He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a sheet of white paper. While he carefully unfolded it, I glanced at Anwen, who looked uncomfortable and embarra.s.sed for the first time that day.

"I'm sure you haven't, but I ask everyone we meet. I know it's crazy, but I'm sure you'll understand. Anwen told you what happened to our son. This is what they think he'd look like today. The police have these machines that can draw a face in a kind of longterm projection. Take someone who's five years old, press the b.u.t.ton, and you get an idea of what they'd look like at twenty. It's really amazing, but they say with a baby it's very hard." Gregory's face wavered, fell, rose, tried to smile, couldn't. "The bones are so soft when they're that young. They don't have much distinctiveness in their faces then. You've never seen a boy out there in Portland who looks anything like this, have you?"

Cold, cold, such cold poured across my heart and froze me. Taking his bent sheet of paper, I forced myself to look. But for long seconds I honestly couldn't focus on what was there. My life was in my hands and that is the final danger.

When the anxiety settled some and I saw the drawing, it was with the most horrid relief that I realized it wasn't my boy! The eyes were wrong, the round cheeks, a chin that was soft when it should have been unusually prominent. This wasn't Lincoln. For a moment I felt absolved. There's no way Brendan Meier is Lincoln Aaron. Hooray! Thank G.o.d. Amen. Then came the most perverse synapse, for I felt a terrible urge to say, "He doesn't look like this. The eyes are much deeper. He has Lily's wide mouth. His hair" And I didn't know if I was meaning their boy or our boy or the same boy. My heart was the first to know. This was the moment to tell the truth, but my heart went both secret and dead to them. I was almost sure of Lily's crime against this couple but could almost physically feel my whole self, starting with my heart, turning away. There's a proverb that says a person has a chance at the splendor of G.o.d twice in his lifeonce in early adolescence and again when he is fortyfive or fifty. Conversely, I could literally feel myself embracing evil then. Perhaps I would come back later and tell them the truth, or go to Lily and confront her, but now I handed their picture back, made a small apologetic smile, and said no, sorry. What was worse, seeing the pain on Gregory's face as he took it and looked at the drawing for the millionth time or Anwen's glance of pity at her husband? Or was it even the drawing itself, this bad counterfeit of a boy's face that was so much handsomer and full of character in real life.

Driving away, I watched them in the rearview mirror until I pa.s.sed over a small crest and they were gone. Only then did I become aware of the pressure in my bladder. It felt like I'd explode if I didn't p.i.s.s immediately. There were no houses around or cars coming down the road, so I stopped, jumped out, undid my pants, and barely wrestled it free in time before the stuff blew out of me in a fury.

Despite all of the terrible matters flying around in my head, it was bliss to pee. All the complicated, perverse, and dangerous things that had happened and were sure to come, none was more important than this dumb little function I did ten times a day.

"Winner and still champeen, the c.o.c.k!" I announced to the New Jersey countryside. Which reminded me of Lily's sweet curiosity about my p.e.n.i.s. One of the first times we went to bed, afterward she held it in her hand and inspected, jiggled, poked it until I raised my head from the pillow and asked if she was conducting a science project. No, she'd just never had the nerve to look at one so closely.

"Never? You didn't even look at Rick's?"

"Naa, I was always too shy. I always felt selfconscious, you know?" She looked up from her position across my thighs and beamed. Partners in crime. Such a happy, comfortable moment. So adult and childlike at once, like playing Doctor. It was around that time I began thinking how deeply I loved this woman.

I had two optionsfight or flight. I doubt if many people ever seriously consider running away from their lives altogether. It is either childish or desperate, and luckily few of us behave like that or experience such dark extremes. I knew one woman who was beaten very badly by her husband. An hour after he left the house for work, she packed a small bag and took a taxi to the airport. Charging a ticket to NewYork on his credit card (wanting him to think she'd gone there), she paid cash for a ticket to London.

The ploy worked, and by the time he found her months later, she was safe and well protected.

In comparison, that seemed so cutanddried. Her life was threatened and she ran. My situation, "my danger," was more complex and tricky. Yet in this era of quick relationships, when people go from A to Z at the speed of light and then separate, I could have gotten away with saying to Lily: I'm sorry, but this isn't going to work, byebye. The easy, despicable way out, but given the alternative... Plus what was the alternative? I'm sorry, sweetheart, but I have to tell the police about you.

Sometimes the solution to a problem comes so quickly and resolutely that it leaves no trace of doubt about what must be done.

