No Runs, No Hits, No Errors

Chapter 16

Harry returned to the table alone. Kathleen couldn't remember when she had ever seen him look so tired. He slumped into his chair and sighed.

"Well?" Matthew asked.

"We're off the hook. Skip won't sue our socks off if I pay the late penalties." Harry took a long drink of water, then leaned back in his chair. "And," he rubbed his eyes, and then continued on doggedly, "...and if we get Lettie out of the picture, permanently. Skip needs a scapegoat."

"I can draw up the papers tomorrow if you want."

Harry sat quietly and studied the ice in his water glass. Finally he said, "I have no choice. Do it."

"But," Kathleen interjected, finally realizing why Harry and Skip Heidelberg had left the table after the main course. She knew now that Harry wanted Skip to be able to back out of the lawsuit without losing face, "Lettie told me she wants out of K B K..."

Harry grimaced slightly, "Lettie threatens to leave every six months or so. But this time we have to make sure she's out before she changes her mind."

"Oh."

There was nothing else to say. Harry looked so tired, Kathleen thought, tired and sad and sick of work. She wished Matthew would leave too so that they could be alone. There was so much she wanted to say to him. She wanted to hold his hand and tell him that he was doing the right thing, and that he was a good man even if he felt like a louse at the moment. She wanted to assure him that it wasn't his fault that Lettie had screwed up; he had done what he had to do to save the contract and the company. She wanted to tell him that the people who worked for him would appreciate what he was doing, and Lettie would too, in the long run. She wanted to hold his hand and rub his back and smooth his hair. She wanted to cradle him in her arms until he felt strong again. She wanted to kiss away the sadness and replace it with light and love. She wanted to comfort him. She wanted to let him love her.

They sat in awkward silence as the waiter cleared the remaining plates and scraped the crumbs and brought coffee and dessert. Kathleen toyed with her dessert, nibbling on a few bites but mostly just crumbling it with her fork. Harry wasn't doing much better. Only Matthew was eating and drinking with his usual gusto. Finally the check arrived, and Harry signed for it. Now they could leave. Kathleen resolved to talk to Harry in the parking lot, regardless of anything and anybody. She was not going to let him drive away not knowing how she felt about him. She would invite him over to the house, she decided, to talk things through on the back deck under the stars. Matthew's annoying presence be damned.

Matthew was proving to be more than annoying, however. The threesome had reached the top of the stairs that led down to the parking lot when Matthew stopped, looked up at the sky, and chuckled.

"Full moon tonight, Harry. You want to play in the kingdom?"

Kathleen looked sharply at Matthew, puzzled by his question and disappointed that he seemed to be presenting Harry with an alternative to the sweet scenario she had in mind. She drew in her breath sharply as she recognized the steely glitter in Matthew's eyes, except this time Kathleen didn't sense that she was necessarily the prey. Something else was gearing him up, something she wasn't in on.

Harry peered around to the east where the moon was just cresting the trees behind the clubhouse. Then he turned and looked back at Matthew still standing on the top stair like a dark angel, silhouetted in the moonlight, crossed by the shadows of the porch's plantation pillars. Harry slowly smiled and Kathleen watched in dismay as his eyes began to spark like Matthew's as he replied, "Suits me."

Matthew bounded down the steps past Harry, calling over his shoulder, "Just the thing to get you back in the groove. We don't want you getting the yips over this business with Lettie. I'd hate to have to put you out to pasture."

"God forbid! But Matthew, Kathleen plays too."

"No way. Kathleen's a good girl, a by-the-book girl. She wouldn't want to play with a pair of rogues like us."

Kathleen couldn't tell whether Matthew was simply goading her again, or whether he really believed she wouldn't want to do whatever the heck they were discussing.

"Yes, she would." Harry insisted. "How about it, Kath? You up for a little night golf?"

Just shoot me now and put me out of my misery!

"A little night who?"

"Golf, dearest. Three holes. One to feel the swing, one to find gravity ... one to score, " he growled.

Kathleen's pulse quickened embarrassingly. "I didn't know they had lights out on the golf course," she babbled, half-afraid of the glint in Harry's eyes and voice.

"Sshh. They don't. This is strictly on the QT."

By this time, Harry and Matthew were at the bottom of the stairs and were heading for their cars to get their clubs. Kathleen found herself trotting to keep up with Harry.

"But I've never played..."

"'Bout time you learned."

"I'm not dressed for golf."

Harry looked up from his trunk, where he was retrieving his golf shoes. He placed a hand on her shoulder for balance as he quickly changed shoes, "A dress is perfect for night golf. It'll keep you from getting your head too much in the game. You'll be so distracted by being dressed inappropriately that you'll probably outplay the both of us."

"You're crazy."

Matthew hollered over that he would take Kathleen, with a three-stroke handicap. Harry replied that Kathleen was his, and no handicap was necessary. Matthew laughed and complimented Harry on his bravado. Then he observed that Kathleen's dress would prove sufficient handicap anyway. Kathleen told them both that they were acting like adolescents. Harry told Kathleen to pick a club. Each team got two clubs, and he had already selected his nine-iron as one of them.

Kathleen peered into the golf bag that Harry was holding up for her. She had never actually played golf, except for the idiotic putt-putt tournaments that Jack and Colleen occasionally organized as part of K B K 's team-building exercises and which she invariably managed to duck in short order. Harry's big wooden clubs looked too heavy. The putter looked too feeble. Harry's chosen club, the nine-iron had a distinct almost sexy curve to it, clean and angular. She glanced at the two clubs Matthew was holding--a putter and one of the irons, but one with barely any curve at all.

"What's that?" Kathleen asked, lightly touching one of Harry's irons, curved at the head but not as much as the one Harry had. It had a feminine quality that appealed to her sensibilities.

"That's a five-iron."

"Well, five is my lucky number. I'll take that one."

The men rolled their eyes and smirked. Matthew reiterated his offer that Kathleen could be on his team...with a three-stroke handicap if she insisted on playing with the five-iron. Harry held fast--"Kathleen's logic may be incomprehensible to anyone who actually knows anything about golf, but on some level it's valid and that's good enough for me. Remember, this is the kingdom we're talking about..."

"The kingdom?" Kathleen was as baffled by the arcane chit-chat between Harry and Matthew as she was by Harry's ability to bounce out of gloom at the merest suggestion of a sporting activity. If Harry and Matthew found her incomprehensible, she certainly returned the favor.

"There's this book, Golf in the Kingdom," Harry began as they walked to the back nine. Since the club didn't allow night play, they needed to play the holes furthest from the clubhouse. They followed a wide paved road that looped up and around the clubhouse and then straddled the wide, tree-lined fairways of the front nine. "It's kind of like Zen and the art of golf, only it's about a guy, Michael Murphy to be exact, who finds out about the arc of the swing and the whiteness of the ball and gravity and wind and the role of the rough and the deadly lure of sand traps while playing night golf in Scotland with a ghost called Seamus McDuff. I read it awhile ago, after my dad died. I found it in his library while we were going through his things. I never knew he read philosophy much less golfed, but it was dog-eared and falling apart. Just like me. Just like me and Jack both. You were pretty young back then, but Matthew and this book kept the two of us from going off the deep end. Without them, I doubt they'd be a K B K today."

Kathleen listened, fascinated. She had no idea that Harry had ever struggled to keep his life together. He always seemed like such a rock. She slipped her hand into his, and felt a frisson of pleasure as his fingers pressed into her palm. Showing him that she loved him might be better than telling him after all.

He glanced at her and smiled warmly. Then he squeezed her hand again and continued, "Anyway I read the book and started playing golf as if my life depended on it. Which, I guess, in a way it did. I got Matthew and Jack to read it too..."

"Made us read it, as I recall," Matthew added.

"...And that's when we started playing night golf. Coming out to the club during the full moon and drinking single malt scotch and talking the most profane philosophical garbage you can imagine."

"Pure gibberish," Matthew interjected. "But what could I do, they were good clients."

"Clients?" Harry snorted. "I've seen how you treat clients, Matthew. You saved my soul, you rotten, good for nothing, conniving, old coot, and you know it."

He turned his attention back to Kathleen, "I honestly think I would have gone crazy packing up my father's life if Matthew hadn't come by every so often to take me out onto the links to shoot white balls into the darkness. Jack and I both needed to get outside of ourselves and play a couple of rounds with the ghosts of dead Scotsmen. You see..." He paused, struggling with what he was just starting to understand himself. "...that's the trouble with Lettie. She never crossed over and acted crazy, so instead she's slowly going crazy from the inside out. She's made herself crazy by going down the same path over and over until she finally tripped and now she's lying face down in the dirt, with no idea how she got there and no idea how to get up."

"So Lettie should have taken up night golf?"

"She should have found some way to howl at the moon."

They walked on in silence. They had left the golf cart path now and were walking along a darker, narrower trail that wound through an aspen grove. Where the trees thinned, the moonlight shimmered on the quaking leaves, sending showers of quivering shadows onto the path in front them. But mostly they walked in darkness, just able to differentiate the darker outline of the path from the pitch of the grove. Kathleen felt unnerved, vulnerable. She moved closer to Harry, letting her forearm rest on his, eager to absorb his warmth and strength in the cooling night air. Harry, the rock--her steady, pragmatic safe harbor... talking about philosophy and acting crazy and howling at the moon and playing golf with ghosts? She stifled a shudder and forced herself to look down the path, to see whether she could differentiate one tree from the next as the path bent and curved with the contour of the land. She watched Matthew's long legs, striding in front of her and Harry. She wondered whether she should be dropping crumbs so that they could find their way out, come daylight.

They climbed a little incline and then they were out of the trees and on a flat-topped mound. The moon illuminated a little sign that proclaimed that they were standing on the tenth-hole tee. Matthew put down his clubs and licked a fingertip and felt the wind. Then he dug in his pocket for a quarter. Harry called heads and lost.

