Melodic Redemption

by oyster50

Copyright© 2012 by oyster50

Description: A long time ago in a land far, far away, a young combat engineer lieutenant had a very bad day. Sometimes not ALL the scars are on the outside. Now he's out, gainfully employed and a friend's sideline project has him working with a university orchestra. Here's this one girl. No reason for a connection, but one happens. she finds out about him. And he finds out about himself.

Tags: Ma/Fa, Consensual, Romantic, Heterosexual, First, Oral Sex, Petting

Published: 2012-12-30

Updated: 2014-06-02

Size: ≈ 198600 Words

Introduction

Men are supposed to be strong. They're supposed to overcome and endure. Former Army engineer Lieutenant Randall 'Stonewall' Jackson is one of those who endured. In Iraq, a bad day got him out of the Army. Some of the scars showed on the outside. Some didn't.

Stoney has nightmares.

Stoney's out of the Army now, and working for an engineering firm in a big city. One of his buddies is parlaying industrial engineering knowledge into sound recording and they need a guinea pig. Actually, an orchestra full of guinea pigs.

While they're setting up equipment for the first full-scale orchestra recording he meets Johanna. 'Jo'. She's in the orchestra, playing her flute, totally in love with her music.

Now we have two of them.

Chapter 1

It happened again last night. Somewhere around one AM I was sitting up in bed, covers tossed off, sweating. No the room wasn't hot.

I would even be happy that I was worrying about bills or leaky roof or plumbing or that funny noise the car makes. Wasn't, though.

I needed the sleep. I have a job. No, I don't stack jeans at Wal-Mart. Late arrival to the engineering game. I started right out of high school and then Dad's business went belly up. Rather than take out student loans, I did ROTC and out of college went on active duty. Ended up in Iraq.

I thought that a graduate engineer would be one of those 'behind the lines' job, but the title is 'combat engineer' and in Iraq after the big battle, that whole 'line' thing went away. I had the engineering platoon of a tank battalion. It's one of many things I've been wrong about. Tanks. Armor. Combat arms. Hot zones. All that was part of my participation. And when the Iraqi government and army fell, there we were in a makeshift base camp trying to keep the lid on a country that had lost the strong man who kept the lid on various factions.

Factions, groups, each thinking that the country would be better off if two things happened. The first was if THEY were in charge, and the second was if WE were gone. It took no time before we found that every cockeyed group in the country harbored a grudge against us.

Between us and other base camps were roads and just about every supply we needed came in on trucks over those roads. Naturally, it occurred to our 'friends' that if you messed with the roads you messed with EVERYBODY, including rival groups AND the Americans.

A lot of people don't know whose job it is to make sure roads are safe and mine and bomb free. I have two words for you: Combat Engineers.

I suppose that some people would liken it to a game. Every morning we'd run out the gate, me and a couple of my soldiers in a Hummer, a couple of Abrams tanks, another Hummer and three soldiers. A third Hummer with a trailer full of blocks of C-4 explosives and other tools of the trade.

The tanks were our watchdogs. The Iraqi insurgents hated 'em. Nothing they had, RPGs, small arms, would do more than aggravate an Abrams and that 120 mm gun was a very definitive expression of 'don't do THAT again'. We usually had a couple of Apache helicopters up there somewhere, too, but they usually watched US and a few other similar activities in a pretty good sized area.

The drill was simple: Run up the road, looking for the telltales of a new IED. That's Improvised Explosive Device. Think a bomb or artillery shell or two, buried in a hole, with a wire or a cellphone set up to receive the command to blow up. Then our worthy opponent would sit a convenient distance away and wait for something to come by that was worth blowing up.

And we'd go out every morning and find the new bombs and de-activate them. In most cases, this was simple: Locate the bomb. Put a few pounds of C-4 next to it. Blow it up. Simple, on the surface, at least. Remember that 'remote' thing? Our friends got better and better. First few weeks, we just looked for the wire. Then they got wise and we had to start doing some electronic things, jamming cellphone signals.

Finally we got 'Robbie'. Robbie was a robot, a little tracked thing with a camera and a shotgun head. Instead of me sending a real live human (or me. Don't ask your men to do something YOU won't do yourself) to go poke in the vicinity of the bomb, we'd unload Robbie and control him out there, look at what he saw, and decide on the next step.

I won't bore you with the details of how we did what we did, but there were some things that we keyed on. Disturbed dirt. Our main 'road' wouldn't be a good goatpath in the states. It was hardened mud. Hardened. And any time you saw something that wasn't hardened mud, we suspected a bomb. Most of the time we were right.

Another one was the 'dead donkey' trick. Donkeys were common transport in the area. Some of them, sadly, did not fare well in the occasional firefight. Donkeys know little about blast radii of mortar rounds and penetrative capabilities of small arms fire, and the lack of knowledge means, all too often, a dead donkey. A dead donkey where we'd had some vigorous interaction with our 'neighbors' was one thing. The random appearance of a dead donkey on the side of the road was reason for suspicion. You can hide a lot under a dead donkey, or inside a dead donkey. And after a day or two under the Iraqi sun, a dead donkey provides its own olfactory brand of security.

And one fine day, a donkey played a part in the incident that ended my military career.

Lead team was me, my driver, a hulking black guy from South Carolina, and our gunner, a Southern white boy manning our beloved M-2 machinegun in a ring mount on top of the vehicle.

Second Hummer, that was one of my engineering teams.

And the last Hummer, with Robby in a little trailer. No tanks today. Kinder gentler rules of engagement, you know. The appearance of sixty-ton behemoths on their streets was disturbing to the gentle folk therein. I missed my tanks, although I'd never admit that to the tanker that frequented our after-hours gabfests.

A pair of Apache helicopters swooped by noisily, scanning our route before we left, then they disappeared into the distance with other fish to fry.

Out of the compound and up the road and I'm scanning ahead with binoculars. I see it, about the same time that SPC (that's 'specialist', an enlisted rank in the army) Whiteboy said "Dead mule up there, El Tee. "El Tee" is the abbreviation for lieutenant in the Army, "LT", and it's as good as 'Sir' in informal situations.

"I got 'im, Smitty. And that's not a mule, it's a donkey. You know the Quran forbids mules."

"Mule, donkey, whatever. He's fresh from yesterday. You think?"

"I think we send Robby to look." I spoke on the radio and out column halted. The guys in the last Hummer unloaded Robby and one of them came up with the controller in his hands, running the little robot. I stood beside him, looking at the camera's screen. The little tracked 'bot whined and bounced up the road the hundred and fifty yards to the target donkey. The operator panned the camera. Nothing.

They ran Robby around the other side, the four legs of the donkey stiffly protruding. More camera viewing. Nothing. No disturbed earth. NO incision or open gut where the donkey may have been loaded. However...

"Five pounds of C-4 ought to make sure," I said. "Bring Robby back and let him set it."

Whine bounce shuffle and the robot was back. One of my soldiers prepped the charge, including the detonator, set it on the robot, handy for its arm to pick up and place, and then with the charge set, the robot would back up a safe distance and pop the charge. The donkey would mostly disappear, and if there was a nefarious device, it would either explode or its presence would be revealed in the new crater.

BOOM! New crater. Bits of donkey fluttering wetly down, completing the circle of life, and after the dust and smoke cleared, the resulting crater showed no signs of any bomb.

A thought entered my head. Decoy. And from my youth in the marshes hunting ducks, I knew that when you set a decoy, you do it so your quarry comes in where you want them.

"Mount up and MOVE!" I shouted. My shouts coincided with the sounds of the first incoming mortar rounds. And these guys knew what they were doing. That wasn't surprising. We, the coalition forces, had literally torn apart the Iraqi army without killing everyone nor confiscating their weapons. A lot of ordnance had disappeared simply because it was all over out there and we couldn't collect it all. And of all things, a mortar tube looks like a piece of pipe unless you look closely and the whole stinkin' country was an ammo dump.

And right now some of that stuff we missed was raining down. Fortunate thing: They didn't have the road zeroed, so the first rounds were a couple of hundred yards off target. Unfortunate thing: Whoever was calling corrections could both SEE us AND he knew what he as doing. I was in the middle of the makings of a paragraph in a war report.

In the Hummer I was on the radio. "Panther base, this is Shovel Six. We're taking mortar fire."

"Roger, Shovel Six. Guns is on the horn to Divarty right now. We're sending the QRF." 'Guns' was our artillery forward observer. Divarty was the division artillery and they had some technology that would pinpoint the origin of the projectiles fired at us and relay that information to some artillery unit that had a good shot at the target. The QRF was the quick reaction force, a little party of tanks and armored personnel carriers that would show up to overpower any sticky situation.

Trouble was, our situation was degrading faster than any hope of either development helping us. The second and third rounds of the mortar fire hit the road behind us. Spotter rounds. The next one was close enough for mortars. We were screwed. A dozen (I know. I counted) rained down. The trailing Hummer was on its side, burning. The leader Hummer, mine, lifted in the air and slewed sideways at an angle that told me it wasn't going anywhere.

Smitty was slumped down in the gunmount, dark wetness spreading down his side.

"Unass this thing," I told the driver. "Help me get Smitty."

We were wrestling with Smitty, every move we made provoking sharp cries, but I could smell smoke and I figured that pain was a better alternative to roasting in a burning vehicle.

The heavy machinegun on the second Hummer opened up as we dragged Smitty to the roadside. I saw flying mud brick where the fifty-caliber bullets worked over a doorway. There was a dead, VERY dead Iraqi in the door, an RPG thrown into the street in front of him. But there were several others running out of other buildings, all still a hundred meters off, and my soldier in the middle Hummer was the only one in position to do anything about it.

Until the first of three RPG rounds impacted his Hummer.

Davis and I had Smitty behind a bit of roadside debris and between us we had two M-16 rifles against at least a dozen insurgents who were screaming praises to Allah as they rushed forward carrying AK-47's and a couple of RPG's.

"Fuckety fuck fuck fuck," I spat, trying to target the nearest. Davis was doing his best to match me word for word and round for round. He emptied out his rifle before I did and did a fast magazine change, and that's when the RPG hit the pile of debris in front of us. Smitty didn't know it, being unconscious and looking pretty dead. Davis was on his back, blood puddling in the dirt below him. I rolled back over, sighted on the nearest insurgent, and pulled the trigger. Nothing. I rotated the rifle to clear the stoppage and saw where a steel shard had trashed the aluminum receiver of my rifle.

"Fucked. I am TRULY fucked," I said, then I saw Davis' rifle. I tried to crawl and that's the first time I realized that I was hit. Left leg no workee. Right leg. Push. Grab rifle. Sight. Dirty white pajamas and black wool vest. Squeeze. Again. He stopped. Next target. Squeeze. "Shit!" Flip switch to 'burst' and catch the next one. Oh shit! Motherfucker with an RPG. I'm boned. Shoot! He fires at the same time I do and the rocket hits behind me and he's out of the game. His buddy, though ... I'm on my back, blood in my face. Mine. Can't see. Left hand won't get to my face. Right hand. Wipe. Grab rifle. Turbaned, bearded face, with a big-assed knife in his hand. I lift the rifle. One trigger pull. Three rounds, three hits. And I'm out.

The next thing I remember is waking up under bright lights, naked, wrapped in a sheet, IV's in both arms.

"Welcome back, lieutenant," a nurse said. "Doctor, he's back."

"I hope he's ugly," I croaked.

"Who?" the nurse asked. "The doctor?"

"Yeah," I said, "Because you look like an angel." Then I realized I wasn't seeing out of my left eye. Dark.

The doctor walked up, mask dangling off an ear. "Lieutenant Jackson, welcome back."

I breathed. Oxygen cannula was at my nose. "Glad to be ... Where?"

"Twenty-first Evac. But not for long. You're going to Germany on the next flight out."

"How long?"

"Maybe eight hours."

I closed my eyes for a second. "The others..."

"Not sure. I got SPC Smith in here. He'll be on the plane with you. There's a PFC Lemmon. He'll go back to his unit in a week. Same with Sergeant Graves."

Lemmon and Graves were in the last Hummer.

"Your commander is coming in by chopper. He was hoping you'd be conscious. Now rest. They'll bring 'im to you when he gets here."

Despite the pain and the question of my left eye it wasn't difficult to drift back into the mists. I drifted along between sleep and wake until I heard, "Lieutenant Jackson's over here, Captain."

I opened my eye. My company commander. "How're doin', Jackson?" he asked.

"I've had better days. How bad..."

"You?" He looked for a nurse. "How bad?"

"Uh, I'm not supposed to..."

"Dammit, lieutenant," he said to the nurse, "This is MY lieutenant. You're getting ready to send him off. How IS he?"

She sucked in a breath. "Blast broke his left leg. Shrapnel lacerated left leg. Lacerated left side. Lacerations and fracture left arm. Scalp laceration. Abrasions to left eye. He'll..." she looked directly at me. "Sorry, Lieutenant Jackson, YOU'LL recover just fine. You'll have scars."

She was right. I did have scars. Captain Hopkins added a few more. "Your patrol got torn up pretty bad. There were nine of you. Four survived. You. Sergeant Graves. Private Lemmon. Specialist Smith. Davis made it back here but..."

"Dammit. Fuck fuck fuck!"

"You did everything right, Stoney." Stoney. Short for 'Stonewall', as in 'Stonewall Jackson', the Confederate general. Nobody ever called me by my first name, Randall, unless they were strangers or I was in trouble.

"I let my guard down. They're getting smarter and I didn't account for it."

"Uh, you accounted for a number of them. There were seven there when we got there. Blood trails where they hauled three more off, at least. Sergeant Graves says he can write up the report."

"Sir, we need to get him ready for the flight," the nurse said. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay," Captain Hopkins said. "Jackson, I don't know if I'll get you back, but look, we'll send your personal effects along after you."

"Thanks," I said. "And Cap?"

"Yes?"

"You're gonna write the letters for those guys?"

"Yes. I guess I have that to do."

"Please say that they were a good, brave, bunch. Every one of 'em."

Two months later I was walking well. The hair was growing back where my head had been shaved, but there was a scar where a flap of my scalp had been blown loose and re-attached and it extended downward across my left eyebrow, ending on my cheek. You didn't have to be a rocket scientist to know that some serious shit had happened to my head. That showed.

What didn't show was the pink tracks on my torso, or the suture lines down my thigh. The scars on my left arm showed. But it all worked.

Headaches. When somebody goes after you with multiple explosive devices at close proximity, it shakes your brain in your skull. For a month the headaches were severe. They slowly tapered off as physical therapy brought use back to leg and arm.

And during this time, the Army decided that unless I wanted to make a big case out of it, they'd just as soon call it quits between me and them and would I be happy to take a VA disability check and a Silver Star and thankyouverymuch.

Silver Star. About that. I didn't feel like any kind of hero, but Sergeant Graves' after-action report had me sounding like one if you knew how to read between the lines of the stilted Army phraseology. "Took charge of a rapidly deteriorating situation and delayed enemy action by individual fire, protecting a wounded soldier until he himself was rendered unconscious." Stuff like that.

I didn't feel like a hero. I felt like a guy who should've pulled his head out of his ass and seen what was going on. Five good men. Good men. How cliché'. I don't know about 'good'. How 'good' is ANY random bunch of young adult males. They were profane, loud, subject to fucking off, shirking, all the rest of the expected activities. But when you said 'Mount up!' they did. And they were MY men. My responsibility. And they were dead.

Also got a letter from Sergeant Graves:

LT-

I'm dictating this letter because I broke both arms when that first mortar round flipped our Hummer. I'm glad I got out. I'll be okay but it's going to be a while.

We caught hell, sir. If you hadn't seen what was happening when you did, we would have lost the whole unit. I wrote you up in the after action report and told them what you did. That one motherfucker with the knife, you blew him away before he started hacking on you.

You got seven or eight of them before you quit. I thought you were dead, but when the QRF and the medics got there, you were still alive. I think that when you stopped moving though, the ragheads thought you were dead, so they were coming after me when the Apaches showed back up.

I heard you were headed to Germany. I suppose you won't be back. I will look you up sometime.

And just so you know, lieutenant, you did good. And I don't give that compliment easy. You know we've had our moments, you and I.

Anyway, best wishes.

Harland P. Graves
Sergeant First Class
Combat Engineers

Graves was right. He had eighteen years in the army when he got saddled with me, a second lieutenant fresh out of the Engineer Officer Basic Course, and the battalion commander told me that I would be wise to filter any bright ideas I might have through eighteen years of experience that Sergeant Graves brought to our party.

But here I was. When I was very tired, I did still limp a little. And forever when I look in a mirror I will see the pink scars to remind me of that day.

Engineering degree. Military experience. Even a medal. I went home, lived at Mom and Dad's for a few wonderful weeks while I searched for jobs. Wasn't much of a search. Applications don't have to be mailed these days. Nor do electrical engineers wait by phones for long. I knew what I wanted, though. Biggish city. Engineering house.

A week after the application went in, the call for interview came. I went. Came home. Informed Mom and Dad of my new job and the fact that I would be a hundred and fifty miles away and yes, I'd come home often because I know how Dad hates the traffic there.

Apartment. Okay. Something that didn't pop up on the radar: Forty-foot, thirty year old sailboat, tied up in a marina off a little bayou an hour's drive from the center of the city. Refuge. Powerboaters get on a boat to go someplace. When a sailboater gets on his boat, he's already there. My refuge: forty feet of old fiberglass, wood and aluminum.

Engineering work for entry-level engineers is drudgery. I drudged. I was serious about it, though, and before long I was getting out to look at things and make some judgment calls and recommendations. Fearless, somebody said. I can do 'fearless'. The worst boss can't compare with some Third-World whack-job with a sword in his hand bent on having you star in a YouTube beheading video.

And friends. One of my fellow engineers was an absolute sound-recording nut. He had concepts of digital record systems that he thought would be marketable. I was doing some interesting things with fast data collection for controlling complex industrial processes. Together over cups of bad coffee we came up with some schemes that involved repurposing some of my remote data concentrators with his core computer storage. A professor at his alma mater tied him into a couple of really good computer science majors who could put together the big blocks of the software. We were off to the races.

A couple of weekends in his apartment, setting up my microphones and data hubs with his monster of a computer and we were determined to test things out. A conveniently willing garage band gave us a run with six microphones. That was ONE of my hubs. We needed a bigger field to play with before my buddy would be happy with his testing.

"Dude," the lead guitarist for the garage band said, "I have connections with the university orchestra. Want me to ask?"

"Orchestra?" Eddie said.

"Yeah, you know, violins, oboes, bassoons 'n' shit. Orchestra." He grinned. "I used to be second violinist. But you could set up, like, the ULTIMATE recording setup for an orchestra. Like a mike for each section. One for the violins by section. Violas. Clarinets. Flutes. You get the picture."

"Can we try that?" I asked Eddie.

"How many of those hubs? Mikes?"

"I have six more hubs. Gives us forty-two mikes. Can your computer handle that?"

"Piece a'cake," he said. "Reconcile yourself to the nanosecond, bud! And parallel processing."

We turned to Jimmo. "Get us a chance to talk to somebody."

Eddie did indeed go meet with people with the university's music department. Came back to the office. We were in the lunchroom. "It's perfect," he said. "They have a chamber orchestra. Just the right size to put a mike in front of EVERY instrument. Those things you have, they're ultra-directional. We gather everything. Stuff it onto the hard drives. Sort it out, mix it after the fact"

"I know how it's supposed to work."

"Yeah, but they asked for something, dude," he said.

"What would that be?"

"If we work things out and they get saleable copy, they retain copyright."

"Makes good sense to me," I said. "Are they any good?"

"You're picky, buddy. I know what's on your iPod. I don't know if they're the Israel Philharmonic, if that's what you mean. But they have some brilliance."

"Brilliance?"

"Yeah, they have this curly-headed blonde kid that plays trumpet. He's GOOD. And a flute-player."

"Flautist," I corrected.

"Okay, flautist. Whatever. She's good, too. We can get something that will give my equipment and your equipment a workout, and we can show them how to get good product out of what they play."

"When?"

"They're prepping for the first fall concert. We can do tomorrow evening. Go straight there after work. Is that okay?"

"Yeah. Let me check my social calendar."

"You don't HAVE a social calendar, buddy."

Yeah. About that. He's right. I was the good guy you could call to take your cousin out when she was in town. Or your sister. Anything past the kiss good night. Nope. I wasn't THAT innocent. But It just wasn't me. And I was more or less happy. Actually, since the Day, the scar was a pretty scary thing. The Army had offered some plastic surgery to lessen the impact of the scarring.

Still, I got stares. One history major from the university sat with me for coffee and told me about Prussian saber scars. I thought that just maybe we were getting somewhere. I mean, if a girl thinks of your disfigurement as a sort of historic artifact, you're getting somewhere, right? Wrong.

So Monday night I loaded up half the equipment into my SUV and Eddie loaded up the other half. When four o'clock found us, we were slipping out ahead of the crowd, headed for the university music department.

We backed up to a door near a practice hall and slipped inside.

Eddie led the way. We found the harried professor of music in his office.

"Doctor Greenlee, this is Randall Jackson. We call 'im Stonewall. Or Stoney. Uh, Stoney, this is Doctor Robert Greenlee." I shook the offered hand.

"Doctor Greenlee..."

"Bob," he said.

"Bob, thanks for giving us a chance to use you as a guinea pig."

"Oh, it's not me," he said. "You have my whole chamber orchestra."

"I hope we can give your orchestra to the world," I said. "Music should be shared."

"I like that. Let me unlock the door so you guys can set up."

We hauled in cases of equipment and worked together stringing cables and setting up stands with little microphones tied to little processor units. At the computer, Eddie started tracking and porting my field devices.

"We'll need to 'range' them when we get the musicians," he said. "A chamber orchestra has a different dynamic than a garage band."

"Gotcha," I said.

"Let's see the musicians."

Chapter 2

"Bring 'em in," I said. "I wonder how the new rigs are going to work. Video's a lot of bandwidth to add." My latest iteration of the individual sensor heads included tiny, almost state of the art 'lipstick' cameras.

"We'll see. I ran the calcs and we should be close. If we bog down, then we can shut down some of the video channels."

"Yeah, but you have to do that in the set-up or in real-time."

"Let's play with it," he said. "Bob, you can bring on the herd."

Bob laughed. "Don't let 'em hear you say that. They think they're an orchestra. Who knows, in a couple of months, they will be. Right now they're just twenty-odd bits of varying talent levels."

He opened the door and the musicians filed in against the wall, opening cases and assembling instruments, then took their places and started arranging sheet music.

"Okay, gang," Bob said from the conductor's podium. "You see that we've got some recording equipment in front of you. It's like this. A couple of engineers are developing a fast multichannel recording system using off the shelf technology so it'll be affordable. I offered them the use of YOU for guinea pigs in return for copies of any useful records they might obtain. Of course, that falls on YOU to produce useful sounds."

He motioned us forward. "This is Edward Stumff, Eddie, and this is Randall Jackson, Stoney, like in Stonewall. They're engineers with an "Idea" like engineers get from time to time." He turned to Eddie. "You have the conn, cap'n."

Eddie stepped up onto the podium. "Okay folks, here's the deal. In front of each of you is a sensor head. It does a bang-up job of sound recording, and Stoney has added video to see how that works. Each sensor goes to a separate digital file and all the files are time-stamped and coordinated. At the end of the recording session, we have a master, from this tall stand up here in front, and we have a track with the sound and video from each of the other stations.

One of the orchestra members raised a hand.

"A question?"

"Yessir," the young man said. "Your system, don't the mikes get too much bleedover from the nearby instruments to do individual channels?"

Eddie turned to me. "Stoney, you're the hardware guy. Take that?"

"Sure," I said. "The mikes are very directional. I took an off the shelf direction mike and added a sleeve to make it a little more directional. So don't worry about your neighbor harshing your style."

Laughs and giggles.

Eddie started again. "Okay, now we've tested this setup on a smaller scale with a garage rock band, but this is our first test with this many channels. And the dynamic range is different for an orchestra."

"No shit!" came a sotto voce comment.

"Yeah, I know that's obvious and YOU know that's obvious, but the magic boxes don't know, so the first thing we have to do is go around to each sensor and get you to play a little bit to get our levels straight on the setup."

That hand went up again. "Are your mikes frequency dependent?"

My question again. "They're good from outside the human audibility range and they're essentially flat across that range. If we need to filter anything, that's in Eddie's magic box, mostly software. Digital signal processing technology is making huge leaps. That's part of what we base this setup on. So we can do piccolo to contrabass with the same sensors. Any other questions on the hardware?"

No more questions. We got started. Eddie sat on a stool behind his HUGE monitor with a headset on. I had a headset too, so we could communicate without shouting across the studio.

I went to work, going to each player in turn, asking for a little sample. First violin.

"Just give me a few seconds of something," I said.

This was a guy. Serious-looking. Bushy brown hair. "My choice?"

"Yep."

He played a passage.

I tapped my headset. "Got that, Eddie?"

"Got it."

I went to the next one, and the next, back into the orchestra.

And deep in the middle, I came to the woodwinds. And a flute is a woodwind. And in this orchestra, the flute was in the hands of a striking creature, blue-eyed, redheaded, and not 'almost' red hair, but fire-red. And an alabaster complexion. And prominent freckles. And a smile.

"Your turn," I said.

She smiled, put the instrument to her lips, and trilling, bouncing, lifting. She released the last flying note and lowered her flute.

"That's cheating," I said.

"What's cheating?" she asked.

"You're playing a flute, young lady. And that's a passage out of a Mozart clarinet concerto. What, transposed a third up?"

To her left was a black girl with an oboe. "He got you there, Jo."

'Jo'. Now I had a name.

"So Mister Stoney, you want another one?"

"You want another?" I asked Eddie.

"Sure," he said. "But we got a lot to do."

"Okay, Miss Jo, let 'er rip."

The blue eyes, the smile, the flute came up and another happy, lilting piece. "Better?"

"Yes ma'am," I said. "Flute passage from the first movement of Beethoven's Seventh."

She was smiling, but I felt her gaze burning on my facial scar. "Since when do engineers know music like this?"

"Long story," I said.

Moving to the oboe player next to Jo, I said, "Your turn." I felt fingers tap my shoulder. I turned.

"Stoney, what do you call this setup you guys have?"

"Eddie calls it the Albigensian." I figured that word would be enough to get an 'Ohhhh".

I got instead, a giggle. "Kill them all, God will know his own."

I smiled. "Or as we used to say in my misspent youth, "Kill 'em all and let God sort 'em out. We collect everything and let the editors work out who comes forth and when."

She smiled.

"Okay, Miss oboe, let's do it."

I finished my task. Bob took the podium and they began playing, practicing, working. I pulled up a spare chair and watched over Eddie's shoulder. The big monitor came in handy. He could pull up both video and sound graphics on any one of the various sensor heads.

"Here's your flute player," he said.

I watched.

"She doesn't stop smiling. Watch."

I watched. When her flute left her lips, the corners of her mouth turned up in a smile and it wasn't contrived. Her eyes went with it. When she played, the smile was still there, hidden a bit by the instrument. And in the flash of a moment, they got to a rest in the music, she pulled her flute away from her lips, went back to her smile and looked directly into the camera.

We got a treat that session, too. There was a trumpeter, a young man named David who was selected to do a solo piece, in his case a Haydn concerto, and to my pleasant surprise, my redheaded flautist was also a featured soloist. She chose a Quantz concerto.

After the session ended, we got help in putting away the equipment from several students and questions from many more. Eddie was off discussing scheduling with Bob and I was looking at some of the recordings. I felt a soft tap on my shoulder.

"Hi, Mister Stoney." I turned to find myself eye to eye with Jo.

"Just plain 'Stoney', please."

"Okay, Stoney, then. Did you get anything good?"

"Got everything, good, bad or indifferent," I said. "Wanna see YOU?"

"I'm almost afraid to look," she said. "I don't know how I turn out on camera."

"They're pretty good cameras, so you turn out just like real life."

She smiled. "Then let's look."

With a click of the mouse, I pulled up her channel. "There!"

Another smile. "Maybe not too bad. What's it sound like?"

"Put these headphones on. We don't want to disturb people."

She looked charming in headphones, like some high-tech angel. I clicked a few more times. "This is your audio channel."

"Not bad. And you're right. The other instruments disappear."

"Okay," I said, "Here's the master track from that tall mike up front." I was playing the segment of David's trumpet concerto. I knew that it had what I considered to be a great flute passage.

"Watch this," I said. "I can take YOUR track, and turn a Haydn trumpet concerto into a Jo's flute concerto with some guy playing a trumpet in the background." I added her channel to the master and turned on David's channel and subtracted it.

She giggled. "You'd kill 'im if he saw that. He's kind of full of himself." She looked over her shoulder to another girl standing, obviously impatient. "Oh, I gotta go. Ride's waiting. Thanks for showing me." And she left me with that smile embedded in my mind.

Eddie returned. He showed Bob some of the same things I had just showed Jo.

"I'm impressed," Bob said. "You're taking all the mixing capabilities of a sound studio and digitizing them. You don't bring the music to the studio, you bring the studio to the music."

"Yep," Eddie said. "So can we work together this semester?"

"How's that going to work?" Bob asked. "The two of you have real jobs. Normal hours. When our classes are."

"But don't you do special sessions like this?"

"About once a week, for our dedicated musicians."

"Can we work with them then?"

"Okay. But will you eat up time like tonight, setting up and doing level checks?"

"Nope," Eddie said. "Just like stuff on your computer. We have it as a configuration file, now. As long as we don't change geometry, you know, height and distance, we're good."

"Then let's go ahead and work together."

And that's how that phase of my life started. Once a week, Eddie and I would show up, set up, sit through practice, and tear back down.

On the second session, I smiled at Jo and she smiled back, and we found a reason to talk for a little bit.

Third session, more smiles. And at then, she came up to me. "Stoney, you drive to these things in your own car, right?"

"Yeah, why?" I asked.

"Carrie had to leave early. That's my ride. I need a lift."

"You live in this state, right?"

She giggled. "Of course."

"Then I'll give you a ride. You got everything?"

She lifted her flute case in one hand, her music folder in the other. "Yep!"

"Glad you don't play tuba," I said. "Come on." We walked out together. I didn't know that we were being watched.

"Nice car," she said. I drive a late model SUV. It stays clean.

"Thank you," I replied. Gives me what I need. Reliable. I can haul stuff."

"Like your sound gear?"

"Yeah, that. Groceries. Boat stuff."

"Boat stuff?"

"I got an old sailboat. Sometimes I go away for the weekend, stay there. Take 'er out, sail around the bay, maybe out into the gulf."

"How big?"

"Forty feet of cash-absorbent fiberglass," I said. "Sails nice, though."

"Sailboat? Dad used to love those."

"Used to?"

"Still does. Just doesn't get a chance any more."

"Oh."

"I don't have to go straight home, if you wanna stop for a cup of coffee or something," she said softly. "I wanna hear about your boat."

We stopped at a pancake house and had a cup of coffee and a pastry apiece. And talked about sailboats. Really. Afterward, I dropped her at her apartment, shared with two other college girls. And no, no kiss goodnight.

After that, we sort of became friends, at least at a higher level than Eddie and I maintained with the rest of the group. We were familiar. With some people, familiarity was a reason for comfort. For others, it was breeding ground for contempt.

David, the trumpet player, was indeed full of himself. Talented, yes. Bob admitted as much. "Been teaching for twenty years," he said. "he's got the most talent of any trumpeter, almost ANY musician I've ever worked with. But he is one HUGE pain in the butt. You'd think that America was waiting for him to play his horn, like a trumpeter could be a superstar."

I also found that he'd had a date with Jo. ONE date. "Biggest mistake I ever made," she said. "He's got, as they say in psych class, 'issues'."

Mid-semester, the orchestra had a recital, open to the public. Our recording system was there, and so was I. It went without a hitch. Unfortunately, it coincided with Eddie being pulled out of the office on an assignment, so I got to do the whole thing myself. That put ME sitting behind the big monitor, safely off-stage, and I could watch everything in exquisite detail.

I admit it. There was one channel, at least the video feed, that I made priority window. Red hair. Blue eyes. Smiling and playing a flute like she was singing with angels. Our recording system made her presence my personal solo act, but she was also a featured solo performer. So was David, cocky, smirking, over-bearing. By this stage of the game, he'd alienated more than a few of the orchestra members.

Maybe that's why the next step happened. The orchestra had an invitation to present a concert in Austin. The logistics of such a thing was, in my mind, relatively simple, but then I used to oversee the loadout of my platoon of combat engineers. Dividing resources so that the combat loss of ONE vehicle wouldn't cripple the entire platoon's ability to perform, that was interesting. Moving a bunch of college musicians a hundred and sixty miles, even if it WAS through Texas, didn't seem like an insurmountable problem. After all, the orchestra DID this before.

There was a problem. I got a phone call.

"Stoney, this is Jo," said the soft voice on my phone.

I was surprised. I knew she had my number. Eddie had passed out business cards for the front company bearing the banner for his new sound system and I was 'Hardware Engineer'. But she'd NEVER called. Yes, we occasionally left together and had a cup of coffee after the practice sessions, but we discussed music a bit and little more.

And now she called.

"Hi, Jo! This is a surprise! What's up?"

"Did I catch you at a bad time?"

"No, so far this has been a pretty good decade." I was truthful. Nobody had tried to cut my head off or shoot a rocket up my butt so far, like LAST decade.

Giggle. I LOVE a giggling girl.

"Are you going to the Austin event?"

"Yes. Why?"

"Do you have room for a passenger?"

"Sure, but I thought you guys had a chartered bus?"

"I'd rather not ride that bus. David's been a real ass lately and I seem to have attracted his attention."

I thought about that. Jo attracted MY attention just by walking into a studio with forty other students.

"I have room," I said. "Whole front seat. I'll put your name on it."

"What about Eddie?"

"He's driving his own car. Takes two cars. Besides, Eddie's a little more than I want to take on an overnight trip."

"We have similar issues, it seems," she said. "Can you meet me at the music department building at noon tomorrow?"

A guy can wish, can't he?

I was there at the appointed time and place. Pulled up behind a chartered bus and waited. Jo bounced out carrying her flute case and her music and an overnight bag and a hanger bag.

"Let me help you with that," I said. "You're juggling things." I relieved her of her hanger bag and the overnighter. "It's gonna have to go in the back seat. The rear end is full of recording stuff."

The flute case was important. She carefully laid it on the floorboard behind her seat. I hung the hanging bag and she got into the front seat. A few of her fellow students saw her in my car. It wasn't the first time, but it was the first time in broad daylight.

"D'you wanna just leave? Or follow the bus?"

"Almost three hour drive. Longer if we follow that bus," she said. And somebody'll be watching us if we're close enough."

"Watching?"

"Oh, yes," she said. "I get questions. Comments."

"Like?"

"Like 'What are doin' hangin' around with HIM?' and that sort of thing." Her eyes cast downward. "And some a lot more rude." She looked at me. "About physical things, too."

"Physical things?"

"Like 'How can you get past that scar?' and the usual suggestive crap."

"Huh? My SCAR is a problem?"

"No, it's just a thing to hang onto when you don't want to say what the real issue is."

"What do you think the real issue is?"

"You're an engineer, not an artist."

"Oh. Sort of like the 'hired help', then?"

"Honestly, Stoney, people can be SO wrong in so many ways. You know Keshia, right?"

"Oboe player. Delightful black girl."

"Yeah. She's good at it. Do you have any idea how much crap she gets from other African-American students because she's 'acting white' for playing classical music on an oboe?"

"Hon," I said, "I work with a lot of people from a lot of different backgrounds, black included. I know about that 'acting white' business. You'd think that it would disappear in a college venue."

She looked at me. I could actually FEEL the look. "Stoney, I've never asked. It might be personal, and you don't have to tell me if you don't want to."

"Ask away, Jo. Worst that can happen is I turn colors and say 'no'."

"Okay. You don't have to answer. But that scar. How did you get it? Car wreck?"

"Nope. Bad day a long time ago and far, far away. Different life. Army. Iraq."

"Oh. I never asked before. You never said."

"People don't talk about those things, Jo. Me and my buddies were at war. America was at the mall. Except for a few friends and family, the whole military thing is beyond the average person's horizon."

"Not mine."

"Oh?"

"I guess I'm a rare variety. Army brat."

"Seriously?"

"Dad's a retired colonel."

"Seriously?" I love it when I'm all well-spoken.

"Yes. Another thing people don't talk about. But it's a fact. He's an infantry colonel. Got medals and everything. He did Iraq." She smiled. "He also did liason with the American embassy in Norway. Twice. First time, he married Mom. Second time, I was twelve."

"Interesting," I said.

"But I didn't know about you," she said.

I smiled. "Scar's the only mark I got from it." 'That shows, ' I thought to myself.

"You had a dark thought," Jo said. "I saw it. You were smiling, then it's like a cloud passed over your face."

"It's nothing. It was a bad day. That's all."

"So, then, the music thing. Tell me how you got your knowledge. College?"

"Nope. Just always loved it. Especially classical. I listen and listen. Love it."

"Do you play?"

"Not classical. Banjo. Guitar. Folk. Bluegrass."

Giggle. "Okay," she tittered. "So you can hear a piece played on a flute and tell me that it's Mozart's Clarinet Concerto in A, and you play BLUEGRASS?!?"

"It's what I can do."

"And HOW do you do that?" she smiled.

"Sit in my chair in the odd evening and plunk away. Music I can make, and it makes ME happy."

She smiled. "I'd like to hear you."

"Maybe one day. But Jo, I'm not a virtuoso like you are with the flute."

More smile. "I'm beginning to see something about you, Stoney. There's something back there. Behind those blue eyes, gears are turning."

"A comment made about every psychotic in history," I laughed.

"You missed your opportunity, buddy," she laughed. "You could've dumped my dismembered body in dumpsters all over the city several times."

"Didn't want to get blood on my upholstery," I laughed.

"Practical. Nice," she laughed. "But really. I'd like to hear."

"Not much flute in Bluegrass, or we could play together."

"Bluegrass, maybe not, but Celtic..."

"Irish."

"Yeah. Mom is. So I know a bit of the music. Get a flute and a fiddle and a banjo an you' have an Irish rippin' good time. Can you do 6/8 time?"

"Like in 'Irish Washerwoman'?"

"Yep. See, you know that much."

"Okay, here's the deal, Mister Stonewall Jackson. Next time you and I get together back home you better have your banjo on your knee."

Chapter 3

"But tell me," Jo said. "You KNOW some of this music. I mean, I played two pieces, and you knew both of them."

"I'm like an idiot savant for music."

"Really?"

"No. But I hear something I like and I look for it and add it to my collection. The Mozart clarinet piece is one of my favorites, so I know what it's called. I guess I've played it a thousand times. And Beethoven symphonies? How can you be serious about classical music and NOT know some Beethoven themes?" I drove along, happy to have somebody to talk with. "Sometimes the music was my link to a sane world."

"I can understand that feeling," she said. "I find beauty there that is timeless, how some composer three hundred years ago could put together notes that speak to my being."

"Such wondrous order," I said. "It HAS to be order, order that works in my head and my heart."

I glanced over to catch a smile.

"You're serious about this, aren't you?"

"Music? Yeah. I love it. Lots of other things in my life that I love, too, but I always had music."

"You say that like it means something that I'm not getting."

I slept through the whole flight from Iraq to the hospital in Germany. Drugs. Every time I came to, I tried to move, whined, screamed, made some sort of sound and an attending nurse squirted a little magic juice into the IV stuck in my arm.

Still only had one eye. In the hospital, things were kind of sketchy for a while. Apparently I had no current life-threatening issues, but a sizable bit of my scalp had been blown loose and there was divot out of my skull from a piece of shrapnel. Another piece had tracked parallel to my face, across my forehead, eyebrow, and cheek. Or something like that. I don't exactly remember the details, just that I got blown and thrown and had to keep on fighting until my lights went out.

I underwent several surgeries to attach those pieces where they were supposed to go, and then there was infection and more surgery, and there was a surgery on my leg, leaving me with a souvenir that would set off metal detectors for the rest of my life. I had another souvenir in my upper arm.

I started objecting to the painkillers despite a) the pain and b) assurances that addiction wasn't in the cards. But with the loss of the narcotics, I had another problem: boredom.

Nice people saw to it that we had paperback books and TV movies. I could do without the TV. I learned to do pretty good with the books, one-handed.

I was napping one of those days when I heard a voice. "Lieutenant Jackson." A touch on my right arm. "Lieutenant Jackson?"

I woke up to see one of the orderlies, a pleasant girl with big brown eyes. "Is it time for medicine?"

"No sir," she said. "You got a package. From your old unit." She presented me with a little parcel. I looked at the address label. One of my fellow officers. We'd emailed back and forth.

"Can you open it for me?" I asked. No way that one hand was going to get that box opened.

She got it opened for me. A folded, hand-written note fell out. And my iPod, headphones still wrapped around it like I'd left it.

I read the note.

"Stoney-

We're crating up to redeploy and we were going through the desks in the officer's quarters. We found this iPod. It didn't belong to any of us, so I charged it and put the 'phones on and I knew exactly who it belongs to. You're the only one I know who would have a whole iPod full of this classical shit.

Since you sullied it so badly, we decided to send it to you. When you get a chance, email me and let me know you got it.

I will let you know where we deploy to, but the CO (author note: commanding officer) says you're not coming back to us before we move, and maybe not after. They've removed you from the unit roster.

Caz"

"I'll get an extension cord for your charger," the orderly said.

And I got my music back.

"No, nothing serious. I was just remembering another time..."

"I don't mean to pry into your personal life," she said.

"Oh, Jo, I'm sorry. It's not nearly that serious."

"Sometimes things are," she said. "And you don't know it. Like David."

"Yeah, you said he was being a problem."

"Insistent. I don't know what his problem is. Well, I do. To put it in precise terminology, he's a douche. Last year I mad the mistake of dating him. Once. It was not pleasant. I mean, I thought that the arrogant thing was an act he hid behind in public. I was wrong."

"Boy does seem to have a way about 'im," I said.

"That's why I didn't want to be on the bus. He doesn't seem to think I mean 'no'."

"Even on a bus?"

"Then he's just obnoxious." She huffed. "But why am I talking about him?"

"Good question," I said. "You ready for your time in the spotlight?" She was doing a featured solo tonight.

"Well, yes, : she laughed. "Same pieces I've LIVED with for weeks. I have fun with Quantz. I wish we had a harpist who was up to a Mozart concerto for flute and harp."

"Refresh my memory," I said.

"Delightful allegro movement. Assertive." She twisted around, reaching behind the seats. "If I can reach my case..."

"Oh, you don't have to play it for me..." and inwardly my heart was leaping. I knew the piece.

She expelled a breath, pulling the case through the gap between the seats. Latches clicked and she went through the ritual of assembling her instrument. She swiveled sideways in the seat to give herself room, put the silver tube to her lips and heaven descended into a stupid Japanese SUV.

And yes, her bright eyes got brighter.

The music flowed out like a brook, the notes bouncing in ripples and waves. I liked it when it was a pair of earbuds or headphones. Jo, sitting beside me, blue eyes as lively as her fingers dancing on her flute. And it brought me to tears.

She saw. Put her flute in her lap. "You're REALLY affected."

"Of course," I said, wiping an eye. "You're really good. And really live." I realized that I was wiping tears. "Sorry, Jo. Music affects me."

"Don't be sorry. D'ya know what it means to a musician if her music actually MOVES somebody?"

"Well, you got me."

She put the flute back to her lips, smiled at me over it, and ripped through the first few bars of "Irish Washerwoman". "Because EVERYBODY knows that one. And I've heard it done on a banjo."

Midafternoon found us in Austin. We went to the motel. I checked into my own room. Jo picked up a keycard for one of the rooms reserved for the orchestra. She'd be sharing with another of the orchestra, naturally. I slung my overnight bag over my shoulder and grabbed her hanger bag and overnighter out of the car.

"I can carry my own stuff, Stoney," she said.

"I know you can, but this way you don't have to juggle things and we do it in one trip."

"I appreciate it, then," she said. We took her stuff to her room.

"What room are you in?" she asked.

"329," I said.

"Okay. Go put your stuff up. Give me a few minutes, and I'll call you."

I left her there and went to mine, wondering about 'and I'll call you.' I ran a fresh wet cloth over my face, feeling a bit revived. Stretched out on the bed. Left leg was barking at me a little bit. It did that if I abused it by things like two and a half non-stop hours sitting in a car.

Last night had been another 'dream' night. Being horizontal right now resulted in a quick slide into sleep. It wasn't a long nap, though, because the bedside phone rang, not unexpectedly.

"Hello," I said, expecting the voice I heard answer me.

"Hi, Stoney," Jo said. "Would you be interested in a late lunch? I have a line on a great little place."

"Austin has some," I said. "Meet you in the lobby?"

I ran a washcloth over my face yet again, patted my short hair back which was as much organization as it ever had, put on my shoes and went downstairs. Before I paraded into the lobby I stopped short of the entrance to the lobby.

Jo was sitting there waiting. I took a moment to look at her. Five foot six. Red hair in a pageboy cut, just brushed with no apparent spray or poof or enhancement. She was wearing a blue sweatshirt that on anyone else would have appeared rather frumpy. On Jo, it almost seemed to say 'there's a whole lot more to me than meets the eye. Figure it out'.

And jeans. Because when she saw me walking up, she stood, leggy, in a pair of colorful athletic shoes and jeans that weren't exactly tight, because she wasn't exactly showing off. As far as I was concerned, she didn't need to. Had no business staring like that, I told myself, but then, a man does get to look every now and then.

"Hi, Stoney," she said.

I wished eight years of my life would disappear. "Hi, Jo. Where're we going?"

"It's two blocks from here. Little something fusion place. Kind of a bar and grill."

"Walk or drive," I asked.

"Walk. Pretty day."

I should've not offered the choice. Leg was sort of singing a sad song. First block wasn't bad. By the second block, I was trying not to look like I was limping and I thought I was doing okay on the outside, even though each step was a sort of dull twinge.

I wasn't walking with an idiot.

"You're limping."

"'Sokay. Not much further. Gets a lot better with a short rest."

"Well Stoney, you should've said something." She looked at me with those clear blue eyes.

"It usually doesn't act up. I guess between the drive and the walk, I'm pushing things a bit too hard."

"Left leg? How'd you hurt it?"

"Same bad day that got me this scar," I said.

"Oh. Are you gonna be okay?"

"Absolutely." We turned the corner and saw the sign.

Sitting in a chair was immediate relief.

"Your smile brightened up. Feel better?" she asked.

"Yes. Much."

"What happened, Stoney? Leg? Head?"

I unbuttoned the left sleeve of the long-sleeved shirt and slide it halfway up my arm, where the scarring started from that part of the party. "There are others," I said. "The leg's the one that gives me the most trouble," I said. I didn't add 'but doesn't hurt as often as the one in my head.'

"Same bad day?" she asked.

"Yep."

"Okay." A waitress dropped us at a table in the corner with a pair of menus. "Dad says that most guys don't talk about it. And you didn't say."

"I have some hardware in my leg and upper arm. And sometimes the leg acts a little achy. It's not that bad. If I had to, I could do MUCH more than walk a couple of blocks."

"You could've said something."

"What? And miss a chance to walk down the street with YOU?"

Giggle. "THAT'S a plus?"

"To me it is. You're quite pretty. Just being around you..." I stopped.

"What. Being around me. What?" She insisted.

"Makes me happy." Okay. There. I said it.

"Good. It's reciprocal."

The waitress was there waiting on an order. "Thai tea. Your appetizer sampler. Jo?"

"Thai tea works for me," she said. "Were you planning on sharing that sample platter?"

"Of course," I said. To the waitress, I said "That oughtta do it for now."

"Reciprocal?" I asked.

"Yep. Trying to figure you out, Stoney."

"Not much to figure out. Just a guy."

She smiled. "Uh, you're an engineer. And a combat veteran. And you like good music."

"The music thing is not a 'like', it's a 'need' to me. And the other two? Everybody has to be SOMETHING. And I didn't have much choice about the combat thing."

"Sure you did. But you chose to serve."

I couldn't think of an answer to that comment, but was relieved of the responsibility by the appearance of two glasses of fragrant, sweet, creamy Thai tea.

"I love this stuff," she said.

"Me too."

"Now," she said, "if I'm being a little forward, forgive me, but you seem a little slow..."

"Slow?"

"Yes, slow. Let me ask you this. Do you like me?"

"Nope," I said, "I always drive halfway across Texas with women I don't like. Hate the flute, too."

"Okay, silly question, at least on the surface. But like hanging out with me?"

"Yes, of course, Jo, but you're what? Twenty?"

"Twenty-one. And what's that got to do with it? We're both adults."

"Just a pretty big gap is all," I said.

"Not really," she countered. "D'you ... would I be interfering with, like, ANOTHER relationship? Another girlfriend?"

"No," I said. "Not lately."

"So you don't have a girlfriend. And I don't have a boyfriend. And I find you interesting, soooo..."

"Would you be my girlfriend, Jo? Just like I was twelve?"

"Exactly like that, Stoney." She reached across the table and touched my fingers with hers.

For the first time, I knew the smile was for me.

Changed things. Fast. For one thing, she switched chairs. Instead of sitting across the table from me, she was beside me. And conversation was more animated. Relaxed, we did.

That should've been it until the evening. They had a practice session scheduled in the concert hall for six, and we could make that if we left at five.

Things changed though, when I head loud voices of boisterous young males at the door and David and a couple of his toadies walked in. I saw the look in Jo's eyes. The sparkle just sort of died.

We were seated in a corner, not immediately visible, but that wasn't good enough. David and his crew surveyed the dining room and spied us.

"Oh, lookie," he said in a mincing falsetto. "There's Jo and her friend Scarface."

I didn't mind 'Scarface' from my rugby buddies. Yes, rugby on weekends was a way to push myself, leg or no leg, keeping me from that middle-aged engineer pudgy waistline. But those guys, we'd rolled in the mud together, playing as a team.

This, however, was a little turd trying to be a smartass. Still, I can put up with a bit of crap. I hoped that they'd just go to the bar or sit somewhere else. It wasn't to be. He made his way to our table, his two partners close behind.

"Jo, you oughta be with me, you know."

"No, David," she said. "Not a chance. I told you..."

And he put his hand on her shoulder. She heaved it to move his hand but his fingers curled, gripping.

"Uh, David," I said, "you need to move your hand."

His taunting laughter came with a pulse of breath reeking of alcohol.

"You need to mind yer own fuckin' business. She don't need to be hangin' with the hired help!"

"Davidddd, you're hurting..." she bleated.

I stood up and the turd took a swing at me. The cashier already had a phone at her ear.

It was an artless swing. I knew something of the art. Slapped his blow aside easily. "David, you don't want..." And he swung again. The blow glanced off my forearm as I parried. To his two buddies I said, "Y'all better stop him."

"Naw," the closest one said. "I wanna watch 'im kick your ass."

That wasn't going to happen. David released Jo's shoulder and she slid her chair back. And the dumbass swung again. What's the rule say? 'Three strikes and you're out'? That was Strike Three. You'd think that the fact that I'd countered his first two swings would've been an indication that another approach might be advisable, but they say, 'stupidity is doing the same thing twice in a row and expecting different results'. Or in this case, three times. And I'd tried. Really tried.

His third swing had every bit of force behind it that he could muster and I countered with my left forearm. Old damage there. It HURT! And I reacted. No, no fist. That's seldom the best move. I came up with my right hand open, fingers joined, thumb along side, and put the heel of my hand on his chin, right below his lip. Of course, the rest of that hand compressed his nose, blood flew. And he fell backward into the arms of his buddies.

"Oh, shit, man! You busted 'is mouth!" One of his buddies yelled. "Shit!"

Other toadie said, "Let's get 'im outta here!"

"By dose," David said, blood pouring out of a displaced nose, the stream added to by a busted lip. "By mout. Mouuuwwwww..." And he started wailing. "By mouwwww. Hurt by mouwwww..."

And the cops showed up. Two of them. I put my hands flat on the table. No sense it getting tazed or sprayed or whatever other happiness the Austin cops dispense. And I maintained eye contact.

"Everybody just stay put," said the first officer, an older guy, a bit of a paunch to him. He had a nightstick in hand. I wasn't going to fight that. I wasn't going to fight anything. "What's going on here?"

The cashier and the waitress were close by. "I called," the cashier said. She was middle aged. The waitress was quite possibly a college student, maybe Jo's age.

"What happened?" the cop asked.

"These two," she said, pointing to me and Jo, "came in earlier and were sitting here eating and talking. Those three," pointing to David and his friends, "came in talking loud, and He marched over to their table, grabbed her and when this guy told him to stop, he started swinging."

In the distance I heard a siren. "You just stay sitting here, stud," the cop told David. EMS is on the way." The other cop had David's two buddies backed away, one in cuffs, looking very sullen. David tried to stand. The first cop tapped him on the shoulder with the nightstick. "Just sit there."

David was moaning, holding his hands over his nose.

"Can you give 'im a towel or a napkin," I said. "Boy's hurt."

"Looks like it," the cop said. "So what's YOUR side of the story?"

"Pretty much like she said," I replied. "We were sitting here, drinking tea and talking. They walked in, talking loud. He came over, told her she needed to be with him instead of me, and grabbed her. I told him to stop. He swung. I brushed it off. Told him to stop. He swung again. Same thing. Third time he swung, he hit an old injury and it hurt so I hit 'im. Self defense. Defending her, too, mostly."

"You hit 'im once."

"Yessir." Damned right I called him 'sir'. Assholes almost always end up at the police station, if not in jail. "That's all it took. Just wanted 'im to stop and leave us alone."

"What about Frick and Frack there?" he said, motioning to the two toadies.

"Uh, I tried to get them to take him away from us, but the one over there in cuffs said he was gonna stay here an' watch me get my ass kicked."

The cop stifled a laugh. His eyes looked at me. "That uh ... scar..."

"Army. Iraq."

"No shit! Me too! MP's."

"Combat engineer with an Armor battalion," I said.

"And that broken nose business, that's something they teach combat engineers?"

"You learn a lot of things, especially when you're stuck in a stinkin' compound for six months."

"Tell me about it."

The paramedics arrived and attended to David. He was awfully reluctant to give up his bloody dishtowel.

The other cop came to his buddy's side. "What'd YOU get?" he asked his partner.

"These two sitting here, those three walked in, Hercules there wrote a check with his mouth that 'is ass couldn't cash."

I turned my head to keep the cops from seeing me snicker. Jo saw me. They pulled her aside and questioned her. David got bundled up and shoved into the back of an ambulance and one of our cops left behind them after sticking Frick and Frack into the back of my cop's cruiser.

He returned with Jo beside him. "Okay, folks, let me get some ID."

I gave him my driver's license, as did Jo and the waitress and the cashier. He dutifully copied information down and redistributed drivers' licenses.

Finally, he said, "Okay. I'd say I'm sorry you had this bad experience here in Austin, but since all y'all came from the same place, I won't. But I hope you have a better evening."

"What about those three guys?" Jo said.

"Gonna take 'em to the station, book 'em and release 'em. If you want to press assault charges, I can help you with that. And what's 'es name? David Collings? His trip goes through the emergency room. His nose may be broken. And then the police station."

"Oh." Jo said curtly. "Stoney, you just punched our trumpet soloist in the mouth." She tried to look serious. A slight upturn at the corners of her mouth indicated otherwise.

"Trumpet player? Mister Jackson, you were assaulted by a MUSICIAN?" the cop asked. "What are they teachin' kids these days?" He was shaking his head as he walked out.

I apologized to the staff for the mess. "Oh, pleaaase," the waitress said. "I know about crazy exes." We left the place after paying the bill. Extra tip. Felt sorry for folks having to mop up blood and snot.

"Is your leg okay for the walk back?" Jo asked.

"Perfectly. I'm always up for a stroll down the avenue with my girlfriend." I paused as we walked into the street. "You ARE still my girlfriend, right? I just punched out your ex."

"And he's been deserving it for a long time. Of COURSE I'm still your girlfriend. But what's gonna happen to the concert? I mean, you just punched out fifty percent of our soloists."

"Oh, shit!" I blurted. "What's Bob gonna say?"

Chapter 4

How do you walk up to a conductor and tell him that you just disabled one of his soloists? That was going to be my task. We walked out of the little restaurant and headed back to the hotel.

"Is your leg going to be alright? I could go back and get your car," Jo said.

"No way you're walking back by yourself, Jo. And I'll be just fine."

"I won't have to worry about David accosting me for the rest of the day, Stoney. Thank you."

"Thank me for what?"

"For standing up for me."

"Jo, I'd be a sad individual if I wouldn't stand up for my friend."

I felt her hand touch mine as we walked, then almost shyly hold on. I turned to see her face. Shyness there too.

"You don't mind, do you?"

"Not in the least. Been a long time since a girl held my hand out in public."

"I wish I understood people, Stoney," she said.

"Nothing to understand, little redheaded girl. I'm not physically attractive. I can see in the mirror."

"Doesn't bother me in the least."

"You're my only fan."

"I doubt that. And after tonight, you'll have plenty more."

I felt like I was twelve, with my first hand-holding little girlfriend. As we neared the hotel, we ran into a couple of the other members of the orchestra. Curious looks. Every one of them gave us a curious look. Jo just smiled placidly.

We walked into the lobby to find Bob pacing. He saw me and Jo and hurried over, cellphone in hand. "Shit, Stoney! Shit! You punched out my trumpet soloist."

Jo jumped in. "Doctor Bob, it was self-defense. Stoney and I were at a restaurant minding our own business. David and his buds walked in and David grabbed me. Stoney told him to stop and go away, and David swung at Stoney three times before Stoney fought back."

Bob shook his head. "I know. I got the story. Stevie and Carson called when they left the police station. David's still at the hospital. I guess I have to go get him." He looked at me. "You punched his face in?"

"He was drunk. High. Both. And his buddies ... I tried to get them to take him away."

"He's out of it." He looked at Jo. "I know you're good with your solo tonight, but that Mozart piece. We've done it a time or two. That was going to be the Christmas concert. Are you up to it?"

I saw Jo straighten her back like she was drawing up an extra measure of resolve. "I can do it."

"We have this evening's rehearsal to tighten it up," Bob said.

"Bob," I said, "I'm really sorry about David. I tried..."

"Boy's had it coming for a long time. Don't know where he got that rockstar, prima donna attitude, but he's been pushing it. And I've tried to counsel him about the drinking, but you know how it is when you're young. Invulnerable."

I fingered my scar. "Yeah. I know."

Bob returned a sort of sheepish half-smile. "Not what I meant, Stoney. Sorry. These kids ... They're not anything like that. If he didn't play trumpet, David would be absolutely useless."

"It's okay, Bob. I know what you meant." As I finished that statement, Jo bumped against me.

"I'm gonna go to my room. I'll call you later." She left me standing in the lobby as she joined a couple of other female orchestra members heading up the hall.

I started to turn that way myself, but Bob spoke my name.

"Stoney," he said, "You might get some comments about David. Just so you know MY version, I have no doubt that he had it coming. The fact that he's getting booked at the police station sort of confirms that, but law aside, the boy's been cruising for a bruising for a while."

"Thanks, Bob," I said, "but still..."

"Waste your time worrying about something else, son. And Jo's been chomping at the bit over that Mozart piece. I've been reining her in because we wanted to showcase David. You did her more than one favor today."

"She played some of that Mozart piece for me on the way up here. And that Mozart Concerto for Flute and Harp. You need to find a competent harpist."

"Maybe we can do that for Christmas," he said. "By the way ... holding hands? You and Jo?"

"Started BEFORE I punched out your musician," I said. "I need a friend. So does she."

He smiled. "You already got ONE of my musicians, buddy."

I went back to my room and stretched out again. I was contemplating the process of getting up and driving to the concert hall to set up when the room phone rang.

"This is Stoney," I said.

"Hi, Stoney. Can you give your girlfriend a ride?"

"Sure," I laughed. "That's a boyfriend's job."

Giggle. "Meet me in the lobby?"

"Sure," I said. "I'm putting my shoes on." Click.

I slid into my loafers and headed out the door. In the lobby, Jo was conversing with several of the other players. I walked up, recognized the guy in the group as one of the percussionists, Jefferson. Yeah, black guy. And we had, on occasion shared a laugh over stereotypes. "White guy engineer, Black dude playin' drums." And all sorts of other musical hardware that you got sounds from by beating it with a stick.

"Whoa, Mister Stoney," he said, "You punched David in the mouth?"

I looked at Jo. "News gets around fast."

"Stevie and Carson just got back," she said. "Their story is, shall we say, 'embellished'. They're not particularly artful at lying. Neither of 'em will talk to me."

"Said you put 'is ass down with one punch," Jefferson said.

"I didn't punch im. I pushed on 'is face with my hand."

"David swung at Stoney three times before Stoney pushed him," Jo said. "Asked Stevie and Carson to take David away before things got bad."

"That's what Stevie said. Said David didn't think you'd swing on 'im because you was, you know, older an' all that."

I shook my head. "First, he laid his hands on Jo and didn't stop when she asked him. Second, he swung THREE times. I asked Stevie and Carson to take him away. They didn't. And he got dumber. So I pushed 'im to make 'im stop."

"Dude," one of the other guys said. "Broke 'is NOSE. Busted both lips. Knocked a tooth out."

"I didn't know about the tooth," I said.

"You, like, one a'them black ops dudes?"

"Nope. I am just like you. I went to college. Got a degree. ROTC paid for some of it, so I owed 'em. I was just an engineer lieutenant, that's all. No special nuthin'." I glanced at my watch. "Don't y'all have some music to play somewhere?"

Jo tugged my sleeve. "Come on, Stoney. They'll follow. They react well to leadership."

"Yeah," Jefferson said, laughing. "'Specially after you beat the shit outta one a'us."

Twenty minutes later they were trooping into the concert hall after the leased bus parked. After reviewing the layout, I started setting up my system, trying to stay out of the way of a roomful of young musicians.

Bob ascended the podium. "Can I have your attention?" he said loudly. The room silenced.

"I'm sure you all heard that we lost the use of David's trumpet this evening, so we're going to change up the program."

"Program's already printed," came an anonymous comment.

"Yeah, I know," Bob replied. "We're going to announce that David has medical issues and cannot play."

"Muhfuh can freakin' hum," came another comment. Sounded suspiciously like Jefferson and was followed by general tittering.

"Okay, okay," Bob said. "Let's go ahead and get it out. Who all knows what happened to David?"

Carson and Stevie hung their heads.

"Carson? Stevie?" Neither volunteered a story. Bob continued. "According to the police department, David walked up to Jo, grabbed 'er, and Mister Stoney came to her defense."

"Hit 'im ONCE!" Stevie volunteered. "David swung three times. And then Mister Stoney did one punch. Caved 'is face in."

"Okay," Bob said. "That's the story. Here's the plan for tonight. We're going to make one change to the solo performances. Obviously, David can't get a note out his trumpet..."

"He could blow it out 'is ass," came another Jeffersonian comment.

"Mister Jefferson, if you please, there are people of civilized demeanor present."

"And dey be laughin', too. But I'll shut up now." Jefferson played the dialect for effect. I know his dad was an executive for a big company in Houston.

"Okay, now that the Jarvis Jefferson comedy tour is over, here's what's next. In place of David doing the Haydn Trumpet Concerto, we're going to double up on Miss Jo and do that Mozart piece instead, K .314. I think we're all there on that. Unless you want to do that oboe piece, Miss Keshia."

"I'll make a deal with you, Doctor Bob," Keshia said. "You give my pale princess friend two tonight an' if Mister David still can't play in December, I'll do mine then."

I was still weaving in and out amongst the players, connecting, positioning, measuring, making sure that I replicated the geometry of my equipment as closely as possible to the setups we'd used back home. I was near Keshia. She whispered, "I hope you busted that jerk up good."

I guess I might've done a universal favor.

I returned to my console. It was set up discretely off-stage. I didn't really need to be in actual view of the orchestra, but it was pleasing vantage point. Bob turned to me and I gave him a 'thumbs up' sign. By the end of the practice session, I had my equipment dialed in. I ran through each sensor station in turn, comparing levels against the master level display and then I settled back, letting the equipment do its job. It wasn't quite a supercomputer, but this bit of processing power could monitor complex industrial processes 24/7. Catching a bit of music was a walk in the park.

Pulled up one channel and make it the center of the screen. Jo. Got her again when she ran through the solo pieces. Eddie's right. She can't help but smile when she plays.

At the end of practice, Bob laid out the schedule for the next day. "Rehearsal at one PM. Two hours. Then the bus leaves the hotel at five for the concert." He glanced at me as I was closing up my console. "And if you're gonna do something stupid, PLEASE don't do it around Mister Stoney."

"Geez, Bob," I said.

The group broke up, putting instruments into cases and filing out to the waiting bus. I gathered a smiling redhead. And her equally smiling oboist friend.

"You don't mind if I ride with you, Mister Stoney?"

"Just 'Stoney', and no, I don't mind."

"Well, somebody said they saw you an' Jo holdin' hands walkin' down the street today. I don't wanna be in the way."

"Key," Jo said, using Keshia's nickname, "Don't be silly. You sit in the back seat and I can hold his hand in the front seat."

"So it's true, then..." she flashed a smile, dark eyes laughing. "I guess that means you're all done with David, huh?"

"I was done with David after one date, Key. I didn't think somebody could be that big an ass full time."

"An' then Stoney punched 'is face in, and now you're his girlfriend? That's rather Neanderthal, don'tcha think?" She laughed. "How 'bout that, Stoney? Black girl usin' words like 'Neanderthal'."

"Tell me another one, little black girl. Jo told me you're here on a double scholarship and the big one is academic. You need to do a better job of being a poor little black girl."

"And I decided I was Stoney's girlfriend before he punched David out."

"I didn't punch David out. I gave him ONE push!"

We were in sight of a little diner. "How about a late snack?" Jo said.

"Now I know I'm interferin'," Key said.

"You are not," Jo said. "He's been my boyfriend for what, Stoney? Six hours?"

"Yeah, somewhere along there. You haven't picked out the wedding dress yet."

Key laughed. "You got yahself a smartass, Jo."

I pulled into the diner and we went in, drank a cup of hot chocolate, chatted. I'm sort of on the periphery of the orchestra now. I recognize most of the faces and can name the owners, and I'm seeing some of the more assertive personalities. Jo, naturally was the biggest impression on me. Special. Key was a bubbly thing. There were others.

By the time we finally got to the hotel, many of the group were streaming back out from their rooms, headed to who knows where. 'Ah, to be a kid in college again' I thought to myself. A couple of them tried to corral Jo and Key into one of the foraging parties. Key went. Jo demurred.

"You're not going?" I said.

"Not unless you are," she replied. "I might be convinced to go someplace and get a sandwich. I don't think that's what those other kids have in mind, though."

"Maybe that's a starting point," I said.

"Huhhh! I've been on these jaunts for three years. Food's only one primal urge that they're thinking about."

"So what're you hungry for?" I had only the barest vestiges of a double meaning when I said it.

And her eyes showed just a little more understanding as she parsed the statement. "I dunno. Can we drive up the road? There are all kinds of places in Austin."

Back in the car, I told Jo, "I had no idea David was that unpopular."

She laughed. "He's popped off to just about everybody in the place at one time or another. If it were football they'd've taken him behind the bleachers and beat the crap out of him by now. You did what half the orchestra has been wanting to do."

In the darkness of the evening, she leaned over the gap between the two front seats and put a hand inside my right arm. Leaned her head on my shoulder. "Find us some kind of Serbo-Lithuanian fusion restaurant," she said. "You may have to drive around for a bit while you look. Don't mind me. I'm right here." And she punctuated that statement by sort of nuzzling me.

Okay. Drive around a while, dumbass.

"Am I weird, Stoney?"

"What would you classify as weird, Jo?"

"Choosing you."

"I wouldn't call it weird. Surprising, maybe. Very pleasantly surprising. But not weird. I didn't think anybody would get past 'Scarface'."

"You have a nice face. Scar's ... I dunno. Character."

"You have a nice face too," I said. "And talent. And brains. And freckles. Lots of freckles."

"Oh, don't tell me you noticed."

"Can't miss 'em. Like a constellation of 'I'm different', you know."

"I'm different. Red hair. Freckles. Ignore them."

"Can't. They're charming."

"Are you making this up as you go along?"

"Nope. Had to work hard not to stare."

"Before?"

"Before what?" I asked.

"Before I became your girlfriend."

"Oh, yeah. Somebody pointed out that you smile while your playing music. I watched. You do."

"You pay too much attention, Stoney."

"Only to important things."

"That's sweet. Might be total bullshit, but it's sweet."

I saw an interesting-looking restaurant and I badly wanted to slow down the tumble the conversation was taking. I didn't want to be somebody's 'thing' of the moment. No matter how absolutely beautiful and talented I thought her to be.

"It's not Serbo-Lithuanian," I said. "Cuban."

"That's going to work just fine." She sat up. "Let's go."

Neat place. Was guided to a booth. 'What the hell?' I thought. "Café cubano con leche." Jo's eyes brightened. "Make that two."

When the coffees arrived, we'd decided on sandwiches. Wonderfully flavorful sandwiches.

"Of course the coffee's gonna mess with my sleep," she said.

"Oh, me too," I concurred. But I knew that coffee or no coffee, a whole night's sleep wasn't likely to happen.

"So tell me some Stoney stories," she said. "Where'd you grow up?"

I put on my best 'Steve Martin' voice. "I was born a poor black child..."

Giggle. "Steve Martin. "The Jerk". Loved that movie!" grinning broadly, she said, "You're a man of many talents, Mister Jackson."

"Yeah, uh-huh," I said. "I can order Cuban coffee with milk."

She propped her elbow on the table, cradled her chin in her hand, and her blue eyes drilled straight into me. "I know you're not a dummy, Stoney. Maybe you haven't learned that about me yet. But there's something to you..."

"Why do you think that?" I asked.

"I just ... know. You've been places. Dad used to tell me about some of his friends, some of his soldiers. That they're changed."

I hung my head a little. Not something I wanted to talk about. Not right now. Not with...

"I was in a room with fifty people today, Stoney. Thirty of those were men. And none of them get that look I see in your eyes sometimes."

Thankfully, the sandwiches arrived, dripping with juice, redolent with spicy, savory meat. I knew the general idea of these things and this example turned out to be right there in the middle of the range. Definitely hit the spot.

Lots of napkins, too. Giggle. "Not a meal for the fastidious," she said. Then her eyes twinkled. "Many of the best things in life aren't, you know."

"So on top of being a concert musician, you're also a philosopher," I said.

"You have no idea what I am capable of, sir," she smiled.

We did talk about my origins. She listened attentively. And I asked about her, learned about being an Army brat, a genre of youth I had some middling experience with, having spent a measurable amount of time at stateside army bases. Her story, though, was a little more exotic. Her dad had done some time as part of military attache' groups.

"He was in Norway, for heaven's sake. Attached to the embassy. Met my mom. She was at another embassy. Ireland. I'm the product of a mixed marriage. I think the freckles and red hair are Irish. Dad spoke a little Norwegian from his grandparents."

"Interesting," I said. "You're certainly more travelled than most people your age."

"Yeah. I know what it's like to stay home with Mom when Dad got assigned to a combat battalion on its way to Iraq, too. And Mom wasn't religious until Dad left, then we went to Mass pretty regularly until he got back."

"That's a big load for a little girl." I said. 'He came back, though, ' the voice inside my head said. Another set of bad dreams in the making.

"So's a new school every three years. But here I am. Mom and Dad pushed education on me. Dad pushed learning to learn." She saw my eyes. "Stoney, what thought causes that?"

"Causes what?"

"We were talking and smiling and then it's like a cloud came over your face." Her face was so soft, concerned. A little crease appeared between her eyebrows. Thinking. "Something happened back there. I'm sorry. I start talking and I don't think about what other people might be thinking."

"No, Jo. Not your fault."

"You know, Stoney, you can talk to me ... I might not understand, but you can talk to me and I'll try to understand."

"I'll try to talk about it sometime, Jo," I said. "But not this evening. I am having fun. Sometimes things just sort of squeak in. I just try to squeak 'em back out."

She smiled again. "Okay. But just remember. Part of 'boyfriend and girlfriend' is 'friend'. And that's the most important point."

"You think so, don't you?"

"I certainly do," she smiled. "What else is there? Sex? People have sex all the time. It's a mechanical function at its most basic level. What makes it more than that is friendship. Strong friendship. Love. If you don't have somebody who makes you smile, who you can talk to, then you're back to sex. Pretty poor thing to build a longterm relationship on."

My mouth said what I was thinking. "That's quite a mature and sane way of looking at things."

She smiled a pert little smirk. "Catholic Mom. Lutheran Dad. Lots of time sitting on one knee or another. Lots of time crying on Mom's shoulder with a broken heart before I realized that you keep your heart in a safe place until you know it's the right person to give it to. And a new car, a loud stereo and tight jeans are not the signs you're looking for. At least not the signs I thought I should be looking for."

Our waitress brought the check and I deposited a credit card. Jo reached for her purse and I waved it off. "Boyfriends buy their girlfriends dinner," I said.

"So I'm still your girlfriend?"

"Whole eleven hours now. I'm easy to keep."

Walking out, I grabbed her hand, got a head toss and a smile. And a head on my shoulder for the drive back to the hotel.

I was afraid to push things out of the lobby. I had a picture of her in my mind. I had no idea what an invitation to my room might do. I elected to not push the situation. Instead, we parted ways there in the lobby.

"Stoney," she said softly, "Does this count as first date?"

"Yes. And Jo?"

"Yes..."

"I'd rather it not be the only one."

"Then you won't mind if it ends with this," she said. She took both my hands, tugged me within range and kissed me, lips closed. When she pulled away, she sighed. "Won't be the only date, Stoney. Or the only kiss."

And she disappeared up the hall, leaving me standing there watching.

Chapter 5

Okay ... Eddie was supposed to be here for this weekend foray. All I got was the 'OMG! Dad's sick. I gotta go!" an hour before we were supposed to leave, and a promising (at least for him and his dad) update on Saturday. And it was Saturday night and after ten and I was in my hotel room cycling through eighty channels of 'nothing's on TV'. I finally gave up, plugged my iPod into the bedside radio and punched up the bedtime playlist. Sleep came easily.

It usually did. That's the good part. The bad part came later.

"Mount up and MOVE!" And the crack of the first mortar round. I was sitting straight up in bed, beads of sweat forming. Wide awake. I'd heard every round. The screams of pain from my men. The victorious yelling of our attackers. The cracks of rifle fire, the ear-splitting explosions of RPGs, the hot, sticky feel of blood, mine, my men's, even that last attacker before I lost consciousness.

I succumbed to a pill from a VA prescription. I hated myself for that. I fought the urge to give up and accept the medication as a solution.

I was still reliving that day when the chemistry took effect.

I was trying to shake off the groggy head the next morning, sitting in the lobby next to the hotel coffee pot.

"You don't look like you slept well," a soft voice said from behind me. Jo.

"Hi, princess," I said. "No, I didn't. Ended up taking a pill, and now my head feels like wet sawdust."

"Is there something I can do to help?" she asked.

"You showed up. Said hi. That's a big help, all by itself."

She smiled. "We have time to go find breakfast if you want. The bus leaves at ten, and if you don't mind your girlfriend riding with you, she doesn't mind missing the bus."

"You got a deal, Jo. Let's go find something for breakfast. You have any ideas in mind?"

"I don't usually do this, but I think I want a good ol' American breakfast. Bacon. Eggs. Pancakes."

"Are you planning on packing and leaving now, or do we plan on coming back?"

"Sir, this is my breakfast attire so we can leave right after we eat." She spun around. I was sitting. She was standing, leggy, wearing jeans that fit nicely and her ass was at eye level. Headache or no headache, that view was pleasant.

"Then let us depart, little lady," I said, rising and offering her my arm. Several orchestra members were wandering around. We were noticed.

This time we went straight to my SUV and drove off. She was punching on her iPhone as we left the parking lot. "Okay, here's one that's not a chain and Yelp gives good reviews. And we're between the early church crowd and the late church crowd."

"Lead on," I said. "I shall buy my sweetie pancakes and bacon."

"Eggs. Don't forget eggs. And orange juice. And coffee."

I glanced sideways. God, what a beauty.

"So why didn't you sleep, Stoney?"

"It's hard to talk about, Jo. Really is."

"I can listen really good, you know."

"I believe you can, Jo. I just can't talk about it. Not yet. Not now. Something I have to deal with."

"Stoney, we're friends. I want to help, but I don't want to push. You could've called me last night. Even if we didn't talk, I could've been there."

Her voice was soft, caring. Soft. Caring. Genuine. If I was going to talk to somebody, it would be somebody who sounded like Jo. Sounded like Jo. I'd actually sat through a couple of sessions with real live counselors. The army provides those. So does the Veterans' Administration. Each time, though, I felt like the counselor was filling out the forms for Patient # 564392. Jo made me feel almost like Patient #1 of 1. Scratch 'patient'. Make that 'friend'.

"Jo," I said, "Some things happened long ago and far away and I have dreams..."

"Nightmares," was the soft reply. "Dad talks about some. Sat me down when he got back from Iraq and said that everybody has them except people who are complete psychotics. And he said that some people's are worse than others." She paused. "Stoney, friend. Mom sat up some nights holding Dad. Holding. Just holding. Not even talking." She continued. "My dad is a rock. You don't get to be an Army colonel by being dumb, and he was a commander of a combat battalion in Iraq. Wasn't, from what I understand, one of those 'I'll be behind this wall in my CP (Author's note: Command Post) and you can tell me what's going on later' commanders."

"My commanders were like that. Jo, I was like that."

"I can't believe you would be any other way, Stoney. You stepped up Friday."

"Little bit different. I ... we were attacked by a drunk musician."

She snorted. "We musicians are a tough bunch, buddy. One of these days we'll go to the gym."

"I don't do gyms very often. I got the boat."

"Oh, yeah ... One of these days I want to see it. When do you have time? I mean, this weekend..."

I smiled. "If I hadn't gone to Austin with you guys, I'd've probably been there. Sometimes I go after work Friday and spend the weekend. Got everything I need except a few groceries."

"Do you just stay at the marina or do you go out?"

"Fifty-fifty. Sometimes I just stay there at the dock and piddle around on the million things old boats always need. Sometimes I go out, find a spot in the bay, drop anchor, and let the waves rock me to sleep. Especially in the cool months. Too many mosquitoes in the summer, and I don't relish the heat and humidity AND mosquitoes."

"By yourself?" she looked a bit concerned.

"Usually. I've gotten a couple of like-minded guys and we've done some sailing out in the Gulf, but guys usually want activities that involve girls, and..."

"Do you bring girls out?"

I knew, was actually sort of surprised, but I knew where this was heading. Softly, gently, but still heading in that direction. "No. Not often. Never overnight. Any girl I'd be interested in would see spending the night on a boat as implied consent that certain activities might be acceptable, whether that was what I had in mind or not."

She laughed. "That's sort of like that guy who said he never wanted to join a club that would accept him as a member."

"I'll buy that," I said. "I'm not saying that I wouldn't bring a girl out, and I'm not saying that if I did, that certain activities would be presumed. It's just that I desire laughter and intelligent conversation that doesn't involve the front page of People Magazine and uses a multi-syllabic vocabulary."

"You're awfully picky, you know..." Jo said.

"Oh, it's worse than that. I know that I live in a city and I live in an apartment, but I don't consider myself an urban male and as a result, I will not accept an urban female. I mean, if she's going to make sailing part of her life, then those long painted nails aren't going to cut it. And if she thinks that sort of thing is attractive to me, then she hasn't taken time to find out about me."

"You're still picky," Jo said, idly looking at the hands of a flutist.

"I go out from time to time, usually with friends," I said. "Bars and clubs are not a suitable venue to find prospective mates."

"Prospective mates?" she said.

"Female friends. Prospective mates. Yeah, I am friends with a few women, but only on a very casual level. They see this," I said, passing a finger down the scar line, "and it takes a lot to get past it. So 'friends' is as good as it gets."

"With benefits?" Jo asked shyly. Then, "I'm sorry. That's a bit personal. I don't mean to pry. It's your private life."

"It's a legitimate question. The answer is 'no'. Sex is not just a physical thing to me. If it was, then life would be different. It's not. A person can get sex easily. Pay for it. Or, like you say, 'friends with benefits'. Or a casual hookup from a casual meeting." I sighed. "That's not me. So..."

"So I understand, then. You really are a throwback from a bygone era. Is there a time machine somewhere that I don't know about?"

"Things don't die abruptly when civilization changes, Jo. Somebody has to be the first. Then there's the swell, the era of an idea, a condition, a set of standards. And then as the age dies, the numbers who hold the idea thin out, and eventually there has to be the last one."

"You're not the last one," Jo said. "but the numbers are getting thin on the ground." A heavy sigh and then, "You know, this is so awfully serious," in a little girl's voice. "How about that Mozart concerto for Flute and Harp?"

She reached into the back seat and in a couple of minutes a silver flute touched trained lips and magic resulted. She played bits, and then she played snippets of other pieces, happy, lively, lilting, uplifting. She dropped the instrument to her lap.

"Better?"

"Better," I said. "Definitely better."

"We'll call it my little bit of magic."

"Die Zauberflöte," I said.

Giggle. "Yeah. Magic Flute. For you it works. You're smiling, Stoney."

"Couple of good reasons to smile, Jo. Pretty music. Prettier girl."

I got a big smile in return. "Thank you for thinking so."

"You gave me something that you knew would get to me, Jo."

"You need a reason to smile more, Stoney. It does you well."

"Scars and all?" I was suddenly self-conscious.

"A smile is a smile. Yours says 'thank you' better than words." And she put her hand over mine. "Friends help friends, you know. You sort of opened up and showed a bit of yourself. Got sad. Your friend, that would be me, wanted you happy."

The remainder of the drive back to campus was filled with more or less happy and light conversations about educational issues (for her) and work issues (for me). When we parked, I helped her carry her bags to her apartment. She unlocked the door and let me in. We dropped the bags in her room. I glanced around. Twin bed. Neatly made up. Photos on the dresser. Her at the age of maybe nine or ten and a red-headed woman and a man wearing Army dress uniform. Her as a teen with a Corgi.

She saw my eyes, picked up the picture of the three people. "This is me when I was ten. Dad was getting ready to go to Iraq." She picked up the other picture. "This is my last picture with Bobbie. He left us that year. I was sixteen and I cried for a week."

"Cute dog. Mine was a chocolate Labrador. Loved 'im more than my brother."

"Bobbie WAS my brother. It's hard for a military family to move around with a pet, but Dad did it for me, quarantines, extra travel expenses, all that. I look back at that and I think I was very much indulged, at least that part."

"You seem to be one of the more sane examples of an army brat," I said.

"I know a little about that," she said. "You want a cold drink? We can sit for a while unless you have to run."

"No place I could go compares to hanging around with you," I said.

"Look, Stoney," she said while closing the refrigerator. "I was serious about boyfriend-girlfriend. Not just while we were in Austin."

"I was hoping something along those lines. So, you doing anything tomorrow? Noonish?"

Her eyes sparkled. "What do you have in mind?"

"Unless you have plans, I thought we'd go check on the boat. Bring some stuff for a picnic lunch there."

"I'd love it!" she squealed. "Dad says a man's boat is very personal, like a mate."

"I dunno about that. It's a boat."

"You didn't buy it because you didn't think it was special."

"Well..."

She smiled. "So I get to meet the other lady in your life. What time tomorrow?"

"It's about an hour or so from here. I'll pick you up at nine?"

"I'll be ready."

"Uh, don't wear your tea dress..."

Giggle. "My tea dress is at home, and I know what to expect on a sailboat. I shall dress appropriately."

"Gonna be a little too cool for a bikini," I offered.

She feigned outrage. "You think I'm wearing my bikini the first time I get on some random guy's boat?"

The door opened and Key, one of Jo's apartment mates, bopped in. "Oh, hi, Stoney. I kinda figured that Jo was with you when she didn't show up on the bus."

Jo smiled. "You know you could've ridden with us."

Key said, "There's a couple reasons I didn't. First one is I wanted you two to have that trip to y'allselves. An' second, I wanted to see how our buddy fared with his smashed up nose. Jeez, Stoney! If all you did was push 'im, I'd hate to see what he'd look like if you really got mad."

"So give us the scoop," Jo said.

"He didn't talk much. Word's pretty much out that he made unwanted advances on Jo and a disabled veteran, that'd be you, Stoney, put 'im on 'is ass with one punch." Key grinned. "The bus ride was actually kind of pleasant without his smart ass mouthing off like he does. He didn't get any sympathy."

"Any idea how long he's out of the trumpet business?" I asked. I actually felt kind of bad.

"Weeks, probably. You kinda mashed his lips into his teeth. Broke two front teeth out."

"I didn't know that," I said. "I feel bad."

"For what?" Key countered. "Jo can tell you. The guy's an ass."

"Yeah, but all I wanted to do was stop him from messing with Jo. Then he started swinging."

"An' when he did that, he got what he deserved. Everybody says you're like some kinda hero. Protectin' Jo an' all that."

"I would've done it for you, too, Key," I said. "'S what a man's supposed to do."

"Jo, you actually like this Neanderthal?" Key laughed.

"Ummm-hmmm," Jo said.

"Well, I need to drag my knuckles on over to my own place and get ready for the week," I said, standing.

Jo saw me to the door. At the door she put her arms around my neck and hauled me in for a kiss. I felt a flutter of her tongue against my lips and met it with my own. She pulled back, smiling. "You know, we could actually see each other during the week."

"I think I'd like that," I said.

And I thought about that idea halfway back to my apartment. Halfway back, because that's when the phone rang. I looked. Eddie. "Hey, bud, how's your dad?"

A relieved-sounding Eddie answered, "He's gonna be fine. Little stroke. Clogged carotid arteries. They bored 'im out and he's good to go."

"That's a relief," I said. "The system worked perfectly for the concert."

"I heard about some a'that," he said. "What's this about you an' that flute player walkin' around holdin' hands?"

"Jo wants to be my friend and I think that's a positively great idea."

"And you punched out the trumpet guy?"

"Okay, how much did you hear?"

"Heard you punched out Jo's old boyfriend and came back to hotel holding her hand." He laughed. "No, don't get all nutty. I heard that she dated him one time a long time ago. And he's nuts."

"Here I was, worried sick about you and your dad, and you call me to give me a ration of crap."

"Well, while I was waiting on word from Dad's doctor, I got a phone call you might be interested in."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah," Eddie said. "Remember that company that we tried selling our idea to?"

"Yeah..." While our sound collection system was a pleasant mental exercise, we harbored the silly idea that we might want to make money from it. We, well, actually, Eddie's the one, had conversations with a couple of companies in the field.

"Springs Group is putting money on the table."

"Good money?" I asked.

"I think so. I can put mine in the bank and be really choosy about what I have to do for a living. I think you'll be happy with the number."

"They're serious, then. What's the deliverable for it to work?"

"Our technical drawings, an operating manual, demos."

"Sounds like we can do that. I have the system modeled in AutoCAD. Hardware lists. The set-up lists will convert to manuals. Our software guy can document his part. We put it all together and..."

"Payday," Eddie said. "Not Bill Gates money, but money, nonetheless. Now, you and that flute player. What's the deal?"

"She's really nice. Friendly. Seems attracted to me. I'd have to be dead and disintegrated not to be interested in her."

"She's a pretty little thing. Future?"

"Nothing past going to the boat tomorrow."

"Well, you do that tomorrow. Monday after work, we need to get on this stuff. Get with Bob and run an edit of the concert for a demo. We have the garage band demos. If they impress some real sound people, we'll get paid for this."

"Will they let us keep our prototype setup?"

"I dunno. Why?"

"I like working with the orchestra."

Eddie laughed. "Not just a bunch of smart-assed college kids any more, huh? Do you need the recording system for an excuse?"

"Nope, I guess not. Not any more."

"The other side of that is that after they buy out our little corporation, I go with the deal. They're offering me a neat position. I hope that doesn't make you mad, buddy."

"Considering that I never expected to make a dime off this whole thing," I said, "I'm okay with any money that comes in. I'm gonna hate seeing you go. Who's gonna stir shit at the office?"

"I'm leaving that in your able hands, Stoney. You're perfectly capable."

So I had a couple of pleasant thoughts in my head when I finally went to sleep.

Davis was intent on the group exiting the building seventy yards away. "I hope the QRF gets here quick, LT! These guys ain't our friends." His M-16 bounced with the first round he fired and I joined in. We were having an effect, but it only takes a few seconds for a man to cover seventy yards. We weren't going to get all of them, especially when the RPG's took out the Hummer with the fifty-caliber.

Then one of the RPG's was pointed at me and Davis and Smitty. I shifted aim to that guy and I think that I got a hit, but he still pulled the trigger. I heard Davis scream once and flop over. I felt a thud against my left side.

I tried to keep shooting. With one eye I saw my rifle was trashed. There was Davis's within reach. I reached. Missed. Pushed with right leg. Grabbed Davis's rifle. Looked down-range. Another of our friends with an RPG, aiming. If he hits, I'm gone. I shoot just about the time he does and it's behind me and the next thing I see is a mouthful of bad teeth and a long knife and I'm pointing the rifle with one functioning hand and I pull the trigger and three rounds and...

I'm sitting up. My pillow is wet. At least when my eyes are open I don't see the faces of my platoon, young men who will be forever young.

A dash through the shower takes care of the cold sweat, and a pill gets me back to sleep with the alarm clock set to wake me up in time to meet Jo.

Breakfast is a granola bar and a vitamin and a glass of milk. And a phone call.

"Hi, Stoney," the soft voice said. "Are we still on?"

"I was calling you to ask the same thing."

"I'll be waiting for you when you get here. Do I need to bring anything?"

"Just you. I should have everything we need already on the boat." The lilt in her voice was enough to brighten my day. Reason enough to keep going. I grabbed a bag of sandwich fixings and headed out the door.

A short drive later I was knocking on Jo's door. She answered, an instrument case in hand.

"You're bringing a flute?" I asked.

"Yep. They're magic, remember? This is my old one from high school. It's got some miles on it and it's not the same quality as my concert one, but it's just what I need for today." And she stretched up close enough to land a kiss.

"Could I have another?"

Smile. "Yes."

Walking out to the car, I said, "I like your outfit."

She shook her head, a short red ponytail sticking out of the back of a baseball cap. "I don't look like a bag lady?"

"Hardly."

"Is my cap okay? I thought, sun and all that, a cap would be good."

"Oh, it looks charming. That ponytail is pure whimsy. But if you do this boat thing too much, we'll have to get you a proper sailing hat."

She caught me looking again. "Either you really like it, or you really hate it. The ponytail."

I smiled. "Put me down for a like." We got in the car.

"Go ahead. You can touch it."

I gave it a playful flip. Inside I wanted to feel it brush against my cheek. I sort of nudged it so her head turned in my direction and she leaned forward. And we kissed. Good thing I was wearing canvas boat shoes, because my toes curled. We broke apart with mutual sighs.

"Gosh, Stoney..." she said breathlessly. "That..."

"Was not planned. Very pleasant..."

"Just 'pleasant'?"

"Jo, that's the best kiss I can ever remember."

"I think we sort of collided. I was going to say the same thing." From the smile I saw, I actually think that the girl meant it.

We hit the road. Sunday morning, traffic was relatively sparse as we headed out of the city towards the little marina where my boat lived, chatting amiably.

At the marina gate, I punched in my access code. Jo's head swiveled as she took in the sights of a couple of dozen (I said it was a small marina) boats tied up to floating piers. I pulled into a parking slot and we got out. I grabbed a couple of bags.

"Let me get one of those," she said.

"Nope. I got 'em." I nodded in the direction of the nearest pier. "Down that one. Last boat on the left."

"Port," she said. "Dad taught me boat stuff."

"We're still on land, so it's left," I laughed. "And it's nice to know that you know your port from your starboard."

"And my fore from my aft..." She was walking ahead of me, those jeans moving over a particularly nice little 'aft'. She got to the boat. "Niiiiice!"

"I work hard to keep 'er that way."

"What is this?"

"Nonsuch 36."

"I thought you said forty." Giggle. "Men always think size matters."

"Much bigger and I would've been hard put to single-hand 'er." She stepped aboard and I followed her.

"Feels solid," she said.

"Should," I said. "She weighs eight and a half tons. Let me get the hatch unlocked and opened up." I fished the keys out of my pocket and opened the companionway. It didn't smell too musty. A little solar-powered vent fan circulated air, I visited the silly old girl at least weekly. "You want the tour?"

Blue eyes twinkled. "Come into my parlor, said the spider to the fly."

Chapter 6

"I'm not..." I stammered.

"And I wouldn't be here If I thought you would, Stoney! Let's look!" She started through the companionway. I followed. We stood in the main cabin.

"Wow! This is roomy!" she said.

"Yeah, one of the things that sold me. She was at the top end of what I wanted to spend, but once I got in this cabin, I was sold. I like not worrying about bumping my head." I pointed to the port side, aft. "That's a berth. Really comfy for one. I suppose it'd be cozy for two."

She smiled. "I know how they kinda get ambitious describing the sleeping accommodations on boats. I didn't understand why I couldn't fit in between Mom and Dad when I was a kid. Their boat had a V-berth and one like this."

"Then you're familiar with marine toilets?" I asked, pushing the door open to the head.

"Uh-huh, but wasn't there a bath house onshore?" she asked.

"Yeah. That's what I use, but then I'm the guy who has to get the holding tank pumped out."

"I don't want to inconvenience you," I said.

"Stoney," she said, turning to me. "That kiss in the car ... D'ya think you can work up another one?"

"Uh..."

"I don't mean to be forward," she smiled, "but I thought that was a really good kiss."

"I didn't want to take a momentary lapse as some sort of sign," I said.

She stepped towards me. "Sign this," she said, putting her arms around my neck. "Stoney, I really like you. A little kissing is not a momentary lapse." And she kissed me. And I kissed her back. And wrapped my arms around her.

When our lips parted she was right there. Close. Blue eyes. Red lips. Smiling. Wisps and tendrils of a delicate perfume in my nostrils. My feet were firmly planted on the sole of the cabin but I felt like I was falling. Falling. A long, long way.

"Mister Stonewall Jackson, I'm right here. You just went far, far away, but I'm right here."

"I'm very happy you are, Jo."

"Where'd you go, Stoney? Was that kiss ... Am I replacing somebody? Memories?"

"Oh, Jo, nothing like that. Sit down."

"You sit down first." I sat. She sat, too, lounging back in my arms.

She laid her head back against my chest. "Okay, so we're very good friends now. You can talk to me. What's the deal with Stoney and girls?"

"There's no deal, sweet lady," I said. "I've had girlfriends. Don't have any right now, present company excepted. Haven't really had a girlfriend since - oh, in the last few years. Friends who happen to be female, yes. Official girlfriends, no. Nobody applied for the position."

"I did."

"Yes, you did. A very pleasant surprise. When you did it, I felt like we were kids on the schoolyard."

Giggle. "Kinda the way I meant it to feel," she said. "Didn't want you to think I was one of those wild college girls linin' up the night's hook-up."

"I never saw you like that. I would've been terribly shocked to find that out."

"Why?"

"I watched the way you carry yourself around others, especially males. You're friendly enough, but you seem to keep a certain distance. Like a little wall."

"You, sir, jumped my wall." She sighed. "Look, I dated. Even right up until we connected."

"We connected?"

"I'm connected. Are you connected?" She twisted to look into my eyes.

"Exactly how connected can I safely be?"

"Stoney, I can see something in your eyes. It's not about me and you. It's about you. But when I see me and you, I like what I see."

"You've known me a month and a half," I said. "We've been sort of hanging together now for a week."

"Yeah, but you're not the only one that looks, you know. I can see your face change. Like you're guarding against something and you let your guard down and it shows up."

I knew what she was describing and her assessment was accurate. "You're correct. Especially about the 'me and you' part."

"But the other part?"

"That too."

"Stoney, I'm your girlfriend. I care enough to listen to what ever you want to say, whenever you want to say it. That's part of being a friend."

"Don't take this wrong, Jo. You're precious, and I know you're my friend. Some day the time will come that I can try to explain some things."

She flopped over. Planted a kiss on my lips. "But not today. I'm not pushing. Really. I'm just being available." She tilted her head, eyes atwinkle, lips moist. Got another kiss. Several actually, some big, some small, heavily punctuated with sighs.

On a purely recreational level, it was wonderful. Sweet, relaxed, tender, like two people connecting together. Okay, I told myself, just go with it. It's just kissing. She's pretty. You LIKE her. It was my turn to sigh.

Her eyes fluttered open. "See," she said, punctuating with a little fluttery brush of a kiss. "That's one of those 'Stoney's thinking' moments."

"Yes, little one, it was indeed. Stoney was thinking about how absolutely wonderful this is."

"It is, isn't it," she said. "Just like this..."

Sweet. Desirable. A delightful cross between coquettish and demure. "Gosh, princess," I said. One more burning kiss and she sat back.

Tiny beads of perspiration flecked her forehead. "Stoney, I ... Whew!"

"I know, Jo. Exactly."

She giggled. "Mister Stoney! You're cute!"

I smiled. "It's been a long time since somebody called me cute."

"I get to say. So, are we gonna take this thing out today?"

"Sure, change the subject," I laughed.

"Change THIS," she said, pulling me in for another kiss. "That's not what I'm doing. But this thing is your pride and joy and I thought you'd like to show her off."

"Your wish is my command, princess," I said. "Lemme check the oil." I removed the hatch to uncover the little diesel engine and eyeballed the dipstick, then replaced the cover. "Okay, let's get 'er outta here."

I cranked the engine, letting it idle while we untied the mooring lines, then together in the cockpit, I eased the boat out of the slip and we idled out of the little marina. In the channel I increased speed. We worked our way easily past the dockside businesses.

"You're laughing," she said.

"Yeah. Those people staring at us, thinking 'There goes some rich asshole on his yacht.' And I'm not rich."

She laughed. "This is nice. I forgot how nice it is."

"I like it," I said. We cleared the channel and entered the bay, following the markers that told me where the water was deep enough to accommodate the draft of my keel. I explained that to her. She nodded.

"Just take the wheel and keep us between the markers and let me get the cover off the sail," I said.

"'Kay, cap'n," she replied.

I stowed the cover in a locker. "Another two markers and we'll be deep enough to leave the channel," I said. "Then we'll raise the sail."

A few minutes later, we were ready. "Okay, I'm going to raise the sail. You can expect it to pull us off course, so get ready to put some effort into the wheel."

"I think I can handle it," she said. She did a good job. I cleated the sheet securely and rejoined her in the cockpit. We chose an easy reach for a course and I fiddled with the sheet to optimize the sail's draft, then killed the engine.

Bereft of the mechanical noise, the world changed to wind and water and sun. And a smiling freckled face with blue eyes and an outrageous pony tail. Life, at least in the immediate future, was very good. "We'll get a few more days like this before winter," I said. "It's really perfect!"

And I looked at perfection sitting there beside me.

"So where is it you go when you anchor out?"

"South of here. Just get out of the way of the other traffic."

"We oughtta do that, then break out the sandwich stuff."

"Okay, then." I eased off the wind, let Jo take the helm while I made adjustment to the mainsheet, and we put a couple of miles into the open width of the bay, laughing and talking together. Finally, we rounded up into the wind. As the we came to a stop, I dropped the sail into the lazy jacks and tossed the day anchor over the bow. Drifting back, the boat's momentum set the hook and the world was silent except for the whistle of wind in the rigging and the slap of waves against the hull. Well, not completely silent. It never is in the bay. Ocean-going ships course the deep-water channel in the distance and powerboats are a constant aggravation, but we were as close to tranquility as you can get without putting miles between the boat and the shore of the Gulf.

"Sandwiches," she said. And sandwiches it was, and cold drinks and the location of our conversation on the boat directed its content. We talked of day trips and jaunts across the open waters of the Gulf of Mexico and motoring up the channels and canals.

"I wanna do an over-nighter," Jo blurted. I gazed at her, parsing the statement. "There are plenty of places to sleep, so it doesn't have to mean THAT, Stoney. I just have this magical thought about sitting here in the cockpit in the misty morning, sipping a hot cup of coffee and watching the sun on the water."

"I've had those magical moments, but they were always solo. When I bring friends, it's not to spend the night swinging at anchor. The quiet times..."

"You don't want to share?" she asked.

"Oh, certainly not what I mean at all. It's just it takes the right person to share. Somebody who can find the harmony and peace."

"I can play Greig's "Morning Mood" on my flute to wake you up," she smiled.

"Then let's decide on a weekend," I said. "Before it gets too cold. The cabin's heated, but I'm not." I didn't man for that statement to have a double meaning, but she got a wry smile on her face.

"We can just bundle up and motor out here. Drop the anchor, put soup on for dinner, something else for breakfast, and a pot of hot cocoa at night and coffee in the morning. You. Me. Music. You won't have your solitude, but maybe you can stand it for one night."

"You're giving this some thought," I said.

"Uh-huh," she said, nodding and smiling. "We have the same problem, you and I, Stoney. I don't get any 'alone' time either. And I know that being out here with you isn't exactly being alone, but I get the feeling that what it would be is equally good. Maybe better."

"Think so?"

"Yes, I think so. You seem to know how to leave some silence in a moment. And when the moment is over, you know how to break the silence gently, pleasantly."

"That's the best explanation of two people being together that I ever heard, Jo," I said.

"I'm not that way all the time, Stoney," she said. "Sometimes I want to talk and laugh and listen to people's drama and their happiness and things, but sometimes I want to retreat from it." But then I never had the right boyfriend, either..." She smiled at me, almost shyly. "Uh, in that locker I opened, did I see a banjo?"

"Yeah, I said. "it's an old one, but it works."

"Bring it out. You've heard me play. Now it's my turn."

"I'll do it, but seriously, Jo, I'm not nearly as good with it as you are with your flute."

"Wasn't always good, baby," she said. I caught 'baby'. I hadn't been 'baby' to anyone in a decade.

"Okay, then, sweet girl," I said. I went below and came back up with a cheap banjo and sat down beside her. I tuned it up and then played a few riffs to loosen up my fingers, then I started in a simple old folk tune, singing along as I played.

She listened, smile broadening. "You're not bad at all, Stoney. I know that song."

"Sing with me, then." I started back at the beginning and she sang with me, her voice exactly as clear and musical when she was singing as when she was speaking.

"Let me get my flute. I can play along, too. You're in the key of G, right?"

"Uh-huh," I answered. "makes it easy for me."

Shortly she was seated across the cockpit from me, her old high school flute in her hands. "I can watch your fingering so I can see the chord changes."

"Okay. Open is G, this is C, and this is D. Actually, it's D seventh, but close enough."

"I know what a seventh is. Let's try that song again."

It WAS music. The first time through, she ran arpeggios for each chord change. The second time, she was onto the melody line, and she was smiling. Giggle. "See? We can do this together."

"Oh, yeah," I laughed. "A concert flutist and a hack banjo player."

"Don't sell yourself short, Stoney. I think you do that sometimes. And exactly whom are we playing to satisfy? We have an audience of each other. And I'm happy with what I hear." Smile. "So I know you know some more."

I did. We did, alternating between the two of us singing together and me singing and playing banjo as she played flute. I was thinking of how we were an unlikely pairing and I said as much.

She put her flute down in her lap. "I do NOT agree, Stoney. The only thing that is the tiniest bit off about us is that you're a little bit older than most people would expect. And it's not really that much of a difference.

"You're like a perfect bit of physical beauty. I'm scarred up."

"You never said 'perfect' before, Stoney. I'm not."

"You are. Why would you think otherwise?"

"Freckles. Worse than zits. Zits go away. Freckles're forever." She heaved a little sigh. I got the feeling she'd done that inventory before. "My uh ... breasts are too small. My hips are too wide. I'm too tall. And red hair. Don't forget all the 'carrot top' comments."

"You're so wrong," I replied. And maybe I was just seeing perfection because I wanted to see it, but I countered, "You're very feminine. You're not supposed to look like a boy. That takes care of the hips. Or a milk cow. That takes care of the breasts. And the freckles are like a constellation for the stars in your eyes..."

"Shut up before you run out of things to say, Stoney." She pushed me back against the bulkhead and kissed me. Long.

When she backed away, I said, "But I didn't get a chance to tell you how stunning your hair is. Or your smile."

"You need to be careful, sir," she said at close range. "You're going to make me think I'm special."

"You're special," I said, kissing her.

"You are, too, Randall Stonewall Jackson. Scar? Character. You've been places. Done things. Earned the right to be yourself. And to find somebody who can tell the difference between some nancy-boy who thinks that skateboarding down a handrail proves his manhood and a real man."

"Nancy-boy?"

"Mom's term. She used it on a couple of my choices of high school boyfriends. Sometimes Mom isn't politically correct. Dad either, when you get 'im going. And that brings up a delicate subject."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. Next week they're coming to town. Dad's meeting with one of his client companies and he's bringing Mom along and they're staying the weekend." She fixed me with her eyes. "Now I know we've only been hanging together for a few days, but if you're up to it, I'd love to have you with me for at least dinner one night."

"Meet the parents," I said.

"Yeah. I could understand where you might not want to, Stoney. But really, it's not as serious and final as it might sound."

I couldn't help but smile. "Jo, are they going to be able to determine that just because you show up with a guy, he's not automatically going to be their son-in-law? You couldn't've come from stupid parents."

She shook her head. I got to watch that red hair bounce. "They're not. But I know that some of my girlfriends have said that some guys really get nervous about meeting parents. Like it's a line that's been crossed."

"I don't think so. Your dad's a retired colonel. He and I might have a little in common."

"And Mom has something in common with everybody," she smiled. "So you'll do it?"

"Proudly. Happily. I am your friend."

"You know there's more to it than that, Stoney." She watched my eyes. "Don't you?" A twinkle appeared in her eye. "You do!"

