A Dish of Lime-Vanilla Ice - Scribe

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Note: This story is a reworking and expansion of a section of the excellent Ray Bradbury book, Dandelion Wine. It is highly recommended. Ray is one of the reasons I became a writer. His imagery cannot be duplicated, and he also gave me one of my first tastes of slash. Don't believe me? Read Something Wicked This Way Comes sometimes.

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1928
Green Town, Illinois - The Soda Shoppe

The bell over the door tinkled softly as Jacob entered the Soda Shoppe. Here we are, two, almost three, decades into the twentieth century, and they still use that old-fashioned spelling. Any child who added that extra 'p' and final 'e' would find himself smack out of the spelling bee, but still there it is, right up over the door, there to bamboozle the unwary who are just learning to spell, but haven't yet learned about affectation.

He looked down at the two children who were waiting to be led into the emporium--a boy of nine and girl of seven or so. These were polite children, and they were doing their best to show no impatience. After all, this rather odd grown-up was providing a treat--or he would be, if he ever went inside. "That's not how you spell it, you know," he told the boy. The boy nodded solemnly as the girl shifted from one foot to the other. Jacob knew that the boy was unlikely to have seen any sense in what he had just been told, but since Jacob was an adult, and a friendly, kind one at that, he wasn't about to start a debate.

He bowed, letting the little girl sail primly past him into the shop, wiggling his eyebrows at her companion's long-suffering look, and followed them into the cool interior. He held one white, wrought iron chair for the girl, damping down his amusement when she had to strain on tiptoe, then hop, to get onto the seat. He joined the children at the table as the soda jerk, resplendent in a white apron (which bore only faint traces of brown and pink), and a crisp, cocked paper cap, approached. "Afternoon, Mister Jacob. You fixing to treat these urchins again?"

The girl gasped in indignation, preparing to tell the upstart soda jerk exactly what her mother would think of her child being called an urchin, when Jacob said smoothly, "This lady and this gentleman most kindly helped me rake up the lawn trimmings, and have thus earned their reward." The children didn't see the wink, or the faint nod at the grass wisps in their hair that hinted that the clippings had been redistributed by vigorous rolling.

The soda jerk grinned. "Right you are! What'll it be?" The two children were prompt in their order--a strawberry soda for her, and a chocolate sundae (with whipped cream, nuts, sprinkles, and a cherry) for him. "And you, sir?" He waited, smiling faintly. Young Mister Jacob hadn't been in town all that long, but he already had a routine. He'd listen to the recitation of their frozen treats, and stop him when one sounded interesting. He never had the same one twice.

"Oh, I don't know. Tell me what you have, and I'll know it when I hear it."

The clerk rolled his eyes upward and began to recite. "Chocolate, vanilla, strawberry, cherry-vanilla, coffee, chocolate ripple, fresh peach. Maple-nut, rocky road, and buttered pecan. Any of those plain, in a sundae, or in a soda."

"Yawn."

"Lime, orange, pineapple and raspberry sherbet. This is the deepest you've gone into the list."

"Keep going."

"Frozen banana. Strawberry ice, cherry ice, lime-vanilla ice..."

"Stop!" Jacob held up his hand. He looked thoughtful, and repeated the words slowly. "Lime-vanilla ice."

"Don't get much call for that one."

Jacob nodded decisively. "A dish of lime-vanilla ice, please."

As the clerk went to fill the order, a soft voice said, "Well, now--an adventurer." Surprised, Jacob turned. He hadn't noticed the man until he spoke. Studying him, Jacob wasn't really surprised that he hadn't.

The man was sitting in the deepest corner of the shop, the area furthest from the bright sunlight that spilled through the large shop windows. He was a small man, huddled in his chair, as if trying to avoid notice. With his iron gray hair and his pale gray suit, he almost blended into the scant shadows. The only thing remarkable about him was his eyes. At first Jacob thought they were gray, too, then he thought they were silver--finally he knew that they were blue--ice blue, and very alive. Jacob noted that there was a partially eaten dish of very pale green ice cream sitting in front of him; the spoon lay neatly on a paper napkin.

Jacob shrugged good-naturedly. "I'll have time enough in my life to cherish the long familiar. Right now I enjoy trying new things."

"An admirable attitude in one so young. Why don't you and your companions join me, and we'll talk about such things as unusual ice creams, and meeting interesting strangers?"

Jacob glanced questioningly at the children. The boy nodded. "That's Mister Edmonds--he's all right."

"Your word is good enough for me, for you are a man of discernment," Jacob said, standing. He called to the busy soda jerk, "We'll be having ours over there," received a nod, and followed the children to the corner table.

He once again held the chair for the little girl, while their companion waited patiently and politely for her to be seated. Jacob was a little surprised that Edmonds remained sitting--he struck Jacob as an old-fashioned, courtly sort. He shrugged mentally as he and the boy sat. Maybe he was of the set that felt they needn't waste the finer manners on children.

But that's not right either, he thought as Edmonds gravely inquired after the children's families and how they were enjoying summer vacation. He spoke as if he was genuinely interested. The children, who were more perceptive of being patronized than most patronizing adults would realize, responded to the man's honest friendliness with openness.

The order arrived, the children were quickly preoccupied with their treats, and Edmonds turned his pale eyes toward Jacob. "I believe they'll be busy for awhile." He gestured toward Jacob's dish with his spoon. "Now, will you be brave enough to try what you were adventurous enough to seek out?"

Jacob gave Edmonds a small smile. "There isn't much I back down from, sir." Jacob regarded the two pale, pale green scoops in his dish, leaning over to take a sniff.

Edmonds smiled again. "The tiny green flecks are grated lime rind."

Jacob squinted at the ice, leaning closer. Sure enough, now that he looked he could see the infinitesimal dots of darker green, and the faint citrus smell teased his nostrils. "I believe I'm going to like this." He dipped up a bit and slipped it into his mouth, then sat back and let the burst of cold and flavor fill him.

Edmonds was smiling. "Not too sweet. The lime balances out the vanilla, keeps it from being insipid. Can you taste the mint?"

Jacob considered, then shook his head as he swallowed. "It's delicious, but I don't notice any mint."

"No?" Edmonds sounded disappointed. "I suppose it must be my imagination." His voice grew faint. "That's what Katherine says, anyway."

"Katherine?"

"My wife," he said briefly. "She should be back soon--she never wants to keep me out long. I'll introduce you, if you're still here."

Jacob pictured a sweet-faced, gray haired woman, a charming match to this dignified older man. They'd probably been married for decades. He could imagine her fussing over the obviously frail man, perhaps coaxing him to take medicine, or bringing a throw for his legs on chilly evenings. It was a pleasant image to contemplate, but one that was quickly shattered.

The children finished their treats, and Jacob tactfully gave them leave to go about their business--before they could become restless. He stayed, drawing patterns with his spoon in the last drops of melted ice as he talked to Edmonds. As a journalist, Jacob could talk to almost anyone, but he knew that sometimes you met someone and, for no good reason, you just--clicked. That's how it was with Edmonds.

They discussed dozens of different topics, moving easily from one subject to another. Jacob respected and liked the people of Green Town, but they weren't as a whole very highly educated, or well traveled--Edmonds was both. It was a delight to be able to hold a conversation with an intellectual equal. Jacob was so engrossed in the conversation that he paid no attention to the comings and goings of other patrons. The woman's voice behind him took him by surprise. "Well, Jeff, I see that you haven't been bored in my absence this time."

"Not at all, Kathy. Allow me to present Jacob..." Edmonds smiled. "I'm afraid I don't even know your last name."

"Schulman." Jacob stood up, turning to greet his new friend's wife. For a brief moment he was certain that he'd misunderstood Edmonds, and that this handsome woman She can't be more than thirty, thirty-two at most was the older man's daughter.

But as she shook his hand, she smiled coolly and said, "Thank you for amusing my husband, Mister Schulman. Jeff will insist on accompanying me on my expeditions, when he knows that he isn't up to the strain of traipsing around to the shops. He always ends up here or at the cafe while Cyrus and I continue on."

Cyrus had to be the large, bald black man standing behind her, his arms full of parcels. He was studying Edmonds with dark, shrewd eyes, and Jacob knew instantly that he was responsible for most of the sickly man's care. He was checking over his charge, estimating his condition with the ease of long familiarity. When he looked at Jacob, his gaze was friendly, and approving. He'd decided that his charge had benefited, rather than suffered, through the time he'd spent with this strange young man.

Cyrus' voice was a quiet rumble. "Mister Edmonds, sir, did you remember to take your pill?"

Edmonds gestured at a glass sitting beside his empty dish. "Yes, and I drank the full glass of water, you slave driver."

Jacob almost winced at the term, but Cyrus just smiled. "That's good. Maybe you can keep your dinner down this evening."

"Well, I'm not surprised he has such trouble with it." Katherine's tone was pettish. She looked at Jacob. "Cyrus has to prepare two meals--one for him and one for me. He insists on eating the most bland, tasteless pap you could imagine."

There was a glint in Edmonds' eyes that said he dearly wanted to respond to this. But a gentleman did not argue with his wife in public, so he merely said, "You don't have to eat it, Kathy." He gestured toward Cyrus' load. "You found everything you wanted?"

She ignored the faint sarcasm. "I was quite successful. Of course this town is hopelessly backward when it comes to style. I'll be taking a trip to Chicago next month to choose my winter wardrobe," she told Jacob. She smiled for the first time. "Two weeks of civilization! I go twice a year, and sometimes I think those trips are the only thing that keeps me sane." She glanced at Edmonds. "Some day I just might not come back."

There's no teasing in her tone, Jacob thought, shocked. She means it.

Edmonds ignored it. "We should get back."

Cyrus looked up alertly, stepping forward. "You're getting a headache again, aren't you?" Edmonds nodded slowly, and even Jacob, who hadn't known him long, could see the lines of pain and tension in his face.

