WINDMILLS

Balancing Charles in one arm, Catherine tried to empty her bulgingbriefcase with the other. The edge of a file caught on the briefcaseand it toppled, spilling file folders, trial transcripts, loosepapers and envelopes across the desktop and onto the floor.

"Damn," Catherine muttered to herself. Kissing the top of Charles'head, she placed him firmly on the carpet at her feet. "Stay here,Charles," she cajoled, and began to gather up the

files on her desk, attempting to keep them in some sort oforder.Charles, ignoring her instructions, crawled around to thepapers on the floor and reached for them.

"No, sweetie," Catherine said, moving him. "I need those. Here,play with this." Handing him her key ring, she scooped up a few morefiles. Abandoning the keys, he went after the forbidden jumble ofpapers.

"Charles, no!" she said, picking him up. "You little imp!" shescolded playfully. "What am I going to do with you?"

He smiled back happily and patted her cheek with one chubby littlehand.

"It appears you need help, Catherine," Vincent observed, cominginto the room.

Turning, she smiled at him. "I tried to do two things at once,"she explained. "It didn't work."

"So I see," he said, crouching to gather up the mess on the floor.Catherine let him, consoling herself with the thought that she waskeeping Charles out of the way.

Vincent succeeded in transferring everything from the floor to herdesk, leaving it there for her to sort later, but when he turnedtoward her, his sleeve brushed the pile, dislodging an envelope. Hisreflexes were quick and he caught it, but the flap wasn't sealed andits contents, two stiff, glossy white rectangles printed in shinygold, slid to the floor.

Picking them up, he turned them over, fingering them gently."Tickets..?"

Catherine looked up from playing with Charles. "What? Oh, thoseare for a benefit performance of the musical, Man of La Mancha. Afriend of mine is one of the organizers and I couldn't say no." Shewas casual, much more interested in the baby in her lap. "I'll callaround to see if anyone wants them."

* * * * *

Later that evening, Vincent lay awake, listening to the sound ofCatherine breathing. He felt the beat of her heart where their bodiestouched, the gentle pressure where her hand rested on his arm, andthe softness of her cheek against his shoulder. Turning his headcarefully, he looked upon her, sleeping contentedly beside him.

Contentment filled her these last months, occasionally swelling toburst into bright sparkles of joy. Rare and short-lived were theoccasions when she descended into sadness, loneliness or despair.

As unbelievable as it seemed to him, he made her happy, trulyhappy. He could always feel the anticipation in her heart as sheneared their home, her delight when she picked up Charles and hergladness when she came into his arms for a welcoming embrace.

As he watched, she stirred, stretching and shifting to a morecomfortable position beside him. In these last months he had spentmany hours in this fashion, holding her gently. Requiring less sleepthan she, he frequently lay awake while she slept.

When she finally realized it, she reproved him gently. "It'ssilly, Vincent, for you to lie there just because I'm asleep. Do youthink I'll disintegrate if I wake up and you're not here?"

Now, in the wake of her urging, he sometimes stayed up after shewent to bed, reading or writing in his journal. Occasionally he leftthe house, going Below to visit with Father, or Above to listen tothe city, but there were still nights like this one, when lyingbeside Catherine as she slept was all he needed.

He looked toward the french doors, closed and locked against thenight; moonlight streamed through the trees, casting shadows acrossthe drapes. Who would ever have imagined him lying in a room Above,the most beautiful woman in the world sleeping in his arms?

Catherine. She gave up so much to be with him, and while he hadfinally vanquished the fear that she would someday choose someoneelse, he couldn't avoid the grim knowledge of the sacrifices shemade.

The tickets he'd found symbolized all he could not offer her; heknew she would have liked to attend the play with him if such a thingwere possible.

Two days later, he was still troubled by the image of thosetickets and all they represented.

He entered Father's chamber, carrying Charles. "Father?"

The older man looked up from his desk. "Good morning, Vincent," hegreeted. "Hello, young Charles."

Charles displayed all seven of his teeth in a wide grin, babblinghappily as Vincent sank into a chair.

"Don't you have a reading class this morning, Vincent?"

"I do," his son confirmed. "One of our helpers sent word of usableclothing and blankets discarded after a warehouse fire. Some of thechildren went with Mouse and Jamie to carry them, so class will be alittle late today."

Charles wriggled in his father's lap, wanting down. Vincent sethim on his feet, waiting until Charles had a secure hold on the chairbefore letting go.

"It won't be long before he's walking," Father commented withsatisfaction.

"He's almost ready," Vincent agreed. "Catherine is afraid he'lltake his first steps while she's at work," he added.

"A child's first steps are a significant milestone," Father said."I remember yours, and I remember how pleased you were to havemastered this new method of getting from place to place."

Vincent's slight smile acknowledged Father's words, but he seemeddistant as he watched Charles lower himself carefully to the floorand crawl to the small box of toys Father kept handy for very youngvisitors.

"Vincent? Is something wrong?"

