The Girl Who Stayed the Same : Aaron Pogue

The stranger burst through the door on the stroke of midnight, long black hair soaked with rain and plastered to his strong jaw. He looked like a rock star. Or maybe something out of a fantasy novel — his face would’ve looked perfect buried in some dark hood, a domino mask hiding everything but his baby blue eyes. In real life, his trench coat hung loosely off his frame, flowing like a cloak as he took three long strides into the bar, then stopped to look around.

Nobody noticed his grand entrance. The crack of the door slamming open, and even the divine roar of thunder were lost behind the more secular noises that filled the space — voices, hundreds of them, all raised to a shout against the thudding drums and the screaming guitar.

The stranger wasn’t looking to cause a sensation, though. His eyes scoured the room, searching hundreds of faces, but no one met his gaze. Whether by great chance or some dark charm, every eye in the room looked away just before his glance passed over. That suited him.

This wasn’t his place. He felt an itch in his temple, a twitch between his shoulder blades, but he fought it down. Instead of bolting, he made his way forward, through the crowd, eyes still searching. At last, he came to the bar, taking the last empty stool beneath the glittering shrine to polished glass and distilled spirits. He glanced down the row, and a dozen heads suddenly bobbed down — fascinated by the ice melting in their glasses — or turned away to watch the lousy local band.

The stranger didn’t mind. He didn’t even notice. He hefted his burden up onto the bar before him, a heavy leather bag, nearly round, and the fellow next to him grunted in amusement.

“What ya got in there, stranger?” He was a cowboy — right down to the hat and boots, the dusty jeans — and like any good cowboy he was stooped over his beer, body wrapped around it almost protectively. He didn’t look up, barely glanced at the bag, but he seemed comfortable enough in conversation. “That your canary, to warn you if the air in here is poison?”

The stranger smiled at the metaphor, but he shook his head with a chuckle. “Just a camera case, friend. It’s definitely saved my life a time or two, though.”

“I can imagine.” It was a meaningless answer, but good enough for chit chat among strangers. After a moment, he spoke up again, a little more serious this time. “Who you looking for?”

The stranger fell still. His heart began to race, although he didn’t really understand why. After a moment — too long — he said, “You noticed?” His mouth felt dry.

“Yes I did.” The cowboy took a long drink, then nodded slowly, still not looking up. “Matter of fact, I’ve seen your kind before.” A sad smile tugged at his worn face. “Yes I have. So who you looking for?”

The stranger sighed, and combed both hands through his wet hair, pulling it out of his face. “I don’t know,” he said at last. “I haven’t a clue.”

“Well it sure ain’t me,” the cowboy said, repeating that short-lived, sad little smile. “I got my departure booked, and to tell the truth, I’m kinda looking forward to it. But it ain’t now.”

“Departure?” The stranger hesitated for a moment, confusion twisting his face, and then realization struck and he threw his head back and laughed — a sound of delighted amusement, small enough within the noise, but it cut through the cacophony like even heavenly thunder couldn’t do before. For a moment, every eye in the room settled on the stranger. He didn’t notice.

Instead he shook his head, and reached out a hand to the cowboy next to him. “I’m not exactly the kind you’re thinking of, Mr. Lowell. But it’s a pleasure to meet you. You can call me Jonas.”

~~~

The cowboy held the stranger’s gaze, the other’s hand still hanging awkwardly in the air between them. At last the cowboy smiled. “Of course you’d know my name.”

The stranger — Jonas, he’d said — shrugged one shoulder. “I have knack.”

The cowboy shook his hand, with a gesture sure and strong, but quick and efficient. “You can just call me Lowell, though. Leave off the mister.”

Jonas ducked his head in acceptance. “Glad to.” He turned away, breaking eye contact to meet his own gaze in the mirrored wall behind the rack of spirits. “You’ve got a way about you, Lowell.”

It was the cowboy’s turn to shrug, as his eyes fell back on his glass. He tipped it idly at an angle, watching the slosh of the warming beer. “Life has taken me some interesting places.” He snorted. “Though I guess you could say the same.”

Jonas smiled. “Me? What have I done? Met a few people, snapped some pictures….” He slapped the side of the heavy leather camera case on the bar before him. Then he trailed off, and his eyes got sad. He nodded. “It’s been fantastic.”

“Funny how a man can say that with such a sad face,” Lowell answered, then rushed to cover up the stranger’s objection. “No, no, I know exactly what you mean. Easy enough to change your mind, but I ain’t met a man yet who can change his heart. Shame, too, because we pretend it’s just the opposite.”

Jonas spoke again, breaking a long moment’s silence. “We’ve got it all out of order.” He chuckled darkly. “Always have.”

That ended their conversation for a bit. Lowell drank his beer, and Jonas stared at his own reflection. Jonas finally broke the silence, turning to stare at Lowell again. “I’d really like to know, friend. What’s your story? It’s always something. Religious experience at Stonehenge? Rocky flight through the heart of the Bermuda Triangle? What?”

Lowell took one last gulp of beer, and a burst of pain flashed across his eyes, but then he ducked his head in surrender. “I spent a lot of time alone.”

“That’s not much of a story.”

“It’s the end of the story,” Lowell said. “But it’s the answer to your question. The beginning…. I pulled a trigger. Dropped an atomic bomb that ended the lives of how many innocent bastards? And I was wrong.”

Jonas spent a while considering him, measuring, and Lowell answered with a little laugh. “No, I ain’t that old. Technically, it was a conventional weapon. Not even a bomb, actually — a wing-mounted missile. We’ve come a long way from what used to be called ‘conventional,’ though.” He took a deep breath, let it out slowly. “We had video footage of it all. Intelligence came back a week later. None of our targets were there.”

Jonas’s hand twitched, a tiny motion toward the cowboy’s shoulder, but it quickly fell still. This wasn’t the time for that. Instead he nodded somberly, and turned to face forward again. “It’s a tough job.”

“I walked away,” Lowell said. “Left behind a rank that used to define me, and a star on the table. I spent a long time on my own, and I came to understand a thing or two.” He sighed. “Understanding ain’t a happy process.”

Jonas nodded at that, and toasted with an invisible glass. Lowell ordered another.

Sometime later the cowboy sucked a big breath through his teeth, put on an expression more suitable to friendly conversation, and asked his own question. “Who’s the girl?”

Jonas smiled. His hands twitched on the bar, but he forced them still. He closed his eyes, and said, “She’s a memory. She’s…she’s a mistake I made. She used to be a friend.”

Behind them, the door whispered open, the sound of it once again lost within the noise of the bar. But Jonas didn’t need to hear it. He didn’t need to catch the mixed scent of summer rain and fresh jasmine, or even glance into the mirror. He could feel it, like an itch between his shoulder blades.

“And she’s here, albeit a little late.”

~~~

The Girl Who Stayed the Same
Book 1: Kelly Lane
Chapter 1: The Stranger
(Ten years earlier….)
The mid-town park was packed when Kelly arrived, and no surprise. A cool breeze was visiting from Canada, ruffling the hair of Delaware’s August heat, and everyone in town had acted on the same impulse that gripped Kelly, apparently. She smiled on the crowd, and strolled right into it.

“Crowd” probably wasn’t the right word for it, she thought. She found herself thinking like that from time to time, but it always took her back to the eight months she’d spent trying to make it in New York City. Nothing out here compared with that permanent press of humanity. She slipped around a tree, then ducked between a couple young men tossing a Frisbee. She noticed their glances, and she smiled to herself, but she didn’t slow a step.

She was here on business. Real business. That smile twitched at her lips again, and she stopped for a moment to scan the terrain. At that spot, it was just what she’d hoped — mostly open field, vibrant green and rolling just enough to give good contour. Trees here and there, but not enough to trouble her with shadows. Off to her left they grew denser, and if she could get the right angle she could make a horizon out of nothing but trees and sky. In the heart of mid-town, she could make it look pastoral.

Then to her left was the clear view of the picturesque main street, and a lovely little skyline. Just over there a playground — crawling with children just now, but all its equipment glowed in brilliant reds and blues that would add incredible color once things settled down.

She let herself smile again, imagining everything she could do. One day shooting for the town’s promotional department, and she’d be able to afford a studio. Sure, it was corporate — or something like it, anyway — but she could make it art. The town was beautiful, she’d felt that way since she was four years old. Now she had a chance to show it.

She took a deep breath, and let it go. The air smelled beautiful, the sun was shining — too bright right now for any serious shooting, but this was just a scouting trip. She didn’t even have her real camera with her — it was safely stowed in her apartment, along with the three-thousand dollar lenses. She’d bring all that out here tonight, when there weren’t quite so many people around. For now, all she had was her little digital point-and-shoot, and an expert eye.

She smiled again. She could feel her pulse dancing, her heart racing in her excitement. The blue sky was perfect. The clouds whispering overhead were perfect. She was going to shine. Everything was falling into place, like unavoidable destiny suddenly gone good. It was pure happiness, born from the strange germ of a phone call, and spread throughout her world like an infection. She felt alive.

And then she spotted him. A stranger sitting on a park bench, watching the children play. She wasn’t sure what caught her attention, but something about him felt wrong. Her smile slipped, grim determination taking its place, and she headed in his direction.

His eyes never left the children, but they never stopped moving, either. Even from forty paces out she could see his eyes, restless, drinking in the children at play. He wasn’t watching any particular one of them, and Kelly thought maybe that was what bothered her. He looked like a customer browsing a menu.

She could have shuddered at the thought, but instead her hands balled into fists. She could feel it in her stride, too. She was marching into battle. If worse came to worst, she could count on a dozen of the parents hovering nearby to help her….

And then she stopped in her tracks, and for the first time she realized what really bothered her about this guy. No one else was watching him. A pretty little soccer mom within arm’s reach of him was talking on her phone, for all the world like he wasn’t there. A couple bored-looking dads in their thirties squatted awkwardly on a pair of miniature horses, knees up to their chests so they looked like frogs, talking about business or baseball while their kids played under the watchful eyes of this stranger. None of them noticed him. No one even looked his way.

Kelly’s pulse was no longer dancing — it raced, now, thundering fit to drive her mad.  She ignored it, and pulled out her point-and-shoot. At the very least, she wanted a photo of the guy. Just in case. She did shudder, now, but she also found her shot. At 3x optical zoom, with the bright afternoon sun on his face, she had a profile that would be good enough for the police. If they needed it. She held her breath, and snapped the shutter.

And then he turned.

Twenty yards away now, and in all the noise of people at play he couldn’t possibly have heard the tiny click of her digital camera. He looked right at her, though. Right then. And he smiled.

And he stood up.

She took a step back, unconsciously, then gulped and forced herself to stand still as the stranger gathered some things from the bench where he’d been sitting — a newspaper, a little pad of paper and a pen. And something else — probably a phone. She found herself making mental notes, and wondered why she wasn’t running.

He took his time, careful, and then headed her way. She wanted to call out, to scream for someone to help, but he wasn’t actually doing anything. Just walking, perfectly casual, straight toward her. And, even now, no one else seemed to know he was there. A chill chased down her spine at the thought.

He came right to her, stopped a pace away, and seared her eyes with his gaze. She felt trapped, helpless, for what seemed like ages. Then he smiled, and said lightly, “Hi. My name’s Jonas.”

She blinked, and swallowed a lump in her throat. “Kelly,” she said, almost automatically. She frowned. “I–”

“I saw you were taking pictures,” he said, gesturing at the camera still clutched in her hand. “What caught your eye?”

Her mind raced, but she forced her voice to sound normal as she nodded toward the playground. “Those…hm, sorry. All those toys. The blues and reds are just gorgeous.”

He nodded in agreement, and her stomach turned at the way his eyes drifted hungrily back to the playground. Still, he seemed satisfied with her lie. So far, so good. If she could just get him away from there, lead him somewhere safer….

She shook her head in irritation. Somewhere safer. She wanted somewhere with lots of people who could jump to her aid. But she was surrounded by them, and no one even spared her a glance. Her motion caught his attention, though, and he turned back to her.

“It’s amazing how much energy those little ones have, isn’t it?” A lock of his long black hair fell across his eyes, and he brushed it back with strong fingers on a sun-darkened hand. “They can play for hours and never stop. I remember–”

“Who are you?” Kelly demanded, interrupting him. “What are you doing here?’

He cocked his head like a curious bird, and after a moment he shrugged. “I’m just watching.”

“It’s weird,” she said, taking some strange courage from his pleasant demeanor. “You’re…you know it’s weird, right? To just sit and stare at a bunch of kids playing?”

He gestured back behind him, “No one seems to mind. If it bothers you, though–”

“It does bother me. It’s creepy, you know? I mean, think about it. Why would a man stare like that….” She stopped, and realized what she was saying — just what she was accusing him of — and in an instant she lost her courage. His pleasantness suddenly had the stink of power to it, of impunity, and she had already gone too far. She dropped her eyes, but forced out a rebellious mumble. “You seem strange.”

He laughed at that, a rich guffaw that took her entirely by surprise. When she glanced up, startled, she saw the mirth in his eyes. He shook his head, “There’s happy birds out in the woods, and fishes in the mighty flood, but I have gone completely mad from walking weary, weak, and sad — pathetic beast of bone and blood.”

He waited, clearly expecting some response, but she just stared at him. For a long time. Eventually his smile slipped, and then at last he said, “What?”

“You should be locked up somewhere,” she said. Not at all aggressive now — or even afraid, really. Just matter-of-fact. “You’re out of your mind.”

He tilted his head again, bemused. “No, no. Not…really. They’re just lyrics,” he said. “But…well, perhaps.”

She searched his face for some time, trying to guess exactly what was going on, but he looked lucid. Nothing about him suggested he was high, or drunk, or dangerously insane. But he was so strange. And the way he’d been looking at those kids….

Her eyes went back to the playground, then, all the happy children at play. She felt a touch of weakness in her chest, sadness and fear outside of reason, and she knew what she had to do. It was time to be a hero. She bit her bottom lip, summoned all her courage, and then put on her prettiest smile. “You are fascinating,” she said. “Buy me a coffee?”

~~~

There was a Starbucks right across from the park, but that hardly served Kelly’s purposes. She jerked her head the other way, an imperative motion, and he followed it with his whole body. He fell into step beside her, and they walked away across the lush green grass, going  parallel to the busy Main Street.

He was tall — taller than Kelly, and she topped five-ten — thin and pale, so he looked like a used up rock star. His face was worn, his blue eyes tired, but he couldn’t have been more than thirty. Maybe thirty-five. Kelly narrowed her eyes. Maybe forty….

She was really noticing him now for the first time, as they walked side by side in silence. He wore a nice white shirt, short sleeved but thick cotton and spotless. His slacks were white, too, and perfectly pressed, decorated with expensive leather shoes and a silver-buckled belt, both jet black to match his long hair. He was all contrast.

She noticed something else about him, too. He kept hitching his shoulders as they walked, unconsciously twitching against an imaginary itch. Maybe he was a junkie after all. The thought formed in her mind, but it couldn’t quite take root. Instead of disgust, she felt sympathy.

No, it was more than that. She felt compassion, and it bothered her. She didn’t like this man, didn’t want to like him, but as he walked beside her, tortured by a twitch he didn’t seem aware of, all she could feel was concern. She had an urge, almost overwhelming, to reach up and scratch his back for him, right between the shoulder blades. She could imagine the relief it would give him, could imagine his response, and it just seemed so right….

Except that she didn’t want to help him. She didn’t want to like him. She certainly didn’t want to touch him. Some part of her mind wasn’t getting the message, though, and she kept having to fight the impulse to reach out to him.

It grated, and after a moment she growled (more angry with herself than with him), “What’s with you?” She heard the snarl and tried to tone it down, added playfully, “Bedbugs gnawing at your flesh?”

His brows came together in a thoughtful frown. “No, it’s not that,” he said. “Just…just a kink….”

He stopped walking, right in the middle of the park, and while Kelly turned to watch him he threw his shoulders back, spread both arms wide, and gave an extraordinary stretch. It was the sort of thing a man might do right after waking from a long, deep sleep, in the privacy of his own home. He rose up onto the balls of his feet, until he looked like he was hanging in the air, and let out a deep bass moan, loud and clear, oblivious to all the people around them.

It was a personal sound, a private and almost intimate moment, so out of place in the busy park. But no one noticed. Still, no one so much as glanced their way. Kelly stared, fascinated. Stretched out like that he looked like a statue — a strange blend of Christ on the cross and an idol to Jupiter, suspended somewhere between binding sacrifice and thunderous power.

And then his heels thudded back to earth, and his breath escaped him in a quiet, contented sigh. He smacked his lips — again like a man waking from a long sleep — and met Kelly’s fascinated gaze with heavy eyes.

“All better?” she asked, but the sarcasm she’d hoped for came out more like friendly teasing, and he nodded with a happy smile.

“Much better.” He nodded past her, back the direction they’d been walking. “Your coffee shop is this way?”

“Umm. Yeah.” She turned, and began to lead him again. “There’s one just off Pine that I really like. It’s got sidewalk seating, and with the sun as pretty as it is today….”

“Yeah, should be nice.” He left it at that, apparently content with the silence, and Kelly took the time to watch him again. The stretch, weird as it was, seemed to have worked. He walked upright now, untroubled, his eyes touching lightly on the faces of everyone they passed.

Kelly was troubled, though. Everything about this man bothered her, in one way or another. She led him over to the road, and then they darted through a gap in traffic and started making their way up Pine.

“So, what do you do?” she asked, and he looked down into her eyes for a moment before he answered.

“I’m a biographer,” he said. “I study lives.”

She frowned. “Anyone I would know?”

He laughed at that, a short, surprised sound, and not at all extraordinary. But somehow that caught the attention of the passing crowd. Others on the sidewalk turned to stare, but he ignored it completely and after a moment they all did the same.

“I like that,” he said. “Maybe someone you would know, yeah.” He thought for a moment, then nodded. “Well, Raphael. Not the turtle. And a little bit of Monet, when he was younger.”

“Ah, artists!” she said, feeling suddenly completely at ease with him. “That explains so much about you.”

He chuckled at that. “All of them in their own ways, ” he said. “There was also Keats — a wonderful kid — and Taliesin. Virgil….”

“Wow,” she said, “you really love the old dudes.”

“A biographer studies lives, and people have been having lives for as long as there’ve been people.” She smiled uncertainly, picking her way through his sentence, and he smiled back. “Besides, it’s unwise for a historian to offer up an opinion on the recent past. It’s far too easy to end up looking like a fool.”

She jabbed a finger in his direction. “You sound like you’re speaking from experience.”

He raised his hand in a theatrical pose, like an orator addressing a crowd, and said, “I know no thing in all the world — not bullets slung or axes hurled — more dangerous than hasty words.”

“More lyrics,” she said. “Are you in a band?”

“No,” he said with a sad smile. “But I’ve known an awful lot of guitarists.” As he said it, the smile slipped — slipped away completely for the first time since she’d confronted him — replaced with an ancient pain. The transformation was frightening, and she felt sure he was about to cry. The last words escaped him harshly, barely more than ragged breath, and Kelly could not imagine how to respond. She walked in silence, bewildered, fighting an urge to comfort him somehow.

His melancholy trailed them for two blocks, its shadow muting the noise of the busy street, the glare of the brilliant sun, but just as suddenly as it had come, it lifted. She led him around a corner, and half a block down was her sidewalk cafe, its old-fashioned shingle jutting out from the storefront. The sign read “Arthur’s Cup,” faded gold lettering above a hand-painted chalice, all on weathered wood.

The stranger’s eyes fell on the sign, and instantly his face lit up. “Is that your coffee shop?” he asked, his voice rich with delight.

She slowed, and her eyes narrowed as she watched him. “Yes,” she said. “Why?”

“I know this place!”

She nodded. “Good. They make a mean mocha.”

“No,” he shook his head, laughter in his voice. “No, I mean, I know…I’ve never been here. But I know that sign!” He jabbed a hand out to point at it. “I know the guy who owns this place. Ran into him in Paris, and he destroyed me in a game of cards.”

“What are you talking about?” she said, but he barely responded.

“I always wondered what had become of him. Great guy. Great, great guy. Never thought I’d find him here–”

“How do you know it’s him?” she said, unreasonably irritated by his sudden good mood. “It’s just a name. I mean, there’s got to be how many coffee shop owners in the world named Arthur?”

He smiled, amused and knowing, and pulled from his pocket a small notebook — leather-bound and black, of course, so it looked something like a little Bible. He flipped it open, and she saw that its pages were full of illegible scribbles, but tucked between many of them were other scraps of paper.

He flipped through it, to a spot near the back, and pulled out a paper napkin with the name of a French bar stamped in the bottom corner. Above it, stained with wine and scrawled in a jagged blue pen, she could clearly see a sketch of the sign above the door.

“He drew this for you?” she said. “Why not just tell you where–”

“It didn’t exist yet,” Jonas said, with a satisfied smile. “He had the idea while we were talking over drinks. He thought it would be more fun than what he was doing, and I told him he’d be great at it. Never saw him again after that night.”

“But you kept his napkin,” she said. She frowned, and felt an inexplicable anger bubbling inside her. “Who are you?” He just shook his head, face blank, and that only made it worse.
“What’s the matter with you?” she demanded. “What the hell are you? You meet a stranger in Paris, and then stumble across his coffee shop in northern Delaware by complete coincidence? How does that happen? You sit and stare at innocent children playing like they’re…like they’re morsels. You make me feel….” She shook her head, her stomach cramping at the poisonous mix of her confusion and rage. “You talk about dead men like they’re your best friends, and you get all weepy when the topic of…of guitars comes up? What is your deal?”

People were finally staring, now, and all eyes were on Kelly. Jonas stood two paces away, frozen by her tirade, and for a long time he didn’t respond at all. All over again he seemed like he could have been carved from stone, and while Kelly waited for some reaction she felt the heat of her anger drain away, replaced by embarrassment and regret.

And then his eyes tore away from hers, and he dropped his gaze to the hot concrete. His shoulders slumped and he hung his head, the picture of dejection. “I just like people,” he said. “I’ve always…. I’m sorry, Kelly. I shouldn’t have…I know you already told me I bothered you. I just thought….”

In that moment, everything about him reminded Kelly of the boy she’d had to break up with in High School. He’d been quiet, and desperate, and too much work for a Sophomore with big plans. This mysterious creature, this predator, this statue of a god looked now like nothing more than a boy, broken and — in all likelihood — quite mad.

She shouldn’t have even been there with him. She should have been back at the park, planning her angles, or even back at home making phone calls and sending emails to get everything set up. She should have been enjoying the prettiest day of the year so far, but instead she stood here surrounded by people she knew, people she worked with or ran into at the grocery store, making a fool of herself for some strange madman.

She couldn’t walk away, though. He heaved a heavy sigh, brushed a hand through his hair without raising his head, and said, “I’m sorry. I hoped you’d find it interesting. I can go….”

And she felt real sympathy for him. Not the strange compulsion to care for him she’d experienced earlier, not even the heroic determination to sacrifice herself for someone else’s good. Maybe a little of it was guilt, and memory, for something she couldn’t really have handled any better when she was just a girl. But mostly it was sympathy for another human being, so completely crushed, right before her eyes.

She stepped closer, then reached out a hand to catch his attention. He looked up again, met her eyes, and she filled them with what warmth she could. “Let’s get something to drink, and you can try to explain.”

He smiled, hesitant at first, and then nodded seriously. “I can at least try,” he said. “At least a bit.”

