**********

John Smith preferred to do his shopping online in the middle of the night. No pushy sales clerks or overtly curious passersby to contend with. Only the occasional trawling mosquito or the clang of the furnace pipes to disturb his peace. Reverend Purdy’s assertion that his visions always had a purpose was usually correct. There were unaccountable exceptions. Random contact with a shampoo bottle or a bar of soap could induce a cascade of visions depicting fellow shoppers in less than ideal circumstances. Those images spawned full-body tremors that rattled John’s teeth and made him seriously question whether his ability was a cosmic joke everyone understood, except him.

When the more purposeful pattern of his visions did hold true, there was the possibility of imminent destruction or the mercurial ambitions of the fickle masses to consider. As well as the massive headaches, literal and figurative, that resulted.

John hated the mall.

The day after one rather lengthy midnight Internet foray, Bruce called and asked if John had plans for the late afternoon. John did not have anything more ambitious than a load of laundry on his agenda. He was tired and his hip ached with the threat of a spring storm heavy in the air. A nap on the couch in front of the fireplace sounded ideal. The long pause on Bruce’s end of the phone made John instantly suspicious. The ensuing request stirred memories of the Old Town Mall exploding into a million tiny pieces and Lenny and George Todd laughing maniacally as they planned Fernanda Lauer’s ‘murder’. John declined the request without a qualm but his friend was determined. Bruce Lewis, confidante extraordinaire, was one of the few people who could oust John from his comfort zone, whether he was willing or not. Which explained what John was doing out on a cloudy, damp afternoon despite his better judgment.

“You don’t need me for this,” John protested for the third time.

“Yes, I do!”

“Oh, please!” John stared resolutely out the window of Bruce’s silver sedan. “She’s your girlfriend. I’ve never even met her parents.”

“Look man, how many times have I bailed your sorry ass out?”

John groaned beneath his breath. The situation must be serious for Bruce to play the guilt card. He shivered as the chill of the window penetrated the thin cotton of his shirt.

“Point taken.” John reached into the backseat for his jacket, bumping Bruce’s shoulder in the process.

***Bruce stood in the living room of his small apartment. Streetlight filtering through the drawn blinds cast slats of pale amber over the furniture and across his body. He held a small object in his palm and rubbed his thumb over the top of it.

Curious, John steps closer.

Bruce frowned and bent down to put the object on the coffee table. At the last moment he straightened, still holding the object, and walked to the window. The blinds clacked loudly in the silence as he pulled the cord. He leaned against the sill and raised the object to eye level.

A jeweler’s box? John’s gaze shifts from the box to Bruce’s face and back again. No, can’t be.

Bruce carefully flipped open the top of the box. The streetlight ignited an arc of rainbows from the half-moon of the ring seated within.***

“Holy shit,” John breathed as he fell back against the seat.

“You getting the picture finally?” Bruce grumbled.

“Cut me some slack, I was up late last night.”

“Uh-huh.”

“You might have said something,” John pointed out.

“I might have.”

“But you didn’t.”

Bruce shrugged and slowed for a traffic light.

Some things are better left alone. John briefly closed his eyes. The knot of hurt and frustration twisting through his gut was unjustified. Bruce had a right to privacy. There was precious little to be found when your best friend was a psychic.

“Don’t go there, man,” Bruce murmured as the car accelerated.

“Huh?”

“I know what you’re thinkin’.”

“Who’s the psychic here?” John protested with a weak smile.

“I just didn’t want to jinx it, you know what I mean?”

Yeah, I know. John nodded and turned to look out the window again. Too well.

They rode the rest of the way in silence. The mall parking lot was full when they arrived, forcing Bruce to take a parking space at the end of the row furthest from the entrance. John swallowed a groan of dismay. Judging by the ache radiating down his leg, Cleaves Mills was in for a serious storm. “You do have an idea of what you want, don’t you?” he asked hopefully as he climbed out of the car.

Bruce flashed a toothy grin. “Sort of.”

Terrific! I see a lobster dinner at Sharky’s and several aspirin tablets in my future. I should have stayed on the couch! John cast a weary eye to the darkening heavens and followed Bruce across the parking lot.

An hour later found them sitting in front of a coffee shop. John nursed his vanilla cappuccino and tried to ignore the biting ache in his hip while Bruce stared fixedly at a worn spot on the table between them.

“Tina’s mother is Italian.”

“You said that already,” John mumbled petulantly. “Twice.”

“Sorry.” Bruce sipped his coffee. “I guess I shouldn’t be making such a big deal out of this.”

Memories of Sarah in the back of his Cadillac flitted through John’s mind. A muggy summer evening, her soft, warm body beneath him and the distant murmur of the fair hushed by the fitful breeze. We had our lives planned out... He took a hasty swallow of cappuccino to mask an involuntary wince.

“John?”

“What?”

Bruce gestured at the coffee cup. “You’re holdin’ that thing pretty tight. You okay?”

John noted the dents in the cardboard and smiled sheepishly. “Just thinking.”

Bruce shrugged. His easy acceptance was belied by the frown of concern pulling at his lips He studied John for a moment longer and then looked away towards a flickering neon sign across the wide aisle. “Cooking for Better Living,” he read aloud.

We’ve already been down this road, three times in fact! John smothered the protest with a swallow of cappuccino.

A variety of visions had been generated by their earlier investigations. The most disturbing was that of a middle-aged woman wielding a meat cleaver with murderous intent against a beef tenderloin. John contemplated calling Walt when he discerned the woman’s husband sleeping in a chair in the corner of the living room, a spilled beer soaking into the carpet at his feet. A momentary flash did not a criminal make, however. She would not be the first wife to take her frustrations out on an inanimate object, though the husband qualified for the characterization as much as the piece of dead cow lying on the cutting board, in John’s opinion. While Bruce deliberated the merits of an olive oil sprayer, John surreptitiously touched the knife handle a second time. Contact yielded a vision of the wife seated in front of a computer. Ebay was written out in familiar rainbow hues and her mouse cursor hovered above the ‘Bid now’ option next to a picture of a crew jacket from a popular TV series. John smirked into his collar and followed Bruce out of the store.

The vision had provided a certain level of amusement but not enough to dull the exhaustion spreading through his body. John finished his drink and leaned to one side to throw the cup in the trash. “You’re buying me dinner,” he informed Bruce as they stood and walked towards the store. “And it isn’t going to be cheap!”

Bruce huffed a sigh and stopped in front of a display of cutlery. “What do you think?”

“I think you want to make a good impression, not bribe them.”

“Yeah, too much.”

Cooking for Better Livingwas oddly empty given the density of shoppers elsewhere in the mall. Similar to its predecessors, the store was packed to the rafters with every conceivable item meant to enrich the life of the modern domestic. Shelves of crockery and stainless steel gave way to small appliances and stacks of linen. Place settings with simple patterns shared space with china trimmed with inlaid roses and vines of gold leaf. John sighed at the pretentious displays and shadowed Bruce to the back of the store. The glass shelves lining the wall were split by a door marked ‘Employees Only’. On the left side were rows of glassware. Sparkling stems of burgundy, teal and amber reflected in the mirrored wall. On the right were rows of spices in large mason-style jars. Bunches of herbs dangled from a rack suspended from the ceiling at the end of the aisle. A variety of measuring and labelling paraphernalia crowded a table beneath.

John sniffed appreciatively and started towards the herb rack. Lamb with fresh rosemary and sage suddenly seemed like an excellent idea. His rusty cooking skills could be easily enhanced by a good bottle of wine. Dinner at home was invariably more peaceful than a meal in a restaurant laced with the psychic baggage of everyone from the chef to the dishwasher.

“Hey!” Bruce called out sharply.

John grimaced and spun on his heel. “What?”

Bruce flinched at his aggravated tone and pointed at the wall of glasses. “What do you think?”

