PROLOUGE
'Where are you going?'� Lynn asked.
It was a simple question. One he would have anticipated if this had not been another one of his brilliant ideas conceived at the bottom of a Dewar's bottle. Instead here he was, standing on Lynn's front porch drenched and once again kicking himself in the ass for failing to think things all the way through. Still, he had come this far and any answer would be better than standing here watching his water logged feet begin to prune.
'You no longer have the right to ask me that question,'� Tilman whispered while backing cautiously down the gray front porch steps out into the rain. Lynn had never been one to lose her temper, but being out of her reach would be safer if things headed south.
In her grandmother's wedding gown, she should have been the image of a Southern Belle on her wedding day, but the white knuckles of her clenched fists and her furrowed brow overshadowed her natural beauty and grace. 'No longer have the right! Tilman Dearing, I of all people have every right to know where you're going!'�
Lynn held back the urge to bolt through the doorway and strangle him. She took a deep breath, glanced over her shoulder and lowered her voice. It would not benefit their current situation, if her mother decided to join them on the front porch.
Mrs. O'Brien had not been overly impressed with Mr. Tilman Dearing when she had been introduced to him on a late October afternoon. However, the young man had appeared to be slightly nervous so she chose to reserve her final judgment until later. As time passed and she learned more about him, she soon discovered, if she forced herself, she was able to tolerate him for short periods of time, but only out of love for her daughter. During the five years Lynn and Tilman were together, Mrs. O'Brien had never gone to any great lengths to hide her disdain for Tilman Dearing or his vagabond lifestyle. In all fairness, Tilman had made no effort to give her any reason to change her opinion and it seemed his escapades over the past year had only served to move him from the tolerated to the loathed category.
Lynn relaxed her fists. Her life would have been easier if she could have stayed mad at him, but that had never been possible. There had been hundreds of times when she had been ready to walk away from him, only to have that damned smile of his, convince her that this time if she stayed, everything would work itself out this time.
She studied Tilman closely. He was not drunk, at least not at the moment. Oh, but he had hit it hard the night before. There was no doubt in her mind that there was an empty bottle of scotch rolling around the passenger side floorboard of his Jeep. Still, from the moment she had opened the door, he had been unable to look her in the eyes. She truly wanted to believe that he had given up and was finally willing to accept the reality of the events scheduled to take place later that afternoon.
And then like always, Lynn could not stop herself. 'Tilman, I love you. I'll always love you.'�
'But, you're still getting married.'� Not a question, but a general statement uttered only to buy him a few extra moments.
Lynn scooped up her gown and draped it over her right arm. She stepped barefoot onto the front porch and stared silently at the puddles that had formed on the front lawn. She nodded reluctantly.
'That's why I have to leave.'�
'Tilman, you're acting like a spoiled child! You can't run away because things didn't turn out the way you expected. This is real life and although you've managed to spend most of yours avoiding it, you have to learn to accept it. I forbid you to turn your back on me and pretend that we never happened.'�
It was the angriest whisper Tilman had ever heard and for once, he found he was grateful that Mrs. O'Brien was at home. He shoved his hands into his front pockets sending streams of water cascading down the sides of his Levi's. 'That's exactly what I'm going to do. I'm going to climb into my Jeep and drive until I convince myself all of this was a dream. Too much has happened. This isn't my home anymore.'�
'Brookshire will always be your home.'�
Tilman walked across the lawn leaving behind a trail of water filled footprints. Without looking back he muttered, 'And you're still getting married'�.
'Wait'�, Lynn called! Either stubbornness or sheer desperation forced her down the slippery front steps and out into the steady June rain. Lightning streaked across the darkening sky followed immediately by deep rumbles of thunder. She stopped abruptly at the edge of the cobblestone sidewalk. 'This is as far as I can go. You'll have to meet me half way.'�
Knowing halfway was more than he deserved, Tilman slowly turned and made his way back to the edge of the sidewalk.
'T., if there was anything I could do to make this easier for you, I would.'�
'There is.'�
'I can't do that. We've tried too many times. Maybe this is what's best.'� Lynn wrapped her arms tightly around his neck, allowing her gown to spill across the flooded cobblestones and nestled her head against his chest.
'You're going to ruin your dress.'�
She looked down and watched as the grass began to tint the hemline of her grandmother's wedding dress a pale shade of green. 'It's okay. Mama will blame you.'�
Tilman held onto her tightly. There was no doubt that their relationship had to end. Everything in his life eventually ended. Sometimes good, sometimes bad and with his history of fuck ups, this ending was going far better than anyone would have anticipated.
'Tilman, I do love you'�, Lynn whispered softly.
'Don't say that.'�
'How could I ever stop loving you?'� Lynn smiled as tears spilled down her cheeks.
Tilman bent down and kissed one of her tears away, 'I've always loved you'�.
