Day 24

On Wednesday morning Caitlyn was alone again. Jon was long gone; it was, after all, nearly nine in the morning, and he had been at work for almost two hours. Caitlyn, for her part, had very little to look forward to; the new semester at Shellview State would not resume for another few weeks. Jon had suggested she look for a short-term job, an idea she wasn't particularly keen on but knew she didn't really have a choice over. They were paying $2,000 a month in rent, expenses, insurance and other bills; that was most of Jon's paycheck. If they wanted to make or save any, it would have to come from Caitlyn—a startling thought for a twenty-year-old woman who had never held a steady job before.

Well, I can sleep in a little bit. I won't miss any job openings by closing my eyes for another twenty minutes. Or will I? What if someone's auctioning a job off on eBay? —Okay, maybe not something that crazy, but, what if someone's about to apply for my dream job, and if I don't get up right now, I'll miss it?

She was still pondering this potential quandary when a banging noise came from the door. Moments later, there was a buzzing noise as her mystery visitor figured out how to operate the doorbell. Caitlyn sat bolt upright. Whoever might it be, here on January 2nd at nine in the morning?

Caitlyn got out of bed and was about to head for the door when she remembered what she was wearing: specifically, nothing. They had long gotten out of the habit of wearing clothes when they went to bed: they never seemed to be wearing them when they got up. She grabbed the nearest things to hand—a pair of Jon's sweatpants and an old sweater—and was about to answer the buzzing doorbell again when she noticed the used condoms on the nightstand. (I swear, those are like a permanent decoration. How many have we gone through?—and us being married for less than a month!) She shoveled those into the trash, thinking in passing that, for once, they'd served a good purpose; whoever this person was, leaning on the doorbell like the Devil himself was after them, it would probably suit her to greet them without dried come crusting on her legs.

When Caitlyn finally opened the door, it was no one she knew: a woman, maybe her mother's age, with mousy brown hair, a seamed, lined face, careful eyes. Caitlyn thought she'd seen her around the apartment complex, but she couldn't be sure.

"Good morning," said the woman.

"Umm," said Caitlyn. "Good morning."

"I hope I'm not interrupting you," said the woman, with a smile that did not carry into her eyes.

Caitlyn felt a budding kernel of dislike: with as long as it had taken her to answer the door, it ought to be clear that she had been interrupted. She said, "No, not at all."

"All right," said the woman.

There was studied silence for a moment. Caitlyn tried not to fidget. Where was Jon when she needed him? He had always been far better at dealing with new people.

"I'm Margaret Clarke," said the woman abruptly, holding out her hand.

She shook it. "Caitlyn De- Caitlyn Stanford."

"Is your boyfriend still here?" said Margaret Clarke.

Caitlyn frowned. How would she know there's a man here? "No," she said, "I have no boyfriend. My husband is at work."

"Oh," said Margaret Clarke. "Well. I see."

"Is, uh, is there anything I can help you with," Caitlyn said, desperate to find out what this woman wanted. Either that, or get her out of her face.

"Yes, as a matter of fact, I came here to approach you about something," said Margaret Clarke.

Caitlyn kept her face impassive at the odd choice of phrasing. "All right."

"Two days ago," said Margaret Clarke. "My children and I were watching the New Year's ceremony at Times Square. Did you see it? It was marvelous."

"Yes, we saw it," said Caitlyn, with a cold feeling about where this was heading.

"Well," said Mrs. Clarke. "During the festivities, my two boys—they're only six and nine, it was very exciting for them to be allowed to stay up and watch the ceremony—during the festivities, my two boys happened to be looking out the window. They were bored, as young boys are wont to be. And, as we live in 547, across the courtyard, we can see this side of the building fairly well."

"I see," Caitlyn said.

"Can you recall what you and your 'husband' were doing at about 11:50 on New Year's Eve?"

Caitlyn fought to keep her voice neutral. "Yes."

"Then you can imagine what I and my boys saw when we looked out our window, Ms. Stanford."

"What you saw," said Caitlyn, "was husband and wife, sharing with each other a gift from God, to express their love for each other and strengthen their marriage."

"What I saw," said Mrs. Clarke, "I saw through open windows."

Caitlyn's mind found a gap in the logic. "The lights were off. I'm surprised you saw anything at all."

"Well," said Mrs. Clarke, bristling. "My sons have exceptional eyesight. At first I thought it was innocent—my little Robert turned to me and said, 'Mommy, what are those two people doing?' But when I looked myself—why, my heart almost stopped in my chest."

"And what did your little Robert's father have to say?" Caitlyn asked.

Mrs. Clarke's face closed. "His father divorced me just after Robert was born."

I can't imagine why. It was an unworthy thought, but she could not prevent it. Nor deny it. "And what did you tell them, Mrs. Clarke?"

"I told them that they should turn their faces away from those who would sin in the sight of God and man," said Mrs. Clarke.

The only other person I've heard say that—'In the sight of God and man'—is Jon. I wonder where they got it. Caitlyn picked her words carefully. "Well, you'll be pleased to know that it was not a sin, Mrs. Clarke. Jon and I are happily married. We have only been so for a few weeks, which is why we are, perhaps... Eager, at times, to enjoy ourselves. But we made the decision to wait, and have never regretted doing so."

"I see," said Mrs. Clarke, in a voice that suggested she believed nary a word.

"So, tell me," Caitlyn said in a pleasant, conversational tone. "What sin did you see?"

"What I saw," said Mrs. Clarke, "was you, and your 'husband'—" The quotes were even more audible now. "—sharing pleasure, in the sight of God and man."

"Well," said Caitlyn. "I can understand how that might dismay you, and I apologize for alarming your children, but I don't see how that's a sin."

"It is," Mrs. Clarke insisted. "Coupling is a shameful thing that should be done in secrecy, not, not on the couch in front of the window for all the world to see."

Caitlyn tried to keep from gawking, and almost succeeded. "A— A shameful—"

"God frowns upon you when He sees your wanton lust," Mrs. Clarke declared in sepulchral tones. "It is the way of sin. It is the way of the devil. Your coupling must be chaste, and only for the purposes of procreation."

Caitlyn was devoutly glad she'd hidden the condoms. "Must it."

"Yes."

"Where'd you get that idea?"

"It's in the Scripture," Margaret Clarke insisted.

"Book, chapter, verse," Caitlyn demanded, marching over to the bookshelf where her own copy of the Bible rested.

"1st Thessalonians, chapter 4, verses 3 through 5", said Mrs. Clarke—and then, before Caitlyn could even open her Bible, recited the quotation. "For this is the will of God, your sanctification: that you should abstain from sexual immorality; that each of you should know how to possess his own vessel in sanctification and honor, not in passion of lust, like the Gentiles who do not know God." Then she stood there, glowering.

Caitlyn finally got to the assigned page. Her copy had it a little differently: "It is God's will that you should be sanctified: that you should avoid sexual immorality; that each of you should learn to control his own body in a way that is holy and honorable." The crack about lustful Gentiles made her bristle—what right, after all, did this woman have to judge her faith based on a few glimpses of a passionate moment? Did it say that sex was intended solely for childbearing purposes? No, not really... But it could be interpreted that way, depending on one's definitions of 'sexual immorality.' Perhaps it should be; it was certainly true that almost all sin starts as an excess of something. Heck, Caitlyn herself might have seen it that way, once upon a time, not all that long ago. A lifetime ago. A marriage ago.

But she wasn't going to let this snotty, mouse-haired lady who didn't have a husband and maybe didn't even have kids boss her around.

"Ma'am," she said finally. "As a Christian, it is my duty to inspire the love and faith of Christ in all those around me. If I share in the sacramental love that God ordained me to share with my husband, I don't think God will frown on me. However—" She held up a hand, interrupting Mrs. Clarke as she began to bluster. "—However. It is not my duty to inspire sacramental love in other people. If you would prefer that your family not be... Exposed... To what my husband and I do together, then, very well. Next time I shall close the windows."

Mrs. Clarke's face grew grim.

"Now, if you'll excuse me," said Caitlyn primly. "I'm a student at the university, and class starts in about ten minutes." It was a lie, but a small one—only jumping forward three weeks, as opposed to, say, killing millions of Jews. "Thank you for your visit."

Margaret Clarke's face could have launched a thousand thunderbolts. "You have not heard the last of me, young lady. Nor your 'husband' either."

Who asked you, Caitlyn thought, closing the door.

Now it was 9:20, and she had no idea what to do with herself. She didn't exactly want to be awake, but there was clearly no going back to sleep—not riled up the way she was. Despondent, she threw herself at the computer, checking empty e-mail accounts and boring websites, and then fired up the television, though there was nothing much going on there on a Wednesday morning either.

I wish I could talk to Jon. But she tried not to do that while he was at work; Polkiss-Leyton had been too kind to them to even consider irking them. None of her friends from Greenfield were available, and even if she had made any at Shellview State (she hadn't) they might not be here. And she couldn't even go driving somewhere; Jon had their car. It just wasn't a good time, she decided, to be bored and lonely, she decided.

There's dishes to do, she thought, and laundry to run. And I should do some harp practice at the very least, or pull out my oboe and work on some of that. Jon's been very bad for my music. Of course, if I did practice, that Margaret Clarke would come over and complain about noise pollution too.

The visit had discomforted her more than she had realized. Caitlyn was devout in her faith; she knew what mattered to her, and that this life was temporary while the next was forever. Whatever it took to make sure she would pass between those pearly gates, she would do. But in her mind, as long as she and God were square, no one else had any right to criticize her or make demands of her.