Cyrus offered the armload of packages to Katherine, who raised one graceful eyebrow. "You must be joking. I am not a pack animal." She carried nothing except a dainty handbag, looped over her arm.

"Miz Edmonds, I need to get Mister Edmonds back to the house quickly."

"I don't know why we didn't take the car in the first place. I mean, I know that we live nearby, but the very idea of walking is so... so common. Besides, I wanted to go back to the milliner's and talk to her about my Easter hat. I have to be sure that she doesn't make anything like it for any of the other women, and..."

"Miz Edmonds! I need you to take these so I can get your husband home and to bed."

She gestured impatiently. "Oh, just pile them in his lap!"

Jacob was startled by this bizarre statement, but when he looked back at Edmonds it became clear. Jacob had just assumed that he was sitting on one of the parlor's chairs. Now he could see that the chair that would have been in his place at the table was pushed over against the wall--Edmonds was sitting in a wheelchair. It was a fine vehicle, with gleaming bars and a leather seat and handles, but it was still a wheelchair, and Jacob realized that his new friend was even more sickly than he had first thought.

Cyrus was saying stiffly, "I can't do that. He may have one of his spells coming on, and you know he wouldn't be able to handle..."

"I'll take them."

Cyrus had almost forgotten the other man. He looked at Jacob Schulman with a bit of surprise, then nodded in approval and acceptance. "That would be most kind of you, sir."

Even as Jacob took the packages Katherine was moving toward the door, saying, "Yes, how sweet. Thank you so much, young man. Jeffrey, I'll be back this evening. Don't bother to wait dinner on me."

The woman's careless attitude when her husband was so obviously ill was shocking, but when Jacob looked at Cyrus, who had maneuvered Edmonds chair out away from the wall, the big man just shook his head in silent admonition. "You need your sunshades, Mister Edmonds?"

"Please." The single word was sharp with pain. Cyrus took a pair of spectacles made of dark, smoked glass from his breast pocket. Edmonds reached for them, but his hand was trembling so badly that he missed his first grasp. Cyrus placed them on his face, his touch sure, and gentle, and Edmonds sighed in evident relief. "Thank you. It's so bright today."

Jacob glanced around the shop as they headed for the door. Bright? It's shadowy in here. If this bothers his eyes, he's going to need those shades outside.

He did. The moment they stepped out onto the pavement, into the bright sunlight, Edmonds covered his eyes and moaned softly. Cyrus began to move quickly, moving as fast as he dared to without risking turning the chair over. "You just hang on, Jeff. It's three blocks, you can hold on that long."

Even slowed by his caution for his passenger, Cyrus moved so quickly that Jacob had to trot to keep up with him. "Cyrus, do you need me to go for a doctor? Doctor Gamble has offices just a few blocks over--I could probably get there by the time you arrived home."

Cyrus threw him a glance. "Thanks, son, but he should be all right if I can get him somewhere cool, dark, and quiet. It might come to that later, but let's just try the standard remedies first." His voice lowered. "He hates doctors."

"I heard that. Not as individuals, I don't. I just don't like being poked and prodded. Damn busy-bodies will test a man beyond his limit, and even then the most they can do is make an educated guess." Edmonds' tone was bitter.

"Sound like you have a little bit of a history there," Jacob ventured.

"You have no idea, young man. If this acquaintance continues, I'll tell you about it sometime."

Cyrus turned off the sidewalk, going into a gap in a decorative flowered hedge that girded a large yard. Jacob followed Cyrus down a flagstone walk to a spacious two-story house of mellow brick. There was a ramp beside the front steps, and Cyrus moved the wheelchair up it quickly but deftly, showing no effort. He swung the chair around, putting Edmonds' back to the door as he unlocked it. He opened the door, then drew the chair backward into the dim hallway. "I'm taking you to the back parlor," he said.

"No, take me to my room." Cyrus was still moving down the hall, and Jacob followed. Edmonds' voice was sharp with pain and irritation. "I said I want to go to my room!"

"What are you trying to do--show off for your new friend? There's no reason to put yourself through that strain, and here we are, anyway." They'd arrived at a small, neatly furnished room. It was cool and shadowy, since the back of the house was sheltered by a spreading elm tree. There was a wide divan against one wall, and Cyrus pushed the chair there.

Edmonds started to try to struggle to his feet, and Cyrus quickly scooped him into his strong arms. "Damn it, Cyrus, I'm not a cripple!"

"You will be if you don't accept help when you need it. Now, will you stop being a stubborn ass before I drop you?" Edmonds stopped protesting, and allowed himself to be settled onto the divan. Cyrus tucked a pillow under his head. "Am I going to need to call the doctor?"

Edmonds was silent for a moment, and Jacob could tell that he was assessing himself. Finally Edmonds shook his head. "No--I think I'll be all right." He sighed deeply. "Besides, all he can think of to do is give me drugs, and I won't have that."

Cyrus studied him closely, then nodded. "I'll go get you a cold compress--that usually helps." He turned to see Jacob standing in the doorway, arms still loaded. "I'm sorry, sir. I nearly forgot about you. You can just leave those on the table there." A tinge of bitterness crept into his voice. "She can bring them to her room herself later."

Jacob was laying the packages on the table. "No problem." He smiled at Edmonds. "I suppose I ought to go and let you rest."

"I'd like you to stay awhile, if there isn't anywhere you have to be," Edmonds said faintly. Then he snorted. "What a gracious invitation. Please, sit and visit for awhile."

"Happy to." Jacob pulled a chair a little closer to the divan. "Do you get these spells often?"

"More than I'd like."

Jacob blushed. "I'm sorry--that was rude."

"No, it wasn't--it was honest. You're curious, and I can't blame you. I'll tell you about it, but not now." He sighed. "I'm not up to it now." He turned his head slightly toward the door, cocking his head. "Cyrus will be bringing some tea in a few moments, and I expect he'll bring an extra cup for you." His nostrils flared slightly, and he continued, "Have you ever had ginseng tea before?"

"As a matter of fact, I have. One of my friends at college was an Oriental Studies major, and he got me to be quite fond of it."

"Good." Edmonds took off the glasses, and handed them to Jacob, who laid them on the table. "I've become rather addicted to a wide variety of teas, and there aren't too many who are interested in joining me in my indulgences. Anything more exotic than Earl Grey or Orange Pekoe is beyond them." He smiled faintly. "It's rare to find anyone these days who's willing to try something exotic. That's what made me notice you. You weren't just willing to try something new--you were eager. I said to myself, anyone who can order a dish of something as un-ordinary as lime-vanilla ice with never a hesitation is someone worth knowing."

"I hope you won't be disappointed."

"I won't."

Cyrus came into the room, carrying a tray. "Jeff, I went ahead and made you some tea. I know you usually wait till later in the afternoon, but sometimes you get nauseous after one of your spells, and I made the ginseng--that usually helps. Mister Schulman, I brought a cup for you, also, if you like."

"That's most welcome, Cyrus. And if I'm going to call you by your first name, don't you think that you should call me Jacob?"

Cyrus looked a little surprised, and Jacob understood. It was rare these days for a white man to call a colored man by anything other than his first name. Most people around here would sooner call their dog Mister or Miss, Jacob thought. Aloud, he said, "I notice that you call Mister Edmonds by his Christian name."

"Not in public," Cyrus said shortly. "The only reason I did just now is that I was concentrating on getting him comfortable..."

"And the picky details of what is socially acceptable were less important, as they should be. Please."

Cyrus studied him for a long moment, then nodded slowly. "All right--when it's just we three here. Quite frankly, Jacob, I'd rather not have to deal with the reactions of people who are less open minded than you two."

"I understand. You can go on about whatever you need to do." Jacob took a damp, folded cloth off the tray and laid it over Edmonds' forehead. "I'll see to him for now."

Cyrus looked at Edmonds, who nodded. "All right, then. I think I'll give that front lawn a quick once over, then. It's starting to look a little shaggy." He left.

Edmonds sighed. "He doesn't have to do that. I've told him time and again that I'll hire a lawn man, but he says that he likes to think while he's mowing."

Jacob was pouring out tea. "There's honey and sugar here. Which do you take?"

"Neither--he put those on the tray in case you wanted them. Just put a splash of cream in it. Usually I take it plain, but I'm afraid the flavor might be too strong today."

Jacob handed the cup over, and Jeffrey sipped the tea gingerly, using his free hand to hold the cloth on his forehead. Jacob poured his own tea, and they drank in silence for a few moments. He was a little surprised to find that he didn't mind the silence. People you can sit quietly with are much rarer than those you can talk to, and those you can do both with are rarer still. It looks like Jeffrey Edmonds is one of the rare ones.

Jeffrey handed the empty cup to Jacob. "That's helped." He sighed and settled back against the divan, closing his eyes. "Tell me about yourself, Jacob."

"Wouldn't you rather take a nap?"

"Oh, I expect I will," he said, offhand. "And you're not to be offended if I doze off. It's not from lack of interest, I assure you. It's just that these incidents take a lot out of me."

"What do you want to know? I haven't led a very interesting life."

"Everything, and you don't know where my interests lie. I may find you fascinating."

Jacob couldn't help smiling as he began to talk. He gave Jeffrey a brief account of his life. The older man smiled when Jacob related how his mother, the only suffragette in their town, had chained herself to the front door of city hall, and how she'd had a temper-tantrum when the constable, her cousin, had refused to arrest her. He opened his eyes when Jacob got to the year he'd spent at Oxford, and chuckled when the young man told of how easy it was to get free beer in the pubs "as soon as they realized that I was used to American beer, which is much weaker, and would get drunk very quickly."

He had reached his assignment to the Green Town Clarion when he realized that Jeffrey was asleep. He sat for a moment, watching the shallow rise and fall of the other man's chest. He studied Jeffrey, and came to the conclusion that he must have been an impressive man when he was young, and well. Now that he was lying, instead of sitting hunched, you could see the height, and the breadth of shoulders. He was handsome, too. He still is, Jacob thought. His features were a little gaunt, and lined with pain and tiredness, but the bones were beautifully sculpted. The hair was short and iron gray, but it looked as soft and sleek as a cat's fur.

