Day 5: The Plan

On Friday morning, Jon was up bright and early—or, at least early, for despite Daylight Savings Time there was little sunlight to be had. Leaving his sleeping wife as he had the day before, he snatched a quick five-minute shower, hung some clothes on his body, grabbed a granola bar for breakfast, and drove to work.

"You were saying you needed to leave early today, right?" Dr. Polkiss said by way of greeting.

"Yeah," said Jon, "about one-ish. We managed to line up some appointments to go look at apartments. I told them I'd have to clear it with my boss, and that if we didn't show to just assume I hadn't gotten time off."

"Now, why would you have to tell them such a thing as that," Dr. Polkiss asked, smiling. "Of course you can take off early, Jon. We'll cover for you. You don't really work all that much out there anyway," he added with a grin.

"Yeah, don't I know it. The other thing was... Sad as I am to say this, I might not be able to work here much longer. It's a great job, and I really enjoy it, and I was talking to Caitlyn about seeing if she can shift her classes around enough that she can maybe fill in the gap. But... A family costs money, and..."

"Yes it does," Dr. Leyton agreed, stepping in. "It costs a lot. What, is he handing in his two weeks' notice?"

"No, he's handing us notice of his two weeks' notice," said Dr. Polkiss.

"I'm still looking around," Jon said, "I don't have anything lined up yet. But if something does come up... I mean. I just... Need the money."

"Right," Dr. Leyton agreed, "family being the multi-million dollar industry it has become."

"We could just give him another raise," Dr. Polkiss said.

"No, we couldn't," Dr. Leyton said. "Jon, we love you and we love your work here, but to be perfectly blunt, we pay you more than you're worth. —As a worker, I mean. We pay you a lot less than you deserve as a person, but we didn't hire a person, we hired a secretary. And we're barely turning a profit as it is. Polkiss-Leyton Dentistry is a business, and we have to think like a business, no matter how much we want to be a charity."

"Which is pretty damn much," Dr. Polkiss agreed.

"But you'll probably be here for a while," Dr. Leyton said. "I mean, you don't have any major expenditures in your life coming up, do you?"

"Well... Apartment hunting," Jon said. "And, plus, Caitlyn's mom wrangled on a lot of her possessions. She's making us pay her almost $30,000 to buy it all from her, because she technically owns most of Caitlyn's things. That's like half our total savings."

Dr. Polkiss gaped at him.

Dr. Leyton gaped at him.

Then they looked at each other, and Jon had the impression of a couple of knights going for their swords.

"I swear," said Dr. Leyton. "If there was a test of whether someone two people were qualified to be parents, those two would not have failed. They wouldn't've flunked. They wouldn't even have washed out. They would have been dragged out the door and sterilized by Charles Darwin."

Jon sighed. "Yeah, but then where would Caitlyn be?"

"You gotta take the good with the bad," Dr. Polkiss agreed diplomatically.

"But that's a whole fuckload of bad," said Dr. Leyton. "Seriously. No parent should be allowed to load their kid down with this amount of bullshit."

Jon sighed. "Yes. That is true. But being true doesn't make it happen."

"So, what are you going to do," Dr. Polkiss asked.

"We're putting The Plan on them," said Jon. They'd spent about half of Thursday bringing people up to speed and refining the presentation. "We're only bringing in her grandparents, her uncle Max, and Pastor Pendleton, but we hope it'll be enough."

"Those are powerful names to Linda Delaney," said Dr. Polkiss. "Names to conjure with."

"When are you putting it on them?"

"Tonight."

Dr. Leyton choked on a mouthful of water. "Tonight? On top of work, and checking out apartments? It's a Friday, you guys should be partying!!"

"We'll have time for that over the weekend," said Jon. I hope. I'm exhausted from this week, and so's Caitlyn, I can tell. And it's not like she doesn't have her first final on Tuesday. Jon's mother had very generously agreed to drive Caitlyn to school and pick her up again, joking that it made her feel young again, so Caitlyn would be able to get her papers and final assignments and homework (on which she had spent the other half of Thursday) turned in on time. "Besides, Cait... She's not pleased about all this, I can tell you that, especially the stuff about making her buy her harp from them." A quick call to the local constabulatory had straightened that one out—and, unfortunately, the Delaneys did have the law on their side. "Nobody knows what her music will sound like on Sunday, that's for sure, 'cause she hasn't had a harp to practice on."

In truth, Jon was dreading the confrontation. It would be ugly, he knew that, and probably painful as well. Hateful things were going to be said, by all and sundry, and no matter who won, the victory would be bought and paid for in blood. No one would like each other after this—and, even worse, no one would respect each other after this either.

Or themselves.

At 1 PM, Jon clocked out and swung on home to pick up his wife. She greeted him at the door with a kiss, and Jon suddenly realized that in the chaos of the last two days, they hadn't had time for sex since Wednesday morning. Suddenly he wished they had a lot more time. But they didn't; if they hurried, they might make their appointment on time. Real life indeed. Why did any of us want to grow up? Well, besides so that we could have sex.

Their first stop was a nice place several miles away from Shellview State, a posh two-bedroom apartment that was far out of their price range. But Jon's mother had suggested they check it out anyway, just to get some perspective. It was very nice—moderately spacious, and pleasantly lit despite the dim December sun. But it was about $1500 too expensive for them—$1500 a month—and though they were polite and acted as though they were considering it, it was all a white lie for form's sake.

Caitlyn had also stumbled across a good deal—a very nice apartment for under $1000 a month, so nice they seriously considered taking it. The main problem was that it was just down a major freeway from both Shellview State and Greenfield, and the commutes would be killer. It was just too far out of the way.

The one they were really looking for was not hard to find; Caitlyn had passed that building on her way to school every day. The place did not compare favorably to the other two they had looked at: it rented to students, so it was small and not all that well-kept. Judging by the smell, its previous occupants had either been football players or some sort of mass murderer; either way, it explained some of the splotches on the floor, and perhaps why whoever had previously rented the place had since been evicted. But it offered two overwhelming advantages: it was cheap, and it was close enough to school that Caitlyn could walk (in other words, it was cheaper still). It was the only one they were really considering, and while it wasn't perfect, they knew it was the best choice. It took about an hour to read through and sign the lease, which lasted through the end of the school year to reset the typical leasing cycle: they would move in the day after Christmas, and move out in mid-June. Jon felt tremendously proud, but also tremendously scared.