What I think is that you should get a grip and we should get the hell out of here! Thoughts of wine and tender lamb sank beneath a wave of impatience. Enough is enough! John reached out and grabbed the first item his fingertips touched. It was a cheese grater made out of heavy white plastic with steel blades and a hard, rubber handle. He slapped the implement into Bruce’s hand.

No vision.

Oh please! I could really use some insight here! John briefly considered lying. Bruce would continue the search into the evening if he did not receive a positive verdict. Unfortunately, John was a lousy liar and they both knew it. “Never mind.” He turned without looking and bumped into the soft shoulder of a woman standing in the center of the aisle.

***Black…Thick, soft animal fur beneath his fingers and the scent of rain and earth heavy in his nostrils … Black … The low rumble of thunder in the distance and the answering patter deep in his chest … Black … Quick breaths and the tightening of the flesh around his mouth as he smiled…Black…The hair prickling his scalp, the air sharp and brittle with ozone … Black … The feel of the lightning curling through his taut chest in an arc of invisible fire…Black…Raindrops, fat and heavy on his arms and upturned face…Black….Blinking rapidly and the cold trails of rainwater running down his cheeks…Black…The warmth of a hand on his arm, his legs like rubber as he is pulled—guided—forward…Black…The feeling of open space replaced by stuffy air and hundreds of echoing conversations…Black …”Step up.”…Black…The fingers of his left hand dragging over textured walls, The fingers of his right curling tight around a hard rubber handle…Black…”Don’t fight him. Staid is here to help you.” Black… deep and penetrating, as if darkness were an entity that could climb inside your soul…Black!

John stumbled back, the air whooshing from his lungs in a startled gasp. My God! He stared at the flexing fingers of his outstretched hand, drinking in the color and texture as if it were water to the dammed.

The characteristics of John’s visions had varied over the years. People moved forward or backwards at different speeds or froze in place when required. The light changed and color occasionally faded completely, leaving an eerie black and white tableau behind. There had never been absolute darkness. John drew a shuddering breath. What the hell was that?

The woman stood with her arms folded and her fingers digging into the flesh of her elbows. She released a slow, deep breath. “Excuse me?”

John licked his lips and wiped cold sweat from his forehead with shaking fingers. “I’m sorry.” He coughed the hoarseness from his voice and tried again. “I didn’t see you standing there.”

She laughed softly. “No problem.”

“John, there’s nothing here…”

The woman jumped at the sound of Bruce’s voice. Her lips parted as if to speak and then pressed into a thin line. She turned away, dismissing their brief encounter with a shrug of her thin shoulders.

John glanced at Bruce and nodded, acknowledging the unusual nature of the vision and his friend’s concern. Either there was something fundamentally wrong with the situation or John’s brain had found a new, and very dangerous, way to handle fatigue.

“Sorry,” the woman said as she accidentally brushed John’s arm.

He tensed, holding his breath for a vision that did not occur. Relieved and growing more curious, John watched her drift down the aisle towards the spice rack.

“God this place is making me hungry,” she muttered beneath her breath.

“I know the feeling,” John commiserated.

The woman stiffened at the remark and turned back. Her thin eyebrows arched in a question and a faint smile touched her lips. “Do you like to cook?”

John nodded as he slowly closed the gap between them. “I used to.”

“Not anymore?” The smile broadened as she refolded her arms.

“It depends.”

“On what?”

The memory of the odd vision rose and broke in a chilly wave. John stuffed his hands in his pockets to hide the resultant tremors. “On who I’m with,” he managed, meeting her eyes for the first time.

The irises were gray and strangely dull. They did not appear to focus on him as she nodded.

What the hell? John was intrigued and disturbed in equal measure. There was no sense of imminent peril associated with the vision. In fact, the event had been rich in sensory experience and devoid of negative emotions, beyond a lingering and instinctual fear of thunderstorms. Normal except for the darkness, which was deeper and more penetrating than night could ever be. He could not account for the oddities, nor shake the feeling that he needed to know more before walking away.

It was not the first time John had wanted or tried to look deeper for the sake of his own interests, but time had taught him restraint. He was uncomfortable with the inner implication that he had a right to know, without any prior warning of what tragedies might come to light in the process. The woman’s obvious physical attributes—relatively tall, fine boned with thick black hair and delicate hands—were not a firm enough basis to justify the risk.

John groaned inwardly. Sorting out his motivations in the span of a few moments would have been difficult under ideal circumstances. Fatigue and frustration made the current situation anything but. He fingered the change in his pocket and dropped his eyes to the floor. Damn-it Bruce! I would have been perfectly happy with a bottle of Budweiser and an X-Files rerun!

“You won’t know unless you ask,” the woman interrupted his thoughts with quiet words and a capricious smirk.

You’ve got to be kidding! John could not remember the last time a woman had openly flirted with him. It would have been easier to accept if not for his peculiar brand of insight. Sometimes he well and truly hated his brain.

From behind him, John heard a snort of muffled laughter. He glared over his shoulder. Bruce grinned back. Thanks for the support, smartass! Swallowing the sour thought, John turned back to the woman who was patiently tapping her foot on the carpet.

“I’m John Smith,” he introduced himself. “And you are?”

She held out a hand at waist level. “Kerry Carson.”

Kerry’s skin was warm and soft against John’s palm. The world remained fixed as his hand enfolded hers and John relaxed, giving her fingers a gentle squeeze before letting go.

“I didn’t mean to frighten you earlier,” he said.

“You did a little,” Kerry confessed. Her right hand twitched and pulled at the hem of her shirt.

Bruce appeared by John’s shoulder and elbowed him sharply in the ribs. “Oh, uh, this is my friend, Bruce Lewis.”

“Hi, Bruce.”

“Hey Kerry,” he greeted her with a ready handshake and a smile in his voice. “How long have you had your guide dog?”

Guide dog? John shook his head, awash in feelings of idiocy and relief. Of course! Kerry was blind, which accounted for the flat, unfocused look in her eyes and the complete darkness of her reality!

“I’ve had Staid for four years,” Kerry’s answered wistfully. “He picked up a thorn in his paw and I had to take him to the vet because it got infected.”

“You’re here alone?” The incredulous note in his own voice made John wince. Nice comeback. What the hell is wrong with me?

Kerry giggled. The sound was high and bright and it scattered the earlier darkness like ashes on the wind. John smiled in return, grateful that she did not take offense at his blurted remark. Bruce moved into his periphery, his features alit with a knowing smirk. John pointed to the cheese grater he still carried and then made a sharp slashing motion. ‘I’m done’, he mouthed. ‘Get lost’!

Oblivious to the exchange, Kerry said, “My sister Lucy works here. She went into the back room for something.” She indicated the wall of spices with a tilt of her head. “I love the smell back here so I told her I would wait in the aisle.” She grinned. “Maybe I should wear a bell?”

Bruce barked a laugh and John shot him a silencing glare. His friend waved the grater meaningfully. “I’ll wait outside.”

“You’re obviously not here alone.”

John swallowed a sigh. “No.”

“Don’t let me keep you.”

“You’re not,” he assured. Kerry evidently did not know who John Smith was. Talking to someone without the weight of unwanted celebrity to dampen the mood was a rarity and John was loath to give up even a moment of the opportunity.

“Did you come in here for something specific?” she asked. “For someone special?”

John rolled his eyes at the comment. Kerry did not react and he realized his error with a guilty flush. “Uh, no,” he amended quickly as he picked up one of the spice bottles. “We’re in here looking for a gift for Bruce’s girlfriend’s parents.”

Kerry nodded slowly. “That’s quite a mouthful.”

He laughed softly and replaced the jar. “Do you like anything specific?”

“What do you mean?”

John shrugged. “I mean do you like any specific spice? I could find it for you.”

“Oh, no, don’t trouble yourself.”

“It’s no trouble.” John blushed a second time, grateful that she could not see his discomfiture.

“Are you okay?”

“Fine, why?”