~~~

Kelly took the stranger’s hand, and ducked through the line of people who’d gathered to watch the confrontation. He came easily enough after her, and just like that she was forgotten.

The crowd melted away, leaving nothing behind but a busy sidewalk, and halfway to the cafe Kelly started breathing a little more easily. She only realized she still had his hand when he coughed delicately and let hers go.

She felt a blush creeping up her face at that, but she didn’t look back. She quickened her step, and when she got to the little wrought-iron fence that surrounded the cafe’s patio seating, she gave a little leap over it, shoving the shop’s door open as she passed to ring the little bell.

She stumbled two steps on the other side of the fence, and then felt her blush grow even stronger, remembering him behind her. She did that sometimes, jumping the fence out of some sense of whimsy, but it had no place in today’s visit.

She turned to face him, to try to explain, and found him flying right at her. He hurtled through the air, bearing down on her like one of the mythical Furies in another marble statue pose. She screamed a terrified curse and ducked away, whipping her arms up to shield her face and head, but he landed safely one step away from her — and more gracefully than she had by far.

He fell almost to his knee, so that he looked for a moment like a knight kneeling before his queen, right fist planted firmly against the ground. Then he rose to his full height, and fixed those storm cloud eyes on her face.

She dropped her arms, and lost her breath in an irritated huff. The blush was still there, hot under her skin, and she longed for a place to hide.

Jonas didn’t make things any easier, either. “Wow!” he said. “That was quite a reaction.”

“You scared me!” she snapped, taking some comfort in angry words, but her earlier outburst still hung in her mind. She blinked sheepishly, and said, “Nice landing.”

He grinned again, pure delight as he’d shown before, and she wondered for a moment if he even remembered her tirade. She led him past the elderly couple at the nearest table — who watched her pass in horrified fascination — and to an empty table near the door.

He didn’t reach for her chair, but he waited for her to sit before he made a move for his own. She noticed that. When he was seated, he rested both hands in his lap, and stared down at them for a moment. Then he cleared his throat. Then he looked up, and met her eyes.

And everything changed. It would take her seven months to notice, and years more to understand, but in that moment, everything changed. He smiled, a little hesitantly, and said, “Okay. You asked for an explanation.”

“No,” she said, suddenly uncomfortable with her own demands. “No, no. You don’t…you don’t owe me anything.”

She reached for a menu she didn’t need, just to break away from his gaze, but he ducked his head with her motion and reeled her eyes back in. That smile fluttered on his face again, and he said, “Kelly….”

She stopped fidgeting, left the menu in its worked-metal holder. She sat back in her chair, and felt her heart begin beating more normally again. His smile settled, finally still, and she breathed more easily. The blush was gone, the anger, the suspicion and irritation and all of it.

“Jonas,” she said, leaning forward, and his name tasted salty on her lips. She shook her head. He was just a stranger, but she’d built up these assumptions, these fantasies, and all this crazy wash of emotions. “I don’t know what’s going on,” she said. “But I’ve been entirely unfair to you. If you could maybe–”

Just then the door to the coffee shop swung open, and Charles swept out with a chipped mug of mocha and a butterscotch muffin on his tray. “Hey Kelly,” he called, uncommonly cheerful as he swept up to the table. “I saw you fly by the door. Just your usual?”

“Umm…yeah,” she said, as he set them out before her. “Oh, and whatever he’s–”

Jonas just waved both hands, dismissive, and Kelly shrugged. “Yeah, I guess that’s it.”

“Cool,” Charles said. “Yell if you need anything.” He left her staring into her mocha, annoyed at the interruption, wondering how to get back the thread of their earlier conversation. For a moment, it had felt like everything might end up okay. There were no answers in the dark swirl of her coffee, though. She sighed.

Jonas brought her back. “So,” he said, oblivious to her torment. “You’re a photographer?”

“Yeah,” she said, then nodded more firmly. “Yes. A photographer and a schoolteacher.”

“For how long?” he said, interested.

“Ten years teaching,” she said. “Ten months shooting.”

He smiled knowingly. “But that one’s your future, isn’t it?” She shook her head, baffled by the certainty in his voice, but his grin only grew. “No use denying,” he said. “You’re in love with it. I can see it on your face.”

“A friend has been teaching me,” Kelly said, searching for the confidence she’d felt at the park. “I love it. Yeah. I do. And I’m pretty good, but–”

“It’s scary,” Jonas said, comforting. “Trust me, I know.” She looked him a question, and he spread his hands. “I’ve spent a lot of time with artists.”

She felt her blush creeping back, but it wasn’t such an unpleasant experience this time. “I wouldn’t call myself an artist–”

“You will,” Jonas said, smiling again. “Someday you will. It’s your fate.”

“That’s a bit much,” she said, even though his words felt right. She shook her head. “I haven’t really even done anything yet.” And those words felt so wrong! Why?

He looked away, let her eyes go for a moment so he could take in the view down the busy street, and he shrugged one shoulder. “I don’t know you, Kelly. I’m not pretending I do. But I know an artist’s eye.”  He caught her gaze again, sympathy in his eyes. “I also know just how much courage and passion it takes to ride out that tempestuous path to the top. But I only met you twenty minutes ago, and I’ve already seen more than enough of both in you. I’ve seen the hunger in your eyes.”

Her blush blossomed at that, and she ducked her head with a dry laugh. “Thank you,” she said, after a moment. “I don’t….” She ran a hand through her hair, shook her head and laughed again. “Everything’s happened so fast.”

Jonas’s grin split his face. “They all say that, Kelly. At some point, they all do.” He chuckled. “Art is…it’s an amazing process. It’s something you can’t do without a little bit of fear — without being a little weird, a little mad even, and…and deep, and melancholy, and fiery, and flighty.”

He looked away again, at something far off in memory, and his smile twitched. “It always starts like a flood, Kelly — like an avalanche threatening to bury you or carry you away, and it’s everything you can do to hang on. In the beginning, those little flashes of brilliance get buried in the doubt and the cynicism and the am-I-crazies.”

His eyes flicked to her when she laughed at that, and he nodded. “If you leave while it’s scary…well, y’know, that’s understandable. So many people give up when it gets like that. If you stick around, though, if you do ride it out…in the end, it’s a life like most people will never know. It’s like living in dreams. It’s like seeing with your own eyes, after years of guessing.”

“You speak like a man who knows,” she said, and once again he denied it.

“I’ve heard it described so many times, I know it by heart,” he said. “But no, I’ve never had the courage on my own.” He looked down at his hands again, and sighed. “I’m just not a creator.”

She sank back, holding his eyes now, and she chewed her lower lip while she considered him. He waited, still so comfortable with her silence, but she noticed after a moment that he wasn’t breathing. He was waiting.

And then she smiled her prettiest smile at him, but this time it came all on its own. It danced up into her eyes as she wet her lips. And then she said, as though it were nothing at all, “How would you like to learn? I can teach you.”

~~~

The stranger frowned — not at all the reaction Kelly had expected — and then he complicated it further by saying with deep sincerity, “I would love that.”

She blinked at him, confused. She took a breath. “Okay,” she said. “Are you…do you live here?”

That drew his strange little smile. “For the moment. Yes. Why?”

“It’s just…I’ve got a big shoot tonight. I should really be prepping for that. I could…I guess I could point out a few things while I’m getting ready, but I was more thinking–”

“Say no more,” he said, spreading both hands. “No, I don’t want to be any kind of distraction. You do whatever you need to do. Here.” He opened his notebook again, to one of the pages the coffee shop’s logo was trapped in between, and scribbled an address in a tiny blank space in the top right corner of a page.

Then he tore it out carefully, checked the back of the scrap to make sure there hadn’t been anything on the other side, and handed it across to Kelly like it was a precious artifact. It had the street address of a brownstone a couple blocks from her place, but her eyes lingered on the napkin, lying face up in his notebook.

She shook her head. “You know, it really is a pretty incredible story.” He frowned, not following. “Well, you live around here.” She shook the little paper fragment he’d given her by way of evidence, and then nodded to the napkin. “You could have seen that sign…lots of times. Just walking down the street. Driving to the library. Heck, they’ve got commercials on all the local channels.”

He didn’t answer, he just smiled pleasantly at her, waiting for more. “Well…” she said, “It’s just…you never noticed? Never until today, when we were walking. But you knew it instantly from your fantastic travels in distant lands?”

He shrugged. “Life can be fascinating.” He chuckled at that. “Which pays the bills, so I’m not complaining.”

“Yes, but….” She shook her head, frustrated that he wasn’t picking up the thread of her thoughts. She still felt silly at the way she’d snapped at him earlier so she was holding back, but he just didn’t seem to appreciate her subtlety. She decided to address him head on.

She took a deep breath. “Couldn’t you have just drawn this?” His smile faltered, and she made her face into an apology, but she pressed on. “I mean, it just makes a lot more sense, right? If you’re from here, and you have a napkin with a perfect drawing of a sign you could pass on the street just any time…wouldn’t it be a lot more believable that you’d just…seen it sometime? And then you sat down and drew it?”

She sat back in her chair, then reached out impulsively and snapped up the napkin. She turned it over in her hands to keep from fidgeting, eyes tracing the smudged lines. “I mean, I could see a man making up a story like that, to impress a girl. Especially a man who tells stories for a living.” Her eyes flicked back to his face, but his expression was unreadable. She offered him a smile. “It’s a really good drawing, anyway. That’s impressive all by itself.”

“You should tell that to Mr. Arthur,” Jonas said, no real emotion in his voice. Just then the door fell open behind her and she whipped her head around, expecting to find the mythical Arthur himself, summoned by this stranger’s weird magic. It was just Charles, though, come to bus the table the old couple had been sitting at.

Jonas didn’t notice her distraction. He went on mildly, “It’s his handiwork.”

Kelly’s eyes fell on the napkin again, fixed on the drawing, and she gradually spun it between her fingers, thinking what to say next. Nothing came. “It’s just…it’s just so far-fetched.”

His face split in a grin at her comment, and a moment later he threw his head back and roared with laughter. She blushed as people passing by on the sidewalk looked their way. She turned her face from their curious glances, and found Charles staring at Jonas, too.

She said, “Charles,” barely more than a whisper, and he didn’t respond. She cleared her throat, and at last his eyes snapped to her. “I’m sorry, I know this is a weird question,” she said. “But…is the owner here? By any chance?”

Charles frowned, but he nodded right away. “Actually, yeah. He’s here everyday. Just working in the back–”

“Could you…could you ask him to come out here?” She smiled sweetly, which always worked on Charles. “Please?”

“Yeah. Sure.” He nodded to her untouched cup. “You need a refill or anything?”

“I’m good, Charles. Thank you.” She turned back to Jonas, whose shoulders were still shaking with the aftershocks of his mirth, and she found herself smiling still as he wiped at his eyes. “Are you going to be okay?”

“Yeah,” he said, coughing the word out with half of a laugh. “I just…’far-fetched.’ For a napkin I went all the way to Paris to bring back here. I didn’t know where you were going with all that, but it was clever.”

“No, I wasn’t….” She shook her head. She sat forward. “Never mind. We’ll get that sorted out soon enough. But I need a serious answer — a clear answer. Do you want to learn some photography, or not?”

“I do,” he said, pain and sadness flaring in his eyes. “I would love to. I’ve just…never…really been able to. When it comes to lighting, color, or things like…well, subtext and complex emotions…. I just can’t seem to get it right.”

That last bit made her want to laugh, just like he had a moment before. It was a passing impulse, though, quickly overtaken by the melancholy sentiment he’d really intended.
She shook her head. “It must be so hard, to live so close to all of it. To know so much about what goes into art, but unable to make your own.”

She nodded, suddenly determined. “We can fix that,” she said. “I’m guessing you tried with paints, or pencil. That’s hard, that takes a special talent. Photography, though….” She swallowed, and settled on a little lie. “Photography isn’t like that. It’s just a set of skills, right? I’ll teach you how to use a camera, where to point it, and before you know it you’ll be a master.”

He held her gaze for a moment — unblinking, unanswering — and then something tore his eyes away and his face split in a grin once more. He climbed to his feet even as Kelly heard the door swing open behind her again. Jonas stepped up next to her, and nodded his head in a way that was almost a bow.

“Mr. Arthur,” he said, joy in his voice. “You look fantastic.”

The store’s proprietor was there, Charles hovering just behind him and searching Kelly’s face for approval. Kelly’s attention was all on the owner, though, taking in every subtle hint in his bewildered expression.

And then the older man surprised her. He rumbled forward, and cried in unbridled glee, “Jonas! Good heavens, it’s really you.” He caught Jonas in a big bear hug, slapping his back heartily. “My word! How long has it been? I never in my life thought I’d….” He trailed off, spluttering, while Kelly watched in utter fascination.

Jonas pushed back to arm’s length, so he could look the other man in the eye. “I know,” he said. “I felt the same way when I spotted your sign. In fact, I still have…” he held out a hand to Kelly, but she didn’t notice until he looked sidelong to catch her eye.

She blushed, and put the napkin in his hand. Then he smiled, once for her, and then again for Mr. Arthur as he held up the napkin like a trophy.

“You kept it,” Arthur said, shaking his head in delight. He reached up, but didn’t quite touch it, as though afraid it would disappear. He met Jonas’s eyes. “You always believed in me, didn’t you?”

“I study lives, Mr. Arthur,” Jonas said, with simple humility. “Do that long enough, and it’s easy to see genius when someone shoves it in your face. This is what you were meant to do.”

Then he took a short step back, and presented Kelly with a flourish. “And this is Kelly. Photography is what she was meant to do. Kelly, this is Mr. Arthur.”

She extended a hand, a little shaken, and he bent low over it and kissed it lightly. “It’s an honor to meet you, young lady. You’re in the company of an amazing man.”

Jonas shook his head. “Not at all,” he said. Kelly just stood there, stunned to silence, and after a moment Jonas quirked a smile at her. “She loves your mocha,” he said lightly. “And she’s going to teach me how to take pictures.”

~~~

Chapter 2 — Chasing the Light
She left him on the curb while she went in to get her gear. He didn’t object when she said it would take ten minutes, but she ended up taking thirty — victim of the client’s errant shot list and a missing memory card.

She was flustered when she finally came back down, fumbling her keys as she tried to lock the door behind her. But when she turned back to Jonas, ready with a big apology, he just smiled up at her and said, “All set?”

“All set!” she said, hefting the nylon camera bag hanging from her shoulder. He frowned at that.

“Can I share the load?” He reached out a hand, imploring. “It’s the least I could offer, in exchange for the lesson.”

“Oh you’ll pay for the lesson,” she said with a teasing laugh. She didn’t move yet, though. It was a mile and a half hike back to the park, and her bag was heavier than normal today. She wanted to be prepared for anything.

Finally she nodded. “Sure,” she said. She slipped the pack to the ground and unzipped it, pulling out just her camera. Then she closed the bag back up and handed it to him. “You carry that, and I’ll tell you all about this.”

She started with the boring stuff — the proper names for all the working parts on the camera, terribly technical terms she’d come to use in her everyday life, but he soaked it all up. He made rapid connections, too, and in ten minutes she had him talking like a pro.

“You’re a quick study,” she said, as they rounded a corner and headed west with the sun. “Are you sure you’ve never done this before?”

“I have a way with words,” he said. “It’s the execution that really gets to me.”

“Words are good,” she said, with an encouraging nod. “That’s actually one of my weak spots.” She cut off, hugging the camera tight against her chest as they had to squeeze past a bunch of chattering college kids heading the other direction.

She still felt nervous, carrying such expensive equipment around, but it wasn’t quite so bad this time with Jonas looming over her shoulder. The man had his uses.

On the other side of the crowd, Jonas stepped up beside her again. They walked two steps in silence, and then he prompted her. “Words are your weakness? How so?”

She shrugged one shoulder, “It’s part of the job. I love doing shoots. I love chasing the light and framing a perfect still and capturing the spirit of a subject. Being there, totally in the moment — it’s the only way to snap that one in a million shot.”

She shook her head. “Photography is amazing. I even enjoy the editing, most of the time — starting with a picture and turning it into an image.” Her voice went all breathy at the end, and she felt her blush threatening again. She cleared her throat. “If I’m going to take it seriously, though, I’ve got to get into the business stuff. And that’s all words.”

He didn’t answer right away. He walked beside her, and when she glanced up at him, she saw a look of deep consideration on his face. He noticed her glance, and the corner of his mouth turned down. “Could you hire someone to handle that?”

She laughed. “Hardly. I’ve done three paying shoots. Ever. And the one tonight will be the first to pay any kind of serious money.” She titled the camera away from her, and looked down at it with a touch of shame. “My grandmother bought me this, or I probably wouldn’t be pretending I’m a photographer at all.”

He stopped, and dropped a hand on her shoulder before she could walk away. Her own momentum swung her around to face him, but it took her a moment to find the nerve to meet his eyes. When she finally did look up, his blue eyes glowed.

“You’re not pretending, Kelly. You’re a photographer, with or without a business degree. You’re more than that. You’re an artist. I can hear it in every word when you talk about the camera or the craft or even the difficult parts. It sounds just like love. But when you start talking about yourself….”

He didn’t finish the thought, but he didn’t need to. She wanted to drop her eyes, to look away, but he held her captive. People passed them, oblivious to the war of emotions she was fighting inside herself, but she almost believed that Jonas could feel every one.

She saw worry in his eyes, and hope, and fear, and doubt, and the power to be something incredible. And she knew, with an astonishing clarity, that they were all her own. She saw herself in his eyes, and she trembled.

That set her free, breaking the moment, and she tore her eyes away but couldn’t quite fight the ghost of a smile that settled on her lips. He withdrew his hand, suddenly awkward, and that only made her smile more.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “Maybe I was out of line–”

“No,” she said, with a quick shake of her head. She started up the street again, the park in sight now, and he fell in step beside her. Five paces down, she sighed. “It’s all about stories.”

