She led him seven or eight
miles away from the coast and into the country before turning into a
narrow driveway. They climbed between pines to the top of a short rise
where a small house faced away from the driveway. Suzanne parked in the
carport and got out as Oliver stopped. She waved for him to follow her
and walked around to the front of the house. A screened porch looked
out on a two acre field, a tangle of browns and yellows in the weak
December sun. A rectangle of field near the porch had been made into a
lawn. A flower border separated the lawn from the field.
"Isn't this pretty," Oliver said.
"I guess it'd be easier to live in a condo," she said, "but I like it
out here." The way she said "I" and "out here" was instantly familiar
to Oliver. She was comfortable with being alone, in the company of the
trees and the field. A chickadee flitted to a large bird feeder and
flew back toward the woods. The quiet hammered in Oliver's ears. He
took a deep breath. Suzanne was looking at him in a concerned way. She
was concerned about _him_, he realized--not their future, not their
work, not their child--him.
His knees began to shake. She felt it and moved closer.
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