EVEN STONES CAN FLY

by Karen Mason-Richardson

She would be thirty-seven years old on Friday.Thirty-seven years. No longer early or even mid thirties, but solidlyheaded towards middle-aged.

Funny how the years creep up on you much morequickly than you expect while you’re just living from day today.

Catherine absently dug the toe of her sneakerinto the gritty sand of the lake’s edge and dislodged a flatstone. The dull pop of her knee accompanied her crouch down to pickit up. Absently she noted her hands were showing their age as well,not as smooth as they had been fifteen years ago. Recurring mildheadaches had led to last week’s appointment with Peter andresulted in his recommendation to consult an optician about readingglasses. Her! Glasses!

Knee pops, rough hands, those irritating strandsof gray she was starting to find when she dried her hair, they alladded up to a woman who wasn’t getting any younger.

The glasses issue wasn’t the only thingshe had discussed with Peter during the last appointment. While inthe waiting room she had picked up a pamphlet on depression. A lot ofthe symptoms described sounded uncomfortably familiar.

At least she couldtalk to Peter. She didn’t have to worry about her secrets withhim, not like with that psychologist a few years ago. She had prettymuch told him everything. It was worse than when she had fled toNancy’s seven years ago: a deep gnawing hopelessness. A sensethat this was it, there was nothing more and there would never beanything more.

Living day to day. It seems that was all she didanymore. There was nothing really to look forward to. Work, well itwas always there. No matter how hard you tried, no matter the hoursand heartache you poured into it, it was never enough. There wasalways more, more cries for help than you could answer, more problemsyou couldn’t solve. Holidays? They only brought the specter ofher parent’s deaths. Vincent? That was getting to be justanother trial as well.

Clumps of damp sand fell away as she brushed offthe little gray rock. With a quick flick of her wrist Catherine spunthe stone away across the water. One, two skips before it sank,leaving expanding ripples across the still surface of the lake. Howmany times could she bounce back up like that? How long wouldit be before she sank just like that stone?

Burnout. What anugly word.

Joe was worriedabout her. More than worried, he had insisted she follow Peter’srecommendation of a month’s leave of absence. And Joe wasright; she was getting burned out. In the last six monthsshe had definitely been off her stride. Almost all her sick time hadbeen used up on mornings when she just didn’t bother to get outof bed. Careless mistakes, bad calls and missed appointments hadadded up to being called into Moreno’s office for a discussionof her performance, or rather the lack thereof.

Well she had noproblem with taking time off. Maybe she just needed to wind down alittle, recharge. Of course it was too much to expect the State ofNew York to give her this much paid time off but the loss of salarydidn’t bother her. Over the last few years the generoussettlement from her father’s firm, combined with her mother’strust fund, had been leveraged into a sizable sum. Enough money soshe didn’t have to work another day of her life if she didn’twant to.

But if she didn’twork what would she do?

A light splash drewher attention to the water at her feet. Tiny wavelets lapped againsther sneakers, the last gasp of that little gray stone. A weak ray ofsunlight beamed through thick cloud cover and she caught a glimpse ofher reflection in the water, warped and fractured.

She would bethirty-seven years old on Friday.

Vincent winced andrepressed a sigh as he nodded acknowledgement to Olivia’s hastygoodbye and retreat.

They were avoidinghim. Not overtly but just with little things. Not meeting his eyeswhen they passed in the tunnels, finding other places to be when heentered a room. It wasn’t malicious or judgmental. His familywas just trying to give him some space.

Did everyone know?Was there no privacy to be had here?

Well that was astupid question. Of course there was no privacy. The tunnels were aclosely-knit community. Nothing went on without everyone knowing,usually within hours. He and Catherine had certainly not been quietand unfortunately tunnels echo.

Catherine had beendistracted that evening. No, that wasn’t quite true. She hadbeen that way for several months now. No amount of gentle questioningfrom him had revealed the cause and he had respected her reluctanceto discuss it.

It had been justafter a walk in the park. They had gone to his chamber for tea.

“Next Friday is your birthday.”Vincent set the china cup and saucer before Catherine, and settledwith his own across from her.

“What? Oh,yes. My birthday.”

Melancholy.Listlessness. Those feelings had been seeping steadily through thebond for the last six months.

“Perhaps,if you have no other plans.”

“Yes?”

Impelled by thesmall spark in her voice and her hopeful smile, he had continued. “Williamhas been discussing a small celebration, and-“

“Oh.William.”

Silence hadfallen. Usually silences between them were comfortable as they justrelaxed in each other’s presence. But this silence had an edgeto it, hovering sullenly in the charged air.

“If youwould rather, your friends Above-“ The words were cut off midsentence as she bolted upright, sending her chair backwards with aheavy thump to the stone floor.

“No! Don’teven bother; I can finish this sentence for you. Your friends Above can give you ohlet’s see, I’ll take a wild guess. That big, expensiveparty that I deserve? Or how about days in the sunshine? You’veused that one before. If it’s not one of those two you’llthink of some other excuse to pawn me off.”

“Catherine! I would never pawn you off.”

She had laughedthen, a low mocking chuckle. “Yes, you would. You have. Everytime I start looking for something from you,something other than a hug or a walk or a poem. As soon as I crossthat line you back off or send me away.” She stalked to theother side of the chamber, back stiff. “Just once, Vincent, whycouldn’t you have said ‘I’d like you to spend theevening with me?’ Why does it always have to beWilliam’s idea, or a holiday like Winterfest, or a children’sconcert, or some other excuse? Why can’t you want me?”