Jacob took a folded afghan from the back of the divan and spread it over the sleeping man, then quietly went into the hall. The scent of cut grass was sweet and sharp outside, and Cyrus was just finishing a strip near the porch. As Jacob came down the steps, he stopped pushing the rotary mower and pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, mopping beads of sweat from his shining scalp. "He's asleep." It was a statement rather than a question.

"Yes. He's much better, and I'm afraid I talked him to sleep."

Cyrus grunted. "Don't belittle yourself. A good conversation is better than a raft of doctors sometimes. Jeff was never a social butterfly, but a man needs human contact. He can't get out much, since he's gotten sick."

"He has you, and his wife."

Cyrus' expression tightened. "I'm not enough, and she's worse than nothing." He gave Jacob a defiant look. When he saw that he wasn't going to be dressed down for speaking disrespectfully of his employer's wife, he relaxed a little more.

Jacob put his hands in his pockets. "Just tell me if I'm prying, but is this his second marriage?"

"Yes, you're prying, but I don't give a damn--you're interested in him. And no, this is the first time 'round for both of them, though she doesn't take it too seriously."

"Well, I guess that's pretty likely, when you marry someone so much younger than you are. Still, it's no excuse for her to..."

"So much...? Son, there's no more than two or three years difference between those two."

Jacob blinked. "She's... remarkably well preserved for a woman her age."

"Oh, I see." Cyrus gestured at his own bare head. "The gray hair, the lines on his face, the frailty. Jacob, Jeffrey Edmonds is forty-five years old."

Jacob was stunned. "I... I thought..."

"You thought he was at least twenty years older than that--I know. He's lived here all his life, and people still tend to think that. They treat him like that, too." Cyrus' voice was hard. "Like he's old and feeble-minded, as well as feeble-bodied. Jacob, if you could have seen him even five years ago..." He stopped. "He'll tell you about it, if he wants you to know."

"If he wants to see me at all. I wasn't a very stimulating companion."

"Do you want to see him again?"

Jacob didn't hesitate. "Yes, I do," he said firmly.

"Good. Then you don't wait for an invitation--you just drop around in a day or two. We're here, almost all the time. You'll be welcome--I'll stake a year of my life on that. Now, I'd offer to drive you wherever you need to go, but..."

"No, it's okay. That's the good thing about Green Town--just about everything is in walking distance if you aren't lazy. I need to go down to the paper for a few minutes, anyway."

"Then I can tell him to expect you?"

Jacob nodded. "Tomorrow." He was deep in thought while he made his way along the sidewalk, and a few of the townspeople remarked on his distraction. Jacob Schulman was a friendly soul, who always had a smile or a cheerful word. He must be deeper than they'd thought, they decided, to look so pensive.

At the paper he went down to the morgue. The clerk in charge just waved at him and continued to file clippings. The Clarion's most junior journalist knew his way around the records, and could be trusted to put them back in order when he was done.

Jacob knew exactly what he was looking for, and it only took him a few moments to find it. He pulled the thick folder of Society articles for 1922 and took it to one of the tables. Pulling a pair of round-framed spectacles from his jacket pocket, he perched them on his nose and began to leaf through the pages of newsprint. Finally he stopped, staring down at the folder.

The picture was large, even for a small town paper that liked to flatter its local upper class--it filled the upper quarter of the page. It was a formal studio portrait of a handsome man in his mid-thirties. He was dressed in a tasteful sack suit, but the usually baggy garment couldn't conceal the shapely, hard body. His head was held high and proud, but there was a hint of humor about the wide, chiseled mouth. Even in the gray tones of the newsprint, you could tell that his eyes were light, and Jacob felt as if they saw him.

During his first week on the Clarion he'd been assigned what amounted to journalistic scut work, covering all the routine announcements that the two other writers were too busy (or lazy) to trouble with. It had been a space filler about a donation to a local clinic. Jeffrey Jerome Edmonds had provided the funds that would be used to purchase badly needed testing equipment. Jacob had expected to interview the patron, but he'd been told that Mr. Edmonds was reclusive, and he'd just have to pull a photograph from the files to accompany the story. This was the most recent picture he'd been able to find. He'd been immediately struck by the man, and found that he regretted not being able to meet him in person.

He'd written the piece, and gone on with his work, and two days later he'd found himself once again in the morgue, staring at the same picture. He'd gone there at least twice a week for the last year, telling himself that it had to be the height of stupidity--to fall in love with a man he'd never even seen in the flesh.

When he'd met Jeffrey at the soda parlor he'd been a little startled by the name. Then he'd assumed that this fragile, elderly man must be the father of the enigma that so fascinated him. As they'd talked, he'd become even more convinced that he could love the man in the picture, if he was anything at all like his new friend. Now...

Jacob traced the lines of the handsome, haunting face in the picture, thinking that it might be wiser if he never went back to the quiet, shadowy house, and knowing that he would go. "What," he whispered, "am I getting myself into?"

*****

Jacob went to work as usual the next day, but the editor told him that he wished he'd brought his brain along with him. "That's two errors you've missed in your copy, Schulman, and it isn't even lunchtime yet. What's gotten into you? I thought it was only the children who gave their brains vacation during the summer."

Jacob apologized and promised to be more careful--and he was. He took his job seriously, and didn't want to do anything to jeopardize his position with the paper. He hoped to work for a big city press in the future, but Green Town was an excellent place to cut his journalistic milk teeth, and he knew that he was lucky to have this job. But it wasn't easy staying focused.

Jeffrey Edmonds kept wandering through his mind at odd moments. He should be in his prime. What could have brought the man in that photograph to this present condition? He'd looked so hale and healthy, like he could just eat life.

He spent his lunchtime strolling around the small downtown area, munching a sandwich, hoping to run into Edmonds and Cyrus. No luck. Of course not. After yesterday he'll need a day or two to recuperate, he thought, brushing crumbs from his hands. He was in the drugstore, and he thought that this ought to be a stellar place to gather gossip.

The druggist was a chatty soul, and he was happy to have a natter with Green Town's youngest journalist while his assistant took care of business. "And I'd just like to thank you for the outstanding coverage you've been giving the Green Town Beautification Council. My wife is chairwoman, and she's been a lot mellower since her name appeared in the paper a couple of times."

"The ladies on the committee do a great service to the community. Those lampposts were getting rather seedy looking, till they raised the money to have them repainted. Say, I was just wondering... Your family is hooked into the service organizations. How active is the Edmonds family?"

"Edmonds? Let me think... Um, Katherine is active in the toy drive at Christmas, and she provides a food basket once a month." He lowered his voice, "Though to tell you the truth, I'm pretty sure that she has the colored man who works for her fix it." He held up his hands. "Not that there's anything wrong with that. I'm sure that any woman who could afford to hire help would do the same. And she arranges flowers every other month for altar decoration in the First Presbyterian. Then there's the garden club. Other than that, she just attends the usual rounds of bridge parties and teas."

"What about Mister Edmonds?"

The druggist looked surprised, as if he'd forgotten that such a person existed. "Jeffrey? Oh, he doesn't participate in community affairs--he's much too ill."

"I met him yesterday. He does seem to be semi-invalid."

"Yes, yes, it's very sad. You know, back before the Great War, he was one of our leading citizens. There wasn't a community project that he wasn't involved in." He smiled nostalgically. "He coached one of the youth baseball teams--the Pumas. Led them to county victory." He shook his head, expression becoming lugubrious. "It's very sad, that such a fine, vigorous man should fall so low."

"What is his illness?"

"It's his heart," he said promptly. "He has to take medicine to keep the pace steady, and he has to be careful not to strain himself." Now the druggist looked puzzled. "But you know, it's the funniest thing--I have half a dozen patients on exactly the same prescription, and none of them are as... as incapacitated as Edmonds. There must be something else wrong, but I'll be blamed if I know what it is. He doesn't take any other drugs. Cyrus comes in occasionally for aspirin and alcohol and such like, but never any real medicine." He shook his head again, then looked around, as if he was about to impart a great secret, and wanted to be sure of privacy. "That Katherine thinks a lot of herself, but I never knew Jeffrey to put on airs. But do you know that he has me special order a particular brand of shaving soap for him?" He chuckled. "One with special softeners in it. I suppose his skin is too sensitive for the regular brands." There was a hint, just a trace, of good-natured derision in the man's tone--as if he was discussing some foppish dandy.

Jacob managed to finish out his day without disgracing himself, and at two-thirty he found himself standing on the front steps of Jeffrey Edmond's home, tapping on the door. He almost left before the door was answered, but he told himself that would be like the old children's prank of ringing a doorbell and running. He was glad that he didn't when Cyrus gave him a wide smile. "I was hoping you'd come by. He's been feeling a little restless, wanting to go back downtown, and he's not up to it yet. I think he was hoping to run into you. Come on in."

He led Jacob through the house, saying, "He's in the back garden. It's cool enough for him in the shade, and he doesn't get enough chances to be outdoors. I set a second chair out there," he slid Jacob a glance, "just in case someone dropped by."

Jeffrey was sitting in a comfortably padded chair, under a huge elm tree. When he saw Cyrus and Jacob approaching, he sat a bit straighter, and Jacob could have sworn that his eyes lighted up. "Ah, my young friend with the adventurous tastes! Please, have a seat." As Blair settled into a chair beside him, he said, "I apologize for drifting off on you yesterday."

"No apologies necessary. I know you didn't do it to be rude. Are you feeling better now?"

Jeffrey grimace, then sighed. "About as well as I ever do." He regarded Jacob with sharp eyes, then said, "You're wearing a different cologne today, aren't you? That one yesterday was--mmm, citrus. It smelled of limes. At first I thought it was the lime-vanilla ice, but then I realized differently."

