“Three years,” she answered him about how long she'd worked on the news. “I used to do specials, and two-hour movies. I'm in production. But then I got this chance to work on the news …” Her voice drifted of as though she still wasn't sure of it, and he wondered why.

“Do you like it?”

“Sometimes. It's pretty grim sometimes, and it gets to me.” She shrugged as though apologizing for some intrinsic weakness.

“It would get to me too. I don't think I could do it. I'd much rather make it all up …murder and rape and incest. The good wholesome stuff America loves.” He grinned again and leaned on his bike as she laughed and for an instant, barely more than that, she looked carefree and happy, the way she had the first time he'd seen her.

“Are you a writer?” She wasn't sure why she was asking him, but it was easy to talk to him and she had nothing else to do early on this Sunday morning.

“Yes, I am,” he answered her. “But I don't write the show very often anymore. I just kibitz from the sidelines.” She hadn't figured out that he was the originator of the show and he didn't want to tell her.

“It must be fun. I used to want to write, a long time ago, but I'm better at the production end.” Or at least that was what Steven said, but as soon as she thought of him, her eyes got sad again, and as he watched her, Bill saw it.

“I'll bet you'd be fine at it, if you tried it. Most people think writing is a big mystery, like math, but it really isn't.” But as he talked to her, he could almost see her drift away, back into her initial sadness. And for an instant, neither of them spoke as he watched her, and then she shook her head, forcing herself to think about writing again, to keep her mind off Steven.

“I don't think I could write.” She looked at him so sadly then, he wanted to reach out to her and touch her.

“Maybe you should try it. It's a tremendous release sometimes …” for whatever all that is, roaming around inside you and making you sad. He sent all his good thoughts to her, but he couldn't say anything. They were strangers, after all, and he could hardly ask her what it was that was making her so unhappy.

She opened her car door then, and looked back up at him before she got into the MG. It was almost as though she was sorry to leave him, but she didn't know what else to say to him. The small talk was wearing thin, and she thought she should move on, but she didn't really want to. “See you again sometime …” she said quietly as he nodded.

“I hope so.” He smiled, defying her wedding band, which was rare for him, but she was a rare girl. Without even knowing her, he knew that.

And as she drove away, he stood holding his mountain bike and watched her.





STEVEN CALLED HER AT HOME FINALLY TWO DAYS later before she left for work. By then, she was desperate to hear from him, and her spirits soared when she heard his voice, and then plummeted when he told her he needed his other razor.