He had made no answer. What could he say? Thathe wanted her desperately here by his side, always? He couldn’t,couldn’t chain her to darkness like that. He had dipped hishead to hide the flash of longing.

“Sure.Hide behind your hair! You do it so well!” Roiling waves ofbitter anger burst through the bond and dashed away stagnantlistlessness.

“Please,Catherine-“

“Please,Catherine, what?” She marched back to the side of the table,braced her hands on its surface, and leaned towards him in challenge.“Please shut up? Please don’t make demands? Please don’task questions I don’t want to answer? What?”

The hot wind ofher resentment fanned his burgeoning frustration. With studiedcontrol he rose from his chair and strode across the chamber. Angerdeepened his voice to a growling rasp. “We’ve alwaysknown our limits.”

“Limitsyou impose! There are ways around them! WaysI’ve been patiently waiting seven years now for us to startlooking for!” Her voice rose to a shout, hurling words throughthe room like knives. “I’m running out of patience! Tell me, whatever happened to going withcourage and care? We’ve got the care part down pat but I’veyet to see much courage!” She swiped away angry tears with agrunt of disgust. “You told me six years ago that we eithermoved towards love or away from it, there was no other direction.Well you were wrong, Vincent. There is another option. It’s called notmoving at all!”

He spun andcouldn’t suppress the harsh undertone of a roar. “Whatwould you have me do? Risk your life for a dream? Risk all that wehave, all that we are?”

“Yes!”

Silence fellonce more as her scream echoed off the chamber walls. Her voiceturned cold. “Do you know how old I’ll be on my birthday?”

“Thirty-seven.”

“That’sright. Thirty-seven.” She turned to lean against his table,head bowed. Her voice lowered to a hopeless whisper. “What haveI got to show for those years? A family I can’t talk about, acareer that’s dying because I’m too sick and tired of itto care, and a relationship that’s going nowhere.”

She had walkedwearily to the coat tree, removed her denim jacket, and shrugged iton over slumped shoulders.

“Tell me Vincent. How much longer do wewait? Until we’re too old to care anymore? Until life haspassed us by completely? Maybe Joe’s right, I do need a break.From work. From you. From everything.”

She had left then, had walked wearily from hischamber and ignored his roaring of her name except for a negligentwave of dismissal in his general direction. And now she had gone awayfrom the city.

Away from him.

Catherine droppedthe spoon back into her bowl with a grunt of distaste. The soup hadgone cold, bits of mushrooms congealing in a salty white mass asappetizing as wood glue.

She should eat. Shereally should. But nothing appealed anymore.

Leaving the cityhad been an imperative. A few things tossed in an overnight bag andshe was gone. Never mind that it had been past midnight when she’dleft the parking garage, she hadn’t slept through a full nightfor months anyway. She had driven for hours with no real destination,just a need to put distance between herself and problems. But you can’tleave problems in a physical place, they’re yours and theyfollow you wherever you go. Even here.

The last time she had been to the Connecticuthouse had been just last summer. She and Jenny had come up for a longweekend. It was then that Jen had first mentioned her relationshipwith Barry, a new author published by her company. Jen had beenreluctant to date him at first, fearing conflict of interestaccusations. Barry was persistent, however, and had eventually wonher over. Just last week they had announced their engagement.

The last of her single friends was headed forthe altar.

Maybe that was one of the catalysts for theargument with Vincent. Well, calling it a fight would be closer tothe truth. They had never fought like that before, not really. Shehad actually screamed at him.

She was beingchildish. She knew that. He was probably worried, wondering where shehad gone, what she was doing. Tomorrow she would drive into town touse the pay phone to call Peter and have him get a message toVincent. She could at least let him know where she was. It was reallyunfair to take out her anger at him like this but, if she werehonest, it had felt goodto let loose and yes, scream at him.

She picked up herbowl and dumped the mushroom soup into the sink. A spray of hot waterwashed the thick mass down the drain.

The kitchen wasstill as she remembered it from childhood; blue gingham curtains onthe window and the same seventies style pine cabinets. The same, andyet.

This place hadnever felt the same after the aborted trip she hadplanned with Vincent. Oh, she had had so many wonderful plans! Nowwarm family memories had been dimmed by disappointment andbittersweet might-have-beens. Was it really six years ago he hadpromised ‘someday we’ll see that lake?’ Somedayhadn’t come yet and it seemed like it would never come. It wasn’t just the lakeeither; it was everything they put off, calling it their dream.Dreams for him but possibilities for her! Possibilities he was toofrightened to reach for. Possibilities she was getting heartily sickof waiting to become reality. She had done all she could to help him.Her switch to the Trials Division almost four years ago had resultedin much less danger for them both. She had given him her love andcomfort whenever needed, had given him the time and space to workthrough his fears. Wasn’t seven years time enough? How muchlonger did he need?

It was probablypretty comfortable for him to be like that. No pressure and no risk.Stagnant. Lately she had begun to give up on things ever changing. Torealize that, ten, fifteen, twenty years from now would probablystill find her sitting by his side, not touching, drinking tea, andbeing pushed away if she dared ask anything for them.Sometimes she felt like a convenience. Which again wasn’t veryfair but there it was.

It seemed nothingshe did was enough. Not at work and not for him.

Out of habit sheplugged in the kettle and reached for tea. A sting of rebellionstopped her hand and with a lift of her chin she picked up the tin ofhot chocolate instead.

Right now she washeartily sick of tea.

“Hello,Mouse, have you seen Vincent?”

