Spring was beginning to assert itself. The days were warming nicely but the evenings still held the frosty remnants of winter. The terror of Cletus and Nadeen was quickly receding into a distant memory, especially after the e-mail from Moon Dog's source inside the FBI arrived informing them that Cletus had been positively identified as the lone gunman in a Christmas eve liquor store holdup just outside Kansas City, and that, although he got away, he had been shot at least once and probably twice by a plucky clerk and would most certainly be out of commission for the foreseeable future. For Anne, since she knew Nadeen to be the more formidable and dangerous of the pair, the greatest comfort came from the knowledge that the Caruthers had clearly lost her trail and were searching blindly for her in the wrong direction. Her insistent urge to flee had subsided somewhat and for the first time in recent memory she actually began to fantasize about putting down a root or two of her own.
Caleb was lying in bed, naked, studying the ceiling fan spinning above him. He had discovered that even at top speed, if he squinted at it and squeezed his eyelids together just right, he could make the blades appear to stop moving and he could visualize them individually.
"Did you know that if you try hard enough, you can stop the blades on the fan?" he said, sounding like he expected a Merit Badge for his efforts.
Anne lifted her head off his chest and looked at him strangely. "What's so hard about switching off the switch?"
"I mean just by looking at it, you know; staring at it. If you do that real hard, it'll stop."
"Brother, you don't have enough to do," she grunted dismissively, laying her head back on his chest.
"No, really. It's physics, or something. Doppler effect, I think."
"I read somewhere that too much sex after a long abstinence can make some men mentally unstable."
"Too little sex after a long abstinence can make them more unstable."
"The article didn't say anything about that."
"It didn't have to; it's obvious."
"Well, which is it?"
"Which is what?"
"The cause of your instability; too much sex or too little?"
"Come here and find out," he chuckled trying to roll her onto her back.
"I already did that."
"Lord, don't I know it. You learn anything?"
"Yeah. I sure did."
"What?"
"If you fuck hard enough you can make the whole world stop for a hour or so. It's got something to do with physics, I think, so stopping a pissy little fan ain't no big deal."
"Come here," he laughed, putting his hand to her warmth. "To hell with the fan; I want to stop the world again."
"I can't," she replied gently without removing his hand.
"You're turning me down? That's a first," he said, frowning at her.
"I'm not turning you down; I'm just putting you off for a while. You hold on to it, and when I get back this afternoon, I'll fuck you till your heart stops."
"That's what I want you to do right now," he pouted. "Why wait?"
"I have something to do."
"Yeah?" he responded skeptically. "What do you have to do this morning that's more important than stopping the world?"
"Kate's crocuses are up; I promised her I'd take her by the house to see them today, if it's warm enough, and it looks like it's going to be one of those glorious spring days that don't come along very often."
"Patterson'll let her leave the hospital to look at her garden?"
"He said it wouldn't make much difference and might even help her some."
"She's that bad?"
"I'm afraid she is, Caleb. The cancer's spread to her lungs and you know Kate and her cigarettes. Dr. Patterson doesn't think she'll be coming home this time."
"Damn," he said, rolling into a sitting position on the side of the bed. His shoulders were slumped, rounded, and he couldn't look at her when he asked, "Did he say, ah, uh, you know?"
"Not long, Caleb," she said laying her hand softly on his shoulder to ease his discomfort. "A couple of weeks, maybe three."
"Lord, that soon?" he said shaking his head, and she thought she felt him shudder and squeezed his shoulder lovingly. "She was like a mother to me; even more than my own," he continued distantly as though the memories were pulling him away.
"I understand," she responded trying to sound compassionate although she really didn't understand.
"What'll you do when she's gone?" he asked, turning toward her with a worried look.
It was one of the things that truly endeared him to her; the selflessness of putting his own worries and fears behind those of others. How characteristic of the man, she marveled, to confront the painful loss of someone he loves by worrying about someone else's pain.
"Where'll you go?" he continued without giving her an opportunity to reassure him with an answer. "I mean, her house'll go into probate, and, eventually, they'll sell it, but they'll have to lock it up till it sells. You'll have to move."