“There’s a change in your breathing. It’s faster.” Kerry re-crossed her arms, grinning widely now. “You’re not nervous, are you?”

So this is what it feels like when the shoe is on the other foot. She can tell what I'm feeling just by listening! “Maybe a little,” John admitted.

The ‘Employees Only’ door opened and a low murmur of discussion spilled into the quiet aisle. A woman resembling Kerry, albeit shorter and heavier, emerged wearing a harried expression on her face. “Kerry, I’m so sor…” She stopped in the middle of the word and stared at John. “Oh damn!”

“Lucy, what’s the matter?” Kerry asked, a note of concern dampening her tone.

“Uh, nothing. Only…well…”

There was an awed and frightened glint in Lucy’s brown eyes that John immediately recognized from one too many encounters in the grocery store checkout line. He sighed wearily, accepting his unsatisfied curiosity and giving up the prospect of company with great reluctance. "I was just leaving.”

“No you weren’t!” Kerry’s hand shot out and latched onto John’s forearm with unexpected accuracy and strength. “You were going to take me out for coffee.”

“I was?”

“You were?” Lucy repeated.

“Yes, he was,” Kerry affirmed with a curt nod.

“But this is…” Lucy stared, wide-eyed and mouth agape. "Come here!” She grabbed Kerry’s free hand.

***Lucy peered around the end of an aisle near the front of the store. John followed her line of sight to an image of himself standing at the opposite end looking confused and concerned. Lucy flashed a wide smile and turned around.

Kerry leaned against the wall and glared sightlessly at her sister. “What!” she hissed.

“That’s John Smith!”

“So?”

“You know the guy who sees things?” Lucy continued breathlessly. “Holy shit, K!”

“And this matters why?”

Lucy shook her head. “He was accused of killing Rachel Caldwell a year and a half ago. Don’t you remember?”

“The case never went to trial, someone else confessed,” Kerry reminded. “Do you have a point?”

“He’s famous, maybe a little eccentric. He sees the future, for God’s sake!”

“And, but, therefore?” Kerry prompted while making a rolling motion with one hand.

“You’re having coffee with him?” Lucy’s voice dropped to a whisper. “You sure that’s a good idea?”

“If he gets out of line I’ll bash his head in with my cane,” Kerry snapped. “Jesus, Luce, lighten up!” ***

Kerry’s hand slipped from John’s arm and the vision bled away as Lucy pulled her towards the front of the store. John dragged a hand down his face and shook his head. Lucy had been the impetus for the vision. Her concern effectively blotted out Kerry’s influence. The affect was familiar to John but upsetting nonetheless. How do I get myself into these kinds of things? Swallowing his resentment towards Bruce and his own insecurities, John walked towards the cashier, looking for his friend. He would not leave without saying good-bye. Vera Smith would spin in her grave at such discourtesy. However, he would not stand like a dunce and wait for the axe to fall either.

“All I’m saying is that you can’t just talk to anyone who bumps into you. There are some real freaks out there!” Lucy’s urgent whisper carried easily in the empty store. John flinched at the characterization. This was not the first time he had heard it and from more malicious mouths than Lucy’s. She was attempting to protect her sister with the most base of weapons, fear. He understood the motivation and admired Lucy’s loyalty: but the words still hurt.

“He’s no more of a freak than I am,” Kerry grated. “Now you promised to stand in for Staid this afternoon. It was your idea for me to come along. So get your ass out there and find Mr. John Smith before he leaves!”

“Kerry…”

“Go!”

Lucy emerged from behind a wall of cookware.

“Hi there,” John greeted. She gasped and he enjoyed a brief flare of satisfaction. Even freaks needed their moments. “I would love to take your sister out for coffee.”

Lucy blanched. “You heard?”

“I saw,” he intoned, knowing she would comprehend the insinuation of a vision and not quite ready to let his annoyance go. People were constantly judging him without taking the time to understand. A feeling he suspected Kerry could relate to.

Shock and embarrassment faded and Lucy’s eyes hardened as she held John’s gaze. “I know who you are and where you live. So does everyone else in this town. Do we understand each other?”

“Lucy!” Kerry wailed from behind the boxes. “For God's sake, shut up!”

John nodded silently.

Lucy retreated behind the boxes. The two women shared a whispered conversation while John stood patiently and tried to ignore the inquisitive looks from the cashier. Okay, this is getting old real fast.

Kerry stepped out holding Lucy’s elbow in one hand and a white cane in the other. “John?”

“Yes?”

“You don’t have to take me out for coffee.” Kerry let go of her sister and pushed a hand through her thick hair. “I didn’t know who you were and,” she settled her shoulders with a sigh. “I’m sure you get harassed all the time. That was not my intention.”

“I would love to take you out for coffee.” John affirmed. “Maybe dinner? I’m starved.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes.” John gestured without thinking towards the mall and then dropped his hand with a muffled slap. “I just need to talk to Bruce for a minute. Wait here?” he asked with a glance at Lucy.

“No problem.” The sisters answered in unison and both laughed.

John grinned. The sound was pure adolescent nerves, which was not far off from how he currently felt. What’s the big deal about this woman? He pondered the question as he exited the store and found Bruce examining a pair of sunglasses at a kiosk in the center of the aisle.

“You ready?” Bruce asked as he replaced the glasses and picked up his bag. “Good suggestion by the way.”

“Uh no, actually, I’m not.” John indicated the cooking store with a jerk of his chin. “I’m going to take Kerry out for dinner.”

“Dinner?”

“You know two people, plates of food, maybe a little wine…”

“I know what dinner is, John.” Bruce interjected quietly as he looked over at Lucy and Kerry standing against the glass storefront. “I mean she is fine and all, but are you sure about this?”

Coming from someone else the question might have sounded prejudicial or derogatory. John knew better and the true sentiment behind the query gave him pause. Touching Kerry had been a unique experience. Bruce knew John well enough to see that he was both eager and leery to repeat the experience. Bruce’s friendship meant caution as much as support. John appreciated the duality, though he found Bruce’s protective nature a bit suffocating at times.

“John?”

“Yeah, I’m sure,” he answered firmly.

“I’d leave you my car but I have to pick up Tina at 6:30.”

“No problem, we’ll take a cab. How did you know she had a seeing-eye dog?”

Bruce shrugged. “I’ve worked with a few blind patients. Kerry didn’t have a cane with her and her hand kept twitching by her side. Like she should be holding something. I’m surprised you didn’t notice.”

“Sensory overload,” John retorted with a grimace. He pointed at the bag as they started back towards the store. “I didn’t see a thing when I touched that grater.”

Bruce slapped him companionably on the shoulder. “I know. I called Tina.”

“Told you, you didn’t need me for this.”

Bruce flashed the women a wide smile as he gave John’s shoulder a squeeze. “No, but you needed me!”

“Get outta here!”

Bruce laughed over his shoulder and disappeared into the crowd.

“Something we should know?” Lucy asked.

John waved off her suspicions. “No.” He turned to Kerry. “Are you ready?”

She smiled brightly. “Definitely.”

“What time will you be home?”

Kerry sighed loudly at the remark. “Not sure. When is my bedtime?”

“Kerry!”

John glanced at his watch. He sensed a very old argument brewing. When was the last time I had to check in with anyone?

“Fine. What time is it now?” Kerry muttered resignedly.

“Just after 5,” John cautiously supplied.

“Alright, let’s shoot for no later than 9:30.” Kerry smirked in John’s general direction. “I’ll call if we get hung up.”

Lucy’s brown eyes raked John from toe to hairline. A last silent warning before she pulled her sister into a one-armed embrace and whispered something in her ear.

Kerry nodded in reply and gave her sister a friendly shove as they pulled apart. “Go home. Adam is probably having a hissy because dinner isn’t on the table.”

“Take-out is the workingwoman’s best friend,” Lucy answered. Her eyes met John’s for a moment and then she turned away.

