We all play possum until Ruby breaks the silence about the debriefing. Her courage gives us permission to recount our feelings, thoughts and actions from the past year. My dinner sits well on my stomach for the first time in months. The knot, I was beginning to think was a permanent appendage, is gone.

It is on the other side of dusk when Ruby hugs me good-bye and Ferg shakes my hand with meaning.

"I'm gonna get Ruby home, Sheriff."

"Ok. Tomorrow do something for yourselves. Cumberland County is covering for another 48 hours, remember."

They head toward the Trans-am and again I chuckle at the sight of Ruby riding shotgun.

"All Ruby needs is a Nascar jacket, Walt. We should get her one for Christmas."

We both laugh. Its quiet, it's dark and the stillness of a new night bridges the space between us.

"Dinner was good."

"Thanks."

We clean up together, not exchanging words, but working in unison as if we have been doing this for years. The silence and intuitive understanding is welcoming yet incomprehensible.

I seal the last trash bag and toss it, locking the lid.

"Coffee?"

"Sounds good."

After washing up, I fire up the kettle, measure the grounds for the French press and wait for it to steep.

Vic and I settle on the couch with the front door open, the screen allowing the cool night air, to circulate in the cabin. The crickets are making a racket and I close my eyes allowing the familiar sounds of the country to relax me.

"It took me a long time to get used to that sound?"

"Really?"

"Yeah, I was used to sirens not crickets."

I look over and smile.

"Now, I think I would be hard pressed to sleep without the sound of them."

"Country life has a way of sneaking up on you."

She looks over and says, "Accurate observation, " her words mean more than what she is saying.

For the first time since our coming clean in Bob's office, we are truly alone and in private without distractions, without the possibility of someone seeing us, just us.

I get up to pour our coffee and the stillness of the cabin begins to set in the reality of our situation. I turn to face the living room, "Vic, I'm not sure if you want your cup to go or if you …I mean I don't want you to feel like this is a set-up for something…I know I have to drive you home."

"I'm good and I don't feel like this is a set-up, Walt."

I make her coffee just like she does at the station, more milk than coffee, and more sugar than the daily recommended allowance.

"Today went good. I thought." Her eyes glance up as she sips her coffee.

I'm trying desperately to reconcile my feelings with my thoughts as the familiar wave of nausea rolls through my stomach. Living with my feelings on the surface is not something I want to make as my way of life I assure you. I don't like it. Hey, I'm trying to be honest with you but I have to deal with it do it or accept the likelihood of dying old, broken down and alone.

I light the fire and we move our coffee chat in front of the flames.

"I never thought you would be here." I don't know that I wanted it to come out that way but it did and it's here.

"Here or here?"

"Both"

"Me, neither."

"Really?"

"I almost left Durant after the divorce."

My heart lurches a little at her honesty and the fact that I would have lost her before I had a chance to have her.

"Why did you stay?"

"A lot of reasons." She takes a slow drag of her coffee. "Mainly, I wanted something to stick, something to be permanent and something that was my choice and my choice, alone."

"I'm glad you stayed."

"Are you?"

"Yes"

She takes another sip of her coffee as the mug warms her hands.

"I want to show you how much"

Before I can talk myself out of it, I sit on the ottoman in front of her chair; slide it under me and spread my legs wide as I wrap hers around my waist. She presses into me, I lean forward, and rest my hand in the small of her back. Our lips brush, my fingers wrap around her ear and the hollow on the side of her neck, my tongue traces the edge of her lower lip and she invites me in. Our kiss is warm, it's concentrated, and a little hungry.

"I'm glad you stayed, Vic."

I rest my hands between her knees, and do the unthinkable, "Talk to me."

Her head cants to the side like a dog not quite sure of the request.

"About what?"

"Anything."

She cants the other way with a small smile emerging from her full lips.

"When did you change the message on your machine?"

"The first day I saw Bob."

"Why"

"I faced the truth."

"Which one?"

"For feeling guilty for living"

She looks not judging.

"Actually, more to the point, I felt guilty for wanting to live."

"You hadn't let go?"

"No"

"So why then?"

"It had to be real"

She rests her index finger against her temple. She's thinking. She's a thinker. I love her.

"When I heard your voice I thought you answered but when your voice ordered me to leave a message I felt like a mutineer."

My head cocks to the side, "A mutineer?"

"Like I had somehow pushed you to abandon yourself, your past."

My eyes roll backward up toward the ceiling and I realize, "You thought you had somehow given me an ultimatum."

"Maybe I did."

"I dream about you."

"What?" She's surprised

"When I close my eyes you are always there." My hands roll behind her knees.

"As long as it's not a nightmare." Her deflection reflects her nervousness.

Our eyes meet, "I'm nervous, too."

She blushes just a bit and my cravings for her run through my veins like lightening in a bottle.

"I think it's time I get you home."

We untangle and I meet her at the front door. Her hand clasps the back of my shirt as she stands next to me.

"Thank you, Walt."

I smile, "Welcome."

I stop at the front of her house and walk around to open her door. Vic hops down; her boots land on the sidewalk just next mine.

"Walt, I don't want you to walk me to the door." She is firm in her declaration.

I feel my brows open not pleased with her statement.

She rests her hand on my forearm, "You just changed the machine, Walt."

I step a little closer, wondering if I deserve her. I nod.

She sounds whispery, our bodies are close, her other hand is clutching the side of my jacket, and I match her intensity, "Ok."

My fingers trace her belt buckle, "Night"

"Night"

I close my eyes to sleep and see her appear as she does at these moments.

"Hello"

"Hi"

"You keeping tradition?"

"I'm traditional."

"I know"

"You didn't give me an ultimatum"

"I wanted to"

"I wanted you to."

"What does that make me?"

"It makes me not deserve you."

"You don't know me."

'I want to" I don't fill the silence and finally she says, "Good night"

"Good night"