SECRETS

*March - June 2015*

The greatest griefs are those we cause ourselves.

- Sophocles

"Chandler, you're heartless."

Charles put his hand against his chest without looking up from hisbook. "No. It's still there."

"Maybe you're just inhuman!"

"Quite possibly," Charles replied equably, knowing his roommatehad no idea he'd struck upon a hidden truth. As he'd expected, hiswry comment made no impact.

"You haven't heard a word I've said, have you?" Daviddemanded.

"Yes, I have. You're hot for some girl who won't go out withyou."

"She'll go out with me," David protested. "It's just there's acatch. But there's a bright side, too." David grinned. "I found you adate."

Charles stiffened imperceptibly. "I don't need a date."

"Ah, but I do, and this is a package deal. Come on, Charles, do mea favor, just this once."

"You said that last time," Charles countered.

"Yeah, I know, but this is different."

"It's always different, Dave." Charles and David had beenroommates since their freshman year at Harvard, and despite some deepphilosophical differences, had become and remained close friends."What's so special about this girl?"

Sensing a shift in his friend's formerly adamant position, DavidAckerman perched on a nearby windowsill and propped a foot againstthe corner of Charles's desk. "Are you kidding? Valerie Manning isthe most gorgeous woman on campus. I've been trying for weeks to gether to go out with me."

"If she's so gorgeous, why don't I take her and you go with hermysterious friend?" Charles inquired.

David didn't even pretend to give the suggestion seriousconsideration. "Elizabeth isn't mysterious. Valerie says she's reallynice..."

"'Damn with faint praise.'" Charles quoted Alexander Popesoftly.

"What?"

"Nothing." Charles leaned back in his chair with a sigh. "Tell mewhat I have to do."

Brightening, David leaned forward. "There's this play Valerie'sdying to see. I can get tickets, but she won't go with me unless Ifind a date for her roommate..."

* * * *

In the gloom of the darkened theater, Charles leaned his head onhis hand and sighed. So far, the evening had been an unmitigateddisaster, beginning when David's car wouldn't start. By the timeDavid found someone to give it a jump start and they'd rushed to theundergraduate dorm to pick up their dates, they were nearly twentyminutes late. Charles barely had time to acknowledge the hurriedintroductions before he found himself squeezed into the cramped backseat of David's little import. When he studied the girl beside himcovertly, she seemed cool and aloof, gazing out the window withoutexpression.

Arriving at the latest 'in' Boston restaurant, they learned theirreservations, carefully made by David two days before, had been lost;David had been on the verge of erupting in fury when Charles took hisarm and pulled him away.

"Easy, Dave," he advised. "No big deal. We'll go somewhereelse."

Muttering, David acquiesced, sparing them an unpleasant scene.Friday night crowds made it impossible to find another stylishrestaurant in time to eat and still make the opening curtain so theysettled for a snatched bite at a fast-food place.

Now the second act of the play had begun; so far it showed nosigns of improving on the first. Charles wondered exactly what thereviewers who had given this play its many outstanding reviews hadbeen watching.

"Now I know why they call this *In The Dark*. I certainly am."

Beside him, the muttered remark was barely audible; at first,Charles wasn't certain he had heard correctly. "I beg your pardon?"he whispered.

He didn't need his father's empathic abilities to know his sharphearing had embarrassed the young woman in the seat beside him. "I'msorry," she whispered back. "I didn't mean to disturb you."

Someone in the row behind hushed them. Charles bent his headcloser.

"The play. It's confusing," she confessed finally. "It must be me.It's supposed to be good."

Charles glanced at David, who seemed absorbed in the action onstage. A further look revealed that he was holding Valerie's hand.Charles turned back to his date, placing his lips close to her ear."Come on," he whispered. "Let's go."

"I'm sorry," she apologized when they reached the lobby. "I didn'tmean to drag you away..."

"From that? Don't worry about it." Charles grinned and it seemedto reassure her. "There's a problem, though."

"What's that?"

"We came in Dave's car, remember?"

To his surprise, she laughed. The sound was pleasantly musical tohis ears. "Let's walk," she suggested.

"All the way to Cambridge?"

"Until we don't want to walk anymore. I have money for a cab if weneed it..."

He smiled. "All right," he agreed. "Let's walk."

He knew who Elizabeth was, of course; he'd recognized her namewhen David introduced them. Like Charles, she had grown up in NewYork, but they moved in different circles and had never met. Herecalled seeing her picture in the society pages once or twice,however.

He glanced at her strolling beside him, her coat buttoned tightagainst the November chill, realizing she wasn't quite what heexpected. She was attractive, with chin-length brown hair and blueeyes, but somehow didn't strike him as the sophisticate so oftenpictured with her father.

Absently, he repeated her name aloud.

She looked at him. "What?"

He grinned. "What do they call you? Elizabeth? Beth? Liz?"

She smiled back. "Elizabeth, mostly. My brother calls me Liz orLizzie. Sometimes my father calls me Lissa. How about you?" Shetipped her head inquisitively. "Is it always Charles?"

"Always."

"Okay." She tried it out. "Charles Chandler. What's your middlename?"

He told her, and she added it.

"Charles Vincent Chandler. It'll look impressive when you hang outyour shingle."

He laughed aloud.

"What? Val told me you're a med student. Won't you have a shinglesomeday?"

"I plan to go into research," he told her. "Not much call forshingles there."

"Unless your roof leaks," she added facetiously, and he laughedagain.

"There's a cafe up ahead," he said. "Would you like to stop forsome coffee?"

"I'd love some," she answered.

The restaurant was pleasantly warm and they lingered, sipping hotcoffee, picking at apple pie, and talking. When they stepped into thedark street again, Charles suggested a cab, but Elizabethdemurred.

"Not yet. It's a beautiful night to walk."

Falling into step beside her, Charles had to agree. The night wascold, but a full moon shone brightly out of a crystal clear sky,silhouetting the bare tree branches and lending a romantic glow tothe very air.

He held out his hand, offering support across an icy patch; whenit was safely traversed, she didn't let go and he found pleasure inthe feel of her small, gloved fingers grasping his.

The cold finally won out, though, and they ducked into anall-night convenience store to telephone for a cab.

The ride back to campus was filled with light conversation andoccasional laughter. Charles thought he held his end up well enoughdespite the distraction of Elizabeth slipping a casual arm throughhis and leaning against his shoulder for much of the ride. Sheoffered to pay, claiming the cab had been her idea, but Charlesdisagreed, paying the driver himself.

"Sexist," she said as the cab drove away, but the remark wastempered with a smile.

Charles returned it. "You're my guest," he explained. "Next timeyou can invite me, and I'll be glad to let you pay foreverything."

"Next time?" she asked.

Charles felt himself blushing. "I mean... if there is a nexttime?" His voice rose as he turned the stammered statement into aquestion.

Elizabeth smiled widely. Suddenly, in the moonlight, she wasbeautiful. "Oh, I'm sure there'll be a next time," she answeredsoftly, and went inside.

* * * *

A week later, Elizabeth called to invite him to a concert. "It'sChopin," she explained, rather ruefully. "I don't know if you likethat kind of music."

"Chopin's my father's favorite composer," Charles answered. "I'dlike to go."

"There's one other thing..." Elizabeth sounded uncertain.

"What is it?"

"It's formal. Is that a problem?"

It was amazing how she could make him laugh. "Don't worry, I won'tembarrass you."

He could almost hear her answering smile. "Okay. I'll pick you upat seven, okay?"

He was waiting outside when she pulled up in a bright red sportscar. His height made it a tight fit, but he managed to fold himselfinto the small front seat. "Nice car," he said.

