“Barbara.” I said it very softly, with my teeth closed. She knows that when I say her name like that, she has gone too far. This has been instilled in her since childhood, when she learned about it the hard way. I use it sparingly.

“He isn’t used to us yet, I suppose,” she mumbled.

“What does that mean?”

“We bicker. We fight. But we stick up for each other, too. Don’t you remember? Dad used to say it was because we’re Irish.”

“I don’t know if it’s being Irish,” I said. “But it’s true that Frank’s quiet, for the most part. I can get him to shout, but most people can’t.”

She smiled knowingly. “That’s how you know he loves you. I read about this in a magazine at the place where I get my nails done. If he’s willing to shout when he’s around you, it means he trusts you enough to get angry with you.”

“Well then, Jesus Christ, Barbara, I must trust you to the depths of my soul. Go home. Let me get dressed and go after him.”

She stood up, then asked, “How do you know he didn’t just drive off?”

“His Volvo’s at Banyon’s, he’s too tall for the Karmann Ghia, and I didn’t hear him call for a cab. There’s a beautiful beach about a block away. Where do you suppose he went?”

I FOUND HIM leaning against the railing at the top of the cliff, near the steps that lead from our street down to the beach.

“Sure you want to go through with this wedding, Harriman? Barbara as a sister-in-law? Think it over.”

“She’s not as bad as all that.”

I didn’t reply. Why start another argument?

“She’s just excited about our getting married,” he said. “She’s just trying to be helpful.”

“I’ve told you how I feel about all the help I’ve been getting lately.”

He smiled. “You’ve mentioned it.”

We stood there for a moment, just watching the waves below.

“Want to go for a walk on the beach?” he asked.

I hadn’t been able to do that in weeks. He saw me brighten at the suggestion and led the way down the stairs.

We hadn’t walked far when he said, “You were right the other night. There are people who try to do too much for you.”

“I shouldn’t let it get to me. What happened with Barbara happens to all engaged couples, I suppose. There’s going to be a lot of pressure on us now.”

“I can’t wait to find out what Episcopalian minister in Bakersfield my mother has set up for us. But she’s probably gone further than Barbara. Watch out. If we don’t set a date, she will.”

“Just promise me you won’t ever get the two of them together. God knows what they’d plan for our lives.”

He shuddered and I laughed.

He took my hand as we made our way down the beach. In spite of the run-in with Barbara, I was feeling good. Gradually, something was reawakening within me. It might have been my courage.

MONDAY WAS A COOL but sunny day, my first day driving myself to work. In celebration of that newfound independence, I put the top down on the Karmann Ghia and took to the streets of Las Piernas at a speed that created a biting windchill factor inside the car. Well worth it.

Even downtown morning traffic didn’t dampen my spirits. I parked the car, put the top up, and went into work.

When I got to my desk, the phone rang. I answered.

Nothing. Not even breathing.

“Sorry, wrong number,” I said, and hung up.

I took off my coat and started sorting my mail. There’s always a lot of mail to deal with on a Monday, but with the approach of Christmas, the usual onslaught tripled. A large percentage of it arrived in colored envelopes.

Since receiving the letter from Thanatos, I had developed a daily postal ritual. First, I carefully separated out all mail in colored envelopes. Then I sorted the colored envelopes. As I went through them, I made a special stack for those without return addresses, addressed to me on white computer labels. This would be the last stack I opened. I started in on my other mail.

The phone rang again. Again, no one on the line. I hung up and called Doris, the switchboard operator. No, she hadn’t put any calls through to me that morning.

I shrugged it off. The calls weren’t being made after lunch time, so they probably weren’t being made by the watcher. And there was no watcher anyway, I reminded myself. None. No one. Think about something else. At this rate, someday I would be the one writing letters about dogs picking Super Bowl winners.

Still, it made me feel a little spooky about the last stack of mail. I got a cup of coffee, logged on to my computer, checked my calendar. Told myself to get it over with, picked up the stack, shuffled them, counted them. Thirteen. Thirteen? Better check the count, I thought, then became so angry with myself that I ripped the first one open. A coupon for a discount on carpet cleaning. I was more careful in handling the others, but that coupon turned out to be the most spectacular item in the group. So much for my frightening mail.

I went to work on a story that would run near New Year’s Day, our annual standard story on new laws and programs going into effect January 1. Said, “Yes, it’s great to have the cast off,” to at least two dozen well-wishers.

I ate lunch in the building, telling myself I stayed in because I was so busy, not because of the phone calls. I kept distracted by my work and coworkers for the rest of the afternoon. It was dark when I left the building, but as I stepped out the door and glanced toward my car, I came to a halt.

My parking lights were on.

For a brief moment, I was simply confused by it. Had I turned the parking lights on? No, I was certain I hadn’t.

The next thought: Two phone calls.

Lydia came out the door and said cheerfully, “It must be great to be able to drive again.”

“Walk me to my car, would you, Lydia?”

She followed my gaze and said, “Uh-oh. Worried about your battery? No problem. I’ve got jumper cables in my car. Why did you turn your lights on this morning?”

“I didn’t.”

“Then how-”

“He’s trying to scare me.”

“Who? Who’s trying to scare you?”

I hesitated. Lydia had been dealing with my unfounded fears on a daily basis. Thanatos suddenly seemed like a crazy answer to her question. I forced a smile. “No one, no one. Sorry. I was just thinking about something else. I don’t know why I turned the lights on. Haven’t driven for a while, so I guess I was out of practice.”

“With the Karmann Ghia?” she asked. “You’ve driven it since college.” She was watching me carefully now, giving me the same look she might have given a strange dog that came trotting toward her, wagging its tail and growling at the same time.

By then we had reached the car. There was no one lurking in the small interior. The doors were locked. The windows were up. No visible damage to the ragtop. I tried not to shake as I opened the door and got inside.

The car started right up.

Lydia smiled.

“I guess I won’t be needing those jumper cables,” I said. “Thanks for waiting.”

“Any time.” She started to walk off, then turned back. “Are you all right?”

I don’t know, I wanted to answer. But I nodded and waved, then drove off.

As I drove, I tried to tell myself that maybe I did accidentally turn them on. I looked at the switch for the lights. No. Not something anyone would do “accidentally.” And not something I did and then forgot. It had been a sunny morning. If it had been foggy or dark, I would have turned the headlights on, not the parking lights – in California, it’s illegal to drive around with only your parking lights on. And I would have noticed that the parking lights were on when I pulled the top back up.

At home, I debated with myself about telling Frank about the lights. He had so much on his mind – did he need this? But what if Thanatos had been near my car?