Rebirth
Thursday, September 21, 2000
The sun had risen that morning, a sphere of fire oppressing the countryside. The air was so hot, you could see the dew on the grass turning to steam before your eyes. Taking even the shallowest of breaths left you feeling as if you had inhaled a flame.
Jim walked from his bathroom into his bedroom, a towel wrapped snugly around his hips, droplets of water lying still across his back. Jim's morning ritual was always the same and on any normal day, he would mindlessly wander through it.
Comb hair, think about Trixie.
Brush teeth, wonder where Trixie is.
Get dressed, imagine Trixie standing next to him.
Mope.
But not today. Today was different. Today was the day. The day he would talk to Trixie. He wasn't foolish enough to believe they would ride off into the blazing sunset together, but he was hopeful the day would end without any bloodshed between them. As he finished his morning ritual, he retrieved the clothes he'd laid out before showering and started dressing himself with more resolve than anything else he'd done over the past nine months.
Today was the day he would talk to Trixie. Whether she liked it, or not.
*~*R*~*
"I'm leaving now, Trixie." Helen peeked her head into her daughter's bedroom.
Trixie had come home early for the weekend to stay with Helen while Peter was out of town, arriving that morning prepared for a laundry marathon. Looking up from her sorting, she smiled. "Ok, Moms," she said. "I'm going to start on these and then I'm going to walk down to the Clubhouse for a while."
Helen nodded her understanding and walked to the end of the hall so she could begin the slow decent down the stairs. Her expanded waistline made climbing difficult, but she couldn't bring herself to yell up the stairs, even when Bobby wasn't in the house to howl about the hypocrisy of it all. She reached the bottom of the stairs and tried to stretch her back, though her higher center of gravity made it difficult to stay upright.
She walked to the front door, grabbing her purse and keys along the way. When she stepped outside, she was startled to see the form of Jim Frayne, pacing her driveway while apparently arguing with himself.
She swallowed a chuckle and unlocked the door she had just closed.
She yelled down the driveway, "Jim, did you need something?" She changed her expression so her face was washed in motherly sympathy and showed no signs of her previous humor.
Jim jerked around. He felt the red stain of a blush stealing its way up his neck and died a thousand deaths when he realized Trixie's mother had found him pacing the driveway and muttering to himself.
He walked up the driveway and ran up the steps. "I was just coming to see Trixie," he said quickly. "Honey told me she'd be home today," he continued, stammering in his haste to explain why he was stalking Helen's daughter.
Helen smiled warmly at the boy. No, not a boy anymore, she thought to herself wistfully. "Trixie just got home a few minutes ago. She's inside if you'd like to see her," she said, opening the door behind her for him.
Jim looked past her into the house. Funny, he'd never considered Crabapple Farm to be intimidating, but right now it wasn't looking much better than a Turkish prison. "Oh, well, if she just got home, maybe I'll come back later," he said. He started backing slowly away from the door with the idea that he would retreat and form a new plan that would be a little less humiliating. Or he could just change his name and his face and move far, far away. Decisions, decisions.
Helen recognized the look of abject terror in his green eyes and leaped forward with surprising agility for a woman in the latter months of pregnancy. She grabbed his arm before he could escape and pulled him towards the door. "Don't be silly, Jim," she said with a wicked smile, "she's right inside. I'm sure she'd love to see you." She propelled him inside the house and pulled the door behind her. "Have a nice visit, dear," she said, closing the door quickly before he could object.
Resting one hand on her belly and the other on the railing of the porch, she lumbered down the steps with a giggle. She liked Jim and she liked Trixie with Jim. She thought they were good for each other and, even if she didn't push them together, she was more than happy to open the door - literally and figuratively. Despite Peter's own hesitations towards Jim Frayne.
"Well, what does he know anyway?" she asked no one in particular. With a toss of her curls, she situated herself in the car and was backing down the driveway in no time.
Once inside, Jim stood still for several minutes, allowing the house to get used to his presence. He was worried that even simply breathing would knock everything off balance and the world would collapse in on him.
"Girls," he said with a heavy a sigh, before trudging up the stairs.
He stopped at the top of the stairs, not sure what he should do. Walk by her open door and see if she says anything? He did some neck circles, rolled his shoulders and shook his arms a little to loosen up. "What am I expecting? 'Oh hi, haven't seen you in a while. What brings you here?' More like 'AAUUGGGHHH! Get out of my house, you perv!'" he muttered to himself. With one last resigned sigh, he started the long trek to her door.