Matthew silently jabbed a tee into the ground, placed a golf ball on top, planted his feet, wriggled into position, and then, with the cleanest, sharpest, purest sound Kathleen could ever remember hearing, hit the ball into oblivion. She watched it as its whiteness faded to black midway in its arc.

"Did I hook it?" Matthew asked Harry.

He shook his head. "She was true. Straight down the middle. At least two-fifty, maybe more."

Harry handed a tee to Kathleen. "You go first."

Her round eyes, almost entirely blackened by her dilated pupils, told him that she preferred to go after him, but he didn't flinch so she gamely took the tee and pressed the wooden splinter into the soft grass. Harry handed her a golf ball. She leaned over to place it on the tee, remembered in time that she was wearing a dress, and awkwardly plunked the ball onto the tee. It bobbled off.

"That's one," Harry and Matthew chortled in unison.

She glared at them as she stooped to pick it up. "I thought you said we weren't keeping score yet."

The ball back on the tee, Kathleen gripped her club and stepped up to the ball. She turned and looked coyly at Harry. "Shouldn't you show me how to stand and hold the club? And I'm sure you're supposed to tell me to keep my arms straight and my head down."

"You're doing just fine. This hole is to feel the swing. Just think of circles. The circles that make up the ball, the circle of the swing, the semi-circle of the ball as it cuts through the air."

Kathleen closed her eyes and took a breath. Then she opened them and focused on the little white ball, reflecting the light from the moon, which was reflecting the light from the sun. She thought that if she wound up far enough she might have enough energy to send that little white ball the whole way around until it ran smack dab into the sun itself. Then she swung the club down and felt it hit the ball. It wasn't as clean or sharp or pure a sound as the one Matthew had produced, but it was still a satisfying crack, followed by a volley of ricochets as the ball made its way through some pine trees and settled in the rough.

Kathleen apologized to Harry, who would have none of it.

"Don't be sorry, Kathleen. That was beautiful. It just went a little off course. But you did great." He headed down the fairway and nodded his head to her to follow. "Now we just have to find it."

Kathleen and Matthew followed Harry, who was walking confidently off the fairway and into the dark brush. Matthew took a small flask from his pocket, unscrewed the lid, and took a swig. "It felt good too, didn't it?" he said, handing the flask to Kathleen.

She sniffed the flask and wrinkled her nose. "What's this?"

"A wee dram of the malt. Take a taste."

"It's smoky."

"The smell of peat smoldering in the damp. The essence of golf."

Kathleen stopped walking. She stoppered the end of the flask with a finger and then she turned her wrist quickly. She put the drops of whiskey on her tongue, as if dabbing perfume. They were tasteless--only the smokiness lingered as 'the essence of golf' evaporated on her tongue. She handed Matthew his flask and started walking again when he grabbed her arm and nodded that Harry was ready to hit their ball out of the brush.

"I can't believe he found it in the dark," Kathleen exclaimed.

"He's a bloodhound."

Kathleen heard the crack of Harry's club against the whiteness of the ball and looked up to see it arc by, like a comet, before it was swallowed into the night.

"Did you hear it land?" Harry asked Matthew as he joined them on the fairway.

"No splash. No thud. I'll wager she's hiding in soft grass. But first I get to send my little beauty to the green."

Matthew strode ahead to find his ball, leaving Harry and Kathleen to stroll up the fairway. She was surprised to find herself thinking that the setting was extraordinarily romantic. It was almost like a kingdom, or at least another world. The grass on the fairway was dark and damp and cool, spreading before them like a royal carpet. Tall, elegant pines and wide, graceful cottonwoods lined the verdant avenue. The moon cast a holy glow over the landscape, trading light for shadow, softening the rough, hiding the traps.

Matthew had made his shot by the time they reached him, and they all walked on together, sharing the flask, Kathleen a drop at a time, until Harry led Kathleen to where he had driven the ball. Matthew was right--it was half buried in grass, on the lip of a sand bunker.

Harry explained that Kathleen needed a nice round swing that was more up than flat to get the ball out of the grass and the angle of the swing had to be high enough to clear the trap. She couldn't swing the way she had swung at the tee. She needed to aim for the moon, he told her. She needed to sweet talk the ball into flying.

"Should I think about circles again?" she asked, knowing how inane she sounded.

Before Harry could answer, Matthew said, "Think about sugar. Spoon sugar into something sour like, I don't know, a pot of bubbling rhubarb."

Kathleen tried to but the thought of Matthew Dixon teaching her how to golf by way of cooking analogies got the best of her. Just as she was about to swing, she started to giggle. Matthew and Harry waited patiently while she calmed herself down, bit her lip, closed her eyes briefly, swung the club back, and then collapsed once more in a fit of giggling.

"I think she's hysterical," Matthew commented dryly.

"I think she's drunk," Harry declared.

"On three drops of whiskey?"

"On moonshine."

"You want me to ground her?"

Harry cocked an eyebrow.

Matthew asked, "Does Harry know what I know about you and Phil?"

Kathleen froze. She had swung back her club high over and behind her head, with her left arm just grazing her chin, her left knee flexed and turned, as she had seen Matthew do it, coiled, ready to spoon sugar with vigor. The urge to bring the club down on Matthew's head was as real as any urge she had ever acknowledged. All humor was gone. She swung the club, aiming for the moon, now high in the sky and despite her anger felt a rush of pleasure as the ball skudded over the sand and just reached the grassy lip on the other side of the trap. But alas, the ball wasn't seated firmly enough and it slid out of the grass and back down into the bunker.

"Stay out of my life," she spat at Matthew as she walked away from the two men and up the little slope to the green, leaving Harry to hit the ball out of the sand.

Kathleen felt her eyes smarting with tears and anger. Matthew, with his whiskey flask and camaraderie, had lulled her into forgetting that he was into messing with her mind. Now she had to decide what to do--she desperately wanted Harry to know that she was not now nor had ever been in love with Phil and that she was his for the taking, but she had promised Phil and Joanna that she wouldn't blow their cover. Keeping that stupid promise was going to hurt Harry, and deeply. He might never forgive her for lying to him, but she couldn't tell him the truth in front of Matthew. He might never trust her with his heart if she deceived him, but she could see that Matthew was fully capable of destroying Joanna and Phil if he felt he needed to. Was this the way the game was played? Kathleen had always hated playing games anyway, and with good reason, if this was the kind of behavior they taught. Conning and cheating and tricking your friends just so you could beat them. Win, lose, she hated it all!

While Kathleen fumed, Harry hit what Matthew proclaimed to be a perfect shot out of the sand, sending the ball to within a foot of the pin. Matthew finished the hole and then informed Kathleen that she was up. She just needed to putt out. He had taken the pin out and he and Harry were waiting for Kathleen to complete the hole.

Kathleen turned away from the hole, her hands folded protectively across her stomach, her mouth hard and determined. Her mind raced through the alternatives. She could quit the game and walk back to her car and drive home. She could corner Harry and explain everything. Or she could knock that stupid little white ball into that stupid little round hole and then figure out what to do.

She walked over to the ball, drew an imaginary line from the ball to hole, hunkered over her five-iron, and tapped the ball so that it traced the line she had drawn with her mind. It fell into the hole with a satisfying clunk.

She looked up at the two men, who were eyeing her tentatively, unsure whether she would pout, bolt, or scream. She hated to admit it, but despite everything, it felt awfully good to make the shot. Harry caught the look and read it right, "Go ahead and howl," he said quietly. "You've earned the right."

Kathleen could scarcely believe what she did next. She actually leaned back her head, stretched out her arms, and mouthed a howl, jiggling her head until her lips formed a perfect circle of mute energy.

Matthew laughed at her, "Someday you may actually make a sound."

Harry grabbed her hand, "Let's go play with gravity on the eleventh tee. You can tell me about you and Phil later."

Chapter 17

Playing with gravity, as Harry found out on the eleventh hole, was even more fun than he remembered. After all, gravity is nothing more than sheer bodily attraction.

"The most powerful force in the universe," Harry intoned as stepped up to the tee. "Use it. Don't fight it."

Free electrons are all well and good to get sparks flying, but gravity is the real heavyweight when it comes to bringing bodies together.

Harry had first shot of the threesome. He told Kathleen that this hole they would work on gravity drills. "They help you take the violence and tension out of your play so that you can generate maximum club head speed and swing-plane movement by having your upper body work with gravity instead of against it."

Yada. Yada. Yada. Kathleen nodded as if she knew what he was talking about and wondered how she was going to get rid of Matthew. Her intuition told her that he was like a rock in a shoe, annoying at first but ultimately debilitating. After his crack about the status of her and Phil's relationship, Kathleen was warily waiting for him to strike again.

Strangely enough, Harry seemed wholly unconcerned by Matthew's presence. Even more strangely, Harry seemed to like, even trust Matthew. Kathleen was pretty sure Harry was not going to like what she had to tell him about the trap Joanna and Phil had laid for Matthew. She was also pretty sure he wasn't going to believe that Matthew had virtually imprisoned Joanna through the contract he had negotiated for her with Campbell Modeling. Might as well enjoy playing with Harry now, Kathleen reasoned, because things between them were going to go south once they started talking.

Harry's drive sent the ball far down the fairway. Matthew insisted that Harry had hooked it, but Harry hotly countered that he had done no such thing. While Harry and Kathleen searched the short grass for their ball, Matthew wandered in the rough and brush to the left, determined to prove that he was right. He was.

After Matthew stopped crowing and retreated to find his own ball, Harry offered to show Kathleen what he knew about gravity. He complimented her on her stance. She rolled her eyes at him. He went on to mention that he thought that if she turned every so slightly, it would be easier for her to find the ball's sweet spot.

"Sweet spot?" she asked, with a lovely little tease around the corners of her mouth. Harry took the bait and Kathleen discovered that she was to be treated to a demonstration. In short order, she found herself with Harry's hands on her waist, squaring her hips with the ball and the line it needed to travel.

