A Voice In The Night by Brian Matthews Page A

it all again, and perpetual, youthful perfection. But what about Jeremy and Sadie? Would he and Eileen want them to remain perpetual toddlers? No. They would grow up, and he and his wife would stay the same.
    Good.
    No. Would the kids decide someday to be older than their parents?
    Luke laughed at this new and vexing problem. The thoughts of youth turned his mind to their first trip to the Cape, where they’d rented a cottage with a deck that hung out over the water of Town Cove. Pleasure boats and lobstermen would crawl past the floor to ceiling windows of “Foremast,” the name of the house, etched with a wood-burning tool into a board over the door.
    They would bicycle up to the Coast Guard Beach access road, and then veer off down the paved bike path that lead through the marshes and dunes. The path rolled and pitched. Eileen would screech in delight as the speed built up, but she wouldn’t apply the brakes. Luke had visions of her crashing into the dense, thorny thicket that edged the narrow path. Sometimes she would turn her head to see where he was and her bike would wobble a little and he would close his eyes so that he wouldn’t see the actual crash. But when he opened them an instant later, she would still be rolling oceanward. She was having so much fun, he couldn’t bring himself to tell her that she scared him silly.
    At the beach, she would jump out of her cutoff jeans and tee shirt, and gallop swim suited into the enormous surf as he watched again with a combination of admiration and worry. She weighed 98 pounds and he pictured her easily swept away by the undertow, beyond his help. But a moment later she would body surf down a wave and crash onto the shore. Eileen would pop up, grinning, scratched all over from the pebbles and sand, uncaring about the damage to her alabaster skin. He bought her a wet suit at the surf shop in Orleans that afternoon to protect her from her own abandon.
    Now he drove to their house, savoring the clean newness of California. The workmen were digging up the fence posts and rolling up the chain link sections of the barrier that had shut them off from the outside world. They had their lives back. Luke crawled into bed and drifted off smiling about his new daughter, of Jeremy asleep in the next room, of his wife. And that he would have them all, forever.

Chapter 18
    Margaret Mann was beyond exhaustion and tumbled into bed gratefully, the cool sheets, the comforter and the quiet of her house a respite from an evening caring for the ever-energetic Jeremy. She knew she would drop off to sleep soon enough, so she awarded herself a few more wakeful moments, savoring the day with the flaxen-haired toddler. He had worn her out, while filling her with poignant regret about the life she’d chosen. Now, at least she knew what she’d really wanted during all the years alone - a home filled with young voices, curiosity and the love only children could create in her.
    Soon she felt the tunnel of sleep approach and draw her down. She succumbed to it with snuggling anticipation. Now her waking dream began to merge with that of early sleep. Children and home, the vigor of her youth, the presence of a man, all these flitted through her unconsciousness, not clear and coherent, but more penetrating and deeply felt in their disjointedness. Oddly, she was able to keep the images alive, willing them to continue.
    Margaret was able to watch herself as she had once been by zooming through the soft focus of her dream. She saw herself in her mid-twenties again. Her light brown hair fell loosely to her shoulders. Her lips were full beyond voluptuousness. Her cat-like, nearly-emerald eyes darted about, reflecting her thoughts, emotions, and the range of choices and uncertainties before her at any given moment. This odd habit, she now could see, was something that men had been unconsciously drawn to. It softened the impact of her considerable beauty with a tinge of vulnerability, making her seem