"You're good at this, taking care of someone. I'm sure that Fred and Grace were in good hands."

My eyes filled unexpectedly with tears.

"You obviously were very close to them. Do you want to talk about it?" Violet asked, her tone gentle and caring.

"No."

"I'm sorry," she said softly. "I didn't mean to bring up painful memories. It's just... I wish

that I had come sooner, had a chance to say goodbye. She had a full life though, didn't-"

"Why do people say that? It doesn't even make any sense. What is a full life?" I

practically shouted.

She started and then moved to get out of bed. I was afraid that my outburst had frightened her.

"What are you doing?" I asked lowering my voice, forcing myself to calm down.

"I need to use the bathroom. I think I can manage if you let me lean on you a bit."

I walked over and easily lifted her up into my arms.

"You shouldn't bear weight," I told her. "And I should have brought you ice."

"Yeah, but it's not too late to redeem yourself," she said, wrapping her arms around my

neck and tossing her hair back over one shoulder.

"What?"

"The ice. It would still help."

"Of course." I carried her back to my bedroom and into the adjoining bathroom since it

was closer than the guest bath down the hall. I set her down carefully next to the commode, then I turned on the light, closed the door and ran downstairs in search of ice.

When I returned a few minutes later, she was sitting on the red velvet chaise that was in the corner of my room, her foot propped up on a stack of Chinese silk pillows, my latest financial magazine in her hands.

"I have my answer if you want to hear it," she said, tossing the magazine aside.

"What was the question?" I asked, sitting down alongside her.

I laid the bag of frozen peas I'd brought upstairs on top of her slightly swollen ankle.

When I did, my fingertips lightly grazed her skin. It was a simple thing, touching her ankle; even that slight touch had the power to drive me to distraction. I pulled away.

"Thanks," she said.

"You're welcome."

"You asked me for my definition of a full life."

"Oh, that."

"It's an interesting question. I used to think that it had to do with how long someone was

around. You know, living to a ripe old age. Until you were... ready to go," she said.

"Go where?"

"Wherever. Maybe nowhere. h.e.l.l, I don't know."

"But you don't think that anymore?"

"No. When I was a medical student, I saw my share of death. Being ready for it? It's not

about reaching some magical age. It's about being at peace, about accepting your

mortality, about looking back at your life and being satisfied with how you've lived it."

Accepting mortality was something I'd never given much consideration to. I'd never had to. But I did then. I thought about Fred, about the choice she made and how she lived her life. Then I thought about my father, about how bitter and resentful he'd been. He carried his mortality like a shroud. Was it simply a matter of perspective? People link satisfaction with attainment, but what if it's really about acceptance? What if it's not about getting into Heaven? Maybe there is no Heaven for creatures like me. Maybe this life, here, now, is all I'm ever going to get.

She reached over and brushed her fingers across my wrinkled forehead. "You're thinking awfully hard about something. Care to share?"

"Have you ever found yourself questioning whether what you believed was true?"

"Daily," she admitted, sounding somewhat amused.

"I'm not talking about the little things...like whether it's going to rain or not. I'm talking about the big stuff."

Her expression turned serious. "Like?"

"Like, what if you didn't have to die? What if you could live forever?" I asked her.

She shook her head and laughed. Well, of course she would laugh. I waited patiently.

"Do I get to be rich and beautiful?" she asked.

"Yes."

Violet frowned. "What's the catch?"

"Catch?"

"The down side. What do I have to give up?"

Now, they don't talk about that much, vampires don't. They don't talk about the things

that they miss, the things that they will never have. Perhaps it's because we have no control over it. Why brood about what can't be changed?

"Being around people," I shrugged, pa.s.sing it off as if it were nothing.

"So I'd have to be alone forever? No. Not worth it. I'm not that interesting."

"Not alone, exactly. You could be around others that are like you."

"So it would be me and a bunch of me clones? Kind of creepy, don't you think?" she asked, distaste clearly evident in her voice.

G.o.d, this woman could be exasperating."No. That's not what I mean. Let's say that you were American.""I am American. Why can't I be Italian?""Okay. Let's say you were Italian, and you could only be around other Italians.""But what if I meet and fall in love with a man from France or Spain or Greece or-"I held up my hand to stop her. "I get it. You can't.""I can't fall in love with them? So, I can't feel love?""You can't be with them," I told her."Why?" she challenged, clearly not liking the idea.

"It's like a rule."

"It's a stupid rule," she declared.

"Yes," I agreed. I watched her as she bit down on her lower lip. It was as s.e.xy as h.e.l.l

and I found myself wanting to take her lip into my own mouth. It was full and red, ripe, and I wanted to sweep my tongue across it, to suck it into my mouth, to take just one...tiny...nibble.

"Ren?"

"Hmm?"

"Let me see if I have this straight. I'm going to live forever. I'm beautiful and rich, and

I've met a drop-dead gorgeous French guy who promises to be the love of my life?"

"Yeah."

"Let's say I break the rule. What happens? Instant death?"

"Death, yes; but, not instant. You could live for quite some time, a hundred years, two

hundred, maybe more."

"I'm still beautiful and rich?"

"You age slowly."

"Does my Frenchman leave me?"

I couldn't help but smile. "You're a romantic. No. He adores you. He has eyes only for

you. Even when you are old, and gray, and disgusting."

Her mouth fell open, and she gave my shoulder a little shove. "Disgusting? You should

take lessons from my Frenchman. He tells me that I am getting better with age, like fine wine." "He just says stuff like that so that you'll sleep with him," I replied, goading her, and suddenly disliking the Frenchman.

"You're clearly projecting," she countered, getting miffed. "Anyways, so far I'm leaning

towards saying yes, and then breaking the rule so that I can live happily ever after for a few hundred good years with Pierre."