The almost imperceptible shake of Vincent's head was notreassuring. Father had never seen a couple quite so blissfully happyas Vincent and Catherine seemed to be these last months, but he wasnot blind to the enormous difficulties they faced and couldn't helpworrying. "It's been several weeks since Catherine has been Below fora visit," he prodded.

"Her work," Vincent explained vaguely.

"I see," said Father, who wasn't sure he did. Catherine had alwaysbeen able to make time to come Below. On the other hand, things weredifferent now, and she didn't need to come into the tunnels to seeVincent because she was with him every night in their home. Perhapsshe was simply working too hard. "You've heard the saying about 'allwork and no play,' Vincent," he counseled cautiously.

The look Vincent turned on him was more intense than the simplecomment warranted. "What is it, Vincent?"

Vincent sighed. "Catherine has purchased tickets to a play, amusical."

Father was horrified, half-rising in his chair. "Vincent, youcan't possibly be thinking of..."

"No, Father, of course not. Neither Catherine nor I would considersuch a thing."

Relieved, Father sank back down. "I don't understand."

"The proceeds from the play will go to charity," Vincentexplained. "She bought the tickets as a favor to a friend."

"I see." Father waited patiently, knowing there was more.

Vincent sighed and bowed his head. "She says she can find someonewho will want to go in her place."

"And you think she wishes to attend this play."

"I don't know, Father," Vincent said slowly. "She seems quiteuntroubled with not going, and yet I sense a wistfulness..."

"Do you believe she's unhappy?"

Vincent thought it over before shaking his head slowly. "No."

Father rubbed at his forehead. "Vincent, I think sometimes youtilt at windmills. You look for problems that don't exist."

"I don't try to look for problems, Father." His voice grewwistful. "There are so many things I want to be able give her, somany things she deserves. Our life together places limits on thesimplest thing. I wish..."

Leaning across his desk, Father covered one of Vincent's handswith his. "I know, Vincent. I know."

Just then, Geoffrey and Eric burst noisily into the chamber."We're back, Vincent! Are you ready?"

"We'll meet in my chamber," Vincent answered. "I'll be there in amoment."

"Okay!" As noisily as they had entered, they clattered outagain.

"Thank you, Father," Vincent said. "I'll take Charles toMary..."

"Don't be absurd, Vincent. Look at him." Father cast a fond glanceat his ten-month-old grandson, who was sitting in the middle of arug, busily chewing the arm of a rag doll. "He's happy where he is.Don't disturb him."

"All right, Father. The class shouldn't last more than anhour."

"Take your time, Vincent," Father urged.

Forty-five minutes later, Father was wishing he hadn't been sosanguine about watching Charles as he bent painfully to peer underthe large, heavy table that occupied one corner of his study. "Comeout of there, you young rascal!" he scolded.

From far under the table, Charles regarded Father with merry grayeyes and refused to budge. Father sighed in exasperation. It wasn'tCharles he was worried about; there wasn't much under the table tohurt a baby, but before he'd crawled under there, Charles had taken abook from another table. If it was the volume Father thought it was,it was a first edition in excellent condition, and he wanted itback.

Eyes full of mischief, Charles lifted the book in his chubby babyhands and brought it to his mouth.

"No!"

"Talking to yourself, Father?"

Whirling, Father encountered the sardonic brown eyes of his otherson. A hundred thoughts leaped into his mind, but right now, one tookpriority. "Devin, please, get him out from under there!" He pointedwith his cane and, cocking one dark eyebrow inquisitively, Devinlooked under the table.

"Oh, no, you don't," Devin said, going under on hands and kneesand emerging a moment later with a squirming baby in one arm. "Yours,I believe?" he asked, proffering the precious book.

"Thank you, Devin," Father said gratefully. "I had just aboutdetermined that I would have to crawl under there myself."

"Hello, Devin. How are you, Devin. Nice to see you, Devin," hisson replied. Once, he had said those words in bitterness; now therewas a touch of laughter in his dark eyes.

"Yes, of course, what am I thinking of?" Father asked. "How haveyou been, Devin? It's been months since we've heard from you!"

"I've been fine, now that you ask," Devin answered cheerfully."I'm passing through New York and thought I'd drop in for a visit."He still held Charles in one arm, bouncing him gently, and the babyseemed perfectly content to stay where he could study thisfascinating new person.

"Devin! I heard your name on the pipes!" Vincent's voice precededhis entrance and he came rapidly toward them. Charles's face lit witha smile and he leaned out, extending his arms in a sudden move thattook Devin by surprise.

With a practiced motion, Vincent caught the child in one arm whilepulling his brother into a hug with the other. "It's wonderful to seeyou," he said. "Will you stay long?"

"I was just telling Father, I'm passing through. Don't know howlong I'll stay." Devin shrugged and grinned at Charles. "Who's thelittle guy?" he asked, diverting attention from his still unformedfuture plans.

Vincent stood a little taller as he answered. "This is Charles."He allowed the moment to develop before adding, almost casually, "Myson."