'I'm sorry Tilman. If only you could'�'�
He placed a finger gently against her lips and slowly shook his head. 'Let's leave it there. We are both too old to believe that if only can change anything.'� He pulled the worn strip of leather holding his ponytail. As he shook his head, the coy smile disappeared beneath a thick veil of wet blond hair. 'I have to go now.'�
'Where are you going?'�
Tilman climbed up into his Jeep and without another word, started the engine. He briefly considered putting the top up to shield himself from the approaching storm, decided to hell with it and waved goodbye.
In a perfect world, Tilman would have done the right thing. He would have kept his promise and driven until the last five years were nothing more than a memory. In a perfect world he would never see Lynn again, but Tilman's world had never been perfect and to be honest, he had never understood why people were always so hung up about doing the right thing.

Part 1
'We close our eyes and dream and another year has come and gone.
We close our eyes and the world has turned around again.'�
' Oingo Boingo

Chapter 1
The moss green Range Rover sped south along the Pacific Coast Highway, winding through the hills and valleys of the Central California Coast. The ocean here would never be as warm as it was in Malibu and there were larger breaks drawing surfers to points further south. However, on a few perfect days, the marine layer retreated offshore and revealed hundreds of tiny beaches tucked tightly against the rugged ocean cliffs. This was a place for those who were looking for an escape from their over scheduled lives back in the city.
The reality of her current situation was setting in far too quickly for Charity and she desperately needed one of those perfect days. Mile markers and sun bleached billboards faded in and out of the thick afternoon fog in time to the humming of the SUV's tires along the freshly paved stretch of highway. Charity barely recognized the image of herself reflected in the passenger side window. She tilted her head to the right and watched intently as her reflection did the same. If she smiled, the stranger staring back at her would be obligated to smile. Charity decided not to impose. Her reflection seemed depressed, and she found she did not possess the energy or the desire to cheer it up. Although she was traveling with her best friends, Charity was not surprised that she felt a stronger connection to the washed out version of herself imprisoned in the window.
No one was prepared to admit it, but the four of women understood this was their final road trip. College graduation was simply another entry on the long checklist of life. This fall they would be expected to find jobs and join the rest of America in the world of Monday through Friday, nine to five. Of course, there would be the typical promises of snowboarding in Crystal Mountain at Christmas and a week or two in Hawaii for a much-needed and well-deserved break in the summer. These promises would fade away in the harsh reality of responsibility and commitments.
In September, Charity would become the first of her friends to be joined in the eternal, or at a minimum, the somewhat permanent bonds of holy matrimony. She could not help but feel that she was the only person in the car who was not utterly thrilled about the prospect of her becoming Mrs. Alex Johnston.
'We're here'�, Jessie announced, turning down the volume on the radio and jerking the Range Rover towards the Avila Beach exit at the last moment.
Susan yawned and stretched in the back seat. The side of her face was deeply marked from the piping of the sport utility vehicle's upholstery. 'I don't see the beach.'�
'It's just on the other side of these hills. Keep going straight on this road Jessie. We'll be at the hotel in a few minutes, which I can only hope will be enough time for Susan to have an Altoid or two.'� Anna laughed and dropped the small tin of peppermints into Susan's lap. 'I don't know if it was the brats and sauerkraut from last night or this morning's onion, pepper and blue cheese omelet, but for our sake, could you be a little less adventurous at the table. At least while we're on the road.'�
Susan lazily popped one of the mints into her mouth. 'You know, they are curiously strong and often celebrated.'�
'Is there a particular reason you feel compelled to quote the advertising slogan for every product you touch,'� Charity asked.
Jessie reached back over the seat, searching for the tin of mints, allowing the Land Rover to drift over the center line. 'What do you expect? She's armed with a marketing degree and no job prospects.'�
'I prefer recent college graduate on the verge of an extremely successful and lucrative advertising career.'� Susan handed the mints to Jessie.
Anna chimed in, 'I'd prefer to marry a promising young attorney who would buy me a Mercedes and then expect nothing more of me than to stay home and raise the children. Wait a second. Wasn't that Charity's plan?'�
Charity had been fortunate enough to avoid the topic of her upcoming nuptials for the last thousand miles, but it appeared her friends now required an explanation. 'He's still in law school and what would I do with a Mercedes?'� Charity turned the volume on the radio back up, hoping she could avoid any further discussion for another thousand miles.
Jessie smiled and turned the radio off, 'But his family is rich and he gave you this Range Rover for graduation.'�
Anna leaned forward, 'Wasn't there something you needed to tell us about you and Alex?'�
Susan pushed Anna back into her seat and leaned forward. 'You promised you'd tell us when we got to the beach.'�
'Spill it girl'�, Jessie demanded. It's not like we haven't noticed you're not wearing the ring.'�
Charity looked down at the white indention running around her ring finger.
'What did you tell him?'� Jessie asked.