"I know, Caleb," she replied as gently as she could. "Kate and I've discussed it already. She's leaving a will that takes care of everything. She offered to let me stay on as long as I wanted, but I don't think I could with all the memories, not so soon, anyway."
"A will? I'll be damned," he questioned sounding genuinely surprised. "I didn't think she knew any lawyers other than me, and she never said anything to me about a will." He paused for a second or two while digesting the information, and then he brightened some and asked, "Did she say anything about her heirs? I mean, did she tell you anything about her past?"
"No, Caleb, not a word," she lied protectively. Anne saw no point at this late juncture in disclosing, even to Caleb, the fact that it had been the Germans who paid Kate so handsomely for her services, and that it was the threat of reprisal by her countrymen that caused her to flee France in the waning days of the War. Let bygones be bygones, she had reasoned with the clarity of thought of someone with a past of her own, and she had closed that chapter of Kate's life forever.
"I didn't think she would," he shrugged, and then, he looked at her with such seriousness that a chill of dread ran up her spine and in a rushed jumble of words, he made a giant leap toward commitment. "You could, ah, come here, ah, uh, you know, uh, move in, and, uh, we could, ah, you know, live together, for a while, you think, maybe, ah, just to try it."
"Oh, Caleb," she sighed, and she crawled to the side of the bed and kissed him on the lips. "You must be the sweetest, kindest, most thoughtful judge in the whole world."
"Then, you'll do it?"
"No. There's nothing in the world that I would like better, but I can't."
"Why not? I have plenty of room."
"Oh, Caleb," she laughed. "You silly boy, it's not the room; you and I would do fine in a shoe box. We've hardly been out of bed since Christmas, except to go to work, and I want to be laying here with you next Christmas and the one after that, too."
"Then move in. I'll set up a thing with the Peking Garden and have them deliver chicken fried rice every evening at six. I'll thrive on a steady diet of Chinese and pussy."
"Which one are you planning to eat first, cause the thought of you, you know, with a mouthful of rice, well, leaves me, sort of, ugh?"
"Any order you want, so long as you move in."
"I can't, Caleb; as good as it sounds, we can't do it."
"Why not?"
"Talk, Caleb; you know that. There's already talk going around town about us, and that's OK as things stand, cause we're just a boy and a girl getting to know each other, but the minute the Ralph Reed types on the religious fringe get wind of the fact that I've moved in and we're out here living in sin, they'll crucify you. You've got an election coming up in what, a couple of years? If I move in with you, they'll turn out every congregation in the county to vote against you and you'll lose, Caleb, and I know you don't want that to happen. That bunch of loonies is creeping in everywhere, mixing politics with religion so they can get laws passed to cram their way of thinking down everybody's throats. It's men like you who are keeping that from happening, and I sure don't want to get in your way."
"I'll resign. I'll step down and let somebody else have the damn job. That'll shut the hypocrites up; they can keep right on blowing up abortion clinics and sneaking their pregnant daughters off to get fixed in Canada without any interference from me," he declared impulsively.
"You would really do that for me?" she whispered, stunned by the notion that he might care for her that much.
"You're damn right, I would," he answered emphatically. "You just bring your stuff with you when you come back from Kate's this afternoon."
"Oh, you dear, rash boy," she smiled warmly, and then, she picked up his hand and rubbing her cheek against his palm, she said, "You probably would, too, but I won't let you."
"What do you mean 'you won't let me?' You can't keep me from stepping down, if that's what I want to do."
"That's right, I can't stop you, but I won't move in with you either, even if you do resign, so you needn't bother. Besides, I've made other arrangements."
"What other arrangements?"
"An old friend of yours wants me to move into her house. She'll let me live there rent free if I'll tutor her kids."
"What old friend might that be?" he questioned skeptically, racking his brain to identify this new benefactor.
"Sally Hawkins," she answered.
"Sally?" he yelped in surprise. "How in the world did you meet her?"
"At the hospital, of course. I see her frequently; she's one of Kate's nurses."
"Well, I'll be damned. It is a small world."