Trixie stood next to her bed sorting an Everest sized pile of clothes. She heard footsteps outside her door and called out, "Did you forget something, Moms?" There was no answer except the darkening of her door. She looked up, startled, and screeched before she realized who it was.
Jim jumped a little at her screech and looked behind him, even though he knew he was the one who had startled her. He fell against the door jam and bent slightly at the waist, trying to get his breathing back to normal. When his throat had loosened its hold on his heart and let it migrate back to his chest he looked up and noticed Trixie sitting on her bed, her head between her knees. "Are you okay?" he asked, walking into the room uninvited.
"I'm fine." The mumbled response came from somewhere beneath the jumbled array of curls. She sat like that for another moment before lifting her head. "What on earth are you doing here?" she demanded.
Her face was red, either from having it between her knees for so long or from anger. "I wanted to talk to you," he replied lamely.
"There's this really nifty invention called a phone," she replied tartly. "And an even better one called a doorbell. Ever heard of it?"
Her words stung, but he was determined to get things resolved and the only way that would happen was if he was able to hold on to his temper.
He put his hands in his pockets and tried his best to look contrite. "Sorry. Your mom was leaving when I got here and she told me to just come in. And I've tried calling, but for some reason I can never get you on the phone," he said with emphasis.
She could tell he knew she was avoiding him. She sighed inwardly. All she wanted was to do her laundry, spend the weekend with her mom study and go back to school. She didn't have the time or energy for some big dramatic scene with Jim. "I'm kind of busy right now." She stood up and began sorting again, subtly throwing a t-shirt over all her girly underthings.
"Well I'll help," he said, reaching for the first item in the pile. "Where does this go?" he asked, holding the red t-shirt up for her to see.
She took it from him wordlessly and threw it in the pile of red clothes before she went back to her own sorting.
Trying to be helpful, Jim grabbed a white sock and threw it into the same pile. With a sigh, Trixie reached down and put it on top of her pile of unmentionables. Or unseeables, as they were in this case. With a furrowed brow, Jim decided to stick with his strengths. He searched the pile for something red; when his eyes lighted on something in that shade, he reached for it and pulled out a red lacy bra.
Watching him surreptitiously, Trixie's eyes widened in alarm. She grabbed the offending garment from his hands and threw it into the pile herself. "Stop it!" she shouted. "Just go away, ok?" She was trying to decide if she should be angry or amused and finally settled on a mixture of the two. "You're not helping," she said with a reluctant grin.
Jim threw his hands up in resignation. "Fine, I don't want anything to do with your dirty laundry anyway. But I'm not going anywhere until you and I have talked." He walked the short distance across the room and sat on the extra twin bed. He leaned back against the wall and folded his hands across his chest, preparing himself for a long wait.
Trixie turned back to her clothes. "All I want is to have clean clothes," she muttered to herself. "Is that really so wrong?"
She continued sorting and continued muttering, ignoring the feel of his eyes boring into her back between her shoulder blades.
Finally she had everything sorted into piles. She picked up the first pile and started walking out of the room. She turned around and glared at Jim. "If I come back and you're sniffing my underwear, I'm going to hurt you," she said before turning and flouncing out the door.
Jim's jaw dropped and his face turned red. He rose from the bed and stalked around the room. He felt like a caged animal and the circle he was walking felt as if it were getting smaller and smaller. He looked at the piles of clothes on the bed and rummaged through them until the scraps of satin and lace were prominently displayed on or near the tops of the piles. Just enough so that she would know he'd messed with them. He knew it was petty, but she deserved it after that comment.
Hearing footsteps outside the room, he dove back on the bed, trying to recreate his former nonchalant appearance.
Trixie walked back into the room. She looked from one bed to the other, from him to her clothes. She noticed the rearranged piles and ran over to them. "I know you did this to annoy me," she said through gritted teeth as she shoved the previously unseen lingerie back to the bottom of their respective piles. She turned to look at him and just glared when she saw him trying unsuccessfully to hide a grin.
"Oh, come on, Trix. You know you deserved that," he said with a boyish grin.
With an aggrieved sigh, she walked back to her bedroom door and turned to look at him. "Well, are you coming?" she asked shortly.
Jim scrambled up from the bed and joined her at the door. "Where are we going?" he asked.
"If you're going to follow me around all day, then I'm putting you to work," she said ominously.
