The snow fell for days, piling up like autumn leaves after raking. It touched everything on the landscape, power lines, trees, fenceposts, everything had a fine layer of snow. I woke and started a fire in our bedroom fireplace. The fire gave the room a quiet, crackling illumination. I sat in the rocking chair next to the fireplace, wrapped in an old quilt, watching her sleep. Her hair spread out on the pillow, legs wrapped tightly in the old wool blanket, body rising and falling slowly. I timed the rocking chair with the movement of her breathing, watching her.

She moved slightly towards my side of the bed, then turned her face towards me. "What are you doing?"

"Watching you sleep."

"That sounds interesting. Come back to bed."

"No, I'm awake now. What would you like for breakfast?"

"Waffles. And you."

"Sorry, we're fresh out of 'you.' We do have waffles, however."

I gathered the plaid bathrobe from the hook on the back of the door and went down into the kitchen. The kitten was waiting for me. I fed her and started breakfast. The kitten was funny, the way she would munch her food for a while, try to play with the string hanging off of my robe, then go back to eating. Catherine had bought her from a little girl selling kittens out of a box at the mission. She was fun to watch at the mission, playing Christmas carols on the piano for the homeless people. She was enjoying herself so much, singing and pounding out Jingle Bells. The children enjoyed it, anyway. I found myself watching grizzled men eat turkey. When the Catherine found the little girl with the box of kittens, and looked at me, I knew we would be bringing one back to the house. She picked the runt, a small calico which she named Circe. I had been reading the Odyssey again, and Catherine liked the name.

I just had the first waffle made when Catherine came downstairs. Her hair was tied back loosely, framing her face. The summer freckles had mostly disappeared.

"Are they ready?"

"Yours is."

"Where's the coffee?"

"That's your job."

"Not this morning. Circe, c'mere kitty." After petting the cat, she sat at the kitchen island and ate a waffle like a wolf.

"Man, you're hungry this morning."

"I'm always hungry."

"Do you want to go cut a Christmas tree today? I read in the paper about this place where you can go cut your own. They have hot chocolate and carolers, and..."

"We can't do that."

"Why not?"

"Grandma had a fake tree that she used ever since I was little. Janet was allergic to the real ones, or something, I can't remember. Anyway, we have to use that tree."

"Janet isn't here. Let's get a real one."

"No. It's up in the attic. We can get it after breakfast."

"I'll go get it. I'm finished with breakfast, anyway."

I went upstairs and got dressed, halfway slamming the dresser drawers. I walked down to the landing and stuck my head around the corner.

"Catherine, where is the attic?"

"Go into the small back bedroom. There's a door beside the dresser."

"Got it."

It felt like walking into a movie prop department. The attic covered the top of the whole third floor, wooden floor covered with a fine layer of dust. Furniture from the past few decades, in various stages of repair, formed a walkway to the back of the attic. Pictures were stacked neatly against the wall, boxes filled the back. I figured that would be the best place to start, as I didn't immediately see a Christmas tree box.

The attic boxes were divided into decades. Boxes were marked with the year on top. 1980, 1976, 1965, 1955, 1945. 48, 1955, 1965, 1976, 1980. The seventies and eighties boxes were closer to the front, covered with less dust. Boxes with Catherine’s, and each sister's name, were next to the year boxes. On top of an old TV was the tree box. I grabbed it, and the box marked "ornaments" next to it, and headed down the steps. Catherine met me halfway down.

"Find it?"

"Yeah. Found the ornaments, too."

"Great. I'll take the ornaments."

She took the box from me and we continued downstairs. I looked at my watch.

"Catherine, I have a meeting in a couple of hours. You can either do the tree or wait until I get back."

"I'll do it. I know how everything is supposed to go."

"Ok. I'll see you later.

She leaned over and gave me a big kiss, the kind reserved for the movies in the fifties right as the music swells and right before the credits roll. She left her tiptoes and returned to the floor. I brought her eyes to mine by lifting her chin with my finger.

"What was that for."

"I really like waffles."

"Ok, I'll see you a little later.

My part of my office was a complete wreck. I shared an office with Colin, a network engineer who's originally from the United Kingdom. He’s about 50 or so, but never acts his age. His side was completely put together and neat. The other people on the website team would come in and give me shit about how "Odd Couple" it was. At least I could find everything. Usually, anyway. We got along well. I think I was a son to him, the son he would never know because of some IRA bomb. That’s what I had pieced together after a few drinks. I liked him.

Colin opened the door and handed me a present. "Merry Christmas, Carter."

I didn't know what to say. I didn't know Colin and I were exchanging gifts. "Thank you very much. I've got something for you, sorry but I never got a chance to wrap it."

I reached into my briefcase and searched frantically. Luckily I had bought a CD of John Coltrane for part of Catherine's presents, but hadn't wrapped it yet. I handed him the CD. "Merry Christmas, Colin."

"Thank you, Carter. You know I like Coltrane." He looked at me for a minute. "Well, aren't you going to open it?"

"Oh, sorry. Sure."