“Words,” he said. He understood her, without a shred of explanation. Somehow she’d known he would. He nodded. “I’ve heard that before. Every piece has to tell a story–”

“It’s more than that, though. Every image I shoot tells a story. But I’m supposed to make a website, I’m supposed to sell my vision, I’m supposed to wrap every perfect photo in my gallery with pages and pages of freaking fable.” She caught herself shaking the camera, her hands jerking in frustration, and realized she was grinding her teeth. She took a deep breath, and let it go.

“That’s not what I do,” she said quietly. “I don’t write stories.”

Once again he didn’t answer, but this time when she looked up at him, she found him grinning. “How would you like to learn? I can teach you.”

~~~

“It’s not about saying a lot of things,” Jonas said, while they waited for a break in traffic to cross back to the park. “It’s about telling a story. There is, in all the world, no substitute for a well-told tale. If you tell a good story, passersby will drop everything they’re doing to listen. If you tell a good story, they’ll hand over their fortunes just to keep you talking.”

Kelly shook her head, eyes narrowed. “I get that. I mean, I can see what you’re saying, and that’s exactly what I try to do with my art.” She pointed to a slow-moving minivan halfway up the block, and Jonas nodded. “I can’t do it with words, though.”

He opened his mouth to answer, then shut it with a click as a red sports car flashed past. As soon as the car was gone, Kelly and Jonas both hit the street at a dead sprint. They had a good ten yards on the minivan still when they cleared, but the fat lady behind the wheel still slammed on her brakes and blew the horn for all it was worth. Jonas chuckled.

“That’s a story,” he said, falling to a trot in the green grass of the park, Kelly right by his side. “If you tell it right, that’s a fantastic story. She can be the hero — a tremulous virgin fighting tears as two brigands of indeterminate identity risk their own lives and hers in an act of reckless malice. Call it the first time she’s taken the wheel, and her survival becomes a brave act. Say she knows nothing of driving, but she chose to chance everything this beautiful afternoon in a desperate bid to get her ailing father to the hospital on time….”

Kelly shook her head, eyes wide. “All that for a soccer mom blowing her horn?”

He threw his arms wide in surrender. “Or cast her as the villain, sloth her mortal sin, delaying a whole town of goodmen about their business because she has naught to do. Fill her heart with hate and rage, so that two…” he cast his eyes sideways at her, and his lips curled in a smile. “Two lovely people, in the prime of life, springing with vitality across her path stir up nothing but the fury coiled deep and thick inside her bitter breast.”

Kelly smiled at that, and after a moment she laughed. “Okay,” she said. “That’s pretty good. But it’s all about having the words–”

“Not at all,” he said, shaking his head. “It’s all about turning ’something that happened’ into a story. That’s the trick. You don’t have to know how to tell a story, you just need to know to tell a story at all.”

She started to object, but he shook his head again. “You nailed it before, when you said, ‘all that from a soccer mom who honked her horn.’ That’s what happened, and it’s boring. If you want to enthrall them, if you want to change the very way they see the world…you’ve got to make it more. Find the emotion, find the character, find the conflict and the stunning revelation–”

“Lie?”

He didn’t miss a beat. “Not at all! Tell the truth as you know it. In this case, we have nothing but a glimpse and an angry noise. When you do a photoshoot, though, you’re there. You know the people, you know the taste of the air, you know everything about that event. Find the thread, find the fascinating marrow of the experience, and draw it out — fashion it into something you can share with all the poor saps who weren’t smart enough to be there with you, to experience that amazing day for themselves.”

She chewed her lip, but after a moment she nodded, too. “That’s good,” she said. “Because, no, it really is like that. I mean…yeah. I think I can do something with that.”

“You should,” he said, moving again, and as she fell into step beside him, she realized he was leading her back toward the playground. Back the way they’d come. Everything — this whole afternoon — had brought them in a great circle, and as they retraced their first steps together she had a sudden feeling he would go back to his bench, turn away from her, and be gone forever.

For reasons she could not have explained, that thought pained her. She was here again, to do what she’d meant to do hours ago, but so much had changed. Especially now. She felt like she was on the edge of understanding, like this stranger was about to make clear to her something she’d wrestled with for weeks.

He raised an arm, tearing her from her thoughts, and gestured off to the left, toward the wall of trees. “Hey, you should take a photo over there. You’re doing this at dusk, right? If you stood…like, right under the trees, you could capture the rosy fingers of sunset reaching out overhead….” He trailed off when he caught the expression on her face.

She had one eyebrow raised in disapproval and a tight set to her lips, but as his face fell she had to fight an urge to laugh out loud. She reached up and placed a hand on his shoulder. “You stick to the storytelling, fella. I’ll decide where to point the camera.”

~~~

Three hours slipped away on the dancing breeze — time enough for Jonas to comprehend the kind of havoc dappled shadows can play on a camera lens, time enough for Kelly to come to terms with his idiosyncrasies. Time enough to flirt with friendship, even, if only just a little.

She expected the suits at six-thirty, but by six the butterflies in her stomach grew too distracting. She lost her train of thought more than once, trying to explain aperture settings — always a slippery topic for new photographers anyway –  and finally just gave up.

She threw her hands up in surrender, mid-sentence, and just sat down on her rump. She hugged her knees to her chest and shook her head. “Sorry, Jonas. That’s all I’ve got in me. They’ll be here in, what, half an hour?”

He nodded and sank down in front of her, balanced lightly on the balls of his feet so his shadow washed over her. One corner of his mouth turned down in a frown. “I think that’s the saddest part of creation,” he said solemnly. “The fear. You’re making something new and amazing, and no matter how good you are, there’s always that…that desperate doubt.”

He smiled, and Kelly knew it was supposed to be reassuring, but his words echoed heavily inside her skull. “It’s not just you, if that’s any help. Michelangelo felt the same way. And Caravaggio, Frost, Crichton–”

“Crichton?” she asked, with a startled laugh, and he tilted his head in surprise. Then he smiled too, and nodded.

“Sure,” he said. “It’s part of the process. Making something new is always frightening. It seems wrong, to me. Tragic. But you can’t argue with the end result, can you?”

She took a deep breath, hoping a puff of air would push the weakness out of her shoulders and elbows, but it didn’t work. She smiled weakly. “That all just feels so far away,” she said, her voice barely more than a whisper. “Like…I’m still wondering what I’m going to be when I grow up, but I’m also presenting myself to these people like some kind of expert….”

“You’re an expert, Kelly. Give yourself that. Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe this isn’t what you’re going to do with your life.” The spark in his eyes said he didn’t believe that at all, but he shrugged one shoulder and ceded the point. “Even so, right now, you’re as qualified as anyone in the world to do what they’ve asked you to do. You’ve demonstrated it with everything you’ve shown me this afternoon.”

She smiled gratefully, ready to deflect the compliment, but a stern look settled on his face and she swallowed the words. She ducked her head, and picked at a tiny white wildflower hiding in the grass.

“I just wish I knew,” she said. “I wish I knew something for real. Just one thing, in all the world. A sign, an anchor I could connect to. But everything changes. A year ago…I never could have imagined I’d be sitting here right now.” She glanced at her watch, then quickly away again. “It’s amazing and wonderful, but it feels so unreal, and knowing my life, it could all be gone tomorrow.”

Jonas answered seriously, “I’ve heard it said that variety is the spice of life.” She looked up, a scathing glare her only answer to his tired aphorism, and he laughed at that. “I know,” he said. “It doesn’t help. But I’ll tell you this: the weakness you’re feeling now is the bloodprice of true art.”

He rose to his feet, his face now lost in distant shadow, haloed brilliantly by the late-afternoon sun. “Creation is always an act of sacrifice,” he said. “You surrender your strength, your confidence, your self-esteem and your courage and all your defenses. And in exchange, you get to have a name. You get to make something new.”

She fell back on her elbows, staring up at him, and squinted against the sunlight that got through to her. “There’s no other way?”

His answer came down like a proclamation from on high. “There is none.”

She sighed, and nodded. “Fine,” she said. She took another deep breath, and rolled up and onto her feet. She stooped to grab the strap of her camera bag, and settled it firmly on her shoulder.

“Fine,” she said again. “I’ll just do it, then. Come on. We’ll meet them over by the parking lot.”

“Not me,” Jonas said. He spoke the words lightly, like they had no consequence, but when she shot him a questioning look he refused to meet her eyes. He started walking with her, though.

“I’ve already hung around longer than I should have. I really need to go. You’re going to do amazing things, though, Kelly. I know it with all my heart.” He squeezed her shoulder, and somehow it felt more cowardly than intimate, but she nodded.

“Of course,” she said.  She stopped, and turned him to face her. “I mean, I understand. This isn’t really how either of us planned for our day to go, right?” He chuckled, and that helped her to smile. “You’ve got an awful lot left to learn, though. Don’t go setting up a studio or anything just yet, okay?”

He grinned. “You’ve got my word.”

“I’ll see you around?” She tried to make the question casual. It wasn’t.

“Count on it,” he said, and her heart fluttered. He nodded past her shoulder, to the parking lot, and said, “Your clients are here. They have no idea what you’re truly capable of, Kelly. Blow them away.”

She smiled up at him, tucked some stray hair behind her ear, and said, “Thank you, Jonas. You’ve made my day.”

He bowed deeply, a dramatic gesture that should have been embarrassing with her business partners standing not twenty feet away, but it only made her laugh. Then he straightened, turned his back, and walked away toward the sinking sun.

She took a deep breath, adjusted the strap on her shoulder, and then — with courage and surrender still waging wars beneath her skin — she turned to greet her clients.

~~~

Once the shooting started, there was no room for fear. It was still there, gnawing in the pit of her belly, scratching at the back of her skull, but she didn’t have time to pay it a whit of attention. Her whole focus was on her work.

“Over there,” she shouted, jabbing a finger deliberately toward the treeline, as shadows stretched long across the ground. “No, no, not that far! Come back into the light!”

She ran after her subjects — two hired models and a councilman’s niece — then stopped with a big friendly smile. “Great,” she said, hoping they’d forget her barking orders at them a moment before. “This light is incredible. You’re all looking so good. I just want to get a few more while we can. Paul! Paul, right? Yeah, stand here. Arm out like…yeah, perfect. Good. Becky, you can turn more–yeah. Great. And Jen, you’re already perfect. Of course.”

She took four steps back, panting more from the thrill of the shoot than from her little sprint to keep up. She sighted through her camera, and took another two steps back. “Perfect!” she said again, and snapped a shot. She shifted, ever so slightly, and snapped another.

“Paul, you look a little too happy,” she said, and his face went slack. “No, I need the smile, just a little more–” He put it back, and she did what she could to hide her sigh. She closed her eyes, hating the feel of sunlight slipping away, and tried to think how to describe a perfect smile.

Jonas’s face flashed in perfect clarity in her memory, and with it a memory of his rambling. She nodded to herself, hearing his words again.

“Paul, I need you to….” She trailed off, thinking furiously. “Do you have kids?” That got a shake of the head, but she pressed on. “Do you like kids?”

He nodded at that. “Got a little nephew who calls me Uncle Pa.”

Becky melted at that, with a drawn-out “awww” and delicate hands clutched up to her chest, and Jen gave a little smile — probably at the other woman’s expense — but it was lovely on her anyway. Kelly caught the scene, two shots quick as lightning, and went right on.

“Okay, Uncle Pa. Your nephew’s here visiting. You just got him his first puppy, and the two of them are playing right over here, rolling around in the grass, and he’s absolutely in love.” That got the smile she wanted, and she got the shot.

“Becky, you’re here with him. Make it a first date, and it’s going well. Jen, you’re…umm….” She stumbled, then grinned, then said seriously, “You’re a dog breeder, and that puppy the kid is playing with is an expensive one. Paul here isn’t exactly rolling in dough, and you were worried about this sale going through, but you know right now it’s going to happen. Feel it.”

Jen looked puzzled for a fraction of a second, and then put on precisely the expression Kelly was hoping for. That gave her everything she needed. She snapped three frames, then spun on her heel to find the next location — and realized she was done. She blinked in surprise at that, then turned back to the others.

“We’re done!” she announced. “Thank you guys. You were all amazing. Especially that last one. It was perfect.”

Becky seized the opportunity to get to know the handsome young man her uncle had hired, but Jen headed straight to Kelly, her head tilted in curiosity, “I know role-playing can be helpful in these things,” she said. “But suddenly I’m a dog breeder? Where did that come from?”

Kelly shrugged one shoulder, but a smile tugged at her lips. “We had enough of the family-and-friends-style shots. I needed at least one that was a little more business. And you nailed it.”

Jen grinned at that. “So glad to be of assistance,” she said. “And we’re done now? I can go?”

“Probably,” Kelly said, jerking her head back toward the street. “Might want to check in with Tom.”

Jen frowned at that. “Why should I? I’ve seen the shot list he gave you, and we’ve blown that thing away.”

Kelly felt her eyes widen, felt a rush of heat and envy. She wouldn’t let herself feel jealous of the model’s gorgeous features, but in that moment she desperately wanted the sure, professional confidence this woman had.

She wasn’t there yet, though. “He’s the boss,” Kelly said, shrugging one shoulder. “He gets the final word. But yeah, I think you’re right. We got way more than he asked for.”

She turned, ready to follow up on her own advice, and then froze in shock. Tom, the councilman who was single-handedly making this whole promotional drive happen, was sitting on the bench next to the playground, watching over his grand-niece while she played on the swings.

The girl was adorable, the councilman handsome enough — and turned away, so his face wouldn’t really even show — and the light was magical. The scene they made should have been enough to make her catch her breath, but instead it was the memory of Jonas, sitting just there, just like that, just hours ago.

She raised her camera, zoomed in tighter, and got a shot of the girl at the top of her arc, eyes wide with excitement, face flushed with thrill, and the red burst of sunset painting the huge sky behind her.

And there, just in the bottom right corner, the girl’s great-uncle watching over her. It was a scene rich with carefree joy, and security, and tenderness. She dropped the camera, a satisfied smile glowing in her eyes, and said, “Okay. Now we’re done.”

~~~

The councilman was more than satisfied with the shots Kelly showed him on her camera’s tiny viewfinder, and she assured him they’d look much better in real life.

He nodded, and clapped a fatherly hand on her back. She could feel his warmth through the cloth of her blouse, and she felt awkwardly aware of her own sweat, light sheen on her skin. He didn’t seem to notice.

“Lovely, lovely,” he said. “When will they be ready?”

“Wednesday,” she blurted, then gasped in surprise at her own answer. Tom just nodded.

“Great! Get ‘em cleaned up, and I’ll send them down the line.” He said it so casual, blind to the doubt and terror suddenly erupting in her head.

Three days, to edit her first professional photo shoot? Three evenings, really, because she had to work all week. Oh, and not even that! Two evenings, because he would take “Wednesday” to mean by close of business Wednesday, so she’d have to have them all done before she headed to the school that morning. Oh, but she could work tonight. Some. What was it, nearly nine?

And while her mind raced, he just stood there with a pleasant smile on his face, waiting for her to respond so he could gather up his grand-niece and go enjoy what was left of his weekend. She felt like a fool. It felt like forever.

At last she forced herself to nod, forced herself to smile, and mumbled awkwardly, “No problem.”

He nodded back, and left. Jen was still there, though, nearly six feet of willowy blonde, perfect poise and professionalism. Maybe Tom hadn’t seen Kelly’s fear, but she knew for sure that Jen had. Kelly didn’t move, just stood frozen like a frightened bunny and hoped Jen would walk away.

She didn’t. Instead she stepped forward to meet Kelly’s eyes and said, “Wow, Wednesday? That’s some serious turn time.”

Kelly’s heart fluttered, but she gave a fake shrug. “It’s an important project. I’ve cleared my schedule for it.”

“Impressive,” Jen said, nodding as though she really bought it. “So, you want to go grab some drinks or something? That was a good shoot. You seem like somebody I should get to know.”

Kelly’s smile came out a stammer. So did her answer. “Oh, no, sorry. I can’t. I really do need to….”

“It’s cool,” Jen said, and passed Kelly a business card. “Still, call me sometime. I mean it.” She took a step toward the parking lot, then called back over her should, “Ciao.”

Kelly stood rooted, staring senselessly at the business card while the thunder of her heart drowned out all thought or action. The sun winked at her, brilliant flare of honeyed red, and then slipped away completely.

Something in that moment, the last breath of sunset floating on the warm breeze, gave her release. She blinked, and shook her head almost comically, and then turned slowly and headed for home.

She had a lot of work to do — a lot of work to do — but she’d accomplished amazing things today. She’d played the part, and people who should have seen right through her…hadn’t.

She wasn’t there yet. She could still feel the burning thread of envy for the lovely model’s confidence. But she was a little closer now than she had been moments ago, and miles ahead of the place she’d woken up this morning.

“It’s happening,” she said in a reverent whisper, and felt a shiver thrill chase down her spine at the words. She smiled, hefted the bag on her shoulder, and headed home.

~~~

By Wednesday afternoon, that optimism was long gone. So was the confidence, and with it the apprehension and doubt. By Wednesday afternoon, Kelly felt nothing but exhaustion.

Twelve minutes to five, someone knocked at the front door. She blinked, and realized she was slumped forward in her chair, staring blankly at her hands resting lightly on her laptop’s keys. She took a deep breath, blinked some more, then looked up at the monitor.

The models stared out at her, faces perfect, and the niece stared at the rugged Paul with a look of total admiration…and a strange shadow blacking her eyes. Kelly had been fighting that shadow for…how long?

She shook her head. More importantly, how long had she not been fighting that shadow? How long had she just been sitting there, staring at her hands?

The knock rattled her door again, but only a distant echo of it penetrated the fog in her head. She glanced at the clock in the corner of her monitor, and frowned. Nearly five. Had she missed lunch? She wet her lips unconsciously, shifted in her cheap office chair, and zoomed in closer on the girl’s eyes.

The knock came again, and now she recognized it instantly. Her eyes flashed back to the clock and she flew to her feet, swallowing several spectacular profanities that would have made her father faint dead away. The councilman. And he was early.

“Coming!” she shouted. Her heart pounded, but she leaned over her laptop and switched to the folder of edited files, to see how many of the requested shots were finished. He wasn’t supposed to be here for another hour!

She had…three…no, two more images she needed to do. She flexed the fingers on both hands, stretching them out straight in a nervous gesture, then clutched them into fists and stormed toward the front door. “I’m coming,” she called again, trying to sound professional.

On the way she kicked a discarded pair of sweatpants out of sight behind the couch in the tiny living room, and snatched a couple tea-stained mugs off the coffee table to throw in the kitchen sink.

“Sorry,” she called toward the door, grimacing at her own delays. Why had she invited him to meet her here? She scrubbed her hands over her face, ran her fingers through her hair, then took a quick, calming breath. She set her shoulders. She wanted to go to bed.

She went to the door, and said, “Sorry,” again as she pulled it open. Then, “Oh.”

It wasn’t the councilman on her doorstep, but Jonas. She just stared at him, her jaw hanging open. She was too tired to process the surprise — any surprise, really.

And he seemed happy enough to stand there indefinitely, looking back at her, a friendly smile reflected in his shining eyes. He let several minutes slip away, then smiled a bit wider and said, “Hello again.”

She frowned with her eyes, a tiny little motion, and by way of defense he brandished the gifts he carried — a steaming mocha in a nondescript styrofoam cup, and a matching styrofoam to-go box that had to contain a butterscotch muffin.

The motion pulled her eyes from his face, and after a moment she nodded. The glorious aroma of the coffee cleared her head, and even tugged at the corner of her lips. “From Arthur’s?”

He nodded seriously. “Charles told me you’d want the muffin.” He stepped past her into the apartment and placed the gifts on the kitchen table, not two paces from the door. “If you ask me, that young man is more than a little bit taken with you.”

“Is he?” Kelly said, not remotely surprised by the suggestion. She cleared her throat. “And he told you where I live?”

Jonas shrugged one shoulder instead of answering, then looked up to meet her eyes. After a moment he cocked his head to the side and said, “What?”

“You really don’t ever seem to understand…” she trailed off, shaking her head. “You’re…you’re different, Jonas. Don’t you feel it? You’re a little bit…off. The things you do, I mean. The way you show up, the way you talk to me like you know me, the coincidences that just happen around you….”

She waved at his styrofoam-wrapped offerings. “You paid enough attention to get me something I’d love, and then asked my stalker for advice finding me. You terrified me, and disgusted me, and pissed me off, and inspired me like I’d never been inspired before, all in one day. And then you disappeared. And then you showed up again.”

The litany felt familiar to her, its source the same rattling oddness that had driven her to shout at him on a busy sidewalk. This confrontation was different, though. She wasn’t yelling, she wasn’t even angry. She said it all in a soft monotone, eyebrows raised in question, and he listened to her with a patient smile. That made everything easier.

She spread both hands, tired and helpless, and said gently, “You don’t make sense, Jonas. Everything about you is just plain bizarre. ”

Jonas smiled. “Wow,” he said softly. “You’re so tired.”

A weak fury flashed in her eyes, and he smiled. “No, you’re right,” he said. “It’s easy enough to explain, though. Occupational hazard. I’ve spent so much time living in so many different cultures — across hundreds of nations and countless generations, and always caught up in the absolute most dramatic lives…. I’ve lost touch, Kelly.”

He shrugged, and pressed his lips together in a tight smile. “‘Bizarre’ is an excellent word for it. ‘Different’ was even better. I could get by in the central square of most any city in recorded history, give or take, but it all runs together eventually. ‘Normal’ is an ephemeral things, after all.” He chuckled. “I can barely even remember what language I’m supposed to speak most of the time.”

She laughed at that, in spite of herself, and shook her head at him. “That’s why you are the way you are?”

He nodded. “That’s most of it.”

“You’re not a weirdo, then? You’re not a psychopath?” She stepped closer to him, trying to come across as playfully intimidating, like a stern interrogator.

It didn’t really come together, though. She just ended up too close to him, looking up into eyes like a summer sky. That close, she could feel his warmth, feel his strength as he drank her in with his eyes. And she could feel his interest in her, see it in his gaze — a fascination that bordered on obsession. Was that a reflection, too?

She swallowed against a suddenly dry throat, and asked quiet as a mouse, “You’re not dangerous?”

For a long time, he said nothing. Then, with a touch light as a feather, he brushed a bit of hair back from her face. He smiled down at her, and Kelly felt beautiful. He ducked his chin so their noses were almost touching, eyes locked on each other’s, and said in a matching whisper, “Not to you, Kelly. Never to you.”

