room

Putting up Diana’s, Hallie’s and Anne’s hair took two stylists a total of forty minutes, due to the relative simplicity of the style and the length and general straightness of the women’s hair. Honey had long ago decided on an Italianate theme for her wedding. Her dress, and the simpler dresses of the bridesmaids, resembled the slender gowns of ancient Roman goddesses. Honey wanted everyone’s hair done in a neoclassical style as well. To that end, she directed the stylists to sweep all of the hair onto the top of the head and let it fall back down in curls, waves or ringlets – whichever suited each woman best. A greenish-gold ribbon was woven through each woman’s hair, making it appear as if that ribbon were what kept the hair in place.

Hallie’s mostly straight, dark hair fell in waves, as did Diana’s. Anne’s wavy red tresses curled easily. Trixie’s hair, however took longer for the stylist to arrange. "It’s my natural curls. They’re so unruly," Trixie moaned. "I hate them!"

"Nonsense," said her stylist. "They’re beautiful. Men love to run their hands through long curls. It’s just that I have to be a little more creative with you to get all your hair up on top of your head. But that’s a good thing, considering you’re the Maid of Honor. You should look a little different from the others."

Concentrating on her task, Trixie’s makeup already done, the stylist was finally able to weave the greenish gold ribbon through the riot of blonde curls. "There!" the stylist announced, stepping back from the chair. "What do you think?"

Trixie stared into the mirror at her reflection. She wore only the stylist’s smock, which rather destroyed the whole image, but otherwise, she thought for a moment she looked almost beautiful.

The makeup artist, meanwhile, had managed to play up each woman’s best features and keep them looking relatively uniform at the same time. Dismissed from the stylist’s chair, the bridesmaids helped each other into their gowns, allowing the two stylists to spend the last hour before the ceremony concentrating on Honey.

The flowers arrived soon afterward, and before long the quartet were sniffing each corsage and practicing with their identical bridesmaid bouquets. Forty-five minutes or so before the ceremony, there was a knock on the door. Hallie opened the door and cried, "Aunt Helen! Come on in!"

Helen, dressed in a blue, tea-length gown, hurried inside. "I wondered if I could have a moment alone with the bride-to-be?"

The bridesmaids quickly agreed to leave them alone. Honey glanced at the stylists. "Sure," the older one said. "It’ll be good to get some air. But just five minutes, all right? I’m sure you want this wedding to run on time."

In moments, the future in-laws were alone. "Hi, Mrs. Belden," Honey began. "What did you want to talk to me about?"

Helen half-smiled. "First, stop calling me ‘Mrs. Belden.’ You can call me ‘Helen’, if you like, or ‘Moms’, if that’s easier. I’ll leave it up to you."

Slightly nervous, Honey nodded. "All right. What did you want to talk to me about, Moms?"

Helen’s smile grew. "That sounded nice," she said. "I like that." She took a deep breath and stepped closer to better face Honey. "I just wanted a moment to say how happy I am that you’re joining our family, and how happy I am to have you as a daughter-in-law. I couldn’t ask for a better wife, a better partner or a better companion for my son."

Tears threatened Honey’s makeup. "You mean it?" she whispered. Honey tried, but she couldn’t detect a single ounce of insincerity or deception in Helen’s words.

"Of course, I mean it!" Helen replied. "Honey, why wouldn’t you think I meant it?"

"Because," Honey began unsteadily, "B-b-because I-I-I’m-" She blinked rapidly, trying to get her tears to go back into the ducts and not spill over her cheeks.

Seeing her distress, Helen grabbed a couple of tissues from a nearby dispenser and gently dabbed at Honey’s eyes. "Tilt your head back and the tears will go out the sides," she said, and Honey followed her suggestion. "There. Feel better?" Honey sat upright once more and nodded. "Now, tell me," Helen asked quietly. "What makes you think I don’t want you in my family?"

Shuddering slightly, Honey began again. "Because of who I am, of course. All the things that have happened to me. You know why! You must think Brian can do better than me. I know you do, in fact! You want him to have some normal wife without this ‘poor little rich girl’ past. You’ve said you don’t want us to have kids and you’ve as much as indicated you don’t think very much of me keeping my own name!"

"What?!" Helen asked, shocked and stunned by the string of revelations. "Who’s been feeding you these lines? I have never looked down on you because of your past! I respect and admire anyone who can come through all the things you have and still retain this core of decency and self-esteem that I see in you. Anyone else, myself included, I don’t think would have survived your childhood nearly as well. And what’s this about kids?"

"I don’t think you want me and Brian to have any," Honey managed to say.

"That’s simply not true," Helen flatly stated. "I may have joked about being too young to be a grandmother, but that’s nothing you need to worry about. You should have kids when you’re young, and if you do, then there’s a chance I’ll still be around to enjoy my great-grandkids, too." She smiled and her blue eyes grew watery. "What’s wrong with wanting that?"

"But you said-" Honey started, then paused. "You were joking? At the Bridal Shower?"

Helen nodded. "You mean what I told Alicia. Yes. I was joking. That wasn’t really the time for any serious discussions. Oh, Honey," Helen said, laying a hand on the bride’s shoulder. "I want nothing but happiness for my son, and I know him well enough to know he’s extremely happy with you. You’ve got a gentleness that brings out his protective nature, and you’ve got a core of steel that he can rely on in the tough times." She regarded her frankly. "You’re too kind-hearted to intentionally hurt him and he’s too honest to allow anything to come between you two himself. Peter and I think it’s an almost perfectly-perfect match."

Honey felt her heart swell with the knowledge that Brian’s parents truly wanted her in their family, they were happy about it, and wanted her marriage to go well. "Thanks, Moms," she whispered. In seconds, they were hugging each other, the tears flowing unheeded down their cheeks.

A brief knock startled them apart, and the stylist returned. "Five minutes are up, ladies. Or should I come back later?"

"No," Honey laughed. "I think I just undid the makeup job. And any chance one of you could take a look at Moms’ face here? I think she may need a touch-up herself."

Helen caught Honey’s warm expression and smiled. Things were going to be just fine.

*     *     *

In the foyer to the church, Trixie, Anne, Hallie and Diana saw the arrival of the groomsmen in their limo. The stunning sight of the five extremely handsome men in their cutaways had the expected effect on each woman. Trixie smiled slyly, Anne wolf-whistled, Hallie laughed with delight and Diana whispered, "Oh, boy!"

The men stood on the sunlit steps, laughing and joking. When the bridesmaids walked out from the shadows of the church entrance, the laughing and joking ceased immediately.

"You guys look awesome!" Bobby exclaimed. "You, too, sis!"

"Thanks, Bobby," Trixie said, clearly deflated by the underwhelming compliment. Dan stepped forward, however, and sent her spirits soaring skyward again. He took her hands in his, touching her only by the fingertips, and took a long look at her. The expression in his eyes, a mixture of awe, reverence and something earthier, did more than make up for her brother’s lack of enthusiasm. It obliterated it.

"My God, Trixie," Dan said in hushed tones. "You are absolutely beautiful." His eyes never leaving hers, he placed her hand on his arm and escorted her back inside the church.

Brian, barely noticing his sister’s departure, asked the bridesmaids in general, "How’s Honey holding up? She okay?"

"She’s fine," Diana assured him. "She’s talking with your mother right now."

Brian nodded, then saw his father step out from the church. "The minister needs to talk to you about something," he said. Brian nodded and hurried into the church after him.

"Let’s go inside, too," Mart said. "It’s hot out here." But he didn’t follow Jim, Bobby, Hallie or Anne as they went inside. Instead, he stood in the sunlight with Diana. She didn’t look at him, but after a moment, she did speak.

"Thomas is gone," she began. "He left yesterday morning."

Mart nodded. "I thought so, when he didn’t show for the rehearsal last night."

"I told him to go. It was my decision."

"That’s fine," Mart said. "It’s really none of my business, anyway."

"No," Diana said, remotely. "I suppose it’s not." She turned and entered the church, leaving him alone.

In moments, however, early wedding guests began ascending the steps to St. Brendan’s, and Mart went inside.

*     *     *

Madeleine Wheeler found her daughter already in her wedding gown by the time she arrived at the church. "My dear!" she exclaimed upon seeing her. "You’re so beautiful!" She asked for a moment alone, and the room emptied once more of bridesmaids and female well-wishers. As the door opened and closed, the soloist could be heard, singing ‘for whenever two or more of you are gathered in His name-‘.

"Isn’t this exciting, Mother?" Honey began. "I’m getting married! I almost can’t believe it."

A full length mirror had been set up so that Honey and the bridesmaids could more completely assess the total presentation. Honey tugged on a pair of white wrist-length gloves and turned her head, allowing the diamond and pearl tiara, perfectly secured in her honey-blonde curls, to catch the late morning light. Tiny gilt roses had been tucked into the falling curls and a long, scalloped lace veil, firmly but secretly attached to the tiara, fell over almost her entire body to below her knees. Her simple dress with the sweetheart neckline, the huge skirt and the hemline decorated in scallops of Alencon lace, the chapel-length train attached to the tiny silk straps on Honey’s slender shoulders, it all served to transform Honey from a modern woman to an idealized vision of a Romantic heroine, perfectly adorned and garbed to think of nothing but love and other pleasant things.

Madeleine swallowed and touched her hand to her throat. "I can’t believe you’re the same baby your father and I took home from the hospital. I simply can’t believe it."

"Oh, mother!" Honey smiled tenderly and held out her arms. Madeleine crossed the room and enveloped her daughter in an embrace. They held tight to each other for a moment, then Madeleine began her prepared speech.

"Madeleine," she said to her daughter. "I want you to know that, despite how it may have appeared growing up, I always loved you and was always proud of you. I’m especially proud of the woman you’ve become, not only personally, but professionally as well. It’s a testament to Miss Trask how far you’ve come from that sickly little girl you used to be. I’m so sorry I ever allowed people like Miss Lefferts to tell me how to raise my own daughter. I should have known better."

"Oh, no, Mother!" Honey disagreed. "You were never cruel to me, and I understand how it all happened. You don’t need to apologize for a thing. Besides. There’s nothing now to stop us from continuing to grow closer to each other, right?" She smiled hopefully. Her mother nodded. "And maybe, when Brian and I start our family, you’ll be able to erase some of those bad memories with happier ones of your grandchildren."

Madeleine smiled then, her eyes glistening. "I’d like that," she said. "I’d like that a lot." She cleared her throat and forced herself to stop crying. "There’s more that I wanted to say. Advice for a young bride. Things like that." She took a deep breath. "I know you have been waiting for your wedding night, and your father and I are pleased that you did, especially in this day and age. Try not to be nervous, all right? Trust Brian and know that he loves you and is only hoping to make things as easy and as wonderful for you as possible."

"Mother!" Honey blushed, unwilling to have this conversation with anyone, especially at her advanced age of twenty-six.

"Don’t get all embarrassed," her mother chided gently. "You will be nervous. You won’t be able to help it. It’s only natural. The whole thing is just a natural process and fairly soon I’m confident you’ll get the hang of things and you’ll wonder what all your nervousness was about. Sex within marriage is a beautiful, spiritually and emotionally binding, thing. It brings two people who care about each other closer together. It’ll form a bond between you and Brian that will endure just about anything."

"Just about?" Honey quipped, searching for a moment of levity in the otherwise somber moment.

Madeleine nodded. "You have to communicate with him, too. Trust Brian. He’s a good man. Trust him and his decisions, but never let him make a decision without letting him know how you feel about things. You can’t complain about things that he does if he doesn’t know how you feel about those things he does."

Honey, slightly bewildered, nodded. "I think I followed that."

"And do the same for him," her mother continued. "Don’t make a decision without involving him. You’re forming a partnership today. That means equal say and equal responsibility." She smiled proudly. "Your father taught me that. It works as well in business as in life."