The uncommon voicecaught Vincent’s attention as he browsed moodily through theupper loft bookshelves of Father’s chamber. He had been awareof Mouse’s riffling through the maps behind the desk below buthadn’t made his presence known. Truthfully it had been a reliefto escape sympathetic stares and forced joviality. To be left aloneto brood.

“Nope. Don’twant to.”

“Oh? Issomething wrong.”

“Fight withCatherine. Big fight. Vincent’s not happy, snarled at Mouse.”

Snarled? He hadn’tactually snarled, had he? Perhaps he had at that. He would have toapologize later.

“Really? Thencould I have some paper and a pen? I need to leave a message for himfrom Catherine. She-“

Catherine!

“I’mhere, Peter.” The rattles and groans of abused metalaccompanied his jog down the spiral staircase. “You’veheard from her? Is she well?”

“Yes I have. She called me this morningfrom a pay phone in Connecticut. She’s taking a leave ofabsence from work and will be staying at the summerhouse. She wantedyou to know so you wouldn’t worry.”

“A leave ofabsence? What does that mean?”

“It meansthat, for medical reasons, I recommended she take a large block oftime off work and her office concurred. Has she not discussed thiswith you?” Peter set his briefcase on the desk, his gazefrankly assessing.

Medical reasons? “No,she hasn’t. Tell me, what’s wrong?”

“I don’tusually discuss patients with a third party.” Peter propped hiship up on the corner of the desk. “But in this case I think Ineed to. I’ve known both you and Cathy all your lives. Haveyou noticed any change in her in the last fewmonths?”

Yes, he had. Heroccupation, and the time they spent together, often led to latenights and short sleep, but lately “She’s been tired alot, quieter.”

“And you didn’ttry to find out what was going on?”

Had he? He hadhinted, had been available to talk, but she would just give him ablank look and change the subject. He had let it go. Hadn’tpursued it. In truth he had been afraid of what she would say.Dropping his eyes to study the worn design of the oriental carpet, hespoke quietly. “Our bond, our connection, tells me she’ssad about something but she hasn’t wanted to discuss it. Workhasn’t been going well, and I thought.”

Peter’s sighof exasperation cut through his musings. “Work is not theproblem.” With a sharp click he opened his briefcase andwithdrew a blue pamphlet, which he pushed across the desk. “Ithink you should read this and I think you should talk to Cathy.Really talk. I don’t think she’s reached this stage yetbut she’s headed that way. And a lot of it has to do with you.”

The cheerful babbleof the children as they made their way through the tunnels didnothing to brighten Vincent’s thoughts. He had been asked toescort them on this last minute food pickup, since the older childrenhad been permitted above to take advantage of autumn’s lastgasp of good weather. The blue pamphlet in his pocket seemed farheavier than a simple fold of paper should.

Clinicaldepression. He hadn’t believed his eyes when he read the title.It seemed so absolute, so final. But as he had read he had begun tounderstand Peter’s concern. Interrupted sleep patterns. Changein appetite. Feelings of hopelessness. Loss of concentration.

Six months ago shehad mentioned difficulty concentrating, the lack of which hadresulted in losing a crucial murder trial. The sleep patterns sincethe beginning of their relationship sleep patterns had often beenerratic. Both had gone with too little, too often. Lately however, hehad been aware of her nocturnal wakefulness but had chalked it up toconcern with work. She had always been slim but in the last fewmonths she had lostweight. Feelings of hopelessness; he had often felt her low whisperof melancholy echo through the bond.

How could he havebeen so blind?

“Vincent? Areyou OK?”

An insistent tug onthe edge of his tunic drew him from reverie. A small dark-skinnedgirl, wiry hair in braids, stared up at him.

“I’mfine, Kendra. I was just thinking.”

“AboutCatherine?”

“Yes.”

“Is she stillmad?”

A growl of disgustwas quickly repressed. Even the children.

Was she angry withhim still? The bond, dimmed by distance, wasn’t telling himmuch. “Not mad, not anymore. She’s very sad I think.”

“Oh. Maybeyou should go cheer her up.”

A simple,impossible answer. She had left the city for a place he didn’tknow and couldn’t reach.

Ahead the excitedbabble of childish voices reached a peak as the entrance to thewarehouse basement came into view. The warehouse, owned by a helper,was used for large deliveries. Henry had received an extra shipmentof vegetables by mistake, or so he claimed, and had quickly arrangedto send them Below. After listening intently, Vincent triggering thedoor. A loose chunk of concrete was used to tap an inquiry on thesewage pipe just inside the basement. Receiving confirmation, heushered the children onto the freight elevator and sent it upwards.

“Vincent!”

“Henry, it’sgood to see you. You look well.” The wiry young man had maturedin the last few years. Marriage agreed with him. “How is Lin?”

“Busy!Between Ling, Max, and Donna she’s got her hands full.”Henry chatted amiably about his three children as bags of vegetableswere unloaded from the van.

“Whathappened to your truck?”

“Oh, it gaveup the ghost a couple months ago. We needed a new vehicle anyway. Didyou hear we opened up a second restaurant? Business is pretty good,so between that and the kids we needed something more reliable. Itwasn’t cheap but I can write it off as a business expense. Howare you doing? How’s Catherine?”

“Catherine’smad,” piped Kendra as she grabbed a bag of peppers. “Sheyelled, everyone heard.”

This time Vincentcouldn’t contain his groan of embarrassment. “Kendra,hurry along now, William’s waiting for those.”

With a grin atHenry, Kendra scurried off to drop her bag onto the elevator.

“Mad, huh? I’vebeen there, my friend. Lin has a dirty look that can melt steel. Willeverything be OK?”