~~~

Kelly and Jonas stood toe to toe, faces bent close enough to kiss, but the scene shattered on the trilling ring of a cell phone from another room. Kelly blushed, brilliant red glowing in her cheeks, then took a step back with eyes still locked on Jonas’s.

His mouth quirked in a crooked smile, and he said, “Such a waste.” He breathed the words so soft she might have imagined them, but she felt a smile flash across her own face at that, even as she turned on her heel and darted to the office to grab her phone.

It was Councilman Tom, and she caught him just before he gave up. A meeting was running late, he told her, but if it was okay with her he could still swing by around six-thirty. Otherwise, she’d have to drop them off at his office tomorrow.

“No, six thirty’s fine,” she said quickly. “Thank you, sir. See you then.”

He broke the connection, and for a moment she stood transfixed, staring at her laptop monitor, at the three images she still needed to edit. Then she nodded once, smiled to herself, and went to fetch Jonas.

“Grab a chair from the kitchen,” she said, assuming a tone of military authority. “Time for a lesson in post-processing.” For her part, she scooped up her gifts and carried them back to the office without a backward glance.

He followed her a moment later, pushing one step into the room where she was already seated at her desk, and two bites into the muffin. He finally looked a little awkward, for the first time since she’d met him. He clutched the chair before him, almost hiding behind it, and glanced around the tiny bedroom Kelly had converted into a home office.

“How much do you know about Photoshop?” she asked, relishing his unexpected hesitation.

He frowned at her for a moment, mouth working soundlessly, then said, “Umm…what’s less than nothing? Why? How much do you know?”

She chuckled. “Just enough,” she said lightly, then beckoned him with a wave of her hand. “It’s not as bad as you might think. Do you know how to use a Mac?”

He brought his chair and sat down right next to her, eyes wide, hands gripping his knees. Kelly patted his hand reassuringly and said, “That’s perfect, then. Just means you don’t have any bad habits I’ll have to break, right?”

He didn’t look much reassured, but Kelly was running low on pep talks, so she went ahead and started her demonstration. She set aside the image with the complicated shadows and opened the last one remaining in the shot list.

By then, she had a pretty good idea what sort of work these photos all required — where she’d gotten the light levels wrong and by how much, and exactly what colors she needed to bring out to tie them all together — so she went through the motions mechanically, taking her time and talking through the whole process.

It took her just under twenty minutes, and the whole time Jonas said not a word. When she finished, she turned to him and arched an eyebrow in question.

“Was that so bad?”

He shook his head slowly back and forth, eyes wide. “You’re incredible, Kelly. I thought the original was breathtaking, but this?” He threw his hands toward the monitor, at once emphatic and helpless. “It’s magic. Not the software, but the vision — your vision — to draw these colors, these lights and shadows, these expressions and all this drama, out of a single image.”

Her lashes danced in a flutter, her smile spread, and after a moment she said, “Thank you, Jonas.”

He nodded to her monitor. The finished image gone now, the screen showed the photo that had stolen Kelly’s afternoon. Jonas said, “And that one, too. Are they all this good?”

Kelly’s smile faltered as her eyes fell on the screen. “Not quite,” Kelly said, dragging a box to zoom in on the problem area. “I mean, yes, the others are all good. But this one is troubling me. I need to fix these shadows, but everything I’ve tried….”

“Well, you should be able to…umm….” He trailed off, trying to remember the things she’d shown him before. “Can you use an…adjustment layer, right? Or…mask something? Change the brightness or contrast or something and just paint the spots you want?”

She shook her head. “It’s tricky. I could lighten all of this, but I have to make it look natural. That’s the real challenge of post-processing. Gorgeous as some of these effects are, a photo that looks even a little bit phony is usually way less attractive than an unedited raw.”

Jonas nodded. “As a wise man once said, the key to it all is authenticity. Once you can fake that, you’ve got it made.” He made the quip with a light-hearted smile, then turned strangely serious to say, “But yes. The devil is in the details. That must be difficult to manage, as tired as you are.”

Kelly cocked her head at that. “That’s the second time you’ve mentioned it. Do I really look that bad?”

He frowned, chewing on his words before he answered. “You look lovely, Kelly. Perfectly stunning. You’re missing something, though, and I can feel it. There’s an emptiness to you that I don’t remember any hint of last Sunday.”

She sighed, and her shoulders sank. She took another sip of her coffee and nodded. “I’ve had to push so hard to get this all done on time,” she said. “I called in sick to work yesterday, and again today, and I hate doing that–”

“But you stand on the brink of something incredible, Kelly.” Jonas nodded to her computer. “Great quests always involve their trials — always — but for those who persevere, they also offer something more.”

“Do I want something more?” Kelly asked, too aware of the touch of whine in her voice. “I’ve got a good life, Jonas. I like my job. I like my kids at school. I like my bed. And I miss them all so much.”

He smiled at that, and reached out — entirely at his ease — to stroke her hair with a calming, almost paternal touch. He traced the shape of her crown, ran his hand down to her neck, then let it settle on her shoulder and pulled her into a comforting hug, so her head rested against his chest.

She was far too tired to resist him, and entirely unsure whether she wanted to. She melted against him, and for a little while she breathed, slow and deep, glowing in his warmth and counting time in the thud of his heartbeat.

Then his hand fell away, and she straightened herself and straightened her hair, and they both pretended the moment hadn’t happened. “It’s just a few hours more,” Jonas said. “Two hundred pixels square, and then you can get reacquainted with them all.”

He held her eyes until she smiled, however reluctantly, and then he pushed himself to his feet. “I shouldn’t distract you any longer, though. Be amazing, Kelly. I’ll see you again soon.”

~~~

Chapter 3: Opportunity Costs
The next knock on Kelly’s door came at 6:36, and though it found her sitting in the same place, still staring intently at an open Photoshop session, everything about her reaction was different.

She pushed back smoothly from her desk, a satisfied smile curling at her lips, and hummed a little tune to herself on the way to the living room. She pulled the door open an instant before her new guest would have rapped a second time.

She met his eyes, and smiled. “Councilman Roberts,” she said lightly. “Just on time.”

He doffed a baseball cap as he crossed her threshold, taking in the tiny apartment with a frank curiosity, and she watched his eyes roam. When they returned to her, she smiled again and jerked her head. “The office is right back here.”

She had the edited photos ready in a slideshow, so she left the lights off as she stepped quickly across the room to her laptop. Tom waited by the door, and she noticed he was about to say something when she clicked the button to launch the slideshow. As soon as the first photo flashed on the screen, though, he snapped his mouth shut with an audible click.

The first in the series was the last one she’d done — the councilman’s niece leaning adoringly on Paul’s arm, and the pretty model standing nearby with a satisfied smile in her eyes. The devilish shadows were gone, the warm light of dusk glowed on her subjects’ skin, and they stood in perfect focus, outlined against a backdrop that showed a perfect blend of the park’s scenic beauty and main street’s  professional polish.

The councilman found his voice, just enough to breathe a reverent “Wow!” before the slideshow played on. Kelly’s heart soared on that sacred syllable.

The slideshow played through, point-for-point hitting every line in the councilman’s shot list, and he expressed his appreciation of every single image, whether with exclamations or stunned silence or just a subtle widening of the eyes. Kelly drank it all in, and she knew before the screen went black, before she flipped on the lights in her tiny little office, that she’d done as much as he’d hoped, and more.

He blinked against the sudden glare, then rubbed his eyes with his fingertips to help restore his vision, but Kelly sensed he was just buying time, trying to find the right words. She nearly bounced on her toes, waiting.

“It’s good,” he said at last, shaking his head in admiration. “Honestly…hell, I don’t think I’m going to hurt your feelings telling you this, but I never expected you to come up with anything half this good.”

She blinked at that, but she didn’t let her smile slip. She knew that was a compliment, or meant to be, and she waited to let him finish.

“Don’t get me wrong. I liked your portfolio and you made a good pitch — I was convinced you could do the job — but you’re new enough to this, and a total unknown to all the guys I’m going to have to defend this project to. But work like this…wow. Just, wow. You’ve made my choice incredibly easy to justify. Thank you for that.”

That brought her smile back, in all its glory. She nodded her head graciously, and her knees went along so she bobbed into something almost like a curtsy, as she said, “Thank you, sir, for taking that chance on me. I’m glad I didn’t disappoint.”

“Hah! Quite the contrary,” he said lightly, and then without asking her permission he stepped across the room, right up to her laptop, and scanned the keyboard for a moment. “There was one thing, though….” He said, and trailed off as he punched the Escape button to make the slideshow disappear.

“Can I help you with something?” she asked, overwhelmed by a sudden nervousness. She felt shocked — and irritated — how quickly her body could switch from elated pride to nauseous terror, but the councilman just waved away her question.

“No, no. I just thought I saw…unless my eyes deceive me….” He fumbled with the touchpad on her laptop, apparently unfamiliar with her OS, but after a moment he managed to switch back to Photoshop, and she watched as he nodded once, definitely, with a serious look in his eyes.

“Ah, yes!” he said, clearly proud of himself for finding it. “That’s exactly what I thought it was.”

It was the shot of him and his grandniece at the playground, lens flare from the dying sun hiding her face and his own lost in shadows, but their manners, their positioning, and the moment of the shot captured an expression of carefree joy and pure freedom and perfect trust. It was a work of art — easily the best photo Kelly had ever taken — and it was about to get her in trouble.

The councilman turned his gaze on her, looking back over his shoulder, and said in a grave tone. “What, may I ask, is this?”

“I’m not really finished editing that one,” Kelly stammered. “And it wasn’t on the shot list. I just saw the opportunity–”

He confirmed her fears by raising his right hand to cut her off, then he scrubbed it across his face, hiding his eyes for a moment. He took a deep breath. “You’ve put me in a tricky position, Miss Lane.”

He considered her for a space of several heartbeats, then shook his head again. “This is going to be complicated.”

~~~

Kelly’s heart thundered in her chest. She waited frantically for the councilman to get to his point, a manic voice screaming in the silence of her skull that she shouldn’t jump to conclusions. The chastisements and guilt did nothing to help her settle down, though.

Nor did the councilman. He turned his back on her, fixing his attention on the glowing monitor that showed his shadowy image. One hand cupped to his chin, he seemed content to just stand and ponder Kelly’s contentious handiwork until she went quite mad.

She took a step toward him, and it required all the vaunted courage of any hero out of legend. She couldn’t make herself speak up, though — neither to ask him what was wrong nor to offer any kind of defense.

Instead she just stood there, out of place in her own home office — feeling sometimes like an idiot, and sometimes like a criminal on trial, but mostly like a little child — and looked at him while he looked at a photo that used to be her favorite.

The silence probably lasted seven seconds. Maybe eight. But it felt like ages to Kelly, before Tom finally turned back to her. She waited for his eyes, desperate to know what dreadful reflection she might find in their depths — the smoke and brimstone of outraged fury or the cold, empty distance of disappointment.

He surprised her. Eyes round in astonishment and glimmering with unshed tears, he choked out the words, “That’s Cassidy. That’s…that’s so perfectly her, Miss Lane. I don’t know how, but you captured everything about my little angel….”

“I don’t understand,” Kelly said. “She’s a beautiful girl–”

“She’s dying,” Tom said, and somehow the terrible pronouncement helped him find his footing again. He nodded quickly, as if to himself, and then took a quick breath. “She’s brilliant, and beautiful, and wonderful in every way, and she’ll probably be gone by Christmas. We just found out this morning.”

“I’m so sorry,” Kelly said, reaching out a hand in sympathy but not quite comfortable enough to touch him. “I can’t even imagine what you must be going through.”

“Right now….” He sniffed, and glanced back over his shoulder at the monitor again, and then a smile crawled across his face even as new tears sprang to his eyes. “Right now I feel mighty blessed, Miss Lane. Just to know…just to see….”

“Oh, I’ll give it to you,” Kelly said quickly. “I’m not finished editing it yet, but once it’s done, I’ll get it to you right away. You can make copies for the rest of your family–”

He flapped his hands at her, waving away her offers. “You’ll give me nothing. This is a work of art. It’s worth a fortune.”

“You already hired me, Tom. It’s yours.”

He lowered his chin, fixing her with a serious stare. “You’re a businesswoman now, Kelly Lane. You demonstrated that with remarkable effectiveness when you played your little slideshow, and we both know why this photo wasn’t in that set.”

Kelly wanted to interrupt him, to admit it was because she’d run out of time, but he gave her no chance. He said, “This was not on my shot list. I have no more right to this photo than I do to the snapshots from your trip to Niagara Falls.”

She’d never been to Niagara, but she understood what he was saying. Still, she shook her head. “It’s nothing,” Kelly said. “If I could offer you any comfort during what you’re going through–”

Once again he cut her off with a raised hand. Then, after a moment, he stepped closer and gripped both of her shoulders to stare into her eyes. “You’re a kind heart, Kelly. I appreciate that. But you’ve got a business to build. Sell that photo for its fair value. If you handle it right, that one image could make you famous.”

She shook her head desperately. “Councilman Roberts, I couldn’t even if I wanted to. I don’t know…anybody. More important, nobody knows me. It’ll be years before I have the contacts and the resources and the recognition to do anything serious with stills like this, and by then I’ll have others. I don’t need you to give this up–”

“It won’t be years,” he said. “My father had shots that hung in the Smithsonian, Kelly. I know what I’m talking about. My wife has a cousin with a gallery in Chicago, and I know folks in several advertising agencies down in New York, if it comes to that.” He clapped his left hand idly on her shoulder, then turned away again.

“We’ll get you sorted out, Kelly Lane. We’ll make a big scary businesswoman of you yet.” He sighed, staring at the image, and she watched his shoulders rise and fall. “She’s just so beautiful.”

Stunned, washed away by the torrent of emotions — her own and her client’s — Kelly leaned a shoulder against the wall and tried to catch her breath, leaving the councilman alone in his reverie.

~~~

The rest of Kelly’s night passed in a blur, and as she sat bleary-eyed over a cup of coffee the next morning, trying to steel herself for a day in the classroom, she realized she couldn’t completely put the pieces of her memory into their proper places.

She remembered even the tiniest details of the slideshow. She remembered the councilman walking to her computer and opening that photo, but everything after that she remembered as in a dream. She could feel the sentiments, the ideas, the general shape of the things he’d said, but she couldn’t put any of it into words.

And then Real Life came crashing down on her like an avalanche. She spent every waking hour for two days straight trying to regain control over all the little things she’d let slip in her three-day photo-editing frenzy.

Saturday morning found her in her office once again, staring at the photo that had elicited such deep emotion and such grandiose promises from the kind old councilman. She was hoping to finish it, to get it polished up and at least email a copy to him no matter what he said. What could it hurt?

But she wasn’t really working. Not yet. She changed palettes and brushes, she applied layer masks and filters, but mostly she was just zooming and scrolling and clicking and undoing while she waited for her morning coffee to work its special magic on an empty stomach — or for inspiration to strike.

Inspiration struck first, and it struck her front door. She unfolded herself from her desk chair, still too tired to feel curious, and padded down the hall to the living room. She leaned down to look through the l0w-mounted peephole, and then growled under her breath, “I’m going to have to teach that man how to use a telephone.”

When she pulled the door open, Jonas smiled at her with his eyes and said, “That would probably be wise. Of course, it would help if I had your number.”

“I think you’ve had my number from the very start,” Kelly said, trying to sound grumpy, but she ended up fighting not to smile at her own quip. She finally gave up, set it free, and shook her head at him. “What are you doing here?”

“I thought maybe we could get some breakfast,” he said it offhand, but she noticed he wouldn’t meet her eyes, and he was twitching his shoulders again. He was nervous, because (she realized) he was trying to ask her out on an honest-to-goodness date.

She started to say something teasing, but before she could find the best words he stopped her cold. “And unless I’m greatly mistaken,” he said, voice still perfectly casual, “I suspect you’ve got some big news for me.”

~~~

If it was going to be a date, Kelly had some work to do. She made Jonas wait for her on the landing, more in reprimand for his constant surprise visits than to protect her delicate honor, and headed back to her room to put on some fancy.

She traded pajama pants and an oversized T-shirt for a light blue sun dress that hung well on her frame. She pulled her hair back with a matching butterfly clip, and slipped on her mom’s old aquamarine earrings. Then she headed to the bathroom to apply perfume and makeup, but a glance in the mirror was enough to stop her.

It wouldn’t be fair. She smiled at her own reflection. The poor man waited out in the hall, all unaware how thoroughly she was about to rock his world. It was almost vicious. She laughed at herself, at her own self-confidence, but she didn’t really doubt it.

When she pulled the door open this time, he had no clever remark for her. His eyes widened, and his smile slipped its leash. She gave him a mental count of ten, frozen silhouette in the doorway, and then she flashed him the same smile she’d shared with the mirror a moment before, and slipped casually past him.

“What exactly did you have in mind?” she asked, glancing up over her shoulder as he trailed her down the stairs to the building’s front door. “Arthur’s again?”

He opened his mouth to answer, but it took him a moment to find his voice. Kelly’s heart soared.

At last he said, “It…well, it depends. What’s your schedule like today?”

“I don’t think I had anything big planned,” she said. “Mostly just getting caught up on things I’d put off. I’ve got to get some groceries, and I should probably visit my dad….” She stopped on the sidewalk out front of the building, enjoying the warmth of the summer morning sun, and then turned to face him. “Why?” she said. “What are you thinking?”

“Well….” He trailed off, and Kelly felt a pang of regret when she saw the look of delight in his eyes replaced with one of nervous hesitation — almost pain. He wrung his hands. “I’m worried about what you’ll think,” he said, and that certainly didn’t make her feel any better. “It’s just, I know I’ve come across pretty weird already, and I really don’t want to make that any worse. And, you know, I’d hate to keep you all tied up when you’ve got so many things to do–”

“Spill it!” Kelly said, stern enough to cut through his hesitation but with a smile to soften the blow.

He smiled back. Then he shifted his feet, taking a sure stance, and huffed a quick breath. “Well,” he said after a moment, “I was wondering if you’d be interested in going away to Chicago for the weekend with me. We could get breakfast at the train station, but–” he cut off, and glanced up over her shoulder at the sun. “We’d have to hurry.”

“Wow,” Kelly said, and butterflies danced in her stomach while her mind raced. She smiled weakly, and said, “I’m glad I passed on the eyeliner.”

He cocked his head, confused, and Kelly laughed weakly. She shook her head, took her own calming breath, and then met his eyes. “There really is no gray with you, is there? It’s always all or nothing.”