A knock at the door alerted them to the fact that the ceremony was scheduled to begin. The door opened, and Matthew, resplendent in his tuxedo, entered. "Are you ready, Honey?" He stepped through the doorway, then closed it behind him, sealing off the words ‘Turn around, he’s a young man with babes of his own…’. He stared at the two most important women in his life. "You look so beautiful. Both of you."

Madeleine smiled and moved to stand by his side. "You look very handsome yourself, Matthew," she said, adjusting his tie. "I’ll go outside and let myself be seated. If you’re almost ready, darling," she looked over her shoulder to Honey.

"I am," Honey said quietly. "I love you, mother."

Madeleine turned fully, a bit surprised and touched by the simple sincerity of her daughter’s tone. "I love you, too." She smiled, her eyes sparkling with her unshed tears, and left her husband and their daughter alone. The soloist was singing, ‘All I want is freedom, a world with no more night-‘.

"You look radiant," Matthew said. "Absolutely glorious. Are you sure you’re my daughter? I could almost swear somehow your mother just cloned herself. You look so much like her on our wedding day it’s startling."

"I look like her, really?" Honey asked, then turned back toward the mirror. "Am I really that beautiful?"

Matthew stood behind his daughter and stared at their reflection in the glass. "You have always been that beautiful. Outside and in. I’m proud of you, and of Brian, too. I think that clinic is a wonderful idea. It’s the perfect project to bring the two of you closer together than ever. You know, marriage is a partnership, just like in business. You need to communicate, and never make a decision without letting your partner have some input. Now, there will be some areas in which you or Brian will have greater expertise, but don’t dismiss the other’s input because of it. There’s nothing like a fresh approach to put everything in its proper perspective."

Honey smiled. "Mother said the same thing."

"Your mother is an uncommonly wise woman."

Another knock at the door and Trixie poked her head in. "We’re almost ready, how about you?"

Matthew regarded his daughter. "Madeleine? What do you say? You can still call this off, you know."

Honey looked up at her father and smiled. "What? And miss out on the best thing that’s ever happened to me? Not on your life!" She faced Trixie. "We’re ready to start!"

*     *     *

Fifteen minutes ago

Brian paced. Back and forth in front of the Bride’s Room, he paced. His conversation with Minister Leary lasted all of two minutes, as long as it took to re-clarify one or two things, in fact. He ignored the steady procession of guests and well-wishers as they approached the guest book, signed, then entered the church. He ignored the horseplay and joking around of his brothers. He even ignored the way Dan monopolized Trixie’s attention in the corner of the oversized vestibule. His only focus, in fact, was on the door to the Bride’s Room. His only thoughts were of his bride.

"Nervous, Brian?" Jim asked, stepping in Brian’s way, forcing him to stop. "You’ll wear a path in the carpet."

Brian tried to swallow. "There any water around? I need some water or something. No, better yet," he said, laying a hand on Jim’s shoulder. "Run down the street to the liquor store and get me some vodka."

Jim laughed at Brian’s desperation. "Come on, Brian! Be serious. This’ll all be over soon enough."

Brian forced a smile but failed miserably. "All those people! Who are they? What are they all doing here? Did we really invite them all?" Brian whispered, darting glances at the increasingly thick stream of arrivals.

"Well, yeah, you did," Jim replied. "You know who they are, Brian! That last group was a bunch of Kennedys. Or do they come in PACs?" he quipped.

Brian stared blankly. "You’re not helping any."

Jim had the grace to look sorry. "Well, if you know who they are-"

"That’s not the point!" Brian hissed. "This was supposed to be a simple wedding. Just a few close friends and family and suddenly I’m seeing faces I only see on the evening news! Since when am I friends with industrialists and heiresses and royalty?"

"Since you met and fell in love with a Wheeler," Jim replied. "Get used to it. I did." He shook his head in exasperation. "This is a fine time to get all upset over the ‘class’ you’re ‘marrying into’," he said, more than a touch sarcastically. He was about to continue in that vein when he looked deeper into Brian’s face. "That’s not it, is it. No, that’s not it at all."

"What?" Brian asked.

Jim pulled Brian further away from the throng of guests. "You want out, don’t you. You want to just get in your old jalopy and take off down the road, never coming back here again. Well, fine. Take my keys," Jim dug into his pocket and handed him a thick ring of keys. "And take my car and go. I’ve got a full tank of gas. I’ll make something up to tell everyone. Don’t you worry about another thing."

Brian’s eyes shot to Jim’s. "And leave Honey? Are you crazy? She’s the best thing to ever happen to me! I love her and I… I…" A self-conscious grin spread across his face. "I know exactly what you’re doing. Thanks, Jim. You’re a good friend."

"So are you," Jim agreed. "Even if you wig out on me once in a while."

The two men hugged briefly, then broke apart to rejoin the others. As they approached, Mart looked up. "Everything okay?" he asked.

"Couldn’t be better," Brian grinned. "How soon can we start, do you think?"

*     *     *

After signing the guest book, Regan and Mr. Maypenny entered the church proper. Long wooden pews, polished and worn by thousands of supplicants, lined up on either side of a wide center aisle. Tall stained glass windows allowed the sunlight to filter through, casting multi-colored patterns on the murmuring congregation. A wide platform, far in front of them, decorated in white and festooned with flowers, was obviously the altar. A long table, a chalice and a huge open book gave further indication of purpose. Large, brightly colored cloth tapestries with religious themes hung on either side of the platform. A simple wooden cross had been mounted on the wall exactly opposite the two men.

Bobby hurried forward and touched Regan on the arm. "You guys can sit way up front, in any row that’s got flowers on the end of it. That’s for special friends and family. Oh," he added before they could move away. "There’s no flash photography during the ceremony."

"Bobby," Regan said patiently. "Neither of us even owns a camera." Bobby shrugged, grinned, then hurried to the next group.

Mr. Maypenny just shook his head and started down the aisle. Regan followed, taking subtle note of the Very Important People he passed. Politicians, businessmen, people famous just for being famous – some of everyone was there. So, too, were local Sleepyside citizens, most of whom Regan knew himself. Teachers from the high school, personnel from the hospital, local farmers. The Dodges were there, dressed in their Sunday best. Regan’s Shetland Samwise had once belonged to them, before their youngest boy outgrew ponies. Elderly Miss Rachel Martin sat in another row, her head bobbing steadily in time to the music. Regan immediately decided to buy one of her beautiful quilts for Anne as a Christmas present.

Further on, Regan caught the eye of Henry Meiser and his wife and kids. Hank worked with Anne sometimes at her lab. She had underwritten one of his more recent automotive innovations while a doctoral candidate at MIT. She still got invited to his kids’ birthdays. Regan recognized Mr. Brandio from his frequent visits to Manor House, back in the days when he himself worked there. He also recognized the Darnells from their visit with the Lynchs some years back. Their daughter Joeanne had turned into quite the dark-haired beauty.

Frank Trask sat on the far end of one row, his sister Melody in her wheelchair beside him. Regan saw the O’Brien’s from Mead’s Mountain sitting on the near side of Mr. Trask. Regan thought then, too, of taking Anne on a vacation to that mountain resort, having only taken Joan there once, years before. He spied Hans Vorwald sitting staring up at the ceiling, and wondered what the Dutchman thought of all of this.

Finally, Regan and Maypenny reached a mostly-empty row. The Wellington kids gladly scooted over to allow them room. Regan waited for the older man to sit down, then turned and caught himself before he genuflected. He covered by scratching his head, but he knew that Maypenny had seen what he had almost done.

"Oh, indeed," Maypenny leaned close to speak quietly. "Religion is a choice, not a habit." Regan just glared, but let the remark pass.

At approximately ten minutes after eleven, the soloist began. She covered the traditional wedding songs There is Love, O Promise Me and Turn Around, then All I Ask of You from The Phantom of the Opera, all before eleven twenty-five. Glancing about, Regan noticed that most of the congregation had been seated, and Bobby was ready to seat Alicia Johnson.

The soloist then began singing the English air Where’er You Walk while Bobby sat his aunt. He then headed around the front of the pews while Mart escorted his mother to the front of the church, Peter following behind. His father waited at their pew while Mart led Helen to the three Unity Candles, set up on a small table beside the altar. She lit her candle, smiled at her second-born son, then took his arm and walked with him back to her seat. She and Peter sat in the front row and whispered quietly.

Regan smiled to see his nephew escort Mrs. Wheeler down the aisle to the main platform. Dan seemed a touch nervous and more than usually solemn. As Regan watched, Dan handed the elegant lighter to Mrs. Wheeler, who easily lit the second candle. They turned, Mrs. Wheeler beamed up at Dan, then took his arm. Together, they walked to the front pew on the bride’s side, about five rows in front of Regan, and she sat by herself. Dan turned, paused a moment, then strode easily around the front of the pews and toward the back of the church.

The music ended.

The congregation hushed expectantly.

Regan heard the doors at the front of the church open, and the rustle of cloth and squeak of leather shoes that indicated the entrance of the groom and his groomsmen. As soon as it was polite to do so, Regan turned his head to watch as Brian Belden, tall, confident and suddenly looking simultaneously as young and age-old as only a man about to pledge himself in marriage can look, strode down the right-most aisle toward the main platform.

Regan fought a rush of envy as Brian, then Jim, Mart, Dan and Bobby aligned themselves on the platform, turned, and faced the congregation and the back of the church. The minister appeared from behind the altar and joined them, smiling kindly at Brian, his thumb marking a place in his well-worn white leather Holy Bible

The organist set the stops on the pipe organ and in seconds the swirling strains of Johann Sebastian Bach’s Jesu, Joy of Man’s Desiring filled the church. The doors opened once more, Regan saw the recognition and relief in Brian’s eyes, then waited while the first bridesmaid began the procession down the aisle.

Mahalia Belden had been in several weddings before this one, for her cousin. She had been Maid of Honor for her sister-in-law Linnie, and had participated as Bridesmaid and Flower Girl for friends of the family back home in Idaho, besides starring in her own. She smiled brilliantly at the assembled guests and began her slow but steady walk toward the gentlemen standing at the altar. She glanced from side to side as she walked, recognizing and nodding slightly to people she knew or thought she knew. Her head held high and straight, she reached the platform, turned and walked to her place at the end.

Anneka Maypenny stepped into the doorway next. Clutching her bouquet of gilt roses and white lilies, she took a deep breath and forced herself to walk forward. She stared directly ahead of her, straight at the huge cross on the wall, and told herself left, right, left, right. She didn’t notice the crowd of people, smiling and nodding at her, giving her encouragement or just admiring the picture she presented. She didn’t notice anything but the cross until she spied a familiar pair of brilliant blue eyes shining just for her. She felt her heart begin to beat, her nerves settle and her lips curve in a smile as Regan simply watched her, the love in his heart there for all the world to see. She reached the platform, turned and took her place.

Diana Lynch waited for just the proper moment to begin, when Anne turned at the altar, then began her own walk down the aisle. Accustomed as she was to stares, whispers and ignoring distractions, the only thing disconcerting to her was the suddenly certain knowledge that she would now never be a bride. Her professionalism and talent kept everyone from suspecting she wanted only to rip open her own guts and sob in despair, grief and embarrassment. She reached the turning point and took her place.

Beatrix Belden, almost giddy with excitement, shifted her slightly oversized bouquet in her hands and entered the church. She felt herself walking too fast, so she consciously slowed her pace to match the majestic music. She saw her family, her friends, her loved ones smiling and whispering to each other, half-twisted around in the pews to get a better view of the procession. She saw her closest girl friends on one side of the altar. On the other, her brother Brian nervously stared over her head, her brothers Mart and Bobby remained suspiciously, yet maturely, calm, and Jim… Her dear friend. He winked at her and she almost laughed. Then her eyes darted to Dan and a swelling of some deeper emotion superseded the urge to giggle. His eyes seemed to darken, and never left hers seemingly even to blink, until their visual contact was broken by circumstance and position.