She reminds me of my mother. She knew exactly the buttons to press. Jon's the only person who's ever been able to get a reaction out of me so... Thoroughly.

The problem was, what if Margaret Clarke was right? What if coupling was a shameful thing? What if it was wrong to take such pleasure in sex? Caitlyn was a careful person by nature; she interpreted the Bible broadly, to be sure that no sin or anything even close to it should pass from her. If it was in the Bible, it was something she should heed; it was as simple as that.

So what does this say?

She knew what Jon would say: something fanged and vicious about conservatives and their narrow-minded views. But this was Jon, who had wanted her to break the fornication laws—and not even for her sake, but for his! Jon was selfish; he didn't even deny it, though he certainly did his best to turn it to beneficial use. Well, let Jon be who he wanted to; it didn't bother her to be conservative by modern standards. If he had a problem with that, he'd just have to deal with it.

And, to be fair, so far he hadn't had a problem with it; when their ideologies clashed, he had explained his views and opinions, and then let her make the final decision. This was especially true of their lovemaking, which (she had to admit) she controlled almost totally. True, he initiated most of the time... But she knew that if she pushed him away, if she told him, No, not today, that he would back off and leave her alone. He would if she did.

She hadn't yet.

He has made me more... What was that word she used? 'Wanton.' I thought that was Chinese food. I guess it means, what's the dictionary say... Uh. "Immoral or unchaste; lewd." And also, "Frolicsome; playful." Right. Well, together, they mean... Sensual, I suppose. Interested in pleasure. Hedonistic. Well, yes, he has encouraged that part of me: he's encouraged me to enjoy myself, and it's worked, and I have. The question now is whether that's a good thing or not.

I need advice.

The first person she was able to get an opinion from was her harp teacher, Mrs. Jane Sellitz, who was luckily in between lessons and could spare a few moments for a phone call. Jane was not an especially devout person, nor particularly complex in her theology, but Caitlyn trusted her—she'd been taking harp lessons from her for five years now, first at Greenfield and then at Shellview State—and she had been one of the few people Caitlyn had ever confided in, to small extents before Jon entered her life and to larger extents after. But Caitlyn had never talked to her about religious matters. She wasn't even sure what to expect to hear from Mrs. Sellitz. But she knew she wanted to hear it. She wanted to hear from somebody.

"That sounds Puritan to me," Mrs. Sellitz said. "I mean, I know our country was founded by religious conservatives trying to escape persecution, but some of their attitudes are really outmoded now, and this is one of them. If God had meant for sex to be shameful, it seems to me He would have made us feel shame over it. We don't. In fact, we feel pleasure in it—because God intended for us to do so. Anyone who thinks God doesn't want us to enjoy sex needs their head examined. I don't know about the wisdom of doing it on the couch with the blinds drawn open, though," she added with an audible grin.

It took until much later in the day, after Jon came home, to get the second opinion she wanted, which was Reverend Pendleton's. For the most part, he agreed with Mrs. Sellitz. "Now, there's a line between celebrating our bodies, and celebrating our bodies in a way that offends people, and—in that you seem to have offended someone—" He was laughing. "—you may have crossed that line. Which is something you may want to be aware of in the future. Sometimes the urge to be intimate is... Overwhelming. That's part of God's gift to us: that He made it so powerful, and so enjoyable. But there are always people who will be offended by any honest demonstration of feelings, never mind one of such a private nature. That's just part of life. The only thing we can do is try to stay away from them."

And of course Jon had his own things to say. "Under what rock did she grow up. Just wait until her kids get to The Program. She'll have a heart attack and then they'll be orphans."

"Just because she doesn't want them exposed to sex now doesn't mean she'll mind later," Caitlyn reminded him. "They are less than ten years old."

"No," said Jon, "it doesn't, but she will. That's the problem with our culture. We started off with these religious conservatives and their attitudes never really died. We as a culture are scared of sex. —Which isn't necessarily inappropriate, 'cause sex is a powerful thing. But the only thing to do with fear is face it, not run away from it."

"Still, they're boys," said Caitlyn. "You know how people can be. It's okay for guys to have urges, but not women. Women have to be chaste."

"Is that what your parents believed," Jon asked. "Did they let Nate be all horn-doggy and all that?"

Caitlyn fidgeted. "No."

"There's people who believed that sex is solely for procreation, and that it's a sin to feel pleasure doing it," Jon said, and Caitlyn felt a chill at the echo of Mrs. Clarke's words, which she had not repeated—she had only given him the gist of the encounter. (She hadn't needed to give more before he exploded out of the gate.) "There's people who still believe it."

"Yes, but..." said Caitlyn. "What if they're right?"

Jon stopped, and gave her a long look, half fondness and half exasperation. "Fifty years of scientific research goes up against two thousand years of pure superstition, and guess which one you side with."

"Jon, things are in the Bible for a reason."

"And where in the Bible does it say that taking pleasure in sex is inherently sinful," Jon asked her.

She showed him the same verse Mrs. Clarke had showed her.

"Come on," said Jon. "That's a warning against lust. We're married. We don't have to worry about that."

"Yes we do!" she exclaimed. "Jon, it isn't called one of the Seven Deadly Sins for nothing, you know."

"So, what, are they admonishing us against being too sexual?"

"Maybe," she said. "Jon, we... I don't know what's going to be normal for us, really, I mean, we haven't even been married a month. And I don't know what's normal for people who have been married a month, whether they're always this... Into each other. But we've... We've been having a lot of sex, Jon. Almost every day."

"We haven't today," he said.

"Yeah, but it's only six o'clock, you know we'll probably."

"Well... Yeah. But there's been days when we didn't do it."

"Which we've made up for by doing it more than once on other days. How many times did we do it on Saturday? We've averaged more than once a day by now."

Jon grimaced. "If you wanna... Hold back a little..."

She knew he wouldn't like it if she wanted to; she knew he would accept it nonetheless. He had always put her first; it was part of why she loved him.

But she didn't want to hold back. And that was part of the problem.

"Jon, I think we just need to... Be less... Open about it. I mean, admit it: doing it on the couch with the windows open... Just... That was not... Wise."

"Yeah."

"Let's just try and keep our... Activity... On the down-low from now on."

"On the what?" said Jon.

"And..." she said, ignoring him. He had always given her slang dubious looks. "If other adjustments need to be made, well... We'll talk about them."

"Okay."

But after dinner, another swift crisis came up, when Caitlyn got up to use the bathroom. While there, she discovered something very interesting. "Aack! Jon, I'm on my period!"

"Oh," he said. He blotted out the doorway, probably seeing her panties colored with a faint tinge of blood.

"I can't believe I forgot. I started the first Wednesday of December, it's the first Wednesday of January—"

"That doesn't always work, sometimes there are five weeks in a month."

She was scrambling around for pads. "Uh-oh. Did we forget to get me any, um. Any sanitary napkins?"

His brow furrowed. "You know, now that I think about it..."

"Oh, jeez. Here, let me go to the store. I'll be right back."

She drove Jon's car to the nearest drug store. She had been in it many times, but only in the passenger seat, and it was weird to be behind the wheel. The hardest part was figuring out the levers and knobs and controls to change the seat around; Jon was quite a bit taller than she, enough to make it impossible to drive with the seat in his configuration. And the gear shift was on a stalk control, instead of the center throttle she was used to from her parents' trucks and SUVs. But once she got herself oriented, she and Buffy made good time to the store.

The sanitary napkins were easy to find, and while she was at it she decided to grab an extra box of condoms; they were almost out, and though the Pill ought to be in force by now, she had a thought to make Jon keep using them until her next scheduled ovulation, just to be safe. And even if not, what harm would one more box do?—they might need them someday.

But when she reached the aisle with all the condoms in it, she hesitated.

Come on, she thought to herself. It's just an aisle. All you're gonna do is march down it, pull a box off the rack, and walk away. And then... And then get in line at the cash register, and pay for them, and have to endure the cashier's looks while she thinks, 'Oh, this woman must be having sex.' And every other person who sees me while I walk to the register. They'll be thinking that too. They'll know that I'm having sex—

Suddenly she understood why Jon had always insisted that they buy condoms as a couple.

Okay. Okay. It's all right. They don't know. Maybe I'm a schoolteacher. ...A really young one. Who is teaching... Sex ed. Or, maybe I'm a single woman who is... Curious. Yes, that's it. Or, or maybe, um. Maybe I was going to make balloon animals out of them, for... For... Oh freaking heck! They're all going to think I'm having sex!

Okay. Okay. Just... Walk down the aisle. You've done that once already. Just walk down the aisle, pick up the box, and walk back out. Very easy, very simple. Very cool. It's easy. Go ahead.

It was all very well until she had the box in her hand. Then she almost ran.

"Why'd you get those," Jon asked. "I thought they said that you'd be safe by your next period. You have been taking it regularly, right?"

"I haven't missed a one," she said. She'd originally thought it might be easy to forget to take the Pill in the mornings, but they'd been having so much sex that it stayed on the forefront of her mind. "But, I just... Want to be safe. You know, around the time when I'm... Most fertile."

"Well, we don't have to use those while you're actually menstruating, do we," he said, standing up, and suddenly she noticed the bubbling air of excitement about him. She had totally missed it during the panic of bleeding. He doesn't want to use condoms anymore. ...Well, and to be fair, neither do I.