He spread his hands in front of him, and even fell a half-step back in a gesture of unconscious submission. “Honestly, Kelly, if it’s a problem–”

“No,” she said. She reached out to take his hand and pulled him back closer. She held his eyes, prayed she wasn’t making a terrible mistake, and said softly, “It’s not a problem at all.”

~~~

Breakfast ended up being plastic-wrapped pastries and lukewarm Cokes that Kelly grabbed from a kiosk while Jonas waited in line to get their tickets. Even so, they had to race across the platform to catch their train just before it left the station.

They swayed with the train’s rattling motion as it gathered steam for the journey west, picking their way down the car’s aisle in search of seats. Halfway down the row, Jonas stopped and convinced a sharp-edged businessman in an expensive-looking suit to move to one of the empty spots they’d already passed up, and so secured them two facing seats next to the window.

Kelly settled in, spilled their breakfast across her lap, and looked with distaste from the cherry sweetroll to the sleeve of waxed chocolate donuts, and back again. After a moment Jonas saved her from her indecision by snatching the sweetroll and tearing its plastic wrapper with a surprisingly loud crinkle and a look of pure relish.

She shook her head at him, a smile tugging at the corner of her lips, and passed him his soda, too. “You know, I’ve never eaten here before,” she said, feigning surprised delight. “I’m amazed you were able to get a reservation.”

He chuckled at that, drawing surprised looks from the two passengers sitting right next to them, but he didn’t notice. His eyes were locked on Kelly’s. “Your story,” he said. “Tell me.”

“What story?” she asked, pretending nonchalance. She tucked her hair behind her ear and shrugged a shoulder. “I did a job, collected a paycheck….” She trailed off, surprised at the knowing laughter that danced in his eyes. “What?”

“I’ll never understand your compulsive desire to pretend you’re not a rock star.”

His answer caught her so off-guard that she barked a laugh, notwithstanding the big drink she’d just taken. She ended up spitting Coke all over his shirt, before her body was wracked with a violent coughing fit.

Jonas tried to fly to her aid, but the best he could do was kneel on the car’s floor in front of her with a sympathetic hand on her shoulder. When the fit passed, her eyes streamed, her throat burned hatefully, and she felt intensely embarrassed. She reached out a tender hand and pushed him back toward his seat.

“I am funny….” Jonas said, shrugging both shoulders, and Kelly had to fight down a new burst of laughter at that. Her throat couldn’t take it, though. She threw him a warning glare, and he shrugged again. “Temper, temper, Miss Lane.” He settled back and considered her for a moment, then said, “I’m sorry.”

She waved away his apology, then held up a finger for him to keep quiet while she took another drink to try to soothe her throat. Then she gasped a deep breath, and croaked to him, “I’m really sorry, Jonas. I ruined your shirt–”

“Nonsense,” he said lightly. “It looks better this way.”

Kelly hung her head in her shame, swallowed painfully, and then said in a more normal voice, “You just took me by surprise. You keep talking like that, like I’m already something special–”

“And now you’re talking nonsense again,” Jonas said, chiding. “You are special. I think Wednesday night’s little adventure proves that.”

Kelly’s eyes narrowed. “How do you know–”

He shook his head, ever so slightly, but it was enough to cut her off. He nodded to her, and his eyes bored into her. “I want to hear you tell it,” he said. After a moment, he raised his eyebrows in a pathetic puppy-dog expression and added a pitiful, “Please?”

She smiled. She took another drink. Then she told him all about it — everything she remembered, anyway. But as she told the story pieces started falling in place for her in ways they hadn’t since that night.

She remembered some of the things the councilman had said — not just that he loved her portrait, not just that it was special to him, but that he had connections in the photography business. She felt her eyes widening even as she repeated the words, considering some of the long-term possibilities.

And then she looked at Jonas and saw him nodding in approval — as though that private revelation was all he’d been looking for all along. She frowned at him, without realizing it, and cut her story short. “What?” she said. “What is it? You’re so mysterious.”

“You respond well to mystery, Miss Lane,” Jonas said. “I suspect some of your best friends wouldn’t even know that about you, but it has proven a surprisingly effective motivator.”

She sighed. She let her head fall back against the seat and closed her eyes. “I don’t really feel up to this right now,” she said. “Just talking to you feels like chasing fireflies.”

When he didn’t answer she cracked an eyelid to see if she’d hurt his feelings. He was grinning, though. She shook her head, and sat forward again. “Okay, Jonas,” she said, trying for authority. “Answer me one question. Why are we going to Chicago?”

“Just think about it,” Jonas said.

That mischievous delight danced in his eyes, but Kelly didn’t have the patience for riddles. She shook her head. ”No. Not right now, Jonas. Don’t make me think, just tell me.”

His smile faltered, but only for a moment. “I…sorry.” He cleared his throat. “I thought this one would be obvious, with the story you were just telling.”

She frowned, thinking. “Something about the councilman?” She trailed off, trying to remember what she’d been saying before his stupid face threw her into such turmoil. After a moment, her eyes shot wide.

“Exactly,” Jonas said. “The councilman’s wife’s second cousin’s gallery.”

“In Chicago,” she whispered. Her gaze drifted down to the floor while her mind raced. After a moment she shook her head. “No.”

Her eyes snapped back to Jonas’s. “That’s…that could be incredible, Jonas, yeah…. But not now. I’m not ready. I don’t really have a portfolio. I don’t have…anything. Not really. Just that one photo, and….” She laughed darkly, and gestured with her empty hands, “I don’t even have that, Jonas. I didn’t bring a thing with me.”

He sat forward to place a hand on her knee. “It’s okay, Kelly,” he said, and his voice cut through the anxiety stirring up black clouds in her head. “We’re just going there to meet with a friend of mine.”

Kelly barely hesitated before the answer came to her. “The gallery owner,” she said, almost irritated at it.

“The gallery owner,” Jonas repeated, with a little smile. “The world is just full of silly little coincidences.” He saw the panic bubbling behind her eyes again, and shifted his position. He leaned forward out of his seat, crouching on his toes right at eye level, and raised her chin with a light touch so he could capture her gaze again from inches away.

“It’s just lunch, Kelly. You are going to love her, and she is going to love you, and maybe afterward we can catch a movie or something. After that, we’ll just wait and see what happens.”

Kelly drew a shuddering breath, and leaned on his gaze as her only support. “I’m not ready for this,” she said quietly, and he smiled up into her eyes.

“You just keep trying to pretend,” he said. “But the universe has other plans for you.” His eyes fell down, unconsciously, and Kelly’s heart pounded as she realized just how close they were. He’d glanced at her lips.

Something jostled the train then — an irregularity in the track or just a strong gust of wind — and it was enough to rob him of his precarious balance there. He steadied himself, then pushed up off the ground and sank back into his seat.

He toasted her silently with his half-empty bottle of Coke, and smiled across at her. “Don’t worry about photography, okay? Let’s just have a pleasant Saturday in the Windy City. Everything else can take care of itself.”

She smiled back, a little weakly, and then turned her gaze out the window to the passing countryside. A moment later she sighed, and smiled to herself, and finished eating her breakfast.

~~~

Chapter 4: Portrait of the Artist
Kelly tried to hold onto Jonas’s confidence, to his casual assurances it was just lunch, but the trip was long enough to ensure that wouldn’t happen. When she started feeling jittery again, she tried to distract herself with conversation, and Jonas was more than willing to join in.

He told her some fascinating stories about the artists he’d researched, about the places he’d been all over the world, but every tale seemed to carry a weird mix of enthusiasm and evasion. He was always equal parts passion about the topic of his studies…and absolute disinterest in his own history.

It baffled Kelly. She found him utterly fascinating, however strange, but he was always quick to talk about someone else — whether it was someone long dead, or just the girl sitting across from him.

He asked her a thousand questions, exploring her heart and her home. She found herself lost in stories she never really told, reliving her childhood, her education, her relationships and jobs and hobbies. He wanted to know everything about her.

And he had a passion for her art, every bit as much as he did for Caravaggio’s. It came through in the questions he asked, in the way his eyes grew wide at coincidences that had worked out for her, or the way he frowned and shook his head whenever she said something dismissive.

It made her skin feel warm and her chest feel tight, but there was always that remnant of fear, too, and it became a torment as they got closer and closer to their destination. He believed in her (and that was great), but what on earth was she doing flying toward this meeting?

She had no answer. Her heart raced, her breath came quick and shallow, and she knew it wasn’t just the junk-food breakfast that was tying her stomach in knots as she followed Jonas off the train in Chicago.

He never looked back, though. He never slowed, just flew like an arrow to its mark, dragging Kelly to a ritzy restaurant downtown that seemed like the sort of place one would need a long reservation (and probably a pretty important name).

Jonas walked right past the hostess at the door, though, and nodded across the dining room to a woman sitting at a table by herself. She had short cropped black hair and piercing brown eyes, diamonds at all her points and silver reading glasses perched on her nose.

She was probably in her early fifties, but she wore it like thirty-three. Kelly smiled at her, and she smiled back.

“Jonas, dear!” the woman said as they approached the table, and she rose to give him a warm hug. Her voice sounded like warm honey, and she kept the same timbre when she turned to Kelly. “And you must be the new prodigy I’ve heard such things about.” She caught Kelly up in a hug, too, then released her just as quickly. “Please, call me Sara. And thanks for coming so far to see me, especially on such short notice!”

“It’s, umm…it’s nothing,” Kelly said, fighting just to keep her feet against the war waging inside her heart and head. “I really…I wouldn’t say prodigy–”

“Oh, hush,” the other said. “We’ll talk about that later. But Cousin Tom should know a thing or two about a thing or two. Especially in this business. And Jonas has never steered me wrong.”

Kelly saw her take his hand and squeeze it warmly on that last comment, just before she resumed her chair. Jonas’s attention was all on Kelly, though. He was watching her face, watching her eyes, and when she met his gaze, he smiled at her.

And then he nodded, once, the subtlest move of his head, but somehow it was enough. She remembered their moment on the train. She remembered his confidence in her. She remembered the councilman’s tears, as he looked on her unfinished photo.

She remembered the magic of that moment, when she’d taken the shot — knowing even then, before she could have possibly imagined what it meant, that the moment was completely perfect. She put on a smile, nodded back at Jonas, and then took her place at the table.

~~~

The restaurant was clearly popular, busy as it was even this late in the afternoon, but Sara’s table was remote enough (and small enough) that even with Jonas choosing to sit at Kelly’s side instead of Sara’s, the two of them could easily maintain a relatively private conversation. They did precisely that, getting caught up, and Kelly was grateful for a moment out of the spotlight.

She grabbed a menu to hide behind while she caught her breath, and then groaned inwardly when she noticed that there were no prices listed. Jonas had bought their train tickets, but she wasn’t entirely certain he planned to get lunch. Looking over the entrees, though, Kelly got the clear impression this wasn’t the type of place elementary school teachers patronized.

She found a salad that couldn’t possibly cost too much, marked its spot on the page with her thumb, then lowered the menu to do a little eavesdropping. Just then Jonas took a big swig of ice water from his glass, though, and then excused himself. Kelly braced herself against the full force of Sara’s attention again, but it didn’t come right away.

Instead, Sara watched Jonas as he made his way gracefully — if absently — among the irregularly-placed tables and headed toward the restrooms. She watched until he was all the way out of sight before finally turning to Kelly with a sad little sigh.

Kelly raised an eyebrow in response, and Sara laughed. “Oh, don’t you worry about me, dear,” she said, eyes flitting unconsciously back in the direction he’d gone. She shook her head. “He’s absolutely in love with you.”

Kelly felt intensely glad she didn’t have a mouthful of Coke right then, because she’d likely have ruined another — and far more expensive — shirt with it. She goggled anyway, and Sara smiled. “You didn’t think I’d noticed?” And then her brows came down, thoughtful, and a moment later she whistled softly. “Oh, you didn’t know….”

“No,” Kelly said. “I mean…no. It’s nothing like that. I’ve only known him a week–”

Sara waved a hand airily. “Inconsequential! I met the man on a red eye from London — borrowed the empty seat next to him when I got sick of the noisy bore in the one next to mine — and I swear I was in love with him before dawn.”

Kelly laughed, remembering her first impression of the man, but she kept it to herself. She smiled politely back, then shook her head. “Well, we haven’t really–”

“Fair enough,” Sara said lightly, cutting Kelly short. “I can’t imagine what you’re holding out for, that you haven’t set your sights on him yet, but when you decide you’re ready…I suspect he’ll be right there waiting. I’ve known him for twelve years, and I’ve never once heard him talk about a girl the way he talks about you.”

Dazed as she was, Kelly had to swallow a lump in her throat before she could ask, “What…what does he say about me?”

It was Sara’s turn to arch an eyebrow across the table, and then she smiled. “This is the part I’ve been waiting for,” she said, and her eyes cut slyly toward the restrooms again, but Jonas was still nowhere in sight. “I promised him I wouldn’t pester you about the photographs yet, but….”

She let the word hang in the air, a clear request, and Kelly’s shoulders fell. She put on her best apology eyes, and said, “I don’t have them. I don’t have anything. Jonas didn’t tell me what was going on, and–”

“That’s just like him,” Sara said, a look of fond remembrance in her eyes, but it was quickly replaced with one of regret. “Pooh,” she said, making the word sound surprisingly demure. “I’d so hoped to see what all the fuss was over. Between Jonas singing praises for your ‘artist’s soul’ and Cousin Tom ranting about how amazing that portrait was–”

“Wait!” Kelly said, holding up a finger. “Ooh, just a sec.” She pulled out her phone, and had to stumble through the process for long enough that it left her feeling awkward, but at last she found a way to access her online file storage using the phone’s web browser.

“Now, this isn’t finished,” she said warningly, as she opened the photo on the phone’s tiny display. “This one isn’t even edited at all. Okay? So don’t be surprised if it doesn’t live up to the hype–”

Sara grew impatient with Kelly’s qualifications long before Kelly ran out of them, and reached across to delicately extract the phone from Kelly’s hand. She turned it to face her just as the photo resolved on the screen.

She considered it for a moment in silence, face perfectly blank, and then one word escaped her. “Oh.”

Kelly rushed to assure her. “The raw image is only half of the process. Really. And that’s not a great screen for showing it off.”

Before Sara could respond to that, Jonas appeared by Kelly’s side. She felt his presence before she saw him, and when she glanced up she found his eyes fixed on Sara with a surprising ferocity.

“Always quick to seize an opportunity,” he said, his voice just a touch friendlier than his glare. “I suppose I should have expected this.”

Sara flashed him a sour expression — a fake gesture of opposition — but she instantly slid the phone back across the table to Kelly. “I was overcome by curiosity,” Sara said, pulling her shoulders back now in true defiance. “After everything you said–”

“It’s okay,” Kelly said, taking Jonas’s hand and squeezing it reassuringly. “It’s okay, Jonas. I was the one who offered.” When he didn’t immediately respond, she tugged on his hand, and he submitted, sinking down into the chair next to her. “Thank you, though,” she whispered.

“No,” Jonas shook his head, and then he put on a sheepish smile. “No, I’m sorry. Both of you. I should have seen things were friendly here. I just got…distracted.”

“By what?” Kelly said, tilting her head. “I mean…thank you. She told me you’d asked her not to overwhelm me, and I appreciate that, but why–”

“Because I have much to gain,” Sara said with an air of confession. “Or…well, someone does. And you’ve got big decisions to make. And, as Jonas said, I am always quick to seize an opportunity.” She leaned across the table, close to Kelly, and looked her in the eyes. “But I’m telling you honestly, Kelly — what’s good for me here is very, very good for you.”

Jonas made a sound of disapproval, and Kelly looked over at him. She realized as she did that her eyes were wide, her pulse pounding, and she saw the frustration he felt at her fear. “This is not what I wanted Sara.”

Kelly took a deep breath, and fixed her eyes on the table. Then, her voice as steady as she could make it, she said, “Thank you, Jonas. Thank you for looking out for me. That’s…sweet. But I’m a big girl, and I can make choices for myself.”

She raised her head, then followed Sara’s example from earlier and held her head high, squared her shoulders. That simple action made her feel more in control. Almost dignified. She cleared her throat, then spoke with confidence.

“Now, would one of you please tell me,” she said, speaking slowly for clarity, “just exactly what the hell we’re talking about?”

~~~

Jonas opened his mouth to answer Kelly’s frustration, but Sara cut him off with a little popping sound. He frowned across at her, but the older woman’s attention was already fixed on Kelly. She took Kelly’s fingertips in one hand and covered them with the other, holding eye contact the whole time.

“You’re being discovered, Kelly. That’s what all this is about. Jonas thinks he discovered you, Cousin Tom thinks he discovered you, but they’re just stepping stones. I can discover you. I can discover the hell out of you.”

Kelly didn’t answer right away. She frowned, thinking, and finally said, “I…I still don’t understand. What’s there to discover? I love photography. It’s fun — and I’m good at it!” She hastened to add, nodding with eyes wide. “I get that. But…I mean, I’m new. I’ve got to admit I’m pretty high on all the people believing in me at the moment, but all I’ve got to show is one photo–”

“No,” Sara said, voice stern, and she shook her head sharply to emphasize the point. “You’ve got three dozen portraits and landscapes up on your blog. They’re good. And then there are the photos you took for Cousin Tom. He sent me copies. I’m guessing you got some nice new equipment before that shoot, and it shows, but most of the quality is your eye. You’re a natural at this, and ‘that one photo’ is more than enough evidence that you’ve got artistic vision, too, when you’re free to pursue it.”

She sat back when she was done, releasing Kelly’s hand, but she never broke eye contact. “Kelly, I don’t normally approach photographers. I’d rather go along with Jonas’s wishes, take things nice and slow, maybe groom you up and monitor your progress, but time and circumstance are conspiring in your favor. And then there’s Cousin Tom. He’s making things awfully tough on us both.”

Kelly tilted her head at that, confused, and said, “How so?”

“He’s got a friend at an ad agency who would leap at the chance to run that photo,” she jabbed a finger at Kelly’s phone for emphasis, “in a national ad campaign. Forget the galleries on your site, forget the work you did for Tom. Any decent agency would pick up ‘that one photo’ all by itself for five figures–”

Kelly’s eyes shot wide at that. She glanced unconsciously over at Jonas, to make sure he’d heard it, and he just nodded seriously at her. He was leaning back in his chair now, arms crossed over his chest, leaving the conversation to Sara, and now he dipped his head in her direction again. Kelly looked back over, but she shook her head at the other woman.

“That’s wild,” she said. “That’s…unbelievable! And he knows someone who would pay me that? Then what would you want from me? You can’t really–”

The other woman raised a hand and waited patiently for Kelly to fall still before she answered. “I didn’t say they’d pay you that. They’ll do their best to get it from you for a few hundred, Tom’s friend or not. That’s what I told Jonas, and that’s why he wanted me to talk to you.”

She leaned forward, elbows on the table, and pressed on. “I guess it depends on your ultimate goal,” she said, a relentless confidence behind her words. “But I can offer you a lot more than one paycheck for one perfect photo.”

“Okay,” Kelly said, straightening in her chair again, trying to take herself half as seriously as these people all seemed to. “What do you have in mind? You want to show my photo?”

Sara dismissed the idea out of hand, the barest shake of her head. “No. There’s no money there. It’s one shot, from a nameless photographer. That wouldn’t work. I want you to give that one to Cousin Tom.”

“I wanted to!” Kelly said. “I tried, but he insisted–”

“Because he thinks he knows what’s best,” Sara said. “I’m telling you, here and now, he doesn’t. Not for him, and not for you. He…he told you why that shot was so powerful for him?”

Kelly nodded, and Sara sighed. “Now imagine how he’ll feel about it when it’s plastered on every bus stop in town six months from now, as the backdrop for a Viagra ad. Imagine how you’ll feel, seeing your big masterpiece used like that. And everyone will know, too. Sell out like that, and you can kiss your career as a serious artist goodbye, then and there.”

Kelly nodded again, “Okay,” she said, “but then what do you–”

“I’d like you to shoot a wedding for me.”

Kelly laughed at that, startled, but she cut off abruptly when the other woman looked irritated at her reaction. “I’m sorry,” Kelly said, “it’s just…we’re talking about national ads and art galleries and getting discovered, and I was just starting to come to terms with that. And one minute you’re telling me not to sell out…and now you want me to do a wedding? I started with weddings!”

“I know,” Sara said, still sounding a little irritated at Kelly. “And you did a surprisingly good job of it. That’s why I’m confident you can do the work.”

She paused, as if weighing whether to go on, and after a moment sighed. “Now — if you’ll let me finish — I’d like you to shoot my son’s wedding. In Honolulu. We’ll make sure you get a better session fee than I suspect you got from your mom’s friend’s daughter. And I’ll cover your travel expenses, under the circumstances. If you’ve got any sense at all, you’ll find the experience at least as rewarding as your ad agency paycheck would have been.” Kelly started to answer, anxious to accept the offer, but Sara wasn’t finished. “And while you’re there,” she said, “I want you to put together a show.”