Fifteen minutes later, Jim found himself inside the Clubhouse, a bottle of window cleaner in one hand and a pile of newspaper sitting next to him, wondering what he'd gotten himself into.
Trixie was sweeping the area where they kept their sports gear. "So talk," she said simply.
Jim started spraying the glass. "Well . . ." he began, taken aback. He was expecting more of a discussion and less of a monologue. Taking a deep breath, he dove right in. "I was wondering what your opinion on the state of our relationship was, and if you thought we would be spending the rest of our lives avoiding each other the way we have for the past few months." He spoke as if asking a question at a board meeting. But it was either that or him on his knees, crying on her feet asking her to please, please, please not hate him anymore. He figured he could start formal and move on to groveling later, if necessary.
Trixie concentrated on the corners of the room, trying to clear them of dust. Pretty soon winter would sneak up on them and they would be far too busy to clean out the former gatehouse, so it was good they were doing it today.
"I don't know," she said finally.
Jim mentally bashed his head against the wall. He wanted to scream at her, Dialogue, Dialogue! "Have you given it any thought?" he asked instead.
Trixie shrugged, still not meeting his eyes. "Sure," she said.
Jim looked back at the window he had been cleaning and rolled his eyes. The warm sun had dried half of the cleaner onto the window, leaving impossible to remove streaks down the center. He sprayed the glass one more time and started over. "Did you come to any conclusions?" he asked. He held his breath, not knowing what her answer might be.
Trixie sighed and reached behind her for the dustpan she'd set on the table. "Not really," she said. "I mean, I tried to. Some days I thought I should avoid you completely. Other days I thought about throwing myself at your feet and asking you to take me back."
Jim's jerked his head around to look behind him. Was she serious? Seeing that she was, his eyes widened.
She smiled a wry grin. "Yeah, I know. Crazy, huh?" Not waiting for an answer, she picked up the now-full dustpan and emptied it into the trash. "I pretty much decided I was just going to avoid it until it all went away," she said with a shrug.
Jim considered that while he wiped away the streaks. "I thought of doing that," he said slowly.
Trixie turned to look at him. "What made you decide to change your mind?" she asked.
He stepped back to admire the sparkling window. When he was satisfied with the job he had done, he turned and faced her. "I missed you," he said simply. "And I was wondering if you missed me, too."
"Is that why you won't leave me alone?" she asked, smiling to take some of the sting out of the accusation.
Jim's expression stayed somber. "Yeah," he said.
While talking, they both moved around the snug room, dusting and straightening, polishing and organizing.
"Did you think stalking me would make me fall into your arms?" she asked. There was no hint of accusation in her voice, just curiosity.
"I wasn't trying to get you to fall into my arms," he replied. "I just wanted to know where we stood."
Not waiting for her reply, he continued, "You know Trixie, we were friends first. If I had known we could lose that, I never would have asked for anything else from you," he said.
"You expect me to still be your friend after the way you dumped me?" she asked. Her voice rose almost to the levels of her eyebrows. She couldn't believe the nerve of him!
"Wait just one minute," he said, rushing to defend himself. "I never dumped you," he said forcefully. "All I asked was that we slow things down a little. If you'll remember, you jumped out of my car and didn't speak to me again for four months. I tried to talk to you. I tried to explain myself. I ended up in jail defending you."
He stopped abruptly, knowing his words were being fueled by anger and frustration. He turned away from her and walked outside for a minute. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. After a minute, he walked back inside.
Trixie was leaning over the table they used for meetings, scrubbing it to within an inch of its life. She didn't look up at him. "I never asked you to defend me," she said forcefully. "If you'll recall, I got you out of trouble, so don't try to guilt trip me about that." She kept scrubbing with a renewed vigor.
"I know. And I thank you for that," he said quietly. "It could have caused me a lot of trouble."
Trixie jerked one shoulder to acknowledge him. "Believe it or not, I don't want bad things to happen to you, Jim." She threw the rag she was using into her bag of cleaning supplies and sat down at the table. "I'm sorry, ok?" It wasn't a question, but a statement. "I was angry and sad and, well, I felt a lot of stuff. But then when that was gone, I just felt . . ."
He sat down across from her. "Felt what?" he whispered.
"Broken." It was more a sigh than a spoken word and the hopelessness of those few dark months came back over Trixie in waves. "It wasn't your fault, really. I was just too wrapped up into our relationship to function outside of it." She looked him in the eye. "That really scared me. And then anytime I saw you, I felt overwhelmed and broken all over again."