I ripped the Santa Claus paper and found a box. After opening it, I found two huge bright red coffee mugs. "These are cool, thanks Colin."

"No, my boy, look inside."

"Huh?"

"Look inside the mugs."

Inside the mugs were two tickets to Shakespeare's "Tempest."

"Wow, thanks a lot Colin." I felt like an idiot, he gives me theater tickets and I give him a CD I bought for somebody else. Great.

Colin pulled a cigarette out of his jacket, opened our office window, and lit the smoke. He looked at me, noticing my face. "Don't worry. I know we're not supposed to smoke in our offices, but I know the Dean's Boss is out. You're supposed to be in class meetings in a few minutes, so they'll know its me if anybody asks."

"Whatever, Colin."

"I though you and Catherine would enjoy the show. Tell her the tickets are partly a thank you for when she cooked Thanksgiving dinner. It would have been lousy eating leftover pizza again."

"Not a problem. We enjoyed having you." I looked at my watch. "Listen, I'd better go before the kiddies bolt. I'll be surprised if I have half a classof the team there anyway."

"Merry Christmas, Carter. Give Catherine a kiss for me. And congratulations on your engagement again."

"Thanks. I'll give Catherine a kiss for you, but not the kind you're thinking of. Merry Christmas."

I could hear his laughter as I walked down the hall.

The lights were off when I got back to the house. After unlocking the door I heard the piano. Catherine was in the room we had converted to her music room, silver candelabras filled with tapers. Candles filled the room with faint light. She did not notice me enter. Her hair was loose around her shoulders, and she was wearing a flannel shirt of mine, nothing else. I sat in the chair next to the door and listened.

After twenty minutes or so she noticed me sitting there.

"Hi."

"Hi."

"How long have you been here?"

"Half hour or so. Don't stop on my account. You know I love to listen to you play."

"Is it still snowing?"

"Yeah, it’s coming down pretty good."

She looked back at the keys. "I prefer the rain." She started a Beethoven sonata and closed her eyes.

"What's wrong."

She stopped playing. "What?"

"What's wrong, Catherine?"

"Nothing."

"Something's wrong."

"I hate the winters here."

"So let's leave. Christmas break starts tomorrow, I won't have to report again until the middle of January."

"I can't."

"Why not?"

"I just can't. I...nevermind."

"What?"

"We were always here for Christmas. Even when Eric and I were married. Now it's just us. And Circe."

I looked at her and she turned her head away to the window. The snow was falling in large flakes, steadily.

"We could invite your sisters."

"Karen already called. They’re going to her in-laws'."

"What about Janet and Margie? Have you heard anything."

"Got a letter from Margie today. She doesn't know about Grandma or anything. She'll be here tomorrow."

"Margie's coming?"

"Yeah. She's bringing the actor." She looked at me for a few seconds, then turned her eyes back to the snow. "I really hate the snow."

Margie arrived at the airport the next day. Catherine wouldn't go with me to the airport. I stood outside the gate with the "Margie Jenkins" sign in black magic marker and felt like a geek in a movie. Almost everyone had disembarked, when I see a pixie-ish woman with a short black bob haircut and black cats' eyeglasses look at me and start over.

"I'm Margie Jenkins. Who the hell are you?"

"I'm Carter. Catherine sent me to pick you up."

"Wow, no Eric. Too cool. Hold on, we have to wait for Perry."

A guy wearing a black suit from the forties with a Julius Caesar haircut walked over to Margie, handed her a bag. He took off his glasses, looked at me up and down, and then turned to Margie.

"Who's this?"

"Catherine's newest. Can't wait to see baby sis now."

We gathered their bags and walked to the car.

"Um, don't you guys have winter coats?"

Catherine looked up at Perry. He thought for a minute.

"I think they're packed."

She hit him on the shoulder. "Well that's a damn good place for them. I'm fucking freezing."

Perry seemed pretty unconcerned. "We're almost to the car, anyway." I said.

After all the bags were crammed in the trunk, we started out for the house. Margie sat in the front seat and fiddled with the radio.

"Still don't have any decent radio stations here in hicksville."

Perry leaned in from the backseat, put his arms on the backs of the front seats, and stuck his head in the middle. "Don't you have Sergio's tape in your purse?"

"Oh yeah, I forgot." She plunged her hand in her purse, dug around for a while, and came up with a tape. After putting it in, and turning the volume way up, she shouted to me "Sergio's a friend of ours. This is his band. They're getting a label deal pretty soon."

I put on my signal and hit the exit. "Cool."

"Yeah, they're real cool."

I thought about the contrast between the heavy guitar-oriented music blasting from my car speakers to Catherine's sparse piano compositions, turned the corner and pulled in the driveway. Catherine was waiting on the porch swing, wrapped in a heavy blanket.

After everybody got inside, Catherine and Margie went upstairs, leaving me and Perry alone in the library. He didn't look comfortable.

"Um, is there anything to drink in this place?"

"Sure, Perry. What'd ya want?"

"Beer's fine."

"Be right back."

I went to the kitchen and fished a beer out of the back. Catherine and Margie were still upstairs. . I heard a door open, then slow footsteps. I gave Perry his beer, and sat down across from him.