"Am I supposed to?" I asked.

"I dunno. I'm not really familiar with all of this."

"Boyfriend stuff? Jo, you're too pretty, too smart not to..."

"I'm just not, Stoney. I got my story too."

"David..."

"Mistake. I thought he was smart and talented and had a lot of self-confidence and maybe that 'arrogant' thing he did was just for show. I almost swore off men after him."

"Before? I mean, before David?"

She bowed her head. "You're my friend, right? I can tell you things?"

"You expect me to tell you things, Jo. Of course you can tell me things."

"I don't talk about it. But when I was sixteen, I was a victim of a gang attack."

"You were raped?"

"Not officially. There was no penetration. But I was carried off by four guys who had that in mind." She squeezed her eyes closed, then opened them and continued. "Some other people came up and that's what saved me from worse. I got most of my clothes ripped off. The guys got kicked out of school and put in a juvenile house." She continued, "I got raked over the coals. Accused of teasing. Of leading those guys on. I was just a band girl, and a bunch of us used to hang our with some of the football team. That's who it was. I pretty much wiped the team out."

"But you're okay..."

"Am I?" she said softly. "I get really scared dealing with men. I'm getting better. But that whole thing about one on one banter..."

"What did I do? You sort of fell into me and I fell into you..."

She smiled just a bit. "Your eyes. You look like I felt sometimes."

"Jo, you're safe with me. You're too precious to hurt. I'd kill myself first."

"Or somebody else, apparently. Messed up a trumpet player." She smiled. "You took up for me."

"He touched you and you didn't want to be touched. I woud've put up with him talking to you until you said 'no', but when he squeezed your shoulder..."

"I know. You're different. You were in control. Not reacting from anger or rage. I really like you, Stoney. You're different."

"You know, Jo, I like you too ... a lot."

She smiled. "I'm sorry I got morose there."

"Don't apologize. We're friends. We talk to each other. That's what friends are supposed to be able to do."

"I have friends," she said. "And I never told them this. Not even Key. And we're pretty close friends. I don't know why I feel safe opening up to you like that." She sighed, picking up her flute. The opening strains of "Morning Mood" flowed out, soft, lush, evocative, but even more evocative was the twinkle in those blue eyes. She dropped the flute away from her lips.

I picked up the banjo, slipped the picks onto my fingers and ripped into "Roll in My Sweet Baby's Arms", a little bit slower than Flatt & Scruggs played it, but she was smiling and giggling as I sang.

"Is that for me?" Giggle.

"Darned straight it's for you!"

She carefully laid her instrument down and crossed the cockpit as I set the banjo down. I spread my arms and she fit herself inside them. "Stoney, I will be your sweet baby..."

"And I shall take care of you..." I left it open ended. Thoughts were forming in my mind, though. Or was it my heart?

The sun was getting low in the sky when we decided to secure the boat, weigh anchor, and head back to the marina. The GPS gave us a course to the proper spot on the channel we needed to work our way home and Jo handled the helm as I tended the boat's only sail. When we neared the channel, I cranked the little engine up and we did a good job of dousing sail and changing course into the channel.

Now that I was confident of my crew, I secured the sail and covered it and retired to the cockpit, sliding beside her.

"You act like you trust me," she said.

"I do. I get the feeling that you're not gonna let the wheel loose and start squealing and waving your arms around if something happens."

"We're gonna trust each other. You'll learn, Stoney. One of these days we can talk about what causes those clouds over your face."

"If anyone ever hears, it'll be you, Jo." I was serious and getting more serious each day. Not about talking. About Jo.

Back at the slip, I secured the mooring lines. By the time I finished, Jo had deposited a bag of trash in the cockpit, the residue of the day.

"I put your banjo back in the locker. "I got my flute. We have a bag of trash. And this is the the left-over bread and lunch meat," she said, holding up another bag.

I heard honking. "We won't take that back with us. I hear the geese." I whistled.

"Geese?"

"Yeah, there's a couple of pairs of geese here." The honking got louder as they neared.

"Awwww, look!" she said. "How cute!" Four grey geese were paddling purposefully in our direction.

"They're notorious moochers," I said. "And bread and lunch meat will make 'em happy. Watch!" I opened the loaf of bread and tossed slices on the bank near the water. The flock charged up and started eating.

"They'll eat lunch meat?" Jo asked.

"And popcorn. And just about everything else you toss out there. They're kind of like pets. Or mascots."

"They're cute!"

"You wouldn't think that if you stepped in goose crap. But I learned to look where I walk. You would be advised to do so as well."

Giggle. "Thanks for the warning."

"It's not so bad over here. They like to hang out by the office. It's like a minefield there."

'Minefield'.

Jo caught the change. "Stoney, you just did it again. Baby, you're gonna have to tell me one of these days."

"I'm sorry, Jo. In due time." If it was going to be worked out, here's a chance, I told myself.

We were loading things into the car when the marina manager walked up. "Hey, Stoney," he said.

"Hi, Gary. Uh, this is Jo. Jo, Gary. He's the manager here."

"Hi, Gary," Jo said brightly, extending a hand. "Glad to meet you! Nice place. Love the geese!"

"Watch where you step," he laughed.

"So I've been told."

Gary looked at me. "You gave Jo the tour?"

"Showed her the bath house. Then we went out for the day. Didn't show her the rest of the place. We fed the geese."

"Yeah, and next spring we're gonna have more little geese," he said.

"Oh, neat!" Jo trilled.

"Ya think so. We might trade some with the flock up the channel," Gary said. "Want some branches in the goosey family tree, you know..."

"Gary's a retired state biologist," I said. "Used to slog around the marshes ogling whooping cranes."

"Really?" Jo said. "That's interesting! They were almost extinct."

Gary lifted the cap off his bald head, wiping his brow. "Yeah, apparently whooping cranes benefit from us following them around in the marsh. Anyway, nice to meet you, Miss Jo. Stoney, bring 'er back. If she wants whooping cranes, I got pictures."

Jo's red hair bounced. "Next time, Mister Gary."

"Just Gary," he said. "See you two later!"

We got in the car and worked our way back towards home. I escorted her to the door of her apartment, thought I was going to get the little kiss at the door before I left, but she unlocked the door and dragged me inside, much to the delight of Key.

When Jo threw her arms around my neck and I wrapped mine around her waist and we kissed, Key snorted, "Well, so much for the 'How'd your day go?' question." She saw Jo's flute case on the sofa. "Girl, don't tell me you brought your flute. And you expect me to think you actually took it out of the case?"

"Key, my dear friend, indeed we did. And we played music together in the middle of the bay."

"Uh-huh. I believe you, too," Key said, dark eyes laughing. "Jo, I haven't seen you this happy in like, ever!" she turned to me. "Stoney Jackson, you did okay again."

"Why thank you, Miss Key," I said. "Now, I have to go home and get ready for my real job tomorrow."

"Hang on, Stoney. One more!" Jo said.

And I left for home with my lips still tingling.

Chapter 7

We had dinner one more time before her mom and dad were due to hit town. We found a little place that served some good Italian cooking and talked about our respective days, mine at the engineering house, hers in school.

Eddie's deal was, at least on the surface, solid. It had better be. He turned in his notice at work. That move got me a run into the big boss's office where I was grilled pretty heavy.

"No," I said, "I'm not planning on going anywhere. I kinda like the place."

He asked, "This thing that you and Eddie worked on, we're looking at it being our property. You signed the intellectual property agreement when you started work."

Okay, I know the answer to this one. "That would be a bad move. First, none of the work was done on company time or using company resources. Second, it's completely unrelated to our core or our peripheral businesses. Third, do you really want to show the rest of the company that this is the treatment they might expect?"

He laughed. "You've given this some thought."

"You bet," I said. "You didn't hire me because I was stupid. I gave it a lot of thought. You don't need me doing some sort of conflict of interest thing, nor would I consciously rob the company of anything. I wasn't raised like that, Bob. Eddie wasn't a bad engineer, and neither am I."

"That's what I thought," he said.

"As a matter of fact, I treated that whole exercise like a research lab. I've learned some hardware and software things that might have some application in just the right places. If we have a client doing something that's fast and unpredictable and unstable. I have a bunch of notes. Might publish. Under OUR banner, you know..."

Bob laughed. "That would be a kick. Just let us clear it before it goes out."

"Sure," I said. "That's in the employment agreement."

I explained all that to Jo over dinner. "I can understand some of Bob's trepidation. You're telling me that Eddie's getting a few hundred thousand dollars for the system you guys built. And you're getting a third? How does that stack up with one of your company's engineering projects?"

"Bottom end. We do billion-dollar facilities. If they were asked to pick up a quarter-million dollar engineering project, they'd look at what else was on the schedule and they'd probably dodge the little project. But I can see where a lawyer and a bean-counter might look at tagging something that already exists, like our recording and production system, as low-hanging fruit, just waiting to be picked. But Bob says we're clear."

"Good! What're you gonna do with the money?" she asked.

"Investment, I guess. I have everything I want. Nice place to live. My boat. The car's two years old. I don't need a vacation right now, and if I did, I'd take one..."

She looked at me. "Seriously now. If Stoney was going on vacation, where would he go?"

"You know, I haven't really thought about it. I usually take a few days and go away on the boat. I'm afraid I'm not much of a tourist."

"Why not?"

I had my reasons. Let's see how the main one fits. "If I'm having a good time, I'd like to have somebody to share it with."

"So you don't, like, take a lady friend?" Jo asked seriously.

"Those that might go, I don't want to take. I figure I don't want to damage my karma by spending a good time with somebody who might not be in it for anything more than a free week someplace and sleeping with me is the only down side."

"That's rather harsh, don't you think?"

"I've been burnt, Jo. If I'm not good enough to hang around your friends here in town, then why am I good enough to go with to New York?"

"Uh..."

"I don't like shallow people, Jo. Guys or girls."

"What makes you think I'm not shallow, buddy?" Her face almost looked serious. The little quiver as she struggled not to smile is what gave her away. I was becoming an expert on Jo. There are worse areas in which one might claim expertise.

"'Bout seventy-three reasons, red-headed girl," I said. "You don't have the affectations. You smile when you play. You smile when you're talking with friends. You're too darned intelligent and you don't seem to waste your time on following the lives..."

"'Great minds discuss ideas; average minds discuss events; small minds discuss people.' Eleanor Roosevelt said that. My dad, whom, may I remind you, you're going to meet for dinner Thursday, hammered that into my poor little head as soon as I was old enough to know what 'discuss' meant." She smiled.

"And what did your mother say about that overbearing exhibition of paternal control?"

"My dear mother," she said, broadening into a semblance of an Irish brogue, "thinks to this very day that the sun rises and sets upon the command of Colonel Anders Solheim. And she never fails to remind me that I have been a particularly happy experience in child-rearing for the two of them."

I laughed. One thing I'd never heard escape the lips of Miss Johanna Solheim was the typical 'my parents are sooooo old/boring/uncool/etc." To be honest, I was looking forward to meeting a couple that could produce a Jo.

"See," she said, "you're thinking again, aren't you?"

"Guilty," I said. "Was just thinking of some of those other reasons. Came up with a flute solo."

"Speaking of," she said, " can you read music?"

"Yeah, why?"

"I mean, can you read music and translate it to your banjo?"

"I am not as proficient as you seem to be with your flute. I can sight-read, but my mind and my fingers aren't nearly as fast as I wish they were." I looked at her face. "Where's this heading?"

"Oh, a silly exercise..."

"This is gonna be good, I bet."

She smiled. "You know how I want to do that Mozart flute and harp concerto?"

"Yeah ... Soooo..."

"Mozart didn't know about banjos. They weren't invented yet. I have the music. The harp part."

"Johanna, I have listened to that piece a hundred times. There's no earthly way that I can get those sounds out of a banjo."

She gave me a giggle. "No, I know that, and I think you'd burn out a finger if you tried. But you know that a lot of Mozart is scales and arpeggios. You can cut those down to single notes or simpler structures within the chord progression."

I smiled back. "There you go talking like a music major," I said.

"I think that you and I need to try."

"Lemme have it. I'll try, on the condition that you don't laugh. I'm going to attempt to take a banjo back in time..."

We finished our dinner.

"You need to come up to the apartment. The music is in there," she said.

"You just want Key to make fun of me again," I said.

"Oh, poor baby. I'll tell 'er not to make fun of you again." Jo laughed. Key and I had a running laugh about me beating up a band member. She made a point of mentioning it every time I showed up.

We walked hand in hand up to Jo's door and went inside. Key was curled up in an impossible twist with a laptop. She looked up when we walked in. "Hi, Jo's white boy," she grinned. "I got an angle on an uppity violinist if you want something to do."

"You're just evil," I returned. "But you're Jo's friend, so I tolerate you."

"Not to mention that I'm an endangered species. I'm the only black oboist I ever met."

"And you're my second-favoritest orchestra person," I replied.

Jo had her hand on my shoulder, leaning against me. Key smiled. "Oh, yeah, sure! My parents see me playin' oboe, an' that's all cool 'n' stuff. But I think they gonna draw the line at me bringin' home a white boy!"

That statement got Jo to giggling. "Key, you know we NEED to do that! We can show up at your mom and dad's for lunch. You walk in with Stoney on your arm, and introduce 'im. I'll just tag along."

"No way," I said, "I ain't getting beat up by a big black guy!"

"Oh, you so racist," Key laughed. "Dad ain't that big. 'Sides, he played trumpet. You can whup those guys."

"Seeeeeee," I whined to Jo, "She's doin' it again!"

"Well, baby, you just go home tonight and I'll have another talk with her," Jo said.

It was getting late. "Okay," I said. "Had a wonderful evening."

"Then you just need to give me one more thing, dear," she said, swinging me around to face her. We kissed. I let my hands slide around her waist, feeling her softness.

"One more," I said.

"Okay. Just one."

I left with my feet barely touching the pavement.

During the day at the office Thursday, I was at my desk, a huge drawing on the big monitor of my workstation, a pad full of notes and rough calculations before me, and the phone rang.

"WB Engineering. This is Stoney Jackson. Can I help you?"

"You can escort me to dinner. That would be a big help! How's your day going?" Jo's voice.

I smiled. Pleasant face filled my head, replacing the power distribution drawing that was sucking the life out of my soul. "I'll rescue you if you rescue me," I returned.

"What do you need rescuing from?"

"I'm in the middle of the power system for a small Central American country. I need rescue."

"Then how about you pick me up at five-thirty. That gives us both time to clean up and look presentable."

"Should I wear a suit?"

"No. I've seen what you wear at work. That's plenty good. That 'tie and dress shirt' thing you do."

"Got it," I said. She'd showed up for lunch one day. Caught me on the day I was doing my part of a big presentation to a client. My normal attire didn't include a tie. As a couple, Jo and I stayed pretty informal and comfortable when out together, but tonight was different. It had been a month or so since she'd seen her parents and if she was bringing me along and she wanted me wearing a tie, then I'd better be wearing a tie.

"And Stoney?"

"Yes, Jo?"

"You're my friend, okay? But you're the first guy I've brought to meet Mom and Dad since I got out of high school."

"I shall be on my best behavior," I said.

"I'm not worried about you, Stoney. Just that it might be a shock to Mom and Dad."

"You asked ME, remember?"

"Yes, I did. You're my friend. You and Dad are both soldiers. And Mom knows that there's this guy that I hang out with. That would be you."

"As long as it makes you smile, princess."

"'Kay, baby. I'll let you finish your day."

"Okay, sweetness. See you after work."

"Sweetness? Who's 'sweetness'?" came a voice from outside my door. That would be Bradley Sykes, another engineer in a building full of engineers.

"A particularly interesting lady," I said.

"Oh, really? How'd you meet 'er?"

"I put a microphone and camera in front of her and asked her to play her flute."

"Oh," he said. "That was you an' Eddie's media system, then?"

"Yeah. She's in the university's orchestra. We used 'em for guinea pigs when we were doing the shakedowns of the system."

"College girl? Little young, huh?"

"Not too young. She's a senior. Twenty-one, almost twenty-two. I have a few years on 'er, but not much. Besides, friends, okay?"

"Got pictures?"

"As a matter of fact, I do." There was a file on my workstation. At first it was there because the company foots the bill for a full-blown PhotoShop package, and I wanted to give her some pictures. Of late, though, I find myself spending idle moments with that face in front of me, blue eyes, red bangs pushed sideways by an errant breeze, and the smile that is almost a defining feature on that pretty face. I pulled up one. "Here she is," I said.

He walked around to look at my monitor. 'Wow. I'd call 'er sweetie, too. You two serious?"

"Seriously friends," I said. "She's young and too beautiful and too talented to even dream about."

"Then why's she your friend? Her idea? Yours?" Brad was ten or fifteen years my senior. He had a quick, acerbic wit and was respected for his technical capabilities. Socially, though, he and I had nothing more than the exchanges of jokes or current events or the occasional office tale between us. And now her was making me think about my feelings.

"Oh, I don't know," I said. " We kinda started talking, then we sort of hung out when I went with the orchestra to Austin for a concert, and now she's my girlfriend."

"Well, let's just analyze this," he said. "That's what we do sometimes. You know, forensics."

"Ooooo-kay," I replied. "Let's see where you go with this."

"Who brought up the 'hanging out' thing? Did you chase 'er down?"

"No."

"Who brought up the 'girlfriend' thing?"

"She did."

"Now don't take this wrong, but some women today, they're..."

"She's not."

"So, is she blind?"

"Oh, hell no!"

"So this girl knows what you look like and what you sound like and what you do, and she finds you pleasant enough to call you her boyfriend?"

"Yeah."

"And you're okay with this?"

"Yeah. And tonight we're having dinner with her mom and dad."

"Stoney, I didn't think we hired idiots at this company. Well, except for the civil engineering group. You, son, are in a relationship. You know that, don't you? Or are you really that clueless?"

"Brad," I said, "Maybe I just didn't think of it in those terms. She doesn't seem ... I dunno, she's just different."

"This 'different' you speak of, it's a good thing?"

"Yeah. A really good thing."

"Then good luck, buddy. Lemme know how it turns out." He smirked. "You're looking awfully caught. Not that it's a bad thing, if that's what you want." He turned, coffee mug in hand, heading back up the hall.

I turned back to my monitor, gazed at the blue eyes gazing at me. In my head, my mind said, "Jo, is this headed someplace?" Okay, my employers actually expect some work out of me, so I pulled in a couple of elements into the drawing on my monitor, worked up some parameters for them, and re-ran the power flow scenarios. I tweaked and retried. And it was time to go.

I followed the herd out the door patiently waited out the exodus from the parking garage and the aggravations of the commute. At home, I shucked the day's work clothes and hit the shower. As I was lathering up, my fingers ran over the scars. Okay, Jo knew about the ones on my face and head. She hadn't seen the ones on my arm and my chest and my leg. I questioned myself as to how much 'ugly' I could reasonably expect somebody as physically perfect as Jo to accept.

I rinsed shampoo out of my short hair as I inventoried, reminding myself that she didn't seem to be bothered by the jagged pink line from my cheek to my hairline. Maybe she really didn't mind.

I shaved, brushed my teeth, splashed a tiny little bit of cologne on, and dressed, slacks, long sleeved shirt, tie. And it was time to go. Time for one more phone call.

"Hey, Jo," I said.

There was a little giggle in her voice. "Hi, Stoney. Are you still..."

"You betcha, unless you're backing out."

"You're the one who's meeting Mom and Dad for the first time, guy. Only reason I'm nervous is because of you. I worry."

"I'll be there in half an hour. We can talk on the way to dinner."

"Okay, baby, but if you're thinking about dumping me, don't do it tonight, okay?" she said softly.

"Why would you even think of such a thing, Johanna?"

"I dunno. There's a change in your voice. Like something's different," she said.

"Nope, not really. Looking forward to seeing you."

"Good, Stoney. I look forward to seeing you, too. In a minute, okay?"

"I'm out the door right now," I said.

The conversation with Brad replayed in my mind. Maybe I was just oblivious. All I knew was that Jo just popped up in my life and it was like the sun came out after a long, stormy time. I liked it. It felt good. I wanted to keep feeling good. It seemed to me that Jo's smile played a part in that.

I found a parking spot open about half a block from the front entrance of the apartment shared by Jo and Key, locked the car and walked to her door.

Okay, I was used to seeing Jo in her 'knocking around' clothes, that being jeans and a blouse or a man's shirt or such. And I had been treated to the vision of Jo in a dress for her concert solo. That was stunning. But the Jo that answered the door, that was different.

"If I'd've known you were going to look like this, I'd've dressed better," I said. "Jo, you're stunning."

"Good! Shut up and kiss me, Stoney!" she blurted. Her arms looped around my neck, pulling my face down to hers. I didn't fight it. I went with it. I gathered her in my own arms, relishing the press of her body against mine.

It was unbelievably good. I can't remember a better kiss, even in the days of my hormone-enraged youth. I didn't want to stop, and apparently neither did she, not for a while. Finally, reluctantly, we parted.

"Stoney, I needed that. That's my drug. My tranquilizer. My mood altering substance."

"Me?"

"You."

I looked into the room. There was Key, standing there, arms folded, smirking.

"White boy, how I'm s'posedta show you to Daddy you be kissin' that pale child like that?"

Jo turned to her. "He's mine, Key, but if I die, you inherit 'im." She turned back to me. "Come on, boyfriend, before we incense Miss Key there."

"Bye, Key," I said.

"Bye, white kids," she laughed.

Jo and I walked out to the sidewalk and I found my hand collected in hers.

"You don't kiss me like something's wrong, Stoney," she said. "But when we were on the phone, I heard something in your voice. What's up, fella?"

I recounted the conversation with Brad. "Why should I keep a secret from you, little one?" I asked.

"You shouldn't. I won't keep secrets from you. So what do you think?"

I paused, took a breath. "I hit the lottery. Don't know how big the prize is yet. Last couple of weeks it's been wonderful. You're a good friend. The fact that you're so beautiful and so kissable is just frosting on the cake."

"I'm not beautiful," she said.

"Oh, bull," I retorted. "Gimme a break. You're startlingly, unusually, exotically beautiful."

We were in front of my car. She spun me to face her and put her index finger in the middle of my forehead. "You would be wise, sir, to realize that appreciation of beauty begins in here." She tapped her fingertip against my forehead. "And just maybe, sir, you might infer that the same sort of arrangement exists in MY head in regard to YOU." She paused, her eyes narrow. "Now, I would, at this moment, desire another kiss, but the street is hardly the..."

I shut her up with a kiss.

We got in the car. "So your buddy, what was his name, Brad?, he comes in and makes you run an inventory."

"Yeah, it's like that."

"You hadn't done that before?"

"Nope. I was happy like a little fat kid in a candy store. I didn't want to question why. I was afraid that the act of questioning would destroy it, like examining a snowflake."

"You've got a poet's heart, Stonewall Jackson," she said. Her fingers traced the scar on my forehead. "My own warrior-poet. A man out of his time, for a woman out of hers ... Let's go meet Mom and Dad."

"Okay," I said, again trying to parse out her words. What was she saying? I could almost get something. But was it just being playful, because her grin was almost kittenish.

"Oh, Stoney, I've confused you," she said. "I don't want you confused. I want you to know..." She paused as I pulled off the side street onto a main artery.

"What do you want me to know, Jo?"

"That I don't make a habit of this, warrior-poet. You, sir, are the first."

"A habit of what?" I asked.

"Loping 'round the countryside with banjo players. Taking off on random sailboats. Watching you beat up trumpet players. Getting all goo-goo-eyed."

"You're goo-goo-eyed..."

"Hopelessly so, Stoney. Please tell me it's not a one-way street."

"It's not. Awfully early to figure out what it is, Johanna Elise," I said.

"Myself," she said. "I feel like I got hold of one of those grab bags, but it's got the logo of a really upscale store on it. I've stuck my hand inside and pulled out some very interesting and pleasant things, but I don't know what all might be in there..." her hand punctuated her words, resting softly on my forearm.

"You aren't bad in the poet business yourself," I said. "Jo, two weeks is a bit short. How much of you is a mystery? How much of Miss Johanna is yet to be revealed?"

Giggle. "If that's some reference to getting my clothes off..."

"Not even," I said. "Not talking about sex. Talking about what goes on inside that punkin head and inside that heart. What's the real Johanna Elise?"

"A shy, vulnerable girl who hides behind a musical instrument because everybody knows that music people are strange and people who do classical music are strange in a whole different direction. A girl who needed something to shelter herself until the storm was over." She looked at me. "Or until, just maybe, she found the guy with the umbrella."

"How do you get that from a guy hooking up a microphone?" I asked.

"Randall Jackson, for an engineer, you're awfully dense sometimes. I am a musician. I sense melodies and harmonies in the universe in the course of my daily life. On Day One, sir, you were arpeggios. And when you walked down the street with me in Austin, I could sense the psychic reverberations between us."

"You're delightfully full of it, Jo," I said.

"Okay, then let's try 'I like the way you carry yourself and interact with others, and you float my boat.'" Giggle. "That's the obligatory maritime reference." Giggle. "I get to decide whether a horrible scar, and believe me, it isn't, is too much negative for the positive of a pair of blue eyes and a smile and a vocabulary of words with more than two syllables."

"Uh..."

"So yes," she said, "You've been measured, and some of the scales are beyond the ken of an engineering mind. Let your music sense analyze this, Stoney. Sometimes the perfect sound comes from the simple impact of a hammer on an iron triangle."

She scooted out from under her seatbelt, leaned across the console, and kissed my cheek. "Stoney?"

"Yes, Jo?"

"Ding!" She smiled. "Now let's go expose you to Mom and Dad."

Chapter 8

We walked toward the door of the restaurant. Now I was thinking that here I am, meeting her family for the first time, and public displays of affection might not be on the agenda. After we worked our way past the maître d' (yeah, I don't usually eat at restaurants with a 'maitre d'' even though I know they exist) and into the dining room, Jo's hand hooked the inside of my arm. Apparently she knows more about me than I give her credit for.

"There they are," she said, smile broadening. We navigated through the maze to a table near the perimeter of the dining room.

Mister, or was it Colonel Solheim looked the part. Maybe an inch or two taller than me, his hair cropped in a fashion that would still be at home in a meeting of the general staff, peppered with grey. When he stood, his back straightened. West Point shows through.

That old saw about 'if you want to see what your girlfriend will look like in twenty years, look at her mom', well, if that saying held true, then whoever ended up with Johanna Solheim was in for a pleasant view. Bridgette O'Neal Solheim was like a fable of the Irish wife leaning over a stone fence, red hair wreathing her pale face, blue eyes twinkling. I looked at her and saw Jo. Except Jo's eyes were a deeper blue and Jo's hair was almost naturally straight, where her mom's was a softy curled frame for her face.

And the first words I hear from them is the mom saying "Stoney, Stoney, Stoney," and smiling, grasping both my hands.

"Ma'am?" I said.

"Oh, fear not, Mister Randall Jackson. I've been hearing about you for two weeks." She smiled.

I was pleasantly aware that the father was smiling too. I extended my hand. "Sir," I said, "Randall Jackson."

He smiled. "I am Anders Solheim, father to Johanna." He pronounced it with a soft "j", almost the "y" one would expect from Norway. "Yes. I have to mirror my wife's knowledge of you. 'Stonewall Jackson' must have been fun in the army," he said.

"Heck of a reputation to match," I replied.

"Please, let us sit. Beer? Or wine? Or a cocktail?"

"I defer to your choice sir," I said. "I remain flexible."

If you keep calling me 'sir' in that tone, I fear I will revert to calling you 'lieutenant'. Is that the way we wish this evening to proceed?"

"No sir," I said. "But you are the father of Jo. Calling you 'Anders' doesn't work in my mind."

"Dad is messing with you a little, Stoney," Jo said. "I didn't give him many boys to practice on."

"Anders, really!" Bridgette said.

Anders, Mister Solheim, broke into a broad smile. "Jo is right. She does not bring home a lot of boys. My friends have horror stories. I don't. Well, perhaps one or two. And I would prefer a good beer. Texas does well in this regard. Do you drink Shiner?"

"An excellent choice," I said. "If I'm going to drink, Shiner Bock is wonderful. I know you're used to the beer of Germany."

"And Norway," Bridgette added. "Equally as good. And yes, Shiner is that good."

"I would like white wine," Bridgette said. "You, Jo?"

"Yes, Mom. Let the men have their beer."

The restaurant was not one of those 'in and out in a flash' establishments. Clients were expected to dine at a leisurely pace, and we complied. But the time we'd finished the soup, I had learned that my girlfriend's father was on the general staff of the division with which I'd served in the sandbox.

"I know more about you than you do about me, Stoney," he said. "I received the reports of your last battle. And the recommendations for your medal."

That last statement got me a look from Jo. Her father was walking into territory that Jo and I had not discussed.

"You never told me you got a medal." Jo's eyes widened a little bit.

"Everybody gets medals in the army, Jo," I said.

"I hope I'm not stepping on toes here," Anders said, "but everybody in the army gets awards. Stoney was recommended for the Distinguished Service Cross. That's only one step below the Medal of Honor."

"Stoney? You never told me."

"Jo, most people don't care what medals or awards a guy gets from something that happened years ago and far away."

"Oh, really, Mister Randall Jackson. I'm not some college bimbo. I am the daughter of an Army colonel. I admire my father and what he did. Don't you think I'd offer you the same consideration?"

Bridgette put her hand on Jo's arm. "Jo, most men do not talk about it."

"Excuse me, Mom, but you know every award and medal Dad's got..."

"I'm his wife, dearest," Bridgette said.

"I'm ... I'm..." Jo stuttered, "Stoney..."

"I'll tell you the whole thing, Jo, if you want. But it's not a subject for dinner conversation. Really."

"I'm sorry if I touched a nerve, Stoney," Anders said. "I thought for sure she knew a little of your history."

"I thought you said you were an engineer in the army, Stoney," Jo said.

"Combat engineers. It's a service branch. Not quite the same as engineering, Jo."

She regained her poise. The hint of her smile reached the corners of her mouth. "See, Mom? He is different."

The entrees arrived and conversation turned to lighter fare, but I still kept getting glances from Jo. And a squeeze of fingertips under the table. That squeeze was a relief. One never knows what may happen when your partner finds out things, even if the things aren't about cheating and previous loves and such things.

We talked about my work and Anders' work, how he parlayed a colonelcy into a position as an authority on security for overseas operations. This was Houston and a lot of companies had overseas operations, many of them in places where security might be a critical concern.

"You work with some of my clients, Stoney," he said.

"I design things."

"And I make sure people can hang around to build them," he said.

"Circle of life," I said.

Jo laughed. We spent a goodly part of the dinner talking about time spent in Germany, a not uncommon thing for American soldiers, and we talked about music.

"I found somebody to play along with me, Mom," Jo said. "We can actually do some Irish folk tunes."

"Oh, surely not," Bridgette said. "How does one get to hear that?"

"You find time in your schedule to come to my humble apartment..."

"A place I have never been, incidentally," Jo interrupted.

"As I was saying, we will have snacks and Jo and I will play all three of the songs we've played together."

"Where did you two learn you could play together?" Anders asked.

"On his boat, of course. What better place for flute and banjo than a sailboat."

"Ah, yes, Jo mentioned you have a boat. What sort?" Anders asked.

"An old Nonsuch 36. Cat-rigged sailboat."

"I know the type," he said. "It has been a long time. I once had a passion for sail. It fell behind passion for family and work."

"You've been on this boat?"

"Oh, yes," Jo said excitedly. "It's a wonderful thing. We anchored out in the bay, made sandwiches, played music, talked..." She eyed me.

I took the hint. "You know you are invited as well. We can make a time, a day trip, or an overnight, sail a bit, anchor, have a good meal, enjoy the wind and sun..."

"Did Jo explain what sun does to her complexion?" Bridgette said.

"Yes ma'am, she did. And she's got a ridiculously big floppy hat. I would think that you have one also." I smiled as disarmingly as I could. "Besides, Jo says that sun accentuates her freckles. I find them a particularly attractive bit of facial punctuation."

"I always thought of them as horrible blotchy things," Bridgette said.

I looked at Anders for a sign. He smiled almost imperceptibly. "Your husband likely feels as I do, and you probably ignore him as Jo does me."

"That's awfully perceptive of you, Stoney," Anders said. And yes, I explained to my young bride that I found her face a delight, freckles and all." He turned to Bridgette. "And dear, after twenty-odd years, you are still astoundingly beautiful. Freckles and all."

"See!" I told Jo. "He believes."

"Yes. Meeting Bridgette, young and very capable clerk at the Irish embassy, I became a connoisseur of freckled redheads. It turns out to be a very pleasant way to have spent my life."

I did catch Jo's satisfied smile at that comment. "There are worse things in the world than spending life with somebody you find beautiful."

"And smart, Dad," Jo added. "Mom is your mental equal."

"And I'm smart enough not to act it," Bridgette said.

Jo finally made the obvious observation. "Mom. Dad. I thought you'd be more interested in finding out about this guy your only daughter dragged to dinner."

Her mother fielded the first iteration. "Dearest daughter," she said, the lilt of her accent a delight to my hearing, "We did not expect you to bring somebody who we would find unacceptable to us. You're not stupid and you're not rebellious, and you're not gullible."

And then her dad filled in, "And I called Stoney's former commander and got his assessment, naturally. And his employer is one of our clients. A little judicious questioning and somebody drilled down in the organization to find me a few answers." He turned to me. "Stoney, I hope you don't find this offensive..."

"If it was my daughter, I would do as much," I said. "I trust that all they complained about was my propensity for coffee and practical jokes."

"Sooooo," Jo said, "he passed?"

"I didn't know we were supposed to keep score, my dear," Bridgette said. "This is not a sporting event. For two weeks you've told us about this man, and you did so in happy tones. You did not have to tell us anything, nor did you have to bring him with you tonight. We are happy with your choices." Bridgette wrinkled her nose when she smiled, something she passed on to Jo. "That includes Stoney."

"Well, thank you," I said. "You two have made me re-evaluate that whole 'colonel and colonel's wife' stereotype."

"Just remember, Stoney, every colonel was a lieutenant once himself." Anders said.

We got through dessert and were sipping coffee and still talking happily. Jo's folks were intelligent and easy to talk with. We ranged over a list of subjects, Jo jumping in on one side or the other. Jo's no dummy. I wouldn't've been sitting at this table if she was.

At the end of the evening, though, after her dad's handshake and her mother's hug, Jo and I walked away from them in the parking lot towards my car. Her face was still smiling under the glare of the lights. I unlocked the car and held the door for her to get in. When I got in on my side, she reached and touched my arm.

"You passed," she said.

"I wasn't even supposed to be tested," I countered.

"Oh, poor, poor Stoney," she sighed. "Don't take me for an idiot. Everything is life is a test, even the fun things. You knew this was a test."

"I guess so."

"You just don't know if it's a mid-week quiz, or a final. Or something in between."

"I gotta start dating dumb girls," I said.

"You know you won't," she said. "You won't put up with a girl who's all designer nails and trendy makeup and 'People Magazine'. You need me or somebody like me." Giggle. "Maybe Key."

"Have you met Key's parents?"

"Oh, yes," she said. "They came to see what sort of den of debauchery their daughter was inhabiting. They were relieved to find the other room occupied by a red-headed Norwegian Irish flute-player instead of a six foot six linebacker named Jamal. We all had dinner, and honestly, aside from a bit of pigment and Key's mom and dad having Southern accents instead of Irish and Scandinavian, they could've been MY parents."

"Good. Somewhat rarer than it should be, but good," I said.

"Not just black kids, you know," she said. "You don't want to ask how many of my contemporaries have parents still married to each other. I guess I should thank my Lutheran-Catholic background for that."

"It's a good thing. I enjoyed watching them while we all talked. They're still giving each other looks. You know what I mean."

She looked at me. "You mean like this?"

"Is it the same?"

"Could be."

"Now, where can we go to talk?"

"What are going to talk about?" I asked.

"You know what I want to talk about. What my father knows about my boyfriend that I don't know." She sighed. "Stoney, Dad is ... was a commander of men. A lot of them, because when he was in the sandbox the first time, he was a lieutenant colonel commanding an infantry battalion. I know what his shoulders looked like when he sat there after he came back and answered letters from moms and dads and wives who lost family. Dad lost soldiers, but he knew that his soldiers were somebody else's family. I got more than one unexplained long hug before I was old enough to figure out why."

She continued, "I don't delude myself, Stoney. I know war is not the same as movies. I don't know how you feel or what you feel or what you saw or what you did, but somebody did see some of it. You got a medal. I asked Dad when you went to the restroom. A Silver Star. Not given out for sitting behind a desk filing paperwork. And a Purple Heart. I guess that one myself. The evidence is there, but I guess it could've been a car wreck." Another sigh. "Stoney, just tell me." Sigh. "If you want. I'm your friend first..."

I'm sitting here listening and driving and I catch that 'first' comment.

"Jo, thank you. I don't know..."

Her lips formed a straight line. The impact of that look was accentuated by the rarity of Jo's face without the smile. "Randall Jackson! I am your friend. Confidant. Girlfriend. Now you've met Mom and Dad. You need to trust me and let me understand more of you. But if not now..."

I sucked in a breath. "Okay, Jo. Your apartment?"

"Not private tonight. Key's study group is there. What's wrong with yours?"

"Never thought of trying to get you to my apartment, Jo."

"You're not trying to 'get me' to your apartment. I am going there with you while I am completely sober and in possession of my faculties. I've seen the inside of frat houses and bachelor pads, if you're worried about housekeeping."

"I am a meticulous housekeeper."

"You're not hiding a concubine and several toddlers?" The smile was creeping back in. She knew she'd won.

"No."

"Jealous gay lover?" She tried to look serious. The giggle escaped in spite of her best efforts.

I can't help but smile around her. "Okay, Johanna Elise Solheim. You win." I altered my navigation to head to my own apartment.

"Stoney, we're friends ... I see things sometimes. I pay attention, you know. I can see that cloud sometimes. I won't call it a 'little cloud'. But then you shove it back and you're here again and I'm trying to understand."

"I'm trying to understand my own self," I said. "John Wayne never..."

"This is real life, Stoney. I asked Dad about post-traumatic stress when it started hitting the papers. I even used it on HIM when I was in high school and he came down on me about something. He was just being a parent and I was being a bratty high school kid trying to use any tool to get my way. Mom tore me up over it, too. But I know a few things. You..."

"I don't understand why I can't get over some things." I was telling her this as I pulled into my parking slot.

"Come on," she said. "Let's go make us a couple of cups of tea or something and talk..."

We walked to the door. I opened it and let her in, locking it behind us. She looked around.

"No bad at all," she commented. "Did that painting come with the place?"

"No," I said. "Bought it myself. Place needed color."

"'Pinkie', isn't it? Thomas Lawrence. Late eighteenth century, if my art class did me any good."

"Indeed it is."

"Why 'Pinkie'?"

"Technical perfection. Appeals to the engineer side of me. Beauty. Her expression always leaves me thinking that she's trying to be serious but she's holding in a smile." I stopped, took a breath, then dove in. "Now I have to change the 'perfection' part."

"Oh?"

"She should have red hair."

"Stoppit!" she said with a grin. She switched to a parody Southern accent. "I do believe, lieutenant, that you are trying to turn a girl's head." Giggle. "Let's see the kitchen. Where do you keep the tea?"

"Right behind the half-gallon of cheap vodka," I said.

She stuck her tongue at me. "I found tea on your boat. Didn't see any vodka."

I stepped into the little kitchen with her and got out the makings of tea.

"Bags! Mom will straighten you out, sir. Irishwomen take their tea seriously and it does NOT come in bags."

"I shall make corrections when the time comes."

"You'd better. You invited my parents over here to hear us play music."

"A mission for a Saturday morning, then, dear. I am sure that you know where I might find the proper kit for a cup of tea that will leave your mother thinking I'm indeed civilized."

"Accepted. Does that mean this Saturday?"

"Early enough for breakfast?"

She smiled. "Yes."

The electric kettle clicked, signaling boiling water, and I preheated two mugs, then brewed tea. While it was steeping, I showed her the apartment.

"Two bedrooms?"

"One for me, one for my junk," I said, pushing the door open to the 'junk' room. Desk, computer monitor. A couple of shelves for various sporting items.

"Closet," I said.

She peered inside. "You don't feel nervous about those guns in there?"

"Nope." Apartment is locked. It's a secure complex. I keep one in the nightstand beside the bed, too. Guns scare you?"

"Puh-leeze! No!"

"Okay," I said. "Next room. And just for the record, I am NOT planning on pushing you backward onto the bed, but here's the other bedroom."

Fortunately my dear mother had instilled in me the virtues of a made bed, so every morning I rearranged the covers and sited the pillows correctly. And I was pushed face-first onto my own bed, turned over and found my lips assaulted by a delightfully beautiful redhead.

"So absolutely silly, Stoney! I know you're honorable." From a distance of six inches her eyes were blue kaleidoscopes. "And a girl does occasionally need kissing."

Another kiss. I could forget the tea. She didn't forget the tea. She bounded up. "Tea's going to get bitter if it over-steeps." The look on her face was precious as the looked back over her shoulder, headed to the kitchen. I followed. If I was a puppy, my tail would be wagging.

Two mugs. A little sugar. A little half and half. And we sat on the sofa. I sipped mine, savoring the vapors and the tastes.

"Okay, guy. Talk. Or not."

"I was a young lieutenant when we deployed. I thought the war would be like in 1991, you know, over in a few days, then home. I was wrong about that. You know, most of the things I've been wrong about have been in the Army."

"Dad says that. He says it's a curious combination of human frailty and government bureaucracy, with the opportunity for violence and death."

"That's good. Really good. I'll have to remember it," I said. "Anyway, we ended up in a forward operating base, a FOB, in an area that we thought was on its way to being secure and safe. I had the battalion's combat engineer platoon. We were responsible for clearing mines, so every day we'd make a run up the main road to see if the locals had left us any presents."

She was listening. Her smile was gone. She still had the soft, sweet face, but she knew that what I was doing was something difficult for me.

I told her about my platoon, some of the names, some of the personalities, and the speaking of these things brought memories from corners long left alone. Say a name, see a face.

I told her how we spread the wealth around, alternating the manning for the daily road sweep. I told her how I and my platoon sergeant sometimes alternated, sometimes went on the missions together. I told her about dead donkey traps and keeping track of potholes because one that wasn't there yesterday was likely to explode in a volcano of fire and jagged metal.

I told her about the people who inhabited the two villages on our road and how my guys brought treats for the kids, how folks back home loaded up goodie boxes for the soldiers, then when they heard about the kids, how the goodie boxes got bigger and fluffier, and how the battalion medics held clinic days for the local population and how the troops of a tank battalion stood around with M-16's providing security from one segment of the population that begrudged another segment of the population receiving any benefit from the Americans.

And finally I came to The Day. I recounted the story. In detail.

She listened. "Stoney, I haven't been exactly honest with you."

"No?"

"Look! When I told Dad you were a veteran, he asked for your name. He did a little looking, like he said. He sent me this." She pulled a folded sheaf of papers from her purse and opened them. I immediately recognized the formats of military reports.

"Dad could get in trouble for getting these. I read them. And I'm listening to you. These two are eyewitness accounts of your actions - everybody's actions, that day. You said you got hit and lost consciousness. This report said you kept shooting after you fell, and that you fought off several more attackers and crawled the length of the column with one broken leg and one arm, to help the others."

"I don't remember any of that, Jo. I got debriefed. And I saw the citation for the medal, and that's all I knew."

"Why's it weigh on you? That you killed people?"

"Not the people you're thinking about, Jo. The people I was entrusted to take care of. I let us develop a predictable pattern. I let us get sucked into a trap with a decoy. And some of MY men died because of my stupidity."

Jo sensed the impact of me verbalizing that feeling. "Stoney, this report said you fell down after the rocket hit your position. It says you fired your weapon at a man with a long knife and stopped him from attacking you and the two men with you."

"And that's where I blacked out."

Reading from the narrative, she continued, "Dismissing his own wounds, Lieutenant Jackson then proceeded to crawl to each of the fighting positions, checking on the men. He ended up along side his platoon sergeant and one of the other survivors of the contact, where he lost consciousness a final time. Lieutenant Jackson's selfless actions in supporting his detachment under heavy and determined attack prevented a massacre of American soldiers. His actions are in keeping with the highest traditions of the service." She set the papers down in her lap and looked at me. Those clear blue eyes were at once loving and nurturing and caring.

"Stoney, if you made mistakes, everybody makes mistakes. This says you didn't make mistakes, and if you did, you redeemed yourself."

"But..."

"You weren't playing a game. Dad says that the enemy was quite often very flexible and skilled and crafty. And you are very brave. Even when you were unconscious, you didn't stop." Her fingers traced the scar from my hairline down to my cheek. "This wasn't the only wound? You had a broken leg. Arm."

"My whole left side was torn up, Jo. This is the scar you can see."

"You always wear long-sleeved shirts when you're in public."

"Just a minute," I said. "I'll be right back." I got up, went in the bedroom and came out wearing gym shorts, bare-chested.

"This is why," I said. From mid-forearm to my shoulder was a mad pink track, looking somewhat like a two-dimensional look at the upper reaches of the Grand Canyon. My left chest was a big scar at about the sixth rib and a constellation of pockmarks surrounding it. And from knee to my hip joint was another Grand Canyon map with more pockmarks.

Jo's eyes widened as she took in the view.

"Ugly," I said. "Hardware in this arm. And in my femur. I can't go through metal detectors without dinging. And that's why I don't spend much time at the pool or the beach."

"Why? This?"

"I don't want to frighten little children. Or answer a lot of questions."

"People can be silly, Stoney. I'm not."

"You see it all now, Jo. And..."

She stood and poked her finger into the center of my forehead. "This is where the true appreciation of beauty begins. Just like music. It's what happens in your head when you close your eyes." She looked into my eyes. "Or in your heart." And she kissed me.

"I've felt these through your shirt, Stoney. I kind of figured what the deal was. I didn't know about the leg. And dummy, sunshine would probably do it some good. A lot of things improve when they're brought into the light."

Chapter 9

"You were in the hospital for a while, I imagine," Jo said.

"The whole spectrum. Infection. Orthopedics. Recovery. Rehabilitation. I do okay now, but every now and then one thing or another talks to me."

"Like that walk we took in Austin," she said. "Now I understand why. You should've said something."

"And miss a chance to walk down the street with you? I'm not stupid."

"Sit!" she commanded, patting the sofa beside her.

"Lemme go put my other clothes back on," I said.

"If you think it's necessary. I'm not uncomfortable with you like you are." She smiled. "You're my friend. You're male, but you're the male I trust."

"At least you didn't run screaming from the room," I sighed. "For any of several possible reasons."

"What?" she asked petulantly. "That you have scars? Stoney, you earned them in combat. I'm just Norse enough to think you've earned your way into Valhalla, but don't you even THINK of one of those big-breasted blondes waiting on you. Or maybe it's because you consider yourself to be immodest in your dress. Gee, buddy, like I've never been poolside in the summer. I've seen male bodies, Stoney. I'm a college girl and I have gone places where such things are not unusual."

"I didn't want you to think..."

"Stoney, just sit down. Sometimes you think too much." Giggle. "I own a bikini that shows as much of me as those shorts show of you. It's not like you came in here naked and pinned me to the sofa."

"Now that's a thought," I said. "I'm being all nice..."

She tugged my hand so I sat down with her. Her index finger touched the tip of my nose. "You are all nice, Stoney. That's why I'm here."

"What makes you think I'm that nice, Jo? You're awfully delectable. If I wasn't nice..."

"Your eyes, Stoney. The first time I saw you, you were helping set up that recording system. You were on your knees, moving, squatting, putting things in place in the orchestra practice hall. You were on your knees in front of everybody, including girls, and some of the other girls are pretty hot. And you just acted like you were stacking groceries. You smiled. You chatted. But you didn't gawk and you didn't drool and you didn't hit on any of them. I determined that if you were some kind of uncontrollable lech, then that would have been the place to see it."

"Maybe I'm just very good at it."

Her lips stopped me from further conversation. When the kiss was over, she said, "You're a decent human being. I find it delightful that you're a guy. That way I can kiss you without offending my Lutheran-Catholic roots."

I pulled her toward me and returned the kiss, ending it with a sigh. "And you're an angel and a bunny and a songbird and a bunch of other things, every one of them appealing to me," I said.

"Good! Now we need to see where all this goes, huh? I mean, a banjo and a classical flute, that's a spread."

"An engineer and a princess."

"A warrior and a musician."

She smiled. "Stoney and Jo. Two human beings who seem to do well together. Where's it heading, Stoney?"

"Gosh, that's out of the clear blue."

Clear blue, indeed. Clear blue eyes clicked to mine. "Okay, then. Tell me you haven't given it a thought."

"No, I can't tell you that. I can tell you that I find you a beautiful and happy part ... No, make that THE beautiful and happy part of my life right now. Jo, honestly, you're more than I deserve to even dream about."

"Stoney, I'm just a little army brat. I can't even claim a home state like you can. What am I supposed to be looking for?"

"I don't know. I'm just an engineer. You need somebody much more metaphysical to answer that question."

She smiled. She knew I was dodging. "Engineers have feelings, too, Stoney."

"Yes, they do, Jo." I returned her gaze. "I admit to feelings about you. You're quite the thing. No mere ball of fluff. A brain and looks and personality."

"Thank you for that methodical assessment, sir," she said. "These feelings of which you speak. What are they?"

"Words that might not be yet appropriate," I said. "Maybe. Depends a lot on..."

"Me," she said. "Depends on what I think about things, too. It's October. I've known you since August. I've been your girlfriend for four weeks now. The last week, every time I went out, I had you with me."

"So what we both seem to be saying is..." I need to be careful here. I've never had somebody that got inside my head and finished my sentences for me before.

" ... we seem to be compatible on several levels, right?" She punctuated that phrase with a kiss, pressing herself against my bare chest.

"Yes, we seem to be. I've arrived at a similar conclusion."

"And you say nothing to me about it? Why not, Stoney?"

"Several reasons, my delightfully red-headed musician. First, I didn't want to think about you finding what I've showed you tonight."

"Scars? Physical things?" She sounded almost unbelieving.

"Look, Jo, I haven't had the feeling that you were like that. I mean, you got past my face. But still, sometimes I worry that the whole package is too much. Second, I still have issues about the war. That's a lot to hang on a friend. Even more if it's more than a friend. Like you. And third, since the day you said I was your boyfriend, I have felt like I'm in the presence of a precious, delicate orchid and if I touch or sniff or move too much, it will wither."

"All that is very sweet of you, Stoney, but genetically speaking I'm from much hardier stock than that. Norsemen on one side and Irish, their perpetual victims, on the other."

"Yeah, uh-huh ... Your Mom doesn't look a bit victimized to me."

Giggle. "That's beside the point. I know what 'stand by your man' means, and it's not just the title of a country and western song. I'm not fragile." Her smirk was a combination of exasperation and good humor. "You're just stereotyping me because I play the flute."

"You're nuts, you know, Johanna?"

"And you are too, and you're getting nuttier by the day."

"So, where's this at right now?"

"I consider you my boyfriend about whom I am very serious. If this was high school, we would be going steady."

I laughed.

"It's not funny, Stoney. I'm having a very serious conversation here. I should be writing your name in flowery script on all my notebooks."

"You'd be wearing my senior ring on a chain around your neck."

She giggled. "And you don't get to date other girls."

"Wasn't dating other girls when I met you, now, was I?"

"I don't know that," she said.

"I wasn't."

"Then don't start," she said. "This is all very serious. I never went steady with a boy in high school OR college."

"That's outside the norm," I said.

"Oh, believe me, I know. I've had it explained to me by numerous peers, male and female. You have your story, I have mine, you know..."

"You told me a little," I said.

"I know. That sort of messed me up, Stoney. Mom says it caused trust issues. I argue with her now. I say it just showed me that some of my contemporaries have very loose ideas of proper personal interaction. And when I did finally try to get past only dating in groups, I ended up with our common friend, the asshole trumpet player."

"Oh, yes..."

"Well, let me tell you what did him in for me."

"I'm listening," I said.

"It got back to me that he was bragging to his friends that he'd be, and I quote, 'fucking the flute player' before the date was over. That sort of information puts a girl on alert, you know." She looked at me. "And in case you completely misread my character, Mister Stonewall Jackson, he most certainly did NOT. I do, however, think that he saw me as worth a second try, which leads us to the day he and you had your energetic conversation. I did not, even prior to meeting you, see him as somebody I would ever see again."

"So you're telling me..."

"That I am willing to go out in groups, not particularly attached to one guy."

"I don't think it means you're attached to me, Jo. I think we fit well together. Your presence brightens my day. Makes me feel complete."

She smiled. "Good! Good answer! Then it's settled!"

"What's settled?"

Giggle. "You and me. We're going steady. I feel better already."

"This evening has been a roller coaster, Jo. You're the best part of it."

"What about Mom and Dad?"

"Right below you on the 'good things for today' list."

"I would add our little talk."

"Which one?"

"The one where you had to tell me what my dad knew."

She watched my face. Saw something that I only felt. "Stoney, I'm here. I don't know what it takes, but if having a friend at your beck and call, then you have that covered. I'm serious." She sighed. "How's it come to you? I see your face change, like a summer day when a cloud passes over and everything darkens for a while, then it moves on and it's all bright and shiny again."

"That's some of it."

"I've seen it. I watch you, you know. I've seen it several times."

"You're here. Or people are around."

"What's the trigger?"

"I wish I could nail it down. Sometimes it's a word or a phrase. Sometimes it's a sound. Sometimes it's a face in the crowd." My turn to sigh. "But the worst ones are the dreams."

"Tell me about it. If you want to. Not if it hurts."

She looked genuinely concerned. How could I not talk to her? "Nobody around. I get to deal with the ghosts alone."

"Oh, Stoney," she said. "I'm sorry. How often?"

"Often enough to be scary sometimes. The VA has had me meet with a counselor. And I have some pills that sometimes help me sleep through. But I wake up in the morning all groggy, foggy. I don't like the pills. So usually, I just get up and find something to do until morning."

"Stoney, you're blaming yourself for something outside your control. Dad says..."

"I know what your dad says, Jo. And the counselors. But I..."

"You blame yourself for something that other men, as professional and a lot more fanatic than you are, did, those men DIED to make happen. You survived and while you did, you kept more of your own men alive than if you hadn't. Your commander knows it. The survivors know it."

"Men died. My men."

"Men lived. Your men. You lived. And from what the report says, Lieutenant Randall Jackson, your brain quit working but your body didn't. 'Crawled to the other positions.' After YOU thought you were blacked out."

"I honestly don't remember after the guy with the knife."

"See," she said softly. "Part of your consciousness shut down. Now part of it won't shut down. Stoney, you're good and you're honest and you care."

"Jo," I said, "As much as I appreciate it, this isn't something that's entirely conscious on my part."

"Maybe with time. And help." She kissed me softly. "I wanna help."

"Jo, do you really want a boyfriend who's a 'fixer-upper'?"

"Oh, don't be absurd, Stoney. I know the term quite well. I have a bunch of acquaintances and friends who've tried 'fixer-uppers'. Some of 'em are in it because they like to be on the edges of that whole 'dangerous bad boy' thing, and some of 'em because they, in my opinion, lack self-respect. You, sir, do not qualify for a 'fixer-upper' tag."

"Be careful what you ask for, Miss Johanna."

Grin. "Not asking for anything, Mister Stoney," she smiled. "Already got a steady boyfriend." She stretched, her blouse pulling taut over her smallish breasts, her skirt riding up a bit on those shapely thighs.

Yes, I looked, trying not to LOOK like I was looking, but Jo's legs were usually covered by her characteristic jeans. For concerts she had never worn the same gown twice, but they were thigh-length, not very revealing. Now I saw legs. Nice, long legs. A man could appreciate legs like that on a purely aesthetic basis. Of course that should be no surprise to me. Johanna Solheim is a pleasure for the eye.

"Look, I've seen your apartment now. What's more important," she said with a giggle, "is that I'm not shackled to the wall in a sound-proof room, nor have any of my clothes been ripped from me."

"I am horribly inept as an abuser of innocent girls," I said.

"So what I'm saying, Stoney, is that if you take me home tonight, then tomorrow night I come back and we do pizza and a movie. It'll be Friday, so we can stay up late."

"That sounds like a good deal, lady," I said.

"But I don't have to leave just yet, you know..." and that perfectly simple statement was underscored by a kiss. That led to more kisses. That led to us tangled up in a very complex and pleasant array of arms and legs and hands and faces and lips and teeth, overlaid with a lot of little giggles and sighs and before long I was seriously considering scooping her up and carrying her back to the bed where she'd pushed me down earlier. I didn't though, because I didn't perceive quite that level of willingness. But the thought was certainly there.

It got worse when I had her in my arms, leaning back across my lap and she wiggled to a more vertical angle and bounced into my lap. With twinkling eyes. After a couple more kisses that would've given a marble statue an erection, she realized what she was doing, probably because I was terrifically aroused. To my dismay, she slid off.

"I'm sorry, Stoney. I didn't mean to tease you."

I kissed her in answer. "You're no tease. Delightful, beautiful, intelligent, and certainly desirable. But I don't read that as a tease."

"You sure?"

"Most fun I've had kissing a girl since, like, ever!" I said.

"Maybe that's another thing we just connect on, Stoney. I was going to say the same thing. You take my breath away."

"Jo ... You're ... I..."

She was almost shy with her smile. "Key's gonna be so hurt that I've snagged her only chance for a white boy. And I know. And we have plenty of time. For everything."

One more searing kiss and she stood up. I disappeared into the bedroom and returned fully dressed except for my shoes. She waited while I put them on, then we walked out to the car. Yes, hand in hand. I felt a sense of correctness with that configuration.

We listened to the classical station on the drive from my place to hers, and I brought her to her apartment. She walked right in, finding Key sitting sideways in a recliner with a textbook and iPad in her lap.

"Hello, white kids," she said, laughing. The sound of her voice, those brown eyes, the sassy shake of her head, I harbored thoughts that perhaps Key would be an interesting person to find out more about. But I had Jo, and even with her obvious charms and the exotic charm of that mocha complexion and the outrageous humor, Key was a dim second.

"Hello, young Nubian princess," I said.

"Oh, will ya listen to 'im, Jo," Key laughed. "Him bein' all wise in the language an' all that. Mistah Stoney, I do not delude my Afro-centric self. I most likely am the product of the West Coast of the continent."

"Oh, I know, but I was trying to sway you with effusive language," I said.

Her laughter pealed. "Lord, Johanna! Is he like that with YOU?"

Jo smiled demurely.

"Uh-huh. It's a wonder you even came home tonight wit' you goin' out with that silver-tongued devil."

"I am the epitome of restraint and decorum," I replied.

"Oh, yeah," Key said. "An' so was the Big Bad Wolf!"

Jo laughed. "You oughtta let him take you to your grandmother's house!"

"OWWWWW!" Key squealed. "If you thought Mom an' Dad would have a fit, my poor ol' grammaw. I could just see it! 'Grammaw, this is my fiancé.' An' we'd be havin' a funeral two days later!"

I laughed. "I have a picture of the wedding, girl. Won't be hard to figure out who sits on what side of the church."

We all laughed. I finally left the apartment with Jo's kiss still burning on my lips and a million thoughts going through my head. Nine hundred ninety-nine thousand nine hundred and ninety-nine of them were about Jo. Lovely Jo. Smart Jo. Talented Jo. Caring Jo.

The other thought was about Randall Jackson and a bad day in the sandbox. Were they right? Was I beating myself up? That's not the usual venue of PTSD. Maybe it wasn't PTSD, after all these years. I was thinking PTSD. And Jo was talking guilt. Two different things.

I walked into the apartment, the sweet smell of her delicate perfume still lingering in the air.

Shower. Shave. To bed, dreading the dreams that I was sure would come. And they didn't come.

I woke up to the strange sound of the alarm piercing a solid night's sleep. I felt almost alien as I drank my first cup of coffee over breakfast. And when I was driving to work, my phone chimed the announcement of an incoming text. I waited until I stalled in traffic to read it. Jo. "Good morning, warrior prince. I hope you slept well. I did. Thank you." And a smiley emoticon.

I trudged into the office and turned on my workstation, then headed to the coffee room. I was stirring the next cup of coffee of this morning when Bradley slogged in, his favorite mug in hand, sporting a biohazard logo.

"Okay, Stoney, spillit!"

"Spill what?" I asked.

"OH, don't be coy, boy! Your date last night. Meet the parents."

"I tell you too much of my personal life," I said. "You take advantage of my good nature."

"Give yourself five more years and you'll be like me. 'Good nature' gets left at the door."

Since Bradley was one of my favorite co-workers, I smiled.

"I met the Colonel and the Missus, parents of an altogether spectacular daughter," I said. "Conversation was easy and relaxed and pleasant."

"Colonel?"

"Army. Retired. He was on the general staff of the division I served with in the sandbox. That's like five levels above me. Would've been terrifying to have to deal with him when I was a lowly lieutenant. It's even worse when I walk in holding his daughter's hand."

"No. You didn't."

"Actually, she grabbed MY hand when we walked into the place."

He shook his head, smiling. "I take it you're somewhat happy with the direction this is taking?"

"I'm very happy with Jo. Her parents are pleasant, well-educated."

"What's 'er dad do now? Besides being a retired colonel?"

"He works for a consulting firm on security for overseas companies."

"Ohhhh," Brad said. "Couldn't leave it alone, then, could he?"

"I understand he does quite well. We're one of his clients."

"Interesting. And they didn't seem hostile to you? I mean, you being a bit older than their daughter?"

"If they were uncomfortable about that, they didn't show it. Her mom was amiable and her dad was pleasant to me. I didn't see any adverse body language, and Jo was very happy about the evening when we left."

"So did she leave with them or with you?"

"Kinda nosey, ain't we?" I said.

"I don't have a life of my own. I must live vicariously through yours," he laughed. "So?"

"She left with me. We went to my apartment..."

"Jackpot!"

"Hardly. She is a lady. Worthy of honor. If, and when, it will be her choice. I'm not totally controlled by hormonal urges."

"Yeah, uh-huh ... I'm so sad. I was hoping for salacious innuendo, at the least." He shook his head. "Seriously though. Serious?"

"I haven't been serious in a decade, Brad. But if I was gonna be serious, Jo would be a candidate."

"And I can translate that. 'Would be' means 'is'. And you are serious. I hope it turns out well for you."

"You make it sound like a done deal," I said.

"Oh, no," Brad retorted. "YOU make it sound like a done deal. I am just clarifying the language."

I took my mug of brown liquid and headed to my cubicle. Maybe I was having a perception problem. I did find myself with a feeling of sliding down a slope, past the edge of control. But I didn't feel bad. That 'past the edge of control' thing reminded me of childhood, the neighborhood gang finding a slippery slide down a hill. Yes, you were out of control once you committed to the trip, but it was almost guaranteed to be fun.

Lunchtime, I was eating a cup of instant noodles, "Purina Bachelor Chow" we called it, and my cellphone went off. Nope. No ring. A passage from a flute concerto. And perfectly appropriate, because I had sat in the wings of a concert hall, watching, as a pretty redhead played that exact piece.

I punched to answer. "Hi, sweetness," I said. "How's your day?"

"I'm about to strangle a math instructor," she said. "How's yours?"

"I'm making the lights stay on in Honduras," I said. "Not quite as aggravating. But I sympathize. I remember math in college."

"Oh, you had that scary stuff, too, huh? Engineering?"

"You could've handled it, if you wanted. But I'm very happy that you bring your form of beauty to the universe."

"I play a flute," she said. "You make the world work."

"And you make it worthwhile for people to live. At the end of the day, after the last bolt has been turned, I can turn to the music you bring to life."

"Speaking of life," she said, "I remember a promise of pizza and a movie. You weren't just being nice, were you, to get me out of the way?"

"Oh, sure ... No, what time? Do you want me to come get you? Or..."

"I will be there at five. Make sure you run your day floozies out before I get there."

"I shall herd them out amid protests and tears," I laughed.

"Theirs or yours?"

"Theirs. I shall shed no tears because I get Jo AND pizza."

Chapter 10

The rest of Friday dragged but eventually four-thirty came around and I was out the door. At four-forty-five I was in traffic and my phone played me a flute solo. Jo.

"Hello, princess," I said.

"Hi, Stoney," she said. "Are we still on for tonight?"

"I'm headed home right now. Whenever you want to show up."

Giggle. "I'm on the way. I'll get there about the same time you do."

"Okay," I said. "I was hoping to have time to clean up, though."

"You work in an office, Stoney. You've met me after work. It's not like you're gonna reek or something."

"You're more familiar with me than I thought," I said.

"You're my Stoney," she answered softly.

"And you're my Johanna," I countered.

"See you in a bit. I'm hanging up so you don't drive distracted."

"Okay, sweetness," I said. "Bye."

"Bye." Click.

Ten minutes later I pulled into the parking lot, spotting Jo sitting in her little Honda. I got out of mine, grabbed my attache' case and waved at her. She opened the door of her car.

"Do you have your flute," I asked.

She nodded happily, reaching back into her car to retrieve the case and her own backpack. Backpack. College student. She was more apt to carry that backpack than a purse on most days, only abandoning it for occasions when we 'dressed up' to go to dinner or a movie.

As she reached my side she was smiling still. "I didn't realize I would be required to play for my dinner, sir."

"Worse, far worse than that," I laughed back. "My fingers're numb from trying to play harp music on a banjo. Somebody had a bright idea..."

Giggle. "You really are trying?"

"Ma'am," I said, "Not only am I trying, but in some cases I am succeeding."

"I gotta see this," she said.

"That may be the best approach: See, instead of hear," I said.

"If you were doing that bad, you wouldn't've mentioned it," she smiled.

I unsheathed the key to my townhouse and let us inside, then shut and locked the door behind us.

She sniffed. "New smell. Air freshener?"

"Potpourri," I replied.

"Put that briefcase down, guy. You need both arms."

I complied. Found that two arms were wonderfully employed when filled with soft femininity in the mood for kissing.

We were both equally breathless when the kiss waned. Still I held her in my arms and she clung to me with her own.

"Did you miss me today like I missed you?" she questioned.

"In the most horrible of fashions. If the lights go out in Guatemala, you are partially responsible," I said. "Thought about you entirely too much."

She looked at me from close range, sky-blue eyes reading my soul. "You're serious about this?"

"This? Like 'me and you' this?"

She nuzzled her head against my chest. "Yes."

"Probably more serious than I should be for as long as we've known each other. But, serious. Because I think a lot of you and you're not somebody I'd toy with."

"I don't see you as the toying type, Stoney," she said, turning her face up.

I couldn't resist the implied offer of another kiss. She molded herself to me as we tasted each other.

Finally we parted. "Wow!" I said. "You..."

She smiled. "Pizza? Only reason I'm saying it is because 'Wow!'."

"I know," I said. One more time. "Wow!"

"Let's talk serious," I said.

"Serious?" She looked suddenly concerned.

"Yes. One of the watershed moments in any relationship is the compatibility of choices in pizza toppings."

"Then let me rush out on the limb," she giggled. "Regular crust, loaded, with anchovies."

"Anchovies? You're serious?"

"Yes. Scandinavian roots introduce an affinity for rotted seafood. I can do without, if that's more than you can handle."

"I love anchovies. In my opinion, they define a good pizza. This place I'm calling, they can double up on them."

"Call 'em. And yes. Double." She smiled. "So how do I fall out on that watershed moment? Hmmm?"

"Another check mark on the 'plus' side," I said as I called up the pizza company's webpage. She looked over my shoulder as I navigated the order process. "I don't order on line very often. Usually it's just me, and if I order the minimum order I end up eating pizza for a couple of days."

"Anchovy pizza's even better the next day," she said. "The flavors meld."

"Listen to you," I laughed. "A connoisseur of leftover pizza. We have thirty or forty minutes."

"Drag out your banjo," she said. "Let's see what you can do."

"Don't laugh. I do this on the side, you know, between sailing and the rest of life. Including running around with a red-headed cutie pie." I opened up the sheet music folder and just like the old song says, I put the banjo on my knee. She waited expectantly as I flipped pages.

"You're doing the Third Movement?"

"Yeah," I said. "I listened to it carefully and the harp runs are really quite similar to bluegrass banjo rolls. And it's in the key of C, which is not too awfully hard for me."

"I'm all ears."

"You're not," I laughed. "I looked."

Giggle. And she stuck her tongue at me.

I launched into a phrase. Her eyes widened. "Hey, that's not bad at all. Wait!" She opened the case of her flute and assembled it. "Gimme a note!"

"D," I said, hitting a string, letting it ring. She matched the note, made an adjustment.

"Again," she said. I did. "Okay, let's see." She put her sheet music on the stand beside mine. "We'll do this passage. Can you start here at this measure?"

"You know, don't you, dear, that I've never really played with anyone else."

"So we'll learn together, huh. I'll count down. One - two - three, and you start, okay? And I'll be right there with you."

"Let's do it," I said. There was a flash in her eyes, then a smile, and she said "One..."

And we made music together. I only wish that the notes flowed from my fingers as they did from her lips. Jo was perfect. Me? Not quite so. Still, we had fun.

"You need to learn to move on past one of those wrong notes, baby," she said. "That's one of the things you need to learn. You're a perfectionist. When you do a wrong note, you come to a stop. You need to just recognize it and keep on playing."

I heard what she said, but when she appended 'baby' at the end of the first phrase, my mind went blank for a second.

"You're not listening."

"I heard you call me 'baby'."

"I've called you baby before," she said.

"I know. Still sounds strange."

"That you're my baby?"

"Yes," I answered. "I like it."

"Good. It is what it is. You're my baby. And I'm yours."

I smiled. "Yes you are," I said. "One more time." I straightened my banjo and she raised her flute and we ran through a passage. We were getting better together. Musically, too.

The doorbell rang, harbinger of pizza. I put the box on the counter and opened the lid with Jo anxiously at my side.

"Mmmmm," she said. "I can smell the anchovies."

"What a rare creature you are," I said, handing her a plate. "Coke?"

"Wonderful!"

We sat at the table across from each other, eating, talking and laughing.

"I LOVE this," she said. "Nobody I know of wants these things."

"I love 'em myself," I said. "And I'm like you. If I have 'em, I usually get my own pizza."

"How do anchovy kisses usually affect the evening's amorous activities?"

She replied, "First, there are no amorous activities and second, I am familiar with chewing gum, mouthwash and a toothbrush."

"A sure sign of your cosmopolitan upbringing," I said.

She laughed. "You're a beast! However, since the two of us have both had the dreaded little stinky fish, we reek equally, so that's not an issue. However, since I am playing my flute, I need to brush my teeth after this meal."

"And I have to wash my hands. Can't be getting pizza grease on my banjo."

Giggle. "Sounds almost lewd," she smirked.

"Wasn't meant to be, but that idea of anchovy-tainted kisses sounds attractive."

"Let's see," she said, rising. I met her halfway. The kiss was wonderful, but our reluctance to use pizza-oiled hands on each other somewhat dampened the ardor. Which is probably a good thing.

We finished our pizza amid happy talk. I had leftovers for the fridge. As I was putting it away, she asked "Do you possibly have a spare toothbrush?"

I was thinking that might be construed as an odd question. And I had an equally odd answer. "Yeah, the top drawer on the vanity. There's one brand new, still in the package."

"I'll be right back," she said. I heard noises from the bathroom.

"Holler when you finish. If you're brushing your teeth, I'm brushing mine."

"Then come in. We can share the bathroom," she said, followed by the sound of water running.

I barged in, finding her bent over the basin. I started my own exercise as she rinsed her mouth. She cleaned the toothbrush and placed it in an empty hole in the holder.

"What an interesting next step towards intimacy," she said.

I didn't try to answer that one just yet, not with a toothbrush and a mouthful of foam. She tiptoed and kissed me on the cheek, and darned if it didn't feel ever so intimate. She scooted past me in the bathroom, bumping up against me rather more than I imagined necessary. The bathroom isn't THAT small.

Walking out of the bathroom into the living room, I said, "Intimate?"

Giggle and laughing blue eyes. "Yes, definitely intimate. Get to hear each other make disgusting noises. Making funny faces. And showing me your private areas, like the drawer in your bathroom." Giggle. "And no pink toothbrush."

"No second toothbrush at all," I replied. "I've never had a woman spend the night here, and certainly not one who saw a need to leave her toothbrush." Which is why I was a bit surprised at her retort.

"That's MY toothbrush in there now. Make you nervous?"

"Should I be? I mean, I have this incredible girlfriend who comes over, eats anchovy pizza with me, and practices good oral hygiene while we play music."

"MAKE music," she said. "'Play' isn't quite serious enough for what I'm doing. With music."

I caught the pause. Wondered if it was as significant as it could be.

"You didn't say anything, Stoney," she said. "You're thinking again."

"And you're reading me like an open book."

"Book? What's this 'book' of which you speak? I seem to remember hearing of a communications medium from before everybody had iPhones and iPads..." Giggle. "And yes, your face speaks even before the words come out of your mouth. That's a good thing, too, because you seem to clam up to people who care about you, you know..."

It doesn't help to tell your troubles to others," I said. "Half of 'em don't want to hear, and the other half figure you had it coming to you."

She snickered, then caught herself. "Don't try to hide behind humor, Stoney. I'm serious."

"I am too, beautiful Johanna. You're the first person I've ever really had a talk with about that day. Other than therapists and debriefing officers."

"Am I the first that asked?"

"No, you're the first that I trusted."

"Why do you trust me, Stoney?"

"I dunno. Just something I saw, then something in the way you spoke when we first hung out together. You just seemed, I dunno, honest, I guess. Haven't done anything to suggest that I'm wrong."

"You see me as a good thing. A lot of people think I'm strange," she said.

"How so? You don't look strange. You don't act strange."

I have been told that I am a creature out of my time," she said, only slightly smiling for me. "After that incident in high school, I lost any of the normal teen proclivity for adventure and danger in the form of alcohol, drugs or sex."

"Drugs?"

"Never," she said. "Not even once."

"You've had wine with me. And at dinner with your parents."

"That's in the proper cultural context. Chugging beer and downing jello shots at a frat party, that's a big 'no'. I remain in control. If I am going to have a drink or two or three, I will be in the company of people whom I can trust to treat me with respect, not as a drunken play-toy."

I was parsing the 'sex' part. I almost asked, but decided that she would tell if she wanted to.

"But I'm here in your apartment and I know you have a full bottle of chianti and some Riesling and a couple of domestic reds and if you and I shared a glass or two..." she smiled. "I can trust us..."

"Are you sure, Jo? You're awfully tempting..."

She smiled. "And you're awfully honorable. Like if I slid over there beside you like this..." She pushed me to the end of the sofa and squeezed up against me. "And we kissed like this..." Our lips met, hands and arms found ways to pull us together ever closer. Our lips parted. She sighed. "And I know YOU feel something because I feel something. But..."

"But we seem to have limits." I said it, but I wished we could move those limits.

She snuggled deeper into my arms. "I always did. Until you ... Dammit!"

That was the first time I'd ever heard Jo use a profane word. It just wasn't her nature, so when that popped out, I took heed. "What did I do?"

"Knelt in front of me one day and told me to play a flute passage. It's been really a new path for me since then, Mister Randall Jackson."

"Right back at ya, Miss Johanna Solheim. Your presence in my arms is making me question my entire expectation of the future."

"Is something wrong with me, Stoney? I mean, everybody I know has had multiple relationships and partners and having somebody slide into and out of their lives is a norm. I've never had ONE."

"Never?"

"When I do this," and she kissed me lightly three times on my lips, "it's a first. Kissed Mom and Dad and cousins and friends. But never kissed a guy and got all tingly."

"Jo ... You're precious to me."

"How precious?" She pulled back, gazing into my eyes, a bit of mirth returning to her smile.

"If I were independently wealthy, I would hire you so that every morning I could wake up to your music."

Smile morphed to tight little smirk. "But you're NOT independently wealthy. So how about if you woke up every morning to..." she leaned, putting her lips near my ear and whispered. "I love you, Stoney. It's morning. Let's live our lives together today." And she sat back to see the effect.

The effect, mostly internal, was like an electric shock.

Her eyes were soft, moist, expectant. "If you said that, then surely we must be in love," I said. "Unless you're talking hypothetically."

She shook her head. "Nope. The symptoms are all there. Everything but a notebook page with 'Mrs. Randall Jackson' written thirty-one times in flowery script." She sighed. "Oh, Stoney, it's all just NOT the way I planned it, but then it's just real. And it's too soon. I told myself that I needed to wait and see what developed. What developed is ... You. Me." Still expectant.

Oh, well. If one must fall, then out of three billion females on the planet, this one was without a doubt the best, brightest, prettiest. And she wasn't the only one trying to hold off on saying the 'L-word'. "Yes, sweetness," I said. "I love you. I want you to love me. But, Jo, I'm, you know..."

"I don't know if I know everything, Stoney. Nobody really does, about another person. But it seems that somewhere along the line, you just have to admit it to yourself and dive in. And no, you're ... there's nothing I know about you that scares me."

"What about me makes you think 'love'?"

"Are you crazy, Stoney? You want a logical analysis? Of why I love you? Seriously?" She giggled and wiggled her way against my chest. "Stoney, I love you. I said it. I want to love you. I want to be silly about loving you."

"Don't break my heart, Johanna Elise," I said.

"Mom calls me that when she's serious." She kissed me.

"Everybody's mom uses the middle name. That's the reason that we get middle names: so we'll know when our parents are serious."

Giggle. Kiss. "Love me, Stoney. Be my warrior engineer prince."

"I will, as long as you want me to love you. And even if you stop, I won't."

"Don't look so sad, Stoney," she said.

"Jo, you have my heart. Gave it to you like I never gave it before."

"Don't you think I should know that? You hold my heart in return."

I kissed her, softly at first, but she indicated that a little more ardor might be in order at very close distance. I said "Jo, you're more than I ever dreamed."

Almost shyly she answered "Stoney, I didn't know what to dream. Are you kind of scared?"

I nodded.

"Me too." Her hands gently cradled my face. Anther little kiss. "But Stoney, we're both good candidates. I know you're a man of honor, and Mom and Dad wouldn't let me be any other way. Don't you think we're..."

"Compatible," I finished.

"Yes. Compatible. I can relax around you. Like this." She wiggled. "I'm safe."

"You keep wiggling like that, redheaded girl..."

She smirked. "I could lie and say 'sorry', but this part is kind of new to me. And I know we have to stop. But it feels good."

I think I whined when she got off my lap. She put her fingertip to my lips. "We're going steady. We said 'I love you'. One step at a time." Her eyes twinkled. How could I argue? I loved the girl. She walked above the clouds.

"We make music together." She picked up her flute and ran through a couple of measures she knew would make me smile. She's right, of course. "Now, let's run through some of that Third Movement."

"You're a hard taskmaster."

"Mistress. I am your taskmistress. And unless you have objections, we're having dinner with Mom and Dad again. They fly back to Denver on Sunday." She watched my face. "Oh, come on! You're not shocked. You knew they were here for the weekend."

I smiled. "I shall happily escort you, my dear." I picked up my banjo and played a bluegrass riff.

She put the flute to her lips, counted, and we were off again. Yes, I was getting better. She was perfect. We went after the music with an almost uncomfortable intensity. Gone were the days of plunking along with friends of similar skill and dedication. I was in the presence of a virtuoso and I needed to elevate my effort

Finally she put her flute down, smiling. "Getting good. Take the banjo off your knee. Something else belongs there."

I set the instrument aside and she straddled my leg. I accepted a flurry of kisses, her hands cradling my head, touching my neck. "See the kind of music we make?" A long kiss. "Stoney. Let's see where this all goes. A little bit at a time."

"Jo. Yes, let's see where it goes."

I walked her to her car and kissed her before she got in and drove off. I went back into the apartment, locked the door behind me and hit the shower. Hot water and soapy lather made relief easy and fast. And left me feeling guilty. Jo. She wasn't sex to me. Well, maybe not just sex. But she could really get me going.

I was eating yet another solitary breakfast the next morning when my phone rang. I didn't immediately recognize the number. "This is Stoney Jackson," I said.

The voice was immediately recognizable. Key. "Good mornin' Stoney. I knew you'd be up."

"You knew?"

"Yeah, you got that look. Don't look like a slacker that lays around all day. And I know what time Jo came in. What are you doin' to my white child?"

"What do you mean?"

"Look," she said. "You know Jo. She's always smiling. Almost always, anyway."

"Her smile is one of the things I find attractive," I said.

"Well, Stoney, she's upped it a notch. Last night when she came in. This morning before she took off to do the grocery shopping."

"I'm glad she's happy."

"I wanna know why."

"It ought to be something that she tells you. I'm sure you understand."

"Jo's my best friend. And despite the obvious chroma differences, she's my sister. You worry about your sister, you know."

"Look, Key," I said, "Jo is the most important person in my life. I am not going to hurt her, if that's what you're worrying about."

"Of course that's what I'm worried about," she said. "I tried to keep her from dating our friend, the trumpet player. I knew he was trouble. You, I like you. You act different. Not like you're playing a game. Don't be playing a game with my Jo."

"Key, my little friend, I worry that Jo's playing a game with me."

"Jo's not playing a game, Stoney. We talked. She's serious. Got her heart out there for you."

"I know she's vulnerable, Key. So am I."

"You two look happy together. I just want her to stay that way."

"Me too," I said.

"Girl says y'all're goin' steady. I ain't heard of anyone going steady since high school."

"I agreed to going steady with 'er," I said. "Easy choice for me. I don't have any other females in my life, and nobody's even close to beating out Jo if I was looking. I wasn't. Now I damn sure am not looking."

"She wasn't looking either. That's what makes this a shock to me. She kind of shut down after that date with David. Before that ... Has she told you anything?"

"About being attacked?"

"See, I knew it. She's opened up to you. After a couple of weeks, yet. We roomed together for months before she told me. That's another piece of data, you know."

I was gathering a lot of data from this conversation myself. "We both have issues, Key. She knows about mine, at least as much as I know about it. She's not the only one in this relationship to open up, just so you know."

"Oooo-kayyyyy," Key said.

"And she's the only one, aside from some professionals whom I've seen. And you know what?"

"What?"

"I feel better talking to Jo than any of the pros. Makes a difference. Jo makes a difference."

"Jo does that," Key replied. "Anyway, I just wanted you to know that I saw what's going on and you need to know that I know. I'm just taking care of my sister."

"That's two of us, Key."

"Good. You two white kids be good to one another, then."

Chapter 11

Okay. So Key worries about Jo. Can't fault her for that. I worry about Jo too. It's not hard. I close my eyes, let my mind drift, and there's Jo.

So she was grocery shopping on a Saturday morning. I picked up my phone, pushed the button and said "Johanna".

Siri replied, "Calling Johanna Solheim mobile". I held the phone to my ear.

"Hi, Stoney," she said.

"Hi, my baby," I replied. "Why didn't you call?"

"Let you sleep late. I'm just getting some groceries for the week. The milk in the fridge smells funny. No bananas. Key ate the last of the Cheetos. We're in dire straits."

"You still have a smile in your voice."

"And you called me to see what I was doing, so apparently neither of us is regretting last night, then."

"Nope," I said. "I stand by my previous statement."

"Good," she said. "How about we hang out together after I dump the groceries at the apartment?"

"Love it," I said. "Plans? Ideas?"

"I dunno. Did Mom and Dad scare you the other night?"

"Of course not," I said. "It's not like we announced the impending birth of our illegitimate child."

Giggle. "No, really. They're going back to Denver tomorrow. I'd like to have dinner with them tonight. With you at my side, because that's just the way I want to do it."

"Jo, are you sure? Your parents might want some time with just you and themselves. I don't want to intrude on that."

"Oh, for heaven's sake, Stoney, you don't understand. I want you there. My parents want me to be normal. You're a lot of normal, guy. More than they expected."

"Dress up like last night?" was my way of surrendering.

"Oh, no. I'm going to guide them to a good informal Italian place. Mom doesn't quite do jeans, but that's what I'm wearing. You may dress in your work clothes."

"What's your dad gonna wear?"

Giggle. "Dad will wear a business dress shirt. The lack of necktie will be his concession to informality."

"You make him sound stuffy."

"Oh, really, he's not. He's a great dad. But he does have his public persona and he frets."

"So you and I, we just go boppin' into the restaurant and meet them?"

"Just like Thursday."

"Jo, just so you don't have to have your hearing checked..."

"What?"

"I love you."

A little squeal of delight came over the phone. "Do you really, Stoney? Really?"

"Yes I do."

"I love you too," she said. "Let me check out. Pick me up at my place in half an hour. And thank you."

"Thank me?"

"For being who you are. You know what I mean."

I showered, shaved, slipped into my Saturday schlepping around ('schlep' is one of those good words I learned from a Jewish buddy in the army) togs, grabbed my crash bag of essentials that are part of the prepared engineer's repertoire, and headed out the door. With a little more of a spring in my step, in case you're wondering.

I pulled into Jo's parking lot in a space that was empty because it was farther away than the desirable spots, and I waited. It wasn't long before Jo's car pulled in, and I went to help her bring the bags in.

She unlocked her door and barged in, yelling, "Key, make sure you're decent! Stoney's here!"

Key peeked around the corner from her bedroom. "My, my, my! Look at him! Carrying bags. You already got 'im trained, Jo!" Key's smile lights up a room. "You all domesticated, Stoney?"

"I come from a long line of civilized males," I said. "We've evolved. Knuckles don't even drag the ground."

"I can see that," she said. Jo lead me into the kitchen and I handed her items from the bags as she put them away.

"Got your Cheetos," she told Key cheerfully.

"Yeah, like I'm the only one that eats 'em."

"She hasn't gotten you to eat anchovy pizza, has she?" I asked.

"Oh HELL no! It comes from the box smelling like bad leftovers."

I shook my head as Jo smiled.

Key gasped. "No! YOU?!?!"

"I love it. Have loved it for years."

"Figures," Key smiled. "Four million guys in the city and Jo picks the one that actually likes anchovies."

"That's actually not that rare," I said.

"Maybe not, but it ain't that common, either." She smirked at me. "And you know it."

"Destiny," Jo chirped. "And you know it." She grabbed my hand, tugging me toward the door as she laughed. "See ya!"

"Y'all have fun!" Key said.

Spending a sunny autumn day walking around parks with a pretty, intelligent redhead is good. Late afternoon, though I asked, "DO I need to take you home to get ready for dinner?"

"Certainly not! My parents are used to seeing me dressed like this. We're a couple spending the afternoon at the park, and we're meeting them at an informal restaurant." She paused, lips forming a pretty bow. "Do you feel like YOU need to get cleaned up?"

"Not when you put it that way," I said.

"Look! Nice green spot under that tree over there. Let's go sit!" We held hands and walked across the green. "Sit!"

"Yes, ma'am," I said. I backed up against a tree trunk and eased down. She turned away from me, sat, and leaned back into my arms.

"Perfect!" she said. "Stoney, I'm getting terribly fond of you, you know."

"I have the same issue," I said. "What do we do about it? Are you scared? Uncomfortable? Uneasy?"

"Nope, nope and no," she said. "It's just uncharted territory. And I'm quite happy to be here." She languished back, wiggling to encourage me to hold her tightly. "What do we do? We keep doing what we're doing."

"You like it."

"I love it. Johanna is in love. I have a reason to smile."

"Don't give me that!" I injected. "That was the very first thing I noticed. Well, there were a lot of things I noticed, but the smile was what ties them all together."

She leaned her head back, rubbing it against my cheek. "You don't do badly yourself, Stoney."

"I smile more, too, Jo." I turned my head slightly, teasing a few strands of her hair with my lips. "You have no idea..."

She purred, "Why don't you tell me..."

"Because I'm just an engineer. Language is a tool I use to describe and define finite, specific elements of structure and design. I'd need to have the heart of a Beethoven or a Mozart and the vocabulary of a Keats or a Shelley to put words to what I feel right now."

She rolled over, planted her lips on my own. Time ceased to exist until she pulled back ever so slightly. "I think you do just fine, my Stoney."

"Your Stoney?"

"Do you want to be possessed? Owned. Connected? If you do, then you're MY Stoney. If you don't, you're yourself, but in my heart you're My Stoney."

'Jo, Jo, Jo," I said, "Why is it so easy to love you?"

She smiled. "You know, I've asked myself the same question, Stoney. I sort of figured I'd run into some guy in the orchestra, common music interests, my age, all that. And that would be it. Jo and whomever would slide off into a long relationship followed by a marriage. You're just so far off the scope. D'you know you're the first real engineer I've ever known? Well, you are. And I find the heart of a poet and the heart of an artist and the heart of a warrior ... all those different hearts, beating right here..." and she kissed my chest.

"You're serious," I said.

She looked up at me with those clear blue eyes. "Stoney, we used the 'L-word'. Isn't that the epitome of 'serious'? I know it's not, not with a lot of people, but I thought that you..."

"I was dead serious, Jo, my little flower. I worried that I might have missed something and you were one of that 'lot of people'."

"See. You listen to what I say." The smile was there. "And no, I'm not one of 'a lot of people.' Words mean things. Specific things. 'Love' doesn't mean 'for tonight' or 'this week' or 'until that other guys is free'. Dad loves Mom. Mom loves Dad. That's how love is supposed to be."

"I'm not one of those people either, Johanna Elise," I said, the sound of her name a salve for my soul. "This is sounding serious."

"Never has been this way before, Stoney. You're the first."

"The first?"

"The first guy I ever told that I love him."

"How many are you supposed to have?"

"Depends on the venue. Fairy tales? Just one. The life of the average co-ed? One every two weeks for a decade."

"And where does my Jo fall out in that distribution?"

A long, public kiss. "Far, far out on the fairy tale side. What about Stoney."

I brushed my fingers gently over that smooth cheek. "Waiting at the fairy tale end of the curve. People don't seem to be out here any more."

"Just me and you. Like we really need the rest of the world." She slid up a little on me, kissing.

We stopped talking. I guess she was digesting what we had just told each other. I know I was. The sound of city traffic penetrated into the park, but it was mitigated by the sounds of squirrels and birds and people. Little kids played a hundred yards away, climbing, swinging, running, laughing. And I had Jo.

Equally strange, she had me.

We watched squirrels chasing. "Territory," Jo said. "Or mates. Or just plain 'my belly's full and let's play'."

"All of those. The territory is because the male wants the female and wants the other male to leave."

"Like a guy I know who protected a certain female?"

"There's a difference between 'protect', that was me, and 'possess', that was, apparently, him."

"So I'm protected, not possessed, with you?"

"We're talking about a human," I said. "You don't get to be owned by anybody unless you want to be."

"Stoney, maybe I want to be."

I looked at the face before me. Physically attractive? Very much yes. Intelligent? Another yes. I wondered what I was holding back. Jo seemed to be pressing forward.

"You're charging right in, aren't you?" I said.

"Is it the wrong approach? Stoney, we're both adults." Her smile faded. "Are you expecting subtlety? I can do that."

"No, I'm expecting Jo, startling in so many ways."

"So in this relationship, I'm the impetuous one."

"And I think it's an entirely charming trait. You have me off balance, Jo. I love you. I know I love you. I'm kind of startled at both the fact that I find myself with that feeling, and that I have risked announcing it to you. What do you know about the care and feeding of the human heart?"

"I'll take care of yours if you'll take care of mine."

"I am your possession, Miss Johanna," I said. Verbalizing it made it so in my own mind.

The smile came back. "Good! Now it's my turn to sit. You put your head in my lap." She got up. I moved, she sat down, and I lay back, putting my head on a soft thigh. I might just as well relax and enjoy being captured. I only wished it would be a long captivity.

She traced my face with her fingertips, gazing lovingly at me. That's a first for me. I felt her fingertip trace the scar.

"Don't get grossed out."

"I am not the least bit grossed out, guy. It's a feature. Like my red hair and freckles. I've never known you without your scar."

"I can show you pictures, but they're ten years old."

"One day I want to see them. But don't worry about me falling in love with the old Stoney. The one I have here is the one I fell in love with."

"Jo, I don't know what happened to your brain, but whatever it is, I hope they can't cure it."

"Its bad, Stoney," She smiled. "It's like a drug, and every day I think I need a bigger and bigger dose."

"Jo, just be careful what you wish for."

She kissed her fingertip and touched it to my lips. "Didn't know what to wish for. Now I do."

"Do you know how absolutely beautiful you are?"

"Yes I do. To you, Stoney," she smiled. "I see your eyes when you look at me."

"Others see it, too, little one," I said. "But to me, it's a religion."

She caressed my face. "You're the high priest of Johanna worship."

"Yes I am."

Her smile broadened. "Stoney, we say all these things to each other. Are we in love, or is it just possible to be in love with the idea of love?"

I took a deep breath, the air tinged with tendrils of perfume. "Both are certainly possible," I said. "I think my feelings are real. I've been kind of leery of the idea of love, now I find myself enjoying it with you." I sighed. "I'm going out on a limb, here ... If you're just in love with the idea of love."

"I AM both, Stoney." She saw my expression change. "No, don't get scared. Every girl I know of starts out believing in love. Wanting to be in love. Wanting that one perfect guy who will return her love, put two lives together to make one."

"I thought that was an archaic notion," I said.

"Oh, sure," she answered. "I've hung around the feminists and the radicals. I'm a college girl. I wanted to explore, see how other people think, see if new ideas might be a fit for me. And I listened and questioned, and you know, behind all of that, it starts out with love. Some of 'em get burnt by the people they love, some are swayed, and they get away from it, but they start out there." She smiled, tracing my eyebrows with her fingertip. "I never left there. Mom and Dad, they showed me how two people can be in love even when one of 'em goes off to war and comes back with shadows in his head. How two people and their daughter can move every three years between the United States and several foreign countries. How they can laugh and get angry with one another and disagree and agree and compromise and change. Stoney, I have a secret."

"A secret?" A phrase like that could scare somebody if it wasn't uttered by a serenely beautiful redhead who was caressing your head in her lap, with a smile on her lips."

"Yeah, a secret. You know all those fairy tales where it says 'and they lived happily ever after?' Those stories?"

"Yeah?"

"I know what 'happily ever after' looks like." She smiled. "Looks like Mom and Dad. Not perfect. Not bumpless. But it goes on and on and on."

"I had a similar life, precious," I said. "There was some yelling and cussing and even an occasional pot thrown, but at the end ... together."

"Then you see what manner of idea I am in love with, Stoney. That's the 'idea' part. The 'who' part, that's the head I have in my lap."

"That's sounding awfully definite, Jo," I said.

"It's not a marriage proposal if that's what you're hearing, Stoney. I just want you to know it's not a fling thing." There was a 'but I've thought about it' look in her eyes. It looked like a smile. "I haven't seen you mad or really, really stressed."

"Oh, I guess settin' David on his butt wasn't stress."

Giggle. "That doesn't count, Stoney. I don't think you really had to exert yourself."

"I seldom get mad, Jo."

"I wonder what Stoney looks like when tossed about by..." I recognized the idea forming in her head by the effect it had on her face. "We need to go sailing again. A good one."

"Sailing relaxes me, Jo. Hardly a prescription to put me under a strain. But I like the idea."

She smiled. "Oh, I know. But I like seeing you and being with you."

"Next weekend? Saturday?"

"I was thinking we could motor out to that spot where we anchored the first time. On Friday. Wake up early Saturday, get out to the Gulf, see where we can go and still be back Sunday."

"Two nights. Me and you. Together. On a thirty-six foot boat. Are you sure?"

She bent over and kissed my nose. "I'm sure. Should I worry about anything?"

"The boat'll handle it."

"Oh, you're thinking about my chastity..." she squealed.

"And mine. But yes ... Jo, I'm not out for a bounce in the sack."

"Nor am I. Stoney, I never have ... I'm not like a lot of girls. I know some who run a partner a week. I'm still waiting for my first one."

I tried to NOT look startled.

"That thing where I got attacked, I think that shut my hormones down."

"Not that I can see," I said. "You grew up just fine."

"Beast!" she giggled. "I'm talking about emotionally."

"Jo, let me tell you something," I said. "I want to be totally honest with you."

"And..." she said, her eyes boring into mine.

"You drive me crazy. I mean, your kisses. Your touch. I see you walk into a room, hear your voice, I'm ... and when we cuddle together and I feel you pressing against me, I..."

"Oh, Stoney ... I don't mean to get you aroused like that. But you need to know it's not a one-way street. Not by a long shot, guy."

"Jo, it's just that, so far, we've managed to cool things back down and you've ended up at your place and I've ended up at mine. I don't trust us overnight on a little boat."

"Would you ever hurt me, Stoney?"

"No."

"Have you taken advantage of me?"

"No."

"Have you been totally honest with me?"

"I can't think of anything significant that I haven't told you, Jo."

"Then we're absolutely safe." She patted my cheek. "Nothing could possibly go wrong."

"You're crazy, you know," I said. "Or I am."

"Or both of us are." She giggled. "Stoney, I'm just saying."

"I have no idea what we're saying, Johanna," I said.

Her laughter tinkled in my ears. "I have no idea what we're saying either. We're like two of the biggest lumps of plutonium on the planet, about to reach critical mass."

'Okay, ' I was thinking, 'we're tip-toeing around each other. This should be fun. Happy.' "What's critical mass going to look like?"

She playfully tapped me on the side of my head. "Oh, come on, Stoney, you're the engineer here. You know what critical mass means. All kinds of heat and energy from fusion."

I could imagine all of those: Heat. Energy. Fusion. And Jo was fast becoming, no, change that, she had become the one female on the planet with whom I harbored those thoughts. Lots of other thoughts were there, too, thoughts of caring and living and sharing. But definitely fusion. And I didn't correct her on the idea that she was think of critical mass, and that was fission, not fusion, but as metaphor for where we seemed to be heading, I liked fusion a lot better.

She caught the expression. Giggled. "Maybe 'fusion' isn't he word we need to be using. Or maybe it is the word. In due time."

"Is this where we're headed, Jo?"

"Stoney, listen to me. I wouldn't have done what we've done and said what we've said if I wasn't serious. I watched the games. I don't play them. Let's just see how far this goes. We're going steady. When I was in high school that meant 'engaged to be engaged', which is pretty serious if you take those words at face value, not that most high school kids do." She paused thoughtfully. "Well, a lot of 'em did, mostly girls. Guys knew it meant something else."

"What does Johanna think it means?"

"Serious stuff. Are you scared?"

"No. Not at all. I should trust you, shouldn't I?"

"And I should trust you. That's what this time is about. You and I, we spend time together and apart and we see how well we fit." She smiled. "So far, it's good, don't you think?"

"Better than it ever has been."

"Nice to know. Let's go find something to drink." She gave me an encouraging shove and I stood up. I extended my hand, pulling her up and into my arms.

"You're the least scary thing I know of, Jo."

"We're having dinner with Mom and Dad."

"More scary."

"They're not," she said.

"I know, but the joke was obvious. I had to take it."

She laughed. "Gimme a cold drink and I will forgive you."

Hand in hand we walked across the park to the concession stand where I paid an exorbitant amount for a couple of sodas. We sat on a park bench while we drank them. I listened to her give me a running commentary on the people she observed and we bantered and argued about various points of observation.

"You're more generous than I am sometimes, Stoney," she said, standing. "Why don't we go back to your place so we can wash our faces and freshen up for this evening?"

"Your toothbrush is there. Makes it your apartment, too."

"Nope. Won't be my apartment until I leave a flute and a change of clothes, but it's a nice apartment."

"You know, punkin," I said, "you're like somebody carbonated my life. I run around with you and life is effervescent. It's got sparkle."

"I'm sparkle?" she giggled.

"Yes you are. You're a new level of happy in my life." I opened her car door then walked around and got in. She scrambled half-way across the console to grab me for a kiss.

"It's the way it's supposed to be, Stoney. All of a sudden there's a man in my life that brightens my day when I see him. I've never had that before. I looked, you know. I tried. Kept looking. Even after that last thing. I knew deep inside that there's supposed to be one out there and I knew I wasn't going to settle for less. Not smart, not rich, not good-looking, but the ONE."

And hour later I was well-kissed, face washed, fresh shirt, and we were on the way to the restaurant.

"It'll be just like last time, except this time they know what you look like."

"Yeah, but I show up twice with their little girl, they're going to think something's afoot," I said.

Giggle. "Like there isn't?"

Chapter 12

We were timing things and that's what kept us moving. At my apartment there was time for the washing of faces and brushing of teeth and then there was a flurry of kisses and I'm not sure who initiated that but we ended up in a knot on the sofa, hot, breathless and quite happily bothered.

She was mostly on top of me, I was noticeably erect inside my jeans, and she knew it. I know she knew it. She smiled, cradled my face between her hands and kissed me, adding a wiggle to her snuggle that just had to be intentional.

"Stoney, there are people who expect us this evening." Kiss. Wiggle. "And I love you and I love them and we shouldn't keep them waiting."

I kept my smile and got up with an uncomfortable protrusion. When I was standing, she pulled me to her and insinuated her lithe form against me. I know she knew what was going on.

"Jo," I started.

"Don't say it, Stoney. Do you think you're the only one in this room who responds to stimuli? Well, Mister Jackson, you're not." But she kept herself against me.

"As long as you realize that I am indeed male and you are a beautifully, arousingly attractive female..."

"Who is just a bit flattered and who enjoys the same feelings herself. I think it's like looking at a menu."

"As long as one of us doesn't get ravenous and charge into the kitchen," I said.

She giggled. "I don't worry about you, guy," she said softly. "Let's go meet Mom and Dad."

People are starting to get used to seeing me and Jo. She's easy to remember. Red hair like that isn't common, even if it comes from a bottle. Jo's didn't, of course, but people can't tell that from a distance. Still, the two of us turn heads walking up the sidewalk. We got in the car.

"You don't have to drive all the time," she said.

"I don't mind."

"I don't either, but I just want you to know..."

"I could sit here and gaze at you while you drive. Watch the expressions on your face."

"You already watch me, Stoney."

"Because you're beautiful and I'm falling..."

She smiled. "We're together on the way down, then. Let's see if we can maintain our sanity while we have dinner with the parents."

"We can do that," I said. "But away from the parents..."

"We can do that, too," she said.

"Your use of 'that' in your previous comment is imprecise and ambiguous," I said.

"You an astute listener, Stoney. And I meant it just like I said it." She giggled. "Do you really want me to just come out and say that after we eat dinner, I'm going back to your apartment and..."

"And we'll tease each other senseless."

"Stoney, I have a delicious glow going right now..." she smiled.

I had to smile back. "Me too. I'll survive, I'm sure..."

"We will survive. Stoney, I'm ... maybe I'm premature, but I think a lot in terms of 'us'."

I smiled. "Thank, Jo. I like being us."

"Really?"

"Very much so." I sighed. "Jo, sometimes you come off as terribly self-assured, and then there's like now, that you seem scared."

"I know, Stoney. I'm trying really hard to level out. It's you. You're real and you're nice and you're smart and you're decent and a few weeks ago I wanted just to be your girlfriend and now we're going steady and I really am falling."

I smiled. I felt good. But I was worried that she was falling because she wanted to be in love, that the idea of being in love was more important than who she was in love with. That would be bad for both of us, because I was falling in love more and more each day, and if she was just enjoying the feelings, then we could both end up hurt. I'd been hurt before. Jo tells me she hasn't. I don't want to be the guy that breaks the heart of Johanna Solheim.

This wasn't the time to get into it. I wanted to have dinner with a happy Jo and her parents.

"Jo, we're new in this relationship. We're trying to decide what it is and where it's going, and on top of that, we've been friends for a while." I took a breath. "If you fall, I'll catch you."

That last statement was made as I turned off the street into the crowded parking lot of a little 'hole-in-the-wall' restaurant. It was positioned in one of those accursed strip mall developments that might make sense in a climate other than the Texas Gulf Coast region, where six months out of the year it didn't have the oppressive heat and humidity. But it's autumn now and actually quite pleasant.

Okay, we did the 'holding hands' thing after we got past the door and we found Jo's parents sitting at the bar waiting on a table. After the usual greetings, Jo's mom said, "Jo, while we're waiting on a table, let's you and I go to the shop next door."

Jo looked at me, gave a little shrug and said, "Sure, Mom. Stoney and Dad can survive for a few minutes without us."

I wasn't quite as sure as she sounded, but I slid onto a barstool next to her dad.

"Would you be interested in a beer, Stoney?" he asked.

"If you let me buy the next ones," I said.

He smiled. "If we are not finished by the time they return, I'll let you do that," he said, smiling.

"They're good, Jo. Let's go see what's next door," Bridgette said. Jo gave me a little kiss on the cheek before she left.

Anders watched that. I experienced it. He raised his beer like he was saluting them as they left. He smiled. "There go my life's greatest loves, Stoney. I guess you understand that."

"I do," I said. "The way a man should be about his family."

His expression turned a bit more serious. "I don't worry about Bridgette at all. She's been the perfect wife, even through a couple of bad deployments. Jo, on the other hand..."

"Is your daughter."

"You know where I'm heading, don't you."

"Yessir," I said.

"She tells her mom much more than she tells me. Of course her mom then repeats it to me, suitably formatted to keep me from turning colors and charging off, saber in hand."

"She seems to me to be doing a pretty good job of taking care of herself, so far. Sir, If you..."

"If you keep calling me 'sir' I'm gonna start calling you 'lieutenant'."

"Okay, Anders," I said. "If she was the archetypical college babe, you and I would not be sitting here having this conversation. That's not my type."

"Oh, you have a type?"

"No, at least I didn't until I met your daughter. I don't treat her like an object. She returns the favor. She's intelligent and level-headed. And pretty. Lots of pretty. But the first two come first."

"She talks about you a lot. My daughter calls us several times a week. I like that. And for the last few weeks there's been just one name that comes up every time."

"That's what her mom said, sort of."

He smiled slightly. "I know."

"Anders, I am an honorable man. I am not some guy running up a score or whatever. I didn't even do that when I was a college kid myself, and I certainly am not doing it now, especially with Jo. I couldn't live with myself if I did."