While she took a couple of practice swings, exercising her now-square hips, Harry went on to elucidate his theories regarding the sweet spot, "When all the planets are in alignment and your hips are square and the air is still, sometimes you can combine gravity with muscle memory and make the club and the ball connect at exactly the right spot for the energy in the club to completely transfer to the ball. A ball hit sweetly will sail high, wide, and lonesome down the green expanse of avenue, and it's one of the prettiest things you can imagine, and the most pure. And then it's gone. It's done. It's a memory. And, of course, you duff the rest of the round because golf is like that. But you remember how good it felt and that's what keeps you coming back. Knowing that you hit the sweet spot once means you can do it again. And it felt so damned good that you'll play forever just to feel that way again...No! No! No!"

Just as Harry was finishing his rapture, he found that Kathleen had contorted herself, getting ready to hit the ball, and he was just barely able to stop her from executing a truly hellacious swing. Clearly he hadn't taught her enough about gravity, so he resumed the lesson. This time he felt the need to wrap his left arm across her abdomen, while gently pivoting her shoulders into his, so she could feel how to far she needed to wind up.

He graciously showed Kathleen her maximum allowable windup a few times and then went on to satisfy himself that Kathleen was in perfect working order to utilize gravity properly. Finally, he told her to take a few more practice swings. After each she seemed completely unable to get her body back into the proper position, requiring Harry to repeatedly reconfigure her. He assured her that he didn't mind in the least doing this small task, especially since the lovely tease around the corners of her mouth had matured. And this smile insisted on dancing across her lips whenever he pivoted her shoulders.

He could have sworn that even in the moonlight, her eyes were fairly sparking with energy left over from last night's storm and the mock seriousness with which she attended to his extensive demonstrations was positively enchanting. The only real problem, as far as Harry was concerned, was that Kathleen's dress kept riding up her right thigh every time she swung the club back, and he found that this distraction inhibited him from fully articulating the finer points of gravity golf. He hoped her game wouldn't suffer for it.

Kathleen herself was surprised by how warm it could be on a golf course at night. When they had started out from the parking lot she had been concerned that her sleeveless dress would be too thin for the cool Colorado night air, but now she found the back of her neck was pleasantly warm, especially when Harry's chin, scratchy with beard stubble, grazed her cheek as he was helping her reach the apex of her windup on her fifth practice swing. Chin to cheek--a mere quarter turn of his face and his lips could be upon hers. He backed off quickly and told her to hit the ball.

She hit it a good fifty yards--"twenty-five up and twenty-five down" he teased.

She sauntered over to him, slipped a hand behind his neck, and whispered into his ear, "Ask me if I care?"

Not trusting himself to answer, Harry took a breath and swapped clubs with her, determined not to claim a prize he had not yet won. Instead he asked carelessly, "Did you feel gravity working that time?"

"The most powerful force in the universe? I should say so."

They started to cross the fairway, but were stopped short by Matthew bellowing "Fore."

"I thought the club didn't want people playing at night," Kathleen commented.

"They don't."

"Then why is he yelling like that, especially since we are no where near being in the way?"

"Matthew likes the sound of his own voice."

"So I've noticed."

"What did you two talk about while I was out working over Skip Henderson?"

"He propositioned me."

"Was it a good offer?"

"Not bad--an art gallery in Santa Fe."

"And what did you say?"

"I said you wouldn't like it."

Harry laughed. "Good girl. And you're right, I wouldn't." He took her hand and gallantly kissed it, then he growled softly, "Propositioning you should be my job."

"Actually I told him that telling me what to do was your job."

"Well, I think I can hold down two jobs. Maybe I can start propositioning you on the side, while keeping my full-time job of telling you what to do."

It was her turn to laugh at his silliness. She slipped her hand into his as they started toward their ball.

Kathleen had planned to wait until after the game when she was alone with Harry to tell him that she was no longer Phil's girlfriend. She would have to confess that in Phil's eyes she never really been more than a decoy--not a pretty thing to have to admit, but there it was. That, of course, would be a beautiful segue to telling him about Joanna and her troubles, and then perhaps Harry might tell her that he wasn't interested in anybody but her, and then....

"Harry, I want you to know that Phil and I..."

Harry's stomach and jaw clenched simultaneously as he interrupted her. "Don't tell me. For god's sake, Kathleen, not now. Save it for tomorrow and then I can claim that the sun got in my eyes..."

"It's not like that. Please let me..."

"No, Kathleen. I don't want to talk tonight. I just want to play." He walked away quickly. "I'm up and Matthew gets impatient if he has to wait too long."

Matthew gets impatient! What about me? I've been trying to put things right between us for over twenty-four hours and you're just so pig-headed that you won't let me. You're ready and willing to put your hands all over me but you can't even trust me enough to listen to me. Fine, then. Wallow!

And with that, Kathleen watched gravity's charms disperse in a storm of vanity and pride. She could scarcely believe how thoroughly Harry trampled on all the free electrons they had just stirred up, squandering the joy they had found experimenting with gravity because he was afraid of her words. The eleventh hole, which had held such promise of fun and frolic, proved a long, hard par-five, filled with traps and doglegs.

Harry, Kathleen, and Matthew now each walked separately, plodding along. Kathleen lost what little rhythm Harry had imparted, and she duffed shot after shot, until even Harry started to be out of patience with her. Harry still got their ball out of the jams she hit it into--the rough, the sand, the deep grass--but the fun was gone and they were now just playing to finish.

"Whew, that opening is narrower than a bigot's mind," Matthew whistled as he set up the chip shot he needed to thread through two huge sand bunkers that guarded the green. He had to be careful that he didn't overshoot the green, as the lake lay just beyond, still and glassy in the moonlight, ready to accept any offerings that errant golfers might lob its way. Kathleen watched him as he swung his club back short and sharp and then cruelly dug into the grass below the ball, rocketing it almost straight up into the air. It plopped onto the green about three feet from the pin. He turned to Kathleen who had been standing behind him; his eyes were glowing with the intensity of blood scent.

"That's how you play the game, princess," he snarled at her. "Attack when you're cornered. If you hold back and try to be cute and soft and easy, you'll languish in the sand. Attack. Remember that, Kathleen. Attack and you'll win."

Kathleen had no intention of attacking anything. She just wanted to go home. She walked over to her ball and squatted down the way Harry and Matthew did while they were 'reading the green,' and visualized the ball rolling into the hole. Then she stood up and scrunched over the ball. She held her breath and then gave it a quick hard putt. The ball shot across the green past the hole and climbed up a swell, caught itself in a little eddy of grass, and then dribbled back resting not more than six inches from the hole.

Harry tapped it in and then tossed her the ball. "We keep score on the next hole."

---

The twelfth hole, and the last one for the evening, was a short par-three with a little lake, a pond really, separating the tee from the green. Harry offered to take first shot since hitting the ball across the lake might be more than Kathleen was up for. She declined his offer, informing him that just because they were now keeping score didn't mean that she should be patronized. If he hadn't wanted her to play he shouldn't have asked her to. Harry looked a little dazed and told her to tee up when she was ready.

To everyone's surprise, Kathleen's drive cleared the pond, barely but enough for them to see the faint whiteness of the ball nestled on the far side of the water. Kathleen was amazed at what a little anger could do when properly applied.

Matthew casually washed his ball and dried it off on the remnant of a towel stuck to a pole near the tee.

"Washing and drying the ball before a water hole reminds it to stay out of the drink," he quipped. Then he stuck a tee in the ground and grinned at Harry, "Swing for show and putt for dough?"

Harry nodded.

Matthew walloped his ball, sending it over the lake and to the far side of the green. He gazed across the water for several moments before he asked, "What's the wager?"

Harry turned to Kathleen. "Your call."

She almost choked at his words. This was supposed to be a friendly little game in the moonlight, not a betting match! She swore to herself that if she lived a million years she would never understand men.

"I never bet," she said.

"You have to," Matthew replied. "That's how we play. Whether you name it or not, something's always at stake. You'll find it's better to be honest about what you want. If you don't know what you're willing to lose, princess, you'll never know what you want to win."

"Stop calling me 'princess'!"

"Stop acting like one."

"Fine, then. What do you propose?"

"Take me up on my offer regarding Santa Fe."

"In your dreams. Besides the bet has to involve Harry."

Matthew laughed at her. "Come now, Kathleen, you were very clear at dinner that everything about you involves Harry..."

Harry interrupted Matthew, "Don't be crass. Kathleen doesn't know when you're joking."

Matthew sighed. "A hundred bucks then. A hundred bucks says I can outplay, out-think, and out-fox you on this hole."

Harry motioned Kathleen to follow him down to the edge of the pond where their ball lay.

"I'm sorry I dragged you out here. Just ignore Matthew. He likes to needle people."

She turned on him, finally exasperated beyond caring how she sounded, "It's not Matthew. I'm getting used to him being a jerk, but what do you want from me anyway? You ask me to work at K B K, so I give up my summer with Colleen to work in your office. Then you badger me into playing softball, so I join the team. Then you lay a guilt trip on me so that I'll spend every Friday night with a bunch of kids, and I do it and I even like doing. And all that's okay--I can live with that. But after I kissed you and you kissed me back, you acted as if I had the plague. You give me flowers, and then get all bent out of shape because I didn't know they were from you. And tonight--tonight!--you practically make love to me while showing me how to swing a stupid golf club but you won't even let me talk to you. I know I'm not as buff as Maggie or as gorgeous as Joanna, but I can't take much more of this teasing."

"Who said anything about Maggie?"

"Joanna."

"As long as you're with Phil..."

"That's what I've been trying to tell you, Phil and I..."

Matthew yelled at Harry to hit the ball. Kathleen sat down angrily on the grass and faced the water, determined not to watch Harry's shot. She heard the crack of the ball followed by the soft thud of it landing on the green.

The world was silent for a moment, as if even the crickets were holding their breath, and then "Wahhoo!" Harry howled into the night. He pulled Kathleen to her feet.

