A Glancing Light

glide by.

Now, we were in the darkening Po Valley south of Milan; flat, rice-growing country with great, rectangular tracts of flooded land separated by long rows of poplars and willows. Power lines alongside the track bed zoomed and swooped. My eyelids started coming down. The magazine folded into my chest.

'Chris?'

'Mm?'

'That agreement of ours—to pick up where we were and just let things take their course. Does it mean we don't see other people, or doesn't it?'

'Go to bed with other people, you mean?' That was my aversion to ambiguity asserting itself again.

'Well, yes.'

I lowered the magazine. 'What's this? Do I detect a need to put things into nice little black-and-white boxes?'

 'Come on, I'm serious.'

'Tell me how you feel about it,' I said, treading carefully.

She looked out the window. We were whizzing through the only crossing of a tiny village. Bells clanged faintly. 'I suppose we shouldn't lay down any rules,' she said slowly. 'We're adults. We'll be thousands Of miles apart. If we feel like seeing other people, we should.'

'And if we don't feel like it, we shouldn't.'

 'Definitely.'

'Well,' I said, 'I don't think I feel like it.'

'Good,' she said with a sigh, 'I'm glad that's settled.' She stuffed the book into the pocket on the seatback in front of her, folded up the chair arm that was between us, and settled her head against my shoulder. 'I'm going to see if I can get some more sleep.'

'Hold it,' I said, pushing her off. 'What about you?'

 'What about me? Are you saying that just because you made a commitment, you think I'm obligated to make one, too? Is that the sort of relationship you picture us having?'

 'Damn right.'

'Chris, that kind of controlling relationship went out in the sixties. You're being manipulative.'

'Damn right. Well?'

She looked at me, head tilted, lips pursed, then forcefully pulled my arm against her, patted my shoulder down like a pillow, and settled in again.

'Well, you're lucky,' she said against my chest. 'As it happens I don't think I feel like it, either.'

About the Author

Aaron Elkins is the author of the Gideon Oliver series, one of which, Old Bones, won the Edgar Allan Poe Award as Best Mystery of the Year. He lives near Seattle, Washington, on the Olympic Peninsula. A Glancing Light is the second in his three-book series about art curator Chris Norgren.

His Web site is www.aaronelkins.com