'I told him I needed time to catch my breath.'�
Anna screamed in shock, 'You broke off the engagement!'�
'I didn't break it off. I sort of postponed it. It's not like you're going to have to return your bridesmaid dresses,'� Charity paused, 'Although, there's a pretty good chance you're going to need to exchange them for something more suitable for winter.'�
'Did you keep the ring?'� Jessie shot Charity a sideways glance.
'Jessie!'� The thought of one of her best friends creating any breach of social etiquette was appalling to Anna. 'Why would you even ask such a question? Of course she didn't keep the ring.'�
Jessie tilted the rear view mirror down and locked eyes with Anna. If it was not for Charity, Jessie would have happily pulled over and dumped that pompous bitch and her designer luggage off on the side of the road. Anna huffed and looked the other way.
Charity looped her finger under the gold chain she wore tucked safely beneath her paisley camisole top and winked at Jessie. A diamond solitaire hung from the chain swaying gently back and forth.
'You kept the ring?'� Anna threw her head back and groaned dramatically. 'Charity, you broke off the engagement. What were you thinking? You have to give him back the ring. Why would you keep the ring?'�
'Why wouldn't she?'� She might not be able to strand Anna on the side of the highway, but Jessie was able to find some comfort in her disapproval of Charity's actions. 'She kept the Range Rover.'�
'What are you going to do Charity?'� Susan, needing visual confirmation that Charity still had the ring, squeezed herself in between the two front seats.
Charity turned and looked apologetically at Susan. Her concern was genuine and Charity wished there was a way for her to explain how she felt. She and Susan had been friends since kindergarten and had roomed together during their freshman year at the University of Washington. It was Susan who introduced Charity to Alex three years ago at the Kappa Christmas party. If their relationship failed, Susan would no doubt take it personally.
'Maybe instead of asking Charity what she's going to do, we should ask her what she wants to do.'� Jessie tapped the breaks and slowed the sport utility vehicle down to the posted thirty-five miles per hour. 'What do you want to do Charity?'�
There was a diner up ahead on the left. 'Right now, what I want more than anything else in the world is'�, she paused for a second and smiled, 'to eat lunch.'�
The Range Rover pulled into a parking space in front of the Avila Beach Diner.

Chapter 2
Tilman sat at the end of the lunch counter shoveling scrambled eggs back and forth across his plate, realizing that he would not be able to ignore Josh for much longer. He had originally hoped by remaining silent, Josh would be forced to give up and move on to another topic. Instead Josh had launched a barrage of toothpicks at him. A few moments later a sugar packet struck him on the ear, followed by a warm, slightly limp strip of bacon which had stuck momentarily to his forehead before dropping onto his plate. Tilman could feel the remnants of grease on his forehead thicken as they congealed. Although these attacks were annoying, they were harmless. His immediate concern was now focused on the fork Josh was twirling menacingly between his fingers.
Over the last ten years, these pointless debates had evolved into a repetitive morning ritual. Josh preferred to think of them as mental aerobics. They were his way of jump-starting an alcohol soaked brain after a night of intense drinking. Tilman was convinced Josh was a sadist. However, this was the price he paid for having Josh as both his best friend and business partner.
Tilman would have been better off if he had stayed back at the pub and shared a bowl of frosted Cheerios with Bourbon his chocolate lab. The dog drooled a little more than Josh, but at least Bourbon would have been able to eat his breakfast in peace.
Tilman chose his words carefully. Josh was riding the final wave of an eight hour vodka binge and Tilman would be surprised if he had managed to catch even thirty minutes of sleep between closing time and sending another nameless brunette out the door before breakfast. However, Josh had an unnatural ability for weathering hangovers and he possessed a phenomenal command of the English language. It severely irritated Tilman that these discussions typically hinged on some colorful phrase that Josh thought was amusing.
'Josh,'� he began slowly, 'although I do not personally know any little people.'� He paused, fully expecting the twang of Josh's Texas accent offer up some form of resistance. After a few moments of silence, he continued. 'I'm almost certain they do not consider themselves to be fun sized. No matter what you may have thought you heard, let me assure you that the dwarf at the pub was not using it as a pick up line.'�
'He was,'� Josh stated as if little people considering themselves to be fun sized was as much of a universal truth as gravity or hangovers. 'And I knew you couldn't ignore me forever. Was it the sugar packets? No, it had to be the fork. I can smell fear!'� Josh screamed and stabbed his fork into Tilman's pile of scrambled eggs.
Tilman removed the fork and placed it on the counter, well beyond Josh's reach.