An amused murmuring bubbled up from the congregation as Katje Vorwald, in full Flower Girl mode, stepped into view, her mother gently urging her into place. Back at the front of the altar, and rather unhurriedly, Bobby stepped forward and unhooked the silken cords that kept the white runner tied in place. Pulling gently on the cords and moving steadily backward, he unrolled the long thin carpet upon which the bride would step.

When he reached the end of the aisle, he turned, knelt beside little Katje, whispered to her and pointed toward Brian, then hurried around the back of the pews to return to his place at the altar. Katje looked up at her mother, summoned all her Big Girl-ness, and started walking determinedly up the aisle. She had gone about five feet when she finally heard her mother whisper hoarsely in Dutch: Katje! The petals! Throw the petals!

Katje glanced back at her mother, her little mouth open in a huge O. She frowned, then began tossing huge clumps of red, pink and white rose petals onto the ground and continued on her way toward the end of the aisle. When she reached Brian, her basket empty and her mission complete, she stared straight up at the tall, handsome stranger and issued a demand.

Of course, Brian didn’t speak Dutch. He smiled, laughed a little, and shook his head, shrugging at the tiny maid in the candlelit-yellow dress with the multitude of underskirts and petticoats.

Katje demanded it again, louder this time, then, seemingly aware that this otherwise intelligent-looking person had no clue what she meant, gestured imperiously at him to bend closer to her. He did, a look of ‘what else can I do but humor the little tyke?’ on his face. As soon as he got within distance, Katje grabbed Brian’s cheeks and kissed him sweetly on the lips. She said something to him, still in Dutch, then turned and hurried to sit next to her Aunt Madeleine in the front row.

The congregation’s indulgent laughter almost masked the abrupt change in music, but the signal to stand could not be ignored. Pachelbel’s Canon in D pealed from the pipe organ in full glorious tones, the doors swung open wide and Mathew Wheeler, resplendent in his black tuxedo, sunlight reflecting brilliantly off his still-vibrantly red hair, stood revealed, his daughter, Madeleine Wheeler, beside him.

It was the young and beautiful Madeleine who caused the congregation to breathe in collective awe. In her shining white gown, her honey-gold hair dressed in tiny gilt roses, the sunlight bouncing off each tiny facet of each diamond in her tiara, her right hand hidden by the cascading bouquet of gilt roses and white lilies, tiny violets and vivid greenery, her left resting easily in the crook of her father’s arm, the serenity of her features, the soft pink curves of her smile, the light in her eyes meant only for the man standing directly opposite her at the end of the long, petal-strewn carpet, no bride had ever looked lovelier or more in love than she did at that moment.

As the music began to crescendo in swirling chords and notes that seemed to dance on the air, the bride and her father walked up the aisle. The congregation, standing respectfully, regarded her, a mixture of envy, joy and giddy delight on their faces.

Honey reached the altar and the minister began to speak.

Dearly beloved, he began, we are gathered here today in the sight of God and of these witnesses…

*     *     *

…Marriage is an honorable institution. That’s not news. It’s the building block of our society and culture. It’s the foundation of the family. A good marriage is the best starting point to raise happy and healthy children. More than that, marriage brings a man and a woman closer to experiencing God in their lives.

Brian, Madeleine, I want you both to consider these truths. Marriage is not easy. Marriage is not simple. Marriage, instead, requires a lot of hard work, pain and, sometimes, sacrifice. But marriage, a good and healthy marriage, offers so much more. So very much more. Marriage offers security, joy, peace and contentment, as well as love and acceptance. It provides strength when you are weak; comfort when you are weary; love when you feel there is nothing left in the world to live for.

It does not happen overnight! Instead, marriage takes time, commitment, energy and work. A lot of work. More than that, it takes love. A tremendous amount of love. Brian. Madeleine. I know you both have plenty of that!

Give your marriage the things it needs to grow strong and healthy and able to withstand anything that might wish to tear the two of you apart. Be like the mighty oak, able to withstand hurricanes because it has learned how to bend. Be conscious of each other. Learn each other’s strengths and lean on them; learn each other’s failings and then forget them, for Love has no need for pride, but every reason to forgive. Remember to talk with each other every day, and do not hesitate to speak of your feelings. No one minds being reminded they are loved, and those who feel loved become secure enough to grow and to share their true selves with their loved one.

Remember too, that while the pleasures of the flesh may fade, the sublime pleasure of each other’s company will never dissipate, but will grow stronger throughout your lives, until the moment when you are truly one flesh, one spirit, one soul, and at one with the Lord.

Let us pray…

*     *     *

Her hand felt cool in his. She didn’t even tremble once. Her clear, almost-green eyes shone up at him, sparkling and peaceful. She was happy. He had no doubts.

His hand was warm and steady. Strong. I can rely on him, she told herself. He’s a good man. I’m a lucky woman. His dark eyes smiled down at her and she knew he was happy. She had no doubts.

He took a breath and repeated his vows in a strong, clear baritone that reached every corner of the old church. ‘I, Brian Andrew, take you, Madeleine Grace, as my lawful wedded wife, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love, honor and cherish, until death us do part.’

Her voice was equally as strong and clear. ‘I, Madeleine Grace, take you, Brian Andrew, as my lawful wedded husband…’

He took her hands in his, faced her and summoned the words he had been practicing all morning long.

‘Honey, I want- I mean, Madeleine, that is. I’ve been thinking about what to say to you today, how to sum up my feelings for you in just a few words and I found I can’t do it. It’s not that I don’t love you as my own life. It’s not that I can’t see my future without you in it. It isn’t even that I can think of no other person, living or dead, who could hold a candle to you in terms of your beautiful soul, your tender spirit or your loving heart. It’s just that, well, I’m basically a scientist and I’ve no real gift for words or poetry. All I came up with was this. I love you. And I’m proud to be standing up here with you today, in front of all our friends and family, overjoyed to be the man you chose to spend the rest of your life with and prayerful that I’ll always be worthy of you.’

She blinked away the sudden tears, gripped his hands tight, and struggled to speak clearly and calmly.

‘Brian, I-I… I love you, too! I had it all planned out, what I was going to say. I rehearsed it last night after you called me and now it’s all just rushed out of my head. All that’s left is this: since the day I came tearing down the path to Crabapple Farm and almost ran straight into you and Mart, when we shook hands and Trixie introduced us, I knew there was something special about you. As the years went by and you and I grew up, faced challenges and struggled to become better people, I still always suspected we’d end up in a place very much similar to this. I never doubted we’d marry one day, and I’ll never doubt your love as long as I live. That’s what I wish for both of us today. Faith and eternal love.’

The minister took the rings from Jim and from Trixie, blessed them, remarked on the symbolism of the eternal golden circle of love, and directed Brian to place one ring on Madeleine’s finger, and Madeleine to place the other on Brian’s.

They lit the Unity Candle, but left the single candlesticks burning to show they had no wish to turn their backs on their families, but unite them instead.

There was another prayer, in which the minister charged each person present in the church that day to watch over the young couple, to guide them in their way and to help them grow stronger together in the sight and light of God.

The minister smiled and closed his book. ‘I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.’

Brian’s face split into a wide grin as he lifted Honey’s massive veil. Draping it easily over her head and letting it fall down her back, he took her face in his hands, smiled at her, then pressed his lips to hers, sweetly and tenderly. He felt a firm pat on the back and knew that Jim, standing behind him, was pleased. Brian turned, took Honey’s hand in his while she accepted her bouquet from Trixie, then waited as the minister said, ‘Ladies and gentlemen, I am proud to be the first to present Mr. and Mrs. Brian and Madeleine Belden-Wheeler. Congratulations.’

There was a spark of surprise at the announcement of the marital surname, but Brian and Honey had eyes only for each other. The rapturous fortissimo of Beethoven’s Ode to Joy filled the church as the newlyweds almost raced down the aisle hand in hand. Following behind them were a beaming Trixie and Jim, a moist-eyed Diana and Mart, a happy but thoughtful Anne and Dan and a giggling Hallie and Bobby. The Wheelers and the Beldens met in the center of the aisle, embraced and followed their children down the aisle and into the sunlight.

*     *      *

Bobby supposed there were worse things than posing for pictures, but what those things could be, he wasn’t sure. It was ‘stand here and turn that way, fingers straight, hands at your sides’ for almost an hour now. First the bride and groom. Face to face. Back to back. Front to back. With the bouquet. Without the bouquet. Kissing. By the candles. By the candles with the parents. At the altar with the parents. Her parents. His parents. The entire wedding party. The bridesmaids and the bride. The groom and the groomsmen. The groom with the bridesmaids. The bride with the groomsmen. His entire family. Her entire family. Both families.

There was one interesting photograph taken, but not by the photographer’s choice.

"I’ve got a special request here, but I don’t know," he said, as Mr. Belden and Mr. Wheeler came forward bearing two equal-sized boxes. "Gentlemen," he said to the groomsmen. "Take off your coats and put these on. You, too, ladies."

The fathers, with much controlled laughter and nudging, opened the boxes and reached inside. One by one, they pulled out red cotton jackets and tossed them to each member of the Bob-Whites of the Glen. Surprised, startled but amused at the thought, the BWGs slipped on jackets they hadn’t worn in almost ten years.

For the most part, the men found the jackets to be too snug across the back. They good-naturedly recounted the fines for having a too-small jacket, or for straining the seams. Mart groaned when Jim pointed out the dark brown mustard stain on one of his pockets. "But that was ten years ago!" he protested. "You can’t expect me to pay back fines! That would be, what? 50¢ a day for almost ten years? That’s-"

"$1807.50, to be exact," Anne calculated instantly. "I believe we could probably accept a check. If the bank president would verify the funds, of course," she grinned, happily noting that her zipper still zipped perfectly.

Mart groaned. "Do you know how much teachers make?"

The photographer directed the Bob Whites to stand, women in front, men on the step just behind them, Anne and Diana (the shortest women) in the center. Dan casually found his spot just behind Trixie while Jim, figuring that two redheads too close together unwise, stood behind Diana.

The photographer snapped a single shot, then decided to take a second one. Without planning or forethought, the Bob Whites took advantage of that second photo. Brian and Dan, on the outside, lifted and then laid their outside leg on the shoulder of the woman in front of them and leaned as far forward as they could, putting their faces next to Honey and Trixie, respectively. Mart jumped into the air his arms thrust straight overhead while Jim balanced an elbow on Diana’s head and shoved a hand in front of Mart’s face.

Trixie and Honey, with Dan’s and Brian’s legs over their shoulder, each grabbed the ankle that had been put almost in their face and pushed as hard as they could, knocking the guys off-balance. In the center, Diana and Anne each lifted their skirt and displayed their legs.

The octet ended up falling into a tangled heap of formal clothes, rent red jackets, underskirts, wedding veil and train, but they ended up laughing, too.

FLASH!

*     *     *

By the time the wedding party, the families and the assorted escorts arrived back at Manor House, the reception was in full swing. Tom drove the main limo straight to the large, green and white striped tent that had been set up in the center of the front lawn. Elegantly dressed people could be seen leaving and entering the tent at three different points of entry. From there, guests were allowed to wander through the grounds or the first floor of the house itself. Picnic tables, stone benches and a few strolling violinists allowed wedding guests to more fully experience the romance of the day, even if they left the wedding tent itself.

Tom opened the limo door and waited while the first groomsman worked his way outside. After a moment, Jim stood straight and stretched. "It’s a bit crowded in there with all those dresses!" he said. Then he turned and, together with the handsome chauffeur, helped the rest of them outside.