Surprised by the abrupt change of subject, Jacob said, "Yes, I am. I'd used the last of that other, and opened the bottle that my landlady gave me for Christmas."

"I like this one better. It's woodsy--makes you smell as if you've been taking a walk in the autumn air."

Jacob looked at the surrounding beds of thickly planted flowers, all in lush bloom, and throwing off heavy scents. "Jeffrey, how can you tell? I know that it's not very strong--that's one of the reasons I like it--and I only used a dab early this morning."

"I don't know," Jeffrey said vaguely. "There are just some things I'm more aware of. Tell me more about your stay at Oxford. I was over in England for awhile, back during the Great War."

Jacob let himself be distracted from the previous subject. Jeffrey had been a captain in the Army, and had spent some days in London before going into battle. He only wanted to talk about the time he'd spent in England, and Jacob couldn't blame him. He supposed that if he'd ever been in combat, he'd be eager to forget it also.

"Excuse me." They looked up from their conversation to find Cyrus on the back steps. "I was just wondering if Jacob was going to stay for dinner."

Jacob looked around, and suddenly realized that the shadows had lengthened. It was almost dusk. "I wouldn't want to..."

"Don't start with that 'don't bother' nonsense," Jeffrey interrupted. "Cyrus will enjoy having a guest. My diet is getting more limited all the time, and Katherine is seldom here for the evening meal. He enjoys cooking, and this will give him an excuse." Cyrus was nodding in agreement, lips quirked in an almost smile.

"In that case I'd be happy to. I'll just want to call home to let them know I won't be there."

"Fine." Jeffrey slowly pushed himself to his feet. "There's a phone in the front hall. Jacob, if you'd give me your arm? I'm still a bit uncertain of my knees."

Jacob put an arm around Jeffrey to support him, and they slowly walked into the house. Jacob reflected that the man's back was still broad, though he now stooped a little. I wish I'd met him before he became ill. He must have been magnificent. Jeffrey turned his head suddenly, pale eyes searching Jacob's face, and the younger man had the mortifying sense that he was reading his mind. Jacob had known since adolescence that, though he liked and desired women, he found men much more attractive.

He also knew that this was something he'd probably never act on. The risks were simply too great. He'd always tried to be careful not to show any undue interest in members of his own sex, and it hadn't been all that difficult--till he'd found the photograph. And even now that the subject of his sultry daydreams had been revealed to be older and frailer--the initial feeling hadn't changed--Jacob was still attracted. Because it's the person inside the shell, the spirit I can see looking out of the eyes that I'm attracted to. The man hasn't changed, no matter what's happened to his body.

Jacob settled Jeffrey at the kitchen table, then quickly made his phone call. People were beginning to take the telephone for granted, but Jacob still marveled at the way you could speak in one place, and have wires deliver your voice somewhere else. He had a pet theory that some day someone would invent a way to transfer sound without the wires, and people would be able to contact each other from anywhere. "Maybe from little machines they carry around with them," he'd told the children. He'd only spoken of this to the children, because he didn't care to get a reputation as a crackpot, and even the children had scoffed. One of them had said that why didn't he go ahead and dream of flying to the moon? That was just as likely.

When he returned to the kitchen, Cyrus was frying chicken while Jeffrey sat at the table, peeling potatoes. Jeffrey pointed the knife at him. "You're not to tell Katherine about this. She has fits about me doing 'women's work', not that she'd do it."

"Since when is she a woman?" said Cyrus sourly.

"Cyrus..."

"I know, but she doesn't have a woman's heart, Jeff, and you know it. How many evenings has she spent at home in the last year? If I was going to count them on my fingers and toes, I wouldn't even have to take off both shoes."

Jeffrey's eyes narrowed. He flicked a glance at Jacob and said coolly, "I thought that Monday was the day you did dirty laundry, Cyrus."

Jacob changed the touchy subject by gesturing to the pots on the stove. "Two kinds of chicken for supper?"

"Cyrus is making his spicy fried chicken for you. I, alas, can't handle the seasonings. I'll be having creamed chicken." He didn't sound very enthused.

"Does your condition affect your senses, Jeff?" The knife paused in its passage over a potato, but Jeff didn't look up, keeping his eyes on his hands. "I don't mean to pry, but it's just a few things I've noticed. Like detecting the different flavors in the ice cream yesterday, and now hearing that you have to eat bland foods because you can't handle the seasonings. Then there's noticing the difference in my cologne without having to put your nose against my neck, even among all those flower scents. There's your sensitive vision, and I hear that you have to have a special shaving soap, so I'm guessing that your skin--your sense of touch is sensitive, too. Yesterday, I'm sure that you heard Cyrus fixing the tea all the way out here, and then you smelled that it was ginseng." The silence continued, and now he could see that Cyrus' back was ramrod straight with disapproval. "I... I'm sorry if I'm prying, but I already consider you a friend, and I'm concerned."

Jeff finished peeling the last strip of skin off the potato, dropping it in a basin. "Cyrus, these are ready to be rinsed." Cyrus silently took the bowel, giving Jacob a stare that made him wince. "Stop that! Quit shooting daggers at the boy." Cyrus grunted, but his expression softened marginally as he took the potatoes to the sink. "Don't mind him, Jacob. He's more protective of me than my mother ever was." He sighed, studying the younger man closely. Finally he said, "What have you heard?"

Jacob considered denying that he'd been poking around, but took one look at Jeffrey's steady blue eyes and said, "Not much. The druggist said you have a heart condition, but I can't believe that's your only problem."

"Damnation," Jeff said mildly. "I knew he was as bad a gossip as any old woman. Yes, I have a heart condition. It's hereditary, but my father and grandfather both had it, and lived normal, productive lives. I," he swallowed. "I've had--complications." Cyrus, ever alert to Jeffrey's needs, silently brought a glass of water, and the older man took a few slow sips before he continued. "Jacob, before I go any farther, I need to be sure of you. I have no desire to provide grist for the gossip mill in Green Town--it functions quite well without my input."

Jacob laid his right hand over his heart. "Not a word will go past these walls, I swear."

Jeffrey seemed to consider this, then nodded. "This goes back a long way--to my childhood. I started getting the spells then, when I was around six or seven. Normal light would glare, colors were so vivid that they hurt my eyes, the faintest aromas choked me, the mildest flavors gagged me. My clothing was so rough that it made me want to tear my skin off. Whispers might as well have been shouts." His voice dropped. "I had a dog--Buster. He was allowed to sleep on a rug at the foot of my bed. When I told my mother that his heartbeat was keeping me awake at night, they finally took me to the doctor." He shook his head. "There were months of tests. I spent days on end in the hospital--alone. My parents had their social obligations to keep up, and didn't have the time to sit around a hospital with a sick child." His eyes were haunted. "Do you have any idea what that's like for a child?"

"No. I never went through that, thank God. But I can imagine, and I imagine that it was Hell," Jacob said, saddened by the pain that the young Jeffrey had to endure.

"I was a sick child, but I wasn't a stupid one--I listened to the adults." He smiled bitterly. "That's one mistake most grownups make--thinking they can talk freely in front of children, because they won't understand. I realized that since the doctors couldn't find any physical reason for my condition, they were leaning toward mental or emotional instability. They were suggesting that my parents consider sending me to a 'rest home'."

"Jesus! Oh, uh, sorry, but that is so wrong!" Jacob was horrified by the idea that the adults responsible for caring for that long ago little boy had been considering warehousing him.

Jeffrey smiled thinly. "It's all right--it didn't happen. I got better." His expression tightened. "I forced myself to recover. It was an act of sheer will. I fought down the spells till they just stopped coming. As far as my parents and the doctors were concerned, it was just some bizarre phase that I'd outgrown. I was perfectly normal--till the war."

He sighed. "I guess I shouldn't have been surprised that it came back then. Battlefield life was just so intense. All your senses were overwhelmed, what with the cold and damp, the rotten food, the constant bang of the artillery and flash of exploding shells. It was almost constant chaos. But I did all right until that one particular shelling."

He rubbed his eyes. "A blast landed practically on top of my station. There were fifteen men in that particular trench when it collapsed--I was the only one that survived, and I almost didn't make it. I was buried under mud and dead bodies for four days. I lost track of the time, of course. It could have been weeks or hours for all I knew, but they told me it was four days. The only reason I wasn't killed was that one of the boards that we used to shore up the sides of the ditch sheltered me a little. It kept most of the weight off me so that I wasn't crushed, and there was a small space around my face so that I could breath. I lapped up the muddy rainwater that trickled in around me, so I didn't die. But I lost almost twenty pounds, and I was catatonic when they found me."

His gaze grew distant. "They almost left me on the pile of corpses they'd dug out, but one of the corpsmen noticed that my chest was rising and falling. I was dead to the world for another two days, and they were ready to ship me home and drop me in a root cellar as a vegetable, but one of the doctors just didn't want to give up on me. He spent his little spare time just talking to me..." Jeff shrugged, "and I finally heard him, and came back. There was talk about putting me back on the line in a week or two, but the doctor ripped into a few people, and they sent me home." He was quiet, then said, "I almost wish they hadn't. The spells were back, and worse than ever. They've been increasing steadily in frequency and severity over the past few years."

Jacob considered this, then said, "It doesn't sound like the shell shock that other veterans have suffered." He'd seen enough men afflicted with that--the ones who flinched at the slightest noise, or started if someone moves suddenly.

"No, it's not shell shock--it's whatever I had when I was young--returned and magnified."

Jacob considered what Jeff had told him, then said softly, "It's a shame that it went this far."

"I don't need your pity, Schulman." Jeff's voice was rough.

Jacob's voice was sharp in return. "You don't have it. It isn't as if this is some weakness of character, Jeff--it's physical. And... Well, I'm not a doctor or scientist, but it doesn't sound like anything that you can catch or cure. It sounds like something that's... that's a part of you--something you were born with."

"Like a club foot," he said heavily.

