"Well, enjoy yourself, Harper," she said, with that curious smiling frown of hers, "while you can."

She shut the door then, leaving Harper on the porch with her mouth open. What did she mean by that? Harper wondered.

She left feeling a bit shaken. This situation had taken on mythic proportions for her long ago, filled as it was with associations with Orpheus and Eurydice. Now it seemed that Medea had entered the story. Medea, the bitter, spurned wife of Jason, who destroyed his new bride with a poisoned dress in a most gruesome murder.

Medea, powerful and ruthless, who made sure Jason paid dearly for leaving her. Harper could still see the frightening illustration of her from her childhood book.

Mary terrified her, Harper realized. Pure and simple, she was afraid of her and had been ever since Chelsea had returned to her two years ago. At the time, she had pictured Mary as some sort of enchantress who had a supernatural power over Chelsea.

That was silly and Harper knew it. Mary was no witch, and Harper wasn't afraid of a supernatural power. She was afraid of something entirely natural-the loyalty of a young woman whose first serious love wouldn't release her.

An involuntary shiver ran through her, fluttering the paper in her hand and reminding her of a more immediate crisis.

Returning to her car, she made her way to the address that Mary had given her. It was a two-story house in one of the newer subdivisions, and it looked much like all the other houses on the street, all pinkish stucco with rounded edges. Sarah and a boy her age were sitting on the front step kissing. Harper parked at the curb and had walked up the path to within six feet of them before her footsteps registered and they broke apart. Sarah, recognizing Harper, looked alarmed. The boy, Jake, she presumed, stood and faced her, assuming an air of authority.

"You looking for somebody?" he asked.

"Uh, that's my aunt," Sarah said. "Hi, Harper." She stood, looking uncomfortable. "You should become a detective. You're getting really good at finding people."

Harper noticed that Sarah had dropped the "Aunt" from her greeting. Too childlike in front of her boyfriend, she guessed.

"Sarah," she said without amusement, "please get your stuff and let's go."

"I'm going to stay here, if you don't mind," she said formally.

Jake slipped an arm around her waist protectively.

"I do mind. I'm taking you home with me now."

"You have no right to do that," Sarah said, defiantly. "You're not my mother. You're not even my guardian."

Jake grinned at Harper with a self-satisfied expression. A dozen retorts flitted through her head. None of them seemed likely to help, however.

"Can we talk privately for a moment?"

Sarah nodded at Jake, who kissed her briefly, then went into the house. Harper sat on the step, patting the spot beside her.

Sarah sat next to her.

"Why did you do this?" Harper asked.

"Why do you think?" Sarah's voice was no longer defiant.

"Don't want to go home, I guess."

"Right."

"It can't be that bad."

Sarah said nothing, just wrapped her arms around her knees.

"Is it because of him?" Harper asked.

"Jake? Oh, maybe a little. Well, not really. He's just a guy."

"What is it then?"

Sarah frowned, staring down at the step. "They don't want me to grow up. They don't trust me. Everybody else my age has a car. I haven't even got my license yet."

"I don't think it's that they don't trust you. They're just afraid.

They think they're still supposed to direct everything you do, to make sure you don't make a mistake. They don't know how to let you make a few mistakes."

"Whatever," Sarah said dismissively, but she was listening.

"It's natural, don't you think, for them to clamp down harder the more you disobey?"

"If I didn't disobey, I'd never get to leave the house. I've had so much fun here. I knew I would. I knew you wouldn't treat me like a kid, like they do. You let me go wherever I want and do whatever I want. And here I am, still alive, not a drug addict and not even pregnant."

Harper smiled. "Still, I think I've been a little lax. I was afraid to put my foot down because I didn't want you to see me as the bad guy. I didn't want you to dislike me like you do them."

Sarah turned suddenly, looking alarmed. "I don't dislike them."

"No?"

"No, of course not."

"Lots of resentment, though. That's what I've been hearing."

"Yeah, I guess."

"I can talk to them. Maybe we can all have an adult conversation about why you feel so oppressed. I think they would listen, maybe make some changes."

Sarah rested her chin in both of her hands and sighed, clearly resigned. "It's been amazing, though."

"Yes," Harper agreed, "it's been totally amazing." She stood.

"Come on. Let's go home."

Sarah retrieved her backpack and the suitcase she had "borrowed," saying a quick goodbye to Jake in the process, and they drove home to find Chelsea grilling hamburgers on the deck. They ate outside on paper plates.

"I hope I get my phone back," Sarah said, her mind now on her return home. "It's like being an alien or something with no phone. How am I supposed to talk to people?"

"There's the phone in the house," Chelsea said.

"No, I mean, not talk talk. Like text. Jake says, 'text me,' and I'm like, dude, how am I gonna do that?" Sarah shook her head, exasperated. "Okay, okay, I'm going to go call him on the land line."After Sarah went into the house, Chelsea said, "I'm looking forward to her being back where she belongs." She stacked their plates and grabbed the bottles of ketchup and mustard.

"You are?" said Harper, startled.

Chelsea nodded. "Sure. Then I can have you all to myself."

Chelsea kissed Harper briefly before carrying the things into the house.

0.

Harper followed her, finding Chelsea shoving paper plates into the trash can. "But we've been having a lot of fun with her."