"So Perry, Catherine tells me you're an actor."

"Yeah, I'm working more now. Maybe you've seen some of my stuff?"

"Not sure. I didn't own a TV for a few years."

"You didn't have a TV? What kind of deal is that?"

"I was busy."

"What the hell do you do?"

"I'm a web site designer. I substitute teach English at on the side. I also do some writing."

He got excited and sat on the edge of his seat, looking at me intently. "A writer, huh? Got any scripts I can read?"

"No, mostly poetry. I have a friend in L.A. who's working in the industry, though."

"Really? Who's that?"

"His name is Joshua Bailey. We taught together for a while. He’s working on some TV show named Angel or something."

"Never heard of him."

Catherine and Margie walked in the room, Catherine leading the way. Margie plopped herself into Perry's lap and gave him a kiss. She looked at me for a moment.

"Isn't he great?"

What the hell do I say now? I nodded my head. "Yeah."

Catherine cleared her throat. "Um Margie, don't you want to know about Grandma?"

Margie swiveled around and looked at Catherine intently. "Yes, I do. Where is she? Is she in the nursing home? That's what I figured when I saw you here. You're taking care of her now, right?"

Catherine straightened herself in the chair. "Margie, Grandma is dead. She died in the fall."

"What?"

"Heart attack. We tried to get a hold of you, but all the numbers we had for you were either disconnected or the people had never heard of you. We called the restaurant, but they said you hadn't worked there for a couple of months."

"Holy shit."

"Sorry you had to find out like this. By the time I got the letter you sent Grandma, you were already on your way here."

"So what happened to everything?"

Catherine looked at the floor. "What do you mean?"

"The house, business, everything?"

"There's a copy of Grandma's will on the buffet in the dining room. I thought you should read it yourself."

Margie walked quickly into the dining room. Perry drank his beer and gave us one of those "Hi, how 'ya doin'" smiles, the kind you give when you don't know what the hell is going on. I looked at Catherine. She had pulled her knees up to her chin, feet on the seat of the chair.

Everybody's head snapped when Margie screamed.

"I can't believe this fucking shit! Grandmother always was a bitch, and now I have proof. She always loved you more. Everybody knew it, now we have proof."

She stormed into the library, face flushed red. Catherine slowly met her eyes.

"I'm sorry, Margie. It's not how I would have wanted it."

Margie sank into a chair. "I can't believe this shit. I can't believe this fucking shit. Merry goddamn Christmas."

Catherine got up and went into the kitchen. Margie kept looking at the will.

I got up. "Um, Perry, do you want a drink?"

"Definitely."

We went into the kitchen. Catherine was standing in front of the fridge, opening four bottles of wine.

She did not look up. Her hands were straining on the corkscrew. "We all could use a drink."

I put my hand on her shoulder and whispered in her ear. "Um, Catherine, don't we need glasses?"

"Not tonight."

When we got back to the library, Margie was looking out the window. She looked at us all, standing in the doorway with our wine.

"I hate the snow. I hate Minnesota. Right now I hate Grandmother. I've never hated you, Cathy. Shit, I hate this. Gimme some wine."

Everybody sat and drank their wine. Nobody said anything. Margie just looked out the window. Perry thumbed through an old issue of Architectural Digest. Catherine and I just drank and looked at each other every now and then.

Catherine finished her wine quickly. She stood up, came over and gave me a kiss, and announced that she was going to sleep, and that she had made up Margie's old room for her and Perry. With that, she went upstairs.

Perry quaffed his wine, smacked Margie on the top of her head, and said he was going to bed as well. Margie gave him directions, and settled into her seat. She looked at me, and I took a drink to break eye contact.

"Do you really love Catherine?"

I looked at Margie. The look on her face said pain, but she gave me that quasi-smile of the person who doesn't know you very well, but needs information.

"Yes, I do. We're engaged."

"I know. Catherine told me when we got here. Don't fuck around with her, or I'll..." She turned her head to the wall.

"Margie?"

Without looking at me she rose. "I'm going to bed." With that, she went upstairs.

I was up first the next morning, as usual, so I made the coffee. Nothing extravagant, but the grinding of the beans gives me a special pleasure. Those were beans, now they are ground coffee, soon they will be liquid coffee, which is pleasurable. It is the transformation from the bean to the liquid that I enjoy, the change in form, physical properties transmuted, changed, modified into some form that was previously alien to the property. I know, you can get it instant, but its better this way. The process seems to make it better, even if it's only an illusion.

Catherine came downstairs in her robe and slippers, said nothing, and sat at the counter.

I brushed her hair back from her face. "Hi hon, how ya' doin' this morning?"

She shifted her body on the stool, propped her head on her hand, and looked at me. "You're up early."

"Yes, I am. How'd you sleep?"

"Fine." Pause. "Is the coffee ready yet?"

"Not yet, couple of more minutes."

"Um. Ok."

"Do you have a hangover?"

"No."

"Are Margie and Perry still asleep?"

"No. They left early this morning, around three-thirty or four. She left a note."

"They left?"