One by one, the bridesmaids and the groomsmen popped out of the limo, staggered a few steps and then rapidly regained equilibrium. Diana and Anne stared at the tent, the gardens and the beautifully decorated Manor House and gasped. "When did they do all this?" Anne wanted to know. "It wasn’t like this when we left!"

"I know," Tom groaned. "You should have seen the workers setting up when I took the Wheelers to the church. Controlled chaos, all the way around. I’m so glad I wasn’t here the whole time. It would have driven me crazy."

Honey asked Trixie to help her with her train and it took them only a moment to remove the chapel length addition. Miss Trask, arriving with the other Wheelers, took charge of it and the veil. Honey remarked that her head felt curiously lighter without the sheer lace fabric that had been in Miss Trask's Hope Chest.

François, the wedding coordinator, approached the group, pushed through the people until he found Honey and Brian, and began issuing orders. "Mrs. Belden," he said importantly. "If you are finally ready to be announced, we can begin. You and your attendants will wait here until the emcee calls your name, then you will proceed directly through the tent to the dance floor, where the first dance will take place."

"Excuse me," Brian interjected, a hint of steel in his voice, a kind smile on his lips. "But her name is ‘Mrs. Belden-Wheeler’, and our only intention at this party is to have a good time. So drop the imperious attitude and relax, okay? We’ll be ready to go in just a minute. Right now," he said, turning to Honey, "I just realized it’s been almost five minutes since I last kissed my wife and told her I love her. Excuse me, won’t you?" He fully turned his back to a sputtering François, took Honey into his arms and kissed her surprised giggle away. After a long moment, he moved his mouth to her ear and whispered to her.

As Trixie watched, fascinated with the change in Brian and Honey’s behavior toward each other, Honey flushed red, shrieked and playfully slapped at Brian’s shoulder. Brian’s cheeks pinked slightly, but Trixie noted the look of satisfaction in his eyes as he turned back to the group, his arm firmly around Honey’s waist.

"I think we’re ready!" Brian announced. François nodded, bowed slightly, then hurried back into the tent to give the correct cues to the emcee.

Inside the tent, huge tables, seating either eight or twelve people, crowded together. The tables stood not on the grass, but on huge pieces of wooden flooring that ingeniously hooked together to provide as large or as small a floor as a party required. This arrangement prevented inclement weather from affecting the ground inside the tent. Against the right wall was the long head table. Opposite on the left were the buffet stands. A single wide path led from the main entrance to the wooden dance floor. Just beyond the dance floor rose a platform for the small orchestra. Microphones had been set up for the emcee, and a small DJ booth, for when the orchestra took breaks, stood in a corner.

There was no assigned seating per se, but large families had been given twelve-seat tables for their family members and guests. The Lynchs completely filled up their table, as Terry and Larry had each managed to bring a date, and Honey had insisted that Harrison attend the party as well.

Julie and Kathy giggled at the sight of their stiff-upper-lip British butler sitting next to Terry’s date, Tina, who was attempting to make small talk while Terry ran off to get her a soda. "Isn’t that funny?" Julie snickered. "Poor Harrison! Probably wishes he could help out or something! He’s so stodgy."

Kathy was about to reply in kind when the twins overheard Harrison ask their mother, "Madam, really. This François person must be in such a state. I’m certain my help would be accepted and I’d feel-"

Mrs. Lynch, however, didn’t even let him finish. "Nonsense! You’re a guest here and that means you will enjoy yourself! That’s an order!" She glared at him until he looked back at his water glass. Then she smiled serenely. "That’s better."

Terry appeared with the sodas, his brother and Lulu, his brother’s date. "They’re here," Larry announced. "I saw them pull up. We should be eating soon."

"Won’t they dance first?" their Aunt Maria asked. "I mean, isn’t that the order of events?"

"Oh, a dance," Kathy sighed. "How romantic. I wonder what song they picked?"

Julie began rattling off a number of recent romantic hits, but the arrival of the emcee at the main microphone preempted her.

The crowd grew quiet. The emcee smiled, then began. "Ladies and gentlemen! I am pleased to introduce the members of the wedding party to you. Let’s welcome bridesmaid Hallie Belden, the groom’s cousin, and groomsman Robert Belden, the groom’s youngest brother!"

The Lynches applauded politely. Julie whispered knowingly to her sister, "We’re only applauding for Hallie, aren’t we." Kathy just kept her eyes on the couple as they hurried along the main path to the dance floor.

The emcee announced, "Bridesmaid Anne Maypenny, escorted by groomsman Dan Mangan, friends of the bride and groom!"

Anne and Dan strode briskly through the tent, Anne blowing a kiss and Dan waving a hand at the table where Regan sat watching them.

The emcee announced, "Bridesmaid Diana Lynch, friend of the bride and groom, escorted by groomsman Mart Belden, the groom’s brother!"

The elder Lynches exchanged uneasy glances, but applauded for their daughter nonetheless.

The emcee announced, "Ladies and gentleman, that adorable flower girl, Katje Vorwald, cousin of the bride, escorted by her parents, Julianna and Hans! Isn’t she cute, folks?"

The crowd awwww’d as the Vorwalds led their little girl to the dance floor.

The emcee announced, "Maid of Honor, Trixie Belden, friend of the bride, sister of the groom, escorted by Best Man, Jim Frayne, friend of the groom, brother of the bride. I hope I got that right."

The crowd laughed and clapped their hands as they, too, joined the wedding party at the dance floor.

The emcee announced, "Your hosts for this afternoon, the parents of the groom, Mr. and Mrs. Peter and Helen Belden, and the parents of the bride, Mr. and Mrs. Matthew and Madeleine Wheeler!"

More applause.

There was a drum roll. The crowd hushed. People grinned, leaned forward in their chairs, grabbed spoons in preparation to be whacked against half-full water glasses, and waited.

"Ladies and gentlemen. The reason we are all gathered here today. The cause of this joyous celebration. Appearing for the first time as husband and wife, Mr. and Mrs. Brian and Honey Belden-Wheeler!"

The crowd went wild. Spoons clinked glasses. People clapped, stomped their feet, cheered, whistled, howled and shouted.

Brian and Honey made it through the gauntlet of well-wishers to the dance floor.

The emcee smiled down at them from his foot-high stage. "Now, apparently, the bride and groom are unclear on this matter of clinking glasses and what that means. What that means is-"

"They’ve got to kiss!" A voice shouted from a nearby table.

"That’s right! Every time you want the bride and groom to kiss, just tap your water glass," the emcee agreed. "That means, no matter where you are, Brian, in the tent or outside, and you, too, Honey, if you hear this sound –" and he picked up a water glass and tapped it with a spoon, "-you have to find each other and kiss. Got that? Sort of a preparation for the wedding night. And Honey, this will work years from now, too. You ever want a little more attention from your husband, just tap on a glass. He’ll come running." The man paused as the audience laughed at his small joke. "Of course, with a bride as beautiful as you, I’ll bet he’s not planning on running very far away, are you?"

Brian and Honey laughed, then kissed and hugged each other.

"Now, we’ve got a very special treat for all you nice people," the emcee continued. Behind him, Gaye Hunya and her husband, Georg, had come up on stage and were softly preparing their instruments. George gave a satisfied nod to his guitar while Gaye adjusted her grip on her Stradivarius. "Standing with me on stage right this very minute are two of the world’s best-renown classical musicians. They told me that when they received their invitation to this wedding, they wondered what kind of gift to get the happy couple. Sheets? Towels? A crock pot?" The emcee shook his head at each one.

"No," he said, "Their gift couldn’t be anything so ordinary. It had to come from the heart. So what they did was this." The emcee took a small cue card from his breast pocket and read from it. "They wrote a song in honor of this occasion, this couple and the people of Sleepyside who have meant so much to them. Ladies and gentlemen, for their first dance, Brian and Honey have chosen this special piece of music, performed publicly here for the first time, by the composers themselves, Gaye Hunya and Georg Wechsler, and the Westchester String Orchestra. The name of this piece is ‘The Crabapple Farm Waltz’."

Crabapple Farm Waltz

As the music began, Brian swept Honey into his arms and they easily stepped into the waltz. Everyone watched, smiles on their faces, some with tears in their eyes, as the young couple with everything ahead of them danced as if there were nothing in the world but the music and each other.

The song ended too quickly, but the applause for the composers and the performance lasted much longer.

"Oh!" Kathy gushed. "Wasn’t that absolutely beautiful?"

"I loved it!" Julie sighed rapturously.

"And I thought you girls hated classical music!" their Uncle Monty teased.

"And now, ladies and gentlemen," the emcee announced, once Gaye and Georg had replaced their instruments in their cases, settling down the guests once more. "We’re going to let the wedding party dance to this next song. Then, in the middle of the song, I’ll let you know when, I’ll want everyone on the dance floor to find a new partner from out there among the tables. Get that new person on the floor and dance. This is a party, everyone! It’s time to start having some fun!" He turned and the orchestra conductor led the musicians into a sprightly rendition of the Harry Connick, Jr., favorite, We Are In Love.

It turned out that the emcee had a surprisingly good voice, for he sang the words with flair and spirit: I. Know you. So well. I can tell by the sound of your voice if you’re really in love with me. And you are. Yes, you are. You… know I… can’t lie… If I say to you ‘baby, I love you,’ then baby, I love you. Oh, and I do. Yes, I do. I do…! Could it be that’s a phrase you thought never would phase me well, baby. Ooh. You’d better hold on tight. Cause I…’m the one who’s supposed to kneel down and propose. Well, alright. Oo-oo, I might. I might! So…when I… kiss! You good night. Just sleep tight with the thought that you’ll always be caught up in love with me. And you’ll dream that the stars up above have the answer of whether we’ll be, or whether we won’t be, in love… Well, we are. Yes! We are…

The musical bridge started and the emcee called for the couples to switch. What he hadn’t the familiarity with the wedding party to realize was that they had already switched couples. Mart found it awkward to dance with Diana, who returned the feeling, so they turned to Jim and Trixie for rescue. Trixie thought dancing with her own brother pointless, so she broke up Dan and Anne. Anne considered, then dismissed the impulse to dance with Bobby so that Hallie’s size 10 feet wouldn’t get trampled on by Bobby’s 13 ½’s.

When the call came to find new partners, Anne immediately descended on Regan. She grabbed his hands and pulled him onto the dance floor. "But I don’t swing as well as you do!" he protested, laughing.

"But I don’t like dancing with anyone else!" she insisted.

Mart caught Linnie’s eye and, despite the mock-jealous reaction of her husband, his cousin, Knut, managed to get her onto the floor.

Jim immediately sought out Ruth. He had tried to get her to attend the ceremony itself, but she decided that would be too much for Steven’s allergies, to be cooped up possibly next to too much perfume. The chance to escape into the air conditioned house at the reception clinched her acceptance of the second invitation. Ruth graciously accepted Jim’s gallant bow and offer to dance. They swept onto the floor, her long, pale blue skirt swirling as he twirled her in graceful patterns.

Diana, meanwhile, crooked her finger at her Uncle Monty, who hurried forward to join his niece in a brisk dance across the floor.

Dan turned to Helen Belden and asked her to dance. "You know," she said, an amused twinkle in her blue eyes. "You don’t have to butter me up. I like you and Trixie together."

"I’m wounded, truly," Dan claimed. "That you would think that’s the only reason I’d want to dance with you! A woman every bit as beautiful as I hope Trixie will grow to become. What’s so wrong with that?" Helen’s peal of laughter joined with Dan’s as he pushed her into an Arch Turn.

As soon as her mother danced off with Dan, Trixie turned, almost panicked to find someone she knew well enough to impose herself on. She found Nick Roberts. Delighted, she pulled him onto the floor, knowing he had no choice but to accept her invitation.

Honey laughed gaily and summoned Hans to the floor while Brian picked up little Katje, kissed her on the cheek and brought her to a less-crowded area of the floor in the hopes she wouldn’t get bumped into by the other dancers.