"I'm not even sure there's going to be enough room for my harp," Caitlyn said as they left. "And good thing they have an elevator, 'cause we can't take that thing up and down stairs."

"We'll need to pack very carefully," Jon said. "And furniture, we'll have to choose that very carefully too. There won't be much room. If you don't mind the kind of cramped quarters we have now, we can just take my twin bed and call that done; open up a lot of space in the bedroom."

"We could bring mine," Caitlyn said. "It's a lot wider, it's more like a queen-size."

"Is it extended-length?" asked Jon, who was five feet eleven barefoot.

"Huh?" said Caitlyn, who was five foot five with heels on. "Does it need to be?"

"Yes," said Jon, who was still five eleven.

"Uhh. I dunno, I'll have to measure it. It's large enough for me; I can sleep on it sideways, backwards, at diagonals... Nathan used to use it, but my grandparents gave it to me, and once he moved out I took it back."

"Your parents might try to take it back too," Jon reminded her.

"But it's not theirs. It's mine."

"You think that's gonna stop them? If we have to get this legally adjudicated somehow..." He sighed. "This is gonna be like a divorce."

Caitlyn gave an unhappy sound. "Let's never get divorced, then."

They got back to Jon's house at about 4 PM. Jon felt tremendously tired: while he had worked yesterday, Caitlyn had frantically finished up a week's backlog of homework; then they'd spent the night carefully refining The Plan into its present format. This was on top of the past three days, which, while fun, had not been especially relaxing; they'd been continually thrust into new situations (including the situation of Jon thrusting into Caitlyn), and while that was rewarding, they both preferred the safety of habit to constant chaos. Jon was looking forward to being able to establish some sort of weekly routine—one that didn't involve them having to develop new patterns of response every two seconds.

When I imagined what my first week of marriage to Caitlyn was going to be like, I never imagined this.

"You know what would've been really bad," Jon said.

"No," Caitlyn said. "What?"

"If your mother had found out about us, and then declared we could never see each other again."

Caitlyn made a face. "Cut off the engagement. Yeah. I think that's probably what we were trying to avoid. Why we... Well, eloped, really, is what we did, even though we didn't go very far."

"What God has joined, let no mother burst asunder," Jon agreed. "If she's going to oppose the engagement, let's make it something she can't meddle in."

"Not that she isn't going to try," Caitlyn warned. "She'll... Ugh, I don't know what she's going to do. She'll..."

"Hey," Jon said, "hey," drawing her to him. "She can try. But she's not going to succeed. I mean, we just agreed that our marriage is beyond anything she can bust up, didn't we?"

"I know," said Caitlyn. "But that doesn't mean life won't be a living hell for a while." And Jon didn't have much of an answer for that, but to hold her tighter still.

"Hmm," she said after a while. "We haven't had enough time to do this."

"Then I know a very good way to spend a couple hours before dinner," Jon said, drawing her towards the bed.

"Okay, but... No... No naked stuff," said Caitlyn. "—I mean, that's fun too, but right now, I just want..."

"And what my baby wants," Jon said, "is what my baby gets."

It seemed like he had utterly forgotten just what comfort was to be found in her arms. It wasn't just being able to smell her, and feel her cheek against his, and her breasts on his chest; it was that his arms were made to be filled, to hold someone close and comfort them. And to be comforted as well. To be reunited; to be... Whole.

"We need to remember," he murmured. "No matter what happens, no matter how, how crazy life gets... We need to stop for a while and just... Hold each other."

"Mmm," she said. "Yeah."

"I wish we had time," he murmured. "I just..."

"I know," she said. "But, if we started, we'd still be here in three hours." She must have sensed his mood—that was just what he was thinking of. "And, we have... A deadline."

"Right," he grumbled. "A line that, if we cross, we're dead."

"No," she said. "We're going to win. We have... We're so much in the right, we have so many supporters, there's no way..."

"No, I know that," said Jon. "What I'm worried about is: in war, everybody loses."

They had agreed to meet Caitlyn's parents for dinner, as a prelude to the campaign and also to see if they could somehow open peaceful negotiations. Jon sometimes thought Caitlyn was looking forward to the possibility of open hostilities—he supposed to he couldn't fault her for wanting the chance to tear her mother a new one, even if he didn't think it was a smart thing to actually do—but clearly she was wary of it as well. What he was more worried about, personally, was that her mother might decide to make a scene. Caitlyn didn't think so—"She's not so lost to propriety as that"—but in Jon's opinion, Mrs. Delaney might be desperate enough to do anything to keep from losing. Or maybe it was to keep control over her daughter. Sometimes it seemed like she didn't see a person at all, just a knick-knack on a shelf that needed to be nailed down so—

"—Hey," he said suddenly.

"What?"

"I just realized something. The theory is, your mother wants to control you, right? She wants you so under her thumb that you practically can't even breathe without her permission. But it's been hard for her to accomplish this, because you never give her any openings. Right?"

"Okay, I'm with you so far."

"So... You just gave her a huge-ass opening. You let her see that ring on your finger."

"Umm... Ri-iight... But, she didn't—"

"But she didn't!! Cait, what a catastrophe would it have been if she'd said, 'Okay, young lady, we'll let you get married, but only if you agree to our terms, which basically consist of us being able to dictate your life'? What would've happened if she had turned around and used that ring as a weapon against you? What would've happened if she'd taken the weapon you provided her and strengthened her rule?"

Caitlyn was quiet, seeing it now. "Wow."

"She had a golden opportunity and she missed it. Up until the moment you told me to take you away, you were basically submitting to her rule."

"Yeah. I know."

"If she had struck before you'd decided to fight..."

"So, basically..."

"So, basically, she's at her wits' end. She wasn't thinking clearly enough to take advantage of this huge gap in your lines—and half of combat is just being fast enough to exploit momentary weaknesses in your opponent's defenses. You've been fighting with your brain, so there haven't been that many weaknesses to exploit. But your mother's been fighting with her heart—she's been making bad decisions and letting her fear control her—and now we know it. There will be plenty of weak spots for us to exploit. We just gotta be smart enough and fast enough to see them and hit them."

"Wow," said Caitlyn, smiling. "This is pretty cool."

"We are so gonna wipe the floor with her."

"And here I thought you were the pessimistic one."

