Steven's Choice

by John Renesch

  Chapter Two: A BRICK THROUGH THE WINDOW

  January 31: San Francisco, World Headquarters, Ventures International, 7:19 AM PST

  Steven arrived at the office in good spirits. Traffic had been light. He was looking forward to being in all day and catching up on everything that had stacked up over the past week. He was earlier than he’d expected to be, and no one else was around yet on the top floor. He was about to toss the mystery package on his desk but decided to go ahead and open it. He unfastened the cardboard flaps, holding his breath ever so slightly, and revealed the contents. Sure enough, he thought. It was a book.

  He looked it over, wondering where it had come from. The title was Global Mind Change: The Promise of the 21st Century. No press release accompanied it, so it wasn’t a desk copy sent by a publisher for promotion purposes. There was nothing in the box with the book. Steven flipped through the pages, looking for an insert. This is very strange, he thought. There should be something here to explain why this came to me, and to the house. Nothing!

  He looked over the back cover. The author was a man named Willis W. Harman. Steven might have heard of him, but he couldn't be sure. He reopened the book, looking again at the first pages.

  This time he noticed a handwritten inscription. It read: May this book light a flame for you, Steven, as it has done for me. It was signed, A Caring Friend.

  Now he was really curious! The anonymous sender had given no hint of his or her identity. God! This was getting to him. Maybe he needed to get a better idea of what the book was about. Then he might have a clue as to who’d sent it. He put the book on his desk, dumped the box in the recycle bin, and sat down and started unloading his briefcase.

  Between his overflowing inbox on his desk and the homework he’d unloaded from his briefcase, Steven was engrossed in paperwork soon enough. He mowed right through agreements needing signatures, schedule changes Ruth had noted for him, and reports on a number of Ventures projects. Alone like this in his office, he could really get a lot done. As the buzz of activity began outside his door, Steven started to feel like he was getting back into the zone, not unlike how it had felt playing basketball sometimes—as if time were standing still for him.

  The morning went well, even the rather difficult meeting he wanted with Jesse.

  In the early afternoon, he was concentrating on a lengthy legal document that had been through several revisions. It involved a major investment and overlooking anything could be disastrous. He still wasn't sure the lawyers had gotten it straight. He needed to be absolutely sure it said what he wanted it to say.

  The phone rang, startling him. Irritated, he made a pencil note to mark his place, and picked up the receiver. Before he could say anything, Ruth's voice broke in, her tone was more serious than he had ever heard it: “There's been an accident, Steven. You need to go home immediately to be with Catherine.”

  A chill went through his body, like slivers of ice had slipped into all his arteries. It seemed like an eternity before it occurred to him to say anything. Finally, he managed to mutter a very weak sound.

  “Say more,” he whispered into the mouthpiece.

  “Kirsten has been involved in an automobile accident in Minnesota. Catherine needs you at home, now!”

  Steven didn’t really hear her. He muttered something, hung up the phone, walked over to the clothes closet, put on his jacket and hurriedly left his suite. He was stunned, never looking at his desk or wondering if he was forgetting anything. He passed Ruth's desk in a daze. She put a hand on his shoulder and gave him a soft pat as he continued out through the outer offices and down to the parking lot.

  He barely noticed the trip home. He drove up the driveway and saw several cars parked near the house, including an ambulance and the neighborhood security patrol car. He was shocked out of his stupor when he saw the emergency lights flashing. His heart began to race uncontrollably. His thoughts were of Catherine and he was very afraid. He dashed from his car and entered the house, oblivious of some people he didn’t recognize. One of the uniformed paramedics was just leaving.

  “What's going on?” he asked. “I’m Steven George. This is my home.”

  “Mr. George, we were called as a precautionary measure. Your wife is okay. We gave her a sedative and have her lying down in the living room. She's very anxious to see you. She keeps asking for you”

  Steven was half way to the living room before the man finished his sentence. He rushed into the front room and met Catherine's eyes immediately. She was lying on the big couch. He was at her side instantaneously.

  “Oh darling, I'm so glad you are here,” she said in a weak voice. “Hold me. Please, hold me,” she said over and over again. Steven knelt on the floor next to the couch and leaned over so he could take her in his arms.

  Her body is trembling so much, he thought. “Thank you for getting here so quickly,” Catherine whispered into his ear as she clung to him. “I came completely unglued when I heard about the accident. We have to go to Minneapolis—tonight—as soon as we can get a flight.”