Hallie easily located Ben, but Bobby, unlike all the others, simply stood in the center of the floor. He gulped, straightened his jacket, and started walking down the main aisle of the tent. He ignored the interested looks and shouted questions from friends and spare relatives. Instead of stopping, looking to the right or to the left, he kept his blue eyes straight ahead of him, staring directly at the object of his search.

Bobby reached the Lynch’s table and stood for a moment next to Mr. Lynch, who looked up expectantly. Bobby nodded his head once in greeting to him, then to his wife, then asked a question. He spoke quietly, but the words were unmistakable. "Miss Katharina," he said. "Would you dance with me?"

Kathy’s face split into a grin. Julie’s face crumpled in disbelief, astonishment and confusion. Then, glancing at her parents, she, too, grinned, not in joy, but in relish. She knew what her parents would have to say about this!

Kathy stood, however, and pushed in her chair. She smoothed her long, dark blue dress in a nervous gesture, then nodded her head quickly. "Yes, Bobby," she said softly. "I would like very much to dance with you." Her eyes darted to her parents, but they merely smiled with equanimity. She hurried around the table, carefully avoiding Terry and Larry’s snickering, and took Bobby’s outstretched hand. Together, they turned and headed toward the dance floor.

The Lynch table remained quiet for a long moment. Mrs. Lynch cleared her throat. "I think they make a striking couple, don’t you, dear?" she asked her husband.

"I suppose so," he replied. He raised his glass of scotch and clinked it against his wife’s goblet of wine. "But then, you’ve always had a sixth sense about those sort of things, haven’t you."

Mrs. Lynch smiled tenderly at her husband and patted his shoulder. "My, my. You’ve learned to trust my matchmaking instincts after all this time. I’d never have believed it if I hadn’t witnessed this moment for myself." She laughed, then noticed her sister-in-law’s puzzlement. "When I was ten years old, I informed Edward Lynch that I was going to marry him one day. Needless to say," she chuckled merrily, "he informed me that, although I was certainly a pretty little girl, he was already spoken for. What was her name again, dear? Mary? Jane? Something like that?"

"You mean the girl you threatened to run out of town if she didn’t leave me alone?" Mr. Lynch asked, as seriously as he found possible. "It was Marion. And I was all of twelve," he informed Maria. "I was sure I had fallen in love with the girl. Of course, Elayne was better informed."

Julie ignored her parents’ bantering. The story of their courtship was old news. She could recite the ‘thrilling drama’ in her sleep. What bothered her now was her parents’ seeming acceptance of Bobby Belden, and of the implied permission Kathy had somehow acquired to socialize seriously with boys. Aren’t we supposed to wait until we turn sixteen? True, it is barely two weeks away. But still! Mummy and Daddy never cut corners when it comes to rules! she thought to herself. What’s going on?

Peter Orlando moved one chair closer to Julie. He glanced at her parents, deep in jovial conversation with his mother, then bent his head to whisper softly to his cousin, "What’s the matter, Julie? What’s wrong?"

She turned her eyes to look at him, realizing if she moved her head even an inch, their lips would touch. As that fact registered, that he had purposely put his face that close to her own, she drew her shoulders in slightly, as if shrinking herself. Wide-eyed, she regarded him. Peter Orlando’s almond-shaped eyes, pools of dark chocolate, stared back at her. She let her gaze drift over his black eyebrows, his almost-Roman nose, his flat cheeks and his full lips hinting at a secret smile, and she felt herself become breathless, her head seemingly floating somewhere above the crowd, beyond the music.

Peter’s eyes turned concerned. He laid a warm hand on hers and asked, "Do you want to get some air?" Without waiting for her reply, he stood and drew her up next to him, excused themselves from the table, then gently but firmly escorted Julie outside the tent.

Once into the fresher air, Peter spied a small stone bench on a rise overlooking the lake. He immediately headed for it, ignoring the sound of someone calling his name. By the time he got Julie seated and could better ascertain her condition, a breathless Bobby and concerned Kathy caught up with them both.

"What’s the matter?" Kathy asked them. "We saw you leave and, Julie, you looked so pale and so strange. Are you okay? Should I get Mom and Dad?"

Julie shook her head ‘no’, but Peter answered. "She just seemed a little faint. I think it was the crowd or all the excitement."

Bobby laughed sharply. "Julie Lynch overcome by a little excitement? Peter, you’ve got to come to New York more often. Around here, Julie is the excitement!"

Peter knelt in front of Julie and rubbed her wrists. "Are you feeling any better?" he inquired solicitously. "What happened? Can you tell me?"

Kathy came around the bench to sit next to her sister. She slipped her arm around Julie’s shoulders and shook her gently. "Sis? What’s wrong? Tell us."

Slowly, Julie turned to face her sister. "No," she said clearly. "You tell me. What happened? Explain."

Puzzled, Kathy stared hard into her sister’s face and spoke carefully. "What do you mean? Explain what?"

"You and him," Julie replied, jerking her thumb at a suddenly quiet Bobby. "Explain to me what just happened between you two."

Kathy swallowed hard and looked to Bobby for support. Bobby shifted in his shoes, then shrugged. "Okay, fine," he replied. "I’ll tell you. I asked Kathy to dance and she did. What else do you want to know?"

Julie’s jaw worked in frustration. "That’s not what I mean and you know it!" She clenched her hands into fists despite Peter’s soothing touch on her wrists. "Mother and Dad. The dance. The whole pre-arranged-ness of it all!" Her eyes grew huge and she shot an accusing glare at each of them. "It was! It was pre-arranged, wasn’t it! Dad wasn’t shocked by you asking Kathy to dance! He was waiting for it. Expecting it. And-! And-!" She gasped and pointed a shaking, denouncing finger at Bobby. "You knew who we were! You looked straight at her and said ‘Miss Katharina’ without hesitation!"

Bobby smiled humorlessly. "The thing is, Julie. I’ve always been able to tell you two apart. You’ve never been able to fool me. Never."

"That’s not true!" Julie insisted. She shook off her sister’s comforting arm and pounded her fists onto her thighs, breaking contact with Peter. "That night in the-"

"That night," Bobby interjected calmly, "at Ten Acres, I knew it was you, not Kathy, coming to meet me. I knew for several reasons, not the least of which was that Kathy was already there. She was hiding not ten feet away from us in the bushes the entire time."

"What!?" Julie shrieked.

Peter, more confused than he thought possible, just concentrated on Julie. She crossed her arms, so he began patting her knees in an attempt to calm her.

"Come on, Jule," Kathy said in a coaxing, sisterly manner. "You had to know I knew you had followed me that night after the bridal shower. When we came back into the bedroom and Di was waiting for us?"

"And then you called me at work," Bobby said, "trying to make me believe you were Kathy. Trying to figure out what was going on with us."

"But you knew it was me," Julie insisted. "I didn’t fool you then."

Bobby nodded. "I know. And you didn’t fool me after the picnic, either, when you suggested we meet on Memorial Day at the used bookstore. Remember?"

Julie’s jaw dropped in utter and complete rage. Her voice shook. "But I gave you the countersign!"

"Huh?" Peter asked involuntarily.

"The countersign!" she said, as if it were obvious. "To Bobby’s request for the password! Which you wouldn’t need if you could tell the two of us apart as easily as you claim!" She sneered up at the tall curly-haired blond.

Bobby just shook his head. He even laughed a little. "What you overheard, you were meant to overhear. That ‘password’ you’re referring to was nothing more than a little reminder of the first time Kathy and I--" He broke off his words as Kathy began to shake her head, urging him to be quiet. He smiled at her, and continued. "The first time Kathy and I kissed. I asked her. ‘Am I a good kisser?’ I’ll never forget what she said to me. At that moment, I knew I was in love forever." He looked at Kathy. "Do you remember what you told me?"

Kathy nodded, her eyes shining. Peter, drawn in by the story, prompted her. "What? What’d you say?"

She blushed, but kept her eyes on Bobby. "I said, ‘No. You need more practice.’ And then he said–"

Together they quoted, " ‘May I please have some more practice?’ "

Peter finally stood. "That’s a real sweet story," he said, quickly dismissing the sentiment. "But what I don’t get is what all this has to do with you guys dating, a simple dance, and Julie getting all upset. What happened? I mean really."

Between the two of them, Bobby and Kathy got the whole story out. How, once they realized Julie had discovered their hidden relationship (‘Because father would have Bobby’s head if he thought I was dating before I turned sixteen! And a Belden! Although what that has to do with things, I truly don’t know’) they decided to see what she would do with the information. And then how, when they realized Julie intended to capitalize on her knowledge by spying on them and then trying to impersonate her sister, and somehow fool Bobby for some purpose or other, they decided to retaliate by pretending to go along with whatever she did (‘at least until they turned sixteen and I could date her openly’).

But Julie pushed things more quickly than they thought. She showed up early for a ‘date’ at the summerhouse with Bobby, and when Kathy realized what was going on, she pretended to throw a fit and break things off with Bobby.

"Pretended?" Julie almost shouted. "You were furious! I could tell! You didn’t speak to me for days and days."

Kathy fought a grin. "I can’t help it if I can keep a straight face. Must run in the family."

"That doesn’t explain why Daddy was so nice to you in there," Julie said, throwing a hand up at the wedding tent.

"Oh, that," Bobby said, scuffling his shoes in the grass. "That was, well. Something I worked out with him a couple weeks ago. The night after you showed up early at the summerhouse, I made an appointment with your dad. I went to see him at the country club, before dinner, and asked him for permission to date Kathy." Bobby shrugged. "He said yes."

"He said ‘yes’?" Julie repeated. "Just like that? He didn’t shout or throw something or carry on? He just said ‘sure, go ahead, why not’?"

"Not exactly," Bobby admitted. He glanced at Peter, as if embarrassed to admit in front of another guy what he had done for love. "Your dad made me promise to only take Kathy out by ourselves not more than one night a week, to a public place, and to have her back on those nights by 10 p.m. If I want to see her more than that, either you or one of the guys has to go with us."

"Like a chaperone?" Julie wrinkled her nose. "Ew!"

"Like a double date," Kathy rephrased. "And when he goes back to school, I’m limited to email and one phone call a week, and I’m not allowed to turn down any guys who might ask me out who might otherwise be someone I would date if Bobby were not in the picture."

"Huh?" Peter asked, still trying to follow the entire chain of events.

"She has to play the field when I’m at school," Bobby translated. "I’m not too happy about it, but what can I do? I had to agree if we were ever going to go public."

Peter nodded his head. "I think I understand. You and you," he said, pointing at Bobby and Kathy in turn, "started dating behind your parents’ backs. Julie found out and started to play her own little game, so you turned the tables on her twice. Once when you faked the break-up and now that you’ve humiliated her in front of everyone."

"Humiliate?" Kathy cried. "How have I humiliated Julie?"

"Everyone?" Bobby asked. "How is this everyone?" He gestured to include just the four of them.

Speaking evenly and maintaining direct eye contact with Kathy, Peter said, "You humiliated her even though no one else knew it. You two knew. And it was a cruel trick to play on your sister." He turned to Bobby. "You gave her no way to save face. You left her no pride. I don’t mean that that entire group of people dancing and laughing in there knows this whole, tangled mess. But as far as Julie is concerned, they may as well." He shook his head. "I don’t know. I just think that you could have come clean with Julie to start with, rather than go through this elaborate scheme to humiliate her. Even ‘privately’."

"No," Bobby said flatly, facing Peter. "You don’t understand. That girl was trying to break me and Kathy up! She would have-"

"She would have what?" Peter faced Bobby. "Told on you? So what? Apparently, all you ever needed to do was ask permission and Uncle Ed would have caved. That’s not so terrible. Hurting your girlfriend’s sister is."