"Yes, but she's practically driven her parents insane. If she stayed here any length of time, she'd probably do the same to you.""Maybe." Harper felt ambivalent.

Chelsea scowled. "Like today, running away like that.

Whenever something isn't the way she wants it, she runs away.

How irresponsible is that? Did she even apologize to you for the worry she caused?"

Harper shook her head. "Well, teenagers are difficult. I think she's basically good. She just wants to spread her wings and fly."

Chelsea wiped her hands on a dishtowel and stepped up to Harper. "And so she shall. She'll fly all over New England and, if her parents walk that fine line between discipline and indulgence, her wings won't melt."

Chelsea put her arms around Harper and kissed her mouth tenderly and then more ardently. Desire washed over Harper like a warm surf. As their mouths came together again, she was startled to hear the water running. She opened her eyes to see Sarah rinsing out her soda glass in the sink.

"Oh, Sarah," Harper said, stepping abruptly away from Chelsea, "I didn't hear you come in."

"It's okay. Just here for a second. Resume." Sarah waved her hand at them like the queen granting permission, then left the room.

Chelsea looked embarrassed. "Like I said, it will be good to have you to myself."

Harper gave Chelsea another quick kiss. "Hold that thought.

In the meantime...it's time for the show. Come on."

The hour-long documentary that celebrated Sophie Janssen's life and work included ten minutes of interview footage from Harper's video, as well as interviews with Janssen's friends, colleagues and her nephew Tom. There were lots of images of her sculptures, of course. Harper smiled when she saw the completed bronze orange tree, now on location in a Southern California grove.

At the end of the show, Sarah jumped up to point to Harper's name among the credits. "Look, look!" she exclaimed. "Aunt Harper, this is so exciting. Can I get a copy to take home with me? I want to show everybody."

"Sure. My official copy hasn't arrived from the studio yet, but when it does, I'll make you one." Harper felt a little sad, as she always did about transitions. This film marked the end of an impressive career, after all. Chelsea moved closer and put her arm around Harper's shoulders.

"Are you happy with how they used your material?" she asked.

Harper nodded. "It was seamless. Really professional."

"They even left the music. That was nice."

Sarah grabbed the remote control and shut the TV off.

"Maybe I'll be a filmmaker," she announced emphatically.

Chelsea and Harper looked at one another with simultaneous smiles.

Chapter 30.

SUMMER, TWO YEARS AGO (AUGUST).

As soon as she came back from the Cape that first week in August, moments after dumping her suitcase on her bedroom floor, Harper called Chelsea, aching to see her again. Their romance was just two months old, boiling over with passion.

"Oh, Harper," Chelsea said, obviously excited, "I'll be right over. It seems like months."

"Take your time," Harper said, "I've only just arrived anyway.

Well, on second thought, don't take too long. I can't wait to see you.""Should I bring something for dinner? You're tired and hungry, probably, right?" Chelsea sounded breathless.

"'What care I for figs and flagons,'" Harper quoted in her best bedroom voice. "'Nor roasted meats nor honey-wine. I have my lover's lips to sup, her eyes to drink. Her body is my repast.

I'll eat and drink my fill, then sleep, intoxicated by her liquor.'"

"Oh, my God!" Chelsea cried. "Okay, I'm leaving now!"

Their relationship continued to take place mostly in bed, as it had before her trip back East. They did go out, to eat, to listen to music, to hike, or to play on the beach, but always with the understanding that they would make love once they returned to the privacy of Harper's house or Chelsea's apartment. Their time together revolved around sex, and it was incredible sex, the intensity of which Harper had never known. Just the touch of Chelsea's hand caressing her shoulder could send her body into a hot torrent of desire.

Harper knew that time would temper their physical desire for one another, which wasn't a bad thing because at some point she would need to go to work, do laundry, read a book or a hundred other things that she was now finding no time for. She envisioned a future where she and Chelsea would occupy the same house companionably, content simply with one another's presence. For the first time in her life, she was thinking seriously about spending the rest of her days with one person, and these thoughts filled her with wonder. She had never thought of herself as suited for that kind of life. But now she couldn't imagine ever tiring of Chelsea's sweet face.

Harper kept these thoughts to herself. It was all too new and overwhelming to talk about. She was waiting for it to feel less like a dream. It was too early, obviously, to say the things that reverberated in her mind- I love you, I want to marry you, I want to give you everything, every day for the rest of my life. I don't want anything at all but you. You're all I need to be happy.

Likewise, if Chelsea was thinking anything similar, she was not voicing it. The closest she came was one morning, saying goodbye as she left the house, when she said, "It's so hard to leave, even for a few hours. I want to spend every moment with you. You make me so happy."

For the time being, that was more than enough to lead Harper to believe that the two of them were in concert with their feelings.

And then, without any warning, one day in late August, all of this joy and all of Harper's hopes about the future came to an abrupt and devastating end.

"I'm going back to Mary," Chelsea announced.

Harper was stunned, uncomprehending. "Why?" she asked.

"She wants me back," said Chelsea, her expression sorrowful.

"She asked me to come back."

"You don't have to go," Harper objected, still not grasping what had happened. Chelsea was obviously not happy about the idea. She looked like she was about to march off to the guillotine.

"Yes, I do," Chelsea said, tears forming in her eyes. "She needs me."