Josh continued, 'He bought the woman a rum and coke and I distinctly heard him ask if she'd ever experienced a night of fun sized passion. Anyway, how can you so sure he was a dwarf? What if he was a midget?'�
'It doesn't matter. They're all called little people.'� Against his better judgment, Tilman stepped up and became the proponent for political correctness in this futile debate. 'You could tell he was a dwarf because'�'�
'Little person, dwarf, dress him up in green tights and call him a fucking leprechaun! I really don't give a damn. The point is'�'�
'Josh'�, he raised his voice hoping it would lend credibility to his argument, not that Tilman possessed any vast amount of knowledge regarding the dating practices of midgets, dwarves or leprechauns. 'You cannot go around calling people'�'�
'He said he was fun sized'�, Josh finished, completely ignoring Tilman. 'The best part is it worked. Can you believe that shit?'� Josh slapped Tilman on the back. 'He left with her a couple of minutes later. Hey, that reminds me. When was the last time you left the pub with someone?'�
'And we're changing subjects because?'�
Angie, a tall waitress with dark auburn hair, walked down to the end of the counter coming to a stop directly in front of the two men. The situation was on the verge of getting out of hand and she could not afford to let that happen again. The last time Tilman and Josh had carried one of their debates too far, she lost half of her customers and the boys, as she had come to refer to them, spent the better part of the night in the San Louis Obispo County Jail. The situation demanded sternness. However, when she looked at them she could not help but laugh.
Tilman had managed to pull the majority of his hair back into a pony tail. The hair that was not secured hung down in long wispy strands and at first glance, it would be reasonable for an onlooker to assume that he was suffering from a severe bout of the mange. There was a toothpick lodged in his goatee and he had skipped a button on his chambray shirt while getting dressed, giving him an altogether lopsided appearance. Josh had wisely chosen a t-shirt, which required considerably less work. Even so, he was wearing it backwards and had somehow managed to put it on inside out so that the tag was sticking up towards his chin.
'I'm not changing the subject. I'm simply pointing out a fact. We were in Alaska for the better part of three years and we've been here,'� Josh ticked the years off on his fingers, 'for six years'�'�
'Seven years,'� Tilman corrected him.
'Really,'� Josh bit his lip and tried earnestly to recapture any one of the missing three hundred and sixty five days before accepting that they were forever lost to the sober mind. 'Okay, that's even worse. Seven years and you still haven't'�'�
Angie decided the time had come for her to end this conversation. 'Boys look around, you're scaring my customers. The way I see it, you have two choices. You can sit here and quietly enjoy another cup of coffee or one of you is going home with third degree burns.'� She held a steaming coffee pot over Josh's lap. 'Which is it going to be?'�
Having never been intimidated by idle threats, Josh felt compelled to push the issue a little further. 'Tilman, you're a bartender. The last time I checked, bartenders are not required to take a vow of chastity. Poverty yes, but not chastity. If it was a requirement'�'�
Angie slowly began tilting the coffee pot.
Josh studied Angie's face for any sign she was bluffing. He doubted she would actually scald his crotch with hot coffee, but she had raised the stakes and it was no longer a risk he was willing to take. After all, she had let them spend four hours in jail before she finally agreed not to press charges. 'I'm stopping'�, Josh pushed his empty coffee mug across the counter.
Tilman looked up from his plate, 'Just half a cup, please.'�
'Tilman, what's wrong?'� Angie filled his cup. 'You haven't even touched your eggs.'�
'I've been too busy ignoring Josh.'�
'Sweetheart, I've ignored Josh for years without starving myself.'�
Josh poked out his bottom lip. 'That hurts Angie.'�
'But true, just the same. All right, what's today's question?
'Josh has decided little people prefer to be called fun sized.'�
'That's not what I said. It wasn't even a question. It was strictly a statement based on an observation I was fortunate enough to'�'�
'It's Tilman's turn now Josh. I believe the politically correct term is little people. However'�'�
Tilman did not give Angie a chance to finish. He jumped up from his stool and broke into his victory dance. This uncoordinated version of the cabbage patch carried him down the counter and passed the booths next to the front window. A silver haired woman enjoying an afternoon out with her grandchildren was forced to shield her granddaughter's eyes with her purse as Tilman paused in front of their booth and added a few pelvic thrusts to his performance.
Josh turned to Angie, 'I can't watch this. Angie, why did you lie?'�
'I didn't lie. They prefer to be called little people. By now, you should have learned to mind your own business. Plus his victory dance is so much cuter than yours.'�
'It's the pelvic thrust isn't it?'� Josh climbed up onto his stool.
The impressionable young girl who had been spared the sight of Tilman's performance, knocked over her apple juice and giggled as she pointed out the six foot tall red head perched atop his stool.
'How about this? Can you ignore this, Angie?'� Josh placed one hand behind his neck and began slowly rolling his hips in unison with the invisible lasso he was swinging above his head.
After a few swings of his lasso, Josh spotted Charity and her friends sitting in the corner booth on the far side of the diner. His gyrations immediately ceased. 'Check out the blond!'�
'Where?'� Tilman brought his dance to a less than climactic finish, which was a shame since it was very rare that he ever beat Josh in one of these verbal altercations.