"Yep. Note said that she couldn't stay if Grandma wasn't here, that this being my house pissed her off. That I didn't piss her off, but the way everybody treats me does. She left some packages in her bedroom. I don't know what to do with the one she gave Grandma."

I poured the coffee, and gave her the cup.

Bailey's plane was due in an hour, so I read the newspaper again. I had read the good stuff early in the morning while drinking coffee with Catherine before she had to do her stuff, so I was reading the sections that I skip. Births, deaths, etc. I wasn't from here, I didn't know anybody. I looked at the newlywed announcements, trying to pick from the pictures who would be happy. Bailey and I had used to look at the brides, and do the "who’s cute" deal with the brides.

The wedding plans had been going fairly well. We were getting married at the house, out in the back garden under the trellis full of yellow roses. Bailey was going to be my best man, Karen the matron of honor. My folks were coming from Iowa, and my brothers were flying in from Texas and Florida. She had her Grandma's wedding dress fitted, and I bought a new suit. It was going to be a small affair, mostly friends and family. A nice little spring wedding.

Bailey came roaring out of the gate, grabbed me and gave me this huge hug. I thought he was going to break a rib or something.

"Carter, you old son-of-a-bitch! Its damned good to see you!"

"Ow. You too, Bailey. Can you put me down, please?"

"What, oh sure."

I smoothed my shirt. "Thanks, people will start looking at us."

"Who the hell cares?"

"Let's go get your bags, c'mon, its this way."

We walked to the baggage claim, Bailey conversing in his usual animated fashion.

"So you're really getting married, huh?"

"Yep, I am."

"You're ready for this, right?"

"Bailey, are you trying to talk me out of this?"

"No, man, I just want to make sure you're doing what you want to do. I don't want to hear from you in two years saying that you're getting divorced and want to move in with me. Do you know how hard it is to score chicks with a divorced roommate?"

"You never change, do you know that?"

"Why mess with perfection, baby."

We picked up Bailey's bags, and got back to the house. There was a note taped to the door from Catherine.

"Let me guess, she's ditched you for some drummer and is moving to L.A., right?"

"Wrong again, boyo. She says that its bad luck to see the bride before the wedding, so she's staying with a friend at a hotel for a couple of days, and she'll see me at the wedding. And that I can't go into our room, she has a surprise for me."

Bailey started smiling. "Allright! Can't go into the room, you know what that means. Whips and chains!" He started laughing an evil little laugh. "Since she's not here, guess what? Bachelor party!"

"Yeah, it'd be pretty exciting, you, me, my dad and brothers, if their flights come in when they’re supposed to. Wow."

"You need a stipper, at least."

"Aren't we a little too old for that?"

"You're never too old for strippers, man."

Bailey and I hung out at the house for the next day or so. We really didn't do much. He brought a script to a horror movie that might actually work, as far as horror movies go. I gave him crap about horror movies not being worthy of his talents, and he said he just needed the money. He gave me crap about my writing as well, and I showed him the few poems and the novel draft that I had actually written. We ended up drinking all of the beer in the house, moved on to the gin, and finished with the wine. A bachelor party of sorts, I guess.

The wedding day opened brilliantly, sun streaming through the drapes. There was a stillness about the house, like the rooms were vivid interiors for a series of paintings. The absence of sound was amazing, I could actually hear my chest rise and fall with the unconscious rhythm of breathing. There were no birds outside the window, no constant call and answer. A morning in a pleasurable minor key.

The wedding was set for ten in the morning. After I put on some clothes, and walked slowly down the steps, I could hear the caterers preparing for everything in the garden. Bailey had already made coffee, and handed me a cup as we sat in the kitchen.

"This is it, buddy."

"Yeah, I know."

He sipped his coffee noisily. "Nervous?"

"A little."

"Let's go get breakfast. Nobody can think while watching waitresses."

"You are a perv, you know that, don't you?"

"I work at it. Seriously, though, let's go get a bite to eat. We've got the time."

"I gotta shower and get dressed. You did bring a suit, right?"

"K-Mart special. It's flame resistant."

"Asshole."

We got to the restaurant at around six or so, had waffles and reminisced about old girlfriends. Bailey did most of the talking.

Bailey pushed his plate back and looked at his watch. "It's about nine, we should be heading back. Pictures, you know."

I laughed. "Does this mean that you are capable of being a functional, responsible adult after all?"

He gave me that "kiss-my-ass" look. "Sometimes. Don't spread it around."

We drove back to the house. My parents and brothers had arrived. Mom was pissed because there was nobody to meet them until Karen came out and introduced herself. Everybody was mad that I wasn't there to meet them. The minister came over and shook my hand a little too firmly.

"Well, son, we should be getting ready."

I disengaged my hand. "I haven't seen Catherine yet."

"Of course not, bad luck. We need to get started."

The people had filed into the chairs we had placed in the garden. I looked into the crowd, but I didn't see Margie or Perry. I don't know why, but I expected to see them.

The minister motioned Bailey and I to the trellis. Catherine was to walk out of the house towards the trellis on the pathway. We stood in the sun, staring at the door. The minister motioned towards the violinist, who began something from Vivaldi that Catherine had picked.