"I was." Momentary ebullience faded. "I still am. It's still gonna be really hard. But—that's a pretty good thing to discover about your opponent on the eve of battle, isn't it? That she basically has no conscious idea of what she's doing and how to do it?"

But, instead of responding in kind, Caitlyn sighed. "We're going to war," she said. "Against my family."

And then: "This sucks."

"I know," Jon said, and took her hand. But somehow he knew it wasn't enough.

They arrived at the Delaney house—1334 Praden Terrace—in a flurry of dust and silence. Jon had told Caitlyn at least once a day that she didn't need to return here unless she wanted to... And here they were, returning again. Jon knew he didn't want to, and judging from the heaviness in Caitlyn's step, maybe she didn't want to either. Maybe it was too early. They'd been married for only three days and twenty-odd hours, after all—barely enough time to establish identities of their own. 1334 Praden Terrace, on the other hand, was Linda Delaney through and through. She'd marked her territory as a dog sprays trees, and every decoration, every speck of paint, every flower was a reeking reminder of her presence.

And yet... There, just off the curb, was the teetering mailbox (the neighbors') that Jon had come near to clipping with his wing mirror every time he'd visited. There, towering over the backyard fence, was the tree against which he and Caitlyn had once stolen a few very passionate minutes, tongues dueling, hands roaming further than they had ever gone before. And upstairs were Caitlyn's two rooms, just as fragrant with her personality as the rest of the house was with her mother's.

We have a place here too, Jon reminded himself. "We have a place here too."

"At least, until I take the last of my stuff," Caitlyn said.

Then Mr. and Mrs. Delaney were meeting them at the door, and it was time to go.

Jon was relieved at the relative calm of the proceedings. On the one hand, Mrs. Delaney kept her peace throughout the meal, and Mr. Delaney seemed content to offer polite conversation. (The man had always reminded Jon of some huge savannah-bound herbivore: placid, but possessed of total stillness, and implacable when roused.) On the other hand, polite conversation was all that was offered; it was plain that the Delaneys had no intention of connecting with their daughter or her husband, and as it takes two to make conversation, Jon and Caitlyn found themselves getting nowhere. Jon found that frigid propriety was not very good seasoning for any sort of meal. If her parents noticed that both he and Caitlyn were eating one-handed—the other clasping their spouse's tightly beneath the table—they made no comment whatsoever.

What did we ever do to you! Jon wanted to yell. What on earth did we ever do to you! We've been dutiful, we've been respectful, we've been mindful of God's laws... Yes, we got up to things that involve a certain level of intimacy, but if you were to tell me you two never did the same, you'd be lying. You've never made me feel any more welcome than politeness requires, but I've done my best to be open and receptive and courteous, for Caitlyn's sake if nothing else— What more do you expect? What more can you rationally expect??

But that was the problem, wasn't it. They had left rationality behind a long time ago.

When they got back to the Delaney house, Jon was struck by a sense of claustrophobia. It took him a while to realize why: it was the amount of pictures on the walls. All those faces, smiling out at him: Linda Delaney, Samuel Delaney, Nathan, Caitlyn herself... Uncle Max, Mrs. Delaney's parents Ruth and Gordon Cassidy, even Uncle Max's sons Roger and Jerome. There were none of Mr. Delaney's siblings, and very few of his parents, but easily a dozen of the others. So many pictures. It had always unsettled him, he realized, the phalanx of garish smiles, much the same way it had discomforted him to always have to tiptoe around his parents' house and the gazillions of artifacts and knickknacks and curios on display. It was like a shout of desperation: "Hey, we're wealthy!" He wondered what Mrs. Delaney was trying to prove with all those pictures.

"So," said Mrs. Delaney, seated on the couch with Rex curled up at her feet. "I understand the two of you had something you wanted to discuss with us."

"Yes, as a matter of fact," said Caitlyn. Jon could see her struggling for composure. "We did."

Mrs. Delaney gestured expansively. Caitlyn was silent for a moment, gathering her thoughts.

"As you know," she said, "Jon and I have been married. We haven't come here to discuss this. Pastor Pendleton wed us in the sight of God and man, and we have no intention of getting an annulment or a divorce or anything like that. Jon is my husband, just the way I've always wanted him to be, and I am his wife as I have always wanted to be. I'm sorry we couldn't inform you of our plans ahead of time."

Jon wanted to add that the frosty expressions on their faces were part of the reason they hadn't been informed, but he held his tongue.

"We haven't come to discuss why we got married," Caitlyn said. "We came to discuss why we got married so quickly—why we went from fiancée to spouse in a matter of hours. We wanted to... To share some observations with you."

"I can't think of anything you could say that I'd want to hear," said Mrs. Delaney.

And why do you think we're having these problems, Jon wanted to say, but he didn't.

"Be that as it may," Caitlyn said with surprising calm, "there are things we feel we want to tell you. And we have agreed that it might be to your benefit to lis—"

"First off, young lady, there is no 'we,'" said Mrs. Delaney. "You are our daughter, and we haven't given you our blessing for this marriage. Until—"

"I'm sorry," said Jon loudly, "am I hearing that you are denying your twenty-year-old daughter her right, as guaranteed by law, to choose her own husband?"

"Mr. Stanford," said Mr. Delaney, speaking for practically the first time all night, "You are not helping your case with these outbursts. Kindly—"

In might've gone downhill from there if someone hadn't rung the doorbell. Mrs. Delaney looked up, annoyed. "Who in—"

"I'll get it," said Caitlyn, who had deliberately placed herself near the door. It was, unsurprisingly, Grandma and Grandpa Cassidy: that was what happened, when one's progenitors lived a mere two minutes' walk away.

"What are you doing here," said Mrs. Delaney.

"We heard there was a party," said her father with a broad grin.

"How are you, Caitlyn," asked Grandma, giving her a hug. "It's hard to believe my tiny little granddaughter is all grown up."

"You're not the only one for whom it's hard to believe, Grandma," said Caitlyn, and Jon suddenly wondered if the old woman had said that just to set Caitlyn up for that response. Eighty though they were, and slow of movement, Mr. and Mrs. Cassidy were still too clever by half. He was just glad they were on his side.

