*****

Traveling to Brazil wasn't like traveling to Iowa. It took us a couple of days to plan, pack, and let the important people in our lives know where we were going. For me that meant my mother, Mo, and Seymour. It was a bit more complicated for Sabrina, who had to deal with her agent and publisher. Now that she had cancelled all of her signings, at least she didn't have to deal with the publicity troll.

But it still wasn't easy. Sabrina was one of the hottest commodities in the country at that moment. There were Sabrina sightings all over the place—including one by an elderly couple named Simpson in Fairfield, Iowa. Her greatest fear had been realized. She was on the cover of magazines; she was in the news; she was exactly where she never wanted to be.

"So much for the J.D. Salinger life," she said during a quiet moment on the couch after turning off the news.

I felt guilty … massively guilty. After all, I was the one who suggested she go public. I said as much to her.

She turned toward me, cupped her hands around my ears and pulled me to her with a sudden strength. Good thing she liked me. Looking me in the eyes she said, "Del, you have no idea how much you've saved me. This was all going to come out eventually. I knew it, my editor knew it, and my agent knew it. Heck, even my therapist mentioned it. You know my … um … eccentricities, my distrust of people. No, more like my fear of people. Imagine me trying to deal with all this on my own. And that's exactly what would have happened. All of those people—my supposed support—would have been no help at all. I would have retreated. I probably would have quit writing. There is only one person in the world who truly understands me—with all my baggage—and only one person I can truly lean on for support.

"Me?" I asked innocently with a slight smile. Actually, it wasn't a smile. She was holding my head so firmly my lips were being pushed together. I imagined it looked like a smile, but it probably just gave me fish lips. She was latched onto my head the way she had latched onto my body when we first made love—like she didn't want to let go.

"Yes, you idiot. You." And then she jumped me. Oh my God. It was like nothing I'd ever experienced. The complete opposite of our earlier sexual forays, she was totally in charge. I let her. Hell, if I hadn't let her, she might have hurt me. It wasn't rough, just forceful. More inner demons—or inner somethings—were being released. I certainly didn't mind being the recipient. As we lay there afterward and I caught my breath, I kind of expected her to talk about it. But she didn't. Not a word. Another mysterious side to her. Well, she certainly wasn't boring anyway.