Vincent declined toanswer as Henry turned to close the van doors. The dark blue deliveryvan shone with newness in the dim light, Wong’s – WeDeliver and a phone number painted in red and gold on the side. New,reliable.

“I hope so.”Vincent eyed the van speculatively. “Henry, may I ask a favor?”

Late Octobersunshine beamed its warmth through bare branches. It was almost asquiet as the tunnels now, with the fall-color tourists gone.

She had gone intotown again yesterday to buy some necessities: toilet paper, clothes,and groceries. Her reflection in the mirror of the small clothingstore’s changing booth had been a rude shock. She had removedher blouse to try on a sweatshirt and had been able to count herribs.

Grimacing indistaste, she forced herself to eat another spoonful of soggy cereal.Peter had been right. She was seriously underweight.

Peter had beenright about a lot of things.

She worked toohard, or at least used to. Work was an antidote, something to focuson, to distract her from the real issues. It had served its purposewell for years but had reached the end of its effectiveness. That’swasn’t to say she hadn’t gotten anything from it. Therewas a real flush of pride in putting away the bad guys, a feeling ofusefulness and accomplishment.

Truthfully she knewwhat the real problem was. After all, everyone went through anoccasional slump. It was normal. Usually there were other aspects ofyour life to help you past it. Except in her case what she had tofall back on was her greatest source of frustration.

She had meant everyword she had shouted in Vincent’s chamber. Those feelings hadbeen festering for the past year. Anyway, it was too late for regretsnow. The lid to Pandora’s box had been lifted; it was all inthe open now and couldn’t be unsaid. Anything he might havepicked up on through the bond had finally been expressed verbally.Forcefully. A wayward streak of humor curled into a sheepishhalf-smile. She had never screamed at him before. He had beenshocked.

The crisp tartnessof apple tasted refreshing after the mushy cereal. She pushed theceramic bowl away with her toe and leaned back against the deckrailing. Maybe it was good that he was shocked. Maybe that shockwould finally result in some movement, towards love, away from it,whatever. She was so sick of keeping so much hidden and of worryingthat today something would be said or happen which would send himaway from her again for her own good. God, how she hated that phrase!

Peter had discussedmedication during her last visit. Medication? The very idea disturbedher. The only medication she needed was.

The crunch ofgravel caught her attention. A vehicle approached down the lane.There were no other houses on this road, someone must have taken thelane by mistake and had to come to the end in order to turn around.There it was, a flash of reflected sunlight through the bare trees.

It was a van. Adusty blue van, Wong’s Delivery painted on its side. Henry andLin’s restaurant.

Something must bewrong, very wrong for Father to send a helper this far to find her! Aclutch of fear squeezed her heart and was automatically suppressed asshe stood slowly and descended the steps to the ground. The van drewto a stop.

“Hey,Catherine!” Henry shouted jovially as he opened the driver’sdoor and stepped down.

“Henry, whatis it? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Isthere anyone here with you?”

“No, no oneexcept for Peter and Vincent even knows I’m here. What’sgoing on? Why are you here?”

Henry walked to therear of the van and opened the doors. “The sign says WeDeliver. I’ve got a delivery for you.”

The bright light ofday was not kind to eyes accustomed to moonlight and candles.

Her hadn’tspoken of his intentions to anyone this time. After he finishedpacking, he had gone to Father’s chamber, quietly informed himof his decision, and then simply left. After all, there was nothingVincent could say that would keep Father from objecting or worrying,so this time he didn’t even try. This time there was more atstake than disappointment.

The pamphlet Peterhad given him had mentioned suicide. That word had struck like ablow. Peter had said he didn’t think she was in danger of that.Yet. He clung to that belief. He could protect her from physicalharm, but that.

Henry had pickedhim up at the warehouse very early this morning. It had been a longthree hours in the back of the van. Finally the steady hum of tireson pavement changed to the grinding crunch of gravel and theoccasional dip of potholes.

The sound of hervoice, the feel of her near, had been the only affirmation he neededof the rightness of his decision.

Now morning sunbeamed into the van. Cautiously he swung his legs out the back,stood, and stepped away from the vehicle. A fresh breeze tickled hissenses, bringing with it the scents of pine, earth and water. Scentsno longer muted by car exhaust and overpopulation. Scents underscoredby the clean, sweet fragrance of her.

She stood ten feet away, hair shining dark goldin the sunlight. She had lost more weight and looked unhealthilythin. Her skin seemed sallow and pale. There were dark circles underher eyes.

“Vincent?What is this? What are you doing here?”

“I promised.”

“What?”

“That wewould see this lake someday. I promised.”

She brought a trembling hand to her lips, as ifto stem words she didn’t want spoken. “I thought you’dforgotten.”

“No. I havenever forgotten. Perhaps I needed a reminder.”

The soft thump ofVincent’s leather satchel being set on the grass preceded theslam of metal doors.

“I have torun, guys. I need to get back before the lunch rush. Vincent, I’llcome get you Sunday night if I don’t hear different, all right?”

Vincent did nottake his gaze from Catherine’s. “Is that all right,Catherine? May I stay?”

Silence. A sense ofamazement rippled across the bond as her eyes dropped to the satchelon the ground. “You came to stay?”

Vincent swallowednervously. All had gone according to plan up to this point. That wasthe problem, after this point there wasno plan. “Yes. With you.”

Catherine raisedher eyes to meet his again. “There’s no one else here. Itwill be just you and me, alone.”

“I know that.”

“Yes. If it’swhat you want, then stay.”

