June 16th

Gene pulled into the driveway and parked with a sense of relief. It had been a long and boring week, made up mostly of meetings, more meetings, consultations, and much of the general minutiae he had to deal with on a regular basis now that he no longer did fieldwork. He hated it, but it was as much a part of his job as work with patients, or reading up on new methods of pain management.

The house was quiet as he came in and dumped his duffel by the door. It was a warm evening; the long shadows of twilight stole silently into the house. An oscillating fan moved fitfully in the living room to send a ripple of coolness through the still air. Gene stood there for a moment, and enjoyed the feel of coming home. He remembered when he and Sarah had spent the better part of an afternoon in the gutted shell of this old farmhouse, excited by the possibilities it offered and equally dismayed by the time, effort and cost involved . . . but it had proven a wise decision, to give the place a second chance. It had become home in some indefinable way he'd learned to treasure, and he knew Sarah felt the same way.

He shucked his jacket and tossed it over a chair on his way through to the kitchen. Once there he took a cold beer out of the fridge, opened it and downed a long, chilly swallow. Refreshed, he went back into the living room, toed off his shoes, grabbed the remote and checked around the channels until he found the Phils and the Marlins locked in battle on ESPN. Sarah was at Lou's, which meant she wouldn't be back until nearly midnight. She might bring home leftover pizza, but in the meantime he could make do with leftovers.

He found some cold fried chicken and cornbread and made short work of it, and watched in mild resignation as the Phils did their best to snatch defeat from the jaws of victory as they lost their lead, and let the Marlins go up a run at the bottom of the eighth. Finally he gave up and changed channels, to find a Deadliest Catch episode. A while back he'd actually worked on pain management with one of the captains. The man had been slammed into a metal sorting table years before as a deckhand, and the accident had caused significant long-term nerve damage to his lower spine. Gene had enjoyed the consult and done his best to give the guy some relief; he'd listened to some hair-raising tales of life on the Bering Sea, and countered with a few from his days on the farm, to the captain's bemusement. Most people who hadn't grown up in the country had no idea how dangerous it could be to work the land. His mother's brother had nearly died when his overalls had gotten caught in the auger used to move cattle fodder into a storage silo, and he'd ended up wound around the threads like a rubber band.

"Dumbass," Gene said out loud, and gave a snort of laughter. The idiot wouldn't be alive today if his wife hadn't heard him yell for help . . . some people lead a charmed life. He settled back, put the plate beside him and closed his eyes as tiredness took over.

He woke when the front screen door slapped shut—Sarah was home. She moved slowly into the living room, two stacked pizza boxes in one hand, and her purse and work apron in the other. Gene sat up.

"Hey," he said, and yawned.

"Hey babe," Sarah said. She sounded tired and more than a little dispirited, but she came over and gave him a kiss. "You're back early."

"Boss said I could have a long weekend." He took the boxes out of her hand and patted the couch. "Take a load off."

Sarah didn't have to be told twice. She sat and relaxed against the cushions with a sigh as she tipped her head back.

"Long night?"

"Long week," she said. "How was yours?"

"Boring as hell. I'm glad to be home."

Sarah put her hand on his leg. "I'll second that." She sighed again as Gene flipped open the top box and removed a slice of pizza.

"How's it going with the interviews?" It was the wrong thing to say, he knew it right away. Sarah removed her hand.

"Don't ask." She sounded angry and what was worse, frustrated. He was well-acquainted with that tone. Gene chewed a mouthful of pizza. One section of his mind enjoyed the sausage, peppers and extra cheese, even as he knew discretion was the better part of valor at this point.

"Okay," he said mildly.

"I'm sorry. Can we not get into it right now? I'll—I'll talk about it tomorrow. Just—not tonight. I don't want to think about it until I have to."

"Gotcha." Gene swallowed, took another bite and waited.

"It's just—" Sarah sat up and turned to face him. She had a finger in her curls, and tugged on a long coppery strand without any awareness she did so. "Greg says not to take this seriously, but dammit—he needs a good exec and I've been through a stack of the resumes people keep sendin' and none of them are worth a plugged nickel." Her accent grew more pronounced, another sign of her agitation. "He needs someone who can handle him when he's actin' like the world's biggest four year old, and half these East Coast entitlement whores couldn't handle anything worse'n a damn paper cut."

Gene had been trained well by his older sisters; he knew better than to laugh. "I see."