"Look, Kath, you can talk to me all night if you want to, and I'm not disagreeing with a word you said, we'll stay up 'til sunrise if you like, but I just made the most amazing shot of my lackluster career. And now we're shooting for par. Let's you and me whip this boy's keester and win something good from him."

He hugged her hard around the shoulders and exulted, "Baby, I hit the sweet spot sure as you're born, and now it's your turn. Matthew's short game is weak. You can out-putt him if you try."

He held her by the shoulders and looked straight into her eyes, past the familiar coyness and unfamiliar anger until he saw the quiet spot he was looking for. "He can only have you on the run if you run away. Just ask yourself, what do I want from him? Think now, what will make him run or at least squirm?"

"You think I can out-putt Matthew?"

"I do. You have soft hands, a gentle grip, and a good eye. You can beat him. I know you can."

Kathleen took a breath, dazed by Harry's hypnotic rattle, infected by his contagious confidence. She felt him squeeze her arm, and then her head cleared and she felt a lick of fire in her belly. She smiled at Harry in the moonlight. It was inconceivable but he was actually handing her the reins and asking her to call the shots. He was handing her the moon and expecting her to howl at it.

"Okay, I know what I want from him."

"So go tell him."

Harry and Kathleen hiked up the hill from the pond's edge to the green where Matthew was waiting, smug nonchalance exuding from every pore. He had hit his second shot, and his ball lay no more than a foot from the pin. Harry and Kathleen's ball was slightly closer, an easy putt, a 'gimme' if they hadn't been betting.

"I don't care about money," Kathleen began. She swallowed hard, knowing that her voice was shaking. She gripped her golf club and gritted her teeth, and then her words came out in a tumble, "If we win, I want you to change Joanna Bridges' contract so that she can leave Campbell Modeling without being sued."

Matthew's lawyer face, his poker face, didn't betray the slightest shock or dismay at Kathleen's words. Nevertheless, it was a long time before he softly answered, "So that's the way it is."

He breathed out in a low whistle. "I forgot to ask myself who was Phil's lover if it wasn't you." He held Kathleen's gaze for a long moment. She didn't blink, though her eyes were smarting and her throat was aching as if he had been strangling her. Finally, he stooped to read the green and said casually, as he lined up his shot, "Are you sure you know what you're asking?"

He glanced up when she didn't answer. She nodded.

"You're up then, princess."

If I don't wrap this club around his scrawny neck ... Kathleen quickly scrunched over the ball and knocked it hard. Her aim was true, but the ball was going too fast to fall. It circled the rim of the cup and then scooted off, coming to rest inches from the hole.

Kathleen groaned. Harry held silent. Now Matthew would have to miss twice for them to win. She had bet the farm and had blown it. The game was up. She had let Joanna down--she had told the man who held her captive that his bird was ready to fly, and Joanna would never forgive her.

She felt Harry's presence behind her. She wanted him to hug her and comfort her and fix things the way he always did. Instead, he let her feel her defeat. She wanted to creep away and be sick. And then, to her amazement she watched as Matthew calmly reached over, picked up his ball, and slid it into his pocket.

He walked over to her and stretched out his hand. On autopilot, she took it. He squeezed her fingers as if he was trying to imprint himself upon her.

"You win," he said. "And now..." he paused as he held her gaze, making the hair on the nape of her neck bristle in warning, "you owe me. Remember, it's not whether you win or lose, it's what you win. I'd rather have you indebted to me than Joanna in my pocket any day of the week."

He let go of her hand, but not without giving her a nasty little smile. He shook Harry's hand. "Good game, son. You've got a handful there, but you'll be all right. Just don't give her everything she wants right away."

And then he was gone, down the hill and into the shadows. He called back, over his shoulder, "Adios, kids. Don't do anything I wouldn't do."

Even after she could no longer see him, Kathleen stood motionless, staring into the night where Matthew had disappeared until finally out of the darkness came Harry's voice, low and serious, "Did you get what you wanted?"

She turned on him, finally able to focus the rage and frustration that had been building all evening.

"He cheated!" Kathleen screamed in fury. "He let me win! HE-LET-ME-WIN! Arrgh. This is worse than losing." She pulled herself together and leveled what she hoped was an icy stare at Harry--"How could you let him do this to me?"

There was nothing Harry could say. He shrugged, he held out his hands, he opened his arms. He let her beat her fists upon his chest until her sobs subsided. Then he brushed back the strands of hair that had been drenched in the maelstrom of emotion and stroked her cheek. He massaged the nape of her neck and laid her head against his chest and patted her hair. He closed his eyes as she relaxed her body into his.

"There are worse things than owing Matthew," he ventured finally.

She looked up sharply, skeptically.

"Don't worry," he continued. "He's not really a bad guy. Just likes to play the part. I promise you, Kath, he won't ask you to sell your soul ... or your body, though he might ask you for a favor someday, but you can always say no. And Kath, you've earned his respect and that's no mean feat."

She pulled back, surprised that such a strong, wonderful man could be so naïve.

"Oh Harry, you don't know what he's like. You couldn't and still be friends with him..."

"So tell me."

"Here?"

He took her hand and sat down on the grass by the lake, pulling her down next to him. "Tell me all the sordid details, starting first with..." Harry hesitated and then plunged on, "...with you and Phil."

Kathleen stared down at her clasped hands and said in a low voice, "I was never anything to Phil other than a distraction. I've been such a stupid little fool. I seem to be doomed to blindness..."

"Phil and Joanna?"

"Engaged--for months. All those trips of his to New York that just seemed to coincide with hers--they were no accident. They want to open modeling agency together, but Joanna can't leave Campbell because Matthew put a clause in her contract saying that she can't work in the business if she leaves Campbell. Phil has been putting together a case against Matthew to prove that he forced Joanna to sign the contract. Oh Harry, it's so ugly and when I saw a way to make it all right tonight with that stupid bet, I jumped at it."

She tried to smile, "You had made me so cocky that I really thought I could beat Matthew, and then I missed the shot, and then he let me win, and now I owe him and I feel like I'll have that around my neck forever. I'll always be waiting for him to ask me to do something horrible, when all I really wanted was..." Kathleen buried her face in her hands and sobbed silently. She felt the comforting weight of Harry's arm around her again. She let him lift her chin so that he could see her tear-stained face bathed in moonlight.

"All you really wanted was what?"

"To be loved."

"You are ... by everyone who really knows you. By your father, and your sister, and Jack, and Dorie, and..." He broke off and stared at the lake whose still and glassy surface was now beginning to break into waves as the breeze picked up. He watched the moon's reflection struggle to hold itself together as the moving water fragmented it. "Phil is scum, Kathleen. Nobody should play with someone's feelings the way he played with yours."

"Oh, that's rich coming from you. All you do is play games."

"Not with you, I don't. Not with us."

"Is there an ‘us'?"

"You're the one who told me Phil that was the man you wanted. Just because he happens to be scum doesn't me I'm ready to pinch hit for him, or for anybody just because you want to fall in love." He smiled sadly, "I can strike out on my own, thank you very much."

Her mouth drooped and her eyes filled, and suddenly it seemed as if there was no way out of the muck but to plunge forward.

"Oh Harry, please don't think I'm horrible, but I do love you You, not Phil, not Gabe, not anyone else but you. And even though I can't yet howl, I can fight back and I can keep on keeping on. Please, don't think I'm horrible."

With a few deft movements and even fewer words, Harry gave Kathleen to understand that he did not think she was horrible. Quite the contrary, in fact.

Now, a man kissing a woman under the canopy of summer moonglow by the shore of a little lake accompanied by the soft hum of crickets and toads and sprinklers is not so very extraordinary in the history of the world. But a woman returning that man's kisses a thousandfold with some of her own thrown in for good measure can begin to make the world spin just a little faster. In later years, Kathleen insisted that she saw constellations whiz overhead as the earth's rotation was accelerated by the power unleashed in love's embrace. Certainly the ground seemed to slip away beneath her feet as the increasing centrifugal force pulled her and Harry back down into the cool thick grass, unable and unwilling to resist the laws of physics any longer.

"Fly me to the moon?" she murmured into his ear as they left one orbit and careened through space on their way to another.

"We'd have to defy gravity to do that," he cautioned with a smile.

"And how do we do that?"

"I have a secret recipe up at Kenwood."

"Is that an invitation?"

He assured her that it was.

Chapter 18

Kathleen rolled over and opened her eyes onto a starry sky. Cool air cascaded through the open skylight over Harry's bed, sending delicious shivers down her arms and back and legs. She smiled, remembering where she was and how she had gotten there, then she arched and stretched before snuggling back into the warm body asleep beside her. At her touch, Harry emitted a small round sound, half moan, half sigh, and then rolled over, tucking Kathleen, on the blissful edge of consciousness, once again inside his firm embrace.

In the morning, Harry told Kathleen that it was Polaris she had seen through the skylight. He said that he aligned his bed so that he could always find true north instantly. Kathleen asked him how often he lost his way while in bed, and he replied that she could laugh all she wanted but getting lost in bed was more common than she might think. He then proceeded to demonstrate just how disoriented a body can get when it goes off in unfamiliar directions. She thanked him for the lesson.

Kathleen learned a tremendous amount about Harry during their first night together. She learned that he liked feather-light backrubs instead of bone-crunching, muscle-mangling ones. She learned that he could go from playful to deadly serious and back again in the time it took him to unzip her dress.

Harry learned a great deal about Kathleen as well. For starters, he learned that she didn't check her modesty at the door with her shoes and her purse.

"Kathleen, where are you going with that sheet?"

"To the bathroom. I don't want you to see me..."

"Surely I don't need to remind you that we've just been..."

"Shh, that doesn't mean I need to waltz around buck-..."

"Waltzing would be nice"

"Just hush..."

He caught the pillow she heaved at him before she closed the bathroom door behind her.