Jim rested his head on his hand. "Do you still feel broken when you see me?" he asked.
"Sometimes," she said honestly. "But not as often."
"That's good."
"I should have talked to you before now. I just wasn't sure what to say," she trailed off. It was apparent she still wasn't sure what to say.
Jim sat across from her, also at a loss for words. He said the only thing he could think of. "I love you, Trixie."
Her mouth turned up in the corner. "I don't hate you, Jim. There are even times when I like you," she said with an impish grin, her eyes sparkling. "Why don't we go slow, and just be friends" she suggested.
Jim smiled his first real smile since the beginning of the year. "That sounds good," he said.
*~*R*~*
Helen drove carefully down Main Street. The baby was moving an awful lot today and her back was aching more than usual. She knew she should be at home resting, but she hated the feeling of helplessness that came over her when she lacked the energy to do the things she was normally able to do. She fervently hoped the energy loss was pregnancy-related and not due to old age.
She patted her stomach lovingly. "I hope you don't mind having old people for parents, sweetie," she said with a smile.
She pulled up to a four-way stop and was looking both ways when the baby kicked particularly hard.
"Oomph," she said, doubling over slightly. She looked down at the bulge beneath her blouse. "What do you want?" she asked with exasperation.
Behind her, she heard an impatient honk. Blushing, she raised her hand in acknowledgement and began through the stop sign.
She didn't see the truck barreling towards her. She didn't hear the horn blaring or the shouts of the pedestrians witnessing the crash. She only heard the horrible sound of metal grinding against metal and her own cries before she lost consciousness.
*~*R*~*
Trixie and Jim walked back to the farm in a companionable silence. Things were still new between them and the thin layer of friendship they'd rebuilt was fragile. Jim carried the cleaning supplies up the steps and held the door open for Trixie.
When they walked in, they were met with a cacophony of noise. The house phones were ringing and Trixie's cell phone was vibrating and chirping. She ran to the house phone first and picked it up, breathless. "Hello?" she shouted into the receiver.
Jim watched as her sun-kissed skin turned a pale white.
"What? An accident?" she demanded.
Jim's brow furrowed and he set the supplies down. He walked over to Trixie and stood there impatiently waiting for her to get off the phone.
"Ok. Yes, ok. I will," she said while scribbling notes onto the plain white pad that sat next to the phone. "Ok, thanks. Bye," she said as she hung the phone up.
"What's wrong?" Jim asked grimly. He knew Peter had gone to Washington for a conference. Had something happened with his flight? Were Mart and Brian injured at school? Bobby was in school as well and, well, anything was possible with Bobby.
Trixie turned to look at him, her jaw slack and tears forming in her eyes. "Moms was in an accident," she said. She bit her lip, trying to stop the steady flow of tears coursing down her cheeks. "That was Daddy on the phone. He's trying to get a flight home right away, but he wants me to try to get in touch with Mart and Brian and to be here when Bobby gets home," she said, her voice quivering.
"Is she okay?" Jim asked. What if something horrible happened to Moms. What if something happened to the baby? How would Trixie react?
"She's in the hospital. That's all I know," she said. She kneaded her lip between her teeth until she thought she might gnaw a hole straight through it. She stared at the door, wishing she could run to her mother and be comforted and reassured that everything was fine.
"Trixie." When she didn't look at him, Jim spoke a little louder, "Trixie."
She stared at him dumbly. "Huh?"
"Do you want me to get Ms. Trask to wait here for Bobby? Then we can go to the hospital."
Trixie's eyes lit at the suggestion. "Yes. Let's go," she said, running out of the simple farmhouse as quickly as she could.
They ran up the hill to Manor House. While Jim ran inside, Trixie stood by the car and called Brian. She told him all she knew and asked him to call Mart while she waited for Jim and Ms. Trask.
Both came out of the house at the same time, Jim at a dead run with Ms. Trask walking briskly behind him.
"Don't you worry about a thing, dear," she told Trixie. "And be sure to call when you have any news," she reminded her.
Trixie nodded her assent and dove into the car as soon as the door was unlocked.
The ride into town was silent, but unlike the silence of earlier, this one was thick with worry. Trixie phoned her brothers and spoke with each of them briefly, leaving them with nothing more than a promise to call with whatever news there might be.
They pulled into the parking lot of the hospital and both were seemingly out of the car and running into the front of the large Victorian building before the car had even stopped.