Barely had the grandparents gotten settled (Jon and Caitlyn obligingly giving them half the couch) when the doorbell rang again. It was Uncle Max, followed mere moments later (while the door was still open) by Larry Pendleton. Jon (unasked) grabbed two chairs from the dining room to get them all seated, and of course it took some minutes to get Rex to sit down and stop drooling on everyone's pants. By now Mrs. Delaney was looking around with a wariness bordering on fear. All of these people (with the sole possible exception of Pastor Pendleton) had given her a piece of their minds regarding her treatment of her daughter at some point in the past couple of years. Caitlyn was clearly planning something. The question was, What.

"All right," said Caitlyn. "Now that everyone's here."

"I think it's a bit presumptuous to invite people to a house you don't even live in," said Mr. Delaney.

"It is," said Caitlyn. "But they're part of our conversation. If they leave, I leave."

Mrs. Delaney's face was stone. She didn't want these people here, but this was her best (and maybe only) chance at getting her daughter to abandon this folly, and Jon knew she knew it. They had been counting on it. "Then let's talk," she said.

"All right," said Caitlyn. "I wanted to tell you about how Jon and I met. We knew each other at Greenfield, but we weren't really friends until last March, when I took a risk and decided to open up to him. He was a psychology major, so I thought I could trust him. And so, I told him..." She drew a deep sigh—this was something that only Jon and Larry Pendleton knew. "I told him that I'd been thinking about killing myself."

There was a complete and absolute silence. Even Rex was still, his liquid eyes inexpressibly sad.

"Jon, of course, was alarmed. He'd never suspected that anything like this was even remotely true about me—"

"We never suspected!" cried Grandma Cassidy, who was, outside of Jon, probably Caitlyn's closest friend.

"I know," said Caitlyn. "I hid it from people. I didn't let on. I took a huge risk in telling Jon—one that paid off, because he was my loyal friend from then on and eventually a lot more—but for the most part I didn't tell anybody. And this was even after having friends at school—Brandon and Christa and all those—who had experience with this sort of thing. But I didn't know that at the time; I only found out after I'd told Jon." She gave him a smile. "Good thing for me that I didn't." "Funny," said Mr. Delaney. "When you invited them over last Christmas, they didn't seem that messed-up."

"Because they aren't," said Jon sharply.

"Well, they must be," said Mrs. Delaney. "Who else would try something as stupid as suicide?"

"Why does a fox chew off its own leg," Jon retorted. "Not because it's stupid—because it's caught in a situation, in this case a trap, that will lead to its death, unless it somehow escapes. Sure, losing a leg is a crippling blow, literally—but better that dying."

"Most of the time, suicide isn't about actually killing yourself," said Pastor Pendleton. "It's about asking for help. It's a rather backward but very effective way of telling the world, 'Look, I can't take this anymore, I need to escape, I need to change something.' Maybe the person actually succeeds at killing themselves. Well, something's changed. Or, maybe their plea falls on the right ears, and someone, let's say Jon, steps in and tries to make things better. Well, something's changed. Either way you achieve your goal. But you're right about one thing: you don't try it unless you have nothing to lose. You don't try it unless something's really, really wrong."

"What could've been wrong?" asked Mrs. Delaney in anger. "Caitlyn, you had the perfect life. You won the Cartier Prize for Musician of the Year when you graduated. You're an excellent harp player, you're an excellent oboe player, you— Your grades were wonderful—"

"And was I happy with any of this?" Caitlyn retorted. "Did you ever stop for one moment and ask, 'Is Caitlyn happy with all this?'"

"Well— Well, of course, we—"

"You didn't." It was like an iron door slamming closed. "You took a quick look around and never thought to ask why I was wearing all black, or why I wanted to spend more time at school, or why—"

"Caitlyn, be fair," said Grandma Cassidy. "You're a very close-mouthed young lady. You didn't tell me these things until I'd been asking you for months."

Caitlyn took a deep breath. "Yes. Yes, that's true. I'm not the kind of person who speaks up."

"Well, then!" cried Mrs. Delaney.

"Do you know why?" Caitlyn asked.

Mrs. Delaney blinked.

"I'd like to recount a conversation to you, Mom. You may recognize it. You and I were sitting in the exact same places we are now, and I said to you, 'Mom, I'd like to talk to you about why Jon and I got married so hastily.' And you said...?" She gestured for Mrs. Delaney to fill in the gap.

"Well, I... Why, I'm sure that I asked for you to continue."

"You said, 'I can't think of anything you could say that I'd want to hear,' " said Jon.

"That is exactly what you said, Mom," Caitlyn agreed.

Mrs. Delaney looked at her husband, whose face was stone.

"Mom, Jon and I did something kind of stupid," Caitlyn said. "We've been working on marriage plans for almost as long as we've been dating, but when this crisis happened we jumped the gun. I don't regret it, not in the slightest, but I also know that if we had waited a few months or even a week to get married, things would have been a lot easier. We're paying for it, now, as we speak, and we will probably continue paying for it for a long time.

"Knowing this, I came to you to talk about the subject—one which is sensitive and will probably result in hurt feelings. I came to you to try and strike up a real conversation. And look how you responded. That's always how you respond, mother. So is it any wonder that I don't tell you anything?"

"I don't see what that has to do with it," said Mrs. Delaney. "My mother forced me to tell her things all the time—"

"And you appreciated it?" said Grandma Cassidy. "Did you truly now, Linda? I seem to recall a certain incident when you were twelve, where I forced you to tell me that you'd kissed Roger Gorman behind Building Twelve, and you threw beets at me and swore not to speak for me for a month."

Uncle Max laughed. Mrs. Delaney turned red.

"You may appreciate it now," Grandma Cassidy said, "but at the time, you hated it. And you may remember that I didn't punish you, not for kissing Roger Gorman and not for wanting to keep secrets. I let your red face do that. If you're going to try to pin these problems on me, and on your terrible upbringing—Lord knows enough people try to do that these days—I will fight you on it, and you'd better believe my memory's sharper than yours when it comes to those times."

"So, we've established that I can't talk to you," said Caitlyn. "And I can't talk to you because you can't listen."

"Yes I can!" said Mrs. Delaney.

"Then prove it!" Caitlyn shot back. "Listen to what I'm telling you!"

"I won't listen to you if you won't talk sense!" Mrs. Delaney declared. "I am not— I am not some stupid child, to be confused with nonsense!"

"Are you?" said Uncle Max, who heretofore had been silent. His voice was gentle. "Then what happened to the older sister who used to tell me to grow up and admit that someone else could be right, and that I could be wrong? Now, obviously, that's an older sister's prerogative, but—" He gave a light laugh. "—sure looks bad from this angle, doesn't it?"