He watched her walk back into the store and swallowed down an anxious flutter. Kerry was different from anyone John had ever spent time with. He had dated Sarah almost exclusively before the accident. The dating attempts since reawakening from the coma were dismal failures, with the exceptions of Dana and Rebecca. If one were being objective then he had reached the three-strike limit, mental dalliances with ineligible women notwithstanding. He had been alone since leaving Rebecca in Washington six months earlier.

“This isn’t a big deal for you, is it?” Kerry’s quiet voice intruded into his thoughts and John felt the color rise in his cheeks for the third time that day.

“Why do you ask?”

“Because you haven’t said a word. If I hadn't heard you breathing, I would have thought I was standing here talking to myself.”

“Sorry.”

“Oh, no,” Kerry took a step forward. “Lucy told me how your…uh…'abilities' work. By touch, right? Well, I don’t have any trouble navigating here in the mall but,” she trailed off and for the first time John perceived a hint of uncertainty in her manner. “I’m used to having Staid for guidance when it comes to doors, sidewalks and such. Will it be okay if I hold your elbow when we get outside?”

“I’m not sure what will happen when you touch me,” John answered candidly. Her consideration struck him as out of place. If anyone warranted allowances, it was Kerry. “But I’m willing if you are.”

“Okay. Which way?”

“To the right.”

Kerry extended her cane in front of her and began lightly tapping the floor in a slow sweeping motion as they moved down the aisle.

John had seen a blind person using a white cane before but his proximity to Kerry made the activity more fascinating. A portion of her concentration was clearly dedicated to navigation; however, she was fully aware of the surrounding environment. John watched her face change as they walked past the doorway of a boutique. Perfume hung like a fog in the air and Kerry wrinkled her nose at the mingled scents. Her head tilted fractionally to the right as they walked around a display outside of a music store. She jumped at the high squeal of a steel guitar. “I must have missed a memo or something," she grumbled. "Who likes that crap?”

John chuckled deep in his throat. “I do.”

“Sorry.”

“Forget it. The world wouldn’t be any fun if we were all the same.”

“That’s the truth.”

John shoved his hands into his jacket pockets. “So, who’s Adam?”

“Lucy’s husband.”

“Ah okay. There’s an escalator coming up.”

“I know there’s a ramp around here somewhere.”

“Ramp?” John repeated, mystified.

Kerry nodded and favored him with an indulgent smile. “It’s easier to walk down a ramp than to try and figure out exactly where the bottom of an escalator is.”

“I hadn’t thought of that.”

“No reason you should,” Kerry stopped walking. “The ramp is to the right if I remember correctly.”

“You do,“ John affirmed. “It’s just up ahead.”

Kerry drifted right, the cane continuing its metronome of taps as she approached the carpeted ramp. John silently marvelled at her confident stride.

“Who’s Bruce?” she asked as they stepped off the bottom of the ramp.

After a moment’s hesitation, John answered. “My best friend.” The phrase elicited an involuntary shudder as it fell heavily from his lips. In John’s experience adults did not refer to anyone as a ‘best friend’. The description conjured memories of schoolyards and social cliques best left forgotten. Necessity had forced him to embrace the term in spite of its inadequate nature. The man he would have become without Bruce’s unwavering support was not worth considering.

“Everyone should have one of those,” Kerry replied with a quick nod. “Lucy can be a royal pain but I love her to death.”

John swallowed against the lump in his throat. “I understand.”

“I can tell you feel the same way about Bruce,” Kerry continued in a softer tone. “There’s nothing wrong with that, you know?”

I know John blinked rapidly to quell the unexpected burn of tears. The longer he lived with the visions, the closer to the surface his emotions seemed to reside. He was thankful she could not see what she had obviously heard in his voice. “We’re coming up to the exit.”

Kerry stopped walking and turned towards him. “Are you ready?”

“Let’s find out,” John reached for her left hand.

***Black…cool rain on his shoulders and spattering the hat on his head…Black…the rustle of feet sliding through the damp grass and the shock of its leaves rubbing over his bare ankles…Black…”Lamoille Union High School’s Valedictorian for the class of 1992, Miss Kerry Carson!”…Black…the rush of the air as he swept forward, cane in hand, and mounted the creaking steps…Black…A hand on his arm. Gently guiding until he stood before the podium and clutched the warm microphone in chilled fingers…Black…***

Kerry’s fingers curled around John’s right elbow. He sighed softly and let the vision fade away before taking them both through the glass doors. Weak sunlight filtered down through thickening clouds. Thunder rumbled and a tremor passed between them as Kerry tightened her grip.

John fished his cell phone out of his jacket pocket. “I meant to call a cab,” he mumbled apologetically.

“It’s quieter out here anyway.” Kerry tipped her head back. “Do you smell the rain?”

“No, but I can feel it,” he quipped. “Excuse me for just a minute.”

Kerry let go of his elbow and walked over to the wall of the building. She folded her arms and leaned against the brickwork. A smile lifted her lips as her eyes closed. John recognized the expression as the same one she had worn in the first vision. Kerry seemed lost in the sounds and smells of the parking lot and the approaching storm. John kept her in his periphery as he dialed information and called the cab company. He had never thought of visual imagery as a form of distraction, except when his eyes were too tired to focus. Experiencing Kerry’s high school graduation without the benefit of seeing her classmates or the smiling faces in the audience left him feeling awed. There was so much information available, if one were simply attuned to it.

The voice of the cab service dispatcher pulled John from reverie. He gave his location and then paused. “Kerry?”

“Um?”

“What are you in the mood for?” A languid smile curled Kerry’s lips and John smothered a laugh. If ever there was a loaded question!

She shrugged. “Whatever.”

“Okay.” John searched his memory for the name of a restaurant and then passed on the destination to the waiting dispatcher. “Five minutes,” he informed Kerry as he came to lean against the wall. “I hope the rain holds off.”

“It will.” Kerry’s eyes remained closed as she shifted to face him. “When we were in the store you said something that really surprised me.”

John cocked an eyebrow. Kerry frowned in obvious confusion. “Sorry,” he said quietly.

Non-verbal communication was instinctual, Kerry’s own behavior proved that beyond a doubt. John often relied on a glance or a shrug when words seemed superfluous. Suddenly the habits of a lifetime were completely useless and he felt a stab of guilt. Consideration for the feelings of others had become as natural as breathing since the onset of the visions. His short association with Kerry did not excuse the lapse. How could I forget when she’s standing right in front of me with a cane no less!

John sighed and forced the recriminations to the back of his mind. “What did I say?”

“You admitted you were nervous.”

“I’ve never been out with someone…I mean…”

“Oh stop it!” Kerry rocked her head against the wall, grinning hugely. “It’s not a dirty word you know.”

“Okay, I’ve never been out with a blind woman before!” John exclaimed.

She laughed. “Well then we’re even. I’ve never had supper with a psychic either!”

“I’ve never heard it put quite like that,” John said when her laughter died away. “Why did my admission surprise you?”

Kerry sobered and looked away. She pressed her back to the wall and rubbed the bare skin of her arms. “Most men run like rabbits when confronted with the truth.”

The truth hurts. Her candor was unnerving, though John hated to admit it. He shed his jacket. “You look cold. Take my coat.”

Kerry reached out and he placed it in her hand. “I left mine in Lucy’s car.” She shrugged into the heavy leather and zipped it halfway. “I’ve done it again, I think.”

“What?”

“Put my foot in my mouth.”

John shook his head, at a loss on how to respond to her admission.

Kerry grimaced. “It’s just that I find it easier to get things right out in the open instead of beating around the bush. My being blind isn’t something I can hide. But it’s usually not the biggest problem I run into.” She looked towards John. “Fear is.”

For a moment her silvery gray eyes seemed to meet his pale blue ones. The intensity of her gaze greater than sunshine, her need to be understood piercingly sharp. “I know,” John murmured.

An expression of understanding and satisfaction softened Kerry’s features. She hugged herself. “Thanks for the jacket. I love the smell of leather.”