Kelly blinked. The woman’s offer was incredible — overwhelming, really — but that last line stopped her short. She said quietly, “A show?”

Sara nodded. “Get me some photos like that one. Not wedding shots, but some true pieces of art. Heaven knows you’ll find suitable subjects, out there. Bring me back twenty quality pieces, and I’ll give you an exhibit. If you can manage at least eight, I can place you at a smaller venue in town.”

She sniffed, “And if we can’t find something to please you, I’ll help you sell it all off to some greasy admen somewhere. Not Tom’s photo, though. That one belongs to him.”

“Of course!” Kelly said. She nodded in such fervent agreement she worried her neck might hurt later, but she wasn’t entirely in control of herself. “I mean, sure. Yes. Thank you! When–”

“It’s in three weeks,” Sara said, wincing sympathetically. “I know. Short notice. I’d lined up one of my artists to do the shoot as a gift to my son, but she got herself pregnant and can’t fly. Didn’t think to tell me until last Sunday.”

“Wow,” Kelly said. She glanced at Jonas again. “That’s quite a coincidence….”

“That’s barely half of it,” Sara said. “I had a backup plan, of course. My sister’s son has been in portrait photography since college. So I called him as soon as I heard from Ellie, and he answered the phone, ‘Aunt Sara! I’m so glad you got the news. We’ve just been too busy to contact anyone but Mom….’”

She trailed off, leaving the story hanging in the air, and Kelly’s eyes slowly got wider. “Wait, what news?”

“Twins,” she said softly. “I hadn’t even known they were expecting. What are the chances?”

“Do I get to factor Jonas into the equation?” Kelly asked, eyes narrowing, and Sara trilled a delighted laugh.

“Oh, I don’t think he was involved,” she said, waving it away. “Ellie’s not his type at all.”

Kelly blushed. “Oh, no, I didn’t mean–” She laughed, and shook her head. “Three weeks…I can do that. I’ll need to work some stuff out–”

“Oh, of course,” Sara said. “But I can count on you?” Kelly barely hesitated before nodding, and Sara smiled back at her. “I’m glad to hear it. I hope you understand what an opportunity this is.”

“I do!” Kelly said. “And thank you!”

“Oh, save your thank yous,” Sara said. “Hang onto them until I do something for you. I will, though.”

She leaned back as the waiter arrived with their entrees, and smiled down on her plate. “Ah, now that’s what I came here for,” she said. “Enough of these silly distractions. Let’s get down to business.”

~~~

Chapter 5: Real Life
Several days later Kelly leaned a shoulder against the cool stone windowsill, her camera resting forgotten on the opposite hip, and watched some old church cast buttressed shadows out over the languid Seine. She sighed, drinking in the impossible beauty of the ancient city, then asked casually over her shoulder, “That’s not Notre Dame, is it?”

Jonas laughed at her from his place on the bed, and she turned just enough to arch an eyebrow at him. “Don’t laugh at me, honey.” She didn’t even try to make it sound severe, though. She wasn’t wearing enough clothes to pull it off.

He spread both hands in an apology anyway. “I’m not mocking,” he said. “You’ve got to give me that. It’s just so easy to forget you don’t know the city….”

That was answer enough to make her turn to face him full-on, and she had no regrets for the view she had to give up. He more than made up for it.

He was radiant, here. The old world suited him, and with Kelly rocking gently in her own constant culture shock, all Jonas’s odd little quirks had become remarkably familiar and comforting.

“That’s right,” she said, feigning nonchalance now. “You’ve been here a lot. Actually…you met Sara in Paris, right?” Her voice caught on the other woman’s name, in a way she hadn’t expected, but Jonas didn’t seem to notice.

“On the plane back, actually,” he said, nodding. His eyes focused on that far-off memory, with a tenderness that would have stabbed at her heart if she hadn’t seen it so often before.

He cherished every memory, of lives he’d touched and lives he’d studied from afar. They were all the same to him — baronesses, baristos, and Baudelaire perfectly interchangeable — but not a one of them replaceable. That was one of the things she admired about him.

“Why were you here?” she asked, sinking down on the edge of the bed next to him, and he automatically moved a warm hand to rest on her bare knee. “That time, I mean.”

“Looking for work,” he answered with half a shrug. And then he chuckled. “Both of us, actually. She thought she wanted to be a fashion designer. I was looking for a life worth the write.” He met Kelly’s eyes for a while, searching, then asked softly, “Why?”

Kelly didn’t answer right away. Instead she rubbed her hands together, and asked him with a tone of desperation, “Why did she send us to Paris, Jonas?”

“Sara?” He waited until she nodded in confirmation, then shook his head like he didn’t understand the question. “You’re hot right now, Kelly. She’s surprised the incumbents and she’s getting some real media attention for finding someone fresh and new. She needs something big to keep them talking.”

Kelly nodded, her eyes on her hands now. “I guess that makes sense, but I could have made her an exhibit out of pastorals in Nebraska. I could have done Niagara, or the cherry blossoms in D. C.” She shook her head. “Hell, she could have sent me on a tour of them all for less than she spent to put us up here–” She choked to a stop, too close to the question she didn’t want to ask.

Jonas unfolded himself and came to kneel on the bed right next to her. He took both her hands in one of his, and with the other raised her chin so she’d meet his eyes.

“She believes in you, Kelly.” His voice was warm, golden like honey. And then he spoiled it. “Paris holds a special place in Sara’s heart.” Kelly winced at that, and even Jonas couldn’t miss it, but he still didn’t understand.

His voice sank lower, but he pressed on. “She’s investing a lot in you. She’s always felt like her experiences in Paris were responsible for the perspective and the vision that have set her apart throughout her career. I think she’s hoping you’ll get at least a piece of that–” He finally stopped, watching the pain bloom in her eyes, and sighed in echo of it. “What’s wrong?”

“How much….” Kelly said, and her lip quivered. She couldn’t finish the question. After a moment she tried again, “She said….” She sniffed, and tried to find her voice. “I’m scared, Jonas.”

“Of what?”

She ducked her head to wipe away her tears, and freed from his gaze she found some of her strength again. And, immediately, she felt silly. It didn’t touch the hurt, though. She caught her breath.

“It’s too much,” she said at last. “Everything is different. My whole life…this isn’t my life. It’s like something out of a story. I don’t know what will be real tomorrow. And then there’s you. And you’ve never felt real. Not from the first moment. But at the same time….”

She raised her head, and she met his eyes. She felt an intense sadness. She smiled. “You’re the realest thing in the whole world, Jonas. I’ve given up on my life being real. I’m just trying to enjoy the dream for as long as it lasts. I’ve given up even questions the fantastic sights I’ve seen, the music, the taste.” She sighed. “I’ve given up on everything but you. But I need you to be real.”

He smiled for her, the festive glint in his eye that always flared when he had a gift to offer her. “I’ll be real for you,” he said, reassuring. He smoothed her hair back from her face, and explored her eyes, his own asking her for a smile.

She’d come far enough now, though, that she needed an answer. She looked away, and cleared her throat, and said with something like a normal voice, “Sara told me she met you on the flight back from Paris.”

She could feel him waiting patiently, oblivious, and she sighed. “She said she fell in love with you before dawn,” Kelly went on. The words came easier now. “You both talk about Paris like it’s magical. And I’ve understood. For four days now, being here, I’ve seen the city…and not just that, but I’ve seen the city with you….”

She turned back to him. “How much of her experience was she trying to share with me?” He only looked blank, and Kelly caught herself thinking he’d have to be dumb as a post not to understand. He didn’t, though. She could see it in his eyes. She sighed.

“How long were you two together?” she asked.

His eyes grew wide at that, and she half expected him to laugh at her again. Instead his brows sank, and his shoulders fell, and he sank away to give her some room.

“Kelly, Kelly,” he said, too much breath in his words. He shook his head, eyes sincere. “I have never loved before today–”

“No lyrics, Jonas.” She shook her head. “Not now. I need a straight answer.”

He nodded. “I understand,” he said, “and I’m telling you in perfect honesty, I’ve never been with anyone the way I am with you.” He held up his hands against her protest. “Never with Sara. Never anything at all. We were friends from the very start, and Heaven knows she’s a playful one, but we’ve never been more than friends.”

“Then why are we here?” Kelly said. She felt the tears threatening again, this time because she felt foolish, “Why would she send me and you? Together?”

He caught her shoulders, and when she met his eyes she was glad he wasn’t smiling. It would have been patronizing, or teasing, or even delighted in how cute she was, but it would have been humiliating.

Instead he was just there, big and strong and half an arm’s length away, and waiting with perfect patience for her to come back to him. She melted against his chest, and he wrapped his arms around her.

And some time later he said, “This is what we needed, Kelly. You’re right. There has been too much, too fast. We should’ve been more careful, but I got caught up in…you.” The last word escaped him like a contented sigh, then he drank in a deep breath before continuing.

“This is real, Kelly. All of it is real. And you’ll adjust, in time. You’ll learn how to handle it all. You’ll forget that it should feel strange. Soon enough, you’ll forget your life was anything else. That’s part of the artist’s experience, and it has been since time immemorial. You really got tossed in the deep end of the pool, though.”

She laughed at that, startled at the metaphor, and then he chuckled too. He took her hand, laced his fingers between hers, and went on. “For now, though, you needed a vacation.”

Kelly smiled against his chest. She sighed softly, and said, “And you?”

“I needed you.”

~~~

While Kelly and Jonas were still leaning against each other, the room’s phone rang. Her eyes darted up to his face, and she found him frowning. She pulled away. “Who would that be?”

“Does it matter?” Jonas asked, a pleasant smile smoothing his brow. “Let it go.”

She smiled, fell back into his embrace, and let it go.

Thursday he took her out of town. They rode to Versailles under a chilly downpour, and in spite of the rain they still found a long line of tourists waiting to get in the front door, large enough to fill the palace’s sprawling courtyard. Kelly snapped a shot of the miserable visitors, and imagined what the flower gardens would look like under the gray.

Jonas wasted no time on regret, though. He leaned down to whisper in her ear, “Versailles’s not so special anyway. We’ll find something nicer to the west.”

She looked up at him, raised her brows in question, but he just smiled and kissed her. “Come on.” On the walk back to the train station she got three amazing shots of the little city in the castle’s shadow, tourist shops and cheeseries in lovely gray stone against a cobbled road, and the whole scene deserted because of the rain.

“West” turned out to mean Chartres, and halfway there Kelly watched out the train window as the storm clouds parted to bathe the world in perfect golden light. Jonas was dozing in his seat beside her, but he sensed her sudden cheer and squeezed her hand without opening his eyes.

At Chartres he led her through the town a bit, laughter in his eyes every time she asked if he knew where he was going. It certainly seemed to her like they were wandering, though.

A couple times she spotted something in the distance — a park or an interesting bit of architecture — but he always managed to divert her back into the meandering alleys and back ways before they quite found it. They spent an hour that way, maybe a little more, before he finally led her to the door of a shady-looking disco club.

It was clearly closed, but Jonas knocked twice at the front door, and the owner came to let him in. The three of them sat at a table on the edge of an empty dance floor, and Kelly listened to the men talk of old times while the club’s chef prepared an early lunch for them. It turned out to be the best sandwich she’d ever eaten.

And afterward, Jonas said his goodbyes, and led Kelly by the hand, straight as an arrow to the heart of town, where the Cathedral sat waiting. It took her breath away, and filled her camera’s memory card to capacity.

It was a day full of wonder, and midnight came before they got back to their hotel room. Kelly fell on the bed and pulled off her shoes while Jonas went to grab a shower. She was lying on her back, eyes closed, rubbing the ache from her insoles, when the phone rang again.

She sat up with a jolt, and checked the clock. Nearly one in the morning. Who would be calling?

She almost let it go. Something made her answer, though. She let her confusion show in her voice, though — and maybe a touch of worry — as she said, “Hello?”

“Oh, Kelly!” It was Sara, and she sounded frantic. “Good lord, you’re there. Thank Heavens!”

Sara’s voice trembled with a worry that had Kelly feeling sick before she even asked the question. “What’s going on?”

“It’s your brother,” she said. “He’s in the hospital. They’ve been trying to track you down for days. No one knew–”

“I know,” Kelly said, a dreadful weight pressing against her shoulders. She put a hand over her eyes. “I didn’t tell anyone. Umm…what can you tell me? What’s going on?”

Sara didn’t know a lot, but Kelly told her who to contact, and she promised to call back when she knew more. Then she hung up, and left Kelly sitting alone in the dark room, eyes staring at nothing.

She blinked against the sudden light through the door when Jonas came back into the room. She watched his eyes to see how he’d react, and he didn’t disappoint her. He knew instantly that something was wrong, and he came across the room to her.

“What’s happened?”

“It’s my brother,” she said, surprised her voice came out as clear as it did. She felt numb, and that helped. She nodded to herself. “He’s…he was in an accident. S-Sunday.” She caught her breath, and met his eyes. “He’s been in the hospital ever since. He’s…they say he’s unresponsive. I don’t know exactly what that means.”

Jonas gathered her into his arms, and for a long time she did nothing but breathe in his warmth. Finally he ran a hand down her arm, and said, “I’m sorry.”

“I should have been there. They’ve been trying to contact me since Sunday. I didn’t even tell anyone–”

“Hush,” he said with a warm kindness. “I know all too well how easy it is to curse yourself at a time like this, but none of this is your fault. Just breathe.”

She nodded, sniffing against the tears for the first time, and caught her breath. “I need you–” she said, and then started over. “I need you to take care of the travel stuff, okay? I can’t handle it.”

His hand stopped moving on her arm, and after a moment she pushed back to look up into his eyes. “What?”

“It’s just….” She could see discomfort in his eyes, but after a moment he went on. “You want to go home? Now?”

“Yes!” She pulled away, and stood to face him. “Yes, Jonas. It’s been four days already, and I’m a thousand miles away. I need to get there.”

“But…” He cocked his head, clearly confused. “I didn’t think you liked your family.”

He said the words casually enough, but they hit Kelly like a blow. She gasped, and her attempt at answering him came out a cough, and then she collapsed into a ball on the floor, and surrendered to the sobbing pain.

~~~

Sara called back, and Kelly took notes because she didn’t trust her memory or understanding with the who, what, where, why, and how. When that was done Kelly crawled under the blanket without bothering to undress. She closed her eyes, and waited for it to be over.

Sometime later, halfway conscious, she heard Jonas on the phone speaking French, and she nodded sadly to herself. Shortly after that, she let go.

Daylight filtering through the window woke her up a few hours later, and she found Jonas sitting on the edge of the bed already dressed, all their bags packed by his feet. He smiled over at her, lips tight, and said, “We’ve got tickets. You good enough to get moving?”

She couldn’t find her voice, but she nodded at him and headed to the bathroom to get cleaned up. The next hour was like that — tight-lipped and voiceless — as they stopped in automatically at their favorite patisserie on the corner for breakfast-to-go, as they walked more than a mile to the train station, as they rode the rattling train across town to another station where they could catch a shuttle to DeGaul.

Sometimes he gripped her hand. Sometimes she fought tears. Sometimes they were for her brother….

On the shuttle to the airport, crammed into a narrow seat side-by-side, Jonas put a warm hand on her knee, and caught her eye. “Are you okay?” She nodded instead of answering, and he sighed. “I’m sorry for what I said.”

Tears flooded her eyes at that, at his dismal expression, but she didn’t trust herself to words. She shook her head violently, but he didn’t seem to see.

“I just don’t understand,” he said, flexing his hands helplessly, and she knew he was going to say something even worse. She closed her eyes and prayed.

“I just…you were alone at Christmas. You were alone at Thanksgiving. I didn’t even know you had a brother until you told me about that call.” A sob escaped her, and he put an arm around her shoulder in a hug.

“You’ve been so happy here. And you’ve gotten such amazing photos. And we only have two days left. It caught me off-guard that you wanted to rush back now–”

“He’s my brother,” Kelly said, and realized with a shock they really were the first words she’d spoken all day. “He nearly died, and now he’s in a coma–”

“Which means he won’t know if you’re there or not,” Jonas said. He made his voice soft, but it didn’t help with the words. “It’s not like your being there will help.”

She felt a flash of anger toward him, and she clung to it. She needed something other than pain if she was going to keep her voice. She opened her eyes and looked over at him.

“I should be there, Jonas. Do you have any family?” He shrugged, and she fought down a growl. “We’re not close. Okay? We don’t really talk. But he’s family. I should be there when he wakes up. Or when….” She coughed and looked away, but then shook her head. “I should be there.”

He didn’t say anything for a few minutes, which was probably his best move. He moved his arm from her shoulder, and took her hand instead. It was a kind of apology, and she leaned her shoulder against him as a kind of forgiveness, while the silence fell again.

A little later, she spoke up. “It’s not really about Jesse anyway.” Her voice faltered, and she cleared her throat. It didn’t help. “I guess it is. I can’t help thinking how alone he must be….”

She took a deep breath, and went on. “I hate how long it took them to find me.”

He didn’t immediately understand the significance of the statement. “Well…” he started, and she saw his thoughtful frown. “Who’s going to blame you for taking a vacation? You couldn’t have known something would happen–”

“It’s not that,” she said. “It’s not that I took a vacation. It’s….” She felt a vicious hand gripping her heart, squeezing. It had been there ever since she got the call, but saying it all out loud….

“I didn’t tell anyone I was going,” Kelly said. “Someone should have known, because anything could have happened. It didn’t have to be Jesse. I should have told someone–”

“Okay,” Jonas said, trying to offer her absolution, “but none of this is your fault–”

“Then whose is it?” she snapped, and she saw the moment of understanding in his eyes just before the pain, as he recognized her question for the accusation it was. She dropped her head again, and let out a sob again, and said, “I’m sorry, Jonas. And no…it’s not your fault. It’s not Sara’s. This is all my doing–”

“But ‘this’ isn’t a bad thing,” Jonas said, ducking his head and trying unsuccessfully to draw her eyes back to him. “Something bad happened, but the circumstances–”

“The ‘circumstances’ are my life, Jonas. I’ve been pretending, I’ve been hiding–”“It’s not pretending, Kelly. It’s not. You really are this special.”

She let him finish. She still didn’t meet his eyes, though, as she answered him. “There’s a girl who could live that life, Jonas. I can imagine it, like a fairy tale. And you’ve got me convinced that it’s real. That I could wake up to this every day….”

She threw her head back against the seat, eyes fixed on the top of the shuttle, and sighed. “But just because it’s real doesn’t mean it’s my life. I have a life. It’s quiet, and it’s complicated, and the pay is lousy and I spend some holidays alone. That doesn’t mean I don’t want it.”

Jonas didn’t have an answer for that. He tried anyway. “You can have as much of that as you want–”

“No,” she shook her head, and she finally met his eyes. “I can’t. I’ve tried. Maybe I’m special enough to live this life, but I’m not strong enough to live them both. There aren’t enough hours in the day.”

She scrubbed a hand over her face, then pushed her hair back. Her face was warm and weak from the tears, and she felt an emptiness in her middle, but she was in control again. “My boss threatened to fire me,” she said.

His eyes widened, and she nodded. “That was…December. Just before Christmas. He called me onto the carpet in October over all the time I was missing, and I promised I’d do better. That’s why it took me so long to get to see my own exhibit. And even that got me in trouble.”

“Well, if it’s about work you can certainly afford–”

“I can’t,” she said, not unkindly. “And it’s not. It’s about living the life I’ve made for myself. I lied to my boss outright after the break, told him I was done with the photography, and when this came up, I had to lie to everyone else, too. All my friends, all my coworkers, to make sure it didn’t get back to him.”

“We can work this out, Kelly….”

“No.” Her heart felt better at the word. It shouldn’t have, but it did. “No. I don’t want to. I want to be me. I want to live my life. And that’s not here — not even for two more days.”

He had an answer — she knew he did — but he restrained himself. He hugged her again, quick and supportive this time, and then they settled into silence again for a while.

He broke it, half a mile from the airport. He just said softly, “What about me?”

And then she felt the tears again, and the hand on her heart, because she knew the answer. She couldn’t put it in words, though. Not just then. She squeezed his hand, voiceless, and waited for it to be over.

~~~

Part 2: Jesse Lane
Chapter 6: Waking Up
Jesse woke up to an irritating scratching noise. His head throbbed, and his left hand and right leg both registered dull complaints, but mainly he was tired. He wanted nothing more than to go back to sleep, but he couldn’t ignore the skritch skritching, or the frustrated little grunts of the scratcher close by his bed.