"Mrs. Delaney," said Pastor Pendleton. "What you are exhibiting is what my psychologist friend Ned Stanton calls, for better or for worse, 'the religious mindset.' He is a self-proclaimed scientist: he examines the facts, builds a hypothesis, and tests one against the other. If the hypothesis is false, he claims, the scientific thinker changes the hypothesis. The religious thinker, on the other hand, changes the facts."

Grandpa Cassidy gave a great guffaw.

"Your daughter is currently presenting you with a number of facts that you find inconvenient," Larry Pendleton continued in a calm voice. "So you are choosing to ignore them. That's an understandable reaction—certainly, we all have things we wish were untrue—but ultimately a dangerous one. Because, if you ignore too many things, you risk losing touch with what is truly, honestly, actually going on. What would Jesus ask of you in this situation? Would he tell you to continue sheltering yourself and attending to your own safety at the cost of other people's feelings? Or would he tell you to step out, to tear down your safety and go out and love people and face the painful truth?"

"Back when I was in college, getting one or the other of my six degrees," said Uncle Max, "I heard of this guy named Ockham. Old English fellow. Designed a razor. This razor wasn't very good for shaving, but it was a useful in circumstances like these. Ockham's Razor is a mode of thought, or a philosophy: it says that, if there's more than one possible explanation for a thing, the simplest one is the most likely to be true.

"So, consider your situation. Your daughter has left the house. She is married and living on her own. She has all sorts of crazy ideas about why she left, and about the mistreatment she has evidently suffered at your hands. Your theory is that she's lying, trying to mess with your head—or, even better, Jon has somehow bewitched her and put ideas into her head to hurt you.

"That theory requires Jon to be a liar—which we know he is not—and furthermore requires Caitlyn to be susceptible to that sort of con—which we know she is not. The next theory, that Caitlyn is lying, requires her to be a liar—which we know is also not true. The final theory, that she's telling the truth, is the only one that stands up, because it requires nothing. Except that you pull your head out of the clouds and listen."

"How can you say that to me," said Mrs. Delaney. "Your own sister!"

"I can because someone must," Uncle Max snapped, and Jon jumped involuntarily—he had never before heard this man raise his voice. "Linda, do you think this is the only conversation we've had on the topic? We all have our concerns over how you treat Caitlyn, especially after Nathaniel left the way he did. We all know why he left, all of us but you, and there's a really simple reason for that. Want to apply Ockham's Razor to that little conundrum?"

"It can't be true," said Mrs. Delaney. "It can't be."

"Oh," said Uncle Max. "So you're going to tell us we're wrong. Me, your brother, and your mother and father, whose advice you always turn to whenever you have questions. Larry Pendleton, whom you followed to another state because you respect him so much. Your own daughter, Caitlyn, whom you love more than life itself. You're going to stand here and tell us all that we're wrong."

"Mrs. Delaney, please don't think we're simply out here to hurt your feelings," said Pastor Pendleton in a gentler voice. "Because we're not. It's always hard to confront our own mistakes, especially ones that might've hurt someone we love. If we follow Christ, we will be sympathetic to you, and forgive you for your sins. But if you follow Christ, you must face them first."

"Everyone's pointing you in that direction, Linda," said Grandma Cassidy. "Everyone's agreeing. Maybe it's something you should open your mind to."

Mrs. Delaney sat silent for a long moment.

"Tell me," she said.

Everyone relaxed, which Jon thought was a bit premature: she hadn't agreed to listen, only to hear. But everyone seemed to think it a victory. Had they really been that pessimistic about the likelihood of bending her ear? Maybe he should be more joyous.

"It starts with Nathan," said Caitlyn. "And, actually, we may be able to finish there, because everything else was more of the same. So let's start with Nathan. Do you know what he did?"

"Yes."

"Do you know how he would describe what he did?"

Mrs. Delaney was silent.

"That's what I thought," said Caitlyn.

"I thought you said this was about you and Jon," said her father.

"It is," said Caitlyn. "Mom, could you describe what we did as we would describe it?"

Once again, Mrs. Delaney was silent.

"So let's examine that difference," said Caitlyn. "Mom, I'd like you to describe, in your own words, what Nathan did."

"He packed up and left," said Mrs. Delaney immediately.

"All right," said Caitlyn. "What else? I seem to recall some words passing between you and him prior to his departure."

"Yes," said Mrs. Delaney.

"What were they?" Caitlyn asked.

"I... Well... He told us about a month before his departure that he was leaving. And I was very hurt that he hadn't consulted us or told us about it or asked our advice."

"And you had every right to be," Caitlyn said, surprising Jon and her mother both. "I've never lost a son, obviously, but I can imagine how I'd feel if Jon just upped and left me for no reason. But let me ask you: what would you have told him if he had actually asked your advice?"

"I... I would have... Asked him if he wanted help packing, or, or—"

"Really, mother? They say hindsight is twenty-twenty, and I think they're right. I'm not accusing you of lying," she added firmly, as Mrs. Delaney opened her mouth to protest. "I'm just saying that sometimes people mis-remember. So let me ask it another way. When Nathan told you he was leaving: if you could have told him just one thing, and had him obey it, what would you have told him?"

Mrs. Delaney opened her mouth.

"Honestly," said Caitlyn, and Mrs. Delaney shut her mouth.

She was silent for a long moment.

"I would have told him not to leave," she said.

"Why not?" Caitlyn asked.

After a moment, Mrs. Delaney said, "I didn't want him to."

"Why not?" Caitlyn said again.

Her mother flared. "What, is there anything wrong with wanting a son to stay close?"

"Nothing at all," said Caitlyn. "But as you yourself proved, a child can have their own family and still stay close to their parents. So, what other reasons did you have for wanting him to stay? You shouted at him, mother. Something as simple as where he's moving doesn't provoke that kind of reaction. Why else did you dislike the idea of him leaving?"

"I... I was... Concerned," said Mrs. Delaney. "He's far away, he's in Idaho. It's hard for me to... To keep an eye on him."

"Yes, it is," Caitlyn agreed. "But I'm sure Nathan was aware of that. If he had wanted your eye on him, he could have moved somewhere closer. He didn't. He must have decided he didn't need your help."

"But what if he's wrong," Mrs. Delaney protested.