Josh grabbed Tilman's head with both hands and pointed it in Charity's direction. 'Right there. Blond hair, blue eyes, pink paisley shirt, sitting in the corner booth and although I can't tell if she's wearing pants from this angle, my friend I can confirm that she is not I repeat not wearing a wedding ring.'�
Tilman was stunned. 'You noticed she wasn't wearing a wedding ring? That's uncanny. I know I give you a lot of grief about hitting on women and in general for being shallow and completely self centered, but you may have a gift. I mean in a matter of seconds, from what is that thirty feet? You're good.'�
On the other side of the diner, Charity was not sure whether she should be disturbed or amused by the two men staring at her. She smiled and an offered Tilman a half-hearted wave.
Tilman plopped back onto his stool, waved back and let his head fall to the lunch counter with a thud.
'You really think I'm shallow?'� Josh asked.
'Just let it go,'� Tilman said without looking up.
Angie laughed. 'That was amazing. If you guys did that at the pub, I'd tuck a few dollars in your shorts. Well not your shorts Josh, but that's strictly for hygienic reasons, it's nothing personal.'�
'Yeah, but as I recall you went home with Lucky the Leprechaun, so your standards are now questionable at best.'�
Tilman sat up. He glared first at Angie and then Josh. His napkin was stuck to the grease spot left by the bacon on his forehead. 'Angie? No!'�
'Way to go Captain Quick!'� Josh pealed the napkin off of Tilman's head, balled it up and dropped it back onto his plate. 'Tell him Angie. He said he was fun sized.'�
'Okay, he claimed to be fun sized, but that's not why I took him home. What convinced me was the bit of leprechaun magic he performed under the bar.'�
'That's enough! I'm out of here. I don't need to hear about some fun sized pervert going down on Angie in my pub.'�
'It's our pub,'� Josh reminded him sternly, 'and technically, I believe that since he was standing on his tiptoes, he would have been going up. By the way, I noticed that blond waved at you. At least find out her name. It can't hurt. Then again this really isn't one of your strong points is it? I won't lie to you. There might be some pain involved. It might be better if I went over I introduced myself first.'�
Tilman stood up and walked towards the cash register weighing the pros and cons of implementing a dress code at the pub banning mini skirts and making undergarments a mandatory item while on the premises.
Josh picked up his coffee mug and followed Tilman. He was going to have his say and since they were already leaving, there was really no way Angie would be able to throw them out.
'You can't be serious. We're not leaving until'� I can't believe you. What is your problem? Don't tell me this is about Lynn.'�
Tilman immediately turned around piercing Josh with his cold blue eyes.
'You have got to be shitting me! Tilman, it's been ten years and maybe you haven't noticed that she hasn't accidentally strolled into the pub. When was the last time she called?'�
Josh tapped a gentleman sitting at the lunch counter on the shoulder. 'Can you guess how long it's been since she called?'�
'A few weeks,'� the gentleman answered nervously and went back to eating his country fried steak.
'No, not a few weeks, not even a few months. To this day, Lynn has never called and guess what? She's never going to call.'�
'Josh, there's no reason to bring Ken into this. Let him eat his lunch.'� Tilman turned and continued towards the register.
'Tilman, you're not Bogey. She's not Ingrid Bergman and look around. This sure as hell ain't Casa Blanca. It's time to drop this hopeless romantic'�'� Josh suddenly became aware that the majority of people in the diner were starring at him. Although he was pretty sure he had already offended the majority of them, he searched for a word that the more family oriented customers would find appropriate. 'Crap!'� It was the only word he could come up with on the spur of the moment. 'You have to get on with your life.'�
Tilman handed Angie his check.
'Even though it is your turn, I'm going to guess that you're not going to get Josh's'�, Angie smiled as she rang up his order.
'One of the biggest mistakes I ever made was giving him a place to live. If I continue feeding him, he's never going to leave.'�
'Six dollars even.'� She and spindled the ticket.
Tilman handed her a ten dollar bill. 'Keep the change.'�
'I can't believe you're going to walk out without even talking to her. This is so typical!'� Remaining calm was no longer an option. 'There's really no hope for you.'� He threw his arms up in disgust. 'Angie, please explain to Tilman that if a woman waves at you from across a restaurant or in this case a greasy diner, it's perfectly acceptable to talk to her. It's almost expected. Wait, Tilman, this is almost romantic. Her blue eyes were filled with passion as she watched him grind against the stool.'�
Tilman shook his head slowly and took a deep breath. He handed Angie a fifty dollar bill. 'Angie, this should cover whatever the young lady and her friends are having. If it isn't, please put the rest on my tab and I'll take care of it tomorrow.'�
'Oh I see. You'll buy lunch for a group of complete strangers, but you're too cheap to buy your best friend breakfast.'� Josh reached into his back pocket only to discover his wallet was missing. His mind methodically reviewed last night's events. The majority of it was hazy, but the fact that he had not left the pub until this morning was a good sign. The thought of the attractive young tourist who had been unable to keep her hands off of his butt brought a brief smile to his face. Damn it, he thought, looks like I'll have to cancel my credit cards again.
Tilman walked out of the door and turned down the sidewalk.