The cab arrived. Kerry slid across the back seat and settled against the opposite door. Her posture was relaxed but at the same time controlled. John knew the signs of a person trying to be considerate of his space for more than just common courtesy’s sake. It was appreciated but nevertheless he found himself wishing for even the briefest touch.

John gave the driver the name of the restaurant and sat back against the seat. Standing around in the damp had aggravated the ache in his hip. It was all he could do to stifle a groan as a sharp pain shot across his lower back.

Kerry touched the window with two fingers. “You broke a leg in your accident, didn’t you?”

“And a few other things,” John remarked dryly as he shifted to a more comfortable position.

“They say old broken bones ache when it’s going to rain. Is that true in your case?”

“Unfortunately.”

“Thought so.”

A change in his breathing, the sound of fabric sliding across the vinyl seat, knowledge gleaned from her brief conversation with Lucy—John did not care how she knew. Kerry’s reality was alive via senses he often ignored. Different, exciting and paralyzing. He wondered at the depth of spirit that carried her through a world so dependent on the sense of sight.

Kerry drew a line in the condensation with her finger and then rubbed the moisture away on her jeans. “Do you use a cane, John?”

“I used to.” He dared not tell her the rest. Christopher Wey and the hateful incarnation of his future self, not some inane sense of vanity, were the real reasons why the cane had found its way into the Potomac. John could not explain their existence or the looming threat of Armageddon. It was only days like today that he regretted the action for the purely practical. The physical and psychological ramifications far outweighed the advantage of knowing the future in intimate detail.

“Why did you leave your cane at the front of the stored?” John asked.

Kerry smiled faintly. “I feel a bit like a bull in a china shop with that thing. It’s easier just to let Lucy lead me.”

“I understand.”

John sat and listened to the muted beat of the car radio. The heat from Kerry’s body bathed his left side. Her quiet attention felt equally warm as she smoothed the denim covering her left knee with idle fingers.

“What did your sister say to you as we were leaving?” he wondered softly.

“She told me to have fun,” Kerry replied just as quietly. “And I am.”

The cab pulled up to the curb and John paid the driver.

“The sidewalk is pretty high here. Let me help you.” He reached for her left arm.

“I’ve got it, thanks.” Kerry climbed out of the car and tested the ground with her cane before stepping up. “Where to?”

John stared at his suspended right hand and then dropped it to his side without comment. The step was high and he would have offered assistance to any woman he chose to escort. Such action was instinctive after a lifetime of instructions from a single mother on how to treat a lady. Apparently it was more natural for Kerry to refuse the offer. A statement of feminine independence, Kerry, or a steadfast determination to let nothing stand in your way, not even simple courtesy? John forced the question to the back of his mind. Now was not the time.

“Straight ahead,” he directed. “Have you ever been to Angelo’s?”

Kerry nodded enthusiastically. “Several times. This place has been here forever.” She started towards the door. “My parents used to rent a summer cottage down on the coast. We travelled up to Bangor and the surrounding area lots of times. They loved Cleaves Mills.”

“There are three stairs....”

She stopped at John’s anxious tone and sighed deeply. “Relax, okay?”

Her expression was one of long-suffering patience. John felt somehow informed and chastised at the same time. “Don’t emasculate me completely. It’s only proper for a man to open the door for a lady.”

“Chivalry is alive and well? Who knew?” Kerry smiled and the sting of her words evaporated. “Lead on, good Sir.”

The interior of the restaurant was warm and softly lit. John sniffed appreciatively. “Garlic and Oregano.”

“Garlic and Basil actually,” Kerry amended. John groaned and she giggled in response. “Sorry, habit.”

“I stand corrected.”

The hostess approached them. “Do you have a reservation?”

“Actually, we don’t,” John replied.

Her smile wavered a bit as she stepped back to the antique sideboard abutting the opposite wall. “Let me see if I have a table available.”

“A truly chivalrous man would have planned ahead,” John whispered in Kerry’s ear.

She brushed self-consciously at the casual polo shirt mostly hidden by the jacket she still wore. “And checked the dress code.”

John smiled at the comment. Angelo’s catered to a wide variety of patrons. It was not uncommon to see couples in evening attire seated next to diners dressed in shorts or jeans. He glanced at the hostess, who was mumbling beneath her breath as she flipped through the ledger, and then back at Kerry. “There’s always Pizza Hut around the corner.”

“Bite your tongue!”

John chuckled at her mock outrage.

“We’ll have a table available in about five minutes if you care to wait,” the hostess announced.

“That’s fine!” Kerry enthused.

“Can we do anything to accommodate you?” the woman asked hesitantly.

“No, thanks, I’ll be fine.”

“There’s a bench by the wall,” John offered.

“I’d rather stand.”

“So would I, but my leg has other ideas. How chivalrous will it look if I sit down and leave my blind date standing in the foyer?” he pointed out, sotto voce.

Kerry laughed into her palm and allowed him to guide her to the bench. “You realize how that sounded?” she asked when they were seated.

“Not until after I said it!”

Kerry pushed back her bangs and sighed, her tone suddenly low and somber. “I know she meant well but sometimes I really hate that kind of thing. What did she expect me to say? Yes, please, I’d like a plastic wineglass and a Braille menu?”

John shrugged. Kerry’s disability was obvious. The hostess’ actions struck him as common courtesy. He had not considered the offer from Kerry’s perspective.

“You don’t have to say anything, John.”

He opened his mouth and then closed it with a soft click. Earlier, he had been resolved to go home and eat alone, just to avoid the possibility of an uncomfortable experience. Kerry had willingly subjected herself to frustrations big and small in order to spend time with him. What the hell can I say?

“Your table is ready, Sir.”

John nodded to the hostess and stood up.

Kerry followed suit. “Your elbow, my good Sir.”

“Of course, Madame.”

She held the cane close to her body in the opposite hand and followed easily through the gathering of tables to a corner booth.

“Can I get either of you something from the bar?” the hostess inquired as they seated themselves.

“Kerry?”

“Some white wine would be nice.”

The hostess held out a single menu and indicated a wine listing on the table. John chose a type and vintage and waited for the woman to leave. “Seriously," he said, "Have some pity on me, okay? If you need something, please ask.”

Kerry grinned and spread the linen napkin across her lap. “How about you pass the bread when it gets here and read me the menu while we wait. I don’t care for fried food and I love vegetables so that should narrow things down a little bit.”

John put his feelings of inadequacy aside and concentrated instead on the practical. They sorted out appetizers and entrees and placed their order when the waiter arrived with the bottle of wine. Kerry declined to taste, apparently comfortable to leave approval in John’s hands. After the young man left, John picked up his full glass. “A toast?”

“To what?”

John lightly tapped the edge of her glass with his. “An enlightening evening.”

“There’s irony for you!”

John drank the wine and tasted the accuracy of her statement beneath the liquor’s fruity bite. Most first dates followed an agenda. Whether or not both parties were consciously aware of it was immaterial. What do I really want out of this? A drink, a dance, something more substantial? Simple curiosity made him feel like a voyeur and left a very bitter taste in its wake. Kerry was obviously complex, intelligent and independent. Is this what I see beyond my own desires for companionship and insatiable need to examine anything and everything? Or is it a matter of wanting to know someone as cursed, or blessed, as myself? John felt foolish attempting to deny his own expectations. Understanding and voicing them was another matter entirely.

“You don’t like to go to the mall, do you?”

The question caught John off guard. “What makes you say that?”

Kerry shifted in her seat and a shadow passed across her open features. “Because of what you see.”

“I don’t get a vision every time I touch someone or something.”

“That’s probably a good thing for your sanity.”

“It is,” John agreed. The distracted quality of Kerry’s voice and body language concerned him. Is this how it feels to sit across from me? To listen and to fear what you cannot possibly understand? The similarities of their situation struck like a hammer blow to John’s chest and forced out a ragged sigh. A ‘vision’ without visual impute had left him reeling. Kerry’s world was as foreign as his own experience was to the average person. How can I explain what no one really understands? Should I even try?