Devin's reaction was stereotypical astonishment as his eyeswidened and his mouth dropped open. "Your..?" he managed at last.

Vincent thoroughly enjoyed Devin's incredulity. Devin was one whohad always treated him as an equal, as a person, as a brother, andVincent understood that his reaction was as much surprise as anythingelse. Sometimes Vincent himself was still astonished at being afather.

Devin swallowed hard and regained some of his composure."Chandler," he said, making it a statement.

Vincent nodded.

"Damn," Devin said, with feeling. "Way to go, Chandler. Damn," herepeated, still staring. "When did all this happen? I mean, obviouslyit happened quite some time ago." He looked at Charles. "I've got tostart coming home more often," he concluded.

"It's been nearly two years since your last visit," Vincentobserved. "I tried to write you at the addresses you sent and all myletters came back."

"Yeah, well, I don't usually stay in one place very long," Devinapologized sheepishly.

"You're here now," Father interjected. "Come, sit and tell us whatyou've been up to, Devin," he urged, nudging them all towardchairs.

"Okay," Devin agreed, "but then Vincent has to tell me what'shappening in his life. It's obviously been at least as exciting asmine."

* * * * *

"Are you sure this is okay, Vincent? I don't want to cause anytrouble."

Evening was fast approaching, and the brothers were walkingthrough the upper level of tunnels. Charles rode happily on Devin'sshoulders, while Vincent carried a basket in one hand and had Devin'swell-worn duffle bag slung over his shoulder.

"Devin," Vincent said patiently, "I know, better than anyone, howyou feel about sleeping Below. You are a welcome guest in ourhome."

"Yeah, but shouldn't you ask Chandler first?"

Vincent sighed in exasperation. This was the fourth time he andDevin had gone over this, and he couldn't understand his brother'sreluctance. To him, the facts were evident: Devin was uncomfortablestaying in the tunnels, and the home Catherine and Vincent shared hadfour unoccupied bedrooms on the third floor."Devin, what is wrongwith you?"

"It's not me... it's Chandler."

Vincent stopped in surprise. "Catherine?"

Shifting Charles to his arm, Devin scuffed a foot through the duston the tunnel floor, adopting a devil-may-care attitude that didn'tfool Vincent a bit. "Sometimes I don't think she likes me much."

Vincent found the idea astonishing. "Why wouldn't she likeyou?"

Devin shrugged. "She disapproves of my lifestyle." He walked on."Sometimes she reminds me of the old man," he added over hisshoulder.

Vincent lengthened his stride until he caught up with his brother."We speak of you sometimes," he said. "Catherine knows what you meantto me when we were boys together."

"Yeah, but she thinks I'm irresponsible."

"I think she doesn't understand the choices you make," Vincentagreed, "but I sense an affection in her when I mention you. I think,perhaps, she likes you in spite of herself."

"Yeah?" Devin sounded encouraged. "How much farther is it to thishouse, anyway? Your son is getting heavy!"

"Not much farther," Vincent answered, showing the way down thefinal passage. At the house, he triggered the mechanism which openedthe heavy door leading to the home he and Catherine shared; Devinpeered inside.

"It's dark," he protested. "Where are the lights?"

"There aren't any," Vincent answered. "Mouse hasn't installed themyet." Reaching to the side, he pushed against the wall and it swungsilently away from him. "We'll go this way," he said.

Devin followed him, looking around what was clearly a laundryroom, complete with washer and dryer, as Vincent closed the heavyouter door and pushed the section of inner wall back into place untilit latched with an audible click. Leaving the laundry, they climbed aflight of wooden stairs, emerging in a large, modern kitchen whereVincent set his basket on a table.

"Catherine is home," he remarked, crossing the kitchen to anotherdoor. He guided Devin through a cozy dining room, down a widehallway, and up another flight of stairs.

"Vincent?" Catherine's voice floated out of an open door on thesecond floor. She sounded puzzled. "Is that you?"

"Yes," he answered. "We have a guest." He was reassuring,explaining, and warning, all at the same time. He'd felt her smallflicker of apprehension when she heard footsteps on the main stairs,but it evaporated at his words and she appeared in the doorway,already changed from her work clothes.

"Devin!"

"Hi, Chandler," he greeted her shyly. "Vincent invited me homewith him. I hope that's okay?" Clearly, despite Vincent'sreassurances, he was still uncertain of his welcome.

She stared at him for what seemed like years, though it wasactually only a few seconds. "Of course," she answered, recovering."Here, let me take him..." Coming closer, she took Charles into herown arms. "How have you been, Devin? Vincent has worried about you."She looked at him over the top of the baby's head.

"I've been busy," he answered, not at all disconcerted. "But notas busy as you," he added. To his amazement, she blushed.

"Devin." Behind him, Vincent's voice held a mild warning.

"Sorry," he apologized easily, more amused than contrite."Somebody want to show me where I'm sleeping?"

Handing over the worn duffle bag, Vincent directed him to thethird floor and Devin went, grinning.

"How long will he be here?" Catherine asked Vincent quietly.