But sex during her period? "Eew! Jon, I'm bleeding down there!"

"So?" he said. "I don't care. I just use my hands instead of my mouth."

"Yeah, but— But— Jon, that's dirty."

"So's most of sex."

She didn't answer. She couldn't really explain what she was feeling.

"Look," he said. "If you don't want to, we don't. But what I'm saying is, I want to, and I can't think of any really good reason not to."

"You just want to do it without the condom," she said spitefully.

He flinched, but stood his ground. "Yes. And I know you do too. The fact that you're bleeding doesn't bother me. And I can't think of any reason it ought to bother you. Besides, from what I saw, you don't bleed much anyway." That much was true; she rarely had anything more than a trickle.

She sighed. "Look. I still want to call Pastor Pendleton. I haven't gotten his opinion yet, and I'd really like to. Let me do that first." And he gave her a look as if to say, I know you're stalling, but made no other argument.

So she called Larry Pendleton, and he gave his opinion on Margaret Clarke and her hard-line Christianity, which was more or less what she'd predicted. "I'd also like to ask, how is Jon reacting to this?"

"He's..." She glanced at Jon, who was doing the dishes—probably to give his hands something to do. "He's scornful."

"Of what?"

"Of... Of the idea that sex is something to be ashamed of."

"And well he should be. Caitlyn, sex can be very embarrassing—especially when you try something new and it doesn't work out quite the way you wanted it to. But it's not shameful, at least not when shared in love. And no one with eyes to see or ears to hear can truthfully claim that you and Jon don't love each other."

"Yeah. But now he's... Unh."

"He is...?"

Caitlyn colored. "Well. I'm... It's that time of the month."

"And Jon is... Not deterred?"

Caitlyn colored further. "No."

"Well, Caitlyn. Believe it or not, I often get couples asking me about bedroom matters, and this issue comes up quite a bit. And I've always said, If your man isn't willing to put in, he shouldn't expect you to put out. Sex is a matter of give and take, like anything else in a marriage. If all he wants is to go in and serve himself, it's totally within your right to take issue with that."

"No, no no, that's the thing. He said he'd..." Her face was positively on fire now, and the words were practically a whisper. "He said he'd just use his hand."

"Oh."

"I don't... I mean, that's dirty."

"What is? The hand or the blood?"

"The... The blood."

"Well, there's a precedent for that. Blood is a powerful thing. People bleed when they're hurt. When a child looks like their parents, or has their talents, we say that it's in their blood. When Orthodox Jewish women are on their period, they are supposed to stay away from men for fear of contamination. And Christ gave us his blood, to seal our new covenant with him. Not Budweiser, not Dasani, but blood. Blood is a powerful thing."

"So what if... What if Jon gets contaminated?"

"Do you really believe that?"

The likelihood of that was slim, especially since that law was more spiritual than biological in nature. The question was not whether her blood would harm him in this world, but rather the next. "I don't know. Probably not."

"Well, it's up to you. But, personally, I don't think menstrual flow makes you unclean. If anything, it's a celebration of God's divine gift of Creation, given to you as to all women. You can bring forth life out of your body, Caitlyn. That is a precious gift. Now, creation is not an easy thing; you pay for it, and with one of your most important parts. But if anything, that blood makes you holy. And if Jon wants to, ah, worship at the altar of your holiness, do you really want to turn him down?"

"...Did you just make an innuendo?"

He laughed. "Well, Caitlyn, I may be a minister, but I'm also a human. That makes me prey to all the other human failings—like innuendos. I understand that Gerald and Dacey's small-group study came to an end last year."

It took a moment to follow the topic shift, and another to follow the calendar. Last year? —Oh, yes: it's January 2nd. "Yes, it did."

"Well, I happen to know that George Larson is starting up a group this week—I believe the first session is this coming Tuesday—for people in college or just out of it. I thought you might like to know."

"Ooh! Yes, I would like to know!" She had been in George Larson's small groups before, and they were inspiring; he always found new ways to not only make the Bible fun, but make it make sense. "Do you think he would mind if Jon came?"

"Well, I'm sure he wouldn't, but the real question is, do you think Jon would mind if Jon came."

"...Well, yeah. I'll ask him about it."

"Do. But if Jon wants to come, I'm certain he's welcome."

But Jon was less than pleased with the idea. "Caitlyn, I'm not sure... I don't know if..."

"You don't want to go," she said flatly.

"No, it's not that, it's..."

"You don't want to go," she said again.

He sighed.

"Jon, it's okay if you don't want to go."

He gave her a sideways look. "Just listen to the way you said that and tell me if you really meant it."

She felt her cheeks heating. Okay, so she hadn't really meant it. She'd live with it if he didn't want to, but in her opinion his relationship with God was dangerously unhealthy.

"Caitlyn, you've just demonstrated why I don't want to go. I've already had... Well, do you remember what I told you about that girl Karen I used to date?"

"A little," Caitlyn said. Jon had had a fairly constant string of relationships from high school onward; it was a little difficult for her to keep them straight, especially since thinking about them fed her own feelings of inadequacy. Jonathan Stanford had been playing the field since he was fourteen, while Caitlyn Delaney had had exactly one relationship ever. Of course, that man was now her husband, so she supposed her dating life had been successful, but she still couldn't tell Karen from Alice from Tia from Maggie from Jennifer from a hole in the ground.

"Well, this was back in high school," said Jon, "and I really liked her. I'm not sure how she felt. But she was... Intense. About her faith. And she seemed to think it was her mission to convert me."

Caitlyn frowned. That would be awkward. "But you're a Christian."

"Not an orthodox-enough one for Karen's tastes, evidently," Jon said. "I made the mistake of telling her that I had not accepted Jesus Christ as my personal lord and savior—" That last with a tinge of sarcasm. "—and she wouldn't let it go."

"And that's why you broke up with her?"

"That's why I broke up with her. She's engaged to someone else now. Cait, I don't want to be friends with people who are going to try to change me. Much less going out with one."

...And probably even less married to one...

She went to him and put her arms around him. "Jon... If you don't want to go, then you don't have to. But I'm not going to judge you on how... Orthodox your faith is. And I'm sure that none of the people at George Larson's group are going to judge you on that either. That's not what we're about. We're about... Learning, for ourselves, what God wants for us. Christ told us not to judge—or, at least, not to say what we judged."

"Yeah, but some people seem to think that it's their job to steer us away from sin. Like your Margaret Clarke person."

The memory rankled. "Yes, like her." Every now and then I meet someone who makes me ashamed to be a Christian. "But she's not a true Christian. A Christian is motivated from love, not... Not self-righteousness or, or a need to meddle, or... Whatever it was she was on."

"You don't think she was doing it out of the goodness of her Christian heart."

She sighed. "Well, I'd rather believe the best of her, but if she was acting out of compassion, she sure didn't show it. She was acting like she had an agenda."

"And Christians don't? Sweetie, you guys go around approaching people and trying to convert them to your way of thinking. That's what conversion's all about."

" 'Your way of thinking'?" she said. "I thought you were a Christian."

"Well, I don't..."

"You said you were raised Catholic."

"I was, and confirmed too, but that was my mother's idea instead of mine, and there's another example of agenda. But since then I've started having my own thoughts."

"Nothing wrong with that."

"Quite possibly something wrong with that. They're not orthodox in the least."

"Well. I don't think your friend Karen is anyone to judge by. She sounds about as conservative as I am."

"Maybe more so. But even by liberal thinking I'm way out there."

"What do you mean?"

"Well... You know that whole thing about 'personal lord and savior,' right? Come to Jesus and you get into heaven. That whole thing's so stupid to me. I mean, so if some guy achieves salvation and then goes around killing and looting and raping and stuff—I mean, say Hitler converted right before he died. Does that excuse him from everything he did? According to this doctrine, yes it does. That's kinda dumb in my opinion."

"Hope springs eternal. Suicide is a mortal sin."

"Good point, but that only stops Hitler. Dozens of others might've slipped through."

"Yeah."

"So, I mean... If you can just take Jesus into your heart, what's the point? Why does anyone need to behave, or care, or, or— Or anything like that."

"So it wasn't just the conversion, it was also that specific doctrine."

"Yeah."

"So what do you believe?"

Jon ran a hand through his hair. "Well. Well."

She touched his face. "I'm not going to judge you."

"Yes you are," he said.

"All right, I am," she admitted, "but I'm going to be nice and keep it to myself."

He smiled. "Okay."

She smiled too. And then waited.

"What... Well. When I call myself a Christian, I'm not saying I believe in all the, the Pope and the Church and all that stuff. The Church has done some pretty dumb things over the last two thousand years. Crusades, Spanish Inquisitions... Even this nonsense in the Methodist Church about kicking out gay pastors. I thought the message was love, not judgment."

"So, why do you call yourself a Christian?"

"Because I try to follow Christ," he said.

She was silent, contemplating the enormity of the idea.

"And I don't mean that in the church sense or even in the, the religious sense, or— It's just that... If I had been mending my nets on the dock one day, and Jesus had called me to come with him... I hope I would have followed. He had all the good ideas. Love. Love is a good idea. Love is an idea I would follow."

"Yeah."

"Everyone offers you 'the way'. Everyone offers you salvation. Everyone offers you a method. Drink Sprite and you'll get girls. Wear these shoes and you'll kick ass at sports. Listen to me and I will bring you to eternal life. Success, success, success. And then you turn around and your teeth are rotten and you're wearing a bomb to go blow up a school bus full of innocent kids who've never done harm to you or anybody in the whole wide world. And you're wearing really uncomfortable shoes. It's all crap. Jesus lived it. And for better or for worse, he was willing to die for it. For what he believed in. There aren't that many people you could say that about over the course of human history."