"I'm happy to hear you say it, Stoney," he said.

"MY biggest worry is not that I'll do something to hurt her but that she'll do something to hurt me."

"What do you mean?"

"Oh, come on, Anders! You know what I mean. It happens all the time: two people connect for a while, then one of them just drifts off to greener pastures or something."

"You say you know Jo and you see in her something you find unusual among her peers. As her dad, I can tell you that I've spent a decade waiting for her to turn into one of those horrible teens that seem to populate the lives of my contemporaries. It never happened. Yes, she rebelled a bit. I think it's because she thought she was supposed to. She tested the boundaries. Bridgette and I did not relent. Then that thing happened to her in high school and I think it sort of reset her mind. She got serious."

"Serious? I can't remember her not smiling."

"Yes, I know. Beautiful. Gets that from Bridgette. Bridgette says I've too much Viking in me and the only time I smile is when there's looting and pillaging and mayhem afoot."

"A perfectly fine characteristic for a colonel," I said.

"And a typical observation for a lieutenant," he countered, smiling. "I wonder how you would have fared had you stayed in the Army. You're a serious engineer, Jo tells us, and I venture that you would have been a more than competent officer."

"Not saying it was wrong, just that as a lieutenant it was a scary thing to unexpectedly find oneself in the presence of a colonel."

"How does it feel to find yourself in the presence of the father of a girl who tells us that she's in love with you?"

"She told you that?!?!"

"By the approved method of telling her mother," he said. "She further said that the sentiment was mutual. Is that incorrect?"

"No. That's the point. It's true from my side."

"And it's true from her side. Why would she lie about that? My greater fear here is that she misread your feelings."

"It's kind of hard to misread 'I love you, Jo, ' don't you think? But neither of us is brave enough to offer suggestion as to where this is heading for us."

He smiled. "Oh, I can imagine. Her mother and I tiptoed around to the point I was afraid I was going to get orders pulling me out of my cushy position at the American Embassy in Oslo before I worked up the courage to propose."

"And apparently you found the courage."

"Yes, I did. With a set of orders in my possession that had me returning to the States for my branch advanced course. I did not want to leave Bridgette behind. There were many who had the same eyes I had for the woman."

"And twenty-odd years later..."

"I still am surprised with whichever it is, my luck or my innate intelligence that we ended up together."

"I should be so lucky," I said. "But we're talking about your daughter here."

"And my daughter has made it past her twenty-first birthday with no more than a traffic ticket and a couple of skinned knees, is a few months from graduating college with a double major and has no bad habits. By the way, why did you not mention the incident with her last boyfriend. If you can call him that. They dated once."

"Honestly, it didn't cross my mind the other night. And if it had crossed my mind, I don't know that I would have brought it up. Most fathers would get worried if their daughter was dating a guy who gets into fights."

"You know, Stoney, if I believe what my daughter says, you just completely misrepresented your actions in that incident."

"I understand, but it's a kinder, gentler world. I don't want to appear to be the dangerous type."

"To me? Or to her mom?"

"Less you. More of her mom."

"She told the story to her mom first. Bridgette's reaction was quite positive. You protected her child. I concur with her assessment."

"Wasn't much of a fight," I said.

"That's what Johanna told us. Still, you did not allow her to be roughly handled. I know you were aware of the risk to yourself."

"The guy was, to lapse into the vernacular, fucked up on drugs and alcohol, not that he knew what he was doing in the first place. Wasn't much risk."

"I'm not talking about a physical risk, the police could've taken you in along with the other three. You're fortunate you had a good officer show up. Some of those are not so discerning."

"You're right, of course. Still, I was not going to stand by and let him abuse Jo."

That's when the cashier came to us to take us to our table. I was thankful for the little lull in the conversation. We sat down, told our waiter that we'd wait until the ladies came in before we ordered. Anders and I were nursing our beers. We let the conversation swing around to current events and were talking politics when the ladies showed up.

"Stoney, lemme have the keys to your car. I need to stow these bags," Jo said.

"Oh, just set them next to your chair, dear," Bridgette said. "Sit down."

Jo kissed my cheek before she sat. "Didja miss me while I was gone?" she smiled.

"Of course I did."

She eyed her dad. "You weren't mean to Stoney, were you?"

"He's still here, isn't he?"

Dinner was pleasant, the conversation light. I kept seeing Jo's eyes questioning me. I know she wanted to find out what her dad and I talked about. I wanted to find out what she and her mother shared.

At the end of the evening Jo kissed her parents goodbye. They promised to be back in town in time to see her perform in a Veterans' Day concert and to visit my apartment to hear Jo and I play together. And they left.

Jo slid into the seat of my car and we drove off.

"Okay. No you can tell me."

"Tell you what?"

"Don't play coy with me, Stonewall Jackson," she said. "What did you and Dad talk about?"

"How you're his precious princess and if I hurt you he'll have me killed. Slowly."

"He didn't!" she squealed.

I laughed. "Maybe not in those exact words. But he's your dad and he loves you so all that other stuff is implied. I didn't know you told them about the fight with Dave."

"Stoney, I want them to know exactly what kind of guy you are."

"A testosterone-addled macho man?"

"You are none of that. So what did Dad say?"

"I explained why I didn't make a big deal about it." I paused. "So what did you and your mom talk about?"

"She very pointedly asked me if you and I had been to bed together. I actually think my mother was surprised when I told her I was yet a virgin."

That comment hit me pretty hard. Jo had said she hadn't been interested in sex before, but for some reason I never translated that to the idea that she was a twenty-one year old virgin.

"Surprised?" I asked.

"Yeah. Then she dropped a bomb on me. Stoney, Mom and I had The Talk, of course. But we never talked about her relationship with Dad. We still haven't, except for one little detail."

"Uh..." Oh, yeah, I was curious, but I didn't see that showing it would be the proper thing.

"She was a virgin when she met Dad. She wasn't by the time they got married." She looked at me. "She considers you to be a proper mate for me." She paused to let that sink in. "So what does my Stoney think of THAT idea?"

"Your Stoney has considered that idea more than a little bit," I said. "SO that takes care of your mom and me. What do you think?"

"If I say 'yes', where are we, Stoney?"

"A step further along than 'going steady'," I said.

"Not the answer I'm looking for, Stoney. Was it like a daydream? I daydreamed about it myself."

"No, Jo, you're worth more consideration than a daydream. Serious?"

"Serious. Not a fling. I can't work myself into a fling."

"I'm glad, Jo. I don't 'fling' very well either. Got burnt bad one time."

"You never told me that," she said.

"Long story involving a dumbass and a woman."

"You never told me. I kind of surmised something dark in your past. You don't have to tell me."

"No," I said. "If it's gonna be you and me going forward together, I don't want to keep things from you."

"Save it for the apartment, then. We'll pop a bottle of wine and talk."

I thought about that a second. "Are you sure? Wine and sad stories are a bad combination."

"Remember when we started this Stoney? I said I'm your friend and that I would listen. The wine is just a little social thing. Coke'll work, too."

"Whichever you prefer. That bottle of wine has been sitting in the rack since I moved in. I got it as a house-warming gift. Frankly, that house wasn't warm until you showed up."

"You're sweet, Stoney. I like the compliments."

"I lack the vocabulary to tell you how I really feel."

"You show me. You tell me."

"You're smart. Talented. Beautiful. Compliments are easy." I squeezed her hand.

"Flattery will get you ... me!"

We pulled into my parking space at the apartment and walked towards the door. She tugged my hand, spinning me around into her waiting arms.

"I desire to be kissed under the streetlights. And next weekend, under the stars."

"Ah, next weekend. We need to look at that." And I kissed her, then hustled the two of us inside.

"What about next weekend?"

"Weather looks kind of iffy."

"D'you have foul-weather gear?"

"Yes," I said. "But neither set is your size."

"Too big?"

"Uh-huh?"

"I can deal with too big. I am looking for an adventure. Your boat has a heater. You're suspecting that we're getting an early cold front. It won't be bad. At least not that cold."

"You pay attention," I said.

"Yep! And I badly desire an adventure. I think that you and I motoring out to the middle of the bay and anchoring for the night just might be it." She pushed me toward the kitchen. "Two glasses. Open bottle. And we talk. If you don't want to talk about that old love, then choose something else, but we talk. Stoney and Jo talk."

"Yes we do." I opened the bottle of wine and poured two glasses. She took hers and I took mine and the bottle and we retired to the living room. I put the bottle on the end table.

"You sit first so I can see where I fit."

I obediently sat down and let her position herself in my arms, her butt in my lap where it produced an immediate reaction.

"Stop that!" she squealed.

"Believe me, sweetness, if I could, I would, but it has a mind of its own."

"I am glad to know that I do that."

"Really?"

"Really! We have very normal reactions to each other, physically. That's a good sign."

"I suppose. We have bodies with primal urges."

She lounged back against me, rubbing her red hair against my cheek like a big cat. "It's a deliciously GOOD bad feeling, isn't it, Stoney?"

"I never thought of it, but yes, if there ever was an uncomfortable situation that I enjoyed, getting all hot and bothered because I have an angel in my lap would be it."

"I'm not an angel."

"You are."

"I'm not. You should've posed that thought to Mom and Dad."

"You're an angel. You're an ethereal beauty. You make music that sings of heaven. You're a sane, grounded person. No bad habits. Angel."

She rolled in my lap, setting her glass down, wrapping her arms around my neck. "You're wrong. I do have a bad habit."

"Yeah?"

She kissed me long and hot. "You. You're my habit, rabbit."

"From my vantage point, that's not a BAD habit."

"Oh, but it is, Stoney. Very, very bad." She picked up her glass, emptied it. Kissed again. Sighed. "I am losing my resolve. All the things that were so easy because guys were just, like, icky, it's changed. I find myself in the arms of Mister Randall Stonewall Jackson and he's the most decidedly not icky guy imaginable." Kiss. "So what's the story with Stoney and the woman who wrecked him?'

I had to chuckle. "Extra points to Jo for the set-up!" I thought she'd move. She didn't move. Remained right here in easy kissing distance, a very disturbing location for the story I had to tell.

"She was a temp, a CAD monkey."

"CAD. That's computer-aided design?"

"Yeah. From time to time we get someone in to help with projects."

"How old was she?"

"Two years younger than me."

"What'd she look like?"

"Pretty enough. Brown hair. Brown eyes. Not fat, but juicy."

"Is that a preference?"

"What?"

"Juicy. Plump."

"No. I just didn't make a difference. She was funny. Acerbic wit."

"But plump, and no red hair."

"I held neither of those against her. We hit it off right up front. I thought I was tumbling and she was there with me. I was wrong. Two months. And when the job ended, so did she. I tried to keep it going, but she just liked having a thing going with somebody she worked around."

"She was playing and you were serious."

"Apparently."

"And you got hurt and you did your engineering 'cause and effect' thing and decided that if you eliminated the source of THAT problem, you'd head off future problems."

"I guess."

"And then one day you told a flute player that she was playing a clarinet part." Kiss.

"Uh-huh." Kiss back.

"And so we both jumped the fence that's been keeping us safe." Another kiss.

"Jo," I said, "I love you. Because of so many things you appear to be. And so many things you're not."

"You're safe with me, Stoney. I didn't even have a thing until I met you. I didn't have a type. I didn't have a set of specifications. And I certainly wasn't looking for a thirty-something engineer. And yet, here we are. And I like it."

"Me too. More wine."

Giggle. "Yeah. We need to kill the bottle."

I poured us each another glass. "I'll have to tell the guy that his bottle of wine finally did warm the house."

"And you'll have to get another bottle or two." She sipped her glass and sat it down on the table again. Kissed. She slowly pushed me back flat on the sofa and we intertwined together. Before long, our hands were getting bravely exploratory on each other and she ended up on top of me.

"Stoney..." Kiss. "We need to cool off."

"Either we cool off or..."

"Cool off. Not now. Not tonight." She buried her face into my chest. Bit me. "Dammit!"

We each took a deep breath.

Oh yes, I wanted to. Badly. But I wasn't going to push the situation. This is my Jo we're talking about.

"So let's plan this boat trip," I said.

Chapter 13

We came up with a plan pretty quick. After all, this wasn't Columbus looking for the Spice Islands. We planned a menu. Talked about what would happen if the weather cratered on us.

"We can stay home."

"No," she said. "I don't have a home. Key's, well ... there's this guy she's been seeing and I told her that she'd have the place to herself. Which likely means she won't be by herself. And I get very uncomfortable with the idea of a guy staying in my apartment."

"Oh."

"So I'm your responsibility, Mister Stoney. And I think we go, rain or shine. If it's too gusty to sail, we can motor. But we go. Didn't you say you had two foul weather suits?"

"Yeah. But they're both my size. It'll be like a tent on you."

"I can make it work for the couple of hours it might take to get us out there. Your heater and stove? You have propane?"

"Yes. Two bottles. Enough for a summer with the stove. A week with the heater."

"Then we'll be warm and we can cook. Are you cooled off?"

I guess I looked puzzled.

"From earlier. Gosh, Stoney, you get me..."

"Jo, you're just a delight," I said.

"I'm glad to be your delight. Get your banjo. We need to practice."

And practice we did. My fingers were developing a better connection to my eyes. Jo's sheet music for the harp part of a Mozart concerto was a giant step up from my normal 'three chords' routine on a banjo, but I had toyed with scales and such and wasn't entirely lost when I started. Now, trying to keep up with somebody who was a featured soloist in a university orchestra, that was stretching me. And like a good stretching routine, it was paying off.

Under her tutelage I was getting over that amateur failure of coming to a dead stop when I flubbed a note. Now I was sensing them and moving right past, staying up with Jo as she played almost from memory. I was even confident enough on some passages to look up at her as she sat across from me. And when I looked up, there was the girl that had captured me from the first time I saw her, the blue-eyed redhead with a permanent smile.

"Second passage," she said. "And pay attention to the transition from harp to flute lead."

"Hai, sensei," I said.

"One, two..." and we were off. And I didn't miss a note. I even embellished a bit, where I'd been substituting quarter and half-notes for the harp arpeggios in the original score, I saw where I could toss in some bluegrass banjo rolls that had, at least in my mind, a similar sound. I saw a flash in her eyes the first time I did that. This time it worked. Just worked.

When we ended it, she sat her flute down and jumped on me, smothering me with kisses, giggling. "You're everything, Stoney. Everything! Gosh, I love you!"

"I love you too, Johanna. I get this for playing without mistakes?"

Giggle and a headshake.

"That's what I call incentive."

I didn't want to take her home this night.

We ate dinner together, she spent evenings with me studying, and yes, we got more music in and more kissing and I got more time in the shower relieving an astonishing amount of pressure.

During the week, though, the trip moved from a Saturday to Sunday jaunt to "Let's leave after my last class on Friday. Can you get out of work early?"

I had some comp time on the books, so that's what I did, and at one-thirty I was at her door. Missed Key. She has a Friday afternoon class. I shouldered Jo's gym bag and we walked to the car, hand in hand. An hour later we were at dockside, loading up. The skies were turning the color of lead and a southerly wind was gusty and heavy with moisture.

"I don't think we'll beat the rain," I said. "Let's get the car locked up. Let me get the engine started so it can warm up on the boat first."

With the wind pushing us at an uncomfortable angle to the docks, I let her handle the release of the last dockline as I held a slight pull with the engine, and we were off on the adventure, Jo sitting in the cockpit beside me. That part was good. The first drops of rain weren't. Jo scurried below and came up ridiculously dressed in oversized foul-weather gear. "Let me take the helm while you go change."

"Keep the center of the channel," I said. "There's no traffic." And I went below. Presently I was out and the wind was still gusty and the rain was steady, blowing in stinging drops. I looked at Jo. She had her jacket buttoned and zipped and cinched up leaving only the bright eyes and pert nose exposed.

She giggled. "Whose bright idea was this?"

I was catching it worse because she could turn her back to the wind and rain. I was facing it. "Oh, I dunno," I said. "Some nutcase who has the power to make me do crazy things, I guess."

We cleared the channel and got out into the bay and it got worse, the wind being unhindered by buildings and land. The shallow bay was rough with a crazy chop. A smaller boat would've been in trouble, but mine saw two and three-foot chop as insignificant. Still, the wind worked on my bare mast and the boat wanted to head off into inopportune directions. We were still constrained by the keel under the boat until we were a mile away from shore. I saw the channel marker I was waiting for and made my turn, putting my bow dead into the wind. That took care of the problem with the boat wanting to veer off.

We motored on. I was headed to a spot that had a good bottom for anchoring and was far enough away from the main ship channel with its wakes from ocean-going ships. I throttled back the engine to put us at almost a stop.

"Hold the bow into the wind and let me set the anchor," I said.

"Okay. Be careful going forward," she said.

I went to the bow, opened the anchor locker and picked my biggest anchor, made it fast to the rode and dropped it over the side. I yelled, "Put the engine in neutral!"

"Got it!" came the reply.

As we drifted back, pushed by the wind, I fed the anchor rode out slowly, keeping tension on it to keep the bow into the wind. In fifteen feet of water I let out twenty feet of chain and a hundred feet of one-inch nylon line, then cleated it off. I could feel the deck beneath my feet take a little dip as the anchor dug in. It was set.

I clambered back to the cockpit. "Let's get below," I said.

"Oh, you don't have to tell me that twice," she said. We had no more than closed the companionway hatch when the REAL rain hit, bringing with it a severe wind shift.

"Let me go on deck and make sure we don't foul the anchor. We're gonna swing big time now."

"Be careful," she said. "I'm putting water on for something warm."

"Be careful," I said.

The wind shift wasn't as sharp as I worried about. We swung almost a hundred eighty degrees, though, but when I tugged at the anchor rode, it was taut. Still set. "We're good," I said to myself. That was a good thing. The temperature was dropping fast. From the sticky dampness of the south wind, the shift around to the north brought a raw cold with it.

Something warm was below and she was at the stove. I went below. "I'm gonna light the heater," I said. "The wind changed to the north. It's gonna get cold fast."

I looked at her in the dim cabin light. "You're wet."

"Just a little," she said. "You are, too."

"Water's gonna boil soon. Got tea. And sandwiches. Go change."

I went to the master cabin and changed. When I came out, she had her bag. "My turn." Five minutes later she was in a comfy although amorphous-looking sweatsuit and two huge mugs of tea were steeping. I was laying out sandwich fixings, cheese, salami, brown bread.

"And butter. Very european, you know," she'd said when we talked about provisioning for the trip.

"I know about German ham sandwiches. Schinkenbrot. I loved 'em."

"We'll do something like that, then."

And so we did. The tea chased off the chill from the inside out and the little cabin heater worked from the outside in. And blue eyes and red hair and a smile? Made me warm all over.

She reached for her flute case. "You can get your banjo," she said. "But we're not doing anything intense. Let's just make music together and relax."

"Okay, we can do that," I said as I went to the locker that held the banjo. We sat at opposite ends of the settee.

"Gimme a D," she said. I did, and we tuned together, then she launched into a slow, plaintive piece. I played along softly, taking my cues from her fingerings.

"Good warmup, don't you think?" she smiled. "I love having a partner to play with. Key and I played a lot, but with you, when I get happy, I can stop and kiss you."

"And I appreciate every one of 'em," I said.

"As do I. I like kissing, but I'm not into doing it for the sake of doing it. But with you, the recreational aspects fit right in with the two of us being, well, us."

"I'm thinking of this as 'us' too, Jo."

"It's kind of crazy," she said. "Are we courting, Stoney?"

"Courting?"

"You know, seeing each other, learning, measuring, deciding about a future together."

"Yes, I think I've been doing that. A couple of dates is recreational to me. I've done a few of those. But past that, there's too much emotional capital in play. I just haven't seen anybody that I wanted to let myself go with." I noted she was gently setting her flute aside. "Until you."

She came across the distance between us. I opened my arms to gather her to me. "I ... You and I, we're the same. I thought I was abnormal. I sort of forced myself to give it a try with David. That was a disaster. I pulled out of the game. Until you came along. And I let my guard down. And now..."

"And now we're being too serious," I said. If she was going to push for something, I was going to make her at least push a bit harder.

"Stoney, you're the first guy I have said I loved since junior high. The first one I've REALLY REALLY kissed, not because I wanted to see what kissing was like, but because I wanted to meld with you in some way. It means something to me that I kind of understand, but I'm afraid to announce. It's kind of like watching bubbles in the sunlight. They're shimmering and beautiful and alive and dynamic and you want to possess that beauty, but if you so much as touch one..."

Okay, I can handle that metaphor. "Okay, sweet beautiful Johanna..."

"Stoney, when you say my name like that, I start melting inside."

"You're my perfect, shimmering, beautiful rainbow kaleidoscope bubble, and I've gently caught you in my palm. If I move too fast, too much..."

She kissed me, pressing me back on the cushion.

"No. I won't pop. Where's this going, Stoney?"

"There're several paths from right here, my Johanna," I said. I took a deep breath. "Will you marry me?"

"Are you sure, Stoney?" she asked. "Am I pushing you?"

"You're not pushing me, and yes, I am sure."

"Then I will marry you. It's the way we're destined to be. You have to know that I've been thinking about this."

"Me too. But it's too soon. At least that's what I kept telling myself."

"So did I," she said softly. "But I ... why should we wait? We're not stupid people who do it wrong."

"Do it wrong?"

"Yes," she said. "They bounce in and out of love and in and out of bed and then date for months before they decide to get married, if they ever do. I found you and found my magic. I haven't been in anybody's bed and I haven't really been in love and I know this is it and I think it's silly to wait."

"So when?" I asked.

"When what?" she countered.

"When do we get married?"

"After the fall semester? Is that too soon?"

"Tomorrow wouldn't be soon enough," I said.

"I know," she replied. "But I need to do this with my parents. I might be twenty-one, but I will forever be the daughter of Anders and Bridgette."

"It's the honorable thing to do," I said.

"You're completely serious about this." She fixed me in the gaze of those blue eyes. "Stoney, I don't think you play games."

"I don't," I said. "Especially with you, precious."

"If I really thought you did, I wouldn't be here," she said.

"Me neither," I said. And I kissed her. We stayed bonded together, arms, legs tangled, tugging, long, hot kisses, little happy ones, hers on my face and neck driving me insane and mine leaving her almost out of breath.

Finally she sat back, breathing heavily. "Stoney. I have to take a break. D'ya mind?"

My head understood. The rest of my anatomy didn't, not a bit. I took a deep, cleansing breath. "Yeah, we'd better."

She disassembled her flute and put it in its case. "Stoney, if you're serious about this..."

"I've never been more serious in my life, Jo."

"Then forgive me, but I want to call Mom."

"Well, at least I have another twenty-four hours to live. Your dad can't come kill me while we're out here."

"Dad approves of you. He approves of you as my boyfriend. Quite happy, actually. Even the difference in our ages." She picked her phone out of her backpack and started punching, held it to her ear. "Hi, Mom!"

Jo scooted next to me, putting her phone between our two heads so I could listen in.

"Mom, I have something to tell you."

"I cannnot imagine what you're going to tell me this time, Jo," Bridgette said.

"I don't know how much of a shock this may be to you, Mom, but I want to get married."

Bridgette has a wry sense of humor that I detected in the two meals we'd shared. "That is a perfectly normal sentiment, Jo. Every young girl wishes to get married."

"No, Mom," Jo said. "I AM going to get married."

"Are you trying to tell me that you've found somebody? Who, pray tell?"

"The stock boy at the corner grocery store, Mom!"

"Whewww!" Bridgette said. "I was so afraid it was that horrid Mr. Jackson."

"Mooo-oommmm! Of course it's Stoney!"

Her mom squealed, "Oh, sweetness, that's good! No, that's great!"

"Mom, he wants to formally ask Dad."

"I assume that would be so. Your Stoney is a proper young man."

"Can you get Dad to the phone?" Jo asked. "Assuming you're really okay with this."

"Anders, my dear, please come talk to our daughter," I heard Bridgette say loudly.

"Thanks, Mom," Jo said.

"Hello, Princess," her dad said. "Your mother is really smiling. Am I to assume good news?"

"Yes, Dad. Here's Stoney. He has something to ask you." She turned the phone towards me.

"Hello, Mr. Solheim," I said.

"Hello, Stoney," he replied. "I assume that you have something to do with the grin on my wife's face and the lilt in my daughter's voice."

"Jo always has a lilt in her voice and your wife seems to be a happy person," I said, " but yes, I may be a contributor."

"So what's the occasion?"

I took a deep breath. This was, after all, new ground for me. "SIr," I said formally, "I would like your permission to marry your daughter."

"Stoney, you have my permission. My blessing. My assent. My agreement. Sell your beeswax stocks though. Her mom can now stop burning candles in the church over Johanna's future."

"Thank you, sir," I said.

"Anders, Stoney," he said. "Or I'll start calling you 'son' right now."

"Dad," Jo said. "I'm here."

"Jo," Anders said, "this had better be as serious to you as your music. You were not raised to think that marriage is other than forever."

"Yes, Dad," she said. And Dad?"

"Yes, sweetness?"

"Does Mom still have that DVD of Prince William's wedding?"

"As a matter of fact, yes she does. I shall see that she gives it to you when you elope." I detected a hint of a snicker in his voice. Apparently Jo missed it.

"Dad, we're not eloping. When we get married, you and Mom will, MUST be there. It happens no other way."

"Yes, my dear daughter," he said. "I will leave the planning thereof to you and your mother."

"I love you Dad," she said.

"I love you as well, Johanna my daughter. And I am proud and happy with your choice of husband."

"Thank you, Dad. That means a lot. Hug Mom for me."

"Oh, I will likely do more than hug her. She's practically dancing a jig right now. I may have to dance with her."

"Uh-huh," Jo said. "Bye Dad!"

"Bye, Jo."

She hit the disconnect button and tossed the phone to the end of the settee, turning to me. There was a glint in her eye and she was smiling broadly. She squealed and propelled herself into my arms. "Mine! Stoney Jackson, you're forever mine!"

"All that's left is getting married," I said.

"Yes," she smiled. "But it's gonna happen. She batted her eyelashes at me. "You wouldn't break my heart now, would you?"

"No way. I love you, little one."

"Nor will I," she said. "I will be faithful and devoted to you forever."

Something struck me as to the gravity of the delivery of those words. I felt compelled to reply in kind. "Johanna, I will be faithful and devoted to you forever."

Her eyes widened. "Do you realize what we just did?"

I looked at her questioningly.

"We just got married. In some societies, we're completely validly married. We've announced our intentions to our families, well, at least MY family. And we've exchanged vows."

"You took one too many sociology courses, Jo."

She smiled. "You know it's true."

She twisted around, leaning back in my arms, knowing that I was compelled to nuzzle and kiss her red hair. She took my hands in hers and tugged my arms around herself. I like this arrangement. I've been here before with Jo. It felt right, wonderful, the first time. Even better now. Normally, she keeps my fingers interlaced with hers. She wiggled her butt a little pushing backward in my lap and pulled my hands atop her ... breasts. Delectable, desirable, firm yet oh so pliant perfectly small breasts.

"Mmmmmm," she said. "Since we're sort of married, it's okay for you to excite me, isn't it?"

I didn't have enough blood supply to say no. I just flexed my fingers, feeling the firm flesh through her sweatshirt. She purred. "I am not forcing you," I said.

"No, Stoney, you're not. I am forcing YOU. Well, really encouraging you. It feels better than I imagined, just so you know."

"I didn't bring you out here to seduce you. I love you and I would not take advantage of you."

"I love you too," she said. "And I am not being seduced. I am being loved."

"Okay," I said. "I love you. And god knows, I love this." I gave a gentle squeeze to the two breasts in my hands. "But you set the limits."

"Then let me turn around so I can kiss you." She did that and in pushing me backward she fitted herself tightly against me. Our normal situation would have been with one of her legs in between mine. She changed that. I was being straddled. Happily straddled by a delightful, smiling redhead. She giggled, grinning. "You don't think that I realize exactly what I'm doing, Stoney?"

"Do you?" I asked. She ground her crotch against my obvious erection in answer.

And giggled when I twitched. "Did I ever tell you definitively that I am a virgin, Stoney?"

"You never came right out and said it in those words."

"Well, I am. I have never been penetrated by a guy in my life. I will admit to a couple of my own fingers. Nobody else's. I also own an appliance."

"An appliance?"

"I call it that because it sounds not quite as depraved as admitting to owning a dildo." She caught that questioning expression I showed. "Mom told me about the birds and the bees. She was a good Catholic girl. Waited until her wedding night. Except she said what she called her wedding night wasn't the day they stood in front of the priest. She said that she considered her wedding night to be the night that they announced they'd chosen one another. Anyway, Stoney, that night she found out that she had an abnormally stout hymen. My loving mother advised me to prepare myself so that my first time would be good. She also advised me that the first time should be with the one who I would spend the rest of my life with." She tapped my forehead with her fingertip. "Is this sinking in? Or am I being too graphic? Or too subtle?"

"I'm trying to figure out what it is you want," I said.

She said one word: "You!"

"Heaven help us, Jo, but you've got me."

She flopped down on top of me. This time, I pulled her into me. My turn to purr. "Oh, babyyyyyy," I moaned.

She stifled my moan with a kiss. When it broke, she focused her eyes on me. "Me. You. Alone. In a boat. All night." Giggle.

"All night," I said, and then the one responsible neuron left with its own blood supply in my brain fired off. "Oh, crap!" I said.

She looked shocked. Oh, gosh, Stoney! What?"

"It's dark. We're anchored. I forgot to turn on the anchor light."

"Then for heaven's sake, do it!" she got off me and let me up. It wasn't a big deal. The switch is at the navigation station, a big term for a little angled desktop. There's a panel full of switches above and behind it. I flicked the anchor light switch, then opened the companionway to make sure the light was lit. I confirmed the light was working. I also confirmed that the wind shift from the frontal passage had dropped the temperature and the little cabin heater was going to take a while to get the cabin temperature back up.

"Kinda cold," Jo said.

"Kinda hang on," I said. I pulled a blanket off the berth in the main cabin, tossed it around the two of us. "Better?"

"It was better like it was before you remembered the anchor light," she said. "Lay back."

Okay. I can take orders. This time, though, her hands slid up underneath my sweatshirt. She watched me to see if I was going to protest. I didn't. "Getting awfully brave," I said.

"Just wanted to ... Oh, I don't know what I want, Stoney. Spending time with you had awakened something." She propped herself up. That put her at an angle where I could easily, well, I could find out if she ... I just reached up and gently cupped the mounds on her chest, halfway expecting protest. I got purrs.

"Beautiful," I said.

"You don't know that, Stoney. You've never seen 'em."

"They feel beautiful," I said. She scooted a bit, rubbing herself against my erection, biting her bottom lip.

"Let's see," she said. She sat back, throwing the blanket off us and grabbed the hem of her sweatshirt. One smooth athletic motion and it came off over her head in an explosion of red hair. "Why don't we move this forward to the cabin. I'm afraid we're gonna fall off this thing and hurt ourselves."

I got up with her. She was still wearing her characteristic jeans, but from the waist up, only a sports bra. I was going to bed with Johanna. Yes, I had dreamed, fantasies abound. And here we were, and neither of us was drunk. She turned to face me, hanging her thumbs in her jeans' waistband.

"Let me," I said.

She wrapped her arms around my neck, fastened her mouth to mine, intruding upon me with her tongue as my fingers unsnapped her jeans, pulled the zipper down, then gently slid them over the swell of her hips. I allowed my hands to travel over the curve of her ass, pushing the jeans down. Our lips parted. "Now you," she said.

In a flash I was as she was, down to my shorts and was being enticed into bed by her as she lay on her side. We slid together, scantily clad flesh touching in ways that caused tactile flashes to course through my being.

"Are we still sane, Stoney?" she asked.

"Yes, my Johanna," I said. "I am madly in love with you."

Chapter 14

The old boat had been, from the day I brought her home and made her mine, a refuge. Yes, there were days that I brought friends along, but mainly the boat was where I went when I wanted to get away from the world. Now I was on her, and I was clothed only in my boxers and before me, beckoning, was Jo, in my mind the epitome of red-headed perfection, herself clad only in hip-hugger panties and a dark blue sports bra.

And she was beautiful. Absent any light from the skylight hatch, we had a little electric cabin light on. "Come here, Stoney. Lay with me." In the dim light, my mind filled out the details, the blue eyes, how red that hair was in the sunlight, rendered brown in the dim cabin. I was adding new details like the exact curve of her waist, the perfect rounded butt, the legs, the long, athletic legs. I crawled in towards her, intent on taking this slowly.

My beautiful mate had other ideas. I was wrapped up and dragged against her, her right leg thrown over mine, pulling me into complete contact. I couldn't talk. My lips were occupied. So were her hands.

"Stoney, I've never seen you in shorts except that one time. You have strong legs. Muscular." Her hands emphasized her observation. "And I am not the only one to notice that you have a great butt." Her hands tracing my butt caused a surge in my groin.

Giggle. "I felt that."

"Johanna ... My lovely Johanna..." My hands at first cradled her head, then slid down her back, relishing the bare, youthful skin, ending up, naturally, on the curve of that delectable ass.

She moaned into my mouth as we kissed. Our lips parted. "Touch me, Stoney. You are the one to touch me. Everywhere."

I squeezed the curved cheeks of her ass. A little "Mmmm" came through the kiss. She did the impossible, pulling us together even tighter. I felt my erection pushing against a warm mound, the heat penetrating two layers of fabric. She felt it too, and moaned gently. One soft, exploratory hand disappeared from my butt. Reappeared between us, pushing its way downward.

When it reached the almost inevitable destination, when I felt HER fingers touch my straining erection, it was more than I could stand. I came. Pulsing, jetting, throbbing, I came. While I was coming, I let a little whimper escape my being, through our kiss. She pulled back. "Oh, Stoney ... You ... You ... I..."

"OHGOD, Jo, yes I did. I'm sorry. All this is more than I can stand. You don't understand how much I adore you, Jo. Intellect, talent ... and you're the single most beautiful woman on the planet. This was inevitable."

"I ... Stoney, I'm not experienced. Is that good or bad?"

I kissed her. "Good. Just more good than this mortal is able to stand."

"We ... I can stop."

"Nooooo, little angel. But I have a mess."

Giggle. "I feel it. You weren't supposed to do that there."

"Kiss me again, then I have to clean this mess up."

She kissed me. I rolled backward away from her and stood, the front of my boxers a sticky, sodden mess. I retrieved a clean pair from my knapsack and started towards the head.

"Don't," she said.

"Huh?"

"Don't put those on. I'm being terribly brave and I don't want you to put those on. Clean up and dry off and come back here."

I snagged the plastic tub with that new yachtsman's sanitary necessity, baby wipes, and cleaned myself up. When I turned, Jo's feet were in the air and she was sliding her panties up her lovely legs.

"Jo?"

"Hush, Stoney! I'm trying to parse all this right now. This is going down in my memories as so many things and it is so strange and so absolutely perfect. You can never sell this boat because it is here, our honeymoon suite, that we become one."

"If that does not in fact happen, I intent to throw myself overboard, redhead," I said as I crawled in beside her. I had planned another session of the two of us lying on our sides facing each other. Wrong again.

As I crawled in, she slid herself under me, trapping me between a pair of thighs for which poems should be penned. She shifted to make sure that the appropriate parts contacted one another and we held on to each other in embrace. Kissed. We ground against each other, my dick sliding along between hot wet labia in a way that I never had experienced before.

I am not inexperienced. I actually lived with a girl on one assignment when I was in the Army. Even thought we were in love. I knew about sex. Comparing that to this was like comparing a picture of a storm to standing out in it, having the winds buffet, the rain beat, the thunder shake.

I raised up a little, and Jo shifted underneath me. The safe slide between the lips was about to change as I felt the head of my dick catch in her opening. Her eyes widened and I thought about pulling back but her mouth opened. "Stoney, I love you." And she pushed her hips upward. I took that as a cue and met her motion with my own. Hot. Wet. Tight.

"Oh, Stoney..." she sighed.

"Are you okay, Johanna?"

"Very much so. Please..." Her hips punctuated her request. No, this wasn't some variety of animalistic humping. I'd dreamed of Jo for weeks and I wanted to love her body. We arched into each other, connecting, merging, mating, in the most physical and spiritual senses of the word. Each stroke put an "mmmmm" or an "ooohhhhh" in my ears.

"Stoney ... It's ... you're ... we're ... wonderfulllllll"

"My Johanna," I breathed. "My perfect, lovely Johanna..." That previous surprise orgasm was a blessing in many ways, the most obvious one being that I had half a chance of lasting more than twelve seconds in paradise. Her hip movement took on an insistent tempo, like she was searching for something. I made an adjustment and a sigh and a hard grind told me that she was where she wanted to be.

"Oh. Stoney. I'm. Just. Right. Theeeeeere! Nnnnnnngggghhhhhh!"

And I came again. This time I was deep into a place I was made for.

In the afterglow we were still intertwined. "I love you, Stoney. And it's wonderful between us."

"I love you, Johanna. And it truly is."

She pulled my face to hers and kissed me. "And always will be."

"Yes, my love."

"Stoney, I'm glad it's you."

"What's me?"

"You that is the first man to make love with me. Because I will never love another, you'll be the only one."

"And you will be the only one, from this day forward. And the thought makes me very happy, Jo."

"Good," she said. "And you love me very much?"

"Yes, I do."

"Enough to do something about this huge cold wet spot we made?"

"This is a heck of a time to discover you're deceitful, right after I seal my life with yours," I said.

She giggled. "Not deceitful, practical."

Add two towels to the laundry I'd haul away from our weekend.

She was holding the blanket up to her chin. "Chilly in here."

"I can turn the heater up."

"No," she said. "You get under here with me. You're the engineer. You know all about friction."

I dove under the blankets with her. In a matter of minutes it was a twisted pile at our feet as we went at each other. Jo's eagerness was like a dam-burst and for myself, well, it had been a very long time since I thought of a woman as ... correction ... I'd never thought of a woman as I found Jo.

After the third round for the evening we finally curled unfamiliarly in each other's arms and let sleep overcome us.

In the wee hours of the morning I sat up with a start, the dream too real. Again. Seconds passed before I regained senses enough to ... a soft hand touched me. "Stoney?"

"Jo," I said softly, "I'm sorry..."

"Is this what happens?"

"What?"

"When it comes back?"

"I don't know why ... Why, on this night, of all nights, I don't know why..."

"Can I hold you, love?"

"Of course, Jo." She slid up to a sitting position beside me, wrapping me in her arms.

"You're mine, Stoney. I'm yours. I'm here for you." She eased her lips to mine, eyes bright, caring, and I couldn't help but respond. My own arms wrapped her in return, pulling her to me.

"Is it better this way, Stoney? With me here?"

"Yes, it's better."

"You're sweating."

"I know."

"You could open the companionway for a minute, cool off."

I unwrapped from her, and for the first time I saw Johanna standing, nude, in the dim light of a full moon coming through the little cabin portholes. It was dim light, to be sure, and shadows played enticingly over her form.

"Beautiful," I said.

"Come on, let's cool off," she smiled, taking my hand. Gingerly we made our way through the cabin. I opened the hatch to the cockpit, felt a cleansing cascade of cool air, even cold, on my bare skin. The light of the full moon flowed inward. "Go up. Out."

"No clothes, baby. I'm naked."

"Nobody out there for miles, Stoney. Me and you in the moonlight."

I ascended the little ladder, turned, took her hand and helped her out. What I saw evoked almost primal memories from deep in ancestral blood. Naked in the moonlight, she turned, stretched, the moonlight barely showing the red of her hair, the cool light glinting off alabaster skin. An angel. An ethereal being come down to earth. A forest nymph. A dryad. No, we were on the water. A siren. Nothing mortal could explain what I saw before me.

"Stoney, you're not saying anything."

"Johanna, you are the most beautiful creature I have ever imagined."

"And quickly becoming one of the coldest. Hold me, Stoney."

I pulled her in against me, her skin cool, dry, and we embraced, clad only in the moonlight. I kissed her.

"Randall Jackson, under the light of this moon, I wed myself to you," she said gravely.

"By the same moon, I take you, Johanna Solheim, as my wife and give myself to you only."

"Then it's done," she said. "In a very old way. We have mated. We have sworn under the light of the moon. We can go fill out a government form somewhere and get a functionary to log us into a public record. But make no mistake about it, my husband, we are married."

In the moonlight her face was beautiful and deadly serious. "I understand it no other way, dearest wife."

She shivered. "Are you cooled off?"

"Most of me, I think."

She looked around, the moonlight glinting off the wind-blown chop. "Get us blankets. This is too beautiful to give up right away." In a flash I returned with the blankets and wrapped the two of us as we sat in the cockpit.

"Jo, angel, I love you."

"That's good, Stoney," she said, "Considering that you're my husband."

"So who's gonna know this upon our return to civilization?" I asked.

"Everybody."

"About being engaged? Or being married?"

She put her hand on my cheek. "Stoney ... I'm serious about this. Married."

"Move in with me. We tell everybody. Get rings. Let 'em think we planned it and eloped, thus making you a beautiful young widow when your father hunts me down and kills me."

"He won't do that. Remember, love of my life, that my parents approve of you."

"Uh, that was when they thought we were just getting engaged."

"I am their only daughter. I have been the proverbial 'good girl' all my life. I have not paraded a bunch of guys in front of them. Just you. I think I can make this work."

"Why don't we tell them that we are going to get married at a Justice of the Peace next weekend?"

"Why don't we tell them we got married THIS weekend in the old way? Mom used to tell me the folk tales and the oral history stuff. She was raised Catholic, but she's got a strong undercurrent of the old ways in her."

"What about your dad?"

"Dad dotes on Mom. And me. And he will be happy. And we can make it official at our leisure." She pressed me back against the coaming and administered a kiss that fairly made me glow. She sighed, said softly, "Stoney, when I was a young girl (said the 21-year old!) I used to daydream about kissing the love of my life under the light of a full moon. I didn't know I was prescient."

"Better do it again to make sure," I said. We molded together, my erection pressing against her.

"We can do more than kiss, can't we?" she asked, her voice almost like a shy little girl.

"Yes, I believe we can," I said. We worked together, me sitting back up, her straddling my lap, the heat of her center seeking my hard staff. We managed to make that connection. She tossed the blanket backward off her shoulders, threw her head back and howled.

I was momentarily startled. "Howl with me, Stoney! We won't be able to do this every time, but howl with me."

There's something primal about that. Never knew it. Never thought of it before, but if Jo asked, I would see that Jo got. Thrusting up into her, I howled with her. The chill of the air cooled my skin but did nothing to lessen ardor. She found a method of rocking that stimulated both of us mightily. I was trying my best to hold off an immediate urge to come, wanting to see where she got with this. Where she got was rapid progression to clamping her mouth to mine, her tongue invading, searching, then she did a little mewing sound, her lips still pressed to mine, her body shuddered, and we both came.

It didn't take long to recover my senses, urged along by the feel of cold fiberglass on my butt without the urgency of sexual arousal to mask it.

Her face was buried into my neck. I didn't move until she spoke. "I love you, Stoney, and my feet are cold."

"Then let's get ourselves back below." And we scampered naked back into the cabin, closing the hatch behind us. She grabbed a towel and dabbed at the creamy leakage running down her thighs. I took the towel when she finished and dried myself.

"There's bound to be a better way to take care of that," she said. "Stoney, how adventurous are we supposed to be? I'm new at this. I've heard all the talk, that's all."

"Adventurous?"

"Yeah. About sex."

"As long as it doesn't hurt, I guess I'm pretty open. I do have lines, but I don't think you'll cross any. Why?"

"Because I guess I'm supposed to be innocent and virginal and scared on my wedding night, but I feel like I've been freed. And we can, you know..."

"No, what?"

"Do other things, you know, with our mouths?"

"Uh, I didn't want to push you, you being all innocent and virginal."

"Stoney, you're my husband. Try me."

"Didn't want to hit with everything at once."

"So you're not against it?"

"Nope, neither way. Giving or receiving. But..."

"But you'd rather not?" she asked.

"No, I'd rather you didn't get subjected to something distasteful to you."

"We're being awfully tentative here, Stoney. I've been hearing about this stuff for a decade. Don't you think that I've had thoughts about what might be pleasant?"

"You're a sweet young thing. You're not supposed to be layin' around thinking about sex," I said.

She smirked. "Oh yeah. Right. And it started getting worse when we started dating. You're telling me that you didn't?

"Wasn't supposed to. Did anyway," I admitted.

"Okay, then," she said, snuggling in against me, pulling the blanket over us. "I thought a lot about this, cuddling, snuggling, ending up in that wonderful tangle of arms and legs like we did, what, THREE times tonight?"

"God help me, so did I," I admitted.

"It was better than I dreamed," Jo told me.

"My imagination is apparently limited. I never dreamed..."

She stopped my reply with a kiss. "I sort of knew it would be like this. We didn't really need foreplay, Stoney."

"I didn't. Jo, you've had me going every time you kiss me. Tonight was..."

"I know. Tonight was..."

We said "Wow!" together, then giggled into each other's arms.

"Back to being tentative, Stoney. What would you LIKE to do?"

"Kiss my way all over you."

"See, I'd like that."

"No 'off limits' areas?"

"Just the one, because it's been used since my last shower."

"Okay. But this..." My fingers traced up the inside of her thigh, reached the spot where she let out a breath she was holding when I started past the knee. She nodded vigorously. And her fingers curved around my dick.

"Me too. I get this."

"Just so you know, baby," I said, "I belong to you totally. All of me. If you want it, if it's physically possible, I will do it. Almost. There are some kinky things in the world these days."

"Oh, I am NOT talking about crapping on your chest or something, Stoney Jackson. I have limits. That's one of them. But if you and I want to, what's the phrase, oh, 'eat each other silly' then that's on my list of things that I totally approve of."

I had to laugh.

"It's not funny, Stoney. I'm perfectly serious..."

"And perfectly beautiful," I said, pushing her gently down and kissing my way from her earlobe, down her neck, across her clavicle to end up at a nipple, evoking her sigh as my lips first kissed, then gently sucked it, teasing it with my tongue.

"Oh, god, Stoney ... That's ... ohhhhhh..."

I moved to the other, taking the clamping of her hands on the back of my head as a positive sign. I worked that one over a bit more aggressively. She let out a little whiney moan when I left it, but sucked a breath in sharply when my tongue entered her navel. I spent some time there, each movement of my tongue and lips rewarded by ripples of the musculature of her taut abdomen. My Johanna was not fat. Not skinny, either, just enough fat to make the curves soft, enticing, and I was succumbing to the enticement.

When I moved away from her navel, kissing my way downward, her hands remained on the back of my head. I detected a little push. So Jo really WANTED that. Good! Very good! I really wanted that, too. I kissed my way through a field of fine, almost straight red hair, the pheromones from my goal drawing me ever closer.

"OHgoshYES, Stoney!" Okay, there's a point that my Jo abandons subtlety. "There! Lick me there!"

So I did. Found out that this particular activity brings out the multi-orgasmic capabilities of my mate. I liked it. I liked her tastes, salty, musky, I liked the quivers and shakes and sighs and squeals as feedback to this activity I so much enjoyed with every one of my senses.

I lost count. Three. Four. Who knows. Finally the hands on my head tugged. "Stoney, come up here and kiss me before you finish killing me." I reluctantly left my juicy paradise behind and crawled up beside her. "I never imagined ... Never." Sigh. She turned her face toward me. "Stoney ... So gooood!" and she kissed my sticky face.

A hand softly encircled my all too predictable erection, her fingers gently exploring. "D'you know how much I've heard about all this? I mean, hangin' around with other girls, some of them were not a bit bashful about talking about sex in graphic detail."

"Really?!?"

"Really," she said. "You know what else?"

"What, sweetest?"

"They lack the vocabulary to describe what I just experienced."

"I've never found words that could do this justice either," I said.

"But all those conversations were educational, too. Like, I learned what a lot of people do."

"And this tells us exactly what?"

She giggled. "It tells us that you're not a freak for doing what you just did and I'm not a freak for almost passing out from it."

"I didn't think so. Besides, it's you and me. If we enjoy it between the two of us, then it's nobody's business at all. As long as neither of us needs medical attention afterward," I said.

"Would you need hospitalization if I did this?" she asked before her head bobbed and lips closed on MY nipple. I shuddered from head to toe.

Giggle. "You seem to be affected, sir. Positively? Let me see." She did it again, this time with a bite and a swirl of tongue. Her head bobbed up in the dim cabin light. "Oh, yes! A definite pulsation corresponds with the input. And, Stoney?"

"Yes, Jo?"

"Hairy chest. I like it. Just so you know. I don't want you running off and getting it waxed or something." She emphasized her statement by rubbing her cheek on my chest, then her head turned and she went after the other nipple.

"Stop that and kiss me, Jo!"

Giggle. Kisssssssss. "Too much?" her blue eyes punctuated the question.

"I'm gonna explode."

"Again?" Giggle. She looked thoughtful for a moment. "How about YOUR bellybutton?"

I'm ticklish. Especially right there. How Jo figured that, I don't know, but she wrapped her arms around my waist, planted her tongue in the depths of my navel, and hung on as I writhed, first tickled, then incredibly aroused. When she sensed the change, she freed up her right hand to fondle me again. She'd moved down in the berth by then and when her tongue stopped, she turned her face towards mine.

"God, I love you, Stoney," she said. "I hope you realize this is about me and you in love, not a couple of horny people hookin' up."

"Love," I said. "Yes, little wife. Love."

"Then..." she said, and she turned her head. She had a goal. It was right there, hot and purple and straining and she kissed it.

I thought I was going to depart this plane of existence. Her next move sent me soaring out among the galaxies as she sucked the straining head of my dick into her mouth. She let out a little "Mmmmm" that moved every cell in my entire body. She pushed her head down, putting me deeper into the moist furnace that was her mouth, sucking, her tongue exploring, probing. Then she slowly drew back, finally pulling free with an audible pop.

"Well?" she asked.

"Wait a minute. I'll be back in this universe."

"You liked it? I did okay?"

"I loved it. You did perfectly."

"The way some girls talk, it's like an art or something. Almost clinical. I wasn't sure. I just had fun. Stuff that it's made for."

"Oh, gosh, Johanna Jackson, you surprise me."

Squeal! "You just called me Johanna Jackson!"

"You are, aren't you? Or do you prefer to be hyphenated?"

Giggle. "I've been hyphenated for the first time in my life tonight, sir! And I think I like being just Missus Jackson. But that thing I did to you? Is it okay?"

"It's okay. Great! Wonderful."

"Would you still kiss me after I did that?"

"Of course."

"I heard some guys won't."

"Come see." We kissed.

"I don't want to lose the kissing." Giggle. "But I kinda like that other stuff, too."

"You kissed me. I was all sticky," I said.

"But I taste good. I've tasted me."

"You do taste good. But it's you. Some girls wouldn't think of it like that, you know."

"I think we're both delicious. I got stuff out of you, you know."

"I suspected you did. Didn't gross you out?"

She kissed me again. "Nope. But that wasn't the big one."

"No it wasn't. I'd have told you so you could stop in time."

"Did you stop when I started mine? Coming?"

"No, but girls are different."

"Glad you noticed," she giggled. "But turnabout is fair play."

"But some girls..."

"I heard the conversations, Stoney. I know all the permutations, from 'No way!' to "Wonderful' and I need to find out. But I'm leaning toward 'wonderful'." And all the time this conversation was happening, her fingers were exploring my balls and my dick. "Don't you think I want to find out?"

"You just go ahead and do whatever you want to do, Jo."

"I thought you'd say that," she giggled as she slid downward. She cradled my shaft between her fingertips, exploring in the dim light. "Needs kissing," she said as she started kissing it all over. It pulsed, a droplet of precum forming on the tip. "Oh, that's what I've been tasting," she said. She touched the viscous drop with her fingertip, tested its consistency, then sucked her fingers, and then popped the head into her mouth, sucking, squeezing.

"Uh, Jo..."

She popped her head up. "Yes, love?"

"I can't handle much more of that. It's just too much. You're ... I'm gonna..."

"Isn't that sort of the point? You do me. I do you." She sucked me into her mouth and then released me. "I can tell by the way you're pulsing down here." Another suck. "So just do it. When it happens, am I supposed to stop, or keep sucking, or take it out of my mouth, or what?"

"Just keep sucking," I said. I wasn't perfectly sure, you know. I'd had a few experiences with women who sucked me off. The only one who went past the first squirt was paid for her participation. She wasn't as pretty as Jo and while she displayed a professional competence, I was enjoying this one much more. "But if you don't like it, just stop, okay?"

"I'm going for it, Stoney." Her head bobbed downward, crimson hair bouncing, with an "Mmmmm" for emphasis.

I could feel the juice rising. My scrotum drew up. The fire was building. "Oh god, Jo! It's coming!"

"Mmm-hmmm" escaped and she sucked some more, head bobbing, lips and tongue sliding, urging.

I came. The first surge got an "Mmmph!" and I was pleasantly surprised that she didn't leap up and puke all over the bed. No, I felt her throat swallow and true to her word, she kept sucking, her tongue fastened under the head, drawing me and I continued to shoot into her mouth. Finally I was spent and she sensed it.

"That was incredible, Stoney," she said, grinning. "Amazing! I did that to you," she said, crawling up beside me. She moved her lips near mine. I completed the connection, feeling her lips part, her tongue probing, my own following hers back into her mouth. I pulled the covers over us as we kissed.

"I was afraid you wouldn't..." she said.

"Told you I would," I replied. "I love you, Johanna,"

"I love you too, Stoney. We're going to have a good life together."

Chapter 15

Sunlight pushed through the tiny cabin portholes, brighter on the starboard side because the northerly wind had our bow pointed into it, swinging at anchor. Okay. One sensation. It was morning. Second sensation. I was on my boat. Third sensation. Wasn't my boat any more, it was OUR boat, because I had a soft, naked form beside me, breathing softly. Jo. Twenty-four hours ago, she was my girlfriend. After last night, she was my wife. Unless I was dreaming. I touched the smooth skinned flank beside me, got a sleepy purr.

I nestled back in under the blanket. Got a little "mmmmm" and a return wiggle. I know that as long as I don't actually speak, I can drift along on that lush cusp between sleeping and waking, savoring the feelings. The feelings to be savored were, this morning, much greater. There was now enough light to make out the redness of that head of hair leaning into my chest. What was a pleasure to my eyes was also a pleasure to my nose as tendrils of perfume sallied forth into my nose, and I made my lips happy by gently grazing them through the sleek though lightly disheveled hair, feeling, feeding on the beauty there.

She stirred. I felt her press her lips against my chest, her head turning.

"Stoney, I haven't awakened next to a man since the last time I slept in mom and dad's bed when I was sick. I was ten."

"You're doing it right," I said.

She eased up a little higher, bright blue eyes made bluer by the smile beneath them. "Good morning, Stoney."

"Good morning, Missus Jackson. That is, if you didn't wake up thinking you've made a mistake."

Her lips provided the beginnings of an answer. The rest came in soft words. "I am Mrs. Randall Jackson. Since last night. And for the rest of my life."

I returned her kiss. "Then I wasn't dreaming after all."

She gave me a happy giggle. "I'm the subject of dreams?"

"No, my princess. You're the one who shows me that my best dreams were only dim approximations."

Giggle. "Sweet talk will only get you ... ME!" I was happy with that, holding her close, her warmth feeding into my own, until she noticed the effect all this closeness had on me. "Stoney ... You're ... Is it okay if we..."

"Just so you know, little wifey, you never ever have to ask. As long as it won't outrage the public, you never have to ask."

"You get a say, Stoney." I loved hearing my name on her lips from the first day we met.

"It's yours, Jo. If you want it, it's yours."

Purr. "I want it. It's attached to you. And I want you." That was a desire I was all too happy to meet. This time I ended up with her atop me, the ends of her hair brushing my cheeks as we kissed in the afterglow.

"Stoney, there's something we completely didn't talk about last night. Or this morning."

"What's that, my love?"

"Pregnancy."

I guess I was supposed to get all nervous, but I wasn't. I was looking at the woman who might, if things were according to the normal course of things, bear our children. Last night was a tumble, but I'd determined in my heart that if she was risking anything, she was certainly cognizant of it. If nine months brought forth the progeny of Stoney and Jo, if Jo was good with it, So was Stoney. That's what I explained to her.

"In due time, husband," she said. "I like that. 'Husband'. Mine. But I use the Pill to stave off some really bad bouts with menstrual cramps."

"The Pill?"

"Yes. ONLY for the cramps. I never had any intention or notion or idea of spreading my legs for some guy who I would not wake up beside and call 'husband'. Last night, though, it served the added function of making our honeymoon entirely without chance of conception." She put her fingertip on the tip of my nose. "So were you just totally overcome with the moment and didn't consider the long-term effects? Or?"

"Or I considered that my Johanna was not somebody who would allow last night to happen unless any effect was acceptable. Like I said."

"But you do think we should have children."

"If both of us decide. I don't want to put that on you and let you think you're forcing me into something. After all, It worked out well for our own parents."

"I want us to have children. But not nine months from now. I want us to have a few years to get our lives and careers stabilized. Then..."

"Practical," I said.

"I want to be," she said. "But I desperately want us to have some time together to ourselves. Is that being selfish?"

"No. We get to work out how we fit together. Skip around the countryside..."

"Sail out into the Gulf, get to see the sunset unimpeded by man, walk the beaches somewhere." She smiled. "ANd then we can buy a house, furnish it for the two of us and whatever offspring we decide to produce. And a cat. I would like a cat." She'd seen me playing with a cat one day at a shop we visited. "But right now I would like breakfast."

Now you need to know that I have several modes of food prep on the boat. Most of the time, though, on overnights and weekends, my mode is "instant everything" with the exception of the Notable Meal. My rationale is that everything I pack onboard has to be subsequently packed back off, and further, washing pots and pans and dishes is a real bummer when you can't pump the effluvia overboard.

"Freeze-dried breakfast, coming up," I said. "Marine cuisine meets backpacker tech." I put a kettle of water on the burner to boil and turned the cabin heater up a bit to help out when I opened portholes to let the accumulated moisture out. Then I looked into the master cabin. Jo naked became Jo getting dressed. I savored the motions of her body as she went through the completely normal everyday task.

She turned her head, catching me in mid-gaze. Giggled. "You're looking!"

"You're beautiful. It's hard not to stare."

"I know," she said. "I was peeking when you got dressed."

"I thought you were still half asleep."

"That half that was asleep was watching. The part that was waking up was all tingly still. It's never had attention shown to it like that." She smiled because as she talked, she could see what I felt: my dick waking up, coming to half an erection, pushing visibly against the front of my pants.

"IS that going to be the way it is, Stoney?"

"Is what?"

"When I talk about how I get tingly, you get hard."

"Pretty much. Might want to keep that in mind for public discussions."

Giggle. She tilted her pretty red head. "I'm glad I have that effect on you. You just don't see the effect you have on me, that's the only difference." She bounced up to me and wrapped her arms around me. "Stoney, I absolutely love you."

"Good," I said. "Do you want to go back to land and go get rings and stuff?"

"Nope! I want to spend my honeymoon, all two days of it, right here on this boat."

I swiveled in her arms so I could kiss her. Her face was turned up to meet my lips. "We can certainly do that, little angel," I said.

"After breakfast," she said, "Let's SAIL this thing. We have a north wind. You're bound to know some other anchorages on the bay. Let's sail there, anchor, make that pot of soup you packed the ingredients for, and we'll do some music and then..." Her eyes twinkled. "I'm twenty-one years old, Stoney. I know girls who've been screwing since they were twelve or thirteen. I'm afraid I'm going to have to use you to try to catch up."

"Then I'll need some coffee," I said.

"Not gonna work, guy," she smiled. "I drink coffee too."

"Then we'll both be awake when I die," I laughed.

"And I'll have a good day of sailing from it," she retorted, eyes laughing.

We took our breakfast in the cabin, then when the coffee was done, I filled a thermos with some for later and two insulated mugs went with us into the open air, the sky blue, the wind cool, just begging to fill the sail for us.

She relaxed aback into my arms, the oversized wool sweater from my locker bulking her up, hiding the charms I'd touched for the first time last night.

"Be honest, Stoney. Last night. Was I any good?"

I nuzzled the red hair aside, kissing her cheek. "Johanna Jackson, you are nothing short of a demonstration of the inadequacy of my fantasies. You're everything I dreamed, raised an order of magnitude."

"Really?"

"Really. More than I ever imagined." I meant it. "What about you?"

"Oh, Stoney ... Words don't describe what happened to me. I lack the vocabulary," she sighed with a smile. "I remember the first time I tickled myself to orgasm, Stoney. I think I was twelve or thirteen. I thought that nothing would ever top that. But you..."

"That's my report, too, Jo. With you, earthquakes and lightning."

She smiled. "Really. Stoney, I know you've had other women. I worry that I don't measure up."

"Johanna, you're on an entirely different scale. And if you want that discussion..."

"Tell me."

"I have been with several others over the years. One or two that I thought I really loved, connected with. Nobody was my Johanna. Really. Truly. And there will never be another."

After coffee, we secured the galley, made the berth and prepared to get underway.

"You understand how this engine works?" I asked.

She nodded, touching the controls. "Transmission. Throttle."

"Okay," I said. "I'm going forward. Just about dead slow, you ease us up and I'll pull in the anchor. Shouldn't be a big deal. Once I get the anchor stowed, I'll get back here and we'll set the sail and head off south."

"Okay, but just this time. I need to learn all this," she said.

We executed the plan well and we were soon on a broad reach, the stern wake making chuckling noises as we reached hull speed. It was a glorious day on the water. I set up the autopilot to maintain the heading so we could both relax. With the cool air, relaxation was best done in each other's arms. Jo let her hands roam freely, as did I.

"Slide your hands underneath my blouse, Stoney." She had a cotton blouse underneath my wool sweater and I slid my hands up inside, her flesh warm to my touch, her skin smooth, taut. Surprise! No bra. She squealed and then slumped back into my arms. "If I didn't suspect otherwise, I'd think that those were made just for you to touch." She paused. "And that thing you did last night with your mouth."

"I wasn't too rough?"

"Heavens, no," she sighed. "It was wonderful. Did you like them? Ever since puberty I've hoped they'd get bigger."

"Why do women do that, Jo?"

"Do what?"

"Sit next to a guy who absolutely adores them and run down the things he adores. Your breasts. Titties. Boobs. Whatever you ant to call them, I think they are perfection."

"You don't wish they were bigger?"

"Nope. Perfection, just as they are. I suspect that in the later stages of pregnancy we will see some growth, but until that time, they are the absolute most perfect things imaginable."

"You sure?"

"I'm sure. Why do you keep asking?"

"I have a friend who has D-cups and she says her boyfriend likes, uh, in her words, 'titty-fucking'. I don't have enough to do that."

"Turn around," I said. While she was re-positioning herself, I quickly surveyed the set of the sail and our course in relation to the land on one side (going there would get us solidly stuck in the mud, an embarrassment) and the deepwater ship channel on the other. The ship channel was the path taken by ocean-going traffic, dry cargo ships, oil tankers, big guys who had no choice as to their path. Going there and ignoring them would get one killed. We were in good shape with both.

Jo curled into my arms. "Now, Jo, let's talk."

Bright blue eyes looked at me. "This is serious," she said.

"Yes it is," I answered. I paused. "You do know, don't you, that those blue eyes of yours will get you anything from me that I can give you?"

"But we're gonna have this serious talk," she said.

"Yes. I wish to discuss your perfection."

"Okay."

"Don't sell yourself short, Mizzus Johanna Jackson. Make no doubt about it. I view you as perfection. Last night was the single greatest erotic experience I've had in my whole life. I suspect that as we get to know each other more, it will get better. But nowhere in my list of things I want from you was there any reference to 'titty-fucking'."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive. Where I was last night was nirvana."

"What about when I'm having a period?"

I kissed her. "Jo, I managed to restrain myself for a month and a half. I think I could manage a week for your period."

"You showed self-restraint as well as I, Stoney. Last night HAD to happen. I'd decided that you wanted to be my husband but you were so cute being all cautious."

"Oh, really? Did id cross your mind that you might not be the world's best at reading minds?"

Giggle. "Oh, I'm not. Just this ONE mind. Yours." She kissed me. "And I'll stop worrying, okay? But don't you waltz into the bedroom one night and ask for titty-fucking."

"You need to pick a better class of friends," I said.

"Oh, I do. But some of the girls ... wow! Even Key."

"Key? Sweet little Key?"

"Lot more experienced than I was, buddy," she said. "Not promiscuous, mind you, but experienced, nonetheless." She paused. "And she asked me when you and I were hookin' up, as she delicately put it."

"Well, we did that pretty much, huh?"

She got a look of feigned seriousness on her face. "Stonewall Jackson, Johanna Jackson does NOT 'hook up'!"

"Nor does her husband. We can have fun. Get deliriously crazy. Drive each other nuts. But it's forever."

"But we do have to tell 'er."

I laughed. "We have to tell everybody. I'm sure Key will pry more details from you the first night you stay there."

Jo sucked her breath in sharply. "You expect me to stay THERE? We just got married. You can't be serious."

"You mean to tell me you weren't going back to your apartment?"

"Nope. Got a husband. I live with him."

"I hoped that, but I thought..."

"Stoney, I'm not kidding here. Last night was serious. I pledged to you. You pledged to me. We both pledged to the moon."

"Then it's easy. You move in. You're my wife. We never part."

Kiss. "The way it should be, Stoney. Better than announcing our engagement and whatever."

"Uh ... your mom and dad."

"Watch this, my husband, and learn where you stand in my life." She got up, went below, came back with her cellphone. She pushed the button and I heard Siri's businesslike tones. "Mom," Jo said. "Calling Mom, mobile," Siri announced. Jo held the phone to her ear.

"Jo," I started.

"Shhhhh!" she said, putting a fingertip to my lips. "Mom? Are you sitting?" Pause. "I have some news. Is Dad around?" Pause. "Get 'im, please. This is important." Jo twisted so the phone was between our ears.

Bridgette's voice: "Okay, dear. He's here. I'm putting you on speaker. What's so important since last night. You're no longer engaged to Stoney?"

"No, Mother. I am not engaged to Stoney. No longer."

Her dad's voice, and he sounded very dad-like. Gruff. She might've heard 'Dad'. I had flash-backs of standing with my heels locked in front of an irate colonel. "Johanna Elise Solheim, you need to explain yourself to us."

Jo smiled and in a soft voice said, "Mom. Dad. I am no longer Johanna Elise Solheim. I am Mrs. Randall Jackson. We are married."

"When?!?! How?!?!" Her mom was asking questions. I was imagining her dad changing colors and running a mental inventory of his weapons and ammunition.

"We swore by each other and by the moon, Mom. You understand that, don't you?"

"Yes, I understand, baby," Bridgette said. "But those were stories about the old folkways."

Jo's voice took an edge. "Maybe so, Mom. But it's as valid as it ever was with two hearts in it."

Her father's voice. "You're married. How?"

"Dad, this is Texas. There's a law. We're married if we claim we're married."

Her mom's voice. "Johanna my love, I know you too well. You're serious. I like to think you know Stoney. Is he serious?"

"Yes, Mom. Dad. He's very serious. About me."

"Where is he?" her dad asked.

"Right here, Dad," Jo said. "Let him tell you. But Dad?"

"Yes, Johanna?"

"Be nice to him. He's MY husband. YOUR son-in-law. And if you kill 'im, I'm becoming a nun. And we're not even Catholic."

"Your mother is. And she doesn't want her daughter becoming a nun. Let me speak with him."

"Good morning, sir," I said.

"Good morning, son," he said. "You're marrying my daughter."

"Sir, I married your daughter, according to what she told me last night under the light of a full moon. Uh, sir, I dearly love her. I want you and her mother to be happy with this."

"Kind of abrupt, son," he said.

"And she called you and Bridgette every step of the way. She's a good daughter, but sir, she's twenty-one, intelligent, talented, and I guess a bit headstrong..."

"Derives that from her mother," Anders said. "But yes, all of that is true."

"I love her, sir. I can provide for her as a wife. I am not marrying a toy, if that's what worries you. I am a man of honor."

"I accept that, son," he said. "Now, do you two plan on making this official?"

"Jo?" I asked. "How? When?"

"This next Saturday. At the courthouse. We, Stoney and I, can scare up witnesses. We'd like you and mom there." She giggled. And Dad? You can put up that DVD of Prince William's wedding. We won't be replicating that."

"We shall be there," Bridgette's voice announced. "Won't we, Anders, love?"

"Yes dear, we will. Johanna, you've brought another blessing into our lives with a flash. Stoney, welcome to the family."

"Thank you both," I said.

"Thank you Dad. Mom. We love you!" Jo said. She punched the button to hang up and turned to me. "That, Stoney Jackson, is where you fit in MY life!"

I slumped back against the cockpit coaming. "Wow! You're really serious."

She half-crawled on me. "Darned straight, guy." She wiggled, paused, looked thoughtful, wiggled again. Is your brain and heart as serious as this part is?"

"Yes, even more so. I don't think that thing appreciates music and beauty and intelligence the way my heart and my head do."

"How much longer to our anchorage?" she asked.

"An hour, more or less."

Her fingers fiddled with the front of my pants. "Uh ... we might need you to start wearing a kilt." She got the zipper down, reached inside and retrieved my erect dick. "There it is! In the sunlight where I can see it good!"

I smiled. "That feels good, but what if I have to stand up?"

She looked around. "There're no other boats out here. And if you stand up, I will take that as an opportunity."

Okay, I can play this game. I stood up. "An opportunity for what?"

She cupped my ass in her hands, pulling me to her. Her mouth opened, then closed over my dick. After a throaty "Mmmmm" and a tongue-augmented suck, the released me. Smiling, she said, "That!"

"And in return I get?"

She stood, grabbed the hem of her blouse and pulled it and the sweater up, exposing twin creamy mounds to the sun. I loved on each of them with my mouth and tongue and lastly, a little nip.

"Oooo," she squealed.

"Too hard? Sorry. Hard to resist," I apologized.

"Oh, no," she squealed. "Do it some more. With that biting thing."

I complied with my new wife's wishes. Her nipples were little delights, reactive, pink in the middle of tight little areolae that developed a ring of tiny bumps as my tongue teased them.

"Enough!" she said. "It's a little cool in the breeze, and if you do much more we're going to have to be naked or I'm gonna go nuts."

"Me too, little one," I said. "Me too."

She snuggled in beside me as distance gurgled in our wake. "This is all so very new and exciting to me, Stoney."

"It is to me, too, Jo. Never was like this, so, uh, magical. You're what I spent my life looking for, thinking I'd never find. That some day I'd give up and settle."

"Funny how things work, isn't it. I don't know about myself. After that whole 'David' disaster ... It's ... I tried looking at it analytically. The smart ones had what they call in my Psych class, 'issues' and Stoney, I couldn't see myself with a guy who wasn't literate and cultured in the classic sense. And there there YOU were, kneeling at my feet, looking at me with those darned blue eyes, and you said, "That's cheating" and you identified the passage I was playing. I wasn't looking. Wasn't expecting. And there you were."

"And here we are." I kissed the top of the head on my chest. "I like it here."

"Me too." Giggle. "But I'll like it more when we get to the anchorage."

That happened a half an hour later. I doused the sail and set the anchor and showed Jo how to light the cabin heater.

"It's chilly in here," she said, stripping the sweater over her head. "I'll see you under the blanket, sir. Without clothes. After you put the beans on to simmer."

I had the pot on the stove on low heat and I was out of my own clothes and under the blankets with a happy redhead. Between the cabin heater and the stove burner, the temperature rose rapidly and the blanket was tossed in a heap at the foot of the birth.

"It's time, Stoney," she said. "Mate with me again."

Our mouths locked together and I rolled onto my back, holding her lithe form against me. My hands clasped her shapely ass, guiding her as she rubbed herself against my erection. She decided that straddling was the proper move. Experimentally, she sat back. "This works," she said. "I feel you. Right there!" She wiggled, the underside of my dick enveloped in the moist folds of her womanhood. She slid back and forth. "Oh yeah. This really works." She looked at my face. "Is it good for you?"

"Ohgodyesssss," I hissed. "There's gonna be a mess."

"Oh, no, Stoney. Don't! That's supposed to happen inside me!" She rose up, reached down with one hand, her fingertips gently guiding me into line with the path to heaven. Eased herself down. "Ahhhhhhhh," she moaned. "Exactly right!" She read the expression on my face. "Stoney, I'm sooooo close! Just do it, baby! In me. Do it!" Her hands gripped my chest, her fingers digging into my own breasts and that sweet ass bounced and writhed on me. When she tossed that red head back, reacting to her own orgasm, I could hold mine no longer. I jetted surge after surge into her. Finally she slumped back onto my chest, her breathing slowly normalizing.

"See!" she said. "THat's what I warned you about while ago. We teased each other."

"And it's so very good," I said.

"I like that position. I can control..."

"You just go ahead and control all you want."

She smiled sweetly. "It's all so new, Stoney. I want to do and do and do. But I don't want to tire you out."

"Sweetness," I said, kissing her. "I'm self-limiting. If it's tiring me out, that thing won't get hard any more. As long as it gets hard, I'm not too tired." Another kiss and I got up and gave the soup a stir, came back with yet another towel to dab up the drippings from our coupling. When I turned, she was standing, strikingly nude. We pulled each other into an embrace, kissing.

"Why don't we get dressed and play a little music while the soup simmers," she said.

"Music is a wonderfully attractive part of you, lady," I said. We tried playing together in the cockpit but the wind was just a little too brisk. We retired into the main cabin and made music, and you know, with Jo as inspiration, I was practicing a lot more and our music together was getting better.

An added plus was that making music was Jo's big passion. With the flute at her lips, the smile was perpetually imminent and it got bigger when we played together. More, we entertained one another. She'd play me a piece, I'd play her one. We finished up with that concerto for flute and harp.

Lunch was a bowl of navy bean soup and some crusty bread and a bottle of wine. Bellies full, a light buzz going, and I had this cutie pie tugging my hand in the direction of of the master berth. The ensuing activity guaranteed a great nap, rocked gently by the waves, the warmth of the female form against me.

I awakened to a warm wet suction, looked down to see a red head sucking my flaccid dick. It didn't stay flaccid. "Mmmmm. It's growing," she said. She looked at me, smiling. We made slow, gentle love. I relished a cascade of sensations. She read me off a catalog of hers.

"I didn't understand ... Stoney, I really didn't think it could be this big a deal. You. Me. It's almost spiritual."

"Then we're doing it right," I said.

Dinner was a bowl of the same soup and another bottle of the same wine and the evening was a bit warmer than the previous night so we watched the sun set and sky grow dark and we shed our clothes and made love under the moon once more before going back below for the night.

The next morning we ate, weighed anchor and headed back to the marina.

"Stoney, it's time to tell the world, you know."

Chapter 16

Going to tell everybody. "I know. I think I'm gonna lease the Goodyear blimp," I said.

"Can we get rings?"

"Yes, we can get rings," I said. "What does your taste in wedding rings look like?"

"I think I would like a simple band. Gold. Yours?"

"I shall match yours. You sure though? No large rock?"

"Oh, come on, Stoney. This is me and you. Married by the light of the full moon. I need to ask Mom what the appropriate Celtic take would be."

"She collected a Viking..."

Jo laughed. "I'll tell her you said that."

"Don't go pissing my father-in-law off now."

"Oh, Dad lets 'er lead him around more than you might think."

I looked at her against the background of the sun-dappled waves. "It's a shame it's not spring," I said. "A tiara of daisies would look good on you."

"And what else?" she giggled.

"See?!?" I said, "I wasn't even going there. I had that smiling face and a wreath of daisies."

"Bluebonnets. This is Texas," she said.

"They'll put you in jail for messing with bluebonnets in Texas. Daisies."

"Daisies it is, then... " she smiled, took my hand. Gave it an extra squeeze when a puff of wind caused us to heel sharply.

"We're okay," I said.

"We're more than okay, Stoney. We're together."

"You're liking this," I said.

"I'm loving this, Stoney."

We made the marina without any particular problems. As soon as the docklines were secured, she took off for the onshore bathhouse.

Gary was making his rounds. "Jo? The redhead with the flute?" he asked.

"Yeah," I said.

"First time I ever noticed you taking an overnighter with a girl," he said.

"Not just any girl. Wife."

"Seriously? Married?"

"Yessir," I said.

"How long?"

"Since Friday," I said. "This is the honeymoon."

"I'd've taken THAT girl to see the Wonders of the World," Gary said.

"I know ... And one day we will ... But she's got school. I've got work."

"Yeah ... I guess..."

"Anyway ... We're married."

"I wondered what possessed you to go out Friday evening. It was nasty."

"Yeah. Foul weather gear all the way out. Anchored about five miles down the bay. Spent the night. Woke up Saturday, went down to that last anchorage before the Narrows, spent the night. Made soup. Played music. And we're back."

"Played music?"

"Flute and banjo," Jo said as she walked up. "Hi, Gary!"

"You married this guy?"

"Mmm-hmmm," she said. "Wanted a banjo player all my life." Giggle. "Wanna hear us?"

"I'd like that," Gary said. "If you have time."

I shrugged. "Sure! We aren't on a schedule. Come aboard. Have a cold drink?"

"Got a coke?" he asked.

"Sure," Jo said. "Come aboard with us."

As we returned to the boat I heard the geese honking in the distance, but getting closer. "I brought popcorn," Jo said.

We pulled out the instruments and sat in the cockpit, with Jo tossing a handful of popcorn over the side between numbers, having a happy time playing.

"I noticed something," Jo said.

"What," Gary asked.

"You have frequency-sensitive geese."

"Wha-aaa?" he and I said almost in unison.

"While we were playing, they honk. But not the same ones all the time. Watch. Here's a G." She put the flute to her lips and a clear tone came forth. And a goose honked. "Now, let's drop to a C." Another note, another goose honking. "Now watch." She alternated from one note to the other and two geese honked in turn." She told Gary, "You don't have enough geese. We need twelve for a chromatic octave."

"I appreciate your love of music, but I'll stick to iTunes," Gary said. "Besides, what happens if they go out of tune?"

"Yeah, that's a problem," I said. "You can tune a banjo, but you can't tuna fish. Where do geese fit?"

"Stoney! I may rethink our marriage. I didn't know you were a punster when I consented!" Jo giggled.

"That IS bad," Gary laughed, shaking his head. "And you dropped it right into the middle of a civilized conversation."

"I'm just a poor ol' engineer. Lacking in social skills," I laughed. We played a couple more numbers to the accompaniment of the geese, gathering an audience of other marina denizens in the interim. Finally we begged off, loaded the car, secured the boat, and hit the road.

I glanced at the bright-eyed happy-looking redhead sitting beside me. "How do we do this? Your old apartment first?"

"Uh-huh," she said. "Gotta get some stuff. It'll take a few trips to get it all."

"Uh, how's Key gonna take this. Weren't y'all splitting the rent?"

"Got it paid through the end of the month. And there are a couple of other girls who've been wanting to get in there. She won't have a problem as far as that part is concerned."

"But losing you?"

"She's not losing me, Stoney. We'll still see each other at school and it's not like you're hauling me off into the wilderness."

"Well, you two live together..."

"Since the beginning of the semester. Two months. I'm not married to Key. I'm married to you."

"Okay," I said. "I was just wondering what kind of drama we're in for..."

Drama ensued when we got to Jo's apartment. Jo knocked on the door, not knowing what she'd find inside. "Come in!" came Key's voice and we found Key and a light-skinned black guy sitting at the table sharing a pile of chips and a bowl of dip.

"Jo, Stoney, this is Hutch," she said. Hutch stood up. My height. Not fat. Nicely dressed, in fact, as was Key.

"Actually," he said, "I'm James Hutchinson. But everybody calls me Hutch. I recognize Jo. You must be Stoney. Key talks about Jo's white boy all the time."

"I'm guilty," I said as I shook his offered hand.

"Watch, Stoney, Hutch ain't a trumpet player." Key chuckled.

"Key, darlin'" Hutch said, "Be nice!"

"Oh, I am nice," Key said. "This is Jo's boyfriend..."

"Not any more," Jo interrupted.

Key's face fell. "You're not breakin' up, huh? Jo, he's..."

"My husband," Jo said. "Stoney is my husband."

"No joke?!?!"

"Congratulations," Hutch said.

"Yeah," Key added. "But when?"

"Since Friday, unofficially," Jo said.

Key cocked an eye at her. "Unofficially. What's that mean? Wait! I don't wanna know..."

"It's not exactly like, that, Key. You're the one majoring in sociology. You know about the marriage customs around the world."

"Uh ... ohhhhh, so what'd you do, jump a broom?"

"No, went with the Celtic thing Mom told me about. Swore by the full moon."

"Girl, you know that Texas is a common-law state. What you did, telling US that you're married, you're married. It might take a lawyer to make it stick, but I know people..."

"Oh, you're not telling me anything I don't already know, Key. But Saturday Mom and Dad are coming back to town and they're going to see us do it officially. And I need witnesses. You up for it?"

"Oh, it'll be a kick. We'll be there." She looked at Hutch for affirmation. He nodded assent.

"Uh, Key, I'm gonna go live with Stoney."

"That's how that's supposed to work, I understand," she said. "So, like, today?"

"I'll get some stuff today and we'll move the rest out this week. What's that girl's name that wanted to move in?"

"Heck with HER," Key said. The way she leaned against Hutch finished the idea without the need for additional words.

"Oh, so THAT'S how it is," Jo giggled.

"Well, I really like this place," Key said, "but this latte'-lookin' dude has decided that we should be married after graduation and we were looking for place to co-habit."

"Co-habit?"

"Key's way to avoid sayin' 'shack up'," Hutch said.

"Hutch! I'm gonna have to teach you some decorum," Key said. "But I didn't want to ask you to move, Jo."

"So it works out, then?" Jo said. "See," she told me, "you were worried."

"You need to learn to stop worryin' around Jo," Key said. "Girl's got her stuff together."

"I'll learn. I see more of it every day," I said. I did. There was a side of Johanna that was organized and assured and competent. There was also a side, though, that was a bit of 'scared little girl', too, and that got me into the caring and protective mode really fast. But this was also the girl who caught me sitting straight up in bed the first night we spent together, recognized that I was reacting to dreams, and softly brought me back down to earth.

Two trips to the car later, we left the parking lot in separate vehicles, mine and her little Honda. I gave up my numbered slot and parked my car in one of the more remote 'first come, first serve' slots, loaded myself up and headed to the door, stepping lively to catch up with Jo. I unlocked the door and let us in.

"Gotta get you some keys," I said. "It's your house."

"My house, too?"

"No," I said. "It's been a place for me to stay. Now it's your house." We dropped our loads and wrapped up in a long kiss. "And now you're finally home."

"I love you, Stoney," she said.

"My precious Johanna," I said. "I love you, too."

A couple more trips and I had everything inside. She walked into the bedroom. Turned. Smiled. "There's something I need you to do for me," she said.

In view of everything that had happened since we anchored Friday evening, that open-ended statement carried a wealth of pleasant possibilities. I practically skipped into the bedroom.

She caught the expression and giggled. "Show me which closet space is mine. And dresser drawers."

"Oh, I'm all about drawers right now. YOURS!" She squealed as a pinned her to the bed.

"Let go of my hands, darnit!" she said. "If this is what's happening, then I get to participate!"

"So you're willing to forgo the proper disposition of your belongings in order to..."

"In order to make this into our marriage bed," she giggled. "Don't you..."

"Yes, I do," I said. The activity that took place in that bed over the next hour was the first for it. I'd never missed it, really, in a total sense. Now, with Jo held close, cuddled in my arms, it seems so long overdue.

"You're thinking again, Stoney..."

"Only about you. About how my life suddenly acquired colors and music and light. How a redheaded angel has brought me life."

She smiled. "You think about me any time you want, Stoney. I love it."

"That's how I ended up here, Jo. I could not stop thinking about you."

Her finger idly traced the ridges and furrows of my scarred hip.

"Don't get grossed out," I said.

"Not even, Stoney," she said softly. "It's mine. All of you is mine. Just like I belong to you."

"But you're perfection. I'm beat up."

"Character. You earned who you are, Stoney. And who you are is who I fell in love with, okay? And I'm not perfect. I have freckles all over the place."

"Not ALL over. And each one is a delight." I kissed my way from her shoulder to her neck. She wiggled in my grasp, squealing in delight.

"You make me screamingly happy, guy," she sighed, catching her breath.

"Me too, girl," I replied. I slumped onto the bed, holding her beside me. "God, Johanna, it's crazy! I found you. You're so perfect!"

"Stop that, Stoney! You're gonna make me believe it."

"I believe it," I said. "Tell me I'm not dreaming."

"You're not dreaming and we have stuff to put away and we have to determine where dinner is coming from."

"Dinner."

"I'm thinking something light. Those burgers for lunch are plenty of calories for the day."

"Push me out of the bed," I said. "Otherwise they'll have to come search for us and find two dried up husks in the bed."

She gave me a shove, giggling. "Oh, no, baby! I want this to go on for years and years and years..."

"In the business world, we call that 'incentive'," I said, standing. I found my underwear and pulled them on, then pants and a T-shirt. She retrieved her panties.

"Which drawer has your T-shirts, Stoney?"

"Top right. Why?"

"I have wanted to be in one of your T-shirts for a long time. I was gonna ask you. But how's that supposed to work? 'Excuse me, but I'd like one of your shirts so I can go to sleep at night thinking about you?' So I married you instead."

"Thus guaranteeing yourself a lifetime access to T-shirts," I said.

"You are so wrong," she said pulling me to her as she stood. "Why do I need Stoney's T-shirt when I can have the whole Stoney?"

"Glad to see that you note the difference." We made short and happy work of putting her stuff away, starting a load of laundry, going through the kitchen cabinets.

"Do you wanna try and make something, Or do you know someplace close..."

"Soup and sandwich?" I finished for her.

"Exactly!" she answered.

"But as delightful as you look in a T-shirt and panties, I think you're gonna bust their dress code."

"Come help me get dressed, then," she smiled, heading back into the bedroom.

Okay, I wasn't that helpful, you know, but eventually we were out the door. Little neighborhood grill up the street provided a sandwich and a bowl of soup apiece.

And we were back home. Door locked. Curtains pulled. She looked at me with those bright blue eyes, tossed her head, making my heart skip a beat when that red hair splayed out in a copper cascade. "We need to shower." She put her hands on my hips, wiggling against me. "I would really like to do that with you."

That skipped beat from my heart? Now it was double-timing. "Lovely idea, Jo."

First shower together. First one I've shared in a long time. I'd use the obvious 'too long' qualifier, but when Jo stepped out of the light blue panties at her feet and stood before me fully illuminated, fully naked ... she caught herself as she tried to cover up her exposure, relaxed, let her arms fall to her side. Her smile returned. "I need to get used to the idea that all this is yours," she said, pirouetting.

I savored what I saw. I started shedding my own clothes, standing as I finished pushing my pants off my feet. Yeah, I was erect.

"Stoney, you look delicious!" she blurted. "I'm sorry. You know I don't mean to treat you like a piece of meat, but you look delicious."

I couldn't help but smile. "I'm glad you see me that way."

"No, you don't understand. REALLY delicious." She started to kneel.

"Jo, you don't have to..."

"Stoney, get over it. I want to. This morning when I woke you up like that, I had a choice. I chose this. I like it. You. I like yours." Her lips circled the head of my dick, her tongue teasing, exploring. My knees wobbled. She smiled. "That's what I mean when I say you're delicious." Her head bobbed forward. "Mmmmmmm."

She stood. "We were going to shower, weren't we?" Pause. "Stoney?"

"I'm trying to recover blood flow to my speech centers, Jo."

Big grin. "I affect you that much?"

"Like I've never experienced, redhead." I started the water in the shower, pushed her inside.

She picked up my bar of soap. "Oh, baby, can we get something a bit different for me?"

"Of course. We need to fit this place out for you." I lathered her up.

"I didn't think about soap. I got my shampoo, though," she said. "Sir, you're going way past the amount of rubbing and lathering necessary for sanitary functions." Giggle. "And I love every bit of it!" she took the soap and lathered me up. "This backbrush? You like it? I can just use a cloth instead, if you want."

"Use the brush."

"Oooooo," she giggled. "You like a little pain." She scrubbed my back. That was a luxury unknown to me. I think that the last time I'd had my back washed for me was when I was still in the hospital, recovering from wounds. And it wasn't nearly this much fun.

"You want that brush on your back?" I asked.

"Nope. Just the washcloth." She turned and I lavished the lather back and forth on her back, then pulled the telephone showerhead free and rinsed her. My fingers slid down her back and into the cleft of her shapely ass. "Hey, what are you doing back there?"

"Making sure everything is clean. Attention to detail." I probed her anus with my fingertip.

"Watch it! That stays virgin!"

"Just making it squeaky clean," I said.

"I didn't clean yours," she said. "Turn around." She lathered her hands and the crack of my ass, then went to work. When her fingertip hit my own brown ring, I flinched. "Hey, you knew I was back here."

"That's as virgin as yours, you know."

"I bet not," she giggled. "Don't you get prostate exams and stuff?"

"You don't count medical procedures," I said.

"Oh, I see," she said. "But somebody's finger's been up there."

"Uh ... Ohhhh!" I exclaimed.

She penetrated me with a fingertip, giggling. "There! Squeaky clean. Sit!"

I sat on the little bench in the shower and submitted to getting my head scrubbed. The hair is short. Doesn't take long. Feels great, though, when somebody else washes it. Especially when that 'somebody' is naked, glistening, and interested in putting a firm, rounded titty right in my face. She put her fingertips under my chin, tilting my face up, and with soapy fingers massaged and washed my face. Her fingertips rubbed my beard, getting a feel of the texture.

"You shave every day, don't you?" she asked.

"Yes. I have an electric razor on the boat, but I usually shave right after my shower. Everything's softer then."

"Make sure you shave, baby. You have some stout whiskers. Dad did, and he loved scrubbing them against my face when I was a kid. It was good for a ten-second giggle. Yours might end up somewhere else and I'd lose a layer of skin."

"Since I find your skin quite desirable, I shall comply," I said. "But you washed my back. My head. You sure you don't wanna shave me?"

Giggle. We stood in the warm spray. "I might try that one day," she said. "But let's hold off on that. You finished?"

"I guess," I said, killing the water. We got out, I got us each a somewhat fluffy towel (New towels went on my mental shopping list) and dried off, helping each other.

"I'll be back," she said, bouncing out of the bathroom, naked form sashaying enticingly. She returned with a hair dryer and a brush. "Good thing this place has two sinks," she said. "I claim this one."

"It's yours," I said, lathering up for a shave.

She had the dryer going, brushing, blowing, spreading the sweet perfume of her shampooed hair through the room. I finished my shave, stood behind her, put my hands on her waist.

"Help me with the back," she said, handing me the brush.

"Never done this before," I said. I brushed. "Gimme the dryer." Her hair transformed from dark wetness to copper sheen. Adorable. I said so.

"You're adorable, too, Stoney. You float my boat." Two naked people in love fit together well. For a second.

I scooped her into my arms and carried her out of the bathroom.

"Bedroom," she said. "Got one more run on that honeymoon thing."

I could tell from her stride that she was experiencing what I was: muscle soreness from unaccustomed physical activity. I suspected that she might have more than a sore muscle or two, as well.

"SO what if I can hardly walk tomorrow," she said. "None of their business."

"It's not too late to hit a jewelry store for a couple of rings, you know," I said.

"You're right. Should've thought of that earlier. Let's hurry. They ought to have plain bands in stock in most sizes."

We hit the big mall and left a dent in a credit card and walked out with two little black velvet boxes. Back at the apartment, it was just after nine and we'd had good amount of time to recharge, but she was kneeling in the middle of the bed. "Put mine on me," she said. "And I'll do yours."

A serious moment in an unconventional marriage. I gazed into her eyes as I slid the little gold circle onto her finger. "Johanna Elise, I am yours. You and I, here, just as well be the cathedral downtown, but I am no less yours, no less permanently, no less happily." And I kissed her.

"Stoney, you have a way of repeating my thoughts, my love." She took my hand, sliding my ring on. "We will go out tomorrow with these tokens that we're married, but the real sign is the way my heart beats for you." She smiled. "Some people would say we're being corny, you know. But Stoney, I really feel that way about us."

"I do too, Jo."

"You're really going to wear your ring tomorrow? To work?"

"Yes I am. And when people ask, I'm going to tell them that I'm married to you."

"Me too," she said. "And I bet more people ask me than ask you."

"Key?"

"Oh yeah. If she takes a break from Hutch, she'll have me Tweeted and Facebooked and everything." She was working my belt buckle with her fingers.

"Let me get that," I said.

"Okay." She slid off the bed and stripped. We both grabbed the covers and tossed them to the foot of the bed, meeting each other in the middle, clinging, kissing exploring, fondling. "Mmmm. You smell good, Stoney."

"I clean up pretty well. I didn't think about that Friday. I could've showered before we went to the boat."

"Might not have made it to the boat, guy."

"Really?"

"Stoney, I love you to pieces. I will spend the rest of my life with you. But you were moving too slowly. I was afraid that if I broke the subject of marriage to you, you'd think I meant one of those long engagements and a 'princess for a day' wedding and crap like that. I wanted you. And you wanted me."

"But this weekend?"

"If I thought it was just this weekend, or a short-term thing, Stoney, I wouldn't have been your girlfriend. Not like we were. I sort of had a feeling that you were in love with me."

"Since the first time we walked down the street together."

"I'm glad it was on the boat. No distractions. Just me and my mate," she said.

"I adore you," I said. "And if I was being tentative, it's because you are too impossibly adorable. I was so worried that you'd realize that I was too old and too messed up."

"Never," she said, her arms around my neck, her forehead touching mine. "But I just didn't want to wait any longer, Stoney. Not after I determined that you were the one." She smiled. "But now we're married and you smell good and I want to eat you up."

"And I want to eat you up as well," I said, ducking my head to take a nipple between my lips. It sprang to erection under my tongue.

"Ohgodyesssss!" she hissed. "Your mouth. Do it to me with your mouth. All of it!" I did. She did. Again and again. Squealed. I ended up with her in my arms, kissing her face with little soft kisses until her hand held my head still and her lips met mine. "Lay back, lover," she said. "My turn."

I was plenty male enough to not even think about stopping her as she turned sideways in our bed, her hand holding my hard dick in her hand. The first touch of hot breath on it made me gasp. "I like this," she giggled. "I hold this part of you and I know you trust me. And I've got such power over you." Her head bobbled sexily as she pushed her lips down over the head, then pulled back.

"You've got me that way, too, Jo."

Giggle. "I know." Suck. "I could control you." Suck. "But I don't want to control you. I want to love you." And she went to work, sucking, licking, worshipping my rod. Her head bobbed up. "Question," she said.

"Anything," I answered.

"Can I bite you? Just a little."

"Just be careful. The head's..."

She kissed the subject part. "Much more sensitive. So soft. Mmmmmm." Her stroking hand pulled forth a little stream of clear fluid. "This. I love this," she said, lapping it up with a bit of show.

"Look out, little one, you've got me primed for a big one."

She moved between my legs. "I like this. This is the way you do me." She scooted up, arched her neck and I watched my length disappear into her mouth. Every sense I possessed was tuned into what Jo was doing to me, and I could feel the effects already. Then she bit. Not hard, just enough to where I knew she was biting and her "Mmmmmm" told me that she knew she was biting. I felt my balls draw up, her fingertips on them passing that data to her. Another "mmmmm" and a head bob and her tongue cupped the underside of the head of my dick.

A spasm wracked me as the first surge came, answered by a happy little "Mmmph!" and a gulp as she swallowed. And kept swallowing and sucking, even as I emptied. Finally it just got too much.

"Ohpleasestop!" I blurted.

"DId I hurt you?"

"No, darling, it's just too much."

"But I'm not finished. I'll be careful."

"It's yours."

She took me into her mouth as I softened, a little suction, her tongue softly massaging. I marveled at the galaxies of the universes I passed through. I passed through the flaccid, sensitive phase and started hardening again.

"I doin' magic down here," she said.

"Yes, magic."

"Raisin' the dead." A bit more sucking and I was completely hard and she was straddling me. "I like this position," she said as she guided me into her.

I was able to restrain myself this time, right up until she started shaking through her own orgasm, her lips locked into mine, keeping her little keening sounds between us.

"IloveyouStoneydon'tevenmove," she sighed.

"Gonna be a mess, baby."

"Let there be a mess this time. I'm dead. I want to be resurrected in your arms."

Somewhere in the night we turned out lights and pulled up blankets and slept completely nude. When the alarm went off in the morning, I had to go to work. And it was the most difficult time I'd ever had, deciding to leave the bed, because after a kiss, Johanna slid down my torso and wrapped her arms around my waist and held me.

Chapter 17

Mark it on your calendar. Today's a first for me. The first time I ever woke up to a work week with my partner. The alarm went off and I did not want to get out of bed because when the music started, Jo slid down and wrapped her arms around my waist, purring.

"I really don't want to leave, sweetness," I said. "But I have work to go do."

"Mmmm, I know, baby. I have a class at nine, too."

"Let's just do what we have to do. At the end of the day, though, we come home together."

Sigh. "Yes we do, baby," she said.

I got a kiss when I climbed out of bed, another and a hug before I headed out the door. And then I was at work.

I didn't make a show of my new ring. Didn't take long to get noticed. Made it all the way to the Monday morning staff meeting.

"Hey, wait a minute! That's a wedding band!" Brad snorted. "When you left last week I thought you were going to spend the weekend on your boat." He said it loud enough to catch the ears of several others.

"You caught me. I knew I should've gotten a stealth wedding band."

"Anybody we know?"

"Not likely. D'you think that if I married somebody here it would be any kind of a secret?"

Brad's eyes flashed as thought patterns connected. "Hee-eeyyyy! Last time we talked you were seeing that college girl. Her?"

I smiled. "I am the husband of Johanna Elise Solheim Jackson," I said.

"And you just broke several hearts that were hoping to snag you," Jennie, our Documents Manager, said. Jennie was married, but she had a bunch of friends who weren't. I'd dated some of them. Some even twice. Wasn't anybody I considered a keeper in the whole herd. Jennie was just about jaded enough to understand what I meant when I told her I was begging out of the dating scene for a while.

"Okay," she said, "I know you have pictures. Trot 'em out."

"Step into my office. The good ones are on my computer," I said. I saw Brad start to open his mouth. "And Brad, get yer mind outta the gutter."

"Yeah, Brad!" Jennie said.

I pulled up a picture of Jo on my big monitor, full-screen. It was one of my favorite shots from the first time on the boat, a close-up of her face, showing the blue eyes, the freckles, the smile, that red hair wisping across one cheek.

"Shit!" Jennie said. "No wonder! That's a stunning young lady. College, Brad says?"

"Graduating in the spring. Business and music majors. When she plays the flute the choirs in heaven stop and listen." I connected with Jennie's eyes. "Seriously. She's a soloist with the university orchestra. Has been talking with the Symphony."

"Wow!" Jennie said. "So that's what it took."

"Yes, that's what it took," I said. "But I appreciate your trying."

"Thank you. I wish my motives were as pure as you act like they are," she laughed.

Several people dropped by my office during the day as word worked around. Lot of smiles. Lot of congratulations. And naturally, several 'you'll be sorry's' and 'what are you thinking's'. But that's just guys. I knew many of their wives and I knew that one of the 'you'll be sorry' bunch was happily married with a kid in high school and one in middle school.

Lunch was the sandwich shop around the corner. That was the plan. A phone call altered it.

Jo. "You goin' to the sandwich shop for lunch?"

"That's the plan," I said. "Where are you?"

"Just stepping out of class. Not to intrude, but I could meet you for lunch."

"Sweetie, that's no intrusion. You're the big news today. I don't mean to put you on exhibit, but if you show up, expect stares. Comments, too. And some of my co-workers wouldn't know sensitivity if it walked up and bit 'em in the butt."

"I think I can handle whatever they want to dish, baby," she said. "I already had a taste at class."

"Okay, then, sweetness, I'll see you there at eleven thirty."

"'Kay, baby. I love you."

"Love you too, princess," I said.

"I heard that," Brad hollered. "I wanna meet 'er."

"If you can restrain your baser instincts," I said.

"I, sir, am a college graduate engineer. I HAVE no baser instincts!" he laughed.

"Yeah, I know, dude," I laughed. "And Jo needs to see the adverse conditions under which I labor," I laughed. We went back to work for another hour until we were close enough to lunch, then streamed out. I couldn't shake Brad. I know that several others were headed in that direction out of curiosity.

Phone rang. "That's her!" Brad said, hearing the flute snippet that was Jo's special ringtone. "Hi, baby!" I said.

"Hi!" said the happy reply. "I got us a table. Four okay?"

"Yeah. I have Brad with me. The rest of them can have a fistfight over who gets the last chair."

"Oh, that's just NEAT!" Brad said. "She shows up and saves you a table."

"Your wife could do it," I said.

"Yeah. Let's see how that goes. 'Honey, get out of the office and go save me a table. That dick of a lawyer you work for won't mind!' And when she gives me that look, I say 'But Stoney's wife does it for him.'"

"Make sure you whine a little when you do it," I said. When we checked in with the cashier, a lady who knew us from our frequent visits, she said, "She's back there in the corner. You better hurry before we have a riot over that table."

We weaved our way through the burgeoning lunch crowd, Me, Brad, Jennie having caught up with us. Jo stood, said, "Hi my Stoney," and kissed me a quick one. She turned to Brad and Jennie. "I'm Jo. Stoney's wife. I suppose..."

"Hon, it's the news item of the day," Jennie said. "I'm Jennie.

"I'm Brad," Brad said, offering his hand. "I saw this coming weeks ago."

"Are you two... ?" Jo started.

Jennie laughed as she sat. "Oh, gosh, no! There's not enough alcohol in the world. I'm the Documents Manager. He's got a wonderful, it not horribly deluded, wife. I've got a husband that is learning after a decade and a half that I am a goddess."

Jo giggled. "Sorry. You two just looked so happy..."

"That's because we didn't have to wait for a table," Brad said. "This place fills up fast."

"I saw that," Jo said.

"And just so Mizz Jennie knows she's been doing it wrong, Stoney already thinks you're a goddess."

Jo smiled. "I suspected as much, but I don't like to brag. How did you arrive at that conclusion?"

"Oh," Brad smiled, "for weeks his office is an altar to this redheaded thing. Jo wallpaper on his computer. Pictures of Jo on his wall."

"I have the same thing.," Jo said. "My roommate thinks I went crazy, but good crazy.",

"Uh, yeah," Jennie answered. "Stoney's been dodging women ever since I've known 'im."

"That's what he says," Jo smiled. "Nice to hear it from somebody who's known him for a while."

"Yeah," Brad said. "I don't know that I would have exercised as much self-restraint."

Jo glanced at me with a twinkle in her eye. Smiled.

"Stoney goes on about your music," Brad said.

"Oh, he's not bad himself. We cross genres like nobody's business."

"We?" Brad blurted.

"Yeah. You didn't know he plays banjo?"

"Uh, that's not on his curriculum vitae on the company website," Brad answered.

"See, Brad, Stoney's hiding things from his co-workers," Jennie said.

Jo fixed me. "Honey, as good as you are, you didn't tell them?"

"Uh, baby," I said, "in a lot of circles proficiency on a banjo ranks right up there with marrying your cousin in things you want to tell people."

She giggled and my co-workers smiled. "You should hear him. And I have 'im playing Mozart."

"Last time I looked, Mozart didn't write any banjo parts," Jennie said. "I know a bit about music. Maybe that part escaped me."

"No, you're right," Jo said. "But I gave him sheet music for the harp part of Mozart's Concerto for Flute and Harp and asked him to try. He's actually doing it. Pretty impressive."

"Oh, really?" Jennie said. "I'd almost want to hear that."

"Not ready for prime time," I said. "Jo is a very good teacher. She makes me play better. But she smiles and encourages."

"And I'd talk about you like a dog? Oh, come on, Stoney, you know me better than that."

"Jo does quite well in a concert hall," I said. To Jo I said, "I caught some screen captures from your Austin concert. You know which ones."

"My spouse is a video voyeur," Jo giggled. "Yeah, it's still kind of scary standing up for a solo."

"You're going to do that for the Veteran's Day concert, though," I said.

Jennie questioned, "What are you going to solo on, dear?"

Jo smiled. "Only ONE thing that I've been wanting to do. It's the Piccolo lead in Stars and Stripes Forever. That reminds me, Stoney, I need to borrow your dress uniform jacket."

"Oh?"

"Yes. Last year when I did it, I had Dad's dress blues coat. This year, it's you. I know you still have it."

"Oh, that's cute, Jo," Brad said. "You know, I need to see that."

I knew about the concert. This was the first I'd heard about her wearing my coat. Made me feel good. Nerd guys in high school didn't have athletic team letter jackets, so I missed that whole schtick. Jo and I were both well past that stage. But this, her, her music, a concert, and she had a choice. She could've done her dad's coat with a colonel's eagles. Instead, my first lieutenant's silver bars.

After lunch we parted ways with a kiss and I trooped back to the office with Brad and Jennie and a dozen others who I had to introduce to Jo. She left with a smile on her face. Typical Jo. The only time she really wasn't smiling was the day I had to shut David down. I wasn't the only one to notice.

"She's a doll," Jennie said. "That smile. I'd die for that hair. Is that it, Stoney? You just had high standards for looks?"

"Nope," I said. "I had no standards. She just ... I dunno. We were like a couple of magnets. Got close and -click- and it's been that way for the last few weeks."

"Hope it stays that way, Stoney. Really I do. And I can throw that list away."

"List?" I asked.

"Oh, yeah," she laughed. "I had some good ones lined up. But ain't none of 'em anything like the one you got."

"Ain't nobody I ever met that comes close to being like Johanna," I said. "Completely snuck through my radar."