  He could feel her anxiety rise. He looked around to see who else was in the room, someone who could tell him what happened. His eyes met Martha's. He excused himself from Catherine’s side and walked over to Martha. “For God's sake, Martha, what happened?” The question exploded from his chest.

  She was on the verge of a breakdown herself. “Mr. George…Mr. George…It’s so horrible…Miss Kirsten…Oh, it's so bad…this thing…so bad!” Tears were streaming down her cheeks, and her sobs came in shorter and shorter waves.

  “Martha, please tell me what happened. How did you hear? Did someone call? What did they say? Who were they?” Steven was suddenly aware of all the unanswered questions that had been building up inside him. Then he realized he was bombarding the distraught housekeeper with his questions.

  “I'm sorry, Martha. I'm not making things any easier. Tell me what you can, please, slowly.” A thoughtful person Steven didn't even recognize put a glass of water into his hand. Martha took a seat, and wiped her eyes and running nose with a Kleenex, slowly composing herself. Steven sat there attentively, but his only thought was, Kirsten, Kirsten…

  The son he’d always wanted….”chip off the old block.” She’d attended his alma mater, had gone into corporate sales, loved to meet new people and was driven to succeed—just like him!

  Martha began to speak. A friend of Kirsten's from Minneapolis had called around noon, and asked for Catherine. Mrs. George had been out so Martha took a message.

  The friend told Martha that Kirsten and a girlfriend had been in a high-speed crash on the interstate. Two other cars had been involved and eight people had been taken to two different hospitals. Two victims of the accident were confirmed fatalities at the scene of the crash. Three had serious but not life-threatening injuries. The status of the remaining three victims was unknown. The friend didn't know Kirsten's status—the police and the hospital staffs would only give him limited information because he wasn't immediate family.

  Martha had taken down the young man’s cell phone number. Steven noticed a crumpled piece of paper in her tight fist. She held it up as proof she had written it all down.

  Fifteen minutes after the phone call, Catherine had arrived home. Martha had broken the news as gently as she could. Catherine had become hysterical, hyperactive. She'd jumped into action, but Kirsten’s friend hadn’t answered his phone. She’d tried calling Kirsten's best friend Amantha, but only gotten her voicemail. The more she was thwarted, the more hysterical she became.

  Martha had never seen Catherine like this. Her employer had always been a pillar of composure and strength. Of all the people in the George household, Catherine had seemed the strongest. In a state of near panic, Martha had called 911, then Steven’s office.

  About twenty minutes ago, Kirsten’s friend had called back. Catherine wanted to talk to him. The paramedics wanted her to remain calm, but she insisted on taking the call.

  Kirsten was in
critical condition, scheduled for emergency surgery at the triage unit at Minneapolis General Hospital. She had been driving her Porsche. Her passenger and closest friend, Amantha, died in route to the hospital.

  “Has anyone called the hospital yet?” Steven asked.

  Martha shook her head.

  Steven returned to the couch and put his arms around his wife. Catherine had quieted down some and seemed more calm in Steven’s arms. The sedative must be working, he thought. Steven motioned for Martha to take his place with Catherine. Martha helped raised both her daughters and was considered almost family. She knelt beside Steven and took his place holding her. Steven rose and headed for his office/den where he picked up the phone.

  He asked the information operator for the number of Minneapolis General Hospital, got the ER, asked about his daughter. His voice came across with the quiet authority of a man used to getting his way. The nurse told him the doctor in charge would come to the phone if he'd wait a moment.

  He was put on hold briefly, and then the doctor identified himself. “This is Doctor Emerson. Mr. George?”

  “Yes, doctor. We are going crazy out here in California trying to find out how serious our daughter's injuries are. We just heard about…”

  Doctor Emerson interrupted him. “I'm afraid I have some very bad news for you, Mr. George,” he spoke quietly. “Your daughter didn't make it through the surgery.”

  He paused, and then added, “She never regained consciousness after the accident, so I'm sure she never felt any pain. If you will…”

  The words turned into static noise, and Steven's world began to turn inside-out. Emotions—pain, anger, hurt, guilt, and fear—boiled together as if in a cauldron Everything that had mattered a few minutes ago, didn't matter anymore.