Breaking eyecontact with Catherine, he turned to see Henry give him a wink fromthe other side of the van.

“Take iteasy, my friend. Enjoy your holiday.” Leaning forwardconspiratorially, he added a final whisper for Vincent’s earsalone. “And good luck.” Footsteps scuffed the grass as hewalked to the door and hopped up into the driver’s seat. Thevan restarted and pulled away on the turning circle. Henry waved asthe van rounded the corner. “See you in a few days!”

The rumble of thevehicle’s engine faded slowly and silence descended. Catherinehad not moved from her spot at the base of the steps.

“How did youfind this place?”

“Peter knew.He gave Henry directions.”

Her hair lifted inthe light breeze, shimmering. “I can’t believe you’rehere. What did Father say?”

“I’mnot sure. I didn’t stay around to hear.”

“You justleft?”

“Yes. Father’smade his opinion abundantly clear in the past. I didn’t need tohear it again.”

“Oh.”She glanced back towards the house. “Would you like somebreakfast or something?”

She was trying.They both were. It was hard. At his hesitant nod she smiled, a small,nervous smile accompanied by a warm sliver of hope. “Then comeon in and let’s get you settled.”

Vincent bent downto pick up his satchel, took a deep breath, and let it out slowlybefore walking up to join her at the base of the stairs.

******

“I’mafraid there’s not much choice. It’s cereal or cereal.”

Opening thecupboard, Catherine fetched down the cereal boxes and turned to setthem on the scarred pine table. The fridge yielded a carton of milkand the sugar bowl was set beside the boxes. The bright whistle ofthe kettle was a sharp counterpoint to the low-level tensionpermeating the kitchen and she gratefully busied herself making tea.

He was here!Impossible, but true.

He looked nervous.It was hard to tell with him, his facial features were not asphysically expressive as a normal man’s. But to one who knewhim well, it could be seen in his eyes, in the way they darted fromside to side periodically as if expecting an attack, in the stiffnessof his shoulders. It was sad.

She set the twosteaming mugs on the table and slid onto a chair beside him. “Well,go ahead. I’ve already had mine but you must be starving.”

He eyed the boxes like they were the enemy.Slowly he took one, opened the flaps, and poured cereal into hisbowl, adding milk and an unhealthy amount of sugar. The sharp clickof claws on metal accompanied his grasp of the spoon. He stirred thecereal slowly, hesitantly. His head was down, but she could see theglitter of his eyes as they darted towards her and back to thebowl.

“What’swrong?”

He glancednervously towards the cabin door, shoulders and neck visibly tensing.“I I’m not really hungry just now.”

Catherine sat back,staring at him in astonishment.

“You’relying to me. Why?” She threw the brittle accusation at him,stiffening with indignation. Deceit was not in his nature. He was sobad at lying; she was outraged he would even attempt it with her.

He turned his headaway quickly, letting out a long sigh. “Catherine-“

“Are westarting this song and dance again? Avoiding questions?” Sheset her mug down with a bang, ignoring the slosh of hot liquid ontothe table. “You really don’t trust me at all,do you?”

“Of course Ido! With my life.”

“Yes, withyour life but not with much else. Why did you just lie to me? Whatare you protecting? What are you afraid of?” She was pushing.She knew that.

“I don’tlike to eat in front of people.”

“Why?”

The bashful whisperslipped through the curtain of mane that concealed his features. “Myteeth.”

Catherine leanedforward with a huff. “Is that it?Vincent, I’ve seen your teeth, lots of times. They’re nomystery; I know you’ve got fangs. What did you expect, that I’drun screaming? Or laugh at you?” She reached and pried thespoon out of his hand, absently noting its bent condition, andgrasped his hand. “Vincent, look at me.”

Slowly he turnedback and raised his eyes to meet hers.

“This is aperfect example of our problems. Our bond is a wonderful thing, butit’s not enough. We needto start talking to each other and trusting each other. Ineed to be able to trust you, to know that I can be myself, to knowthat I can reach for you without fearing that I’ll overstepyour boundaries and be pushed away. It hurts me when you do that andevery time it happens it cuts deeper.”

“You don’t trust me?” Hisvoice shook.

“Sometimes,no, I don’t. There are so many times I’ve needed you buthaven’t expressed that need because I didn’t trust younot to hurt me. You don’t do it deliberately. You’reafraid, of me, of my reaction, of yourself, I don’t know. Butyou let that fear dictate your response, so you distance yourself andit hurts. Because I knowthat means you don’t really trust me.” She looked down to the hand sheheld in hers, and absently ran her thumb across the sharp points ofhis claws. “You’ve got to learn to trust me, to stophiding from me. And stop making decisions for me. When you do that,make a decision for me for my own good, I feel you think I’mincompetent or incapable of making that decision on my own. Vincent,I’m an adult. I know my own mind. You’ve got to trustthat, and know that you can be yourself with me as well. We both needto.”

Silence fell oncemore as, barely breathing, they warily gazed at each other. Catherinefelt a gentle squeeze of her hand as he dropped his head in a slownod.

“Yes.”

She saw him winceas he noted the bent spoon. He slid his hand from hers and picked itup, unbending it to a useable condition once more.

She watched with asmall smile of hope as, with endearing determination, Vincent ate hisbreakfast.

Sunshine was like aliving thing, a warm blanket that embraced you. Even closing youreyes could not banish the brightness, the dark replaced by glowingred. There was a nip in the air; after all, it was October. But onecould still enjoy the afternoon sun, especially when dressed for thechill.