We waited. The violinist began again. Still nothing. I looked at Bailey, and it was the only time I did not see a hint of sarcasm on his face. We looked at the door. Nothing. I looked at Karen, and she caught my eyes. Handing her flowers to her husband in the second aisle, she walked to the house, all eyes focused on her walk.

I looked at the sun, how the sunlight played through the trellis, shafts illuminating petals, streaming past the edges.

Karen returned, her face white. .

"She's gone." She left this for you, Carter."

I ran back inside the house. Her keys were on the table. I called her name, but nobody answered, my voice echoed through the rooms and reverberated loudly. I don't remember going upstairs. When I opened the door to our bedroom, I saw the paintings.

Canvases covered the walls. There were no spaces between the edges. Where there was an odd space, the canvas had been modified to exactly match up with the corner. Canvases from three feet from the floor to the ceiling. The colors ranged from a deep burgundy to smoky blue, grey, flashes of yellow. There was a portrait of me sitting in a chair reading, one of me in the yard weeding the flowers. A painting based on a picture a friend had taken of us in the kitchen making supper. Self-portraits of her, pale with burning hair. Photographs covered the desks, me at the church from the picnic long ago, Christmas pictures, pictures of Circe when she was small. Pictures of flowers, plants, trees, houses, her piano.

I pulled the flower out of my lapel and threw it on the floor, crushed it with my foot. Where was she? I ran down to the piano, and there was a letter on the keyboard.

My Dearest Carter,

I am sorry for the pain I have caused. Please take care of Circe, she loves you so. I have transferred all of my holdings, and this house, to you. Please love it as I used to. I cannot find words for anything else. There are just too many places on my map that I haven't seen.

Remember that a woman once loved you with all of her heart, but there just wasn't enough heart left.

Catherine

I walked back outside and told Bailey what happened, and as the words came out his face went white.

"Bailey, tell everyone the wedding is off. That Catherine has left, and I don't know where she is. Tell them to take their gifts. Tell my parents that I'm sorry, and I'll call them at their hotel later. I'm not seeing anyone, I'm going back in the house, locking the door, and I'm going to get stinking drunk. Tell them that."

"Ok, whatever you want Carter."

"Thanks."

I saw nobody's face as I walked back to the house, just blurs and pieces of faces, a ponytail here, some guy's tie. As soon as I closed the door, I locked it, went up to Bailey's room, and grabbed a pack of cigarettes from his suitcase and sat on the bed, smoking cigarette after cigarette.

My parents stopped by late that night. My brothers came shortly after. We sat in the library, not saying much for a while. Bailey had been busy cleaning up outside, and the trash was overflowing, even without the reception. I was still wearing my wedding suit, one that Catherine had picked out especially for the wedding.

"I’m sorry everybody had to travel to Minnesota for this."

Dad walked over and put a hand on my shoulder. "It’s OK, Carter. Things happen that you can’t explain. Maybe its for the best."

I didn’t say anything.

"Listen, son, we have to get back. I have a meeting tomorrow. Maybe..."

"That’s OK, Dad. I understand."

After some hugs and kisses, I was left in the library alone. I heard the car back out of the driveway, gravel underneath the tires. I got up and walked into the kitchen. Bailey was drinking some wine. He looked up when I walked in, nodded to me, and took another drink.

"Maybe you should travel a bit. Get away from the house."

"Can’t."

"Why not?"

"Who would take care of this place?"

"Why worry about it?"

"Because she loves this place."

Bailey walked over and looked me in the eyes. "Man, she left you at the altar. She’s not coming back."

"Yes, she is."

"And how the hell do you know that?"

"Gut feeling."

"The same gut feeling that said you were getting married?"

"Fuck you, Bailey."

"Fuck you, too. I’m serious."

"So am I."

"Whatever." He walked back to the kitchen sink, drained his wineglass, and placed it in the sink. "Listen, you’re my best friend. You have to look out for yourself. I can’t always be here."

"I know."

"Think about it for a while." He started towards the door, then stopped. "My flight leaves tomorrow morning. If you need anything..."

"Thanks."

"Really, though, what are you going to do?"

"I don’t know. Catherine’s note said she signed everything over to me, whatever the hell that means. My teaching consulting contract runs out in June, and I don’t have any web projects left. I don’t know."

Bailey walked upstairs. I sat in the kitchen, petting the cat until I lost track of time.

Colin called me after a couple of weeks. "So, how’s married life, or do I need to ask?"

"We didn’t get married."

"Pardon me?"

"She left me at the altar."

"No, not our Catherine?"

"Yep."

"My boy, I will be right over. See you in 15 minutes."

"OK."

Colin arrived in a rush. As I could hear the car stop, I think he sprinted to the door from the timing of the knock on the door. I opened the door and the sunlight streamed in behind him.

"Carter, Carter. What happened?"

"Come in, Colin. Care for a drink?"

"It is exactly 10 in the morning. Isn’t that a little early?"

"For some, perhaps."

We walked to the kitchen. I poured us both coffee.