While I was driving back up the turnpike toward New York, my mind was fidgeting wildly about what to do. Traffic was busy but not enough to heed. The radio was on loud, tuned to a rock station; my companion for the trip.

There were so d.a.m.ned many Lilys in this. The Lily I knew. The Lily I thought I knew. Lily the kidnapper. Lily "Hey!"

In a far part of my mind I had heard the sound of a very loud car rattling up behind on the left. But turnpikes are full of clanging clunkers you ignore and just hope they don't strangle you with their exhaust.

"Hey, f.u.c.khead!"

In the middle of my muddle I looked quickly toward the shout. Right out my window, a man was pointing a gun at me. He wore a huge grin and every few seconds kept yelling, "Hey! Hey! Hey!" Then he laughed a screech and, before I could move, pulled the trigger and the gun exploded.

I pitched the car to the right. Because I was in the slow lane, I hit no one. Screech and his driver both howled with delight and, clanking louder, their car sped up and away.

Braking, I pulled further over onto the shoulder of the road. Why wasn't I dead? He must have fired a blank. Why would he do that? Why hadn't I panicked and crashed? Luck. Or blessed. Why had he shot at me? Because. Life gives no explanations or excuses. We're the ones who think them up.

Sitting there trembling and cursing, thanking G.o.d Almighty for this break, I felt the moment slowly unwind and pa.s.s. Adrenaline stopped pumping terror and relief through me and shakily my own life with its present and future returned.

Lily returned too, and what filled my mind once the scaredtodeath feeling pa.s.sed was immense love for her. Love no matter what. Death one moment, Lily Aaron the next. I had survived and, returning to life, thought first of her. It was clear she was all that mattered. Cars rammed and rummed by on the left, night was purpling the sky. I would go back to her. I had to find a way to bring our love and a new life together through this wall, this world of fire we now faced.

I rang the doorbell but no one answered. After waiting a while longer I used my key. It was three in the afternoon. Lincoln would still be in school, Lily at the restaurant. Dropping my bag on the floor, I smelled the familiar bouquet of homescented candles, dog, cigarette smoke, Lily's Grey Flannel cologne. As I walked slowly through the place, it struck me as a kind of museum nowa museum of our life as it had been. Everything the same, everything different. This is where we played Scrabble together, that is where I spilled chili sauce on the carpet. A comic book of Lincoln's was on the table. I picked it up and riffled through the pages.

Lincoln. This new world centered on him now, and the contradiction, if that was the word, was that he was one terrific kid. Smart and well adjusted, he often had a sense of humor and insight that made him a real pleasure to live with. Who knows how much we're born with and how much is a result of upbringing and education. From living with the Aarons and watching the way the two interacted, I believed Lily was a great mother and had had a profoundly positive effect on the boy. That was part of the problem: she was so good for him.

Cobb was lying on his big bed in the kitchen. When he saw me, his long tail whacked the floor a couple of times. I waved h.e.l.lo and that was enough for him. He groaned contentedly and closed his eyes.For want of something to do, I opened the refrigerator. In among the bottles and bags was a white clay figure of what looked vaguely like one of the characters in my "Paper Clip." Why it was in the fridge was a mystery, but such enigmas are common when you live with a tenyearold. Taking it carefully off the metal shelf, I turned it slowly in my hand. Was the artist ten years old, or nine as the Meiers had said? I thought constantly about that sad fragile couple, their house and the scarred life they led. How thrilled they would be if they were shown this figure and told who'd made it. How much joy it would give them to know it was by their son, who was well and happy. Like filling their lungs with air all the way instead of shallow breaths.

"Max! You're back!"

Lost in thought, I hadn't heard the door close. Turning, I felt small arms grab me from behind and hold tight.

"Max, where have you been? I missed you so much! Did you see my "Paper Clip" statue? I made it for you. You know who it is? You like it?"

I took him in my arms and closed my eyes as tight as I could. That way the world stayed outside a moment. Besides, I had begun to cry as soon as I knew it was him. There was no way to stop it.

"I like it very much, Linc. It's the perfect welcomehome present. I'm really happy to be back."

"Me too! We didn't do anything while you were gone. But we talked about you a lot."

"Really? That's great."

He pulled away and looked up at me. "You're crying?"

"Yup, 'cause I'm so glad to see you."

He grabbed me again and hugged harder. "You'll stay home now, won't you?"

I nodded, holding him to me, rocking us back and forth. "Yes, I'm here now."

