Breeze. Soft, warm. Waves glistening. Sky changing - deep red, purple, pale pink - Sun dipping toe in darkening water. Testing.
Paradise. Kodak moment.
Five years.
1,825 days.
To now.

From then.
Warehouse. Echoing with frantic pacing. Manic dialogue. Three hearts pounding.
Outward - unnatural calm; chaos-racked within. Thoughts rapid fire through brain...Pleas unspoken.
Don’t want to...Don’t make me...You can stop it...Don’t have to die...Don’t make me kill...
Stop it!...Stop it!...Stop it!...NO!...Denby!
Trigger finger pulls...bullets discharge...One...Two...Three...Target jerks...backward flight...slams into concrete floor...
Harrrry!!

What...has…she’s...done? Retreat. Can’t face.
Cold...cold. Can frozen blood still flow? Denial cocoon. Nothing gets in; out.
Rise, work, eat, home; rise, work, eat, home. Android body responds on instinct.
At work...stares - concern, worry, pity. Everyone walking on eggshells. Waiting. For what?
Anytime you wanna talk. Talk? About what? She’s fine. Sleeping like a baby.
Weeks, months...Tiny cracks appear.
Normal workday...until...Andy, angry, circumstances unimportant, takes fury out on office door. SLAM! Like gun shot
Body jerks...dam breaks...the somnambulist wakes...mental pictures flashcard through brain. Harry...Noooo!
Eyes roll back...bones dissolve...body hits floor. Squad room erupts.

Hospital. Depression. Drugs. Therapy-filled days...snake-pit nights.
Six months...a year...release...cured...really?
What now? Memory of long ago conversation, something Jill said...West...New Mexico.
As good a place as any. Nothing here.
Badge turned in...old friends, farewell...tears...no regrets; well, no...always regrets.
Andy’s wrong, not hiding - rebirth.

Santa Fe - four years. Land of Enchantment. Ancient, timeless. Sky stretching forever…a blue defying description. Solitude.
She’s absorbed - given anonymity. The land and it’s people don’t give a damn where she comes from, who she is, what she’s...done. Forgiveness.

Late October...early snow. Layer cake-like adobe roofs, walls decorated with cold white frosting.
Scent of pinion wood smoke...boots crunching...face turned skyward...eyes closed...reveling in the feel of feather-soft flakes kissing her face.
Gallery-hopping. Feeding her soul. Wallowing in eccentricities.
Painting catches eye...subject indistinct close up...step back...beginning to take shape...back...further. Elbow meets delicate object. Object yields to pressure...tipping.
Turn. Grab. Two pairs of hands make the catch together.

Time stands still - how cliché, but it did.
Impressions: Eyes - Hershey’s brown, laugh lines etch tanned skin, short, dark blonde hair, sensuous mouth - humor-touched, tall, slim build.

Alone..alone for so long. Bobby...Danny...Har---
Bobby. Rock of Ages...her savior.
Danny. Mistake...made out of frustration. A substitute. Not his fault she saw another face above hers, felt another pair of lips, another pair of arms.
Denby. Temptation. Devil. Coitus finally achieved...by bullet.

Now...this...Harlequin-romance meeting. Too late. Resolution already made - remain a one in a table-for-two world. Blondes not really her type.
Jake. Owns gallery. His umpteen-thousand dollar vase she almost broke.
Stammered apology. God, was she sixteen? Too old for this.
Coffee? Yes.
Coffee, lunch, dinner...changing to plural. Walks...long talks...no whirlwind romance this...taking it slow...building to last. His first present - laughter. Second - security. Third - love.
Coming together, not just a physical act...two missing puzzle pieces joining to make a whole. Eyes open, no phantom face…this is real. Exorcism complete.
Never has she felt so much a part of something; someone. Not even Bobby...forgive me. This...she had finally found...home.
All so new, but...old...as though it had always been. Tempted to pinch herself, but afraid. Afraid to wake up; so stay asleep...forever.

After two months...I Do. Diane Russell...Diane Russell Larson...Mrs. Jacob Larson.
Five years.
1,825 days.
To now.

Cayman Islands honeymoon.
Sunset. Balcony. Deck chair. Leaning back against his hard chest. Loved. At last. Free.
“Asleep?”
“Thinking. Jake, did this - us - all hinge on my being a klutz? If I had never gone into that gallery, never knocked over that vase, would we have passed each other by? Never met?”
Small laugh vibrates chest behind her. Soft kiss planted on top of head.
“If we hadn’t met that day, it would have been another. I believe in fate. Something that’s meant to be - will be. Simple as that. We belong together. We both knew that the moment we met."
She’s content, snuggles back in his arms.
Chin resting lightly on his wife’s head,
Harry smiles.