"Yeah." She grinned. "My father spoils me. Hang on," she warned,and whipped into the flow of traffic with practiced ease. She seemeda competent driver, handling the little car with a kind of dashingskill as she wove through the moderate evening traffic, but she alsodrove very fast, and at last Charles felt compelled to saysomething.

"Elizabeth."

"Yes?" She changed lanes, slicing neatly through the narrowing gapbetween a pickup truck and a family sedan.

Charles drew a deep breath. "You're a very good driver," heventured. "Just... a little too fast."

Immediately, her foot came off the accelerator and she slowed to asedate pace suitable for a Sunday afternoon drive. "I'm sorry."

"Are you always in such a hurry?"

"Yes, and I have the speeding tickets to prove it," she saidregretfully. "Any more and I'm in big trouble; I guess it's goodyou're here." She pulled adroitly into a parking space. "I love thecolor of this car, but it just begs traffic cops to pull it over."She laughed, climbing out without waiting for him to open her door.Accepting his offered arm, she glanced up at him curiously.

"What about you, Charles? Do you have a car?"

He shook his head. "Dave lets me borrow his if I need one," heexplained. "I don't need one often, and in the city, I use the familycar."

She nodded understanding. "Speaking of David, where are he andValerie tonight?" she inquired as they found their seats.

"Hockey game," Charles answered. "Harvard and Cornell."

"Oh. Val was in such a hurry when she left, I didn't get a chanceto ask. I guess they're really hitting it off." She looked sidewaysat Charles. "Would you rather be at the hockey game?"

"No. I know it goes against the typical masculine stereotype, butI'm not much of a sports fan."

"Really? What do you like?"

Charles regarded her curiously, but she truly looked interested."Computers. Medicine. Genetics."

She poked him. "But what do you do for fun?"

"Those things are fun, if you look at them the right way," heanswered. "I like other things, too, though. Music, especially theRussians - Tchaikovsky, Stravinsky. I read a lot. History,philosophy, biographies..."

"Any fiction?"

"Sure. And poetry."

"Mmm, poetry. Not many men will admit to that," she teased,leaning on his arm. "What poets do you like?"

"All kinds," Charles admitted. "Shakespeare, William Wordsworth,Robert Frost, Edna St. Vincent Millay, A.E. Housman, e.e. cummings,Conrad Aiken..."

"That's certainly a variety," Elizabeth agreed. "Recite somethingfor me."

Charles glanced around uncertainly. "Here? Now?"

"Why not?" She glanced at the stage, where the orchestra was onlyjust beginning to tune up. "We have time. Please?"

Much as he might have liked to, Charles found himself incapable ofignoring the plea in her smile. "All right. Let me think a minute..."When words came to mind, he spoke them in a voice just above awhisper so that others might not hear.

"'Tiger, tiger, burning bright

In the forests of the night,

What immortal hand or eye

Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

In what distant deeps or skies

Burnt the fire of thine eyes...?'"

Her gaze never wavered through the poem's six stanzas; when hefinished, she smiled.

"I always liked that one," she said. "William Blake."

"That's right." Her recognition and enjoyment of the piece pleasedhim. It had been one of Charles's childhood favorites, and even nowit reminded him strongly of his father, but of course he couldn't saythat aloud. "What does it make you think of?" he asked her.

"Besides the tigers in the zoo?" she asked. "Believe it or not, myfather."

She answered his look of disbelief with a smile. "I'm serious,"she insisted. "Not when he's at home, but when he's working, whenthere's some big contract or project at stake, he can besinglemindedly fierce." She laughed. "I guess he used to be worse. Mymother once told me there was someone my father knew, before he mether, who somehow made him understand he can't always have what hewants. I remember thinking that it must have been an unhappy loveaffair and how tragically romantic it seemed."

"And was it? An unhappy love affair?" Charles asked.

She shrugged. "I don't know. All I know is my mother said it madehim a better person. And he is."

"You admire your father," Charles observed quietly.

"Yes. I do."

After the concert they went for coffee. Later, when Elizabethdropped Charles at his apartment, he stood on the sidewalk for a longtime, looking after her. Almost ten days passed before he found thecourage to call her again.

"There's a new exhibit opening at the Museum of Fine Arts," hesaid shyly. "I wondered if you'd like to go this afternoon."

"I can't," she said, sounding distracted.

"I'm sorry," he said, feeling clumsy and stupid. He must beinterrupting something. "Maybe another time..."

"What? Charles, I'm sorry, can you hold on a minute?"

"Sure," he agreed dumbly, and in a moment she was back.

"I'm sorry about that," she said breathlessly. "Somebody else wasasking me something."

"It's okay. I thought you might enjoy the museum, but if you'rebusy..."

"I have an exam tomorrow," she said morosely. "I have tostudy."

"Oh." Charles felt suddenly lighter.

"But listen," Elizabeth said, sounding instantly animated. "If youwant, you could bring your books over and we could study together.Val's not here."

"I know. She's with David."

"Will you come?"

Charles had no hope of resisting the fragile plea in her voice."Sure. Shall I bring anything?"

She thought for a moment. "Yeah. Microwave popcorn."

Charles found pleasure in the walk to her dorm; even with a quickstop to pick up popcorn, it didn't take very long, and he arrived tofind her waiting breathlessly on the front steps.

"Hello," she called gaily.

"Hello," he called back, waving. "I thought you werestudying."

"I decided we could use a reward once we've learned everythingthere is to learn," she answered coquettishly, leading the way to herdorm room. "I ran to the Student Union and rented a movie."

"No kidding. Which one?"

"An old movie," she elaborated, teasing him.

"How old is old?" Charles asked, playing along. "Nineteennineties?"

"Older."

"Eighties?"

"Older."

"Fifties."

"Good grief, Charles, we'll be here all night at this rate!" Shepulled out a digital disc and waved it at him. "*Raiders of the LostArk*. It's practically required for archaeology students."

"But I'm not an archaeology student," Charles teased.

"No, but I am, and it's my room." She pretended to glare.

He threw up his hands in surrender. "*Raiders of the Lost Ark*.Good movie."

"I have to study first," she warned him.

"I brought my books," he said, showing her.

Charles intended to study diligently, but after a while hisattention wandered from his notes. His gaze was naturally drawn toElizabeth, who reclined on her bed, absorbed in her studies andcompletely unaware of his scrutiny. Charles was surprised at howpleasant it was to simply watch her, noticing how her hair wavedaround her face in studied disarray, the way her lips moved as shetried to fix a particular passage in her mind. He couldn't see hereyes, but he could remember how blue they were, fringed with darklashes; he couldn't see her chin, either, because it was propped inher hand, but he could visualize the delicate cleft in the center ofit...

Abruptly, he pulled his mind away from its musings, forcing hisgaze back to the page before him. He had to remember who he was, whathis limits were. Unless it was already too late...

* * * *

Elizabeth looked up from her chapter on relative chronology.Charles looked endearingly serious, bent over his notebook, and shewondered what he was thinking. Was his mind truly on his studies, ordid he sometimes permit other thoughts to intrude?

There had been other young men in Elizabeth's life, even a coupleof cases of undying puppy love, but what she was beginning to feelfor Charles Chandler was something else entirely. She was completelycomfortable with him. Conversation was easy, and when a silence fell,that was easy, too. That he knew of her father was clear, but she hadno sense of that influencing him; for the first time, she felt as ifshe could have been anyone's daughter. It didn't matter. Charlesliked her.

She found it doubly endearing that, after two dates, the greatestintimacy they had shared was holding hands. Elizabeth was accustomedto deflecting unsubtle advances from the very first date. Charles'scourtly reserve was a refreshing change.

It was past midnight when she took him home and there was time, onthe drive back to her dorm, for dreamy reflection. After studying,she'd stuck the popcorn into the microwave while Charles started thevideo machine.