"This is a more sensible drink for the time of day, my friend."

"Just waitI know." I added a large dollop of brandy. "Now its better."

Colin shifted in his chair and gave me a semi-stern look, like he was getting charged extra at the garage on a muffler install. "What are you doing with yourself? I haven’t seen you since before, well..."

"Since before the wedding."

"Yes, since then. All I know is that I came to the office one day and all of your things were gone. The department ChairBoss said that your contract was up, and that you had left. That’s it."

"That’s right."

"What are you doing now?"

"Talking to you."

"Not exactly. I mean, are you teaching consulting someplace else?"

"No. I’m just doing some writing."

Colin took a long, thoughtful drink of coffee. "Why do you stay here? This is her house, isn’t it?"

"Yes and no. Yes, it’s her house but it’s legally mine now. She had papers signed over before she left."

Colin looked at me hard. I could almost feel his eyes in my head.

"You are a lost soul now, Carter. Am I right?"

"What?"

"What are you doing? What is your direction?"

"I feed the cat, make meals, work on a couple of web pages for promotional stuff, write a little."

"That is not enough. You are coming with me for a week. I will not take no for an answer. I am camping up north, and you are coming with me."

"Colin, I..."

"No, you are coming with me. It is decided."

It felt good to be outside. The early July sun was warm, even by the Canadian border. Colin and I had been busy, fishing, hiking, canoeing, all of the Hemingway stuff. We lit fires. Drank coffee. It was good. It was just us and the wilderness, no cars or motorcycles, faxes, e-mails, anything. I hadn’t even thought about Catherine for a couple of days until Colin said that it was time to go back. And where do I go back to? And to what?

Colin got out his map and called me over. "Carter, if we head due north, we should run into the best trout fishing around, or so I am told. It will take us a day or so, but it should be worth it."

I shifted my pack and lit a cigarette. "Colin, I have nothing but time. Lead on, MacDuff."

It was a great walk. The sun wasn’t too hot, the bugs weren’t noticeable, and the country was breathtaking. Rolling hills, the sound of a nearby stream gurgling, birds. We walked mostly on the trail, every now and then taking a short jaunt off to one side or another to get a drink from the streams. Such clean water I have never seen in my life, and probably will not see again.

We walked until almost four in the afternoon. Colin was the first to set his pack down. "My boy, I believe that this should work for tonight. We’ll need to camp now if we’re going to catch our supper. Time for the tent." And with that, he started to make camp. There was something relaxing about the methodology of the camp, the process at hand took concentration, there was no idle chit-chat, just the work to be done. After setting up the campsite, we grabbed our poles and headed to the nearest part of the stream. Colin had the whole fly-fishing gear, while I had an old pole that had a hook and a worm. Colin was quite disgusted with me, but we roughly caught the same amount of fish, and we didn’t go hungry. If I didn’t want to clean the trout, then I probably would have caught hell, but Colin didn’t really say too much.

The campfire was blazing pretty well, the bugs weren’t anywhere to be seen for the most part, and we were drinking campfire coffee, so life was pretty good.

Colin took a sip of coffee and studied me like a painting. "Carter, what are you going to do with your life now?"

"You mean, now that Catherine is gone?"

"Yes, now that she’s gone and your contract has run out."

I looked at him across the fire, wood crackling and popping. "I’m not sure. I’d like to make a go of my web site business, and I’ve been doing a little writing. Of course, we all know how rich poets and unpublished novelists are, so I’m not really counting on that."

"Carter, are you going to stay in the house?"

"I’m not sure. It kind of leaves a bad taste in my mouth. Always a reminder of what could have been, but never was. It’s Jeannie Thompson all over again."

Colin sat up a little straighter, his back against the log. "Jeannie Thompson? I don’t believe I’ve ever heard you speak of her."

"It was in high school. She sat in front of me in study hall. She was probably the most gorgeous thing I had ever seen back then. She had this long brown hair, big brown eyes, she had it all. Even better, she was smart and nice. What more could you ask for?"

"What happened?"

"It’s pretty much a cliché, but here goes. I always wanted to ask her out, but never did until right before the end of the school year. We went out a couple of times, saw some movies, had a great time. I went on vacation with my family, and when I came back she was gone. One of her friends said that she moved to Wisconsin, but nobody ever found out. I used to look for her in crowds until I met Catherine. I guess I have two faces to look for now."

Colin shook his head in assent, reached into his backpack and threw me a wineskin over the fire. "You need it more than I do right now."

I laughed. "You could have burned it up, you know."

"And waste good wine? I would have you know I paid over two dollars for that bottle."

I had to laugh. The last time Colin paid two dollars for a glass of wine would probably have been 5 years ago. He was looking straight at the fire, unblinking. "What is it Colin?"

"I believe that I saw Catherine the day after you two were supposed to be married."

I dropped the wineskin, sat up straight, and smoothed the wrinkles in my pants. I could almost hear my muscles forcing air out of my lungs.

"I was at the Weeping Boar, on 44th Street. She was sitting at the end of the bar by herself, drinking wine. I came up and kissed her, thinking that you were around somewhere. We had a bizarre and rather short conversation, then she left.