He finally growled deep in his throat and heaved himself up, twisting to confront the strange figure who’d decided to invade his room and shatter his peaceful rest–

As soon as he moved the dull complaints exploded into agony, slicing along his nerves from his head to his toes, coalescing and blossoming in a thunderous pain that threatened to blow his skull apart. It took every bit of his strength not to scream, and he blinked rapidly against a closing blackness, desperate — for reasons he couldn’t possibly explain — not to pass out.

Through it all, the stranger sat there in a chair by Jesse’s bed, one arm twisted up comically behind his head, the other jammed behind his back, and a blank look on his face at Jesse’s sudden movement. After an eternity of pain, he finally blinked back at Jesse, met his eyes, and said, “Oh, damn it all.”

The stranger’s random obscenity shocked through Jesse’s stupor, and he regained enough sense to fall back against his bed. It helped. A little.
He focused on breathing, long enough to gather his senses, and then he whispered a desperate prayer. And then he looked around.

It was a hospital bed. He didn’t know how he’d gotten there, but whatever it was, it had been bad. He glanced at his visitor out of the corner of his eye, but he certainly didn’t recognize the foul-mouthed man with the stringy black hair.

He remembered a funeral, and a wedding, and a quiet night at home with the wife and kids. He frowned, fighting for recollection, and remembered Sunday morning service — he’d had to cut it short, but it had been a good one. And driving to meet the MacKenzies for lunch, his wife in the passenger seat yelling at the boys in the back.

And he remembered the Dodge Ram running the red light on Tenth….

His eyes closed, a tear leaking from his eye, and he said, “How long have I been here?”

“All the way through the Illiad and the Odyssey,” the stranger said, as if it were an answer. “And we’re two books into the Aeneid, but I’m having trouble with the rhyme scheme.”

Jesse was certain he didn’t know the man, but he hated him. He hated him enough to lift a shoulder — against his body’s screams of protest — so he could look the stranger in the eye with all his scorn, and ask again, “How long has it been?”

The stranger shrugged, “Six weeks and five days for you.” There was a hollow sadness in the man’s precision, and he added, “Six weeks even, for me.”

~~~

Jesse found the call button to summon a nurse, and mashed it with all his irritation. The stranger in the chair next to the bed stretched his neck to see what Jesse was up to, then fell back with a condescending smile.

“That’s probably not necessary,” he said, nodding to the banks of monitors blinking furiously on both sides of Jesse’s bed. A morbid thought crossed Jesse’s mind as he tried to figure out what the stranger meant, but then he became aware of a high beeping tone that filled the air. It was an alarm, and it had probably been going off since the moment he woke up.

He frowned at the stranger. “Who are you? Why are you here?”

“I’m Jonas. I’m waiting for Kelly.”

“Kelly!” He snorted. “Are you trying to serve papers, or collect on a debt? Either way good luck, because you could be waiting for a long time. My loser sister hasn’t spoken to me in seven years.”

“Actually, your loser sister sacrificed a genuine shot at fame and fortune to be by your side, when she heard about the accident–”

“Oh, wonderful!” Jesse said with a weary sigh. “Now she can hold that against me for the rest of her life.” He closed his eyes and pressed his palms against them. “How often has she come in?”

The stranger didn’t answer right away, and after a moment Jesse lowered his arms and looked over. Jonas was sitting with his hands in his lap, staring at a battered copy of some Penguin classic, with a dreadfully serious look on his face.

“How long?”

“Well,” he said finally, “it’s been something in the neighborhood of…umm, just under six weeks.”

“Of course,” Jesse said, a satisfied smile stealing across his lips. “The universe makes sense again. And what does that make you, then, waiting by my sick bed for Kelly’s extremely unlikely return? Not a process server, if you can answer for her prior behavior so precisely….”

Jesse narrowed his eyes and made a big show of sizing up the stranger, but he already knew. He should have known from the start, grungy and pale and strange as the fellow was. He nodded knowingly. “No,” he said, “I’d say you’ve got to be a scorned lover. She’s changed her locks, won’t answer her phone, won’t even talk to you….”

Jonas flinched at every line, and Jesse nodded proudly. “And now you’re here, hoping to ambush her — flirting with the very real possibility of a restraining order. Why do her relationships always end up the same?”

A flush rose in the stranger’s pale cheeks, and whether it was from anger or humiliation didn’t matter — either way, it was confirmation. Jesse chuckled darkly. “I could go pro.”

He paused to suck in a deep breath, and repositioned himself so he could use his voice of authority. “Anyway,” he said briskly, “thank you for the stimulating conversation, but you’re welcome to leave now. I’m no more interested in hanging out with my sister’s refuse than she is.”

The nurse’s arrival couldn’t have been timed better. She pushed through the door and gestured impatiently for Jonas to leave, preventing him from offering any kind of response and reinforcing Jesse’s curt dismissal with one of her own. Jonas gathered his things with a sullen air, then left the room without a word spoken.

The sense of victory was sweet, but short-lived. As soon as the stranger was out of sight, Jesse remembered the fullness of his situation — pushed to the back of his mind by the man’s aggravating intrusion.

He remembered the accident that had put him here, and the revelation of his long convalescence, and the grave questions still unanswered. A hollowness assailed his heart.

He turned to the nurse, tears in his eyes, and asked her desperately, “Where is my family?”

~~~

Jesse waited, his heart pounding, but the nurse didn’t seem to be in any hurry to answer him. She took the time to write down all the values on the monitor, and then to move to the other side and record those on his chart.

He fell back against his pillow, and with a hopeless voice said, “Taylor Albright Lane, Zachary Thomas Lane, Jonathan Peter Lane–”

“They’re fine,” the nurse said, cutting him off. “In and out, weeks ago, and your wife’s been notified you’re awake. Okay, big shot? It’s going to take her a few minutes to get here, so how about you let me do my work?”

He opened one eye, measuring the nurse while she made notes about the medicine he’d been given. “It almost seems like I’ve done something to irritate you.”

He said it teasingly. It wasn’t unusual for someone in her line of work to get frustrated, and he certainly knew how easy it was to misdirect that anger. But he was good with people, so he smiled to take the sting out of his words. “Am I such a monster?”

She slammed her clipboard down so hard the metallic smash made Jesse jump and shrink away, despite the pain that lanced through his body. The nurse leaned low over him, eyes flashing with fire and voice deep with fury.

“You drove into an intersection and got hit with enough force to spin your car all the way around. By the time police got to the scene, your car was barely wider than the passenger seat at the point of impact. And you were dead, Mr. Lane. It’s a miracle you’re alive at all, let alone your family.”

“My family–” he said, but she pretended she hadn’t heard.

She pulled back, sniffed, and turned away. “Your sister came and cried over you a bit, and then she left. I did hear her call your mother, but I’ve certainly never seen her here.”

She raised a hand to her face, as though to wipe a tear, and shook her head. “Your wife and children walked away unharmed. I guess they’re the ones you’re asking after, huh? Well they’ve been here…from time to time. Maybe once a week, to check on you.”

“Well, Taylor’s got a busy schedule, and the boys–”

She rounded on him, and he stopped his apologies mid-sentence. There were tears in her eyes, though he couldn’t possibly understand them. His jaw dropped open, but she spoke right over him. “And the whole time — through it all, Mr. Lane — there was one person steadfastly by your side!”

“That man?” Jesse asked, trying to convey his innocence by pretending to forget the stranger’s name.

It didn’t work. “Jonas!” The nurse spat bitterly. “That man is Jonas. Nearly seven weeks he spent in a constant vigil for you, and you treated him like so much trash.”

Jesse blushed and looked away, because there was no sense trying to defend himself. “You heard that?” he mumbled, giving her enough of an opening so she could say what she needed to say.

That worked. “I heard every word of it,” she said with venom. “So, yes, you’ve done something to irritate me.” She glanced furiously over her shoulder, out toward the hall, then dismissed her self-restraint with half a shrug.

She leaned low over him again, and hissed in his face. “And yes, you are a monster. It took you five minutes this side of a miraculous recovery to sit there so damn sure of yourself…and prove it.”

She straightened and snatched up her clipboard, then offered him one last scowl. Then she turned on her heel, and stormed from the room.

~~~

The viciousness of the nurse’s speech took Jesse completely off-guard, and she was already at the door before he found his voice. “Wait!” he shouted, a touch plaintive, but she paid him no mind.

He felt a cold panic creeping in just at the edges of his consciousness, though, bleeding through something else — darkness. Exhaustion.

He could feel sleep coming again, and there was nothing he could do to fight it. Taylor’s office was on the other side of town, though, and if she stopped to pick up the kids on the way….

“Come back!” he shouted, and heard the nurse’s indignant hmph from the hall. He fumbled for the call button and mashed it, desperate, even knowing she could hear him. He was slipping away again, with no idea how long it would last this time.

“I don’t want to be alone.” He meant it for another shout, another plea, but the words came out thin and frail. Still, they elicited more response than any of his earlier cries.

He heard a commotion out by the nurse’s station, and voices arguing in a hush he couldn’t quite penetrate. He had a guess what it was about, though. That nurse was keeping the others away from him — because he was a monster.

Desperation shattered any shred of pride, and he cried, “I’m sorry. Nurse, please, give me another chance. I was a jerk. A big stupid jerk. Just…please.  Someone help me!”

And, to his great relief, he saw movement at the door. It was just a head at first, popping sideways around the corner, greasy black locks dangling toward the floor and suspicious blue eyes squinting at him across the room.

Jonas. His voice came out carefully level. “You were quite unkind,” he said.

Jesse stifled a groan, and hid it in a pathetic nod. “I was. I was scared, and confused, and…and just mean. I’m sorry.” He trailed off, and couldn’t help asking, “Why are you still here?”

“I had faith in you, Jesse. I couldn’t leave.” A voice spoke up behind him, surely the nurse’s, and he withdrew to respond.

Jesse forced himself to take slow, soothing breaths, and clawed desperately at consciousness. He counted heartbeats and quietly cursed the cruel nurse for her role in all of this.

And then, at last, Jonas returned — embodied now, hands tucked behind his back like some fancy English gentleman, and he strolled into the room as though it were a ball. “Nurse Tilman doesn’t think I should forgive you so easily,” he said, as though it were an insignificant matter.

“She could lose her license for the way she’s treated me today,” Jesse said darkly, but he kept it quiet just in case.

Jonas heard him though. He threw his head back and laughed, as though Jesse had told the funniest joke in the world, then shrugged both shoulders and said, “Perhaps. She’s got a big heart, though. Like a mama bear protecting her cubs.”

An angry retort sprang to Jesse’s tongue, but he didn’t give it voice. He couldn’t find the strength. The darkness was still there, edging on his vision, but his fear and anger both felt distant, unattached. He licked his lips, and nodded absently.

“In fact,” Jonas said, pulling his arms out from behind him and producing an official-looking form in one hand, and a cheap ball-point pen in the other. “She insists I get your signature on this document if I’m going to hang around here anymore.”

Jesse nodded without even thinking about it, and his head bobbed further in both directions than he intended it to. When he got it stopped, he found the pen in his hand, and the bedside table pushed smoothly in front of him.

His name came out wobbly and less round than he intended, but he got the letters right. He became intensely aware of the grin that flashed across the stranger’s face, and then the table and form were gone, the pen removed from his hand, and Jonas was seated in the chair by his side once more.

“Where is my family?” he asked, trying unsuccessfully to push himself up off his bed. Jonas leaned forward and adjusted his pillow, then sat back again.

“They could be anywhere,” he said absently. “I’ll keep you entertained until they show up. Now where were we? Ah…here it is.”

He cleared his throat, and started reading. “So there I was,” he said, in an altered voice, “this Mexican girl all up in my face, and it was everything I could do to keep from crying. ‘How’d I get here?’ she wanted to know. I just kept thinking, ‘There’s not enough time in the day, lady.’”

Jesse frowned, searching his memory. “Wait, what?” he said. The words came out thin. “What are you reading?”

“The Aeneid,” Jonas said lightly. “Now shut up. This is the good part. It’s still Andy talking.” He put on the character’s voice again and went right on.

“So I told her, ‘I’m from L. A. You know L.A., right? Hollywood?’ Before she could nod, I leaned forward and said, ‘Well it’s gone. Some bastards just showed up and burned it to the ground. I got out of there with some friends and family — a convoy ten miles long — and we did our best to disappear. We took back roads where we could, through mountains and deserts, but even without the enemy armies and the bandits, there were the storms. You wouldn’t believe the stuff we had to deal with, just trying to get to the coast–’”

“No, no, that’s not right,” Jesse said, before succumbing to a nod. He tried unsuccessfully to turn his head, but settled for talking to the ceiling. “We studied this stuff in high school. The Aeneid’s about…about Rome. And it’s a poem.”

Jonas arched an eyebrow at him, and after a moment said, “Do I need to call Nurse Tilman back in here?”

Jesse sighed, letting his eyes fall closed, and felt a smile bend his lips. “No, sir,” he said politely, and yawned more deeply this time. “Carry on.”

Jonas nodded, then went back to his book. “Maybe that doesn’t sound so bad — better than hiding out somewhere in south central waiting for rescue, anyway — but we ended up making rafts to get away from some guys with machine guns, and once the current caught us all we could do was drift and hope to see land again someday. So that’s how I ended up naked and completely alone on the beach outside Veracruz. God hates me.”

What kind of story was this? Jesse tried to argue again, or at least to ask, but the darkness was there. He felt the cool weight of the bed wrapped around him, and the warm waves of the stranger’s voice, lapping at the edge of Jesse’s nothing.

He felt…okay. He breathed in, eyes closed, and held it for a moment. No, not okay. It was better than okay. He breathed out, once, slowly, and tasted a smile. He felt nothing.

~~~

The next time Jesse woke up, he did it with considerably more aplomb. He felt a fragile awareness of the room, and for a moment he trembled on the border between dream and reality, but he didn’t tarry there long.

He could remember the scene in the hospital, and the strange man reading to him, and for a heartbeat or two he held onto hope that it had all been a dream. A quiet beep from one of the monitors dashed his optimism, but at least it wasn’t the alarms he’d heard earlier.

He opened his eyes and found the room dark, and the hall beyond mostly dark as well, except for some muted lights near the nurse’s station. There was none of the bustle he’d noticed before, either. He enjoyed the stillness.

More than that, he enjoyed the warm weight resting against his side, the delicate fingers laced between his. He drank in the magic scent of shampoo and fabric softener and fresh-baked bread that his wife wore like a perfume. He stretched his neck, and kissed her softly on the cheek.

She moaned just as softly, and then shifted against him, and he hid the wince of pain because it was so good to have her there. He watched her eyes flutter open, and watched her find her way back to reality, too. Then he kissed her again — one she could remember.

She pulled away and rolled on her side so she could face him. He put on a pout, and that earned him a smile from her. Then she spoke in a little church whisper. “Are you all there?”

He chuckled, and shrugged both shoulders. “Would I know if I wasn’t?” He reached out to smooth her hair. “How long have you been waiting here?”

“Only a few hours,” she said. “I came when they called, but you were already asleep again by the time I got here. The doctors said it was a good thing, though, and the nurse said you were talking and…and coherent, while you were awake.”

“I’m sure she did,” he said, but even the memory of that nurse couldn’t distract him from the pleasure of having Taylor here with him. He smiled. “The boys are at….”

“Nana’s,” she said. “The doctors said you might wake up again around…” she rolled over to seek out the numbers that glowed a cheery red from a clock by the door, and took a moment too long considering them. She wasn’t entirely awake yet.

At last, she rolled back, and shrugged, and said, “Around now.”

“Smart men,” he said softly, and then his blink took a moment too long, and he realized he wasn’t entirely awake yet, either. “I”m glad you stayed.”

“Me too.” She snuggled close to him again, with exaggerated care, then rested her head on his arm. “I was worried you would wait another three or four hours, and I’d miss you again.”

Jesse’s yawn thwarted his curiosity, but at last he got to ask, “What’s so urgent? Little League practice isn’t for another month, right? Or have I been snoozing longer than I thought?”

She squirmed before she answered, holding back, but he moved a comforting hand to her shoulder and she fell still. Then she said softly, “I need to be at the courthouse by nine.”

Silence fell for some time. He broke it with one word. “Oh.” The elephant in the room. They’d avoided it admirably, but that time was over.

“I’ve met the man,” she said, and her voice shook. “He…he found me in the hospital. To apologize.” She trembled, and though there wasn’t a trace of it in her voice, he knew there was more than a touch of rage behind it.

“Was he drunk?” Jesse asked, his tone carefully cold, but she just shook her head. He nodded. “That fits my memory. I suspect he was just in a hurry.”

“They weren’t telling me anything about you,” she hissed, burying her face against his chest. “Nothing! I was cleared, but Johnnie was still in I.C.U.–”

He grew tense at that, his whole body suddenly rigid, and she felt the change and stopped short. He felt her eyes searching for his, but he couldn’t meet them.

“What happened to Johnnie?”

She relaxed against him, and moved a hand along his arm as though she were trying to soothe a startled horse. “Nothing terrible. Nothing terrible. Broken bone in his wrist, bruised larynx, and a small gash on his forehead that somehow spilled an astronomical amount of blood. Between that, and him not talking, I was terrified….”

Jesse nodded, and gradually made himself relax. Then he squeezed her against him in a hug, in spite of the pain, and resumed his proper role. “That’s normal. I’m proud of you for handling it.”

She snorted, but she didn’t argue. “That man — the other driver — had a cast on his foot and a bandage on his cheekbone, and by the looks of it they were already done with him when he found me. He just walked right up–”

“He wanted to make things right,” Jesse said. “You know that couldn’t have been easy for him.”

She tensed now, anxious to argue with him, but that was just her protective side. A moment later reason won out, and she sighed. “You’re right. I wasn’t very kind to him.”

He smiled in the darkness. “I suspect you can be forgiven for that.”

She lay there in silence for a while, then asked softly, “Do I have to forgive him?”

He weighed and discarded three good answers before settling on a mediocre one. “You’ve got no place to judge.”

“I do,” she whispered. She nodded. “I do, at nine o’clock.” She stretched to look at the clock again, for too long again, then fell back against him. “I’m testifying.”

“Then tell the truth,” he said gently. “That’s your responsibility. Tell the truth as you know it, and let the court decide whether or not he’s guilty in the eyes of man. As for us…we all make mistakes, Taylor. Forgive him his, as the Lord forgives you yours.”

She nodded again, more slowly this time, and said, “I know.” She fumbled for his hand, found it, and squeezed it in her fingers. “You’re such a good man.” She reached to kiss him. “I’m glad God decided he could spare you for a little while longer.”

He smiled into her hair, but some ghost of a memory nagged at him, some flicker of his own guilt, and he couldn’t quite place it. It left him unsettled, though, and he lay there in silence, wrestling with his recollection, until he suspected Taylor had fallen back to sleep.

Eventually he gave up. There was nothing he could think of to torment him so. He did find himself thinking about that stranger again, though, and that piqued his curiosity once more.

He leaned his head close to hers, and asked very softly, “Taylor?”

“Hmm?” She wasn’t entirely asleep.

He hated to wake her, but he felt a compelling need to know more. “About that man–”

“No,” she said thickly, shaking her head. “I don’t want to talk about him.”

“No, not the other driver. The one who was here, reading to me.”

Instead of answering, she blinked her eyes open, then pushed herself up and away from him again, to look him in the eyes. “What man?” she asked.

He frowned at her. “The…the stranger. I think he was Kelly’s boyfriend, but he was here.” He nodded toward the chair. “The nurse said he was here all the time, reading to me. I know he was here today. He tried to tell me the strangest story, just before I fell asleep. He must have been here when you got here.”

She looked at him for a moment, and then a compassionate smile touched her lips. She shook her head slowly. “No, honey.”

She leaned down to kiss him. “You must have been dreaming,” she said. “I’ve been here at least once a week, and I’ve never seen any sign of a mystery man.” She settled against him again, and drifted quickly back toward sleep. He could hear it in her voice as she said, “I never even saw your worthless sister. That had to be a dream.”

Before he could say anything more, she was sound asleep. He lay in the dark for a long time, fighting a fickle consciousness and a strangely troubled conscience before he finally joined her.