The only comfortable place to sit was on her bed. Since she didn'twant him to feel uncomfortable, or pressured, or seduced, she'dpushed it closer to the wall and rearranged the pillows to make itinto a daybed/couch. They'd started out with a decorous distancebetween them, but halfway through the movie, she'd shifted, settlingcloser to him and resting her head against his arm. He hadn'treacted, but she'd seen him turn his head to look at her and knew heshared her quiet pleasure in the gesture. And already they'd madeplans for next weekend. They were going skating.

* * * *

"I haven't done this in a long time," Charles confessed, lacing uphis rental skates. "I hope I won't embarrass myself."

"Oh, I don't know," Elizabeth teased. "You'd look kind of cutesprawled on your posterior."

The look he bestowed upon her was supposed to be baleful, she wassure, but somehow the amusement lurking in his eyes spoiled theeffect. "I assume that means I'll get no sympathy from you when ithappens."

"Oh, no. I'll even help you up... if I'm not laughing toohard."

He chose not to dignify that with an answer. Instead, he tied offthe lace, stood, and offered her his hand. "Shall we?" he invitedformally.

Elizabeth smiled widely in answer and joined him on the ice. Ashe'd warned, he was a little wobbly at first, but she stayed besidehim, lending support, and he was soon skating with confidence.

"I'd forgotten how much fun this is," he confessed.

Elizabeth made a graceful turn in front of him and began skatingbackwards. "You're not bad," she observed aloud.

"I'm not? Maybe I won't fall down, but I can't do that." Hepointed to her feet.

"What, skate backwards? It's easy!"

"Not for me. I could never figure out how to move my feet."

Shifting her weight, Elizabeth checked her momentum and skidded toa graceful stop. Charles looked momentarily panicky and tried toavoid her. His skates flew out from under him, and he ended up in aheap at her feet.

"Are you okay?" she asked, bending over him anxiously.

"I should have warned you, I can't stop, either," he told herruefully. "You could have been killed."

"I'll bear that in mind next time," she laughed, offering him ahelping hand. "Come here."

"What?" Indulgently, he let her pull him to her side.

"Now watch my feet," she instructed sternly, and began to show himthe footwork necessary to skate backwards.

The sun was low in the sky and the temperature had dropped beforethey left the ice. It had taken awhile, but Charles had finallymastered the rudiments of skating backwards and stopping. He had anatural grace and balance and after the lessons they had enjoyed thesimple pleasure of circling the ice in tandem. Like Elizabeth,Charles enjoyed the exhilaration of speed, and they were bothbreathless as they took off their skates.

"We had a tradition in my family," Charles said. "After skating,we always had hot chocolate."

"Is that an invitation?" Elizabeth asked.

"I think it's more of a requirement," he answered. "There's aplace just around the corner..."

"Did you skate often when you were a boy?" Elizabeth asked whenthey'd been shown to a booth.

"Depends on what you call often," Charles answered. "My motherused to take us to Rockefeller Center three or four times a year.Then, when I was about thirteen, my youngest brother decided hewanted to play hockey, so my father arranged for a place to beflooded with water; when it froze, we had an ice rink. My mother madesure there were skates for us and our friends, and for a while weskated almost every day."

"Then what happened?"

He grinned. "The ice melted."

"Oh. Spring."

He nodded. "By then, the attraction had pretty much worn off,anyway," he admitted. "It was a long hike to where the ice was, sonone of us was too disappointed. The summer gave us time to regainsome of our enthusiasm, and I know we skated a lot the next winter,but not like the first year. After a couple of years, I quit going.Other interests, I guess."

"What about your brother?"

"Evan? Well, the hockey didn't quite work out."

"Why not?"

Charles bent his head to examine his cup of chocolate. Elizabethhad the impression he was choosing his words carefully. "I don't wantto make him sound mean, or vicious, because he's not, but he doeshave a temper, and he can be very... aggressive when he'sprovoked."

"You mean he got into fights," Elizabeth guessed. "I thought thatwas part of hockey."

Charles smiled. "Evan was only six when this started," heexplained. "They prefer the peewee leagues to be non-violent.Hockey's a contact sport, and my parents were afraid that Evan wouldget shoved into the boards or elbowed or something, and he'd lose histemper and hurt someone."

"A six-year-old?" Elizabeth couldn't keep the skepticism out ofher voice.

"Evan's always been big and very strong for his age," Charlessaid. "They didn't want to take a chance."

"You make him sound like he's part gorilla, or something,"Elizabeth observed, propping her chin in her hand. Did she imagineit, or did Charles wince? "Does Evan get in a lot of fights?" sheasked hastily.

Charles shook his head. "My father believes in non-violence," hesaid slowly, "and he's impressed on all of us the need to restrainour tempers. Being bigger or stronger or better armed doesn'tnecessarily make someone right. We discuss things. Sometimes weargue. We don't fight."

"Never?" Elizabeth couldn't help remembering some of her ownbrother's boyhood tangles.

Charles grinned. "Well, there was one time..."

She leaned forward eagerly. "Tell me about it."

"Evan must have been about nine, and Jacob, that's our otherbrother, would have been about eleven. I can't remember anymore whatwe were doing, but we were all four in Jacob's room..."

"Four?" Elizabeth interrupted. She could only account forthree.

"Our sister was there, too. She's the youngest," Charlesexplained. "Anyway, Jacob said something that made Evan mad and thenext thing I knew, they were rolling on the floor, punching at eachother and yelling."

"Jacob's two years older, right?" Elizabeth asked, trying to getit straight.

"Yes, but I told you, Evan's always been big for his age. Theywere about the same size then, and Evan was stronger. I tried toseparate them, but I couldn't, and then all of a sudden my father wasthere. I think he literally picked each one up by the collar and heldthem out at arm's length." Charles demonstrated, holding his handswidely apart. "For a second I was afraid he was going to crack theirheads together, you know, like in the old slapstick comedies? I'venever seen him so angry. And Vicky was crying..."

"Vicky's your sister," Elizabeth clarified. "Was anybodyhurt?"

"No, but she's very sensitive. I think the anger and violence justupset her."

"What happened to your brothers?"

"My father marched them down into the study and spent an hour withthem. I don't know what he said, but I know Evan's never tried to hitanybody since."

"How about Jacob?"

"Jacob's a pacifist," Charles explained. "He'd never hurt anybody.He was only defending himself."

"Well, it's good he'll do that. Some pacifists don't even believein that much."

"We'll all fight back if we're threatened," Charles explainedearnestly. "Our parents don't expect us to let ourselves be hurt orkilled just on principle. In fact, we all had lessons in self-defensefrom a friend of our mother's."

"Even your sister?"

"Especially my sister," Charles said. "Because girls and women aremore vulnerable. Don't give me that look," he added defensively."They are. And you know it."

Elizabeth smiled, pleased that he felt comfortable teasing her. "Iwanted to take karate when I was twelve," she said. "My fatherwouldn't let me. He didn't want me to get hurt. I don't think hethought karate was feminine."

Charles frowned. "Maybe you should let me show you some moves," hesuggested.

She looked down at his hand, resting on the table between them."You're worried about me," she teased, sliding her own hand forwardto touch his.

"You should talk to my mother sometime," Charles said seriously."She'll tell you what can happen to a woman who can't defendherself."

"Did something happen to her?"

"She was attacked; they cut her face."

Elizabeth couldn't help an involuntary recoil of horror.

"It was pretty bad, I guess," he continued. "She had to haveplastic surgery. She still has scars, but she says it was worth it;if it hadn't happened, she never would have met my father."

"How can she mean that?" Elizabeth's vivid imagination set thestage; in her mind's eye she could see the sharp glitter of a knifecoming close, could feel unseen hands holding her down. She shudderedand Charles closed his hand over hers.

"I guess because it's over and she survived it."