---

Kathleen also learned that when she didn't show up for work Tuesday morning, her office mates assumed she was simply running late again and thought no more about it. But when Harry didn't show up, they practically called out the National Guard.

Kathleen had just embarked on her second breakfast--she was astounded at how fabulous scrambled eggs tasted when made by a man wearing nothing but boxers--when the phone rang. Harry adjusted Kathleen in his lap and answered the phone with one hand while continuing to rub her back with his other hand.

It was Jack.

"Nope. I'm not sick," Harry answered to Jack's opening question.

"No, I don't think I'll be in today."

"Yeah, I remember that Lettie is quitting and there's a mountain of work to do."

"Yeah, I do care."

"Did he? And did Matthew tell you that we're off the hook with Skip Heidelberg?"

"Yeah, Lettie's got to go. I didn't even try to talk him out of that. Matthew will be dropping by papers for her sign by end of day today."

Harry was quiet for a while as Jack talked and vented and worried, then finally he said, "Just a minute."

He put his hand over the receiver and asked Kathleen whether she thought they would be ready to leave Kenwood and return to Earth by tomorrow morning.

Kathleen kissed his nose and his ear and was aiming for parts south when he put up a finger, cautioning her to slow down. He quietly resumed his conversation with his brother.

"Yeah, I'll be able to go with you to see Lettie tomorrow morning."

Harry listened again, punctuating Jack's comments with an occasional "Okay," and he finally concluded with, "Now, no more phone calls today, okay? Okay. Bye."

He hung up and grinned at Kathleen, "Jack says to say 'hi.'"

"Will there be anybody in Juniper Hills who doesn't know by noon where I spent last night?"

"You are one lucky girl, you know that don't, don't you?"

"Mister, if we're talking about who's lucky..."

---

The only thing that saved Kathleen from acute embarrassment when she and Harry returned to work on Wednesday morning was the fact that Lindy Loftstrom, K B K's real office manager, had finally had her baby, two weeks late, the night before, and the office was buzzing with the news. Kathleen was grateful that Lindy's baby and Lettie's departure, which by now was common knowledge in the office, kept her colleagues from razing her about her and Harry both missing work the previous day, unexpectedly and without explanation.

Kathleen had tried to get Harry to promise not to treat her any differently at work. She tried to convince him that they needed to keep their relationship under wraps, but he laughed at her. He was one of the bosses, he said, so he could fraternize with whomever he darned well pleased, and they both knew that her job at K B K was for the summer anyway--it wasn't exactly like she was sleeping her way to the top of a Fortune 100 company, was it? He asked her this last question while they were walking back after spending the afternoon exploring the canyon up the river from Harry's house. Kathleen wasn't sure whether to be affronted or relieved. On the one hand, it was nice that he didn't feel the need to hide her in the closet. On the other hand, she didn't care to think of herself as a summer fling.

Nevertheless, Kathleen was relieved that her office mates could talk over Lindy's baby and Lettie's breakdown in addition to her love life. Her relief lasted until shortly after noon when Joanna burst into the office, cast wildly about as if looking for someone to strangle, and when she found Kathleen, unleashed a torrent of venom.

"You couldn't leave well enough alone, could you? You meddling, ignorant, skinny, back-stabbing little twit."

Kathleen tried to get to her feet, but Joanna's flood of words pushed her back down into her chair.

"Matthew Dixon has fired Phil, and I'm without a contract," Joanna wailed. "Campbell not only got rid of the 'no-walk' clause, they've gotten rid of me. Why did you have to tell Matt that I wanted out? I didn't want out on my rear, you dimwit. Now we can't sue for damages and we have no money to start our own firm and I'M STUCK WITH PHIL!"

Kathleen was more than speechless. She was motionless. She was stunned. No one had ever yelled at her like that before. Granted, Joanna's situation was worse than before Kathleen had tried to help her, and she was seconds away from bursting into tears when Joanna delivered one blow too many.

"If you think you're cute, playing house with Harry while wrecking my life, then you've got another thing coming 'Miss Goody Two Shoes.'"

Perhaps it was the sneer in Joanna's voice when she labeled Kathleen 'Miss Goody Two Shoes.' Perhaps it was the fact that she had once again forgotten to put on a bra but had remembered to put on a tank top. Perhaps it was the fact that all of Kathleen's office mates were about to come to her defense and only Harry's arm was restraining Jack from rescuing her. Regardless of the cause, Kathleen felt a tiny bubble of hot blood set out from the vicinity of her toes, where it had been laying dormant, and travel up her body and through her heart on its way to her brain, gaining momentum and volume and heat, until she found her voice and temper in the same instant and rose to her feet.

"You don't actually think that I would let you destroy Matthew Dixon just because you and Phil are greedy and selfish?" she found herself yelling. "There were no actual damages to sue for, were there?" The light bulbs were now popping in Kathleen's brain at such an alarming rate that they almost blinded her. "Matthew Dixon never coerced you into anything, did he? Yes, you had an affair, but I'll bet that when he wouldn't leave his wife for you, you decided to get back at him and ruin him. So you suckered Phil into falling in love with you and then convinced him to go after Matthew, all the while ruining Matthew's reputation in Juniper Hills. You even faked being pregnant so you could be sure that poor old Phil would do your bidding."

The stunned look on Joanna's face told Kathleen that she had guessed right, and she rocketed on, full of the bravado of a lucky guess: "So, get out of my office, and get out of this building, and go crawl back under the rock you slithered out from before I really lose my temper."

Joanna turned tail and ran. At least that was how Kathleen saw it. In reality, she turned with a flounce and bounced out of the door.

Kathleen sat down limply and wondered why she suddenly felt drained.

Then someone, maybe it was Gail Hawkins, maybe it was surly Bob Martin or suave Elliot Marsh, it might even have been a Kinsley, but someone started clapping, and then someone else joined in, and then another until the entire office was clapping, cheering, pounding their desks, whistling, and finally chanting "KATHLEEN--KATHLEEN--KATHLEEN..."

Kathleen shyly rose to her feet. She pumped a fist tentatively into the air and was surprised to feel an answering surge of energy. Her simper became a smile as she pumped the other fist into the air. Another power surge. Her smile became a grin as she punched again and again, higher and higher until she was dancing in a circle with both arms raised over her head. She felt as if a valve somewhere deep inside of her had been opened, and she was bathing in the sweat of a job well-done. She leaned back her head and let loose an honest-to-God howl as she spun around, dancing in victory, drinking deep draughts of adrenaline. She felt as if she was the number one kicker on the feel-good team and she had just brought home the gold.

---

"Now don't you think," Jack Kinsley said, as he sat on Elliot's desk the next day, addressing the assembled K B K employees, "that Kathleen looks quite fetching holding a baby?"

Kathleen blushed prettily, rolled her eyes at her teasing brother-in-law, and cuddled Lindy's newborn daughter closer to her breast.

"She needs to get married first," Gail declared, self-consciously twirling a new ring on her own left hand, courtesy of Eliot.

Kathleen bent to kiss the baby's forehead, praying that the conversation would veer away from her marital and maternal prospects. It was one thing to bring home the gold, it was quite another to be forever in the spotlight. When she glanced up, she found Harry looking at her intently. He wasn't exactly smiling, but his face wore a soft expression, one that wasn't too different from the one he had worn the first morning she had woken in his arms. She flushed again and was about to look down and away, but a sudden urge to corner him overcame her. Why should she always be the one to retreat, to be flustered, to look away? Even after her sparring match with Matthew Dixon and her victory over Joanna Bridges, she hated the fact that she automatically conceded to Harry at every turn.

"Your turn," she said suddenly, offering the baby to him. She expected him to flinch or backpedal the way most childless men react to proffered babies, but he didn't. He reached out without hesitating and slipped his hand under hers so that she could shift support of the baby's head to him as he wrapped his other arm around the tiny, blanketed bundle. A small gurgle bubbled from the blanket, followed by a milky sigh. Long eyelashes once more nestled on downy cheeks.

"You see," he said complacently, "babies love me. They never cry or fuss when they're with 'Uncle Harry.' Now, aren't you a lovely little girl? Look," he continued, proudly holding up his finger, clutched inside a tiny baby fist, "she's going to be a power hitter just like her mama. Aren't you, sweetheart?"

Kathleen felt her stomach turn over.

---

When it was time for Lindy and her husband Dan to get their baby and all her new toys and books and clothes and mobiles and rattles home, Harry and Kathleen walked Lindy and her family out to the car, and Harry expertly strapped the baby into her car seat, shook Dan's hand and gave Lindy a hug while Kathleen kissed the newborn goodbye.

Harry slipped his arm around Kathleen's shoulders as they watched the little family drive off.

"You want one of those?" he asked, looking where the car had been.

"A baby? Someday, but..."

"Kathleen, Connie Martinez wanted me to talk to you. Are you dead set on going to grad school in a few weeks?"

Her stomach turned over again. "Harry, you know I am. Why wouldn't I?"

"She wants to offer you a full-time job at the Boys and Girls Club."

"Do you want me to take it?" She searched his eyes, desperate to find reassurance.

He smiled slightly, and shook his head, "I'm not answering on the grounds that it may incriminate me."

"Please Harry, tell me what you want. If you want me to stay in Juniper Hills, I will," she pleaded.

"No way. I'm not making this decision for you. I'm simply a messenger from Connie."

Kathleen slumped her shoulders, dejected. She knew Harry liked her---liked her well enough to go to bed with her and get up with her and make her scrambled eggs and not try to hide her in the closet---and she was pretty sure he loved her, but when you got right down to it, he hadn't asked her for much of a commitment. Maybe Dorie Eastman was right. Maybe she was just the latest in a long line of girlfriends. Maybe Harry would never want to settle for just one woman forever. Maybe he wouldn't tell her not to go to Albuquerque for grad school because that would tie him down too much.

Finally she said, "I'm not even going to think about this until after the benefit. Let's get through this week--the benefit auction is Saturday night. I don't want to think about this until that's over. We can talk about this next week."