"I don't believe he knows," he answered. "Will you mind himstaying here?" Vincent had felt Catherine's surprise and discomfortat Devin's needling and began to wonder if his brother's earlieruncertainty had been justified.

"No, of course not. Why?"

"Devin worries you don't like him."

"I don't... I..." Catherine stammered to a halt. Taking a breath,she tried again. "I do like him, Vincent, it's just he's so..."

"Irresponsible?" Vincent supplied.

Sighing, she leaned her cheek against the top of Charles' head. "Isuppose. But I also know what he means to you, Vincent, and he'llalways be welcome in our home."

* * * * *

Devin became even more welcome when he revealed a hidden talent -he could cook!

"That was delicious, Devin. What a wonderful surprise to come hometo," Catherine said the next evening after dinner.

"Yeah, I figured I'd better cook something," Devin saidnonchalantly. "From what the old man says, you've been living on whatWilliam sends you."

Catherine laughed. "You make it sound like a form of torture.William's a very good cook."

"He's okay," Devin conceded, "but he cooks for a hundred peopleand does it with limited resources. That doesn't leave much room forcreativity."

"The meal you prepared tonight was excellent, Devin. Thank you,"Vincent said.

Catherine pushed an envelope across the table. "Here, Devin. Ithought you might be interested in these."

Devin pretended horror. "You don't have to pay me, Chandler. Foryou, my services as a chef are free!"

"You idiot," she said tolerantly. "I wouldn't give you money.You'd just spend it."

"Exactly," Devin agreed, picking up the envelope. "Bet you didn'tknow I really was a chef once."

"I believe you mentioned it once, but we're long past beingsurprised at any of your past lives, Devin," Vincent said inamusement. "Are you going to tell us about it?"

"I won't bore you with details," Devin said smugly. "Actually, Iwas an apprentice pastry chef at a small, but good restaurant inParis, but I could never quite develop the touch that a really goodpastry chef has to have." He shrugged and opened the envelope.

"Man of La Mancha," he read aloud. "For tomorrow night." He cockedan eyebrow. "Got any single girlfriends, Chandler?"

"Not that I'd introduce to a rake like you," she answered. "Getyour own date."

"Aw, come on," he wheedled cheerfully, enjoying the game. "I don'tknow anybody in New York."

"You know Catherine." Vincent spoke quietly. An idea had been bornwhen he recognized the envelope.

"What?" Simultaneously, two heads jerked around to look at him inastonishment.

"You should go," he continued, addressing Catherine.

"Vincent..." Catherine began.

He interrupted gently. "Catherine, there are many things you havehad to sacrifice for me. Seeing plays is not one of them."

"I've seen this one," she argued, sounding bewildered.

"You've heard Beethoven's Fifth Symphony, too, but you'll go againthe next time they play it in the park," he said reasonably. "I knowyou would like to go, Catherine. Devin will take you." He turned tohis brother for confirmation.

Devin looked uncertain. "I'm not in the habit of dating othermen's wives," he said, giving Vincent a sideways look. "Will I get tokiss her goodnight?"

"Interesting scars you have on your face, Devin," Catherine saidconversationally.

"I take it that means no." He shrugged. "Well, I tried."

"Vincent..." Despite her comment to Devin, Catherine was stillunsure.

"'As a decrepit father takes delight

To see his active child do deeds of youth,

So I, made lame by fortune's dearest spite,

Take all my comfort of thy worth and truth;

For whether beauty, birth, or wealth, or wit,

Or any of these all, or all, or more,

Entitled in thy parts do crowned sit,

I make my love engrafted to this store:

So then I am not lame, poor, nor despis'd,

Whilst that this shadow dost such substance give,

That I in thy abundance am suffic'd,

And by a part of all thy glory live...'"

Catherine listened quietly as Vincent quoted Shakespeare'sthirty-seventh sonnet; when he finished, there were tears in hereyes.

Devin appeared equally moved."Chandler, would you like to go seeMan of La Mancha with me tomorrow night?" he invited formally.

Besieged on all sides, and finally understanding Vincent's motive,Catherine surrendered gracefully. "It would be my pleasure,Devin."

"Great. Pick you up at seven-thirty."

* * * * *

"Which one should I wear?" Turning from her closet, Catherine heldup two gowns for Vincent's inspection. Head tilted a little to oneside, Vincent considered the garments carefully. He'd never seenCatherine wear either dress; the extent of her wardrobe was somethingto which he was still becoming accustomed.

"The one on the left," he suggested. He'd seen her wear thatparticular shade of smoky blue before and knew it suited her.Besides, the neckline of the other dress was cut too low for hispeace of mind. He, who had never in his life been possessive, foundhimself quite possessive of Catherine.

"I think you're right," she said, hanging the rejected gown backin the closet and tossing the other one on the bed. Wrapped in afluffy robe, still damp from her shower, she picked up a wide-toothedcomb and began working tangles out of her long, wet hair.