She forced a smile. "Well, you've convinced me. I'll takeself-defense lessons anytime you want to teach me."

"Good."

She focused on their joined hands, deliberately separating herselffrom the grim conversation. Charles's hand was large, dwarfing hers,but his touch was reassuring. She pulled it closer, bringing herother hand up and placing on the back of his. "I like your hand," shesaid playfully, glancing up at him. He looked embarrassed, but didn'ttry to pull away. "It's warm," she continued, studying it withinterest. "It looks strong, but I know it can be gentle," she notedwith approval, glancing up again to find him smiling at her.Encouraged, she slid her fingers across the back, toward his wrist."There's a lot of hair here, but it's soft," she observed. "Almostlike fur..."

Abruptly he stiffened; gently but deliberately he removed hishand. "It's getting late. I'd better get you home," he said, droppinga bill on top of the check and reaching for her coat.

"All right," Elizabeth agreed, bewildered. She couldn't imaginewhat she'd done wrong. She liked his hands; she'd said so. Could hebe self-conscious about the light brown hair that grew so generouslyacross their backs? She couldn't see why. "I'm sorry if I offendedyou," she offered tentatively. "I didn't mean to."

To her vast relief, he smiled. "No. You just reminded me ofsomething."

"Of what?"

"Of something I can't permit myself to forget," he saidcryptically. "If I can get the gym, do you want to meet me Tuesdaynight?"

So, despite whatever she'd done, he intended to keep his promise."Of course," she answered promptly. "What time?"

"I'll call."

* * * *

He did, three days later. Elizabeth arrived at the gym early andchanged into the sweatsuit he'd advised her to bring. The soft greenof the outfit suited her and she wondered if Charles wouldnotice.

He didn't seem to, but Elizabeth consoled herself with the ideathat it was simply because he was out of breath from hurrying acrosscampus. It didn't take him long to recover, however, and soonElizabeth was the one out of breath.

"Try it again," Charles said patiently. "What do you do if someonegrabs you like this?"

Elizabeth went through the moves slowly, talking them out. "Fallback against you, to surprise you and make you loosen your grip."

"Right," he said, approving. He seemed unaware of the way histhigh was pressed against her hip, and even less aware of the way hewas making her feel.

"When you let go, I twist free and run like hell," she continued,struggling to concentrate on her lesson, and not the solid feel ofhis arm around her.

"Good. Now," he went on, coming around to stand in front of her,"suppose I take your arm like this." He gripped her forearm in onehand. "How will you get away?"

"Well, instinct tells me to twist, but I'll bet there's a trick toit," she answered. His hand was large enough to circle her armcompletely.

"You're right. You twist, but make sure that when you do, you'reputting pressure against my thumb, and not my fingers." He showed herwhat he meant. "Twist far enough and I won't be able to hold on. Tryit."

Her first attempt failed.

"You're tentative," Charles explained. "Don't be. Remember, thisis someone who's trying to hurt you. You don't need to be nice."

"Okay." She waited for him to take her arm again. When he nodded,she twisted her arm violently down and out, pulling away at the sametime. To her surprise, his strong hold broke and she pulled free,dancing away from him. "It worked!"

"Of course. And on that note of success, we'll call it a night,"he said. "Next time I'll teach you some New York Citystreet-fighting."

"Sounds like fun," she teased him. "Will you wait while Ichange?"

He agreed, and was outside, leaning comfortably against the roughstone wall of the building when she emerged. "Did you bring yourcar?" he greeted.

"Not tonight. Sorry."

"Don't be. It's a lovely night for a walk." He held out his handand she took it, falling into step beside him. "Shall we take thelong way, along the river?" he suggested. "Or are you in ahurry?"

"No hurry," Elizabeth answered softly, marveling at how dark hiseyes looked in the half-light of dusk. "I'd like to walk along theriver."

"Let me take your bag." He slung her gym bag over his shoulder."Did you enjoy your lesson?"

She smiled at him. "Yes."

"I'm glad. Now remember, if someone grabs you, get away first andask questions later."

"Wouldn't that be a little embarrassing if it turned out to be afriend?"

"You worry about that after you're safe," he said sternly.

"Yes, sir," she agreed with a mock salute. "Any other orders,sir?"

"Yes," he said quietly, after a moment. "Be careful. If anythinghappened to you..."

The wistful quality in his voice stoked the warm glow she alwaysfelt when she was with him, but he didn't turn to look at her. Shestarted to ask him what he meant.

'No man is an island... any man's death diminishes me, because Iam involved in mankind....' Out of nowhere, the words of John Donneflitted into her mind and she held her tongue, suddenly afraid ofwhat he might say. Never less than gentle, Charles was very involvedin mankind, caring about others without thought.

Some of that came through when he talked about his chosen career:genetic research. "Every day, children are born with geneticcharacteristics that affect the way they live their lives," he'd saidonce, his voice vibrating with passion. "Some children die because ofthe genes they carry." In his eyes, she'd seen that he cared aboutthose children.

What if he cared what happened to her not because she was specialto him, but only because he would care if anyone was hurt?

He didn't seem to notice her hesitation, and, lost in her ownmusings, she was surprised when he stopped suddenly.

"Look," he whispered, pointing.

The moon hung full and low just above the horizon. Massive oaks,still waiting for spring to coax fresh greenery from bare branches,stretched in stark silhouette against it. A fresh fall of spring snowlay all around, glittering in the moonlight.

"Oh, Charles. Isn't it beautiful?" Elizabeth breathed. What camenext seemed perfectly natural. Turning, she slipped her arms aroundhis waist, resting her cheek against his chest.

He stiffened, and for a panicky instant she thought she'd made adreadful mistake, but then his arms came around her. Something almostpainful constricted in her chest when he bent his head, resting hischeek against her hair.

Elizabeth would have been content to stand forever on the concretepath, secure in Charles's arms, but eventually he stepped back. Hiseyes were shadowed in the pale moonlight, making it impossible toread his expression. When he spoke, it was in a voice so low shecouldn't read it, either.

"Come on," he murmured. "It's getting cold."

"It won't be for long," she answered, trying to keep theconversational ball rolling. "Spring's almost here."

"Yes," he answered abstractedly. When she reached for his hand,there was the briefest of pauses before his fingers closed overhers.

It was impossible not to glance sideways at him, not to wonderwhat he was thinking. He seemed oddly affected, almost embarrassed,by their almost-intimacy and she wondered if it had been a mistake toembrace him, yet she was certain he'd liked it as much as shehad.

"My father likes to take moonlight walks," she said, trying todistract him. She was relieved when he turned his head to smile ather. "Whenever we go somewhere, to a party or a play, I make sure Iwear comfortable shoes, because I know we'll end up walking at leastpart of the way home. He loves the city at night."

"Does he often take you with him?" Charles inquired.

"Since my mother died, I've sort of been his stand-in when I'mhome," she explained. "He likes having me there."

"I'm sorry about your mother," Charles said gently. "I didn'tknow."

Elizabeth managed a casual shrug. "It happened when I was sixteen.A car accident."

"It must have hurt very much."

"It did. It still does, sometimes." Elizabeth heard her voice growwistful as she allowed herself a moment to remember. "It was harderon my brother," she added. "He was only fourteen and it devastatedhim."

"I didn't know you had a brother," Charles said, soundingsurprised.

"Didn't you? His name's Steven. He's seventeen now, and goes toprep school in Vermont."

"Do you visit him often?"

"Never."

"You sound very adamant."

"I am," Elizabeth said firmly. "Steven can be a jerk."

"He's your brother," Charles said, sounding faintlyscandalized.

"So?" Elizabeth could feel herself becoming defensive. "I don'tbelieve you have to like people just because you're unlucky enough tobe related to them."

"Okay," he said, too carefully.