"I can't," Harry said. "Maggie and I are climbing the Crestones next week."

"You're still going?"

"Why wouldn't I? We've had this climbing trip planned for months."

"But ... but ... Jack isn't going. And neither is Bob or Rob."

"So?"

"So? So? You and Maggie--alone in the wilderness. Maggie, who thinks it's her turn with you."

"Kath, darling, you're nuts. Maggie is an old friend. Where do you get these ideas, anyway?"

"Joanna."

"Yes, and we all know how reliable a source Joanna has turned out to be."

"Don't get snotty. I've seen how Maggie looks at you."

"I can't help how people look at me."

"Yes, but you can prevent them from getting the wrong idea by not going on unchaperoned camping trips with them."

"Unchaperoned? Kath, I'm not exactly a fourteen-year-old."

"Then you're still going to go?"

"Yes, I'm still going to go camping with my friend Maggie."

Kathleen's brain, which had been resting since its last big exertion when she had bested Joanna Bridges, started humming once again. So is he or is he not a commitment-phobe? One minute he practically asks me to have a baby with him and the next he won't even consider putting himself out of harm's way.

They turned and walked back towards the office together. Harry stopped her outside the door and kissed her lightly--"Don't think so much, Kath. You drive yourself crazy imagining things. I love you, I promise I do. You've just gotta trust that."

Chapter 19

The next day Kathleen found herself scrambling to recover from two days of heaven in the mountains with Harry. Thursday was the last game of the season for the K-B-K Trojans. The team had enjoyed a pretty good run once Harry put Kathleen out in left field where she belonged. She was happy to chase down the long balls and get them to Rob Haskins in centerfield, who in turn got them into the in-field and often to home plate. Colleen had called Kathleen on Wednesday night to reassure her that she and Jack were hosting the season wrap party and that Kathleen didn't have to worry about it one little bit, which was a good thing because it had never entered Kathleen's head to do any such thing. All of her energy was now focused on doing the final prep for the benefit auction that was scheduled for Harry's house the following Saturday night.

Of course, the benefit auction had been child's play to Kathleen. She and Dorie had nailed the details early in the summer. They had drawn up a guest list, selected a caterer, orchestrated food and drink, lined up a band, and reeled in the auctionables. Kathleen had talked Harry into letting her skip work on Friday so that she could decorate his house and get it ready for Saturday night's main event. She had talked Connie Martinez into letting her take a dozen or so of the center's kids out of day camp to help her, since the auction was for their benefit. Connie had insisted that she and Harry come along as well, to supervise the kids and to help them help her. The wrinkle in the plan came when Connie called Kathleen Thursday morning to tell her that she couldn't go and suggested that Maggie take her place.

"Maggie?" Kathleen could feel her brain racing to come up with a plausible explanation as to why she didn't want Maggie up at Harry's house helping them gussie it up for the party. "She has to work, doesn't she?" she squeaked lamely.

"No, she has Fridays off from the gym," Connie replied brightly.

When Kathleen didn't counter this, Connie went on quietly, "Kathleen, Harry's a good man. Don't go looking for trouble, sweetheart, it'll find you if it wants you. You see, some people, like Harry, have a genius for friendship. You can't change that and you can't police his relationships, and you shouldn't try. If you love him, and I think you do although you've just started realizing it, then you must love him as he is. If you live with him, then know that he will be forever bringing home strays and attracting starlets and organizing teams and finding problems that need solving and making friends with people like Maggie, who make you feel less than adequate. But remember, Harry Kinsley fell in love with you, not her. Don't try to break up a beautiful friendship, my dear. Love the man and let him love you, with no strings attached."

Kathleen wiped her eyes and thanked Connie for the pep talk. Connie was right, Kathleen knew. Harry did attract strays and starlets and problems. She wasn't sure which category Maggie fit into but she knew that she, Kathleen, wasn't one of the above so Harry's feelings for her must be outside the realm of rescue and recovery.

And so it was settled that Maggie would join her and Harry and the boys and girls from the Riverdale center up at Harry's house. Kathleen was eager to get on with the party, eager to be blissfully beautiful on Harry's arm, eager to bask in the praise of Juniper Hills' high brow, but first, she remembered with a sigh, she had to get through the final game of the season.

The trouble started at lunch. As was his usual mode, Harry dropped off the lineup card to Bob Martin on his way out the door. Somehow he always managed to be running late for a meeting when he handed off the card so that his team could finish grousing before he returned to the office. This time there was no grousing. Kathleen was amazed to watch her colleagues blandly handing round the card and shrugging to see what position their boss had assigned to them. Finally Elliot handed the lineup to Kathleen, whose eyes popped as she scanned down the page.

"Lettie's at second and Joanna's pitching!" she shrieked, throwing up her hands and the card in disgust.

"Well, yeah," Rob Haskins nodded complacently, completely missing Kathleen's dismay. "Lettie's solid at second. Nothing gets past her that's not over her head."

Kathleen felt that the entire lineup was over the head of her office mates. "Lettie doesn't work here anymore. She quit. Remember?" she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

"She didn't quit the team," Bob mumbled between bites of his sandwich.

"She wouldn't," Rob agreed.

"She wants that trophy as much as the rest of us," Gail added, twirling her engagement ring.

"And Joanna?" Kathleen went on, "Don't you remember her stomping in here and yelling at me? You think she'll show up to pitch for us?"

Bob snorted a laugh, then grunted that "Joanna wouldn't pass up any opportunity to hurtle speed balls at Marsha Dixon's head."

"What about Phil?" Kathleen asked. "Matthew fired him. Surely he won't be playing for the Eagles tonight?"

Elliot rubbed his jaw, thinking. "That's a tough one to call, Kathleen. You have a point. He was fired...

"Whereas Lettie merely flaked off and Joanna just got her knickers in a twist," Gail interrupted with a smirk.

Elliot finished the analysis, "I doubt he'll play. But our roster's solid. There's not a man on it who would let personal crap get in the way of the game."

Kathleen reminded Elliot that Lettie and Joanna weren't men.

He shrugged as if to say that a middle-aged female engineer in the full throes of a midlife crisis and a swimsuit model vixen were as manly as he was when it came to playing ball.

Later, when Harry picked up Kathleen on his way to the ball field, he complimented her on looking particularly pretty that night in her purple and gold Trojans jersey. She said that she had wanted to look nice for her last game.

"Last game of the season," Harry corrected her.

Kathleen let the comment go without arguing, but mentally she deleted the phrase back out. It was her last game. What that meant to the long-term viability of her relationship with Harry, she didn't know, but the conversation she had had with her colleagues over the lineup card had been sobering. Despite her conversation with Connie, Kathleen couldn't helping wondering whether Harry really loved her or simply wanted a girlfriend who was one of the guys. She did know, however, that if it was she who had quit a company or had gone nuclear with a team member, she wouldn't continue playing on the team.

Lettie did play. As did Joanna, who didn't throw any beanballs, to Kathleen's infinite relief. She also didn't speak to Kathleen, by which Kathleen concluded that Joanna must still have some residual female hormones cruising through her perfect-10 body after all.

Phil didn't play, although Kathleen did catch a glimpse of him waiting for Joanna in the parking lot after the game. She wondered whether the long slow kiss he gave her in front of God and everybody was a reward for striking out the Legal Eagles in the bottom of the ninth to win the game or simply a way to show Juniper Hills that Joanna Bridges was, contrary to rumor, very happy to be paired up with him. Incredibly, Joanna, with Phil in tow, showed up at Colleen and Jack's for the post-game party and beer brouhaha.

When they first appeared around the back of the house, she sporting her freshly showered body and he looking more buttoned down and lawyerly than ever, Kathleen experienced a mini-panic attack. She didn't relish another confrontation with Joanna, and she hadn't actually talked to Phil since he had dumped their story in her lap last Sunday night at his condo. He, at least, had the grace to look abashed when their eyes met. He smiled a little half-smile, and as soon as he had procured a glass of wine for his lady, left her, at Colleen's request, to man the barbeque with Maggie, and made his way over to Kathleen.

"Good game, Kathleen," Phil said, by way of an ice-breaker.

"Thanks. It's nice to end on a high note..." she replied sweetly, only to be interrupted by Harry, brushing by.

"You mean, to end the season on a high note..."

She smiled serenely at Harry, not yet ready to burst his bubble about her future on the slow pitch circuit, and turned back to Phil.

"I didn't see you in the stands," she murmured, trying to catch a casual tone with Phil.

"No, I figured watching from the parking lot might be more comfortable for all concerned."

"I'm sorry about you getting the sack from Matthew. I think Joanna blames me..."

He shrugged. A lovely, languid shrug. Kathleen marveled at how well suited Phil was to Joanna. Why she hadn't mentally paired them up before was a mystery.

"I'll land on my feet. I always do," he said gallantly.

"And Joanna?"

"We'll do fine. We're looking forward to the benefit auction tomorrow up at Harry's."

"You're coming?" Kathleen was amazed at how deeply ran the gall in Phil's and Joanna's veins. All of Juniper Hills's movers and shakers would be there. Kathleen knew that if she had just suffered as profound a setback as Phil had, she would have hid under her bed for at least a week if not longer.

"Back in the saddle, Kathleen, that's how you play the game. You're never really down unless you can't find someway to get back in the saddle."

"I just knew there had to be a sports analogy in here somewhere," Kathleen muttered.

"Huh?"

Before Kathleen could explain to Phil that apparently all of life could be reduced to or at least understood in a sporting context, Harry motioned to her to join him on the deck.

"Time for the trophies," he said.

"I thought we got the trophy at the ballfield?"

"Nah, we've got our own, Kath. You'll see. Now, gather the troops for me, please."

In short order, Kathleen found herself being handed up the makeshift podium of step ladders that Jack had assembled on his deck, where she graciously accepted the "Trojan Award for Best Sport Despite an Appalling Lack of ___."