"He thinks I should just—just hire someone and let them sink or swim!" She snorted in indignation. "Does he have any idea how many people we'd go through? It would mean total chaos in the clinic! We'd just get used to one person an' they'd quit or walk out and then we'd have to call in another name on the list . . . it's pure-d crazy!"

"Huh." Gene took a big bite of pizza.

"We can't work that way! We need someone in place before the clinic opens, someone we can depend on, not some newbie who expects the practice to be like the damn Mayo Clinic!" Sarah paused. She squinted at him. "You're not sayin' anything."

Gene pointed to his mouth. "Eating," he said through a mouthful of food.

"Uh huh. Coward." Sarah gave the curl a vicious yank. Gene reached out and took her hand in his, to free the mistreated strand.

"Get yourself a ginger beer," he said. "Come back and have a slice with me. I bet you haven't had anything to eat all night."

"Not hungry," she muttered, and got to her feet. She picked up his empty plate and went into the kitchen, shoulders slumped. Gene watched her as he munched the crust. After a few moments he dusted his hands, turned off the tv, got up and went into the dining room. A stealthy glance through the doorway showed his wife at the sink as she scrubbed the life out of the plate. After a moment she wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand.

Well, that tore it; he'd seen and heard enough. If he didn't take things in hand now, so to speak, she'd worry herself into sleeplessness. While he had plans for the two of them to stay up a little longer, an all-night talk therapy session wasn't what he had in mind. Quietly he entered the kitchen and went to the radio. There was a stack of CDs beside it. He sorted through until he found the one he wanted—a Christmas stocking stuffer Sarah had given him as a joke, a compilation of great hits of the seventies. He popped it into the holder, selected the track, then headed for Sarah. She observed his approach with wariness. When he came within range he took the plate from her soapy hands and dumped it in the sink; he snagged the dishtowel from the oven door handle, wiped her piddies free of suds, and took her in his arms.

"Hey toots, give a jarhead a moment of your time," he said, and smiled down at her as the track began to play. Sarah's eyes widened.

"Oh lord," she groaned.

have I a hope or half a chance

to even ask if I could dance with you

yoo hoo

would you greet me or politely turn away?

would there suddenly be sunshine on a cold and rainy day?

oh babe, what would you say?

Sarah gave a choked laugh and settled into his hold. Her cheek came to rest against his shoulder; she was like silk in his arms, even as tired as she undoubtedly was. She flowed from one step to another, her warm body pressed to his.

for there are you sweet lollipop

and here am I with such a lot to say

hey hey

just to walk with you along the Milky Way

to caress you through the night time

bring you flowers every day

oh babe, what would you say?

A soft breeze came in through the back screen door, redolent of cut hay and sun-warmed earth; crickets played their own evening song. Gene brought Sarah a little closer. His hands slid over her back, slow and tender.

'cause oh, baby I know

I know I could be so in love with you

and I know that I could make you love me too

and if I could only hear you say you do

but anyway, what would you say?

They moved gently together to the sweet music and let the cares of the day fall away; he knew he had succeeded when her face lifted to his, her gaze sparked with amusement, anticipation and a little edge of gratitude. They kissed and lingered until the song began to fade. When Gene led her to the doorway and through the living room to the stairs she followed. Her smile glimmered in the gathering darkness. They went up to their room together, and left the fan to stand guard over the rest of the house in their absence.

June 17th

Sarah woke to the feel of a long arm draped across her waist and a slight, steady snore. She stirred and opened one eye, and yawned. There was a faint but not unpleasant ache between her thighs, accompanied by some vivid memories of the night before. She smiled and stretched a little, then gently wriggled away, with the intent to go downstairs and start the coffeemaker. She had almost reached the edge of the bed when the arm came to life and began to pull her inexorably back to the center. She giggled and tried to make an escape, but it was useless. In short order she was kissed quite thoroughly by the owner of the arm, and also made aware of his upstanding interest in her.

"You ate two plates of oysters when you went to lunch in town yesterday," she said in accusation. Gene buried his nose in her hair and groaned as she lifted her hips and allowed him access.

"D'we have to talk?" he complained, which just made her laugh harder.

Some time later they lay together, lazy and smug with afterglow. Sarah kissed Gene's cheek. "Impressive morning wood," she said. "Not bad for an old guy."

"Thanks." He cupped her breast and gently tweaked her nipple. "Nice and firm. Not bad for an old broad."

"You're too kind." She laced her fingers in his. "Let's goof off. I'll bring us breakfast in bed and we can hide out up here all morning. Jason won't be over till this afternoon, and I'm taking a break from interviews before I lose my mind."