"Well good for you," she said. "Really. Is she gonna do that lunch thing very often?"

"I dunno," I said. "I guess if it doesn't interfere with classes or whatever. Mondays might be a possibility. I'll talk to 'er."

"Yeah," Brad said. "I like how that worked out. Plus, she's a whole lot prettier to look at than you are."

"Uh," I said, knowing I had him in my sights, "what about Jennie?"

"Yeah, asshole," Jennie said. "What about me? I'm what? Chopped liver?"

"Yeah, Brad! Jen's been the house cutie for years. All those cute young temps come and go, and ol' Jen here just keeps plodding along. Plus, she's got a brain."

"Thanks, I think, Stoney," Jennie said.

Back at the office, I went back into the project. Work is easy to get lost in. I look at lines and numbers on drawings and imagine the hardware that goes with them. And in this case the exotic environs of Central America where they'll be used. Makes the day fly. Quitting time came and I found a good stopping point, grabbed my computer bag and headed out the door. Gone were the days of hanging around shooting the breeze. I had a hundred and ten pounds of redheaded incentive waiting on me at home.

I was on the phone as I walked through the parking garage.

"Hey, guy!" she said. "Did I embarrass you at lunch?"

"Hardly," I said. "You made a great impression on everybody."

"I hope so. Hurry home. I found stuff. I'm cooking!"

"Cooking?"

"Yeah, you know?" she giggled. "Cans. Ingredients. Fire. Pots. FOOD!"

"What are you cooking?"

"It's a surprise," she told me. "If you hate it, I'll throw it out, cry a little, and then you can take me out to eat."

"I married me a domestic goddess," I laughed.

"Only a minor goddess," she retorted. "You had cans and boxes and I know you eat soup."

I tried to maintain some mellow while navigating through rush hour traffic. I was only partially successful. I parked in a 'to whom it may concern' slot at the apartment and walked to the door. It was locked. Home invasions were in the news. They'd at least have to break in, and I kept a few surprises around the house. Reminds me. I need to see where Jo falls out on self-defense.

The sound of my key in the lock meant that when I opened the door, a happy Johanna clad in T-shirt and gym shorts was almost there. Squealing!

"Honey, I'm HOME!" I said in amongst the flurry of kisses.

She giggled happily. "I looked all over for one of those 'June Cleaver' frilly aprons, but I couldn't find one here. This'll have to do!" she stepped back, bent a knee and held her arms out, posing.

"Good Lord, that's perfect!" I said. "And this is the first meal anyone else ever made here." I drew a breath. "And you're ... you're perfect!"

Giggle. "Glad you think so, Stoney! Go get into something comfortable. Dinner will be ready in a bit."

Silly me, thinking I was going into the bedroom by myself to change clothes. I had help at the task that I never imagined even in the hormone-addled dreams of my adolescence.

"I'm supposed to be changing clothes, you!" I protested.

"SO put a 'pause' statement in the sub-routine," she giggled. "Surely a respected engineer understands these things."

"I understand that you have entirely too much clothing in place for the natural outcome of this exercise," I stated.

Giggle. And naked, she squealed when I rolled her backward onto the bed. Man, it's good having somebody as pretty and happy and eager as Jo. Of course it has the down-side of leaving you all sticky and satisfied when you finally do pull on some sweat pants and get to the dinner table.

"Well, how is it?" she asked.

"Delicious," I said. I was savoring a thick, hearty soup and a chunk of fresh bread.

"I like that bakery. It smells sooo good," she said. "I though, fresh bread. Soup. I can do this."

"You did good. So what else happened today?"

"Oh my gosh," she said. "A million questions about my ring."

"And?" I asked.

"And I told them that I got married this weekend. To YOU." She smiled. "Outside the orchestra bunch, nobody knows you from Adam, so I had to show them your picture." She knew what I wanted to ask, but wouldn't. "Yes, Stoney, I got a few questions about your scar. Told them that I had no problem with it, that, you were more than a pretty face and that I found you utterly charming and distinguished."

"See!" I said. "That scar..."

"Is not a problem to me, Stoney. Not from Day One. Let other people get hung up on it. I don't. Have I?"

"No, little one."

"Good! Now Monday night is practice night with a bunch of us. Do you mind? We're going to my old apartment."

"Okay. I got stuff I can do here," I said.

"Yah, right. You're coming with me. We're newlyweds. No more time apart when we have a choice." She smiled. "And bring your banjo."

"You're kidding, right?" I said.

"Nope. Not a bit! I wanna show 'em you playing that harp part with me."

"You're REALLY kidding..."

"Not even a little bit. Come on. We'll have fun with it."

"Okay then," I said. "But I'm sensitive."

"And I will defend YOU like you defended me." She smiled. "Besides, I have this whole new way to assuage your tender feelings."

That is called 'incentive', I'm told.

We did as she wished. Key welcomed us along with several others for a session that was as much social as it was actually dedicated to practice. "Okay, Stoney. I know you wouldn't bring that banjo unless Jo told you to. What gives?"

"You might think incorrectly of the banjo," Jo said. "Stoney's playing the harp part of the Mozart Concerto for Flute and Harp."

"Really? I gotta hear that," she said. The others said the same.

"We're up, then, Stoney. Break it out," Jo said.

"This is a first," I said. "I don't play for anybody else."

"Except me," Jo said. "So you guys be nice. Stoney's bashful."

"I am," I said.

"Weren't bashful with David over Jo," came a comment.

"Incentive," I replied. I uncased my instrument. "Now don't be frightened, people. Jo and I are in no way related, so I don't want to hear any 'inbred' jokes."

That got snickers and giggles.

"Here's a note," Jo said, bringing the flute to her lips and playing a tone. She sustained while I quickly tuned, then the next and the next. Five strings. Completed, I rolled into a little bluegrass break.

"Oh, shit, Jo, he's got that sound DOWN!"

"Let 'im play some a'that," Key said.

"Jo," I said, "Sing with me!" and I rolled into the intro of 'Rollin my Sweet Baby's Arms". Jo and I had done that one several times together, ending up laughing in each other's arms, so I knew she knew it. She sat down beside me, eyes bright, smiling, and we sang.

After it was over, Jo said, "Okay, now serious stuff!" She put the sheet music in front of me. "Third Movement. One - Two - Three." 'Four' was the first note from her flute and I dove in with her. Played like it was for her and her alone, just like the evenings on the boat or in my apartment. Check that! OUR apartment. We played a couple of dozen bars. "Next passage," Jo said. She was hitting the highlights, and not just the flute highlights, but the harp passages as well, forcing me to to stretch, and when the parts merged, I played my heart out, a duet with the love of my life.

"Okay," she said to the bunch. "Satisfied?"

The male second trumpet, now first trumpet since David was still not back up to speed, said, "I thought you were joking. That's pretty good!"

"Thank you," I said.

"It WAS good, Stoney," Key said. "I thought when Jo went on about you that she was just bein' all goo-goo eyed."

"That's a thought," I laughed. "Jo all goo-goo eyed."

"She has been, you know," one of the other girls said. "We never saw her like this."

"Y'all practice. I got a book on my iPad," I said. I caught Jo's look. She was smiling for me.

An hour into it, they stopped for a break. Key handed me my banjo. "You're the musical interlude, dude," she said. "An' Hutch'll be here in a bit. He's working late getting ready for an audit at the bank."

"Uh-huh," I said. "He's already stretching it with you and all these high-brows. When he walks in and you have a white dude playin' banjo in HIS living room, he's gonna haul butt!"

"Play, white boy," she laughed. "There's enough a'this to keep Hutch comin' around."

So I sat there and played. I thought I might be able to get Jo in on another one, so I played the intro of Salty Dog Blues. It worked.

"Waitwaitwait," the trumpet player said. "Banjo, that's usually in the key of G, right?"

"Uh-huh. Can't get nothin' past you real musicians," I said.

"Start over," he said. "Lemme see what I can do."

"Can't do nuthin', " I said, flattening my accent to something from deep in the piney woods. "Bluegrass don't got trumpets."

"If Mozart can go on a banjo, then bluegrass can come from a trumpet," he countered.

"Okay, then," I said. "Just jump in where you feel like. Open is a G, this is a C, and this is a D. Ready?"

A nod affirmed. I started, Jo stepped in, and he played along, tentative on the first two verses, but by the third he was in there adding to it. And the room was a riot.

"Bob's gonna hear about this," somebody said. "Stoney punched out the first trumpet player, now he's converting the next one to bluegrass."

"Yeah, Stoney," Key said. "What you got against trumpet players?"

The crowd broke up at a quarter to nine and amid happy noises and good wishes we left.

"That's fun," Jo said. "One thing about you, Stoney. You hold your own in a crowd."

"You do too, redhead," I said.

"Yeah, but they're MY crowd. Classmates. We're used to each other. You, they only barely know."

"They're decent people, baby. I do well with decent people. And we have music in common, but more importantly, we have YOU in common. You like me. So they like me."

"They enjoyed the music. Especially Barry. He has fun with his trumpet. He's pretty good, too."

"Got kind of adventurous to play along with us. Did I embarrass you asking you to sing?"

"No," she said, smiling. "I was singing to you and I don't care who watches. And when I play, now I play for you, Stoney."

"You flatter me, princess," I said.

"I'm planning more than flattery, Stoney. We need showers."

"Showers? Like in yours, then mine?"

"Oh, no, babe," she squealed. "ONE shower. Two bodies. And I just took my last pill this month. So I'm out of commission for a few days."

"Okay," I said. "I'm relieved. I thought you didn't like showering together."

"Oh, there may be a time. And I like a tub bath every now and then, too. But NO!. 'Shower' means me and you."

Inside the apartment we did our showers and post-shower routines and ended up in each other's arms, the house dark except for the bedside lamp. I was expended and Jo was sweetly curled against me. I stretched to turn off the lamp.

"By the way, baby," she said, "Mom and Dad will be in Thursday. And we need to get a marriage license. Can you get out tomorrow afternoon?"

"I can," I said. "They owe me."

"Good." Kiss. "I love you."

"I love you too, princess." Her breathing lulled me to sleep.

After lunch she and I spent two hours standing in line to get a marriage license. Giggle. "At least I'm worth fifty bucks," she said.

"Cheap. I know places where a girl of your obvious charms would have cost a couple of camels and a dozen goats."

"I'll ask Dad," she said. "He may hold out for a nice German sports car."

"I may haggle," I said. She punched my shoulder. "Or not. You're worth at least a bottom-end BMW."

Chapter 18

Jo is ticklish on the bottoms of her feet. A lot of people are, I know, but finding that a fingertip dragged gently down the sole of her foot leaves her uncontrollably giggly and therefor perfect for scooping into one's arms for loving. Monday was the previously discussed informal practice session. Tuesday was the real thing at the music department. Still, Jo is a responsible sort and we missed nothing of her schedule. So am I.

She's an accomplished musician, and that translates to practice. Every evening. And that means that I practice with her a bit. That's part of the creation of the 'us' in our brand new marriage. Also, I have the rare privilege of attending to domestic chores to the strains of a concert-grade flute in my ears.

And beware when the music stops. Barefoot in the house, Jo is stealthy and I am an easy capture.

So it's Friday and I'm off work and Jo's parents are in town. I wish my own mom and dad were still around to see Jo. In my mind I can hear their voices of approval. I stand by myself here. Only child. Not that close to cousins in the first place and hundreds of miles away if they did know and cared to attend. It's me and Jo and her parents.

And a few friends. We snagged the community hall at the apartment where I lived. Jo called on a friend who knew a friend who knew a minister who'd do a wedding like ours, just one non-denominational step from a civil ceremony. Okay, so I invited Brad, for sure, and since she sort of needed to witness it, Jennie, and a couple of other denizens of the engineering warren. Jo's contribution included Key, of course, accompanied by Hutch. "I'm hoping he'll take the hint," she opined. There were promises from a couple of others.

Friday I got out a bit early, trading off a previous late night of mad engineering for a little time to go home and get ready to meet Jo's parents in the final twenty-four hours before I became their registered son in law. So I went home to my wife. Walked in the door. She was sitting sideways on the sofa with a textbook.

"Honeymoon's over, I guess."

"Not even. This is the last economics course I need, and we'll have a mid-semester test next week. And if I jump up and get too excited, we'll just be miserable. I have another day or two on my period."

"Understood," I said. "But if I don't move fast and keep my hands to myself, can I get at least a chaste little kiss?"

Her eyes twinkled as she smiled. "Oh, of course. I'm sorry. I find this course a horrible drudge. What is it you said about bean-counters being a scourge upon the universe?"

"Right there with lawyers and government regulators," I said. "And my baby's a business major."

"Double major, sir, thank you very much," she said. "And don't you forget it or I will bop you with my flute!" Giggle.

I walked over to the sofa, bent down and kissed the crown of that red head, then gently massaged her shoulders and neck.

"Heard from my in-laws?" I asked.

"Oh, yes. They have landed, en route to the hotel, we are expected at the restaurant at 1900 hours. Mom assured me that due to TSA, Dad has made the trip totally bereft of instruments of mayhem."

"Which means that he intends to dismember me with a steak knife."

"What!?!"she giggled, "And turn his beloved daughter into a widow? Hardly. I shall be suitably indulged." With a loud thump, the econ book hit the floor. "Press on me and kiss me and possess me, Stonewall Jackson!"

"Oh well, there goes the self-restraint," I said as I complied. Her hands cradled the back of my head, lining me up for kisses. One of us had to keep track of the time. I wanted a shower before going out to eat. I mentioned it.

Giggle. "Okay." A few more kisses. "Let's go shower."

"Okay!" I said, thinking I sounded like an excited little boy sometimes since I've been around Jo. I stood up., caught her when she stood, kissed her.

"I didn't know what I was missing, not having you, Stoney," she said.

"You are so darned perfect, Jo," I said.

"Because I worship you?" she asked.

"That would be one of the signs," I said.

"And you worship me," she retorted.

"Absolutely."

"Then we absolutely must be married," she said. She pushed me back towards the hall and the shower. "Wash me, guy."

The hot water was running by the time we got undressed and I stopped to gaze at the neat example of femininity before me. She saw me looking. "Diana, the Huntress," I said. "Or some Celtic-Norse version"

"Freya," she said. "But I always pictured Norse goddesses as being a bit more on the hefty, big-breasted side."

"Okay, then you're a Celtic forest nymph."

"Whatever I am, I'm yours."

"Good!" I said. "I've aways wanted to be married to a supernatural creature."

Soapy and wet is a pleasant way to play, but Jo pushed my hands away from her pussy. "Period. Yuck! Soon enough, baby," she said.

"Yeah, but you get to play with mine," I said.

"Nope. You gave it to me. It's mine." She was still in the curiosity mode about how I worked, lovingly stroking and squeezing me to hardness. But no further.

We finished the shower and got out and took care of the rest of the ritual. She shoved some cologne in my direction. "I like this on you," she said. "And not just your face." She gave me a wicked grin. I know what she wanted. I put a dab on my own pubic swell. She handed me the hairbrush. "Here! Do the back!"

Like giving a kid candy. I loved the color, the shine, the clean smell right after a shower, the 'bunny rabbit' smell at the end of the day. I brushed, finally got overcome by the whole idea, nuzzled my nose through her hair to the back of her neck.

"Stoppit! You KNOW what that does."

"Yeah," I laughed. "I do. Like you don't know a dozen things that do the same to me."

"And if we take off down that path we'll be late for dinner. Besides, I want ... I can't."

"Okay, princess. Let's get dressed." That precipitated a flurry of activity ending with Jo in a blouse and a flared skirt and me in slacks and a business shirt. The restaurant where we would meet her folks was in the upper tier of informal destinations. We'd fit in nicely as were were.

She touched my face. "Baby," I said, "Are you sure we should be wearing rings? Isn't that sort of rubbing their noses in this?"

"Nope. I want them to know I'm ... we're serious," she said. "We'll take them off before the ceremony tomorrow, then it's never coming off again. Never."

"Then kiss me and let's go," I said. "I like my ring. And my Jo."

We walked into the restaurant just like the first time I'd met her mom and dad, Jo hanging onto my arm, smiling. Anders rose from his seat. I shook his hand. "Anders. Bridgette. How are you this evening?"

"We're fine," Bridgette said. "Both of us. And my daughter looks happy. So how is my son?"

"Sit, son," Anders said.

"Yessir," I replied.

"Stoney, it's not an order. And relax. We're happy. A bit surprised at the timing, but happy." He smiled.

"Really, Dad?" Jo asked. "That's soooo important to me," she said, her voice sounding almost like a six-year-old with a home-made greeting card.

"Johanna Elise," Bridgette said, "had we other opinions, do you not think we would have told you? Have I not? In the past?"

"No, Mom," she said. "But Stoney just popped up on my screen and knocked me over. I don't want to do without him."

"I was the same way with your father, dear," Bridgette said. "Your grandmother fretted over all the imagined stereotypes of dashing American military officers leading tender girls astray. On her deathbed she admitted that she was wrong and that she'd wasted a large portion of the joy in her life worrying about me. I am not going to make that mistake."

"Thank you," I said. "I am a long way past the 'dashing' part anyway."

Anders has a wry smile. He used it on us. "I question that, Stoney. The first time you went out in public with my daughter you went to her aid in what I consider to be a quite dashing manner." He paused. "Measured. But dashing, nonetheless. Bridgette and I discussed it quite extensively."

"How so?" I asked. "I don't see much to discuss."

"The facts, son, that after that incident you recoiled back to an apparently stable and genteel demeanor. Johanna tells us of your lives twining together. Who you speak with, the manner of conversations, how you two spend idle time, music, life. You do not appear to be given to reckless adventure."

"Hardly," I said. "I've got some friends who are into, as they call it, 'extreme sports'. I don't..."

"One day in Iraq was extreme enough." His steel-blue eyes read me like a book, a skill transmitted to his daughter.

"Yessir," I said. I know that Jo caught the little shudder as that group of memories played through my head. He caught it. "Jo explained to us what she saw from that day. Stoney, you're not the only man to have those effects, and..."

"I have held my own husband, Stoney," Bridgette said. "He can recite the name and rank and hometown and family of ever man in his command who fell. It's a heavy thing, to be sure. But that same character that makes those faces come back is that character that has kept him by my side through all the moves and the trials and exertions of life." She smiled at Jo. "A mother can never be sure, but with the announcement that she has chosen you, I relaxed because I seem to have passed on to my daughter that which my mother passed on to me."

Jo started to speak. "Wait, Jo," Anders said. "Stoney, what the two of us are saying is that despite the startling manner in which our daughter reported your marriage as being a fait accompli, we are more than happy with the outcome. Since she started university, Jo had found her own way, something that caused more than a small amount of fretting and worrying from Bridgette and I. As her college career nears an end, we have become increasingly comfortable with her choices. Then you came along, the first reports causing us renewed concern. We are no longer concerned."

"I'm glad. Since I met Jo and got to know her, I cannot imagine returning to life without her."

At one o'clock the next afternoon we were all gathered in the apartment's community room, I in one of my 'respectable engineer' suits, Johanna breathtakingly beautiful in a shimmering dark green dress with flowing lines that harkened to cool climes of two different homelands. The emerald green set her fiery hair aglow.

Anders and Brad saw my face as she stood beside her dad. Brad had to make a comment: "Damn, Stoney! You know the reason Northern European women are so beautiful, huh?"

Anders and I both looked at him, awaiting the answer. Anders didn't know Brad. I did. I knew that he was getting ready to drop one on us. "Why is that, Brad?" I asked.

"Because the Vikings didn't bring the ugly ones home with them..."

Anders clinched his jaw. At first I thought he was offended, but no, he was trying NOT to laugh. Finally he trusted himself to open his mouth slightly. "True," he said. "Absolutely true."

The rest was a blur. I remember looking at a radiant face, green-clad, a simple strand of twisted little blossoms circling a perfect head, eyes, lips, the constellation of freckles.

Her mom helped with the make-up. "Don't touch the freckles," Jo told her. "My husband adores them."

"So does mine," she said. "We have such oddly perfect mates, do we not?"

Perfection was my Johanna as I slipped the ring back onto her finger.

"You may kiss the bride," the minister said.

I did. Just a chaste brush. If I'd have given in fully to my emotions, I would have fallen down at the feet and worshipped this goddess. And I was wedded to her. "Two become one flesh," the minister had read from the old text. Under my breath I repeated the real vows from the weekend before: 'and one soul and one spirit'.

Behind the partition of the community room the caterers had a spread laid out.

Music? Johanna. Life WAS music. "We're doing this different," Jo announced. "Stoney and I will do our own. Won't be long. But Stoney makes my heart sing."

We played a duet. I played and we both sang a couple of happy songs. The sound system took over for a waltz. I danced with my bride. I danced with the bride's mother, saw my beautiful apparition of a wife dancing with her blonde bear of a father.

In keeping with the low-key theme, we escaped amid cheers, hit my waiting SUV and were off on the official 'honeymoon', a night at an upscale hotel an hour's drive away.

"I promise you, princess, that we will revisit this honeymoon thing," I told her.

"And I told you that last weekend on the boat was more magic than any contrived production we could imagine. Stoney, this is me. Johanna. You know me. It's not about the artificial and contrived. It's about the real things. You and I, we are real. Love. It's real. Music. It's real."

So we caught a movie. Giggled. Hand in hand. Arm in arm. Walked along the coastal levy, feeling the wind coming in off the Gulf, the humidity like a moist blanket, watching the moonrise. I only wish she hadn't changed into her 'Jo uniform': jeans and a long-sleeved shirt, instead of that diaphanous green dress. In my mind's eye I saw her standing with the moon disc at her back, a vision enough to make a man believe in the Old Gods and the spirits of the forest and glen.

Everywhere I looked, I put Jo there. The rocks of the jetty thrusting out into the waves? Jo, cross-legged, flute at her lips calling forth the creatures of the sea, who would marvel and dance at the song. That little alcove where the jetty abutted the seawall? Jo there. Sitting, feet drawn up beneath her, arms wrapped around her knees waiting for me with a smile on her lips, eyes sparkling to put the stars to shame.

"You're doing it again, Stoney," she said. "Not the bad one, though. The good ones."

"What?"

"Thinking. You went far far away."

"Just far enough that I could look back and see you from afar," I said.

"Stoney, you are a poet," she smiled.

I kissed her. "I curse myself for not having the words to say what I feel," I said.

"This speaks," she said, snuggling into my arms further. One more long kiss in the moonlight. "Let's get back to the room," she said softly.

"Okay," I said. I wanted her. All of her. One problem, though. Period.

"Stoney, I'm sorry. It just happens right when we get married."

"Johanna Jackson," I told her. "You're more to me than that one part."

"I know," she said, "but just so YOU know, that part started having needs since I met you."

We backtracked up the seawall towards the hotel and crossed the street in front of one of those waterfront night clubs that was usually filled with a younger crowd. Music boomed outward from the place, the verandah filled with raucous laughter of a partying crowd. We walked past it and across the mouth of an alleyway.

"Eyyyyyyy, chicaaaa!" a Hispanic-accented voice said.

My antennae went up. I glanced over. There were two of them, shorter than me, husky-looking, side by side, one weaving a little, obviously drunk.

"You wanna dump heem an' party with us, I theenk," the other said.

"She's with me guys," I countered.

"Jou gonna be outta da peetcher," the first one said. "Chica gonna be with us."

I stepped between them and pushed Jo behind me defensively. "You guys need to go somewhere else. Really!" I said.

"Whatchu gonna do, pendejo?!?" the more shaky of the two said. His hand went into his pocket and came out with a knife. The click of its blade springing open sounded like a gunshot.

"Run!" I hissed at Jo. She didn't run. I really didn't have a choice. I fell to the ground clutching my chest, feigning pain.

The pair's eyes widened. Widened even more when I pulled a little pistol from an ankle holster. Now things could've changed here and taken a path to a peaceful resolution. All they had to do was leave.

That wasn't the choice the guy with the knife made. Or maybe he did make that choice to run but executed it poorly. He moved in my direction, Jo's direction, knife still extended in his hand. I fired. Twice. He took another step. I fired again. He folded. I directed my attention to his buddy. That guy ran in the right direction.

By now Jo had her phone out. A crowd was pouring out of the club up the street and I heard sirens in the distance. Two rather meaty guys pushed through the increasing crowd. I stood, leaving my pistol on the ground.

"Jeez, dude," One of them said. "You capped 'is ass!"

"Self defense. He pulled a knife," I said. "Don't get over there. Let the cops..."

Flashing lights from behind the crowd told me that the cops were here. Two of them pushed through the crowd, too. I held my hands halfway up, in plain view.

The first one said. "9-1-1 call. A shooting. Who..." then he saw the crumpled form on the ground in the shadow. "You..." he said to me.

"I can't say anything until I get an attorney, sir. Jo, please call your dad and see if he can help." I said this as my hands were placed in cuffs behind my back.

"Sir! Uh, officer!" said one of the beefy dudes from the club. "Got a minute?"

"Are you a witness?" the officer said.

"No. You should know me. I'm a bouncer at the Swordfish Club."

"What'd'ya want?"

"That dude over there," he said, pointing to the unmoving form in the expanding poll of blood, "we tossed him and his buddy out about fifteen minutes ago. They were loud and makin' unwelcome advances to some of the girls."

"Jerry!" the cop said. His partner turned around. "Talk to that other bouncer." To me he said, "Where's your ID?"

"Hip pocket. Wallet. Drivers' license. Concealed carry permit."

He fished the wallet out of my pocket, retrieved the cards. "Randall Jackson? What's your address?"

I recited it. I know it's on my documents. He was doing a quick check to make sure the wallet was mine.

Jo was standing there, nervous. Silent. Mouth a tight line. "Ma'am," the officer said. "Do you have ID?"

She nodded, reached into her jeans pocket and drew a little sheath with her license in it, presented it. "It's not correct any more," she said.

"Not?" He asked.

"No. My last name is not Solheim any more. It's Jackson. And the address is wrong. I just haven't gotten a chance to get them changed."

"Oh? How long? You have thirty days..."

"I have twenty-nine left," she said quickly. "We got married this afternoon."

"Oh, crap," he said. "And you come down here for THIS?"

"Yes," she said. Her phone rang. She looked at the officer. "May I? It's my father."

He nodded.

"Dad? Yes. The police are here. I'm sure they'll take us to the station." She looked at the officer. He nodded. "How long?"

"You'll be there in half an hour," he said.

"Half an hour, Dad," she said. "I can't talk right now. I love you. Tell Mom we're both okay." Pause. "Yeah, I'll tell 'im. I love you, Dad!" she slid the phone back into her pocket.

"Okay, what happened, Missus Jackson," the officer said.

Jo carefully related the story. "The guy pulled a knife. Stoney, uh ... him. Randall, went to the ground and came up with that pistol. The guy lunged."

"What about the other guy?"

"Ran. That way!" she pointed up the alleyway.

By now an ambulance had backed up and two harried paramedics were beside the body. Yes, it was a body. The older of the two said to my cop, "Jimbo, he's headed for ambient temperature."

Another police unit arrived. Two more uniformed officers. 'Jimbo' pointed to the paramedics and the body. "See if he's got any ID," he instructed.

I was subjected to the law enforcement version of 'small talk'. I knew better than talk about the situation at hand. Apparently Jimbo saw that, so it was the 'where do you work?' and finally... "That scar? Sorry if I'm being too personal."

"Iraq. Army. Bad day."

"Oh. I was in the Air Force." SP's (Auth. Note: 'Security Police', the Air Force's equivalent to the Army's 'Military Police') "Saw some shit."

"Saw a bit too much. From too close," I said. "You don't want me to walk through a metal detector." I tried a smile. Got one back.

"Just married? She's pretty."

"You should see her when she smiles," I said. "Those two..."

"Never mind," he said. "I can understand how you are right now."

The paramedics were loading the corpse on a gurney. One of the officers came up to Jimbo. "'Bout what you'd expect. Fake ID. Hundred and twenty bucks. A business card to a construction company."

"Illegal?" I said.

"Most likely. They'll fingerprint 'im for an ID, but who knows what they'll come up with."

"Lot of that?" I asked.

"More than you want to hear about," he said. "Wish it wasn't so, but what is, just is." He made a quick survey of the area, came to a decision. "Look, Mister Jackson..."

"Stoney, please," I said.

"Okay, Stoney. Protocol says you go to the station."

"What about Jo?" Jo was standing back a step from me, her arms wrapped around herself.

"Where were y'all staying?"

I named the hotel.

"Hey, Beej," he said to another officer. "Can you transport Mizz Jackson to the hotel?" To Jo he said, "Can you drive back to the station?"

"Yessir," she said. "When I get there will I be able to see him?"

"I won't have him in a holding cell, if that's what you mean," he said. "I'm sorry. I can't let you ride with us."

"Okay," she said. "Stoney, I'll see you there. Dad's got an attorney on his way." She turned to follow Beej to the patrol car.

"Dad? She says it very confidently."

"Her dad's a retired colonel. An executive with a company that does international security."

"Sounds scary."

"Worse," I said. "He's six-three, two hundred fifty pounds."

"For her, I'd risk it," he said.

"I did. Married 'er." He stepped away, talked with a couple of the other officers, returned to me. "We can go to the station. Turn around. I think I don't need these." He removed the cuffs.

I massaged my wrists as I walked to the car. The ride to the station was informational. "I don't think there's any chance you'll be charged," he said.

"Get my gun back?"

"Probably so. I'll ask. Good chance. First time I ever saw somebody actually USE one of those ankle holsters," he said. "Or a .380. Always thought they were kinda wimpy."

"Anything bigger I couldn't put there," I said. "I didn't want to be showing. Helps if you hit what you shoot at."

"You're kind of callous about it."

I thought for a second about his comment. "Probably why they say don't talk about it with the police until you have your lawyer with you," I said.

"Oh, sorry. That came out wrong. I mean, some people just go to pieces."

"They wanted my wife. No excuse. No sympathy. And I gave them a chance to retreat."

"All this is off the record," he said. "I'd've let you walk off if it was me. Man's gotta take care of his own."

At the station they put me through the motions. Fingerprints. Photos. I was sitting beside a desk when I heard Jo's voice cut though the background noise.

Jimbo looked up. "You can go see 'er. Just don't go anywhere until we get all the 't's' crossed.

Twenty minutes later the attorney showed up. I shook his hand. "Richard Bishop," he said. "You're Anders' brand new son-in-law?"

"Yessir," I said. "Randall Jackson."

"That explains the 'Stoney' thing. Stonewall, right. Army?"

"Guilty," I said.

"Oh, don't say that word loudly around here. Look, I just disturbed an assistant district attorney on the way down here. You're not being charged with anything. There will be an inquest. Likely you won't be called. This is Texas, for Pete's sake, and you have a right to self-defense." He turned to Jimbo. "Officer, is there anything else?"

"Yessir," Jimbo said. "Here. Sign this paper and let me get your pistol."

"I appreciate you showing up on short notice," I told Richard.

"Had to. I owe Anders a few favors," he said. "And I'm on retainer for his Texas operations."

"Well, I still appreciate it, anyway," I said.

Jo slid up beside me. "Yes, thank you," she said.

"Jimbo, ' I said. "'Preciate the consideration, buddy."

"Job, Stoney. Just the job. Glad you two are okay."

"Hope the rest of your evening is quiet," I said.

"Not likely. Saturday night, midnight. The real freaks'll get going any time now."

"Well, be careful," I said. Jo and I and Richard walked out of the station into the parking lot.

"You gonna be okay?" Richard asked.

"Sure. Why?"

"Some people get all flakey when they realize what happened. That somebody's dead."

"You're the second one tonight to ask me that. They wanted Jo. I would've died first."

"Baby..." Jo said.

"It's okay, sweetie," I said. "Richard, this incident is not a problem, at least not to me."

"You're sure? I can call a doctor. Get you something."

I looked at Jo. "Honey, do you need anything?"

"No. But thank you, Richard."

We got in our car, headed back to the hotel.

"Stoney, this is me now. Are you okay?"

"Yes, my love."

"Stoney, you saved me."

"Of course. What was I supposed to do? Stand around and let them haul you off to be raped?"

"I didn't know you had that pistol..."

"I carry quite often. Not at work. Not in bars and such. But tonight..."

"I'm glad you did. I didn't know what happened when you grabbed your chest and fell down."

"Had to get to that pistol. They had us."

"Why don't you use a belt holster?"

"Baby, did you even know that I had that pistol?"

"No. Why didn't you tell me?"

"I was afraid..."

"You were AFRAID? Of what, Stoney? That I'd get all girlie on you and get the vapors or something?"

"Okay. I should've talked to you..."

"You're darned straight you should've talked to me. I just had the crap scared out of me because I though those two had the drop on us and we were unarmed. Ain't gonna be like that again. And YOU! You need a better holster. And you need to get my driver's license straight with my new name and THEN you need to get me my own pistol. Call it even because I didn't tag you with a big ol' diamond engagement ring." She heaved a breath in. "And Stonewall Jackson, don't you EVER hold anything back from me."

"Yes, ma'am," I said.

"Seriously, Stoney, don't make light of this. We belong to each other. No secrets. I'm NOT delicate. After tonight, you could roll out videos of your past career as the sex toy of a gay dance troupe and I would NOT care. You are mine!"

"Gay dance troupe? Seriously? Where'd that come from?"

"I made it up. I'm mad, Stoney. Seriously."

"Okay, love of my life," I said.

We pulled into the hotel parking lot. Got out of the car. She walked around to me and grabbed my hand. "Here!" she said. "Let me keep you out of trouble."

Chapter 19

I didn't have to be psychic to read Jo's mind. The touch of her hand in mine was usually a delicate thing. This time she was tugging.

I couldn't understand, so I did the one thing that husbands have been doing since the beginning of time. I said, "Yes, dear."

"Don't be condescending, Randall Jackson," she said. "We need to talk."

Less than twenty-four hours since she and I stood in front of friends and family and God and pledged marriage to each other. Now I was wondering exactly what I'd gotten into. We walked right through the lobby to the elevator. When the door closed, I said, "Baby..."

"In the room, Stoney," she said.

That was an improvement. At least I wasn't 'Randall' again. I let her into the room, flipped the privacy lock, followed her to the bed.

"Sit." Her lips were a straight line. My doll. My life. The girl with the perpetual smile. Not smiling. I sat. She turned to face me.

"One more time, Mister Jackson," she said. "I am not a delicate little flower. I married you, for God's sake. I know you're not perfect. Neither am I. I know there are probably things in your history that I don't know about, that might be, shall we say, interesting. But this is me and you and right now, today. I want to KNOW. I didn't run tonight because I wasn't going to leave your side. You're my stupid HUSBAND! I was going to DEFEND you! And then you hit the ground. I thought I missed 'em shooting you! STONEY YOU SCARED THE CRAP OUT OF ME!!!!"

"Johanna Elise, love of my life, I am sorry. I will never hold back anything from you again." I didn't have to ACT contrite. I WAS contrite. "I don't want to lose you."

"Oooohhhh, my Stoney ... Baby, I love you. This is us. Me and you. Married! Really! Got the papers and everything. You're not going to lose me. But don't surprise me like that." And she kissed me. And another.

"I love you too, little one," I said. "That's..."

"That's what I mean, guy. You defended me. Again. But this time, the guy pulled that knife, and there were two of them and I thought we were had. My heart was going ninety to nothing. And then you went down." Kiss. "Why didn't you have a different holster? And I didn't even see you put that one on. You were hiding things from me. That's what made me mad. On top of everything..." And the dam burst. She was in tears in my arms, shaking.

"Johanna," I said softly, "I love you dearly."

"I know," she sobbed. "You. You defended me. You could've been ... I thought you were..."

"We're okay." I paused. Kissed her softly. "Aren't we?" We were having a moment. It ended when her cellphone rang. Irish tune. Her mom.

"Hello, Mom." Pause. "No, this sort of overrides the honeymoon thing." Pause. "Yes, he's here with me." Pause. She passed me her phone.

"Hello, Bridgette," I said.

"Stoney, are you okay?" her voice had a quiver to it.

"Yes, we're both fine, really."

"You protected my daughter again, Stoney. You don't have to keep doing that to show me you love her, you know."

"I'll keep protecting her as long as I have a breath in my body, Bridgette."

"As her mother, I thank you, Stoney." She paused. "Anders wishes to speak with you."

"Okay," I said. Jo's head was sharing the earpiece with me, so she kept track.

"Hello, Stoney," Anders said. "You gave us quite a fright. When Johanna called..."

"Thank God you have an intelligent daughter," I said. "I'd still be at the station without your help."

"And we would be at the hospital. Or worse. Without yours," he said. "Son," he said, "thank you for taking care of my daughter."

"She's my wife and I am responsible for protecting her. And thank you and Bridgette for rearing a spectacular person."

"May I speak with her?" he asked.

"Certainly. Good evening, Anders," I said. "Here's Jo."

"Dad," Jo said. "We're okay. Thanks for sending that lawyer."

"He owes me," Anders said. "Now you, young lady, have a real man. See that you treat him well."

"Yes, Daddy," she said. Her voice had changed in that one moment from Jo, master of her world, to a little girl talking to her daddy. "This isn't how I planned my wedding day."

"Yes, life often intrudes on our plans. I am glad you're okay. I'm glad that Stoney is okay. And I am glad you two are together. Jo, be good to your husband. We love you."

"Thank you, Daddy," she said. "We love you and Mom."

"Good night, Johanna, my daughter."

"G'nite, Dad." And she was back.

"Mom and Dad said both said that I should treat you well." She started to get the smile back. "Stoney, are you okay? I mean, you just..."

"I'm okay, dearest one," I said.

"You killed a guy."

"Uh, he wanted to rape you. Pulled a knife on me. I killed a mad dog. No, wait. Mad dogs don't know what they're doing. Those guys made a choice."

"You're okay then."

"I'm okay. I got my Jo-baby."

"Shower then?"

"Together?"

She smiled. "No other way, is there?"

"Maybe some day in the future. Not tonight." I stood up. She stood right into my arms. "You still love me, Jo?"

"Forever, Stoney." She started to unbutton her blouse.

"No, let me," I said. Our lips met while I worked down the line of buttons. I slid the blouse off her shoulders, relieved her of her bra.

"My turn," she said. "That kiss thing works nice, don't you think?"

It does.

Johanna's turn:

Wedding Day. You do realize how many little girls have been dreaming of their wedding day for their whole lives. After watching Disney movies and Britain's royalty getting married, wedding day has pretty much turned into the pivotal moment in the life of many an American girl.

I think, to use one of Dad's words, that's bullshit. I know families that have taken out second mortgages on homes to give Little Princess a wedding that picks the tackiest and most ostentatious bits of a royal wedding and applies it to suburban America and the daughter of schoolteacher Linda and her husband Ralph, the used car king, because their daughter deserves the BEST and this is the first of twenty-six guys she's fallen in love with and slept with and he's actually hung around long enough to plan the wedding.

Six months later the son in law is history, daughter's bedding a new stud with interesting tattoos and the bills from the wedding are still there.

That's the fear that Dad lived under. He didn't know I was paying attention. I am Johanna Elise Randall nee' Solheim, daughter of Bridgette, embassy clerk at the Irish Embassy in Norway, and Anders Solheim, first generation native-born American Army Colonel, former assistant military attache' to the American Embassy in, you guessed it, Norway.

I have lived with my mom, who adored my dad, and my dad, who worshipped my mom, all my life until college. I am the quintessential military brat. I know what it's like to live in a place for three years, pack up my entire life, and move someplace else, meet a whole new set of friends, new school, the works. And I watched. Some of my counterparts took advantage of that 'three years and then a whole new life' lifestyle to get into some pretty destructive behaviors with promiscuity, drugs and alcohol, rebellion, petty crime, whatever. Of course, they had moms and dads who did the same thing. 'Peyton Place' is an archaic term for a community where promiscuity and sex was rampant, but military housing areas made that novel look like a Disney fairy tale. I watched. I learned.

When I went off to college, Mom and Dad sat me down and talked to me. "We cannot shelter you all your life, Johanna," Dad had said. "You are eighteen."

"We have done our best, Jo," Mom said. "Now you are going to live away from us. You now make your own choices away from our eyes. We can love you, and we will. We can pray for you. And we will."

I went off to college, living in the dorms first, and ultimately in a shared apartment off campus. I took the talent for music, flute, actually, and kept it as a passion.

I had played flute from the time I was nine. Everywhere we went while Dad was in the Army, he and Mom saw that I had the best instructors they could find and afford. Indulged? I was an only child, so in some ways I was indulged.

In high school, one of those high schools near Army bases that has a student body consisting of half locals, half army brats like me, I was in the band. I never liked high school bands because a lot of time was wasted with that 'marching band' thing. I mean, music is music and walking is walking and the two should not mix, at least not the way American high schools do it. But I was in the band and I had friends and we ended up taking a couple of buses to an 'away' game and after the game while we were waiting to go home, I and a bunch of other band geeks were playing around cutting up with some of the football players. One of my 'friends' was an absolute slut. She'd done half the football team already, her goal apparently being to do 'em all.

I failed to notice that the crowd's composition had changed. The bunch of band geeks I usually hung out with had moved on, leaving me and Kayson between the buses with about six of the football players. A couple of them were playing with Kayson. I could hear her giggling encouragement. I figured she was lining up two more notches on her coup stick. That left me with four others who thought they were being rewarded for their Friday night's efforts on the field of play. And they thought I was playing coy and hard to get.

By the time my screams brought some adults to rescue me, they had torn and peeled most of my clothes off and one actually had his pants down.

Mom and Dad had to retrieve me from the hospital. No, I didn't get raped, not in the strictest sense. I was not penetrated. I was violated. Mom and Dad stood by me. It took some standing, too. Four of the football team were suspended, two, one of them the guy with his pants down, ended up in juvenile prison. I endured the 'she teased 'em and then wouldn't put out' tales at school. Lost a few 'friends' who weren't really friends anyway. Refused to play in the band except inside the school or at a concert. Underwent 'counseling' which was of little use.

I changed my idea of the whole male-female relationship thing. Guys weren't 'cute' nor were they attractive in anything past conversation. I didn't do dates unless you want to count a crowd of five or six where there were no official couple type relationships. I still got asked. Actually I got asked out more after the incident. I think it was because some guys thought they might succeed where four football players failed. But no dates.

You can imagine how that looked in college. Nobody saw me out with any guy. Meant I must be a lesbian. But nobody saw me out with any girl, either. Made me an enigma. As a musician, I blossomed. I think that a lot of the passion that normally would be spent on the dating and mating ritual went into my flute. Double major: Music and business administration.

This year I shared an apartment with Key. She's an oboist who happens to be black. We had a third girl at the beginning of the semester but she made two weeks before moving off to join her boyfriend. That's about the same time that I finally relented and decided to try a date.

Big mistake. David might be intelligent and a brilliant trumpet player. I thought his arrogance and sarcasm was a front. Somebody who could play like that just had to have a beautiful soul. I was wrong.

First thing that happened when I agreed to go out with him was that he told people. That got back to me in a most disturbing manner. "David told a guy that he's gonna be fucking the flute player before the night is over," I heard.

The arrogance wasn't an act. That's the way the guy really was. I made him take me home. He still talked, but this time I became the 'Ice Queen'. With a surname like 'Solheim', that's an easy shot.

A week later I met Stoney. I met Stoney on MY turf, the orchestra practice hall. He was setting up microphones and cameras in some kind of recording system and he was going around to each microphone and asking the musician in front of it to play something so his buddy at the console could set the level. I watched him working down the rows. Not too tall. Not skinny, not husky. A little older than me. And he had a scar. A noticeable scar, from his left cheek, up across his eye and into his hairline to the top of his head. Blue eyes. And I watched him working with the other orchestra members. He seemed relaxed, friendly. I watched him in front of some of the girls. He was kneeling as he worked, plugging in cables, and he could've been leering and staring, but he wasn't. Looked every member in the face, male or female, asked for a passage, touched his earpiece to communicate with guy on the console, and moved on.

When he got to me I played a passage that I love. He listened. Smiled. I got an even bigger smile than the others got, and he said, "That's cheating."

"How is it cheating?" I asked.

"That's from a Mozart clarinet concerto. Transposed up a third. You're holding a flute."

I was taken aback. "So Mister Stoney, you want another one?" The first words I ever spoke to him. He asked for it. I played another passage.

"That's the flute passage from Beethoven's Seventh Symphony, First Movement."

And I fell. Those eyes. The smile. Yes, even the scar. I had to know what the deal was with the guy.

From that day, I couldn't get that face out of my mind. I mean, I hunted him down after that session, questioned him about the recording set-up. An excuse. Any excuse. The third time they came to a session, I bummed a ride home with him. We didn't go straight home. We stopped at a coffee shop and talked. I found out that he was intelligent and well-spoken and not one-dimensional.

A couple more of those and when we had the concert in Austin, I wanted to ride there with Stoney. Wanted to. Me! Wanted to to be alone in a car with ONE guy for a whole three hours. We talked. I found out things about him. And he found out things about me. I am an Army brat. He understands. He's a combat vet. I sort of understand.

I played for him, right there on the highway, and he was moved. My playing. Mozart's immortal music. And this guy had tears in his eyes. Dad loves music and I've never seen Dad tear up. Stoney did.

That was the day that I felt like I was seven years old on the school playground. I asked Stoney to be my boyfriend. Actually I goaded him into asking me first. I was, as Dad says in his more coarse moments, 'as subtle as a rhinoceros with an erection.'

And that was it. He said yes. And then he had the opportunity to to seal the deal by punching out a very drunk David who happened upon us. The effect of the first day with my boyfriend was that the concert had me playing TWO solos.

Oh, God, the questions! Why? What's he do? What do you have in common? That last one started out with music. Then conversation. There was more. There was something that I saw in those eyes. I saw things. I saw his visage change sometimes, like he went far away, then he'd return. We talked. I tried to get the story and he artfully, gently dodged.

He liked my freckles. Freckles and red hair. Mom commiserated. "My dear sweet daughter," she'd said, "of all the things your father and I pass on to you, I hoped his genes would overcome mine with the hair and freckles." Dad is blonde and pale. "Instead, he made them worse. I got past them. You shall, too." I know how mom got past them. She married a guy who thought that she was beautiful and that included the freckles, although now, in her forties, they have gotten less prominent.

Stoney likes my freckles. "Freckles are like a constellation for the stars in your eyes." I don't know how other girls would handle words like that, but Johanna Elise Solheim practically disintegrated.

The guy reads books. He listens to good music. Plays banjo and listens to Beethoven and does not see it as an incongruity. Knows what 'incongruity' means.

Has always been a gentleman. A little slow, maybe, when it comes to us. I kissed him first. I know that's because he wants NOT to be one of those predator-looking guys. He worries about the age difference. "I don't want to be mistaken for some loser trollin' for college girls," he told me.

The truth is, neither of us were trolling for anything. I wasn't looking for a guy. He wasn't looking for a girl. We found each other in spite of studiously NOT looking. That makes it all the richer. Early on I found that I could relax. I mean, I wasn't trying to impress him. I wanted him for myself, but sloooowly. I wanted him, selfishly, to be at my disposal, so that at the end of the day, a phone call would get me satisfying company.

He met my parents. It was unusually early in a relationship, if you consider a traditional 'daughter away from home' relationship. I considered the implications of even asking. I guess I've watched too many of those romantic comedies, you know, that whole thing where the girl wants the guy to 'meet the parents' and he sees himself on a path he didn't want to take.

I should have known my Stoney, though. First thing, he's not exactly the nervous type. Second, I told him it was nothing, just that I wanted to have a date with me. Okay, so I lied just a teeny little bit. I wanted them to meet Stoney. Never before had I known a guy that I could see sitting across the table from Dad.

Dad, of course, is Dad. When I told him I was bringing a guy to dinner, he gave the standard 'father' questions. Then he went into the 'Anders Solheim security professional' questions. Got Stoney's full name.

Mom already knew at this stage of the game. I talk to Mom at least three times a week and Stoney made it into the conversation before we went to Austin. "Mom, I dunno. He's ... there's just something there." And every time I talked to Mom, it seemed like I had something to say about Stoney. Dad heard some too. I imagine that being 'Daddy's Little Girl' put him into 'guard' mode.

When we had dinner I found out stuff about Stoney that he thought I didn't know. Combat. A Silver Star. Now he knew that I knew. But I wasn't totally honest about that, either. Dad had sent me a copy of Stoney's citation a week before. Am I being devious because I didn't tell him immediately? It puts Stoney in a different light. Explains a lot of things that I couldn't explain.

That evening I told him. Showed him the copy of the document. In HIS apartment for the first time. He showed me the scars. All of them. You know, I think he was kind of afraid that seeing his scars was going to be a deal-breaker. The more I see him, the more I find out, the more I decide that this guy is the ONE.

I was his friend. He was mine. I could be a friend. I could listen when listening is what he needed, and I could hold when he needed holding and I could smile because he made it so easy to smile. That night I asked him to do something that I'd never done, not through middle school and high school when such things were the norm. I asked Stoney if he wanted to go steady. Like we were thirteen. I don't know how to do this. I'm an anomaly. Sexually inexperienced. Socially inept, I guess. And here's this guy and I'm trying to gently nudge him to see how he feels about me. And he accepts and I don't know what's next but I'm thinking it's him.

So we bounce along and my roommate Key sees what's going on and she's amused. "Got yourself a white boy," she laughs. Key plays being black like an instrument and she's as good with that as she is with her oboe.

"Trophy-grade white boy," I replied.

She smiled. "Jo, you're thinkin' about keepin' 'im, aren't you?!?"

"Isn't bad to think about, you know," I said. I was about to burst, though, trying not to squeal "YES!!" It was like that.

Stoney has, as they say in psych class, 'issues' with his war service. I know he does. Dad explained some of the issues to me when the subject made the news. "It's not a 'one size fits all' thing, darling," Dad told me. "There are many ways it manifests."

Stoney has it. Or maybe not. Maybe it's mis-directed guilt. The report of the incident that got him a Silver Star and all those scars left him and a few of his men alive and wounded and several others died and Stoney feels like it's his fault. After Stoney told me the story, naturally I talked with Dad. Dad brought Mom in. They told me things that I didn't know about them and Dad's own experiences. Dad said Mom loved him through it.

I will love Stoney through his. And that was the first time I let myself admit the 'L-word' to myself about Stoney. And I got scared. I knew how many of my friends had been in and out of love dozens of times and this is my first.

I know a bunch of girls who'd bought into the idea of 'fixer-upper' boyfriends, too. Most of those were the 'bad boy' types though. Randall 'Stoney' Jackson is not a 'bad boy'. And if he's a fixer-upper, it's not the normal thing that most semi-adult airheads are working on with drug and alcohol and crime and promiscuity issues. Stoney has ONE issue, and he came by it in a most honorable manner.

So we got married. Naturally. Spiritually. One memorable night on the boat under the full moon we mated and declared ourselves inseparable. And the next day I called Mom and Dad and announced it exactly like that. The following Saturday we threw together a ceremony to make it legal in the eyes of the State of Texas. It's a government record, now.

And that brings us to tonight's disaster. After the wedding we fled south from the city to the coast, had the almost cliche' walk along the seawall in the moonlight. It might sound silly, but with me and Stoney, it was perfect, magical.

It was when we started back to the hotel that things went bad. Really bad. All we did was walk past the service alley between two businesses and two drunks tried ... tried to get me away from Stoney. How could they know that Stoney was NOT the normal Gen-Y poser.

One of them pulled a knife when Stoney didn't abandon me. Stoney tried to get them to back off, The guy stepped towards us and Stoney grabbed his chest and dropped like a rock. I thought he'd been shot and I missed it. Then I heard gunshots and saw Stoney with a pistol and next thing a guy on the ground, blood running everywhere. And crowds. And cops. And Stoney saying "Call your dad!"

After it was over and we were finally away from the police station I kind of unloaded on Stoney. He never told me about carrying a pistol although I'm glad he did. He said he was trying to not scare me. I have to explain, prove, to this guy that I pledged to love forever, that I am not frail and dense and that I can handle things.

"Stoney ... I love you."

Chapter 20

Stoney:

She loves me. She REALLY loves me. We're married. I killed a guy. I'm supposed to feel remorse. I'm supposed to receive counseling by caring professionals who will help me grieve or some such crap.

Therapy? I'll tell you what therapy is. It's having the woman you just protected put her arms around you and tell you that she loves you. And when the thought crossed my mind that this scum wanted to touch my Johanna, I tensed up.

"Stoney?" a little voice said.

"Yes, princess?"

"What was that? You got tense."

"Just mad, baby. That somebody would think they could take you from me."

"Stoney, let me show you something."

"What?"

"You have your secrets. I have mine." She picked up her purse, reached inside, pulled out an object and I heard -SNICK!- and saw myself looking at a five-inch blade. "I am not helpless, Stoney. My hand was in my bag when you hit the ground."

"Geez, Johanna," I said.

"I've taken every self-defense class I could. And not just those freebie 'kick and scream and blow your rape whistle' classes. I'm well versed in martial arts. Tae kwon do. And belts don't often mean much but mine's black. If you thought I was a delicate flower, you just might get your butt handed to you before you realized otherwise."

"And you never told me any of that. Who's keeping secrets now?"

"I could've whipped David's ass," she said. "You stood up and gave him a target. Distracted 'im. I was going to elbow him in the nuts. I had a clear shot."

"Owwwww," I said. "A man's 'nads..."

"Stoney, I love you deeply. I care. I am flattered beyond measure that you tell me the things you tell me because I see your eyes and I know you're not lying."

"I'm not."

"I'm not a delicate flower."

"You are."

"Am not. Remember that gym thing I've been talking about. You. Me. On the mat."

I rolled her over and kissed her. "I don't think my tender ego could handle getting my butt kicked by my wife, even if she IS half Viking."

"Just so you harbor in your mind the idea that such a thing is possible."

"I look at red hair and blue eyes and freckles and that smile and since I've obviously been transported to an alternative universe, anything is possible." How possible was emphasized by agile fingers, fingers that could elicit the sounds of heaven from a bit of metal, those fingers were touching, grasping, tantalizing my increasing hardness.

She pushed. Hard. I found myself on my back again. She peeled her top off, reached around to unclasp her bra.

"My wedding night. We shouldn't be dressed." She rolled off me and started removing her pants after kicking her shoes off.

I got up and stripped. I knew her period was happening. I thought we'd do some really hot kissing and touching and I'd possibly get the indescribable ecstasy of having her lips around my dick. She peeled off her panties. Jumped me. Hot, almost wildly wanton. Our lips welded together, her body writhing atop me, then her legs spread. A few arches of her back, my dick was between her legs, then it was warm, no, HOT and wet and I was inside her and she was silent except for her breath escaping in short gasps.

Her lips smashed against mine, her tongue in my mouth like she was scooping her very life force from me. I was meeting her, thrust for thrust. The pattern of her movements changed. I knew she was banging her button against the base of my dick with every motion. She tossed her head back. "NnnnnngggggggGoddddddd!" She froze. I needed one more thrust myself. I took it.

She felt my surge and splash. Wiggled. With a sigh. Her eyes were closed. She says sometimes I get a look like I'm far, far away. She had a look like she was right here. Centered.

I felt the moisture. Different than the usual mix of my semen and her lubrication. It occurred to me that this was the first time I'd ever had a woman on her period.

Her eyelids fluttered then opened, exposing me to those blue orbs. She sighed, breathed. "Oh, my Stoney, we have a mess. I didn't plan to ... but ... Today. Tonight. It's all too much. I sorta..."

"I needed you, Jo. I desperately needed you."

She smiled. "Then our bodies said what our minds wouldn't let us say," she said. "I'm glad we did." She gave an experimental wiggle. "I'm gonna try to get off you without leaving a trail. Shower."

"Right behind you," I said. I used my hand to hold most of the rusty red mess in place while I got out of bed. She had the shower going by the time I got to the bathroom and I stepped inside with her.

"Pretty much busted that taboo," she giggled.

"Surprised the hell out of me," I said.

"Didn't gross you out too much, did it?"

"You're my Johanna. We've already talked about limits, little one. I don't remember us saying anything about that. I thought you'd..."

"Draw the line," she finished for me. "I thought I did." She slid her wet body up against mine. "Tonight was too much. I needed to possess you. Claim you."

"I wanted you, Jo. I wanted ... I guess I'm like you. Everything tonight, I just needed as much of you as I could get."

She tossed her arms around my neck, pulling my face to hers. Little kiss. "Stoney, I am yours. All of me. Stoney and Jo."

We realized that we were in the shower and started washing each other. I stopped short of her pussy.

"You stopped. Grossed out?"

"No. Didn't want to violate..."

Wild giggle. "Pretty much violated the daylights out of it earlier. You wash mine. I wash yours."

"Deal!" I said. Lathered that thing right up. Get it squeaky clean, the owner hanging on me as she shuddered through another orgasm. Kissed her.

"Errrrghhhhhh!" she growled. "You're not supposed to make me do THAT!"

"Too late," I said. "Can't take it back. You could've stopped me."

"Like hell," she hissed as she stroked me. "I'm not doin' you in here. I want you in bed. Wanna play with it."

"It's yours, you know."

She tilted her face up with a smile. "I know. Mine. Forever more."

We got out and dried off. I shaved as she started drying her hair, a task I helped her finish. Still naked, she led me back to the bed.

"Lay down," she said. "I need panties."

She rummaged through her luggage, retrieved a pair, went into the bathroom, returned. "Pad," she said. "Stupid period should be over tomorrow. Then I've got goals."

She slid back into bed beside me. "Are you okay?" she asked.

"I have my Johanna," I said. "I'm better than okay." Got even better when her fingers found me semi-hard and stroked me.

"I had two. You only had one," she giggled.

"I'm not keeping score," I said. Her hand swirled and tugged. "OhGOD!"

"You like?"

"I like."

"What if I do this?" Giggle. She squirmed around and kissed the swollen head of my dick.

I sucked a breath in. "Words fail."

Her lips closed over it, tongue swirling.

"You're killing me."

"Want me to stop?" she asked. Her eyes were happy, sparkling.

"Please don't."

"I know what happens." Giggle. "Mmmmmm."

It wouldn't be long, not the way Jo hit my senses. She was sideways in the bed and my hand could reach that shapely ass. I savored the curve with what few neurons that weren't attending to the sensations in my groin. Those few neurons gave up as I felt my balls pull up, preparatory to...

"Mmmmmmmmphhhh!" when the first surge hit. Her head turned slightly, keeping me in her mouth. She knew what she'd done. Head bob. "Mmmmmm!" Bob. "Mmmmm!" Bob. "Mmmmmmrrrrr!" as one hand milked me into her mouth while the other explored and teased my scrotum and I felt my whole groin pulsate. She let me go when the pulsations died down, then gulped me back into her mouth for one more "Mmmmmmm" and left me quivering.

Once I could open my eyes again they were filled with Jo's face, smiling. "Powerful," she said. "I feel so powerful when I do that to you. Just suck you up! And you're completely mine. In my control. You can trust me, Stoney."

"You know, Johanna, my wife? You OWN me. That ... I've never ... never..."

"Oh, come on, Stoney..."

"No, my little Jo. Nobody rocked me like you do."

"Stoney..."

"Johanna," I said softly, "I never loved anyone like I love you. Wanted to. Never did."

"What's that got to do with a physical act?" she asked.

"It starts in my head. And my heart. Head. You're bright and beautiful and everything I could dream about and then some. I run out of words." I'd told her this before, but at the time we weren't in bed together. "My heart. Never gonna be another, Johanna. Never. Never was. Never will be."

She pressed me down on the bed, straddling me. "Me too, Stoney. You are the one I waited for. I just want to be your everything."

"Then don't kick my butt at the gym," I said.

She squealed. "That ... you're just an animal, Stoney..."

"I'm your pet person," I said. "Put me on a leash..."

Giggle. "Might do that, now," she said. "We could take turns. You could wear yours under your shirt collar with a tie. I could wear a scarf." She paused. "Actually, I don't need a scarf. People will think it's a fashion accessory."

"And when I pick you up after class and snap a leash on?"

She laughed. "Only if I can pick you up at work and put YOUR leash on."

"Might just do that," I said. "People're gonna think it's something like that anyway."

"But it's so much worse than that, guy," she said. "I've been caught in a Stoney-web for weeks."

I rolled her over. Wrapped her in my arms, listened to her squeal. "I adore you, you know."

Her nose crinkled and her eyes laughed. "I know. I planned it that way. Practiced being adorable my whole life, just for you."

We cuddled up and went to sleep. Two hours. I sat up, sweat pouring off me. I could smell the ammonia funk from explosive detonations, laced with pulverized clay and I could hear victorious, expectant yells and I reached to unsling my rifle...

"Stoney baby," Jo said. "Another one?"

"Sorry, sweetness," I said. "I can't control..."

"Don't be sorry, Stoney. Let me hold you." She sat up and snuggled against my back, her cheek resting on my shoulder. "I'm here. You're here." Her hand stroked my head, my face, her fingers carrying love I'd never known.

"My Jo."

"Your Jo. I'm here. Wanna talk? What's the trigger?"

"I don't know if there's a trigger, sweetness."

"What's the first thing that you remember?"

"A smell. The smell when high explosives go off."

"I don't smell anything like..."

"Not like that," I said. "Just you..." I turned and drew a deep breath through my nose, picking up the fragrance of her perfume. "It's in the dream."

"What else?"

"That bunch of Iraqis streaming out of the building screaming 'Allah Akhbar'. RPG's (Auth. Note: Rocket Propelled Grenades. Designed as anti-tank weapons, they're powerfully explosive and easily transported and used as pocket artillery on battlefields around the world) AK's ( the ubiquitous AK-47, the most common fire-arm in the world) and that one guy waving that knife. I was trying to get my rifle loose to shoot back."

"Stoney, what can I do?"

"Hold me. Remind me that I'm here. Not there. Here."

Her kiss anchored me in the sweet present. She gently lowered me back onto the pillow and caressed me and loved me until I drifted back asleep. In the waning consciousness, I pondered the meaning of 'anchored in the present'. Jo. Jo could do it. I slid back into slumber with the fragrance of her hair as my lullaby.

Sunday morning. Late Sunday morning I was wakened by nature's alarm clock, a full bladder. I tried to gently extricate myself from Jo. We were connected by a tangle of arms and legs.

"MmmmmmLover," she purred.

"Shhhhh, baby, I'll be back." I got out of bed, went to the bathroom and was holding my own version of Niagara Falls in my hand when I felt a touch on my waist, then a soft kiss on my bare shoulder. I took a chance, said not a word, finished, lowered the seat, and went back to bed. In a few minutes I heard the toilet flush and then she was snuggling next to me. A little sound that was somewhere between a purr and a whimper came from her lips as she re-entangled herself with me and we drifted back to sleep for a little while. It was fitful. She kept moving, rearranging herself against me, finally ending up with a hand cupping my genitalia.

The little squeeze, followed by a purr, told me that she was conscious. I replied by softly covering her firm young breast, teasing the nipple with my thumb.

"If you do that again we're going to find out if my period's over, baby," she said.

"You do a horrible job of threatening me," I replied, my thumb teasing that nipple to hardness.

It's our honeymoon. Sex, love-making, happy coupling, that's what we're supposed to do. So we did. Finally rolled out of bed, together this time, did a quickie dual shower that only the greatest self-restraint kept us from turning into foreplay ... well, right up to the point that her hair was dried and she turned around and said, "You know, breakfast will still be there in an hour..." and she stood up, letting me view her nude form.

"You're perfect," I said. "I can't resist."

"You are too, Stoney, and why should we want to resist?"

You're right. I didn't want to resist. We had the room until eleven. That put us eating an early lunch, our overnight bags loaded in the car for the short trip home.

We found a seafood place and were dipping chips as an appetizer when my phone rang. I didn't recognize the number.

"Randall Jackson," I said. "Can I help you?"

"Mister Jackson, this is Vernon Sims. I'm with the police department."

My heart fell. I guess my face did, too, because Johanna's smile waned.

"Yessir," I said. "What can I do for you?"

"Uh, Mister Jackson, our police blotter is read by some local news organizations every day. Your incident is on that blotter. I have been fielding phone calls all morning about that incident. They want to meet with you. Is that something you're interested in?"

"Do I have a choice?"

"Sure you do," he said. "You're a private citizen."

"I value my privacy," I said. "I'd rather put the whole thing behind me."

"I can understand that, sir," he said. "But I wanted to let you know so you'd have a choice. And so you'd know that they are looking for you."

"No charges?" I said. "So far?"

"Oh, I'd be surprised if anything more was said. The night shift called one of the assistant district attorneys last night and gave 'em the investigation details."

"Hang on a sec," I said. "Lemme pose that to my wife." 'Wife' was paying rapt attention. "Baby, the gentleman at the police department says reporters are looking for us. What do you think? Dodge?"

"Yes. Unless you want to. I don't see an up side to it."

"Uh, Mister Sims? My wife agrees. We're gonna beg off."

"I certainly understand. Never know which way that information could affect you in the long run."

"Well, thanks for calling us."

"My pleasure. We got some more information on the perpetrators."

"I notice you didn't say 'victim'."

"They ain't victims of nothin," he said. "We caught the other guy this morning. He was staying at a run-down apartment with about half a dozen others, along with some interesting artifacts and undocumented pharmaceuticals. We're waitin' for the prints to come back, but he fits a few crimes in the area. The one that's on the slab right now, we're pretty sure he's gonna end a little cluster of rapes."

"Shit," I said.

"And a couple of stabbings, a heist of a convenience store, and that's just right here in THIS area. They came down here from Houston and they've probably been doing the same sort of things there." He paused. "And I didn't tell you none of this."

"Okay," I said. "I imagine you get enough of that crap, anyway."

"Oh, no," he said. "Every day is filled with unicorns and rainbows."

"I gotcha there," I said. "Thanks for calling."

"No, thank you," he said. "Take care."

I put the phone on the table, looked at Jo. "I expected the press sooner or later."

"Me too. Didn't know how that would work." She smiled for me. "I don't mind being known for my talents. I just can't see where being known for shooting somebody, even in self-defense, would be useful, at least not in our circles."

"Kinda the way I feel," I said. "I always wondered how those details get out, though."

I was really wondering when we got home and I hit the answering machine on the home phone.

Brad's voice: "Hey, you're in the news, dude! Call me."

"The news?" Jo asked.

"Let's call 'im. Faster'n looking it up," I said.

"Okay," she said.

I punched my phone. "Brad Sykes."

"Calling Brad Sykes mobile," Siri said. I put us on speaker. The phone rang three times.

"Uh, hey, Stoney. You run into problems last night?" he asked.

"Yeah," I said. "I got Jo listening in, so try to restrain yourself," I said. "What'd you hear?

"'Following an altercation in a beachside bar, two men attempted to mug and rape a woman and her companion. One of the men pulled a knife. The male victim pulled a legally carried pistol and fatally shot the attacker. The other attacker ran from the scene and was arrested a short time later. He is being held on multiple charges including suspicion of several area rape complaints, robbery, possession of drugs with intent to distribute, and firearms violations.' It gave your name and the name of the victim and the guy they arrested."

"Online article?" I asked.

"Yeah," Brad said. "The Gulf Coast page of the newspaper's online site."

"Cute!" I said. "But if you don't tell, nobody else is weird enough to find it."

"You can always hope," he said. "I didn't know you carry."

"One of those things I don't advertise," I said.

"And they tried to mug you two?"

"Told him to leave me with 'em and just go away," Jo said.

"Hi, Jo," Brad said. "Didn't mean to ignore you."

"That's okay, Brad. I married 'im, remember? He told me had strange friends." Giggle.

"And you were with him last night?"

"Of course. We were doing the obligatory 'walk along the beach in the moonlight' and were heading back to the hotel. Walked past that club, passing the alley and they were in there."

"Uh," Brad stuttered, "And Stoney..."

"Stoney reacted well. It was over in a few seconds." Jo looked at me, touched my hand lightly, smiled. "It was so fast. Such a surprise. But we're okay."

"Glad to hear it," Brad said. "I'll let you two go. Take care."

"Okay, Brad. See you in the morning."

"See ya later, Brad," Jo said.

"Yeah. See if you can't get us another lunch table, Jo," he laughed. "Be good!" Click.

She looked at me. "They can't do anything at work, can they? I mean, about this..."

"No. I don't carry at work. No sense in pushing things. We're pretty secure there. They patrol the parking lots. The building entry is guarded. Takes a pass-key to get to the floors."

"I haven't found anywhere I can't take my knife except government buildings and airports," she said, turning her head with that smile working. "So when are we going to the gym?"

"You're serious about this."

"I am. And about the carry permit, too."

"Perhaps a little wrestling will help you get your form back," I said.

"Eeeeee! My husband's bein' all FORWARD an' stuff!" she squealed.

"We're officially married now. We have to do an official initiation," I said.

"Okay," she grinned, "just ONE more. Then I need to practice. Yesterday is the first day since I can remember that I did not once put my flute to my lips." She thought about the words she'd just uttered, then started turning red. "Why am I blushing?!? What we do between us is nothing to be embarrassed over."

"Because you're not a coarse person, and now things that you considered off limits are now yours to enjoy."

She leapt into my arms. "And I do so much enjoy ... I knew I would, Stoney. You, me..."

I scooped her up off the floor, tossed her lithe body over my shoulder, and carried her into the bedroom where I unceremoniously deposited her in the middle. I trapped her beneath me. She squealed. "You're in soooo much trouble, Johanna," I said.

"Why am I in trouble, sir?" she asked.

"Because you're beautiful and you're in bed and you have all these clothes on."

"Get off me and I can fix that." Giggle.

I was busy getting rid of my own clothes.

"Stoney, period ... should be finished but..."

"But we pretty much broke that barrier last night..."

"And we have the shower and I want you and who the hell cares!"

We made a mess of the sheets. I have an extra set. And a washing machine.

We made a mess of each other. Actually, it wasn't as bad as last night. When we got out of bed and hit the shower I could see that the sticky residue of our wild mating was tinged with red-brown streaks. Jo saw too. I expected she'd get apologetic. I was wrong.

"Washes off, you know," she said. She reached in the shower to check the temperature of the spray, then backed in, pulling me with her. A soapy cloth soon has us devoid of any traces. We stayed in the hot spray. "Love this," she said. I loved it, too. We soaked for a while, happily fondling, caressing. Got out, dried off. Found my hand in hers, following her back to the bedroom.

"Honeymoon." Giggle. "Are you up to it?" Her hand reached. Another giggle. "Why, sir! Yes, you are!"

She was right, of course. I just as well can get used to having Jo being right most of the time. After all, I married her. Honeymoon. Was supposed to stay in bed all day. Was supposed to end up with a redheaded female with alabaster skin and a constellation of freckles riding me like an electric bull at a country-western bar. Also was supposed to end up cradling that same female in my arms, semi-conscious, after her orgasm and my own, the juices gluing us together.

Late afternoon nap, naked, wonderful thing it is. She ended up rolling off her perch atop me, instead nestling into my side. Sleepily she looked at my dick, still shining with the juices from our mating. "Nothing showing this time, Stoney. I guess that last one pumped me clean."

"I am pleased to have performed a useful function."

"I don't know of anyone who did it during their period while they were sober," she said. "I couldn't wait. Stoney, I love you and you've introduced me to something that I really like," she said. "Was it too gross? I mean, last night was a mess."

"First time I ever did that, baby," I said. "And no, it wasn't gross. Felt a little different, but obviously..."

She flopped on her back, sighed heavily. "Obviously." She sighed again. "Do I make too much noise?"

"No."

"That's not faking, Stoney. I know some girls fake it. Just to get it over, sometimes."

"I know about faking it," I said.

"Wasn't fake. And really don't want it to be over. Ever."

"Johanna Elise, you've changed my expectations."

"Expectations?"

"Of a woman. Of sex. Love."

"You're not alone, Stoney."

"I didn't know I needed another person until you showed up."

"My Stoney. My missing piece."

"Mmm-hmmm," I said, squeezing her against me.

We ended our reverie a bit later. I went to the kitchen to scare up an evening meal, a task made pleasant by the strains of music from her practice session.

"When you get to a stopping point, sweetie, why don't you come play along with me."

"Okay," I answered. "As soon as this soup is simmering."

In a couple of minutes I was in the living room with Jo.

"Play along," she said.

That's a good way to start the combined life for Jo and Stoney. Play along.

Chapter 21

Johanna and I discussed the idea of taking off from our lives for a few days for an abbreviated honeymoon, but neither of us were really at points in life to do so. I mean, I could have just begged off, but I was in the middle of a project with a time limit, I'd already given my word on its completion, and Jo?

"I really shouldn't take off in the middle of the semester. Academically it's not good. And musically, we have the Veterans' Day thing in two weeks, and then a couple of big concerts to prep for."

"Then we won't. But understand this Johanna Elise Solheim Jackson. If I could break you loose from being intelligent and responsible, we'd be doing a world tour."

Giggle. "Like Norway? Lived there. Germany? Lived there. How about you and me get in that nasty ol' boat of ours and figure out how to run offshore and come back in to someplace interesting? Not now. Maybe Christmas break." Her brow knit in thought. "And instead of several thousand dollars of wedding dress, I think Mom and Dad will spring for me a set of foul weather gear that fits!"

That statement brought me a whimsical picture of Jo wearing one of my sets of foul weather gear on the boat, sleeves and trouser legs folded into cuffs. That was cute and I honestly got more turned on by what I didn't see of her in that outfit than some self-centered runway model trying to act sexy.

So the honeymoon, at least the first chapter of it, was interrupted by the Monday morning alarm clock. For me. For Jo, she could sleep in. Her first class was 0900. Jo doesn't sleep in. She's up with me and while I'm dressing, something that doesn't take long, she's in the kitchen banging the parts to the coffee pot.

"What cereal do you want this morning, baby?"

"Surprise me," I said.

Giggle. "My husband keeps Froot Loops in his pantry!"

"A man should give in to his cravings," I said.

"As long as it isn't one of the girls that works in your office," she said.

"I didn't crave 'em before I married this perfect specimen," I said. "Not gonna start now."

She sat a bowl of healthy shredded wheat in front of me. "Eat this. I need you healthy."

"You know, you could have stayed in bed," I said. "I'm perfectly capable of fixing my own breakfast."

"And I may exercise that option from time to time, but right now I want to eat cereal with you and drink coffee and then get a kiss as you go off to work."

I finished my cereal with her across the table, we fixed our coffee together, and I filled my travel mug and sat back down. "I really don't want to go."

"Oh, go! In an hour I gotta go to class. Sociology sucks, but I need the grade. Tell Brad and the gang that Tuesday will have to be the day I get us a table for lunch. And when you get home today, I will have completed a bunch of stuff. Getting my drivers' license changed. I will have done my flute practice. And period's over." Giggle. "Isn't it customary for newlyweds to want to romp a bit?"

"I have heard that such a thing is not unheard of. I would be willing to participate."

She has this subdued smirk that I find utterly charming. I got up to go off to work and received a searing kiss to think about for the remainder of the day.

I walked into the office amid more stares along with the customary greetings. Several of them waited until I sat my computer case down in my office before the questioning started. I'd hoped it was about my wedding. It was, sort of.

"You get married on Saturday afternoon and get involved in a shooting before midnight?" That was Carole Trencher, one of the CAD (Auth. Note: Computer Aided Drafting) people.

"Jennie and Brad met Jo last week. Brad? Is Jo worth defending?"

"Oh, yeah..."

"One does not react well to having two guys try to drag one's spouse off," I said. "And when one pulled a knife..."

"I'd'a shot 'im, and she ain't even my wife," Brad said.

Carole back-pedalled fast. "Oh, I wasn't saying..."

"Believe me," I said, "a shooting wasn't on my schedule for my wedding night..."

An anonymous male voice in the back, muffled, said "At least not that kind."

"Puh-lease," I said. "Mixed company here. Let's watch our language."

A less obvious "oops".

"I didn't go down there with Johanna expecting a gunfight," I said. "But the whole incident just goes to show..."

"Where were you?" Carole asked.

I named the bar we'd walked past.

"Omigod! We go there all the time!" Carole squealed.

"Not exactly a crime venue, is it?" I said. "The two that attacked us had just gotten thrown out of there."

"You can't carry in that place. Not legally. It's a bar." One of my co-workers knew the law.

"And we didn't go in there. We were walking the seawall. Moonlight. Romantic."

"Cliche'," Brad said.

"Buddy, I just married the girl. And I will happily do every cliche' there is."

"Good husband," Jennie said. "She's wise to train you early."

I filed that comment along with the conversation we'd had about collars and leashes. I just KNEW that would come up again. Now I was trying to figure out how to make it work. Jo's the perfect one to pull it off with. I'm thinking that the blue eyes and the red hair, she's already deep into a bunch of fetishes. All she needs is the leash.

"If there's ever a person to train me, it'd be Jo," I laughed as I headed away from the crowd.

Made it to almost nine-thirty before my supervisor stuck his head in the door. "Stoney, you got a minute?"

"Sure, boss," I said. "Whatcha got?" Of course, I had a sneaking suspicion as to what might be on his mind.

Bob looked somewhat serious. "I understand you got married."

"True," I said. "Saturday. Small ceremony. Big implications. I emailed HR to get the paperwork going."

"Congratulations," he said, coming as close to a smile as I'd ever seen from him.

"Thank you," I said. "You'll note that I'm back at work. Says something for my dedication."

"Uh-huh," he said. "Heard she's quite the stunner."

"Not if you're into bikini models. I like 'er, though."

"Man should like the woman he marries," he said. "My wife tells me to say that." He turned serious. "I heard you were in an altercation Saturday night."

"News travels fast," I said. "Yes, I was. Wasn't wearing my Oaktree Engineering T-shirt, though."

"I assume that since you're here you're not charged?"

"Either that or I posted bond."

"Ain't that funny. Article says you shot a guy?"

"Uh, yeah. Did the article say that there were two of 'em and one of 'em pulled a knife?"

"It said 'attempted mugging and rape'."

"Yeah. I guess they thought we were coming out of the club. I know you can't legally carry a pistol in a drinking establishment. A lot of people know that. I think I surprised 'em."

"Something about 'bringing a knife to a gunfight' comes to mind."

"Yeah, and there they were, on their way home from choir practice," I said.

"You don't sound like you're suffering remorse over it."

"Lemme show you something, Bob," I said. I clicked my mouse a few times and turned the monitor so he had a better angle. There was Jo, dressed up in the first concert in which I saw her solo. She was dressed in a flowing black dress, accenting her pale skin, her red hair, the silver flute, the orchestra behind her. One of my favorites. "See this girl?"

"That's your WIFE?!?"

"Yes, that is Johanna Elise Solheim Jackson. Soloist for the university orchestra. Twenty-one. Smart. Beautiful. And those two guys wanted to rape her. Exactly how much remorse would you feel?"

"I'd'a pissed on the corpses," Bob said.

"Kinda the way I feel. He had a record. They think his demise will solve a couple of previous rapes there and maybe some here. Same thing with the other guy. Drugs. Weapons violations. Stolen goods."

"She's twenty-one? When does she graduate?"

"Next spring. Double major," I said with a bit of pride. "Music and business administration."

"Impressive."

"Yes, she is," I said. "So, am I in trouble?"

"No, you're not in trouble. I'm just asking questions because I want to be prepared in case the guys on the top floor ask anything."

"I appreciate it," I said. "By the way, if you're feeling guilty about not giving a wedding gift, I'm registered at the Apple Store and she's registered at Bronfeld Music."

He snorted, awfully close to a laugh. "How about you and I take our wives out for dinner one evening. I'd be interested in meeting her. And Shelley says you're a particularly shameless punster."

"We can do that," I said. "I think Jo would like meeting Shelley."

"Then they'll look across the table at the two of us and feel all superior," he laughed.

"And by that move, we will have provided yet another function in the maintenance of a good marriage," I said.

"Go to work," he said. "My bonus needs bumping this year."

The remainder of my day consisted of numerous restarts as each of a dozen friends came by to get their personal reprise of the wedding and the incident. By two o'clock I went to Jennie's office. "Got some of that herbal tea left?" I asked.

"You hate my tea," she said suspiciously. "What gives?"

"I have told the same story a dozen times today. My throat is sore."

"You should've printed it out and made copies. Or better yet, email. Use the company broadcast list."

"Oh, yeah," I laughed. "Hi! Just wanted to bring everybody up to date on my nuptials and a subsequent gunfight. That'd go over like a ... Oh, you're a lady. Never mind."

"A turd in a punchbowl," she said. "I've been working around all of you for too long. One would hope that the possession of a four-year college degree would bespeak a certain level of couth."

"One would be horribly wrong," I said.

"Bingo." She handed me a teabag. "So you're really married to this girl."

I saw her eyes. Something I'd never noticed before. "Yeah, Jen. She's it. Really is it."

"Oh, well. I personally think that she made a good choice, fella. Just sayin'. And I hope the tea does you some good." She reached back into her desk. "Here. Honey. Better than sugar."

"Thanks, Jen," I said. "I appreciate it." I left, made a cup of tea, returned the bottle of honey. Waved. She was on the phone, so I returned to my office and tried to finish a couple of tasks before the end of the day. The honeyed tea helped.

She knew I'd be headed out the door at four-thirty. That's when my cellphone broke into a lilting flute solo. Original. I happen to have slept with the artist. "Hi, cutie!" I said.

"Hi, baby. Wanna go out for dinner?"

"Sure," I said. "I'll be home in half an hour."

"I'll be here," she said. "How was your day?"

"News got out."

"Wedding? The other thing?"

"Oh, yeah," I said. "I got a sore throat from telling the story."

"I bet," she said. "Nobody knew anything about it in class. I guess my people don't read as much as your people."

I mulled that thought, and since it was Monday, another thought, also. "Practice night?"

"Yeah! You're coming with me, aren't you?"

"I will if I'm not a disruption."

"Bring your iPad. And your banjo. We'll stop for dinner on the way."

We met at the apartment. She was already there. I walked in to a dream: Johanna completely naked. After a hot kiss with me pushed back against the closed front door, I asked, "What would you have done if I walked in with Brad?"

"In the first place, you'd've told me if you were bringing somebody home, and in the second place, I would have squealed, run like a deer and never looked Brad in the face again." Her face moved to mine again. Another kiss. "And we have some time to spend ... before we go to dinner, you know..." Her eyes were laughing, excited.

Her hand moved between us. Her smile broadened. "D'ya lust after me, Stoney? I lust after you. I lose concentration in class thinking about us, what we do to each other."

"That's a good thing," I said. "I close my eyes and I see you. You're right here in my head. And my heart. Definitely my heart."

"And in our bed," she said. "We belong in bed right about now."

"Okay. I think that's a perfectly wonderful idea." I scooped her off the floor and carried her into the bedroom. She already had the covers turned back. The clean sheet was tight and inviting, and between the two of us was reason for laughter and joy and finally, post-coital bliss.

She was running her fingers through my chest hair and I was stroking that red wreath around her face, our silence occasionally punctuated by little kisses. Her wiggle put her even closer to me, if such a thing was possible between two nude forms tangled on the bed.

"Mmmmmm," she purred. "See how good this is? I'm just about thinking of blowing off practice."

"It passed 'good' a long time ago, angel," I said.

She heaved a sigh. I knew it meant that lucidity was returning to her thought processes. What comes next is no surprise. "Up and at 'em, boy! Food! Then people!"

If I had a tail I'd wag it. I watched that perfect, slim, shapely ass move away from me towards the clothes she'd shed earlier. She apparently didn't hear the requisite motion from me so she tossed me a glance over her shoulder. "Move! We have goals!"

"Yes, ma'am," I said subserviently.

"Oh, you're such a THING!" she giggled.

"Sorry," I said. "I was admiring the shapely bottom of this stunning redhead that hads enveloped my life." I started dressing.

"I never thought of myself as 'stunning', Stoney. Adequate, yes, but hardly stunning."

"You should see it from my point of view."

"We see what we want to see, Stoney."

"Stop it," I said. "You ARE beautiful."

She pulled a sweatshirt over her head and came over to me, standing toe to toe, her head tilted back. "And you, sir, are horribly deluded." Little kiss. "And I know all about delusions. I suffer from one myself." One more kiss.

"If you do that again, we will NOT leave this room," I said.

"How about this, then?" and her lips faintly brushed my own. "Is that enough to guarantee that we return to this room tonight?" And she turned. I swatted her bottom, received the appropriate squeal, and followed her out of the bedroom. We grabbed our instruments and headed out.

Soup and salad took care of dinner and we found ourselves at Jo's old apartment with Key letting us through the door. Jo reached into her backpack and pulled a bag of Cheetos out. "Here's something to make you smile. We're early."

"Not too early," came a voice accompanied by footsteps behind us.

"Hi, James," Key said. "Is Doctor Bob coming?"

"BOB?" I asked. "He comes to these?"

"Not usually, but we told him about you and your alabaster princess playing together." Key smirked lasciviously. "Music, I mean."

I glanced at Jo. She was smiling too, so I surmised that I'd been set up. "And what's all this mean?" I asked. Key was tearing open the bag of Cheetos over a bowl.

"I love the crunchy ones," she said, taking one. She looked at me and at James. "Jo told me that you told Bob that he needed to find a harpist for Jo to play that Mozart Concerto for Flute and Harp. And we heard that we have an inside track on a lutist who can play the harp part."

"Jo, tell me you're not suggesting..."

Giggle. "Stoney, with the orchestra backing us up."

"Baby," I said, "I'm a hack. I play for you and me."

"Don't slight yourself, dude," James said. "You're the best banjo player I know."

"How many banjo players do you know?"

"Just the one. But seriously, man, you can hang..."

I was sipping on a cold drink when they let Bob, Doctor Bob, in. I stood to shake his hand. "Hello, D..."

"Don't YOU call me 'doctor', Stoney," he said.

"Okay. Hi, Bob. How's it going?"

"Swimmingly," he said. "I heard of your acquisition of my star flutist. You did well." He saw Jo's smiling face. "So, apparently, did she."

"She's the best choice I've made lately," I said.

"Like you had a choice, Stoney," she interjected. "Once I made mine..."

"I don't mind being your trophy," I said to her.

"I can imagine worse fates," Bob said. "So anyway, I have heard from some credible sources that you and Jo have been playing that flute and harp concerto together. And further, you are doing it well."

"Jo's fault," I said. "She made me."

"How'd you manage on a banjo?"

"At first I just stayed within the chord structure. Then I found that some of Mozart's harp play will work within the framework of the standard bluegrass rolls. And if I really try hard, I can do a lot of his stuff as scale work. I had to play way up the neck to get the range on some of it."

"It's not exactly what Mozart wrote," Jo added. "But the spirit is there. And if you call it a lute instead of a banjo and you close your eyes and try, you can imagine it that way."

"Okay then," Bob said. "I'd like to hear it."

That's when Jo giggled a bit more, because when I sat down on a dining-room chair with my banjo, not only was Jo there with her flute, but we had a couple of violins and a cello and Key's oboe.

"I sort of arranged for some volunteers," Jo said. "Okay, people. On three. One. Two..."

And music happened. I actually closed my eyes at several places because Jo and I had made a point of at least five or ten minutes of this every evening now and I had images in my head that went straight to my fingers. The rest of the abbreviated orchestra was somewhat of a distraction, but I just pulled up the image of my Johanna smiling her way through her flute passages and the distraction lessened.

We finished amid happy noises. Bob stroked his chin, smiling, as well. "I am impressed," he said. "I wouldn't characterize it exactly as the Mozart piece, but it's definitely derivative enough to put it on the program as derivative."

"You're not serious," I said.

"Oh, but I am, Mister Jackson. I have some great musicians here and when three of them, each unbeknownst to the others, and NONE of them your wife, whom I might just imagine to be a little starry-eyed and less than objective, those people all told me the same thing." He continued, "I am all about classical music, but I'm just about freaky enough to think that if a concert program alluded to Mozart's Concerto for Flute and Harp, as played by flute and lute, and I bring you on stage with your banjo, I might raise some eyebrows and expand some horizons."

"Half your audience might walk out, too," I said. "You're kidding, aren't you?"

"Maybe. Maybe not."

And Jo was smiling.

On the way home I asked, "How many more times are you going to blind-side me, little one?"

Smirk. "With good ones like this? Every chance I get."

"Now suppose I was some short of retiring little wallflower? You might have put me into a seizure."

"I would have KNOWN that about you already. I know you. I've seen you in big crowds and little ones and I know you can handle yourself. Us girls, we have poise. You guys, you got 'presence'. Stoney, you have presence. And you love music and you love me and I love music so I synthesized all that and determined that YOU need to expand your horizons."

"All that, and the fact that I'd follow you into the halls of Hell in my skivvies carryin' a can of gasoline," I said.

"I do seem to have that effect on you. Among others," she giggled, her hand reaching into my crotch as I drove. "I promise to only use my powers for good, never evil."

"You know, if you're the one that's doing it, I'll never know the difference."

"I love you, Stonewall Jackson," she said. "You're just exactly what I ordered."

Her hand was caressing my head. I felt her fingers lightly trace my scar at my hairline. "You got me off the 'scratch and dent' page, then."

"You're so awfully wrong sometimes."

"So how far have you taken this idea of me and you doing a concert?"

"Just one little piece, not a whole concert," she said. "And when I talked with Key, who happens to herself be a big 'Stoney' fan, about this, guess what she said?"

"Oh, Lord," I said. "I can't wait to hear this."

Giggle. "She said that we both start off off-stage, and when they announce the piece, you walk on with your banjo, wearing overalls and a straw hat..."

I snorted.

"No, let me finish. And I walk on wearing a forest-green pixie outfit. With one of those little green pointy hats, like Mary Martin in Peter Pan."

"Key is one seriously deranged young lady," I replied.

"Key and I had a bunch of talks about you, you know."

"And yet here you are..."

"Yeah. No. She said that I was right to think about you. Said you were different than anything she'd seen around college."

"She just knew I had a thing about redheads, that's all."

"She listened to you talk. You used words with more than two syllables," she said.

The car bumped over the curb into the apartment parking lot. She saw my hand go to my waistband.

"Thought so," she said. "I felt it before we left."

"My pistol, too?"

Squeal. "Stoney, that's horrible! You're gonna have to wash my back as punishment!"

And we were inside, laughing. God, it's such a rush, living with Johanna. The joy just flows from her. When I'm with her, it's easy to be happy.

That's why when the door closed, I found myself pressed back against it.

After the kiss, the happy blue eyes reached into me. "Uh, Stoney, just so you know for sure, playing music with you, it's like foreplay ... Are you up to it?"

"Just so you know, Jo, if I'm conscious, I'm up for it."

Giggle. Push. "I can tell!"

"You have any ideas?"

"Crazy ones," she said, sliding down to her knees. The next sound was a zipper, and then I shifted to the next universe over, slumping back against the support of the door. I felt the gulp and the incredible warmth and then with an audible pop, cool air.

She stood up. "Come on, guy. No clothes. Me. You. Shower. Then..."

"You're gonna kill me," I said.

"Nope. I know CPR. And on YOU, this one special place to start blowing..."

"Oh, when did you become this wanton Irish wench?"

"The first time you kissed me and I determined you were too big to throw over my shoulder and carry off to Valhalla."

I came home the next day to tuna steaks marinating and a rice pilaf in progress and a happy Johanna with a bag from a pet store chain.

"Don't tell me..." I said.

"Mmmm-hmmm. Haven't figured out when, but let's try 'em on."

Five minutes alter we were clad in his and hers dog collars, real working leather ones, not something from that funny shop over in the artsy district. We looked at each other and laughed. "You just KNOW you want to do this in public," she said, giving my leash a little tug. "By the way, the mail's on the desk. There's one that's hand-written. I didn't open it."

We'd already had that discussion along with the explanation of mutual financial situations and the merging of the bank accounts.

"You can open anything that comes to this house, baby. We talked." I picked up the envelope. It was indeed hand-written, in that neat, legible block lettering that I'd seen on more than a few official documents. And on the upper left-hand corner was a label: Harland P. Graves, USA, Retired.

Chapter 22

"Somebody you know?" Jo asked. "I saw the 'USA Retired'."

"My platoon sergeant in Iraq," I said. "Good guy."

"I'll let you read it, baby," she said. She started to turn away.

"Where are you going?"

"Was giving you some room. Privacy."

"I don't need privacy. I need Johanna. This is just part of the past. He's a good guy. Wonder what he's got to say." I opened the envelope. A single printed page was inside.

I read:

Dear Lieutenant Jackson-

I haven't heard from you for years. I talked with some guys from the battalion a while back at one of those off-post bars. You know I retired next to Fort Leonard Wood. I'm double-dipping now. I ran into one of the company commanders. He's a light colonel now. We got to talking and your name came up. He told me that he thought you ended up in Texas, so I started looking.

The Internet is a wonderful thing. I was able to find out where you live. I am going to visit my brother down in Texas in a week or so. If you're interested, I would count myself privileged if I could sit down and talk about the old days.

I also see from what I can find that you're doing well, working. That's good.

I understand if you can't find time for us to meet. Life has a way of intruding. But I would really like to offer. My phone number is xxx-xxx-xxxx. That's a cellphone, of course. If you call me any time before 2200 or after 0600, I'll answer.

Hoping the best for you, Lieutenant Stonewall.

Harland P. Graves

Ex-platoon sergeant

Trainer of engineer lieutenants

"What do you think?" I asked.

"I think you probably want to meet 'im, drink a beer or two. Talk about old times." She pushed me back onto the sofa, knelt beside me. "Platoon sergeant? He's probably Dad's age, then."

"Yeah, pretty much," I said. He was three years from having twenty in when we deployed."

"Thought so. Go ahead. Call 'im. You can go do that."

"Suppose I want you go go with me?"

"Suppose I think I'd do anything you want, but you might be better without little wifey to put a damper on things. Dad was an officer and I heard him say that they were a little more restrained than some of the enlisted men. I don't want to get in the way of you having a good time, letting loose, all that."

"I never was the 'letting loose' type, baby. And I've spent many a long day and night in the presence of Sergeant Graves and he never appeared to be the 'letting loose' type, either."

"Call 'im," Jo said. "It's still early enough."

"You sure?"

Kiss. "I'm sure."

I punched up the number on my iPhone. It rang. Male voice that I could recognize while I was sound asleep in the dark in the middle of a dust storm.

"Sergeant Graves, I presume?"

"ELL-TEE Stonewall! How the hell are you?!?"

"Just greasing the wheels of industry, Sarge," I said. "Yourself?"

"I am fulfilling my life's dream. I'm a civilian instructor in Engineering School. Still tryin' to keep young lieutenants out of trouble." He still had that laugh in his voice. I know that during our service together he'd had to pull deep from within to keep a good attitude. Second lieutenants, even well-meaning ones, can pull some bone-headed stuff.

"So when are you coming down to Texas?"

"Actually, me an' the missus are going to hit town Friday. We're supposed to be in some god-forsaken pimple on the ass of Texas to meet my brother and his bunch Saturday afternoon. The way I see it, that gives us a Friday evening for a civilized meal and a little social time."

"Your missus?"

"Yep. Gracie's still hanging on after thirty years. I've seared her sense of taste."

"I have one of my own now. You bring yours, I'll bring mine."

"Gracie says she remembers you. That's pretty good. I almost don't. How long you been married?"

"A whole week," I said.

"No shit! And you called me from your honeymoon, or what?"

"She's in college and I'm working and the honeymoon's a plan for the future when we both have time. So, wives?"

"Gracie will love it."

I caught a glance at Jo. We were sharing the phone between us. She was smiling. "Okay, then. What're you doing, renting a car when you get here?"

"You got it, Ell Tee. Tell you what. I'm saving this number. We'll call you when we get off the plane."

"Did you ever evolve past the Stone Age, Sarge?" I asked. In the army, he was notoriously computerphobic.

"OH, yeah. I'm emailing and Facebooking and all that crap."

"Gimme an email address. I'll send you my address and stuff."

"Okay. I'll just text it to you."

"Gotcha. You ARE evolved."

"Alrighty," he said. "Ell-Tee. Stoney. I'm looking forward to seeing you again."

"Me too, Sarge. Great hearing from you."

"Bye!" Click.

I looked at Jo. "I met his wife. She was mothering a bunch of the young enlisted guys' wives during the deployment. She's good people, too."

"He sounds okay," Jo said.

"He is. And we can put up with a lot for one night." A buzz told me that I'd gotten a text. I looked. Same number. I opened the text and routed it to my email address.

"Honey," she said. "You put up with the idea of playing your banjo in front of my orchestra..."

"Oh, crap! I forgot about that."

"Don't go blocking things out, Stoney. You and I, we make music together."

"Yes we do. And if Bob says it's good enough that he'll stand in close proximity to my playing, then I'm apt to believe him. After all, I think highly of one of his students."

"Oh, flattery'll get you ... me! Let's go shower..."

An hour later, we were drifting along in the afterglow. "So what did you think of Key's idea for the production?"

"Key has a way with stereotypes," I said.

"Key's been busting me on stereotypes ever since I've known her," Jo said. "She's funny."

"Yes she is," I said. "But did she consider that a lot of people who populate the audience of classical concerts are notoriously humorless? Because laughter is for the vast unwashed? The slime from which they themselves have emerged?"

"Oh, you have this cynical streak, Mister Jackson. Even after reducing your partner to a quivering, squealing mess."

I pulled her against me for a kiss.

"You're draining my cynicism," I said.

She wiggled. "I definitely drained something."

"What lewd talk from such an angelic young girl," I said.

"Hardly lewd, sir. Quite factual. Now turn this way just a little. My head is supposed to be resting right here." 'Right here' was on my chest, and she's right. It's a good place to rest. She found a good place for her hand to rest, too.

The alarm the next morning. Another day. Life goes on. Friday afternoon. My phone rings. I look at the display. Harland.

"Yeah, Sarge," I said.

"We're on the ground. I figure an hour before we're on the road. Gonna go check into the hotel and then head your way."

"Keep me posted," I said. "I'm trying to keep the lights on in Guatemala."

"Okay, El-tee. I wanna hear about that. See you in a bit."

Twenty minutes later the phone rings. Well, if you call Johanna's flute passage a 'ring'. "Out of class, baby," she said.

"I'll be out of here at four-thirty," I replied. "Call you then, baby."

"Have you heard from our visitors?"

"Oh, yeah. They're here in town. Going to their hotel first."

"Gives me time to straighten up the house."

Yeah ... the house is such a mess. I'm starting to see bits of Jo's feminine touch showing up there. Potpourri for a fresh smell. A spray of flowers from a nearby roadside vendor. The curtains over the kitchen window actually pulled back the way they're supposed to be. I mean, I was neat and clean, just not as aesthetically motivated as Jo. Coming home a couple of days a week to a meal I didn't cook myself was nice, too.

"You don't have to cook, baby," I told her the first time it happened.

"Go on, Stoney. It's not like I slaved over a hot stove all day. That's a broiled fish filet and vegetable and some simple pilaf. Don't you like us sitting here in our house sharing a quiet meal sometimes?"

"Yes, I do, dearest," I said. "But I didn't marry you so you'd keep house for me."

The corners of those blue eyes collected tiny lines as she smiled. "Oh, I know ALL the reasons you married me, buddy. Thought I'd toss this in as a perk."

-

"Okay, princess," I said. "I'll be there as soon as I can. I love you."

"Love you too, bud! Bye!"

"I love you," came Brad's voice in falsetto.

"Jealousy cheapens our friendship," I said.

He laughed. "And your dedication level has diminished, too."

"As long as I can meet your high standard."

"I'll cut you some slack, being a newlywed and all that," he laughed.

We went back to work. At four-fifteen I shut my work-station down and started cleaning up my space.

"What's your plans for the weekend?" Brad asked, sticking his head in the door.

"Meeting an old army buddy and his wife for dinner. Probably do the boat tomorrow. You?"

"Kids to the zoo. Weather's cool enough for it to be fun again."

"I heard that," I said. Summer was hot and miserably humid here. "I hope you have fun."

"Oh, I'm sure I will," Brad said. Brad's the proverbial 'good dad', married to the mother of his children, all Little League and dance recitals, parks and zoos and museums. I knew this and I knew Brad's dry wit and how he always sounded so put upon over having a schedule filled with wife and kids. "If you're around Sunday afternoon, why don't you and your wife come over for dinner? Heather can try a recipe out on you."

"Let me get back with you when I talk to Jo, but it sounds good."

"I'll tell'er to get a chunk of meat this evening. If you don't show up, we'll have leftovers. Not that that's a bad thing." He grinned, patting his belly.

I'd eaten at Brad and Heather's. Her cooking left no reason for disappointment.

I retrieved my USB drive from my workstation. That's all my working files. Not only are they on the company server, but I have copies on the workstation hard drive and this little USB stick. A fire two years ago in the server room wiped out a lot of work. Mine wasn't part of it. Little building blocks of work and life, that's what that drive was, just another little block. I hurried out the door with the Friday crowd. I had a life that included another person.

I sat in my car, buckled the seatbelt, stuck my Bluetooth earpiece in and said, "Call Johanna."

"Calling Johanna mobile," Siri answered.

Two rings. "Hi, baby!"

"Hi, cutie," I said. "I'm oozing out of the parking garage right now."

"Good! Can't wait!"

"Me neither." Inside I was running the possibilities, though. I hadn't seen Harland Graves since that bad day. I had the one letter from him, a few emails while I was in the hospital. Now he was back, like a pipeline back to that day. Things were getting better since Jo was with me. Yes, I still had episodes, three in the last week, but instead of just letting them control me, getting up, staying awake, a soft hand, soft words, and I have been able to back down from the images in my mind. I was hoping that seeing and talking with Harland, Sergeant Graves, wasn't going to start those back the way that they were, pre-Johanna.

That was MY problem, though. Sergeant Harland Graves was a consummate soldier, taking time to keep this young lieutenant between the lines while I learned my trade. His offer of friendship and social interaction was rightly to be met by my best side. Sometimes it's not supposed to be about me.

I got home, headed straight into Jo's arms. "I need a shower."

Her hand brushed my cheek. "And a shave. Quick!"

I was towelling off when the phone rang. ""Lo there, El-Tee," Harland said. "You sure it's okay for us just to drop into your house? I mean, I could be one of those homeless vets you always see in the news."

"Look, Sarge," I said. "If you were homeless, you'd be holding morning formation under a bridge somewhere, then putting the rest of 'em to work."

"Oh, I see you still have SOME of the attitude. According to the GPS, we're half an hour out."

"That's kind of iffy. The GPS ain't too good at reading traffic."

"Well, we're on the way. Don't leave without us."

"Sarge, despite being married a whole week, I wouldn't think of missing you." It's a good thing we disconnected when we did, because my image would've been shattered with the squeal I emitted when fingers grasped my scrotum from behind.

"You're gonna kill me one day," I laughed.

"Nope. Just gonna shake you up a little bit. Now, brush my hair."

"Lemme shave while my face is wet."

"Oh, okay," she sighed. We were still working out our routine.

In a few minutes I was brushing and when I achieved the requisite sleek perfection, I kissed the top of her head. "You know, you need to start covering yourself when I do this."

"Why?" she asked, turning around. The reason was readily apparent. She gave it a squeeze. Giggled. I'd say that melted me completely, that giggle, but one part seemed to get even harder. Another giggle. She KNOWS! "Save this for later."

We were fully dressed and listening to somebody else's version of that Mozart piece when the doorbell rang. I opened it.

"Dammit, El-tee," Harland said. "I don't know whether to salute or shake hand or Hell!..." He hugged me. "You look pretty darned good compared to the last time I saw you!" He let me loose and turned to the smiling round-faced woman standing behind him. "I dunno if you remember Gracey."

"Hi, Mizz Gracey," I said. "Apparently putting up with him keeps you young!"

"Stoney, I'm pleased to see you again, but I'm more interested in meeting your wife," she smiled.

"See," Harland said. "She maintains priorities. Go ahead."

"Folks, this is my wife, Johanna. Jo, this is Harland Graves and his wife Gracie."

"I'm pleased to meet you both," Jo said graciously. "Welcome to our home. Would you like to sit for a bit?"

"Lovely," Gracie said. "Beautiful place you have here."

"I'm working on it," Jo said. "Stoney's a guy. What does he know?"

"Who chose that painting?"

"I chose it. Pinkie, by Thomas Lawrence. It was here before I met Jo. Now it's eclipsed."

"Stopittttt!" Jo squealed. You're making me blush!"

"They're cute, baby," Gracie said to Harland.

"I'm trying to give the place a little bit more 'home' and a little less 'dorm' feel," Jo said. "But I was impressed the first time I saw the painting."

Gracie and Jo scooted together and Harland and I did a little catching up. Finally the conversation turned around to food. "Man, you think you could find a good Mexican restaurant around here?"

"In Texas?"I laughed. "That's asking a lot."

We filed out, took two separate cars. Ended up in the proper parking lot. Dinner was great. "Love these margaritas," Harland said.

"Just two, dear," Gracie prodded.

"Oh, I know, love."

"You too," Jo said. "I'm only having the one."

"Jo, dear, I need to go to the ladies' room," Gracie said.

"Let's go," Jo said, rising.

The two worked their way through the crowded restaurant. Harland looked at me. "So how are things going? Have you had issues?"

"I got out with 40% disability," I said. "I ring metal detectors. It acts up if I stand or walk too long. But I get by. The scars don't frighten Jo."

He surveyed my eyes. "Other things? Wake up at night?"

"How'd you know?"

"Guessed."

"Trouble is," I said, "that I talked with Jo and Jo's dad ... did I tell you he was on the division staff while we were there? He was. He processed some of the paperwork after that mess."

"You shoulda got a Distinguished Service Cross, Stoney. If it'd been Fallujah, you would've. We were supposed to be pacified. What did her dad say?"

"There is a difference between PTSD and guilt. Those VA (auth note: Veterans Administration) hacks never asked, discussed, analyzed. 'Sign the sheet. Let's talk. See you next month'. Jo started looking into it at her dad's suggestion. She thinks it's not PTSD. Not in the strictest definition."