Jacob made an impatient gesture. "Don't try to act like you feel sorry for yourself. No, I didn't mean like a handicap. Jeff, do you realize that the only real problem you have is that you never learned to control this?"

"Don't be ridiculous, Schulman. This isn't the sort of thing you can control."

"No? You just told me that you forced it into remission for most of your adult life." Jeff was silent, and Jacob made a 'you see?' gesture.

"But I tried to force it back down after France, and I couldn't."

"Your body had changed by then. I'm not saying that you would have been able to completely wipe out the symptoms like you did when you were a boy, but I'd wager that you would have been able to regulate them." His voice was rising eagerly. "Even profit by them. Imagine all the uses for heightened senses, what you could do! You can see, hear, smell, taste, feel things others would miss." He shook his head. "You could be the greatest diagnostician in the world. Or a detective! Why, you'd put Sherlock Holmes to shame."

Jacob blushed at Jeffrey's laughter. "Me, as a consulting detective? Cyrus, can you imagine what Katherine would say to that? Or my father! The very idea would lay him in his grave if he hadn't already passed on." He sobered a little. "But I like the idea of being able to control my senses. That would have been--nice."

"It isn't too late to try."

Jeffrey's voice was hesitant. "Do you really believe that?"

"I don't see why not. I see it as training, and I've never believed that old saw about not being able to teach an old dog new tricks."

"So I'm an old dog now, am I?" Edmonds said wryly.

"A handsome dog."

Jacob was suddenly tempted to bang his head against the table, but Jeffrey only smiled a little wider. "Would you be willing to work with me on this? Could you find the time?"

Jacob nodded quickly. "Yes, I could." And so it began.

Jacob Schulman's host family saw less and less of him in the next few weeks. He'd been accustomed to taking his lunch downtown, but he'd always been present for Grandma's dinners. (No one could cook like Grandma). Lately, though, he'd been taking his evening meals at Jeffrey Edmond's house. The other boarders muttered that he must've had a premonition--he missed the one disastrous meal after the visiting aunt tried to 'shape up' Grandma. Of course he also missed the glorious return in the late supper that followed someone throwing away the dreaded cookbook and new spectacles.

He was still there at breakfast--except when he'd visited late at Mister Edmonds' house, and slept over in one of the airy guest bedrooms. But that was all the time he spent at the boarding house now--sleeping and changing clothes. He didn't even tease the women of the family about their eternal monopolizing of 'the facilities', because he often borrowed the enormous claw-footed tub in Jeffrey Edmonds' cream-and-Nile green bathroom. His landlady had confided to her husband, "I almost feel guilty taking his money, as little time as he spends here."

They were watching the young man hurry down the walk, a large book clutched in his arms. "Well, it's good for a young man to be friends with someone more substantial and settled."

"Yes, but to the exclusion of everyone else? And... Well, I won't say anything against Mister Edmonds--from what I remember of him he's a fine man. But he's an invalid. I don't think he's left that house since Jacob started visiting him. Shouldn't Jacob be spending more time with young people, people his own age?" She lifted an eyebrow. "Young women?"

Her husband laughed. "Lord protect us from match-making women! Besides, he has female companionship. What about Edmonds' wife? I seem to recall that she's quite a handsome filly." His wife slapped his shoulder admonishingly. Neither had any way of knowing that Katherine was seldom present when Jacob went to visit. She spent more and more of her time away from the house. She never offered more than the vaguest explanation of where she'd been--and Edmonds never pushed her.

The landlord continued, "Don't rush him, dear--he has his whole life ahead of him, and he'll have no trouble attracting the ladies when he's ready. Don't think I haven't noticed how you and Grandma flutter around him," he teased. "It isn't all mother instinct." He laughed heartily at his wife's blush, and kissed her.

If he had been privy to Jacob Schulman's private thoughts, he might not have been so sure that the young man would eventually turn his attentions to securing female companionship. More and more Jacob was sure that he was in love with Jeffrey Edmonds. He'd tried to remain detached, but the constant nearness made it impossible, and he didn't really want to try to keep his distance--emotionally or physically.

There was no other way to state it--he wanted Jeffrey Edmonds. Jacob wanted him in any and every way possible--physically, emotionally, and spiritually. He'd come to know the fine mind and strong soul that inhabited the frail body, and he loved him. He'd also come to hate Katherine Edmonds. The woman was a sponge--she absorbed everything good from Jeffrey, and returned nothing. Oh, she was the social image that the family presented to the town, making occasional appearances at functions, sometimes presenting generous donations to various worthy causes--in Jeffrey's name. But she'd hardly spoken a hundred words to her husband in Jacob's presence, and most of those had been to voice demands or levy complaints.

He deserves so much more, Jacob thought as Cyrus led him down the hall to the now familiar back parlor.

"I'm glad you came by," Cyrus said. "I really need to take that automobile over to the garage and have them work on it before it stops entirely, and I don't want to leave him alone now." He gave Jacob a sober look as they paused outside the parlor. "Jacob, he's getting weaker. I'm doing everything I can, but the stress of his senses being out of control these past few years have aggravated his heart condition."

Jacob had been excited, but now he felt his spirits sink. "How much longer does he have?"

Cyrus shrugged. "Hell, boy, only the good Lord knows that. He could hang on another year or more--but that isn't likely. Months or weeks, could even be days. It all depends."

"Maybe I should cut back on the training, come by less often so he can rest."

"No." Cyrus was firm. "Your visits are pretty much the only reason he gets out of bed in the morning. If you stopped coming by--well, I think he'd just give up, Jacob. He doesn't have a whole hell of a lot in his life. Don't deny him one of the few things that still makes him want to live."

Jacob said quietly, "I think you're reading too much into this, Cyrus. I'm just a friend."

Cyrus stared at him. Finally he said softly, "If you keep on telling yourself that, boy, both of you two are going to miss the chance to make something that's already good into something special."

"I don't know what you mean." But he did. It was just that he was too shocked and embarrassed to respond any other way. The idea that someone had realized how he felt toward Jeffrey Edmonds frightened him.

Cyrus' dark gaze was enigmatic, but he only shrugged as he opened the door. Jeffrey was on the divan again--he sat in a chair less and less lately, and that worried Jacob. Now Jeffrey's face lighted with pleasure, and for a moment, Jacob saw him as he must have been ten years ago. Cyrus said, "Your constant companion finally decided to show up. I'll be gone for a few hours. Do you need anything from town?"

"No, but stop by my lawyer's and tell him to go ahead with that matter we discussed. He can come by tomorrow morning to finalize things." Jacob was a little surprised at the grim smile Cyrus gave Jeffrey, but the big man just nodded before leaving.

Jacob pulled a chair to his accustomed place by the divan and sat down, asking, "How are you today?"

"I'm good."

"You look tired."

Jeffrey waved the statement away. "I'm always tired, Jacob. I have been for years, but I can forget that for awhile when you visit."

Jacob felt warmed by the honesty in Jeff's voice. His next question was more from habit than a real desire to know. "And how is Katherine?"

"I suppose she's well enough. She didn't bother to come by to see me before she left for her bi-annual trip to Chicago." He pointed at the book Jacob was carrying. "Is that it?"

Jacob couldn't restrain the grin that spread over his face. "Sir Richard Burton's monograph on Sentinels! He wrote this around the turn of the century, and... well, it didn't garner much attention. They thought it was far fetched to the point of being fantasy." He pointed at Jeffrey. "But they never met a living, breathing Sentinel." He opened the book and started leafing through it. "It was delivered to the office this morning, and I spent my lunch hour reading it."

"I wondered where you were."

Jacob glanced at him. "I wanted to skim through it before I brought it over, and I knew that if I came over here we'd end up talking, and it wouldn't get done. This is fascinating, and... Jeff, Sir Richard would have recognized you as a Sentinel right off! Even going into the Army fits. The Sentinel feels an instinctive need to protect and look out for his people, and..."

"Are you going to let me have a look at that, or do you intend to just read it to me, like a bedtime story?"

Jacob scooted forward in his seat. "Here--I'll hold it on my knees, and we'll go through it together."

"We'll both end up with strained necks." He patted the divan's cushions. "Come sit beside me. A few years ago there wouldn't have been room, but now there's plenty of space."

Jacob perched on the edge of the divan, bending his right knee to rest it on the cushions, and propped the book open on his lap. Jeffrey was well supported by pillows against the sturdy arm of the divan, and he could see the book easily.

Jacob went through the book, reading passages, pointing out illustrations. He tapped one page. "You see, this explains your problem."

"A Guide?"

"Yes! If you had had someone to help you through your 'spells' at the beginning they wouldn't have been so debilitating. I'm convinced that the right person could have helped you figure out how to control your senses." He scratched his chin, eyes moving quickly over the text. "The only problem is, it seems like this Guide/Sentinel thing is more or less permanent. I mean, there doesn't come a time when the Sentinel doesn't need the Guide." He shrugged. "But the Guide seems to benefit, too. He gains purpose and focus, plus he receives the bonus of having the best qualified man around to look after his safety and well being."

"A symbiosis?"

"Mmm... more of a bonding. Sentinels and Guides seem to be born with an affinity for each other. Just as Sentinels are rare, not just anyone can be a Guide." He closed the book and patted Jeff's shoulder as he laid it aside. "That's it--we need to find you a Guide," he made a face, "because Katherine certainly isn't one."

Jeffrey was lying back on the divan, hands laced over his belly, eyes closed. "Were the Sentinel and Guide always married couples?"

Jacob wanted to fidget. That was one part of the information he'd glossed over. "Well, you have to realize that most of the ancient tribes that Burton cites didn't have marriage as we know it."

"But they were always committed couples?"

"He doesn't mention it--well, he wouldn't, being a Victorian. Though you'd think that as a scientist he would have felt a duty to publish the frankest, most accurate account he could. What good is a scholarly work if you hide certain indelicate facts that might affect..."

Jeff still hadn't opened his eyes. "I enjoy listening to you talk, but you haven't answered the question."

