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She squeaked and fell back on the couch, using the remaining cushions to
thump me repeatedly as I worked my way up to get my arms over hers.
"Hah!" she said, "You think you've got me, don't you?"
"When you say things like that," I said, "I won't take it for granted.
Gee, lady, you get mean around sofa cushions."
Anne laughed and kissed me. It was a wonderful, warm, delicious kiss that
lasted a while. When it ended, I quickly ducked away, rolling off her and
across the floor. The sofa cushion in her hand missed me by mere inches.
I had to laugh at the expression on her face as the unchecked momentum of
her swing dragged her off the couch and ungracefully dumped her on the floor.
Anne sat there glaring and grinning at me for a moment, then put
everything she had into heaving the cushion at me. She was only a split-second
behind it as it hit my chest, having used her legs to shove away from the
couch.
She wrapped herself tightly around me; her legs twined around mine and her
arms seemed to lock around me. She grinned wickedly down at me before she
kissed me again.
When she broke the kiss, she was still grinning. I broke the grin by using
my limited range of arm motion to begin tickling her. Anne tried to pretend my
fingers were having no effect, but lost the pretense to a sudden burst of
laughter and had to disengage. As she tried to roll away, I stayed with her
and kept tickling until she was breathless.
"I hope you know I'll get you for that," said Anne, raising herself to a
sitting position.
"I know you'll try," I said.
"Oh, I'll get you," she said. "Count on it."
"I don't suppose I could appeal to your better instincts?" I asked.
"Not a chance," she said, grinning again.
"I didn't think so," I said. "You've already been out here too long. The
thin veneer of civilization is already peeling off you, isn't it?"
I grinned back at her as I got up to go to the kitchen. She grabbed my
belt to pull herself to her feet and came with me, taking a seat at the
dinette table as we entered the kitchen.
"Well, at least I started out with a veneer," she said. "Unlike someone
who took rather extreme advantage of a lady in distress last night, as I
recall."
I turned and gave her a shocked look.
"Oh, wait just a minute, here, lady! If anyone should feel used, it's me.
My first time ever turned into a marathon because of you, you know. You tried
to turn me into an old man in one night!"
"You held up your end of things," she said, laughing at her turn of words.
"You survived well enough."
"Yeah, well, maybe it was the company I was keeping," I said. "You brought
out the best in me, Anne... then... well, you grabbed it."
Anne was in tears from laughing. She had to try twice to say, "You make it
sound like I'm some kind of vampire."
"AS IF," I corrected her, "And you are. You have obviously lured an
innocent young man into your den and obviously intend to drain him dry after
making him fall in love with you."
"You don't mind too much, do you?" she asked, full of saccharin
solicitude. "I could release you back into the wild, you know."
"Oh, no, don't do that," I said with equal graciousness, "Would that I had
more to give! Knights are supposed to give their all for a lady."
"Damned right they are," said Anne. "That's why I knighted you. That and a
need for cheap labor around the castle, of course."
We talked for hours that Sunday night. Opinions about the politics of the
Vietnam war, demonstrations that were becoming daily occurrences on campuses,
the space race, places we'd been and things we'd done, and possibilities
concerning the farm floated back and forth across that kitchen table until
well after two in the morning.
Plans for the farm filled three pages of her yellow tablet and things were
going just fine until the subject of bringing the horses down from Virginia
came up.
Anne didn't really want to deal with Frank's family, but this didn't
become obvious to me until she'd listed about a half-dozen reasons for not
taking the trip that summer. Time, driving, getting a trailer, expenses,
accommodations throughout the trip, caring for the horses on the way, and
other such details were the gist of her self-argument.
As she wrapped up her list, I brought up another item that I considered
too obvious to ignore. All of her planning excluded me.
"I have a driver's license," I said, "And I've hauled a trailer before.
Horses need stops about twice an eight-hour day on the road, but three are
better; time for walking, feed, water, and a stretch. Why were you talking as
if I weren't going to help you with that, too? Two days up and back and
probably a day or two there to visit and get the trip back organized properly.
Did I miss something?"
Anne just looked at me for a moment. She doodled on the pad and tapped the
pencil on the table.
"How do I explain you to people?" she asked. "Would your parents let you
go? Speaking of your parents, I don't know if I could face them at this
point."
"Call me a friend's son who was free for the trip," I said. "And you've
already talked to one of my parents, who let me come here for as long as I'm
needed. If they didn't like you, I guarantee I wouldn't be here for any
reason. Why would there be a difference between forty miles or a thousand? I
have people nearby in Pennsylvania and the bus could bring me home if it came
to that."
"What if there was an accident?"
"Insurance covers us anywhere and there are hospitals all over the
country," I said, "And we could have an accident here just as easily. Although
I've no doubt you could make the horse trip by yourself, Anne, there's no
reason to. What's really bugging you about it?"
"You're quick, aren't you?" It wasn't really a question. After a moment,
she continued, "Frank's family didn't know how he changed, and they know
nothing about our last months together or the reason he shipped out early or
why our stuff is still in storage after all this time. They idolized him, Ed.
If I go up there, they'll be expecting to see a still-grieving widow and
they'll want to talk about things I don't particularly want to talk about."
I gave that some quick thought.
"We can call ahead with arrangements that would get me back here in time
for something important. That would cut the visiting short."
Anne was angry. Very angry. She rose from the table and filled her glass,
then turned to face me. Her voice was barely audible at first.
"Oh, that was a very good idea," she said. "Except for the fact that you
seem to think you can now tell me how things are going to get done. Did it
ever occur to you that I may not want to deal with the things in storage? That
I may not want the horses badly enough for even a short visit with Frank's
family to get them?" Her voice rose a notch. "Just don't tell me how to handle
my own affairs, thank you."
I sat in startled silence as she strode quickly toward the bedroom. Anne
was right, sort of. I had sliced and served up to her what represented the
complete ending of her life with Frank, never considering that she might not
be ready or able to close that book.
She may even have viewed it as a personal failure; a failure to somehow
save her man from himself, and thereby keep him from volunteering to go back
to Vietnam. It occurred to me that she probably blamed herself, at least in
part, for his death.
Since there didn't seem to be anything I could say or do to rectify
matters immediately, I decided to look through records until something
selected itself. I settled myself on cushions before the stereo as the music
filled the room with Brahms' Second piano concerto.
It was smooth, dynamic music that, like all music to some degree,
contained repetitions of certain scores, so it wasn't too difficult to capture
the melody of it and whistle along softly.
Perhaps ten minutes passed before I realized I was no longer alone. In the
plastic of the stereo cover I could see Anne sitting on the couch behind me,
staring at me as I softly whistled along with the music.
She got up and came to stand over me from behind, listening closely. When
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