Chapter 21

We sat like that for a while, until Cecelia got herself upright. "I must fix lunch, Darvin, for if I do not you shall surely starve. Do you have any ideas of what you might wish to eat?"

"I didn't have till you said it, but I do now – some of your famous BLTs."

"Famous in the family, perhaps, but nowhere else. Nevertheless, I shall have them prepared for you shortly. Will you come in now, or remain here?"

"I think I'll set for a bit, C. I still need to get some mad out of my system."

"Then I shall leave you here." She descended the steps and squatted on her heels in front me, and her boneless grace was marvelous to behold. "I love you, my husband." As she leaned forward I could see a couple of threads of gray in her hair, and then she was kissing me – gently, slowly, almost shyly. And then she was on her feet and up the steps and in the door in a sudden rush of movement. I stayed on the steps, looking out over Inez Park, and thinking.

By the time the door opened again behind me, I'd concluded that I was a sorry excuse for a husband. I stood up and turned around, and there was Cecelia, smiling gently. I took her hands and said, "I do apologize, and I do ask for your forgiveness, Cecelia. I know I'm late, but I suppose late is better than never."

She smiled. "It is indeed. And it is just in time for lunch. Come and eat. I have our plates on the counter, lest we get grease on the table."

It was a valid concern. Cecelia toasts the bread for BLTs, and then fries it in the bacon grease, and though it's extremely delicious it's also messy. We sat side by side, far enough away that we didn't bump elbows, and leaned over our plates to keep from getting grease on ourselves. Cecelia uses lots of bacon in her BLTs, fried just crisp enough, and she slices the tomatoes thick, and with the amount of lettuce she piles on top of everything else you don't take a bite of one without opening wide. We chomped steadily, and before we were done we'd each eaten half a dozen sandwiches. I could have eaten one or two more, probably, and I know Cecelia could have, but I saw the cheesecake sitting beside the refrigerator, and knew what dessert would be.

Sure enough, when Cecelia got up and collected our plates, she got clean ones out of the cabinet and cut a slice for each of us. She brought the cheesecake, and forks, back to the dining room side of the counter, and we went to town on dessert. They were hefty slices, not the tiny little wedges you get in a restaurant, and by the time we finished the richness of the cheesecake I knew I was full, and judging from the way Cecelia leaned back and put her hand on her belly she must have been too.

"That was good, C," I said, and got up and grabbed our plates. I carried them around the counter and put them in the sink, and grabbed the sponge with one hand while I turned on the water with the other.

"It was," she said, leaning forward and putting her elbows on the counter. She folded her hands together and rested her chin on them. "What do you think Alison will do?"

The water was now hot enough, and I squirted a little dish soap on the sponge and started washing. "I don't know. She's got every reason to ignore the guy, or tell him to climb a cliff and try to fly. But I think maybe she won't go that route. She seemed softer than before."

"It must be very difficult for her, just knowing that her father is in town. Knowing that he at least claims to have changed, and to desire her forgiveness, will no doubt be a serious strain for her."

"Yeah." While we were talking I was washing things, and putting them in the drainer beside the sink. "It's a wonder she don't go nuts."

"I suppose she experienced as much of insanity as she ever will, in those first years, when first her father and then a parade of strangers knew her in ways that must have tortured her soul."

"So if that didn't wreck her mind, this probably won't?"

"That is my diagnosis. Of course, I am not qualified in that area, as you know; my training has not extended to psychology or psychotherapy. But I believe that she has survived the worst she ever will have to survive, and that this, as difficult as it is, will be a lesser trial."

"I hope you're right. I ain't qualified either. Probably only Alan has any clue what she's going through."

"One thing I am absolutely confident of is his faithfulness. After what he has endured on her behalf, the possibility that he will abandon her in this simply does not exist."

I was done with the dishes, and dried my hands on the towel that hung beneath the cupboard that suspended from the ceiling. "That's a true fact. But then he loved her since they were kids, and when she was on the street, and when she disappeared, so this might be a bit easier for him."

"I have tried," Cecelia said, "to imagine what I would go through if you found yourself in some such situation. And I cannot. Perhaps it is impossible to imagine such things – the best you can do is survive them if they arise. And that I do not wish to do; I would rather forego the experience altogether."

"Anybody with a brain wants to avoid that kind of thing. And if you've got anything, C, it's a brain."

"A brain, yes – good looks, an attractive figure, a pleasant face, no." She was smiling at me – no, grinning.

"A brain, and all the other stuff too. Maybe nobody else thinks you're much, though the men in Old Town seemed to like you, but then it's my opinion that counts, ain't it?"

Though she did not change her position or her expression, I saw her face get slowly darker, and I knew I'd embarrassed her. "You are indeed an evil man, Darvin. But for once I shall permit your evil to exist without reprisal; I must admit that my childish vanity finds that attention flattering. I have so seldom been the object of men's attention that the memory of that promenade around the plaza is highly pleasant, and will stay with me for a long time."