His diplomacy annoyed her. "Look, Charles, I know you're close toyour brothers, but that doesn't mean I have to be close to mine." Shegave him a wary glance, but his expression was gently curious. "It'shard to explain," she began slowly. "When people meet him, they thinkhe's great." Charles's manner didn't change, and she went on withmore confidence. "He's neat, polite, charming in his own way, Iguess."

"That doesn't sound so bad."

"What I don't like about Steven is hard to pin down," Elizabethsaid. "I told you he makes a wonderful impression, but it's just aveneer. It's not real. There's nothing underneath."

Charles's expectant silence made it necessary for her to goon.

"He doesn't make friends because he likes them, or because heshares their interests. He chooses people because they can dosomething for him. He's very goal-oriented, and other people justdon't matter to him, except as a means to an end."

"That's sad. Were you closer when you were children?"

The question surprised her and she paused to consider it. "Notreally," she admitted finally. "There are almost three years betweenus, and we're completely different. We always have been. But I thinkhe was nicer when he was little."

"You said he was devastated when your mother died."

"Yes." She paused, thinking.

"What is it?" Charles gripped her hand more firmly and drew hercloser to his side, so that her shoulder brushed his arm as theywalked. They left the river path and turned back toward the Harvardcampus.

"My father and I have always been really close; I told you hespoils me, and though I hate to admit it, I've usually takenadvantage..." she shrugged. "Steven was always closer to ourmother."

"Her death must have been very difficult for him," Charlesobserved.

"He seemed... adrift... for a long time," Elizabeth found herselfadmitting. "Daddy and I had each other; I used to go into his officeand we'd sit and talk about Mom, and maybe cry together. It neveroccurred to me to wonder where Steven went to cry." She looked atCharles. "God, I'm horrible. My own brother, and I never even thoughtabout him."

"You were young. You'd lost your mother, your father needed you. Idon't think you can blame yourself for not seeing that your brotherneeded someone, too."

They had reached her dorm. Charles led her to an old stone benchand urged her to sit. She did, feeling suddenly weary. "I know Daddyused to try to talk to him, but Steven would just blow up and stormout of the apartment." She managed a small laugh. "Mom used to saythat he and Daddy were too much alike to ever get along. He's changedso much that I don't know anymore what he thinks or feels."

"But you're still angry with him."

"Yes," Elizabeth said, thoughtfully. "I am. I know it was hard forhim, but it was hard for me, too. He doesn't even try, Charles. Hedoesn't want to be different."

"Maybe he does, but just doesn't know how," Charles suggestedgently. "Perhaps he just needs someone to help him."

"Don't you think we've tried?" Elizabeth demanded. "Daddy's senthim to the best psychiatrists, I've tried to talk to him... Hedoesn't hear us. I don't think he wants to."

"Then perhaps you must just let him know you are here if he needsyou; that you will be his friend when he's ready. People can change,Elizabeth. Don't judge your brother too quickly."

"Oh, Charles." Wearily, she rested her head on his shoulder. "Youalways see the best in people. I wish I could do that."

His arm was around her shoulders and she leaned into him.

"I just think everyone deserves a second chance," Charles saidquietly.

She smiled, tilting her face to look at him in the moonlight. Hebrought his hand up, brushing her cheek with the back of hisfingers.

"You are so beautiful," he murmured, and Elizabeth was lost. Herarms went around his neck of their own accord, drawing his head down.He didn't resist. His breath was warm against her face, his handwarmer on her cheek, and when she kissed him, his lips were warmestof all.

Surprisingly, the kiss he gave her in return was shy, untutored,as if he hadn't done much kissing.

"Charles," she whispered, wanting the sound of his name.

He pulled back, blinking; his expression was uncertain, and whenhe spoke, his voice was unsteady. "It's cold. You should go in."

"Come in with me."

"No. Not tonight."

She couldn't understand his determined refusal.

"I need to get home," he added.

Home, when they'd just kissed for the first time? It was withdifficulty that Elizabeth found her voice. "At least let me drive youhome."

He shook his head. "No. Please, Liz," he said, stifling herprotest. "I need to think."

It made no sense, but it seemed important to him. Slowly shenodded. At the door of her building, he handed over her gym bag andwould have turned away if she hadn't taken his hand. His expressionwas at once wary and expectant as she pulled him toward her, droppingthe gym bag to slip her arms around his neck. Their second kiss wasas sweetly tentative as the first.

"Goodnight, Charles," she whispered, and knew he stood watchinglong after she disappeared into the building.

* * * *

Charles scarcely noticed the walk home as he relived the wonderand enchantment of Elizabeth's arms around him, the softness of herlips pressed to his, the sheer joy of holding her close. He'd neverfelt like this before, as if he were floating. His prior romanticexperience was negligible, limited to shy kisses with one or two ofthe tunnel girls his own age. Kissing Elizabeth had been different,stirring him in a way nothing ever had. It troubled him a little, butthe sweet elation sweeping through him was stronger, and he basked init.

Other kisses followed during the next weeks. Some were shy andtender, some deep and compelling. Soon it became clear that Elizabethwould welcome any advances he might choose to make. There were nightswhen it required all his self-control not to make them.

The magic had been going on for more than two months whenElizabeth announced she was going to spend a weekend at home.

"I really have to, Charles," she explained. "It's already thefirst of May. I haven't been home since February, and my fathermisses me."

"You'll be gone all weekend?" Charles was surprised by thedesolation he felt.

"Yes," Elizabeth answered softly.

"I understand." Charles sighed. "I guess this would be a goodweekend for me to visit my family too. My mother's been asking whenI'm coming home."

Elizabeth's smile was wistful. "So we'll both be in New York thisweekend."

"Maybe we could..." Charles began hopefully, but Elizabeth wasalready shaking her head.

"I couldn't. My father is really looking forward to this. I can'tdisappoint him. He wouldn't understand."

"I suppose you're right," Charles admitted. From somewhere hefound the courage to press his forehead against hers. "I'll missyou," he confessed, and was rewarded with a brilliant, if somewhatmelancholy, smile and a warm kiss before she hurried into herdorm.

* * * *

Saturday night found Charles not home as he'd expected, but in thepretentious, glittering atmosphere that he always associated withhigh-society events. Idly turning a glass in his hand, watching thelemon wedge bump up against the ice cubes, he was simply glad, forthe moment, that he wasn't undergoing an interrogation by one of hismother's friends.

"Not friends, Charles. Acquaintances," she always chided him."Friends are people you enjoy being with. Acquaintances are justpeople you know."

"Yes, Mother," he always replied, dutifully, but in truth, hedidn't understand. If these people weren't her friends, why did shebother to come to these boring functions? For appearances, hesupposed. People might wonder more than they already did if shesimply dropped out of the social scene altogether. Besides, thefunctions she chose to attend were always charitable; this one was tobenefit the Big Brother/Sister program, which matched volunteeradults with underprivileged children.

Lost in thought, he started when someone touched his arm.

"Hi."

"Liz!" He felt himself smiling widely. "I didn't expect to see youhere..."

"Me either." Her delighted smile dazzled him.

A niggling suspicion touched him and he voiced it before hisconscience could squelch the impulse. "Are you with someone?"Belatedly, he hoped he didn't sound jealous... and hoped, if she said'yes', that he'd be able to maintain his composure.

"My father," she said, waving airily across the room. "I think Itold you he likes me to accompany him to these things."

"Yes, you mentioned it."

"What about you, Charles? You're not here by yourself, surely?"Was he wrong, or was there a trace of anxiety in her eyes?

"No. I'm my mother's escort this evening."

"Oh." The single syllable could have meant anything, but probablymeant she didn't know what to ask next.

"My father wasn't able to come," Charles added.

"Oh." She frowned. She looked as if she wanted to pursue thesubject, but was interrupted by a man who came up beside her.