"You noticed that, did you?" Jeff nodded, the corners of his lips quirking upward. "From reading between the lines, I'd say that it was a partnership in every way--to all intents and purposes a marriage."

"Even sexual?"

"Why Mister Edmonds, I'm surprised at you!" Jacob kept his voice light.

"You shouldn't be. I was in the Army--remember?" Jacob remained silent. "Why are you so nervous, Jacob? Your heartbeat has been getting steadily heavier. You're sweating a little, too, and it's cool in here." Jeff reached up and gripped Jacob's shoulder. "Perhaps you ought to lie down for a few minutes."

"Maybe. I am feeling a little light-headed for some reason." Jacob kicked off his shoes and stretched out on the divan beside Jeffrey. There was just enough room, if he turned on his side. He lay facing his friend, thinking that it would be unpardonably rude to turn his back.

He was--not exactly surprised when Jeff turned on his side, facing him. It does give us more room, he thought. And it will be easier to talk. Oh, God, his eyes are so close... and his mouth. I'm not going to be able to say a word.

"These couples, Jacob--were they always male and female?" Jacob stopped breathing. "It just seems likely to me that if Sentinels and Guides were such rare commodities that Fate wouldn't risk one of them not finding a mate over a little thing like gender."

Jacob cleared his throat. "It--happened." He paused. "I think it was fairly common." He gave Jeffrey a beseeching look. "But the primitive tribes usually don't attach the stigma to such things that our society does."

"They view love as something that is, and cannot be forced into pre-chosen channels." It was a statement, not a question.

"Something like that," Jacob whispered. He desperately wanted to look away, but Jeffrey had captured his gaze. Dear God, he knows. I let it slip somehow. I'll never be able to come back. He won't expose me to the town gossip, because he's not that kind of man. But I'll have to leave anyway, because I'm not going to be able to live in the same town and not see him. Jeff was speaking. "What?"

"I said that makes a lot of sense to me." He reached up and touched Jacob's face for the first time, stroking his thumb over his cheekbone. "I didn't plan to fall in love with you--but I did."

"I... you..."

"And you love me, too."

Jacob didn't try to deny it. "But how could you know?"

Jeffrey smiled. "I'm a Sentinel, remember?" He moved, and Jacob shuddered as the older man pressed his face to his throat, sniffing luxuriously. When he looked up at Jacob again, his pupils were dilated. "I told you before that you smell good." He slid his hand back into Jacob's short, curly hair. "Desire has a scent, Jacob." He leaned forward and gently pressed his lips to Jacob's.

Jacob's eyes drifted closed as he let himself finally experience something that he had been dreaming about for weeks, but had thought would never come to pass. Jeffrey's mouth moved on his tenderly. When he pulled back, Jacob sighed softly, eyes still closed. Jeffrey's voice was right beside his ear. "You haven't done this before, have you?"

Jacob slit one eye open, peeking at his friend, dreading laughter. "Kissing? Sure, I'm over twenty-one--I've kissed before."

"Men?"

"Um, no."

"And not too much of the other kind, either, I think."

"It's that obvious?"

Jeffrey's voice was gentle. "It's not unexpected."

"Maybe if you kiss me again I'll get better at it."

Jeff laughed. "I don't doubt that." He traced a fingertip over Jacob's lips. "This time, just relax. Let your mouth soften, and do what feels good." He kissed him again.

Jacob did as Jeff had suggested, letting go of his nervousness now that he realized that the older man didn't find his virginity ridiculous. The softness of Jeff's lips did wonderful things to him. He slid his arms around Jeff's neck, drawing him closer. When he felt the damp dab of Jeff's tongue, he instinctively parted his lips, letting it slip inside. Jeff licked into his mouth, and Jacob thought, He's tasting me. He felt himself begin to get hard.

The one kiss became two, then many. Jeffrey nuzzled Jacob's cheek, his ear, his throat--scenting and tasting him, listening to his breath quicken, learning him with all his senses. Then Jacob felt Jeff's hand on his fly, slowly undoing the buttons. "Jeff, you don't have to."

"Have to?" Jeffrey kissed him again, and there was a deep hunger in it that Jacob couldn't miss. "I need to." His hand slipped into the gap he'd created, cupping over the bulge of Jacob's erection. "And you need it, too, Jake. Let me do this for you." He squeezed firmly, and Jacob whimpered. "Let me be the first one to give you pleasure. Jacob, say yes."

Jacob buried his face in Jeffrey's shoulder, whispering. "Yes, Jeff. Yes, please."

Jeff's hand moved again, finding the comfort slit in Jacob's drawers, then finding bare flesh. At first he just skimmed his fingers along the skin of Jacob's hip, then he combed into the crisp patch of pubic hair. He reached down, down, and cupped the soft, heavy sac of Jacob's balls, massaging gently. Jacob moaned, reveling in the first erotic caress he'd ever received. Then Jeffrey's hand closed around the thickening shaft of Jacob's penis, and he eased it through the slit, giving himself better access. He stroked slowly, sliding the soft, loose skin over the firm core of the hard-on. "You're beautiful all over, Jacob," he whispered, pushing the foreskin back to expose the slick, rose pink glans.

"Oh, God," Jacob muttered, feeling Jeff's thumb rubbing the clear drizzle of pre-ejaculate fluid over his cockhead. "That feels so good. I didn't know it could feel so good to have someone else touch me."

"There's so much," Jeffrey said, beginning to pump him with a slow, steady stroke. "And it's all ahead of you, Jacob." For several moments there were no words--just the tiny sounds of flesh on flesh, and Jacob's increasingly rapid breathing. Jeff's hand sped up. "Let me teach you, just a little."

Jacob was moving quickly toward release, unable to control the excitement of being granted his fondest wish. "Yes, Jeff." He clutched at the older man as he spilled himself over the clever, quick moving hand. "Yes, oh, yes!"

Jeffrey Edmonds wrapped his arms around Jacob and held him while he regained his breath. When he could think again, Jacob suddenly felt selfish. He'd had one of the most wonderful experiences of his life, but he hadn't done anything for his friend. My lover. He's my lover now.

Jacob reached down, rubbing Jeffrey's crotch, but the other man took hold of his wrist, lifted his hand, and kissed it, saying, "No, Jacob."

"But Jeff..."

Jeffrey sighed. "It isn't that I don't want to, but you know that old saying about the spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak. There's been none of that for several years now."

Now Jacob felt horrible. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be," Jeff said firmly. "I enjoyed what we just shared, Jacob. The fact that I could make you feel so good is a wonderful thing." He kissed Jacob on the tip of the nose. "When you're older you'll realize that sex is more than just that quick little spurt. There are infinite levels of intimacy, sweet boy. You'll learn."

Jacob nodded hesitantly, then looked down and grimaced. "Jeff, your pants!"

Jeffrey looked, then pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and first wiped Jacob clean, then cleaned his hand and dabbed at the stain on his trouser leg. "It's just as well. I imagine that sort of stain might be hard to explain to your landlady."

Jacob blushed. "What about you?"

"Me?" Jeff shrugged, laying the handkerchief aside on a nearby table. "Cyrus is very hard to shock."

"Oh, no!" Jacob covered his eyes with his hands. "What's he going to think?"

Jeffrey laughed. "Jacob, you don't really believe the auto needed to be fixed, do you? Cyrus could work rings around most of the mechanics in town."

"Do you mean that he left just to give us time alone?"

"I knew you were clever. He's been poking and prodding me about you ever since that first day." Jeff's smile was fond. "Not that I needed any encouragement. You're the first person I've met in a long time who didn't see nothing but that chair when they looked at me." He touched Jacob's cheek. "I think I knew I was going to love you from the first moment I saw you."

"I knew even before that." Jeffrey raised his eyebrows questioningly. "I'll tell you, but you have to promise not to laugh at me. It's going to sound crazy." Jeffrey drew an X over his heart. Jacob took a breath. "I fell in love with you before I walked into that soda shop." He explained about the 'journalistic scut work'. He spoke of finding the picture, and the immediate connection. "When I met you at the soda shop, I..." He hesitated. There was something about Jeff's eyes that wouldn't let him lie, or even evade. "I thought that you must be the father, or grandfather, of the man in the picture--the man I fell in love with. Then when I learned who you really were--it didn't matter. I still loved you."

Jeff sighed. "Jacob, if I'd only met you ten years ago..." He smiled ruefully. "I wouldn't have touched you, because you'd have been a child. Dear boy, our timing is dreadful."

Jacob burrowed his face into Jeffrey's chest. "I heard a story once. A man summoned up a demon of knowledge. The demon said, 'I will answer only two questions, and knowledge brings pain as often as it brings enlightenment.' The man said, 'There are only two things I want to know, and there is no way that this knowledge could harm me--it can only bring me peace and delight. I want to know who is my one, true friend, and who is my one great love.' The demon said, 'I give you one final chance to walk away from this.' The man replied, 'If I can find these two people, my life will be complete. Without them, my life is worthless.' Then the demon laughed and said, 'Foolish mortal! The one who is meant to be your one true friend will not be born until you are long buried, and your one great love has been dust lo, these many centuries.' Then the demon was gone in a flash of brimstone, leaving behind a man who faced a life of nothing but emptiness, and despair."

There was silence for a long moment. Jeffrey said, "I'm glad you're not always this depressing."

"I'm sorry."

"I'm joking with you."

They heard the front door open, and Jacob sat up quickly, fumbling with his clothes. Was it his imagination, or were Cyrus' footsteps particularly slow and heavy? When he entered the room, Jacob was sitting decorously in his own chair, but there was a hectic blush on his cheeks, and Jeffrey had a sly, satisfied look that Cyrus hadn't seen for a long, long time. "I'll never understand cars--they never act funny once you get them to the mechanic." He looked at Jeff. "I spoke to your lawyer. Everything will be taken care of."

"Good. Go on and take the phone off the hook, just in case. I'd rather not be bothered."

