I was going to have to take precautions for this trip. Russ had been calling every couple of weeks to update me on the NSB's hunt for Oscar. In case the phone was bugged, he made it sound like he was simply filling me in, but he knew I could report back to Oscar if necessary. Fortunately, it wasn't necessary. It went just as Oscar had predicted. After about a month of a full on search, the Secretary wanted to know why so many resources were being used to hunt a retired civil servant with an impeccable record – and the hunt was called off.

But I still couldn't quite believe the NSB would give up so easily. It wasn't like them. I was certain they had been watching me closely, and as far as I knew some guy in a black suit was still hiding in the bushes at the ranch. I told Helen and Jim I was going to San Diego to see a college friend and I roped my friend and fellow teacher Betty in on another little bit of subterfuge. She knew I did occasional work for the government and (being an avid reader of Jean Le Carré novels) she was thrilled to assist – even though she had absolutely no clue what I was up to. After I'd made the arrangements, she picked up my rental car and drove it into the parking garage of her apartment in town. I dropped my car off there, and took the rental out of the alley exit. If anyone was following me, I hoped that small ruse would be enough to give them the slip. I also tied my hair up and made Max lie down in the back seat for good measure.

I did all the things that make road trips a pleasure. I ate in greasy truck stops that featured great hamburgers and the inevitable "world famous" pies, I made unscheduled stops on side roads to walk Max, I bought rolls of Lifesavers and bags of potato chips and left the debris on the floor of the car, I admired the views, I sang along to the radio, I slept in tidy little motels run by kindly people just dying for a chat. None of it really sunk in. My brain refused to stop grinding away over and over again on the same topics – Oscar, Oscar and me, life and me, life and Oscar and me… What if I got there and found that I had invented this lovesickness I was feeling? What if he had reservations I hadn't thought of? And after all that – there was still the precipice. So we acknowledge our feelings for each other, THEN what? Life – what would life look like? I almost turned the car around three times.

At least that concentrated time alone (Max is not much of a conversationalist) produced one bit of clarity. I did not want to spend the rest of my life teaching. It's amazing how your head can fight your heart and obscure the truth from you for a long time. When I allowed myself to express the thought I might be getting sick of teaching out loud, the truth of it was undeniable. I spent so much energy on lesson planning, marking, planning field trips and extra curricular activities, attending staff meetings – when all I've ever really wanted to do was help people, face to face. So often I didn't feel like I was helping anybody. It felt more like crowd management. When I got my degree I was really thinking of it as a back up to my tennis career – a safety net. But when teaching became my whole future, it felt stifling.

I'm embarrassed to say that for a moment or two I as angry at Helen. She's one of my greatest allies and I love her dearly, but she pushed the teaching thing … she comes from an era when girls became teachers or nurses, and boys became policemen and firemen and astronauts. My own parents would have pushed me harder – especially my Mother – but you can't blame other people for your choices in life, and of course I've loved teaching, so I stopped being mad at Helen pretty quickly.

Somewhere in Idaho, when I turned my thoughts back to Oscar, I decided I would tell him that Russ had sent me to say that the search was off. That way I could assess my feelings for him without having to pour my heart out immediately upon arrival. It felt devious - but necessary.

I hit the Montana border early on the third day, and decided to blast right through to the lake. Just after lunch in Missoula, I got caught behind a very large, very stinky truck with "My-T-Fine" emblazoned the back. There was a lot of traffic going the other way (a whole fleet of motor homes) so I was forced to hang back behind Mr. My-T-Fine, nearly dying of frustration, going ten miles an hour slower than the speed limit. Worse yet, the black smoke that belched from the back of that thing wafted through the air vents even when I'd closed them, and after half an hour I felt sick and headachy. I should have pulled over and let him get a good distance in front of me, but there was no way I was going to stop.

By the time I arrived in Polson three hours later, I was a bit of a mess. I'd managed to lose the truck, but the effects were still with me. In addition to a headache and nausea, I was suffering from a severe case of nerves. I hadn't forgotten how mad he was the last time I showed up.

I parked at the old hotel near the water (the one I was supposed to have stayed in last time) and walked into the lobby. Down the hall was a pay phone, and as there was no one in sight I figured it was safe to use it. With shaking hands I found the number for Lyle's Boat Repair in the book, and dialed the number.

Lyle answered promptly, and said he would retrieve "Felix." I was so relieved – at least he was still there. I could have called him from the road to ensure I hadn't driven all this way on a wild goose chase, but I think I feared he would tell me to go home again, so I didn't.

After an agonizing wait of a lifetime (couldn't have been more than forty seconds) Oscar finally answered.

"It's me." I said. "I'm here."

"Ja… Ja… Janet?" he stuttered. "Where …. where are you?"

"At the hotel in Polson. I need to see you." The very sound of his voice made me shake.

"Just a minute."

I heard him cup the receiver in his hand, muffling a conversation between himself and Lyle.

"One more thing." I heard him say. "Behave yourself."

"What?" I said.

I realized he hadn't been speaking to me when his voice was suddenly close in my ear again, giving me directions to a boat slip on a point. We were now finally in the same place at the same time. I only hoped that emotionally we were also in the same place at the same time. With a wobbly hand I scribbled the directions down, and in another moment I was back in the car and on my way.

I turned off the main highway and drove down a long lane shaded by tall pines. As I pulled into the parking lot, I saw a large and beautiful antique speedboat slowing as it neared the dock, and then I saw that it was Lyle. He waved at me, and Max and I got out of the car. Lyle's expression was exuberant and mischievous until he saw Max.

"It's okay!" I called out above the throaty rumble of the motor. "He's friendly."

"It's his toenails I'm worried about!" Lyle shouted back.

There was a lot of beautiful glossy wood on that boat, and as I couldn't account for Max's toenails, I handed Lyle my bag and lifted Max into my arms as I stepped onboard. He hates being picked up – he gets a baleful, tragic expression, as though embarrassment was the worst thing that could ever possibly happen. Fortunately he refrained from wriggling, because if he had we both would have ended up in the lake. I gently placed him in the hull, and told him to sit, which he did beautifully.

"Okay?" I bellowed.

"Okay." He said approvingly. "Strong girl!" he added.

I was grateful that the motor was too loud for a lot of light conversation. I was less grateful that Lyle felt compelled to show off for me by cutting sweeping arcs through the water, as my stomach turned along with them. He looked at me sidelong from the wheel, a knowing smile on his lips.

"Felix said he needed me to take you on a detour so he could shave!" he yelled finally.

I nodded and smiled. On one hand, I was thrilled that my presence was enough for Oscar to want to shave that nasty beard. On the other hand, I was just dying to get off that boat.

We must have been out on the water about twenty minutes. I should have tried to enjoy myself, but I couldn't. I gritted my teeth and pressed an artificial smile onto my lips. Max resigned himself quickly, and lay at my feet, his ears back. I wondered if he felt like I did.

Finally Lyle slowed the boat and expertly brought it alongside a dock. I was so happy to see land I threw my bag out, then Max, and then me - all before he had even tied up.

"That's great Lyle!" I called back to him with a salute. "I really appreciate it!"

He winked and smiled and gave me a thumbs-up signal. I took a big grateful gulp of air and treasured the feeling of solid ground under my feet. I felt like my insides had been stirred up with an eggbeater.

As the big boat roared off back in the direction from which we'd come, I turned and walked up the hill, as instructed by Oscar. I was to go to the lane, make a right, and keep going till I got to his place. Was he really that close – under a hundred yards away from me?