"Elizabeth," the man said, with a wary glance at Charles. "Are youhaving a good time?"

"Oh, yes, Daddy," she answered, taking his arm. Turning toCharles, she smiled. "I'd like you to meet Charles Chandler. Charles,this is my father, Elliot Burch."

Elizabeth's father must have been sixty, at least, and was inchesshorter than Charles's own six-three, but he carried himself like amuch younger man. His handshake was strong and sure.

"It's a pleasure, Mr. Burch."

"The pleasure is mine, Charles," Elliot said easily. "Elizabeth'stold me a lot about you. And since I know your mother..."

As if on cue, Charles heard his mother's voice behind him, andhalf-turned to look for her, his mind still stumbling on Elliot'slast statement.

She was coming toward him and as he stepped back to include her inthe group, her eyes widened and so did her smile. "Elliot!" she said,sounding nothing short of delighted.

Elizabeth's father took her proffered hands, drawing her closeenough to kiss her cheek. "Hello, Cathy. It's been a long time."

"Yes, it has," Catherine agreed. Withdrawing her hands, shetouched Charles's arm. "Have you met my oldest son?"

"Just now," Elliot answered. "And this is my daughter, Elizabeth."He smiled. "It seems history repeats itself, Cathy. Elizabeth is anundergrad up at Harvard, and I understand she and Charles have beenseeing a lot of each other."

"I'm pleased to meet you, Elizabeth, and I'm glad you've beenkeeping Charles company. He spends entirely too much time byhimself." Her voice was dispassionate, but Charles could sense hismother's astonishment and cringed. He hadn't wanted to mentionElizabeth to his family until he'd resolved some of his doubts andreservations.

Elliot reached for Catherine's hand. "I believe they're starting awaltz," he said. "Would you like to dance?"

"I'd love to," she said.

In all the years he'd been acting as her escort, Charles couldonly remember his mother dancing a handful of times, all with oldfriends, like Joe Maxwell, or Nancy Tucker's husband Paul. Never hadshe accepted the invitation of anyone Charles hadn't known sinceboyhood.

Charles watched in astonishment as his mother accompanied Elliotout among the other dancers. She was smiling, and looked oddlycomfortable. It made Charles feel strange. "I didn't know my motherknew your father," he murmured to Elizabeth, who had moved to standby his elbow. "Did you?"

"Not until last night," she said slowly. "I started telling Daddyall about you, and he knew who you were."

"What did he mean when he said 'history repeats itself'?" Charlesasked, still gazing to the spot where Elliot and Catherine haddisappeared among the other dancers.

"They were going to be married."

That bombshell was enough to make Charles look away from the dancefloor. He gazed at Elizabeth in astonished disbelief. "What?"

"For about five minutes, Daddy said," she added. "I guess they hada disagreement and decided to call it off, but he says they're stillfriends."

Charles wondered briefly about this old friendship before decidingit was foolish to brood over his mother when Elizabeth stoodpatiently beside him. "Would you like to dance?" he invited.

There was an odd hesitation before she nodded and put her hand inhis. She seemed distracted on the dance floor, her movements uneven,making him wonder what was wrong. When the music ended, he led her towhere her father and his mother stood talking.

"Ah, there you are," Elliot greeted them genially. "It's gettinglate, Charles, and I was just suggesting to your mother that she letme take her home. That way you two can stay and enjoy the party."

Charles hesitated. The prospect of time with Elizabeth was nearlyirresistible and he'd like to find out what was troubling her, but hefelt a strong sense of obligation and responsibility toward hismother.

"It's all right if you'd like to stay," she said, catching hiseye. "I'll be fine with Elliot."

Elizabeth looked suddenly pale. "No, Daddy," she said. "I'm notfeeling very well. I think I'd better go home, too."

Elliot was immediately solicitous. "What's wrong, Lissa?"

"Just a headache. Please, Daddy, don't fuss."

He backed off. "All right. Cathy? Can we drop you and Charles athome?"

"If Elizabeth's all right," she agreed. "That would be nice,Elliot."

Alone, Charles and his mother would have taken a cab; Elliottravelled in a chauffeured limousine, and as it pulled up outside thehotel, the chauffeur jumped out to hold the door. Elliot helpedCatherine in first and stood discreetly back so Charles could assistElizabeth. They were finally settled, with Catherine and Elliottogether on the back seat, while Elizabeth and Charles occupied thefacing jumpseats.

Casual small talk filled the time until the limousine reached theChandler home. Elliot got out first, reaching back to help Catherine,tactfully allowing Charles and Elizabeth a moment alone.

She'd been unusually quiet during the drive and Charles felt aprotective rush of tenderness when he turned to her. "Headachebetter?" he asked.

"A little."

She still looked pale and he reached to brush her hair back fromher face, letting his fingers linger on her cheek. "I'm sorry. Whatyou need is a good night's sleep, and you'll feel better in themorning."

She smiled wanly. "I hope so. Goodnight, Charles." It sounded likea dismissal, but her eyes seemed to be pleading with him. Hesitantly,he leaned to kiss her. She seemed oddly resistant at first and hewondered if it was the headache, or because her father and his motherwere standing on the sidewalk, but after a moment she melted againsthim, her lips warm and responsive.

"Goodnight, Liz," he said softly, his hand brushing her cheek inone last caress.

She nodded. Was it a trick of the light, or were tears shining inher eyes? He wasn't sure, but she had already turned away. He washalfway out of the limo when he heard her whisper his name.

"Yes?"

"I... nothing. It's nothing. Goodbye, Charles."

"Goodnight, Elizabeth," he corrected her.

She nodded again, half-heartedly, rubbing at her temple.

"Take something for your head when you get home," he advisedthrough the open car door. She nodded again without turning to lookat him; after a moment he straightened, looking for his mother.

She and Elliot were standing near the flight of steps that led tothe front door, and they were hugging each other with obviousaffection.

"Goodnight, Cathy," Elliot said.

"Goodnight, Elliot. Thank you for the ride."

"My pleasure," Elliot answered cheerfully. "And remember mystanding offer."

"I remember, Elliot, but don't count on me."

"No." His smile was oddly sad. "I don't."

Catherine shook her head and smiled. "You're incorrigible,Elliot."

"I know. Goodnight, Charles."

"Goodnight, Mr. Burch. It was a pleasure to meet you."

As the limo pulled away, Charles and Catherine climbed the stairs."What's his standing offer?" he asked curiously, sorting through hiskeys for the one to the front door.

His mother sighed, and looked after the rapidly diminishingtaillights of the limousine. "That if I'm ever unhappy with my life,he's there."

"So it's true, what Liz told me," Charles said, opening the doorand standing back to let her go first.

"What did she tell you?"

"That you and her father were going to be married."

His mother looked briefly astonished and laughed. "I guess youcould call it that. It didn't last long."

"No, that's what she said. About five minutes."

"Probably not that long," Catherine said, taking off her coat andhanging it in the foyer closet.

"That was before you knew Father." Charles made it astatement.

His mother paused. "Well, no, actually, I knew your father then.It's a very long story, Charles, and I'll tell you all about itanother time, but tonight I have some questions for you."

"I know. I've been wanting to talk to you about it."

She nodded. "Why don't we make some tea?"

In the kitchen, the refrigerator door stood open while Evan andCarey built impressive-looking sandwiches, going back and forth forvarious ingredients. "Hi," Evan greeted. "How was the party?"

"The party was fine. Close the refrigerator," Catherine saidautomatically.

"Okay," Carey answered, replacing a jar of mustard in therefrigerator door and pushing it closed with his foot.

Catherine took the kettle from the stove and moved to the sink tofill it with water; meanwhile, balancing plates and full glasses ofmilk, the boys said their goodnights and departed.