My eyes still weren’t focusing well. I smoothed the imaginary wrinkles in my pants. "What did she say."

"Well, after I said hello, Catherine took another drink and looked at me. She raised her head slowly, saying ‘We’re all just disgraced angels here. We’re the souls that have lost the right to be in heaven, so now we’re down here on earth, unable to fly. That’s why we don’t have wings. Our souls used to have wings, but we’ve all lost them for some reason or another. I don’t believe Lucifer was evil, just more human than the other angels. Don’t get me wrong, what we believe Satan is and Lucifer was are two different things. We’re just disgraced angels. Our time here on earth is just caesura, a dramatic pause.’ Then she put some money on the bar, kissed me on the cheek and left. I simply assumed she was drunk off of her ass because of nerves."

I didn’t say anything. Neither did Colin. We went to sleep.

After Colin looked at the map, we decided that we probably would never make it to the wonderful trout area with enough time to fish and make it back. Colin had packed everything into the canoe. "If we leave now, we’ll meet our contact where the river divides. I do not want to be on the road with all of the bloody Independence Day traffic."

I had forgotten that today was the Fourth of July. Independence Day. How damned ironic.

As we canoed Colin told me about when he was a boy in England, camping in the old forests, how you could lose yourself wading through streams fly fishing for trout, knowing that these were the hills that King Arthur traversed, and even Shakespeare. I listened with a writer’s ear. This could be a good poemstory. Or scene for a screenplay. Probably not. Maybe I could call Bailey. The offer to move to California was still on the table.That is, if Dunbar would take my calls. We didn’t leave it well, and I hadn’t heard from him lately. I did get an e-mail after he got back, and I replied, but that was it.

We met Colin’s contact and loaded the equipment. I was tired, but it was a good tired, the kind where your body’s physical exhaustion overwhelms your mind. I don’t remember the hours riding in the truck. When we got back to the house, I unloaded my stuff, and thanked Colin.

"I will be calling you soon. I think there might be a position open again for that new department, if you’re interested."

"Might be. Let me know. Thanks, Colin."

I walked in the back door and dumped everything off just inside the door. I didn’t even bother to take off my boots, just went to the fridge and got out a beer. I sat down on the couch, turned on the TV, and started watching the Twins play Detroit. Not much of a game, but at least it was baseball. I guess it was about the fourth inning when I fell asleep.

When I woke up, I knew it was early evening because the sun was gone. I could hear some neighborhood kids shooting fireworks. The thing I could not get out of my mind was the smell. It was the smell of Chinese food, and I knew the spices. I got up abruptly, knocking over my empty beer bottle, and went into the kitchen.

She was sitting on a stool, drinking a glass of wine, reading the paper. Her hair was different, shorter, above her shoulders, framing her face. She rose her head and looked at me.

"I didn’t want to wake you."

I didn’t know what to say. My mouth was probably open in a look of incredulity.

"Hello, Carter."

"Hi."

"I fixed your favorite."

"Thanks."

"Have you been camping?"

"Yeah, I went with Colin."

"Good. He’s always wanted you to go with him. Did you go up north?"

"Yes." I took a few more steps closer to her. "Catherine, where have you been? What happened?"

"Don’t."

"I need to know."

"Carter..."

"Come on, I think I deserve it."

"You do. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry."

"Catherine, do you love me?"

"Yes."

"Then why did you leave?"

"Because I was trapped."

"By me?"

"No. By everything else. You were my way out, but I have to live here, remember?"By the house. I have to live here, remember?"

"Yeah, so?"

She lowered her head and ran her fingers through her hair. She looked up. "Tthis isn’t my house. This is Grandma’s house. It’s a museum to all of the pain. All this house ever brings is pain. Where’s Janet? Look what happened when Margie came back. I just can’t do it."

"What about me?"

"It’s my fault for bringing you up here, for thinking we could stay here, that you could help fix things. You’d established yourself here, you were teaching, how could I drag you away from this now?"

"I’m not teaching anymore."

Her head snapped up sharply. "What do you mean?"

"My contract ran out. I’m unemployed."

"I’m sorry."

"Thanks."

Neither of us said anything for a long time. I walked over and sat on the stool next to her. We both looked at the coffee maker.

Her voice was low and flat. "I was supposed to put the family back together."

She hadn’t moved her head when she spoke. I looked at her. "What did you say?"

"I was supposed to put the family back together. It was Grandma’s treatment of me that helped drive everybody away. I wanted us all back together again, like it used to be. I thought that marrying you would help bring everyone back, everyone here again."

I looked at her face. "Since when is that your job?"

"Since it was my fault that the family broke up. Mom and Dad were going to get me from a piano lesson when they had the wreck. Janet told me it was my fault, and when Janet left Margie told me it was my fault again. I know that they were young and angry and it really wasn’t my fault, but I still can’t shake it.

"So now what?"

She looked me straight in the eyes. "Come with me."

"Where? Where have you been?"

"Our old apartment."

"Where?"