Josh dropped his check on the counter and sprinted out the door. 'Angie, just put it on my tab.'�
'You don't have a tab'�, Angie snapped, but it was too late. She pinned Josh's bill to the bulletin board behind the counter.
Josh paused at the diner's front window. 'You know, that's not exactly what I had in mind'�, he shouted down the street at Tilman. 'But in some twisted way, I guess it's a start.
Tilman turned around, but before he could respond, Josh held up a hand. The expected knock on the diner's window had caught Josh's attention.
He could not be sure which of the women was knocking, but he knew by this time, Angie would have explained to them that someone had already paid for their lunch. Then again, maybe Angie did not find him amusing anymore and was knocking on the window to get him to come back in and pay his bill. He brushed aside the thought and turned to the window.
There was Angie, right on cue, standing at the table. Now, which one of you lovely ladies wanted my attention? My guess is the brunette. He would have preferred the blond, but he could see that she was watching Tilman wait for the crossing signal to change. The brunette knocked again. God, I'm good. He sipped his coffee and waved. There was not a doubt in his mind that this young woman would somehow find her way to the Original Hole in the Wall Pub later in the evening.
He turned and quickly caught up to Tilman. 'Sorry about the interruption. I was closing a deal. You were saying.'� Josh walked into the street, completely ignoring the crossing signal.
'What did you want me to do? Walk up to her, introduce myself and ask her to sleep with me?'�
Josh stopped in the middle of the street and turned around. 'What's wrong with that? It's honest. You're a local, she's a tourist. You have to understand that we are working with a very tight deadline my friend. She's only going to be in town for two or three days. Then again, some of us would consider that to be an added bonus.'�
The crossing signal changed and Tilman stepped out into the empty street.
'You're right,'� Josh said as Tilman walked passed him. 'It probably wouldn't work for you.'�
'Oh, but for you?'� Tilman reached the sidewalk on the opposite side. 'Would you get out of the road?'�
'Why? Tilman, look around. There's no traffic. Not one single car drove down the street the entire time you were waiting for the signal to change. You really need to start taking a few chances. Would it kill you to cross against the light every now and then?'�
A red Porsche Cayenne pulled up to within a few inches of Josh's knees and the driver laid on the horn.
'Hold on'�, Josh screamed at the man behind the wheel before finally wandering out of the street. He slung his arm across Tilman's shoulders.
'If nothing else would you please do me this little favor?'�
'What would that be?'�
'The next time you meet someone, please wait until the morning after you've slept with her to buy breakfast. You're setting a terrible precedent.'�
Tilman chuckled as the two friends strolled up to the front steps of The Original Hole in the Wall Pub.
'I realize this is all new to you.'� Josh pulled the heavy wooden door and held it open for Tilman.
Tilman had yet to cross the threshold before the huge chocolate lab launched out of the empty pub, knocking him off of the steps and back out into the empty street. The large dog sat squarely on Tilman's chest licking his face.
Josh shook his head and walked into the pub. 'Good boy, Bourbon.'�

Chapter 3
Lynn searched the blank faces of the undergraduates seated throughout the darkened auditorium and waited for a response. Even her best students were now placating her by pretending to take notes. They had spent the better part of the last thirty minutes doing their best to avoid making eye contact with her.
She clicked the wireless mouse, transitioning to the next PowerPoint slide. 'In our society, alcoholism is a socially acceptable disease. Although we take pity on the alcoholic and the effects the disease has on his loved ones, society refuses to place the alcoholic in the same category as a cocaine or heroin addict. Only when the alcoholic physically endangers someone does society view his actions as criminal and feel the need to intervene.'�
There was a time when she argued vehemently with colleagues that lecturing was by far the most vital aspect of teaching. She had never denied the importance of research, especially at the university level, but what good was research if you were forced to depend on others to convey your results to students. Lynn looked out at the students sitting in her class and wondered exactly what wisdom was she imparting on them this afternoon? The way things were going, she would not be surprised if the majority of them dropped her class before the first exam. Maybe after this semester, she would take a break from the classroom and devote some time to one of the research projects she had been avoiding.
Lynn sat down quietly beside a young man who had been foolish enough to believe that sitting on the front row would cause him to appear more dedicated. He was hunched over his desk doodling on the cover of his textbook.
'Jackson'�, she whispered.
Jackson jerked at the sound of his name, sending his book sprawling across the auditorium floor.
'It's so nice to see you taking such copious notes. Is there any part of my lecture that you have absorbed or do you find my class so boring that you are contemplating changing your major to art?'� Sitting next to Jackson, she could not see the rest of the students, but the rustling of paper assured her she now commanded the class' attention.
Jackson nodded. 'Yes, Dr. Randall.'�
'Yes you find my lectures boring or yes you've decided you could better serve humanity as a cartoonist. Which is it?'�
Jackson's face flushed with embarrassment and anger. The only thing he was certain of at this moment was that regardless of his answer, Dr. Randall intended to make an example out of him. He stood up and walked timidly across the auditorium to retrieve his text book.