When Catherine was Below, or on lazy days at home, she rarelybothered with makeup, and hairdressing usually consisted of pullingit back in a ponytail. She took more care with her appearance on daysshe worked, but she was typically rushed, doing three things at once,and Vincent had learned to keep out of her way. On other occasions,he had seen her dressed up, but this was his first opportunity toobserve the process. With Charles playing on the floor nearby, hesettled comfortably into a chair to watch.

The entire procedure was more intricate and time-consuming than hehad imagined. After blowing her hair dry, she spent ten minutestwisting and weaving it into what he knew was a french braid, tuckingthe plaited end under for a neat, elegant effect.Make-up was next andhis brow furrowed as she smoothed on foundation. "Why do you wearthat?"

She glanced at him, startled. "Well, for one thing, it covers upthe scars," she said. Vincent knew that one of the finest plasticsurgeons in the country had repaired the damage done to her facethose years ago, but even his matchless skill had not been able tocompletely erase the evidence of what had been done to her. Fine,spidery white lines ran like threads across forehead and cheeks,barely noticeable except in bright light. Although Catherine wasn'tself-conscious about them, she didn't see the need to display them,especially when they might evoke sympathy she didn't want or need."It also evens out my complexion and covers up anything else I don'twant the world to see," she added.

She did something to her eyes, added color to her cheeks and lips,touched perfume to wrists and throat and was done. Slipping out ofher robe, she eased the dress over her head. "Vincent, would you zipme, please?"

Rising, he went behind her and coaxed the zipper gently upward asshe arranged and adjusted folds and seams. When the dress was zipped,he allowed his fingers to lightly caress her bare back. The nape ofher neck was exposed, vulnerable as she looked down, and he couldn'tresist bending to place a delicate kiss there.

With a sigh, she closed her eyes and rocked back against him,warm, soft, and fragrant in his arms. The mirror on her dressingtable framed their reflected images and Vincent studied it.

It had taken a long time to accustom himself to the presence ofmirrors; when he was young they had been his enemy, reminding himbrutally of his differences. Even as an adult, there had been nomirrors in his chamber. This one still bothered him sometimes,especially when he came upon his own image unexpectedly, but now itwas a window, permitting him to see something he was ordinarilydenied.

Catherine was lovely; her efforts had enhanced her natural beauty,transforming her into an exquisite, exotic woman he hardlyrecognized. He was pondering his own reflection, wondering, for thethousandth time, at the strangeness of the picture before him, whenshe opened her eyes. Meeting his gaze in the mirror, she smiled, hereyes dreamy, and for an instant, he saw himself as she did: golden,noble, magnificent. For that moment, she belonged nowhere but in hisembrace and he turned to press his lips against her cheek, trailingwarm, intimate kisses down her neck.

"Vincent..." Her soft murmur wasn't quite a protest, but not quitean encouragement, either. He thought she could not make up her mindwhether she wanted him to stop or continue. Neither of them movedwhen a light tap sounded on the door.

The knock came again a moment later and Catherine gave a sigh ofresignation, calling, "Come in, Devin." It was Vincent who movedthen, releasing her and taking a step away.

Devin entered cautiously, a length of black fabric in his hand."Sorry to bother you, but does anybody here know how to tie one ofthese?"

"For heaven's sake, Devin, why didn't you ask for a clip-on?"Catherine asked a minute later.

"I did," he protested defensively, chin raised rigidly as shestruggled with his tie. "Someone must have made a mistake."

"Lucky for you my father couldn't tie a tie, either," she said. "Ithink I remember how to do this. You look nice in a tux," sheadded.

"You're not bad yourself, Chandler. Let's you and me run offtogether after the show."

"Oh, my god, we're not even out the door and already he'spropositioning me," she said out loud, completing the bow. As shestepped back to appraise her handiwork, Devin grinned.

"How 'bout it? I'm lots better looking than Vincent, and I'mloaded with charm." Devin was selling himself shamelessly.

Catherine couldn't help a laugh. "I don't think so, Devin."

"Come on! What's Vincent have that I don't?"

"Me," she answered succinctly, and reached for her wrap.

Vincent smiled, recognizing Devin's outrageous flirting for whatit was. Catherine seemed willing to take it in stride tonight;curiously, it was Devin who seemed ill at ease, his chatter both adefense and a cover up.

Standing apart from them, Vincent couldn't help noticing what ahandsome couple Catherine and Devin made, far different from theexotic pair reflected in the mirror moments ago. They smiled at eachother, and he felt suddenly bereft and alone.

As if sensing his thoughts, Catherine stopped in the middle ofwhat she was saying to Devin. Going to Vincent, she took his hands inhers and regarded him steadfastly, her head tilted a little, whileDevin stood in the background, watching. Slowly, carefully, Catherinedid something she had never before done in front of someone else -she kissed him, sweetly, tenderly, full on the mouth.

"We won't be late," she said quietly.

"Stay as long as you like," he answered, just as quietly. "Thisevening is for you."