"Max, I've got a lot to tell you. Remember that kid Kenneth Spilke I told you about? The kid who threw the chalk at me?"

Through a fog of jet lag, love, and concern about how I would react when I saw his mother, I listened as Lincoln unrolled the carpet of his life since I had been gone. So much had happened! A pitched playground battle with Kenneth Spilke over a girl, a telephone conversation with that same girl about kids they both hated, and a test in school on the digestive system, then two lousy meals Lily had cooked one right after the other when he had specifically told her he didn't want broccoli again... It was great to hear him toot on about these matters. I watched and listened to him with full attention. If only life forever could be these minutes, full of fifthgrade news and expectancy about when his mother would be home. Ironically, other times I would have listened with only half an ear to this wrapup, the other half for an opening door. Now he had it all because he was the only normal left in my life.

"And what's up with your mama?"

"I told you, she cooked these two gross meals"

"No, I mean what else ? What's she been doing?"

He shrugged and licked his tongue back and forth over his teeth. "I don't know. Working, I guess."

I would've taken that as sufficient if I had not happened to look up and see the expression on his face. Lincoln wasn't good at hiding things. He was too open and friendly; wanted you to know what was going on in his life.

"What, Linc? What is it?"

He glanced at me, couldn't keep his eyes there, looked away. It made me frown. "What's the matter?"

"I didn't know if you'd come back."

"What ? What do you mean?"

"I don't know. I thought maybe you were leaving us for good." His voice got much louder. "I mean, why should you stay around? Maybe you don't like us anymore or something."

"Lincoln, why are you saying this? Where did you get the idea"

"I don't know. It was just kinda surprising when you went away like that. Zippo and you were gone. How was I supposed to know?""Because I would never do that to you. I would never just walk out on you. I'm your friend.

Friends don't do that to each other."

I gestured for him to come and sit on my lap. We talked some more but I could barely follow what he was saying because my mind was working so fast.

"Max?"

"Yeah?"

"Did you bring me anything from New York?"

"Sure! Sure I did. How could I forget? Come on." I went to my suitcase and got out the Tshirt and basketball sneakers I'd bought him in New Jersey.

"You got 'em, Max! They're exactly what I wanted. Oh, you're great! Thank you!"

It's so easy to win a kid's heart with presents. He'd been wanting the trendy shirt and shoes a long time but Lily refused to buy them because they were ridiculously expensive.

"Do you want to see them? Should I put them on?"

"Of course! Are you kidding? You have to wear them for the rest of your life."

He held the shoes in one hand, the shirt in the other. Looking at me, he dropped them and hugged me again. "You're the best, Max. Just the best ."

While he worked to put them on, I tried as best I could to grill him in a subtle way. Had anything happened while I was gone? Anything special or different? How had Lily acted? He was much more interested in the new shoesI got mostly "I dunno" and "I guess" in answer to my questions.

A car door slammed outside, followed by the sound of a key turning in the lock. "Anybody home?"

"Here we are, Mom. Max's back!"

"Thank G.o.d."

Suddenly there were flurries of sound in the kitchenCobb's tail hitting the floor, Lily talking to him, something being placed heavily on a counter, some chatter from her that was too far away to be understood. Then there she was. It felt to me like we were meeting for the first time. My heart beat hard.

"You didn't answer. How's your brother?" She sailed into the room on a cloud of love and selfconfidence. I was home, we were a family again. She didn't know what I knew. I was afraid of what she hadn't told me. How much different could our hearts have been at that shared moment in our lives?

My brother ? What did he have to do with this? At the last second I luckily remembered I'd gone to New York ostensibly to see Saul.

"He's okay. Naughty as usual. Making lots of money."

She strode over and gave me a big long kiss. "We missed you. Lincoln said I talked about you too much." She looked like a great meal; you didn't know where to start first. Sirens were going off in my head and heart, love bats swooping and lifting, men on pogo sticks bouncing around wooden floors.

How was I supposed to feel about this? Or deal with it? I adored this woman. l.u.s.ted after her every spent breath. She terrified me.

"Well, bucko, tell the truth, are you glad to be home with us?"

Before I could answer, Lincoln picked up a leg and stuck it in her face. "Ma, check out the sneaks! Air Jordans. He got 'em for me in New York."

"You bought those things? Are you out of your mind?"

"I guess so."

"I guess so too, but it's a nice mind. We're extremely glad to have it back."

When Lincoln left to show his shoes to a friend in the neighborhood, Lily and I stayed in the living room.