  Martha had come up behind him. He somehow sensed her presence and handed her the phone as he walked across the den to the window seat and sat down. He heard some voices as Martha and the doctor exchanged information, but his mind was a million miles away.

  Steven's heart was breaking…his thoughts were scrambled…his body was trembling…he was furious and afraid at the same time…his gut was so tight, he thought it would pop. His chest was bursting, his whole being was bursting…and suddenly, the pressure in his jowls, behind his heart, and around his eyeballs burst and he began to sob uncontrollably. Tears flowed from his eyes. Mucous drained from his nose. His stomach wretched and convulsed. He doubled over in agony, and his shoulders rose and fell with each round of sobs.

  Someone handed him some tissues. He was only slightly aware of some comforting pats on his back and shoulders as he sat gazing out the window with his back to the room. He was slightly aware of voices, all very sympathetic, as people tried to console him as they watched his anguish and empathized with the excruciating pain he was feeling.

  Time stood still for Steven as he remained in this horrific numbness for quite some time. Apparently, word was getting around about Kirsten, he thought, Suddenly it hit him: What about Catherine? Oh, God, she can't hear this from anyone else!

  Slowly, he managed to get up. His legs felt like Jello. It took a few seconds to get his balance. Then he started the walk down the hall to where Catherine lay. Two women friends were kneeling next to the couch at her side, holding her hands. She was asleep and apparently still unaware of the tragic news from Minneapolis.

  Then he thought of Chelsea. Had anyone told her? He looked around for Martha. She was a few feet away.

  “Does Chelsea know?” he asked.

  “I've left messages at her apartment and her work number, Mr. George. But she hasn't called back yet,” Martha said.

  “Did you say it was urgent, Martha?”

  She nodded. “Yes, I did. And I said it had to do with Miss Kirsten and an accident.”

  Steven tenderly took her hand, suddenly aware that he may never have touched Martha before. “Martha, please call Miss Chelsea again, at both numbers. Ask her to call me here as soon as possible. Okay?”

  “I'll do that right this minute,” she said, and quickly left the room.

  He was standing by the desk in the den when Martha told him Chelsea was on the phone, calling from her apartment in the city. “I didn't say anymore, Mr. George, so you tell her sweet, okay?” she said. He nodded, inhaled deeply, and picked up the receiver.

  “Chelsea, sweetheart, we've got some bad news for you, I'm afraid,” he said.

  “What is it, Daddy? I heard there was an accident that involved Kirsten. Is she okay? You know, the way she drives…”

  Steven interrupted her. “It's serious, honey. It was a bad wreck—with Kirsten and her friend Amantha. It involved three cars altogether, on the interstate.”

  “Daddy! What happened? How is she?” Any traces of Chelsea's blasé attitude had disappeared.

  “Amantha was killed instantly, Chelsea,” he told her, hearing his youngest daughter gasp. He was trying to build up to the worst news, and feeling very cumbersome in the process. “I know you met her once.”

  “That's horrible, Daddy. Yes, I've met her. She was probably Kirsten's best friend. Oh God! But what about Kirsten. Was she badly hurt?”

  “I just spoke with the doctor at Minneapolis General Hospital. He told me Kirsten was unconscious when they brought her into the emergency room. He assured me that she felt no pain…” Steven could feel his daughter's anticipation through the telephone. He couldn't protect her from this.

  “She died, Chelsea. Your big sister is dead.” As he spoke the words, something inside him died. He found himself biting his lower lip, choking back tears. He hoped it would be easier to tell Catherine.

  The silence from Chelsea's end was deafening. He wanted to reach through thirty miles of telephone cable and put his arm around her. Oh, he wished he could be with her now.

  “Honey, are you there?” he finally asked.

  Several more seconds went by. Chelsea managed a whisper. “Yes, Daddy, I'm here…Are they really sure, Daddy?”

  “Yes, baby,” he said. “Your sister died at the hospital without regaining consciousness. She felt no pain.”

  He heard his daughter sob, and then Chelsea managed another whispered inquiry. “How's mother doing? How's she taking it?”

  “She was sedated after she got the news of the accident. She's kind of out of it right now, so I'll have to give her the news about Kristen when she comes to.”

  “So she doesn't know yet?” Chelsea asked.

  “She only knows there was a serious accident, honey. But not that Kirsten died.”