Her teammates bantered for awhile about what thing Kathleen lacked more than anything else and finally settled on sweat. She laughed and tossed her hair, and asked who previous winners of the trophy were. Lettie told her that Bob Martin won last year with an appalling lack of tact, and the year before Maggie had won with an appalling lack of fat. Elliot boasted that he had won it three years ago "with an appalling lack of muscle." Kathleen mentally noted that much hadn't changed in three years.

Harry awarded Rob Haskins the "Trojan Thunderbolt Award" for the second year in a row for hitting the longest homerun of the season, and Gail won the "Trojan Award for Sacrificing Personal Well-Being for the Good of the Team." She had played the last two games of the season without her engagement ring, at the insistence of the umpire. She giggled into Elliot's shoulder after she accepted the trophy, and twirled her ring at regular intervals during the remainder of the party just to reassure everyone present that it was right where it belonged.

Maggie Oberdorfer won the last award. Harry admitted that he had dreamed it up the night before. Then he called her up to the podium and gave her a package, announcing that it was the "Trojan Award for Recognizing When to Leave the Nest." Maggie wrinkled her freckled nose at him, as if embarrassed by the attention, and then unwrapped a black-and-white striped umpire's jersey. She grinned as she held it up to herself and then slipped it on while Harry announced that Maggie had finally been accepted into a top-flight umpire school in Florida, thanks to Bob Martin's expert training and her own skills, dedication, and drive.

The team went nuts, cheering for Maggie, and Kathleen felt a happy little afterglow as she cradled her own trophy, and watched her teammates relish the fun of being part of a winning team. Some were friends, some were colleagues, and some were even sometime adversaries, but they were all part of the same team and had built something together that was worth sharing.

---

The next day, Friday, Kathleen, Harry, and Maggie convoyed out of Juniper Hills, transporting a select group of kids from the Riverdale Boys and Girls Club up to Harry's house for the afternoon and evening. Ostensibly, they were going to decorate Harry's house and grounds for the benefit auction the following night. In reality, all concerned felt this was a perfect opportunity for the kids to temporarily escape the concrete jungle they called home and finally deploy the thousand origami cranes that they had been folding all summer in their quest for a grassy playground.

The three vehicles were overflowing with boxes and bags of the folded paper cranes. According to plan, the kids would make streamers, fill glass jars, construct crane trees and create whatever other fantastical structures out of the cranes that their minds and hands could manage. Kathleen had cranked up the music in her car and happily sang along with the kids she was driving. Life was good, she thought, very good. Not only did Harry adore her, but he also made her pulse race and her stomach flutter. She was the chief operating officer of a benefit auction that was organized to the nth degree, and she felt comfortably smug about being such a do-gooder.

There was no doubt about it, Kathleen thought as she sang along with the kids in her car, life had been very good to her. Had she known how to play cards she would have recognized that she had been dealt a royal flush and had somehow managed not to squander all her luck.

They wound their way along the St. Dupre River until they reached the end of the road at Kenwood Falls at the foot of Ruby Mountain. Kathleen pulled into Harry's dirt lot and parked next to Maggie, who was parked next to Harry. She bounced out of the car with the kids on her heels.

"Gawd, Luis, will you look at that river," exclaimed Manuel, one of the boys from Kathleen's car. "Hey Kathleen, ya think Coach will let us go fishing?"

Kathleen grinned at Manuel, "I guarantee that Harry will not let anyone who wants to fish leave here today without tying one on. Now help me with these boxes so that we can get the work part of today done and move into the play part."

Manuel as well as Luis, Carly, and Shondra--the rest of Kathleen's carful--helped her unload, all the while exclaiming over the wonders of Harry's mountain home. The trees were taller and straighter, not to mention thicker, than anything they had ever seen. Flowers were everywhere. And though they didn't know their names, they exclaimed over the columbine, Indian paintbrush, and penstemon that edged the river and blanketed the meadows that flowed out of the forest. The whirring raz of cicadas in the trees and brush joined the chatter of the river birds and the muted roar of the river itself, now almost at its yearly low, to welcome the city kids and invite them to shout and yell for as long and loud as they needed to.

Maggie and her kids unloaded boxes of pizza and a couple of cases of soda, while Harry's carful grappled with baling wire and styrofoam balls that the kids would use in their crane creations. Everyone assembled on Harry's back deck, made short work of the pizzas, and split up into work crews. Kathleen chose to stay simple, helping her kids make streamers and mobiles. Maggie, a self-professed non-artisan, enlisted a few like-minded kids who were up for heavy lifting and commenced tidying up Harry's yard. They needed to move random stacks of scrap wood and firewood to reduce tripping hazards and make room for party tents under the trees. Then they needed to clean up and display Harry's collection of antique tractors and miscellaneous farming memorabilia that Kathleen thought hideous but which Harry and Maggie deemed far too interesting to hide in the barn.

Harry and his crew decided to go for the gusto and began work on a giant wire flying bird that they planned to cover with origami. The kids clamored for Harry to let them suspend it from his vaulted ceiling, but he firmly informed them that it would work much better suspended over the deck. Kathleen was skeptical that they could finish it in a single afternoon, but Harry was so adorably boy-scoutish and earnest about the project that she held her tongue and let him go for it.

By evening, the house was ablaze with the brazen colors of construction paper, the grounds were ready to accommodate Juniper Hills's country club set, and Harry had just finished constructing the block-and-tackle from which he would suspend the giant origami-festooned bird. Maggie, Kathleen, and Harry grinned at each other as they watched the city kids playing their umpteenth game of freeze tag in the meadow while Belle, Harry's dog, ran gleefully from one child to the next, overwhelmed with the incredible playdate her master had arranged for her. Shondra, one of Kathleen's girls, had earlier asked whether they would see any deer--Kathleen gently broke it to the little girl that any deer who would venture within a mile of Harry's house would have to be stone deaf.

Although the wildlife kept their distance from Kenwood that day, good humor crowded and abounded round Harry's log home. A full afternoon and evening in Maggie's company finally convinced Kathleen that while Harry and Maggie may admire each other a great deal, nay even find in each other a kindred spirit when it came to the pursuit of athletic prowess, physical admiration did not extend to physical attraction. They almost seemed like brothers, Kathleen mused. Harry treated Maggie as he did Jack, the way he talked to her, the way he interacted with her--joking but never teasing, locker-room towel snapping friendliness but not that terrifyingly sweet tentativeness that he saved for Kathleen.

Kathleen had never been jealous of Harry's relationship with his brother, just as it would never occur to her that anyone could or would object to her relationship with Colleen. Brotherly and sisterly ties were akin to breathing as far as Kathleen was concerned. Yet, in all her wonderings about love and marriage, monogamy and "for as long as we both shall live," she had never actually thought about her future mate as three-dimensional. Now, looking as objectively as possible at Harry, Kathleen realized that she and Harry were each like the center of a wheel, revolving together, working together, connected and ineffectual when disconnected, but singular in their entirety and dependent on their many spokes for their inherent structure. Maggie was one of Harry's spokes. Connie had been right. It would be wrong for Kathleen to try to move Harry's center and change the way he was constructed.

As they watched the kids playing, Harry and Maggie chatted about their climbing trip. On Sunday, Harry and Kathleen would clean up his house and grounds while Maggie packed their supplies and checked their gear. On Monday, Harry would drive down and pick up Maggie in Juniper Hills and they would head south to the Crestones, a cluster of mountains seven hours southwest of Juniper Hills in Colorado's spectacular San Juan range. Kathleen would stay at Kenwood to look after Belle and try to figure out whether she should snuggle up next to Harry every night or put the snuggling on hold and go to Albuquerque as planned and get her masters. She had a week to make her decision.

Chapter 20

Monday morning Kathleen tripped into work, wearing the same peach short set that she had donned on her first day of work back in June. Her hair was again swept back in a loose ponytail held by a peach scarf, and her nails were again exactly three shades lighter than her outfit.

"Did they get off all right?" Jack asked as Kathleen stowed her purse and turned on her monitor.

"Harry left at six-thirty. I have no idea how he and Maggie are going to pack in all of the stuff that he took. They'll need sherpas just to haul all their gear and food to their base camp."

Jack smiled indulgently at his sister-in-law. "Better get used to it, kid. Harry has been climbing since he was a rugrat."

"He told me to give you this," Kathleen handed Jack the map Harry had marked. "He said you would want his flight plan."

"Did he do a weather check?"

Kathleen nodded. "Harry said there's a high pressure system coming in from the west, but since it's summer it'll dissipate before it reaches us. He said they should have great weather all week." Kathleen's voice went low, "Are the hammocks they sleep in really safe?"

Harry had shown her pictures of the cocoons in which he and Maggie would sleep overnight, halfway up their second climb. Kathleen didn't believe that anyone could actually fall asleep suspended from a cliff, dangling next to a sheer rock face.

"Not to worry, Kath. Harry and Maggie are both very experienced. He and I have been doing technical climbs like this for years. He's fit, strong, healthy, and smart. Plus he loves it out there--counting the stars and dreaming that he's flying."

"I'm sorry you didn't get to go this year, Jack." Kathleen could tell that Jack wanted to be counting and dreaming along with his brother.

He shrugged. "Colleen needs me home. But it's okay. She's having a baby and the least I can do is hang around the house and annoy her."

---

Monday dragged by slowly. Harry wouldn't be calling until the evening, and only if he could get a good connection. Kathleen worked sporadically. When she wasn't thinking about Harry she daydreamed about the benefit and how well it had come off.

Most of Juniper Hills, and not just the country clubbers, had been extremely generous, buying up the various and sundry items Kathleen and Dorie Eastman had put together for the silent auction. The weekend for two at Denver's posh Brown Palace Hotel had gone for eight-hundred. The spa experience at Della and Dirk's "Buff and Shine" had gone for one-fifty. The ski packages sold for double their face value, and on and on until Kathleen was able to pay back Harry for the money he had fronted her to put on the event, pay for the grassy playground, and still have enough left over to refinish the gym floor.