John sat back and contemplated a spot on the wall above Kerry’s head. The straightforward approach had a split track record between the positive and the negative. He could only hope for the former when he finally spoke. “The imagery in my visions can be very disturbing. It’s easier to keep my distance from people rather than explain myself all the time.”

“Draw a line in the sand and not step over it?” Kerry lightly tapped the rim of her glass against her lips. “Too many stories, too many people?”

“Something like that.”

“I could envy you that ability.”

What I see? Or what I ‘see’? If you knew how ‘in the dark’ I really am, how would that make you feel? John licked suddenly dry lips. “Don’t.”

The waiter deposited a basket of rolls on the table. Kerry sniffed deeply and John placed the basket next to her hand. “The bread plate is right in front of you. The butter pats are above it in a glass bowl.”

“12 o’clock?”

“What?”

Kerry smiled at his confusion. “We use a clock system to help manage things like table settings and food placement. The bread plate is at six, directly above is twelve and so on.”

“Oh!” John tilted his head to get a better perspective. “One o’clock then.”

“Thanks.” She buttered her roll and took a bite.

“You don’t like going to the mall either, do you?” John ventured diffidently.

“Because of what I don’t see?” Kerry spoke the words without rancor. When John remained silent she added, “You’re right, I don’t.”

“Staid is your first dog?”

“Yes. He’s given me a lot of independence. I used to stay home more.” Kerry took another bite of the roll, her soft gray eyes somehow finding his across the table. “It was easier than explaining myself all the time too.”

John picked up a roll and pried it apart. “You’re very direct.”

“I make you uncomfortable.” Kerry placed her half-eaten roll on her bread plate and picked up her glass. There was no apology in her expression as she sampled the wine and waited calmly for John to speak.

If I can’t handle the situation it’s my problem, not hers. John took a healthy swallow of wine and put the glass off to one side. “Kerry, can I hold your hand?”

“Tired of doing this the old fashioned way?” she teased.

“I make you uncomfortable,” he challenged gently. Checkmate.

Kerry’s features dissolved into a dispassionate mask. She rested her free hand on the end of the table, palm up.

John reached across and closed his eyes. The moment stretched out as his fingers hung suspended above hers. A sensation of closeness and a slight heat emanated from her skin. His fingers twitched and the air shivered with the movement. He took a deep breath and touched her palm.

***Color! An eruption of molten hues spiraling outward in a dazzle of swirls and sparks…***

John recoiled and the vision splintered apart. The colors had been artificially bright, without texture or depth. The blur of patterns could have been anything: objects, people or landscapes. His stomach flipped rebelliously as he struggled to place the images in context.

“Sir?”

Startled, John opened his eyes and stared up into the concerned face of the waiter.

The young man smiled uncertainly as he placed the plate of appetizers on the table. “Can I get you some water or something?”

“Yes, fine,” John mumbled distractedly. The waiter nodded and walked quickly away. Way to draw attention to myself!

“John?”

He wiped his sweaty palms on his jeans and pulled in a shaky breath. “What?”

“What happened?” Kerry pressed.

“Here’s your water, Sir. I can ask the chef to give you a few extra minutes before sending out your entrees, if you like.”

“I’m fine,” John insisted.

The waiter’s wide brown eyes jumped from Kerry to John and back again. “As you say, Sir. Excuse me.”

Terrific! John shook his head and turned to look at Kerry.

She sat with her arms folded, the outside hand kneading the top of her cane. Her cheeks were flushed, her tone taut and anxious. “What’s going on?”

John drank deeply from his water glass and tried to pull himself together. “Color, I saw lots of color. But it wasn’t natural, it was chaotic, bright…”

Kerry gasped and reached for her wineglass, nearly toppling it before grasping the stem with trembling fingers. The cane fell to the floor with a loud crack. Nearby diners turned and conversation died away, not returning to normal until after Kerry drained the glass and placed it on the table.

For John there was no choice except to share the inevitable conclusion drawn from the vision. He swallowed the sudden dryness from his mouth. “You weren’t always blind, were you?”

Kerry’s hands toyed with the napkin in her lap, kneading and smoothing in jerky strokes. “That’s none of your business,” she grated between clenched teeth. “If I had wanted you to know I would have told you.”

“I didn’t mean to pry.”

“Why did you want to hold my hand?”

John retrieved her cane from the floor and held it for a moment. The shape was familiar, light and comforting in his grasp. Their mutual anxiety hung like dirty smoke in the air, coldly tangible to the ear and the flesh. Jesus, have I screwed this up beyond repair? John licked his lips and placed the cane against the wall. “What did you expect me to see?”

“I have no idea!” Kerry flared. “I’m not the psychic here.”

“Do you want to leave?”

“I want an answer,” she retorted sharply. “Are you afraid of how I might react?”

“No.” A host of useless validations flitted through the back of John’s brain. Truth in all its myriad shades, but without the nuances he so desperately needed. “I wanted to get to know you better,” he confessed.

“I thought that’s what we were doing here. You know, talking?”

“And I wanted to hold your hand.”

“You really are pathetic,” Kerry snapped. “Some kind of psychic peeping Tom. I should have listened to Lucy.” She found the cane and started to slide out of the booth. “If you’re done humiliating me I would like some assistance to the lobby. I’ll get the hostess to call me a cab.”

“Please wait.”

“Why?” Her fingers were bone white around the shaft of the cane. “I’m blind John, not stupid.”

“I know that. Insulting your intelligence was the last thing I intended.” John sighed deeply. ‘You have every right to be angry. I’m just asking you to give me a chance to explain.”

“Can you?”

“I don’t know.”

Kerry barked a laugh and eased back into her seat. “That’s honest at least.” Her hand crept slowly across the table until it encountered the plate of appetizers. She picked up a stuffed mushroom and sniffed it appraisingly before popping the small cap into her mouth.

John refilled their wine glasses. “Three o’clock,” he advised.

“Thanks.” She retrieved the glass and rubbed the rim against her lip. “I’m waiting.”

John picked up a shrimp and dipped it in cocktail sauce. “You said you envied me,” he reminded as he took a bite and chased it with a sip of water. “Why?”

“Question with a question? Cagey.” Kerry tasted her wine as John finished the shrimp and reached for another. “The answer seems pretty obvious.”

“On the surface.” John flinched as an image of the obsessive artist Andrew Lyne flashed before memory’s eye. “You asked me why I wanted to hold your hand and I did a pretty poor job of explaining myself. The answer isn’t simple for either of us, is it?”

“Maybe.” She picked up a second mushroom. “Or maybe you’re just stalling.”

Maybe I am. What would you have me say? John studied Kerry over the top of his wineglass. It was wrong to stare and in the back of his mind John could hear his mother’s repetitive corrections. Yet, he could not look away. The truth of Kerry’s statement held his attention as much as her unusual observation of the room.

Kerry’s eerie gaze tracked the noises of the crowd. The clink of glasses, the scrape of a fork, the high laughter of a child—at each occurrence she seemed to teeter on the verge of speech. Tasting words with reflexive movements of jaw and lip. She resisted temptation and eventually a calm, disinterested expression settled into place.

The arrival of the waiter interrupted John’s contemplation. He helped rearrange the items on the table and ordered a pitcher of water. Kerry carefully cut her pork medallion into small pieces and sampled the rice.

“Will there be anything else?” the waiter inquired as he set the pitcher of water down.

“No, thank you,” Kerry answered with a polite smile.

“Enjoy.”

You’re not going to give an inch, are you? John prepared his baked potato and sliced his steak. Then again, why should you? Aggravated and contrite, he set his knife down on the edge of the plate with a sharp clank. “Touching you was different than anything else I’ve experienced since waking up.” An embarrassed flush slowly climbed up from his collar and fanned across his cheeks. “I wanted to know more.”

