Jacob was on his way to the hospital when the news broke over his Walkman. The
injured hiker had been identified and returned to her family. When the new
jockey gave her name as "Angela Trelawney," he went one way and his board went
the other.
"Nice move, dude!" a couple of passing teen queens hooted.
He picked himself up and raced back to his room at the inn. Setting up his
notepad, he quickly hacked into the hospital computers.
"Angela Trelawney. Spouse: Sean Trelawney. Address: 181 Ventura Street,
Seattle."
'Why would they pull something like this when they could just have her arrested
again?' Jacob wondered.
He dialed the number listed in her hospital records, fully expecting to be
politely informed that the number was either disconnected or wrong. What he got
was Trelawney's voice on an answering machine.
Jacob held the receiver at arm's length and stared at it, slack-jawed.
"What the hell?" he whispered.
Angela had to admit, it was a pretty house. The prairie-style home spread out
across the hilly landscape, half a mile off the road. Discreetly placed lights
had illumined the drive and house upon their approach, accenting the perfect
geometric angles of the architecture in relation to the undulating curves of the
Washington countryside.
Trelawney put the Range Rover in park and hopped out to open the door for his
wife. He held her hand as they climbed the stone steps to the entrance, where
he whooshed a laughing Angela off her feet and over the threshold.
"What are you doing?!"
"Making a memory," he said with a smile. He carried her into the living room
and set her down. "You don't remember the first time I did this, so I thought
I'd refresh your recollection."
His arms were still around her and she found herself staring into his hazel
eyes. In the sudden silence, he leaned in for a kiss. When she returned it, he
clasped her tighter, and her arms wrapped around him.
She pulled away.
"I - I'm sorry. I'm not ready yet."
He cleared his throat. "I understand."
"Um. I'm going to take a bath."
He turned away. "Okay."
"Um?"
He looked over his shoulder.
"Where's the bathroom?"
"Oh. It's off our room. Top of the stairs, bathroom's on the left, next to the
fireplace."
"Thanks."
He watched her retreat up the staircase. He figured one hundred push-ups ought
to take care of it.
Angela emerged from the bathroom wearing a berry-colored silk chemise. As it so
happened, Trelawney had made sure that all of her sleepwear came from Victoria's
Secret. There were no flannel pyjamas to be found in the house.
He was already between the sheets and had a fire going in the fireplace. She
padded over to the opposite side of the queen-sized bed and slipped under the
covers. She closed her eyes, and a small sigh escaped her.
"Tired?" he asked.
"No. It's just good to be home."
He lay down on his side, facing her, one arm under his head.
"I feel like I haven't been home in ages, you know?" she continued.
"Mm-hmm." He reached out and her eyes flew open. "No, I just want to hold
you," he assured her.
He inched forward and pulled her gently into his arms. Within five minutes, she
was asleep.