as he was.
God knew where Brother Elias had gone.
Perhaps that was why he had started the novel. Loose ends were tied up in novels, everything had an easy explanation, pieces fit together logically. There were reasons for why things happened.
Actually, he was fairly proud of himself. He had started the novel less than a week ago, and already he had forty pages done. Forty good pages. He had never written so fast or so well before, and he had hopes that the book might find a publisher.
It was a horror novel.
Fred Astaire was dancing in front of a long line of turret guns on a navy ship. Gordon put his head in Marina's lap. He felt good.
Marina, he knew, was still having a lot of problems. She was depressed much of the time, and she was very worried about the baby, but that was understandable. Both of them were going to counseling now, and he had faith that they could work through their troubles. He pressed his ear to Marina's abdomen, and imagined he could hear, within her, the soft beating of another heart. He looked up at her. 'How do you feel?' he asked.
She smiled. 'I feel all right.'
'All right? Just all right?'
Her smile grew wider. 'Okay, then. Pretty good.'
He kissed her stomach, and she ran her fingers through his hair. He kissed her again, his arm moving around her midsection. He grinned up at her. 'Want me to kiss you somewhere else?'
She looked down on him, feigning innocence. 'On my forehead?'
'Lower.'
'On my lips?'
'One pair of lips.'
She laughed and hit him on the head.
'Ow.' He sat up, looked at her for a moment, then glanced at the TV.
'It's a boring movie anyway.'
'I like it. I want to find out what happens.'
'Fred gets the girl and they all live happily ever after.'
'The girl?'
'Okay, the woman.'
Marina pretended to think for a moment, then stood up. She switched off the TV. 'Come on,' she said. She grabbed his hand.
They walked toward the bedroom.
The preacher stood next to the on-ramp of Black Canyon Highway, holding out his thumb, smiling. His suitcase, photo album, and a bundle of pamphlets lay at his feet. His black-bound Bible was clutched under his arm. Although it was fairly warm out, he was wearing a gray business suit, complete with jacket and tie.
He continued smiling, infinitely patient, his black eyes watching the road for approaching traffic.
Several cars and trucks passed him by before a tan BuickLeSabre , heading west toward Los Angeles, stopped to offer him a ride.