"Then he's wrong," said Caitlyn, "but isn't that his choice? It's his life, to do with as he pleases."

"But he might make a mistake without someone to help him," Mrs. Delaney protested.

"So?" said Uncle Max. "There's nothing wrong with making mistakes, Linda. The problem is making them after you should know better."

"Look who's talking," said Mrs. Delaney. "You married the same woman twice."

"Yes," said Uncle Max easily, "I did. I'm very happy to have my wife back, and Larry and Heath are glad to have their mother back."

"I never understood what you saw in her," said Mrs. Delaney.

"Of course you didn't," said Uncle Max. "Nobody does. I didn't tell you most of what goes on between me and Velma, neither last time nor this one. I don't tell anybody what goes on, for the most part. And, for the record, I never quite understood what you saw in Roger Gorman, or Jim Pritsker, or any of the men you ever showed interest in. But I also know there's a lot you don't tell me, so I trusted you to make up your own mind, and to know, a lot better than I would, what's best for you."

"But it's not the same," Mrs. Delaney protested. "I do know what's best for Nathan."

"Do you?" Jon said—a little more sharply than he had intended. But... This was just such a stupid idea! "Do you, really, Mrs. Delaney? Tell me, then: what do you know about being Nathan? What's it like to be Nathan? What does he think when he wakes up in the morning? What does he think when he looks in the mirror? What does he think when Caitlyn talks to him over the Internet? What does he think when he goes to work? What does he think when he goes to bed? Do you know these things?"

Mrs. Delaney was silent.

"If you don't, then how, in all honesty, can you claim to know what's best for Nathan? You don't know him anywhere near well enough to make such judgments."

"And there's nothing wrong with that," said Pastor Pendleton, sliding smoothly into the gap. "I have three children of my own, and they still surprise me every day. I don't know them well enough to predict their actions. And that used to bother me, until my wife Amber pointed out that there are only two people who can ever know or even have a chance of knowing what a person will do before they do it: that person's spouse, and God. And even the spouse is wrong sometimes. Seeing as I am neither God nor my children's spouses, I have no chance. And that's something both Amber and I have had to accept, no matter how hard it was to do so—and believe me, it hasn't been easy."

"So, we've established that you wanted Nathan to stay," said Caitlyn. "And we've established that you were scared for his future—which is understandable. But let me ask you a question: how did your mother react when you got married?"

"Nathan isn't getting married," said Mrs. Delaney sharply.

"No, he isn't," said Caitlyn, which was not technically a lie. "But he is still stepping out and becoming independent—and you've told me many times over the years that marriage was the first time you left Grammy and Grampy's house. So, how did they react when you did exactly what Nathan did: leave the house?"

"They... They seemed pleased," said Mrs. Delaney. Her voice was quiet. "I was so nervous about... About being on my own, and having to cook for Sam, and keep a clean house, and... And they just..."

Jon felt an unpleasant tingling, a wash of understanding.

"Linda... Did you think we..." Grandma Cassidy whispered.

"We... We were happy, because you were so happy," Grandpa Cassidy murmured. "Of course we were sad to lose you, but who wants to be burdened with a parent's worries on the day of her wedding, and you looked—we felt..."

"O Lord, hear our cries of grief and loss," said Pastor Pendleton, his voice quiet but strong. "Help us clear away the obscuring curtains of misunderstanding, and see clearly, and forgive clearly the wrongs that were done us, not of hatred, but of love."

Jon was starting to see the picture a little more clearly. He and Caitlyn had developed quite a few different hypotheses on what drove her mother's actions, but in lack of proof they'd never been able to separate the good ones from the wrong ones. One of those theories was that Mrs. Delaney might have gotten somehow suspended in childhood—obviously, she had grown up physically, and even borne children, but in her heart she was still a little girl, wanting nothing more or less than her parents' love and approval. This one, Jon saw, might have enough proof to start trusting in.

"So," said Caitlyn, gamely dragging the discussion back on-topic for the third time, "we've established that you may not have had any idea what Nathan was actually trying to accomplish. But how did you act?"

"Even I can answer that," said Uncle Max. "She's always been an insufferable know-it-all. She acted like she had all the answers and that Nathan was totally wrong."

"Mom, you teach second grade," said Caitlyn. "Weren't you just telling me last week about that one kid, Davis, who annoys you and the kids so much because—"

"All right!" said Mrs. Delaney.

Uncle Max chuckled. "That's our Lindy. Stubborn to the end."

"So why do you think Nathan might've decided to up and leave?" said Caitlyn. "Why do you think he might've done so without ever consulting with you? Why do you think I might've been so unhappy with the lifestyle you chose for me that I wanted to kill myself? Why do you think I might've upped and left without ever consulting you?

"Is it because we're all nuts? Is it because we're all crazy? Or is it because we knew you'd disagree, and you can't ever accept an idea you didn't have? Because you don't listen to people unless they're agreeing with you? Because you simply can't stand to be wrong?"

Mrs. Delaney was silent for a long moment, staring at her hands.

Then she said, "No," and at the fire in her voice Jon felt his heart drop. We were so close, so close...

"I know the voice of the Devil when I hear it," said Mrs. Delaney. "His lies are seductive, but they lead you down the path of sin, and the wages of sin are death. I know my heart. I know my truth. I know what the Lord calls me to do."

"The Lord calls you to lie to yourself," Uncle Max said, nonplussed.

"And you," she said, turning on them. "How dare you come into this house, you who claim to be God-fearing people, and spew these untruths to me. Especially you, Reverend! I trusted you! Well. You may think you are safe behind your special little title, but the Lord knows. And the Lord remembers."

"Mrs. Delaney," said Larry Pendleton, "I would not have come here if—"

"Out! All of you! Out, out, out!!" She pointed, imperious. "I never want to see any of your faces again!"

And Caitlyn stood, cold hatred on her face, and spit out the three simple words that (Jon would later find out) she knew would kill her mother's heart in her chest:

"Fine by me."

And Mrs. Delaney paled, but continued pointing, and that was the last they saw of her as they shut the door.

Then there was a profound, ugly silence as they stood on that profound, ugly yard, feeling as if for the first time the acid of the chill December air, and the biting wind on their faces, and the grotesqueries of the silver moonlight. Jon felt ill.

"Well," said Grandpa Cassidy eventually. "That turned out well."

"Will she ever forgive us," Grandma Cassidy murmured.