"Yeah."

"So, he died. Did he come back to life? Was he the Son of God? The Bible says so, but it has an agenda, just like everything else. Just like Jesus, for that matter. But I don't care anyway. It doesn't matter to me if he came back to life. It doesn't matter if he was the Son of God. What matters is that he had good ideas, and I would follow them. I would follow them no matter who he was."

She nodded. "You're a Christian."

"A Christian without church."

"That's okay. Like you said, the Church has done some pretty stupid things on occasion. But some good ones too."

"Yeah."

There was nothing more said for a few moments. Caitlyn supposed that, because Jon was not offended or angry, he had noticed her judgment: that it was unorthodox, yes, but not without merit. Indeed, she thought there might be some benefit to casting free of the church and simply acting in the example of Christ. We'd get a lot less bogged down in all this dogma, at least.

"So, does that answer your question," he asked.

"What question?"

"Whether I want to go."

"Jon, it's not my question, it's yours. Do you want to go?"

He was silent for a moment.

"Do you think I'll be judged?" he asked.

"That's a silly question," she said. "Weren't you just saying that humans judge each other all the time?"

"Do you think they'll hold it against me?" he said.

"No," she said. "I think they'll accept you for who you are, and appreciate your thoughts and differences, and encourage you to follow Christ's example." As I do.

He was silent for a moment.

"It couldn't hurt," he said finally.

"And if it does, you don't ever have to go back," she said.

"Okay," he said, smiling.

"Okay," she said, and kissed him.

It was a long kiss, one full of promise. When they stopped, her arms were around her neck, and his at her back, holding her to him. "Hmm," he said. "So maybe you are interested in the sex thing."

She made a noise that was somewhere between a giggle and a sigh. "You're insufferable, aren't you."

"Or maybe insatiable."

"Or maybe both."

His hands tightened on her back, pulling her closer to him, but he made no noise, awaiting her reply.

"Well... I actually got some practicing done... The kitchen's okay... I found a few places online I want to send my resume to... But, oh—I have to do laundry."

"Can't it wait?"

"Not if you want clean underwear tomorrow."

"Umm."

She smiled up at him. "Here, I'll make you a deal. You help me with the laundry, and then after that... You get to do anything you want with me."

"Anything, eh," said Jon, grinning, waggling his eyebrows. "Even without the condom."

She felt a quick moment of concern—What if he asks me to do something I don't want to?—and just as quickly squelched it. He won't. And if he does, I'll tell him no. He knows me, and I trust him. I love him. That's why I let him do anything to me at all.

"Anything," she said her smile a promise. "Even without the condom."

"Hmm," said Jon. "You've got a deal."

And so they presaged that most intimate of activities by going to the laundromat. The other customers there must have thought them insane: giggling, winking, sultry and intense by turns. Or perhaps they simply smiled: A young couple, drunk on love. Or perhaps just drunk. But Jon and Caitlyn didn't notice. They passed the time by walking around the area, checking the shops and restaurants, making their plans and suggestions. And then Caitlyn had to teach Jon how to fold up his clothing, because he'd never done anything but hang them before, an impossibility now that Caitlyn's clothes alone were taking up most of the closet space even when folded. So Jon learned to fold clothes... Which was good, because after he'd had his way with her, all over the just-folded clothes, they needed to be folded all over again. Which they did, laughing, naked, before falling into bed again in each other's arms.

"We should do that again," Jon said to her.

"What," Caitlyn said, "you mean the part where you came up behind me and—" He had used his mouth, without making any complaints; and, after a moment, Caitlyn hadn't made any either.

"No, I mean... The whole laundry thing," Jon said.

Caitlyn stared at him.

"I mean... People do sex all the time. We do sex all the time. You can have sex with someone without having a relationship with them. You can have sex with someone without even having an emotional connection. But who are you going to fold laundry with? The people you live with. The person you marry. The people who actually mean something to you."

"...Yeah. I see what you mean."

"So, yeah. I think... 'cause it's the everyday things. Getting to fold laundry with you. Getting to cook dinner with you. Getting to kiss you before I get out of bed. I think those are the things that mean the most to me."

She snuggled close to him. "You always know the right things to say. Good thing I married you."

She fell asleep with her head on his shoulder, the solid strength of his chest against her own, his breath ruffling her hair, the warmth of skin on skin, feeling safer and happier and more loved than she ever had in her life.

Day 30

Being alone, Caitlyn decided, was not a good way to wake up.

It was Tuesday morning, and Caitlyn had a long day ahead of her. On Jon's advice she had canvassed the campus for temporary jobs—or maybe even ones she could hold down for the remainder of the school year—and several departments had expressed interest; she would have to interview with both the chemistry department and the music department today. She also had her oboe lesson today, and with any luck Mrs. Klein would be at least a little satisfied with her playing; she'd actually gotten some practicing done. And then there were always the little chores that needed to be done around the apartment—cleaning, cooking, laundry, taking out the trash. Jon did his best to be helpful, but that wasn't much; and besides, most of it tended to be done by the time he got home. After all, she needed a distraction from the long, tedious hours.

And, of course, today was the first meeting of George Larson's study group.

Caitlyn, for her part, was excited. She wasn't sure how Jon would react, but she had no doubt that George would win him over; he tolerated no pretension or hypocrisy in his discussions. As far as George Larson was concerned, no one had the answer yet; there was always farther to go. He was a personality who, while warm, was never quite satisfied. He and Jon should get along marvelously.

Of course, that didn't quite help her conquer the feeling of loneliness, waking up in a bed meant for two, accompanied only by the gap in the blankets where her husband ought to be.

Okay. Okay. You're a grown woman, Caitlyn Claire Stanford, and you can do better than this. What, did getting married take away all your independence? You just stand up and get to work.

Stand up while on the bed? I might hit my head on the ceiling.

You're not that tall.

...Good point.

She stood up, the covers lapping around her feet. See. I can do it. I can conquer my own lethargy. I am woman, hear me roar!

Don't know how you're going to get down, though, said that devil's voice in her head, with just a trace of a snicker, and left.

Drat.

She had just stepped out of the shower when her cellphone trilled, in the polyphonic crescendo Jon had made for her on his computer. Two years ago he had arranged Danny Boy for four-voice choir, not knowing until after the fact that it was her favorite song. Now it was her ringtone too, the one she had set to ring whenever Jon called her. These modern appliances. Who would have thought of assigning a different ring to different people, so you can tell who it is just by the sound? But it works.

"Hi."

"Hey."

"What's going on?"

"Umm. Not much. Bit of a quiet period, no one scheduled to come in, so I thought I'd give you a call."

"Oh."

"Yeah. I, um. I just. ...It was hard to leave."

It had been utterly impromptu, with no planning beforehand. They'd cooked together, and then on a whim Caitlyn had grabbed a couple of candles to lighten the mood. That was all it took to get started, though by the time they had set out every candle Caitlyn had thought to bring (which was quite a lot) and the rather tawdry penne alfredo was framed as if for a banquet. Jon broached a bottle of wine, and there it was, out of nowhere, a romantic dinner for two. Then they'd gone to bed and made love for what felt like half the night—slow, sensuous, luxuriant, spending time on each other and each other's bodies. She had even gone down on him, and for the first time enjoyed it—not so much the physical process of using her mouth on him, but the way he reacted, his moans and whispers and sighs. Too often, she felt, their sex was more physical than emotional—sex, to put it simply. Last night, from dinner to lovemaking, had been the most deeply romantic experience of her life, and it was hard to wake up in the morning without him. "I missed you too," she said.

"Well, umm. Also, I found out something interesting."

"Oh? What's that?"

"Well... Today... It's the thirtieth day of our marriage."

"...Oh?" she said. She didn't see what was special about it. "Well, that's, um. That's nice."

"Yeah. We've been husband and wife for thirty days."

"Okay."

"You don't think that's interesting?"

"Well," she said, smiling. "It seems kind of random. I mean, I suppose you'll start calling me up on random days and say, 'Hey, baby, it's the,' I dunno, 'it's the three-hundred-forty-seventh day of our marriage, wow,' and I'll be like, 'That's nice. What's so special about three hundred forty-seven?' "

"Well, honey," he said. "Thirty is a little different than three hundred forty seven."

"Why? Did we outlast another celebrity or something?"

"Umm. I dunno. Probably. But I don't know who. Like, maybe, Tom Green and whoever was dumb enough to marry him."

"Tom Green got married? Wow. Some girl must've been pretty desperate."

He laughed. "Yeah."

"Happy thirty days, my love," she said, smiling. "Wait, no: Happy thirty days, my husband."

"Happy thirty days, o wife of mine."

That put her in a better mood.

What was also nice was a second phone call she received, just before lunch while she was hammering out some last-minute notes on her oboe. "Hi! Caitlyn! It's Christa! Happy new year! Classes started yesterday so we're back in the area. Just wanted to say hello, maybe hang out together. Are you guys available?"

"Umm... Not tonight, unfortunately. Jon and I are going to a Bible study. It's the first session, so I feel like we shouldn't miss it."

"Oh, that's too bad! —Not that you're doing a Bible study, I mean, but that you're busy. Well, there'll be other times. But how have you been? We haven't heard from you since we helped you move!"