Jim followed Trixie to the front desk. "Where is my mom?" she demanded breathlessly.
The volunteer stared at her for a moment before answering. "Catch your breath. When you do, tell me what your mother's name is. Then, I might be able to help you," she snapped before returning to the paperwork she was filing.
Trixie took a deep breath, ready to rain down a shower of obscenities this woman had never even dreamed existed, when Jim spoke up, also out of breath. "Helen Belden, please. She was in a car accident earlier today and was brought here." He smiled at her, hoping it would thaw her cold, cruel heart.
She reluctantly moved to the computer and began typing commands onto the keyboard, giving Trixie the evil eye the entire time.
She looked at Jim, pointedly ignoring Trixie. "She's been moved up to Labor and Delivery. Second floor, west wing." She turned away from them and went back to her filing.
Trixie was shocked. "Labor and Deliver?" she asked.
Apparently thinking it was a rhetorical question, the volunteer ignored her. If they had any further questions, they would have to find someone else to answer them.
Trixie and Jim raced for the elevators. Trixie jabbed the up arrow until she heard the distinctive ding of the bell signaling their ride was there.
On the second floor, they found kinder, gentler help in the form of a nurse. "Your mother has some bumps and bruises and she's probably going to be pretty sore for a while," she explained gently. "She started having contractions, so we're monitoring her. Most likely, she'll be having the baby today," the nurse said.
She looked at Trixie expectantly, waiting for her to ask questions. She was mildly surprised when Jim spoke up. "Is the baby okay? I mean, it's not done yet, is it?" he asked awkwardly.
The nurse fought against the smile that was threatening her lips. "Thirty-six weeks is a little early. But at this point, not knowing if there is any other trauma suffered during the accident, it's best if we go ahead and deliver," she replied.
"Would you like to go in and stay with her?" she asked, looking from one to the other.
Jim backed away. "You go ahead, Trix. I'll go back downstairs and wait for your dad. When he gets here, I can bring him right up without going through Miss Smiley downstairs," he said with a wry grin.
Trixie nodded at Jim, handed him her phone and watched him walk back through the ward and out the double doors. "Ok, I'll go in and be with her," Trixie said, wiping her sweaty hands on her jeans and following the nurse into her mother's room.
She peeked around the corner, not sure what to expect. Her mother was lying in the bed, her normally fair skin looking battered and bruised.
Trixie walked in slowly, worried that if she moved too quickly the disruption of the air currents would somehow hurt her mother. "Moms?" she asked tentatively.
Helen opened her eyes and smiled serenely. "Trixie. I was worried about you," she said simply. She reached for the hand her daughter offered and squeezed it gently.
Trixie choked out a laugh. "Worried about me? I wasn't the one doing my NASCAR impression," she said jokingly.
Helen laughed. "I don't know what came over me," she said. She grimaced and squeezed Trixie's hand a little harder.
"Are you okay?" Trixie asked. "Should I get a nurse or a doctor or something?"
Helen breathed deeply, but shook her head. Less than a minute later, she was relaxed again. "That was a strong one," she said. "Have you heard from your father?" she asked.
"No, not since he called at the farm. He said he was trying to get on a flight when I talked to him, but I haven't heard from him since. Jim's waiting downstairs for him so that he can tell him where we are," she said.
Helen grimaced again and took several deep breaths. "Bobby?" she asked between breaths.
"Ms. Trask is at the farm waiting for him," Trixie said. "I told her I would call when I had news."
They sat in silence for what seemed like hours, Helen's face contorting in pain every few minutes, Trixie watching her mother's body tense and change with a mix of curiosity and horror.
Doctors and nurses had been wandering in and out periodically, but when they started coming with more frequency and setting up equipment in the room, Trixie began to get more and more nervous.
"Um, well, I guess I should wait outside," she said, nervously watching as a doctor checked her mother and announced she was ready to push.
Helen looked at Trixie with exasperation. "Where are you going?" she asked, amused at her daughter's expression.
Trixie pointed with her thumb over her shoulder to the door behind her. "I was going to wait outside," she said, hoping her mother wasn't thinking what she thought she was thinking.
"Nuh uh. You're not going anywhere," she said, her face twisting in pain. "Get over here," she said between gritted teeth.
Not one to disobey orders from a woman obviously possessed, Trixie went straight to her mother's side. "What do I do?" she asked simply.
The kind nurse from the hallway answered. "Just hold her hand for now. She may want to squeeze pretty hard," she added.