Lynn clicked rapidly through the remaining slides without speaking. She turned and faced her students, tapping the back of the mouse on one of the empty desks beside her. 'It appears that for most of you, the weekend began shortly before my class started. It is obvious your minds are elsewhere and I see no point in wasting my time by keeping your bodies here. That will be all for today.'� That's good, she thought. Loosing your temper in front of your students is the true mark of a professional. If nothing else, they can tell their friends that even though the class may be boring, Dr. Randall is prone to extreme mood swings which are good for a few laughs.
'You will be responsible for the information we covered this afternoon along with any information I may have failed to cover due to your lack of interest. I strongly suggest you read chapters three and four in your textbooks sometime before Monday morning. Are there any questions?'�
Any student brave enough to ask a question would have been hung from the bridge next to the stadium by the rest of the class shortly after leaving the auditorium. The sound of binders slamming shut broke the silence. Dr. Randall did not have a reputation for cutting her lectures short. Her students saw no reason to wait around and give her a chance to reconsider her decision.
Lynn logged off the computer. She removed her thumb drive and stowed it in the side pocket of her briefcase. Had it really been ten years since she had been an undergraduate sitting in this very auditorium? The coeds filing out of the auditorium past her, who seemed to younger every year provided undeniable proof that the years were passing far more quickly than Lynn wanted to admit.
She was still a very striking woman and at thirty-three, she was in better shape than the majority of her friends. However, unlike her friends, Lynn had never been burdened with trying to get back down to her pre-pregnancy weight. However, the time would come when watching her diet and jogging three days a week would no longer be enough to hold the inevitable effects of gravity at bay. Eventually, body parts would begin to sag and only then would Lynn truly appreciate the small but much appreciated self esteem boost provided by a support bra.
Outside, the oppressive moist June air caused her blouse to immediately cling to her lower back as she struggled through the crowd of students who seemed to have nothing better to do than to hang out on the Psychology and Journalism Complex's deck. She would be glistening, as her mother used to say, before she reached her office. By late August, the heat and humidity would be so intense that even the grand old women at the garden club would break down and freely admit that they too were sweating. It was only two weeks into the semester and Lynn already regretted her decision to teach this summer.
'Excuse me!'� She dodged a dread locked young man, who mistakenly believed he possessed the level of coordination required to simultaneously text message and walk.
'My bad'�, he remarked without looking up and his thumbs moving fanatically across the cell phone's tiny keypad.
She was on the verge of reassuring him that it was in fact his bad, when a young man stretched out on top of the coral pink stucco wall, running down the side of the deck caught her attention causing her to drop her briefcase.
The sporadic view of the young man through the legs of the students swarming past her was like watching an old nickelodeon film. Although she had not been able to get a clear look at him, she had managed to convince herself that he had long blond hair and was wearing frayed cutoff jeans. She tried to convince herself that it could not possibly be Tilman.
He reminds you of Tilman she told herself. After all, there are hundreds of young men on campus with long blond hair. This one just happens to be sitting in the exact spot where Tilman used to write while waiting for you to get out of class. It was only a coincidence, besides one of their old friends would surely have warned her if Tilman had come back to town. She picked up her briefcase and cautiously approached him.
'Tilman Dearing,'� she called out, feeling ridiculous for even entertaining the idea. How could she have possibly mistaken this young man for Tilman? This young man was definitely athletic and Tilman's hedonistic lifestyle would have produced a beer gut by now. Lynn would not be surprised if he had already started going bald.
The young man sat up. 'Actually it is. Have you read anything by him? My Southern Literature professor recommended him to me last week. It's not that bad.'� The young man held up the tattered copy of Tilman's first novel he had been reading. 'He said that Dearing wrote it when he was an undergraduate student here.'�
'Yes, as I recall he was the pride of the English Department. There are some people who feel he was overrated, a watered down version of Mark Twain.'�
'He might have been. I guess he was sort of a local celebrity. The librarian told me he suffered a nervous breakdown a year or two after graduation and skipped town. I think the woman he was living with broke his heart when she married some other guy. I don't know. It was something like that.'�
Lynn considered setting the record straight. After all, it was Tilman who had broken her heart and not just once. Then again, what good would come from justifying the decisions she had made to this young man? As flawed as Tilman may have been, he was deeply rooted in the campus lore. It seemed every few years an aspiring journalism student would resurrect him in a human-interest story for the Red and Black. At one point, a group of students started a campaign to raise funds for a statue honoring the forlorn author. Lynn shuddered at the thought of having to walk past a life size bronze statue of Tilman sitting by the fountain on North Campus everyday. Fortunately for her, it seemed most undergraduates allocated the majority of their disposable income to alcohol and the idea was abandoned shortly after its conception. There was no reason for Lynn to tangle herself up in the legend of Tilman Dearing again. 'That's interesting. Well, I hope you enjoy the book.'� Lynn waved politely and went on her way.
