Yesterday, I would have called to him or certainly waved. Today, I just sat motionless, half in, half out of the seat until he’d driven away and I could start breathing normally again.

Maidenly vapors or sudden misgivings?

(“Get a grip,” said the pragmatist. “Think about last night. Remember compatibility? Remember Ping?”)

(“Gonna be a long time till Christmas,” sighed the preacher.)

By the time the DA and I’d disposed of sixty or seventy cases of DWI, speeding violations (I know, I know!), seat belt violations, improper equipment, etc., etc., I was back to normal.

I recessed for lunch early, snagged Portland, and hauled her over to an end booth at the Bright Leaf Restaurant before the rest of the regulars came straggling over. Normally when the courts are in session, a table near the back is reserved for judges, and the waitress tried to seat me there, but I made her give us the most private booth in the place. Even so, the four elderly ladies two empty tables away looked at us as Portland squealed in a perfect blend of surprise, horror, and amusement.

“You and Dwight? I don’t believe it.”

“Will you keep your voice down?” I snapped. “This is for your ears only.”

With black hair so curly she has to keep it short, Portland sometimes reminds me of a well-clipped poodle. Today, though, she was like a bright-eyed terrier on the scent of a weasel as she leaned forward conspiratorially. “So what’s he like in bed? Tell, tell!”

“It was fine,” I said.

“Only fine?” She gave me such a leer that I couldn’t restrain my own smile.

“Actually, it was better than fine,” I confessed. “He probably learned a lot while he was in the Army.”

“Well, that’s something anyhow. But marriage, Deborah? I mean, you know Avery and I are crazy about Dwight, but marriage? When you’re not in love with him?”

“Isn’t being in lust with him almost as good?” I asked lightly.

She wasn’t to be deterred. “It’ll be like one of those cut-and-dried arranged marriages.”

I shrugged. “From what I’ve heard, a lot of arranged marriages were very happy.”

Portland just sat there, shaking her head.

“Look,” I argued. “If an Avery had come along for me, I’d probably have three kids and be lending you maternity dresses right now. But one didn’t. You know my track record, Por. Allen. Lev. Terry. Kidd. Not to mention Randolph Englert and at least a half dozen more that nearlymade junior varsity. It’s time to quit kidding myself. I don’t have an Avery out there. He probably got run over by an eighteen-wheeler twenty years ago. Dwight’s here and now and he’s one of us. We have history together.”

“But without love?”

“But we do love each other,” I said, knowing I was using the same arguments to convince her that I was still using to convince myself. “We always have. So it’s not thrills and chills. Big deal. That just means it’s no spills, either. No letdown after the honeymoon’s over. We’re going into this with our eyes wide open and no illusions.”