  “I'll be down in thirty minutes,” Chelsea told her father. “Mother needs me and I'll come down right away. I'll bring some things so I can stay over. I'm on my way!” Without even a goodbye, the line went dead.

  Shortly after Chelsea arrived, Catherine returned to consciousness. From behind her fog of medication, she knew that the presence of so many people, including her youngest daughter, meant something horrible. Being highly intuitive, the realization of what happened started coming to her before Steven had said a word.

  “Darling, you've been sedated for a while and there's been more news.” Steven was trying to drag this out again. But he could see Catherine was getting the news anyway. Chelsea was holding Catherine’s other hand as Steven tried his best to say the words they all wished never had to be spoken.

  “She didn't make it, sweetheart. Kirsten never regained consciousness. The doctor said she never felt any pain….she died at the hospital. She's gone, my sweet. Our baby is…”

  Steven couldn't get the last word out. Catherine's face was a mixture of terror and deep pain. Her mouth was open, as if a scream would be forthcoming any second, but no sound came out. The silence of Catherine’s scream filled the house. Her silent scream activated all the grief, loss and sorrow everyone was feeling but remained inaudible. The house was absolutely silent. The neighborhood was silent. All of Hillsborough and, for that matter, the rest of the world was silent in those moments…the loudest silence
ever unheard. Despite the dozens of neighbors and friends in the house, not a sound could be heard except for the sobbing in the living room.

  February 5: Palo Alto, Stanford University, Student Union Building, 6:25 PM PST

  Jean met Terry at the cafeteria to grab a bite before they went to see the student play in the campus auditorium. Heading for an empty table with their trays, Terry told Jean she'd heard of a job opportunity Jean might like.

  Jean wasn't sure she wanted a job. Part of her was eager to get into the corporate world and start seeing some of those nice big paychecks. But another part of her was tired and wanted to take some time off. Bermuda sounded like a nice place to go, she'd told herself, knowing she couldn’t afford anything like that right now.

  As Terry described the job opening, Jean found herself getting more and more interested. It sounded better the more Terry talked about it. She gave Jean a Web site where she could get more details. Besides, the company was headquartered right here in the San Francisco and she could stay in her beloved California!

  Maybe Bermuda could wait, Jean thought.

  February 6: City of Colma (on the outskirts south of San Francisco), Skylawn Cemetery, 11:25 AM PST

  The funeral procession entered the cemetery and wound its way through the private roadways. An open grave was visible from the limousines and cars as they followed the hearse up the hill. The procession stopped at the crest and people walked to where the priest and two acolytes waited.

  The graveside service was touching, inspirational, and uplifting. Several of Kirsten's friends had spoken, including a couple who had traveled from Minnesota. One played a guitar and sung a song of celebration.

  Earlier, at the church, there must have been five hundred people attending the memorial service. Steven and Catherine had decided not to speak at the ceremony, but Chelsea had felt moved to do so. “My sister and I were so different,” she began, “from as far back as I can remember. She had a passion for the world, for life, for sports and work and cars. She was outgoing and gregarious while I was more of a loner, not nearly as social. My interests seemed more esoteric, less tangible. Yet, despite our personality differences we were very close and shared our lives with one another as if we had been twins all our lives. We shared a wonderful family and incredibly supportive parents. We shared a zest for living even though we chose to live different kinds of lives.”

  “Besides being biological sisters I always felt Kristen was my spiritual sister too. You know how some people are siblings but they act of it they came from completely different homes, like you wonder how they could actually be sisters or brothers?” The people in the pews nodded silently to one another as they seemed to know what Chelsea was talking about. There was even a giggle or two, lightening up the otherwise heavy atmosphere.

  “Kristen and I weren’t like that. We were locked together at our souls, connected so powerfully I can still feel her presence now as I stand here. In spirit, she’ll be with me forever. But I shall miss talking with her, seeing her wonder-filled smile, hearing her raucous laughter, feeling her generous hugs and listening to her many war stories.

  “I’m sure she’s got a new job in her new world, and that she’s blessed in her new life. But I shall miss having her in my life as only a spiritual sister can be.” Chelsea paused a moment. She brought her tissue up to her upper lip and held it there a few seconds. After a brief clearing of her throat she proceeded.

  She looked up to the ceiling of the church and said, “Kristen, we will all miss your presence here on Earth and morn your passing with the deepest sorrow. But we also celebrate your life, your legacy of passionate engagement with everything you did. We shall live our lives touched by yours and stand willing to be inspired by your example of zestful living. Farewell, Kristen, farewell. God bless you sister, God bless.”