"You know, Lieutenant Stonewall Jackson, you don't have anything to feel guilt over."

Jo and Gracie had returned. They saw expressions. I think that Jo reads me like we've been together since her birth. Gracie's got a couple of decades of Harland. Jo's hand touched my arm.

"I said that," Jo said softly. "I read the official reports."

"Lieutenant Jackson. My friend Stoney. There's stuff that didn't make it into that report. One of the reasons I wanted to make sure I got to see you is to give you back your knife."

"My knife?"

"Yeah, you know how you strapped that K-Bar (auth note: a Bowie-style fighting/utility knife) on your thigh. I actually saw you use it once to open a case of MRE's. I've got that knife. Didn't get the sheath, but the knife, they thought it was mine after that scrap."

"I dropped it?"

"No. You didn't drop it. You dropped out from under it when you went down the second time."

"I only remember blacking out the one time."

"Yeah, I saw that. Thought you were done for. That guy came running up with that long knife, hollering 'Allah Akbar' like he was gonna take some heads. You managed to put a burst in his chest."

"That's the last thing I remember."

"You missed a bunch if that's all you remember. You tried to stand. You had blood runnin' down the left side of your face. Your arm was dangling crazy. Your shirt was torn and you were covered in blood and your left leg buckled."

Jo's eyes were wide. She was silent.

Harland continued. "I thought, 'that's it. He's down now, ' but you started crawling back along the road. You checked the guys at the middle hummer. They didn't make it. You started towards me and Rainer. Crawling, dragging your rifle with your right hand. I don't know how you did it, but when you got to me, I was messed up, and you looked at me and dammit, you said, 'I fucked up, Sarge. Fucked up." He took a breath. "You sort of sagged. I could hear footsteps. One of 'em was coming down the line. I could hear the rapid reaction force coming, and here was this dude getting ready to make sure we were done up

"Gosh, Stoney right when he bent over, you pulled that stupid knife, pushed up on your last leg, and stuck 'im. Ripped him from groin to ribcage. That's when you passed out again."

"That didn't make the official report," Jo said. "I have a copy."

"Of course it didn't." He addressed Jo. "They were pumpin' me full of shit and medevaking me and Stoney off. I did the best I could to get him a Medal of Honor, but live guys weren't getting those either. Anyway, Stoney, you know how they sanitize those commendations. They couldn't come right out and say he saved his platoon sergeant's life by gutting a jihadi with a K-Bar, could they?"

"I suppose not. I don't remember any of that second part."

"I do, Stoney. Three of us are alive because you didn't give up."

"I should have seen it coming."

"Shit, El-Tee!" he spat, lapsing into a tone I remembered too many times, " we were playing against their varsity there. I talked to the captain. The guy who was leading that cell was a veteran of their war with Iran and Gulf War I. No dumbass. And we still beat 'em. One of 'em made it for interrogation. And it wasn't the guy who kept your knife."

"Gosh, Stoney..." Jo said.

"I'm sorry, Jo. I guess most wives have no idea of what their husbands did in the war. Yours is a hero."

"I know," Jo said softly. Her fingers stroked my arm.

"Lieutenant Jackson. My friend. You got NOTHING to be guilty about. If you hadn't done the things you did, I wouldn't be having this conversation tonight."

I looked at Gracie.

"I've heard the story, Stoney. I sort of encouraged him to tell you. I think it's good for both of you."

I sat back. "Gee, Sarge. Good thing you weren't an asshole."

"I tried, El-Tee," he said. "And after I got out of the hospital, your replacement was no Stonewall Jackson. Nice kid. Didn't have a K-Bar, though."

"Harland. Sarge. I appreciate you telling me all this."

"I think I owed that much to you, Stonewall."

The waiter sort of broke the moment by asking about refills on the margaritas (refused) and dessert (pastel de tres leches, por favor) and we lightened things up.

"So this Guatemala project, do you actually have to go to Guatemala?" he asked.

"Not if I can help it," I said. "I'm sort of burnt out on the Third World, you know."

We parted ways in the parking lot later, promising that if there was a reunion, Jo and I would show up. If not, then we knew where each other lived and our paths would cross again.

I turned a handshake into a man-hug and got a hug from Gracie, and Jo got two hugs and we got in our car. Jo leaned across and tugged me into kissing range. She was holding my knife. It was wrapped in a white towel.

"Stoney, I knew you were a hero before. You just had a guy explain exactly how you saved his life. And you didn't know you did it."

"Jo, He was one of MY men. They were ALL my men."

"You saved three of them. And it's almost ten years ago. And I'm here and I don't care if you scream in the night, I will be here with you. Every night."

We got home. I felt somber. Jo could tell.

"Stoney, my love, those were nice people. I'm serious, we need to make a trip to Missouri to visit them. It's a destination."

"I love you, Johanna," I said. "I so much love you."

She wrapped me up. "My Stoney. Wait here."

I sat. I heard the clicks associated with her flute case, then the strains of Edvard Greig's Morning Mood. Then the pace picked up as she lilted through things that spoke to my heart.

She smiled shyly. "We're together. Us. I'm here for you. Just like you were there for your guys."

"Okay, baby. You're right."

"I was worried about tonight, too, you know. Dad says that sometimes things trigger other things. Stoney, the guy owes his life to you. And you saved 'im in a dramatic fashion. Not one of those 'applied a tourniquet' things, either."

"Okay, baby."

"Let's wash up. Get ready for bed, okay?"

"Okay."

The cool washcloth refreshed my mind a bit. I turned to her, brushed her hair away from her cheek, bent over and kissed her. Life came back, along with her smile.

"Come on. After we're with nice people, I need snuggling."

I tossed the covers back, baring the bed for us, and we slid in together. She didn't turn off the bedside lamp, meaning I had a close view of the eyes and the freckles and the red hair. Got a kiss on the nose.

"Nice, but not sufficient," I said.

"If I give you much more than that, I might expect something in return."

"I belong to you, dearest."

Some breathless time later, we drifted into sleep.

And I slept all night.

Chapter 23

Johanna's turn:

Glorious Saturday morning, drifting along with the light pushing its way through the little gap in the drapes. I hear soft, regular breathing next to me, calming, protecting. That would be my husband. He's sleeping. He's slept all night and I get the best feeling about that. We've been sleeping together two weeks. Married, that is, 'officially' with the public ceremony and a marriage license, for a week today.

In that two weeks, he's wakened in the middle of the night eight times that I know about. I know about it because he sits straight up, his body clammy with sweat. I also know that on the other nights, he's gone through restless spells, his legs working, twisting. I wake up. If he's sitting, I gently touch this man that I love, this man who adores me, and I speak softly to him and help him come back.

Last night, nothing. No sitting. No running. No twisting.

This morning I awake fully rested and I feel inside that my Stoney is rested as well. I felt as much as saw him move away from me, then a big shift and he was on his side facing me, putting his arm around me, pulling me to the place where I was meant to be: In his care.

I closed my eyes, breathed deeply though my nose, catching the manly scent that I'd bought for him just last week, and drifted back to a lazy Saturday morning slumber. A little while later I felt him stir, then felt a soft kiss and heard "My beautiful, beautiful Johanna Elise."

"My Stoney, my husband," I answered, and returned the kiss, softly at first, then reading him, the kiss became hotter, more wanting.

"Don't move," he said. "I gotta..." and he jumped out of bed. I know where he's heading and I went to the half-bath up the hall for my own relief.

"You're not the only one with a bladder, love," I said. "And when you're finished, back to bed!"

"Yes, ma'am," he said with a chuckle.

No sense in just jumping up and wasting a perfectly good Saturday morning. Living twenty-one years, the last three in college, I'd heard a lot about the nuts and bolts of sexuality. Now I had my own laboratory and practical exercises. It's wild! I can play and get played with, and there's no hurry and no worry and...

Between being sexually satiated (for the time being) and starting to miss breakfast, we got dressed.

"Destination," I said, "Just in case you forget."

"Boat," Stoney said.

"You didn't forget."

"'Course not! Let's throw some stuff together," he said.

We loaded up a bag for the day trip, headed out, grabbed a drive-thru breakfast on the road. And in an hour, we were unloading things onto the dock. Thirty minutes later we were under way, me at the helm, weaving out of the marina, Stoney uncovering the sail and stowing docklines under a beautiful autumn sky. The winds even cooperated so that as soon as we cleared the channel into the bay, the sail went up and the engine went off. Only sailors know the peace of that moment. With the wind abaft the port beam, we heeled little and it was just about as tranquil as one can be under sail.

"You slept all night," I said. "Didn't you." It was a statement, not a question.

"I did. I feel rested."

"Talking with Harland, listening to Harland, I think it helped," I said. "You've been facing this on your own. You didn't know everything..."

"Apparently not."

"Stoney, most wives have no idea..." I know this because Dad told me. All his 'war stories' were funny stuff about staff meetings and politics in the ranks and stuff like that.

"It's not exactly the subject of polite conversation."

"I'm your wife. Everything that has ever happened to us is fair game. If I can't share it with you, who do I go look for?"

"You still have your mom and dad," I said.

"Uh-huh. And friends like Key. But since a week ago, those are all second tier. You're it, guy. Better or worse and all that."

"Okay. And you're so far above the best friend I've had in a decade..."

"What about Brad?"

"Brad's a great guy. He was recruited right out of college and had been a staff engineer ever since. The biggest trauma he's ever experienced was a wino running a light one night and T-boning his car. He was by himself and it hit on the passenger side. Or maybe the birth of his first kid. He said life changed as he knew it..."

I giggled. Mom and Dad said the same thing.

Stoney kept talking. "You. You're off the screen. College girl. But I dunno, you seem like you've got it going on. Maybe because your Dad took the time to tell you things."

"And Mom," I said. "Mom sat me down and told me the things that worried Dad. Of course, it was with the warning that I not approach Dad about those questions. They were between me and her."

"You make me feel secure."

"You should feel secure, Stoney. I love you. You love me. Secure."

He smiled. "Yeah, but about that incident..."

"You were there how long before that happened?"

"Six months, give or take."

"You weren't one of those, what's Dad call them? 'Rimffs'?"

"REMF," I said. "Stands for..."

"I know what it stands for," I said. (Auth. Note: Rear Echelon Mother Fucker) "You weren't in the rear with the gear."

He laughed. "Your dad told you about those things?"

I laughed. I remember good poetry. "He had other terms. Said that was something that bothered him after he made major and couldn't justify going out on operations."

"That would be like taking all the music courses and never getting a chance to pick up an instrument."

"Sort of, I guess," I said. "But people don't assault the flute-player." He grabbed my butt and squeezed. I squealed. "Not THAT kind of assault, beast!"

A puff of wind made the stern squat and the wake took on a louder, musical note.

"You wrinkle your nose like that one more time and I will show you an assault."

"Wrinkle my nose?"

"Yes," he said. "It's this terribly charming thing that you do. Irresistible."

I smiled.

"See! You're doing it again!"

"Autopilot!" I hissed. "Turn it on!" Yes, he had one. And I was perfectly sure that it would keep us pointed in the direction we needed to go. Poor dear had all sort of difficulties turning the autopilot on and engaging its clutch, what with some horrible aroused female fondling his dick.

The autopilot was making little 'weenk!' sounds as it maintained course and I was assaulted by Stoney and assaulted him right back, ending up getting myself taken from behind, a concession to a just a little too brisk west wind that made nudity, or even half nudity, a bad idea.

So okay, we scratched that itch. Five minutes, I think. I wonder if anybody else gets that worked up over their guy. Something's there with Stoney. I'm like the lock and he's the key. All my tumblers just line up.

With our pants pulled back up (and this squishy feeling in mine. Oh, well, in a bit I'll go find something to sop up the mess) we snuggled back together. The autopilot was still making 'weenk!' noises as it held our course.

"We can't do that in the summertime," he said.

"Why not?"

"Because we'll get arrested for public lewdness."

"Not if you have that pair of baggy trunks and I have this bikini. And I can sit on your lap..."

Breath hissed when he sucked it in. That's another thing to know and love. One of these days I'll try to explain to him that I see all this. Or maybe not.

I cuddled into his side, letting him wrap an arm around me.

"Stoney?"

"Yes, little dove?"

"Knife. I knew about the gun in that battle. But a knife?"

"Dunno, darlin', he said. "Gun was probably empty. Can't do a mag change with only one arm. All I had, I guess."

"Stonewall Jackson, you weren't even conscious, and your last move was to protect your men. You know, the guy that was there with you, HE thinks you're a hero. So does my dad. And my dad's daughter."

"Okay," he said. "Thank you. You still love me?"

"Only forever," I said. "We're far enough out to head south and anchor, aren't we?"

"Yes we are," Stoney said. He reached over and punched a course change into the autopilot and then said "Hang on! We're gonna jibe!" as he hauled the mainsheet in. He had the boom almost amidships when the wind passed across our stern and he eased the sheet out putting us running before the wind.

That had the effect of almost killing the apparent wind in the cockpit. I went below and retrieved my flute.

"I wasn't going to ask," Stoney said.

"You don't have to ask," I said. "You will have to put up with a week of piccolo, though. I gotta nail that feature for Stars and Stripes Forever for Saturday.

"Week's enough time?" he asked.

"Look, bub," I said. "You can keep the lights on in Guatemala. That's what YOU do. I can do a piccolo piece. That's what I do." I giggled. "Did it before. Haven't forgotten."

"Put your flute down. Let's anchor and then we can both play." He kicked the autopilot off and rounded us up into the wind. I held the nose there while the sails came down and the anchor was set. Soon we were swinging with the boat's bow in the wind and banjo and flute were wafting over the waves, not that there were any others around to hear.

While we're sitting here playing, I look at Stoney. He's concentrating on the fingering of a passage where he's pushed his banjo into a harp sequence and I have a thought. We've done this to each other: taken something that was happy in one place and moved it into something totally different and equally beautiful. His solo wrapped up and I joined him, flute at my lips, for the duet. That's us. Two solos. One beautiful duet.

Cool, almost chilly, breeze out of the northwest, crystal clear day. The wind in the rigging, gentle rocking of the boat, and music with the guy I love.

When we stopped, he smiled for me. "Jo, that's a bigger than normal smile."

"Because I have a bigger than normal happiness, Stoney," I said. "Been a whole week. Still glad you married me?"

"Actually it's been two since we howled at the moon together. And I dwell in ecstasy."

"Good!" I said. "Some of my classmates question my sanity."

"I would guess, marryin' that old scar-faced guy."

"Yeah. And I point out that you're employed and stable and love me to pieces and you're hung like a horse. Like being married to a jackhammer that can lick his own eyebrows."

"You didn't!" he said.

"No, but only because then some of those skanky little bitches would hunt you down to look at your crotch."

"You're talking about your fellow students."

"Look, baby, a skanky bitch is a skanky bitch. I know some that're doing several guys a week."

"I never could figure out that lifestyle," he said.

"Nor I."

"I'm glad, baby. I've dodged a few of the other kind."

"Keep dodging, Stoney. I'm selfish. I want you all to myself."

"You've got me," he said. I picked up my flute.

"Let's try it one more time." We played through the piece, then went below to put the instruments away.

Stoney's turn:

I found myself pushed forward into the main cabin. I didn't fight that very hard. I appreciate Jo's enthusiasm. I said so.

Giggle. "I sense that you're pretty enthusiastic yourself, sir."

"Why, yes, young lady! I do believe I am!"

And off we went again. In the aftermath, she nestled into my side, dragging the covers over our bodies.

"Princess," I said, "just so you know, if I die while we're making love, just have me cremated."

"Huh?"

"You'd have to pay the funeral people extra to get the smile off my face," I said.

"Baby! That's horrible."

"Compared to you, the whole world is horrible."

"You're my wonderful, happy Stoney," she smiled. "You know, baby, we have stuff on the boat. We don't have to go back in tonight."

"Don't tempt me."

Her lips softly tracing the line between my cheek and jaw was all the temptation I needed. "You're not going to be bored out here?"

"Stonewall Jackson," she sighed, punctuating her words with kisses, "I'm not one of those kids that has to be connected and in a crowd to survive. You. Me. Music. Either we make it ourselves or we plug an iPod in, but the weather's supposed to hold until tomorrow afternoon, so let's spend the night. And when it gets dark turn on the anchor lamp and then me and you, naked, in the cockpit."

I parsed that statement. Two weeks ago this girl was a virgin. Self-assured, though, if memory serves. Different. Now she was taking charge of our lives. This schedule change was evidence. Okay, choice here, Stoney. Fight it. Disagree. Or realize that you signed on with this and just go with it. I looked at the blue eyes, the hair swirled across her face, the smile.

"I love it when you have a plan, redhead," I said.

"Good!" she said. "Now lay back so I can cuddle you."

"I will consider myself cuddled," I said.

"Light's dim. You can't see my freckles."

"I adore your freckles," I said. "Every one of them. I want to kiss each one. We've had this talk."

"We've had the talk where I think you're strange and I love you for it."

Johanna's Turn:

I'm liking this boat. OUR boat. Makes a nice, cozy nest. Two people can do a lot worse than have a nest like this. Right now we're curled up in the berth together, the boat is rocking almost imperceptibly and I'm glowing. In two places the glow is a bit brighter, more intense. One is my pussy, still tingling from the recent mating. The second place is in my head, because I'm here and I have my head on Stoney's chest and I can hear his heartbeat and feel his breathing. His cheek rests on the top of my head and he loves me.

Okay, I know that such a thought borders on the 'silly love-struck girl' thing, but it's about time I got love-struck and to be honest, I congratulate myself on my choice. The guy's a Renaissance Man. Warrior. Okay, make that a reluctant warrior. Engineer. Musician. Okay, that part's kind of reluctant, too. I find his avoidance of self-promotion to be an endearing trait. He's not fake. He's not a poser. He's not trying to 'find his niche'. He just IS.

I feel his lips as he kisses the top of my head lightly. That is adoration, there. Every little girl wants to be adored. The smart ones know that they need to have somebody to adore in return. Mom told me many times that marriage isn't a fifty-fifty thing, that if both participants aren't in it a hundred percent, for the other person, then it's destined to fail. I saw my own dad weather a drive of way too many miles to get home to be with Mom and me for something that a lot of other dads just shrugged off as "I can't be there for everything". And there was Dad front and center, for my flute recital, and I could tell by the way that he grabbed Mom's hand in the middle of it, I was seeing a hundred percent.

I owe that to Stoney. For both of us.

Okay, I allow us a reverie. A satiated, soft, reverie. Finally he stirred, I knew he was awake. His breathing changed.

"Hello, Love," I said.

"Hello, my nymph," he replied. "We might want to consider a meal."

"You ARE the meal," I giggled softly.

"Then perhaps we need an appetizer," he replied.

"Just one more good cuddle," I countered, squeezing up against him like I was trying to fuse our bodies together.

He moaned. I can get to this guy. That's nice to know, but it's a power that should be used sparingly. I extracted another good kiss and then eased myself out of the berth, still clad from waist up. Well, almost. I did the 'bra-less' thing today and my sweatshirt was up around my armpits. Note to self: Next time, just shed the darned thing. It doesn't take long getting it off or on, and I know how Stoney is about what I used to think were horribly inadequate breasts.

He's out of bed, still wearing his own sweatshirt, no bottoms, that THING just sort of half-hard, looking like quite the toy to play with, you know. Temptation! "Uh, Stoney, if you walk around with that thing showing, we're gonna be back in bed."

"Your choice," he said. "We can live on love for a day or two."

"Hmmm," I said. "As much as I enjoy eating that thing, it's horribly low on nutritive content. Put some pants on. Let's see what we can scare up for dinner."

Canned chicken, some broth, some noodles, some dried onion, and a dip into the spice stash in the galley and we had a thick noodle soup going. The savory aroma soon had me salivating. That was easily fixed, though. We had big soup mugs filled and sat in the cabin eating, sipping soft drinks.

"We can have hot chocolate later," I said. "I saw the stuff in the locker."

"We can do that," he said. "I guess that instant stuff is still good."

"The packages are still flexible," I said. "If they go bad, they get stiff and hard." I giggled. "That's BAD for instant chocolate."

He looked at me and smiled. He likes it. I'm playing a little game with him, though. "I'm not, like, over-sexed, am I Stoney? I mean, I want you again."

"Baby," he answered, " No, you're not over-sexed. I want you at least as much. But I didn't want you to think I married you for just sex."

"Uh, that never crossed my mind, guy. If you just wanted sex, you could've gotten that from other avenues." I knew, at least I had thought I knew, and had no indication otherwise, that Stoney liked talking and playing music and running the roads going places with me, and before we decided to be married, he'd never tried anything more than kissing and caressing, and on the caressing, I led the way into that. And controlled the limits, too.

"And I don't want lots of sex, Stoney. I want lots of love. Including the physical kind." That's me. I didn't know it would be me. Wasn't sure. I know a lot. I listen to my friends and other girls and I know that there's a range of enjoyment to sex. I know one or two who REALLY enjoy it. A bunch that are 'meh... ' and some who actually don't like it. A lot of the second and third groups still do it in varying amounts because they think that sex is what it takes to keep a boyfriend around.

I'm a bit analytical here. I determined that I could keep the boyfriend around first, without sex. So I married 'im. Figured that I'd do my very best if I found out I was in that second or third group. And I am very happy to find out I'm in the first and even happier that this guy has been taking me traipsing among the stars when it comes to making love. So when I see him smiling and the location is halfway fitting, I can wrap him around my little finger with just a smile. I'm all of Stoney's fetishes, he tells me. I didn't know I had fetishes. He's mine.

So we finished clean-up after dinner, wiping out the mugs carefully, sluicing them with boiling water, putting them away, cleaning the pot and the flatware. And I grabbed him by his belt and tugged in the direction of the main cabin.

He takes a hint really well.

"When It gets dark, we move this to the cockpit," I said. Games. We played them.

"I guess we're doing what every honeymooning couple ever wanted to do," he said. "I always dreamed about it like this. Well, maybe not on this ol' boat."

"I can't think of a better place," I said. "And yes, it is in installments. We go to work and school like normal people, then we get on our boat, and it's..." I couldn't help but giggle as I slid down his body. I can stop him in mid-breath. And I like it. I like it all.

Later, when he set the anchor light, we looked around. There were no other boats visible in the waning evening light. The air was cool. Not too cool for nudity to be unpleasant, not as long as you knew that down below was a bed waiting with a set of warm covers and an equally warm body to generate heat.

So we're in the cockpit and since the full moon was right around our real wedding night on a Friday night two weeks ago, this time there's no moon, just a billion stars. And me and my Stoney. The only clothing between the two of us are our wedding bands. We climb out of the cockpit onto the cabin roof, standing naked in the starlight, kissing. There's a primal part of me that cries out for this. This is good. I have a list. I can check off the one for the boat. Now how do I get Stoney naked under the skies in a meadow. And in a forest glen. And how does he know what I'm thinking?

"I need you, Johanna. I need to worship you under the stars with the primeval forest around us."

My heart flutters. It really does. "Did I say something out loud, Stoney? About forests?"

"No, my goddess. You belong in the green forest, your white skin, your red hair. You're the stuff of fable and legend and myth."

"You're my warrior bard, Stoney." If this is what it takes to carry me away, then consider me carried. I led him by the hand towards the cockpit, where a folded towel would mute the cool fiberglass on his butt. He sat. Leaned back. I straddled, impaled myself.

He held me and loved me and kept me in his arms, weeping, after we came together, until the chill started creeping into us. We picked up our towel, soggy spot and all, and went below. Stoney lit the cabin heater to help with the encroaching chill of the evening. After the time out of the cabin, the little cabin light seemed bright.

"Now what was that about forests, little goddess?" he asked.

"Stoney, sometimes we're scary together," I sighed. "We were naked under the stars and I was thinking that this was one of the places I wanted to be naked with you. The other two are a meadow and a forest glen. And that's when you made the 'forest' comment."

"I had no idea. Just seemed to be the words to say."

"You meant it," I said, fixing his eyes with mine.

"Absolutely. Of course we might end up in jail if we get caught."

"A risk I would take. I dunno, Stoney. You bring out something primal in me."

Chapter 24

Johanna:

Yes, it's primal. The urge to mate. Sociologists talk about it. Religions talk about it. Poets talk about it. It gets couched in various cloaks: love, duty, morality. But it's never right until two people decide it's right for them. And I'm thinking this in the dim light of the sun streaming into the cabin through the portholes. I hear the sound of waves slapping the hull and the whistle of the wind on the mast and the rigging.

And the breathing of this guy next to me. Sometime during the night we ended up butt to butt. That's okay as long as he's where he's supposed to be. But now I'm awake and I roll over very carefully, trying not to disturb him. I spoon up behind him and wiggle into close contact. My arm has to go over him.

His breathing changes, his hand takes mine, holds it into his chest, securing me. My nose is at the nape of his neck. I breathe deeply and secure, I drift off in sweet slumber again.

The next time I woke up, it was from the motion of him turning over to kiss me.

"Good morning, wild child," he said.

"Good morning, man who makes me wild." I need to clear my head. He makes me crazy. I'm trying to think of any other occasion in my whole life where I would have counted it a good idea to stand naked, especially naked with a man, outdoors. Now I was plotting the reprise to last night. This is Texas. A field of bluebonnets next spring would serve the meadow scene quite nicely. And we're not far from forests in any of several directions. Stoney's girl has some plotting to do.

"Coffee?" he said. "After I..."

"Hurry. I'm right behind you."

"You take the head," he said. "I can go over the rail."

"Gotcha," I said. I felt the blast of cool air as he exited the cabin. I noted that he did a quick scan before leaving the cabin, making sure that he wasn't going to expose himself to nearby boats. On a November morning, there are few boats, none we can see.

He's back down in the cabin and cockpit hatch is closed and we have the water on the galley stove for coffee. The other burner is holding a neat toaster for toaster pastries. That's breakfast. We're in no hurry to get back. No hurry at all. I do note that my guy has a day-old beard now. Definitely scratchy. We need to be careful or I'm going to walk funny tomorrow. I mention that.

"We have other options..." he starts.

I shake my head violently. "But I really enjoy that," I said. "You just need to be careful."

"That's kind of subtle for a hint, Jo-baby."

I giggled. "Who said anything about 'subtle'."

"Grrrrr," he growled, pushing me from the main saloon into the forward cabin. We started out laughing. It got serious when his head descended past my navel. I squealed. I laughed. I hissed. I shuddered. First one. Second one, I passed out. Just entirely too much. I woke up in Stoney's arms, his little kisses on my face.

"One for each freckle," he said. "Each, perfect, whimsical, delightful bit of facial punctuation."

I'm melting. At least part of me. He told me early on, "Just so you know, sweetness, if it's hard, then I am more than willing to make love with you. You don't have to analyze or calculate. If I'm hard, I want you."

We put that criterion to the test until noon. Aside from the fact that we both have commitments and that the boat has a minimal level of food stored, I'd easily be swayed to staying on it for weeks. What else do we need? We have each other. Music, either make our own, or dip into the selections on two iPods. Fuel? Full tank. Hundred gallons. A thousand miles under engine power. Or if the sail's up, the mileage gets really good. We can run the engine to keep batteries charged. Fresh water? Hundred and fifty gallons, plus a few cases of bottled water for drinking.

"Don't make me dream that dream, little one," Stoney said. "We could do the circle of the Caribbean. Once we decide, we don't have but a few places where we'd really need to be out of sight of land for more than a day if that's what we wanted."

"Make me dream with you, Stoney. You didn't buy this boat to keep it in the bay."

"We'd kill the winter," he said. "You don't want to be in the Caribbean from May to November. Hurricane season. And as lovely as she is, this is not a blue-water boat unless you're very careful about your choice of routes."

"Well, we're keeping this boat," I said. "Not many people get to own their honeymoon cottage. We do."

"We'll keep 'er until you tell me to get something else, sweetness," he said. A few more kisses. "It's cool enough for long sleeves, baby. And If we pull the hook up now, we can have a late lunch onshore."

"Oooo-kay," I said. "We need to be responsible, I guess."

"Yes we do," he said. "You have a piccolo to play with and I have a power grid to poke around."

"I guess," I said. In my head I was thinking 'What magic has this man worked upon me?' because I was ever the sane one of any group in which I claimed membership. Now I was considering turning my brand new husband into a sailing bum. Johanna Elise, what manner of witchcraft has been wrought upon you?

Togs for the day for the two of us were jeans, boat shoes, sweatshirts and a couple of boonie hats, mine because a little suntan on my Nordic-Irish skin and I'd be buried under a pile of prominent freckles and Stoney's because Stoney's got a bit of sense about sunburn.

"My turn to weigh anchor," I told him.

"You sure? I can get it. You handle the engine and the helm pretty well."

"My boat, Stoney. I need to be able to do it all."

"You're more than adequate as First Mate," he snarked.

"First Mate. And better be ONLY mate, buddy. Lest they find your floating carcass covered with fat, juicy crabs."

I got the anchor stowed, sluiced my hands free of sticky mud with a stream of water from the washdown pump as Stoney motored us slowly homeward.

"Let me try to get us under sail," I said.

"Your boat, Jo," he said.

It is. And I paid attention when he performed those tasks, so I repeated the actions, soon had what looked like an acre of dacron up and filled with wind. He killed the little diesel and folded his arms. "Set the sail. Choose the course. I'm here at your command." And he crossed his arms.

Okay, if Stoney can single-hand this thing, Jo can do it, too. I remember Dad telling me about the wind and sails and how giving up a few points into the wind could be made up in speed, and the wake was making happy burbling noises as we cut through the short chop of the bay. I took one more tug on the mainsheet winch and relaxed into the cockpit beside Stoney. "Well?"

"I should have expected no less," he said. "Perfect." He paused. "The boat, too."

Sadly, on a return trip, there's a time where the sail must come down. I demanded that Stoney let me handle that task as well, and we motored into the channel and worked our way into the marina. Gary was fueling a good-sized powerboat, a cruiser, when we turned into the marina. He waved. We waved back.

"Are you still being hard-headed? You gonna moor us?" Stoney asked.

"Just be ready in case I screw up," I said. "It's one thing in open water. Here..." I could just see us crunching into a piling, or worse, another boat. Okay, he helped a little.

We secured the boat, started piling bags on the dock, my overnighter and his, the bags of garbage from the trip, a bag of laundry including some sticky towels. And I heard the geese.

"Here come my buddies," I said. Geese like Cheetos. And flute music.

Gary was standing at the head of the finger dock with his arms crossed, smiling. "I'm glad you married 'im, Jo," he said. "I'm starting to get spoilt to these little concerts, you know."

"I'm happy to provide them," I said. I giggled about my two-goose orchestral backup. "And I give the geese an artistic purpose in life." I played a little more and then stowed the flute. Stoney and I chatted with Gary for a bit, loaded up, and headed home, with a side stop for that late lunch. At home, we started the laundry and I opened up the piccolo case and set up my sheet music.

Stoney's head came out of the laundry room. "You have done this before," he said.

"Every year, Memorial Day, Independence Day and Veterans' Day for the past several years," I said. "You do know that the Saturday concert isn't just our chamber orchestra? It's the whole band."

"Really," he said. "So there are literally dozens of young males trying to play music while lusting after you."

"And whose coat will I have on for the concert?"

"Oh, yeah. Let's see how that fits."

Stoney still had his dress uniform in a garment bag in the closet. I know. I looked at every nook and cranny of the place when I moved in with him. He went to the closet, took the bag out, and unzipped it, removing the jacket. It was still ready for inspection, rank, service branch insignia (Engineer Corps), nameplate and an array of ribbons. At the top of the array was the red, white and blue ribbon of the Silver Star. Dad showed me what it looked like when I asked him, so I knew it when I saw Stoney's.

"Here," he said, holding the jacket for me to get my arms into. Stoney's a good-sized guy. The jacket fit me like a tent. He surveyed the result. "Is this gonna even work?"

"Yes, it will work. Last year I wore Dad's. I need to pin up the sleeves so my hands won't be tied up."

"Uh, pins aren't something I have," he said.

"Well, I do, sir! A wise person is prepared for emergencies." Mom had drilled into me the need for her, as she called it, 'survival kit', a little case with needles, thread, pins, a selection of buttons, a big bag of safety pins, some textile cement and little scraps of material. I'd been the subject of more than one of her patch jobs before a recital. I retrieved the kit and opened it.

"You have one just like this," I said. "In your SUV. And in the closet by the front door."

"I don't like be be caught flat-footed," he said.

"And this is my mom's version for clothing," I said. "Now help me fold these sleeves in." We got that accomplished, I tried his hat on, added a few strips of paper behind the sweatband so it wouldn't slip down over my eyes. And he took pictures.

"Criminal act," he said.

"How so?"

"Wearing a uniform when you're not authorized."

"Nay, good sir," I said. "We've fought this battle already. Some 1960's hippie retread tried to toss cold water on us last year over that. We snagged an opinion from the federal prosecutor. As long as we're not representing ourselves as members of the armed forces, we're clear."

"Thought so," he said. "Glad you got it straight."

I put on both the jacket and the hat and ran through the piece that would showcase me and my piccolo.

"Just a second," Stoney said. "I got this."

"What?"

"Boston Pops. Stars and Stripes Forever." He punched it up on the stereo and I played right along while he smiled.

We managed to make it through the week yet again. Monday, like always, is practice night at my old apartment. Key's still there and another girl has moved in, sharing the rent again. Her new roomie's another music major so the Monday madness continues on. A lot of the conversation was music snob stuff about us in the chamber orchestra mixing with the common folk of the university concert band. I can agree with some of that. I think music should stand on its own merits and walking in unusual patterns is not an enhancement.

Naturally, Mom and Dad hit town on Friday. The only time Dad missed my concerts was when he was deployed to Iraq. Stoney nobly offered his spare bedroom (yes, he's got one, all made up pretty, like something from a catalog page.) to Mom and Dad.

Dad was properly appreciative. Mom laughed. "Stoney, Stoney ... Thank you so much for the offer. Anders and I shall enjoy our hotel and you and Johanna can enjoy your home and neither us nor you will be subjected to uncomfortable self-restraint."

I watched Stoney while he was receiving this reply. He turned bright red. I asked him why the blush later and he recounted the conversation.

"And you got embarrassed by my mother. Who indicated that we might make noise while making love."

"No, that's not it, baby," he said, completely serious. "It's not that we make noise, it's that THEY make noise. And she admitted it to me."

I couldn't help but smile, suppressing a little giggle as I touched his face. "Stoney my love, Mom and Dad love each other, sometimes rather enthusiastically, I'm afraid. I've heard what went on when Dad got back from an assignment. I think it has a lot of bearing on how I am with you. If that's the way that the two people who brought me up express their love for one another, then that just might be the way I express MY love..." I looked at my husband. "You need kissing..." I took care of that little need. "Besides, we're having dinner with them tonight."

"Thought so. I was really trying to be nice, you know."

"You are, baby. Very nice. That's one reason why I married you." I kissed him. "Mind you, just ONE reason."

So Friday after I got out of class in early afternoon, I hurried back to our apartment and tidied up. Mom was not exactly a neat freak, but our house was always in proper order when I was growing up. I made sure that ours was equally well maintained, not that Stoney and I were slobs, mind you. Flowers. The place needed flowers. A vase full of marigolds brightened the place and filled the air with a springtime aroma. Well, it's spring somewhere...

Stoney and Mom and Dad showed up almost together. Actually, Stoney beat them by a tad. Walked in the door, scooped me into his arms and kissed me. "I completely love and adore you, you redheaded devil," He said.

"So she's a redheaded devil, is she?" came Mom's voice. Stoney hadn't pushed the front door closed.

"Come in, Mom. Dad." I said.

They walked in. I hugged my parents. Stoney shook Dad's hand but Mom had him hugged before he knew what he was doing.

"Let's sit," I said.

"You're two weeks into being married to my daughter, Stoney," Anders said. "Second thoughts?"

"Dozens of them," Stoney said. "I'm ready to give her back. You can keep the deposit."

"Why, pray tell," Mom asked. She knew he was kidding.

"She has a horrible propensity for puns. She puts ketchup directly on her french fries. She squeezed the toothpaste tube from the middle and laughed about it when I pointed it out. She makes fun of the way I put on shoes."

"Dear," Mom addressed me, "I told you to go slowly with his training. You get raw material..." she eyed Anders, "And it is up to you to turn it into something useful. If you bend steel too quickly, it breaks. Proceed slowly. And remember, with steel, you must keep the fire burning hotly."

Mom's got a smirk. Dad says I inherited it from her.

"That would be the 'self-restraint' comment you made to my husband that caused him to turn colors, no doubt," I said.

"Dear," Anders said, addressing Bridgette, "Do not scare off our son-in-law."

"Anders Solheim! He voluntarily entered into this arrangement. He must bear the good as well as the bad!"

"Yes, my dear."

I watched Stoney as he watched my parents being, well, the same parents that I'd known forever. I love them. Stoney's learning.

He looked at Dad. "I see you've gotten further along in your training than I have."

"Son," he said, "My American grandmother used the phrase, 'I know which side my bread is buttered on'. It's not proper grammar, but it is a fitting phrase." He smiled.

This is the way my mom and dad have always been, conversation is back and forth, give and take, punctuated with smiles when it's good things and sighs when it's not. I relax, backing into Stoney's arms. This is good. When I did this, and Stoney wrapped me in his arms possessively, Mom smiled. She knows.

So we talked about work and school and Mom volunteering with a church group and a few other things before heading out to obtain dinner. We weren't in a hurry to get out of the place, so following the entree, we elected for desserts and coffees and being female, I had a motive when I told Mom that she and I needed to visit the ladies' room.

Out of earshot of our husbands, I told Mom. "I talked to Dad about us meeting with Stoney's platoon sergeant last week. Mom, since then, he's not had an episode."

"What did the sergeant tell him?" Mom asked.

"Harland, Sergeant Graves, told Stoney how he saw Stoney go down, then try to get up, and finally to crawl over to check on his men. He ended up next to Sergeant Graves and saved him from one last attacker, then passed out for good."

"Oh, my!" Mom said.

"That's the story. Harland says he tried getting Stoney put in for a Medal of Honor, but they weren't doing those for people who didn't die. And they cut it to a Silver Star because the area they were in wasn't supposed to be that dangerous. Mom, Stoney killed that last guy with a knife."

"Stoney. Our gentle, sweet Stoney."

"Yes, Mom. My gentle, smart, kind, Stoney. That killed a guy a week ago to protect me."

"You have a good one, Johanna. I've known men who would walk around thumping their chests about things they only imagined themselves doing. You have one that DID. And he appears to adore you."

"Oh, Mom, he does. I really think he does. It's so wonderful. He looks at me like Dad looks at you."

"Your dad is a special man, baby."

"I know that, Mom. I can see. And compare."

"Your dad and I are proud of you, dear. You know that. And we're very happy to see Stoney with you. Excuse me. I really do..." She backed away and opened a stall. I did the same.

We came out, stood before the mirrors and I did a touch-up of my hair.

"Still not a drop of make-up, dear?" Mom asked.

"No, Mom. This is what Stoney wants."

"Ah, you have the face for it, dear," Mom said.

"Got that from you, Mom."

"I'll take credit for the red hair and the horrid freckles. Which your dad likes, apparently. But the shape of those eyes, that's your dad's contribution."

"Mom, there's this one guy who thinks I'm beautiful. And I went and married him."

"As it should be. I ... We, your father and I, when you first announced, we thought you were just finally going to take the path of most girls, just a bit later in life. And when you announced that Stoney was the ONE, we agreed that he appeared to be a good choice. And now, I am sure that you have done well."

"Thank you, Mom," I said simply. I know how traumatic daughters can be for parents. I listen to my friends and some people who were decidedly not friends, and I watched what went on in the neighborhood on Dad's last military assignment. I loved Mom and Dad too much to put myself ahead of them.

"Let us go give our mates the benefit of our presence," Mom said with a smile.

Reaching the table, our men stood up. I thought about how gallant such a move was in this day. Anachronistic. Then I considered that my 'mate', as Mom had termed him, had resorted to a bare blade in combat. Okay, maybe, just maybe he is a man out of time.

"I bought Stoney and me martinis, Johanna," Dad said. "We've been having a serious talk."

I looked at Stoney. He caught my gaze and straightened his back.

"You didn't tell me that you talked to your dad about Harland, baby," he said.

I read his body language. Not mad. Not upset. "Dad's my anchor on these matters, baby," I said. "You know we started having this conversation, you and I and Mom and Dad. I just gave him a progress report." I touched Stoney's forearm. His hand gently covered mine. Affirmation.

"It's been a mess for so long, Jo. I met you, my life turned a corner."

"Son," Dad said. Technically, Stoney's a little too old to be Dad's son, but if Stoney doesn't object, I'm fine with it. Dad continued, "One thing that can really help in these things is a supportive person in your life. It can be difficult for that person, because if things do not go well, that person often feels that she is failing, so two people begin to suffer." Dad smiled softly for me. "I think that Johanna knows enough to avoid that pitfall."

Dad put his hand on my arm. "Another thing, most times the support person was there before the incident, so it is something dropped into their lives. Johanna understood some of your experiences. She came to you with her heart and her head open to you."

"I never thought of it like that," Stoney said. "You're correct. She did know. I didn't want a relationship to develop on less than the whole truth about me."

"I talked to you, Dad," I said. "You told me what I could be getting into, And I knew Stoney. And since Harland visited..."

"I haven't. Not once since then. And it was five nights out of six," Stoney said. "I'm not saying it's over. But Harland ... Sergeant Graves, told me a lot of things. Things I just did not remember."

"Yours is not the first story like that that I've heard, Stoney," Dad said. "The human mind has some strange mechanisms to handle situations it cannot fathom. Suppression of the memory is but one." He sighed. "Suppression of memories gets a lot of bad press, but it's real. You experienced it."

"Yessir."

"I don't know," Dad said, "it's not my area of expertise, but if you've experienced a change, then maybe it was the turning point."

"We hope so," Mom said.

On the way home, Stoney was at first, quiet. "You okay, baby?"

He nodded. "Yeah. Better."

"I didn't mean to overstep my bounds," I said softly. I sensed he was turning a lot of things over in his mind.

"Johanna Elise," he said, "You're my wife. You have no bounds." He freed a hand from the steering wheel to give my arm a squeeze. "It's just that every day I wake up with you, I find how wide that a world might be that contains my Johanna."

"Then you're not mad at me?"

"No, of course not," he said. "I'm just sorry that the evening ended on such a downer."

"Evening's not over yet," I said.

Chapter 25

Lovely, languid, quiet Saturday morning. Waking up next to a soft form. I have to touch that sweetly curved hip, just to tell myself I am not dreaming. The touch elicits a purr and a movement, several movements, actually, one of which put an arm around me. The hand at the end of the arm started exploring, finding morning wood.

"Mmmmm, Stoney, is that for me?"

"Yes, but be careful. It's loaded."

"I thought we emptied it last night," she said, twisting in the bed. Her head dipped for a quick suck. "I love doing this to you, Stoney. You look so appreciative."

"I'm surprised that I have enough presence of mind to work up an expression at all," I said, then sucked a breath in sharply as her head dipped down.

"You do know that I expect quid pro quo?" And another sliding suck, this time with teeth.

"I was hoping so. You're delicious."

Okay, after that, showers were required, and following the showers, breakfast up the street at the corner diner, a short walk.

"We could've called your mom and dad," I said.

"What?" She giggled. "We could've got them right in the middle of..."

"You think?"

"I KNOW," she grinned. "Mom relates that with me in college and out from underfoot, Dad has renewed interest."

I laughed, then thought about that. "When I'm your dad's age, I hope you still..."

"I will wear you out, boy," she said.

"I will spend the rest of my life hoping that you try," I laughed. Hand in hand we walked down the block to the restaurant, took our time with breakfast and coffee.

This was a frequent haunt for me, pre-Johanna, so the sudden appearance of her on my arm, punctuated with two gold wedding bands was a reason for several of the other regulars to approach and exchange small talk. Jo handled it well, gracious, smiling, even funny.

How about that! A mate that I'm actually happy to show to the general population. No screaming offspring of her and a disappeared daddy. No gum-popping 'I'm quitting smoking THIS time. For real!'. No 'We were drunk an' partyin' and I got really blitzed and it's just a little tattoo.' No, this was intelligent, red-headed, talented, sociable and pretty in a startling way.

"You're thinking again," she said as the last greeter walked away.

"Not really. Just being impressed."

"At what?"

"At my good sense," I said.

Blue eyes laughed. "And what tells you that you have good sense this time?"

I looked at her over my coffee cup. "That I had the good sense to wait until you showed up to fall in love."

She giggled. "Like you had a choice in the matter."

"I really didn't," I said. "No choice at all. You or nobody."

"You two sure look happy," the waitress said when she delivered our ticket. "Stoney, you married a real doll."

"Thank you," Jo said.

"I did," I replied.

"I was wondering," the waitress replied. She's one of my favorites, fiftyish, competent, comfortable with the job, her bantering with the Saturday morning regulars was sharp and flirty. I think she saw me as an anomaly, younger than a lot of the regulars, but not one of the occasional smart-mouthed youngsters that showed up, either. "You never showed up with anyone before. And when you do? Bang! Married!"

"Yeah," I said, doing my best 'Aw, shucks' act. "I found Johanna."

"And I found him," Jo said. "So I'm keeping him." She grinned, all the way to where her nose wrinkles, a move that stopped my heart the first time she did it to me.

I dragged my credit card out to pay the tab and after I signed the ticket, we left to walk back to the apartment

"You're not nervous?" I asked.

"Why? This is what I do. There are a few things I live for, Stoney. Mom and Dad, music, and you. And none of them make me nervous."

I knew inside my head that she was right. The first time I saw her in concert, poised, confident, adept, her and her love of her music putting that smile on her face. "You're right. It's your gift."

"One of 'em," she said, swinging my hand in hers. "You're the other one."

No lunch with her parents today. They were meeting with old friends. We went by Jo's old apartment and talked with Key.

"Where's Hutch?" I asked.

"Setting up some equipment at a new bank in Arizona," Key said. "Won't be back until next week. That's why we decided for him to not move in. He's got his place and when he's in town, I'm there. But right now they're shifting over their whole hardware setup and he's not staying in town much, and Jo knows I don't like bein' by myself, so I stay here with Katrina, she gets a place, I get a place, an' when Hutch gets back ... An' Cherie likes going to the markets on Saturday morning. She'll be back in a bit."

Her eyes bounced back and forth between me and Jo. "You wearin' your Dad's coat this year?"

"Nope. Stoney's."

"I was wondering ... Hutch said something about that new law about wearing military decorations..."

"We talked to a federal prosecutor, remember?" Jo said. "We've been doing this. The new law is about impersonating a serviceman or veteran. We don't represent ourselves as anything, we wear those things to honor family members who've served."

"That's what I thought. But Hutch keeps askin'," Key said. "Said he'd hate for me to get arrested for wearin' Great Granpa's Eisenhower jacket."

"Eisenhower jacket?" I asked.

"You know your military history, husband of my friend?" she said.

"Try me."

"Red Ball Express."

"Easy," I said. "World War II. Europe. A slang name for a transportation unit with black enlisted men and mostly white officers. Pulled off some really epic logistics feats."

"Papaw was a master sergeant in the Red Ball Express. I got his jacket. I wear it for our Veterans' Day concert. Jo's been wearin' her dad's, but this year she's yours..."

"Or I'm hers..."

"Whatever, white boy," she laughed, flashing that smile.

"What about you and Hutch? Serious?" I asked.

"Yaknow," she said, "we are. He doesn't want to do that shack-up thang, and I know it would kill my mom an' dad if I did."

"So marriage?" Jo squealed.

"Not a formal announcement, but after graduation some time." She smiled.

I liked Key. Like I said early in the relationship between me and Jo, Key was more than a little attractive. Had she not been eclipsed by Johanna, and had she, like Johanna, shown a bit of interest. Her being black? Not a problem to me, although I wondered idly how a mixed race relationship might work where the girl was as obviously connected to family as Key was.

It was because I liked Key that I found her indications of her choice of futures to be a pleasant topic for discussion. "I hope Hutch knows what sort of person he's messing with."

"Oh," she said, lapsing into her version of ghetto vernacular, "he don't be messin'. He be completely serious."

Jo squealed in glee. "I'm sooo happy for you, Key!"

"Me too," I said, "even though you never got to present me to your folks."

Key laughed. "You know, next time I get 'em here for a weekend, you two need to join us. They loved Jo. They'll be interested in what it took to carry 'er off."

"Then they'll be happy it was Stoney," Jo said. "Just like I imagine they're happy about you and Hutch. They HAVE met Hutch, right?"

"I sent 'em pictures. Does that count?"

"But they know you're serious?" Jo asked.

"Yeah, they know we're more serious than I usually am." Key grinned. "If Hutch makes it back today, we may just tell 'em tonight."

"Do you anticipate issues?" I asked. "I mean, I've seen the guy a couple of times and he seems nice."

"He IS nice," Key said. "He's not full of himself and tryin' to prove some sort of 'street cred' by acting ghetto and treating women like fixtures in a rap video." She saw my expression and rolled on. "I want a guy like Dad, not some baggy-pants'ed bozo flashin' gang signs."

"Don't egg 'er on, Stoney," Jo said, "Unless you want to hear one of a series of presentations entitled 'Keshia's Observations On Positive Role Models'."

Key's face twisted in feigned horror. "Seriously? Was I that bad?"

Jo laughed. "No, you were not! You were memorable, though."

"Stoney, just so you aren't misled by my erstwhile room-mate, she and I had some long, serious talks about life and those who populate it."

"A suitable topic, no doubt," I said.

"Another word for it is gossip," Key laughed. "But with a goal."

"Strictly intellectual, then? No prurient interest?" I asked.

"Oh, no. We were very careful to be all sensitive and understanding and stuff," Key laughed. Jo laughed right along with her.

"And tell me that guys don't do that," Jo smirked.

"We don't," I said. "We stand around the coffee-maker discussing world events and emerging technologies."

"Yeah, right!" Jo said. "I didn't hear a lot of that at lunch with you and your friends."

"You have lunch with him an' 'is friends?"

Jo giggled. "I serve a function. I get to the lunch place early and get a table for them. I get one guy who adores me and another guy and a lady who are glad to get a table for lunch."

"Sounds like fun," Key said.

"And it raises my stature that I have a young, hot wife."

"Stoney!" she squealed. "Really?!?"

"Yes, cutie," I said, "I have been told that I do indeed have a hot young wife, along with the obvious questions like 'Didja knock 'er up?' and 'Is it true about redheads and tempers?' and things like that." I saw her face sort of fall. "But there are more of the 'congratulations, buddy!' and 'Damn! She's a cute little thing' and 'Is that HER playing that piece on your phone?' and even 'Does she know what kind of a deal she's getting?'..."

"Who told you that?" Jo jumped in.

"A lady who was trying to fix me up with her friend. Her 'two kids, no daddy' friend. Her 'I think that this time rehab is working' friend."

Key whistled. "Oh, that kind of friend."

"And honestly, she might've been a perfectly wonderful person, but as they say, 'that's not the way to bet'," I said. "And every married woman has single friends who need 'fixing up', and a single engineer..."

"You, sir, are NOT single, and you never WERE single, you were just wandering aimlessly until you found me," Jo laughed.

"Perfect description of my life, sweetness."

"Is Hutch like that with you, Key?" Jo asked her.

"He ain't that poetic, but, uh, yeah..." she smiled. "He's got 'is attractions."

We finally left Key's place, saw Cherie's little car heading up the street as we headed in t he opposite direction. "Cherie's kind of strange," Jo said.

"Strange?"

"Yeah. What did you call it? 'Earth child?' All natural this and organic that. Kind of pushy about it for a while, but she's mellowed."

"Some people make those choices," I said. "Sometimes it's their anchor."

"Music. Music was my anchor," Jo said quietly.

"Don't outgrow that," I said.

"I won't," she said. "But it was my anchor. It's still important, and it's a lot of who I am, but my anchor is driving this car right now."

"That's what marriage is supposed to be. At least part of it," I opined.

"A good part," Jo said. She paused, giggled, and gave me a happy squeeze. "THIS," she announced, "is another good part. Going to sleep together is a good part. Waking up with you is a good part. Coming home together is a good part. Lots of good parts."

I can't help but smile as I think about the things she just listed. The simple idea of having her next to me all night was indeed a good thing, as were all the others. "You are the good part, redhead," I said. "I never really knew what I wanted until I met you."

"And now you've got me."

We pulled back into the parking at our apartment and went inside. Refuge. My apartment had always been a sort of refuge, my castle standing against the hordes, but for years it had been lonely in ways that have become so apparent in the last few weeks. All it took was Jo. And Jo was standing in the atrium, waiting for me to close the door.

I locked it behind me. "So you need to be at the music building at one-thirty," I said. "Light lunch?"

"Soup and a sandwich?" she smiled.

"We can do that. What's the dress for this thing? For me? Audience?"

"Casual," she said. "Veterans are encouraged to wear something related to their service. You game?"

"I have my boonie hat," I said. "And you'll have my coat."

"Wear your hat, Stoney. I think that's more in keeping with the real you. Less about show. Subdued."

I gazed at those blue eyes. This lady was trying to know me. To understand. Because she cared. I could do nothing to keep myself from scooping her into my arms. The expression on the face before me was pure love. "I love you, Johanna," I said.

"Good," she replied. "Because I love you and I want to find out if I meet your requirements as a preparer of canned soup and grilled cheese sandwiches." Her eyebrows arched, telling me that the concerned look she tried to work up was all in fun.

"If you fail at sandwich-making, I shall have to find your other talents, dear. I hope you have some."

Her lips contacted my neck, followed by her teeth. I shook from head to foot. She'd learned that trick early on. A breathy voice in my ear said, "And that's just for starters."

And she makes good sandwiches, a task accomplished while I stripped the bed and put a load of laundry on. We ate lunch and then it was time to dress for the afternoon concert. I dropped her at the music building and then went to the auditorium and met Anders and Bridgette.

Easy to find them. Look for the six foot-four Viking with the redhead alongside. I waved, got Bridgette's attention first, and she nudged her husband. They stood before the steps until I was with them. I shook Anders' hand, hugged Bridgette.

"Glad you could make it," I said.

"We always try," Anders said. "I wasn't always successful, but I tried."

"I can imagine," I said. I knew the routine all too well from married soldiers I'd associated with in the service, how field exercises always seems coordinated with birthdays and school functions for kids, and of course, there were the big ones, deployments and unaccompanied tours.

"Yes, and finally we're in a position where she stays in one place and we can come to her," Bridgette said.

We took our seats, seeking something in the center of the hall, several rows back. The musicians filed in, dozens of them. I recognized faces from the orchestra. You have to know I was looking for THE one in particular. And there she was, wearing the jacket from my dress uniform, red hair pushed back over her ears, my service cap (with a few strips of paper behind the sweatband, for fit) on her head.

Anders leaned over and whispered, "Stoney, this is confirmation that she is yours. My little girl has left her dad and taken up with her husband."

"As it should be," Bridgette added.

"She will always be your daughter," I countered. "But yes. My wife."

The audience rose for the honor guard presenting the colors and remained standing for the national anthem, then we sat to enjoy the concert. It promised to be enjoyable, in a 'Boston Pops' sort of way, a fine selection of patriotic songs filling the program. Conducting for the festivities was to be shared between Bob, who specialized in the orchestra, and the guy who oversaw the marching band.

The latter was the more dramatic of the two, and he introduced the first piece, noting that there were veterans aplenty in the audience, asking us to stand. He also noted that there were three veterans in the band, and that a number of members were wearing memorabilia of their families., and then the music began.

It climaxed with Stars and Stripes Forever. It's a favorite piece of mine, made even more memorable when the piccolo figured prominently, with my Jo rising from her seat to project the sounds over the stage and into our ears. My Jo. My perfect Johanna, piccolo at her lips, her smile altered only by the necessities of the instrument. Flawless. Perfect.

And she plays well, too.

"You two must be terrible proud of her," I told Anders and Bridgette when it was over.

Bridgette smiled. A thought flashed in my mind. This was going to be Johanna in twenty odd years. This is the same smile. "We are very proud, Stoney. She has made us very happy parents."

"I hope you know that we're bringing you two out for dinner," Anders said. He looked at Bridgette. "Or is that a conversation that didn't make it past our daughter?"

"Doesn't matter," I laughed, shaking my head. "I am just a puppy following her around, wagging my tail."

"Bridgette tells me as much from her conversations with Johanna," Anders chuckled. "I'm of a similar mind, son-in-law."

"You're a big guy, Anders. Hard to think that..."

"That I could be led around by the nose by Bridgette?" He smiled. "I find that except for certain very rare occasions, where she takes me is where I should be."

Bridgette elbowed him. "I am not a demanding shrew, Anders!"

"No, my dear, you are not. I simply indicate that you often have solidified your idea before I arrive at a similar conclusion."

Dinner was pleasant, rife with conversations about Jo's history as a precious child, provided by Bridgette, her career as a redheaded dare-devil, provided by Anders, and a lot of denials by Jo. One of these days we have to visit her parents so I can see the family photo album.

Bridgette and Anders left us in the restaurant parking lot, heading to their own hotel for the evening, with intent to catch an early flight home. Jo and I navigated back to our apartment.

"Home!" she said as the door closed behind us. She pushed me back against the closed door and kissed me.

"Long day," I said.

She put the piccolo case in the closet, speaking over her shoulder. "Yes, it has been. I love that concert, but I wanna be back with the chamber orchestra. I desire the Vienna School and structure and symmetry."

"Yeah, me, too," I said. "I love patriotic music as much as anybody and I admit to my back straightening up at the sound of a march, but I need to live through a Mozart concerto..."

"How about we kick our shoes off and stretch on the sofa and do that?" she gazed at me with sky-blue eyes, then the smile deepened. "Or we can shower, and listen to that in bed..."

I kissed her nose. "You know good and well that I won't hear the music because of the symphony you play on all my other senses..."

"Warrior poet," she said, "let's go take a shower. And then we'll play with each other's senses."

"Faerie princess, I follow," I said.

I did. We did. Out of the shower, clean, happy, and with a very good idea of how to end the day.

Her stirring next to me in the morning woke me up. Another night, all sleep, no dreams, no cold sweat. No ghosts. No memories that defied quieting. I gently slide up behind her, my arms wrapping her, my precious, holding her to me. A little wiggle and a purr told me that she was somewhere between sleep and waking. I remained silent, felling her breathing, her warmth. In the half-light of the curtained bedroom, she was only dimly visible, leaving me to savor her beauty with senses other than vision.

I buried my nose in the loose hair at the back of her neck and breathed deeply.

"I'm awake, Stoney," came the soft voice.

"How long?"

"Since I snuggled back against you and woke you up. And you pulled me into your arms. And I wanted to feel you wake up with me."

"I keep thinking it's all a dream, my pet," I said.

"Not a dream, Stoney. You're real." She twisted around to face me, interlacing our legs together. Her hand found my erection. It's more than 'morning wood' since I married Johanna. "You're VERY real," she giggled. "And when you're like this, I'm..."

My exploratory hand touched, a finger dipped into moist, wet lips. "I think I know what you are..."

"Am I, like, too much?"

"No, princess, you're more than I ever dared to dream, but not too much."

"You know, Mister Stonewall Jackson," she said, "You've said that several times. I want you to know something." Her tone was just a little edgy, so I pulled back a bit.

"What's that?"

"You're lucky." She smiled. "And I'm lucky. Little girls have dreams, too. We see dreams through a fog, but when you came out of the fog, I knew it was going to be you." She pulled me against her and rolled onto her back. "It's not a 'two-way street'. It's not '50-50'. It's Stoney meeting Jo and Jo meeting Stoney and in the process realizing that life would never be complete for either of them without the other."

"Are you always this serious before mating?" I asked.

Giggle. "Not always. Just sometimes." She hauled me in for a kiss. Our lips met. I felt wonderful moist warmth down below as the center of my being moved to a bit of turgid flesh. We merged, my penetration eliciting a long sigh from her, then a wiggle and a happy giggle. "That's perfect. Just perfect!"

"Good morning, princess," I said.

"Good morning." And a kiss to complete the mating. We lazed a bit in the afterglow., then got up, tossed the bedding into the washer and hit the shower together, finally ending up in the kitchen with a couple of bowls of cereal before us, coffee abrew.

"No episode last night, Stoney," Jo said. "Makes a couple of weeks."

"I know," I said. "I woke up last night to turn over, found myself in bed with an angel. Such a situation staves off bad dreams."

"More to it than that," she said. "That night on the boat, you had one."

I looked at her. She was right.

"That wasn't the only one. But since you talked to Harland and with Dad, nothing ... Maybe it's a combination of things."

"Maybe so. Life is different. Better." One of the best of the 'different' parts was the face smiling at me from across the table.

"Stoney, I'm happy that you've seen a change. You know, though..." she said softly.

"It might not be entirely done," I said, "but it's certainly a huge bit better."

" ... I am here for you, no matter what," she finished.

I smiled. "That's what you told me."

"I am!" she said brightly. "Like if you had this huge urge to go visit our boat, I'd be right there with you."

"Is that a subtle hint?"

"It is, sir. You're very perceptive. It's the middle of November and we'll soon have dreary, rainy days, but today's not one of them. Let's go give 'er a good cleaning and inventory, because I have some ideas for winter excursions on a sailboat."

"You're nuts," I said.

"I'm a girl with a goal, guy," she retorted.

"You've said..."

"I have a vision. You and me, like we've done before. Weekend in a little cabin on the water. Bubbling soup. Banjo. Flute. Me and you. All weekend. No distractions."

I smiled. "You know, I used to do something like that for the solitude. A weekend of books and music. Now I know what I was preparing for."

Chapter 26

The week went by with nothing major going on to interrupt our lives.

Waiting on Friday. Before Johanna, I wasn't one of those people who worshipped Fridays, but now it was not a matter of escaping FROM something, it had become a matter of escaping with somebody, TO something.

The weather was warm in the afternoon, cooler enough at night to be comfortable, and a cold front was due through late Saturday.

When I got home Friday, the weekend's provisions were stacked by the door. I walked in, noted her diligence, got a searing kiss that ALMOST put an hour delay into our plans. When I said so, she trilled a giggle.

"Don't tempt me, buddy boy," she said.

We loaded up and left. Buckled in beside me, she said, "Stoney ... That kiss..."

"I know," I said. "You've turned my sexuality on, cutie. Before you, I could've been almost asexual."

"I know," she said. "I never even got a twinge until you and I kissed the first time. Now..."

"Made for each other," I said.

Smiling. "Feels exactly like that."

Stopped at a traffic light, I turned to look at her. She was in her delightful 'knocking about' mode, jeans and sweatshirt against the cool fall air, her hair done up in a whimsical pony tail that she'd fished out the back of a baseball cap.

I've seen Jo both ways: formal dress for her solo concert and this. Both were visions. Both stirred me in ways that no woman ever had before.

"You're staring again, Stoney," she said. Her smile told me what her words didn't say.

"It's just that what you're wearing is a good look for you."

"I look like a frump."

"Hardly. Somebody else may wear that and look frumpy. You, however, look cute, whimsical and totally charming."

"You, sir, are crazy." Giggle. "And I love you this way." She has the sweetest look when she's satisfied with herself.

"Look, redhead," I said. "I could be freakin' Shakespeare and I could never come up with the words to explain the spectrum of feelings I get when you're around. And believe me ... You're ALWAYS around. In my head. In my heart..."

Giggle. "In your arms. In your bed. In your boat."

"In my life."

"In my life," she repeated. "Mom was right. This is how it's supposed to be. Wise woman, my mother. Says some people never get here. Some people take years to get here. And some people," she said, patting my arm as I drove, "know what is meant to be before either party knows what's happening." She lay back in the seat, putting her feet on the dash. Yes, she's flexible, more than me, now that I have that extra metal.

"You just had a dark thought, Stoney."

"I just reminded myself why I'm not as flexible as you."

"I know the answer to that one, guy."

I raised an eyebrow, questioning.

She smiled. "I'm female. Pelvic geometry's different."

"Oh."

"And you gave a lot of yourself saving others. Both good reasons." Her smile vanished into thin air, replaced by the 'you know I'm right and I love you' look. "So we're gonna stay tied up to the dock? Or see how far out we can get before it's too dark?"

In our meager plans for the weekend, we'd discussed both options. I'd worried about getting out of the office late on Friday. I'd gotten dragged in on the tail of a project gone wrong and the big guys were scrambling to fix it. I thought we had running room to recovery, but when the big boys panic, well, we don't punch a timeclock. I knew Jo and I would be on the boat this evening. I just wasn't sure exactly when.

"We're early enough. We'll anchor out."

Little squeal. "Naked in the moonlight. At least until we get goosebumps."

"Johanna Solheim Jackson," I said, "I got goosebumps the first time your fingers touched mine."

Giggle. "Not the same as 'naked in the moonlight in November' goosebumps."

"One of these days we're gonna be soooo caught," I said.

"You need to mate with me in a forest glen and in a moonlit meadow, you remember."

"Yes I do. Bluebonnets happen in the springtime."

"Oh, yes," she said. "Beautiful. And that way we not only go to jail for public indecency but we add a count of debasing the state flower."

"I'm thinking red hair, eyes that match the flowers, except they cry a little when they see what YOU do to that shade of blue..."

She bit my shoulder.

"Owwww," I blurted. "You're gonna make me wreck. What was that for?"

"Because every now and then you say something like that, and I just wanna eat you up." Her smile broadened as she thought about what she'd just said. "And I think I will. Tonight. Under the stars."

I chuckled. "I thought I'd know when I died."

"Died?"

"Yeah, I must've died and gone to heaven."

"You know, you're not the only one to feel like that, dear," she said. "It's so easy to love you, Stoney." She reached for the stereo controls. "I'm loving these Bach flute sonatas, too, you know. They stir me. But not the places YOU stir me."

"And we don't have to give up anything to have each other AND Bach," I said.

"And Mozart. And Beethoven and a whole book full of others," she said. "But I like these Bach pieces. I could arrange them for just TWO instruments," she said.

I caught the implications. I was going to learn more music. Plusses? Yeah, there are some. I LIKE the music and Jo's selections stretch me far beyond where I ever thought I'd be when I first started playing with a banjo. Second, it's like this. I'm sitting there with my banjo, making music and I sit facing Johanna, a concert-level player who can't play her flute without her eyes flashing and a smile on her lips. It was truly an unexpected direction, a very pleasant bit of serendipity.

"So what will it be this time?"

"Harpsichord. We'll dig up some sheet music. You can do with it what you did with Mozart, just move it into your range and adapt Baroque to banjo." She giggled. "And I'm telling Doctor Bob."

"He's gonna think you're nuts."

"No he won't. He thinks that I'm experimental, exploring the classical music idiom in the context of non-traditional instrumentation. He thinks YOU'RE nuts."

"He said that?"

"He said you had no idea what you were getting into," she laughed. "I told him you knew more than he gives you credit for knowing. He says you're still nuts, and he's happy for the both of us. And you oughtta think about doing a concert with me."

"I'm just an engineer who happens to plunk on a banjo..."

"At a level that seems to impress a guy with a doctorate in music."

"He's just using me to get to you."

"He gets me already. I'm his student. Now he's using me to get to you."

"I think we oughtta go play in the park and put a cup out. We can make enough to buy a few hamburgers."

Giggle. "I'll do it if YOU do it. Next weekend."

"It's a deal!"

We kept chatting, laughing together until we pulled into the marina, then we lugged things onto the boat.

"Too late to see Gary," I said, "but here come the geese."

"Got 'em covered," she laughed, waving a bag of popcorn. I think the geese now associate red hair with a generous feeding. She fed them on the bank of the slip while I stowed the gear, then she joined me aboard.

"I wanna take her out by myself, Stoney."

"Okay," I said. "You want me to handle the lines?"

"Yeah. I'll take it easy. I can do this. Plenty of room."

She knew how to steer and how to operate the engine and in the confines of our slip, there's no way that the little diesel was going to build up enough speed to hurt anything. Further, I didn't see Jo as one who'd go catatonic if things got a bit crossways. I singled up the dockline while we gave the little engine a bit of time to warm up.

"Ready when you are, cap'n," I said. I was holding the end of the last dockline.

"Easing forward," she said. I felt the little quiver as the transmission shifted into gear. Engine at idle, the boat slowly eased forward out of the slip. She started her turn into the channel gently. I was more familiar with the handling of the boat and I could have been a bit more aggressive in the maneuver. I was happy with her restraint. Too many people attack a task like they've seen it done before them, not realizing that a practiced hand makes things look easier than they really are.

I stowed the docklines and made my way to the cockpit. She was smiling. "Didn't hit anything. Took it slow."

"You did good."

"I need to master this thing, Stoney, since she's ours and we're spending so much time with her."

"I'm glad you look at it that way," I said. I wanted Jo to learn, for several reasons. Accidents do happen, and if I was incapacitated, Jo needed to be able to take control of the boat. That's a good reason. Sailing is fun. That's another good reason. It's something we can share. A third good reason. There was a big smile on that freckled face as she eased the throttle forward. That smile. All the reason in the world. I sat beside her.

"You want 'er back now?" she asked.

"Not unless you're tired of steering."

"Oh, noooo," she said. "I like it."

"Then help yourself. I'm gonna pull the sail cover."

"I got this," she said. "Be careful."

I busied myself with that little task, ending up with the sail cover rolled and stowed and me sitting beside a pretty redhead who was doing a quite competent job of keeping us on our side of the channel. Soon we were easing along in the bay, threading our way between the markers that showed the deeper channel cut into the shallow bottom of the wide bay.

She looked at the display of our GPS. A marker showed our goal for the evening. She looked at the wind indicator. "I think that if we go a little further out in the channel than you did last time, we can swing south in the deeper water and put ourselves on a little bit shy of close-hauled and sail right to where we need to be with no tacking. Close reach, you know."

"You've been paying attention."

She looked at me. "Dad's Norwegian. I'm half Viking. Sailing is imprinted in my ancestral memory." Grin. "And I pay attention." Giggle. "The Irish side, that means that after a long sailing trip, I expect to be molested and enslaved."

"Point taken. I shall do my best." I twisted to kiss her. As we kissed, I toyed with that red, bouncy ponytail.

"You like that, don't you," she said.

"Yes I do," I replied. "Way past that 'It's cute and convenient' point. Something in the way I'm wired, I guess."

"You're like a kitten chasing a laser dot," she said. "I'll leave it in tonight, if you like..."

"I'm afraid it might be an overload," I said.

"I'll take it out when we get ready to go to sleep," she said. "I can't sleep with it."

I smiled. Yes, I liked the way Jo looked, just like this, along with every other way I'd ever seen Jo. Or imagined Jo. "You're seventeen kinds of alluring," I said.

She faked a sniffle. "Only seventeen?"

"I can't count any higher than that when I start thinking along those lines," I said. "I lose the blood supply to my brain."

"You'll be positively catatonic this summer, then," she said. "I have this bikini ... And I think the top is going to be hard to keep on." She looked at the shoreline in the distance. "Or the bottom. So what do you think? Sunshine. Nude. Ponytail."

"My heart just skipped a beat."

Giggle. "I love it when I get to you."

"You've been getting to me ever since I saw you smile that first time in the practice hall."

"Stoppit! Or I'm gonna swing out the channel right now and drop the anchor and have my way with you!" Her eyes were so alive with laughter that I was under a spell.

"What makes you think that's a bad idea?" I said.

"Because anchoring further out gets away from traffic. 'Naked in the moonlight', remember?"

"Like I'm gonna forget that," I said.

"If you do, I'll remind you," she replied. She looked at the wind indicator. "We could be sailing on this heading."

"Yes we can. Wanna?"

"Hoist the mains'l, sailing master," she said.

"Aye-aye, cap'n. Mind your helm." I attended to hoisting the sail, the fabric snapping under the force of the wind. At full hoist, I hauled the mainsheet in and observed the set. Jo put the engine in neutral and then shut it down. The mechanical noise was replaced by the whistle of the wind and the splashing chuckle of our wake under sail.

"That's it, Stoney! That's like going into the orchestra practice hall and hearing all the clanking and jostling and tuning, and then the conductor raises his baton and you hit that first measure, that first chord. And harmony is present in the universe."

"I married a poet, you know."

She kissed me when I sat beside her. "No. When Dad used to take me sailing, it wasn't like this. It was fun, sure, but it wasn't like THIS. You and me, together it's a bigger, brighter, more beautiful world. The birds sing sweeter, the sky is bluer, and this..." And she kissed me again.

The moment was a wonderful kiss that caused her attention to stray from maintaining course, a fact announced loudly by the luffing of the sail.

"Oops!" She squealed. "Sir, do NOT distract the helmsman!"

"That, Cap'n, is an archaic rule that does not account for the fact that the helmsman has a red ponytail."

She switched to a 'Scarlett O'Hara' accent. "Sir! I do believe you're tryin' to turn mah head!"

Okay. I can do this. I changed into Rhett Butler. "Yes ma'am. If so lovely a head might indeed be turned."

Her giggles pealed across the waves, dancing in my ears like the light from the setting sun danced from the waves to my eyes.

"We're so silly." Smile. "And so in love."

"Yes we are, little dove," I said.

We reached a point where a ninety degree course change would put us at our anchorage and she made the turn and I trimmed the sail to the new wind. An hour later we dropped anchor and I hoisted the anchor lamp in the waning light.

It was even more quiet now, just the whistle of wind against the mast and hull and the waves slapping. Jo noted it. "Listen!"

"Nothing but wind and wave." Well not exactly, but the sounds of civilization were way down in the ambient noise.

"Open the valve on the propane and let's make dinner," she said. She went below as I followed orders, then joined her. We packed for easy meal prep on the boat, so the menu was one-pot simple. Okay, one pot and a griddle for the grilled cheese sandwiches. The temperature dropped when the sun went down and the air started cooling. I lit the cabin heater to keep things from getting too chilly after we finished cooking.

Meal finished, we pulled out the musical instruments and spent a mad hour and half laughing, making music that was as much a part of Stoney and Jo's love-making as was the physical touching. We alternated between some folksy little ditties and an increasingly artistic dive into Mozart's Concerto for Flute and Harp, then she whipped out the sheet music for some Bach flute pieces.

"You, sir, are getting comfortable with sight-reading."

"I am no master, dearest. You made me learn things that no banjo player EVER has the need to learn." I spoke the truth. My days of idly plunking out rolls and chords to music in my head, with occasional forays into structure where an engineer's mind meshes with a musician's heart, those were over. Well not exactly over, but certainly only a part of what happened when I sat down with a banjo in my lap and Johanna with her flute beside me.

"It works, honey," she said. "There's enough of the original Bach score in your interpretation so that somebody says 'Hey, that boy's playin' Bach on a banjo!' and it backs up my flute part quite well."

"You're deafened by love, little one."

"Am not. When it comes to music, I get quite objective, thank you!"

"That's good," I retorted, "because I am easily swayed by physical beauty and musical prowess."

Her eyes danced and she shook her head. "Don't forget little short red ponytails."

"No, little short red ponytails don't sway me. They obliterate my cognitive processes entirely."

"You mean all that stuff we do, that's just instinct?" she giggled.

"Something like a mix of instinct and lust and just enough thought process left to recognize the pleasure."

"That works," she smiled, glancing at the porthole above my head. "Not quite dark enough yet. Let's do that first Bach piece again."

Okay, in that one I get the first few measures to myself. It's fun trying to bridge from 18th century harpsichord to 21st century banjo. I bravely give it a try, then the flute goes to her lips and angels stop singing in heaven because, by gosh, Johanna Solheim Jackson is playing her flute. I back off on the volume of my playing to provide the background for the real artist in this family.

Dammit! She's comfortable enough with her playing to look at me, catching me with my brow knit in concentration. Her smile. Translates to sound. Beauty.

"Pretty good," she says. "Can you get just a little closer to the original in that arpeggio passage? You're doing a roll, and I think that you can work the actual arpeggio in there. I've seen you do it."

"I'll try," I said. I played the passage with an Earl Scruggs rolling style, then backed up and tried the arpeggio.

"You're cute when you have to concentrate," she smiled.

"You get me out of my comfort zone."

"You stick your tongue out when you're really concentrating. I noticed that when you were learning the Mozart piece. And when you finally started getting it, getting comfortable, you put your tongue back in your mouth."

"Mom and Dad used to tell me that. I try not to do it, but sometimes I get really deep into a problem..."

Her smile morphed into something else. "Ah, I do have a problem you need to get deep into..."

"It's dark enough. Let me see if any lights're out there."

"Check," she said, smiling, as she stowed her flute in its case.

I switched the cabin overhead lighting to red, helping my night vision, then I kissed her. Finally I started up the ladder and opened the hatch into the cockpit. Stepping topside, I scanned the bay. NO light were anywhere to be seen on the water, except for a couple of huge tankers leaving in the ship channel a couple of miles distant.

"We're clear, sweetness."

What stepped out into the cockpit with me was something moonlight is made for, pale white skin, almost glowing. All of it. Nude from head to toe. Irish-Norwegian genes almost glowing.

"You don't need those clothes," she said.

In a minute I was as nude as she was, and not nearly as much the vision. Not to me.

Arms from a vision wrapped around me, pulling me close. The warmth of her body was a delightful contrast to the chill of the autumn night. The accompanying kiss took my breath away. "You're a vision in the moonlight, sweet Johanna," I said.

"You are too, warrior poet musician engineer," she replied. Her hands softly kneaded the muscles on my back. I wasn't a body-builder, but a couple or three nights a week, every week, at the gym and a little attention to diet and leisure pursuits kept me from getting fat. Feeling Jo's hands exploring, assessing, I was glad I'd taken care of myself.

The blanket I'd brought up with me went onto the cockpit seat. Cold fiberglass wasn't in the cards for tonight. I sat, drawing her willing, lithe form towards me. She splayed her legs, one on either side of me, facing me, settling into my lap, pushing something hot and slick against my erection. A few kisses and she raised up and mated us with a sigh.

"Tomorrow. Right here. In the daylight," she said.

"Yesssss," I hissed in response to her wiggling. "God, yes..."

"Just like this, Stoney. Skyclad."

"Completely nude," I said, understanding the term.

Another wiggle and a sigh. "And it'll have to be fast because I will burn under the direct sunlight."

"We can do that. But..."

"But I guarantee I will come. And so will you." Her lips fastened to mine as she began moving in earnest.

Just good sex. REALLY good sex. Sex like I'd never experienced nor imagined before and my loving, mobile, enthusiastic partner was telling me that she wanted more of it tomorrow, and tonight was not even over.

We chugged to almost simultaneous orgasms and clung to one another. Jo tilted her head back, surveying a sky full of stars, something impossible to see in the city.

"Stoney, have you paid attention to the stars out in the Gulf?"

"Yes I have, angel," I said. "God throws another bucket of 'em up there if you're out offshore."

"We need to do that. Can we?"

"We can indeed. We can get out far enough to get away from most of the lights except a few offshore platforms, and I have enough anchor rode to drop the hook in a couple hundred feet of water. We just need to pay attention to the maritime weather reports."

"Light seas," she said. "Two to three feet. Rock us to sleep And more stars. And if we do it in the springtime, when the weather warms up, nude all night. Sleep in the cockpit." Giggle. "Make it earn a whole new meaning to the name." She wiggled. "You're still in me and you're getting hard again."

"I definitely am. Are you too cold yet?"

"Not right now. Slow. Let's just go slow. It feels so good like this."

There's something primal. I don't know. Maybe it's somewhere in ancestral memory or the hive-mind or whatever, but there's something about mating under the stars like this. We kissed. Our arms were as tight around each other as tightly as they could be. Jo's legs wrapped me. No words were being said, but it was like our very skin was transmitting energy between us.

I wasn't too surprised when Jo said softly, "Stoney, it's like we're talking to each other. Just wrapped up together."

There was no point in telling her my thoughts. I'm pretty sure she already knew them.

Chapter 27

Johanna's turn:

Almost magical, waking up in the morning on the boat. Not sure exactly what time it is, reminding myself that it really doesn't matter, feeling the form of this MAN touching me, rolling to face him, snuggling in against him. The boat is rocking gently and there's the wind and the waves and the sound of our breathing.

I know my guy is drifting along because he hugs me closer and resumes his even breathing. I know several things that would be very pleasant for both of us, but I choose to slide back into slumber with him.

Okay, I've got a mind running a thousand miles a minute right now. Johanna Elise is married. I'm supposed to be the rational girl. Woman. Twenty-one. A matter of months from graduation from college with a business degree and a music degree and...

Two months ago I thought that if all else failed, I could just pull the ripcord and parachute back into Mom and Dad's lives, and they'd be disappointed but understanding, the job market being what it is, but they love me and they'd accept that.

Instead, I'm now Johanna Elise Solheim Jackson.

We've talked, Mister Jackson and I, about careers and finances. "You just go ahead and be a charming college student for the time being. I know people that raise whole families on what I'm making. I'm pretty sure that we won't be in a bind."

"I am not worried about staving off starvation, dear," I said.

"Then what is it you wish to do?"

"Use my degree. Administer a business."

"The whole thing?"

"If it was a little business. But no, I'd be happy with a staff position."

"What about your music?"

"The symphony says they will have me on the list. That's not a career, though."

"Then you just figure out what it is you wish to do, then we will try to set it up so you can do it."

"I'd like to think that I'm able to do this on my own, Stoney."

"Oh, okay... 'I am Woman, hear me roar..."

"Beast!" I squealed, punching his arm. "It's NOT that."

"Then what is it?"

"Several things, guy. I want to prove that I can be a functional member of society."

"I've heard you play. You contribute more to society with one concerto than some lower-tier functionary does with a decade of checking 'Form B' in some admin office."

"But flute-players don't make enough to keep a house."

"I can provide that function, sweetie," he said. I know he means it. He's old-school. A provider. Like Dad. Problem is, I'm a woman, like Mom. It's one thing to be loved and to love and trust in return. It's quite another to be helpless.

"I'm not going to be helpless, baby,"

"I don't think you're helpless, Jo. I'm just saying that you don't have to fret over when and where you go to work."

In my early morning reverie, I feel a stirring, then a major move as the love of my life rolls over and wraps me in his arms, spooning up against me. I suspect that he's mostly awake right now because his face seeks to nestle into the hair on the back of my head.

A soft "Mmmmmm" near my ear confirms my suspicion. It's worth a little wiggle of my heinie to see what I can work up. I wiggle gently, slowly, like I'm settling into a comfortable chair.

I get a wiggle in return and the hand at the end of the arm that's cuddling me, that hand gently cups my breast. And a little kiss touched the back of my head.

"G'mornin', sweet Jo," he says softly.

I twist around to face him, planting a kiss on his lips. "G'morning, my love." I didn't let him harbor the idea of morning breath. I wanted his. We kissed. Pulled apart. Smiled. Made happy noises. Kissed again. Then I kissed his nose. "Let's do something for breakfast. And I need to hit the head."

"Me too. But I can go over the side."

"You're naked and it's cold out there."

"I'll scan to see if there's anybody around and I'm gonna be right back."

Yes, my husband is nude. And Yes, I watched his naked butt walk to the ladder going topside. He opened the hatch, took a step up, and then finished going topside as I backed into the head. Marine toilets. Pull this. Pump that. Turn this other thing. I envied Stoney his quick whiz over the side.

When I heard the hatch close, I bent forward to see Stoney. Yes, I DO look. I'm supposed to find him attractive, and in fact I find him arousing. I finished cycling the head and stood up.

"You're staring."

"Not staring," I giggled. "Appreciating. And if I'm not supposed to get annoyed when you look at me, then you shouldn't be annoyed when I look at you."

"Well, if you walk around like that, I'll never get breakfast done."

"And if you cook breakfast like that, you're liable to splash something hot on something tender. Get dressed."

We both donned jeans and shirts. I didn't bother with a bra. It's not totally necessary for support with my breast size, and if Stoney got a little too much nipplage, we both were okay with it.

Breakfast was oatmeal with dried fruit, a couple of eggs with some bacon. Orange juice. And water was on the stove boiling for coffee afterward. I cracked a porthole to let some of the humidity out of the cabin. As we sat at the dinette, eating, little wisps of the outside chill touched my face.

"You're smiling," he said.

"Of course I am. Breakfast. You. Our boat. Solitude."

"You're into the 'solitude' thing, aren't you, baby?" he said.

"Not to an extreme. It's just something that I appreciate, probably a lot more than a lot of other people. Key used to worry about me staying home so many evenings. Now, I ... You and I, that's technically not solitude. I just get every bit of you to myself."

"Whatever isn't minding the boat."

"We can both mind the boat. Just like we can both mind the apartment. Doesn't take much time. I'm spreading my honeymoon out over WEEKS and there are times that I desire you all to myself."

"You have decades of that ahead of you, redhead," he said.

I collected the breakfast dishes, all of which went into the trash. Overnighters, we stayed with disposable things. Only had to wash a few pots. I poured the simmering water over the coffee in the French press.

"Stoney, I've been keeping something from you."

He looked almost frightened.

"No," I said, "nothing bad."

"Then what?"

"All that talking about working. Whether or not I have to work because you can make enough to support us?"

"Yeah?"

"Neither of us has to work after I graduate."

"Neither of us. How's that?"

"Great uncle, Dad's uncle, is the major stockholder of Solheim Limited."

"Like the 'Solheim Limited' that has its name all over the North Sea?"

"You know of them?"

"Yes. Actually was a sub-contractor on something that ties to them. Anybody working around the oil business knows the name."

"And you didn't make the connection?"

"I figured Solheims in Norway were like Jacksons here. All over the place."

"You're kind of right. But there's a trust fund. Mine turns over to me when I graduate."

"How much?"

"Don't know exactly, but substantial."

What about your mom and dad?"

"Dad couldn't stop working if you held a gun to his head. He's not in it for the money."

"And his beautiful daughter keeps a secret very well."

"I didn't want ... I wanted it to be about Stoney and Jo, working class. Not about Johanna Solheim, trust fund baby."

He looked almost hurt. "Johanna Solheim, angel from heaven. Johanna Solheim, Norwegian-Irish forest nymph. Johanna Solheim, siren. Johanna Solheim, horrible punster and brilliant musician."

"Johanna Solheim JACKSON, wife of engineer warrior poet. That's what I wanted it to be, Stoney. About us. And the conversations..."

"In which you played me like a fish..." he said, eyes stern.

"I wanted us to be able to stand on our own. You and me. Ourselves. Our place."

"But you knew that you didn't need me."

I got kind of ruffled at that 'you didn't need me' comment. "For exactly ONE thing, Randall Jackson. ONE THING. I don't need the stinkin' money. WE don't need the money. You, sir, I need for everything else." I drew a breath. "You're supposed to be happy at this news."

"Sorry. I'm digesting it."

"Don't let it upset you. You got that little lump you just put in the bank from that media system. That got us quite comfortable. I just..."

"You just took us from comfortable to..."

"To anywhere you want to be with me."

"Make no mistake, little girl..." he started, his face serious. I was frightened. He continued, "I married you. Money had nothing to do with it before, and it doesn't have anything to do with it now. I love you. I swore that to you under the full moon and again in front of friends and family before God."

"Oh, Stoney..." I said. And I wrapped him up, showering him with kisses.

"Any other secrets? Like you're heiress to the throne of Ireland or something?"

"Nothing. I've already told you how much I love you. Come sit down."

"I'm going to sit down, how come you're pushing me to the berth?"

I giggled. "Lounge, Stoney. Relax. Let's have that conversation again."

"What conversation?"

"The one about me getting a job and you working and stuff like that."

He smiled. Maybe it was starting to sink in.

"How's your engineering cred, Stoney? I mean, if I graduated and stomped my foot and said 'long vacation', could you do a leave of absence? Or resign and get another job later?" It was fun watching his face as he parsed that statement.

"Johanna," he said, "I thought I was marrying you and we'd have a happy little home and we'd have our careers and friends and families. Just like everybody else."

"Is this bad?"

"No. Different. I'm supposed to be the successful provider."

"And you are, Stoney. Until June the first of next year. Then we meet with an attorney and ... you'll still be the successful provider. We'll just have a really nice nest egg." I leaned back against him. I knew he wasn't going to remain sitting for long. I was right. He lay back and I climbed on top of him, my face inches from his. Those blue eyes. Yeah, the scar. It doesn't tan like the rest of him. But he's ... just handsome. I kissed HIS nose, because he does that to me and I love it.

"I'm glad I waited until we were on the boat to tell you," I said.

"Why?"

"So you couldn't storm off."

"Why would I storm off?"

"I've heard that some guys can't handle their wives having the money."

"I ... you don't have THE money. We both could do quite well without Great-uncle Lars' fortune. If that disappeared tomorrow we'd still have a marvelous life ahead of us. I was quite happy to think that I had a lifetime of your beauty and your music and your conversation ahead of me, even with both of us working. Or me working and you staying home with our offspring."

Yes, we've had the 'offspring' conversation, to the delight of my mother. "Mom, of course we've discussed it."

"Tell me that I'm going to have a grandchild."

"Or two."

Mom has this squeal. Dad says she passed it on to me. I got to hear it again. "Mom, Stoney and I want to have one or two. We're in a good position..." Yes, Mom knows about the trust fund.

"You're certainly in better position than your dad and I when you showed up." When I was born, Dad was a captain, I was born in an Army hospital, lived in a housing area, paycheck to paycheck, until one day his father informed him of an interesting letter from his brother. "So, when?"

"Like you and dad, we'd like to have a year or two to ourselves. Then, sky's the limit."

Another happy mom squeal. "You will have beautiful children, Jo. Beautiful children."

"Mom, I only hope that they think of me and Stoney the way I think of you and Dad."

You shouldn't make your mom cry over the phone.

-

"So what. We just relax. Uncle Lars said that his great-niece should graduate. I will graduate. I will play my flute until I graduate and then I will look for places to play, and some of them will beside my Stoney. We need to go to the park on a pretty day and put your banjo case on the ground and play. But I will find a chamber orchestra or whatever, where ever we are, and I will play..."

"Because I adore your playing."

I smiled. " And if you want to find a place to be an engineer, you find a place. If you want to manage a business, manage a business. Whatever. Jo 'n' Stoney..."

"Does anybody else know? Key?"

"Heavens, no, Stoney. I'm part of the thundering herd. Scholarship kid, as far as she knows."

"Oh."

"I didn't want to make things sound strange. I could've had my own apartment. That was always an option. But hanging with Key was a good move, I think. She's a hoot."

"Yes she is," I said. "I like being Jo's white boy."

"Jo, there's one thing," he said.

"Yes, my Stoney?"

"Remember the night of our wedding, after the incident, when you went up one side of me and down the other because I hadn't told you that I carried a pistol? And YOU said to me, if I remember correctly, 'no secrets'?"

I gasped. "Yes, I remember." I cast my eyes downward.

"Don't you think this is something that fits in the 'no secrets' clause?"

I looked up. "I'm sorry. Forgive me?" I looked into his eyes. I knew the answer before he spoke.

"We just need to be open with each other, dear," he said. "Of course I forgive you for that one. Are there any others? Like you were once named Stanley?"

"If I used to be 'Stanley', they did a really good job. You haven't commented on any scars."

"You're making this sound ridiculous, Jo. I'm serious here."

"Exactly how serious are you?" I stepped close to him. Our noses almost touched. "Stoney, I love you. Richer or poorer, for better or worse, et cetera..."

He kissed back. We're gonna be okay.

"I wasn't raised as a spoilt little rich girl, Stoney. Dad and Mom just aren't that way. They could be sitting at a chalet in the Rockies or a condo overlooking the seashore, but they're not. Not gonna say never, but Dad likes working and Mom likes being there with him. And I'm not any different."

"I adore you, Johanna, even when you were just a poor college student."

"Good. Are we? Good, I mean?"

"Yes, dear." He smiled and hauled me atop him as he lay back.

I giggled.

"What's so funny?"

"We have to make it on our own until June. Can we do that?"

"Yes. Nothing's changed. There's nothing I need that I don't have in my arms right now."

Since we were dressed, we pulled up the anchor and moved south in the bay to a location less likely to see another boat on this autumn day. We had a lunch of sandwiches and gave the sun time to warm the air up a bit more because I had a goal to accomplish.

We anchored. I disappeared below and came back up the ladder completely nude.

"You're serious!"

"Of course I'm serious! Get with the program!"

He looked around. "Nobody that I can see." He started shedding clothes. I went below and retrieved a couple of towels to keep sticky stuff from happening to the cockpit cushions because I intended for there to be sticky stuff.

When I returned topside, Stoney was as naked as I was. The air was crisp, so we weren't going to be here long like this, but I saw the erection jutting up from his crotch and I knew that I had everything that I needed. I was juicing up dramatically at just the idea.

A little while later I was still sitting with my legs on either side of him, my arms wrapped around his neck, his arms around my waist, holding me as our breathing returned to normal. I had my head on his shoulder, facing him, his neck within reach for a gentle kiss, which I took.

"You ... Johanna..."

I'm glad of that. I've heard from girls who said that sex just wasn't worth the bother, and I knew of girls who thought it to be wonderful. I find myself in the second group. That's good. But it's even better when I know that my mate is equally moved.

"You're trying to talk, Stoney. You don't need to, you know."

He just sighed and his hands roamed down from my waist and he cups my butt. "Perfect. You're perfect."

I smiled, moved a bit to kiss him on the lips. "Thank you. Your blood supply still hasn't returned to your brain."

"When it does, THAT'LL think you're perfect, too."

"You're silly and wonderful and you make me smile." I wiggled, feeling a soft plop in my nether regions as he slipped out of me. "And you fill me UP!"

"You make me crazy, little one."

The far-off sound of a powerboat assaulted our ears. It sounded like it was getting closer.

"I guess we need to get presentable," Stoney said.

"I guess. Or we can move this exercise below. I'm still relaxed." I stood up. Stretched. He stood and embraced me.

"We'd better do something, little one, before we both get sunburnt in some inconvenient places."

He followed me below.

Late afternoon we both emerged, fully clothed, and honestly, I think my knees were weak. Stoney weighed anchor and we sailed to another anchorage two hours away. The wind had switched around to the south and the clouds were low and nasty-looking, but sailing is sailing and the sounds of the wind and the water were still a delight. It's even better when you're seated on the leeward side of the cockpit, your feet braced against the pedestal, snuggled next to your mate.

I won't bore you with the details of yet another evening except to tell you that neither Stoney nor I were bored. We motored back into our slip on Sunday afternoon with me at the helm. I'm not quite as smooth as Stoney is, but it's been his boat for years, mine for a month.

We waited for the geese to show up. They did on these autumn days because activity was low. They came to where the noise was, us, and I think they know that I'm good for a bag of popcorn and some dry dog food. They don't let any of that go to waste.

They're funny. They have such serious expressions. I commented to Stoney.

"A goose has to work very hard to move his lips to smile."

"Goose lips," I said. "Imagine having all those feelings and not being able to smile."

"Listen to 'em," he said. "They're talking 'happy goose' right now. Makes up for not smiling, I guess. Hard to get into the mind of a goose."

I laughed. "I'm glad we don't have goose lips, baby."

"Me too," he replied. "Your smile had me from the beginning."

We made pretty short work of moving things between the boat and the car, spent a bit of time talking with Gary, then got on the road home. Late afternoon, we made ourselves busy putting a load of laundry on. He did that while I started my daily practice session. He works faster when he hears me playing, and then he comes in and sits there while I practice. I ran through my routines while he read. Every now and then, I'd hit something that resonated with him, the book would flop down and his eyes would close.

Finally I stopped. "Get your lute, Stoney."

"Banjo."

"Lute." And he pulled the banjo off the wall hanger.

"Third Movement, harp entry," I said. "One, two, three..." Stoney's getting good. He's right there. I put my flute to my lips and join him. We finish that and he switches over to a sprightly 6/8 banjo roll and I hit him with an Irish jig. His foot can't help but tap along with the music.

When practice ended we hit the shower and then went to bed. The last thing I remember was having enough energy to hit the button to provide soothing music for us to enjoy as we caressed one another into slumber.

Monday morning. I could have stayed in bed. My first class is at nine. But Stoney's up at six-thirty, he does this quick dash through the shower, and I had breakfast on the table and the coffee brewing when he comes into the kitchen, dressed for work.

I give him a kiss as he's going out the door.

This gives me a little quiet time after I clear the breakfast table. I was sitting on the recliner, Stoney's chair. I like sitting in it. It smells of him. No, not any kind of sweaty stink, just hints of his aftershave and the cologne I bought him. I can twist sideways with my laptop and do a bit of classwork.

That's what I was doing when my cellphone rang. It surprised me. I have a ring for Mom and Dad, and one for Key, and obviously I have a special ring for Stoney. This wasn't any of those. I swiped the screen and held it to my ear. "This is Jo. Can I help you?"

"Are you Johanna Jackson?" the voice asked.

"Yes I am," I said. I normally revel in the sound of somebody else saying that. But this time, there was no hint of joy.

"Your husband is Randall Jackson?"

"Yes, ma'am," I said.

"We need you to come to the downtown community hospital. Your husband's been in an accident."

"OmiGOD!" I said. "Is he..."

"He's been in an accident. He will be okay. But we would like to have you here, please."

"I'm on the way."

"Emergency room entrance. Tell them who you are. They will let you in to see him."

Chapter 28

Stoney's turn:

Aside from the idea of leaving Jo behind, I was not feeling bad when I left for work. After all, I had her kiss still tingling on my lips when I got in my car. A push of the button and I had the classical music station on the stereo. Oh, yeah, I have the iPod plugged in, too, but I liked giving the radio station a shot at titillating my ears on the way to work. This technique insured that my tastes received some variety.

I hated the commute. Traffic is aggravation. After a couple of years of exploration, though, I had a route that I determined to be the lowest amount of aggravation possible for a despised trek. So here I am, visage of my beautiful, smiling Johanna in my head, strains of Brahms in my ears, driving a route I drove several times every week.

I knew there was a series of traffic lights, but if I hit the first one, then I'd generally make the rest because they were coordinated. Like I said, I knew the route, right down to recognizing several cars and drivers whom I'd seen on the trip, day after day, week after week. That was a key to the normal ease of the path, I'm sure, that like me, many of the drivers were into the routine.

I had three lights to go before my destination. I saw it switch from red to green when I was half a block from it. Perfect timing. As I got closer, I noted that traffic on the cross street was stopped. Good! I was safe from light runners. I proceeded into the intersection, not giving a thought that anything was out of the norm.

I woke up in an ambulance, strapped to a backboard in a horrible example of deja vu. The electronic siren was making horrible noises. That's new. Medevac helicopters don't have sirens.

A medic, EMT, paramedic, I don't know what to call them or what they call themselves, was bent over me. We called all medics 'Doc' in the army.

"Can you hear me?" the EMT said.

"Yeah ... wha?"

"You got T-boned pretty bad. You'll be in the trauma center in a couple more minutes."

I winced in pain as some muscle or another tried a random movement. I gasped. Got it under control. "How bad?"

"Can't say. You got hit on the driver's side. We got you out of a mess of airbags. There's blood. Let the doctors see what's wrong."

"Cellphone," I said. "Call my wife."

"When we get you in the ER," he said. "Lay still. You'll just hurt if you move."

"I'm hurting and I ain't moving."

"Dude," he said, "You're gonna be okay. Nobody who makes jokes like that ever died on me."

I gritted my teeth. Though it wasn't a good time to laugh, I hiccuped a chuckle. Side hurt. Oh, shit! I recognize THAT pain. At least I could still see out of both eyes.

I was ceremoniously deposited onto a table in the trauma center and had a day's worth of good clothes cut off me. Somebody with a clipboard showed up along with real medical people. "Can he talk?"

"I can talk," I said. I noted the look. Turned my head. Do you know that turning your head moves muscles in your back and chest? It does. I winced. "Wallet has ID. Insurance card. Cellphone has ICE 1 & 2. One is my wife ... please..."

"We will," she said.

"Mister Jackson," a nurse said, "we're gonna knock you out. The next part is gonna hurt..."

"Yeah," I said. "This part's been an absolute riot."

"Wait," the doctor said. "These old scars..."

"I'm pinned in the leg, femur, tibia and fibula. Arm, humerus. Got some bits of shrapnel."

"That rules out the MRI," he said. "Allergies?"

"RPG's make me break out," I said.

The doctor smiled. "Put im out. He's polluting the place."

"Uh, good night, folks..."

Consciousness came in stages. I thought I felt a soft touch. Drifted off. Fingers on my face. Drifted off. Uh-oh ... like an angel. Definitely an angel. You've done it, boy. You're dead. No, wait, this is prettier than an angel. Everybody knows angels are blonde. This one's awfully redheaded and concerned-looking.

"Jo..."

"Stoney, what have you done?"

"I love you, Johanna Elise."

"You're bumped up pretty bad."

"Hello, Mister Jackson," a nurse said. "You're back with us?"

"Either that or you have the Number Two role in a dream."

"Gee, Stoney," Jo giggled. To the nurse she said, "Yes, he's back."

"I'll see when the doctor's free to talk with you," she said. "Do you need anything?"

"My skateboard..."

"Stoney!" Jo squealed. She turned to the nurse. "He's crippled. I'll beat him for you later."

The nurse pulled the privacy curtain closed as she left. Jo bent over and kissed me. "Oh, gosh, Stoney..."

"Sorry to throw a scare at you, baby," I said.

"Oh, gosh, Stoney..."

"I'll be okay..."

"Yes, you'll be okay, Mister Jackson. I'm Doctor Timmons." To Jo he said, "And you're his wife?"

"Yes, Doctor," Jo said. "What's going on with him?"

"Well, first, you got bag burn. Airbags are rather violent, but the burn's a lot better than you bouncing around the inside of your car. Your side airbag tried, but it didn't stop the guy that hit you. You get a rebuild of previous work, it appears. I'm not the guy who'll do that. In the morning you get an orthopedic surgeon."

"That bad?" I asked. Jo's face was serious. Smile was missing.

"You took an impact, apparently a bit ahead of your pelvis, because that's not broken. The impact displaced the hardware from your previous incident. Your breaks are both at the termini of your pins."

"But I'll walk again, right?"

"You were walking before. You'll walk again. You're probably familiar with the physical therapy and rehab part from last time."

"I'll do all that again?"

"I'm not the expert, but I think probably not as much. You don't have the muscle damage that those scars show me from the first time. Your ortho guy will know better. We're gonna put you in a room tonight."

"Okay. Thanks, Doc," I said.

"Thank you, sir. 'Preciate your service."

"Service?"

"Yeah. You don't get that kind of hardware and those scars skateboarding," he said.

"You heard that?"

"MY ER. I get to listen."

Jo followed as they wheeled me on a long trek to my room. I noted the plastic bag she carried.

"Your wallet. Your cellphone. Your shoes. They told me the rest wasn't worth saving."

"Can you call the office? Ask for Bob Wilson. Tell him what's going on."

"I'll do that."

The floor nurse came in and did her thing, verifying my IV installation, noting the last time I'd been dosed with Demerol. "How's your pain?"

"Pretty stout right now. The stuff they gave me earlier's thinning out."

"It must be," Jo said. "He stopped being funny."

"I'll be back with his next dose in about twenty minutes," the nurse said as she left.

"Jo, you don't have to stay..."

"Don't you start with me, Randall Jackson," she said. "After you get your next dose of Demerol, I'm going home and put things in order and then I will be back up here. You are my husband and there will be no nights by yourself."

"Okay, sweetie. What about school?"

"I will be okay. I'll call Key and tell her what's up. I will email my professors. We can get through this."

"Look," I said, "I can manage while you're in class. Don't jeopardize your classes."

"We'll see how long this goes on, baby. I'll get you some help if you have to stay home." She touched my face lovingly. "Can I get close enough for a kiss?"

"Yes, please," I said.

She bent over and our lips met. Then she kissed my face. "You had me worried."

"I had me worried, too, baby. I love you, you know."

The nurse showed up, syringe in hand. I felt the liquid fire enter my vein and then I started drifting. I felt a gentle kiss and heard, "I'll be back, baby."

I let myself drift off. When I awoke, Jo was sitting there with one of her textbooks and her MacBook.

"Hey, babydoll," I said.

"Hi, guy." She smiled for me. "How are you feeling?"

"Not too hot today, princess," I said. "How're you?"

"I started my morning just perfectly happy, then I got this phone call," she said. "I talked to Bill. He's gonna come by just as soon as you can stand him."

"Tell 'im December of next year works just fine."

"Oh, you're BACK!" she giggled. "He said don't worry about work. They'll take care of things for you. And I talked to Key. You know that aside from the orchestra, our classes don't match up."

"Yeah, I know."

"You like Key, don't you? I mean, you can stand her around you?"

"Key's a hoot. Why?"

"Key said you're, and I quote her words, her favorite white boy and she would be glad to stay up here with you while I'm in class. That way my grades don't take too big a dive."

"Key. Okay. Tell 'er I' look forward to seeing her. What's Hutch say about that?"

"I asked the same question. She said she will see that Hutch finds it a sane thing to do. It's not like you're gonna spend the night in 'er bed, you know. I'll be here every evening when class is over. She's just filling in the gaps so I can get to class."

"Oughtta be a real hoot," I said.

"And you don't have to worry. I talked with one of the nurses. They say they'll have a home health nurse come by while you're recuperating."

"I've heard of that," I told her. "Insurance oughtta cover most of it."

"We can cover it," she said. "And the other driver should have insurance, anyway. The ward clerk said that the police called asking about your status. They want to talk to you."

"I would imagine so." I winced. Right leg was uncomfortable. When you move your right leg, your left leg wants to help out. That hurts.

"What's wrong?" Jo asked.

"I moved my right leg. Hurts my left."

"What can I do?"

"Can you just stuff that extra pillow under the right knee. I need to change the pressure points just a little bit."

She performed that task, her mouth a straight line as I sucked my breath in a couple of times. "Like that?"

"Yeah, great, honey."