"Why are we suddenly so quiet? Have we already run out of things to tell each other? How was New York?"

"Someone shot at me."

"What do you mean?"

"A guy shot at me while I was driving." Grateful for a story to tell so I could stay away from the important subject, I dragged it out, exaggerating here and there, making it even worse than it was. Not sothat I would appear heroic or more levelheaded, but because telling a woman a story is one of the greatest pleasures in life. Holding their attention, seeing their reaction, making them laugh or rear back in shock or wonder... The woman you love is the true listener, the supreme audience. Even when she is dangerous and you are afraid of her.

Lily heard me out. When I was finished, she put her head down on her lap and mumbled.

"What?"

She looked up. "I don't know what I would have done."

"I was very spooked."

"I'm not talking about spooked, I'm talking about life . If I'd answered the telephone and heard some state trooper in New York calling to say you were dead, I don't know what I would've done."

She closed her eyes. "I might have gone mad. Yeah, I think I'd have gone crazy. I thought about you un endingly when you were gone, Max. Like I was sixteen again and in love for the first time. I pa.s.sed a flower store and wanted to go in and get you some for your desk, those white tulips you like so much.

Even though you weren't here. I bought stupid little presents and hid them under your pillow. I couldn't wait to hear what you'd say. But so what, that's love, right? Remember I told you when I m.a.s.t.u.r.b.a.t.e, my fantasy is always a faceless man who makes love to me? Even that changed. When I did it this time it was you there, and the more I could remember about you, your voice or the way your hands touch me, the hotter I got. I m.a.s.t.u.r.b.a.t.ed all the time, Max. You and I f.u.c.ked and f.u.c.ked and couldn't get enough. We never got tired. We did it on beaches, in cars, other people's beds, everywhere. One time I imagined us doing it on Ibrahim's desk in the back of the restaurant. It was so strong. I couldn't stop thinking about it.

I wanted you so much." She stood up. "Come on, let's do it now while Lincoln's out."

"Lily"

"No, I don't want to talk anymore. I don't want to think about dying or you being away. It was hard enough for that short time. I want to make love now and smell you. I want that great smell all around me. I just want more right now, Max. Okay? Tell me your other stuff later. Come on." She took my hand and pulled me toward the bedroom. More erotic than anything was the way she held my hand. She kept squeezing it and letting it go slack, as if her hand itself had its own pulse, or a way of hurried breathing.

Squeeze, stop, squeeze, stop.

She wore purple socks. White sneakers and purple socks. She sat on the bed and flipped her shoes off but kept the socks on. The silver belt buckle on her jeans was jerked open, then the stttttrrrrutttt when the pants b.u.t.tons came undone one fast after the other.

"Hurry. Hurry hurry hurry." She pulled the sweater over her head and she wore no bra. Her b.r.e.a.s.t.s dropped heavily out of the soft wool. She sat in bikini panties, arms stretched behind her, and watched while I wrestled out of my clothes. When my slacks were off, she reached into my underpants and touched my c.o.c.k. Her hands were freezing cold. I almost jumped back. She wouldn't let go. Pulling me gently toward her, she took it in her mouth and the coldtowarm was so sharp and quick that I felt my knees almost go. Lily didn't like sucking c.o.c.k because it made her feel cheap and wh.o.r.ey. Knowing that, I never asked her to do it. What good is s.e.x when it's not wanted? So was this a oneofakind welcomehome gift, or did she genuinely desire to do it? Unsure, I eased myself out of her mouth and knelt down so we were face to face. "Don't. You don't have to"

"I want to."

"No. The other's enough." Pushing her back on the bed, I pinned her arms above her head and ran my tongue up the long course of her neck. Her throat worked up and down and I thought she was trying to swallow. But then she began crying, gasping. I got off her. She lay on her back, arms above as if still held down. Eyes open, tears rolled down the sides of her face in a steady stream.

"I missed you so much. I got scared, I missed you so G.o.dd.a.m.ned much. It's not right to be like that; it's not healthy. I'm not a weak person. I'm not , but look at how I was acting. You weren't even gone that long." She lifted her head off the bed and looked at me. "Maybe I shouldn't be telling you this.

You could kill me with it if you wanted. You could twist me in half."

Walking in an hour before, I was resolved to have it out. Face her with what I knew and demand an explanation. But my resolve began slipping with Lincoln's happy greetings and many kisses. Now this.Staring her in the eye, I said the truth but she naturally misunderstood. "I know you."

"You know me better than anyone. Better than anyone ever has."