  Kristen stood motionless for a few moments, then without looking at those assembled, she turned from the rostrum and slowly walked back to her chair. Sobs could be heard throughout the crowd. Otherwise there was no sound.

  Clearly grieving the loss of her older sister, Chelsea had maintained her composure, delivered an uplifting message that called for living life fully, staying in the present and not postponing joy. Steven and Catherine sat in awe at their daughter’s inspiring eulogy, a strange mixture of grief and pride, pain of loss and joy of seeing Chelsea be such a powerful young woman.

  Steven and Catherine tried to compliment their daughter in the limo on the way to the cemetery but their tears kept coming and Chelsea ended up consoling them during the ride. She was definitely coming of age. Steven was seeing his little girl in a very different light this day.

  February 19: Hawaii, the “Big Island,” Mana Lani Resort, 7:45 PM HST

  Steven and Catherine were on their twelfth day at the Mana Lani Resort. The days and nights were becoming more tolerable but there were reminders of Kirsten everywhere, even here on the big island. They'd had this condominium since Kristen was thirteen so there were plenty of memories here.

  Chelsea had suggested they stay for a week or two, until they felt like re-entering the world again. She'd joined them for the first few days before returning to the mainland for a weekend conference she was managing. Steven was incredibly grateful for her support. At the start of their stay he'd been a basket case, barely any better than on the day of the burial.

  The most pressing situation was Steven's work. Catherine was missing two retreats. But Steven's biggest worry was the business. Ruth had convinced him she could handle everything or find the right person in the company to do it if she couldn't. Besides, she argued, he was only a phone call or an email away and there was a fax machine at the condo.

  Steven and Catherine were both emotionally drained. Catherine arranged for a local shaman to visit her each day. As near as Steven could figure out, he was a combination of Hawaiian witch doctor, healer, and psychologist. He was a nice-looking native Hawaiian—an older man who wore a bandanna around his head. He and Catherine would sit on the balcony of the condo for an hour or two each day. Steven was too consumed in his own grief to be judgmental. After all, Catherine knew more about these things.

 

  He had at least one daily therapy session by telephone with a Los Angeles psychiatrist highly recommended by Mark. Some days they did two or three sessions. Steven had never known things could get as bleak as they were those first few days at the condo. Thankfully, Catherine's normal strength returned and she became a strong leaning post for him. Slowly he began to feel functional again. But he was different somehow—in some way he couldn't explain. So he didn't even try.

  He found himself taking long walks by himself, mostly out along the water's edge, where the ocean and the hardened black lava dueled constantly for the same space. The sound of the powerful waves against the shore, the mist that filled the air near the pounding surf, and the sheer beauty of this place along the Kona Coast offered an indescribable source of continuous consolation.

  The majesty and the power of nature had never been so relevant to him. All of his life he had taken all this for granted. Suddenly, he was in awe of it. Paradoxically, this awe came on the heels of an incredibly painful reminder of the frailty of human life. Despite the amazing power of hurricanes, earthquakes, the tides and typhoons, he thought, there was the susceptibility of the air to the man-made toxins, the fragility of our rivers and the fish that live in them, and the delicate balance among the earth's so many microclimates.

  Steven asked himself many, many questions about life, death, who lives, who dies, why some succeed and others don't. He wondered about purpose and destiny. He examined his own life. Did he have some purpose beyond his awareness?

  Besides making money for a lot of people and providing a very nice lifestyle for himself and his family, and being a good person, was there some bigger reason why he was here on this earth, at this time?

  He had no answers, nor did he struggle trying to find them. Uncharacteristically, he was content
to let the questions be, for now.

  The waves of pain—the regular reminders of how much he missed Kirsten—came less frequently as each day passed. He didn't know exactly why, but the time he spent by himself—on his walks by the ocean or when he was swimming laps in the pool—seemed to be healing him. He was so used to Catherine's presence whenever they had the chance to be together that these times spent alone were quite unfamiliar and surprisingly nurturing. She was right there at Mana Lani and he could spend time with her whenever he wanted to—but he didn't want to every minute. Yet Steven didn't feel alienated from his wife at all. She seemed to be quite comfortable with him being alone. She seemed to know he was healing in his own way.

