Low Pressure

He gave a light laugh. “Of course when we landed, nothing that poetic-sounding came to my adolescent mind. I’ve had years to think about that first flight and how significant it was. Even then, I knew it was life-changing, but, of cours

e, nothing changed immediately.

“We landed, and I went back to that cold house and that unfeeling man. I remained angry and resentful, carried a chip on my shoulder just as I always had. The difference was, I now had something to look forward to. My dad couldn’t lock me out anymore because I’d stopped wanting in.”

He paused as though considering whether or not to continue. “This is going to sound as corny as hell. But”—again, he hesitated—“but during that flight, there was a span of time, maybe forty-five seconds, when the sun shone through a crack in the clouds. And I mean a slit. You know how it sometimes does just before sundown and there are clouds on the horizon?

“Anyway, we were flying at the perfect altitude to be level with it. That beam of sunlight was aimed directly at me. I was staring straight into it and I owned it. It was like a sign or something. For a kid who didn’t have a mother, and a dad who looked through him, that was… Well, it was a lot.

“And I thought to myself, ‘This is what it’s about. It’s never going to get better than this. This is my life’s perfect moment. If I live to be a hundred years old, I’ll remember this till the day I die.’”

Bellamy didn’t move for the longest time. Eventually Dent mumbled, “Told you it was corny.”

“No, it’s lovely.”

“You ever had a moment like that? Do you understand what I’m talking about?”

She raised her head, and a tear slid over her lower eyelid as she smiled down into his face and said softly, “As of right now, I do.”

They slept for several hours and woke to make love again as they showered together. He was assembling the coffee-maker when she emerged from the bathroom, wearing only the dress shirt he’d discarded the night before, towel-drying her hair.

When he turned and saw her, an odd expression came over his face. “What?” she asked.

He shook his head slightly, then gave her a wolfish grin. “I was just thinking how good it looks on you.”

“Your shirt?”

“Debauchery.”

She blushed to the roots of her hair.

“Damn, that gets to me every time.”

“What?”

“Your blush.”

“I don’t blush.”

“Bet you will.”

“Will?”

He sat down in one of the chairs at the table, caught her hand, and pulled her into his lap. It was a while before they got around to having their coffee.

Over steaming cups, she told him what she’d learned about the man they knew as Jerry. Dent muttered a few choice phrases. “Steven’s the one I should have gone after.”

“He retained the man to look out for me. He meant well.”

He looked prepared to comment on that, but chose not to. “What was on Moody’s mind?”

She related their conversation and, when she finished, she said, “Admit it, Dent. You must be a little relieved.”

“To know that you didn’t kill her?” When she solemnly nodded, he said, “I’m relieved for your sake. From a practical standpoint, I never really thought you had.”

“But you had considered the possibility.”

“Let’s just say I hoped that when you regained your memory, it wouldn’t be of you choking Susan. I’m glad you don’t have to be haunted by that.”