Vincent let out anunconscious rumble of enjoyment as he stretched and turned onto hisleft side. Catherine had called this thing an air mattress. It waswonderfully comfortable to lie on. After a long walk, she had broughtthe double mattress from a storage area, along with a foot-pump toinflate it. As he had worked the pump, she had fetched a book fromthe house. Once the mattress was filled to her satisfaction, she hadlain down to read. Looking up at him, eyebrows raised in challenge,she had patted the place beside her in invitation.

She had wanted himto lie beside her. How could he refuse? It would be a refusal basedonce more on distrust and on fear.

She was right. Theyboth needed to put fears aside and learn a new kind of trust.

It wasn’teasy.

She had started todrowse shortly afterwards and now slept beside him. Beside him! Lastweek such a thing had been deemed impossible. Even this morning ithad been unthinkable. And yet, now it was simple fact. Undeniable.

It still pained himto know of her distrust, a gnawing hurt felt equally by both of them.They had been hurting each other for so long, since the beginning. Ithad become a part of him now, the fear of her. She could destroy himso easily.

They were bothtired. Excitement and nervousness had denied him rest last night. Theunfamiliar surroundings and enervating newness of daylight still kepthim from sleep but it felt wonderful to finally relax. Catherine? Herpresence kept him awake as well, a sweet ache that he still mustguard against lest it become a roaring hunger that would not subsideuntil

Catherine sighedheavily and rolled onto her side, turning her back to him. She haddone much the same before, when she had stayed below after her father’sdeath. Then, he had lifted her head from his arm and forced himselfto leave her. It had needed force, everything in him had screamed tostay, to tuck her small body against his protectively and surroundher, guarding her slumber. Why had he not done so?

Fear. Fear that hewould repulse her, that he would hurt her, that she would push himaway. Like

Like Lisa. It was humbling to think that thatone incident had left wounds that still remained unhealed over twentyyears later, wounds that had spread to harm Catherine as well.

It had to stop.

Slowly he openedhis eyes, squinting in the bright sun. She lay before him, hairgleaming against the blue mattress. Carefully he curled his right armaround her waist, pulling gently until she shifted back, spooning herbody against his. Her sun-warmed hair was soft against his hand as helifted her head and slid his left arm underneath, settling her gentlydown onto the pillow of his arm. Sharp claws slipped the hair fromher face, smoothing it behind her ear. She looked so trusting, soright in his embrace. Her scent, sweet and enticing, wrapped aroundhim and he dipped his head to nuzzle her ear, breathing a softlicking kiss across it before settling beside her with a contentedsigh.

She was so warm andcomfortable. She hadn’t felt this kind of bone deep relaxationfor months and didn’t want to give it up. There it was againthough, that strange thrum. Reluctantly she opened her eyelids acrack and focused on beige, knitted material. Vincent’ssweater.

She was lyingagainst him. He lay on his back and her left leg was across histhigh, nestled between his legs. Her left arm was splayed over hischest and her head rested on his arm. They were they were cuddling.

His body wasvibrating, a gentle rumble that ebbed and flowed with each breath.Raising her head, she looked at him. His eyes were closed.

“Vincent?”

“Mmmmm?”

“You’repurring.”

“Mmmmm.”

“I’venever heard you do that before.”

“Mmmmm.”

“It means you’rehappy? Contented?”

“Mmmm hmmm.”

“Can youtalk while you’re purring?”

The vibrationsubsided as he opened his eyes slowly, blinking against thebrightness.

“No.”

“Oh.”

Her wasn’tmoving. He wasn’t stiffening up, or turning away. Instead, heturned his head and met her eyes, squinting in the sunlight. She felta light touch of clawed fingers on her temple as he smoothed her hairaway from her eyes.

“Does itbother you?”

“No! Not atall. It’s nice.” She shifted more of her weight againsthim, pushing up on her left elbow to lie partially on his chest. “Thankyou for not hiding it.”

His chest expandedwith a deep breath, let out in a long slow sigh.

“I’vebeen considering our discussions, Catherine, both here and before, inmy chamber.”

“And?”

“Much of whatyou said is true. About trust.”

“Yes.”

“Your words,they put much into perspective, things from my past, my fears. I’mtrying. Learning.

“I think weboth are.”

She felt his armcome around her once more, a gentle pressure easing her down againsthis chest. He was so solid beneath her. A light trickle of amazedpleasure danced through her and she lowered her head, rubbing hercheek against the beige sweater. “Did you sleep at all?”

“Perhaps ashort nap. I dozed.”

“Good. Thisis nice.”

“Mmmmm.”

“I’msorry for falling asleep, though. Especially on your first dayoutside in the sun.”

“You weretired. You needed to sleep. You still need more rest.”

“I know. Ihaven’t been sleeping well lately.” The confessionslipped from her as she drank in his wonderfully soothing touch.

“Yes.”Vincent gently eased her off him and he sat up beside her. “Catherine,yesterday Peter came Below to give your message. He expressed someconcerns.”

“Oh.” Aripple of fear snaked through her. “What did he say?”Bending her legs, she moved to sit facing him. As she came upright,he reached forward to take her hand.

“He told meof his worries for you. He showed me some literature.”

“Thedepression thing?”

“Yes.”Abruptly he looked down at their joined hands, fingering her wristbones. “He’s very worried, as am I. He told me youroffice has put you on a leave of absence and what that meant. He alsothinks that our situation has a strong bearing on this. That Ihave a large role.”