"It was more my idea," Kathy admitted. Both Bobby and Peter turned back to look at her. She dared a glance at Julie, who stubbornly refused to meet anyone’s eyes. "I wanted to pay her back for following me and then spying on me."

Julie shrugged. Rather woodenly, she said, "So. You did. Congratulations. What are you going to do for an encore, hm?"

"Julie! Don’t-" Kathy began, but Julie stood abruptly, wiped furiously at her eyes, mumbled something about taking a walk and headed toward the lake. Helplessly, Kathy looked up at Bobby and Peter.

"What now?" Peter asked, shoving his hands in his pockets.

Kathy stood and brushed off her skirt. She glanced toward her sister’s departing figure, then at the boys. "I should go after her, but I know how I am when I get this way. I just want to be alone for a while." She laid a hand on Bobby’s arm. "You guys go back to the party. I’ll go talk to Julie and patch things up. We’re sisters and best friends. We’ll work it out. We always do."

Bobby began to nod but Peter shook his head. "No, don’t do that. Let her be alone if that’s what she wants. Apologize later. You guys have done enough for right now."

"But we can’t just let her wander around out there by herself," Bobby protested.

"Why not?" Peter asked. "It’s the middle of the day and there’s tons of people around. It’s not like she’s going to get lost or anything."

"No, it’s not that," he replied. "I just think someone should go after her." He regarded Peter. "Why don’t you go?"

Peter looked startled. "Me? Why me?"

Kathy moved to link her arm with Bobby’s. She began to smile as she agreed. "Oh, yeah. I think that’s perfect."

"Face it, man," Bobby said, moving back toward the tent and the music. "You’re just aching for a reason to be the one to go comfort her. Go on. Take your time. But remember," he added. "It’s the middle of the day and there are tons of people around. Including her dad!"

Peter tried to protest, but Bobby and Kathy had walked too far away. He stood for a moment in the golden sunlight, listening to the sudden bursts of laughter and applause from the wedding tent, then made his decision. He turned abruptly and followed after his cousin-by-marriage.

He found her easily enough. She hadn’t exactly tried to hide, but just leaned against the trunk of a large willow tree and stared at the rippling lake. She barely moved as he approached and spoke her name.

"Julie? Are you alright?" Peter came up very close behind her and touched her shoulder. Immediately, she gave a choked sob, whirled to face him and then buried her head on his chest. Peter’s strong arms closed around her and he held her while she cried.

*      *      *

The buffet lines had started. The first several courses complimented the earlier pass-around plates of hors d’ouevres and the crudités which had been brought to each table in turn. People knew dinner would be served around four o’clock, so they intended to eat light, but the delicious crab cakes, pastas, miniature egg rolls, palm-sized pizzas (made to order at the pasta bar), wedged or chopped tomatoes, greens, peppers and other vegetables (fresh from the Hakaito Brothers’ Market, newly remodeled and expanded), as well as the trays of dips and sauces, cold cut carrots, cauliflower, broccoli and zucchini that had been brought to each table, caused the guests to forget their intentions.

Dancing, however, helped bring back several appetites. Peter and Helen Belden, for example, found that the DJ had an excellent collection of 40s dance music. Remembering the charity dance contest the Bob Whites had organized just before Trixie’s Junior year in high school, they requested several of the tunes that the BWGs had danced to, in the hopes that one or more of the then-couples would repeat their performances.

The first one eager to do so was Dan. He dragged Anne to the empty center of the floor as the DJ hit PLAY and the opening chords to Saturday Night Fish Fry blared from the speakers. Anne, however, shook her head and told Dan in no uncertain terms, "No way!"

The music stopped. Embarrassed, Anne glanced at Trixie, the Beldens and Regan, who all stood expectantly. In explanation, she indicated her skirt. "There’s no way I’m going over your head in this!"

Dan laughed and shook his head. "So we won’t do that move. Don’t worry. It’ll be fun. Come on, you remember how this goes. Don’t you?" Anne, panicked, whimpered. Dan, eager to show off a little, signaled the DJ to begin again.

Dan grabbed Anne’s right hand in his left, counted off the beats, "Five, six, seven, eight!" He bounced her arm hard on the eighth count, then pulled her into a simple Lindy circle.

Anne found herself remembering not only the basic footwork, but the flashy moves she and Dan had added on as well. When he signaled her, she fell instantly into step for a side-to-side Charleston. She took his hand when he was ready to do a front to back Charleston. Then he pulled her in front to face him, and they face-to-face stutter-stepped.

After that, Dan began to get inventive. He maneuvered Anne so that she stood with her back to him, grabbed her hips and squeezed. Instantly, Anne clamped her hands on top of his and he lifted her, bridesmaid dress and everything, straight into the air. She came back to the wooden floor with an extra-loud clomp! and the spectators applauded.

In the Lindy Hop, the couple starts out apart, then come together for a turn, then swing apart again. It’s a ‘couple dance’, meaning the couple is supposed to maintain direct and constant eye contact with each other. When they were dating, that wasn’t a problem. Now, however, the only time Anne and Dan looked into each other’s eyes was when Anne was checking for Dan’s lead, or Dan was waiting to give the next signal. Otherwise, Anne mugged and made faces for her father and Regan’s benefit, and Dan kept his eyes on Trixie.

Regan watched his girlfriend dance with his nephew and smiled. Mr. Maypenny elbowed him gently, then leaned close to ask, "You okay with this?"

Surprised, Regan turned to the older man. "Why shouldn’t I be?"

"I don’t know. Some men don’t like seeing their girls dance with old boyfriends."

Regan dismissed the idea with a small gesture. "I’m not worried. They make a good dance team. There’s nothing wrong with that. Besides, I know my nephew and I know Anne. He’s head over heels for Trixie and she’s, well." Regan smiled, his blue eyes shining.

Maypenny nodded. "She’s just like her mother," he said. Regan questioned him with a look, so he explained. "When I was courting Katrina, I wondered if, because she liked to talk to people, men and women, that she might not be the most faithful woman I’d ever meet. Turns out Katrina just liked to talk to people. She liked to have fun and she always liked to learn new things. Anne’s like that. Just because Anne is dancing with some other man doesn’t mean she’s thinking of running away with him. She’s just having some fun."

Regan smiled in recognition. "That’s exactly it," he said. After a moment spent watching Dan lift Anne into the air, hold her in place, turn and then set her down again, Anne’s eyes closed tight in fearful panic then wide open in shock and relief that all had gone well, he clapped then leaned back toward Maypenny. "I like to watch Anne having fun. She’s such a serious person too much of the time. So closed off from people."

Maypenny nodded. "Marrying you will be good for her. You’re the least closed-off person I know. When is that going to be, anyway? I only ask because I don’t want to miss the Big Event." He winked to show he was only teasing.

"Don’t start," Regan groaned. "We’re taking a short trip tomorrow up to Rhinecliff for a flower show, believe it or not. We’ve agreed to set a date before we come back on Monday."

"Uh-huh," Maypenny said slowly, clearly doubting they would come to an agreement. "Just be sure it’s soon, all right? I won’t live forever and I want to see my only child married."

Regan clapped an arm around his old friend’s shoulders. "Don’t worry. You’ll be there to give the bride away."

The dance ended soon after. Breathless and panting, Anne took a quick bow to the applauding crowd, then left Dan’s side to hurry to Regan and her father’s. "Quick," she said, grinning. "Get me a soda. I wasn’t prepared for that much activity."

"Coming right up," her father said. "I’ll just be right back."

He left them relatively alone for a moment. The band started to play another tune and Mart led Di onto the floor. Anne kept her drooping eyes on Regan. "You having fun?" she asked.

"This is a great wedding," Regan told her. He brushed a lone strand of reddish hair off her forehead. "Your hair is still perfect. What did they do, shellac it?"

She giggled. "I think so. At one point there wash so much hair spray going off, I half expected the ozone layer to dishintegrate completely."

"Sweetheart," Regan said worriedly. "You’re slurring your words again. You sure you’ll be okay?"

Anne nodded. "I’ll be fine with some sugar. But not too much! I’m saving up for a piece of that cake."

Her father brought her the soda, she sipped it eagerly, then the trio turned to watch the rest of Mart and Di’s dance.

Thanks to the wonders of CD technology, Louis Prima was crooning, "I’m just a gigolo, everybody knows-" Mart and Di were dancing a loose-limbed combination Lindy/East Coast Swing. At the point where Di was supposed to fall onto her butt on the floor while Mart turned her in a circle then pull her back up, she merely moved in a circle, then hopped a bit to signal the return to her feet.

"What was that?" Mart asked loudly, for the benefit of the crowd.

"I’m not getting this dress dirty!" She snapped back. The crowd laughed and applauded her pert reply. They finished the number to an enthusiastic response.

Bobby and Kathy returned to the tent and the dance floor to find Trixie and Nick Roberts dancing a slow blues to Minnie the Moocher. "Wow," Bobby breathed. "Trixie’s good."

Kathy sharply elbowed Bobby’s side. "Of course she is. She’s Trixie," she said, as if that made perfect sense. "You should really tell your sister how you feel."

"Aw," Bobby hedged. "She knows how I feel."

"I don’t think so. Not all the time, anyway."

The couple joined in with the rest of the crowd singing, ‘Hi-de-hi-de-hi-de-hi,’ and ‘Whoa-ho-ho-ho-ho’, ‘Hoo-de-hoo-de-hoo’, ‘Hi-de-hi-de-hi'.

At the end of the song, as Cab Calloway sang, "Poor Min," Nick turned and slowly walked away from Trixie, leaving her alone on the floor. Had there been a spotlight trained on her, the scene would have been complete. As it was, the crowd applauded wildly. Trixie and Nick took their bows, then she headed straight for Dan’s congratulatory hug.

On the other side of the floor, Ruth asked Jim, "Why didn’t you participate in that old dance contest? I mean, Lester and I did, but that was more of a Third Hand decision."

Jim took a deep breath and wondered how he could explain what had happened. "I sort of dropped out of the whole thing halfway through. I was going to dance with Trixie. We had a routine all worked out to… what was that song? ‘Please, Mr. Shane’, or something like that. But there was a major falling-out and, well. I didn’t even go to the event."

Ruth nodded. "I see." There was a slightly awkward pause.

"Yeah, well," Jim began again. "I really shouldn’t have allowed things to get so far out of hand. It was for a real good charity. I shouldn’t have left Trixie two days to come up with a new partner and a new routine. That was unfair."

"Maybe," Ruth allowed. "But she and Nick did an excellent job. They won the contest, you know."

"Yeah, I know." Jim laughed harshly. "Guess I wasn’t as important as I thought I was, huh."

Ruth laughed, too, but with genuine humor. "Come on, Jim! Who of us is? In the general scheme of things, I mean."

He looked at her in surprise. "But don’t you think there’s only one perfect match for each person? Don’t you believe that we are destined to meet and fall in love with only one person and if we screw that up we’re sunk?"

She stared at him. "Of course not! If that were true, then what am I doing the rest of my life? I’m just going to take care of Steven and that’s it? Never fall in love again? Forget what it feels like to be in love? Forget the entire rest of my life? Jim! I’m only twenty-seven years old. How can this be ‘it’ for me?"

Jim looked almost miserable, but he persisted anyway. "Maybe Lester was ‘it’ for you? What if that’s true?"

She laughed again. "That’s ridiculous. Lester and I had a good marriage. A wonderful marriage. If he were still alive, we’d be next on that dance floor and you and I would just be getting reacquainted in only the most superficial way." She took his hand in hers and their fingers sorted out a comfortable arrangement. "Instead, this is how my life is going and I’m going to make the best of it. I had a good marriage once. I can do that again. I’ve just got to find the right guy. Any clues as to where I might look for one?"