"Oh, we're... We're just fine. Working, studying, practicing, and having fun in the meantime."

"Ohh, you're one of those extended-honeymoon couples, I suppose!"

"No, not..." said Caitlyn, laughing. "...Well, yes, kinda, I guess. We just... We really enjoy what we get to do together."

"That's good! That's really good! See, the thing about sex in a marriage is that, unless something goes drastically wrong, this is the last person you're ever gonna do it with, you know? So you have to, you know, get it right the first time—and how many of us ever manage that? That's one of the major arguments in favor of pre-marital sex—and, sin or not, you have to admit it makes sense. And so, when I heard about how, you know, how hesitant you were sometimes about physical contact, I have to admit, I was a little nervous about you and Jon, and whether you guys were gonna be able to work things out. But it sounds like you are, and I'm really glad of that!"

Caitlyn was grinning. Christa Crane was, by far, the most upbeat person she had ever met; just hearing her voice made Caitlyn want to smile.

Still, she felt compelled to say, "It's not just the, um, you know. The stuff we do in bed. It's the... It's the everyday things. Cooking. Cleaning. Laundry. He even jokes about paying the bills. Just... Even the everyday stuff, he makes it fun."

"Wow, it sounds like you guys have it made! I'm really happy for you, Caitlyn!"

"Thanks."

In this way Caitlyn found herself fortified to face the day's chores. A little friendship goes a long way, I guess. Mrs. Klein was impressed with her playing, the interviews went well, and the day seemed to fly by until the bolt clacked in the lock and Jon emerged out of the haze of the outside world. When he saw her, his face lit up in a smile.

"Every time I'm even tempted to sit there and wonder," he murmured, "why I bother with any of this at all... I see you. And I remember."

She smiled too. "Hi. Long day?"

"Really long. So many people today, I don't know what it is. And then it's Tuesday, it's the butt-end of the week: all your energy from the weekend has run out, and you can't start looking forward to the next one yet. At least during school there were fun extra-curricular to liven things up. Maybe I should ask Octapella to meet on Tuesdays instead of Wednesdays..."

"That might be a good idea. How was work?" She sat down on the couch, and Jon slumped across it sideways, his head in her lap, looking up at her with a weary smile.

"Full of cranky people with bad breath," he said. "Nobody wanted to be polite, nobody had any idea what they had come in for... I think it was, like, 'Visit the Dentist Day' at a retirement home, because all of them were old, and none of them had any idea who their health-care provider was. But they were all sure they had one, and that it would pay for their appointment. Which means that I shouldn't ask them to pay now, just in case. And how dare I suggest, just because they can't remember the name of HMO or what their account number is or provide any sort of proof of membership, that they don't have health insurance. Ugh."

She stroked his head and ran her hands through his hair.

"The best part," he said, "was this lady who came in—about a gazillion rings on her fingers, enough metal to make like ten sets of braces—carrying this tiny dog. Like, rat-sized chihuahua here. Furless and boneless and with these huge eyes, crying out, Save me, Save me. And we're like, How do you plan to manage this dog while Dr. Polkiss is working on you, and she's like, You'll handle him. Seriously, just like that. And I'm like, Excuse me, ma'am, but I'm not a dog sitter, and she looks at me with this look, like, you know, How dare you. And so we ended up locking him in the bathroom, of all places, which of course means that nobody can use it while the dog's in there—and of course he's just yapping away, begging to be let out, and I'm like, If he piddles in there, we're totally making her clean it up. And then, two minutes after she leaves, she comes back and she's like, Excuse me, my car's been dented while in your parking lot, I expect you to take responsibility for it."

"You're kidding," Caitlyn said.

"So we all go out there and it's this fancy shiny Porsche, it's like, pure silver, and it's parked diagonally across two slots and like a third of the way into the road. And she's like, I don't care if that was irresponsible parking, people are not allowed to just throw their cars around as if they own the place, that's my property they're damaging— And finally Stephanie just bitched her out and made her go home. And then went to call our lawyer, 'cause we think she might sue."

"No way," Caitlyn said.

"And all I could think of, sitting there staring at this lady's car, was: ...How come so many stupid people have so much money, and I'm struggling here to make thirty thousand a year?"

"Well, all men are not created equal," Caitlyn said. "To some of us God gave brains, and to some strength, and to some wisdom. And to others, He, um... Didn't."

Jon gave a single bark of laughter.

"And God gave us those things to test us," Caitlyn said. "To see what we do with them, and how we treat others with them, and what we do with our God-given talent or ability or wealth or whatever He gave us."

"Hah. So, I can look forward to this stupid lady having a lot to answer for when she meets her maker."

Well... That's not exactly what I meant, Caitlyn thought.

"Still, though," Jon said. "That doesn't help us out. Her messing up doesn't help us get ahead. What are we going to do? Money's going to be tight for a while, sweetie. I don't mean, like, we have to eat cup-o-noodle three meals a day or something, but... We'll have to be really careful."

"Yeah."

"But the good news is..." said Jon, sitting up. "I got a job offer today."

"What?" said Caitlyn.

"Yeah. This guy comes in for his dental work and afterwards he drops by and is like, So, um, would you happen to be interested in a new opportunity? You seem like a smart, intelligent guy, but all you're doing is sitting here checking people in, and I thought, you know..."

Wow. "This could be it, Jon! This could seriously be it! Maybe God has opened up a way! Maybe this is the answer we've been looking for!"

"You seem to be seeing God in a lot of things lately," said Jon in a casual voice. "Did He drop in while I was at work?"

Caitlyn blinked at him. Did he...? What? "No, I just..."

"It's got something to do with that Larson guy's group, doesn't it," he said.

"Well, so what if it does," Caitlyn said. "Am I not allowed to be excited about this? I think it's going to be a really good experience, Jon."

"Okay," said Jon, and his tone indicated his utter lack of anticipation.

"So, um," she said, not really wanting to dwell on that subject. "What about this guy who talked to you? What did he say?"

"Well, um," said Jon. "He said that he had an opportunity where I'd get to work with people and sell a product, and that I could make quite a bit of money. And he gave me his number and said to call him."

"Are you going to?" said Caitlyn.

"I dunno," Jon said, "probably. I mean, there's nothing to lose, really, not from just calling him."

"What was his name?"

"Uh... Roger. Roger DiSalvo."

"Why don't you call him now?" Caitlyn said.

Jon blinked at her.

"Well," she said, shrugging. "We have a little bit of time before we have to start making dinner. And if you're interested and excited, maybe he'll be more interested in hiring you."

"Now?" Jon said.

"Nothing to lose, right?" He wasn't the type to make snap decisions; he liked to think out all the possible outcomes beforehand. It was one of her favorite things about him, but right now it just wasn't the right approach.

Jon looked at her for a long moment. Then he pulled out his cellphone.

As the phone rang, she stretched out, resting her head in his lap, reversing the situation of moments before. It was comfortable, lying here, feeling the cushion of his legs under her head, the warmth of his palm against her cheek. And though he was wearing pants, it was tantalizing to think of what was under them, mere inches from her head. It wasn't so interesting being able to see up his nose, though.

"Hello? Hi, Roger, this is Jon Stanford. We spoke at Polkiss-Leyton—... Yes, yes, I'm just fine, thank you... Well, as a matter of fact, I have. I've just talked it over with my wife—... Well, yes, well, it was an, uh, an unusual situation... Oh, about— Thirty days?... Oh, well, thank you, um... ...Oh really? Is that so?" He looked down at her, covering the mouthpiece with his hand. "He wants you to come too."

Caitlyn started. "What?"

"He says the offer's open to both of us. We can work together."

"We... Really?" It was one thing to go out looking for opportunities, but quite another to have one handed to her on a silver platter.

"Why don't you? You just said we—" He put the phone back to his mouth. "I'm sorry, uh, just a moment, please, I'm discussing it with her right now. ...Ah, okay. Thank you." He looked back at her. "You just said we have nothing to lose."

"Yeah, but..." It was true; they didn't. But now, in the moment, all she could really feel was apprehension.

"Sweetie..." he said, and his voice was different. "I don't— I'm not saying you have to take this job. I'm not saying I'm gonna take this job. But why don't you come. It'll be a learning experience for when you interview with other people. And, besides... I'm stronger when we're together."

She smiled up at him. "You always know the right words to say."

"Yes," said Jon into the phone, "we'll both come."

They set up a meeting for the coming Sunday, the only time all three of their schedules meshed. Caitlyn was a little bit worried that this Roger DiSalvo person would complain about having his weekend taken away from him, but Jon showed no evidence of such. And just like that, they had a possibility to look forward to.

"Wow," said Caitlyn. "Wow. They say God works in mysterious ways."

"He does," Jon agreed, "but not when it comes to food. We'd better get started on dinner if we're going to make your Bible study thing on time."

She blinked at him. "You care about us being on time? I thought you weren't interested one way or the other. I thought you didn't want to go."

"Well..." said Jon.

She sat up, for the advantage of looking him in the eye. "Jon, if you don't want to go, you don't have to."

"Well... No, 'cause, that's not quite accurate. I do wanna go, Cait. I think... I think it could be a good opportunity. But I'm worried about what will happen."

...And, when she got down to it, wasn't that exactly what she felt about this job interview?

"There's no need to worry," she said, smiling. "I'll be there with you. And we're stronger when we're together, right?"