Oh God, no! Hecouldn’t know how bad it was. Not now, not while they wereactually making progress. He would run, leave her for her own goodagain! “Don’t worry, it’s not that bad. Really, I’llbe-“

“No!”The grip on her hand tightened as he looked up swiftly, blue eyesboring into her. “The trust you spoke of, it goes both ways. Ineed to know the truth, not what you think I want to hear. Please.Tell me.”

He was right. Shewas caught in her own net.

Vincent scootedbackwards to lean against the deck railing, pulling her with him. Atickle of amazement shivered through her fear as he gently guided heronto his lap and wrapped his arms around her, cocooning her. A softlybristled cheek brushed against her forehead. “Tell me,Catherine.”

“I don’tthink it’s clinical depression. Not really.”

“But Peterdoes?”

“Yes. He’salways been a worrier.”

“There is abasis for his worry, a feeling I share. You’re not eating, notsleeping. I’ve felt your melancholy .”

Catherine took adeep breath.

“It it’sjust this feeling. That nothing’s happening in my life. Thatnothing I do really matters, and I’m always on the brink oflosing everything.”

“You couldnever lose me.”

“Yes, Icould! I’m so afraid that I will.” Unconsciously herhands crept up to grip his sweater and she burrowed her face into hisneck.

“You told me work was not going well.”

She noddedreluctantly, her cheek brushing against rough wool. “Yes. Work’sbad. It’s just so much, all the time. It never stops. Foreverything I do, every person I help, two more step into that place.It’s so horrible, and I can’t do any more. But you count on me to stand forus, and sometimes it helps to work hard, toforget everything else, but it’s not helping anymore. I keep atit but I’m drowning.” Her throat was tight, but the wordswouldn’t stop, pouring from her as the dam opened. “Workisn’t even the real problem, I could handle things if it was.It’s just that everything else seems so empty and hopeless too.There’s nothing else to turn to, nothing to fall back on. You’rethe most important person in my life, but I can’t talk to you.”

“That’s not true. You can tell meanything, you know that.”

“No, I can’t!If you knew how bad it was you’d think it was your fault andyou’ll send me away. I’m so afraid of that. What we haveis the only thing that keeps me going at all sometimes. And it’sso fragile! I always have to be so careful not to ask for more when Ineed to so badly. You used to say things that I could cling to, likeat the falls when dad died. Things that would give me hope but youdon’t anymore. I’ve waited so long but nothing’schanging and sometimes I feel like you’ve given up, that there’sno hope of anything more. We’re not going anywhere and I can’tturn to anyone, can’t talk to anyone. I’m just gettingold and everything’s slipping away and I’ll have nothingleft if I ask for more but what I have isn’t enough!”

She was breaking.The wall that had held through years of denied hope and futile dreamsfinally cracked and shattered, pouring shards of brittle anguish intothe bond. Vincent stiffened beneath her, breath catching. His voiceroughened.

“Ask me.Please. Tell me what you need.”

“To know thatyou won’t send me away, that I can talk about things and askthings and want things and be safe. I’m so tired of beingafraid of losing you.” She was sobbing, hard heavy spasms thattore through her. She gripped his sweater, clinging desperately tohim. “Please, don’t push me away! I need you so. I can’tdo it anymore. Not like that! It hurts too much. Please...”

His arms tightened,pulling her hard against his chest, his hand cradling the back of herhead as she poured out her grief and fear. Feelings that she knewwere his now as well, shared. Soft fur brushed against her cheek ashe whispered in her ear.

She slept at last.

He hadn’tknown, hadn’t imagined. To think that his fears had led to thisthat they might have destroyed her - destroyed them both.

She had cried likea child in his arms. Finally the storm had passed but the bond hadremained open. The wall was down. He hadn’t imagined she couldhide so much, for so long. Or how those hurts and fears could fester.

He had carried herinto the cabin and settled her into bed for more much needed rest,before coming outside to think. She had been so light in his arms, sothin.

The lake shone goldin the sunset, a taunting mirror. How she had wanted to take him hereso many years ago! She had wanted to give him this gift sodesperately. It had hurt, to deny her. He had had to.

No, he hadn’t.That was a lie.

Fists clenched inanger as he paced restlessly along the lakeshore. So much of this washis fault.

He could have come,those many years ago. If he had really wanted to, he could have. Thepleas of Father and his family were nothing but their own insecurity.He knew that. To be truthful, he had known it then. Known, but setthat knowledge aside. It had been convenient.

He stopped at thebase of a large pine and turned to lean against it, dropping his headback against the rough bark.

It was so easy tohide from yourself, so easy to make excuses and to build thoseexcuses up to become a comforting barrier, a wall to hide behind.Safe. That was exactly what he had done, used the others’objections to create his own place of safety - a place where he didn’thave to deal with her expectations or with the unknown. And it hadn’tbeen the only time he had done so.

A snarl ofself-disgust rolled darkly through clenched teeth.

He hadn’tcome that time not because of others’ fears but because of hisown. He had been a coward.

He was so used to being afraid of hurting her.It was almost comfortable, that fear. Useful. A fear that kept himsafe, kept him from risk. Not the risk of danger, of physical harm tohimself - he had accepted that long ago. If he were truthful, deepdown he didn’t think he would hurt her.

What she needed required him to take a leap offaith, to gamble everything on the possibility of true acceptance,and chance rejection.

Rejection. That was his real fear, one that paralyzed him. Anall-consuming dread that chained him, kept him from reaching for whatthey both needed.

He was coward,hiding behind his own personal demons. A sniveling coward.

The unconscioussnarl thickened, rage coloring sunset a deeper red. Rage at himself,at what he had let himself become. Muscles clenched and shot hisclaws into extension; claws that gleamed scarlet in the fading light.