"I'm sorry I hurt you."

"Can't be avoided. It's gonna be fun for a while."

"I'm sorry, Stoney. You've been through this before. With your leg, I mean."

"I still have both arms this time. And I would like to attempt a hug with them."

"I don't want to hurt you, baby."

"Let's try. I need my Johanna."

I could see how carefully she tried sitting on the edge of the bed. She leaned over and I put my arms around her. Through the smells of antiseptic I could get tendrils of delicate perfume. My Jo. I could connect with the blue eyes, the delicate ears, the pert nose. And the red lips softly brushed mine.

"Mmmmm," she said. "Stoney, I never want to do without you."

"You got me, baby. For better or worse. And we're having a wild ride, you and me, but I'm yours."

There was a knock on the door and the floor nurse peered in. "Are you okay, Mister Jackson?"

"All things considered, yes," I said.

"Be careful sitting on his bed, Mizz Jackson," the nurse said. "You know the rules."

"I know," Jo said. "But he MADE me..."

"Uh-huh. Mister Jackson, how's your pain?"

"About a five right now."

"Good," the nurse returned. "I'll give you another dose in an hour if you can wait."

"I'm good."

"Be careful with 'im, Mizz Jackson," the nurse said as she left. I noted that she pulled the door shut behind her.

"Could I get another kiss?" Jo asked.

"Please, yes."

I was wakened early the next morning, not that I slept all night, anyway. Between nurses making their rounds and the twinges of pain every time my unconscious body made a move, I drifted in and out. And nothing by mouth after midnight.

The light came on at 0630. Jo was immediately at my side as two guys in scrubs rolled a gurney into the room.

"We're bringing you to surgery," one said. To Jo he said, "You can go down with him if you want. The waiting room's right next to recovery."

We made a little parade as we navigated the halls. When we got to the surgical suite, we stopped.

The surgical nurse turned to Jo. "We gotta take 'im now and prep 'im."

Jo bent over and kissed me lightly. "See you in a bit, my guy."

"We'll take good care of 'im," the other guy said.

Oh, yeah, there was the part where the orthopedic surgeon explained what he was going to do. "But from your X-rays I guess you've been through it before."

"Yeah," I said. "With extra shrapnel."

Honestly, I don't remember as much of the first time. This time, the staff was a bit older, but the care was equally professional. I went to sleep to "Count backward from a hundred." I got to ninety-six.

I woke up in stages again, and there was Jo. We sat in the recovery room for a while before the doctor came in.

"Textbook, Mister Jackson," he said. "I don't get to redo these things, but you're pretty healthy and pretty young and I think you'll get back to at least where you were before yesterday. Maybe a little better."

"What're my limits?" I asked.

"Oh, you're not going to walk for a few weeks, then you're going to do the physical therapy and rehab."

"Just like last time."

"No," Jo said. "Last time you didn't have me."

"Last time you were, like, eleven," I said.

"Mizz Jackson, you're gonna be incentive, I'd imagine," the doctor smiled. "Look, you're gonna do a couple more nights here. I'm writing prescriptions for home health and you're gonna need a trapeze on your bed and a wheelchair."

"And lots of sympathy." Key's voice. "Hi, Jo's white boy!"

"Hello, my favorite minority," I replied.

"Oh, you still groggy. Jo, I'm early."

"I know, but we're so glad you showed up at all."

"Look, girl," Key said. "It's what friends do. You go to class. I'll take care of 'im for you."

"Stoney," Jo said. "You sure you don't mind?"

"Heavens no," I said. "Go do your thing. Be stunning!"

She bent over and kissed me. "I love you, Stoney."

"I adore you, Johanna," I replied.

Y'all stop dat," Key laughed. "Or I'll need a room here. You upsettin' my stomach."

"Jealousy is a horrible thing, Key," Jo said over her shoulder as she left.

Key giggled. "She left the curtain open."

"Yeah, you never know. I might have designs on you."

"Look at you. You crippled. Got tubes stickin' out of you all over."

"Oh, so I'm no longer attractive since I've lost my aura of physical perfection?"

She giggled again. "You too pale. We'd look like a Oreo."

"Just so you thought about it," I laughed.

"You be good, you," she laughed.

I was returned to the surgery ward, to the same room that I'd occupied earlier. Same nurse, too, still there from the morning shift. She greeted me, scanned my chart, eyeballed Key.

"What happened to your wife?" the ward nurse asked.

"She has classes. I'm their best friend," Key said. "So I'm here to take care of 'im."

I sort of dozed off for a bit, came back to consciousness and saw Key with a book. "Hey, Key," I said.

"Hey yourself, Stoney. You have a good nap?"

"Sometimes I can see how somebody might like this drug stuff," I said.

"Don't be that way," Key said. "If you don't know people, I do."

"Oh, don't worry, kiddo," I said. "There's too much beauty in the world to miss. Your redheaded friend. Music. The sunset over the bay. Bluebonnets in the spring."

"Jo's right. You do lapse into imagery."

"Don't know about that," I said, "but when I'm hurting that nurse brings nirvana in a syringe."

"I wouldn't know," Key said. "AIn't never been in your position."

"It's not to be recommended, little one," I said.

She giggled. "You called ME 'little one'. I thought that was reserved for Jo."

"No, but she gets first shot. It's just a friendly name. And you're what, five-four?"

"Yeah."

"Little."

She laughed. "I told Jo that you were a good guy. It's like she lit up when you two started hangin' around. I was so worried you'd turn out to be some dog..."

"She's a breath of fresh air."

"More than that." Key smiled. "I don't know if you've thought about what it's like finding a good roomie for college."

"I had my own problems in the dorm," I said.

"In the dorm, all you have to deal with is the personalities. Off-campus, it's that AND money. Like is the other party gonna come up with their share on time."

"Yeah, you're right," I said.

"Never had a problem. Mom 'n' Dad paid mine. Jo's folks paid hers. And she never leeched off of me, you know, on food an' drinks and stuff."

"She's acted pretty responsible since we've been married," I said. "I trust 'er. Since before we married."

The nurse knocked on the door and entered. "Mister Jackson, I got your shot."

"Thank you. You're my favorite pusher," I said.

"Ain't never heard that one before," she replied saucily. "It's gonna make you drowsy."

"That's okay. Key can go back to studying."

Key smiled. "And his wife will be back in an hour or so."

I did indeed doze off. I awoke to a kiss and naturally assumed that when my eyes opened it would be Jo. I was right.

"Hello, baby."

"Hi, princess," I said.

"Hi, Stoney," Key said.

"You're still here?"

"Yeah, wanted to wait until Jo got here. Had a big fight over who got to wake Prince Charming with a kiss." She chuckled. "Almost got my butt whipped by a white girl. I just wanted to make sure you were okay before I left."

"Go meet Hutch," Jo said.

"He'll appreciate me," she laughed.

"I appreciate you. You gonna be here tomorrow?"

"You bet, white boy," she laughed.

Dinner came. Hospital food. Jo's nose wrinkled. "Tomorrow I will see that you are better fed, baby."

I ate mine. She went to the cafeteria while I dozed and was back for the night. I slept fitfully. Same reason. Demerol. Doze. Move. Wake up. Repeat. I woke up early in the morning when the nurse made her rounds. It was time. I had an urgent need to use a bedpan.

"Let's get my next Demerol first, though."

"You got it, Mister Jackson."

That ordeal out of the way, I got dressings changed and Jo dashed out for something for herself and brought me back some snacks to supplement that hospital breakfast.

At nine she answered my cellphone. "Oh, hi, Mister Bob," she said. "Yes, he's conscious. And on drugs. Probably a good time to talk to him don't you think?" She snickered. "Here he is." And she handed me the phone.

"Mornin', Bob," I said.

"Mornin', Stoney," Bob said. "How are you?"

"Pretty good except they had to redo the pins in my left leg."

"How's Jo handling it?"

"You just heard 'er. She's a trooper."

"Good, son," he said. "You got a good girl there. How long you gonna be in the hospital?"

"At least until tomorrow."

"News is out. You may get visitors."

"Anybody that cares enough to visit, I care enough to see," I said.

"I might make a pass up there."

"Bring chocolate. For Jo."

He laughed. "Got it. You have any idea how long before you can get back into the office?"

"That depends on the doctor, but if you don't mind me on crutches..."

"I'll have to ask HR and Safety about that. Not that I'm pushing."

"Look, Bob, If we get too deep into that Central America project, I can do email, phone..."

"Let's see what your doctor and HR say."

"Okay. When I get to where I can sit up, I can telecommute."

"Hah! Now that's a thought."

"Yeah, and the drugs oughtta make me especially innovative on that Guatemalan power grid."

"Sounds like you're feeling feisty," Bob said.

"The power of modern pharmaceuticals."

"Yeah, okay. Take care of yourself, Stoney. And tell Jo to take care of you."

"Bob says take care of me," I told Jo.

"Got it covered, Bob," she said.

"Bye, Stoney."

Next on the agenda was the appearance of a police officer.

"I'm Patrolman Gary Watson," he said. "Are you up to a bit of conversation?"

"Hello, Gary. Do I need a lawyer?"

"He's joking," Jo said. "Some people don't see it."

Gary smiled. "I'm not in a position to tell you why you might need a lawyer. Seven witnesses say that you had a clean green light. The guy that hit you was in a hurry. Passed in a 'no-passing' zone, ran a red light, hit you."

"Open and shut?"

"As far as you being at fault is concerned. That's about as much good news as you get."

"I'm lying in a hospital bed with new pins in my leg. What's the BAD news?"

"The guy who hit you says his name is Rudolfo Jimenz. You know that thing about illegal aliens?"

"I see where this is going."

"Yep. Senor Jimenez is not licensed, not a citizen, the car he was driving is not his and is not insured, and I'm thinking that if you took everything of his that we might be able to grab, you'd have a total of four hundred dollars."

Jo's hand on my forehead soothed me. That limited my comment to a simple "Shit!"

"I hate to bear the bad news, Mister Jackson. And just eyeballing it at the scene, your car's totaled. If it's any consolation, so's Senor Jimenez's."

"It's Stoney. I won't need a car for a few weeks. By then we can sort that out."

"How's your insurance?"

"Good stuff," I said.

"Small consolation, again," Gary said. "Anyway, the witnesses said you had a green light, were not speeding, and Jimenez whipped out of the line of traffic and T-boned you. That gonna work for your statement?"

"Yep. Can't add anything to that," I said.

"Okay, then," Gary replied. "You can get an official report in a couple of days, for your insurance. Man, I'm sorry to be the bearer of bad news, Stoney."

"Not a lot of choice, is it, Gary," I replied. "Isn't there anything you guys can do about that sort of thing?"

"Stoney, laws are made for people like me and you. We have something to lose. Guys like that? What're we gonna do? Like I said, he and two guys living in an apartment with ratty used furniture that you couldn't sell for four hundred bucks. Arrest him? The courts are already overloaded. And if we don't put 'im in jail and we start tightening the screws, he just leaves and goes back to Mexico. It's a screwed up mess."

"Well, thanks for what you've done, Gary. I appreciate it." I extended a hand to shake his before he left.

After he was gone, Jo touched my cheek. "Well that's just peachy, isn't it?"

Jo's turn

"Aggravating. Very aggravating," Stoney said. "Not the way I thought that would turn out."

"Nothing we can do about it," I said. "We'll be okay. Just need get you walking again. That's first priority."

"We'll get there," he said.

I could see the grogginess tugging at him.

"You're getting groggy, baby," I said. "Take a nap. I have things I can do." I kissed him lightly. Saw him smile. I retired to the chair and opened up my MacBook. Schoolwork.

Tried. Mind's not in that book right now. Stoney's over there. My Stoney. And our life is changing.

Chapter 29

Johanna's turn:

I brought my Stoney home. My poor, broken, battered Stoney. Well, actually, a medical transport brought him home and ceremoniously deposited him in bed.

The bed is a rental hospital bed, at least for the time being. I have home health technicians setting up trapezes. One over this bed. One over our bed. One over Stoney's favorite recliner.

He's got crutches. "But do NOT try using them for a week," the doctor said. "And not while under the influence, either. I just finished caring for a patient who had a horrible accident trying to get around on crutches while in a state of inebriation."

"Got it," Stoney said. "Act like a responsible adult."

"I'll watch 'im," I said.

"I have you set up for a home health visit daily for a couple of weeks," the doctor continued.

So now we're home. Stoney's in bed. Without me. "Here we are," I said.

"Not what I had in mind," he said. He smiled at me. "Is there a way you can squeeze next to me on this thing?"

"I'm afraid I'll hurt you."

"Baby," he said, "it's been days. I'm willing to risk it."

I started to climb into bed.

"Do you really need all those clothes?"

"The home health nurse is supposed to be here any time now. Can you hold that thought?"

"Leave your clothes on and get over here."

I giggled. "My Stoney." I gingerly positioned myself next to him, lying on my side, his right arm pulling me against him.

"I missed you next to me, Johanna."

"Stoney, I missed you too. I wasn't ready to do without you, buddy."

"Nor I, little one." He brushed my hair and nudged me toward him for a kiss. We'd kissed in the hospital. This was better. We were home. Mentally, I guess I unloaded because the sound of the doorbell woke me up. I carefully got out of bed and let the home health nurse in.

She met Stoney, did her initial assessment, talked with us, and left. It's time to figure out how to make this new life work. Stoney's drifting along on a wave of painkillers because of all the stress of moving, but when I check in on him, his eyelids flutter, then open.

"Hey, little one. That's the last time I take those things like that. I can get by on a lot less."

"We didn't want you hurting for the move, baby," I said.

"I know," he replied. "And I appreciate it. But I'm not getting stuck on this crap. Didn't the last time. Ain't gonna do it now."

"Don't let yourself hurt too much, guy," I told him. "Too much pain isn't good for healing either."

"Another kiss would help my healing tremendously," he said, forcing a smile. "I didn't get those the last time."

I did that. I fed him. I washed him up. And I sat beside him as I did the flute practice I'd missed for three days, and I practiced the exercises I needed and I played the songs my Stoney loves.

"Tomorrow I'm sitting up with my banjo," he said. "We play together."

We played together a little tonight before I went to bed. I was just in his bed, caressing, comforting, receiving the same from his manly body next to mine. I was idly gliding my hand over his chest when his hand touched my wrist, pushing my hand a little lower.

I sort of giggled. "I didn't want to do something that would hurt you, baby."

"Endorphins, princess," he said. "You're my generator of endorphins."

Yes, THAT works. He was erect, that glorious hot shaft pulsed under my touch.

"God, that feels good!" he gasped.

"Would ... could you stand an orgasm?"

"Ohgodyes!"

"I want..." I was drawing the covers back, exposing him. "I know what I want. You can stop me..." I bent my neck and slurped him into my mouth. One. It's powerful having this control over my man. Two. I really like the feel and taste. Three. As much as I miss having Stoney inside my pussy, this is very, very good.

He didn't stop me. That tiny thought I'd harbored that just maybe the painkillers would also kill his sexual responses, that disappeared as he got harder, started pulsing, and then released into my mouth. Oh, yes! THAT still works. So do I, as I languish in his arms and he gently fingers me to my own orgasm.

For the week he's not supposed to be crutching around, between me and the home-health nurse and Key, we covered Stoney pretty well. Key asked about THAT part of our relationship.

Giggle. "We manage. It's too good NOT to," I said. Key says she looks at him differently after that conversation.

"Just remember that it would KILL your grandma to find out that you'd died messing with a white boy," I said.

She laughed. "IF he wasn't YOUR white boy, I just might be swayed. We'd have these exotic-looking mocha-colored kids..."

It's funny, but my Stoney has that effect on me. And Key brought her oboe. Practice. Make Stoney happy. She and Hutch showed up one evening, bearing gifts. Supper. From a local Thai place. Hutch and Stoney talked a bit of work and Key and I talked a bit of school and orchestra and after dinner Key and I and Stoney played a bit.

"I'm trying to do a whole orchestra's work, backing you two up," she said. "Y'all really have this piece goin' your way." The piece was that Mozart flute and harp concerto.

Weekend came. How I missed the freedom to go to the boat. "Next weekend we need to go check on 'er," he said.

"I called Gary and told him when you got in the wreck," I said. "He's keeping an eye on 'er. But yes, next weekend."

And Monday is our fun/practice day. We used to go to the apartment once shared by me and Key. Not this time. Everybody showed up at our apartment. Stoney clumped on crutches and settled into his chair, accepted the requisite amount of sympathetic commentary, and we started practicing.

And the doorbell rang. I answered it. Mrs. Hlinka from next door. Seventy-ish. Retired.

"I'm sorry if we're too loud," I said. "We'll dial it back."

"Oh, no, dear," Mrs. Hlinka said. "Can we come in and listen?"

I had to smile. "Sure! We'd be privileged to have you!"

"Let me go get Georgi," she said. "And tell him that I'm not being rude, please."

So I introduced Georg and Betta to my friends. "The Hlinka's. Our neighbors. Betta and Georg, these are some of our orchestra. Remember, this is practice. Please don't think poorly of us."

Got us put on the "when I bake cookies, you'll get some" list from Mrs. Hlinka.

"Could I, please," Georg asked Key. "It's been so many years since..."

Key smiled. Produced a fresh reed and handed her oboe to Georg. His eyes lit up as he put the reed to his lips. The tone wasn't Key's clean, practiced, sound, and the fingering was fits and starts. "Thank you," he said. "So many years ago, in university at Prague," he said.

Doing some math in her head, "Prague Spring?" Key asked gently.

He and Betta both nodded. "Yes. We strove for freedom. Failed. Here in America, a new life, but no time for music. And when I hear Jackson and his lovely wife, I wish. Tonight I hear oboe, and I send Betta to ask," Georg said.

Dad told me about meeting people who'd lived the history we only read about. I made a mental note to invite Georg and Betta over again.

"Mister Georg," I said. "This last one is something that Stoney..."

"Stoney?" he asked.

"My husband is Randall Jackson. In the Army they named him 'Stonewall' after the famous Confederate general. He's always been 'Stoney' to me."

"Ah," Georg said. "That, I know about."

"He wanted me to play Mozart's flute and harp concerto, but we couldn't find a harpist, so he plays the part on his banjo. I hope you like it."

They liked it. Mizz Betta is a retired nurse. Checks in on Stoney now.

"I didn't know their story," Stoney said. "Just a nice old couple with a funny accent that sort of kept to themselves."

"You never know," I said. "There's a lot of central European heritage in Texas," I said.

"I know," Stoney replied. "But generations old. I knew their accent was too fresh for them to be native. But one doesn't pry."

"Unless one plays music that brings an old man's memories back alive."

Something else is alive, too. "Baby, if we're very careful, do you think we could try it?" I didn't think I was being selfish. I was thinking that we need each other.

He smiled. "Jo, I want to try it."

Yes we can. Gloriously. An act that I once thought I'd never care about, it's now a desire across the spectrum of my being, and I straddled Stoney and satisfied both of us. Satisfied? It's a form of worship. Adulation. And ever so quiveringly, wetly satisfying.

"Stoney, are you sure that didn't hurt?"

Soft laughter. "Killed me. I felt my life force leaving my body. Guess where it went."

"Like I was riding a fountain," I replied.

I gave him a pain-killer before we tried going to sleep. He was drifting off while I pondered that, yes, Jo and Stoney can get past this. Piece of cake.

So I come home from class and he's in the kitchen, propped up on a crutch, and Key's on the sofa talking with Mizz Hlinka.

"He ran us out," Key said. "Said you have deprived him of red beans and rice and he was intent on rectifying that situation."

"Stoney, you're perfectly capable of talking somebody through that."

"I know," he said, "but I get tired of letting others do things for me. Besides, I've been listening to Key and Mizz Betta."

"Where's Mister Georg?" I asked.

"Nap time," Mizz Betta said. "He does so enjoy them now. Was such an active young man in his youth. Our youth. Much like your Stoney," she said.

Okay, I smile, you know, because he's MY Stoney and it makes me happy when others say good things about him. I notice Key grinning, too.

"What?"

"I gave my old oboe to Mister Georg to play with. He can keep it as long as he wants."

"You made him young again, dear Key," Mizz Betta said. "He was so alive at twenty-two, in university, studying, music was something he loved."

"Music is something we all love, Mizz Betta. I'm glad a little thing like that will bring such joy."

Life has a way of moving onward. We can't stop it. There's no sense in raging against it. So Saturday morning I held the door open on my little SUV and let him back into the passenger seat and we drove to the marina. Got greeted by Gary, and since I had the requisite bags of popcorn and cat food, the geese.

"Man, good to see you getting around," Gary said.

"Glad I got Jo," Stoney said. "This would've been tough for a single guy."

"Oh, you're adding friends by the day," I said. "Let's see if you can get on the boat."

"Lemme help," Gary said.

"Lemme try by myself," countered Stoney.

I and Gary pulled the docklines to make sure the boat didn't shift away and Stoney backed up to the cockpit coaming, swivelled, and was in. He was grinning. I unlocked the hatch and went below to check the bilge. Nothing. Nice, tight little boat.

"Are y'all going out?" Gary asked.

"No, not this time," Stoney said. "It's our boat. We just wanted to check on 'er. Maybe next week, if the weather's good." It was nippy today.

I cranked the little diesel and watched the gages for normal operation.

"Let it get to temperature," Stoney advised. "Bring my banjo."

I emerged from below with a banjo in one hand, stretched to give it to him, then hauled up my high school flute. "Concert," I said to Gary. With two-goose accompaniment. We played for a little while, letting the engine run, charging the battery.

Finally, I shut the engine down and secured it, stowed our instruments, and thanked Gary for his help and his company.

"Marina's slow this time of year," he said. "And you two are entertainment, not trouble."

"Glad you think so, Gary," Stoney said. And we loaded up and went home.

"Next weekend..." I started.

"Let's watch the forecast. I won't be much help with this leg, baby," he said.

"I think that we CAN. I just want to make sure you know that I want to, that is, if you want to."

"What I want to do," he smiled, "is punish you for teasing me with that ponytail." Oh, yes, my Stoney has a fetish, and it involves anything I do with my hair. And he's getting more mobile, and better yet, he's not in pain when I get a bit more mobile.

"I will accept my punishment," I laughed. "I need to get you home."

"Yes you do," He laughed. "You're crazy, you know..."

"A psychopath," I countered.

"Yes, a torturer of cripples."

"How so, sir?" I giggled.

"Blue eyes. Red hair. That ridiculous ponytail."

"All very common traits. That you find them torture is your problem, not mine," I laughed. "By the way," I started, "did I already tell you that Doctor Bob wants to know how we're coming on the harp concerto?"

"No-oooo," he said. "You specifically DIDN'T tell me that."

"He did. Wants to come over for our Monday practice. I told him he needed to judge for himself."

"Key's idea..." he started.

"Without the overalls and straw hat. Like for the concert at the end of the semester."

"Baby," he said, "you're the concert musician in this equation."

"Stoney, he's heard us. Our friends have heard us. YOU have heard us. We're good together."

"In every possible way, Princess," he battled. "But when it comes to music, I listen better than I play."

"Don't you think," I said softly, "that a PhD should be able to judge such things?"

"You keep arguing and I keep saying 'no'."

"You don't sound nearly as convincing as the first time." I watch. I pay attention. And this is MY guy. I'm supposed to know.

He tried another tack. "I won't be out of this leg business."

"You're the banjo guy. You play sitting down."

"But I can't walk without crutches."

"So we'll have you wheeled out."

"You've thought about this already."

"Of course. You married me for my mind, right?"

"And the neat package it comes in."

Okay, I get to be a little coarse. "You've been coming in this package pretty regularly, sir."

"Ooooooo, a bit of innuendo..."

"Exactly. In my end. Oh."

He laughed. "You're gonna get everything you deserve."

I squealed. "I certainly hope so!"

His hand touched the back of my neck. He knows just how to brush back there and I quiver.

"Stoppit! I'm tryin' to drive!"

"And I feel bad about that," Stoney said. "I don't like being a cripple."

"Not much we can do to change things," I said. "Just takes time." I patted his thigh. "We'll do just fine."

And we will. I love the guy.

He called a Chinese place that wasn't too far from home and we did a drive-through for dinner. Saturday evening at home. Good movie playing. Me and Stoney. And I thought I could hear the strains of an oboe through the walls. I give Stoney a sponge bath, a giggly task now.

"A week, and you get out of that stupid cast and we can get you into the shower."

"The doctor says maybe. If things are going well. Believe me, little one. I'm anxious too."

I believe him. We will be back to where we were pre-accident. Or even better. I'm growing. I've grown up as a social creature, a family creature. Mom and Dad included me. When I moved off to college, I found out where my desires for solitude were, and where my desires for companionship were. I learned to live with a room mate. These last three semesters have been good. Key turns out to be a very sane and compatible creature. And now I'm married and I'm finding out that in addition to the 'we both live in the same space' thing that I learned with Key, I've added 'and we love and merge and mate' thing with Stoney.

This wreck sort of toned down the unbridled collisions that mark our pairing. Made me sit down and do a brief pity party thing where I looked at 'me-me-my-mine' and saw that I was whining like a spoilt five year old and it was time to put on my big girl pants and be a wife. Like Mom had to do. There are many much worse ways to learn. Told Stoney.

"You had an epiphany, baby. I've had 'em. You're rocking along and something comes up in life and you start handling it and you look back and say 'Wow! So that's what that lesson was about!'"

I smiled. Stoney has that almost scary way of voicing what's in my mind.

So here we are. Here I am. Taking care of my husband because he's MY husband and my responsibility and it's my turn to step up.

"You're watching," I said.

"You're smiling," he retorted.

"I'm just taking care of things, baby."

"Yes you are, little Jo. Very capably."

"What am I supposed to do? I mean, you and I, we always share this stuff, but right now you can't."

"Just my Jo being exactly what I dreamed of."

"You dreamed of a maid to clean your dinner dishes?" I giggled.

"That too," he laughed. "I dared to dream of a partner, not a princess. Although you do that princess thing quite well."

I find myself quite confident at those little impromptu social things where I stand beside my husband in the presence of friends, whether I know them or not. I don't get treated like a trophy or a fashion accessory. Stoney doesn't act like I have to be coddled or protected. He just lets us be together and acts like it's supposed to be this way. It is.

I know ... I sound like a pubescent girl-child writing her thoughts in her diary. I know because I did that. But you know, there's a reason that such excursions of thought back then are bearing fruit now.

I saw my red-headed mom on the arm of my dress uniform-clad Army officer dad, looking, if you didn't look too hard, like a princess on the arm of her prince, and I decided back then that if you strip some of the fairy tale trappings off the story, that leaves you with a realistic expectation of life.

Of course, when Stoney was of the age where he was wearing a dress uniform, I WAS a pubescent girl-child.

"Come sit and tell me what thoughts grace that beautiful mind," he said.

"Arrange yourself on the sofa so I have a place," I said.

He hauled himself up out of his recliner, using that trapeze, took a crutch to prop himself up for the two steps to the sofa, and he eased back down onto the sofa, letting his left leg stay straight.

I dried my hands on a kitchen towel, placed it on the counter and joined him on the sofa, languishing back into his arms, just exactly as he'd positioned himself to receive me.

"Now, what's on your mind?"

I told him.

"I hate this, little bunny," he said.

"I know you do, dear..." 'Dear'? Oh, Johanna, you sound JUST like your mother! "We play the cards we're dealt." I twisted to kiss my husband.

Monday evening was our jam session/practice, and now, we just went ahead and invited the Hlinkas. Mizz Betta brought cookies with an Old World flair.

Doctor Bob did indeed show up. And listened. And was fascinated by a little conversation with Mister Hlinka about a young man at university in Prague, long ago.

"Mister Hlinka, you are certainly welcome to come sit and hear us practice, and I will see that you and your wife get tickets to our concerts."

For Stoney, though, Doctor Bob had another conversation. "Stoney, you really need to think about this idea."

"I'm not a musician, Bob," Stoney said.

"Bullshit, Stoney. I'm just a poor ol' Texas boy that loves music, and you know and I know that some of the best music comes from people who wouldn't get any closer to a college campus than to drive the truck that empties the dumpster. Don't you listen to your wife?"

"But she's in love. Prejudiced."

"I won't comment on 'in love', but she's got a highly tuned ear and she knows the difference between good enough to have fun and good enough to show to people."

Stoney looked over Doctor Bob's shoulder. I guess I shouldn't have smirked.

"I don't want to be an embarrassment. This bunch..." He motioned to the half-dozen of us crowding our living room, "deserve better."

"Yeah, I can imagine," Doctor Bob said. "And if I'd gotten that girl from Virginia on a music scholarship, you wouldn't be getting asked, but YOU are the one that suggested Jo and that concerto, and since I don't have a harpist, guess what."

Stoney played his new 'cripple card'.

"Look," Doctor Bob said, "I'll give you a wheelchair pusher all your own." And he played his 'Johanna card'. "And seriously, wouldn't you really like to be on stage playing with HER?"

"Bob, you know that you don't play fair."

Doctor Bob smiled. He knew he'd won.

"Jo, bring my banjo, baby."

Chapter 30

Back to Stoney:

Wasn't bad enough that I got T-boned by an illegal alien a couple of weeks ago, but now my beloved wife has thrown me under a bus.

Admittedly, it's a bus full of musicians.

Doctor Bob, the conductor/instructor of the university's chamber orchestra is complicit. Early in the relationship with Jo, she'd intimated to me the desire to play Mozart's Concerto for Flute and Harp, an idea I'd mentioned to Bob. When Jo saw that I was somewhat adept at my banjo, she railroaded me into working on the harp part of that piece. At first, all I did was stay within the chord progression, but then I saw ways that I could take Mozart's scales and arpeggios and intervals and make a banjo work.

We were perfectly happy, playing, smiling at each other. Then she talked me into playing with her in front of some of the orchestra who got together to practice at Key's apartment.

Word got out. Word ALWAYS gets out.

I dodged as best I could, but between Bob and Johanna and the smiling faces of several others, I knew it was a losing battle. I succumbed. On the plus side, I actually thought I was doing pretty good. If others thought so, well...

"Consistency, Stoney," Jo would say softly in our practice sessions. "With consistency comes precision. And you can build, once you're consistent. And comfortable. But don't be afraid to stretch."

"You're contradicting yourself."

"Am not," she smiled. "I'm giving you information that appears to contradict, but you need to balance comfort and consistency with the willingness to stretch. Practice until you're comfortable, then have the discipline to force yourself out of your comfort zone."

Well, I can 'roll' on my banjo faster than she can arpeggio on her flute. Provides her with another 'teaching moment'.

"See?!? You're comfortable with that. You used it when we started on Mozart. And you have moved to..."

I broke from the rolls to arpeggios, playing up the neck on the banjo, hitting the peak of the instrument's range. She knew exactly where I was and the flute touched her lips, bringing angels down from heaven.

The next session was with the full orchestra. I should have known better than to think that this was a surprise to anybody, even when I clump-thumped my way into the rehearsal hall. Jefferson was unloading out of his car when he saw us pull up and he hurried over to help. "Always did wanna be the black dude with the banjo," he laughed.

"Banjos started out as black folks' instruments," I said.

"Oh, I know that, and you know 'zactly what I mean, too." He grinned. "I told you Doctor Bob thought you were good."

Jo was smiling.

They had other pieces to work on as well as our concerto, so I was quite happy to sit back and listen for a great portion of the session, a pleasant thing. And I had my FIRST ever run with a concert orchestra accompanying me (and Jo. Jo's what makes it possible) and surprisingly, it's horrible, but not as horrible as I'd imagined. This is a piece that Jo and I had done a hundred times, and for at least the last third of that, we'd pretty much settled on the cadence and the actual choice of score.

That was me. I moved from a place where I could do a bit more than rudimentary scales on my banjo to where I actually knew what I was doing and I had to fake a lot less, not having to trade as much Earl Scruggs for Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart. Jo and I and the music bunch that met off campus had some pretty spirited discussions as we learned that there's a solid line between a bluegrass banjo roll and a Mozart arpeggio.

So we're on the path to what may be my first and only appearance on the stage in a concert hall as a performer.

Work's a bit different thing, though.

I got visits from a few co-workers after I was home and settled in. The first couple of visits, Jo was there. After asking permission, Bradley brought his wife.

Johanna makes a quite gracious and adept hostess. Brad and I caught up on the latest office events, internal politics, thing like that.

"You're still the biggest story," he said.

Heather, his wife, laughed, telling Jo, "See?!? And they say women gossip!"

"Oh, I knowww," Jo agreed.

The next day it was my boss, Bob Wilson.

"January," I said. "I should be back the first week of January. I could be back sooner, but I'll be on crutches."

"I wouldn't mind," Bob said, "but between HR and legal..."

"The same people who shot down me working from home," I said.

"Yeah ... It wasn't always like this, Stoney," he sighed. "We used to be able to act like adults and take responsibility and get things done. Now I can't fart without HR pointing to something in a policy manual that I've violated some new federal regulation."

"What about my Central America project?"

"We've had to contract a third-party engineering firm to pick it up."

"My project," I said. "I wanted the lights to be on in Tegucigalpa because of ME!"

Jo giggled. Bob cut his eyes at her, smirking. "You MARRIED this guy?"

"He's not the only prima donna in this family," she countered.

"Well, that may be true, but you're better-lookin'," Bob said to her. "But I don't need a deliverable from you. Stoney, I know you'll help us transition these people onto the project, won't you?"

"Sure," I said. "Give 'em my cell number and email and all that."

"Naturally," Bob said.

One day, Jo was in class and I had Key there studying, waiting for Hutch to get off work. Brad dropped by. Key answered the door.

"Stoney, some big ol' white boy's here! Wanna let 'im in?"

I could picture Key's face when I heard it.

"Yes, please do, Mammy," I said. "Then lay on the fine china..."

"Yassuh, Massa Jackson!"

Brad turned the corner to the living room. "WHO in the heck is THAT?"

"That is one of my minions..."

Key's laughter pealed. "Now I'm a minion?"

"Key, this is Brad. Brad ... Key. My second-favorite musician."

"Hello, Brad. Was I too harsh? I wasn't tryin' to be harsh?"

"No, you're just a surprise, is all."

"Oh, I come over to take care of my favorite white boy when Jo's got other things to do. Me an' Jo used to share an apartment."

"Ooo-oh," Brad said.

Key smirked. "I may be the only black oboist you'll ever meet, so savor the moment."

Fortunately Hutch knocked on the door before we had a fight. Oh, seriously, no fight. Key's got a quick wit and apparently reads character quite well, too, because she and I and Brad were talking and laughing. He met Hutch, they talked a little bit, then Hutch and Key left.

"She's something, ain't she?"

"Oh, yeah," I said. "A real doll. Funny. Smart. Double major," I said. "Music and business, just like Jo."

"Girl like that could turn your head," he said.

"Uh-huh. Jo and she were colluding to bring me to meet Key's family, just to see who'd pass out," I said.

"Or get shot."

"Her dad is a senior management at that big insurance company, the one in that downtown building."

"Not your 'poor little ghetto child', then?"

"No, and she and Hutch play that for effect sometimes. 'Bout like me imitating an Old English accent."

Jo showed up a bit after Key and Hutch left, brought in a tray of sushi that she and I and Brad shared.

A couple of days later I was clumping around the house while Jo was on her way back from class. My iPhone rang. I looked. Work. "This is Stoney."

"Stoney, this is Bob. Can you put up with business talk right now?"

"Sure," I said. "For free, of course..."

"I'm sorry," Bob said. "Really. HR..."

"Bob, I'm jerking your chain," I said. "You oughtta know..."

"But I still feel bad."

"Don't. What is, is."

"Oh, anyway, I got this guy here who's going to pick up on the Central America job. I hate to do this all over the phone. Would you mind if he came over and y'all talk?"

"No, that's fine. Has anybody done any work since I left?"

"No."

"Then I have the latest files with me. Software?"

"He's got it," Bob said.

"What's is name?"

"Dan Richards. 3Sigma Engineering. And Stoney?"

"Yeah."

"Don't embarrass yourself. The redheaded girl with him is his wife, not his daughter."

I heard a giggle in the background.

"I'm putting you on speaker," Bob said.

"Okay. I can do PG-rated. Can you?"

I heard two male voices laugh. One was Bob's. The other one said, "Mister Jackson..."

"Stoney," I said. "You're Dan?"

"Yes. Wish we'd've met under better circumstances."

"Me too," I said.

"I've sort of skimmed this project with Bob. He says you're the guy. Can we come visit and talk about it?"

"Sure," I said. "Bob's got the address. We'll be lookin' for you."

"We'll see you in what ... twenty minutes?"

"Give or take," I said. "GPS should get you here. Park in a slot marked Apartment 'B'. Should be two of 'em. One'll have a red SUV in it." Jo was due back soon.

"We're on the way," Dan said.

"See you in a bit," I said. "Be careful."

"'Kay!" he said. The phone clicked, disconnecting. In two minutes it rang again.

"Stoney," said Bob, "I didn't mean to put you on the spot."

"Nah, work's gotta get done. 3Sigma? I never heard of 'em?"

"They're six months old. I know two of the engineers. You're gonna have trouble getting better ones."

"Ooooo-kay," I said. If Bob said 'good', and wasn't talking about a client, but rather another engineer, then I took his word for it. "He brought his wife?"

"Oh yeah. She's an engineering student at Auburn."

"She ... classes."

"In a class by herself, buddy. Asks questions with her husband. Seems to know. You're gonna be surprised. Just warning you. They got me. I thought it was 'Take your daughter to work' day. At least I didn't SAY that."

"I shall contain myself," I said. "Thanks for the heads up."

I heard a key in the lock. That would be Jo.

"What's up, love of my life?" she said, bouncing over to kiss me.

"Gonna have company. Work company."

"Oh. Bob's pushing it. You're on disability leave."

"And Bob knows that and so do I. We do what we have to do, baby."

She smirked. "If you say so."

"I say so."

Kiss. Dazzling smile. "Then it's so. Should I put coffee on?"

"Let's see what they want," I said.

"I shall be a gracious hostess," she smiled.

Our place is not untidy, but Jo made a quick pass touching things up. The doorbell rang. She peeked through the peephole, then opened it.

Male voice. "Is this where I can find Randall Jackson?"

"Yes it is," Jo chirped. "Please come in."

A six-something, fortyish guy came into the living room with what was apparently a refugee from a preserve for wayward pixies.

"I'm Dan Richards," he said, shaking my offered hand. "And this is my wife, Cindy."

"Hello," I said. "I'm Stoney and you've met Jo. Johanna. My wife."

"Hi, Cindy," Jo said. "Hi, Dan. Coffee? Coke?"

"Coffee would be great," Cindy said. "Can I help you fix it?"

"Sure," Jo said. "Stoney makes a production out of coffee, though."

"Really?" Cindy's voice sounds twelve.

"I see you have your computer out already," Dan said. "Mind if I crank mine up?"

"Certainly not. Do you need power?"

"Nah. Battery should hold up long enough." He extracted a high-end laptop and opened it.

"Boots fast," I said. "SSD?"

"Yep. Life's too short to wait on spinning disks."

Okay, points to Dan for geekitude. I heard happy chatter from the kitchen. Add some more points for sociability for Cindy.

We opened the files I had stored on a USB stick after he loaded them onto his computer. "You have wireless?"

"Sure," I said. I gave him a password.

"I'm sending these to our server, just in case," he said.

"The Nikki Server," came Cindy's voice.

"Nikki Server?"

"Yeah," Dan said. "Cindy and her adopted sister Nikki built our network and server. UPS. RAID. Linux. I may be talking Greek."

"Or geek," I said.

"That's the obvious leap," Dan laughed. "So, okay ... What do we have here?"

"Go! " I heard Jo's voice. "If you're into that stuff..."

"My future," Cindy said. She squeezed up next to Dan, looking at his monitor. "So that's the Central American grid," she said softly.

"Kinda sorta," I said. "Supposed to be in place in 2013. Like everything else, behind schedule, over budget..."

"And under-engineered," Dan said.

"We're doing some of Guatemala's part," I said.

Dan asked questions about the numbers I've been working with. More surprising, Cindy asked questions. Good questions.

Jo came in with a tray of steaming mugs of coffee, with cream and sugar in little servers.

"Wow," Dan said. "Haven't had service like this since I don't know when."

"I hope you like it," I said.

"He's nutty about his coffee," Jo interjected.

"Yeah, baby," Cindy added. "You should see his coffeemaker. And you heard us grind the beans."

Okay, good coffee's important. I had Jo hooked. And Key. And Hutch.

And when Dan's eyes rolled back in his head after the first sip... "Cindy, get information, baby."

She waved her iPhone. "Ahead of you there, guy." She's a bouncy-sounding little thing.

"Surprised," Dan said. "Good coffee."

"We don't waste our money on Starbucks," Jo said.

We dug a bit in the work stuff.

"Do you have to go down there?" Dan asked.

"Not these days. Everything goes out electronically."

"Good," he said. "Don't relish some of those Third-World jobs. Although this ain't Iraq."

"You did Iraq?"

"Gulf War I," Dan said.

"Oh, well..." I started.

"Stoney did Operation Iraqi Freedom," Jo said. She pointed to the frame on the wall that held my discharge certificate, ribbons, unit patch."

"Silver Star? What?" Dan said.

"Bad day for the wrong kind of engineer," I said.

"I was combat engineers," Dan replied.

"Me too."

"The other two engineers in our firm also."

"Really?" I said. "What's the chance?"

Dan laughed. Cindy said, "We're subject to all too many coincidences in our lives. Lemme show you the Sisterhood."

"I got that on here," Dan said. "Better size than your iPhone." He clicked the trackpad a few times and a picture popped up on the screen.

"You see me and Dan," Cindy said. "This is Dan 2.0 and Nikki. This is Alan and Tina and Terri. And this is Jason and Susan. We're the original community. And this is Sim and Beck and Rachel. He's faculty at Auburn. She's gonna be our new admin."

"You look a bit young to be in college," Jo said.

"Turned fifteen in September," Cindy replied. "I sort of got a head start."

"She graduated high school at fourteen. She'll graduate college in two years."

"Seriously?" Jo blurted.

"Yes," Cindy said demurely. "Outrageous, isn't it? And let's see, Nikki turned sixteen last summer. Tina turned eighteen, and Susan's nineteen. And we all graduate together."

"You need any more of this stuff?" Dan asked. "I think I've got what I need from you."

"Good," Jo said. "Now we can be social."

We were. Because Cindy saw a picture I'd taken of Johanna in the first concert I'd seen her. She was dressed in her flowing gown, her hair a bit of red perfection, holding her flute, the stage's curtains in the background.

"Beautiful picture," Cindy said.

"Thank you," my Jo smiled.

"You play, still?"

"Every day," Jo said. With a little giggle, she said, "And Stoney's going to play a concert with me."

"You play?" Dan asked.

"Banjo."

Dan laughed. "Seriously?"

"Dan, he's the most serious banjo player I ever met," Jo laughed. "And he's going to play the harp part in a Mozart concerto with me for our Christmas concert."

"Mozart's Concerto for Flute and Harp." I know that piece. It's beautiful. You can do that with a banjo?" Dan asked.

"Wanna show 'em?" I asked Jo. When Jo nodded, Cindy's smile changed to a little squeal of glee.

"I love it, too," Cindy said.

Jo went to the closet and retrieved my banjo.

"Is that a guitar in there?" Dan asked.

"Yeah," I said. "I haven't played it in years, though."

"Do you mind if I..."

"You play?"

Cindy nodded enthusiastically. "And he's pretty good, too."

"Bluegrass. Classic rock."

"Cajun," Cindy added.

"Give us a note, baby," I said to Jo. We tuned up, then Jo got us off into trouble by playing the opening phrase of Dueling Banjos on her flute. You just know I had to chase her through it, and to my happy surprise, Dan Richards jumped in and matched me phrase for phrase.

"Now that everybody's loosened up," Jo said.

"Listen to 'er," I intoned. "She's the one with a college music education."

Johanna stuck her tongue at me, eliciting a giggle from Cindy. "Okay, Stoney. Let's do our concerto."

We did it. When we finished, Cindy had a tear rolling down her cheek.

"Beautiful," she said. "Absolutely beautiful. I love music. I love the music we make. I love listening to music. But this is the best thing that's ever been presented to me personally."

Maybe it's a redhead to redhead thing, but when Cindy said that, Jo teared up herself and sat beside Cindy and hugged her. "Gosh, that's the best compliment I ever received, Cindy."

"I'm amazed," Dan said. "I never thought of a banjo working that part. You surprised me."

"Thank you," I said. "Jo's fault."

"I understand. I too have a redhead in my life. Takes me to places I never expected."

So we got into the 'how'd you meet' conversation, courtesy of Johanna asking Cindy, and then the answer to the big surprise of Cindy's age and her advancement from middle school to college. I watched her as she let Dan tell the story.

"So by the end of her eighth grade year, she was helping her math teacher work through masters' level math. And now the School of Engineering at Auburn's not sure what to do with her."

"Nikki, either," Cindy said. "She's almost a year older, but she's right there with me in school."

I said, "I wish you lived closer. I'd like to meet the rest of the bunch."

"Well, we ended up in Auburn. That's where she got recruited," Dan said.

"Several important people in my life are Auburn alumni. But you know, we're probably all coming back to Louisiana for Christmas. That's only a couple of hours for a drive." She looked thoughtful and then produced a bigger smile. "If you can find your way to the airport, we'll fly over and get you."

Johanna regarded her diminutive counterpart. "You fly."

Cindy animatedly nodded. "Dan's got a license. I'm too young. We flew ourselves here."

"I didn't even think to ask," I said. "I just assumed you came in on a commercial flight."

"If I had to do the West Coast..." Dan started.

"No we wouldn't," Cindy chirped. "We'd leave a few days early. You owe me the Rockies, you!"

"I promised 'er we'd fly the Rockies when we got married. College seems to have gotten in the way."

"Oh, come on, Cindy! You're fifteen? You oughtta get Dan to take a couple of weeks and just GO!" Jo smiled at her own idea.

"Not until you finish my project," I said.

"Oh, don't be selfish," Jo laughed.

"I owe her a trip, too. We got married in the middle of her semester."

"Where are you goin'?" Cindy asked.

"Not sure," Jo said. "Still under discussion. Waiting until I graduate."

"And when I'm not a cripple."

"Bob said this isn't the first time you've had the leg..."

"That Purple Heart over there. Long time ago."

Dan nodded. He'd been there. Understood.

"I made it without getting shot."

"Until a bad night in Alabama," Cindy said. "They got both of us."

"Really?!? You've been shot?" Jo squealed.

Cindy nodded. "Me once. Dan once. But he took hits in two places from the same blast."

So we listened to that story. Mine were of the 'To whom it may concern' variety. Somebody was actually AFTER Cindy. I'm amazed. She looks like somebody who you'd really have to be messed up to want to kill.

I glanced at my watch. "What are you two doing for dinner?"

"No plans. Figured we'd find something around the hotel."

"Wanna go with us?" Jo asked. "Separate cars, so I can handle my husband's leg, but we can go out."

"Luvit!" Cindy said.

I appear to be correct in saying that if Cindy tells Dan it's a good idea, then it's a good idea. Works that way with me and Johanna.

We trekked to a place that served traditional Texas fare, chicken-fried EVERYTHING. Yes, I indulged. So did everybody else.

Conversation covered everything from engineering to flying and sailing to living with redheaded women. Dan and I are both for it.

When the bill finally came, we had the inevitable argument over it. "You're the client, and I just can't make myself fight a cripple," Dan said, grabbing it.

The conversation was entirely too delightful to let die after dinner. We talked Dan 'n' Cindy into following us back home and continued, more music, more laughter.

Finally, at almost ten, they begged off, leaving with me and Dan shaking hands and the ladies hugging all 'round.

After the door closed, I settled down off my crutch onto the sofa. Jo joined me, giving her head a shake. "Baby, what was THAT?"

"That?"

"Yeah. Dan's a nice guy. Smart. Very sociable. But Cindy..."

I smiled. "I imagine that was you six or seven years ago."

"I wish!" Jo blurted. "I wasn't stupid, by any measure. But she's like, a force of nature."

I laughed. "She's something. I had all sorts of preconceptions when I first saw her."

"Me too," Jo said. "She LOOKS so young."

"Sounds it, too, until you start parsing her words."

"Sounds like they have a good thing going, business, college, all that," Jo said. "He says he does the work he wants to do, the way he wants to do it." She bounced a bit to turn sideways, kneeling on the sofa beside me, her face aglow. "Sounds like the way YOU would like to work."

"Huh?"

Arms around my neck. Blue eyes seeing right through me. "Like when I graduate, we have the trust fund money, and we don't HAVE to do anything we don't want to. I have choices. I can play where they wish me to play, and I can be choosy. But you ... you're like Dad. You can't stagnate. I know you. You're an engineer because you want to be, not because you need a higher quality of groceries than other people."

"And I would happily do engineering for the rest of my life. Planned to, when I married you, Jo."

"But you ... we don't HAVE to, and you can..."

"Be your roadie."

"Or we can form a group, you and me, and tour as something like Rara Avis."

"Where'd that come from?" I asked.

"'Rara avis in terris nigroque simillima cycno.' Juvenal's Satires. 'A bird as rare upon the earth as a black swan.' Don't you think that you and I, flute and banjo, are a rare bird?"

"I knew the quote, baby. But YOU have been thinking of this. A lot."

"Just passing the time, Stoney. You and me. We're so good together."

"And you still think that when I'm a hopeless cripple?"

"You're not hopeless, by anyone's measure. And I will think that until I die."

"But the music thing?"

"We LIVE music, baby. Every day. Music brought us together."

"Oh, and red hair and blue eyes and a quick mind and sharp tongue had nothing to do with it."

"You adore me don't you?" she giggled softly.

"Yes I do. Take advantage of me."

"Then you're not against the idea."

"Baby, if I live though this concert without somebody throwing cabbage at me, then I shall retract my premise of you and the orchestra suffering mass hysteria, and I will follow YOU anywhere."

Chapter 31

Stoney's turn:

Okay, I do admit that meeting Dan Richards and his surprising wife Cindy left me thinking. I was serious. Cindy, barely fifteen, was a cutie.

"Jo, drag out the baby pictures," I said.

"Baby pictures?"

"Yeah, I want to see what you looked like growing up."

"I don't have 'em. Mom keeps those."

"I wanna see 'em," I said. "You might've been a horribly ugly child. I want to prepare myself for our offspring."

She slapped the back of my head. "I was a wildly beautiful child in an unconventional way."

I had no doubts. I thought about a gangly redheaded girl. Trouble was, I now HAD a picture of a fifteen year old redhead. Okay, Cindy's hair is not quite as bright a red as Jo's. Cindy's like a worn penny. Jo's is like one that's only slightly tarnished.

"We need to get those pictures. Scan them."

"I'll tell her to box 'em up and send 'em."

"I'm calling right now." She fast-fingered her iPhone and held it to her ear. "Hi, Mom!" Pause. "Yes, your son-in-law is doing quite well. He can walk short distances without a crutch." Pause. "Yes ma'am, I did have a reason to call. A bunch, actually." Pause. "First, I love my mom and dad. Second, my husband, YOUR son-in-law, wishes to see what I looked like growing up. Wants to make sure you don't get an ugly grand-child."

She held the phone away from her ear to avoid the expected, inevitable squeal. "Here, you talk to him." She passed me the phone.

"Hello, Stoney," Bridgette said. "Let me assure you that your wife was a beautiful child, in that knobby-kneed, freckle-infested, redhead tradition."

"And now her knees are no longer knobby," I laughed.

"How's your leg, Stoney?"

"Getting better every day. I can clump around the house without crutches."

"And our Johanna is being properly caring..."

"And nurturing," I added.

"What brought on the desire to see her pictures?"

"You mean, other than the fact that I adore her?"

"Is that her squealing?" Bridgette said. "Stoney, you're spoiling her."

"Happily so," I said. "We had another couple over, and the wife was a fifteen year old redhead..."

"Wife? Fifteen?" Bridgette gasped.

"Long story," I said. "Good ending. Anyway, it got me to wondering what my own Johanna looked like as she grew up."

"Ahhhh," Bridgette said. "At the risk of sounding like a doting mother, which I am, you will find her pictures a delightful history of my beautiful daughter. We'll bring them down next time we come to town."

"That's wonderful. You want to talk with your daughter some more?"

"Yes. Put her on. And Stoney, have a good evening."

"Thank you Bridgette. Tell Anders that I said hello." I passed the phone back to Jo and lifted myself up for a bathroom trip, leaving the two of them talking.

When I got back, I eased back down beside Jo. We lounged lazily for a while, listening to music, talking.

"Trade places," she said, wiggling out of my arms.

I know the drill. She gets up, I pull up to sitting position, she sits back down beside me, I lay back with my head resting on her thigh, and get the daylights caressed out of my face. Life could be better. I could have my leg back at what passes for a hundred percent, but for what things are right now, things are pretty good. She adores me and I adore her right back. Wonderful, it is.

Her fingertip touched my nose. "Can you stand a soup and grilled cheese sandwich dinner?"

"Yes. Anyone announced a visit for tonight?"

"Nope. Just you and me. All by ourselves."

"I regret that I can't chase you around the house naked."

Giggle. "Sometimes hunting is not about the chase. Sometimes the hunter waits and his quarry comes to him."

"Just so I get to eat my quarry," I said.

"Sir!" she squealed. "Take care. You hunt dangerous game. The hunter may become the hunted." The giggles came tumbling out as she settled into my arms.

I wrapped her in my arms, inwardly cursing my partially functional leg. Her back was against my chest. I nuzzled the top of her head, feeding my senses.

"I'll never get dinner made like this, sir," she said.

"We can live on love," I countered.

"Nuh-uh!" she squealed "I've heard your stomach when you get hungry."

"Well, dear, if that characteristic of my digestive tract is an impediment to our continued happiness, then perhaps a meal is in order."

"I will do dinner. Then we will shower, and I guarantee I will wear you out," she smiled.

"I see that as a challenge. I'm not the one subject to losing consciousness during orgasm..."

She kissed me long. "That's because I have YOU for a partner."

Okay, Jo has played with 'grilled cheese sandwich' and taken it further, eschewing the sliced American cheese and white bread in favor of something from a cheese case at the market and bread from the bakery, and soup is something we make a big pot of on occasion and freeze in serving-sized clods. So it was good soup. And good cheese sandwiches. And good company.

And I'm walking better. Around the house I dispense with the crutch or the cane. And in bed ... Well, Johanna still likes to be on top, leg or not, so I'll settle for that concession. I get to gaze up into that angelic face, blue eyes sparkling, the grin, the formation of freckles, and all that is given to me freely, lovingly, and in ways my feeble imagination never was able to generate.

That takes care of evenings. I was dying during the day. My doctor, despite my entreaties, wasn't ready to release me for work.

"Randall..."

"Yessir."

"You try too hard already."

"Doc, I've been through this before."

"You were ten years younger."

"I promise I won't walk but short distances, I'll rest, and I'll use the cane."

"Randall, the week before Christmas. NO sooner."

"You don't understand. I am an engineer. It's not like I'm scaling the high iron downtown."

"The week before Christmas."

"Yessir..."

Despite the fact that I was much more able to care for myself, Key's visits didn't stop. "Jo, really, I don't mind. He studies with me. We even play music together."

That got me the "Stoney. You and Key?" talk.

"Key's got Hutch. I LIKE Hutch. I'd never do anything but be a friend to Key for a million reasons, Johanna Elise."

"A Million?"

"Yeah, and nine hundred ninety-nine thousand, nine hundred of them are the love I have for every freckle on your pretty face."

Squeal. "I don't have THAT many freckles."

"They multiply in my head. You know how I am about your freckles."

"You're just strange. But Key..."

"Beautiful. Smart. But NOT you. I married you. That's a forever thing and I don't mean I get to dip in another pool from time to time."

"Key's..."

"Exotic? No ... Well, yeah, but not as exotic as a freckled, redheaded, Irish-Norwegian concert musician who loves sailing."

"Because she's black?"

"Oh, heavens, no. The girl's a delight, but there are societal hurdles there. But the biggest hurdle, dear, is that I am in love with you."

"So it's safe, her coming over?"

"Yes. She's sane. I'm sane. We have something in common: You're adored by both of us."

"But she told me that if she was into 'white boys'..."

"When'd she say that?"

"When we first started dating."

"Baby, you know that she took me off the list when I became your possession. As I did with any other woman, when I met you."

She flopped atop me. "Good answer. Because I'm that way about you, too, Mister Jackson."

"So my friend can still come over and play?" I asked, smiling.

"As long as the game doesn't involve 'hide the pickle'." Giggle.

"Johanna, I love you."

"And I love you. And that's a forever thing."

Of course, I should know that such a conversation would be passed on between two girls who'd roomed together.

Key looked up from her iPad when I walked back into the living room. "You're limping less, Stoney."

"I'm doing pretty good between the kitchen and the sofa. I get kind of twitchy going across the parking lot," I replied as I sat down.

Dark brown eyes regarded me. "Jo talked with you about you an' me, huh?"

Okay. How much did Jo tell her best friend? "Yeah..."

"I think it's cute," Key said. "You know Jo's my best friend, huh?"

"That's the way I understood it. Why?"

"Because since you an' her connected, you're like one of my best friends, too."

"I count myself privileged."

She giggled. "As well you should. But..."

"But what?"

"Got me a Hutch."

"Got you a great guy, as best I can tell. Of course, he and I never have long conversations about relationships..."

Another giggle. "Not a guy thing," she said. "But yeah, I think so. But I know she told you that I said that if I was into white boys..."

"I count myself privileged again."

"You should. And I love you like a brother. An' I love Jo like a sister."

"Makes us good friends."

She smiled. "Yes it does. And your wife loves you to pieces. And me, too ... I love both of you."

So let's just leave it like that. So when Jo pushed the door open one afternoon, I was sitting on the sofa at one end with my banjo and Key was at the other with her oboe.

"Gitcha flute, white girl," Key laughed.

"We've reached a conclusion, Johanna," I said.

"Oh?" Her eyebrow arched. I'd seen the same expression on her mom.

"If you think that flute and banjo is incongruous, you oughtta consider banjo and oboe."

"An' I was gonna get 'im to wear blackface..." Key giggled. She caught Jo's expression. "Yeah, I can say that. I'm a black girl."

Squeal! "You ARE? I just thought you were just well-tanned!"

"PFFFFFFT!" Key stuck her tongue at Jo.

We played a bit, heard a soft knock at the door. Jo answered it. "Oh, please come in," she said.

The Hlinkas came in, accompanied by the aroma of freshly baked cookies.

"You don't have to pay your way in here, Mizz Betta," I said. "But you do make the best cookies."

Georg smiled. "A man who comes home to the smells of those in his home is a fortunate man indeed." He surveyed the room. "Of course, a man who can sit in his home and make beautiful music with two lovely ladies is equally fortunate."

"We're just playing around, Mister Georg," Key said.

"As we did in my youth, Miss Key," He said. "Betta and her friends would sit and listen and laugh as my friends and I loved and lived and laughed with our music. To be free, to have the power to make music, it was good." His old eyes slipped far away, then returned. "Very good. And I am able to see it again in you."

Key's face was soft, understanding. She's not a dummy in the first place, and not insensitive, in the second. She realized what she was hearing. "Mister Georg, thank you so much for saying that to me. Mizz Betta, no wonder you married 'im. He's got the heart of a poet."

"Oh, my dear, you should have seen him at twenty-two. He made my heart leap. He still does." She smiled. Fifty years of wrinkles disappeared as in my mind's eye I saw Georg and Betta as my Johanna and me.

"Mister Georg, play with us," Jo said.

He smiled. He had Key's old oboe case with him. "You young people make us remember..." as he opened the case and assembled the instrument. He and Key tuned up, then we played bits and pieces of familiar classical pieces for an hour before Betta gathered Georg up to return to their apartment and Key had to leave to go meet Hutch.

I sat there as Jo picked up a few plates and glasses.

"Do you see what we just did, Stoney-guy?" she queried.

"I saw something. What did YOU see?"

"Time travel," she said. " I know I saw Georg and Betta as themselves in 1968."

"That's what I saw."

She smiled. "I hope they saw it, too."

"I know they did," I said. "If, indeed, they ever stopped seeing it."

"That's us in fifty years," she said.

"You mean you're gonna learn to bake cookies?"

"Beast!" she giggled, swatting me. "And yes, I have Mizz Betta's recipe." She landed a few much-appreciated kisses on me. "There's cookies and there's COOKIES," she said between the kisses.

Indeed there is.

I still had the engineering itch. Hey, you have to understand, I'm one of those people who's fortunate to have a career he enjoys. I tried getting Bob to let me work from home.

"Can't do it, Stoney," he said. "I asked. HR and IT both kicked. HR says they don't want the liability of you being paid for working from home because they're liable if you hurt yourself. And IT's all worked up about computer security."

"And both departments are rule-blocked doofuses scared of making decisions."

"They hide behind rules," Bob agreed.

So Stoney the electrical engineer is dead in the water. I don't have to be that way. I punched up the screen on my iPhone, scrolled down. There it is: '3Sigma'. I hit 'call'.

"3Sigma Engineering. This is Maddie. How can we help you?"

"This is Randall Jackson. Is Dan Richards available?"

"Yessir. Let me transfer you." Click.

"Dan Richards. Can I help you?"

"Dan, this is Stoney. I'm dyin' on the vine, man."

"Talk to me," he laughed.

"They're bein' mean to me, Dan," I said. "I can't work from home. I can't go to the office until the doctor releases me."

"And you and that redhead..."

"She goes to school. So what're you working on?"

"Besides your project?"

"Yeah. Talk engineering to me."

So we talked shop for half an hour, finishing with, "Man, I wish you were closer. You really need to meet the rest of the bunch."

"Who's that, baby?"

I heard the voice. That crazy little pixie that was his wife.

"Stoney. In Houston. He's all by himself and having engineering withdrawal shakes."

I heard the click.

"You're on speaker," Dan said.

"Hi, Mister Stoney," Cindy chirped.

"Hi, Cindy, and please don't call me 'mister'. I feel decrepit enough as it is."

Her giggle is almost as melodic as Jo's. "You're not decrepit, okay? Stoney. Where's Jo?"

"Class. All afternoon."

"I was on campus all morning," Cindy said. "Talk to me about dI/dT. I'm putting high current DC pulses out on a conductor."

"Ooooooh," I said.

"See what I have to put up with," Dan said.

"Good stuff," I replied.

"I know," Cindy said. "Now, who's already fought this battle?"

"Siemens," I said. "Here's their approach..."

A half-hour later, Dan said, "Now stop and think, Stoney. The discussion you've been having for the last hour about a fine point of engineering and design, you've been having that conversation with a fifteen year old girl."

Cindy giggled. "What about if we meet you at a little airport outside Houston next Friday and bring the two of you over here for the weekend?"

I thought. "Let me run it past my sweetie. But it sounds doable. But Monday night's our big group session with a bunch of the orchestra."

"We'll get you back in time," Cindy said. "And you get the choice of seats. I'd even sit in the back seat with Jo." Giggle.

"She's not quite adventurous enough to navigate across Houston," Dan said.

"The traffic restrictions are NUTS!" Cindy said.

"It takes a lot to get'er to let me fly any more," Dan laughed. "Houston air traffic does it."

"Let me talk with Jo. She's usually good for an adventure."

"And pack your banjo and her flute," Cindy said. "Music's a big thing."

"Yes it is," I said.

When Jo walked in after class, she kissed me. "So what did YOU do while I was gone?"

"Got the engineering shakes. Called Dan Richards and talked for a while."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Him and Cindy. And SHE asked the technical questions."

Smile. "There's more to this story, isn't there?"

"How could you tell?"

"You're my Stoney and I know your looks. Spill it."

"Next Friday, they're flying down to pick us up and take us to Alabama for a visit. We'll be back Monday afternoon."

"In their plane? Wow!"

"I take that as a 'yes'?"

Giggle-squeal. Her iPad was coming out. "I'm emailing her right now. I'll let everybody know that I'm skipping the Monday classes." She took a breath. "Are we still good for the Greater Houston Area Collegiate Classical Jam Session?"

"Cindy says we'll be back in time."

She smiled. "That girl's something, isn't she?"

"Yeah," I said. "A little 'you'."

"Is that a bad thing?" she asked.

"Nope. Just nice to think that somebody else on this planet is as happy as I am."

"They just look so strange," Jo opined. "When I was fourteen..."

"She's fifteen now, and two years from graduating college with a four year degree. So if you take the number out and then look at her as a college junior..."

Jo gave me a funny look. "Did you come up with that on your own?"

"No, that's the way her husband explained it."

"One might assume he's been questioned before."

She smiled. "I know I'd have questions. Still do. But she seemed so nice. And smart and animated. And he's just placid."

"That's what they say about me since YOU came along."

"What do they say?"

"Stoney's a lot less intense. Mellowed."

Giggle. "I've given you an outlet for excess testosterone. Nice."

"They say that, too. Nicer."

"Well, if there's a noticeable difference, I need to keep doing what we've been doing, for the good of the planet."

"Screw the planet," I said.

Giggle. "How selfish. But we'll look past that. You wanna do a dual shower tonight? Can your leg handle it?"

"Won't handle it long."

"I'll wash you and push you out."

"I love it when you innovate," I laughed.

Half an hour later, I was lying in bed, my leg stretched out comfortably, listening to the hair dryer going in the bathroom. When it turned off, there was a thump, then she came into the bedroom.

"I miss you brushing my hair."

"I'll try tomorrow, little one," I said. She nestled back into my arms and leaned her head back into my face. The girl recognizes my fetish and feeds it.

"God, I love you," I said.

She wiggled, maximizing the touches. "And I love you just as much, Stoney."

We made love. Speaking from a purely functional view (I am an engineer, after all) I am a lot more mobile these days, and the odd push or pull or pressure on my battered leg doesn't cause excruciating pain any more, so Jo doesn't have to treat me like a frail invalid. We're almost back to the former levels of abandon and enthusiasm.

Afterglow time. Time for cuddles and coos and soft words and drifting off to delicious sleep.

Or not.

"Engineer shakes, huh?"

Blues[?] wanted to talk. So we talk.

"Yeah."

"You're not one of those people who would do a life of leisure very well, Stoney."

"I talked to your dad, baby. For a long time. About how he handles the idea."

"Dad likes his challenges. So do you. Different challenges for the two of you."

"'S what your dad said. A cousin got off into extreme sports stuff."

"Yeah," she said, "BASE jumping. He's a smear on a cliff in South America."

"Manufactured challenges. That's because real life doesn't have any..."

"You're being philosophical."

"Maybe so. But I'm being me. I had a path laid out. You came along, and you fit perfectly on my path, so it was going to be our path together. Then you told me the rest of YOUR story."

"And it means nothing, Stoney. Nothing except that you get to choose your battlegrounds." She touched my face gently with her fingertips, then kissed me lightly. "And if you don't have a battle, then you cannot appreciate Valhalla."

"Valhalla."

"Yes ... The place of a warrior's reward."

"As long as Valhalla includes redheaded maidens..."

"With small boobies..."

"With perfect boobies, I will strive for Valhalla."

She released a peal of laughter. "I love that I can be silly with you. And serious at the same time."

"And I appreciate your boobies," I said.

She arched her back, sliding up in the bed. "Mmmmmmm, and I love that..."

I love it, too. Tonight's a double-header. Very good for sleep, you know.

As we slipped off into slumber, she whispered "I know how you feel about Valhalla, darling."

We wended our way through the week. Her coursework was riding toward the end of the semester. She was reviewing.

"Some of this is tedious, Stoney. Not difficult, just tedious."

"I know, lamb. We endure."

"I may need a compensatory cuddle."

"I have one of those for you right now."

She snuggled onto my lap, her head against my chest. I kissed that red hair, savoring the perfume.

"You make me soooo relaxed and content."

"Works both ways, baby. I can't imagine how I could've survived this accident without you."

"We're getting through it, okay? You're fine. I'm fine." Kiss. Sleep.

The next day, Brad came by after work. "Bill says you're trying to come back to work."

"I wanted to. Or work from home. HR and IT..."

"Yeah, both of 'em are real helpful. If you add legal..."

"Pandora's box. All the evils in the world." What engineers talk about: Problems.

"So I wouldn't get in a hurry. Is money a problem?"

I shook my head. "Nope. Glad I had 'uninsured motorist' coverage on my insurance. Six figures worth of hospital and doctor bills."

"That's about right," he retorted. "You can't go near a hospital for less than six figures these days. Any chance of suing the guy that hit you?"

"Yeah, right," I laughed bitterly. "No license. Six guys in an apartment, all uh, undocumented. And if things get dicey for 'im, he just goes back home."

The door opened and Jo bounced in.

"Hi, Jo," Brad said.

"Hi, Brad. You here to aggravate my husband?"

"Oh, we were sharing tales of woe." He grinned when she bent over and kissed me.

"Awwww!" he cooed derisively.

"Jealousy's a terrible emotion, buddy," I said.

"And besides, Heather will give you a kiss when you get home," Jo said. "And your little girl will give you another."

"She's too darned smart, Stoney. You shoulda married a dumb one."

"No way. Brains AND beauty. Actually carries on a real conversation."

He shook his head.

"You want a coke, Brad?" Jo called from the kitchen.

"Sure, if you don't mind."

She brought each of us a can and sat beside me. "So what's the latest?"

"There is no latest, dear," he said. "Just days and days of never-ending tedium."

"Yeah, right," Jo returned. "Somebody's there rigging booby-traps in desk drawers and re-addressing the printers and such."

"Well, there is THAT," he said. "We have to do that stuff to keep from dying of boredom."

"Apparently my husband misses it, but they won't let him back until the doctor clears it."

"Yeah, I know," Brad said. "And believe me, we miss 'im." He turned to me. "You met the guy that contracted to finish your project, Bill says?"

"Yeah, met 'im. He and his wife came over and we went to dinner. Delightful couple," I said.

"And they're coming down next Friday to take us to Alabama for the weekend," Jo interjected.

"Sounds interesting."

"They ARE interesting," I said. "Both intelligent and musically inclined, so it's worth the adventure."

"Why're they coming down here? Why don't you just fly there?"

"They have a light plane. Lets us fly direct," I said.

"And it's an adventure," Jo added. "We'll bring back pictures."

Brad left after we finished our drinks. We laughed and smiled through a practice session. And life went on.

Chapter 32

Stoney's turn:

I don't know exactly what I was expecting, but life with Johanna had turned me quite a bit more optimistic, even if some bozo broke my leg. Yeah, I can drive again. Insurance popped for a replacement of my SUV, mostly. By this stage of the game I could be mobile if I needed to be, on my own. Bumping around the apartment was not a problem. If I started getting messages from my leg, I just eased it straight on the sofa or in the recliner.

Walking out to my parking spot, though, was still a little longer than I desired on my own. I did it with Jo, though. Jo's an incentive.

And this morning, Friday morning, we have a goal, a general aviation airport not too awfully far from the apartment. The redhead who's driving is excited.

"An adventure," she said. "First time I've ever flown in a light plane." Giggle. "Cindy flies it herself, she says."

"She's too young to get a license," I said.

"Yeah. It's funny hearing her say that. Says Dan sits in his seat with his arms folded and lets 'er go."

"When did she tell you that?"

"She called me yesterday between classes. Mine, not hers. We talked for half an hour. She's something."

"I can imagine."

"I don't think you can, sweetie. D'you know that she's part of a government research project? Got a security clearance? She and her friends built a railgun and the government bought it from them?"

"No. Really?"

"Like I said. Interesting. I'm excited to meet the rest of that bunch."

I chuckled to myself. My Johanna was impressed.

"Oh, come on," she said. "We wouldn't be taking this trip if you weren't intrigued, would we?"

"Guilty," I replied.

"And I know YOU know how to handle any situation," she smiled.

My iPhone rang. "This is Stoney," I said.

"Stoney, this is Dan. We're about twenty minutes out. Just checking on you."

"We're on the way," I replied. "Jo's driving me."

He laughed. "I'm paying real close attention, but Cindy's in the pilot's seat today. She insisted. You'll see soon enough."

"I'm looking forward to this," I said. "So's Jo."

"The whole gang's waiting on you two," he said. "See you in a few minutes."

"Okay, buddy," I said.

"'Kay. Seeya!" Click.

"Checking on us?" Jo asked.

"Uh-huh."

We finally pulled into a parking slot at the airfield and went inside, explaining what we were here for.

"Once they're stopped, you can go out to meet 'em," the guy at the counter said. I guess he noticed my limp, even though I tried to hide it. "Uh, I have a golf cart. I can take you out there."

"That's wonderful," I said. "Had a car accident a few weeks back. Still kinda stoved up."

"Oh, well, sorry. I'll get the golf cart."

That's a neat little perk. I heard the speaker for the aviation radio squawk, "Harris traffic, this is Cessna 5-5-2-3 Uniform, five miles east, inbound for landing on one-five." I recognized the voice. Dan.

Jo and I sat outside at a table and we saw the Cessna (I do know a LITTLE bit. At least what a Cessna 180 looks like) enter the pattern, touch down, and taxi up. And just like Dan had said, there's a headphone-clad redhead in the pilot seat. And Dan held both his hands up. Cindy in control.

They taxied to the fuel pumps and the engine stuttered to a stop. The doors swung open and the occupants exited. One of them practically ran over and hugged Jo. The other walked over and shook my hand.

"You made it," I said. "And she really flies."

He smiled. "Insisted. I flew the last time into Houston. She watched. This time I let her fly. I handled the communications and made sure she understood where she needed to be. Houston's very busy airspace."

"I can imagine," I said.

"I see her and Jo headed inside. I need to make a trip myself. Four and a half hours is a long time. You need to go?"

"I better," I said, "since you mention it."

Everybody dispensed with that task and returned to the lobby. Dan signed the ticket for the refueling.

"This is our longest non-stop trip yet," Cindy chirped.

Len, the guy behind the counter, asked, "Where'd you come in from?"

"Auburn, Alabama," Cindy said. "As direct as we could. Until we hit Houston."

He looked at Dan. "She flew?"

"I handled the navigation and communications," Dan said. "She's good, just too young to get a license yet."

One word. "Wow!"

"Oh, it's easy," Cindy said. "He feeds me headings and altitudes and we both watch out for traffic."

"And you can fly?"

"Tie-down to tie-down," Dan said.

"But I'm sitting in the back seat for the flight back," she said. "So I can talk with my friend."

"And I can straighten my leg," I added.

We collected our luggage, two overnight bags, locked the car, and then let Len golf-cart us to the plane. Dan took care of stowing our bags securely. There's my banjo case and Johanna's flute on top of the stack. Cindy did her preflight, explaining things to Jo, who tagged along. I listened. She seems to have the knowledge.

The girls got into the back seat and with a little effort I got into the right front seat.

"Pull your seat all the way back if you need to, Stoney," Cindy said. "I don't need the legroom. You might be more comfortable."

"Thanks, Cindy," I replied. Four and a half hours, I'm sure that a stretch might be just the thing.

Dan slid into the pilot's seat, opened the window and shouted "CLEAR!", and started us up. I glanced over my shoulder, saw Jo smiling, the intercom headset on her head. Smiling? Make that 'eager'.

"You okay, babe?" I asked.

"Which babe are you talking about?" Cindy chirped over Jo's giggle.

"MY babe."

"I'm fine."

"Everybody tied down?" Dan asked. He looked at the affirmative nods. "Then let's do it."

I don't remember the details, but I do remember him talking almost interminably with various air traffic facilities as we wended our way across Houston. Ten miles on the east side, though, we were climbing and headed east-northeast towards Alabama.

"Whewww," Dan said over the intercom, "That still makes me nervous. But now we can relax."

"Yeah, relax," Cindy said. "Just like riding in a pickup truck on a country road."

Jo's giggle was in my headphones too. "It really is! This is neat!"

"If you could see your face right now, baby," I said to Jo.

Cindy elbowed her. "I was the same way. First time I was ever off the ground, it was in this thing."

"I've been flying in commercial flights all my life. This is the first time I've ever done this," Jo replied. "It's ... The other stuff is so sterile. You're disconnected from what you're doing."

"One of these days I guess I need to do a commercial flight. But I like this," Cindy said.

"And if you'd tried to fly commercial, it'd take you a lot longer on this trip, when you could have to change planes and rent cars and pick up bags and get through security," Dan said. "Believe me, I'll fly myself unless it's more than eight hours in the air. In this. And then I might talk myself into taking this."

"I think I can understand that," I said. "At this altitude, it's like the difference between driving the Interstate and taking the scenic route through the countryside."

Dan nodded. "That's a good analogy," Cindy said. I regarded the use of the word 'analogy' by Cindy in open conversation. Of course, I was still mulling over the 'let's talk about dI/dT' from earlier. The summation of all that in the package of a fifteen year old girl who was, darn it, just CUTE, well. Of course, I looked at Johanna and thought that Cindy might be what Jo looked like six years ago. Except Jo's hair was a couple of shades brighter red. Cindy's was aged copper. Jo? Just copper.

"Baby," said Cindy, "you know how Susan says that Terri is her 'mini-me'?"

"Yeah," Dan replied.

"I think I'm Jo's mini-me."

"They're close enough," Dan said. "You've seen the pictures of the gang. Susan's eleven years older than Terri. Sweetie-pie just turned fifteen in September. How old are you, Jo?"

"I'll be twenty-two in March."

"So seven years..."

"I can accept that," Jo replied. "Can't think of a better little sister. And Mom is getting a picture of THIS."

"Your mom?' Cindy asked.

"Oh, yeah, her mom," I said. "Red hair. Freckles."

Johanna giggled. "Here's Mom and Dad," she said, pulling photos up on her iPhone.

Cindy looked, adding her giggles to the sounds over the intercom. "Oh, I can see the resemblance. Your dad, he's a big guy!"

"Yeah," I said. "Viking warrior and his Irish captive."

"Really?" Cindy squealed.

Jo told her the story. "Almost as improbable as me and Stoney, you know..." So she told that story, too. I guess it was just about as normal as meeting by the side of the pool in the summertime, if you took away that whole forty versus thirteen angle.

"So what did you think of Jim and Ann?" Dan asked.

Jo laughed. "I thought it was a rift in the universe when we found out that they know you two."

"Good people," Dan said.

"They are," Cindy added. "He's the one that sort of sent me on this quest."

"Quest?" Jo asked.

"Yeah," Dan said. "He ACTUALLY paid attention to the testing they do. Caught my Cindy up out of the thundering herd. She went from eight grade to high school graduate in a matter of months."

"We're sort of attached to them," Cindy said.

"I can see why you might be," Jo stated.

The miles trailed off behind us. "Alabama," Dan announced.

"Looks just like Mississippi which looks just like Louisiana which looks just like Texas," I said.

"Yeah," Cindy interjected, "straight-line route stays over the archetypical southern forests."

"Really, it's interesting, though," I said. "Great country. Best view of it I think I ever had."

"It is, isn't it," Johanna said.

A bit later Dan hit the radio transmit button and announced our arrival at their home strip, and did a leisurely approach and landing. He taxied us directly in front of a hangar and locked a wheel, pivoting, leaving us perfectly lined up to put her away.

Cindy, Dan and Jo shoved the plane back into the hangar after extracting Dan's truck.

"I would have liked to fill the tanks," he said of the plane," but the pumps're locked. I need to get a key."

I asked why he was concerned and Cindy answered with an explanation about temperature changes and condensation. "But we check very carefully," she smiled.

"Dan, she knows so much."

"She pays attention. Soaks stuff up like a sponge. Takes a fact and runs with it."

I glanced at Jo, recognizing some of the same in my chosen mate, although her path was into the beauty of music instead of engineering esoterica. My new friend Dan? He had a great example of his own bit of heaven.

Jo and Cindy scooted into the rear seat of Dan's huge truck. I had to take a few seconds to position myself in it.

"Nice truck," I said.

Cindy giggled. "That's what I said the first time I rode in it. I got the 'it's a tool' speech."

"It's a necessity. Or at least it WAS a necessity when I was towing a travel trailer around," Dan said. "And I didn't know I was so predictable.

Cindy playfully stuck her tongue at him. "Oh, it's more than that. I talked with Tina and Nikki and they both got the 'It's a tool' speech from their husbands," Cindy laughed. "Maybe you're from a more genteel land, but around where I grew up (GREW UP!?!?! She's FIFTEEN!) a big pickup truck was almost a measure of a man's success as well as his testosterone level."

"Sweet Cindy, we're living in TEXAS, the Big Pickup Truck Capital of the World!" Jo laughed. "And I' married a guy with a Japanese SUV!"

"And a sailboat. Don't forget the boat," I said.

Jo giggled again. "He said it was forty feet. It's really thirty-six," she smirked.

"Really? A sailboat?" Cindy chirped.

"Yes. It's our magical place," Jo said.

"I think I understand what you mean. We have a travel trailer that's like that for us," Cindy said.

"They're dangerous together, Stoney," Dan said. "I think their minds are melding."

I nodded. "Like slapping a couple of hydrogen atoms together."

"Jo," Cindy said, "they're equating us to..."

"Nuclear fusion," Jo finished. The pair giggled. "Stoney does that."

"Yeah," Cindy said, "jokes that almost nobody in the world gets. But we do, huh?"

Jo smiled, nodding agreement.

"Did you call and let 'em know we're landed?" Dan asked Cindy.

"Not yet. Let me do that," she replied. "Let's see, if I call Tina, she'll get the word out fastest." She punched up Siri. "Call Tina mobile."

She talked excitedly into the phone. "Yes, it's an adventure. A GOOD adventure." Her eyes flashed at Jo. "Well, let's meet at the pavilion. Yeah, for starters. And be thinking about dinner. We can go someplace." Pause. "Oh, they're from Houston. They'll eat anything!" Pause. "Okay, seeya, Sis! Love you too! Bye!"

She scanned us. "Well, that's set up! The whole gang'll be there. We'll get your stuff in the guest room, do a 'meet 'n' greet' at the pavilion, have a spirited discussion of where to eat, then go..."

I am told that it's not often to find Cindy's plans to be inaccurate, but we got to the pavilion, met everybody, Johanna said something about music, and with that, leaving for dinner was off the table. It's a college town and carry-out was an option. Somebody said finger foods and a couple of phones came out.

"I got it on my iPad," Susan said. "How much?"

"Enough," Nikki said with a toss of her head.

"Are the Weismanns coming?"

Terri (who does indeed look like Susan's genome more than Alan's) replied, "In a bit."

Introductions. I was keeping track, of course, but there's Dan 1.0, whom we already knew, and of course, Cindy. There's Dan 2.0 (a moniker that caused Jo to giggle) and Nikki, there's Alan and Tina and the unmistakable (almost NINE!) Terri, and Jason and Susan. And they were staring at me and Jo.

"It's time," Cindy said. "Sing for your supper."

"I take it you mean music, then," I said.

"You're the one that brought a banjo. And Jo's got her flute. And I have it from the Hardesty's that you guys do very well in a real concert hall." Cindy smiled. "Not something you'd keep a secret, exactly. They'll be here tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?" Jo squealed. "Really?"

"Yeah," Dan (Cindy's, that make shim Dan 1.0, I think) said. "And their two kids. I hope you don't mind."

"Mind?!?" Jo squealed. "I think it's wonderful."

Cindy giggled. "There's more to this than engineering and science, you know. So play!"

How can you refuse an 'order' with THAT smile behind it? "Ain't gonna be the only ones," I said. "Dan, go get your guitar."

Jo was assembling her flute when the Weismanns walked up. We introduced ourselves. Sim eyed Jo's flute.

"Flute?" he said. "With this bunch?"

"Of course," she said. "I can do classical..."

"Soloist with the university orchestra," I bragged. My Johanna. I get to brag.

She smiled at me and continued. "And so can Stoney. We're multi-discipline. Classical. Celtic. Bluegrass."

"I'll see your 'bluegrass' and raise you 'klezmer'."

Jo giggled. I have a passing knowledge of klezmer music, the wildly animated sounds centered around central European Jewry.

"Heyyyy," Cindy said, "you never said anything about klezmer."

"My husband is..."

"I didn't want to intrude. But since you bring in outsiders," he smiled at me and Jo, "I just might..."

"What instrument?" Jo asked.

"Violin. A lot more portable than a piano. Every good Jewish boy has a mother who wants a musician."

"And a doctor," Beck said.

"Okay," Dan 1.0 said, "Since you announced it, trot it on out."

"You're causing my husband to open up. He's actually quite good. Just bashful," Beck said. "This bunch is changing him." She smiled. "In a good way."

Jo and I attacked a couple of phrases until Dan and Sim returned.

Cindy dropped the bomb in Sim's lap. "Tomorrow our friends from back home are visiting. He's another banjo player..." She eyed me, smiling. "She," she said, smiling at Sim, "is a classically trained violinist." She paused for effect. "Who is one heck of a bluegrass fiddler, as well. And they've already met Jo and Stoney."

"You're serious," Sim said.

"Yes indeed," Cindy said. "If you're over your shyness, Mister Sim..."

"I shall try," Sim said. Beck was smiling, with just a tiny bit of 'smug' behind it.

"She's not intimidating," Cindy said. She turned to me and Jo. Jo smiled.

"Do it," Cindy said. "You KNOW you want to."

"Whatever do you mean, little redhead?" Jo countered.

"Dueling EVERYTHING!"

Smiling, Jo put her flute to her lips, her eyes laughed at me, and she played the opening bars.

I caught Dan's eye, plunked the response, then Dan followed on guitar.

"Key of 'A'," Jo said to Sim. "Don't be shy. Cadenzas. They're just called 'breaks' in bluegrass."

"No self-respecting fiddle player would ever say 'cadenza'," Dan chuckled.

Sim smiled. "Never in my life did I imagine..." and he jumped in.

I don't know if I'm possessed by the ONLY bluegrass flute player on the planet, but I darned sure got ONE.

"Klezmer's a lot of minor key stuff," Sim said. "Jo's probably there. What about guitar and banjo?"

"Jo made me start learning scales," I said. "I can try." We tried one.

Sims grinned. "My great-grandmother would be proud. Great-Granddad would be amused that we get this outside the Jewish community."

"Community," Cindy said. "That's our word. People who want to be together."

"It's a good word," Jo grinned. "This works."

Jason and Susan showed back up with food that we dutifully spread on the table and everybody dove in.

"I wish the Desais would get their restaurant back up," Jason said. "I miss 'em."

"Grandma Desai said they're re-opening next week," Cindy reported. "Just like new."

"Good," Dan said. "Our Indian restaurant people. Cindy adopted the grandmother. Or vice versa."

"I have my own bindi and my name is Chandra," Cindy chirped. "It's quite the honor."

"Cindy, sit by Jo. I need a picture," Susan said. "Mom needs to see another rift in the fabric of the universe."

"Your mom what?" Jo squeaked, laughing.

"Oh, Susan's mom is amazed at the whole community. Thinks it's gotta be a twist in the time-space continuum," Cindy answered. Cindy wrinkles her nose when she grins. So does Johanna.

Pictures were taken, reviewed and sent. Conversation was intermingled with music. I was enthralled. Of course, I have my Johanna (and she has me) but the other couples were happy. I saw no signs of tension or stress, just people who had a lot of appreciation for socializing in a wholesome venue.

"I want to see you head to head with Jim. He's a heck of banjo player, really, but I don't think he'd tackle that concerto. And his wife on the violin..."

"I'd like that," Sim said. "This just makes me realize that this thing doesn't belong in the closet."

Beck touched his arm. "I've been trying to tell you, dear."

"Jim and I had fun in Houston," I said. "This makes it even better."

Yes, this was a very pleasant and intimate way to make music, a veritable pot-luck dinner with the servings being sound instead of food. I could see how such a thing would be fun. Then I thought just a second. We were doing this on Monday nights back in Houston. Brought the thought about the Hlinkas to mind.

"Our next-door neighbors hear us doing this at our apartment," I said.

Jo smiled at the memory. "They're retired. From Czechoslovakia. He played oboe when he was young. We had a session going in our apartment after Stoney's accident and Mister Georg heard us. They came over. My friend Key is our First Oboist. She let him try hers, then loaned him her old one."

I liked the story. I was an almost reclusive apartment-dweller. I'd said hello to the Hlinkas from time to time. It took Jo and her music to bring a dimension to my life that I knew did not exist before. I wondered how many of the men here had similar tales. Jo opened my life up. I watched Cindy, Nikki, Susan and Tina and could easily see them doing the same for fortunate mates.

Sim slid next to me on the bench. "Crazy bunch, this," he said. "Those girls have a way of getting people to 'happy'. How did you get involved in this?"

"I met Dan Richards because 3Sigma contracted to finish my project while I'm out on disability. He brought Cindy down to Houston with him and we had dinner."

Sim laughed. "And that's all it takes."

"Yeah," I said. "Look at 'em." I motioned toward Cindy and Johanna. "How could I NOT see a connection. I think it's like looking at my wife when she entered high school."

"Yeah," he said. "Except that little thing's all over college. Her and Nikki are outside the four-year system. Susan and Tina are still in it, but their records of completion and credit look like a sieve. They've knocked out so much of it that it's almost funny. All four are looking at completion in two years."

"Two years..." I sighed.

"Tell me about it," he said. "I know for a fact that one of the professors in the Engineering Department asked Nikki what she'd do with an engineering degree at the age of eighteen. And Cindy's a year younger. Same place."

"And you're in sociology?" I asked. "You must be dying to write about this."

"I don't know where to start." He shrugged. "The marriage thing? Broken homes and single moms? Getting by in school until somebody picks them out and supports them? All sorts of little side stories."

"Interesting. I keep expecting to see something that just doesn't show up."

"They're happy. They're decent. And man, are they smart. And the little one, Terri, she's dragging my Rachel along. I swear that Rachel's bloomed since we moved in."

Johanna came to sit by me and Terri and Rachel followed her.

"What's up, Terri-dactyl?" Jo said. The two little girls giggled.

"Mizz Jo. Mister Stoney, are y'all gonna come live here? We still have apartments open."

"Baby," Jo said, "I have to finish college. That won't be until next spring."

I'm surprised that Johanna didn't immediately just uproot her life and move here. Looking at the sweet innocent openness of Terri's face, I almost would've.

"You can go to college with everybody else here," Terri said.

"I'm a semester away from graduating where I'm at, and I'm established there. It wouldn't be right to all my friends in the orchestra for me to leave now."

"I suppose you're right," Terri said mournfully.

"Of course she's right," Rachel countered. "She's an adult and she's like, one of US!"

I pondered what it meant to be "one of US" in this community.

Sim caught it, too. Sim also caught his daughter sliding onto his lap. "The two of them are synergistic. And so are the rest."

"There's nothing like this on my campus," Jo told Sim.

"I suspect that if we look strictly at IQ, most campuses would be fortunate to have one or two of these. Tina and Susan, they'd be in the upper strata, but to have a Nikki or a Cindy, that's rare," Sim said. Rachel planted a kiss on his cheek and took off. When she was out of earshot, he continued, "And as much as I adore my daughter, she's not nearly a Terri. Rachel's going to grow up to be in Susan or Tina's class."

Cindy came over to sit with us. "What's the topic?" she asked.

"Smart kids," Sim said.

"Like Terri and Rachel?"

"Like everybody here," I said. "Remarkable."

Cindy smiled. Only Johanna has a more charming smile. "I heard Terri ask..."

"It's sweet of her to wish that, Cindy," Jo said. "But we have responsibilities back in Houston."

"I understand. You have honor. Sense of duty. Still doesn't make the wish any less real."

"You just KNOW we're going to stay in touch," Jo told her. "And when I graduate, who knows? Stoney's job situation may change. But I need a classical music scene.

"Make your own. Rara Avis has to come from somewhere."

"You have too good a memory, Cindy," Jo giggled.

Chapter 33

Johanna's Turn:

According to the stories I heard at my Momma's knee when I was little, I should be looking for leprechauns. This stuff got surreal.

First, there's Dan and Cindy. Cindy could be a pixie. Dan showed up to talk with Stoney about picking up where Stoney left off on an engineering project when he had his accident. So I figured 'another engineer? What could it hurt?' Except this engineer shows up with a fifteen year old redheaded pixie of a wife, and we had a delightful time.

Delightful it was, because where my Stoney plays banjo, Dan Richards plays guitar, and we had fun playing music together. And Cindy's got a beautiful voice. Untrained, but beautiful.

Okay, that in itself wouldn't bump the screen too hard, but then the next week was our December concert and the premier performance in public for one Randall 'Stonewall' Jackson who was on stage with the orchestra and me in our premier (and perhaps ONLY) public performance of Mozart's Concerto for Flute and Harp, with the harp part replaced by my Stoney and his banjo.

I don't think Stoney was aware of the audience when he took his seat on stage, but I was. I have to admit that there's a certain amount of snobbery among the aficionados of classical music, and the appearance of a "OMG! It's a BANJO! Eeeek! Is this Hee-haw?!?" on stage in their nice, civilized concert caused a lot of bemusement and, yes, some frowns.

Doctor Bob has enough self-assurance to do things like this, and when he introduced me and Stoney, things were under control.

I love this piece. Stoney and I have practiced it so much, just the two of us, and then us with various amounts of the orchestra, and with the WHOLE orchestra, so while the orchestra was playing the opening phrases, I was watching Stoney and I was watching the audience.

The Third Movement of that piece has the harp, Whoops!, the BANJO coming in first and then the flute joining in, so I was watching when Stoney's fingers took control. That little curtain of concern over his face, it went away when he started playing. I know what happens. I'm the same way: the music becomes the center of one's being. Stoney was in the zone. That's what I saw with Stoney. What I saw with the audience was transformational. The faces changed. I don't know what they were expecting, but I know what they were hearing, and it was good. No, better than good.

And when my flute came to my lips, I was playing for the orchestra, my extended musical family, and I was playing for Mom and Dad, and when our eyes connected, I was playing for my Stoney, the merging of this music just another one of the many ways we joined. And the audience? They were just along for the ride.

Standing ovation. I've had a few. It was Stoney's first and he's still shaky on that leg after he's been sitting a while, but he stood with me, beside me, my right hand in his left, and we bowed together.

Okay. I was surprised. It was better than I expected. After the orchestra rose and bowed, Key bounced out and hugged me and Stoney.

Following our concert there's a reception where the orchestra gets to mingle with the audience. Or is it the other way around? Anyway, food, punch, lots of smiling, shaking hands, a few hugs and 'thank you' and 'you're very kind' and then you go home, right?

That's the usual thing. This time? Wrong.

For once it seemed like most of the audience was in the receiving line to shake our hands. The crowd was thinning though, when this middle-aged blonde lady and her escort, a guy about Stoney's height and ten years older, caught up with me and Stoney and Key.

That's where we met the Hardestys, Jim and Ann. Well, Key met them first, introducing herself as my SISTER, which she is, you know, and she introduced Stoney as 'my favorite white boy'.

We accepted the effusive compliments graciously. It was getting late and I mentioned our need to go find dinner. I didn't expect total strangers to invite us out, but Jim and Ann did just that.

We ended up at an Italian family restaurant that Stoney and I and Key frequented, got greeted as special guests, had the expected great food and we talked.

I love telling the story of me and Stoney and I spilled a lot of it. That's when there was an eddy in the time-space continuum.

Ann said to Jim, "Look at them. It's like we've got another Dan and Cindy on our hands." She must've read surprise on my face. "They're an unusual couple that we play music with. He's an engineer and she's this crazy smart little redheaded thing."

"W-w-wait!" Stoney said. "Dan and Cindy. Engineer and young redhead?"

"Show 'em the pictures on your phone, baby," Jim said. "She's something. Youngest kid I ever saw graduate from high school. She's running through..."

"Auburn!" I blurted.

Ann showed me her phone. She looked at me. "How do you know..."

"You're talking about Dan and Cindy Richards. We met them a couple of weeks ago. You're right. She's something!"

"I was her middle school guidance counselor," Jim said. "They play music ... played music with us all the time. She sings, sometimes with our daughter. The rest of us play."

"They're coming down next week to fly us to Auburn for the weekend," Stoney said.

Jim smiled at Ann. "We were planning on getting together with them on Saturday that weekend. Sounds like fun."

"He plays guitar. I play banjo. Jo plays flute. What do you play?" Stoney asked.

"I play banjo too," Jim said. "But I never tried what YOU just did."

Stoney laughed. "I never play it like I just did, just so you know. It's Jo's fault."

"I play violin... 'fiddle' when I'm bluegrassin' with everybody." Ann smiled at me. "Jo, I was a solo violinist at one of these concerts. I'm an alumna."

"Really?" I squealed. "Bring your violin next weekend. Please..."

"She hasn't lost her touch," Jim said. "Still has everything she had in college. If she hadn't married a Marine..."

In retrospect, if they hadn't been on so tight a schedule, leaving early the next morning for the long drive back to Alabama, I would have dragged them to the apartment like we did Dan and Cindy.

Instead, we did big happy good-byes in the parking lot of the restaurant.

We were driving Key back to her apartment.

"You people gonna change my mind about white folks," Key chuckled. That's Key's sometimes shtick, that 'black-white' thing. If she's racist, I'm Katherine, Tsarina of All the Russias.

"Be careful, Key," Stoney said. "They're the worst kind. From Alabama."

"I looked," she laughed. "His neck wasn't red at all."

We dropped Key off.

"Stoney, something's awfully twisted in our universe."

"How so?"

"We just met two couples from Alabama two weeks apart and they KNOW each other."

So this is where Johanna Solheim Jackson, World Traveler (courtesy of Dad's Army career) gets her first flight in a light plane because Cindy and Dan are flying in from Alabama to bring us over for the weekend, then flying us back. Cindy's idea. I get the impression that any Idea Cindy has is just fine with her husband.

I mentioned that thought to my dear mate. "I can see how he might be that way. Redheads'll do it to you."

"DO what?"

"Oh, you have to admit, Jo, that you have special powers over me."

I love it when he talks to me like this, like I'm magical. I do it right back, too. We do that whole Valhalla thing and the Irish folklore and he can be my warrior and I can be his faerie princess and we disintegrate into cuddles and kisses and then it gets serious.

It had to be safe, right? Dan had his own private pixie, Cindy, and I know he wouldn't risk anything dangerous with her.

And the phone calls. Cindy saw fit to call me to talk.

"I'm curious, you know," she admitted. "I'm in engineering, but I love music. So what's it like? Majoring in music?"

I explained to her that I'd been 'in music' since I was nine, about the daily (almost) practices, the music tutors that Mom and Dad provided for me a few times. She sounded genuinely interested.

"It's beautiful. I'm a little bit jealous," she said.

"Don't be, Cindy. You have your voice. It's great." She'd sung a couple songs when we shared that evening, me, her, Stoney, Dan. "And you and Dan, you sing together like you're in love."

Giggle. "That's because we ARE in love."

"How's that work? I mean, you and Dan, you're more than twenty years apart."

"You and Stoney are ten years apart," she countered. "Age isn't a problem for US. Other people have a problem with it. And me being fourteen when we married. So many people thought that I was being exploited and Dan was a child molester. I guess some still do. But I'm the least exploited girl on the planet."

"I have a hard time seeing you as exploited," I said.

"Nikki went through it, too. Tina, not so much," Cindy said. She'd called the whole crew in for a Skype session. And Terri. "The universal little sister," Tina said. "My evil stepchild."

Cute bunch. All of them. And quick-witted.

I wasn't surprised as much as Stoney was when that little plane taxied up with Cindy at the controls. She sat in the rear seat with me on the flight back to Alabama and the four of us talked the whole way back to Alabama. That is, we talked while I marveled at the countryside passing a mile below us. It is a lot different than flying commercial at thirty-five thousand feet.

Landing in Alabama, driving over strange roads, ending up at the homes of our new friends, meeting and touching the hands of people who'd before only been faces and voices on a computer screen ... virtual reality, my foot! Kissing somebody on their cheek for real, that's where it's at!

Friday evening was a happy explosion of food and music and new friends that felt like old friends. We found out we had a 'sleeper' in the music venue. Sim Weisman, husband of Beck and father of Rachel, revealed the heretofore unknown ability to play violin. "Bashful," Beck said. "I've told him..."

So we put together an impromptu ensemble with a guitar, a banjo, a flute and a violin and ranged across the music landscape from classical to bluegrass to Celtic to klezmer. And tomorrow the Hardestys are coming in. That's another violin and a second banjo.

And that innocent-looking little blonde child came up to me and Stoney and asked, "Are y'all going to move here with us?" And punctuated the question with big, liquid blue eyes.

In my heart, I was buckling. It was like tasting a little bit of candy, then having the whole box offered to you. I knew I'd over-indulge if I wasn't careful, but better sense prevailed. I touched that precious face. "Terri-dactyl," I said, "We'd love to, but we have commitments back in Houston. I have to finish college."

Cindy'd whispered early in the evening, "Be careful. Terri just might be the smartest one of the bunch."

'Forewarned is forearmed' was a 'Dad' statement. I needed it.

"You could finish college with us. Ever'body's goin' here."

The child is an absolute angel. I couldn't help but brush a strand of that short blonde coif back from her face. "Terri, baby, I'm a semester away from graduating where I'm at. And it wouldn't be fair to the others in the orchestra for me to leave right now."

Rachel bumped her hip against her friend. "'Course she's right, Terri. She's an adult and she's one of us, you know."

I glanced at Stoney, smiled. In my head I was wondering what it was really like to be 'one of us' when the 'us' was this marvelous community.

Sim was sitting on the other side of Stoney. "Watch out," he smiled. "Those two are synergistic. Either one alone is formidable. Together they're..." his voice trailed off. Then "So are the rest."

"There's nothing like this that I know of on my campus," I said.

"Oh, I'm sure that outside the engineering department and a few other rather low-profile circles, this bunch is unknown, too. But to us, they're a super-nova."

I giggled. "I guess you're right. I think I'm that way on campus when it comes to music. The music people know me. A few thousand other students would hear my name and say 'Huh?!?'"

Stoney smiled. He likes to hear me explain my thoughts. "And on such is civilization built," he said.

I bent sideways and kissed him. "I'm sure that these people already have their own versions of the Sons of Martha speech." I forgot that Sim wasn't an engineer.

"Sons of Martha?" he asked.

I put a finger to Stoney's lips, shushing him. "Let me tell the short version. If Sim wishes..."

"Rudyard Kipling," Cindy said.

And the Sons of Mary smile and are blessed - they know the angels are on their side.

They know in them is the Grace confessed, and for them are the Mercies multiplied.

They sit at the Feet - they hear the Word - they see how truly the Promise Runs:

They have cast their burden upon the Lord, and - the Lord He lays it on Martha's Sons.

"It's a common reading at The Ritual of the Calling of an Engineer. About the people who make the world work."

Sim looked amused. "I thought Kipling was all about India and soldiers and war."

"Kipling is about the extraordinary Common Man, I think."

Nikki grinned from the other side of the table. "Cindy's our poet laureate, at least until Terri gets to spinning up."

"Cindy?" I asked.

Cindy just smiled. Nikki filled in some juicy details. "Cindy's English teacher last year sent some of Cindy's eighth grade writings up here. When they found out that Cindy was graduating, there was a good little battle going between the language arts folks and the engineering department over who'd get 'er."

Cindy bowed her head towards Nikki. "And they had the same argument about you also, my little Cajun friend."

"Polymath," I said.

Cindy giggled. "Yeah, I guess so."

A bit before ten the party broke up and we went home with Cindy and Dan.

"Well, what'd you think of the community?" Cindy asked.

"It's a riot."

"Almost overload," Stoney said.

"It's not like this EVERY night," Dan said. "A lot of this was because you two were here. Tomorrow's even worse. We're getting Jim and Ann and Teresa and Billy too. Weather's not supposed to be real good. We're setting up in the front of the lab."

"There's enough room?" Stoney asked.

"There is since the university hauled off the railgun," Cindy said. "I miss it. Smashing quarters lacks the subtle allure of lethality."

Stoney snorted. "Railgun. What ever gave you that idea?"

Cindy smiled. "Tina and Susan did research papers on Tesla in high school last year and we got to talking about deathrays. We toyed with the idea of lasers, but it's been done to death, and we just sort of figured that a railgun was attainable with mostly off the shelf hardware."

I was listening to this. It's startling, really. You see this cute young girl, dressed conservatively, smiling, laughing, and you're thinking how absolutely normal she is, and then you start finding out things like married? Okay. Then the BRAIN comes out. It's like finding out that your microwave oven is actually a breeder reactor.

She plopped down beside me. "Johanna? You don't mind if I call you that? I mean, I heard Stoney call you Johanna. It might be a pet name."

"You can call me Johanna if you wish. It's a name that I am called by people who love me."

"Then I'm there, big sister," Cindy said. "I'm jealous, though."

"Whatever would you be jealous of?"

"You play your flute. Dan's doin' guitar. Stoney's got a banjo. All I can do is sing."

"And you do that beautifully, Cindy," I said. "You and Dan..." They'd done a version of Roll In My Sweet Baby's Arms that made ME jealous, singing it like they were singing to each other.

"Still," she said. "You play and it's so beautiful. Moving..."

"Thank you. But I've never built a railgun," I said.

She giggled. "Remind me to give you one of our quarters tomorrow."

I have one of her quarters, a curiously shrunken thing, distorted by high magnetic field.

"You need to see about casting those things into acrylic blocks," Stoney said. "You could make money on the Internet with them."

Cindy squealed. "You know, that's an idea! I think Nikki and I need to build a website."

"What have you just done, Jo?" Dan questioned.

"I just turned your engineering house/research facility into an online geek novelty shop."

Dan chuckled. "Worse things could happen."

Cindy didn't let it drop, either. "We'll be happy to feature your music, you know. Rara Avis has to start somewhere."

Two full bathrooms meant two couples showering simultaneously and we all emerged, pajama-clad, to enjoy a late-night mug of hot cocoa (Dan's recipe, Cindy said.) and then went to bed. Oh, yes, we made love. I saw no reason to miss it. Stoney and I have a broad spectrum of activities, some of which I absolutely cannot restrain myself from getting VERY vocal. Stoney still smiles about us howling at the moon on our first night together.