Jim looked from Ruth’s ice blue eyes to her white-blonde hair pulled up into a French twist to her pink lips and her hand resting comfortably in his. "I’m not the detective around here, but all the same, I think I can help you. Shouldn’t be too difficult."

She smiled up at him. "Thanks, and I agree. It shouldn’t be too difficult at all."

They were next interrupted by the emcee handing the microphone to Brian, who called for everyone’s attention. "Ten years or so ago, I was scheduled to have a dance with Honey Wheeler, but due to circumstances beyond either of ours control, that dance got cancelled. Since we’ve been reliving that night this afternoon, I wonder if I might prevail upon the Fates to allow my wife and I to have that dance that we never got all those years ago. Honey? May I have this dance?"

Honey smiled and met him in the center of the floor. The DJ started the CD and soon Frank Sinatra crooned easily, "Fly me to the moon, and let me live among the stars-"

Mart handed a glass of ice water to Di and said, "Thanks for doing that with me earlier. That was nice of you."

"Your mother told me if we didn’t agree to do it, she wouldn’t suggest it at all to anyone." Diana shrugged. "What could I do? I knew the others would get a kick out of it, and I hoped Brian and Honey would get their dance."

"Still," Mart went on. "It can’t have been easy. Especially with your parents over there glaring at us the entire time."

"They were glaring at you, not me," she replied. There was a gap of silence, then she turned to him. "You want to take a walk? I think we need to straighten a few things out."

In response, Mart grabbed her hand and headed toward the nearest exit.

*     *     *

"How are you feeling?"

Julie pulled away from Peter's arms and wiped at her eyes. She motioned she was unsure of her feelings. She didn't look at him.

Peter moved a little away from her and stared toward the lake. He asked, "Is this a lake or a pond? I've always wondered how that gets decided." He glanced her way with a small grin. "Being from the desert, it's not like I've got much experience with large bodies of water."

She made as if to reply, then stopped. Then she said finally, "It's a lake. Ponds are smaller and I think it also has to do with if there's an underground supply of water or if it's just filled with runoff." She glanced at him, then continued. "There's a wading pond at Bobby's place. The water level rises and falls according to the season, but the lake remains pretty much the same. Except when we've got really bad drought, of course."

He nodded. "Of course." They lapsed a moment into silence, then he commented, "You're really smart."

"Oh, stop it. I am not," she contradicted sourly.

"What's wrong with being smart?"

"Everything."

"I don't understand."

She groaned, then leaned back against the trunk of the willow tree. "All my life I've been smart. Kathy and me, we're the 'smart girls'. The ones in class with the brains. The good grades. No friends and no dates. Up till now," she said, defiantly staring at him. "Up till now, I just hoped that that was because people knew we weren't allowed to date until we turned sixteen. Now I know that my parents were just trying to save us face. If we weren't allowed to date, then it wouldn't matter if we weren't asked."

Peter smiled gently. "So now that you know that someone wants to date one of you, you're afraid that means no one will want to date the other one of you?"

"Well?" she asked plaintively. "It's true, isn't it? It's happened, after all! She's got a boyfriend and I don't!"

He took a deep breath and asked flat out, "Do you love Bobby? Is that what this was really all about? You wanting your sister's boyfriend?"

Julie groaned miserably. Frustrated, she shook out her hands, then folded her arms tight. "No. Not - not really. I mean, I like Bobby and all, and he's really cute, but when he kissed me, it wasn't what I expected. Not really."

"He kissed you?" Peter repeated.

"Of course, he did," she said. "When he thought I was Kathy. Or rather, when I thought he thought I was Kathy." She sucked in her lower lip and chewed on it briefly. She glanced up at him through dark eyelashes, then stared down at his shoes. "It was my first kisses and they weren't even that special."

Peter glanced up the hill toward the wedding tent, then down toward the lake. A few people strolled arm in arm across the grounds up the hill closer to the house, and a few servants hurried to and from the tent bearing trays and supplies. He heard music and laughter drift down the hill on a slow summer breeze. Leaves rustled and the willow's branches creaked high above. He said softly, "That wasn't your first kiss. That doesn't even count."

"Huh?" She looked up at him. "How can that not count?"

He smiled. "He didn't know it was you. Well, he knew it was you, but he also didn't care. Well, he did care, but-" He broke off. "This is so confusing!" Julie laughed a little and he felt better for hearing it. "I mean, you can't count it because neither of you could approach it like it really was your first kiss. He didn't want to kiss you and you couldn't make a big deal about it because you were pretending you'd been kissed before." He thought about what he just said, then nodded with satisfaction. "Got that?"

"I think so," she said, but she sounded unconvinced. "I mean, it's not like I really want Bobby for myself. I just want someone to want me. Is that so terrible?"

"Of course not," Peter assured her.

"I wanted my first kiss to be memorable. Special, even." She shook her head. "Instead, it all happened because I told a lie and wanted to hurt my sister. Some memory."

"Hey," he said, reaching out to lift her chin with his fingers. "I thought we discussed that. That was not your first kiss. This is."

With his fingers still on her chin, he came very close to her. His thumb stroked her lower lip, his other hand cupped the back of her neck and he drew her away from the tree to lean lightly against him. His dark, dark eyes looked deep into hers, then closed as he moistened his lips. Her head fell back, the breeze tugged at her hair, her eyes closed and then his lips pressed ever so gently against hers. His lips rested for a moment, moved slightly, then retreated. He let his forehead touch hers and they opened their eyes.

Julie smiled. She almost giggled. She let her hands rest on his waist and whispered, "Besa me mucho."

"Huh?" he asked, then he understood. "We'll have to work on your Spanish," he grinned, then complied with her request.

*     *     *

Loic Belden, Katje Vorwald, Dodgy Dodge, Steven Kettner-Mundy, Hank Meiser, Jr., TJ Delanoy, Davy Maypenny and several Kennedy Kids realized that the adults were way too busy dancing and drinking to spend much time chasing them, so they ran off to have fun. They managed to get several cans of soda and three plates of dinner each and squeeze it all under the stage. There, they watched everything, ate everything, drank everything and giggled.

"Who are all those kids?" Terry asked, when at one point four of them raced between him and Tina.

"Why ask me?" Tina replied, batting her huge brown eyes. "These are all your friends and stuff."

Larry handed his brother a soda and explained. "Those are the ubiquitous kids you see at every wedding. You know, the kind you have to rent out because no festive occasion is complete without screaming little brats running every which way, terrorizing good and decent folks like you and me. And the ladies, too, of course," he added, nodding to Lulu and Tina.

"Why so cynical, Larry?" Lulu asked. "Don't you like kids? Don't you want some of your own one day?"

"My kids will never misbehave," he said confidently. "They'll be perfectly respectable, perfectly mannered. They would never-. Well. They wouldn't hurt a perfect stranger just doing his job."

Terry choked on his soda. Tina asked, still batting her eyes, "What are you talking about? The emcee? The waiters? Who did the kids hurt?"

"It's not them," Terry began, then started laughing helplessly. "Sorry, man. I don't mean it. It's just that, well. Wherever we go, you know?"

Larry glared at his brother. He knew very well what seemed to happen 'everywhere they went.' Lulu, however, did not. She pressed the issue. "What happened? Tell us! Please?"

"I'll tell them," Terry volunteered. His brother frowned, but the girls turned radiant smiles on him, so how could Terry refuse? "You two remember the Memorial Day parade?" he asked. They nodded.

"Of course we do," Lulu replied. "We were on the TV station float, remember? My mom works for the station, so we got to smile and wave at people. It was fun."

"Gosh, Lulu!" Tina said. "Remember what happened to Itchy and Scratchy?" She turned to Larry. "You weren't there, but some little girl just ran out into the street and jumped Scratchy and kicked him."

Larry held up his hand to stop her. "I don't want to talk about it," he declared, then grabbed Lulu's hand and walked away.

Moments later, Terry and Tina erupted into volcanoes of laughter.

*     *     *

Diana and Mart found a shady stone bench and sat down. A violinist strolled slowly past them, paused, then walked on. They greeted Peter and Julie as they walked side by side back toward the tent. "Dinner's been served for a while now," Diana informed her sister. "Where've you two been?"

Julie glanced up at Peter, then said, "I was just showing him the lake. That's all."

"It's kind of crowded in there," Peter explained. "So many people I don't know. But dinner sounds good. I'm starving."

"It is good," Mart agreed. "Especially try the Beef Wellington. It's extraordinary." Peter said he would look for it, then he escorted Julie back to the tent.

Handel's Water Music floated on the floral-scented breeze. A few fluffy clouds skated across the brilliantly blue sky. Mart sat very close to Diana, yet they said nothing.

"So!" Mart finally began. "How's your life been so far?"

Diana let out the breath she'd inadvertently been holding onto. "My life?" she asked rhetorically. "My life has been nothing but one thrill after another. How about yours?"

"Mine?" he asked. "Same old, same old. You don't sound too thrilled, though."

"I'm not," she said simply. "My life has not turned out to be anything like I thought it would be."

"How'd you think it would be?"

She shrugged. "I'm not sure. I just figured that by the time I was twenty-six I'd be married, or at least close to it. If I were, I'd have kids. I probably wouldn't work. Or at least I'd have some flexible job. I'm not a 'nine-to-five' person." She glanced around them. "It wouldn't be anything like this."

"Frankly, from where I'm sitting, your life isn't so bad."

She regarded him dourly. "My life is NOT all that Hollywood glamour and glitz you hear so much about, you know."

"I don't mean that," he said, but she wasn't finished.

"And finding out your fiancé is more interested in your ex-boyfriend than you isn't exactly cause for celebration."

"I don't mean that, either!"

"And knowing that you'll probably never get married now because you just can't trust what your heart tells you shouldn't be high on anyone's list of how they want to spend their summer vacation!"

"Diana!" Mart finally said. "Shut up a minute, okay?" He waited to be sure she would remain quiet. "I said your life isn't so bad, because it isn't. You've got a great job that you're terrific at. You've got a close-knit, protective family that loves you. You've got great friends." He shrugged. "What more do you really need?"

She rolled her violet eyes. "I want to be married."

"You say that," Mart told her. "But I think you just want someone to call your own. You should consider concentrating on yourself for a change. That's something I've always known about you. You rely on exterior forces to validate your self-worth. You need to rely on you."

Diana shook her head with a grin. "Dan says the same thing. Only without the fancy words."

"Oh?"

"Yeah." She laughed. "He says to me," and she dropped her voice to a growl, "'Hey. Di. Make yourself happy. Got it?'"

Mart laughed at her imitation. "So, if the two of us agree," he said, "what's stopping you from doing it?"

"Well, I am, of course."

He leaned close to her. "Is that what your heart tells you?" Her eyes jumped to meet his. "If so, I think you should listen. Your heart has probably always been telling you the same thing. 'Make yourself happy first, then find someone to be happy with'. Am I right?"

Diana nodded her head. "Pretty much. Trouble is, I could have sworn Thomas was The One."

"Why?"

"He fit the prophecy," she said, as if it were obvious. Mart just blinked at her. "You know. The prophecy?"

"Oh!" The light bulb went off in his head. "You don't still believe in that, do you?"

"Why not? It's come true so far!"

"Not for Anne, obviously," he said.

"It could have!" she retorted. "If she hadn't straightened herself out, she wouldn't be here now, and she certainly wouldn't be here with Regan!"

"And the others?" Mart challenged.

Diana made a scoffing noise. "Brian? Dan? Ten Acres? Weren't you there?"

"I remember your prophecy," he said quietly. "I remember it real well."

Just as quietly, she said, "When I met Thomas, I thought he was the guy. I was wrong." She frowned. "Or am I supposed to marry him anyway?"

"Don't marry someone just to fulfill a prophecy," Mart warned her. "No matter how much you may believe in it. It can't be worth it, in the end."

"Maybe you're right," she said. "I should focus on the future, not the past."