She could not explain why, but for some reason her conversation with the young man left her feeling slightly violated. Fortunately, Lynn was a practical woman who enjoyed the routine provided by her uneventful everyday life and she would not dwell on the thought of Tilman Dearing for too long. By the time she reached the door to the psychology building, she had already written it off as simply an uncomfortable moment.
On the way to her office, Lynn could not help but notice the student worker had once again strayed from her desk. She made a mental note to bring this up at the next department meeting. What good was having a student work program if the students never actually worked?
Lynn entered her office and positioned her briefcase neatly between the wooden coat rack and the silver umbrella stand just inside of the doorway. She had forgotten to close the blinds before leaving for class and now the midday sun was beating down through the large window behind her desk. If the new air conditioning system had not been installed over the winter, her tiny office would have been a furnace.
She took almost three full steps across the room, squeezed through the narrow space in between her oak desk and the matching bookcase and sat down. If Dean Michaels ever gave her the opportunity, she would not hesitate to move upstairs into a larger office.
The red light on her phone blinked rapidly, demanding that Lynn check her voice mail. She picked up the handset, pressed the voice mail button and dialed her password.
The first message was a reminder from the student worker about next week's department meeting. Lynn reflected briefly on the irony of the message and its sender before pressing the number seven, banishing the message to an electronic purgatory.
'Message erased,'� the staccato electronic voice informed her, 'next new message sent at ten forty-five am'�.
The second and final message was from her husband Roger, asking her to call him as soon as she was finished with her class. She erased the message and promptly dialed his cell phone number.
Roger was sitting on the edge of the bed, untying his shoes when his cell phone suddenly began to vibrate its way across the glass surface of the nightstand. He checked the caller ID and flipped open his phone.
'Hello Dear'�, Roger slipped off his shoes and laid back on the bed, 'How's your day going?'�
'If you don't count my first day as a graduate assistant, I'd say that this is the worst.'�
He loosened his tie. 'How bad could it be?'� Roger glanced at his watch. 'I thought you didn't get out of class until twelve on Fridays.'�
'I gave my students a reading assignment and released them.'� Admitting that she had violated one of her own rules and dismissed the students early did nothing to lighten her mood.
'�Don't let it get you down. Everyone is entitled to a bad day. Things will be better on Monday.'�
'If not, my class is definitely going to get smaller.'�
'I have faith in you. You'll find a way to reach them. Do you remember the golf course Tim was talking about on Saturday night? The one they were trying to push through the city council over in Snellville?'�
'The one that the two of you felt obligated to ramble on about until four in the morning.'�
'Well, Tim called this morning to let me know they finally approved the project.'�
'And?'�
'And they selected my design for the new course,'� Roger replied confidently.
'Roger, that's wonderful.'� For the first time that day, Lynn smiled.
Roger was the head golf pro at the Brookshire Country Club and although he enjoyed his job, giving private lessons to elderly woman and spoiled adolescents did not provide the sense of accomplishment he required. Until now, designing golf courses was just one of the many hobbies Roger had found to occupy his spare time.
A brunette, wrapped in a green silk negligee sauntered across the bedroom and drew the blinds. Roger glanced up and motioned for her to remain quiet. She paused at the night stand and picked up a picture of Roger and Lynn on their wedding day. She considered it for a few moments before setting it back down. She climbed up onto the bed and straddled Roger. The woman slowly removed his tie and began unbuttoning his oxford.
'The only problem is I have to drive out to Snellville this afternoon to go over a few minor changes with him. I'm on my way out the door right now, so it looks like I'm not going to have to cancel our lunch date. I'm sorry.'�
'That's all right. You've worked so hard for this chance. Anyway, I've got a standby.'�
'Not a date I hope.'� Roger reached up and slipped one of the negligee's thin silk straps off the woman's shoulder.
'No, a lunch. Let's celebrate tonight. I'll take you to dinner. Where would you like to go?'�
'How about Harry Bisset's? I should be back in town by seven.'�
'Perfect. I'll meet you there. I love you.'�
'I love you too.'� Roger snapped his cell phone shut as the woman leaned over and kissed him.
'I thought you loved me?'� she asked teasingly.
'I do.'�
'Then why do you continue lying to Lynn?'�
'Because I'm married to her.'� Roger slipped the remaining strap from her other shoulder and the negligee fell, exposing her firm breasts.
'Last weekend when I was out shopping with her, I started to feel guilty. She rolled her head in slow circles, letting the ends of her long hairbrush softly against his chest.
'Well you shouldn't. I can promise you that I won't feel guilty when I'm going over any changes your husband feels I need to make to my design this afternoon.'�
All in all, this was turning out to be a good day for Roger. He was finally getting the opportunity to prove himself as a designer and he was not going to waste his entire lunch listening to Lynn drone endlessly on about her frivolous problems at the University.

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