mber day； a bright and promising robin's egg in a dried
twig nest。 Her pulse pounded as she pulled in behind it； slid out of her
car； and； pulling her navy pea coat closed； approached the door。
All was winter silent； such that the heels of her leather boots sounded
abnormally loud on the flagstone walk。 The grass bordering the walk was
aged and dying； the lilac forlornly naked。 But Anne felt alive as she
knocked on the door。
When there was no answer； she imagined him in the kitchen； and knocked
harder。
Still； silence。
But his car was there。 She wondered if he had broken habit and gone for
an earlier hike。 She tried the doorknob； but it didn't budge。 Finally；
she banged on the door with a full fist。
It opened then； and she knew he'd been asleep。 He was bleary…eyed；
unshaven； mussed of hair； and rumpled…looking in an old shirt； tails
hanging low over wrinkled jeans。 He was as tall and lean as she
remembered； though not quite as enthusiastic as she had hoped。
She swallowed doitch。〃
〃Where in the hell have you been？〃 he bellowed。 〃I was thinking of
sending the troops out。〃
If not for his gruffness； Anne might have hugged him。 Only then did she
realize how much she had wanted to see him。 〃I'm sorry。 I didn't leave
the city until this morning。〃
〃Why not？ You knew I'd be arriving yesterday。〃
〃No； I didn't。〃
Tho