"That's always a commendable strategy. I mean, a good plan," he corrected himself.

"I know what you meant, Mart," she chided him. "I'm not stupid."

"I never said you were!"

"Funny," she said. "I always sensed you thought so little of my intelligence. That you regarded me more as window dressing than as a conversational partner. Why is that, I wonder?"

"Probably because you were so beautiful you made me nervous," he replied honestly.

She frowned. "Do I still make you nervous?"

He smiled. "You're even more beautiful. What do you think?"

"I think you got used to me."

Mart laughed then. "Forget it, Diana! I could never get used to you."

She laughed, too, and suddenly she found herself enjoying his company a lot more than she ever expected to. It wasn't the same as it had been when they were teenagers. They'd never be that way again. But they had started on a path that each of them hoped would lead them to a stronger friendship, a better way of looking at the world and each other.

They had started back on the path to their future.

*     *     *

"May I have your attention please? Does everyone have something to toast the newlyweds with? Good. Okay. (ahem) As the Best Man, it is part of my duties to give the first toast to the bride and groom, so here it is. Honey has been the best thing in my life for such a long time, I sometimes think she's always been my sister. And Brian has been the closest thing I've ever had to a brother, so seeing them married and happy together has been the best gift I could ever receive. Brian, Honey, I wish you both a long life, peace and prosperity, to never know sadness or pain without finding happiness or comfort in each other's heart. In short, I wish you the best life has to offer. To Brian and Honey."

*     *     *

"Come on, everybody! They're going to cut the cake!"

The call went out. One and all, the guests strolled eagerly to the tent. What would happen next? Who would eat the cake and who would wear it? The pastry chef himself pushed his two-tier, exquisitely decorated with marzipan cupids, doves and more gilt roses masterpiece to the center of the dance floor. With a formal bow, he presented the huge, pearl-handled cake knife to Honey, then stepped back.

Honey grinned up at Brian. "Ready?" she asked. He nodded, then stepped beside her. The photographer framed his shot, then began snapping pictures.

Brian laid his hand on top of Honey's on the knife, his other hand on her waist. They smiled for the first picture, then concentrated on sliding the knife through the layers of frosting, cake and filling. They made the second cut, then gently slid the wedge onto a small white plate.

Giggling, Honey lifted the plate and held it between herself and Brian. "Ready?" she asked again. He nodded. "I'll go first," she volunteered.

The crowd began singing, "The bride feeds the groom, the bride feeds the groom-!" as she picked up a small piece of cake and brought it to Brian's mouth. Hesitantly, his eyes on Honey and trying to determine her true intention, he quickly wrapped his lips around the cake and her fingers, then gently removed the confection.

Honey handed Brian the cake, then wiped her hand clean with a napkin. Brian held up a bit of the cake in his hands, high over her head. Honey had no choice but to tilt her head back and open her mouth like a baby bird. The crowd sang, "The groom feeds the bride, the groom feeds the bride-!" Brian laid the cake in her mouth, then gently brushed the tip of her nose with frosting.

Honey shrieked, and would have wiped the frosting off herself, had Brian not volunteered.

The chef rolled the cake away to be cut and served. Moments later, the dessert bar opened.

Coffees and teas from around the world. Four kinds of cheesecake (New York, chocolate swirl, raspberry & cream, lemon). Dipping chocolate (white, milk and dark) and sliced fruit (bananas, strawberries, raspberries, red apples, cherries). A groom's cake (chocolate fudge). Iced cream (vanilla, chocolate, strawberry and peach). Toppings (sprinkles, chocolate chips, fudge, caramel, strawberry sauce, whipped cream, chopped nuts). Other cakes (pound, red scarlet, spice). Pudding (chocolate, vanilla, bread). Cookies (chocolate chip, windmill, oatmeal raisin, sugar). Candy (caramels, peppermint sticks, chocolate covered cherries, coconut clusters).

Anne took one look at the long table of sweets and reached for her insulin kit. "It can't be good for me to even be breathing this air!" she said to Regan. "Just get me a small slice of wedding cake. That's all I planned for, anyway." She sat down at her father's table to wait his return. But when Regan came back, he brought more than just the cake.

Anne looked up in surprise. "What's all this? I can't have any of this."

"Yes, you can," Regan told her. "Brian and Honey made sure they had something for you to eat that was sugar-free. You and anyone else watching their sugar, actually." He indicated the three chocolate covered strawberries, the spice cake and the caramels. "Take your pick. All of these are made with sugar substitute or are sugar-free. I can't vouch for the taste, but they shouldn't hurt you, either."

She sat for a moment and stared happily at her dessert plate, which looked for the first time like everyone else's at the table: full of sweet treats. "This is so thoughtful of them! I'll have to thank Honey and Brian for this later. You, I can thank now!" She leaned over and grabbed Regan's tie, then pulled him toward her for a thorough kiss.

When she released him, he blinked at her for a moment, then said, "I could get you another plate. I think the pudding was sugar-free, too."

*     *     *

The photographer wanted to take more pictures of the bride and groom outside, to catch the late afternoon sunlight. By the time they returned to the reception, the staff had begun hanging lanterns in the trees and inside the tent, but the need to light them was still some time off.

The emcee called next for everyone to gather round. The groom was ready to hunt for the garter.

Honey sat in a chair and crossed her legs. Brian knelt in front of her with a devilish grin on his face.

"What do you have planned?" she asked him, but he refused to answer. Instead, as the emcee egged him on, Brian's hand slid up underneath Honey's white skirt, lingered while Honey blushed furiously and the crowd cheered and laughed, then pulled her bright blue garter over her knee and past her shoe. With a wink, he kissed her white-stockinged knee, then stood.

Brian regarded the crowd with a grin, twirling the garter over one finger like a tiny hula hoop. The emcee called for all the single men over the age of eighteen to gather to one side of the dance floor. Mart, Jim, Dan, Bobby, Terry, Larry were only a few of the eligible males who swarmed in response to the summons. Brian laughed at them all, then turned and chucked the balled-up garter over his shoulder.

To no one's surprise but his own, Cap Belden caught the garter. He regarded the frilly and virtually useless elastic garment dubiously, but strode forward to stand near Brian to pose for a picture.

The single women crowded forward next. Trixie kept her mouth shut and listened as one of the women, a friend of the Wheelers' certainly, said of the long-haired, clearly uncomfortable in dress clothes, mountain man, "I could eat him with a spoon!"

So when Honey geared up and let go of her small, tossable, bouquet, Trixie was unprepared. The flowers missed Anne's outstretched hands completely and smacked Trixie in the head. Thinking quickly, Ruth snatched the bouquet as it fell to the ground. "Well, what do you know?" she said. "I'm next to get married."

The next few minutes, as Cap pushed the garter higher and higher on Ruth's slender leg (the number of inches above the knee translated into the number of years of good luck for the bride and groom times ten), passed in a pleasant fog for Honey and Brian. Tossing the bouquet was the last required element of the reception. All they had left to do was to retreat to Manor House to change into traveling clothes, then head through the soap bubble gauntlet to the car, and leave.

Soon, they would be alone.

Blowing soap bubbles at the bride and groom had become almost de riguer for weddings in the past several years. Birds ate rice which swelled up in their stomachs and killed them. Birdseed, a good second choice, could hurt if thrown incorrectly. Bubbles, however, were soft, beautiful and environmentally sound. Besides, bubbles were In.

*     *     *

Trixie watched as Tom pulled a specially decorated white limo onto the lawn. While Brian and Honey changed clothes, the groomsmen, Cap, Knut, both Peters, Dr. Ed, and the male Lynch twins blew up white, green and gold balloons and stuffed them in the back seat. They brought out a huge 'Just Married' sign and attached it to the rear bumper. Tom drew the line, however, at tin cans. "I don't need to hear that rattling as I go down the road!" he stated.

Trixie hadn't had an opportunity to speak to her brother or her new sister-in-law about his wedding, but she had realized she probably wouldn't get the chance. Tucked in her small purse, she had a letter she'd composed several days before. She handed the letter to Knut and asked him to put it inside where Brian would be sure to see it. Brushing a tear from her eye, she saw Dan staring at her. She smiled at him, and he approached.

"You okay?" he asked.

"Just feeling a little post-wedding let-down, I think," she replied. "A touch of melancholia. Nothing fatal."

"I hope not," he said. "I miss your smile. How about you and me get together later on at your place? It'll seem awfully empty without Honey there. You probably shouldn't be alone. Unless you want to be, of course." He shoved his hands in his pockets, pushing the cutaway jacket out of the way.

She thought about it. Dan certainly looked handsome in the black tuxedo, but then, most men did. Even her brother Mart had looked dapper. She shrugged. "Sounds okay. What'd you think of the wedding? Did you like it?"

"It's not what I would have done, but then, I'm not a Wheeler, nor am I likely to marry one." She watched him grin and smiled in return. He moved to stand next to her and they both watched as the other men pushed balloons into the limo and hung streamers inside, attaching them to the door handles. Trixie slipped her arm around Dan's waist and leaned her head on his chest. She pulled his right arm around her own waist and held it firmly in place. "It was a real nice wedding," he continued, more softly because she stood so close to him. "The food was excellent, the band was good, the DJ had a nice selection of music, but dancing with you was the highlight of the entire day."

"Really?" she asked, though she had thought the same thing of him.

"So was the half hour or so I just sat and listened to you and your Aunt Alicia discuss owning your own business with Ruth, Jim and Cap."

"But you didn't say anything," she pointed out. "You could have. You know from working with Regan what it's like. We weren't closing you out or ignoring you."

"I know," he assured her with another squeeze. "But that's not the point."

"What is?"

He dropped a kiss on the top of her head, then turned her in his arms to face him. "Trixie," he said softly and sincerely. "I simply like being with you. No matter what we end up doing. I just enjoy your company."

She thought about it. She smiled up at him. She told him how she felt. Then she showed him.

They were still kissing when Miss Trask came from the front door and announced the bride and groom were ready. The crowd of well-wishers lined up on either side of the long walkway to the limo and prepared their soap bubble wands. As the doors opened and the newlyweds appeared, Honey in a smart white suit, Brian in a sports jacket and Dockers, everyone cheered and then blew.

Bubbles shot forth from every wand, then floated in the air, suspended in the breeze, dancing in the wake of Brian and Honey's progress. Laughing, waving to everyone, shouting their good-byes, Honey and Brian hugged as many of their friends and new relatives as they could, promised to call before they left and then at least once from France, got in the limo, laughed at all the balloons, and allowed Tom to shut the door.

Celia hugged her son goodbye, told him to 'be good for Miss Trask' and got into the front seat. Tom hugged his son, then got into the driver's side. He had rolled up the privacy window to control the balloons' potential invasion of the front seat, so he had to use the phone to make sure the Belden-Wheelers were ready to go. Since they were, he started the engine and slowly drove along the driveway.

As the white stretch limo negotiated the gentle curves of the Manor House drive, sudden fireworks shot up from small pots hidden beside the curbs on either side. White and gold sparks and chunks of flame shot up almost twenty feet into the air, flared for several seconds, then faded as the limo passed. It was the perfect send-off from father to daughter and her new life.

As the limo turned onto Glen and then pulled from view, Trixie felt Dan's strong arms hug her from behind. He kissed her gently on her ear and she snuggled into his strong embrace and closed her eyes. The sunlight streamed golden across the green grass as the guests began to send the valets for their cars, overtired and overstuffed children complained about having to go home and musicians started to play a familiar tune.

Dan whispered, "May I have this dance?"

He turned her once more in his embrace. Holding her close, he gently placed her arms around his neck and laid his cheek next to hers. As he and Trixie began to sway to the distant music, he sang softly to her, "Dreams enfold you, in each one I'll hold you. Good night, Sweetheart, good night."

The End

Trixie Belden Fan Fiction