Vincent watched Catherine depart on Devin's arm, and not until thefront door closed behind them did he acknowledge the wistful sadnesslaced, to his shame, with a breath of envy.

* * * * *

The affair was as much a party as a play, with the city's moreaffluent members gathered to socialize as well as be entertained.Devin was at his most charming and gracious; Catherine mused toherself that he played the part of society gentleman to perfection.She was the one, suddenly, who felt out of place. It should beVincent beside her, Vincent meeting her friends and acquaintances; ina world where justice prevailed, it would be.

Stop it, she told herself firmly. Vincent wants you to do this.It's important to him. If you don't have a good time, he'll know, andhe'll blame himself.

Grimly, she applied herself to enjoyment, and by the time theyfound their seats, pretense had become reality. Devin was an affablecompanion, and his whispered asides regarding some of the otherpatrons, while not necessarily the essence of tact, were surprisinglyaccurate and very entertaining.

Man of La Mancha was one of her favorite musicals, and while theywaited for late-comers to be seated, she told Devin of how her fatherhad first taken her to see it when she was eleven.

"I made him explain it to me, and he did okay until he got toAldonza."

"Aha," Devin said wisely. "And how did he explain her?"

"Very carefully," Catherine laughed. "The poor man. I was mucholder before I realized how embarrassing it must have been for him toexplain the concept of prostitution to his daughter. I love themusic," she added. "Some of the lyrics are truly beautiful." As thelights dimmed, the music swelled, and each sat back to enjoy theperformance.

* * * * *

At home, Vincent stepped back from the window where he'd beensilently perusing the dark street. Closing the drapes, he relitcandles extinguished earlier. He rarely spent time in the studyalone; it felt different without Catherine, but he was here bychoice. He could have taken Charles Below for the evening and Fatherwould have been pleased to see them, but Vincent knew he wouldn't bevery good company tonight, and had determined to wait in solitude forCatherine's return. Now his young son slept, leaving Vincent with fartoo much time to think.

Lowering himself into a chair, he laced his fingers under his chinand sighed. It is absurd to feel this way, he scoldedhimself. Thereis no reason for Catherine to be denied a pleasant evening justbecause I cannot accompany her. Devin is a trustworthy escort.

Logic didn't help, and he remembered his meeting with Irish writerand peace activist Brigit O'Donnell, years ago. The heart knowsnothing about sense... The words she'd spoken to him that nightechoed in his ears.

He might as well admit it. He was jealous, not of Devin, but ofcircumstance. He resented a world that embraced the woman he loved,yet would not permit him to enter.Head down, he brooded.

* * * * *

At intermission, Catherine and Devin went out to the elegant foyerwith the rest of the crowd. Complimentary champagne was being servedby tuxedoed waiters and Devin liberated two glasses from a passingtray, offering one to Catherine.

Thanking him, she sipped it absently as they reviewed the firsthalf of the play.

"It's a nice idea, but nobody's as noble and self-sacrificing asDon Quixote," Devin argued.

Catherine was opening her mouth to disagree when someone calledher name.

"Jenny!" Careful of the half-full glasses both held, she embracedJenny Aronson affectionately. "I didn't expect to see you here," sheadded.

"I sure didn't expect to see you," Jenny returned, turning aninquisitive glance on Devin. "Who are you?" she asked himbluntly.

He grinned, prepared to charm his way into her good graces."You're the first person I've met tonight who hasn't thought I'mCharles' father," he informed her.

She regarded him skeptically. "I've met Charles' father."

Astonished, Devin groped for an intelligible answer and Catherineinterceded gracefully. "Jenny Aronson, this is Devin Wells."

"Ah," Jenny said in recognition. "The long-lost brother."

Devin made a sketchy bow. "Not much family resemblance, I'lladmit," he said, determined to win her over. "Vincent got the brains,but I'm devilishly handsome and got all the personality."

Catherine made a noise that was suspiciously like a snort."Vincent got the humility, you got the conceit," she addedsweetly.

Jenny laughed out loud and Devin smiled. "Are you married, JennyAronson?" he asked.

"He doesn't waste time, does he?" she asked Catherinerhetorically. "No," she answered him. "I have a date over theresomewhere," she waved airily, "but I hate to admit he's a terriblebore."

"I thought you told me you didn't have any single friends,Chandler," Devin said, accusing.

"What I said was, I didn't have any I'd introduce to you," shereplied with a smile.

"Semantics," he said dismissively, and turned a brilliant smile onJenny. "So you've met my little brother," he began.

"Several times," she agreed cheerfully. "Even danced with him athis wedding."

"What?" Catherine's attention had been wandering, but Jenny'sstatement brought it back with a snap. She felt a completelyirrational flash of indignation. "When?"

Grinning, Devin put an arm around her shoulders. "Got to watch outfor these jealous types," he informed Jenny. "I'll hold her while youmake a getaway."

Jenny laughed. "You were busy dancing with every man in the room,"she told Catherine. "Vincent looked lonely, so I very brazenly askedif he'd settle for me."