Was this what hewanted? To hide behind what-ifs and maybes? To let fear rule him? Tolet it destroy the woman he loved above all others?

No!

A savage roarripped from his throat as he knifed upright and spun. Lethal clawssnapped forward, slicing into the tree trunk with an audible rip,leaving four parallel slash marks.

It had started withDevin, with the scars he had left on his brother’s face. Fourparallel lines. It was then he had first felt fear of himself, ofwhat he was capable of. Fear that had grown, nurtured by the incidentwith Lisa, with every time he had done violence. Fear that he used toavoid facing his true demons.

The fresh smell ofpine cut through his reverie. The rough bark was cleanly cut, thebright white of heartwood shining through, scenting the air with theinner essence of the tree.

Leaning forward, hebraced his arm against the sturdy trunk and sighed. His fear was likethat bark, protecting him.

It had to end.

Sunrise was aremarkable thing.

He had sat forhours at the base of the tree, wrapped in comforting darkness.Thinking. Nearer the dawn, he must have slept. Now, the rising sunheralded the beginning of a new day and darkness fled into shadows.The dawn called forth stirrings of life around him. A rustle in thedry grass spoke of mice. From the treetop a bird sang. The still lakewas disturbed by a silver splash and expanding ripples as a fishjumped.

With a deep breathhe stood, bending backwards to ease stiff muscles. Catherine wasn’tthe only one getting older.

His feet crunchedon grass whitened by light frost. Sand shifted beneath him as he madehis way to the water’s edge and crouched down. His reflectionmet him and he stared at it impassively. This is what he was and ifthat was Catherine’s choice then he must accept it. He had totrust her. The reflection dissipated as he scooped water into hiscupped hands and splashed his face. He couldn’t contain a snortof exhilaration at its bracing coldness.

His toe disturbed astone as he shifted his weight forward to rise. A flat gray stone.Curved claws scooped it from its bed and swished it through thewater, washing away clinging sand. Giving in to impulse, he stood,stepped back, and with a nimble flick of his wrist sent the stonewinging across the lake. One, two, three skips, the third going highin a twisting spin before sinking.

They all sank,eventually, everyone and everything. It was the throw that made thedifference. A good one lets you take to the air, keeps you abovewater. Given a skillful cast, even stones can fly.

From behind him thedry creak of the screen door heralded Catherine’s presence, herapproaching footfalls easily audible through the fallen leaves.

“Goodmorning.” Her voice was hesitant, nervous.

“It is.”He gazed over the lake. A loon called from behind the point, a lonelyechoing wail. “Today is your birthday.”

The sibilant rustleof her windbreaker accompanied her as she came to stand beside him. “Yeah.Thirty-seven years old.”

“This bothersyou. I can feel it.”

"No. yes. Sort of.”

He glanced over ather as she drew lines in the sand with the toe of her sneaker, headbowed, shoulders hunched. “I have something for you.”

“From thechildren?”

“No.”

“From Father?”

“Not fromFather.”

She looked up atlast, eyes luminous in the soft light, gazing at him with dawninghope.

“From Williamthen?”

“I certainlyhope not.”

She couldn’tnot look at him. There was something in his voice, a determinedconfidence that she hadn’t heard in too many years.

He reached for her.Furred hands grasped her shoulders and turned her to face him as hestepped forward. Fingers slipped through her hair to cup the back ofher head.

He smelled of freshair, of pine. The ends of his mane were wet. He lowered his head andkissed her forehead, a lingering kiss, warm and easy. His cheekgrazed hers, a softly bristled caress. He was so close she could feelthe heat of him. Nibbling kisses trickled down her cheek and hepaused to linger near the scar by her ear. His voice washed throughher, a tender whisper against dampened flesh.

“I love you,Catherine. Know that. Know also that nothing can change this andnothing can or will come between us. Never again. I need you toomuch. We need each other.”

She didn’ttry to contain her whimper of joy. The texture of heavy wool wasgladly bypassed as she wrapped her arms around his neck, burying herhands into the heavy mane that grew luxuriant down the back of hisneck.

His touch slippedfirmly to her waist and her eyes drifted closed. She felt his breathagainst her only moments before the light touch of his lips. Afeather caress, barely felt at all.

She clenched herhands into his mane, tugging gently, a wordless plea answered with agrowling moan of compliance. Claws dug lightly into her waist andneck as he lowered his head once more. She stood on her toes,straining upwards to meet him half way. A clutch of anticipationtwisted through her at the downy brush of his upper lip.

He swayed againsther, pulling her up and into him as his lips took hers. Firmly andwith no hesitation he devoured her, the firm pad of his upper lip asensual counterpoint to the soft moistness of his kiss. His tongue,delightfully rough, slipped across her and she opened for him with ashivering sigh.

Finally, trembling,he lifted his head. He was purring again. She could feel it more thanhear it, a deep internal shiver. Heavy. Sensual. Enticing.

She opened her eyesto meet his gaze, an expression that gleamed with promise. The steadyrumble from his chest rose and fell as he kneaded the back of herneck lightly. She stroked her palm around his throat and downwards,to rest against his chest. Here the audible thrum was most easilyfelt, tickling through her hand. It was wonderful.

She smiled in hazydelight as he lowered his head, his eyes glinting bashfully throughrumpled mane. But he didn’t pull away and that steady shiver ofhappiness continued, spreading through her.

Years stretchedahead, gleaming with bright possibilities. So many discoveriesawaited them; there was so much to look forward to.

After all, she wasonly thirty-seven years old today.