So they made dinner. Aside from trying new recipes, they had also began alternating who made which part of the meal: today Jon was in charge of the vegetables and the starch, while Caitlyn handled the main course. Both of them were getting better at cooking, that was certain. They had also gotten into the habit (picked up from Jon's parents) of cooking very large portions and then subsiding on leftovers for a day or two afterwards. In these endeavors, it was always Jon who overestimated, cooking more than enough and saddling them with excess food; Caitlyn, who never had that problem, wasn't sure where his judgment was going wrong. She would glance over his shoulder occasionally, making sure he wasn't going overboard, and sometimes Jon would catch her and give her a long-suffering look. But hey, if he wanted to eat the same food for five or six days in a row, that was his problem.

And then it was time to go.

Jon was quieter than normal on the drive over, and despite her excitement Caitlyn felt his nerves taking hold. Besides, wasn't that her normal response?—to be nervous in the face of the unknown? Certainly it had been drummed into her from childhood on that the world was a dangerous place. Six years in college had helped negate that, but Caitlyn still wasn't comfortable in new and unknown situations. Why should she be calm, this time, and Jon nervous?—if you could call her mood 'calm;' she wasn't sure she could anymore.

"What are we going to do?" she said suddenly.

Jon looked over at her; from his expression, her train of thought had left him behind at the station.

"If... If things go... If things go crazy. If we don't like it. If they all turn out to be, what, I dunno... Crazy." Like Margaret Clarke.

"Do you really think they will?" Jon asked.

"Well, I..." Thoughts rolled over in her head: the likely ho-hum battling against the improbable but picturesque disaster. "I don't know. It's a possibility."

"It is," Jon agreed, "but I don't think it will be."

"Why not?"

He looked over at her. "I trust you."

She was silent.

"You know better than I do in matters of the spirit. Just like I'm more used to earthly matters. So I'll look after us in this world, and you look after us in the next."

She covered his hand with her own. "Okay."

Since Caitlyn was involved, they were fashionably late—which was really just her excuse for never quite being organized; she knew it rubbed on Jon's nerves sometimes, and she planned to work on it in future. There was already a pretty large crowd of cars in front of George Larson's house, in eclectic mixture: the budget sedans of the newly independent rubbing shoulders (or bumpers) with giant SUVs borrowed from parents by home-for-the-holidays college students. Inanely she wondered what the crowd would look like once the semester schools kicked back in.

She had never been to George Larson's house before, a modest yet inviting place huddling under its shelf of snow. Inside was a blast of warm air and voices: people, people her age, people younger; some loud, some listening; some she recognized from church, some she hadn't seen in years.

George Larson, pastor and father of two, evolved out of the chaos. He was a congenial man with the most luxuriant eyebrows she had ever seen. "Caitlyn Delaney. I'm glad you could make it." Warm, solid arms engulfed her, so different from Jon's. Pastor Larson was like a safety blanket.

"Or," he said, putting her away from him, "am I to understand that it's Caitlyn Stanford now?"

"It is," Caitlyn said, blushing. "Mrs. Stanford, I guess."

"And is this the lucky man?" asked Pastor Larson. Pastor Pendleton could radiate charisma when he wanted to, but George Larson was like an uncle: benevolent, ever-smiling, and lit like a sun with the warmth of understanding.

"It is," said Caitlyn. "Jon, this is Pastor George Larson. Pastor, this is Jonathan Stanford, my husband." How strange to call him that—and how wonderful. Even after a month, it still made her beam.

"Jon, it's a pleasure to meet you," said Pastor Larson. "I've seen you around church many times, but never had much chance to talk to you. And now it seems like you've done your part to make Caitlyn here very happy."

"Well," said Jon, "I try. She sure does her bit in keeping me happy."

"I'm sorry I couldn't make it to the wedding," Pastor Larson said. "Larry of course called me the moment he got word, but I was already in a movie with my children. Well, let me take this opportunity to wish you both a long and happy life together."

"Thank you," they said.

"Welcome to both of you," said Pastor Larson, enfolding both of them in a smile. "We'll be starting in just a few moments, but feel free to help yourself to any refreshments and meet some of the others. We're glad you're here."

As they drifted deeper into the maelstrom of people, Jon bent close to her and said: "Does he always use the royal 'we'?" But there was a smile in his voice when he said it, and Caitlyn thought that George Larson had won him over. As she had kind of counted on. Not that Jon needed to be bamboozled, but it would help if he felt welcome. And making people feel welcome, of course, was what Ministers of Hospitality like George Larson did best.

The rest was a hodgepodge conglomerate of church members, homeschoolers and random acquaintances. She could tell that Jon was waiting to see how she reacted, and when she didn't immediately involve herself in the general meet-and-greet, he too hung back. It was not that she didn't know anybody—half a dozen people came up and greeted her with the air of meeting a long-lost friend—it was that nobody knew her. None of them were sure what to do with Jon. She wasn't sure what to do with Jon. For that matter, she wasn't sure what to do with herself. She wasn't sure who she was.

I see some of these people in church on a weekly basis. Some of the others I haven't seen in years. But either way, I'm not the person they knew. I've changed. I'm married and I'm here with my husband, while they talk about fantasy football and the kind of parties they go to at school. I've experienced the pleasures of the flesh—then again, I may not be the only person here who's learned about that. But the point is, my sphere of interest has moved on. Grades don't interest me, nor the vagaries of sororities; I have other concerns now. I've changed.

Is this why Jon didn't want to go?

She found herself sitting off to one side with her husband, the two of them looking out into the crowd with mild disinterest—exactly the place she'd hoped not to find herself. This is where I always am, in a crowd. Sometimes, if I was lucky, Meredith or Zach or one of the few people I knew would come over and talk with me, but most of the time I would just be here on my own. Too scared to make friends, too lonely to leave. Because I was scared—no, I am scared. Scared that, if I got to know anyone, they'd find me lacking. That we wouldn't get along and there'd be a disconnect and I'd mess it up so badly that they'd never want to talk to me again.

But this time, she realized, she wasn't alone: Jon was with her, holding her hand, occasionally leaning over to murmur something in her ear. Her other half.

I actually forgot he was here for a second. Is that a bad thing—or a good thing, that he's become as much a part of me as breathing?

Presently George Larson moved into the center of the room, clapping his hands. "Okay. Okay. Everybody. If I could have everybody's attention, let's begin our fellowship. Okay. Okay..."

The group started to sort itself out. Jon and Caitlyn, who were sitting against the wall (next to the piano), quickly found themselves included, as more chairs were added and the circle expanded to accommodate all the warm bodies. As luck would have it, none of the people Caitlyn recognized were sitting nearby.

"Hello to all of you," said Pastor Larson. "I'm glad all of you could come, even if you can only attend for a few sessions or even only for this one. As you have probably heard, this is George Larson's college group."

"So, if you were looking for the Knitting Circle, this might be the wrong place," said the woman sitting next to him, and Caitlyn, realizing that Jon had probably never met her, leaned over and said over the laughter, "That's Alice Larson. Pastor Larson's wife." Jon nodded.

"Why don't we begin by going around the circle and introducing ourselves," Pastor Larson said. "I suppose I'll start. I'm George Larson, and you probably all know me from church, where I am the Minister of Hospitality. I live here in this house with my wife, Alice, who is sitting right next to me; our children, Keisha who is ten and Madison who is eight, are with Pastor Pendleton and his family, who kindly offered to look after them tonight. I've been in ministry for almost twenty years, and it's a joy to be able to work with the people I do, and do the work I do, and I thank God every day for the kindness he has shown me."

"Now, I don't know about you, but that put me to sleep," Alice Larson said. Evidently she was the more talented at public relations between the two; Caitlyn had long ago observed how Pastor Larson's public speaking was mild to the point of being pedantic. "So let's do something a little bit more fun. How about... Everyone say their name, what school they go to and when they're going to graduate, and, ah. Their favorite summer vacation."

By these standards, the group was an eclectic mixture, to say the least. Some were still in their first year of college, and others were about to graduate, though none were in the workforce or master's programs. Many of them were at schools with Christian backgrounds, those who weren't at seminaries to begin with; that was one of Caitlyn's few regrets, that she hadn't been brave enough to go out for a Jesuit university like Santa Clara or Loyola Marymount. She might've flourished in such an environment, she thought; Greenfield had been nice, but not as welcoming as she could've hoped. But if she had gone elsewhere, she would've never met Jon, and then where would she be?

"I'm Caitlyn—" (Delaney) "—I'm Caitlyn Stanford. I graduated from Greenfield University last summer with a double degree in Music and Accounting, and in eighteen months I'll be graduating from Shellview State with a master's in Harp Performance. Umm. My favorite summer vacation is probably... Oregon, without a doubt. I love the coast over there—probably because I like the climate here, too. There’s so much land out in Oregon that just hasn't been touched yet. It's really nice."

"Now, Caitlyn," said Alice Larson. "You said your last name was Stanford. Am I mis-remembering, or has that always been your last name?" It was so innocently phrased that Caitlyn wondered if George had asked his wife to draw out this little tidbit.

"Umm," said Caitlyn, with a glance at Jon. He seemed composed, and his hand still clasped hers, so she went ahead with it. "No. It's only been mine for about a month. —Thirty days, actually. Before then, it was his." And then, sensing the gap and the opportunity for a bombshell: "I guess I should've introduced myself as Mrs. Caitlyn Stanford."

She felt rather than saw Jon roll his eyes.

