Fallen Gods

Eight

Sarah stood on the porch of the cabin. The sun was rising in the sky, its light glistening and dancing on the waters of the lake, and the day was becoming hot, yet she clutched herself as if she was shivering.

"It's taken a hell of an effort for you to come here, hasn't it?" Ron Neidholm murmured from behind her.

She glanced at him over her shoulder as he leaned against the frame of the open door. He was one of the biggest quarterbacks in football history, six feet five and two hundred and forty-five pounds according to the official website, and he seemed to fill it.

"Oh it has," she agreed. "At first, you know, I decided that I never wanted to see this place, the house where my parents were murdered.

Then gradually, I realised that I had to, if I was ever going to come to terms with it. It was really nice of you to offer to bring me up here; I could never have come on my own.

"Even with you alongside me, it wasn't easy; you probably didn't notice, but the closer we got along the road, the more I was trembling."

He reached out and touched her shoulder, then slipped his fingers through her auburn hair, and rubbed her neck gently, feeling her tension. "I noticed all right," he said, as he moved close behind her.

She leaned against him; her eyes closed as her head fell back against his chest. "How do you feel now?" he asked.

"I don't know," she whispered. "I feel that I should cry, but I can't.

At one point I thought I'd drench the place in gasoline and burn it to the ground, in a grand gesture, but now that I've seen it, I can't do that either. It's just so beautiful here."

"Beautiful, and isolated; and vulnerable."

"You don't need to remind me."

Feeling a small shudder run through her, he slid his arms around her and held her tight. "I'm sorry. It was stupid of me to say that.. but then I never did have a way with words."

She turned in his embrace, and looked up at him. "You didn't need it," she said, with a smile in her eyes, if not on her lips. "You had other ways."

"I still have, honey: I still have."

"I'll bet you do. And plenty of opportunity to use them too, I'll bet. In Britain or America, you foot ballers are all the same."

His face took on a mock frown. "Hey, I'm a national figure; I can't get up to stuff like that. Besides, when you get past the thirty mark, the groupies tend to pass you by."

"More fools them, I'm sure."

"Nah, they just assume there's a little wife at home, that's all. Most times they're right, too; most of my contemporaries have families."

"Have you ever been married, Ron?". "No. Not even close."

"Why not?"

"Football."

"That can't go on for ever."

"I know."

"What you said the other night, about maybe giving up… were you serious?"

"I'm always serious, Sarah, especially about you."

Sarah took a deep breath and looked up at him. "Ron, things have changed since we had our thing at college; apart from everything else,

I have three kids."

"Yeah, and great kids they are; I hope I can spend a little more time with them when I take you back." He glanced around the surrounding woods and out across the water. "Now you've finally seen this place, do you think you might keep it for them to enjoy?"

She gave a soft whistle, and smiled. "They might enjoy it, but it would be a nightmare for me. Mark isn't exactly an outdoor boy; he's a mathematician and a computer buff, and he's happy anywhere with a telephone line. But James Andrew is action boy personified. As soon as I turned my back on him he'd be halfway up a tree. As for Seonaid, it's early days yet, but she's showing signs of turning out the same way. No,

I haven't decided what to do with it yet. I have been toying with an idea, though, of giving it, or at least making it available to, an outfit that works with deprived inner-city kids. What do you think?"

"I think that would be very noble." He looked at the heavy logs that formed the walls. "The structure would make it pretty difficult to spray-paint, and they'd probably take their knives away before they brought them up here, so you wouldn't have gang symbols carved anywhere."

"Cynic," she laughed. She stepped back from him, holding on to his left hand. "Speaking of getting back to Buffalo," she said, 'as we were, how long have we got here? When should we be thinking about heading back to the airfield? I know you've been flying for a few years now, but we don't want to take any chance of doing it after dark.

Your plane isn't that big."

His face creased into a broad grin. "You know what the private pilot's greatest enemy is? Fog, that's what. Why, you can have what looks like a perfect day, just like this, yet the temperature can change just a degree or two and great banks of the damn stuff can appear out of nowhere. And when they do, only the big aircraft can fly."

Without warning he gazed out over the lake then pointed, with his free hand. "Hey, over there; I'm sure I can see a fog bank, can't you?"

She looked out over the shining water. "No', she replied. "I don't believe I can."

"What the hell," he chuckled. "It was worth a try. The stuff is so damned unpredictable after all."

"Yes, I've heard that. And you know what? I can be pretty damned unpredictable too." She held his hand against her face, and kissed it.

"If we'd been somewhere else, and the moment had been right, I might just have seen that fog bank. But not here, Ron; not here."