  He told her at dinner one night about how odd it felt to spend so much time alone. He was used to being with her whenever possible. He was usually in the company of others when he was working or on the road. He was alone frequently—on airplanes, in hotel suites, even in his office—but he was working nearly all the time, or maybe watching television. But he was never just by himself, with himself.

  Catherine was the perfect person to talk to about this. She was so comfortable being with herself. She made the distinction between being by herself and being with herself. She told Steven how being with herself allowed her to learn more about how she thought, what she believed, how she felt, and what was really on her mind. She also told him of the incredible relationship she'd developed with her Higher Self, the divinity within her, the larger whole of everything. Steven couldn't relate to these latter experiences, but he did listen to her with renewed interest.

  Later, as he lay in bed awake at 3:30 AM while she slept peacefully, he'd had a profound insight, so profound he almost woke her up right then.

  The next morning over coffee, with an awkwardness he wasn't used to, he told her about his early-morning realization: she was his teacher in matters where he was ignorant. He told her that while she had been a teacher for him during their thirty plus years of married life, and he really was appreciative of her, he now could see that she had so much more to teach him.

  A smile began to grow on Catherine's face across the breakfast table. She'd known for years she had much to teach Steven but she would never have imposed her ideas on him.

  The idea that he might be interested now brought her great joy. Her smile grew until it was ear-to-ear, lips tight and teeth bared. Their marriage had taken on a new dimension. It was entering another level of maturity and a deeper level of mutual trust.

  After that morning, Catherine and Steven began spending most of their time together.

  Except for the therapy sessions, the phone rang only nine times in thirteen days, and only three of those calls were from Ruth at the office. The rest were from the Hillsborough house, where Martha was directing traffic. Some were calls from Kirsten's friends. The last call was from Amantha's parents, two days before they were planning to return home.

  Amantha's father called Steven and asked him if he'd heard anything about Kirsten and Amantha being involved in a lesbian relationship. Steven was quite shocked and asked Catherine to join him on the line. The man told them a mutual friend of Amantha and Kirsten, a woman who'd worked with both of them, alleged that the women had been clandestine lovers. Amantha’s father was quite agitated at the possibility. Clearly, he was unhappy at the thought of such a thing.

  That Kirsten might have been a lesbian was also unthinkable to Steven. Anger surged through him at the mere implication. His first response was to deny it instantly. The allegation had probably grown out of assumptions homophobic people had made because she wasn't married or engaged, loved her work, and spent a lot of time with her best friend.

  Catherine engaged Amantha's father much less defensively, so Steven quieted down and let her talk more. She suggested that Amanda's mother join the conversation and was told she lived in Denver. Catherine suggested a conference call so all four parents could be included.

  Two days later the four parents talked. Amantha's mother, divorced from her father for some fifteen years, confirmed that her daughter had told her that she and Kirsten were in love. She said that her daughter was afraid to tell her dad as he seemed too conservative and intolerant about these matters, often making jokes about homosexuals during Amantha’s childhood.

  Steven spoke even less during this call. His blood was boiling at first. He was insulted, and then angry. Then he became quite embarrassed, even ashamed. He didn't share his reaction until they were off the phone. He and Catherine spent all evening talking about his objections and embarrassment and what it might mean if people knew. They called Chelsea, to tell her.

  Chelsea wasn't surprised or shocked. Again her maturity shone brightly. Her love for her sister was deep and free of judgment. Over the next several days, Steven got used to the fact that his chip off the old block had been gay.

  The remaining days in Hawaii allowed the George’s to assimilate much of what had occurred in the previous couple of months. Life without Kristen would certainly be different but it would go ahead. Knowing one’s daughter was involved in a homosexual relationship was not the end of the world as Steven once thought it would be. A new relationship has unexpectedly blossomed with both his youngest daughter and his wife! Who’s of thought? After over thirty years of marriage!

  As the three of them prepared to return to the mainland, Steven was reminded by Catherine that Kirsten would never really be gone from their lives. She just wouldn't be around in bodily form. Memories of her and her spirit would stay with them as long as they wanted, she told him, and he chose to believe her.

  Martha met them at the airport. On the way to the house, she updated them on all the calls, mail, and news waiting for them at home.

  It was Friday evening. Both Steven and Catherine were looking forward to being back home and sleeping in their wonderful big bed. And, Steven thought, I don't have to go to the office until Monday.