Her momentary pique set aside, Catherine smiled and shook her headin wonder. "I never saw," she said. "Every time I looked at him, hewas holding Charles and watching me."

"The wedding of the decade, and I missed it," Devin mourned aloud."Is it safe to let go of you now?" He grinned down at Catherine.

"I think I have my more savage impulses under control," she toldhim sweetly and he removed his arm.

The talk turned to more innocuous topics and after a few moments,Jenny's date joined them. He was attractive enough, and seemed nice,but after a few minutes of conversation, Catherine could see whyJenny said he was boring. "Hey," he said, as the guests began to maketheir way back into the theatre for the second act. "We're going outfor coffee after the show. Why don't you join us?"

Catherine bestowed her most gracious smile and declined. Jenny'ssmile was one of understanding and Catherine could hear her makingexcuses as they turned away. "...new baby..."

"New baby, my foot," Devin whispered in her ear. "The kid'spractically walking. It's that brother of mine you're anxious to getback to."

Catherine didn't bother to deny it as they found their seatsagain. She missed Vincent, but she was also thoroughly enjoying theevening, and dared to hope that he was enjoying it too, throughher.

* * * * *

Vincent was still conducting long, involved arguments with himselfwhen Catherine's swiftly stifled reaction to Jenny's comment reachedhim. He didn't know what she was responding to, but it reminded him,suddenly, of something she'd pointed out long ago; that jealousy wasa normal human emotion. Not an admirable one, to be sure, but naturalunder the circumstances. Perhaps what he needed to do was accept thathe would never be entirely happy when Catherine went out. Father'sright, he mused. I tilt at windmills.

Suddenly he found that, though his feelings hadn't changed, hismood had, and he resolved to spend the rest of the evening enjoyingCatherine's pleasure.

Crossing to an elegantly carved wooden cabinet, he opened it. Hehad watched Catherine operate the cleverly concealed sound systemmany times, though he had never before touched it, and feltreasonably certain of his ability to make it produce music. Compactdisks and cassette tapes were neatly shelved, and Vincent quicklyfound the disk he sought and slipped it into the machine. After alittle cautious trial and error, he pushed the right combination ofbuttons and the music began to play.

Reaching out for Catherine, Vincent leaned back and relaxed,prepared to listen and enjoy in harmony with her.

He had read Cervantes' Adventures of Don Quixote De La Mancha, ofcourse, and last night, Catherine had told him a little about theplay, so he had a fair idea of what was happening.

When Don Quixote sang of Dulcinea, the ideal dream-woman he hadvisualized, Vincent closed his eyes to let the words and musicenvelop him. He felt closer to Catherine than usual, and he wonderedif she could feel it, too.

"...I see heaven when I see thee, Dulcinea, and thy name is like aprayer an angel whispers..."

Catherine, his mind whispered. My Dulcinea.

"...If I reach out to thee, do not tremble and shriek at the touchof my hand on thy hair. Let my fingers but see thou art warm andalive and no phantom to fade in the air..."

There was a time when she did shriek, but that was long ago. Sincethen, she had come to welcome his touch and he wondered if he hadmomentarily lost sight of that.

If he closed his eyes, he could see her in the darkened theatre,head tilted slightly, eyes closed as she listened intently, and evenas he envisioned her, he saw and felt her smile.

Captivated by the music and lyrics, Vincent was listening to thesixth playing of the recording when he sensed Catherine near andheard the front door open. Rising, he went to the top of the stairsto wait. Music drifted behind him.

Devin was putting forth a slightly off-key version of themusical's title song and his valiant, if somewhat mangled attempt tocarry a tune had Catherine breathless with laughter. He carried hershoes in one hand and they leaned together, arms entwined in mutualsupport. They seemed unaware of Vincent standing on the shadowedlanding and again he felt an ignoble rush of bitterness.

"Watch your feet, Chandler," Devin warned in between bars of thesong.

"My feet are just fine," she answered him tartly. "It's your feetthat need watching."

To the accompaniment of more giggles and song, they continuedtheir unsteady progress up the stairs. Catherine was the first tonotice their observer and she greeted him with a wide smile.

"Vincent!"

He returned the smile gravely; her pleasure at sight of him didmuch to dispel his momentary lapse.

Devin didn't bother with greetings. "Here," he said, shiftingCatherine's weight to Vincent and thrusting her shoes into his hand."She's all yours. I'm telling you, Vincent," he added, lowering hisvoice confidentially, "You don't ever want to take her where they'reserving alcohol. She has no head for it. Three glasses of champagne,and look at her!" He rolled his eyes and grinned.

"Two!" Catherine said indignantly.

"Three," Devin countered.

"It was two," she argued back. "I'm fine."

"You see?" Devin said cheerfully, as if she'd made his point."Three glasses of champagne and she forgets how to count!"

"Speaking of counting, you drank four glasses!"

"Did not."

"Did too."

"Did not."

"Did..."

"Children..." Vincent felt compelled to intervene.