Methodically, Catherine took out a small, earthenware teapot andmeasured out spoonfuls of an herbal tea mixture. "Have you knownElizabeth for long?" she asked.

Charles slid into one of the chairs at the small table. "Since thebeginning of March."

"I see." His mother brought mugs, spoons, and a small pot of honeyto the table and sat down opposite him. "Are you friends?"

Charles studied his clasped hands, considering his answer. "Morethan friends," he admitted finally.

The kettle began to sing and she rose to pour the boiling waterinto the waiting pot. "Why didn't you say anything, Charles?" sheasked, bringing the steaming teapot to the table.

"Because of all the things I'm not sure of. All the questionswithout answers..."

"Like who you are?"

"I know who I am, Mother. It's what I am that's the problem."

"I know. You talked about this with your father, a couple of yearsago." She smiled at his look of astonishment. "You must have knownhe'd tell me," she said.

"Yes, I guess I did. But that was theoretical, Mother. This isreal. And we've reached a place in our relationship where I have totell her something before we go on."

Catherine poured tea into each mug and busied herself with thehoney pot, stirring honey into her tea. "I wish I knew what to tellyou, Charles."

"It's not like I can just bring it up in casual conversation," hesaid bitterly. "By the way, Liz, how would you feel about ourchildren possibly bearing a resemblance to a lion?"

"Your father doesn't deserve that, Charles." His mother didn'traise her voice but it had hardened and he knew he'd made herangry.

"I don't mean it that way, Mother. You know I don't. I'm proud ofmy father. I love him, and I wouldn't want him to be any differentthan he is. It's just that it's so hard sometimes..."

"Don't you think it was hard for us? For your father?"

"Of course it was. But at least you knew what you were up against.He didn't have to think of how to tell you he was different, becauseyou could see it."

Her gaze was steady and after a moment she nodded. "Yes."

Charles looked down at his hands. "And now I find out that you andLiz's father are friends." He looked up in sudden hope. "Does he knowabout Father?"

Catherine shook her head slowly. "No. He knows there is someone inmy life, that my children have a father I love very much, but Elliotand your father have never met." She looked at him. "It would be somuch easier for you, wouldn't it? If Elliot already knew."

"What do I do, Mother? What do I say?"

She looked at him, her eyes sad. "I wish I knew what to tell you,Charles. I wish I could say 'tell her everything, and bring her hometo meet us.' I really do. But there's Elliot to consider now."

"Do you trust him?" Charles asked.

His mother stared at her teacup, frowning. "There were times,before you were even born, that I did trust him... with certainthings... and he never betrayed my trust. But to trust him withknowledge of your father, of what your father is.... With yourfather's life...."

"You think he might betray that."

"I don't want to think so... but Elliot can be ruthless when itsuits him."

"Liz says he's changed," Charles said, trying to sound objective."That after he met her mother, he became less... fierce, I think isthe word she used."

"Fierce. That's a good word to describe Elliot." She let out along, slow breath. "Meeting and marrying Susan Ellis was the bestthing that ever happened to Elliot. If she were still alive, I'd bemore willing to trust him.

"I don't know what advice to give you, Charles, but know this. Ifyou want to make Elizabeth a part of your life, a permanent part, youhave to tell her. You have to make her understand why it must be asecret from everyone, even her father. And before you can do any ofthat, you must be absolutely certain you can trust her. Once you'vespoken, there's no going back."

Charles didn't sleep well that night, tossing and turning aslonging battled with caution. In the morning, he found himselfcovertly studying his father, trying to imagine what it would be liketo meet him for the first time, but it was hopeless. He'd known himtoo long, too well. He couldn't see Vincent as anything but hisfather.

Charles was still unresolved when David came to pick him up. Hewas quiet on the drive back to Boston, and for once David left himalone to think. Back at school, Charles let two days pass before hepicked up the phone to call Elizabeth.

"I've been thinking maybe we shouldn't see each other for awhile," he said hesitantly, after the usual pleasantries had beenexchanged.

Elizabeth didn't answer, but he could hear the swift catch in herbreath.

"It isn't you," he rushed to assure her. "It's me. There are somethings I need to think through. I need to resolve them, and it'sgoing to take some time. Please, Liz, try to understand."

When she spoke, her voice was low, nearly inaudible. "Howlong?"

"I don't know yet. A couple of weeks, maybe. I can't be sure."

"I understand." Her voice sounded dull. He silently cursed thecircumstances that made this necessary.

"I'm sorry, Elizabeth."

"Okay. Goodbye, Charles."

"Goodbye." He cradled the phone gently, when what he wanted was tostrike out at something, anything.

Their daily class and study schedules kept them on different partsof the campus, so it wasn't surprising they didn't encounter eachother during the last two weeks of school. During finals, Charleshoped Elizabeth was able to concentrate better than he could.

When he finally picked up the phone to call, on the morning he andDavid were driving back to New York, it was only to give her his homephone number, in case she should need to get in touch with him. Herroommate answered and informed him tersely that Elizabeth had alreadygone home.

"Then could you give her the number, Val? Please?" Charles rattledit off and made her repeat it back to him, but her manner wassurly.

"I've got it," Valerie told him. "I'll give it to her tonight. Andif she's smart, she'll burn it!" She slammed down the phone.

Charles stared at the instrument in bewilderment before turning toDavid, who was busy cramming dirty laundry into a already bulgingsuitcase. "Dave? Do you know what's wrong with Valerie? She waspretty abrupt with me on the phone just now."

"No idea," David grunted, wrestling with a reluctant suitcaselock. "Val and I stopped seeing each other about a month ago."

"Oh," Charles said dumbly. "I'm sorry."

"Don't worry about it," David said breezily, finally forcing thesuitcase closed and snapping the locks triumphantly. "You've beensort of preoccupied lately. I figured you and Liz broke up, too."

"No," Charles said pensively, and reached for his own suitcase,already packed. "Are you ready? Let's go home."

* * * *

Charles had the phone number for the Burch's New York residencewritten down on a scrap of paper Elizabeth had given him the weekendthey both came home. Over the next few days, he took it out of hispocket many times, but never made the call. His mother's quietquestion was what haunted him. Did he trust Liz? With all his heart,he did, and he wanted nothing so much as to trust that instinct, callher, and arrange for her to meet his family; all of his family. Butif he was wrong, the consequences could literally be life-shattering:for him, his parents, his siblings, possibly even the tunnel worlditself. The responsibility was enormous and he was quite simplyafraid to take the risk.

His family seemed aware he needed time for introspection and lefthim alone. He wondered if his mother had told Vincent about theirtalk, and decided she hadn't. Knowing her, she would protect hisfather from painful knowledge as long as she possibly could. Still,Charles doubted his father missed much.

* * * *

"Aunt Cathy?" Carey put his head in the study door. "There's a mandownstairs who says he needs to see you."

Charles didn't bother to look up from the chessboard, where hislack of concentration was resulting in a thorough trouncing at hisfather's hands. His mother received a fair number of visitors andmessengers in the course of her work; such an interruption, even on aSunday, wasn't unusual.

"Did he give his name?" Catherine asked automatically, alreadystarting for the stairs.

"Elliot Burch."

The name sent a mild shock through Charles, who looked up in timeto see his mother hesitate almost imperceptibly. He glanced at hisfather, who was suddenly alert, too.

"Thank you, Carey," Catherine said faintly, and went past him,into the hall.

Carey looked at Vincent quizzically. "Should I go with her?" heasked.

Vincent shook his head. "Catherine and Elliot are old friends.There is no danger."

Carey shrugged and went out. Reining in his racing imagination,Charles tried ineffectually to concentrate on the chess board. It wasa moment before he realized that his father was even more distractedthan he was.

"Father? What is it?"