Tonight, though, in each other's arms, happy from the day's adventures, we gently teased each other, touching, kissing, until the final coupling was completion for both of us. And somebody had thoughtfully left a soft towel on the nightstand beside the bed. I wonder who, and what they were thinking.

At eight there was gentle knock on the door, followed by Cindy's voice. "Hey, if you can drag yourselves out of bed, we'll go get breakfast up the road."

"Stoney, get up! Breakfast!" I said, shoving the love of my life. I heard a giggle from the other side of the door.

"I'm goin' to do that to Dan," she said.

Fifteen minutes later we were in the living room. Cindy smiled. "Apparently neither of us is that 'hour beauty regimen' type."

"Neither of you needs it," Stoney said.

I leaned over and kissed his cheek. "Thank you, baby."

Cindy smiled. "Lemme get us a table set up for breakfast."

"Who's going?" Dan asked.

"Us. Jo and Stoney. Dan 2.0 and Nikki. The Weismanns are doing family breakfast. So are Jason and Susan. And Terri and Tina and Alan are staying home." Cindy smiled at me. "But we'll all be together for lunch. And for the First Annual Three-State Classical Bluegrass JamFest."

I laughed. "We need T-shirts."

"Next year!" Cindy said. "If we live through this one."

"Oh, little Cindy," I said, "I've gone to college parties until I learned better. This is nothin' but fun!"

"I know," she smiled. "Neat, isn't it!"

We filed out to Dan's truck. Stoney's getting better. Cane. My guy had to get a cane. He was going to get one of those practical aluminum ones but I shamed him into a real wooden cane instead. First thing in the morning he doesn't use it, but if he's on that leg too much, the cane is a help.

I scooted into the back seat with Cindy. "Stoney needs the legroom," she smiled. "'Sides, back here I can do this..." her fingers traced the back of her husband's neck causing him to shake visibly.

"Careful, little girl child. I will remember."

"I'm hoping that you do," she smiled. In a theatrical aside to me she said "I LOVE payback!"

Cindy LOOKS young. Sometimes I have to make mental shift of gears to remember that she's happily (obviously) married, with all that status might entail. And I ran my fingertips along Stoney's ear.

"You're not immune, either, punkin," he said.

"What makes you think I perceive that as a threat, guy?"

"Good one!" Cindy giggled.

We enjoyed a good breakfast and then got a drive-through tour of the campus with Cindy doing the narration. It's a very nice campus.

"I'm the youngest one in the place," Cindy said. "This year, anyway. And nobody remembers anyone younger. Sometimes it hits me and I wonder what in the world happened to me."

"I bet," I said. "I have trouble imagining myself in your shoes."

"We're in two different arenas, Jo," she said. "You were probably there, musically."

"Not even close," I said. "I've been the First Flute every time the orchestra or the band had more than one, but it's music. That's a much different arena."

"It's Dan's fault, anyway," Cindy said. "I'd be in the ninth grade..."

"And that would be a massive waste on more than one level. The love of my life..." Dan interjected.

"That too," Cindy giggled. "You gotta be careful who you rescue..."

Cindy got the phone call from the Hardesty bunch. "We're giving Jo and Stoney the Grand Tour," she said. Pause. "Uh-huh. We're lovin' it. You shoulda heard last night! And we have another violinist!" Pause. "Sim. Mister Weismann. He's bashful, but he's pretty good, too." Pause. "Hurry! It's gonna be a riot!"

Chapter 34

Stoney's turn:

It actually WAS in Cindy's words, 'a riot'. I never did 'band camp' or anything like that when I was in high school. They didn't have 'science camp' and 'math camp' in my school district and I wasn't in band. Jo told me about her own experiences.

"Wasn't anything like this," she said.

Our trip home was as wondrous as the trip there. I can definitely see why Dan and Cindy (and everyone else in the bunch, apparently) would cling to personal aviation as a transportation mode.

"Wanna take the scenic route on the way home?" Dan asked.

"Scenic route?" I questioned.

"Yeah, we talked," Cindy chirped. "If you want, we fly south, hit the coast, then turn west. Different scenery than four hundred miles of pine trees."

I looked at Jo. She was smiling.

"It'll add an hour and a half. I know a good airport to do a pit stop. Your call, though."

I glanced at Jo again. That's her 'I'm ready for an adventure' face. "Let's do it, then." I noted Cindy's expression. Why did I interpret that as the look of a successful recruiter?

We left Auburn heading due south, hit the coast, Dan explaining to me about the military traffic areas that we avoided and navigated, and we did indeed turn right at the coast. We didn't follow the coast entirely. Louisiana has that long appendage where the Mississippi River delta goes way out into the Gulf of Mexico. And once in Louisiana, Cindy pointed out the heavy helicopter traffic shuttling people between onshore bases and offshore platforms out in the Gulf.

"Used to be that there was almost nothing further out that twenty or thirty miles. Now there's deep water drilling and some of those are waaay out there," Dan said.

"You've been out there?" I asked.

"Oh, yeah ... And may have to go again. Lots of interesting and lucrative consulting work out there."

"And I can't go with him," Cindy pouted.

Dan laughed. "Not yet. You have to be eighteen. And they have enough distractions out there without the idea of you bouncing around in a tight pair of flame-retardant coveralls."

Cindy smiled. So did I, when I imagined Jo in a similar uniform. With a single looooong zipper. Okay, Stoney. Now make that erection go away.

We flew along the Louisiana coast for a while then turned inland. "Home field," Dan said.

"Hanna and Greg are going to both be there," Cindy chirped. She was texting on her iPhone as we flew.

When we landed, we did indeed meet another couple, the airport operator and his delightful wife, her German accent adding to an already surreal trip. We enjoyed surprisingly good coffee and donuts and conversation before departing for the final leg of the trip.

When we watched Cindy and Dan leave (with Cindy back in the pilot's seat because 'I miss it!') I turned to Jo. "Do you get the feeling that we've just emerged from the Twilight Zone?"

She slumped back into my arms. "Something like that."

We took a ride in the airfield operator's golfcart to shuttle our baggage to the car.

"Ask him," Jo elbowed me. "You KNOW you want to."

"Ask me what?" the guy said.

"How does one go about learning to fly?" I caught him looking at my leg. I'd straightened it to relieve a little pain. "After I finish healing this leg, of course."

"Let's go back to the office," he said.

In the car going home, Jo told me, "Stoney, you know you MUST go for it."

"What about YOU, my redheaded princess?"

Giggle. "You think I should?"

"Look at the group we just left. His and hers pilots all, except for the Weismanns."

"I'd be charmed, but are you sure it's something you want to do?"

"Cindy does. Did you see the look on her face when she climbed into the pilot's seat while ago?"

"Yeah, but that's Cindy. I never saw her NOT smiling." I thought about what I just said. It was true. But then my Johanna was much the same. Even her pensive moods had a hint of that smile that drew me to her the first time I saw her.

"Let's think about it," she said. "You brought YOUR stuff into this marriage. I brought MY stuff. This would be something that we start off sharing together."

"That's a very 'Johanna' way of looking at it," I said, "and therefore perfect. Is that all you come away with from this weekend? Flying lessons?"

"You really want to get me started, guy?" she laughed.

"So tell me."

"Nuts! Never in my fevered dreams did I expect what we just experienced." She sighed. "I ... you ... we had a blast, didn't we?"

"Yes, it's a weekend that pegged my fun meter out."

She smiled. "And just so you know, the ONLY downer all weekend was having to keep quiet with you licking me senseless."

"You're not the only one, dearest," I said. "You know what you do to me. And slow down. You're driving too fast."

"Wanna get home and abuse you before we go to practice," she said.

"I've already had my quota of car wrecks this year."

"I'm being careful," she chuckled, "but I am definitely hurrying."

We got to the apartment in due time. We each grabbed a load of the weekend's luggage. I fumbled the key into the lock and let us in.

"You just set that stuff there. I'll get the rest of it in," she said. "Ease your leg up for a bit."

I did just that. The recliner beckoned. I sat and kicked the footrest up. A nagging twinge in my thigh eased up. I closed my eyes for a minute, opened them again when I heard the front door open and my Johanna bounce through it. She set the instrument cases down, smiling.

"Are you relaxing in such a manner that I cannot find a spot in your arms?"

My heartbeat quickened. "My arms await you."

She gave her head a sassy shake, knowing that the move gets to me, and she insinuated herself carefully into my lap. It's good. Jo fits into my arms perfectly. She turns her face to mine, presenting me with those clear blue eyes, the outrageous red hair, the freckles and THAT smile. I have to count blessings in groups of ten to cover what this girl brings to my life.

Her kiss brings me from reverie to reality. "I love you, Stoney."

"I love you right back, Johanna Elise."

She wiggled to put her lips at my ear, nipped my earlobe, then worked down my neck. I started shaking.

She giggled. "Does that feel good, baby?"

"God, yes."

"Do you think we could move this into the bedroom?" she punctuated the request with a searing kiss.

I attacked her jawbone just in front of her ear in reply. She squealed, wiggling out of my grasp, and stood up.

"Come on!" She extended her hand, pulling me up.

My leg isn't quite up to skipping, but I tried ... I followed her into the bedroom only because I'm still a bit too restricted to chase her. She turned around to face me, unsnapping her jeans and sliding them down her slender thighs. I resisted the urge to just bowl her over backward because I knew that after that move, we'd still have to get clothing out of the way.

I was struggling with a sock when SHE pushed ME over. "I'll get that!" Giggle. "Or not!" as she wrapped her arms around my thighs, putting her mouth at just the right level to...

I gasped. Sooooo good! All my senses diverted to that one little bit of anatomy. I don't remember my socks coming off. Next thing I know, there's this delightful, happy face in front of mine, demanding to be kissed.

Familiarity. Yes, we're very familiar with one another by now. I know every delicious inch of her body, the freckled shoulders, that dark mole on the left cheek of her beautifully curved ass, where the hairline is on her sparsely carpeted pubic mound, the fact that her areolae draw up in wrinkly little almond shapes after a few nips and licks. She knows me as well. That, folks, is not the beginnings of boredom. It's pulling all the bits of colored glass into a kaleidoscope so you can have a lifetime of happy permutations.

For the next hour were permutated each other into semiconscious bliss. Noisy bliss, but bliss nonetheless.

Soft giggle in my ear, accompanied by little kisses. "I know we can be quiet and restrained, Stoney, but you make me want to howl, you know."

"I know. I find myself wanting to make noise." Right now the noise I'm making is a satisfied sigh with a little quiver as an aftershock swirls up my flaccid shaft. "Come here." I tugged her atop me. She touched the tip of her nose to mine. I always wanted to be in love just like this.

She pulled her face back. "Just a few more minutes then we need to shower and go grab dinner," she sighed. "We have obligations."

"YOU have obligations," I laughed. "I have played in the only concert I will ever play in my life."

"Wrong, you!" she laughed. "Rara Avis is going to have a winter performance season. Besides, you LIKE it, and you KNOW you like it."

Guilty.

Shower. Soup and salad, as in "Let's do that new place that opened."

The Monday night practice session was as expected. The difference this time, of course, was the questioning we got.

Key: "They flew down here and hauled y'all off for the weekend, just like that?"

Jo nodded, red hair bouncing. "Yes yes. What a strange and wonderful way to travel! We stayed in their guest room and it was music for the whole weekend."

I told them about TWO violins, two banjos, a guitar, a bass, a couple of singers, and a happy audience.

The normal bit of serious practice was interspersed with the laughter and when we broke up, Key said, "Next week at your house so Mister Georg and Mizz Betta can be with us."

"Cuz they bring cookies," somebody interjected.

Somebody else suggested that I get the recording equipment out next time we did one of those big jam sessions. That idea had occurred to me while we were still in Alabama. I needed to give Eddie a call. I surmise that I can get a set of gear that will fill our purposes. I know I can set it up. And Eddie probably has a handle on somebody who can do some editing.

"We could record anything we wanted, give the raw files to an editor, and see what comes out," I said.

"That would be amazing. There was so much this weekend that was good enough to save. Cindy and Teresa. You and Dan. Any of a dozen different permutations," Jo replied.

"Kind of like self-publishing," I countered.

"Oh, Cindy told me that they'll e-commerce a site on their server. What's Nikki's friend's name? Maddie? She said she could handle the volume of sales we think we'd get, you know, onesies and twosies. And you could tell people that your fall-back job is a professional music career."

I laughed. "I'll be sure and update my curriculum vitae on the company website."

"That's it, Stoney. Make 'em jealous."

"They're jealous ever since they first saw a picture of you, babe," I said.

"They're not, really," she smiled.

"Those that aren't, should be. They just lack an understanding of theology and geometry in the universe. I understand it, therefore YOU are the perfection that brings harmony."

"And you, sir, are wonderful in your own right," she teased. "I love it when you tell me things like that."

Home. Finally. I was tired. I think Jo was tired as well. She had school in the morning. I only wish I was going to work, but the doctor was adamant about another two weeks before he would release me. In the apartment we stowed the instruments and hit the shower. There's absolutely no urgency to it tonight. We've had a great day, we've already spent time in bed together, and a shared shower is just the way we choose to do this function sometimes.

Following the normal routine, we ended up cuddled in bed under the covers, the room cool in a December cold spell. That was a further incentive for snuggling, like we need further incentive. She fits inside my encircling arms so perfectly. Wiggles herself like she's molding against me.

And a soft giggle. "Oops! I woke it up."

"Yes you did," I said. "It'll go back to sleep in a bit if you stop wiggling."

For that comment, I got another wiggle and a kiss on my nose. "To be perfectly honest, Mister Stoney, I find that I am myself getting a bit tingly."

"Oh," I said. "We could both be very still and that would stop."

Giggle. "Is that really what you think we should do?" Another teasing little peck on my nose.

My hand slipped inside the waistband of my pajamas. MY pajamas? Yeah. She wears 'em sometimes. What my hand finds in them tonight is a whole lot more delightful when she wears them. My fingertips swirled through her sparse red pubic hair. She purred. Really purred, a throaty 'Mmmmmmm".

I have my own version. I used it when her fingers wrapped around my hardness.

One of the wonderful things about making love with my Johanna is that the smile stays there. The giggles stay there. She doesn't have to go into some sort of serious "I'm being sexy and seductive" fakery. She brings joy and wonder and enthusiasm and lust and tosses all of them at me at once.

Tonight was no urgency. Tonight was simply love and pleasure.

Finished, she reached into the bedside nightstand. "Last towel, love. We need to do laundry."

"I'll get that tomorrow."

She toweled the milky liquid leaking from her, then bent over and sucked my flaccid member. Her head popped up. She made a little show of licking her lips. "There! Now you're clean, too!"

I cuddled her back into my arms.

"Now, wasn't that a lot better than trying to lie still and hoping those feelings would go away?"

"You're right, little one," I said.

"'Course I'm right!" Kiss. Wiggle in my arms. Off to sleep.

Alarm at 0730. Breakfast, this time fruit and cereal. And ambrosia. Nectar of the gods. Some people call it coffee. Jo was in one of her books. End of the semester. Finals.

"Not a problem, just passing," she said. "But I want the grade. Want that 4.0."

I smiled. My baby had that goal when I first met her. She hadn't slacked up. "It would be sooo easy," she said one evening after a particularly happy coupling. "I, like, have THIS new means of entertainment." Such a statement leads to more happy moments, you know.

Later, "You, sir, are quite the distraction."

"I'm happy you're getting distracted," I mused.

She lounged back in my arms. "Ahhhh, Stoney ... All my life I wondered what it was about, this 'love' thing. I guess I just had too high a threshold. All the other girls were falling into and out of love continuously. I tried getting excited about it, but nobody fit what I wanted. Now there's us. And you know, it's just not a mystery any more."

I stood at the door this morning and kissed my muse goodbye when she headed off to campus. Since this occurred on the front step of our apartment, I turned and noticed Mr. Hlinka standing on his own step next door. "Good morning, Mister Hlinka," I said, waving.

"Goot morning to you as well, Mister Jackson. Would you have time for coffee with us?"

"I would be delighted. Johanna has just gone off to class. Let me get my keys."

Mr. Hlinka held the door open for me when I met him on his steps. "Betta has taken the auto to the farmers' market. We enjoy the fresh vegetables. Shopping at the market is a memory of the Old Country."

"I remember those from Germany," I said.

"Ah, yes, young American soldier. Is not unusual that you should see that portion of Europe."

We sat and talked and sipped coffee along with one of his wife's little pastry creations.

"Your new wife, your new friends, they bring life to us, young Stoney," Georg said.

"Yes, friend," I said. "She has certainly brought me life."

"Such a girl is what a young man needs," he smiled, his old grey eyes twinkling. "I have been privileged to have received a similar blessing."

"I can see it in the way you look at Mizz Betta," I said. When the words left my mouth, the thought crossed my mind. Georg and Betta. Anders and Bridgette. My own mom and dad. In this day of crippled relationships and transitory 'love', there is still a 'right' way. It's out there. You have to know to ask. And I guess, be willing to work for it.

"Ah, yes, my Betta," he smiled. His eyes focused far away through the years, I imagined. "She was quite the beauty in her youth, to all that met her. Now, all the years have passed and she still is the beauty. If it is in here..." his wrinkled index finger tapped his temple, "then it is also in here..." he said, tapping his chest, "and if in there, then the eyes still see. The room still gets brighter when she enters." He smiled. At me, he smiled.

"When we came to America, Betta was nurse. I was chemist. Sometimes we did very poorly but we got by because there are ways of being rich that don't involve numbers on paper. Only thing I regret is no son. No children. So I tell you this, young Jackson, as my own son."

I knew I was being presented a gift. "Sir. Mister Georg. I receive it as your son. And your friend."

"You just remember that you have a pretty young lady for wife."

"I do, sir. And you know, the pretty is on the inside as well."

He smiled. "You understand, then."

"I hope so. I wasn't searching when I found Johanna. And she found me."

"I and Betta." He smiled, letting the years slip away from his memories. "University. We didn't do social things like I see you Americans do. Groups. Hers. Mine. Music was the cross-over. We found ourselves in the same places and we smiled at the same things and we were like the moon orbiting the Earth, predictably together. One day we decided it was to be. A month later we were together trying to cross the border. We married in Austria, before we determined to come to America."

"Quite a story," I said.

"It has been. We struggled. Our university educations in Prague were suspect here. We overcame many obstacles. We have had a good life." He smiled again. "In a new country, where even the weather is alien, times came where the only constant, the only anchor we had was each other. You and your Johanna, though, you have your friends, just as I and Betta had long ago in Prague. I smile when I see you."

When I finally left for my own apartment, my head was filled with pictures of someone who'd uprooted himself from one hemisphere and landed in another and survived and thrived because he shared the adventure with his lifemate.

My own lifemate had two classes with finals today, one from mid-morning to near noon and one from early to mid-afternoon. The least I could do was make sure that I had a meal prepared for her. Since the weather was deteriorating fast into a drizzly, drippy, chilly mess, I made us a soup. And a loaf of home-made bread. Something about kneading a loaf of bread that is almost Zen. Fifteen minutes of kneading earned me a respite in the recliner. Leg still twinges, but I'm crutch or cane-free around the house and for short distances elsewhere.

Soup simmering and bread in the oven, it was time to entertain myself. Nope, no porn. I picked up my phone.

"3Sigma Engineering. This is Maddie. Can I help you?"

"Maddie, this is Stoney..."

Squeal! "Hi, Stoney! Are y'all coming back soon?"

"I dunno. We'll see," I said.

"Oh," she said dejectedly. "That was so much fun!"

"We had a blast, too," I replied. "What's going on around the office?"

"Everybody's out except Dan 2.0 and Nikki."

"Is Dan too busy to talk?"

"Oh, he'll talk to YOU," she said.

I ended up spending a pleasant bit of time on the phone with both Dan and Nikki. Call it my engineering fix.

Cellphone rang at 2:30. Rang? No, actually it played a flute passage. My Jo.

"Hi, cutie," I answered.

"Hey, baby. I need pampering."

"Come home. Sombody here needs to pamper you."

"Did you do the posole?"

"Yes. And home-made bread."

"Mmmmmm," she said.

"Was the exam that hard?"

"No, I guess not really. I know I passed. I know I did pretty good. But I wanted to excel."

"You probably did, baby," I soothed.

"I hope so. I'm getting into traffic. See you in a bit. And no company, no visits, we don't need to leave the house. I need major, energetic soothing."

"Gotcha covered, darlin'," I said.

"I love you. Bye!"

I was folding laundry when the door opened. She tossed her backpack on the chair and shoved herself into my arms. Laundry can wait. We kissed and moved to the recliner. She pressed herself against me like she was drawing energy. I just held her, stroking her hair with one hand."Tough day?" I asked.

"Yeah ... no ... just need to be held." Holding morphed into nibbles on my ear. I squirmed with the pleasure. She giggled. "That helps."

"Nibbling my ear?"

"Making you feel good."

"You've certainly accomplished that."

Her agile heinie wiggled in my lap. "I can tell." Kiss. "How about dinner with a glass of wine and then a romp?"

"Okay."

Kiss. "Then a shower and another romp?" Giggle.

Over dinner Jo explained to me the travails of her day's exams. "Sounds more to me like you had it under control."

"I did. Performance anxiety, I guess," she said. "Things that should be almost natural after the semester is over, but I put myself through the stress."

"You didn't want to settle for less than perfection." I looked at the face before me. "I didn't."

"You, sir, are a silver-tongued devil."

"And you, my dear, are a lady worthy of all I will ever be, and then some."

Chapter 35

Johanna's Turn:

I walked out of the classroom with a definite spring in my step. I had several reasons to bounce, you know. Let's see. That test paper I laid on the GA's desk was, to the best of my knowledge, close to perfect. Stoney was home waiting on me. The semester was almost over and for the first time in my life I was not packing up to go spend winter break with Mom and Dad.

The test. How ironic that I was testing at the end of a class on the history of Europe since 1945. I smiled at the thought of the class scope and the fact that I had a little window on some living history when Georg and Betta submitted to questioning about a view of communist-run Czechoslovakia and eye-witness reports of Prague Spring. The smile vanished quickly when I remembered the sad expressions as they recounted the oppression, friends disappearing into secret police vans, some to never be heard of again.

Stoney. My Stoney. Walking almost as well as he was before the accident. This Friday he's making what he hopes is a final trip to the doctor before going back to work. At this stage in our life together, I am actually going to miss having him there when I get home during the day. I giggle to myself. Key's gonna miss him too.

"Jo, if that boy hadn't just fallen right into your lap like he did, uh ... he's a keeper."

"I don't have to worry about you two, do I?" After all, he was there home alone with Key helping him out. At first he was pretty much bed-bound, but even after he got a bit more mobile, she still came over when I was in class and she wasn't."

"No you don't. First place, he's all into you. I think I coulda tossed my naked butt on his lap and not even gotten a rise out of 'im. He's into YOU. I think he's waited his whole life for you. But if he wasn't married to you and he acted just a little bit interested..."

"That would freak out your mom and dad."

"It'd prob'ly kill Grammaw," she said. "But he might be worth the risk."

"You have Hutch."

Key's smile dazzles. "Yeah, I do. But Stoney came along before Hutch and I got serious. Just sayin'."

"And you're telling me all this, just why?"

"'Cuz you got a good one, girl. I know guys who won't wait until their wives or girlfriends get out of sight before they're hittin' on women. Stoney? Ain't one a'them."

And I know that he's been having morning coffee with Mister Georg while Mizz Betta goes to the market. Lots of people are going to miss Stoney when he goes back to work.

And this year Mom and Dad will come to town to visit with me and my husband for Christmas.

"Of course we don't mind, Johanna," Dad told me. "Your mom and I have done Christmases all over the globe. Our Christmas tradition is not rooted in a geographic location."

I remembered a lot of those, overseas, when Dad was in the army. The embassy duty was one thing. The garrison duty was another, and I remember our home filled with other soldiers and soldiers' wives as Mom and Dad took care of his men.

"Are you sure you don't mind?" I asked. "Stoney and I could come up there."

"No. Your mother and I discussed this at length. December is a slow time for business and we shall take a tiny vacation. My daughter and her husband provide a stop."

"Then I shall prepare Christmas dinner," I said.

"And you sadly underestimate my control over your mother if you think that I can restrain her from helping."

"Ever since I was a little girl I have wanted to prepare Christmas dinner for my family. It's time. And Mom should be here.Thank you, Daddy," I said. He knows that 'Daddy' is used to establish my status as his little girl, even though he recognizes me as a young adult who has made good choices in life.

So I'm driving home to a life that's almost a fairy tale. I walk into the house to find Stoney with the vacuum cleaner. My nostrils flare. "Potpourri?"

He shut the vacuum down. "What?"

"Do I smell potpourri?"

"Yes. One of those bags we bought at that street market. Thought you'd enjoy the effect."

"You're so awfully domestic."

"I am easily house-broken. How'd the test go?"

"Great. I think I did it. 4.0."

"I didn't marry a dummy," he smiled. "What'd'ya wanna do for celebration?"

"Short-range? That soup and salad place for dinner. Mid-range? Pack up some stuff and spend the weekend on the boat."

"Baby," he said. "I checked the weather. It's supposed to be miserable Friday and Saturday. Overcast, blustery, rainy."

"I have Norwegian blood in my veins, Stoney. Overcast skies and a boat make me want to go pillage a monastery. I'll settle for abusing your Saxon butt all weekend."

He laughed. "That's the most charming threat I've ever received. You really like going off on the boat for the weekend?"

"Yes I do, guy. Sometimes I want isolation. Just me and you. You'll be back at work Monday, I suppose, so we'll get us a weekend." I thought for a second. "Uh, how're we sitting on propane. Do we have enough for the weekend?"

"I'll call Gary and get him to check, make sure we have a full bottle for the weekend."

We spent a little time going over a menu: Friday dinner, three meals for Saturday, breakfast and a snackish lunch for Sunday. Wasn't too critical. A few miles out in the bay, swinging at anchor is a lot different than what I'm thinking of packing for a longer trip, maybe up or down the coast. From the Gulf outlet of the bay, it was a long way to an open-water destination. Most sailors, Stoney tells me, just hop up and down the coast.

We're talking about it, but honestly, it's just talk. I have another, final semester of college. Stoney's got work. Any serious sailing would need a few weeks to really get anywhere. But we're talking. Next summer's probably out of the discussion. Hurricane season starts in June and things can go bad in the Gulf in a matter of hours. Besides, in the summertime, the heat in the South is oppressive. We'll see where things are, come next fall.

"You're doing it again, redhead," he says.

"Oh, just thinking about me getting done with college and what happens after that. I think of our boat and I dream..."

"We've talked," he said.

"I know ... We can become itinerant musicians. Not like we're gonna starve."

"I've thought about engineering. The company may keep me on a list to call when they have overflow work. I know a couple of guys who're doing that," he said.

"Yes, baby. But aside from Brad, there's not a lot of social attachment here. I'm thinking 3Sigma. They'd probably put up with our flighty schedule."

"Especially if we show up every now and then for social purposes."

"I get the feeling that they'd like that," I said. "I still think about that bunch." I caught the look in his eye. "Honestly, if they weren't a hundred and fifty miles from anywhere we could put our boat..."

"We can stay right here," I said. "Maybe not in this apartment, but within driving distance. I like the colleges and the music scene. We can use the network here to get ourselves involved with them. I'll have a place to play, and so will you. Music and engineering both."

"We do what we want..." he started.

"As long as it puts Jo right next to Stoney," I stated.

"I wouldn't have it any other way," he said. "That's what I mean."

"We do a couple of years of Jo and Stoney, then we determine when to bring our much-anticipated progeny forth."

"Thereby insuring that your mother has her dream fulfilled," he laughed.

"And making me hope that we can do as well as Mom and Dad."

"While they're spoiling the kid silly."

"Doting, baby. They'll be doting grandparents."

"I hope the kid gets your red hair," he smiled warmly. "Blue eyes ought to be a given."

I giggled. "Of course, Key said you and she would have those exotic mocha-colored kids."

"Stop it!" he laughed.

"Ooo-oh," I picked. "Talking about Key is getting to you?"

He's a whole lot less crippled than he used to be because he pinned me to the sofa and kissed me though the tickles.

"Oh, sure, use ME as a surrogate!" I squealed between laughing fits.

Afterward, lying across the bed, breathless, I sighed, "Well, that answered the question of what to do until dinnertime."

"Yeah, I found that quite entertaining," he smiled, his hand wandering.

"I'm getting a chill. Cover me up," I said.

He tossed the covers over the two of us and pulled me against him. I didn't fight that, not a bit. I backed against him, letting him spoon me and nuzzle the back of my neck. Savor, dammit, Jo! Savor!

I know of dozens of conversations about sex where the girl complained about lack of, not foreplay, but afterplay. Stoney never fails. Afterward, he's got me and even if it IS late at night and we know we're going to sleep, I go to sleep in his arms.

But that's not right now. We enjoy a few minutes and then ease out of bed, getting dressed. While he's tossing things in a pot for dinner, I'm in the living room with my flute, working through practice. Early on I'd tried to get him to let me help in the kitchen.

"No," he'd said. "Unless you think I'm that bad a cook, you practice while I get things together."

Now, after he has the thing in the oven, he joins me in practicing. He notices me eyeing the clock. "What are you watching the clock for?"

"Sir, it's a cold and nasty night, and I think that after we bathe, we should curl up on the sofa and watch a movie. It's on at eight."

"Yes, ma'am," he said.

I won't bore you with too much of this. I do want you to understand that Stoney and I were finding a balance in the merging of our lives together. Weekdays? Like this one, or maybe dinner out, but not too often. I wasn't raised to be profligate and neither was Stoney. Usually if we ate out, it was because we were meeting friends, often Key and Hutch, for dinner.

Weekend on the boat? Our own nautical version of the cabin in the woods. No matter that the wind was out of the north at forty degrees and twenty knots, the anchor held us in place and the little heater made the cabin cozy and we learned that we can be perfectly happy together each with a book, with music playing on the stereo, lying together in that master berth. Alone together.

"I don't want you to think I'm ignoring you," he said.

Giggle. "I know perfectly well that you're not ignoring me, sweetheart," I said, twisting to kiss his nose. "I'm not ignoring you either, you know."

"Well, some people would call this rather strange."

"Stoney, Stoney, Stoney," I said. "Those people would not have pushed you into a weekend on the boat in the middle of the bay in winter. Did you honestly think I didn't know that I wouldn't be lounging on the foredeck in my bikini sipping mai-tais?"

"But we're both reading..."

"And we're half an hour past indescribably great love-making and we've got great music playing and I strongly suspect that if I wanted to do something other than read I know that I could grab my flute and play music or I could grab THIS..." I nuzzled his cheek while my hand fondled him. "And we'd be off to the races again."

"So you're okay with this?"

"I am ecstatic with this. We can be together like this and I know that you love me and I love you and we can live together without either of us thinking that we have to entertain the other."

"Is it too soon to tell you how much I adore you again?"

"No, baby," I said. I kissed him. "Two months of marriage. I think we're doing pretty well. We still adore each other."

He smiled, the dimple on his left side interrupted by that scar. "I wish you could see inside my head, little one," he said.

"I can, you know. I know I'm in there." I kissed him and l settled back into my pillow, my iPad displaying yet another book. He did the same, but soon laid his down on his stomach.

"Flat," he said. "I guess I really am ruined towards military fiction."

"Your experiences exceed somebody else's imagination," I said.

"I'm pretty good until they get to details. Gory details sort of lose me."

"Dad read histories," I said. "Personal accounts, you know, of individuals, and then the 'big picture' works. Said the same thing as you did about fiction. Said being there sort of took the shine off some of the fiction. I guess I'd be that way about stories concerning enthusiastic flutists."

"You're happily, joyously, indescribably nuts, you know?" he said. "You know how to head off a bad thought."

Okay. Yes, that IS a good thing to know.

As he climbed over me, he kissed me. "Time to go stir the beans."

Navy bean soup on the stove. Snacks for lunch. Savory, delicious, warming soup for dinner.

He pulled a pair of warm-up pants on, then a sweatshirt, and made the short trip to the galley. I heard the pot lid rattle as I eased out of bed myself. He turned to see me dressing.

"You have something in mind?"

"What's it look like topside?" I asked.

"Don't hear the rain any more. Lemme stick my head out." He mounted the ladder to the cockpit, cracked the hatch. "Still nasty-looking, but the scud's heading south. Might be clear by dark."

"But cold."

"Yeah," he answered. "Cold."

"But not too cold," I giggled. "We could pop up in the dark for a moonlight tryst."

"I dunno, at least a naked hug. Temperature's dropping pretty fast."

"As long as it's not raining, we ARE going to do a naked outdoor hug. It has become who we are." I knew it. I suspect that Stoney knows it as well. Yes, I surmise that on one level it's a silly thing, but on another level it is one of those seminal (HAH! 'Seminal'! Indeed it was, as I remember.) moments in our relationship. If I could stand naked before Stoney in the light of the moon then standing with him through life rather loses scale, doesn't it?

I think that's some of the thought behind the Old Ways. Maybe I should have looked into some of those classes. Sometimes there's more to the world than the things that can be described by formulas and contemporary thoughts.

I shook my head, bringing myself back to the tiny world that existed in the cabin of our boat. I saw him gazing at me.

"Are you back?" he questioned.

"Of course. Why?"

"You accuse me of that, just leaving on the wings of a thought."

"You DO, you know. I've seen it. But most of the time you're going back to a place where there were bad things in your past."

"And where was Johanna Elise?"

"Soaring among the stars on the wings of everlasting love," I said. Giggle. "Well, actually I didn't get past two naked bodies in the moonlight."

"Get your flute, lady. Let us limber up our music."

Yes, it's OUR music. Some of it's played on instruments. Some of it is scintillations among the stars. I told Mom a phrase like that once, about me and Stoney.

"Jo, you are well to regard the two of you with poetry. Remember these thoughts because there are days when things are strained and dreary."

"Mother, I cannot imagine a dreary day with Stoney."

"I thought the same with your father," Mom said. "Believe me, though, they will happen. Remember that this man has brought the elements of magic to your thoughts."

I looked at some of that magic at work as he pulled his banjo out of the locker and sat down on the cabin settee, plunking a little bluegrass melody as he sang You Are My Sunshine.

I put the flute to my lips. He stopped, let me have the first note, and we dove in together. Just another happy way that our lives fit together.

Frankly I was a bit sad when we dropped the sail and started motoring up the channel to our slip on Sunday. A reverie was over. No, not just the weekend. I mean that Friday's visit to the doctor got Stoney a release to return to work. I'm glad he's healing so well, but I was getting awfully used to coming home at any hour during the day and finding him there in the apartment.

His new SUV was sitting in the parking garage waiting. We'd shopped together. My little college car is still plenty good for me for the present, actually for the foreseeable future, but we needed an SUV to haul stuff back and forth to the boat, so that's what we got. Tomorrow he drives it to work.

We were shuttling things off the boat and into that new SUV when my iPhone played an oboe solo.

"Key," Stoney said.

"Hello, sister," I answered.

"You finished with your excursion this weekend?" she questioned.

"We're loading the car right now," I said. "Yes, we're finished."

"Are you all worn out and you need to recuperate or are you in for dinner with me an' Hutch?"

"Just a second," I said. Turned to Stoney. "Are you up for dinner with your second choice and the guy she replaced you with?"

The squeal coming from my phone as she parsed that statement was audible even without the phone at my ear.

"We can do that," Stoney said.

"He says we can do it," I told Key.

"I can't believe you talk to him like that," she squealed. "I thought we had secrets."

"We do. Stoney adores you just a tiny bit less than me, is all."

"Well, since you're being all forward and all, Hutch and I had lunch with Mom and Dad..."

I caught the tone. Suppressed a squeal. "Annnddddd..."

"We told 'em. June wedding."

Okay, Jo, now you can squeal. I did.

Stoney turned. He knows my happy noises. "DO I take it that the inevitable has happened?"

"Yes," I replied, holding the phone so that Key was insured of not missing a word. "Key, rebounding from unrequited love, has bounced into the arms of Hutch. They've announced their nuptials in June."

"Oh, well," Stoney laughed. "Tell 'er congratulations on her choice."

Key was in my ear. "Johanna Elise, don't be startin' that stuff about me an' Stoney in front of Hutch, you hear?"

I giggled. "Never. Girl, I'm happy for you."

"Like I was happy for you, white child," Key said happily. "Is Italian good for dinner?"

"Lovely," I said. "Regular place?"

"Arnaldo's," she said. "Five-thirty."

"We'll be there," I said.

"Bye. An' go console Stoney," she laughed.

"We've just about consoled each other out for the weekend. Seeya at five thirty."

Stoney and I secured the boat and I took the passenger seat in the car for the drive home.

"There goes your fall-back," I picked.

"I am saddened," he feigned. "She was musical, too. Most music anybody before her ever did was bad Madonna impressions."

"Meeting me has elevated you," I said self-certainly.

"I will never deny that, my princess."

He was smiling. "Really is good news. Hutch and I have talked. The guy's not faking it. He's a good one. At least he didn't change his act when you and she left the table."

"That's what Key says. A full-time adult."

We hauled our weekend's artifacts from the car to the apartment and started breaking things down, a pile of laundry being the main thing. We do 'domestic' pretty good together.

Dinner was a happy affair. I'm a college girl. I've been to some sad ones where one of my friends saw somebody leave her life when she thought a relationship was more than he apparently did. Now I see my Key-buddy, my dusky sister, sitting there with her fingers interlocked with Hutch, new engagement ring prominently displayed on her hand.

Stoney and Hutch did a manly hand-shaking thing that morphed into a man-hug complete with the appropriate back-slaps.

The meal was accompanied by happy conversation, promises that we would be there for the wedding.

Let Key drop the Stoney bomb. "Y'all gotta come. Momma needs to see who my second choice was."

Stoney aspirated a sip of wine and had a coughing fit with Hutch laughing at him. He recovered enough to blurt to Hutch, "You've heard, then?"

"Oh, yeah," Hutch laughed. "You think my smart-ass girlfriend can keep THAT secret?"

"Jo?" Stoney queried.

"I didn't think she'd tell 'im. Really." But I was smiling.

Chapter 36

Still Johanna:

Semester's over. Christmas break. And this was new. Ever since I started school, Christmas break was with Mom and Dad, even in college. Well, this year, people, it's different. Little Johanna Elise Solheim is now Mrs. Randall Jackson and with that status comes a whole new life. Christmas dinner.

"Do you think we can manage something close to a Christmas dinner, Stoney?"

He smiled. "Yeah, I think we can do that, in a restrained fashion."

"Turkey. Little one. With dressing. Those mashed potatoes you do. I like 'em. Mom and Dad will. Something vegetably. Something saladish. And a pie or two. We both do it. I take the credit," I giggled.

"I'll let you," he said.

A tree. "Real tree," I said. "Did you do one last year?"

My Stoney shook his head in the negative. "No. Not just for me."

"It doesn't have to be a big tree, but can we?" Why is it that THIS guy makes me wanna go all Normal Rockwell or Currier and Ives?

My guy smiled. "Little Christmas tree it is..."

So here's my little home, complete with husband and Christmas tree and somebody donated a cookbook so the air one evening was filled with the sweet spicy aroma of gingerbread. Of course, the gingerbread was constructed by my husband as I serenaded him on my flute.

The counterpoint to that one day is me making cornbread while he played banjo. "Cornbread and banjo music go together," he told me.

"But we're having it with red beans and rice. That's a Louisiana thing. Shouldn't you be playing the accordion?"

"All I got's a banjo. You get a banjo."

Giggle. "No, I got a Stoney. He happens to have a banjo." While the cornbread was baking we played duets. That's life now. Duets. Sure, we're both perfectly capable of solos, but duets are where the real action is. I voiced that opinion to Stoney.

"Uh, redhead, somebody could take that very much wrong."

I smiled. "Those people can take it any way they want to take it. It's true in so many ways."

"Well, I don't mind solo banjo, and solo reading, and solo bathing, but there's one thing that I just don't think I'll ever resort to a solo again."

Okay, Jo. Put the flute down. Go attack Stoney.

Stoney likes being attacked. Attacks right back. The battle is epic. We both end up dead. But that wasn't while I had cornbread in the oven.

One of these days I'm gonna get off the Pill and I'll have something else in the oven. We've talked. We want at least one child, maybe two. Stoney wants one like me and I want one like him and Mom says she doesn't care, either or both would be just fine but the line of Solheim should go on, even if the name ends with me. In the meantime, Stoney and I have a lot of fun practicing.

Practicing? Oh, we're dead serious about it, lovemaking, I mean. It's like a lot of music: infinite variations on themes. I never imagined that I'm this interested in the male physique. I, after listening to my classmates, had determined that I could manage passable enthusiasm. I didn't count on being in love with Stoney and the fire that flew when we kissed and touched.

Now it's something I daydream about. And get all warm and sticky and then when I get home I sometimes wonder what Stoney thinks I'm doing when I grab his hand and pull him towards the bedroom. Or the living room. Or the kitchen. Or the laundry room.

He doesn't complain, though.

Phone call. Not a number I recognize. "Hi! This Johanna!"

Soft, young female voice. "I have this number for Rara Avis. Am I correct?"

"Yes, you are. What can I do for you?"

"Did I say it right?"

"You did."

"You're here in the city?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"How busy is your schedule? Would a one-week notice be too short?"

"Excuse me, but may I ask who you are?"

Little squeal. "Sorry. I don't do this. I saw you and Stoney at the last concert for the university orchestra. And somebody told me about Rara Avis. They did say you might have been just kidding." She took a deep breath. "I'm Kara Sevinsky. I study music. High school. A bunch of us are sort of serious about it."

"And what is it that you'd like to do? I mean, you called..."

"We'd like to know how much to get you to play for a couple of hours..."

"Wait a second," I said. "You're with a bunch of high school musicians and you want us to play for you. And you want to know what that costs?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Please don't call me 'ma'am', Kara. I'm your age, almost."

"Sorry if I bothered you. I thought it might be a stretch. Calling, I mean."

"You haven't bothered me, Kara. I'm sort of intrigued. You wanted me and Stoney to play?"

"Yes. I thought it was spectacular, the way you two interacted, that he could play Mozart on a banjo and that you just sort of melded with him. Our group is interested in what else you two may do with music."

"How many of your group were there?"

"Me and three others."

"Where would you be asking us to perform?"

"You'd have to tell us what size of a venue you require," Kara said. "We will provide it."

"You ... How were you planning on paying for this?"

"Dad and Mom owe me a Christmas present. I turned down a new car. They can afford it."

"Wow!" I squeaked.

"Dad's a pretty significant trial lawyer," Kara said. "You might've heard of him." She said a name.

Yes, I know the name. And there's a face to go with it, because he does TV and billboard advertisements. Stoney and I were watching TV one night when one of those commercials came on.

"You know why lawyers always wear ties?" Stoney asked me.

"No," I said. Sometimes I'm soooo innocent.

"To keep the foreskins from sliding up over their faces."

Snorted cocoa through my nose. "Stoney! Really!"

I'd feel a whole lot worse about making that joke if you weren't trying to stifle a giggle," he said.

Okay, so Kara is THAT lawyer's daughter. Sins of the father, and all that. She sounds nice, so we'll see where it goes.

"I've heard of him, Kara," I said. "But I wasn't thinking about charging for this. Why don't we just get together and play? Do you ... where do you and your friends meet?"

"My house or Linnie's house. She's, like, on the same block. We both have BIG rec rooms."

"I need to talk to Stoney." I paused. "Would you be interested in having an oboist, too?"

"That black girl? She was standing with you after the concert?"

"Yeah. Key! Keshia, actually. She might want to come along."

"Cool!" Kara said.

"Are you all serious musicians?" I questioned.

"We're in high school, but yes, I am and I think you could say the rest of us are. This is sort of exploration."

"Well, let me run it past Stoney, okay?"

"Okay. Can I call you back tomorrow? And if he's okay, we can talk about when and where."

"'Kay, Kara," I said.

"Oh, thank you, Johanna," she said. "Bye."

I was mulling this over as I puttered around the kitchen waiting for Stoney to get home. Kara. Daddy's a big-time attorney. I have a picture of how HE would be, but I know better than to prejudge. She, on the other hand, sounded almost fragile. It wouldn't be the first time that I worked with high school students. Occasionally the orchestra did community outreach but this was the first time that I was ever asked on my own to perform. Well actually they asked the two of us to perform.

I was thinking that we wouldn't just perform, that we would try and interact. After all if Kara and her friends were that into music then they probably wanted to play. I think it would be a lot of fun to work with them exploring what they knew and what we knew and we can see what we could synthesize out of all that.

Stoney called me as soon as he got out of the office and on the street headed home.

"Hi baby."

"Hello there, cute little redheaded girl."

"Something interesting happened today," I said.

"Good interesting. Or bad interesting?"

"I think it's good interesting. I got a phone call asking about Rara Avis."

"Really?"

"Yeah, really."

"Hollywood? Nashville? Austin? The New York Philharmonic?"

"That would be something, wouldn't it? But it was a high school kid. Wants to know if we will play for her and her friends."

"And they want to pay us?" he asked.

"I don't know if I'll want to get paid. I mean, it's high school kids. They are into music. I don't want take advantage of them."

"But they called with the intention of paying, didn't they? And did you get a name?"

"Of course! And you're gonna love it."

"Oh, boy," he laughed. "This is probably good!"

"Remember that lawyer you made the foreskin joke about?"

"Uh, yeahhhhh."

"His daughter."

"I'm in traffic," he said. "We'll talk when I get home."

"Luvya, Stoney," I said.

"Luvya, babe," he replied and the phone clicked.

I made a final check. A lasagna was in the oven, timed to be just right when he came in the door. I put a loaf of fresh bread on the table, a couple of green salads, two wine glasses, a bottle of wine was open, breathing. Some days I just want it to LOOK special.

When he came through the door, the first thing he did was wrap me up in his arms, kissed me through my squeals.

"Look! I've been all domestic an' stuff," I squealed when he finally released me.

"Wow! Better Homes & Gardens," he said. "What's the occasion?"

"I found myself married to this guy I want to impress."

"You've already impressed the daylights out of him," Stoney smiled.

"Go wash up. I'll put the plates on the table," I said.

It was all very genteel, sitting across the table from one another, talking.

About the phone call, of course.

"So what you're saying is that we get together and do a jam session."

"Sort of," I said. "Kara says she loved how we looked at the concert."

"I knew that getting on stage was gonna end up bad," he said. Of course he was smiling. "What makes you think this is a good idea?"

"First, she called and asked. Second, I dunno, Stoney. She sounded like she was trying to grasp at something."

Stoney smiled softly. "You're not looking for a kitten, are you?"

"Noooo," I said. "Let's just see what transpires. Maybe she and her friends will be a fun bunch to play music with."

"Like that bunch that we play with..."

"Maybe that's it. Lets see what there is to it. Worst happens, we find something we don't want to deal with. From there it goes uphill."

"Optimistic little thing, aren't you?"

"Only because I know what happens after the dishes and the practice session..."

The next day I was just out of my afternoon class when my phone rang. Looked. Kara Sevinsky. "Hi, Kara," I said.

"Hi, Johanna," she said. "Did you talk with your husband?"

"Sure did," I said. "He's okay with it."

Happy sound. "Great! Now when?"

"Mondays don't work for us. That's MY practice night with my gang. Other than that ... I guess Fridays aren't good for you."

"Why?" she asked.

"Isn't that that like a big date night?"

"For some people, maybe." She sounded a bit sad.

"Look, Kara, if YOU want to come over any night, I'll give you our address. Come visit. What instrument do you play?"

"Violin," she said. "You ... I mean, you've never met me."

"And you've only seen me on stage. But we're normal people who love music. If you want..." I don't know why I did it. It's done, though.

"Is this a good evening?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact, it is ... Do you prefer pizza or Chinese?"

"Pizza."

"Anchovies?"

"Oh, gosh, no..."

"Okay, we can live without them once," I said.

"What time?"

"Stoney gets home right before five, but you are welcome any time. I get home in forty-five minutes. I'll message you our address."

"Oh, thank you."

"Bring your violin."

"It's in my car."

"Okay, Kara. I will see you in a bit."

"Okay, Johanna. Bye. And thank you."

She hung up. I thumbed the message with our address and sent it.

A minute and a half later I received "Got it! Tnx!"

When I got through our door I surveyed our little home. After a quick Google Earth search that showed me where Kara lived, we were in a comparative hovel. But that's okay. It's OUR hovel: neat, clean and furnished with everything we desire, including love that flows out of the door when you open it. I just wondered what it would look like to the teen daughter of a (another bit of internet searching) wealthy trial lawyer.

I dropped my bookbag/backpack on the end of the sofa, was just getting ready to sit down when I heard the doorbell. I peaked through the peephole. There was, as Stoney puts it, a standard brown-haired girl there. Brown-haired teen girls lie outside the parameters of expected purveyors of mayhem, so I opened the door.

"Hi," I said. "Are you Kara?"

She smiled shyly. "Yes. You're beautiful up close, too, Johanna."

"Thanks. You can call me 'Jo' if you want. Saves breath. Come in!"

She stepped inside and I closed the door behind her. She swiveled, not her head, her whole body turned as she looked about the apartment. "This is nice."

"Thank you," I said.

Her eyes fastened on Stoney's framed Pinkie. "That's a beautiful painting. You have good taste."

I smiled. "I guess so. I chose to marry the guy who thought that painting was pretty enough to pay for."

"Your husband? Stoney? He bought this?"

"Yes. I knew the artist from some art electives I took in college. It wasn't what I expected to find on the wall in a single guy's apartment. Sit down, Kara. Please."

She sat on the sofa at one end. I moved my backpack and sat at the other.

"Oh, you're right. Let's see, posters of NFL cheerleaders. Big trucks. Exotic cars. But not THAT." She smiled. "Dad doesn't have a poster. He has the actual car."

"Really? Which one?"

"A stable, actually," Kara said, stroking her violin case like it was a talisman. I'm glad I noted that motion. It turns out to be more than idle motion.

"He's got a Maserati. And a Ferrari. And a high-end Porsche. And a Corvette. And a couple of others. And a trophy wife. And me." She looked down. "I'm not much of a trophy."

"What about your mom?"

"Gone."

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have pried."

"It's not prying. It's a perfectly decent question. He's got his toys. I've got mine." She was still stroking the violin case.

I sensed (terribly perceptive, I am!) that Kara wanted someone to talk with. My best move was to gently converse and to listen strenuously.

"You like music?" I asked.

That shy smile again. "I love it. Live for it."

"Want to show me what you like? What are you working on right now?" I asked.

"You want me to play? For YOU? Jo, you're, like, a PROFESSIONAL!"

"No, Kara, I'm just a student a few years ahead of you. How old are you?"

"Seventeen."

"See," I retorted. "I'm twenty-one. Just a few years. And do you play for your teachers?"

"Yes. Of course."

"For your friends?"

"But they're music geeks like me."

I smiled. "I have been a music geek since I was nine. And I am your friend as well."

"'Kay, then. But don't expect much." She smiled again as she popped the latches on her violin case. When she removed the instrument from its velvet cradle she was almost reverential. She spent a short time checking it over. "Jo, you need to give me a note so we can tune together."

Ah, the girl wants a note. I retrieved my flute. "'G'," I said, and hit it.

She refined the tuning, smiled at me, and when she placed the chin rest under her chin, her eyes changed. Her demeanor changed. Her eyes flashed at me and the bow touched the strings.

I guess I didn't know what I was expecting. Certainly it wasn't what assailed my ears. Her fingers flew on the strings and the bow danced. She played a short snatch.

"Molly Ban Reel, " I said. "How much do you know?"

Confident giggle. "You know this one?"

"My mother is native Irish. I have immersed myself in that music. I know that piece." I paused. "You didn't get that from just high school music classes."

Her expression reset to the original. "My father does not mind paying for lessons. I get to go to classes, I'm not around being inconvenient."

"Explains how a girl named Sevinsky knows Irish reels. You want to try that together?"

The confident look reappeared. "Sure. If you want to play with me."

"Why else would I ask?" I said. "On three?"

"On three," came the reply.

"One ... two ... three..."

We were in mid-song when Stoney walked in the door. We lowered our instruments.

"Wow," he blurted. "You should hear that from the sidewalk."

"Too loud?" I asked.

"Enthusiastic," he said. He looked at Kara. "Hi! I'm Stoney. Randall Jackson, actually, but Stoney's what people call me. You're Kara?"

"Yes, I am," she said. Before my eyes, she started backing into her shell.

"You play very well," he smiled.

"She knows Molly Ban Reel and a bunch of others," I said. "Stoney, order pizza sans anchovies, then get your banjo."

Kara's smile came back brighter. "He's gonna play with US?"

"Stoney is my musical mate," I said. "We're made to make music together."

Stoney punched madly at his iPad for a few moments. "Pizza's on the way," he announced, then he reached behind the sofa and retrieved his banjo.

"So, Miss Kara, is that a fiddle or a violin?" Stoney asked.

"Is that a banjo or a lute?" she tossed back.

He looked at me. "You two have been talking."

I smiled.

"That was Durang's Hornpipe you were playing when I walked in, wasn't it?" he asked.

Her brown eyes got a definite liveliness to them. "It was. So this is a fiddle. For now, at least."

"Lets start at the beginning," I said. Stoney and I had played this piece a lot. "One ... two ... three..." And we played it through three iterations. I have a happy time with a flute lead and Stoney gives forth masterfully on his banjo and I am rapidly learning that Kara is good on her uh ... Celtic ... her fiddle.

The doorbell interrupted us a couple of tunes later and we took a pizza break.

"You need to learn to eat anchovies, Kara," Stoney said.

"Next time we'll order two pizzas, one with, one without," I said.

Kara didn't look too convinced about anchovies. "I've never tried them. All I have ever heard, though..." she smiled wryly. "Are you saying that anchovies are key to musical prowess?"

After pizza, two good handwashings (Stoney and Kara) and a good toothbrushing (me) we went back to playing and having fun. Doorbell. The Hlinkas.

"Please come in," I said. "Mister Georg and Mizz Betta, this is Kara Sevinsky. Kara, our wonderful neighbors, the Hlinkas."

Kara returns to shyness so fast. I imagine it must have been a major hurdle for her to actually call me. "Hello. I am pleased to meet you."

"We heard the music again," Mizz Betta said. "Would we be imposing to ask to listen without the walls between us?"

"Certainly not," Stoney said. "We're privileged for you to show up."

"Mizz Betta and Mister Georg are our neighbors," I explained to Kara. "They keep telling us that our music does not disturb them."

"Are you also a college student?" Mister Georg asked.

"Oh, no sir," Kara answered. "I'm a high school senior."

"And that was you on the violin, surely. You play very well." He smiled, looked to Betta who was smiling as well.

"Thank you so much," Kara said.

We played for a bit more and the Hlinkas begged off and went home.

"They're nice. Are they your relatives?" Kara questioned.

"Nope. Just a nice old retired couple. He plays oboe a little sometimes, too," Stoney said.

"Oh," Kara replied. "They act like you're all connected."

"Same connection as we have with you, Kara," I said. "Love of music."

"I love this," Kara said. "Even better than with my friends. You're a bit more mature."

"More mature than high school students," Stoney said, smiling at her. "I hope so."

"That sort of came out wrong," she said. "I meant, well, two guys, and one of 'em keeps hittin' on me. I don't know how to stop him without sounding mean."

"Jo? You got any idea?"

"You could get Stoney to beat 'im up," I smirked.

"Jo!" he spat.

"No, seriously, Kara, the best you can do is to firmly tell him 'no'. You can suggest continued friendship as an alternative, but some guys just don't seem to take a hint."

Kara smiled. "But there's a story about Stoney and old boyfriends."

"Our first date," I said. "'Nuther guy that I dated ONCE thought I was HIS possession. Wouldn't take 'no' for an answer. Grabbed me. Swung at Stoney."

"And Stoney..."

"I pushed 'im." Stoney was trying NOT to sound like a Neanderthal.

"Stoney broke out two teeth and broke his nose."

Kara eyed him. "You do martial arts stuff?"

"I have done a bit. Fought off boredom in the Army. Had to do something."

I smiled. I know the story. More of it than Stoney is liable to tell Kara.

"I hope it doesn't come to that," Kara said as she stowed her violin in its case. "Now, about this evening..."

"We had a great time," I said. Stoney shook his head in agreement. "So, what next?"

"I really would like to share this with my friends. Would you..."

"Let's figure out when and where," I said.

"But..." she looked at me, then Stoney. "I'd kind of like to keep you to myself, too. I had a blast."

"We can do both, right Stoney?" I said.

"Sure can. Jo, do you think Kara might work out in your Monday sessions?"

"Mondays are a bunch of us from the orchestra. A combination practice and jam session. Sort of like tonight except we don't get very far from the music we're working on in classes."

"You're college musicians. I'm only high school," Kara noted.

"Kara, baby, you're in no way inferior in skills. Lemme pose it to the group. No, check that. Monday is our last one this semester. Come here and you can ride with us. If your dad says it's okay."

"Dad's not going to say anything as long as I stay out of jail and out of the news." She went back to looking sad.

"Then it's a plan. Just come over after school. We'll have sandwiches and then go do it."

Amid thank you's, Kara left.

I turned to Stoney. "Dear husband of mine, that is a little girl with family issues."

Chapter 37

Stoney's Turn:

That was a surprise. Of course, since last September I've had lots of surprises.

That was pleasant. Same thing. Since I touched fingertips one day with this startling redhead, I've had lots of 'pleasant', too.

I parsed Jo's comments, "A little girl with family issues." "I get the feeling..." I concurred. "She's quite comfortable when she's playing, though."

My partner smiled. "I've seen the family issues. Us military brats get an introduction." She paused. "No, make that an immersion. It's a tough venue for marriages and families, what with a parent being deployed and leaving the other parent and kids back home. I've seen it all."

I nodded. I was single, but I kept track of the conversations of my fellow soldiers. I knew some stories.

"I guess it shows up more for the girls," Jo sighed. "Some go to one extreme, some go to the other. Kara turned inward. The sad part is that it seems that her dad had a choice. Some of Dad's contemporaries had no choice."

"Your dad's contemporaries weren't pulling in millions from lawsuits. I can only imagine what that wealth did for Kara's dad."

"She seems like a neat kid," Jo told me.

"Kid? She's what, four or five years younger than you?"

"That's an important four or five years," she said. "The seventeen year old Jo was a lot different than the twenty-one year old Jo. And I had the good fortune to have Anders and Bridgette for parents."

"Remind me to tell them how great a job they did, one more time," I smiled.

"You're just easily manipulated, sir," she giggled.

She manipulated me through the kitchen to tidy up, then straight into the shower and to bed.

Next morning the alarm clock reminded me that I had a real job. That job used to be the high point of my day. I like what I do and whom I get to do it with. I know some true horror stories about cubicle-bound staff engineers. After all, Dilbert cartoons abound, and a lot of them are only the proverbial 'tip of the iceberg'. I have a few posted myself.

The fact that my boss walks into my cubicle and laughs at the new ones is a sign of the balance and harmony we enjoy.

But that was then. This is now. The same alarm that woke me to the sounds of Mozart woke up this amazing redhead next to me. Her arms wrapping me up are just an iota short of what it takes to chuck the whole job.

I kiss her and get out of bed. Classes over, she gets to lounge in bed late now. I'm bumping through breakfast in the kitchen when a soft hand rests on my shoulder.

"You know, you COULD sleep late."

"I know, but ... You made enough coffee for two, didn't you?"

Of course I did. My smile transmitted that data to her. A cheese Danish in the microwave for twenty seconds and she was sitting across the table from me.

"Still on that Central American power grid?"

"Yes," I said. "Got 3Sigma's stuff. Just finishing the package to meet that January 15 deadline. Lights'll stay on in Managua and Tegucigalpa. At least more reliably than they used to."

"And look at what manner of fate this job has gotten us," she replied. "Got that strange gang in Alabama out of the job."

"Yeah," I said. "Definitely one of those unexpected twists."

"Kara's another one, sweetie. Can you..."

"Can I handle whatever you bring to me? Yes," I said.

"I'm not some whacko pseudo-lib college girl looking for a cause," she said. "I don't go looking, but if one knocks on my door..."

I took a sip of coffee. "I know what you are, dearest. You're my brilliant, beautiful Johanna. And I can trust you to do the right thing."

Finally I succumbed to my exaggerated sense of responsibility and collected a kiss at the door. The drive to work ... Oh, yeah, I'm paying attention, new SUV and all, and the route still works well, but I do admit a heightened awareness of intersections, green light in my favor or not.

Into the office, straight to the coffee room. Hot water. My French press. My own coffee. And we're good.

Brad walks in. He drinks the factory stuff. "How's it going?" he asks.

"Great! Almost nirvana."

"Says the guy who's been married two months."

"Three."

"I'm surprised you can walk, wreck notwithstanding," Brad laughed.

Carole looked at him. "Bradley Sykes! Don't be coarse."

Brad took on his trademarked smirk. "I meant that he's still floating among the clouds," he stated innocently.

"Yeah. Uh-huh..." Carole gave him a look. "I'm watchin' you, Bradley. And me an' your wife are friends."

"And my wife adores me," he laughed. "And she knows how YOU are."

Okay. Off to work. Double check the 3Sigma stuff. Waste of time, I quickly saw, but I had to do it. Prudent. Errors do creep in. I know. Sitting there entering the data is tedious, and that assumes that the people who gathered the data to give you got their stuff accurately recorded.

I closed my eyes after half an hour. Played the Phases of Johanna slideshow in my mind. There's an extra set of slides. My redheaded Johanna and her new friend, brown-headed, brown eyed Kara, violin tucked under her chin, a smile on her lips. The smile stayed there as long as she played.

Johanna's turn:

Grocery shopping. I giggle to myself as I parse that idea. Johanna is preparing for a Christmas dinner. Mom and Dad are coming. This is a big milestone. We can do it, Stoney and I. Won't be that big nor that fancy, but it will be like some of the Christmas meals I enjoyed while growing up where the menu's lack was made up for by the love. And the sharing. Dad and Mom often opened up our home for other families of junior soldiers who might be under strained finances.

And Christmas music. You know all of 'em and so do I, and the store where I shopped was playing some good tracks of traditional songs. I hummed along. Okay, I hummed and imagined my flute playing along. I checked out, loaded my loot, heading home. I stored the perishables and put the canned goods away. Being all domestic, me. I worked up until lunch giving the kitchen a good going over. No, it was clean. But I wanted it spotless for Christmas.

At lunch I fixed myself a little sandwich and took time to eat and read. The phone rang. My Stoney. We exchanged words over who was doing what. Ended with the exchange of "I love you". I do love him and that's all the more reason to get back to my task.

Our little place wasn't dirty, but as Dad used to say, "Details..."

I had just eased back into Stoney's recliner, smelling his fragrance where it permeates the fabric. I closed my eyes. And my cellphone rang. Nope, none of the distinctive ringtones for my friends and family, this was the generic one.

"Hi! This is Jo!"

Soft voice. "Jo, this is Kara. I enjoyed last night..." Her tone drifted off at the end of that statement, making a question evident.

Okay, I don't know why I'm doing this, but... "We enjoyed it too, Kara. Looking forward to the next one."

"W-would today ... too soon?"

"Of course NOT," I squealed. "Come on. But I'll warn you before you decide, I made cabbage rolls."

"Oh, gosh, you COOK? Yourself?"

"Of course! I'm in between semesters. Stoney has to work, so I take care of the house. That means cooking."

"Are you sure I'm not, like, IMPOSING?"

"No, seriously, Stoney enjoyed you playing with us."

"Is he coming home at the same time?" she asked.

"Maybe not. He's finishing a project. He said he wanted to get to a good stopping place before Christmas."

"I'm leaving school. Can I come straight there?"

"Come on," I said.

"Oh, thank you, Jo. I'll be there in a bit."

I had to report that to Stoney. A quick email works. It's more discreet than a phone call or a text. <<Click!>> and it's gone. That has one of two outcomes. I get a quick 'okay' reply or...

My phone rang. Stoney.

"Hi, babe!"

"Hello, sweetness. She called back?"

"Yes, she did. Stoney, I don't have the heart to turn her down. Don't ask me why."

"I know why," he said. "And I'm okay with it."

"Normal time?"

"If I must. But we're really working on this thing. I want to have a couple of tabs ready before Christmas. It'll make Bill relax."

"Take your time. We'll be okay."

"I love you, you know."

"And I love YOU, too. And one day we won't have to..."

"If that's what we want. These things are my marathons."

"I know," I said. "Cindy told me about the 'I'm bored, let's engineer' phone calls."

"Oh."

"Oh, don't sound so caught. Cindy said you called to talk to Dan and she hijacked the conversation."

"Didn't want you thinking I was calling Cindy behind your back."

I giggled. "Those girls, all of them, are totally devoted to their husbands. First, I don't even begin to worry about YOU. Second, I don't worry about THEM."

"Good! You shouldn't. I just didn't want you to know how stir-crazy I was."

"You're not crazy. I can understand how you were, stuck in the house. But Kara, you sure it's okay? Just this one time?"

"Sure, baby. Just keep your antennae up, okay?"

"Okay, sweetie," I said. "I just have this feeling. You know how I am about feelings, right? I had one about YOU. I'll be careful, baby," I assured him.

"Okay. I'll probably be a couple hours late."

"The cabbage rolls," I said. "I'll have your plate in the fridge."

"'Kay, baby. I love you."

"And I adore you, Stonewall Jackson." The phone clicked.

I put the kettle on to boil. Tea! A little late, but still, I just wanted to have something for Kara when she arrived.

Arrive she did. Doorbell rang. I opened it and let her in. Her smile was so shy, almost tentative.

"Hi, Jo," she said. "I don't mean to be a pest..."

"You're no pest, Kara. I'm pleased to have you over. Come, sit! I've made tea."

When she saw the teapot, she said, "I've never had tea like this. You know, this is Houston. 'Tea' means iced tea."

"Oh, don't I know," I said. "But Mom is Irish and they're almost as fanatical about it as the English." I guided her through the little ritual. Nope, it's not a Japanese tea ceremony, but it IS a ritual.

"Where'd these cookies come from?" Kara asked. "They're quite unusual. Some kind of exotic hints there."

"Mizz Betta bakes them."

"I remember her. These are good. Tell her that I liked them."

"I certainly will. She's a great person."

"You like people, don't you, Jo?" Kara said, looking over her teacup.

"Yes, I do. There are exceptions, though. But for the most part I start out giving people the benefit of a doubt."

"I don't like my dad, Jo."

That's a harsh thing to my ears. I mean, she's just met me and she's unloading this on me.

"I see that picture over there. I assume that's you and your Mom and Dad. He was in the military?"

The picture was when I was seventeen and Dad was a year away from retirement. He'd just gotten his silver eagles and Mom and I talked him into a formal family portrait. It's one of my favorites. "Dad's a retired Army colonel."

"Was he there for you, Jo? When you needed ... and is that your mom?"

"Those are my parents," I said. "I am fortunate. Yes, Dad was there for me. We were there for him, too, when he came back from deployment." We moved to the sofa, teacups and saucers in hand.

"That's what I missed. That whole mom and dad thing." Her face darkened as she spoke.

"You said your mom was gone..."

"Mom was Dad's first wife. He was a young lawyer. She was ... oh, it's a RICH story ... the receptionist at the first law firm he worked for. Grandma said that Mom got pregnant and Dad married her because he needed to make a good impression at the firm. She lasted as long as he was there. When he left, new firm, divorce. I stayed with Mom until she went off the deep end." She sighed heavily. "Dad ... new firm, new hottie." And another sigh. "Current 'Mom' is hottie number three."

What can you say? I went with, "I'm sorry, Kara."

"I wouldn't be with Dad now but Mom just sort of lost it. Kept getting worse and worse, finally ended up in one of THOSE hospitals. I went to Dad's, all 'until your mom gets better, honey.' But when Mom got out, she went to a cheap motel with a big bottle of pills..."

This time it wasn't a sigh, it was a sob, and 'I'm sorry' just wouldn't cut it. I slid over and held her and let her cry.

"Baby," I finally said, "How long have you kept this bottled up?"

"Oh, Jo ... I'm sorry..." sob. "I just put it all together and it hit me. Sooo hardddd..." More sobs.

"Dad never wanted to be a dad. He wanted to have a steady supply of arm candy but he couldn't ditch his daughter and keep up the façade in front of his friends."

I patted and stroked her head, staying silent.

"I've had nannies when I was little, and I've had tutors and care-takers and baby-sitters. What I haven't had was a parent." She took a deep breath. Sat back, away from me. "Or somebody to talk to." She squared her shoulders, got a look in her eye that I hadn't seen in her before. "Not 'talk with', 'talk to.' There IS a difference."

"I do understand."

"Well I don't, Jo. Why am I telling you all of this?"

"You know," I replied softly, "it must be me. Stoney told me things about himself that he says he never told anybody before."

She wiped her cheeks free of tears. "I'm sorry. I sort of lost it. I don't do this all the time, just so you know."

"Don't worry, Kara. I'm your friend. What you tell me is between us. And sometimes one needs a sympathetic ear."

"You're gonna tell me that you've heard stories like this before?"

"I was an Army brat. I know stories about kids who apparently reacted to family issues in far more destructive fashion than you seem to be doing."

She gazed at me.

"Drugs. Sex. Rebellion. Crime. Combinations of all of those. I've seen it. Lived right next door to it." I had. Military housing areas are notorious.

"I couldn't. Didn't. I hate Dad, not myself."

"Hate? Really, Kara?"

"No," she said, casting her eyes downward. "I suppose not. That's not the word. Maybe 'disappointed' is a better word."

"You need to take care of yourself, Kara. You seem to have a good head on your shoulders."

"I try. For the last two years I've been depending on our Guatemalan housekeeper. She's a good person. And I've become bi-lingual." Giggle.

I saw the giggle as a good turn to the conversation.

"But she's been here working to save money so she could go back to her family in Guatemala and she left two weeks ago. Dad hasn't replaced her, and I doubt that the next one will want to spend time mothering a spoilt Anglo girl like Ysabela did." Sigh. "I was the same age as Ysabela's youngest sister. She would listen to me practice my violin while she cleaned up after dinner."

I was still silent, letting her talk her way through this.

She trailed her fingers along the lid of her violin case. "I stay out of trouble. I do very well at school, you know. Not just in music. I have almost a 4.0 average."

"Really?" I said. "That's very good."

"It's not from Dad's help with homework, that's for sure," she continued. "I can do things. Read. Understand. Listen. Learn." Shy smile. "Of course going to a private school..."

"Private school?"

"Yes, I thought you understood that. I do."

She named the school, one with which I was vaguely familiar. "That eliminates some of the distractions. Not all of them, though, and believe me, those teachers are dedicated to their subject matter. It's not that 'I gots me a dee-gree an' I be's a TEACHER' kind of thing. I tried about three weeks of public school when we first moved into the house where we live now. Dad should've known better. He thought that the upscale neighborhood would have good schools attached." She paused. "'Good' is a relative term. I had my purse stolen the second day I was there. After I got in a fight over the second purse, Dad saw the light. Just wouldn't do for the daughter of Noted Attorney Evan Sevinsky to be plastered all over the news." Smirk. "I got transferred to the new school in a week." Another smirk. "A school that supposedly had a thirteen-month waiting list."

I smiled. "Your dad's a lawyer. He knows how to pull strings."

"Yeah. Uh-huh," she said. "Some people would find it amazing, I'm sure." She tipped her teacup up, draining it. "You know, Jo, this tea thing. It's civilized." After she placed her cup in its saucer on the end table, her finger flipped open a latch on her violin case. "Did you ever hide behind your music?"

I don't know if she knew, not likely, or suspected, more likely, or was just commenting on her particular situation. "I have. I think I was hiding until Stoney came along."

She smiled. "What made you change your mind?"

"Stoney. He's The One." I told her about the 'You're cheating' comment that broke the ice. She laughed.

"It shows. It showed when I saw the two of you on stage. Like you were playing to each other. Like last night."

"I am fortunate," I said. "He's MY Stoney and I'm his Johanna. He's smart and sane and he worships me, which is a wonderful thing except where it gets in the way of me worshiping him."

"You know, that's the first time anyone ever said how much they LOVED another person." She smiled. "I mean, other than that 'breathless schoolgirl' thing where you know it's all gonna be over and on to the next one in two weeks."

I laughed. "Oh, I've seen those. Even did a couple of them myself. That stage changed, though. An incident. Made me look at things different. Kara, I was traumatized."

"Oh, there's a story."

"Yes, there's a story. And I shut down for a long time. Stoney's the happy result of ending that."

Kara's eyes questioned. "What caused you to shut down?"

I told her. Don't know why I told her, but I did.

"That's what I worry about with this guy. That he'll try something."

"That wasn't what happened to me. And for YOU, you make sure you never find yourself where it's you and him alone."

"Not going to happen," she said. "I just don't..."

"Do you talk with others, Kara?"

"You mean like you and I have just talked? No. Chit-chat, yes. If somebody asks, I answer."

Since she had her violin out, I opened up my flute case and started assembling it. I also retrieved some sheet music.

"Grab that music stand over there. This is Telemann's Canonic Sonata for Flute and Violin."

"I've heard of it," she said. "You just had that lying around?"

"No," I said. "I called my music professor and asked him for a recommendation. He emailed me this."

"You were thinking about this this morning?" she smiled.

"Yes. You play well. Wanted to see what we could do. Here's another one." I handed her pages.

"Uh, this is Bach's Little Fugue. That's an organ piece."

"Come on, Kara! Notes are notes. Let's stretch. Think of Stoney and his banjo doing Mozart."

"Ri-iiight," she smiled. That was sort of key. Kara's smiles came a lot easier when she was holding that violin. She placed it under her chin, smiled, and said, "Gimme a G'."

We played a bit.

"Uh, that buzz..."

"Oven," I said. "Cabbage rolls."

"Dinner?"

"Yes. I made 'em myself from Mizz Betta's recipe. Those, some brown bread, a glass of wine. Dinner."

"I can't do wine. Seventeen."

"Coke? Ginger ale? Root beer? Iced tea?"

"Ginger ale sounds interesting," she said. "What about Stoney?"

"We'll (did I say that? 'We'?) fix him a plate and put it in the fridge. Leftovers get wrapped and frozen."

"Leftovers. I've heard of them. As you might imagine, Dad didn't do 'leftovers'. Ysabel sometimes saved things that I liked. I don't think Dad's eaten the same thing twice in a row in a decade."

"Must be nice."

We sat at the little table. She sat where Stoney usually sits, across from me. "These smell good. You made them?"

"I certainly did." I carved a forkful. Kara was ahead of me, already chewing and making happy sounds.

"These are really GOOD!"

"Thank you!" I squeaked. So dinner was a success. I thought that afterward Kara would escape to the living room on some pretext or another, but she bumped into me as we made short work of the kitchen.

"I know my way around a kitchen. Ysabel didn't mind showing me things and talking to me about everything. She taught me Spanish and I helped her with English and it was a good thing."

Okay. That was a little bit of 'happy' being told to me. "Thank you for helping me, sweetie," I told her.

She smiled. This time she didn't divert her eyes downward. "Thank you for dinner. Let's go try that fugue."

I giggled at the ambition she showed. We looked at the sheet music. "Which part do you want? You want to lead, or you want me to?" I asked.

"Let me be adventurous," she said. "First try. Sight reading. This may be rocky."

Chapter 38

Stoney's turn:

When I was walking out of the building, headed home, I called Jo.

"Hello, sweetness," she said.

"Hi, princess," I returned. "Did Kara come over?"

"Oh, yes," she said. "We're cranking out the music. Come home and join us!"

"I'm on the way. Pedaling as fast as I can."

My wife giggled. "Just drive careful. You know how you are!"

Ten minutes later I was parking. Locked the SUV, walked to the door. I could hear the music as I unlocked it. It stopped with the sound of my key in the lock. By the time I got the door open there was a giggly, smiling redhead on the other side waiting on me.

"Hi, sweetie!" and lots of little kisses.

"Hi, punkin," I said. I saw Kara sitting on the sofa. "Hello, Kara..."

"Hi, Stoney," she said. "I guess I can go home now..." she looked sad, and I really don't think she was trying to generate the look. It's like it was something she really couldn't contain.

"You don't have to, Kara," I said. "You and Jo keep doing what you were doing. I'll eat, then I'll come join you."

Her smile brightened. Jo leaned in for another kiss and surreptitiously whispered "Thank you...".

I moved my laptop bag further into the house. Yeah, I carry it home. And I set it down if I'm getting hugs from Johanna. I headed into the kitchen, slid my plate in the microwave, poured myself a soft drink and set it on the table. I leaned against the door frame watching the two of them making music. GOOD music.

"That's new," I said.

"Little Fugue," Jo said.

Kara was smiling. "First time I ever tried it was today. Is it too bad?"

"No, not at all," I smiled. "Considering it's an organ piece. Seriously? Your first try?"

"We started when she got here," Jo stated. "We're having fun with it. Wanna try?" my wife giggled. "It's G-Minor. You get to stretch."

"Yeah," I said. "No fifth string unless I figure out how to retune." I noticed Kara smiling serenely. I think music really IS her thing. "Okay, I'll try. But this is liable to be rocky."

"You should try," Kara replied softly. "Here, trying is okay."

"You can't laugh," I said. "This might be a stretch."

"Let's go slow," Jo said. "One ... two ... three..."

I've learned a lot playing with Jo. Some of it has to do with music. Before Jo, I never played with an actual virtuoso, or somebody that actually had her years of music education. Really, I did learn. It showed in the way I played, especially when I approached a new piece.

I knew this one. It's a favorite, but I'd only heard it as an organ piece before tonight. Now Jo was watching Kara take the first phrases with her violin. She pointed to the sheet of music where I was supposed to come in, then her flute touched lips and she played along with Kara. I followed along, then let my eyes drive my fingers.

Music was made. Happily. Around nine o'clock we wound down. Kara was putting her violin away. "Thank you so much," she reprised. "This is so good."

"When are we going to meet the rest of your group?" Jo asked.

"We usually do Tuesdays. If you really want to."

"We'll talk," Jo replied.

"Yes," Kara replied. "Thank you for opening your home to me."

"Glad to have you, Kara," I said. I stood in the doorway watching her go to her car. When she was backing out of the parking spot, I closed the door. Turned. There was Jo, in the process of wrapping her arms around me.

"I enjoy having company and I enjoy playing music, but I so much want to wrap myself up with you," she whispered.

What do you say to that? Nothing, sir. You return the kisses and revel in the soft, happy body in your arms, the blue eyes that laugh and love there before you.

The two of us turned all responsible and domestic for a short while, tidying up the kitchen, running the vacuum in the living room. I was coiling up the cord when Jo passed me, glancing coquettishly over her shoulder. "I'm heading for the shower..."

On such incentives are records broken. I stowed the vacuum and hit the bathroom behind her, shedding clothing all along the way. We achieved synchronicity in the shower. It was all very business-like. We helped one another reach the parts that needed to be reached. Oh sure, there's that certain amount of exploring what soapy suds do for a firm, perky breast and hands made very sure that there were no spots on my scrotum or my dick that lacked contact with cleansing water.

The activities at the sink are now pretty well a routine. Jo asked why I shaved at night, way back when we first started living together.

"First, you've felt me at the end of the day. I get stubbly. Would you rather have that rubbing against you, or fresh shaved skin?"

"You almost rubbed the skin off my thighs," she remembered.

"I warned you, but nooooo ... you held my head there..." She had. I didn't fight that very hard. Jo's made for eating. "And better, my face is wet. It shaves easier. Not as irritating."

"Ooooh," she smiled. "Makes sense."

"But I'll grow a beard if you want..."

"No way." Giggle.

I finished shaving, dried my face, took the hairbrush she offered. Worked over hair the color of new copper. Finished by planting a kiss on the crown of her head.

Bedroom. Inventory of my dresser drawer contents. "We can do laundry tomorrow."

"'Kay," she said. "I was planning on it. While it's working, I can go restock on cheese. And stop by the bakery for some of those rolls you like." This came as she was turning back the covers. I noted that they only went down halfway. That meant we were going to talk before tearing the bed apart.

I slid in from my side and met her in the middle. "Hi there, cutie!"

"You again?" she giggled.

"Sadly..."

"Oh, don't be sad," she smirked. "I'm sure you'll find happiness this evening..." She kissed me and then propped up on an elbow. "You love me, don't you, Stoney?"

"Of course." In my head though, wheels started spinning. She knows the answer to that question, so there's a point to which she is heading. "More than my own life, sweetness." Okay, let's see if I can push through the fog. "Why do you ask? You know..."

"I know. I really, really do."

"But..." I teased.

"But nothing. Kara..."

"Is quite the musician," I said. "Really."

"She is. Music is her safe place. I know how that works. I think..."

"What do you think, cutie?"

"Stoppit, you! I'm trying to put thoughts together..."

I kissed her nose. "Okay, I'll be good..."

Giggle. "It is my expectation that you will be much more than just good. But Kara's little world is sort of caving in. I think that's why she was here today."

Jo told me sad stories about Kara.

"You know," I said, "we hung out with that bunch of nuts in Alabama. You heard the stories from Tina and Cindy and Nikki. But their moms had NOTHING. Kara's dad is rolling in it, and you tell me Kara..."

"Just a different facet of the same problem, baby," she said. "He doesn't seem to want to be a parent."

A light bulb went on in my head. "And that bunch in Alabama, they seem to have a way with positive thinking."

"You think I ought to arrange for them to talk to Kara?"

"Pick one. Or two. Or heck, the whole bunch. If there's anyone in her age group that can help, it's probably one of those."

She smiled. "You know, I need to be honest with you."

I know she reads me like a large-print book.

"Oh, get that look off your face, Stoney. I am honest with you. Just that I'd already thought about introducing Kara to the Sisterhood over there. I just wanted to see YOU come up with the same idea."

"And I did, didn't I?" I'm proud of myself. I can see where some people might've been fuzzing up at the idea of their evenings being occupied with a teen outsider instead of hot, wet sex. But honestly, we made it to the hot wet sex plenty often, and part of the intense love I had for this girl was that sex wasn't the only dimension to our union.

Although what happened next certainly was hot and wet.

Did it work? Not the sex. THAT works! No, the next day, ten minutes before I left the office, my phone rang. Outside call. Not Jo. "Oak Tree Engineering. This is Randall Jackson. Can I help you?"

"Stonewall Jackson, what can you tell me about Kara Sevinsky?"

Dan Richards, AKA Dan 1.0, husband of Cindy. "Well, hello there, Dan Richards! How's Cindy?"

"Scaring people to death. You don't want to know..."

"Yeah I do. I like happy stories."

"So what's the deal with Kara?"

"She's seventeen, her dad's a very well to do trial lawyer, and he's too busy with his own life to have a daughter. She's reaching out. Music's her refuge, that's how we ended up with her."

"Ended up?" Dan asked.

"Well, no, not exactly. But she's grasping. Jo's trying to help. I'm backing Jo up. And between the two of us, we determined that Cindy and the gang might be somebody Kara could talk with."

"Why?"

"Sort of the same thing," I said. "Kara's dad doesn't do 'father' at all. Kara said all the parenting was being done by the Guatemalan housekeeper, and she just left to go back to her family."

"My, my, my," Dan said. "There are so many things to say about this."

"You know how that could've turned out, Dan. But so far, it doesn't seem like it has. She's smart, musical prodigy smart. A little withdrawn, unsure, tentative, until she puts that violin to her chin, then there's a transformation."

"That's something I can relate to," he said. "I've seen Cindy in The Zone."

"Then we didn't over step our bounds, telling Kara to talk to Cindy?"

"Hell yes, you overstepped your bounds, buddy..."

I was shocked.

" ... but," he continued, allowing me to deflate, "I've been out of bounds with Cindy for over a year now. She's been 'Mother Hen' on her own volition before, but it was academic. She dragged a half-dozen kids through math last year."

"Well, this is different," I admitted.

"And Cindy and her sisters are just the group to decide what they can do."

"You know, this conversation turned upside down," I said.

"Howzat?"

"You called me asking what sort of mess I was getting Cindy into, and now you're trying to sell me on the idea."

He laughed. "Yeah, you're right. Hey! How about this? We're gonna be in Louisiana at Christmas time. How about you and Jo and Kara visiting? We have plenty of room."

"Lets do it this way: let Kara talk to Cindy and the gang and if they come up with the idea, we'll do it."

"Yeah. I'm betting that's the way it'll break out," he said. "So, how's your flying lessons working out?"

"Soloed. Waiting on the FAA for my written scores. Building time. Maybe by the end of January." I was really enjoying the flying. And I anticipated the next question.

"And Jo's right there with you..." he laughed.

"Yeah. I may never find something that she won't want to be part of again. And you know what? I absolutely love it."

"Right there with you, buddy," he retorted. "My owner has a very happy pet."

We hung up. I went back to the details on my monitor, made some edits, posted some comments, returned the document to the shared drive so others could benefit from my wisdom. I liken it to putting an artfully decorated cake in a roomful of cats.

I shut my computer down, put it in its bag and got up to leave. Ran into Brad.

He laughed. "I remember the old, dedicated Stoney who was NEVER out the door on time."

"Incentive, bud! Incentive," I laughed.

"Yeah, I know. I remember how dedicated I was two months into my marriage."

"Oh, you still are."

He laughed. "Don't tell my wife that. She'll take advantage of me."

"Yeah, uh-huh."

"You and Jo need to come visit again."

"Or vice-versa."

"I dunno about the kids in your apartment. At our place they have room to spread out."

"I have X-Box," I said.

"That takes care of the son, but I doubt you have the requisite supply of colorful ponies and such to entertain the daughter. So you and Jo come over."

"Lemme see what she's got in mind. We'll come up with a night."

"Make it a Saturday and I'll put something on to smoke on my Big Green Egg." Brad was proud of his culinary skills and his big ceramic smoker did good under his care.

"Sounds good." We parted ways as our cars were in opposite ends of the parking lot. As soon as I was in the car I had my Bluetooth headset on. I punched up Siri on my iPhone and had her call Jo at home.

"Hey, baby," she said. I can see the smile in my mind's eye.

"Hi, redhead," I countered. "Sure didn't take you long to talk to Cindy."

"And the rest. And Kara."

"So ... I figured that Cindy and the gang would be okay with it. What'd Kara say?"

"I told her that they were my friends and they were very friendly and intelligent and reminded me of her." She paused, thought for a second. "Hey, how do YOU know about all this?"

"Because Cindy has a very protective husband."

"Uh-huh," Jo said. "And he's got the scars to prove it."

"There is that." I paused. "He just wanted to get a little background. By the time I explained what the facts were as we knew them, he was acting like it was his idea."

Jo giggled. "We keep working on this, we're going to have our own chamber orchestra."

"Yeah, uh-huh," I laughed. "I got a blister trying to keep up with you two last night."

"And Kara said you performed masterfully," she replied. "That was just the music. I think you preformed masterfully as well ... Mmmmmmm!"

"Tell me you're naked..."

The giggle was answer enough.

"Don't kill yourself hurrying home, love," she said.

Okay, yeah ... two months. Still newlyweds. It was hot. It was frantic. We couldn't figure out who needed to do what to whom, so we just did everything we could imagine to each other and ended up out of breath and sticky and the phone rang. Jo's phone. Odd ring tone that I didn't recognize.

She slid her naked body over mine, making sure that when she reached her phone her pubic mound was solidly connected with my semi-flaccid member.

"Cindy," she said to me. "Hi, little sister," she said into the phone. Pause. "Yes, she needs friends first, Cindy." Pause. "Uh-huh. You know how it can be. Let her sort of expand things." Pause. "I'm sure that if her dad had taken time to nudge her a little bit she'd be in college too." Giggle. "I've actually heard of people who get into college early." Pause. Squeal. "You're kidding, right?" Pause. "Okay. You know I trust you and the rest." Pause. "Okay. G'bye!"

A sexy redhead flopped back over a bit, laying full length atop me. She pushed her feet down against mine, causing her to ride up just enough for our lips to touch. I clamped my hands to her waist, relishing the sensations. Having said redhead purr in response to my touches heightened the enjoyment.

We rested together like that for a short while then she spoke. "Cindy and the rest are going to be friends with Kara. I think that's going to be a good thing."

"I hope so. Kara's such a kitten. Not like you're a kitten. It's just that she seems sensitive."

"Cindy's husband said the same thing about her," Jo told me, sliding off to my side. Her teeth nipped my earlobe, sending shockwaves through me.

Giggle. "I can control you soooo easy, Stonewall Jackson," she purred. "A little touch here, a little nip there, and..." Her hand encircled my hardening dick. She tossed a leg over me like she was mounting a bike. There was nothing tentative about the move. She was still oozing juices from the last coupling, paving the way for a happy entry for another go.

She looks down on me, smiling, her head tilted slightly. "You know, all my life I was made to do THIS with YOU."

"I am saddened that I wasted any part of my life before I met you, my beautiful, musical Johanna Elise," I said.

"Worry not, brave warrior," she said. "Here we are. Perfectly mated." And she moved. And again. And then it was out of any control of which I might be capable. My second of the evening, I was able to control ONE thing, how soon I was going to shoot. That went away with her tossing that red hair back and keening her own orgasm. And the collapse into my arms.

Some time later, perhaps a few minutes, perhaps eons ... who knows ... we stirred.

"Shower," she said. "Then I have fresh bread and new old cheese and some delightfully flavorful dry country ham. And a bottle of Gewurztraminer."

"You astound me, lady."

"I am supposed to astound you, guy," she said. Kissed me on the nose and rolled out of bed.

Dinner. Practice. "Pull that Bach piece out," I said.

"Ooooo, feeling feisty, are we?" she giggled.

"You got it. Kara's got it. I cain't get beat by GIRLS!"

Me, I played like I was possessed. Jo was, well, Johanna, concert-worthy flutist. I knew that musically speaking I was forever in her shadow. I'm okay with that. It's fun, even if sometimes it's like a runner 'enjoying' marathons. It hurts soooo good.

"Kara's right. You ARE getting it."

"Thank you," I said. "I'm really stretching it."

"And that's how we grow, right?" She had one of those charmingly quirky looks that just drive me wild. "Let's do it one more time." She started the flute toward her lips.

"Yes, Mistress," I said meekly.

"One ... two ... three..." And music was made again. Finishing, my banjo went to its wall hanger and her flute was carefully placed back in its case. She bent over and kissed me, a smiling peck. "That's your reward."

Mid-evening, kitchen done, showers taken, music practice over, it's time for a little traipse through the electronic frontier. Jo's laptop came out.

She giggled. "Message from Cindy: 'We had a good time talking with Kara. She trusts you, she says, and calling us is something she would have never done if you hadn't encouraged her. I think we're going to be good friends. Wish she was closer. I'm not calling you again tonight. No telling what I might interrupt. - Cindy'."

"Sounds like you did good."

"Sort of knew those girls could handle this. Kara's the unknown in the equation." She smiled softly. "She's ... she just popped up into our lives, just like you popped into mine. Something just spoke to me that I shouldn't let HER drop, either."

"You married me, though."

"I knew I would. The day I touched your fingers in Austin. I knew. You didn't. But I did. But Kara ... there's something that she brings to the world, too, and I can't put my finger on it."

I mused over that thought. The 'Austin' thing wasn't new. I found it as delightful and charming today as I did the first time I heard it. The fact that she applied a similar intuition to Kara was telling. "I trust your intuition, dearest," I said. "Just realize that you're dealing with a person who has her own thoughts and feelings working in there, too. Sometimes that's just not neat."

"I know," she countered. "But I have to do my part."

"You have. You do. But you're not adopting a puppy here, dear one," I replied.

Chapter 39

Johanna's turn:

It's not about sex. We're cuddled together. The sex is over for the night. And I still love him. Of course, right now we're both glowing. I mean, if we tossed the covers back, the room would light up. The post-coital (coital? - Damn you, Sheldon Cooper!) tingles will subside in a bit, but that loving glow hasn't. Nope. Hasn't. Not since I first admitted to myself that this was the guy for my life.

I trust him. He trusts me.

Kara's turn:

Kara Sevinsky. That's me. I am five feet four inches tall and I weigh a hundred and six pounds. My hair is brown. Plain brown. At least I got grey eyes (Not blue. Grey.) out of the genetic mash-up between two different genetic paths that were my parents.

Ah, yes, the parental units. Mom is gone. Dead. Since I was eight. It's a horrible, horrible story. Dad was a new-minted attorney in a mid-sized law firm. Mom was a pretty young receptionist. Very pretty. Worked on it. Dad targeted her early on. She met Dad's requirements: Young, pretty and female. They were married. I was the result. I don't think I was part of Dad's plan. Mom certainly wasn't, not with a screaming kid. Dad and Mom divorced when he left his first law firm.

Mom was in love. Dad wasn't. It tore Mom up. She went into depression, drugs and alcohol and I spent a lot of time with her parents while she went in and out of treatments. I spent the occasional weekend with Dad. He tried, I guess. For a while. When I was eight, Mom went into yet another hospital. I had the optimism of an eight year old. I kept hoping that THIS time it would work.

It didn't. Mom checked out of the hospital and checked into a cheap motel with a bottle of pills. I lost my Mom. I ended up with Dad when Mom's mom died a year later.

By this time Dad was on his second wife, another young pretty one. And Dad was making money, so I never lacked for anything, except a parent. Stepmom wasn't signed on to be a parent. It wasn't out of any great love for me that Dad decided to divorce her. I harbored the thought that with her out of the picture, I'd end up with Super Dad, unencumbered by a twenty-something bleached-blonde bimbo.

I was wrong. Dad performed his duties within the statutory (yes, I'm the daughter of an attorney. I know 'statutory') requirements, but perfunctory hugs every night ... I can't explain.

Two wives later, here I am. Dad's on billboards all over Houston. Rolls in dough. I get anything I want, but what I want is to be wanted. I do private schools. Somewhere along the line I got the idea that I wanted to play music. Our private school class went to a performance of a chamber orchestra and a beautiful girl played some classical music on a violin. It's like switches lined up in my brain. This is what I want to do, I told Dad.

That's easy for Dad. Write a check, and <<poof!>>, the daughter is immersed in music. Some kids would've bristled, some would have lost interest, some would've added it to the long list of interests to rotate through. Me, Kara Sevinsky, I was meant to play the violin.

I was a good student of academics, too, mind you. Along with the grey eyes, something else came out of the genetic cocktail that created me: brains. I'm adept. Polymathic. I have favorites subjects, for sure, but NO subject has been difficult. That's nice in one way. I can let my mind wander. I can read. I can play music.

By the time I reached my middle teen years, we were in a big house, commensurate with my Dad's status as a premier ambulance chaser trial lawyer. Gated community. Servants. The sweet lady who cared for our house and did the cooking, Ysabela Luna, was more my parent than dear Dad was.

Her English was heavily accented but much better than my Spanish, although I made a concerted effort to learn Spanish. I did pretty good. Ysabela was good and honest and religious. Every dime she made went either right back to her Guatemalan family or into a savings account, but honestly, she had a daughter here in Houston, a grey-eyed Anglo daughter whom she graced with long conversations about what was right and wrong with life.

I learned from her. Morals. Life. Cooking. Being a decent human being.

By now I was in private school. When we moved into this neighborhood Dad thought that it would come with a good public school. He was wrong. The seond day I was there I got my purse stolen. On the third day I caught a girl trying to get my new purse and I got in a fight. Dad's intervention kept an expulsion off my permanent record, and his intervention got me into this exclusive school.

You might think that absent the lower tiers of society, a private school would be quite the place to grow. You'd be wrong. If you're in a position for your parents to send you to an exclusive school, you have plenty of options to be spoiled and feel entitled. Except you dress better and have better toys.

I sort of folded in on myself. Music. I was friendly enough and polite enough to the other students and I was smart enough so that I wasn't on my teachers' radar except when they noticed that Kara Sevinsky has been running 98% on every test they gave her.

The letter home to Dad about that got me praise. After all, I was HIS daughter, therefore anything positive that came out of my existence was a credit to him. Some kids would rebel at that supposition. I knew some in school who were doing just that.

I knew better. Ysabela saw the letter too. "Kara, mi Corazon," she said, "let your father be happy for his reasons. You should be happy for your own. Hurting him is not going to do you good."

That was sort of my mantra: Let others find satisfaction in what I did, but I did it for me.

Except ONE thing. Sex. Knew all about it. After all, it was a big portion of my dad's relationships to Stepmoms One through Three. And heaven knows, as soon as I had breasts (not that they're that big anyway) I started getting urged to contribute to the happiness of any of several boys.

The only mother in my life spoke with me frankly about it, about how love was still a reason. "There are other reasons, too, mi Corazon. I know of many of them. When I came to America, I had friends. They found they could make more money much faster by understanding those feelings."

"Prostitution?"

"Perhaps. Or just trading their bodies for better pay in jobs like mine. There is a cost, though, for many. Unless your head and your heart are both different than mine."

I knew. I read, you know. Quite a lot, contemporary things, and I can understand when the writer is glossing over the downsides of things to justify a stance. Free sex wasn't. And it certainly wasn't free love. Mine wasn't free. And I certainly didn't see anybody my age, or any other age, for that matter, that I was going to let do me just so they'd hang around me.

Music. Ah, music. I had good teachers. Dad paid well. And with good teachers and the desire to succeed and I guess, some natural talent, I was first violin of the school orchestra. That wasn't that big a deal because the orchestra was small. But my teacher made some phone calls and I got a chance to play with the orchestra of a big public school, so I got to see others my age. The music was okay.

The interactions with other students, well, not so much. Most weren't serious. I don't understand why one would waste the time if it's not serious.

There were three others, though, that were serious and possessing more than average talent. We hung out together. It was pretty good. Music. Friends. But then Brian started hitting on me. At first it was kind of cute and flattering and I sort of fended him off. But lately he's making me uncomfortable. And I won't EVER be alone with him.

The four of us went to a concert. I mean, I'm sort of angling towards that college anyway, so I try to go to any of their music functions I can. That's where I saw Johanna and Stoney for the first time. Johanna, I could believe. It's a chamber orchestra, and naturally they have a flutist.

It wasn't even unusual that they chose her for the solo. She's that good. But they brought out Stoney. He was limping a bit, and carrying a banjo. I had all kinds of thoughts about that. I know this professor/conductor's reputation. He's been known to bend the rules a bit when it comes to classical music. But a BANJO? That's quite a bend.

I recognized the music, even if it wasn't on the program and wasn't announced. Mozart is a genius, after all, and I know a lot of his works. But this is supposed to be composed for flute and harp.

Stoney made it work. Not a note for note effort, you know, but definitely right there with the original composition. And when Jo started playing...

Jo is striking. That almost carrot-red hair. Those eyes. And she was wearing a black, floor-length dress that set her off like the setting of a diamond: red hair, white skin, blue eyes, and of course, that silver flute. When she came in to play her part alongside Stoney, she looked at him like she was drawing something from him. They connected.

After the concert the four of us in our little group stopped at a little diner for coffee and donuts and talked. One of them made some disparaging remark about the place of a banjo in classical music.

"Hmmph! You call me when YOU can sit on stage and do a duet as well as he did, Brian. Pick your instrument. And call me."

"Don't get so serious," Brian said. "I just don't look right."

"You mean it 'doesn't' look right, and I question what looks have to do with it, really. It was masterful." I glared at him. "And just because somebody isn't playing classical music doesn't mean they can't master an instrument anyway."

My current music teacher was an old Jewish guy. Since I got my driver's license (and a car, thank you Daddy!) I went to Mister Tuchmann's studio for lessons.

"Don't get caught up, dear Kara. Classical music is beauty. I have played it all my life. But there is other music. He picked up his violin, tucked it under his chin, and began playing wild, exotic strains. "Klezmer. Music of my people who came from Eastern Europe. Do you doubt that to play it well, you need to be a master?" He smiled. "A master can play anything." He touched bow to string again. This time it was Irish reels. Then he laid into Bluegrass. "Surely you understand. You can play slovenly and try to tell others that it's the lack of real structure in that musical genre. But YOU, young violinist, will know."

"Yes sir. I will know."

"Because you are honest with yourself." He smiled again. "But dear little one, never let lack of perfection, of mastery, stop you from playing for the joy of it. Yes, you need to practice. Yes, you need to persevere. But yes, also, you need to sit with your friends and play because you delight in the sounds and in the fellowship."

He looked at me, his wrinkled face smiling. "Because at the end of the day, dear Kara, music is more about making people feel than it is about us mastering some instrument."

That's what I saw with Stoney and Jo. There was more than mastery at work.

Our group talked about seeing them play for us. We really did. But the topic just sort of dropped. Still, I couldn't get them out of my head. I used the group as pretext for calling them. I don't know what I would've done if Jo had turned out to be some businesslike thing. But she wasn't. She was nice on the phone.

She was even nicer when I knocked on her door. She invited me in like I was a long-lost friend and we talked and I think we clicked. I never did what I did with Jo: open up my heart. I did, the second time I visited her. We exchanged sad experiences. I felt stronger.

Music, though. She's brilliant in several genres, and when Stoney gets home in the evening, he joins us. Jo encourages him. I laugh at the two of them because he acts like he has no idea what he's doing and she obviously believes that he does. And the three of us have fun.

I've watched people all my life. I see what goes on between Dad and his latest wife. The dynamics, the body language, it's totally different between them as opposed to what I see with Jo and Stoney. It's like all of a sudden I saw them as the exact opposite to the fakery that's been shown to me so much in my life. None of my friends, NONE, have both parents still married to each other, and none of the adults in their families act like Stoney and Jo. That's sad.

Jo and Stoney. That's happy. And they let me in on it. It's easy to see where this might be addictive. I have to be careful, though. I can't take advantage of their good natures. I don't want to wear out my welcome.

I thought that's what happened when Johanna started suggesting that I call these girls in Alabama. I guess I show emotion too easily sometimes. She read my face.

"Oh, nooooo, Kara. Look! This is Cindy." She showed me a picture on her phone. "Wait! Let me fire up my computer." That doesn't take long. She's got the same computer as me, a MacBook Pro. "This is Cindy. And this is Nikki. And Tina. And Susan. Four of 'em, and the average IQ for the bunch is probably 138. They're smart. Like you!"

"I dunno, Jo," I said. "You have no idea how hard it was to work myself up to talk to YOU."

"Kara, I wouldn't suggest this if I thought for a minute they'd be in any way hurtful to you. But it's not just a wash, either. Those girls are my friends, too, and some of their stories are something you might begin to relate to."

"Parents?" I asked.

"Or the lack thereof. And Kara?"

I looked at her.

"They're happy in ways you will find amazing. And they spread the joy. Just call and chat."

So I did. I called. Cindy. She answered. "Hi! This is Cindy!" She sounded younger than her actual fifteen years. I wonder if there was that much difference in me between fifteen and seventeen. And she sounded nice.

"Cindy, I'm Kara Sevinsky. Johanna Jackson told me that I absolutely MUST call you."

"I'm glad you called. Jo emailed me and told me that you might. Said you were somebody I, uh, we would want to talk with." She paused. "She says you're a masterful violinist, too."

"Jo said that?"

"Yes," Cindy said. "And we've all heard Jo play, so if she says 'masterful', we believe her."

I could feel my face glow as I blushed. "She actually said that?"

"Yes, she did. Did she tell you that we're a community here?"

"She said you had a community, yes. Lots of music."

"And engineering," Cindy told me. "Music and engineering and friends and families."

"That's my shortcoming," I said to this almost total stranger. "My family's..."

"You're not alone, Kara. You don't have to be without family. Or friends you can trust."

I don't know if she knew, but she pushed my button. 'Friends I can trust.' 'Family.' Those are things I long for.

"DO you have Skype?" Cindy asked.

"Yes I do. You wanna do that?"

"Sure," she said. "If you don't want others to listen in on the conversation, you can use earbuds."

"That's part of the problem, Cindy," I said. "I already saw Dad for the obligatory fathering period today. All five minutes of perfunctory conversation, the pat on the head, the pro forma hug. And he's out the door. I have four thousand square feet of house to myself."

"It was an eight by thirty-five travel trailer for me," she replied. "And when Mom brought home 'company', I got to listen to everything."

"I was saddened that I had no shoes. Then I saw a man with no feet..."

"Gee, Kara ... I don't mean to sound like mine's worse than yours. Really." Cindy said.

"That's not what I mean, Cindy. Really. I didn't mean anything disparaging. It's just that sometimes I lose perspective."

"I was just sharing notes, Kara. You've got friends here, you know. And like Jo. She's a musician. A real one. Most of us just play with it. I sing. My husband plays guitar. Sim plays violin. Nikki's Dan is trying to get up to speed on a Cajun accordion..."

"Really? Cajun? I've experimented with Cajun fiddle tunes. They have quite a tradition."

Cindy's nose wrinkles when she giggles. "I went to a fais do-do last year with Dan. He played bass in a Cajun band. It was a hoot. Uh, do you know klezmer, too?"

"My violin teacher is an old Jewish guy. Yes, we've done some of that."

"Sim is Jewish. He does some. Neat!"

"But Jo tells me that you're an engineering student. I kind of thought..."

Her nose crinkled again and she finished my sentence for me. " ... That engineering students were hopeless geeks? You know Jo and Stoney, don't you? He's a neat guy and Jo thinks he's IT!"

"Well, but..." I spoke, "you're fifteen. And in college..."

"I know, right?!?" Cindy laughed. "I'm supposed to be a freak. I guess I am in so many ways. I'm married. I graduated high school when I was fourteen. But honestly, I don't know how to be a freak. I'm just me. Like you."

"I'm just me..." I returned.

"That's the best we can do sometimes, is be ourselves. And as long as we're decent, those that don't like us, they're the ones with problems." Cindy sounds reassuring. Her cellphone rang. "Wait a second," she told me.