“What could you possibly get from touching me?” Kerry demanded.

“A new perspective. I can’t predict when I will have a vision or what it will contain. I didn’t expect to see anything specific when I held your hand.” John’s voice dropped to a whisper. “I’m sorry, really.”

“Suppose you are. Doesn’t change anything.” She stabbed a piece of pork. “Not everyone’s secrets are fair game.”

“None of them are,” John corrected. “This situation is not what I intended for my life.”

“Who were you?” Kerry’s tone softened as she laid her fork on the edge of her plate and picked up the half eaten roll. “Before the accident, I mean.”

“I taught high school science.”

She smiled at the comment and John smiled in return. He wished there were a subtler way to show his relief besides speech.

“You want to help,” Kerry observed. “I can hear it in your voice.”

“Will you answer my question now?”

“Maybe.”

John took several bites of his meal. Kerry’s past was like a carefully guarded ember. Probing could fan it to flame or extinguish it completely. Neither outcome was desirable and John found his craving to know more about her tempered by a degree of selfishness on his part that he was unfamiliar with. What gives me the right to push so hard? When and how did that become a part of me?

He grimaced, disgusted by the thought and what it implied.

I could walk away.

John laid his utensils on the edge of the plate. He studied Kerry’s face through the curve of his wineglass. The shape was distorted and tinted amber by the stuttering glow of the votive candle sitting at the back of the table. All of life was the same. Disturbed and distressed by the perceptions of those who stumbled through it.

Let us both off the hook?

“What are you thinking about?”

The world snapped back into focus and John’s eyes drifted up from the glass to her face. “That I’m a selfish bastard,” he admitted.

Kerry giggled. “Give me a break, John. We’re all selfish in our own way.”

“Really?” He took another bite of steak. “So answer my question.”

“Why do I envy you?”

“You’ve no reason to.” It was the only ‘out’ John could offer.

Kerry folded her arms and seemed to stare at the table. Her hesitation was unnerving. John fidgeted, glancing at his watch and refilling their glasses for the second time. Is this where it ends?

“It’s not fair, you know?” Kerry said eventually. “It’s not just that you can see physically, it’s that you can see everyone else’s lives, too.” One hand brushed across her eyes and fell into her lap. “People they know and places they’ve been. Every detail. I,” she sighed raggedly. “I miss out on all of it and it hurts. A lot more than it should after all this time.”

“I didn’t know there was a statute of limitations on loss,” John commiserated. The ghost of a smile lifted Kerry’s lips and he forced a low chuckle. “I lost six years in the blink of an eye. There are things I’ll never get back.”

“Like?”

The silence stretched from seconds to minutes as John contemplated the question. JJ’s paternity was no longer a secret. John enjoyed a loving and respectful relationship with the entire Bannerman family. Still, it was not easy to examine the past or the mistakes made since his awakening. The pain ran deep and he guarded it from the inquisition of even his closest friends.

“It’s not easy when the shoe is on the other foot, is it?” Kerry quietly observed.

There was no malice in her words and only openness in her features. John stared across the table. Their similar fears hung suspended on the truth. Nothing about life was fair on either side, yet somehow there was balance. He blew a long, slow sigh and picked up his wineglass. “I have a son and I missed out on the first six years of his life. His mother married someone else while I was still in a coma.”

“Oh Jesus, John, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. He’s happy. Sarah and Walt are excellent parents and I have a place in my son's life. That’s what matters.”

“At least that’s what you tell yourself.”

“And what do you tell yourself?” he countered defensively.

“That it could have been worse,” Kerry answered without hesitation.

“Does it work?”

“Sometimes yes and sometimes no.”

John studied the play of the candle flame reflected in the wineglass. “Same here,” he whispered.

Kerry picked up her glass. “I was 6 when I lost the last of my eyesight. Some sort of rare disorder that I can never remember the name of. It was slow and I can remember how the light and the colors changed over the last few months and then one day there was nothing at all.”

“I see.”

“Funny you should put it that way.”

John groaned. “I meant…”

“I know what you meant,” Kerry interrupted with a short laugh. She drank deeply from the wine glass and cast her unfocused gaze to the ceiling. “I adapted. I missed out on a lot but my parents really tried for some kind of normalcy in my life. I’m grateful for that. But the older I got the more I realized how hard it was for them.” Her head tilted down and she looked in his general direction with a sad, little smile. “I chose to forget the colors because it was easier for them, not just for me.” She brushed nervously at her bangs. “I don’t like to be vulnerable so I let you hold my hand. Your request felt like a challenge, you know?”

“I understand.”

Kerry cleared her throat. “When you saw the colors, I had to remember what I had let go of. It hurt like hell. I think it’s my turn to be sorry.”

“Don’t be,” John denied. “I can’t imagine.”

“Oh, I think you can.” Kerry smiled wanly and picked up her fork.

They ate in silence for several minutes. The visions that usually made dining out so uncomfortable had not materialized. John attributed their absence to the intensity of Kerry’s visions. There were lessons in her reality, new ways for his mind to stretch. John welcomed the challenge.

The vision of color was not random. It was insight into Kerry’s personality. Kerry wanted, needed, to be seen as strong and independent. Such strength of will guaranteed that she would rise to any situation she viewed as a threat or judgment of her character. John felt a rush of sadness and guilt. A single touch and a few words had taught him so much and Kerry remained in the dark, literally and figuratively.

The sounds and sensations of the dining room gradually drew John’s attention outward. Across the room a toddler chattered happily and a man laughed with him. A couple’s conversation was punctuated by sharp slaps to the thigh and stilted laughter. Someone ordered flavored coffee with their dessert. The aroma was strong but pleasant as it drifted through the room. John closed his eyes and savored the last bite of his steak. The spices in the juice mingled with the earthy bite of chives and were somehow more alive in the darkness.

“I just realized something.”

John reluctantly opened his eyes. There was a certain peace without the chaos of color and light. Can you still appreciate that Kerry? Or am I just deluding myself because your life is in some ways far more terrifying than my own?

“John?”

“I’m sorry, what?”

She smiled crookedly. “I just realized I had not thanked you for taking me out this evening.”

Thanked me? The sentiment seemed at odds with their conversation but John recognized it for the olive branch it was meant to be. “You’re welcome.”

“Where were you just now?” Kerry wondered.

“Trying to imagine.”

She grinned.

The waiter approached the table. “Was everything satisfactory?”

“Excellent,” John offered the young man a reassuring smile. “Thank you very much for your assistance.”

“You’re welcome, Sir. Will there be anything else this evening?”

“Kerry?”

She dabbed her lips with her napkin. “No thanks. My compliments to the chef, delicious!”

“I think we’re finished,” John confirmed.

“I’ll pass on your comment, Ma’am, and I’ll be right back with the check.”

“It’s still early. Would you like to take a walk?” John asked after the waiter had left.

Kerry giggled. “Checking your watch?”

“I don’t want Lucy calling 911.”

“Do you think your friend the Sheriff would really put out an APB on you?”

John snorted a laugh. “Well, there was a time…”

“I would love to take a walk.”

“The 6th Street Park is just up the block.”

“Fine.”

The waiter returned and John paid the bill.

The spring evening was damp but unusually warm when they stepped outside. The streets were wet from the rain and puddles glinted in the lights of the storefronts and passing cars. The tap of Kerry’s cane provided a comforting counterpoint to the sounds of traffic and conversations as they walked down the sidewalk.

“John?”

“What?”

“You told me that you hoped to get a ‘new perspective’ when you held my hand and later you said that you were a ‘selfish bastard’.” She smiled briefly at the description. “What did you mean by that?”

“Not going to let me off the hook, are you?”

“Why should I?”

“We’re taking a right here,” John guided her around the corner and onto the quieter street that terminated at the park. “I guess you shouldn’t.”

“Well?” Kerry shook his elbow for emphasis. “Spill!”