Just before he let go, he found himself thinking that the dark portal into nothingness was, once again, an unexpected relief.

~~~

Chapter 7: In Passing
The next time Jesse woke up, he was alone again. Too-bright sunlight flooding through the window told him it was well into tomorrow, so Taylor was probably at the courthouse.

He felt significantly better than he had at any point yesterday. The mattress was hard enough to deserve a few complaints, and it hadn’t been terribly comfortable sharing the narrow bed — even with a companion of his wife’s pleasant size. Despite it all, though, he felt remarkably improved for those few groggy moments of conversation in the dark of night.

A monitor beeped over his shoulder, trilling its automated alarm out at the nurse’s station probably, and he smiled wryly as he caught sight of the IV bag hanging over his bed. He shrugged one shoulder, ceding the point to his darker side, but it probably was some combination of companionship and the powerful drugs they were pumping directly into his bloodstream.

Either way, he’d take it.

He pushed himself up into a seating position, ran a hand through his hair — shorter than it should have been at six weeks, and his face was surprisingly smooth. Taylor must have taken care of him before leaving. He smiled at that. She always wanted him presentable.
He sat there while time ticked by, waiting for his attendant, and that pleasant demeanor gradually waned. The beeping had stopped, and that surely meant a nurse was on her way to check on him. Right? He shrugged again and punched the call button, just in case.

He watched the door, waiting, and wondered idly whether it would be the nurse or his strange visitor who appeared first. The thought brought back his wife’s last words last night, the ones that had kept him awake, thinking.

Where had the man come from? He’d said…what? Jesse fought to master memories made vague by confusion and strong narcotics.

He’d said he was waiting for Kelly. Jesse remembered that for certain. And…an ex-boyfriend. Right? Jesse went back over the memory, analyzing it from the outside as he’d been trained to do. He searched for the assumptions behind words and telltale signs of miscommunication on both sides, and tried to extrapolate what had really been exchanged.

What he found was a mystery. He wanted to put it down to the drugs, but the character in his memory was clear enough, and he didn’t participate in the conversation the way…well, the way human beings do. He was responsive enough, but everything was off.

Considering him analytically, everything about Jonas reflected a deep and wretched sadness, but his words and behavior were all entirely at odds with that. The only time he’d revealed anything resembling that was when Jesse lashed out at him — and that was the sort of exchange least likely to trigger a genuine reaction.

Jesse knew what it meant. Eyes locked on the blank corridor wall outside his room, mind racing, he saw two clear interpretations. And though he preferred the one built on myth and legend, lying alone on a hospital bed following a severe head trauma that had put him in a coma for more than a month, he knew where the odds were.

Still, he prayed. He watched the empty doorway and prayed. He didn’t want to be crazy.

~~~

The nurse showed up first, peeking into Jesse’s room, then stepping up beside his bed. He watched her carefully, searching her face with a desperate paranoia for any hint of his mental collapse.

He could feel the irony of that, but it did nothing to calm him. The nurse was kinder this time, though. She abandoned the ominous silence after a quick scan of his monitors, and even offered him a smile.

“Good morning, Mr. Lane. How are you feeling today?” She didn’t give him time to answer, which was probably for the best. Her eyes danced over a page on her clipboard and then shot back to his. “You’ve got a special guest.”

He felt his pulse pick up at that, with a flush of adrenaline that made it difficult to breathe, but he forced out the question. “Is it…is it Jonas? That man who was here–”

He trailed off, unable to finish the question for fear of her reaction, and for a moment it was as bad as he’d expected. She frowned at him, surprised, realizing for the first time how uncomfortable he was. She shook her head, and he fought down an urge to scream.

“No, sir.” Her eyes went back to the clipboard, and she flipped a couple pages, then turned it for him to see. “In fact, I need to speak with you about Mr. Jonas. You filled out this form?”

It was a Visitation Consent Form, and though Jesse had no memory of offering his consent, he could vaguely recall a moment on the edge of oblivion, darkness pressing in on his vision, when his creepy guest had presented him something to sign.

Looking at it now, he could see the signs of his own distress. His handwriting was jagged and wild, illegible and scratched wildly outside the lines. The nurse arched an eyebrow at him. “Is that your signature?”

“Well…yes,” he said. He could remember the nurse leaning over him, just moments before he’d signed it, with a fury that threatened bloodshed. That memory didn’t jive at all with the woman standing pleasantly beside his bed, though. How much of it was real? “I mean,” he started again, stuttering. “I remember signing it, but–”

“But you were under the influence of some serious drugs,” she said, pressing the clip and pulling out the page to crumple in one hand. “I suspected as much. This is worthless then.”

He watched the paper collapse, and his hopes went with it. “But what about him?” he cried, almost desperate. “What about Jonas?”

She glanced back over her shoulder, out of the room, then met Jesse’s eyes again. “You don’t need to worry about Jonas anymore. Okay?” She gave him the sort of reassuring smile caretakers gave to madmen. “There’s someone else here to see you today.”

Jesse pressed the heels of his hands furiously against his eyes, overwhelmed with frustration, but he didn’t want to make himself seem any crazier than he already did. He took several slow breaths, then lowered his hands. He used his “nice” voice.

“Please, show them in. Who is it?”

“Justin Marks,” the nurse said, and as she said it the man entered the room. “He’s an occupational therapist–”

“And I’m here to get you back on your feet,” Justin said, taking over for the nurse. He accepted the clipboard from her, then watched until she left the room. When she was gone, he scanned the papers on the clipboard rapidly, then raised his gaze to Jesse with a big smile on his face.

“You’re in luck, Mr. Lane,” he said cheerily. “Can I call you Jesse? You’re in luck, Jesse. I don’t really do this much anymore, but I’m making an exception for you. I’ll have you back to your real life in three weeks. How’s that sound? There’s maybe two other guys in the whole state who could get you patched up that quick!”

He dropped the clipboard on the bedside table and extended a warm hand to Jesse, but Jesse just eyed him warily. “What makes me so special, then?” Jesse said. “Why am I an exception?”

“You don’t know?” Justin’s smile slipped, and he glanced nervously out toward the nurse’s station, then he leaned close and spoke to Jesse in a whisper. “Jonas asked me to take care of you. A special little favor.”

He grinned and waggled his eyebrows before straightening back up, and Jesse giggled quietly in spite of himself. Crazy it was, then!

~~~

Jesse watched, mouth hanging open in shock, while the physical therapist went to stick his head out in the hall and look both ways, then close the door. He grabbed the chair Jonas had used and dragged it up close to the bed, then climbed up into it and squatted with his arms wrapped around his knees, bouncing on his toes.

That put him eye-level with Jesse, and put Jesse in mind of an eager young youth minister. This guy certainly didn’t convey the professional demeanor Jesse expected of medical personnel. He seemed wired — and, for that matter, youth ministers always did, too.

Jesse took some comfort from the closed door, though. He leaned forward and said, “What do you mean Jonas sent you?” He stopped to shift his position, suddenly squeamish. He needed an answer, though. “Can…can you explain?”

“Sure!” the therapist said brightly. “He called me. Weeks ago, actually, but I told him to call back once you woke up.” He chuckled. “Not much I can do for you while you’re in a coma.”

“So he called you. On…on the phone?” The therapist nodded, like it was a perfectly normal question, and Jesse felt the flush rising in his face. “I feel like a fool,” he said, shaking his head. “I was starting to think I’d hallucinated the whole thing–”

Justin barked a laugh in response, then clapped a hand on Jesse’s knee. “Don’t waste any time on that. I spent the first month after meeting him wondering if it was all some kind of fancy mental breakdown. Something about the man…I dunno. He bends reality. It takes a while to accept that this is just how it is, now.”

Jesse narrowed his eyes, then asked carefully, “How is life, now?” The therapist blinked at him, so Jesse said, “You told me you don’t do this anymore. What do you do now?”

Justin grinned. “Videogames.” He watched Jesse’s eyes grow wide, and nodded in understanding. “Don’t you worry, I haven’t taken it as an excuse to neglect my studies. I still do therapeutic work a couple times a month — mostly for friends and family — and I’m still one of the best. It’s on my terms now, though.” He nodded to himself, and Jesse realized that was the most serious he’d seen the other man since he came through the door.

“So…umm….” Jesse said, trying to hold up his part of the conversation. “What games do you play?”

“Play? Most of ‘em, actually, but I barely ever finish any. No, I meant I make videogames. First-person shooters, mainly, but I just finished up a squad-based over-the-shoulder. It’s all super cool, though. It’s a trip.” He grinned again, ear-to-ear, then brought his hands together in a loud clap. “Now, let’s talk about you.”

“Yes,” Jesse said, letting out an involuntary sigh. “What about me?”

“You’re lucid — Jonas notwithstanding.” He winked and laughed at that, then went on. “You’re surprisingly present, given the medication they’ve got you on. That’s a good thing. You’re a very lucky man.”

“Thanks–” Jesse said, uncertain how to respond, but the therapist cut him off — serious again.

“Don’t thank me yet. Six weeks in a coma, you’re going to have trouble. You’ve dodged the worst of it, apparently, but it’s going to take some time to get you back to your old nimble self. Got it? I mean, I’ve got high hopes we can have you walking like a champion within the week, but it’ll be a bit before you handle a razor again. Clear enough?”

“Clear enough,” Jesse said, swallowing a sudden lump in his throat. Justin seemed to spot his concern right away.

“Hey, don’t fret. I want you to have a realistic understanding of where you’re at, but we’re going to attack this thing and get you right back where you want to be. Bank on that.”

Jesse found his eyes locked on the sheets in front of him, but he forced himself to nod. He forced himself to take a breath, and that left him feeling a little better. He hadn’t even thought about rehabilitation.

“It’s….” He stopped, cleared his throat and licked his lips, and then he tried again. “I’ve never done any kind of physical therapy before.” He tried to force a chuckle, but it didn’t really come off. “I’ve never had serious brain damage before.”

“You still haven’t,” Justin said, fumbling his own attempt to seem serious. “Talking to me like this, one day after waking up from your coma? That puts you in cupcake territory. I could tell you about serious brain damage.”

Jesse smiled at that in spite of himself. Then he chuckled in earnest. “You’re sure you can get me walking again?”

“Jesse, I’ll have you dancing.”

He laughed at that. “I think I’m going to owe Jonas an apology, and some really profuse gratitude.”

“Well…” Justin said, dragging it out. “Don’t put anything in writing just yet.”

Jesse cocked his head, confused. “Why’s that?”

“I’m going to get you fixed, Mr. Lane. You can count on that. But just as certain of that is the fact that it’s going to hurt.”

It wasn’t a threat at all. Just a statement of fact. Jesse paled. “Really?”

Justin nodded and shrugged. “Oh yeah,” he said. “No way around it.” He snapped his head to the right and then to the left, popping his neck, then sprang up off the chair to tower over Jesse. “Now…let’s get started.”

~~~

Three games later, Jesse shook his head in disbelief and moved a rook across the board. “Checkmate,” he said, and Jonas frowned in bewilderment. “Again,” Jesse said for emphasis, and a grin split his face.

“Another good king taken captive,” Jonas said sadly, taking up the piece and then presenting it to his opponent like a precious offering. “Your strategy is formidable.”

“Yours is…baffling,” Jesse said, and was glad when Jonas chuckled bashfully in response. Jesse laughed, too. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone quite so bad at chess.”

“It’s a powerful simulation of real life,” Jonas said, nodding, his eyes tracing the fine detail on the carved piece still in his hands. “So…well, there you have it.” He laughed at his own quip, and then shrugged. “I enjoy the challenge, but I’ve never claimed to be an expert.”

Jesse held his eyes for a moment, trying to get the full measure of the man across from him, but Jonas was inscrutable. His gaze was steady, his smile friendly and open, his stance — even seated — sturdy, powerful, ready for action. And his eyes were sad.

None of that matched the casual quips he seemed happy to take (without ever really offering one in return, unless by proxy), and it certainly didn’t betray any hint of irony in his last comment. He seemed smart, though — far too smart to be blind to the pattern that had lost him three straight games to a truly mediocre chess player.

Jesse couldn’t find any motive for the deception, though. Not for the first time, he wondered how real the creature sitting across from him really was. He wondered what the creature sitting across from him really was.

During all that consideration, Jonas just waited with a bafflingly perfect patience. When he finally gave up on Jesse ever taking the chess piece, he simply ducked his head and then put it back on the board, and set about methodically arraying the pieces for another match. Jesse watched him for a moment longer, then helped out with his own pieces.

When all the pieces were arrayed, Jonas bowed his head for a moment, as if in a silent prayer, and then reached out to move a pawn forward two spaces. Jesse considered the move for a moment, then — on a sudden curiosity — mimicked the movement with his own pawn, on the same row.

Two moves later the pawns faced each other across the board’s dividing line, blocking each other’s progress, and Jonas simply shifted his attention to another pawn, elsewhere on the board. Jesse matched his moves again, until two more pawns stood locked in impasse.

Jonas frowned at that, perplexed, and said, “You’ve got to be careful there. You never know when one of those wily churchmen might sweep out and abduct your pious soldiery.” He placed a hand on one of his bishops, considering it, then shook his head.

“Your higher class is less sensitive to such superstitions, though,” he said, reaching for a knight. “You can count on them for more important missions, as long as you know how to manipulate their capricious whims.”

He thought for a moment without moving this piece, either — eyes fixed on the board — then shook his head and did exactly as Jesse had known he would. He moved another pawn, and three moves later two more pawns stood frozen at the center of the board.

He growled at that, frustrated, but Jesse gave no sign of noticing. He mirrored Jonas’s actions, ignoring much better options, until both rows of pawns stood arrayed across the center of the board.

Jonas got the opportunity to break the lines, and still he went with the pawns. He winced as he moved one diagonally to capture one of Jesse’s, and then again when Jesse responded in kind, trading pawns for pawns.

When that exchange was done, each of them with half the number of pawns they’d started with, Jonas pushed on with his preferred strategy, and at last Jesse ran out of patience to copy him. Jonas tried to drive every one of his remaining pawns toward the unbroken king row.

Jesse shook his head, moved his queen onto the board, and removed one of Jonas’s pawns every turn. There was never so much as a threat to any of Jesse’s men.

After that, Jonas had no strategy at all. Once his pawns were gone, he brought his other pieces into play, but he did it with a frantic haste, and Jesse quickly cleared the board once again.

Jesse traded one of his remaining pawns for Jonas’s queen, leaving nothing white on the board but the king, and as he set up the checkmate, he finally asked. “Why?”

“Why what?” Jonas asked, his brows knit in an intense concentration.

“Why are you so obsessed with pawns?” Jonas’s head jerked up at the question, his eyes wide, and Jesse shook his head. “Do you understand how chess works? It’s like all you want to do is play pawns.”

“You have to,” Jonas said, clearly frustrated. “You’ve got to move them before you can move anyone else, and when you do–”

“But you don’t,” Jesse said. “You can start with your knights. And you don’t have to move them all. You’re always telling little stories, but you’re not even touching any of your big pieces until you’ve lost every pawn on the board.”

Jonas hung his head, but Jesse wasn’t trying to beat him. He wanted an explanation. “Why, Jonas? Why? What’s your goal?”

Jonas took a deep breath, then met Jesse’s eyes and shrugged. “I’m trying to promote.”

“Promote?”

“Yeah,” he nodded. “If you can get a pawn to the other side of the board, you can trade them out for anything.”

“Yeah, so?” Jesse said. “I know the rule, but I doubt I’ve ever done it in a serious game.”

“Do it once,” Jonas said, the ghost of remembered ecstasy glowing in his eyes, tugging at his smile. “It’s addictive. Do it once, and that becomes the whole point of the game.”

“But it’s not!” Jesse said, laughing. “You’re throwing away everything trying to promote a worthless piece, and ignoring the whole army you’ve got waiting behind them.”

Jonas shrugged. He smiled sheepishly, but made no apology. “What’s the point?” he said. “Two perfectly balanced forces? It’s a crap shoot between evenly matched opponents, and a foregone conclusion otherwise.”

He shook his head, and went on with a mad certainty Jesse almost envied. “My way,” he said,  “I can change things. How would you like to fight a whole army of knights? I don’t even have to get them all through. I’ve thought about it, and I’m certain I could take the day if I ever managed to get four queens on the board at the same time.”

Jesse barked a laugh. “It should be impossible to lose if you had three,” he said. “But that’s not how you play the game. You’re ruining yourself trying to make pawns something they aren’t, instead of using the pieces as they are.”

Jonas didn’t answer. Instead he studied the board — his lonely king hiding in the back corner, and the army of black pieces arrayed against him. His gaze drifted, fixed on the miniature face of one of the captured pawns resting in the wrinkles of Jesse’s pillowcase.

After a remarkably long silence, he took a ragged breath and Jesse realized with a shock that there were tears in his opponent’s eyes. “You’re right,” Jonas said, his voice barely more than a mumble, and a tear trailed down his cheek. “I really don’t know any other way to play it, though.”

Then he reached out with a painful deliberateness, and knocked his king onto its side. “It’s yours,” he said pathetically. “I’m done.”

~~~

Chapter 8: Biographical Information
Jesse measured Jonas for a while, trying to understand him. Considering him like that — really looking at him, in a way he hadn’t ever bothered to — Jesse found a pathetic wretch sitting in the chair by his bed.

The other man was dressed in loose sweatpants and a faded, grossly oversized Angels jersey. Tears still escaped his eyes in a steady trickle, and he kept sniffling pitifully. Jesse suspected Taylor would’ve threatened to pinch his nose shut with a clothespin by now (moments before borrowing some scissors from one of the nurse’s and giving the man’s gnarl of overgrown black hair a decent trim).

He smiled at the thought of his wife’s no-nonsense manner, but long experience had taught him that sometimes people like this needed a bit of friendly fluff and pleasantry to get them back to normal. He seemed like the slow-burning sort, and Taylor’s brand of kick-in-the-pants — so handy with reasonable folks — was more likely to make Jonas’s type explode like a volcano.

Jesse wasn’t a licensed therapist, but he had more than a decade of experience with informal counseling, and it had taught him some remarkably handy tricks for managing broken people. And one thing Jesse knew for a fact, watching Jonas’s thunderous breakdown over a boardgame, was that the man next to him was broken.

He suppressed a wry smile, remembering how recently he’d thought he was the broken one. That thought — probably with a healthy nudge from the logo on Jonas’s jersey — prompted him to a change in topic.

“So,” he said lightly, meeting Jonas’s eyes levelly, “how’d you get here?”

Jonas shrugged, noncommittal. “I walked. It’s not a long way from my place.”

“That’s not exactly what I was getting at,” Jesse said, trying to draw the other out. “I was speaking more…globally.”

Jonas frowned for a moment. “I don’t follow. I…we took a plane back from Paris.”

“Oh, right,” Jesse said, “You and Kelly. Right.” He had to suppress a look of distaste, and at the same time he watched Jonas suppress a look of regret. He wasn’t handling this right. He’d meant it all to be more jovial.

“I meant…” he chuckled, self-effacing, and put on an embarrassed grin to heighten the effect. “Honestly, mysterious as you were — and…providential as my recovery turned out — I sort of wondered if maybe you were…well, an angel.”

Jonas blinked at him, and then he laughed darkly. He shook his head. “No,” he said. “No one’s ever accused me of being an angel.”

Jesse couldn’t catch the next words before they sprang from his tongue. “A demon, then?” He tried to soften the accusation with a twisted smile, but Jonas took it in stride anyway.

He thought for a moment, then nodded slowly. “Actually, yeah. I had a friend named John, a while ago, who called me that from time to time. He spelled it differently, though….” He trailed off on that, lost in the memory, and Jesse left him in silence for a moment while he tried to sort out what the other spelling could have been.

He finally gave up, and leaned back with an arm up over his head. “What’s your name, then?”

Jonas said, “Jonas” without a trace of humor in his voice.

“Jonas what?” Jesse asked. “Or is that really all there is?”

“Mittelman,” the other said. “J. Eraphi Mittelman.”

Jesse cocked his head, looking the other up and down. “Sounds Jewish,” he said.

Jonas barked another laugh, this one more pleasant than the last, and said, “I suppose it does at that. But no. As far as I know, I’m not Jewish. More…Greek.”

“Greek, huh?” Jesse nodded appreciatively. “I spent a summer in Greece once. Did a whole tour of Paul’s missionary journeys. It’s a fascinating kind of place.”

Mostly it had been dirty, but Jesse kept that thought to himself. Like the Mexico of Europe….

He chuckled involuntarily at the memory that came with that thought. He’d spent all of a week careful not to drink the water before he learned the real threat over there was the dairy.

He glanced toward Jonas, wondering how much of his thoughts the other might have picked up on, but Jonas was lost in contemplation of a flower someone had left in a vase on the windowsill. Jonas had the flower in his hands now, twisting its curvy stem between his fingers, and watching the wilting petals flare with the motion, then collapse back into their decay.

A deeply poetic melancholy hung in the air around him, which brought Jesse right back to his very first assessment of the man. He had to be a drummer.

~~~