"I'm not certain." Vincent paused, head tilted a little to oneside. He looked vaguely worried. "Charles, your mother's upset," hesaid suddenly. "Would you go down and be sure she's all right?"

"Of course." Charles moved quickly, pausing only to be sure thestudy door was securely closed before he went down the stairs. Hecould hear someone speaking angrily before he was half-way down, andquickened his step. As he reached the first level, he began to makeout words.

"...done to her!" he heard Elliot say furiously.

"There are difficulties, Elliot. Charles has been trying to workthrough them." His mother spoke calmly, persuasively. The voices camefrom the living room. Charles paused in the hallway.

"Work through them! What in the world can there be to workthrough? Either he loves her or he doesn't! And if he doesn't, thenshe sure as hell deserves to have him tell her! Stringing heralong..."

"That's not true, Elliot, and if you'd calm down, you'd seethat."

Charles could not have moved away from the door if his lifedepended on it.

"What I see is my daughter, hurting." Despite the words, Elliotsounded as if his wrath was fading.

"I've always thought one of the hardest parts of being a parentwas standing by and letting your child stumble through alone, whenall you want is to help." His mother's voice grew more distinct, asif she'd moved closer to the door. "My child is hurting, too,Elliot."

Elliot's voice changed, sounding somehow softer, almost wistful."When Liz came home full of this wonderful man she'd met, and told mewho he was... I could see what she felt for him... she was so full ofhope... and now she's gone."

*Gone? Where?*

As if she could hear Charles's frantic thought, his mother askedthe question aloud. "Where did she go, Elliot?"

"She had an opportunity to go on an archaeological dig. She leftthis morning."

Charles couldn't stop himself; he moved to stand in the doorway."Where is she, sir?"

Elliot stared at him, and Charles didn't need to be an empath tosee the sudden anger flaring up. "She doesn't want to see you," hesaid evenly, controlling his temper.

Charles felt as if someone had hit him. "How long will she begone?" he whispered.

"All summer." Elliot reached in his jacket, coming up with a longwhite envelope. "She left this for you."

Charles accepted the envelope numbly, still trying to graspevents. Elliot was gazing at him with a long, appraising look thatCharles couldn't begin to interpret. At last, Elliot gave a shortnod, as if he had come to a conclusion, and turned away fromCharles.

"I'm sorry I disrupted your Sunday, Cathy," he said stiffly,following her into the hall. "I guess I knew what I was talking aboutwhen I said 'history repeats'."

Charles was still standing in the living room door when his mothercame back from showing Elliot out. "Are you all right?" sheasked.

Charles managed a nod.

"Do you want to talk?"

"No," he said hoarsely. Forcing the single syllable out was moreeffort than usual.

"All right. I'll be upstairs if you need anything," she said. Whenhe didn't reply, she patted his arm and went out.

Charles stood for a long time, just holding the envelope.Eventually, he moved blindly toward a nearby chair, sinking heavilyinto it. Irrationally, a snatch of poetry flitted into his mind. *Sosad, so fresh, the days that are no more*.

Even without opening it, he knew somehow that in the envelope hestill held in his hand was Elizabeth's goodbye to him. Still hehesitated, as if a delay in reading her words would hold back time,make it not so. There was really no other option, though, and at lasthe opened the envelope with trembling hands. It contained only asingle sheet of paper. Unfolding it tenderly, he tipped it toward thewindow to catch the fading light.

* * * *

Dear Charles,

I've always believed that sometimes, things just aren't meant tobe. That belief helped me when my mother died, and I hope it willhelp me now. I've come to realize, over the past two weeks, that Iwas seeing things that weren't truly there.

I've been offered a chance to go on a real dig, and decided Icouldn't pass it up; by the time you read this, I'll be gone. It'sbest this way, Charles, but I'll always cherish the memory of ourfriendship.

Elizabeth

* * * *

It was a perfect summer day. Fluffy white clouds drifted lazilyacross a bright June sky; Charles could see them reflected in theglassy surface of the mirror pool. With a jerky, almost violentmovement he hurled a pebble, breaking the peaceful image into choppyripples. Another stone followed sharply, and another.

"Charles."

His father's voice startled him, but he didn't turn. He didn'tthrow the next pebble, either.

"May I join you?" Vincent asked.

Charles shrugged, fingering the smooth surface of the pebble inhis hand, and didn't answer. His father seemed undisturbed by hissilence, coming to sit beside him. Charles tossed the pebble into thewater, but with less vehemence than before. Somehow his father'spresence soothed him.

"I've always liked to come here," Vincent said presently, gazingup to where the sun streamed in. "To see the sun, the stars..."

"You didn't come here to talk about the sky," Charles interruptedbluntly. He could feel Vincent looking at him.

"No. I didn't." The compassion in that simple statement nibbled atthe barrier Charles had erected between himself and the rest of theworld.

"I can't find her," Charles said at last, shoulders slumping indespair. "I've tried everywhere... The Dean of Women's office saysshe's not coming back to Harvard; they've sent her transcripts to herfather's office. The dig she's on isn't connected with theuniversity, and nobody in the archaeology department knows where shemight be."

His father nodded gravely.

"Her father's office says he's out of the country. They wouldn'ttell me where he is. I even tried to call her brother in Vermont; hesays he hasn't heard from her."

He stopped; his father waited patiently for him to continue.

"I talked to her roommate; Valerie's furious with me, but she sayseven she doesn't know where Liz is."

"Why is she angry, Charles?"

Charles bent his head. He could still hear the echo of Val's fury."If she's dumped you, good!" she'd snapped when Charles called. "Shecared about you, and you didn't even think enough of her to tell yourmother about her!"

"Elizabeth thinks I don't care about her," he admittedfinally.

"That isn't true." Vincent observed gently.

Charles shook his head. "I love her, Father." His shouldersslumped beneath the weight of his despair; his avenues of search wereexhausted, and so was his capacity for joy.

"What am I going to do?" Even to him, the question sounded bleak."Without her, I don't know what to do."

"I know that feeling," Vincent said quietly. "I know how ithurts."

Charles lifted his head. *How can you*? his heart cried. "Mothernever ran away from you," he said with conviction.

"Yes, she did," his father corrected gently. "You mustn't think itwas easy for us, Charles. There came a day when your mother wasunable to carry the burden of our secret any longer. So she wentaway."

Incredulity seeped in to crowd the despair. "What did you do? Didyou try to stop her?"

The look in Vincent's eyes was mildly reproving. "Of course not. Iwould never try to discourage your mother from doing the things shemust do." His voice grew softer. "I thought I would never see heragain."

"But she came back."

"Yes."

Charles rested his forehead on his upraised knees. "Liz isn'tcoming back."

"You can't know that."

"Yes, I can. I wrote her a letter," Charles admitted softly. "Lastnight. It was all I could think to do."

"What did you tell her?"

"That I understood why she was hurt; that I understood why she hadto go. That I cared for her; that I would always care for her... butthat there is a barrier in my life... and that only I can find theway around it. That finding my way around it may take a very longtime. I told her to find someone else, Father. Not to wait for me. Isent it to her father's office, with a note asking him to forward it.He'll be able to get it to her."

Charles looked up, able at last to face the compassion in hisfather's eyes.

"I'm certain he will."

Charles looked across the shimmering surface of the quiet pool,aching with sorrow and loss. At last he'd made peace with himself,and when he spoke again, his words had all his heart behind them. "Ihope she finds happiness."

Somehow, life went on. Summer passed, turning to fall, and autumngave way to winter. The cycles continued despite the sorrows of thosecaught in turmoil; the world went on.

* * * *

Like an old tree uprooted by the wind

And flung down cruelly

With roots bared to the sun and stars

And limp leaves brought to earth --

Torn from its house --

So do I seem to myself

When you have left me.

- Conrad Aiken

The End