Kathleen smiled serenely into space remembering the lavish compliments she had received for the food, drink, music, and especially the decorations. Eveline Dixon told her that she ought to go into the party planning business, and Veronica Heidelberg told her that she had a future in PR. The party had been abuzz with her stories of the thousand-cranes-for-peace-and-luck, and Harry's gigantic wire crane that floated above the deck had stayed aloft. Matthew Dixon had dryly commented that Harry was opening himself up to massive lawsuits by swinging the contraption over the heads of his guests, and Mike Eastman added that that was nothing to the liability Harry was taking on just having Joanna Bridges in the same room with Kathleen Kavenaugh. Kathleen smoothly answered that Joanna was a very elegant woman and a pretty good pitcher too.

Joanna and Phil were at the party, laboring to repair their tarnished images.

"And Veronica thinks I have a future in PR!" Kathleen whispered to Harry while watching the pair working the crowd.

Juniper Hills had been at fever pitch as the news of Phil's firing from Dixon, Dabney, and Colfax coupled with Joanna's firing from Campbell modeling pushed the more prosaic coupling of Harry and Kathleen into the background.

Most residents of Juniper Hills had long seen Harry Kinsley and Kathleen Kavenaugh as destined for the altar and so the fact that they actually saw the light of day and were getting on with it was more anticlimactic than Kathleen had anticipated. Only the most spiteful whispered that he was much too old for her, and only the most jealous whispered that she was much too self-absorbed for him.

Only Kathleen's father was surprised by her announcement that she and Harry were seeing each other. She had had to explain the phrase "seeing each other" to Byron Kavenaugh when he gave her a blank gaze, but then he had been on the brink of a major breakthrough in the fabrication of an artificial hand when she told him her news so she really couldn't expect that he would get the full picture on the first go-round. Nevertheless, he wished her joy and asked her whether she thought the movement of the fingers was convincingly real. Kathleen preferred not to give an opinion.

Byron had escorted Gramma Bridges to the gala, he in a tuxedo and she in her best crocheted shawl. He was pleased to see that the macrobiotic cookbook he had donated to the fundraiser and for which he had an editorial credit, was bid on by several people who, he believed, "really might find their lives enhanced by following it closely." Maggie Obermann ended up with the winning bid on the cookbook, and Kathleen smiled indulgently as she watched her father happily autograph it for her.

Maggie had been beaming all evening as word of her imminent departure to Florida spread through the crowd. She was planning to drive a U-Haul with all her worldly possessions from Juniper Hills to Pensacola after Labor Day, and Bob Martin was going along for company and moral support.

It occurred to Kathleen that there just might be something going on between Maggie and Bob, and she wondered, if that were the case, whether surly, hot-tempered little Bob suffered any qualms about Maggie going camping with Harry. If he did, she would just have to sit him down and have a little talk about trust. She had learned a lot this summer, she decided, and felt a warm, self-satisfied glow in recognizing how well she had turned out after all.

Feeling full herself and flush with the triumph of a thorough rout, Kathleen was on her way to the kitchen to check on whether the chocolate fondue was ready when she came upon Lettie having yet another heart-to-heart with Maggie. They were sitting alone in Harry's living room, the party having moved out onto the deck and into the yard where the food and music tents were set up. Kathleen paused and looked at the pair on the couch, suddenly aware that theirs seemed an oddly intense friendship. Lettie was in tears and Maggie was wiping the tears and talking low and earnestly. And then Kathleen watched in amazement as Lettie took Maggie's face in her hands and kissed her passionately on the mouth.

Kathleen blinked fast, her jaw agape, and then ran from the room in confusion straight into Harry. She tried to talk, but her hands covered her mouth. He took her to one side. "What is it, Kath?"

"Lettie ... Lettie's kissing Maggie. Is Maggie...?" She choked on the words.

"Is Maggie gay?" he completed her sentence for her.

She nodded.

He shook his head indulgently. "Kathleen, Maggie's been out for years. That's why it was so laughable that you would be worried about her and me. Don't you ever pay attention to anyone other than yourself, my love?"

"But that's so gross!" The words were out of Kathleen's mouth before she could stop them.

The look on Harry's face was a mixture of disappointment, resignation and, Kathleen feared, disgust.

"So you and I can be happy together but Maggie and Lettie aren't allowed? Is that the way it is?"

"It's not that." Kathleen struggled to figure out what it was. She stumbled on, "It's just that I've never known anybody who's gay before."

"You've known Maggie and Lettie for years."

"Apparently I didn't."

Harry paused and then took Kathleen's hand and stroked it, "I think Lettie's just starting to get to know herself. Give her a break, Kath. Life isn't so straightforward for everyone. Look at Joanna--yeah she's a messed up beauty queen, but geez, her parents dumped her on Lettie when she was five while they went off to work for the State department. She only saw them a few times a year during her whole childhood. And Lettie's father was a tyrant. He destroyed her self confidence before it had a chance to develop. And Gramma Bridges literally turned a blind eye to her dysfunctional family years ago. If Maggie can help Lettie find herself, who are you to pass judgment?"

"Well, my life hasn't always been easy, you know," Kathleen protested, her eyes filling with tears. "My mother died when I was in high school, and my father..." Her voice trailed off as she covered her face with her hands.

Harry took her in his arms and then held her face in his hands and looked deeply and gently into the eyes he loved, "This isn't about you, Kath, not this time."

He went on, "Now I want you to go out to your party and do your own thing. And don't gossip about this with Dorie or Colleen or anyone, okay? Let Lettie stay in control of her life--we owe her that much. She's our friend."

Kathleen, who was by now dying to share the news with both Dorie and Colleen, reluctantly agreed to be discreet. Hard as it was, she kept her promise to Harry and didn't breathe a word of the kiss she had witnessed, and even refrained from looking sly and knowing when Lettie bought a weekend for two at the Redstone Inn, one of Colorado's most romantic hideaways. Harry, however, caught Kathleen's eye as she worked at looking nonchalant and mouthed the words "Well done."

---

Monday night was lonely. Harry called shortly after seven. The trip was going well. The drive had been uneventful, and the hike to base camp easy. The weather was gorgeous, and Maggie was making cheesecake for dessert. They were ready for their warm up climb on Tuesday. He would call again Tuesday night and then not again until Thursday because tomorrow night he would sleeping in a cocoon halfway up the Crestone Needle. He loved her. They said goodnight.

Tuesday the wind blew. It blew cold for August, and it blew all day. That night when Harry called, he asked Kathleen whether she had been watching the Weather Channel. She told him that Jack didn't like the way the high pressure from the coast was merging with a cold front. The storm wasn't dissipating. It was building. Harry said he would call Jack. Kathleen told Harry to be careful. Harry said that he was always careful.

Wednesday was beautiful. The wind died Tuesday night and all of Colorado awoke to deep blue skies laced with wispy pink clouds flecked with gold. Harry thought it the most beautiful morning of his life. He crawled out of his sleeping bag, unzipped the tent, and saluted the sunrays just spilling over the edge of the mountains. The great stillness of the morning was broken only by an occasional slap of beaver tail on water and the splash of rising fish as the inhabitants of the little mountain lake in front of the tents went about their daily chores. A mist rose off the lake and lingered in the tops of the trees. Harry watched a doe and fawn, across the lake, pause from drinking to gaze at him in silent wonder.

Wednesday night the rain began. It woke up Kathleen just before two. She peeked out the window to see sheets of rain pummeling the earth. She lay in the dark and thought of Harry wrapped in a cocoon, strapped to a rock cliff, with the rain beating on his face and running down his neck and into his sleeping bag. She wondered how slippery rock was when wet. She wondered how thoroughly Maggie had checked all the climbing gear. She prayed.

Thursday Jack sent her home from work at three in the afternoon. The rain hadn't abated and Kathleen wasn't getting anything done anyway. "Watch a movie and snuggle up with Belle," he had said. Then he hugged her, "Don't worry, Kathleen. Harry is all right. He'll call tonight."

Kathleen didn't watch a movie--she watched the Weather Channel. She watched the huge cloud over Colorado swirl and grow and she listened to the excited chatter of the TV anchors as they compared it to the storms of '78 and '65.

Harry didn't call. Not Thursday afternoon, not Thursday night. Finally Kathleen started trying to call him, but she couldn't get his cell phone to ring. About nine o'clock, Jack called her to tell her that the sheriff was evacuating the St. Dupre canyon because the river was rising fast and they were worried about flash floods. He told her get her and Belle in the car and head down to Juniper Hills.

Kathleen took Belle to the garage and got in her car. She backed out into absolute darkness. Even with her headlights on, Kathleen couldn't see the road. She knew that she would have to cross the river three times before she was out of the canyon. If the road was flooded anywhere she would be trapped--unable to go further and unable to get back to Harry's. She sat in the car shaking and crying, unwilling to drive, afraid to stay. But stay she must. Harry had asked her to hold down the fort, to look after Belle, to be here when he returned. He had built his house on a rock, it was high over the river.

Kathleen knew she would be safer at Kenwood than anywhere else in the world. And she had to be here when Harry came back...if he came back. Too late Kathleen tried to catch the thought before it formed, and then she pounded her fists against the steering wheel in frustration, tearing streaming down her cheeks. She couldn't believe she had let herself think that horrible thought. If you don't say it, it won't happen; if you don't think it, it can't happen. And now she had unleashed the thought and Pandora's box was open, the genie was out of the bottle, and clouds of free electrons were spinning madly out of control.

She put the car back in the garage. She called Jack and Colleen and told them she couldn't leave Kenwood. She asked whether they'd heard from Harry. They hadn't but told Kathleen not to worry. Harry was fit and strong and smart, they said.

She didn't tell them fit and strong and smart mean nothing once all the sand has run out of the hourglass.

© 2004 Copyright held by the author.

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