"You know Lindy," said Uncle Max, "she'll be back by tomorrow," but his normally jovial voice was quiet and tired.

"Well," said Larry Pendleton. "I don't mean to be an I-Told-You-So, but I did mention the dangers of choosing sides."

"You didn't have to come, you know," Jon shot back.

He was instantly sorry—Reverend Pendleton had indeed not had to come, but had chosen to out of the goodness of his own heart, and quite obviously now at some personal loss to himself. Thankfully, the minister was not offended. "I know," he said. "I chose to. My wife passed me a saying she found in a book in a book somewhere: 'Take what you want, and pay for it.' We all took what we wanted today: Mrs. Delaney took her pride, and Caitlyn took her vengeance, and I took the path my heart followed instead of my head. And now..." He sighed. "Now, we must all pay for what we took."

"What's she paying," Jon said, tossing his head at the closed door.

"Everything," said Larry Pendleton. "Did you see all those pictures, Jon? Her family—everywhere her family. The bond of blood is everything to Linda Delaney—and she just alienated every single person who shares it with her. Eventually I think she will start to question if the cost was worth it."

"What will you do if she comes back to you," Jon asked.

Larry Pendleton made a bit of a grimace. "The hard thing: turn the other cheek."

Caitlyn kept it together, for the most part, as they drove back to Jon's parents' house, but she wasn't especially communicative, and when his parents came out to greet them, they needed only to look at her face to know how things had gone. It wasn't until they reached his room that the floodgates opened. Then she cried.

We seem to find ourselves meeting like this a little more frequently than is probably healthy, Jon thought. And though he once again held her in his arms, stroking her hair and whispering whatever assurances he could, he knew it would not be enough.

We failed. It was his last thought as he drifted off to sleep, Caitlyn's unhappy breath still in his ears and her tears drying on his shirt. We failed.

Day 6

When Caitlyn awoke the next morning, her first thought was, We failed.

It was a cold bleak morning. She had fallen asleep sprawled across him, and outside she could see the overcast wall of clouds. She had always loved this sort of weather, especially when the sun lit up the sky from the inside; Jon said that this was the clouds dissolving into silver linings. But there was no such light now, and all she saw was cold cadaver death.

We failed.

Just the mere thought of it threatened the tears again. We failed. And we were so close, so close... All it would have taken was that one final admission, that one ultimate concession of error, and they would have been done. But no: Mom had chosen her pride, or some such that she had vaguely heard Jon and Pastor Pendleton talking about through her daze, and maybe now she would pay for it. But Caitlyn didn't think so. Mom had won, after all; there was no way she could possibly be as miserable as Caitlyn was now.

But Caitlyn remembered what Jon had said: "In war, everybody loses."

She looked up at him.

She couldn't see much of his face, not at this angle, but he was squirming a little bit, fidgeting under her, and when she lifted herself up to look at him, his eyes snapped open, wide and terrified.

Then there was a moment of struggling panic until she realized that he wasn't attacking her, he had simply grabbed her and was now clinging to her with titanic force. "Oh God," he breathed, "Oh God, oh God. I dreamt that I lost you. Oh God."

And suddenly she realized that her mother had not entirely won. Caitlyn hadn't achieved that single devastating paradigm shift, but surely Mom had had her own goals as well—mostly consisting of convincing her idiotic, headstrong daughter from pursuing this foolish marriage idea. Caitlyn had nipped those in the bud. True, Caitlyn had lost... But so had her mother. Neither of them had ultimately achieved anything. And perhaps a stalemate was better than a total loss.

And besides: she still had Jon.

His mouth opened hungrily under hers, and his hand snaked behind her head. Another slid down across her back, caressing her buttock and then the leg beneath, and with a sudden jolt she realized just how long it had been since they had... Done it. Not all that long in a global sense—surely even married couples had abstained for longer than two full days—but when that was half the duration of your marriage... Not the way I ever envisioned spending my first week. Even I figured we'd do it more than this.

"Caitlyn..." he breathed. "Caitlyn... I want..."

"Yes," she whispered.

His hands dove under her shirt, trying without much success to undo her bra and relieve her of her shirt at the same time. The bra did come off, and the shirt rucked up above her breasts. His hands found them, the palms rough and good against her skin, while she battled with pants and underwear—hers needed to come off, but she simply pulled his down, letting his erection spring free. Then she was over him, on him, mounting him, welcoming him home.

She wasn't sure how well the entry would go—at less than two minutes, this was by far the most rapid foreplay they had ever engaged in—but clearly her ardor had risen to match his, because he sunk in to the root on his first stroke, and she almost exploded with the fullness inside her, and with the sudden wave of pleasure. She could not explain the sensations of his penetration—it was like her entire body was wrapped around him when he was inside her. Surely it was not that long, surely she wasn't that cavernous. But that was what it felt like.

They kissed as she rode him, his hands caressing her back, her waist, her hips, and she gloried at every sensation, but it was barely moments before he groaned and tensed and she felt the sudden warm burst of his seed inside her. It felt incredibly good... But then panic speared through her mind—The condom!!—and she lifted off of him, letting the next bursts arc out into the air and onto his stomach. Despite the ringing bells in her mind, she found herself strangely fascinated—she had never seen him shoot before, and had no idea that his penis possessed such... Range. The first one puddled up almost halfway up past his navel.

When he opened his eyes he looked from the semen on his chest to the panicked expression on her face and said, "Shit."

In the shower, she used the detachable shower head to thoroughly irrigate her nether parts. Jon said he wasn't entirely sure this was safe, but it was just water, surely it couldn't hurt that much. She did not use soap, as he was sure that wasn't safe. "It should be enough," he said, "and we can always run and get a morning-after pill if we have to." Caitlyn didn't like that idea in the slightest, but... What was it she had heard Pastor Pendleton say? "Take what you want, and pay for it." She guessed they had.

Jon joined her in the shower after a few minutes of hurried Internet consultation. "You can use soap, if you want," he said, "but you run the risk of, number one, infection because the soap is probably anti-bacterial and will wipe out the harmless population of natives in your you-know-what, allowing less-savory characters to move in. Number two, you have to wash really carefully to make sure all of it gets out."

"I guess I'll have to take my chances," Caitlyn said, reaching for the shampoo.

Jon stood under the spray for a moment. "Well. That was quite a wake-up. Who needs coffee when you could have a pregnancy scare?"