Catherine burst into merry laughter and buried her face againstVincent's arm. "I'm sorry. We've been getting progressively sillierall evening. I can't imagine what you think."

What Vincent thought, he kept to himself.

Plucking her shoes from Vincent's hand, Catherine squeezed throughthe narrow space between the two men and started up the fourremaining stairs to the second floor. Vincent kept one steadying handon her elbow until she turned and looked at him indignantly. "I'mfine, Vincent. Devin, as you know, is given to exaggeration."

With a courtly gesture of apology, he released her arm. "Where areyou going?" he inquired.

"To change," she tossed back.

"Slipping into something more comfortable?" Devin called, and sheclosed the bedroom door with more force than absolutelynecessary.

Vincent was able to regard his brother with amusement. "I assumeyou enjoyed the evening?"

Devin jerked at his bow tie and tugged fiercely at the top twobuttons of the shirt, leading the way into the study as he did so.Vincent followed closely.

"Yeah, I had a good time," Devin said. "I think Chandler did,too."

"I know she did," Vincent said quietly. "Thank you, Devin."

Grinning, Devin burst into cheerful song again, his voice adissonant counterpoint to the music still pouring from the stereo. Heplopped down in the chair Vincent had recently vacated. A few momentslater, Catherine joined them, face scrubbed, hair brushed out andwearing a long fuzzy robe.

As she curled up beside Vincent on the couch, she noticed themusic. "You're playing the stereo," she said in astonishment. Shelistened. "Man of La Mancha." Pressed her cheek against his shoulder,she whispered, "I'm glad you got to enjoy it, too."

Vincent smiled at her. "I did enjoy it," he admitted softly. A newsong was beginning, one whose lyrics had only served to fuel hisearlier discouragement.

'I was spawned in a ditch by a mother who left me there, naked andcold and too hungry to cry...'

He bowed his head, feeling again the impact of those words.

"Vincent," Catherine whispered, so softly that only he could hearher. "I've always believed your mother must have been terrified...that she just didn't know what to do with such an unusual baby. I'vealways believed she loved you."

Vincent was touched by her faith; Catherine, he knew, was the sortof woman who could love an infant such as he had been, and it waslike her to assume that others could easily feel the same. His armtightened around her and the music played on.

'You showed me the sky, but what good is the sky to a creaturewho'll never do better than crawl...?'

Those words had stayed with him, too, and he glanced from Devin toCatherine and back again.

"That's what the two of you did for me," he said quietly. "Each ofyou, in your own way, showed me the sky, and kept showing me until Ibelieved that I could have a part of it, be a part of it." He lookedat his brother. "You, Devin, dragging me on midnight carousel ridesand moonlight adventures. And you, Catherine, wanting so much for meand believing I could have it. I will always be grateful that neitherof you listened when I said 'I can't.'"

Devin grinned and heaved himself out of his chair. "On thatsomber, sentimental note, I think I'll say goodnight. Perhaps anothertime when I've not battled so long..." With an elaborate bow, he gaveVincent a devilish grin and bent to press a quick kiss to Catherine'scheek. "'Night, Chandler. I had a good time."

"I did too," she said. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Devin," Vincent added.

Devin grinned again and cuffed Vincent's shoulder affectionatelyas he left the room.

With no one to see, Catherine cuddled more securely into Vincent'sarms. "I'm glad you like the music," she said.

He rested his cheek against her hair. "I felt my alonenesstonight." Sharing his pain was difficult, but was something he waslearning to do with Catherine.

"Because I wasn't here?" she guessed.

"Because you were somewhere I wanted to be."

"I only went because you wanted me to, Vincent."

"I did want you to go. I'm glad you went. Only, sometimes I can'thelp wishing..."

"I know," she said, and her hands tightened possessively,protectively against his arm.

"You know, there's a line from one of the songs that reminds me ofyou," he said, to distract her.

"Which one?"

"It's from the song about Dulcinea being a dream, and howwonderful the world would be if everyone could have a dream...

it says, 'There is no Dulcinea, she's made of flame and air...."He paused. "Sometimes I feel you're made of flame and air... and if Idon't hold you tightly enough, or if I hold you too tightly, you'llvanish... and I'll open my hand to see there's nothing there atall...."

"That can never happen, Vincent," Catherine said. "I'm real andI'm here for you. For always."

"I know that. It's only that dreams can be fragile, impossiblethings...."

She tugged at his arm, interrupting. "Listen."

'To dream the impossible dream, to fight the unbeatable foe, tobear with unbearable sorrow, to run where the brave dare notgo...'

"That song's about you, Vincent."

"It's a song about impossible dreams," he pointed out softly.

"No," Catherine said firmly. "I don't believe any dreams areimpossible anymore."

Looking into her eyes, he was reminded again that their dream hadalways been the same, and that it had, miraculously, come true. Thewindmills at which he had tilted had tossed him to the ground, justas Don Quixote's had, but Catherine was there to help him up.Catherine wanted to be here. With him. Always. Forever.

As she nuzzled against his neck, he smiled.

THE END