“It’s not that simple.”

“Nothing about life is ever simple. I think you know that better than most people.”

“So do you.”

She tilted her head, conceding the point.

They reached the gravel path that bordered the park. John turned left. The uneven gurgle of the fountain and the sigh of the breeze eventually overrode the sounds of the busy downtown. John sniffed deeply, inhaling the tang of pine and the scent of spring flowers freshened by the rain. “There is more than one way to see the world, Kerry.”

The white cane tapped a steady rhythm on the gravel path. Kerry’s grip tightened briefly in a silent prompt.

“I see portions of people’s lives every day. Things I wish I could shut out. They fill me with all kinds of emotions; rage, sadness, joy,” he swallowed audibly. “And envy.”

They emerged from a stand of trees and walked the path that paralleled the fountain. Soft blue lights illuminated the statue of a soldier standing at the center of the granite bowl. Droplet rainbows arced and spun away into the darkness. Distant voices pitched high in laughter made Kerry flinch and draw closer as they passed by.

The trail veered to one side and the sounds receded. John smiled ruefully. “When I bumped into you in the store I realized you were blind, but what amazed me was how much information you could gather. How pure it was without the distraction of sight.”

“Most days I would rather have the distraction.”

“I’m not explaining myself very well again.”

“I’ve got time.”

John laughed softly. “My whole life is wrapped up in what I see and, to a lesser extent, hear. I think normal people, and I use that term loosely, forget what it’s like to simply experience the world. You use all of your senses out of necessity, we ignore so much out of choice.”

“So you decided to try and see the world the way I do?” Kerry shook her head and rolled her silvery eyes. “And you think this makes you selfish?”

“Doesn’t it?”

“No!” A spurt of laughter temporarily loosened her grip. “Curious, a little nosey maybe, but not selfish.”

“I’m glad I could amuse you,” John replied with a touch of annoyance. Do you have any idea how hard it was for me to admit that?

Kerry stopped, forcing John to either turn or abandon her on the path.

She folded her arms and allowed the cane to dangle from its strap by two fingers. The fountain lights wove through the intervening trees and splashed her face. The cool shades of blue and white softened her skin to a porcelain glow and the breath caught in John's throat.

“This is my life,” she said emphatically. “And I can either laugh or cry about it. You know what I mean?”

There was insecurity and yearning in the question. A need that was achingly familiar to John. Kerry did understand, perhaps better than he ever would. “I do,” he whispered.

Kerry slowly unfolded her arms. “We’ve been talking all evening and I don’t have a clue what you look like. Well, except that you’re tall.”

John laughed. “Sounds from on high?”

Kerry leaned her cane against her hip and held out both hands at waist level. “Would it be okay if I touched you?”

John stepped forward and gently grasped her wrists. It’s the most and the least I can ever do. The details of the park dissolved as Kerry’s hands came to rest on his shoulders.

***John stood outside himself, caught in a curious duality of observation and sensation. His body was transparent. It glowed with the reflection of the streetlight and rippled with the imprint of the grass and trees. He watched Kerry trail light fingers down the length of his arms to his palms. Flesh and fabric solidified at her touch and the ice-blue light wrapped around the contours of his arms and splashed like milk across the back of her hands. Kerry smiled faintly as she stroked the skin. The texture and detail of John’s hand increased with each brush of her fingertips. He shivered from the tickle of her touch and felt a pleasurable heat at the sound of her laughter.

Her hands lifted and moved inward to John’s thighs, up his sides and across his chest. John’s body threw a broken shadow as it thickened beneath her sensitive fingers. One hand paused above his heart, pressing firmly while the other encircled his wrist. Cool fingertips brushed the tendons and found the pulse point. She tapped an echo of his heartbeat on his chest. Her smile wavered and widened and a look of wonder spirited across her pale features.

Kerry’s hands eased over John’s shoulders and into the open collar of his shirt. Tentative fingers caressed the skin of his throat and the edge of his jaw. The details of John’s face began to fill in as she cupped his cheeks and stroked the hair back from his temples...***

“Are you all right?” Kerry whispered.

John noticed a woman’s height, hair and eye color at a glance. He had expected Kerry to start with his face. Her approach, like the vision it spawned, was unexpected. “Why did you…”

Kerry smiled hesitantly. “The head is the most sensitive part of the body. I didn’t want to scare you I guess.”

“That’s not the only reason.” John was mildly pleased at the blush that colored her cheeks.

“Your face is a big part of your identity. It’s the first thing most people ‘see’,” Kerry blushed harder at the word. “I just wanted to be sure.”

Her hands hovered in John’s periphery, their shadows as thin and gauzy as he had first appeared in the vision. John sucked in a steadying breath and reached to cover her fingers with his. Flesh met flesh...

***Her fingers settled against John’s cheeks. The thumbs found his mouth and traced the full contours of his parted lips. She brushed over the stubble of yesterday’s beard and lingered on the soft point of his chin. Trembling slightly, the fingers trailed across his jaw and back to his ears. She traced the lobes and her mouth pulled into a tremulous smile. The hands moved upward. Pushing back the short hair above John’s brow and drawing slowly down until they covered his eyes. They quivered at the brush of his long lashes and the pulse of the eyelids. The smile widened as the thumbs met on the bridge of his nose and split apart to cradle his cheeks once more.***

Kerry stretched up and kissed John lightly on the mouth. “Thank you,” she murmured as she stepped back and retrieved her cane from the ground.

“You’re welcome.” John waited for her to take his elbow and then started up the path. “Is there anything else you want to know?”

“Boxers or briefs?”

John chuckled and Kerry squeezed his arm. “Honestly, I never ask things like hair or eye color. There’s no point.”

“But you do remember colors,” he reminded.

“True,” she drew out the word as they walked around a corner and back into the trees. “But it’s like a cartoon inside my head.”

“I got that.”

Kerry shook her head. “It’s not that I don’t want to know, it’s that what I’ll hear won’t ‘look’ right. I’ve forgotten how to see them.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t try so hard.”

“Meaning?”

The question offered John a chance to understand and possibly assuage some of Kerry’s pain. A gift he had not expected and was only too happy to share.

Don’t screw this up! Biting back the self admonishment, John stopped and turned to face Kerry. The pines were thick here and the darkness was nearly complete. The details of her face and body were lost and he found her hand by touch. On a whim he closed his eyes, plunging into complete darkness with a breathy sigh. “There are scientific theories regarding the effects of certain colors on the human brain. Maybe it will help if you try and feel, rather than see, those colors.”

“I was 6,” she reiterated impatiently. “What did I know from crayons?”

“Hear me out, okay?”

Kerry’s fingers twitched against his palm. She started to pull away and he held on, gripping gently until she stilled. “Okay.”

“You’ve been to the ocean many times?”

“Yes.”

“So have I. I know how it looks, but how does it feel?”

“Raw, powerful, angry sometimes,” she murmured more to herself.

“Calm, glassy beneath a summer sky?”

“Yes.”

“Different shades of blue. Some of them stir you up inside because they are shot through with white or green. Some of them put you at peace because they are rich, deep and bottomless.” John’s free hand settled on her shoulder. “The sky when it is empty of clouds is boundless and bright blue. As if everything were possible.”

“Your eyes are blue, aren’t they John?”

“Well I picked blue as an example, but yes they are. Lucky guess.”

“No,” she denied. “You are all of those things.”

John opened his eyes. His hand moved from her shoulder to her chin. He stroked the creamy skin with the ball of his thumb and bent to kiss her gently on the lips. “Thank you,” he breathed as they pulled apart.

“So what happens now?”

“I hadn’t thought that far ahead.”

“Can I see you again?”

“Right to the point?”

Kerry laughed and squeezed his fingers.

John stroked the hair back from her eyes and cradled her cheek. Kerry trembled and he felt an answering flutter deep in his chest. See what I see. He guided her free hand to his lips and smiled.

*THE*END*