"Mmmm . . . sounds like a plan to me." He brought her palm to his lips. "Toast and a cuppa joe," he said. "That's all we need. Okay?"

Of course she brought an omelette too, but the rest was as he'd requested—buttered toast and coffee, hot and strong. They ate together and watched the lace curtains dance in the bright June sunshine.

"What's Bob running in the field?" Sarah asked, as she listened to the distant chug of a tractor. "A cultivator?"

"Manure spreader."

Sarah laughed. "There's a charming image."

"The cows sure think so," Gene said with a smile.

"Not until the clover comes up." She smiled when he chuckled.

"Thought I'd help out down at the clinic this weekend," he said eventually. Sarah nodded and rested her head against his shoulder, made a little noise of contentment as his arm cradled her close.

"I'll come with you if you like," she said. "I can hammer a nail in straight at least."

"How are things going? The last time I talked with Roz she'd gotten most of the main room stripped out and rewired."

"Things have slowed down some," Sarah said. She sighed softly. "Greg is giving her a hard time."

"What about?"

"You name it. He's pushing her, testing her limits."

Gene wound a curl around his finger. "You know you can't solve this for them."

"I know." Sarah closed her eyes. "I know."

"Think he'll keep going till it's broke?"

"I think Roz will put her foot down before that happens." Sarah smiled when Gene tugged gently on the curl, then let it go. "If she asks for advice or comes to talk to me, I'll help out, but that's all. Y'all leave me alone, that's the best I can do."

Gene chuckled. "Y'know, you've been tellin' me for years you're an Okie and yet you still say 'y'all' to me like I'm more than one person."

"I have to say it to someone. There's never enough people around for me to use it right," she said. "What do you know about it anyway, Nebraska boy? When I met you you were puttin' creamed corn on your mashed potatoes and callin' it gravy." She squealed when he tickled her sides.

"That's better than livin' off cans of hominy and JD," he said, and grinned down at her.

"Yokel!" She rolled on top of him, straddled his hips and gave him a triumphant look.

"Takes one to know one." He pulled her close and kissed her long and hard. When the kiss ended she didn't move.

"Wanna go to WalMart?" she said after a few moments. Gene chuckled, his hands gentle on her back.

Eventually they put on enough clothes to be decent and went downstairs. It was too nice to sit inside, so they ended up in the garden with tall glasses of iced tea.

"So good to be home," Gene said. Sarah glanced over at him.

"How bad is it, not being in the field?" she asked quietly.

"Some days are worse than others." He leaned back and crossed long legs. "You know Greg will have to deal with this himself." He stroked the back of her hand to reduce the sting in his words. "He has a history of pushing the situation as far as it will go and even farther."

"I know." Sarah tipped her head back. "He's still coming to me to talk. Yesterday morning he bitched me out for taking the interview process too seriously."

"You do tend to approach things like you're on the church committee," Gene said, straight-faced. Sarah gave him a light slap.

"Shut up. I ain't no church lady."

"Coulda fooled me," Gene said, which earned him another smack, this one with a little more force behind it. "Hey! Don't beat up the messenger!"

"You'll know if I beat you up." Sarah caressed his arm. "It's just that this is important."

"But it isn't life or death. Okay, bad choice of words," Gene said on a laugh when Sarah lifted her head and glowered at him. "I'm just sayin' if the person we bring in doesn't work out, we'll find someone else. You yourself said there are at least twenty resumes coming in every day. Someone out there has to be the right person for the job."

"I know. It's just . . ." Sarah fell silent a few moments. "It feels like I'm going about this all wrong. Like fate is laughing at me for working so hard when the right person will just appear and make me feel like all kinds of a fool for even tryin'."

"Well, you remember what we always got told growing up," Gene said. "You have to pray like it all depends on God, then work like it all depends on you."

"Damn, you would bring that in." Sarah lay back with a sigh just as a voice rose from the interior of the house.

"Did you two kill yourselves with too much sex or do I have to make my own lunch?"

Gene laughed. "Your boy's here," he said.

"No kidding," Sarah said dryly. She heaved herself out of the chair. Gene rolled his eyes.

"Wish I'd get spoiled that way."

Sarah spared him a look. "You do. How many notches did you cut in the bedpost last night? You got nothin' to complain about."

"Maybe I do and maybe I don't," Gene said mildly. "As I recall, the plan was to goof off all morning and it isn't even ten yet." He waggled his eyebrows. Sarah's lips twitched.

"When you're right, you're right," she said. "Hold that thought." She headed into the house.

'What Would You Say,' Hurricane Smith