"Yes." Cyrus looked at Jacob. "Jacob, will you be staying over again?"

Jacob glanced at Jeffrey, who smiled faintly. "Yes, I think so."

"Good. I'll fix my chili tonight. The Missus never liked it--said it was common." He went to the kitchen, whistling.

*****

The next few days were blissful for Jacob. He did his work cheerfully and efficiently, but he didn't stay around the pressroom to talk with the rest of the staff. They didn't see him at all at the boarding house, once he'd picked up some clothes.

Every moment that he wasn't at work was spent with Jeffrey Edmonds. During the day they worked together to try to find some control for the Sentinel's senses, and they did gradually grow less erratic. At night Jacob slept in Jeffrey's big, warm bed, curled against his body after he'd been driven to near frenzy by Jeff's skilled hands--and mouth. Dear God, his mouth! The first time he'd taken Jacob between his lips the young man had exploded almost immediately, whimpering his apology as his seed gushed forth. Jeffrey had only finished nursing the last few drops from him, then held him, chuckling and thanking him for the sweet compliment.

On the third night, Jeffrey said, "I'd like to keep you right here forever, but you'll have to go back to your own place soon."

"I know," Jacob sighed. "How long before Katherine returns?"

"That's not why you must go back to the boarding house. If you continue to stay here, there will be talk. Oh, it probably wouldn't be widespread, and it probably wouldn't be vicious, but it also wouldn't be anything I'd want you to have to deal with. I'm close enough to the end that it wouldn't bother me all that much, but I won't have you being distressed. That's the only reason I don't ask you to just move in, Jacob. As for Katherine--I'm divorcing her."

Jacob sat up abruptly, staring down at him. "No, you're not a home wrecker, though I suppose you are a catalyst. I was planning on doing this eventually--you just made it crystal clear why I should do it. Help me sit up, would you?" Jacob helped Jeffrey prop himself up comfortably on some pillows, and the older man took a moment to catch his breath. "Let me explain this, so I can be sure that you don't feel any guilt. It was never a love match between Katherine and I. I married her because, well... Because that's what men do, especially when there's an estate of any significance involved.

"Our families had known each other forever. She's from one of those families that can trace their roots practically to pre-history, but any money they've had is long gone. I'm from a rich family, but we have a bad health history--we're not the best breeding stock. It was a trade off. Many successful marriages are built on less. I think we could have made it work, but Katherine is an impatient woman. Things went well enough till I had my trouble in France. I wasn't the same man when I returned. I couldn't make the social rounds any more, and Katherine didn't want to give that up just to stay home with a sick husband. Still, she couldn't do nearly all that she wanted, because society has some limits. It didn't take her long to begin to resent me."

"Bitch."

Jeffrey laughed. "I'd give a month of my life to see her face if you called her that. In any case, for the past ten years my wife has been persistently and enthusiastically unfaithful to me with a string of men. I think she's a little serious about this latest one, though. She's been seeing him for three years, every time she goes to Chicago. And he's made several trips down here, staying on a little farm outside of town. That's where she's been most days during the time that I've known you."

"How do you know all this?"

Jeffrey shrugged. "Jacob, I'm a rich man. I can buy all the eyes and ears I want. My detectives have been documenting things very carefully. There are sworn statements, records of hotel stays. I had my lawyer deliver copies to her at her hotel in Chicago, just after she arrived." He smiled. "He tells me that there was a 'gentleman' lurking in the other room of the suite while he was there." He gave a mock frown. "She didn't take it well. I understand there were screams, and tears, and finally curses. You'll remember that I had Cyrus take the phone off the hook that first evening? That was to keep her from pestering me, give her time to realize that this is not a joke, and I am not going to back down. There's a small stack of telegrams in my desk downstairs. They start off imperious, then move through begging, and end up as abusive as they'll let you be over the wires. I haven't had any today. I think she finally realizes that I mean what I said."

"I thought that divorces were difficult to get, if one of the parties fought the matter."

"She won't fight. I've made it clear that if she goes quietly there'll be a monthly allowance, at least till she remarries. If she wants to protest the suit, well... Let's just say that any judge viewing the evidence I have would be unlikely to rule in her favor, and she'd find herself financially embarrassed. Even though she can be incredibly dense when it comes to human relations, she's not a stupid woman. I expect for it to be finalized in less than a month."

"I was thinking," Jacob said slowly. "How'd you like to have a family history written?"

Jeffrey blinked. "Well, there's an abrupt subject change."

Jacob sat up. "People do it all the time--commission writers to work up a history of their line."

Jeffrey snorted. "Which no one but their family is interested in reading."

Jacob held up a finger, as if making a point. "Yes, but the writer still has to spend hours and hours, for weeks and weeks, talking to the subject."

Jeffrey regarded him thoughtfully. "Some of the more controlling patrons even insist that the manuscript be written under their own roof, so that they can keep tabs on it." Jacob nodded. "It's a thought. But you still have to go back to your boarding house, Jacob." He reached up and carded his fingers through the younger man's hair. "I don't want you to go, but you know that you must."

Jacob nodded, sighing, and lay back down. He threw his arm over Jeffrey's waist, settling his cheek against the older man's chest. "I know. Jeff, do you think there will ever be a time when people like us can be open about how they feel?"

"I don't know, sweetheart. There'd have to be a lot of changes. People are gradually getting a bit more tolerant, but this is a high hurdle. It's going to take a lot of time, if it comes at all."

"But wouldn't it be nice?"

Jeffrey held him closer. "Yes--very nice."

*****

It isn't fair. I finally find the person I love, and I can't be with him because he's a him. And now...

"Schulman, what do you mean you don't want to go?," The editor of the Clarion was clearly puzzled, and more than a little irritated. "It's the Olympics! The entire community started gathering money two years ago when Robert Rowlings qualified for the marathon, and they intend to have a local reporter there, so that he doesn't get lost in the uproar."

"Yes, that's one thing that's impressed me about Green Town--the sense of community."

"And you're part of that community now. You have a civic duty to do what you're paid for, Schulman." He gestured angrily. "Besides that noble horse crap, it's an all expense paid month long trip to Amsterdam. Most reporters have to work for years before they get a chance at an assignment like this."

"Yes, sir, I realize that, and don't think I don't appreciate the fact that it's an honor to be offered..."

"Honor my ass--you're the only one we have available. Tucker was set to go, but he broke his leg yesterday. He'd still go, but the doctor says he'll be in traction for a month. Wallace can't go because, well, let's face it--you know how he is."

Jacob did. Wallace was a bigot, and he wasn't very good at keeping his mouth shut. He shuddered to think of what he'd do for America's image if he were let loose among all those different nationalities. The editor was continuing. "Hell, I'd go myself, but Martha is due to have our third child any time now. No, it's you or no one, Schulman." His voice hardened. "And if I can't count on you for something this important, I can't see keeping you on the payroll. Are we clear on this?"

"Yes, sir," said Jacob, drooping slightly in defeat.

The editor patted his shoulder. "I just don't understand you, son. I thought you were the sort who relished adventure." He cocked his head, smiling. "Don't tell me you've got someone special who makes you want to stay close to home?"

"Something like that, sir."

"Well, if she's worth anything, she'll still be here when you get back. It's only four weeks."

Later that evening he sat beside Jeffrey in the swing on the front porch of his house. It was a warm evening, but Jeffrey was swathed in wraps. He was feeling the cold acutely. "Four weeks," mourned Jacob. "Four weeks away from you. That's forever."

"I know it must sound like it to you now, Jacob." He patted Jacob's arm affectionately. His eyes were warm, and Jacob knew that Jeff wanted to take him in his arms, but couldn't--not with the occasional neighbor passing by, waving to them. "God, you're so young." Jacob frowned. "Don't get your back up. Four weeks isn't long in the scheme of the universe."

"It can be too long." His eyes were troubled when he looked at the older man. "He said that the one who made me want to stay would still be here when I got back, but that's not a sure thing."

"I'm not going anywhere."

"You know what I mean," Jacob whispered.

Jeffrey was quiet for a moment, then said softly, "Yes, I know."

Jacob sighed. "Thank you for not telling me I was worrying over nothing."

"I've always been honest with you, Jacob. We both know the truth. I wouldn't mean to go anywhere, but Fate might not give me a choice in the matter." He took Jacob's hand, no longer worrying that a passerby might see, and whisper. "I want to tell you something that might make it a little easier for you to go. The papers have gone through--Katherine and I are divorced now. When I signed the final papers, I made some more arrangements with my lawyer.

"When I had the detectives begin following Katherine, I intended to change my will so that my estate would be left in trust to various charities, with one or two good men as executors. I've changed that. I'm leaving you a good sized bequest, including this house, and I'm naming you as executor."

Jacob sat up straight. "Jeff, if you think that you have to..."

"I said get your back down, kid. I'm not paying you off. I trust you--more than anyone else I've ever known. You don't care over much about money or position, Jacob. You'll do what you think is right, no matter what. Don't refuse this. It will mean a lot to me to be able to leave it to someone who means something to me."

Jacob nodded. "All right. I won't let you down, Jeff."

"I know you won't." Jeff gazed out at the gathering dusk. "You'll be leaving tomorrow. I have to discuss something with you before you go--in case I don't get another chance."

"Don't say that."

Jeffrey looked at Jacob quietly, and for the first time, his eyes were old. "There's something I want to ask from you."

"Anything."

"This won't be easy. I want you to listen to this carefully." He took a deep breath. "I've been thinking of that story you told me--about the man who summoned the demon of knowledge, and the answer he got. It seems that something like that has happened to us. The universe was kind enough to let us find each other, but cruel enough to do it at this point in life. We have so little time together. I have to believe that things can't be that unfair. I have to believe that we'll have another chance. Do you understand?"

Jacob had been sunk in melancholy, contemplating what seemed inevitable--the loss of Jeffrey. Now he felt a faint spark of--it wasn't quite hope, but it lightened his dark mood. "I think so."