There was a ripple of surprise; only George Larson was exempt. Max Lapinski said, laughing, "Are you sure you're in the right group? Shouldn't you be looking for the Knitting Circle?"

"Are you kidding? I don't knit!" Caitlyn retorted.

"That would be me," said Jon, completely deadpan, and there was more laughter.

"I for one am glad that Jon and Caitlyn are here," said George Larson, in a quiet voice that nonetheless drew all ears. "Young though they may be, the Stanfords will still be able to provide a different perspective on the things we talk about in this group. Remember that, for many of you, they represent where you ultimately hope to be, if in ten or fifteen years instead of just after graduating. And seeing as how Caitlyn is still in college..."

"How old are you, Caitlyn," Alice Larson asked.

"Twenty," Caitlyn said. "Well, almost twenty-one. On Sunday I'll be twenty-one."

"Happy early birthday!" Max Lapinski shouted.

"You aren't twenty-one yet, but you're already working on your master's degree?" Harry Radnick said.

"Home-schooled," said Missy Sloane, who had taken "classes" with Caitlyn under Mrs. Delaney for several years. "Didn't you test out of high school at, like, fourteen, Caitlyn?"

Caitlyn nodded. She and Nathan had learned the same material for most of their lives, despite their three-year age difference.

"Well," said George Larson. "Here's someone who's not only older than most of the people here, but younger as well. It's an interesting dichotomy. Why don't we move on to the next person. Caitlyn, I believe this is the lucky man?"

"Yeah, um, hi," said Jon. "My name's Jonathan Stanford, and I graduated from Greenfield University two years ago. I'm now in the work force—I'm an 'adult,' ha-ha yeah right—but I still have a lot of friends in college, and, um. Doing my best to provide for the lovely woman beside me."

"How did you two meet?" Alice Larson asked.

"Through school," Caitlyn said. "We'd see each other around the music building."

"Were you a Music major?" Alice asked Jon.

"No, I just love it to death," said Jon. "I should've been, but by the time I realized that, I was a senior and it was too late."

"And we would see each other around," Caitlyn said, "and then we got to talking, and eventually... Well, the rest is history."

After they'd gone around the circle, Pastor Larson sat up and said, "All right, then. Now that we all know each other, let's get started on tonight's discussion. Alice and I don't really have any plans at the moment as to the tone of these meetings; we thought we'd just let the membership decide. But we did pick a topic for tonight, and it's arguably the biggest one there is.

"We've all heard that God is love. But what is Love?

"We'd like to split the meeting up into smaller groups and have a short discussion about what, exactly, love is. Why don't... From Alice to Stacy, from Greg to Harry, from Missy to Harold, and from Helen to me. Those will be the small groups. We'll discuss for, let's say, five minutes, and then reconvene. Okay."

From her group, Caitlyn knew Melissa Sloane, but Harold Cheng was new to her. The other two moved their chairs up to form an arc. "So," Missy said. "Love."

"Wouldn't they be the experts?" Harold Cheng said, gesturing to Caitlyn and Jon. "I mean, they're married and everything. They'd know the most about it, it seems to me."

"I dunno, not necessarily," Missy said. "There's more to love than just getting married."

"Yeah, but, isn't that, like, the fullest expression of love?" said Harold. "You know, when you get to, um, 'know someone Biblically'?" He added the quotes with his eyebrows. Caitlyn felt a spike of distaste.

"Not necessarily," said Jon. "I mean, yeah, there's love between, you know, people who are in romantic relationships and stuff. But then, what about when you say that you love your friends? Does that mean that you want to, I dunno, kiss them and marry them and, what, um, obtain carnal knowledge of them or whatever?"

"And then what about, you know, stuff?" Caitlyn said. "People say, 'I love chocolate cake.' "

"Amen, sister," said Missy Sloane.

"Do you love chocolate cake the way you love your husband? —Or wife? Or the way you love your friends? Or even the way you love God?"

"I think it's hard to know God Biblically," said Missy, always the pragmatist.

"Not necessarily," Jon said. "He doesn't make Himself known overtly very much anymore. One could argue that knowing Him through the Bible is the only way to know him."

Caitlyn gave him a glance. He didn't believe such things, she was pretty sure—his appreciation for the Bible was just about nil—and she didn't think he should say them if he didn't believe them. Even if they did happen to be true.

"I don't think that's exactly the meaning we were going for there," Missy said.

"Oh, not enough innuendo for you?" said Jon, with a look of such bald-faced innocence that Missy burst out laughing.

"I still think that romantic love is the ultimate expression of love," said Harold. "I mean, seriously, who else do we love so much that we would die for them?"

"Our parents," said Caitlyn promptly. She felt the brief look Jon gave her like scalding water on her skin.

"Or sometimes our friends," Jon agreed.

"But we don't love them in the romantic, Valentines-Day sense," Caitlyn said. "Or, at least, we shouldn't."

"Loving your parents that way is icky," Jon said.

"I don't think there's just one kind of love," Caitlyn said.

"But we only have one word for it," Harold said.

"That's just the linguists' fault," said Missy. "The ancient Greeks had more than one. Actually, they had five."

"Really?" said Jon. "I've only heard of three."

"Well, you should study more," said Missy with smiling simplicity. "They had philia, which is the love between brothers. They had eros, which is, you know, being in love with someone. Lust. They had agape, which is something like 'unconditional regard for other human beings.' They had storge, which is the love between parents and children. And then they had some fifth one which I can't remember off the top of my head. It's been a while since I took Foundations of Christianity."

"And you'll notice that that still doesn't cover chocolate cake," said Caitlyn.

"Maybe that was the fifth one," Jon said.

"I think that's part of why Pastor Larson decided to start with this question," Missy said. "It's one word, but we use it to describe so many feelings and concepts. Romantic love, which in this case includes physical attraction. Bonds of friendship and brotherhood and family. Affection for objects."

"Pets," said Jon.

"Yeah, there's another one," said Missy. "Pets. It's a huge subject, and the definition of the feeling seems to change depending on what it's aimed at."

"So, what are the things we normally say we love," Caitlyn asked, "and what do we mean when we say we love them?"

"Well, we say we love our girlfriends or boyfriends or husbands or wives," said Harold. His eyes were eager, like a child awaiting birthday presents. Caitlyn wondered briefly if he had just gone through a break-up or something.

"Let's start from the top," said Missy, with just a hint of a look around her eyes to suggest that she, too, had picked up on this odd fixation. "We say we love God. What does it mean to love God?"

This was Caitlyn's question to answer: Missy had posed it, Jon probably didn't have an honest answer (though, bless his heart, he would certainly try if asked), and somehow she wasn't sure she wanted to hear Harold's. "It means that we listen to His will and try to live it out in the world. We love him because He is worthy of love, because He looks after us and guides our steps, and we obey His will because doing so will please Him—and please us as well, because we know He wants only the best for us."

"So there's an element of service," Missy said.

"I think there's an element of service in all love," said Jon. "We love God, so we do what makes Him happy. We love our significant others, so we do what will make them happy. We love our friends, so if we can make them happy, we can. We love our pets, so we look after them and fulfill their needs as best we can—even though that can be difficult, 'cause, it's not like we can necessarily talk to our pets."

"Hey, speak for yourself," said Caitlyn, at the same time Missy said, "I can." They glanced at each other and grinned.

"Well, yes, we can talk to them," said Jon, giving them both a wry look, "but they might not answer."

"Hey, speak for your pets," said Caitlyn, at the same time Missy said, "Mine do." They looked at each other and grinned.

Jon gave a long-suffering sigh. "We even love chocolate cake, which exists solely for our pleasure and nourishment, so we honor it by allowing it to fulfill its purpose," he finished. "Love means thinking about other people. Love means wanting to make others happy. Love means service."

"And then, because they're happy, they thank us and serve us and try to make us happy," Caitlyn said. She couldn't keep herself from thinking about Jon's face when she took his member in her mouth: the sheer longing there when she started, and the love when she finished. It wasn't her favorite thing to do, but it was growing on her a little bit—and the love on his face, and then the love in his hands and tongue as he lavished attention on her in return, and in his arms when he held her in the aftermath, were certainly a worthwhile reward.

"I don't think the self-sacrifice thing is necessarily true," Jon said. "I think that, in many ways, we don't have to put ourselves second when we love, because the very act of pleasing someone else pleases us too. Love is the only gift that gives to both the giver and the receiver. But I think you have to be willing to. You have to realize that, to truly love someone, you do need to place yourself second, and be willing to do something even if you think it's a terrible idea, or if it won't please you at all."

"And that's probably most important in a romantic relationship," said Missy.

"No, not necessarily," said Caitlyn. "Sometimes that's very important with God too. Isn't that the problem we all had before we became Christians?—the fear that God would ask us to do things that we found objectionable? I know that, for me, baptism was the hardest part: I'm scared of drowning, I mean really scared of drowning. So for God to ask me to, you know, to risk this thing... It'd be like if baptism involved being covered in spiders."

Missy jumped.

"Yeah, you see where I'm going with this. So to be baptized and to follow Christ was literally taking my life in my hands. But it was important enough, so... I did. Because I knew that, no matter how objectionable I found it, it was for the best. And that pleasing God was, or at least should be, more important than pleasing myself."

"And besides, if you did drown and die, newly-baptized would be about as holy as it's possible to get," Jon quipped. Caitlyn rolled her eyes.