"Our old apartment. Before we came here. I never let it go."

"How did you do that?"

"You’re forgetting, II was’m rich, remember? What a load of shit."

"What’s a load of shit?"

"All of this. Owning this house, part of Grandpa’s business. Karen being pissed off at me for living here. I know, she doesn’t say it, but she is. She’s the one with the big family, yet I get it. It’s like Margie said at Christmas, I always get spoiled. It’s not my fault, I don’t want it to be that way. I’ve never wanted it to be that way."

I sat there for a while, not saying anything. Catherine got up and turned off the wok.

"Are you hungry?"

I shook my head. "No." I got up and took her hand in mine. "What are you going to do now?"

She looked at her watch. "It’s time for fireworks. Come on."

I looked at her face. I could read nothing. "What?"

"Its time for fireworks. Follow me."

She held her hand in mine and led me upstairs. Once again I could smell her perfume, watch her hips move up the stairs. When we got to the attic door, she opened it and entered.

"We’re watching fireworks in the attic?"

"No. Come on."

I followed her through the maze of the attic until we came to a window above the porch. She opened the window and stepped out.

"We’re watching fireworks on the roof?"

"Janet started it. It was a tradition, all of us girls would watch fireworks while Grandma would sit on the porch. You can see the fireworks wonderfully from here."

We sat on the roof, wind blowing slightly. Her hair moved with the wind. I kept looking at her face, seeing the shadows change with the fireworks. She kept watching the sky.

"I found Janet."

"What?"

She was still looking at the sky. "I found Janet. She’s living in Reno. She’s a waitress at a restaurant. Has three kids, been divorced 4 times."

"How did you find her?"

"Private Detective."

"How long have you been looking?"

"Since Grandma died. Tracked her down through a car loan, she listed Grandma as a reference."

"So what did you say to her?"

"I didn’t say anything. She still doesn’t know that I know where she is."

"Are you going to tell Karen?"

"Maybe. I haven’t decided."

"What have you decided?"

"That I don’t need maps anymore. That I can’t pick up all the pieces anymore. That I just need you and everybody else can go to hell.."

"And you just expect me to take you back?"

"Yes."

I was pissed. "Even after you left me at the altar, with my family here, with everything ready for you to walk down the aisle, and you bolted. With all of that, you still expect me to take you back."

"Yes."

I lit a cigarette and exhaled slowly.

"When did you start smoking again?"

"The day you left."

"Its not good for you. You know I don’t like it."

"Well, you weren’t here to not like it."

The fireworks had ended. A few kids shot bottlerockets in the distance. She scooted closer and put her arm in mine, rested her head on my shoulder. "I’m sorry, Carter. I just..."

"I brushed her hair back from her face. "Nevermind. You’re here now. The only thing I ask is that you’re here tomorrow."

"Ok."

"Ok, then. Let’s go inside."

"No, just sit for a while. Please."

We sat for a while, listening to the cars move in their ceaseless rhythm, sirens crescendo and decrescendo, the intermittent crack of fireworks. The dance of moths after the streetlights. After a while, she rose and reached for my hand.

"It’s late. Lets go in now."

"Do you want to stay here?"

"I want to get off the roof."

"I’ll sell this place."

"What?"

"I’ll sell this place, Catherine. Your grandmother’s will said nothing about me not being able to sell it."

"I guess..."

"I’ll sell it to Karen. For a dollar. If that’s what you want. What do you want, Catherine?"

"To be with you. Not to live here. Not to have everyone hate me for something I can’t control. To get away from all of that."

"Let’s go in. We have stuff to do."

"What?"

"C’mon Catherine. We’ve got stuff to do."

I called Karen while Catherine cleaned up the kitchen. She said she’d try to get an early flight tomorrow morning. I gave her my cell phone number again and told her to call me when she got in.

Catherine sat down at the piano. She didn’t play anything, just sat there. I went over to the piano.

"What’s wrong?"

"I haven’t played since I left."

"Play something for me."

She looked at my face.

"Please, something for me."

She started something slow, a minor key piece that I had never heard before. I stood and leaned on the piano, watching her hands move, her face taut, eyes closed. When she finished, she remained motionless. Circe rubbed her leg.

"She’s missed you."

"I’ve missed her too. Oh, you pretty little kitty." Catherine stroked Circe, who intertwined herself around Catherine’s legs. She was much bigger now, growing quickly.

I went over to Catherine, and held her face in my hands. "I love you. You make me absolutely furious sometimes, but I love you." I kissed her gently. God, I have dreamt of this so many times. What I was going to do. I would tell her off, kick her ass out of the house and laugh. I’d rip all of her clothes off and make mad, passionate love. I’d say nothing, let her plead and whine and cry and try to get me back, and I would do nothing, just stand there. I’d have the cops arrest her for something or other. I simply gave her a kiss. "I’m going upstairs. You can sleep wherever you feel comfortable. Good night." I went up the stairs, trying hard not to look back. I wanted this and I didn’t. I didn’t know what I wanted. Sometimes it seems as though I never have. It was easier to let somebody else make the decision, and they usually would if you waited long enough.

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