"'Kay!" I replied.

"Hi, Nikki!" she spoke into her phone. "No, I'm skyping with Kara in Houston." Pause. "Yeah, the one Jo told us about. Why don't you come over here. We can gang up on 'er." Pause. "Yeah. The door's open. Just come on in!" She sat her phone down. "Now you can meet Nikki. One of my sisters."

"Sisters?"

"Yeah," she said. "We decided we were sisters."

"You decided. Just like that."

I heard a door open in the background and then a set of blue eyes framed in very dark brown hair showed up in my screen. "Hey, Kara. I'm Nikki!"

"Hi, Nikki," I said. "Tell me about this 'sister' thing."

Nikki looked at Cindy. "Yeah, we are. We get to say. You know how there's 'common law marriage'? Where all a couple has to do is say they're married? We're common law sisters." Together they grinned. "So? When are you gonna come visit? Or do we have to go over there?"

"If it was just across town, or in the next county..." I said.

"We dragged Stoney and Jo over here. What makes you think we wouldn't go get you?"

Chapter 40

Stoney's turn:

I punched the button on my office phone. Rang twice. Sweet, happy voice. "Hi, my love."

"Hi, my princess," I replied. "I'm getting ready to walk out the door. What's up for the evening?"

"Me and you. Some deli roast beef. Muenster cheese. Artisan ciabatta rolls from the bakery up the street. A bottle of Reisling. And then ... I have designs on your body..."

"No Kara this evening?"

"Nope. We talked a bit ago. She's got a Skype session with the bunch in Alabama. Chords are being struck, I do believe. And I need my Stoney time. Clothing is NOT optional. After the plates go in the washer, clothes are FORBIDDEN."

Now that's a pleasant set of thoughts. "I'm on the way."

Giggle. "Don't sound so eager!"

Yeah. Like I can picture that redhead naked and NOT be eager. "I love you princess. See you in a few!"

I passed Brad's door as he was gathering his coat. "Stoney," he said, "you really need to fake a sad trudge when you're going home. You make us old married guys jealous."

"Embrace your jealousy, buddy! I'm going home to heaven!" And I'm praying, "Please, Lord, let me get home safe. I have Johanna waiting for me."

I was used to the traffic along the route between the office and the apartment. I was aroused. I was expectant. And I was hurrying. Made it!

Through the door and into the arms of my startlingly happy redhead. The kiss came before the words. As they say in the army, no plan survives first contact.

I finally managed to sigh a "Jo..."

"My Stoney. I miss you like crazy." And then her lips silenced any verbal reply I might entertain.

Another break. She was pushing me backward now. I know the way to the bedroom. And I know that a giggling Johanna is a good thing.

"I guess sandwiches are something for later." Plan? What plan?

"You betcha," she blurted as she tugged at my shirt buttons. I took over undressing myself. She was wearing a loose sweatshirt, something she shed with one graceful sweep, leaving her breathtakingly bra-less. She unfastened her jeans and with a wiggle, they were a cotton puddle at her feet and I was pressed backward onto the mattress.

"Let me get my stupid socks off, Princess," I said.

"Oh, oooo-kay," she cooed. "I know how you are..."

I can't stand having socks on when the rest of me is nude. Fifteen seconds for the socks, okay? Then a tangle of arms and legs and, "I want to give you a kiss for every freckle."

She giggled. "Start kissing. And who's keeping score?"

I know how to derail her train of thought. Of course, she knows how to do the same for me, so it doesn't take long for any sort of plan to go out the window in a cloud of squeals and moans and sighs and hisses and monosyllabic vocabulary.

In the luxuriously silent, aftershock-filled aftermath, we stayed in each other's arms for a while before I got up, went into the bathroom, and washed my face. Don't know where it got all that stickiness from. I returned with a warm cloth and gently caressed her face with it, eliciting purrs.

"I suppose that now we need some clothes, in the interests of kitchen safety," she said.

"Yeah. I guess. Although you make a terrific naked chef."

She giggled. "I don't want us burning any useful bits, though. So clothes, okay?"

"Okay." I had admitted to Jo that on occasion, usually hot days, I'd lounged around the apartment in the nude, but I was by myself, the drapes were closed, and I never tried cooking that way. With Jo in my life, we'd done nudity in private on a much more frequent basis. I enjoy seeing her nude. Quite frankly, she's just pretty to look at.

She says the same about me, but she's a lot more touchy-feely when we're naked, too. It's just fun. Loving fun. But I'm not cooking like that.

The cooking was limited tonight to making hot roast beef sandwiches. We consumed those at the little table in the breakfast nook and we took our wineglasses and the bottle back to the living room with us. Mellowed the evening somewhat. Like any evening that I had Johanna with me wasn't mellow enough.

Okay, you have to extend that 'mellow' definition to include me wearing my fingers out trying to keep up with her music abilities. Even this evening, you know, because she IS a concert musician and daily practice is a requisite, and if Johanna's gonna do music, Stoney ain't gonna sit there and just watch, wine or no wine.

Well, actually, sometimes she tells me to sit back and listen, but since I've got a partner to play music with, I don't let her pick up her flute without expecting that she wants me to play alongside her for at least a bit. Johanna has taken a somewhat minor bit of relaxation in my life, plunking on a banjo, and turned it into something major that we shared.

Conversely, I'd taken her minor association with sailing and turned it into something that was always near the top of the list of options for the weekends. Yes, the overnight bags in the closet, waiting to be packed on Friday afternoon.

Tonight, though, flute, banjo, music. Some on sheets, made to be read by artists and played on instruments not in our possession, some music in our hearts, to be played with laughing eyes and smiles.

And just because the instruments were back in their cases doesn't mean that the playing is over. She plays symphonies on my very being. And I play them on hers.

Wednesday. Work for me. Class for Jo. Mid-day text. "Baby, I hope you understand. Kara's coming over for a visit."

I replied "K. Yes I understand." Because I did. Friends, even troubled youth friends, are a good thing. 'Course it helps that the 'troubled youth' in question does to a violin what Jo does to a flute. I'm hoping that we can bring in Key and her oboe, but Key's been awfully Hutch-centric of late.

Going out the door on the way home, I received instructions to stop by the Chinese place near the apartment to collect dinner. When I got home I was carrying my laptop and a bag full of odiferous cartons. With both hands full, I elbowed the doorbell, got let in by Kara and kissed by Jo and we laid the spread out on the table.

Amid the slurping and soft clicking of chopsticks we talked about things.

"You know, that bunch in Alabama, they're something," Kara said. "I wanna be there."

This wasn't news. For two weeks Kara has been consulting with the Sisterhood. That's a big circle that feeds information back to Johanna, because, as her 'mini-me', Cindy says, "You're in on this too, you know."

"Yes," Tina added to the Skype session, "You're just the oldest of the Sisterhood."

After that session, Jo snuggled up with me and intimated, "You know, Stoney, there are a lot worse groups to find myself in."

"I know," I said. "And if I was going to pursue engineering, I think that 3Sigma would be an interesting bunch to work with."

She twisted to kiss me and restrain me within her arms. "If only they weren't land-locked up in Auburn." Then she giggled. "Boat at a marina on the Gulf Coast. Plane in the hangar. Little car in another hangar down on the coast."

"Takes money."

"Solheim Limited. Money."

"You're thinking again, aren't you?"

Little kisses on the corners of my mouth. I do get the idea that I am being manipulated. "Yes. You should've married some cow-breasted ditz that thought reading the covers of the tabloids in the grocery checkout line made her 'literary'." She sighed delightfully dramatically. "But you didn't, did you? Oh, but nooooo, you had to go off and tag a musician with a college background and an actual vocabulary."

"And money."

Giggle. "Yes, but you didn't know that at first."

"Nope. Was looking at the 'poorer' end of that 'richer or poorer' part." Truth. Would have been perfectly happy with Johanna bumping around whatever job she chose, her income just money to add to the respectable sum (and savings) that I had. A whole lot of people are a whole lot less comfortable, monetarily speaking than Johanna and I would have been.

"So we're not poor. And we're learning to fly. Because I don't want to be the only sister in the family who can't fly a plane."

"Who isn't too young to get a license."

"Poor Cindy ... She gets so frustrated."

I chuckled. "Nothing 'poor' about Cindy, you know. Fifteen. She's gonna have the same degree I have before she's seventeen."

Jo's eyes softened. "Kara's like that. Except she IS seventeen. Very smart. Just abused in a whole different way. If she'd had one of your buddies over there in Alabama nudging her a bit, she'd be out of high school and into college. She's smarter than just the music."

This I already knew. Kara in a game of Trivial Pursuit was as formidable as my Johanna. She beat both of us, her normally repressed demeanor taking a decidedly gleeful turn. In the weeks since she started coming over, she did seem different. I said so to Jo.

"And since she's been talking with the Sisterhood, they say the same thing," Jo had added.

The detritus from the meal went into the trash after we finished. Hands were washed. The musical instruments came out.

We practiced. I guess it was practice, but it was more recreational than pure exercise. We worked our way through some sheet music, all classical, and then went into some folk things, Celtic, Bluegrass. Jo's right. Stick a violin into Kara's hands and she's a different person.

We took a little break from playing.

"I'm talking to my counselor at school," Kara said.

"Problem?" I asked.

"Oh, no, not in the traditional sense. I want to move on."

"Move on?" I saw something in my Johanna's eyes that told me that she wasn't surprised by this conversation.

"Yes. I want to leave Houston."

"Leave?" I questioned.

"Yes. I feel so isolated at ... at home. Since Ysabela left, I haven't connected with any of the ladies who Dad's tried. Dad's even more distant since I'm a teen. I think it's because I'm nearing the age of some of his lady friends."

Jo sat beside her, touching her forearm gently. "You have us, you know, Kara."

"I know, Jo. We talked. But ... Oh, Jo, YOU started this..."

Jo turned to me. "Stoney, she wants to move to Alabama."

"Let me guess. A certain community in Auburn." Two smiles told me I was correct. "That's a big step. I have no doubt, though, that certain arrangements are already being made at that end. What's your dad going to say?"

"Daddy Dearest looked into private boarding schools before. I think he'd be relieved." Kara looked a bit sad.

"And you think that Alabama is better?" I asked the question. Apparently Jo already knew the answer from previous conversation.

"I do. I know I'm going to college. Auburn will work for me. Dad isn't going to be picky about that. I have a sizable trust fund when I graduate from college."

"What about us? Jo and I really don't mind you coming over at all." I caught Jo's smile.

Kara's face formed into a soft, gentle smile, a beautiful feature. I harbored the desire to see it more, finding it right behind my Johanna's. Johanna's because she was my lifemate, Kara because she's young and vulnerable and needs more smiling in her life.

"You two..." Kara said, "you've given me something I was missing, and then you introduced me to the gang in Alabama. I didn't know I could be somebody's sister from three states away. But here I am." She kept smiling. "Jo, you're my sister too, you know."

"I know," Jo laughed. "Mom was surprised to hear that I had siblings. In her words, 'You, dear daughter, are the result of our only serious sible.' I'm supposed to inform you that one must have parents who sible on a serious level in order to acquire siblings."

Kara chuckled. "Your mom jokes with you. And I did NOT know that siblings were the result of having sibled."

The 'sible' comment sounds like something that Bridgette would pop up. Worse, it sounds like something that Johanna, Cindy, Nikki, Tina or Susan would pop up. That's the somewhat discomforting thing about the females of the sisterhood. They harbor common characteristics. Intelligence and humor are just two of them, and I'm sort of like my father-in-law. I just sort of listen and find humor and contentment in the woman I've married, even though sometimes she has a quirky sense of humor. At least, after talking with her mom, I know that she comes by it honestly.

Father-in-law swears that the Vikings raided Ireland to eradicate a burgeoning nest of wise-asses.

"And my buddy says you brought the pretty ones home."

"And that's where the trouble started," Anders laughed. "All those Nordic types running around me when I was at the embassy, and I had to go with the misplaced Hibernian."

And here I am smiling because I married the delightful result.

Kara's departure cleared the arena for the night's big event. The shared shower was the preliminary, Jo stroking me under the steamy mist while she shuddered through an orgasm.

"Dammit, Stoney ... I don't know if I can recover enough coordination to dry off."

"I'll help..."

"Ever the gentleman," she sighed, sagging in my arms. "Towel me."

By the time I finished lovingly drying her sleek body, she had re-established enough lucidity to dry her own hair while I shaved. After I dried my face she handed me her brush.

"Finish me."

"Yes, ma'am."

Giggle. "You're not the only one that has a thing for his wife's hair, you know."

"Lemme guess. Cindy."

"The whole bunch. All of 'em. But you do it like you're worshipping..."

"I am. Absolutely. You are my goddess."

She swung around to wrap me in her arms. "You sure? Sometimes I feel a little too nymphy ... sylphish."

"Nope! Pure goddess." As I picked up said goddess, carrying her nude form in my arms, headed into the bedroom. "You need to get away from that whole 'Valkyrie' thing." I nuzzled her. "Although you might look kinda hot in a breastplate."

"Beast!" she squealed. The squeal was cut short when I deposited her onto the bed. It started again when I pushed my face into the softness of her belly. She likes her bellybutton kissed, but it completely destroys her.

She writhed with giggles and squeals, tugging at my head. Tugging. Go up, Stoney. Sometimes she pushes.

I complied. She pushed herself under me.

"I want to be possessed. Owned. Controlled." And she pulled my face to meet hers for kisses. Who owns whom? Better yet, who cares?

Thirty minutes later, we're sliding back to earth. Thirty minutes? I'm on my back, Jo is laying halfway across my chest. She frees a hand, strokes my face. Purrs.

"I like it right after you shave, you know."

"Good enough reason for me to keep shaving."

Giggle. "Like it when you're a little stubbly too. In fact, sir, I just LIKE you. Any way I can get you."

"You got me." We drifted for a while together.

"Stoney? Have you looked at the forecast? For the weekend, I mean?"

"Not pretty Friday evening and Saturday. Why?"

"My Nordic half desires seafaring."

"If sailing out into the bay counts as seafaring..." I started.

"And my Celtic half is resigned to be carried off as plunder." Those blue eyes laughed for me.

"We can do that."

"Good. I will be out of plundering condition starting Monday."

"Then we need to get as much plundering in as possible, huh?"

"Yeah," she said. "When you get home tomorrow I'll have the bags packed."

"You're nuts, you know. Some kind of fantasy produced you."

She smiled. "Because I want to take my husband away from civilization and have him to myself?"

"Yeah..."

"You like it, too, don't you? I mean, you tell me that it's the main reason you had the boat in the first place."

"Yes, it was. But I never imagined that any girl I'd ever meet would see it like something she'd want to do."

"Your imagination failed, Stoney." She crawled up on top of me, throwing one leg over me. I found myself amazed that I was once again erect. Equally amazing was her wiggling around to slide me inside her again. She knows. She knows that she can ride me hard like this. At least since it's my second for the night, I can last a bit longer, and I can enjoy every minute of it, right up to the point that the universe disappears in a blinding light.

After it's over, I'm immobile. She takes that fluffy little towel off the night stand and dabs at her pussy to catch the juice leaking from her, then she wipes me off. And she does the last, final touch as her head bobs downward, sucking my flaccid dick into her mouth, the suction pulling the last drops out of me.

I'm not often this unresponsive, but Johanna and I have both had this happen. When it does, the conscious, mobile one coddles the other. Tonight's my night. She spoons against me, close, and whispers in my ear, "Stoney Jackson, I love you."

"I love you too, my angel," I manage.

The alarm woke us to whatever the classical music station was playing the morning. I have to be at work at eight. Jo's Friday class is at nine. She could sleep in. Doesn't.

While I'm washing my face and getting dressed, she's in the kitchen, clad only in a t-shirt, starting coffee going for us. When I get into the kitchen, she's at the table, a bowl of granola in front of her. Mine's on the counter, waiting for me to add milk.

Breakfast is small talk: My work, her school. Plans for the day. Expectations. I glanced at my watch. Time to go. I tossed back the last sip of coffee, stood, caught Jo in my arms for a kiss, and left.

Jo's turn:

Coffee breath. I figured out the cure for it. There are several things. Most important, be so passionate about your partner that you don't care if HE has it, and second, make sure you're both drinking coffee and who cares, right?

Stoney's off to work. I have an hour before I need to get out of the door for my nine AM class. It's a senior level Econ course, a hateful nasty thing according to Stoney. I find it somewhat interesting, and I know that if I am to maintain my average, I must apply myself, so a little skim through the assigned chapters of the textbook will sharpen me up for class.

I finally close the book and slip into my backpack. Clothes. I need some. It's not really cold out, just sort of unpleasantly overcast and drippy. Gonna be a good weekend for soup on the boat. I mentally add good bread and cheese to the shopping list in my head.

Jeans. Sweatshirt. My slightly older athletic shoes. It's cool enough for the ski jacket. I can leave it unzipped and I won't be too warm. It's one of those colorful high-tech looking things that would be at home on a ski slope and this is Houston and for much of the city, snow is a myth from the Northlands. Still, I see a lot of these jackets, so I don't exactly stick out in a crowd.

Student parking is another thing. Even as a senior, I think the university still thinks that physical activity is essential to the complete learning experience. I find parking, but it's a walk, and the skies are leaden, wanting to start that drippy, pre-frontal rain. That's okay. I carry a collapsible umbrella in my backpack.

That backpack impressed my little hubby. Between Mom's sense of practicality and Dad's military 'prepare for the contingencies' attitude, I keep a few things that I might not need every day, but that would help me if things went off-track. The umbrella was one thing that stayed in there. A little clothing repair kit was there, needles, thread, a few buttons, some safety pins. There was a multi-tool. And a little tool kit.

One thing that was missing was anything that LOOKED like a weapon. Knives, nunchaku, nothing like that, because one just never knew what campus security would do if they found something like that. Still, when I laid out the inventory, Stoney laughed.

"Shoulda known," he said. "Just shoulda. Nothing else about you even comes close to the 'standard college girl' profile, so why should this?"

Another thing. Driver's license, student ID and a credit card are in a little caddy in the pocket of my jeans. I know a girl who had her backpack snatched. Lost her books. The campus police found the backpack. She got her books back. She didn't get her laptop or her wallet with EVERYTHING in it. Sure, she called to report the lost cards, so it didn't cost her much, but there's that several days' wait, and then having to go to DMV to get a new license and to the Student Services to get a new ID. So I learned that much.

Anyway, I shouldered the bag over one shoulder and started walking toward the campus. There's a flow of students from this lot, so I merged into it, saw a few familiar faces. That means the exchange of pleasantries and miseries. Just plain ol' campus life, I guess. Except some of those people are struggling with all the struggles that accompany that phase in many people's lives: academics, relationships, money, a few other things that I don't want to imagine. Or can't. The stream of young academics branches out onto campus. I and a couple of others end up in the same building.

Ten minutes early for class. I chat with some of my fellow students. Like Clarissa. She's, as Stoney says, your standard brown-haired girl. We've had lunch a time or two, but her tastes in music are just exactly wrong. Classwork. "Despite my name, I can't explain shit!" she says. "I am struggling."

"Clare," I said, "You had a 'B' last semester."

"And I struggled to get that," she moaned. "And this one is worse."

"We'll get through it," I said.

"I just wanna graduate so I can stop having to achieve, achieve, achieve."

"And what sort of situation is going to give you that option?" I asked.

"Marry Grant." I saw her fiancee's picture on her phone before. She continued, "Get an entry-level analyst job at that company I interned with last summer, parlay up a couple of levels, then step off onto the 'mommy' track while Grant plays lawyer."

I laughed.

"Don't laugh at me, Johanna ex-Solheim, now Jackson," she said. "You know you're doing the same thing."

"Except musical," I said. Clarissa wasn't privy to the knowledge of my trust fund.

"If I can live through the next four months," Clarissa sighed. She flipped open her laptop and booted it. "So! This thing about mobile markets."

"Market mobility," I laughed. One reason I connected with her was her sense of humor.

Walking back to the car after the class, I noted that my old 'friend' David was walking across the campus. I don't think he saw me. To be honest, I don't care, but I'd rather not have to deal with him. I can't help but think that he's not going to be favorable towards me. After that incident, he did indeed spend some time in reconstructive oral surgery. Missed the remainder of the fall semester. And I heard he never did get his lip back right to play trumpet. I guess I can scratch him off the 'Johanna Fan Club' roster.

Homeward bound. Stop at the bakery for some artisan bread. At the market for some cheese. A couple of 'em, actually. I know what Stoney likes. Cheese is one of them.

And at home, I packed our bags for the weekend. I kicked back afterward, waiting on my hubby, getting some studying in, looking out the window at the rain starting.

And at four o'clock, the phone ripped loose with a banjo break. Stoney.

"Hi, my Stoney," I answered.

"Hi, cutie," he returned. "Weather's miserable. So..."

"We're packed. Boat. Foul weather gear. Anchor. Me and you."

"You're absolutely nuts, you know."

"I know. And you LOVE nuts."

Chapter 41

Kara's turn:

I feel like Balboa. You remember him, don't you? And no, NOT Rocky. He's the guy who 'discovered' the Pacific Ocean, at least from the Eurocentric point of view. That's how I feel after meeting Jo and Stoney and subsequently the girls in that community in Alabama: like I walked out of the jungle and there's a whole ocean just waiting for me.

I'm seventeen. It's time that I start taking some actions to control my own life. It hasn't been easy. I'm not a poor kid, at least as far as money is concerned. Dad's got plenty. He's a very successful man, both as an attorney and as a keeper of arm candy. He's just not doing a very good job of being a dad. There's more to parenting than providing a house and meals.

And a car. And any kind of music tutor I thought I needed. When Mom died, I was a budding violinist. The night they buried her, I locked the door to my room and I played my violin, every sad song I could work up, and that night I determined that I was not doing credit to her memory with that level of skill. Love, yes. But something clicked and I decided that those evenings that Mom sat there as my beginner's screeches slowly turned into identifiable music, those evenings that she sat through my recitals, I didn't have much to give back to Mom, but music was in my power.

Another power I had was not to fall into the trap she fell into, the trap that produced me. I don't know how it all works, but I know that I'm not going to go off the deep end over some young lawyer with a fancy little car.

I was different in school for a lot of reasons. First reason is that I turned out to be intelligent. Must've been a mutation. Mom was the proud possessor of a two-year degree from community college. Dad's a lawyer. I never saw him as particularly smart, but I guess I looked at it wrong. He's a trial lawyer, and a successful one. Somewhere between the two of them, I was born with a brain.

Early on, my teachers learned that they didn't need to spend time explaining and coaching me to get me up to grade level. Those that did have enough time to coach me just sort of encouraged me to expand outside the limits of the curriculum.

Second red flag was that I was not very friendly. I'm described as an introvert. It got worse when Mom died.

When Mom died. How is a kid supposed to handle that? Mom went off the deep end. I think she was a trusting soul when she started with Dad, and when she got pregnant with me, they married. And when he moved to a new law firm, they divorced. I don't think that Mom and daughter were what he had in mind for his life.

It mattered little to him. It killed Mom. Underneath the shiny (Mom's pictures from her young days are beautiful) exterior, Mom had an old-fashioned heart. I think she was under the impression that words mean things, especially words like 'until death do you part'. Wrecked Mom.

It wasn't overnight. Took years. She kept getting worse and worse, tried catching a replacement for the man missing in her life. Even a single mom with a little kid (to start) can have a parade of guys through her life. I watched her really get serious more than once, and when things turned out wrong, she ended up a basket case.

Mom would end up in a hospital. I'd end up at the grandparents until Grandma died. Grandpa wasn't equipped to handle a little girlchild. I started ending up at Dad's.

First few times, I think he really tried incorporating me into his life alongside whichever wife or girlfriend he was with, but it became readily apparent that the women in Dad's life weren't the types to want to be raising somebody else's daughter. I found that if school was out, it was easy for Dad to write a check and send me off to one camp or another.

Somewhere in one of the cycles where I was with Mom, I started playing violin in the school orchestra. Mom endured some sounds from my early days that sounded like I was torturing cats, but I quickly found that first, I had some natural gift and second, I LIKED music.

Music is a refuge. Music is leveling. You can't fake it. You can't cheat and copy somebody's work. You're standing or sitting there, you, your instrument, a sheet of music, and you perform. Everybody knows whether you're good or less than good. For somebody with a bit of talent and a bit of desire to do well, it is a refuge. My refuge.

When I felt like I was an outsider or I was uncomfortable at school, entering the music room was instant relief. Part of it was that I wasn't the only one who saw orchestra as a safe haven.

Other part - academics. I am a 'smart kid'. I don't brag about it, but you should know. Last thing Mom needed to worry about was a pouty, stupid kid who stayed in trouble at school. That's a good reason to get good grades and stay out of trouble. Altruistic. The selfish one was that I understood early in life that learning was beneficial to me. And fun. Given the choice to goof off for some short-term fun versus somewhat less pleasant duty to dive into the classwork, I chose the latter.

I can't remember ever getting anything less than almost perfect grades when I attended regular school. It is only since Daddy Dearest put me in private school that I found myself actually having to study a bit to get that hundred percent instead of a mere ninety-five.

As I matured, for a while it seemed like Mom was leveling out. And then, one more guy. She went off the deep end again and back to one of those hospitals. I went to Dad's. Spent a lot of time crying. More time playing. Did a recital. Dad actually showed up. Latest 'stepmom' looked like second runner-up in a Barbie lookalike contest. I guess she tried talking to me, but she was only ten years older than me, had zero skills not tied to her bra size. I can be standoffish.

I had one friend in that house, Dad's Guatemalan housekeeper, Ysabela. Ysabela, of Indian ancestry, dark-eyed, plump, raven-haired, and speaker of excellent English. I hounded her for Spanish. I was taking it in school, and having her to converse with, I learned a lot that the class and the books didn't teach.

Ysabela was far from uneducated. She was just the oldest of her sisters, and being in the States she could make enough money to live here as well as send money home and put back a bit of savings. Dad paid her well for her position. She didn't mind me sitting in the kitchen talking with her, even at first. After a while she treated me like her little sister. She had a sister my age back home, so I was a convenient substitute in a lot of ways.

None of this would have happened but for her abilities in English. And she was a caring person. Surrogate mom/sister. In loco parentis. REAL parental type.

Ysabela's place in my life solidified when Mom died. Dad said something he thought was fatherly about life choices. Hugged me, until my tears started to stain his shirt. Brought me home, sitting in the back seat while he and current wife sat in the front.

I went to my room. Stayed there. Pulled my violin out and played a few songs that Mom knew. Cried. Played some more. Cried some more.

Gentle knock on the door.

"Come in."

Ysabela with a tray covered with a white cloth. "Kara. I am so sorry. I made these for you." She presented me with a plate of little tamales wrapped in real banana leaf wrappings. "Do you wish to talk?"

Plump, middle-aged Guatemalan friends are a good place to cry one's soul out.

I decided that I needed to get on with life. Dad's house was my only real option for living. Since Mom's mother died, her dad was in no position to care for a teen girl and Dad was, well, my father, and he's supposed to do it.

He made it mostly comfortable, at least from a material standpoint. I was fed and clothed. And schooled. Dad tried putting me into the local public school system, but it was disastrous. I got my purse stolen twice in three days. The second time I caught the thief red-handed and got into a physical altercation.

I ended up in a private school after Dad pulled a few strings to bypass the waiting list. That's where I am today. Further, since I WANTED to get further along with the violin, dear old Dad popped for some of the best tutors available.

Some of those guys won't be bought. They only select students with promise. I got that kind of tutor, and I went twice a week and practiced interminable hours at home.

Got selected for the local student honors orchestra. First chair violinist. I was proud. My teachers were proud. Dad gave me a car. That's nice. I can get around without resorting to Ysabela or the yard and house guy, Jorge, driving me. Or Dad or Mommie Dearest. Oh, I shouldn't be so snarky. She really tries, in her own way.

Anyway, with the orchestra and the 4.0 grade point average, I had no more pressure in school than I wanted to accept. I pushed myself. Daddy Dearest was quite happy to see my grades and he stayed out of the way when my social life included a group of music geeks like me. I had friends.

That's a good thing. We would all load up in one or two cars and go to recitals and concerts together, and we'd get together at one house or another, mine being VERY popular, and practice and play.

I could've been quite happy just going along like that, but one of the two guys in our little group, Mikel (Why didn't his parents just name him 'Michael'? That's how they pronounce his name anyway.) decided that he and I needed to be more than just friends with common interests.

He started hitting on me, and not very subtle, he was. What he lacked in sublety he made up for in persistence. I said 'No' a lot. Started adding exclamation points, as in 'No!!!!'.

That's where Kara Sevinsky was in life. We went to a concert. University orchestra. Right before Christmas. I'd been to a few. They have some good players for soloists and overall they're very competent.

That's the night I saw Johanna and Stoney play together for the first time. I'd seen Jo before. She's beautiful AND talented. Stoney, though, that's a new one on me. The conductor, who is also the professor for much of the music program, introduced the performance as a duet, Mozart's Concerto for Flute and Harp, then announced that since they didn't have a harp, they made a substitution.

Guy with a banjo. Limping. A scar I could plainly see from my seat in the third row.

Now I trust the professor. I've been attending his recitals for a couple of years. Well, a year and a half, since I got my car. I knew Johanna. I'd seen her play. I'd seen several others, including that trumpet player with the cocky smirk. So I trust the professor.

But I NEVER saw a banjo on stage, not in a classical venue. But I watched this guy sit in a chair in front of the orchestra, and I saw Johanna stand just a bit away from him, look at him and smile. It wasn't one of those 'we're going to play well' smile. This was different. Richer. Deeper. Brighter.

And Doctor Bob raised his baton, the orchestra did the introductory measures. In the third movement of this concerto, the harp leads off on the flute and harp duet. I should have known better. I was totally unprepared for what I saw and heard. Stoney had a look of concentration when his cue came. He launched into it, found his zone, and from that zone HE looked at Johanna. Love! They're in love. I could see it. And their music was communication.

I'm familiar with that piece. Stoney's arrangement wasn't identical to Mozart's original composition, but I knew that he was right in there with it, carrying the spirit of the piece with him, tossing it to Johanna, catching it back. I was impressed. The audience gave a standing ovation. I was one of the first to stand.

I noted that they were passing out business cards announcing Rara Avis, Latin for 'Rare Bird'. I snagged one and called her. I made a poor run at prevarication, telling her that I was interested in them playing for me and my friends, but I was really acting on some incomprehensible feeling that Johanna was a gatekeeper to the life I desired.

A few days later I was at their apartment. They're married. And Johanna is disarmingly nice.

First, we talked about music. I know she's talented. I've heard. I know she's in college. And after we played, she, I, and Stoney, I could see that she's in love with her music just as much as she's in love with Stoney.

Second, she's smart. Almost 4.0 in college for one thing. But when we talk, I see and hear that it's not just the hoops one must jump through to get a piece of paper. She really is smart.

And mainly, she's supportive and understanding.

As a couple, Jo and Stoney didn't seem the least bit uncomfortable inviting me into their home. I found out that they're practically newlyweds, but they never acted like I was interfering with their lives.

"Oh, don't be silly," Johanna had answered when I questioned her on the subject. "There's more to married life than just sex. Friends are very important, too. You've seen Key and Hutch drop by. And the Hlinkas, when they hear us playing. You, you're always welcome."

I felt that way. I felt even better one afternoon when she took a call.

"Hey, little redheaded sister," she said. Pause. "No, just hangin' out with Kara." Pause. "Great idea. Let me boot my MacBook! We'll see you there."

She turned to me. "It's time you met Cindy."

Now you need to know that by this time I've seen the pictures of that group in Alabama and I've heard some of the stories. That they were all in college together, that was not too abnormal. Then I found out the ages. And that they were married. Cindy I knew to be fourteen. And married. My senses peaked at that revelation because, frankly it sounds like exploitation.

I mentioned that to Jo.

"You'd think, wouldn't you?" she said. "But take age out of the picture, and you've got a college girl married to a middle-aged engineer."

I laughed. "I see what you're doing, Jo."

"Well, let's see. She's in college. Very much in love. And her husband adores her."

"And she's almost but not quite as red-headed as YOU," I said. "Okay, if Johanna of the Red Hair is not squicked out over it, then neither shall Kara be disturbed."

"And she and that gang are GOOD people. All of 'em. And like a certain brown-haired musician I know, they are terribly smart."

So seeing Cindy's smile on the computer screen is a definite step up from a hi-res picture. The three of us chatted for a bit and then I heard a younger voice in the background.

"Whatcha doin', Aunt Cindy?"

"Chatting with a new friend in Houston. She's here with Johanna."

Jo smiled. I caught the 'new friend' comment. And I saw a young (younger than fifteen year old Cindy by quite a bit) blue-eyed blonde face pop into the screen.

"Hi, Cindy's new friend. I'm Terri."

"Hi, Terri-dactyl," Jo said.

Terri giggled. "Hi, my missing Aunt Johanna."

Cindy giggled. "Terri, stop that!"

"Well, she needs to know that I like 'er."

"She knows."

"'Kay!" Terri said. "See! Aunt Cindy knows you're my missing aunt!"

"Scoot!" Cindy said. Terri bounced off-screen.

"See, Jo! You're a topic here."

"I'm glad. I like that status." She smiled. "And I wanted to introduce you to MY sister." She giggled. "You don't think you're the ONLY ones who can build an ad hoc family, do you?"

I felt my knees weaken. That's the first time that Johanna had ever referred to me as her sister. It's wonderful to be claimed, accepted, acknowledged.

So from that first contact, I developed a long-distance set of friends. No, I didn't abandon Jo and Stoney, not by a long shot. It's just that I had somebody else to talk with.

A whole bunch of somebodies, if you want to know the truth. From Cindy (and Terri) I added Nikki, Tina and Susan and various mates.

So! School work! You know I'm an 'A' student, right? And I've taken placement tests. And I am angling towards graduating this spring. That's all good stuff.

But then I was talking to Cindy one night about school work.

"I dunno," she said. "You have to understand, my entire high school experience was a week and the teachers ran me out of the classrooms so they could work with the kids who really needed it."

"I could be there," I said. "Except it's a private school." We talked every evening for a bit, sometimes just Cindy, sometimes Cindy and one or more of the gang, a couple of times it was Nikki. Nikki's the one I was talking to when I mentioned math.

"I'm sorry, Nikki, but I just REALLY don't get it. Everybody acts like this stuff is so hard. I had this ONE good teacher last year who told me that I needed to understand principles, so I started looking and..."

"And it's like two plus two equals four, right?"

"Yeah! Exactly!"

"You're a musical prodigy, right?"

I was a bit startled that that choice of words. "I dunno about that," I said.

"Jo says you are. Sometimes the brain works in wondrous ways. So math ... Can we look at some stuff?"

She sent me some problems. I looked. We talked. "I'm callin' Cindy," she said.

"Okay. Why?"

"Cindy's the one that got me out of the closet in math, so to speak," she smiled. "You may be the next one."

We tried skyping Cindy. No luck. "She doesn't show a 'do not disturb' tag on the calendar," Nikki said.

"Do not disturb. On the calendar? What's that?"

Nikki explained to me the role the community calendar played in facilitating private time. It's a neat idea. "I'm calling her." She punched her iPhone. "Cindy! Get on Skype with me 'n' Kara. It's kind of important."

My redheaded sister's face popped up. The three of us talked about math, a discussion that went wayyyy above the stuff at school.

"We need to talk to Bren and Ram, don't you think?" Cindy asked Nikki.

"That's what I'm seeing, too," Nikki said.

"Who're Bren and Ram?" I asked.

Cindy giggled. "The most abuse I ever suffered in my life up to that point. They're professors in the Math Department. One of the reasons we're where we are in college."

"Shouldn't that be TWO of the reasons?" I retorted.

Nikki giggled. "See, Cindy? She SHOULD be!"

"Be what?" I questioned.

"Be here. With us." Nikki said it, but Cindy was nodding agreement. And I'd already been thinking about it.

Two days later I got a phone call from Doctor Bren. "If Cindy or Nikki say I need to talk to you, then I know I need to talk to you."

We talked for almost an hour. He asked a lot of questions. I had a lot of answers.

"Be honest with me, Kara. How much coaching did you get from the Dynamic Duo?"

"Dynamic Duo?" I asked.

"Yeah, Cindy Richards and Nikki Granger. I wish I had 'em in my program. Engineers. They wanna be engineers."

"They told me that you and Doctor Ramathani gave them the worst academic days of their lives up to that point. That you two would start simple and get much more complicated. But they did no coaching."

"Okay. I suspected that my little friends were completely honest with me. How are you sitting in high school right now?"

"I'm in a private school. Just rolling along."

"Not having trouble?"

"Doctor Bren, the only trouble I have is staying awake in class and keeping myself challenged. I could skate through."

"Then I have a question. Would you be up for a visit?"

"You're coming here?"

"It would be much easier if you come visit us here."

"You're serious."

"Yes I am. And Cindy says bring your violin."

"She would," I laughed. I was feeling a bit giddy. "Let me work on it. Gimme an email address."

I wrote it down carefully.

When we hung up, I texted Cindy and Nikki. "What have u done????"

Got an immediate phone call. Cindy.

"Am I to assume that you got a phone call from the math department?"

"Yes. And he worked me over pretty good over the phone."

"And..." she squealed.

"And I need to get Dad's okay and then see what it takes to get to Alabama."

"You're gonna cause Maddie and Anita to move," Cindy said. "They have a two-bedroom apartment. We have a three-bedroom that's open. That would give you a place to live."

Okay. I didn't squeal out loud.

Chapter 42

Stoney's turn:

So let's see where we're at now. I have a rollicking good life. There were long, lonely nights in the not too far past that I despaired of finding the person who would fill the void in my soul. As I sit here, eyes closed to repair the strain from staring at the diagram on my monitor, there's a little metallic blue Japanese car leaving the campus of the university, headed to what used to be my apartment.

It's not my apartment now. It's ours. The driver of that little blue car has a head of red hair that clashes wildly with metallic blue. Those blue eyes of hers make the hair even more outrageous, and the fact that those are only the outside of the package, well, for most of my life I didn't know what to dream of. Now I'm married to her.

Other than the shooting on our wedding day and that whole car wreck thing, life has been idyllic. I've gained a delightful conversationalist with a wicked sense of humor, somebody who is comfortable everywhere we've been, somebody who meshed with my meager musical talents and actually had me on stage in front of a chamber orchestra in front of a real audience.

And she thinks my boat, no, OUR boat, is a happy refuge. I always thought of the boat in terms of solitude before. Yes, I occasionally brought friends out, but since Jo came along, it's a place for the two of us to be.

And right now I'm daydreaming on my job, thinking about getting HOME to her. Stoney, you've died and gone to heaven.

My computer emitted that annoying 'incoming mail' tone. I opened the email, gathering another piece of the puzzle that was my project, sighed, and went back to work.

I was looking at the output report of an electrical analysis program when Brad stopped by.

"Brought you the last donut," he said, presenting me with a cold donut on a napkin. "You can stand it. I can't. If I give it to you, then I gain karma points."

"You need all you can get," I laughed.

"So how's Jo's new friend working out?"

"Kara? Delightful."

"Doesn't that sort of crimp your newlywed lifestyle?"

"Not too bad. Kara's not there every day, she doesn't just show up, and even though I am a magnificent male specimen and truly a reason for you to be jealous, even I can't do that ALL the time."

He laughed because this was a common conversation between us, me and my young pretty wife, him an old married man. Of course, I've seen pictures of him and his wife when they were younger, and she was a pretty young thing as well. A man should be happy with his wife.

"We had fun trying," he laughed.

"Besides, I think Kara's angling for a move to Alabama."

"Alabama? She'd leave a garden spot like Houston for Alabama?"

"Auburn University. A bunch of like minds in a community."

"Auburn?" Brad shook his head. "Drake's from Auburn. He's useless as nipples on a lizard."

"Yeah, and you're from Texas A&M, and we don't hold that against them," I snorted.

"So you're getting lined up to rescue another orphan?"

"Oh, I leave that up to Jo. I'm just along for the ride."

"I know the feeling, buddy," he laughed. He turned and continued up the hall. I went back to work, one eye on a wall clock that was apparently running at quarter speed.

It did indeed finally reach four-thirty. I shut my computer down, un-docked it and stuck it in my backpack, and headed out into the parking garage. In the car I stuck a Bluetooth headset on my ear, cranked the car, and as soon as I was crawling out of the garage, I punched the button. "Johanna, mobile," I commanded Siri.

I got the expected happy voice on the other end. "Hello, my love!"

"Hi, cutie," I replied. "Just wanted you to know I'm on the road."

"I'll be here."

"What's our plan for the evening?"

"You. Me. Whatever pops up." Giggle. "Gym night tonight, then..."

"Hold that thought," I laughed. I clicked my Bluetooth off. Drive in traffic? Forgive me for being a little paranoid. I was walking mostly normal, now, though. Gym nights helped. I didn't exactly relish the idea of paying somebody for the privilege of making me sweat, but there was a trainer at the gym who understood what I needed. When I started showing up with Johanna, he saw WHY I needed it.

And yes, Jo and I had put on the pads and had a go at one another on the mats a few times. I found that if she had the rubber training knife in her hand, I soon found it stuck in some sensitive part of my body.

The first time the trainer saw us working out, he shook his head. She flipped the rubber knife at him. "Rape whistle, indeed!" she uttered.

He approached me later about the comment. "I suppose I'm missing part of the story." I gave him a bit of it.

"Uh, you carry?" he asked me.

"Yep. Everywhere it's legal. She does, too, since we got married."

"Yeah, you know, I always thought that people who got their permit were, like, paranoid."

"I'm glad I did, Wayne," I replied. "And who'd've thought? I mean, we were right there on the main drag in Galveston. Twenty yards from a club with a huge crowd all over the place."

"Didn't think it was legal to carry where they served alcohol."

"Isn't," I answered. "We were just walking past the place on the way back to the hotel."

"Oh, I see."

"The dude pulled a knife. There were two of 'em against me and Jo. And they thought we were unarmed. I would've fought, but..."

"Yeah, I know," he said. "You ain't supposed to LET it be a fair fight."

"Not with that redhead behind me."

When Jo and I left, she asked me about the conversation. I gave her the recap.

"Yeah, I got that when I talked about it at school," Jo said. "Most places are safe. Except when they're not." She sighed. "Not to change the subject, but..."

"Changing the subject," I laughed.

"Yeah. That girl in the blue outfit..."

We don't go to the gym in a vacuum. There are other clients there. I noticed the one she identified. Of course, I noted every one in the place. But this one... "Yeah. She's been there before."

"Do you think she's nice-looking?"

Oh, boy ... the minefield of interpersonal relationships. And here's one. Let's try 'honest' this time. After all, I'm talking to my Johanna, my friend, my chosen mate. "Yes, she is. But not nearly up to YOUR standard."

"Her breasts..." Jo was small-breasted. She'd told me tales of high school and 'flat as the flute player' taunts, so I knew it was a matter of a tender spot.

"Yeah, she really needs to rethink that sports bra."

"SO you looked..."

"I look at a lot of things. And if I looked right past her, there was this really neat redhead on a Stairmaster that REALLY floats my boat."

"But..."

"But nothing. Discount the sports bra. Makeup. She wears makeup to the gym. Hair. That color isn't found any further than ten clicks from Chernobyl without spending hours exposed to chemicals that I have wear a HazMat suit to work with in the field. And nails. Wonder how they'd hold up to hauling in eighty feet of muddy Galveston Bay anchor rode."

"But tits..."

"Jo, my sweetest of all woodland nymphs, I adore yours. And she probably isn't a tenth of the musician nor a quarter of the punster and doesn't know a halyard from an Irish pennant."

I got punched in the arm. Then a giggle. I knew I'd survived the test.

"Sir, we've HAD this talk. The Irish as a sea-faring race were entirely capable on our own. I have within my veins the blood of Saint Brendan."

"And he probably had Irish pennants." 'Irish pennant' is a term started by the British Navy, referencing the perceived lackadaisical attention that an Irish vessel paid to neatness and attention to detail. It was usually applied to frayed and dangling cordage.

"We'd've been much better had we not been continually raided by Vikings and those nasty British," she retorted. "So, all this nautical talk ... Any night this weekend?"

I know now that adverse weather is no excuse to this girl. Storm? Set the GOOD anchor and ride it out below. Cold? Cabin heater and hot soup. Beautiful day? "Set the sail and let's GO!" And after all, I bought the boat because I liked to sail. So "Yeah, I think..."

"I'll have us packed when you get home tomorrow."

"What about Kara?"

"Oh, Kara's okay. You know she's thinking of pulling her diploma early and moving to Alabama?"

"You mentioned that. So she's serious?"

"Oh, yes. Last word, she was going to talk to her dad."

"Sounds serious."

That's when we found out the latest news from Alabama. Jo's cellphone rang. She answered it with her normal cheer, then went "OhMyGod!" and listened. Finally, "Everybody's okay?" Pause. "Good! We love you too. Hug Susan and Nikki. And tell Nikki we're proud of 'er." And hung up.

"What was that about?" I questioned.

"You're not going to believe this..."

"I started believing a lot of things since we met that bunch," I said.

"Would you believe that Nikki killed a guy with a ballpoint pen?"

Okay ... my bullshit meter pegged. "No."

"She did. Guy jumped Susan. Tried to rape 'er. Nikki came up behind 'im and stuck a pen in the side of his head."

"Ouch! You're serious."

"Yes. And what were we talking about? Nice and safe one minute, combat the next."

"Everybody's okay? Nikki? Susan?"

"Except the guy at the morgue." She pulled as close to me as the SUV's console would allow. "My little friend..."

"There's something about that bunch. Some kind of attitude that just hangs over them all." I saw it. Jo saw it. Something that just said 'Watch out for US!'

"And we're part of it." Jo's tone was one of some finality.

I'd toyed with the idea myself. "Yeah, I guess we are."

"Still want a night or two on the boat, though. We can stay in touch, but honestly, if there's ever a group that can take care of itself, it's stashed in an apartment building in Auburn, Alabama." She folded her arms. Said one word. "Nikki."

We got home, did grilled cheese sandwiches and salads for dinner. Showered. Ended up on the sofa, a couple of laptops out, hers to catch up on the latest news from Alabama, mine to check weekend weather forecasts. And looking at airplanes for sale.

Yeah, THAT thing. In two weeks we were both going to meet a flight examiner for our private license tests. We'd done well: Passed the written easily on the first try. Progressed right through the flight training. I was standing on the apron of the airport with the guy who was doing our flight training, watching Jo coming back from a solo session.

"Give it to me straight, Trevor," I said to him. "Who's better, me or her?"

"Now if I was all tactful and mindful of your feelings, I'd soft-pedal this," he chuckled. "You're plenty good. But she has a way of just adding a little finesse. Like art."

"She IS the artist in the family," I said. "And we both started this at the same time."

"Maybe it's that 'artist' thing," Trevor opined. "You're an engineer. You're all about forces acting on objects, equations, curves and stuff. She's about flows and symmetries and harmonies."

"You're a philosopher as well as a flight instructor?"

"Neither of which pays particularly well," he laughed, shaking his head. "My choice, though." I was standing with Trevor on the apron outside the office when she taxied up and stopped. He's right. She was smooth.

In the car headed home, I commented.

She smiled. "Some times call for staccato, some times call for legato. I thought that one smooth flow to the tiedown made sense. No wear and tear on the tires and the brakes. Finesse." Bigger smile. She knows.

"You're really something," I stated.

"Oh, what KIND of something, sir?"

"The something that makes me want to write sagas about our voyages, sing songs about our love, and quietly console all who see us and wish their happiness could equal ours."

"You silver-tongued devil, you!"

Next week was supposed to be our flight tests for a couple of private licenses. Excited? Yes! Both of us were excited. Of course I heard her and Cindy Skyping about that.

"Just great!," Cindy had said, feigning sadness. "We add you two to the community and YOU get your license, and I STILL can't."

"Cindy Richards!" Jo retorted, "Gimme a break! You're gonna graduate from college at sixteen." Giggle - bilateral. "Besides, we can both go flying together! And you know taildraggers!"

"I've played with a few," Cindy replied. "So what are you guys looking at?"

"Everything!" Jo said. Maybe a 180 like yours."

"They're good planes."

Jo glanced at me to see if I was listening. She smiled. "Yes they are. But there's this old guy who has a Pitts S-2..."

Cindy's squeal overdrove the computer speakers. "Don't you DARE!"

Jo was chuckling. "We could trade off. You could use ours when you wanted to just mess around, and we could use yours when we need to travel." I was laughing, too. It had a removable bubble canopy, and I'm thinking that Jo in an open cockpit biplane...

I'm also thinking of the future. Jo's smiling, thinking of her unusual collection of friends. I spoke loud enough for Cindy to hear. "We're NOT buying that Pitts, Cindy. My little wife is hallucinating."

"Wait, Stoney," Cindy quipped. "It's a good idea, now that I think about it."

"No," I said. "It's slow and expensive and impractical."

"Like a sailboat?" Cindy retorted.

"Yeah," Jo reinforced.

"We can't spend a weekend living in that Pitts," I said.

"See, Cindy! He has an answer for EVERYTHING!" Jo sighed.

And she knew that first, if she batted her eyes a couple of times, we'd own that Pitts tomorrow, and second, there was a conversation about toys come June when her trust fund opened up.

"We could, then, you know..." she'd told me. "We owe ourselves a little silliness, don't you think?"

"But we don't have to get crazy, either."

She put on her serious face. "Oh, I know, my dear Stoney." That phrasing was exactly what her mother would have said.

"Yes, mizzus Solheim..."

Squeal! "I DID! I sounded exactly like Mom!"

"And I'm sure she'd be proud."

"Oh, I knoooowwww," Cindy commiserated. "We're soooo abused." Giggle.

The two of them chatted a bit longer, then I caught Jo closing her laptop. It went into her backpack and I got climbed over by a delectable redhead.

"Stoney..."

"Yes, dear."

"I'm..." She didn't like to use the word 'horny'.

"You are? I can help..."

Playful. I'd heard about 'playful' mates. I'd heard about 'playful' partners. The descriptive terms and indeed, my own imagination, failed to describe what happens between me and Johanna. Sometimes, like tonight, it starts out with us both wearing clothes.

She can do it or I can do it: get her undressed. Sometimes she puts a little effort into it. She knows I'm watching, and she knows that 'happy and demure' spikes my libido far higher than any imitation of wanton lust. That little tilt of the head, the laughter in her eyes, the smile, the bending of her leg, the brief halt in her flow, a pose, just for me...

I undress, too, and the result is a collision on the bed, a tangle of legs and arms, bodies rubbing, touching, tangling, sighs, gasps, giggles, and I'm on my back and she's astride me laughing.

"We really need to do that dog collar thing in public again, you know," she says.

That's one thing about my Jo. You don't give her an idea and expect her to just drop it. She showed up to meet me and some of the office gang for lunch, wearing a turtleneck sweater. I knew I was in trouble. I was just curious as to how she'd start it.

Jennie. Jennie, our documents manager had to say something about Jo's turtleneck sweater.

"Why, thank you, Jennie! It's from Mom's hometown. Hand knit. Nice and cozy, and it keeps Stoney's thing discreet."

"Stoney? Stoney has a 'thing'?"

Oh, boy. Here we go.

Giggle from my Johanna. "Yeah!" Giggle. She pulled the turtleneck collar down to reveal a dog collar. "He likes me to wear it..."

Brad sprayed Coke. Jenny's jaw dropped. Jo cut those blue eyes at me. "Show 'em yours, baby!"

I was wearing shirt and tie today because of a presentation. I loosened the tie and unbuttoned the top button at my throat. Simple, tastefully subdued natural brown leather collar.

"Holy crap!" Brad said. "At work, yet!"

"Oh, I wear mine to class, so he wears his to work. That way he's not exploiting me!" She grinned as she reached into her ever-present backpack. "Here's his leash!

Of such little revelations does one move from a good, workmanlike engineer to somewhat of a topic at the morning coffee sessions

It's that playfulness that hooks me. No, it's not the only thing. There's that 'partner' thing, too. Early in our relationship, when we were first starting to find out how we would fit, living together, we were both reading one evening. I noted that she arose from her end of the sofa, but since she said nothing, neither did I. I guessed it was a bathroom call.

Wrong. Little darling knows what music I like, and the next thing I knew, she was cross-legged on the floor, serenading me.

"You're magic, you know," I told her.

She smiled without halting the music until the passage's end. "Johanna fell in love. This is what it looks like sometimes."

"Stoney fell in love, too."

She was tangled up with me as our heartbeats returned to normal after my second orgasm and her third.

Her sigh was long and soft. "You do know that I have homework. And practice."

"It's late."

"Quick shower. Then I do the assignment, then I practice. Okay? We'll be back in bed by ten."

"Okay..." I liked the quick shower we did after sex, too.

I read some news feeds on my laptop while she played college student with her books, and then I played audience while she practiced, up to the point where she said, "Play along with me." That meant that she cajoled me into playing Bach preludes, both of us transcribing and converting the music to our instruments. A year ago I would have said it was impossible. Now I was doing it. With Johanna.

Doing a lot of things with Johanna, actually. Beautiful afternoon in the park, the two of us sitting under a shade tree, me with my banjo, she with her flute, making music. She kicked my banjo case open. We played. Got an audience. Several came and went, but several more plopped down in the grass by us so they could listen and we could talk.

I noticed the occasional flutter or tinkle in the direction of my banjo case as we played and interacted with the audience. When we finally shut down, Jo started counting bills and loose change.

"There's eighty bucks here!" she laughed.

"A nice dinner," I said, "Or..."

"I know where we can give it to some people who will put it to good use." She smiled. "It's not like we NEED the money." Then she giggled. "I need to call Cindy and the gang and tell them they're not the only ones who can make money in college."

I laughed. "Yep! We could parlay this cash into a week's worth of beans and rice."

"Hey!," Jo retorted. "Profit is profit! Besides, we can feed our karma."

That is what we did. On the way home, we detoured to the parking lot of a little church. I looked at Jo, questioning.

"We played a Sunday concert here once. They have a neighborhood outreach."

Noting the car in the pastor's parking slot, I followed her into the side door, following the light from an open office. There was a guy sitting at his desk. He looked to be in his late sixties.

"Can I help you?" he asked.

"No sir," Johanna said. "We're pretty much blessed. We wanted to give you this." She pulled out the wad of cash and put it on his desk.

"Oh, really? Thank you. Where?"

Jo smiled. "Saturday afternoon playing music in the park, me and my Stoney. We don't do it for the money, but since it's there, we thought you might be able to use it here."

He smiled. "Thank you. Bless you. How'd you know about us?"

"A bunch of us played a concert here last spring."

"Oh, yes, I remember. You played the flute."

"Yessir," she said, demurely. "Since then I've gotten married. My husband and I play music together. We went to the park today, just to enjoy the weather and make music."

He looked at me. "I'm Randall Jackson. Stoney, to my friends. I play banjo."

"You must come for one of our Saturday socials," he said, "and play. It's more social than religious. As a matter of fact, we start this evening at 5:30..."

"We will do that one Saturday," Jo said. "I promise."

Back in the car, on the way home, she turned to me. "We will, you know. It's something we can give."

Friday morning I went to work. She went to class. We performed the expected roles, came home, grabbed the bags, and headed for the boat.

"Boat, Stoney. I want solitude, interrupted only by YOU."

"You'll get that, my Celtic princess." That whole idea of us escaping together three weekends out of four was a pleasant thing to me, and a big surprise. I used to to do maybe one weekend a month, but Jo PUSHED for it, and when we did go out, she seemed to intuitively understand that the two of us could exist comfortably together in the confined space of our little fiberglass universe.

And there's that 'naked in the moonlight' thing. EVERY trip out. "Almost spiritual, Stoney. Certainly loving,, and most certainly sexual, but there's something spiritual there, too."

I'm not going to argue. With the weather warming up in the springtime, though, she pushed me into 'naked in the daylight' a few times. I'm glad of her tender northern European skin, though, because that seems to restrict her more than the idea of anyone on the bay seeing the two of us cavorting nude in the cockpit.

That's another one. We were both naked, lounging, and she got up and wrapped her fingers around my semi-erect member. It went to full erection as she knelt.

Giggle. "So this is why it's called a cockpit?"

"Huh?"

"This is a real cock."

"And where did we hear that word?"

"I'm not totally insulated from society. I don't like the word. Sounds so pornish and coarse. But it just crossed my mind."

Okay, so it's a 'cockpit', and no that's NOT the origin, but any excuse that Jo wants for a romp in the sun is fine with me.

But this is Friday evening and I just set the big anchor for the night and there's this redhead watching me and she's smiling.

Chapter 43

Johanna's turn:

Friday! I was never one of that 'TGIF' bunch who LIVES for Fridays before. Before Stoney.

Now? Maybe. Just a little bit.

We swapped vehicles this morning. He drove my little hatchback to work. I took his SUV to campus. And at three, after class, I was loading bags into it at the apartment. That way, when he got home, we'd be ready to head to the marina.

I can't wait. Yes! I get excited. I know, really, we have as much privacy as two people could possibly ask for here in our apartment, but there's something about being out on the boat. To me it's a palpable sense of isolation. The first time I experienced it with Stoney, before we WERE Stoney 'n' Jo, it was almost a physical feeling, like I had a freedom to be ME around HIM that just wasn't quite there on dry land.

I smiled at the thought. No, make that 'thoughts'. I'd heard other girls talk about being excited about some guy or another. I used to write it off as just 'talk'. Now I know. I know that there's an animalistic amount of tingling that goes on in anticipation of a guy and a girl and a boat anchored out on a dark bay.

"Mom, can I talk to you about a delicate subject?" I had to ask Mom. Mom, whom I trusted. I asked a few girls at school, but you never know who's got an agenda, even Key. I knew that Key was no prude. She and Hutch, well, frequently, she said, and enthusiastically, too, but I wanted to ask the most trusted of sources: Mom.

"Yes, dear one, you may."

"I get these feelings about Stoney. I mean, when I know he's coming home, sometimes, and especially if we're planning on going out on the boat."

"Tingles. Rattles. Wiggles. A happy warmth?"

"Yes, Mom."

"You didn't invent those, dear, and I am quite familiar with them myself."

"It's normal, then?"

My mother sighed. Sighed! And I knew what she was sighing about. "Happily, for you and me, yes. I understand that some unfortunate women do not experience these feelings. We are quite fortunate. Apparently some of the candles I burned for you have brought my prayers to reality."

"Oh," I giggled. "My dear mother prayed that her daughter would get all gooshy over some guy. You may have warped me."

"I didn't pray about you and SOME guy, Johanna Elise. I prayed about you and THE guy. And proudly I will accept your warpage."

So I had the phone call. Stoney always calls me when he's in the car, lined up to get out of the parking garage on the way home. I have nothing left to do but wait.

Check email. There's one from Cindy and Kara that they're enroute to Alabama, them and Dan, Cindy's husband, and Nikki, who's there for the ride this time. I feel relieved. I think good things will happen to Kara. The idea that I may have played a little part, that's a pleasant feeling.

I reply to the email, letting them know that we'll be on the boat and off the grid for the weekend. We do that. We both carry smartphones, and even in the middle of the bay, we can get reception, so we're not isolated. I mean, iPad? Makes it nice if you get a desire to find a fact or a book or a bit of knowledge, but you won't see Jo and Stoney ignoring each other over iPhones.

Oh, yes, we both read. I dunno. How DO you read when your partner is in close proximity? We curl up together, sometimes side by side, sometimes at opposite ends, legs mixed in a crazy knot, and we read. It's a quiet time, separate, yet oh so together. And it breaks up when something intrudes. That 'something' can be a growling stomach, meaning it's mealtime, or it can be my body waking up and saying 'Hey! That guy next to you ... he can surely provide some really good feelings.' Or his body doing the same thing, usually manifested by something hot and hard, or a roll over and a kiss that makes the air glow around us.

Or we'll be sitting in the cabin, him with his banjo, me with my flute, making music like we're making love, happy, free, sweet. Like it's supposed to be.

I let my mind drift along, sort of flowing with the anticipation of the upcoming weekend. My thoughts concluded with the sound of a key in the doorlock. I was up, waiting for him to clear the door so I could get the first kiss of the evening. Gosh, I guess I sound silly, but that's okay. The reward is worth it.

Stoney drops his computer case beside the sofa and goes into the bedroom to don his sweater for the trip. It's still a little nippy in the springtime, perfect weather for him to wear Mom's gift to her sailing enthusiast son-in-law, a hand knit Norwegian wool fisherman's sweater. Now we match. I'm wearing its smaller sister.

And out the door we go. Friday afternoon trip outbound means fighting the traffic as most of the middle of Houston tries to get out of town. We're in there with the right music playing. Stoney's driving. Finally we get off the freeway and onto the secondary road, then onto the little road to the marina.

I wave at Gary as we drive past the office. By the time we get backed into the parking slot, his golfcart is pulling up beside us.

"Going out again," he asks.

I nod.

"Yes," Stoney says. "Be back Sunday. Need to talk to you about a haul-out, too. Need a bottom job."

"Just let me know. You gonna do 'er yourself?"

"Don't see why not," Stoney said. "You pressure-wash 'er, Jo and I will put the paint on."

That's a fact of life for boats that stay in the water here. Once a year, you pull 'em out of the water, clean the hull, then repaint it with bottom paint, specially formulated to retard the growth of barnacles and seaweed and such. I knew of such things. Had never actually done one. Stoney says he has. So we can. And it's what we need to do to have our little refuge ready for another year.

We made short work of loading the bags and supplies for the two-night trip, Gary stood by to free up our last dock line, and we were off, motoring slowly up the channel of the marina, then out into the channel to the bay itself, and finally, the sail went up, the motor was shut down, and we were under sail. At last.

This is routine. Yeah, like 'taking a kid to an amusement park' routine. I'm getting almost giddy by the time Stoney's standing at the bow, setting the anchor.

I guess it showed, because when Stoney turned around, he broke into a grin. "We're here, Princess. Miles from anybody else. Me and you. And you look happy about it."

I showed him exactly HOW happy. I grasped the hem of my blouse under my sweater and pulled both of them up under my arms, showing him my titties. He says they're perfect, then I will assume he likes to see them, so I show them. And I note the bulge that rapidly appears in the front of his pants.

Idea! I have one! "Come here, Stoney! Sit right there!" I pointed to the aft edge of the cabin.

He complied, his feet dangling into the cabin, knees a little bit apart. I pushed them further apart and insinuated myself between them and started fiddling with his belt.

"Stop that! We're gonna get caught!"

I simply smiled at him. "There's not another boat in sight." And kept working on that buckle. Got it opened. Next was the top button of his pants, then -ZIP!!-

"You're crazy!" but he was smiling when he said it. And hard. And getting harder.

By the time I got that dick fished out, the head was purple, wet, and straining. This one wasn't going to take long. I licked my lips and bent down. "Mmmmmmm!"

"Oh, Godddddd, Johanna..."

Yep! He likes it. From this angle, there's that little spot right under the head, where the head sort of divides and merges into the shaft. My tongue finds it and I feel him quiver, then hear him suck in a breath. He's pulsing inside my mouth.

I open my lips wide, lightly grip his shaft with my teeth, right behind that luscious purple head. Let my tongue play. I have to be careful. There's a fine line with teeth. He loves it, right up to the point where it hurts him. I love it, feeling him vibrate like a string on his banjo.

Careful. Because I enjoy it too much myself. A moment's loss of control and I could hurt the one I love most. My lips close again and I suck, slowly pushing downward, taking him deeper into my mouth, then back up, my tongue wiping that shaft until I can curl the tip to hit that spot.

His hands caress the back of my head. That's a sign. Stoney would NEVER force me to do something. He's not holding me there with his hands, he's caressing me as I love him with my mouth. I keep soft movements: slide down, suck, pull back, hit that spot with a little teasing, then again. Each time I get salty, tasty juice. I keep on, suck, pull back, tease ... and a few of those and I feel movement, different than the shaking I've been producing in him.

This is a throb. That thing I have in my mouth, it's throbbing, each pulse separated from the next, and I know what's happening and I like it and I keep going, my mouth making those pulses build. And ... Gulp! Yes. Suck. Gulp! Yes! And I keep going on him until the pulses no longer produce surges of juice in my mouth, just a steady flow, and if I keep sucking gently I can keep him rolling in orgasm for a while. And if it's done right, he'll go and go until he starts getting soft and I have DONE my man the way I want to do him.

When he's soft, I slowly pull back as I gently suction him.

"When you can move, I need kisses."

"I owe you."

"You need to put down a towel. That top is cold to my heinie."

He nodded. Made some more noises loosely associated with speech, slid down off the cabin top, and gathered me into his arms. And kissed me.

I know from talking to other girls that with most guys, a kiss after a blowjob (their term, not mine - too coarse for what I felt just now) was taboo. Stoney kissed me. I hadn't made a dash to the bathroom for mouthwash and toothbrush. Not now. Not the first time. He kissed me. The same way he always kisses me, sensations override my ocular nerve and I can't see anything but light. Kisses me.

After a bit, he backed up. "Strip 'em!"

"Strip what?"

"Your pants. Take 'em off and sit up here. I'll get a towel!"

Okay, it's a little cooler than I would have liked, but instinct tells me that in a minute I won't know WHAT the temperature is. Not care. He pops out of the cabin with a folded bath towel, puts it on the cabin top and I climb up there and spread my legs.

"I feel like an exhibitionist," I said.

He laughed. "You look like one, too. Fantasy! MY fantasy!"

I leaned back on my arms, spreading my legs, tilting my pelvis. I could tell I was gaping wide open. Stoney's head moved forward, I felt his breath, then little kisses, up the lips on one side, then the other. His mouth closed over the mound at the top. I felt him go "mmmmmmm" and heard him breathe through his nostrils. He bit my mound lightly. Then ... tongue. Omigod! Tongue! Suction! Hot breath! Tongue. Trilling, playing staccato arpeggios on an instrument where the music formed inside in my SOUL!

Okay! You know where I said that when Stoney puts his hands on my head, he's not forcing me? My hands are on HIS head, and I'm holding him there because if he STOPS right now I will just DIE.

BANG!!! Like thunder, you see the flash of lightning and the thunder rolls on and on through the clouds. It's like that, except the lightning was the first fire of my orgasm and the thunder rolling was the way it keeps running through me.

And I don't let him stop because that's just the FIRST one. I've made it to three before I lost consciousness before. This time, at three, I'm whimpering, happy, because I'm feeling too many things to be able to speak.

Stoney knows. He picks me up with his strong arms and sits down in the cockpit, holding me in his strong arms and I am complete. My eyes. I think I can open them and SEE things again. I do open them. His blue eyes are looking at me with what must be adoration.

"I may have said this before, Stonewall Jackson, but if you ever leave me I will kill myself."

"I will never leave you. And if you want to go, I shall chain you to my bed."

"If you felt what I just felt, I can understand why."

We grinned at each other. If somebody would have seen us just then, aside from the fact that I was pantsless, they'd have thought us to be a couple of idiots. Yes. Crazy. Loving one another. Crazy.

"You certainly do know how to start a weekend!" He was smiling. Why did this guy have to have THAT smile? Looking back, I realize that he had me from Day One. I think back over it all. It's a pleasant reverie. But right now my butt's getting cold.

"Cabin," I say. "Fire up the heater, at least for a bit." I stand, slowly, relishing the pleasure waves still bouncing back and forth in my center.

I followed Stoney down into the cabin, grabbing my pants and panties off the cockpit seat and closed the hatch while he lit the stove. The light inside the cabin was dim at first. The setting sun through the portholes didn't provide much, so I turned on the overhead lamp, got a little more light.

Stoney was rifling through one of the bags, looking for sandwich fixings for dinner. I got us a couple of bowls for soup, and between the two of us, we soon had a meal going. I pushed past him and got a hand on my ass for the effort.

"You beast!" I squealed.

"You keep walking around like that, tempting me, and I'm the beast?"

"True." I turned and wrapped him my arms. "And it's wonderful. Please be beastly with me at every opportunity."

"Yes, mistress," he replied subserviently.

I giggled. We play games. It makes us happy.

Like the 'collar' thing. At first I thought it was just to play off that whole thing of what's a guy his age doing marrying a college girl, you know some sort of kinkiness, but then we did it, just to get a rise out of people, which it really did, but then we're at home and I'm undressing and I still have the collar on and he comes up to me and <<click!>> I'm on a leash.

"Come here, little girl," he said.

ROWRRRRRRR!! First one, I sucked him inside out. Was going for 'until it gets soft' but it just didn't. So like an obedient little pet, I turned around on all fours and presented my delicate little heinie to him. Second one! Primed my pump, let me tell you! So after his second, he's laid back on the sofa, and he unhooks the leash off MY collar and goes to his and <<click!!>>

He had to carry me to the shower and set me in it. Nothing worked except this happy ball of fire right down there.

I pull my panties back on, then my pants, a concession to cool cushions and desire for sanitation, and we pull our instruments out and play music together, nothing too strenuous, just happy, sharing things, enjoying each other.

The soup's simmering, so it's soup and sandwich for dinner, then some more playing of music, and I watch Stoney trying to shave in the tiny head of the boat. I don't laugh too much, though, because I have to do my own ablutions. There's a kettle of water on the galley stove, heating. I need at least slightly warm water. Well, I don't NEED it, but it's nice. And we've both learned that a bucket of warm water is good enough for face and crotch and pits.

I was harboring that thought when Stoney went past me, naked.

"What are you doing?"

'I have an idea," he said, flipping the hatch open into the cockpit. In the cockpit he tossed the boarding ladder over the stern and I heard a splash. I jumped up and into the cockpit, looking over the side. There was Stoney, shaking his head.

"God, that's brisk!" he said. He took a few more moments to wash himself in the brackish bay water, then he was up the ladder. "Now all I have to do is rinse!"

"If you can do it, I can do it," I said. I looked around. "No boats." And I dove over the side. He's right. Brisk is a bit too weak to describe the temperature, but like him, I ran my hands over everything and then scrambled my butt up the ladder. He was standing there with a towel.

"You're nuts, you know..."

"Oh, YOU'RE the Viking," he laughed. "Cold water should be your thing."

"Sir," I laughed, "I'm pretty sure that my Viking ancestors had different standards of hygiene that didn't require dunking tender bodies in ice water."

At least by now the cabin was WARM. Of course, the way I felt after that dunking, a freezer would have felt warm. In the cabin I did a quick wipe-down with the warm water and frankly, I felt both clean and exhilarated. The only down side was wet hair. Maybe diving in head-first wasn't my best move.

I was toweling it vigorously, trying to get it as dry as possible. Stoney tossed me a fresh towel. "We have plenty," he smiled. "And you'd make a heck of a mermaid, by the way."

"Movie aside, mermaids don't all have red hair, sir," I giggled.

"And I'm really happy that you don't turn into a fish halfway down, too."

We put sweatsuits on and turned the cabin heater down a bit. "Read? Music?"

"Cards?" I said.

We played cards for a while, relaxing, some Rimsky-Korsakov playing on the stereo, talking.

"You're dying to know, aren't you?" Stoney asked.

"Know what?"

"Know how Kara and Cindy fared."

"Well..."

"Call 'em! I'm curious, too."

"You sure?"

"I'm sure," he said.

I called. Heard a lot of happy sounds. Replied with my own. Hung up.

"It's good," I told Stoney. "She loved the flight. They burnt out the intercom on the plane, talking." Giggle. "Not really, but they talked all the way. She's met everybody. Seems to have found a niche."

"Good!" he said.

After the card game - he won by fifty points - what else is there to do? Oh yeah - that! Two to one, my favor.

Saturday was a blue sky day. Fresh breeze, so we're all over the bay, sail full, drop the anchor at lunch, sail some more, anchor for the night at a far corner of the bay ... you get the picture, don't you?

Sunday at lunch we're docking after refueling and topping off the water tanks, and by mid-afternoon we're home and I'm wondering how I ever thought that life had any color before this.

Sunday evening we took care of laundry for the upcoming week, and of course Monday is a musical night. This week it's at our place and by now Mizz Betta next door just goes ahead and bakes something to bring over for us.

Of course, Key didn't make it though the door without eyeing Stoney. "Drug my white girl off for the weekend again, didn't you?"

Stoney did his 'aw shucks' pose. "She made me."

Key laughed. She and I had already talked. "You know, I'm beginning to believe you. I didn't know what kinda girl she was."

"I didn't either, but I'm used to it now."

She flashed a smile. "I'm taking notes. An' passin' 'em to Hutch."

"I don't want Hutch hating on me now," Stoney said.

"Oh, he'll be okay. I told 'im that it's that Viking thing. You know, boats 'n stuff."

Stoney was less a participant in these sessions but he was dragged in from time to time anyway, as was Mister Hlinka.

Mister Hlinka smiles because Key, a fellow oboist, calls him her adopted grandfather, and Mizz Betta her adopted grandmother, and Mizz Betta told us "We are suitably proud. Had we had children, I would want them to be like you, sweet Miss Key." The Hlinkas will be at Key and Hutch's wedding and the rehearsal dinner, as will we, so I get so see Key's parents and natural grandmother react to this declaration. Key's parents are like mine, except black, of course, so I think it'll be a happy moment.

And it's a month to graduation, well a week or so more than that, and with late spring and summer, it's going to be too hot to spend the night on the boat because it will be too hot below, and too mosquito-ridden above, unless we get a few miles offshore, and then there's the risk of getting run over by one of those deep-water service boats that take care of the offshore oil platforms, so Stoney and I will have to come up with something else.

But I'm thinking graduation. Trust fund. And there's a world to play with out there.

"You're nuts, you know," Stoney tells me.

"I know," I say. "And hang on, buddy. Let's see where this one goes, huh?"

Chapter 44

Johanna's turn:

Two more weeks. That's it. Two weeks! I will graduate college. Stoney says he's the first of his family to receive a college degree. For myself, both parents have degrees, Dad's masters includes four years from West Point, Mom's from Trinity College in Dublin. And now I'm getting ready to graduate here in Houston, Texas, US of A.

Double major, too, music and business administration. I have that 'music' part nailed. I could take a position with the local symphony, probably. I could take that 'business' bit, too, and get a position with some of the million businesses, large, medium and small, in Houston and the surrounding areas, like my Stoney with his engineering degree.

We, my Stoney and I, could have a nice, neat, normal life, you know, both work for a couple of years, get the house somewhere in one of the surrounding bedroom communities, then create the offspring we both want, thus presenting my mother with the expected and almost mandatory grandchild. Or two.

Except for that 'work' thing. Old world uncle. Big company with tentacles all over the North Sea, and that was just the beginning. Now you see that logo anywhere on the planet that oil and gas are underground, and that old uncle loved him some nieces and nephews. As in 'graduate college? Here's your trust fund.'

We wouldn't even have to be too frugal to just shut down that whole 'earn an income' thing completely and retire to a seaside or a mountain or a prairie home and do a life like that, except for some little difficulties like a husband who likes what he does for a living and a wife who would follow him through the fires of Hell wearing a wax bikini.

We can do music. Got two hundred and fifty dollars one Thursday night for a two-hour gig, he and I, for a group of music aficionados from an uptown church. Stoney on banjo, me on flute, Kendra, one of my college orchestra friends, on violin, and Key on oboe. There's no such thing in the music world as something written for that collection of instruments, so we adapted. We took Bach and Mozart and Haydn and disassembled and reassembled them into something different and recognizable and played those and then we zipped into the 20th century and took bluegrass on a way that could make Earl Scruggs laugh and at the end of the night Stoney and I gave our share of the proceeds back to the church's inner city ministries. So we could do that, too.

Neither of us want to stop those things. My Stoney wants to engineer. I want music. We want to be together. I don't know where HIS love of sail comes to him, but I suppose that somewhere in my Nordic-Hibernian gene blend there's something that makes me want to be on the water, too, so we've talked about that.

In the meantime, I'm enjoying life. Being Mrs. Randall 'Stoney' Jackson suits me well. I've accompanied him to company functions and to trade shows. Met Nikki Granger and Dan 2.0, her husband at one of them. Since she's an engineering student, Nikki eschewed the 'spouse's activities' that go along with these things, and if Nikki can do it, so can I.

Somewhere on the show floor Stoney and I met Nikki and Dan. "Let's you and me take off on our own," Nikki said. "It'll be fun!"

Okay, I'm geeky enough to be interested in a lot of the hardware artfully displayed in the huge convention hall, and I can't help but think Nikki's got something up her sleeve. I tossed a look at Stoney.

"Go ahead. You two are both insane, but in opposite directions. You'll cancel each other out," Stoney said.

"I wouldn't be too sure about that," Dan laughed.

We took off. Now let's look at this from an outsider's point of view. I know that when you look at me, I could be any age from fifteen to twenty-five, and I'm dressed like your standard college student, in other words, rather informal, but decent and tasteful.

So's Nikki. Except she looks younger. That dark brown Cajun hair, those blue eyes, a little bounce in her step, the only thing that might just be a warning is that instead of a purse she's got an olive drab tactical shoulder bag, one of those Cordura things with Velcro flaps and plastic snap buckles. Lord only knows what she keeps in it. But I've had many conversations with Nikki and I know, well, I have some idea of her brain. Think of a tea cozy over a land mine.

So we're bouncing around, looking at displays of electrical equipment that 99% of society doesn't even know exists, and Nikki spots something that catches her eye. She whispers to me, "We just built a panel with two of those in it. I did the networking and programming. Wanna have fun?"

Now here you are, the marketing, uh, 'sales engineer' for a company and two reasonably attractive (my words, not my husband's, but he's prejudiced) young girls walk up and stand there looking at your latest, greatest state of the art magic box. He's thinking that we're here to collect the freebies that most vendors give away at these shows.

"Hi, ladies," he says, displaying the requisite trade-show smile. "I have drink cozies and keychains, if that's what you'd like."

Wrong move. Nikki. "Uh, no, actually I was wondering when you guys are rolling out the new firmware for these. I keep having to work around your partial implementation of IEC 61850 protocols. It's crippled. I could be using your competition's devices, you know..." And a stone-melting smile.

I bit the inside of my mouth a little bit to stifle a giggle, adding my own smile to the bonfire.

Salesman goes "Whaaaa? Excuse me?"

Nikki charged right in. "We just built some panels for a utility company. I programmed these devices. I had to jump through a few hoops to get them to interface with legacy equipment from another manufacturer because you guys shorted us on the IEC 61850 instruction set. I understand the changes are coming."

He looked around real quick. I guess he was thinking that he was being messed with. Torpedoed. Gaslighted. He looked back at us.

Nikki was fishing a business card out of her bag. "Here's my card."

He took it. I think he was still trying to parse what was going on. He read "3Sigma ... Oh, okay, that rings a bell."

Her card says "Engineering assistant - Intern"

"I don't know where we're at with that firmware rollout," he said. "You work with our gear?"

"Some of our clients spec it. We give them the pros and cons of yours and your competition's. Your firmware is a problem. I'm looking at marketing a little interface box that piggybacks on your box and patches your omissions."

"YOU'RE building something?"

Smile. "Already have one working."

"Your company built it?"

"No sir. I built it. Well, actually I and Cindy Richards built it. Works, too. Just working up how to harden it for the industrial and utility environments."

"Uh, maybe we can talk to you and Mizz Richards? Is she here?"

"No sir. She couldn't get away from school for this trip."

"School?"

I was enjoying this. The guy was only a little bit away from visibly shaking. His brow had beads of perspiration.

"Yessir. She and I go to Auburn. She's fifteen."

"Uh ... If you don't mind my asking, how old are you?"

"Sixteen."

The poor guy looked at me like I might be some relief.

"Don't look at me," I said. "I'm just a music major."

He shook visibly. I thought we'd have to get a defibrillator.

Nikki dialed her shtick back a little and explained where she was with his equipment. The poor guy was shaking his head as we walked away.

Giggle. "Let's go see his competition," Nikki said.

We met up with our husbands around lunchtime, pushing our way into a crowded eatery. We sat down, ordered drinks and the daily special.

"Okay, spill it, Nikki," Stoney said.

"What'd I do?" she squeaked. "Dan, protect me."

Dan laughed. "Oh, no. I wanna know, too."

"We didn't do nuthin'," I said. "My sister and I just visited some of the booths. She asked a few questions."

"Nnnoooooo," Stoney said. "What did you do to that guy at Gentech?"

"What do you know?" Nikki asked. "I'm not into self-incrimination."

I was grinning. I like this.

"Me an' Dan walked up there and Dan asked him about 61850 protocol issues and I thought the dude was gonna have a stroke."

"I gave him my card. He had yours," Dan said. "He compared them. Asked me if you were for real."

"And you told him..." I urged.

"I told him that he'd probably heard stories of forest nymphs in mythology, and that Nikki is the much rarer and less documented Louisiana Marsh Nymph."

"A mythological creature," Stoney said. "He remarked about a 'music major'. I said 'THAT is a legitimate Irish-Norwegian forest nymph.'"

"Thank you, my dear," I said.

So I'm thinking that I really don't want to turn my back on this bunch. Every time I talk with them, it's like falling into a yard full of kittens, except the kittens in this yard have IQ's above 140. Stoney just shakes his head.

"That could be an answer, Princess," he said.

"Ya think?" I said. "It's a package, you know. Music. Engineering..." I paused. "Did I just say that?"

"What?"

"Music and engineering."

"I think you did."

"We break stereotypes."

"I know," he said. "You're too pretty and talented to be with..."

"Don't EVEN start, Randall Jackson! You are EXACTLY the man I was destined to marry." I have to watch this. Every now and then my Stoney gets morose. "And you're plenty talented, too, you know." I clasped my hands onto his waist and pulled him against me. "And your scarred, manly visage pushes all my 'I want a real man' buttons."

"Thank you." And kisses. If there was nothing on the schedule this evening, dinner could wait. There is, though. Dinner with Nikki and Dan. Had fun.

Okay. Reset to this week. I have one test left. Easy enough. Not because the course is particularly easy, but because I studied my butt off. Could've done a 'C' easily, but despite the fact that the degree was beginning to look superfluous, I have my pride. Not exactly 4.0, but the high 3.9's. Mom and Dad (and Stoney) will be proud.

Got the gown ordered. Mom and Dad will be here, barring anything short of an apocalypse.

We've talked with the attorneys and the fund managers who hold our trust fund and we know how much is in it. We know how much is in Stoney's savings and investment accounts. It's a nice number. Lots of digits.

Reading over those reports I told Stoney, "Turn in your notice now."

"You sure?"

"Are you nuts, Stoney? You're an electrical engineer in Houston, Texas. If you trip on the sidewalk two engineering recruiters will get in a fistfight trying to pick you up."

He looked at me. His 'I know you're right' look.

"And you need to give Oaktree as much time as possible so you can ease out of the project pipeline."

"They could just tell me to go empty my desk, you know."

"I doubt that will happen. But if it does, so what? You can stay home and clean the house and fix me a nutritious meal every day." I giggled.

"And be wearing nothing but a frilly apron when you come in from a hard day out in the world, right?"

"Right."

I giggled again because I had a picture of him dressed like that in my mind. Not unpleasant at all, especially when I get rid of that stupid apron.

Stoney's turn:

"Turn in your notice," Jo said.

You know I love Johanna Elise. She could've told me this and pointed to a cardboard box under an overpass presaging a life as a panhandler and I've probably considered it. That's now what we're doing.

I spoke with her dad. She was listening, of course, and I trust her, but I wanted a bit more info.

"Stoney, my son, it is plenty. You two won't be Bill Gates rich, but anything short of a world-wide collapse, you will live quite comfortably without touching the principal."

"I'm listening."

He regarded my face. "You're like me, I suppose. That's not a surprise, knowing my daughter. I don't have to work. I like what I do. But I can be very picky about vacations and locations. I suspect you may choose a similar path."

Jo just smiled and leaned her head on my shoulder.

"One more time, Anders, she told me NONE of this before we married."

"I find that no surprise, either. And when I married her mother, she thought she was getting an American army officer. At the time, she was. The uncle's business was small then. When it took off and he announced his intent toward us, well, pleasant surprise."

We sign the paperwork the first week of June.

The next workday after 'turn in your notice', I walked in, had my cup of coffee with Brad and the gang, then went to my office and punched up Bob's office. I didn't particularly relish this conversation.

He picked up. "What's up, Stoney?"

"Bob," I said, "I really don't know how to tell you this, so I'll just come out and say it. Second Friday in June is my last day."

"Wha ... You're quitting?"

"Yeah, I'm leaving."

"Do you mind if I ask why? Pay? Conditions?" Pause. "Come up here and talk."

"Be there in a bit, Bob." Now I felt bad. This has been a good company to work with. I'm treated well, and I like most of the people with whom I associate. Friends. Good people. And I was leaving. When I pushed my chair back and looked up, I was reminded why. That's a great picture of me and Johanna. She's in her floppy sailing hat, freckled, smile as wide as the Gulf, the bay and the distant shore far in the background.

I trudged up the hall, took the stairs to the next floor, walked to Bob's office. Knocked.

"Stoney! Come in. Sit. What's going on?"

"Jo's graduating. After she does, we're off on an adventure. I think they call it 'life'."

"So take a leave of absence. You know we like your work. You're an asset."

"Bob, don't make this harder than it is. I know that. Oaktree has been good to me because YOU have been good to me. I enjoy working here. Really."

"So why are you leaving, then?"

"Because I have a smart, pretty wife with a sense of adventure and she's no longer strapped down to college. We're going on quests."

"It's not money, then? I know we're competitive, but if you have a better offer..."

"Bob, we've been working together for a few years now, you know. I'm not posturing for more money. I don't play those games. And we don't need the money."

"Wow. Been a while since I heard 'we don't need the money.'"

"Serious."

"So you're dropping the engineering entirely?"

"Can't do that," I said truthfully. "May free-lance from time to time. Jo and I may play music here and there."

"Well, Stoney, you don't sound pissed and you don't sound like you're negotiating, so I guess you're serious."

"I am, Bob. I am going to make sure that my projects are documented and ready to dump on the next guy."

"I need to look at what's on your desk and see who I can give them to."

"Send 'im to me. I'll work with whoever it is, get them up to speed. I don't intend to leave you in a bind."

"Thanks. So I don't need to keep it a secret?"

I sighed. "Don't see why you should, Bob. I'll leave it to you as to how to announce it."

"Does Brad know?" Bob knew that Brad, among the crew, was probably my closest friend.

"Nope. Not yet. Figured I'd tell you first. Didn't want you blind-sided."

"Dammit, Stoney..." Bob blurted. "Why couldn't you be some slacker asshole? I hate losing a good one!"

"Thanks, Bob. That means a lot."

"Well, watch me compose the email. I'll shotgun it to the crew."

I watched him type a non-commital, terse message: "Randall 'Stoney' Jackson has announced his resignation effective in two weeks to pursue other adventures."

By the time I made it back to my floor I was besieged. Amid questions of 'Are you serious?' and 'Where're you going?' I just smiled and replied that I had nothing adverse to say about the company, just that I had opportunities opening up in life that did not require that I show up in an office building in Houston five days a week.

I ended up with Brad in my office.

"That's most of the story, then?" Brad asked. "You don't need to be here?"

"That's it," I said. "Not mad. Not tired. Not looking for more money. Just me and Jo headed off for one horizon or another."

"Boat?" He asked.

"Might be. That one. Or another one. Or a plane."

"Yeah. Brand new license, right?"

Yes, Jo and I both had new licenses. "I dunno. Jo and I have had a lot of conversations. She's wanting to go visit her uncle in Norway. I'm up for that. After that, who knows?"

"Must be kind of disconcerting to you, Stoney," Brad opined. "You and I, we're used to having measured paths forward."

"It kinda is unsettling," I agreed. "But I can't think of a better reason for an adventure than that thing," I said, pointing to that picture of Johanna in concert garb. "You know, I feel a whole lot better about this adventure than when I stepped off the plane in the Sandbox."

"I hear that," Brad said. "I guess it might be bad form, but I am going to regret your departure. You know you need to stay in touch. You and Jo are among my more impressive friends, according to my wife."

"You wife is correct," I laughed. "At least compared to your friends from here."

Four o'clock. Home to Jo.

"Did you do it?" she asked.

"I did it," I said. "Wasn't pleasant, though."

"Did somebody get mad?"

"No, Bob just hung his head like a scolded puppy. He's actually been good to work with. Good job."

"Stoney, I don't want to see you hurt. We could stay here..."

I looked at those azure eyes. Read them. "No, sweetie, that's not happening. Engineers move on. It's a fact of life. I've seen 'em come and go right there in that office."

"But you don't have to..."

I wrapped her in my arms, holding her close. She turned her face up to mine. Little kiss. "I want to. Got me a princess and a world to explore with her."

Several days later I'm sitting in the stadium with Jo's parents and dear old Uncle Jan Solheim is there on the other side of his nephew. The old guy is pushing the upper seventies but is in great condition, and is very happy that his great-niece has pursued her education.

"A man should be proud of his family. Anders has made me proud. Now his daughter makes me proud," he told me when we met.

I was worried. I never know how people are going to react to me. The scar is off-putting to some. I should not have worried. Anders had laid the groundwork for the meeting. Uncle Jan did not become a billionaire by being stupid.

"Hair in braids, a beard, a bit of leather, and you'd be the Norseman right out of our history," he laughed. "And like my nephew, you have chosen a fire-headed wife."

"Uncle Jan," Jo interrupted, "there is still some dispute as who chose whom."

He smiled. "I know my nephew. I know his wife. And I suspect as much."

That was one dinner. Another dinner was with Key and Hutch and her parents. Also pleasant. Mrs. Stephens, Key's mom, tackled me.

"You're the one that Key calls 'her favorite white boy', then."

"Yes, ma'am." Jo was giggling.

"We know quite a bit about you," she said. "Carl and I heard of her idea of presenting you as her chosen one. She told us when she brought Hutch home the first time."

"Key is one of my favorite people," I said. "But she's got this thing about wanting to give her folks heart attacks..."

Carl laughed. "I think her mom and I would've survived, but I don't know about her Grandmother."

"I figured I'd get shot," I said.

"I wouldn't've," Carl said. "I don't think Kammie would've. But Grandma's another story. Old lady's feisty."

"Heck of a friend you are, Key," Jo said. "Trying to get my fiancé shot by a septuagenarian black lady."

Key giggled. "I'm still imagining all those mocha-colored kids!"

Hutch coughed tea from his nose. "Key!"

We're tying up loose ends. We're going to keep our apartment for the time being, just to keep us from being total nomads, but where it goes from here?

Who knows?

Chapter 45

Johanna's turn:

Back from ten wonderful days in Norway. Spent some time living out of Great-uncle Jan's place. He's got a beautiful home up a mountainside above a fjord overlooking one of his shipyards in the distance. It's a little shipyard, and this is Norway where shipbuilding is part of the national psyche, so it counts as scenery, understand?

We did the touristy things, visiting museums and churches, seeing sights, absorbing the culture like a sponge.

Phone call. I looked at the display. Uncle Lars.

"Hello, Uncle Lars," I said.

"Hello, brilliant niece," he replied. "Where are you and your husband today?"

"Oslo. Walking around the old parts of town."

"Beautiful," he said. "Stoney said something about boating. I don't have a sailing boat at my immediate disposal, but I do have a cabin power boat, if you're interested."

"Hang on," I said. I turned to Stoney. "Uncle Lars has a power boat we can use. Interested?"

He didn't have to speak. I knew. "He's interested."

"I do hope you have a captain for it," Stoney said. "You people have entirely too many rocks in your water around here."

Uncle Lars laughed. "I understand. I've been to your Gulf of Mexico. It's such a mild place, except for the occasional storm. I would have been surprised if you had not asked."

We spent our day on the water. The boat was not one of those fiberglass consumer cruisers, it was a classic Norwegian fishing boat with a two cylinder diesel engine that didn't buzz, it pooted purposefully, pushing up and around the periphery of the fjord. The captain's name was Jan, pronounced almost like 'yawn', and when Stoney called him 'captain', Jan smiled broadly. "Understand it is American nice thing. I like, but am not captain. Just man and boat."

Jan had been working with Uncle Lars for forty years. He understood Stoney's love of the water and of boats and they talked for a while, then Stoney and I retired to the stern and lounged together and took in the sights.

Jan talked to us of his life on the water. Retired now, he'd been a captain for oilfield service boats in the North Sea, some of the nastiest waters in the world. Protected from the open seas and the winds that go with them, the fjord was idyllic, the scenery breathtaking.

"I love a coast where you have to look UP," Stoney said.

"I know," I said. "A lot different than Galveston Bay, isn't it?"

"In lots of ways," he said. "Cool. It's ninety-something in Galveston today. And here we're wearing sweaters."

I leaned back against him. "Maybe we need to work out a deal with Uncle Lars. Summer here. Winter in Texas."

"That's an interesting idea," he said. "But where do we work in some Alabama time?"

"Oh, I know. I got some jealous comments from our friends. And they want us down there soon." I did regular emails and the occasional Skype session with that bunch of lunatics in Alabama. There's a connection that I just can't seem to shake. Meeting them is second only to meeting Stoney in making ripples in my psyche.

Kara sent me a private email:

Johanna-

I don't want you to think I turned my back on you, sister. I'm in this whirlwind now. I thought I was going to be somewhat of an outsider, even though the whole bunch of us talked for weeks, but it's almost like this was a birthing.

I am loving my music. I have met with some of the music faculty at Auburn and they not only are working with me for the college experience, but I have integrated myself into the music at the Community, just like they said YOU did. Just walk in, whip out an instrument, and see what happens.

Anita and Maddie have gone home for the summer. I'm staying. I can't say, "I don't have a home." I have Dad, and honestly, Dad is more loving, caring and engaged since I moved away. Here, though, I have little sisters, Terri and Rachel, and I have big sisters, Cindy, Tina, Susan, Nikki, and my world-travelling sister, you.

I know life is a journey, not a destination, and I don't know what the future holds, but I am learning things that will color forever my path. You and Stoney are part of that, always.

When you decide that you're going to be back in Houston, let me know. I'm sure that I can make arrangements to be there to meet with you and Stoney.

Love always

Kara

"But I didn't DO anything special, baby," I told Stoney when I read the email to him.

"Sweet girl, sometimes what people need is for somebody to just be nice and normal."

I looked at my man, decent, honorable, caring. Sighed. "Have I been sheltered? Is the world really that screwed up?"

"The system is all about entropy. You're my little back current as the universe circles the drain."

"That's awfully dark, Stoney."

"Sometimes I look at everything and it is. Then I see my own personal spot of sunshine." He pulled me close and kissed me. "You."

"We have some good spots. Us. Mom and Dad. Uncle Lars. The Community."

"Yes, we pull back and look at all that. But to poor Kara, where she was when we met her, maybe she wasn't able to pull back. Maybe she was in the dark."

"How much of that was losses? Losing her mom. Her housekeeper friend. Those losses."

He sighed. "And I see a sensitive soul in her. Kind of fragile, in one sense."

All that conversation after a pleasant dinner in a restaurant in Oslo. A meticulously clean hotel room. An unfortunately small shower. And before lovemaking that had it been a painting, would have graced the wall of a museum.

I love my Stoney. I love what we do to each other. For each other. And two naked bodies, that's a part of marriage that words can't describe.

In some ways, though, my life is stressful.

"Rich girl problems," Stoney says when I talk about it. I'm supposed to be on the next step after college in the circle of life: career. Or more accurately for female ("You betcha! I checked!" Stoney says) me, career and motherhood. But we don't need that career part and the motherhood thing is two years away, per our discussion, unless I get some hormone surge and talk to Stoney.

"So find a place to play. You know you want to," Stoney says.

"You, sir, will be by my side at our next concert," I said. It's giggle-worthy. I started Rara Avis as almost a joke, but Stoney made business cards and they get passed around and now on a couple of Saturdays we've found ourselves in little musical venues where we take one of our frequent musical sessions, his banjo and my flute, and share it with an audience. That spot on the schedule is the main thing that keeps us from spending more time in Norway.

"I could like this place," Stoney says.

"So," I reply, "nothing keeps us from going back, spending a week or two or three, then coming back here. Uncle Lars says that fjord cabin is ours whenever we want it."

"So don't tempt me, redhead," he laughs. "I never planned to live my life as a jet-setting dilettante."

Giggle. "Silly Stoney, jet-setters bypass Norway. We'd need to go to Switzerland or the Mediterranean."

"Switzerland doesn't have an ocean, and the Mediterranean doesn't have fjords and this lovely weather. And if I do a couple more trips around the fjord, Jan says he'll sit on the dock and let us go out without him."

"Oh, noooo," I said. "I know what happens when you get me on a boat by myself." Giggle. "Really? He said that?"

"Yeah. I need to get used to the tidal flows and stuff. The swing isn't bad, but it's unfamiliar waters and the currents are goofy here."

"Not like the bay entrance back home?" I remember bucking the incoming tide. Our boat's eight-knot top speed erodes pretty fast under a two knot current pushing the other way. Sailboats like ours have a physical speed limitation. More wind, more power doesn't make you go faster when you hit a certain number. Ours was eight knots.

"No, I think it's like that, except I don't know the bottom and it's not nice, soft mud like home. These people are all about rocks."

"GPS," I said. "Electronic charts."

"You heard Jan when I said that."

"Yeah," I said, imitating Jan's raspy voice, "Stoney, is the sea. Know the sea. Know your boat. Know the shore. Here! In your head. GPS? She breaks! Then is you and the sea!"

"I can do paper charts," Stoney said. "I have the sense to pick my battles. Anchoring around here, though, that's another mess. At home, we just dropped the hook over the side and set it in the mud."

"Yeah, I know..." I'd washed a lot of that sticky black mud off myself, the anchor, and the boat on our weekends.

"Here ... rocks down there, too."

"Still..."

"And sailing? I'm thinking that's a 'no'. It's another variable to fight."

"One of those battles you choose, huh?" I replied.

"Get something like Jan's boat, except with a little cabin."

"Jan says that they, the fishermen, take boats like that out into the open sea all the time," I said.

"Yeah, they do. And every town along the coast has a statue in front of the church honoring the fishermen who never came back. Sea's serious stuff. North Sea's famous for eating people."

"Well, I was just thinking that right now the Gulf of Mexico's a month into hurricane season and it's too hot and mosquito-ridden to spend the night in the bay."

"We'll figure something out. My baby likes the water, we'll figure out a way to do the water."

"Your baby likes a lot of things. You get to like things, too, you know," I told him.

"Okay, I'd like to finish this coffee and retire to the hotel," he smiled.

Well, we DID have a goal. Walked out into the sunshine of those tremendously long Norwegian summer days and saw some street musicians setting up across the square. I looked at Stoney. Stoney looked at me. He knows.

A flute. A violin. A cello.

Well, they could've been BAD. College students. They weren't. We perched on the stone retaining wall near them and listened. A couple of numbers in, Stoney reached into his pocket, pulled out a fifty-kroner note, and I dropped it into the open cello case. Got smiles in return.

They took a break. The flutist (naturally) came over to us. "Americans? I hear you speaking English."

"Yes," I said. "My great uncle is Norwegian. We're here for a visit. You and your friends make lovely music."

"Thank you. Fifty kroner, though ... you will make us rotten?"

"Spoil you?" Stoney questioned.

"Yes. Is that the way it is said?" She smiled.

Her two male friends were there now, one handing her a drink. The sandy-headed one smiled. "I ... am Arne Gundersen. You have met my Anna. This is Sven Carlsen. We study at the music conservatory. Your fifty kroner will make for pleasant meal."

"Your music has made a pleasant afternoon," I said. "I also studied music." I glanced at Stoney. He had his 'here we go again' look.

"You did? Really?" Anna asked.

"Yes. Flute, as a matter of fact."

"Where did you study?"

I named my university in Houston.

"Is it good? We hear so much about American musicians and study."

I guess I straightened up a little. "I was a concert soloist. I've been playing since I was nine. I'd love to play that Mozart piece you were doing."

She smiled. Little twist to it, so I was reading 'Lets see this American princess show her stuff.' I think Stoney saw it too, but Stoney knows that this is a favorite piece of mine and I like to think I nail it.

She wiped off the mouthpiece of her flute. I put it to my lips, rolled up and down a chromatic scale then a few arpeggios to feel the action, then I smiled. "This is a very good flute. How do you wish to start?"

"Sven, Arne? Shall we play with our American friend?" she said. I caught the wink. Maybe she was trying to be subtle, maybe not. They picked up their instruments. I took my place beside them. She raised her hands like a conductor. "En, to, tre..."

Okay, that's what the wink was for. They picked up the pace a bit from their previous performance. If that was an idea to blindside me, they picked wrongly. MY arena. I channeled old Master Gottlieb's instruction when I LEARNED this piece at his kindly but relentless tutelage.

They were ripping along smartly and I was hanging in there in my comfort zone. A few measures into the piece when I hit my second favorite passage I started tripling the notes on the arpeggios. A crowd started gathering. I saw Anna sidle next to Stoney and speak. He smiled and nodded. Spoke back.

We finished the number to applause. Anna smiled. "I'm sorry. I thought you might be, how do you say, 'posing'?"

I smiled right back. "About music? Never! You and Arne and Sven play beautifully. I appreciate the chance to share. And now I can say that I have played in Oslo." I can do 'sweet'. "Now I wish that Stoney had brought his banjo. He plays well, too."

"Stoney plays banjo?" Arne asked.

Time to nail Stoney (again). I thought it was safe, just brag about him a little bit. After all, he IS my Stoney. "Yes. He and I and a few others have done small concerts."

Arne turned to Anna and my meager Norwegian wasn't up to following the conversation. Anna turned to me. "I'm sorry, but you are truthful in that he is good? Would he play with you here?"

"What did you just do, angel?" Stoney asked soto voce.

I replied softly, "Where are they going to find a banjo in Oslo?"

Silly me. Musicians. YOUNG musicians. Of course there's a banjo somewhere in Oslo.

"Arne can get a banjo. Rather quickly. If you wait?"

"Here we go," Stoney said. "This is how it happens."

"How it happens?" Arne asked him.

"Wonderful things happen. My wife exists, lives, in a world of wonderful things."

"Anna does as well," he smiled.

We chatted for a bit. Heard a small motorcycle buzzing. It stopped and another young man brought us a banjo. "Is this sufficient? I am ... I did not spend a lot of money on it. Banjo is not my normal instrument. I play trumpet."

"It is beautiful," Stoney said. "I started with something not nearly this good. Thank you." He sat back down on the stone wall and said, "Somebody give me a 'G'." And he tuned it. He turned to the owner. "You have this one set up very well."

The guy smiled. "Thank you. I am Tor." Stoney rose, shook his hand formally. "Tor, you are the first Norsk banjo player I have ever met."

"There are not many of us," Tor grinned.

Stoney sat back down, hit a chord, then Foggy Mountain Breakdown came screaming out of that banjo, incongruous in the land of Grieg. Tor grinned broadly.

Anna looked amused. "Ahhh, American bluegrass. The music of your mountains."

"Yes," Stoney said. He looked around. One thing about the ring of a banjo: it's a sound all its own. The crowd started drifting up again. "One more?" Stoney questioned.

"Ja! Yes! Please!" came from the crowd.

Stoney grinned, launched off into "Wreck of Old 97", then I motioned for Anna to let me have her flute and Stoney and I did a couple of Irish reels.

When we finished, the crowd applauded. I noted a few more kroner finding their way into the cello case. I turned to Anna. "Do you know Mozart's Concerto for Flute and Harp?"

"Yes. But we have no harp."

I motioned to Stoney. "Harp."

"Noooo," Tor said. "Is not possible."

"Is possible," Stoney said. He looked at me. "Shall we?"

We played. I love playing with Stoney, and I love seeing that OUR music makes others happy.

When we finished the Mozart piece, I handed the flute back to Anna and I smiled. "Sorry. We didn't mean to hijack your concert." I reached into my shoulder bag and pulled out a Rara Avis card.

"You do this professionally?" Arne asked, looking at the card in Anna's hand.

"Oh, certainly not," I said. "One can hardly make a living doing something like this. We do it because we like doing it."

I heard the sound of the banjo. Stoney was sitting beside Tor, giving him a lesson.

"Do you have a favorite restaurant? I think we'd like to treat you and your friends to dinner."

Sven elbowed Arne, said something in Norsk that I didn't get, then a number. He switched to English. "There is six hundred kroner, maybe more, there. We can buy YOU dinner."

So that's how we had dinner with a bunch of Norwegian music students. Good dinner, too. And although neither Stoney nor I are regular drinkers, we did beer and wine and a shot of some kind of hard stuff that we were assured was a national tradition.

"Akvavit!" Sven assured us. "You must have akvavit for this celebration of music and friends."

Stoney shook his head. "Students!" he coughed. "Norwegian jello shots."

Amid laughter and handshakes and hugs we finally declared our need to depart. We let a taxi bring us back to our hotel. Cursed small shower, but we do manage.

In Stoney's arms, still buzzed, a sloppy kiss, then another and we've never made love drunk but there are some things that pierce the alcoholic haze quite nicely.

Uncle Lars saw us away at the airport. "Serious conversation, Johanna," he told me. "You are expected to return. The cabin above the fjord, that is yours for a phone call. And I know just the boat for you. Jan tells me what you have in mind. If I was forty years younger, I would do the same."

He turned to Stoney. "My American nephew! I am so pleased to find you taking care of my niece. Please bring her back to me."

It's a long flight: fourteen hours. I'm thankful that we had the money for first class. We had legroom and a little room to stretch and change positions and a little room to cuddle and worry about jet lag, then through customs and shuttle ride to our car and finally a zigzag through traffic and HOME! Our apartment. Everything's intact.

You know, when Stoney started this story, he was alone with his ghosts. Now it's me and my Stoney, and that whole idea about a Monday to Friday, nine to five existence is in our rear-view mirror except when HE needs to be an engineer and I need to be a musician.

And we step off into the light together.

C'est tout!

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The End

Posted on 2012-12-30

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