"So I think it's not about being in a romantic relationship and having to sacrifice something for them," Caitlyn said. "I think it's... The deeper or more strongly you love someone... The more likely it is that pleasing them will require you to do something you'd rather not. And, so... The more you love someone, the harder it is to keep loving them, but... The greater the rewards if you do."

"So it's not about who you're in love with," Jon said, "it's about how deeply you love someone. And, generally, the people we're in love with are the people we love most deeply, so, yeah, you do have to sacrifice more for them. But if the most important person in the world to us was our best friend—"

"Or God," Caitlyn said.

"—Or God," Jon agreed, with only the slightest pause to show his surprise, "then they would be the person we're most likely to sacrifice for."

Harold Cheng had an expression on his face that Caitlyn found difficult to interpret, but if she had to guess, he was disappointed, or maybe even angry, with something he'd heard. And then, as his face resolved, she realized he was glaring at her. Why? All she'd done was speak the truth.

Jon leaned close and said, "I'm glad you didn't drown and go holy up to God," and she smiled and whispered, "I'm glad I didn't either," and when she looked back at Harold's face it was clear and clean again.

Pastor Larson's voice cut through the low babble. "All right, if we could rejoin the circle again, I believe our five minutes are up... If everyone could rejoin the circle... Yes, yes. All right. Everyone present and accounted for? Which group would like to go first?"

Alice Larson looked at the people to her left and said, "Hmm, we might as well go first. Jenna, why don't you explain."

The girl Jenna threw her hands in the air. "How did I know that was coming." There was laughter, which Caitlyn didn't join in—why was that funny? Clearly, there were in-jokes going on that she wasn't aware of. "Well, we talked mostly about the fact that there's multiple things we love, and that the meaning of the word changes depending on what it is we're loving."

"Hey," said Jon loudly, "they plagiarized our idea!"

"No," Max Lapinski said, "they plagiarized our idea!"

"What sinners we all are," said Sylvia Blumenthal, "whatever happened to 'Thou shalt not steal'?"

Jenna Richmond plowed on. "We say that we love all sorts of things—friends, lovers, pets, God, cheesecake—but we don't love them the same way. And we can't, they're such different things. I mean, cheesecake isn't even alive. But yet we say we love them. So, we think that the word 'love' has a different definition depending on the context. Depending on who the beloved is."

"Or what," said Alice Larson.

"Or what," Jenna agreed.

Max Lapinski went next. "We ended up talking about kinda the dark side of love. There's times when we get, I dunno, sort of hung up on love as this thing we're supposed to have—you know, media expectations and peer pressure and all that. Even just look at fairy tales: true love and things like that. Or parents who are too caught up in loving their children to give them room to grow." Jon and Caitlyn exchanged glances at that one. "And that kind of segued into a conversation about what love is not. I mean, we all know the Scripture: Love is patient, love is kind, blah blah blah. But what is love not? And the thing we got down to, ultimately, is that love is about the other person. It's inclusive, not exclusive; it's accepting, not controlling; it's selfless, not selfish. Love is almost completely one-way: from the lover to the beloved. It doesn't expect anything. It just... Gives."

"A good thing, I think, for young newlyweds to hear," said George Larson with a smile.

Missy Sloane took the floor. "Ours kind of grows off that. We talked about love as related to self-sacrifice. I mean, we all know that love is (or is supposed to be) selfless and inclusive and accepting, but Jon and Caitlyn came up with an interesting observation: the deeper we love somebody, the more likely it is that putting their needs over our own will be objectionable to us. It increases the chances that we'll have to do something we don't want to. So, the people we're most likely to sacrifice for are the people closest to us. I think, normally, we expect those people to be the ones we're in relationships with, but that might be best friends, or God, or our parents. And—actually we didn't talk about this, I just thought of it just now—and maybe, sometimes, we hold back, because we feel like we shouldn't have to sacrifice for anyone but our romantic partners or whatever. I mean, the two topics are so intertwined in our modern culture: your lover is the person you have to sacrifice for, and nobody else. Maybe, if we aren't willing to put ourselves second when other people are involved—friends, parents, God—that limits our ability to love them. Maybe the depth of your love for someone is defined by how much you're willing to sacrifice for them."

Caitlyn gazed at her, feeling an odd sense of pride that her random thoughts could have encouraged such an observation—because, unquestionably, Missy was right. We can control how deeply or strongly we love other people. It's totally up to us.

"Our group came up with something that each of your observations point at," said George Larson.

"You mean, you suggested to your group," said Alice Larson with a grin.

"Well," said George Larson with a modest smile. "I have lived approximately twice as long as the average group member. Anyhow, you'll notice that nobody talked about feelings when they talked about love. Doesn't our culture normally describe 'love' as a feeling?—an intense attachment?—affection, love, sympathy, desire, care? And yet nobody addressed those.

"The reason they did is because those things are feelings. They grow and fade over time. Love is not a feeling: love is a choice."

The group was silent.

"We will always feel things," George Larson said, "and what we feel is not necessarily under our control. Sometimes we will feel affection. Sometimes we will feel contempt. Sometimes we will feel nothing. And, as with any emotion, we choose whether to express it. Well, the reverse is also true: we can choose to express emotions we don't feel. Sometimes choosing to express them makes us feel them: happiness makes you smile, but it's also a proven scientific fact that smiling makes you happy. Just the physical act of smiling engages the endorphins and neurotransmitters that lead to uplifted mood. The brain is a marvelous creation: it both controls us and is controlled by us.

"Joy, happiness, affection, sympathy, desire: these are emotions. We cannot choose them, merely influence them by our actions. Love is an action. We can choose it. And the question of whether we do choose it goes a long way towards defining who we are—not just as Christians, but as people."

"Wait, so," said Max Lapinski. "If God is love, and love is a choice... Does that mean God is a choice?"

His tone was so perfectly bewildered that he garnered an immediate laugh, but George Larson merely nodded. "Yes, Maxwell. God is a choice. We can choose whether or not to be in touch with Him, and privy to His voice in our lives. And, once we have chosen to hear His voice, we can then choose whether or not to heed it. God is always present, but He gave us free will, and that means it is our choice whether or not He participates. Haven't we all seen those people who, in social gatherings, tend to withdraw, preferring not to participate in the fellowship even when invited?"

Caitlyn felt the burn of eyes on her face. Then she realized that many of them were actually looking at the man sitting on her left: Harold Cheng. And yet she thought, If they're not looking at me, it's only out of politeness. I too am one of those people.

"Now, unlike those people, God will always come join the party if we invite Him to," George Larson said. "But first we have to invite Him in. And that, Max, is most certainly a choice."

Caitlyn was nodding. And so, she saw, was Jon.

"I think that was a really good meeting," he said as they drove home. "I had never thought of love being a choice before."

"Neither had I," Caitlyn said. "But let he who has eyes to see and ears to hear..."

"Yeah," said Jon. "I think that, no matter who we are or what we believe, there's a part of us that recognizes truth. Whether we like it or not, whether we want to believe it or not, we hear the truth and it stays with us."

Yet you don't recognize the truth of the Bible, she thought, but what she said was, "That doesn't explain my parents, though."

"No, it does," he said. "They clung to their lies so fiercely because they heard the truth. They heard it, and didn't like it. They saw the love between us and didn't want it to be so, so instead of facing it they turned away. Hearing the truth is not the same as being able to accept it and adopt it."

"Is that why you don't believe in the Bible?" she said.

Jon looked at her a long moment. Then he looked away for a long moment more.

"Yes," he said finally. "It simply doesn't make much sense to me. There's a difference between knowing something in your heart and knowing something in your head. The stories in the Bible make sense to my heart, but not to my head."

"But that's where faith comes in," Caitlyn said. "Being able to trust that, even though it doesn't make sense now, it someday will."

"Yeah, but, I don't just sit and wait for sense to be delivered," Jon said. "I try and figure it out. There's this old guy, lived about the 1500s. Said, 'I do not feel obliged to believe that the same God who endowed us with sense and intellect intended us to forgo their use.' He was a smart guy: figured out that the earth revolves 'round the sun. Galileo. You may have heard of him."

Caitlyn recognized the faux-folksy tone in his voice, refused to rise to it. "Well, it's good that you're trying to figure it out. Too many people just dismiss it. What did you think of the meeting overall?"

Jon shrugged. "I liked it. It's fun to meet people our age—even if they are a little bit younger—and none of them are, like, flaming hypocrites or judgmental or anything. Heck, most of them are normal."

She glanced at him. "You saw it too?"

"And just our luck, he gets in our group," Jon said. "What do you think it was?"

"But... The thing is, he kinda belongs," said Caitlyn. "Remember what Pastor Larson was saying, about, you know... People who kind of prefer to stay off to one side?"

"Yeah," said Jon. "I used to be like that."

"So did I," said Caitlyn.

"You still are, kind of," Jon said, not unkindly. "I said like twice as much stuff to the large group as you did, and it's your church."

"But it wasn't just shyness or whatever, he also seemed... I dunno, angry or something."

"You saw it too?"

"I don't know what it was. What did we say to annoy him?"

"Nothing, that I can think of. But it's not like we know him well enough to be able to figure it out."

"And it's not like he'll give us the chance to get to know him that well," Caitlyn said. "It's like... We failed some test of his, or something. Without realizing it."

"Well, at least we don't have to think of him until next week," said Jon. "And hey, maybe he won't come."

"Oh," said Caitlyn with a veiled smile, "are we going next week?"

Jon rolled his eyes and put his hand on top of hers, their fingers interlacing. She squeezed his hand.