"You have to go on, Jacob. Find someone else to love. No, don't say it--I know that it wouldn't be like what we have. But you'll need to love someone. Just make sure they're worthy. Live the sort of good, full life that I know you can." He smiled crookedly. "But not too long, eh? Try to go out in your prime--don't dodder on till you're in your seventies or eighties. You see, Jacob, I don't know how long they let us wait on the other side before we're sent back. And I don't want to be reborn and grow up, and then when I'm sixteen, find my true love looking at me through the eyes of someone old enough to be my grandfather."

Jacob couldn't help returning the smile. But he said, "How will we find each other, Jeff? They don't let us bring our memories along with us."

"We'll know each other," Jeff said firmly. "I believe that we have to bring something back with us, some sense." He closed his eyes for a moment. "Some day, on your next time through this world--some bright, warm day, perhaps you'll feel the urge for something cool. You'll go to a soda shop, or stop at a drugstore. You'll look at all the different treats, and they'll all seem bland, until you come upon something a little different--say lime-vanilla ice. You'll order that, and there'll be someone else there who also thinks that lime-vanilla ice is just the thing, and they'll be curious about someone who feels the same way--and they'll speak." He opened his eyes, pale blue gazing deep into dark blue. "And somehow both of us will know. We might not realize it right away, but it will be there." He sighed. "I'm tired. I'd better go in now."

Jacob helped Jeffrey to his feet, supporting him with an arm around his waist. Cyrus met them just inside the door. "I'll take him upstairs, Jacob," he said quietly.

"Thank you, Cyrus. I'm glad you'll be here--it makes me a little easier about going." He knew that he could trust the big man to give Jeffrey Edmonds the careful, tender care he needed. "Jeff, I..."

Jeffrey laid a finger against Jacob's lips, shushing him. Now, away from the public, with no one but the understanding Cyrus, Jeffrey kissed Jacob. "I know. I love you, too." He kissed him again. "I'll be waiting when you come back--if I can."

It didn't satisfy Jacob, but he had no choice. He left.

*****

A month later Jacob Schulman sat in the back parlor of Jeffrey Edmonds' house. He stared silently at the floor, feeling utterly empty. Cyrus watched the young man with concerned sympathy. "He tried, Jacob. I've never seen a man fight the end as hard as Jeff did. Before you knew him, he'd have been ready to just slip away, but you gave him something to live for."

"Why didn't you contact me?" His voice was flat.

"Because he made me promise not to, and I couldn't deny him." Cyrus gave a small snort that wasn't quite a laugh. "You knew him, Jacob. He'd have come back from the grave to haunt me if I'd gone against him." He rubbed his head. "He passed on a little over a week ago. He was peaceful at the end." He studied Jacob. "He told me that he knew he'd be seeing you again. I guess he was wrong."

Jacob looked up slowly, and his jaw was set determinedly. "Not necessarily, Cyrus." He got up. "I have to go. I need to... I just have to move."

Cyrus watched him go, feeling Jacob's grief as an almost physical thing. The boy must be hurting so bad. But still... It was almost as if he had something that he was holding on to.

Jacob walked aimlessly for a long time, covering all of Green Town. He never heard the greetings of the passersby, but most of them figured that he was still pre-occupied with his recent trip. Twilight was falling when Jacob finally came back to himself. He looked up to find that he was standing in front of the soda shop. After a moment's hesitation, he went inside and sat down.

The soda jerk, busily wiping the marble counter, looked up, then sighed. "Mister Jacob, I'm just about to close up. I don't really have time to run down the entire stock for you."

"You don't have to do that," he said faintly. "I know just what I want."

That got the clerk's attention. Now, that's novel, if it's true. "You do?"

Jacob nodded firmly. "I would like," he said, "a dish of lime-vanilla ice."

*****

Present day - Cascade, Washington

Unseasonably warm. Well, sometimes Cascade can surprise you.

"Sure, the zones are a problem, but I believe that they happen mainly because you're focusing too much on one sense. It's like overload, you know? If you train yourself to moderate, not just zoom in on anything until you're prepared to handle it, then..."

Jim Ellison glanced skeptically at the smaller man walking beside him. Blair Sandburg was engrossed in his discourse, hands waving as he talked. This is perhaps the most animated person I've ever seen, including most two-year-olds. It would be exhausting to be around him for an extended period of time. "So what you're saying," Jim interrupted, "is that this isn't going to go away, and I should try to learn to control it?"

Blair nodded vigorously, the motion making his long, curly hair bounce. "Exactly! Man, if you can harness all that potential, you could be an awesome cop! Uh, not that you aren't already," he said hastily. "It's just... You know, better tools, and all that."

"And you think that you're the one to help me with this 'training'."

Again the enthusiastic nod. The sunlight shot glints of red through the dark hair that a slight breeze was blowing around Sandburg's head. "Have you heard of any other expert on Sentinels?"

"You're an expert?"

He hesitated, eyes shifting slightly, then looked at Jim directly. "I'm the closest thing you're likely to find, man, and at least I believe in Sentinels--I don't think you're nuts."

After the sly way that Sandburg had lured him into listening to him, Jim found the blunt honesty a little surprising, but it counted in the kid's favor. He got the feeling that Blair Sandburg might occasionally misdirect or evade, but when it came to Sentinels, his obsession, he would be unwaveringly truthful. "You can help me with these wild swings? I don't want it to come to the point where I'm locking myself in a dark room because every sunbeam looks like a klieg light and every whisper is a scream."

"I believe I can. I know what the problem is, and hey..." he smiled charmingly. "I'm a college graduate, and a pretty smart guy, if I do say so myself. And you're no dummy, Ellison. Between us, we can figure this out."

Jim grunted non-commitally. He had enough weirdness in his life--did he really want to add someone as off-the-wall as Blair Sandburg to the mix? "I don't know."

"But if you'll just give it a chance, we could... Hey! Ice cream." Blair had spotted a colorful cart, its sign proclaiming Icy Exotics. "I could use a pick-me-up." He trotted over to the cart.

The two-year-old analogy was appropriate, and does he ever move at a walk? Jim followed him to the cart, resisting the urge to shake his head. I don't think I could handle it. He'd drive me crazy inside a week. He watched as the vendor passed a cup heaped with pastel pink ice cream to a beaming little boy, and quickened his steps. He has the right idea about ice cream, though.

Jim arrived just as the vendor was turning his attention to Blair. "What can I do you for?"

"What have you got?"

The man sighed heavily. "Aren't you a little old for that? Most of the customers are past that stage by the time they reach fourteen or fifteen."

Blair shrugged cheerfully. "Arrested development. I won't know what I want till I hear it speaks to me. List, please."

Should have known, Jim thought as the vendor wearily consulted a laminated card. He'll hear the whole list, then decide on vanilla or chocolate. Still, now I'll get to hear what they have without reaping the seller's wrath. Maybe I'll try something a little different today--stretch the taste buds.

The vendor was droning on. "... Black Walnut, cherry-vanilla, date-nut..." Blair made a face. "Yeah, we get that reaction a lot. Fruity-tuti, Green Tea, honey-butterscotch, Jamocha fudge, lime-vanilla ice, mango..."

"Whoa!"

"Mango?"

"No, back up. Lime-vanilla ice." Blair said it slowly, rolling the words as if tasting them.

For a moment Jim felt light headed, and he wondered if he were going to zone. Zone on what--his voice?

Something very strange happened. For a split second, a span of time so brief that it could be nothing but his imagination, things changed. Instead of the warm sunnyness of the street there was cool dimness. There was the scent of bananas and phosphate--that curious, sharp smell that signaled the use of carbonation. And a voice, not quite Sandburg's voice--but close--very faint and far away was saying, A dish of lime-vanilla ice, please.

Then it was gone. The vendor was handing Blair a cup of ice cream (pale green, with dark flecks--Jim could smell the sharp-sweet tang of lime and vanilla), telling the younger man that hardly anyone ever ordered this, even though, "it's one of their oldest products. They've been making this since the turn of the century, and they must've almost discontinued it a dozen times, but for some reason, they never do."

Blair was digging into the treat. "Well, I'm glad they didn't. This is terrific."

The vendor looked at Jim. "How about you? You look like a chocolate man to me."

"Usually, yeah. Not today, though." He flicked a finger at Blair. "I'd like what he's having--a dish of lime-vanilla ice."

Blair froze, spoon halfway to his mouth. Jim watched the grad student closely as the vendor began to dip up the second dish. The dark blue eyes unfocussed for a moment, going vague, and Blair tilted his head slightly, as if listening to something that only he could hear. Then he shook his head slightly, and gave Jim a puzzled look. "I never would have thought that you'd try something that, um, unique."

Jim shrugged, accepting his ice cream, and paying the man. "I usually don't. Today I just wanted something different--can't say why." He dipped up a spoonful, sampling it. "It's good, though. The lime sort of balances the vanilla." He tasted it again, paying attention to his sense of taste. "I think it's got mint in it, too."

"Really?" Blair sounded excited. "Hey, has this got mint in it?"

The vendor rolled his eyes. "What, you think that I read the ingredients of everything I carry? Unless one of you is allergic, why worry?"

"What's the brand name? I'd like to check it later."

"Green Town Creamery, somewhere out in Illinois."

They resumed their walk. "This is so cool! If there is mint in this, it has to be a teeny-tiny proportion of the ingredients, and if you can detect that, there's no telling what you might be capable of." Blair stopped abruptly, putting his hand on Jim's arm. "You gotta work with me on this, man! I know I seem like a flake, but trust me--I can help you."

"How much time are we talking about here?"

Blair shrugged. "I won't bullshit you--it could take awhile. And I'm afraid I'll have to be in your space and in your face a lot of the time. But the trade-offs, man... the trade-offs!"

Jim stared at him. Again a whisper drifted across his mind. A dish of lime-vanilla ice...

He grunted. "Okay, Darwin."

The End

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Acknowledgments: Thanks to Elaine for beta, and Patt for art.