"Yeah," said Caitlyn. "I'm really wishing we had a more reliable form of... Of birth control. One we didn't have to remember every time. I mean, we've had sex four times and used a condom only twice. That's not a very good ratio."

"Well, that at least would've been one of the convenient things about waiting for a few months before getting married," Jon said.

When they had emerged, scrubbed clean and feeling a bit more awake, Jon turned to her. "What do you wanna do? We've got a whole day ahead of us. Two whole days, actually."

"I have two services to play tomorrow," Caitlyn said. "I should probably call Mrs. Sellitz and tell her that I won't be ready—I haven't practiced at all this week. Except for a little bit at school yesterday. You have practice with your group. And I have finals next week..."

"Okay, so, not quite a whole weekend," Jon said.

"And even if I had practiced, it's not like the church has a harp I can borrow; we always brought mine. If I don't have it..."

"So much depends on that one piece of hardware."

"Yeah, no kidding," said Caitlyn. "Well... You brought your checkbook yesterday, but we kinda forgot to—"

"And the check might've bounced, since we technically closed my account and shifted all the assets into a joint one."

"But we don't have checks from that one yet either."

"Yeah, the lady at the bank said some time this coming week."

"Well... I'd better leave a phone call with my dad, or something. See what we can work up. What are we gonna do in the meantime?"

"Well... We could go back to bed and do it right this time."

Caitlyn felt her eyebrows jumping.

"It... It felt good, with you... Ejaculating... Inside me," she admitted, feeling her cheeks flame. "I wish..."

His arms circled around her. "Believe me, baby, it felt good for me too, but we can't. It's just not safe."

"Yeah."

"And... I didn't get to... You didn't come. I should've..."

She hadn't—in fact, she had barely gotten started—but somehow she didn't mind that. "It's okay," she said. "Jon, you always put me first. You always spend so much... So much time, and effort, and strength, and love on me. And I really like that. But this time we put you first, and I like that too."

"I like it when we just put each other first," Jon said.

That did seem the smartest way to run a marriage, but... "Yes, but how do you do that, umm. In bed?"

"Haven't you ever heard of a sixty-nine?" he asked.

Now she was definitely confused. "What?"

"Didn't you run across that on the Internet the other night?"

Did he see what I was looking at? "No."

Jon rolled his eyes. "Come on. We gotta finish your education."

When he sat down at the computer chair, totally naked, and gestured for her to join him, she knew what was going to happen. So she gave him a wink and said, "Just a second," and then darted over to the nightstand for a condom. "Just in case, you know. Something should come up."

He kissed her. "I have married a very smart girlfriend."

With the feeling of his penis (his cock?) under her leg, and his bare chest all down her side, it was a little hard to concentrate at times. But the things on the computer screen were so... Alluring. Instead of leaving her to the mercy of search engines, Jon called up one of the video files he had hidden away on his computer. It was a sort of tutorial, to judge by the narration and occasional bullet points, depicting all the various ways men and women could put themselves together (He did see what I was looking at). The sixty-nine was for oral sex, allowing the man and the woman to stimulate each other simultaneously; once she thought about the numbers, and how they would look together, she understood the allusion at once.

It was the intercourse positions that truly got her going, though. It wasn't just the actual positions, though she really liked the variations she saw on the things they'd tried already (missionary, woman-on-top, spooning). It was also the film. The video was accompanied by footage of various men and women acting out the positions, and while their genitals were rarely visible, it was also very clear just how much they were enjoying themselves and what they were doing. She had seen some of the other pictures of men and women at it—close-ups of private parts, sometimes so close she could barely make sense of what she was seeing. Those did not turn her on in the slightest; these, on the other hand, were far more arousing. It was not so much graphic as it was evocative; she could feel their passion as if it were her own.

She suddenly realized she was squirming on his leg, and that she was very wet. Each wiggle rubbed her pubis against his leg, sending gentle shocks of pleasure through her body. "Hmm," said Jon, a verbal smile. "Maybe we should try out one of these new combinations?"

She almost fell down in her haste to stand up, so that he could put the condom on himself. She saw once again how he did it, and thought she might be able to do it herself next time. Then, with his guidance, she straddled him and guided his fullness into herself. His lips were on her neck, his hands on her back, her breasts pressed against him, and she let her head fall back with a soundless gasp of joy as together they began to move him up and down inside her.

It was much longer this time, for a variety of reasons. Jon later explained to her the concept of endurance, and how he could last much longer since he had had one orgasm already. She also didn't have much leverage, until Jon noticed and lowered the chair: her legs just weren't long enough. On her end, she could feel her clit pressing against his body every time she moved down on him. And of course the condom helped—by making things worse, at least. It just isn't the same. If I had known, I would've waited. But, if I'd known, maybe I wouldn't have been able to wait. If I'd've known...

Soon, Jon's hand slipped between them, finding her clit, and things became much better. She wasn't sure how he fit it down there, with his lips still nibbling her ear and her breasts pressed against him for the added pleasure of his chest on her nipples, but he did. And soon she realized how well he had learned to read her, when she felt the first jolt of pleasure beneath her. Then her moans reached a crescendo as her pussy spasmed and clenched down on his cock—Oh, so good, so good, it's so much better with him inside—and then she was gone, overwhelmed, feeling only the rampant pleasure as her body tensed and jolted and shuddered, not noticing her own voice calling out his name, nor his groan of pleasure as he erupted up inside her, filling the condom with his seed.

When she could think, she was breathing hard, slumped onto him, his own breath rattling her hair. "Oh," he murmured. "Oh. Caitlyn."

My Lord. Lord Almighty. Twice in two hours. Twice in an hour! What would people think if they knew?

...Nothing, of course, because they'll never know. Why should it matter what goes on between us, in the privacy of our own... Company? No one will ever know. Unless I tell them. ...Or Jon tells them. Which he'd better not. I'll never sleep with him again if he does!

...Okay, that's a lie.

"See," he panted. "Now that's the way to start the morning."

"Hmmm," she said.

"And, you know... We may not have won, last night." It was the first reference to last night's events they had made all day. "Actually, we didn't win. We didn't accomplish our goals. But we didn't lose, either. Your mother couldn't take us away from each other. We still have each other. We're still here. I'm still Jon Stanford, and you're still Caitlyn—Stanford, and we still love each other."

She nestled into his arms. "More than ever," she agreed. "More than ever."