Before Trixie understood what was going on, her mother was pushing and she had become a cheerleader. The nurse counted to ten, in a manner that Trixie thought was unnecessarily and cruelly slow, and then Helen leaned back and rested.
The bustle in the room increased ten-fold. Doctors and nurses were moving in and out, around and through each other, as if they were dancers in a musical production of controlled chaos.
Helen squeezed Trixie's hand again and began pushing. On the count of five, a new dancer joined them as Peter ran into the room, his tie gone and his hair askew from the constant clutching of the past few hours.
"I'm here," he said, out of breath. He grabbed Helen's other hand from the nurse and leaned forward to kiss her forehead.
"It's about damn time," she said, face red from exertion and her serene disposition all but vanished.
"All right, Helen," the doctor said. "Give me a big push and we'll have a baby."
Helen leaned forward and, mustering energy she didn't know she had, pushed as hard and for as long as she could. Trixie counted with the nurse, Peter encouraged her, Helen yelled and finally, when it was all over, the doctor placed the squealing, squirming, five-and-a-half pound lump of a baby on Helen's chest.
The Beldens welcomed their newest member into the family, oblivious to the medical commotion that surrounded them. The doctors and nurses took care of Helen and the baby while Trixie and Peter cooed at the newborn.
Her voice lowered in reverent awe, Trixie asked, "What's her name?"
Helen and Peter smiled. "Eleanor, this is your big sister, Trixie," Peter said.
Trixie screwed her nose up in distaste. "Eleanor?" she asked, unbelieving.
"What's wrong with Eleanor?" Peter asked, annoyed.
Trixie sighed and leaned down to take her sister's hand between her fingers. "Don't worry, Ellie. If anyone understands the pain of having a family moniker, it's me. I won't let them call you that hideous name," she said with a smile.
Giving her parents some time alone together, Trixie left the room with a promise to both of them that she would call all interested parties.
She stepped out into the hall, completely drained and not entirely sure of where she was going or what she was doing.
Jim was sitting in a chair outside the door and hopped up as soon as he saw her. "Well?" he asked expectantly.
She smiled widely. "I have a sister!" she squealed.
She reached for her phone, but her hands where shaking so much she couldn't hold onto it. Instead, Jim grabbed her hand and tucked it into the crook of his arm. "Let's go outside and get some fresh air," he suggested. "You can call Brian and Mart on the way and I'll give Ms. Trask a call."
They began their descent to the first floor and by the time the elevator doors opened, Trixie had stopped shaking. She walked numbly outside the hospital, calling both brothers and giving them the information she had. She left them both with a promise that someone would call later with more.
When they were both finished relaying messages all over New York, they found a picnic table under a shade tree. The parking lot across the lawn was bustling with activity and an ambulance sang its dissonant melody as it weaved through the streets, the promise of help moving audibly closer with every wail of the siren.
But neither of them noticed the activity, the people, or the noise.
Trixie sat down, completely sapped of energy. She hadn't said anything to Jim since walking out of the hospital, unable to verbalize her feelings.
Jim slid onto the bench across from her. He moved slowly and quietly, watching her with a renewed sense of curiosity. Trixie's emotions were generally very intense and they shone through her features. She was extremely sad or extremely happy. Extremely angry or extremely silly. But to see her unable to comprehend her own emotions was something entirely new.
She crossed her arms and laid them against the table in front of her. Wordlessly, she leaned forward and rested her chin on her arms. She started to say something then stopped. How do you explain in words something you don't yourself understand?, she wondered.
Jim watched without saying anything. He didn't push her; just let her try to process her thoughts into words.
"That was amazing," she finally said. "I just can't even explain it. I didn't do anything, but I'm so drained. It's the most perfect moment, where all the bad is forgiven and all evil in the world is erased ever so briefly. There's another human on this earth and the weary spirits have something else to rejuvenate themselves. There's so much life." She looked up at him, her eyes glistening with tears.
He didn't understand. Not having experienced it himself, he couldn't possibly. But she had, and he could feel the promise and the hope radiating off of her. "I know we said we were going to take it slow, but would you object if I kissed you right now?" he asked quietly.
"Not right now, I wouldn't," she said with a shy smile.
Jim leaned forward, his forearms resting on the table between them. Trixie lifted her head from its resting place on her arms and closed her eyes. Jim tilted his head just slightly to the right. He closed his eyes and, with one small movement, erased the space between them.
The End