Chapter Thirty: The Answer

Author's Note: This is it...the final chapter! I'd like to pause here and send out heartfelt thanks to my readers, but especially to Cherylann Rivers, Jilsen, and max2013, my three faithful reviewers. I appreciate your feedback more than I know how to say. Max, I love how emotionally involved you always seem to be with the characters and the plot. Jilsen, you're always so kind and perceptive. And Cheryl, you're the cheerleader I never knew I needed! Your insight and support mean so much to me.

Joe was eating pie in bed.

Unsurprised but curious, Nancy turned her head on the pillow for a better view. Her second look confirmed it: that was indeed Laura Hardy's best pie plate balanced on her youngest son's sheet-covered knees. He had a fork in one hand and a paperback copy of Catch-22 in the other.

After a moment, he seemed to feel her gaze on him. He looked over, courteously tugging one earbud out of his ear before he spoke. "Good morning."

"Good morning," Nancy mumbled back, struggling to keep her heavy eyelids open. "I don't know how you can read with music playing right into your ears."

Joe shrugged. "It helps me focus. Too much quiet makes me edgy," he said. "Want some pie?"

"No, thanks." Nancy let her eyes close. Though her mind wanted to be alert, her traitorous body was already nestling back down into the wonderful, beguiling warmth of the cocooning blankets.

"Go back to sleep, babe," Joe said gently, reaching over to smooth her hair back from her face. "It's Saturday. We have absolutely nothing planned."

Nancy was asleep before she could reply.

Sunlight slanted into the room the next time she re-surfaced, its angle indicating that the morning was half over. Nancy stretched and, to her surprise, bumped into another recumbent body.

"You're still here!" she exclaimed, turning over to see for herself. Joe was awake, propped on one elbow and still reading his book.

"Yeah, I'm still here," he said over his shoulder. When he tugged out an earbud again, Nancy could hear, very faintly, the Rolling Stones. "How do you feel?" he asked.

Nancy had been privately assessing that very question, and not liking the answer. She sat up before giving an answer, rubbing her throbbing head. "Like one of Aunt Eloise's houseplants," she said dourly.

"I've never seen a houseplant with a hangover before," Joe said with amusement. "What does she water them with? Neat Scotch?"

"No, I mean parched," Nancy told him. This couldn't be a hangover. She never drank that much.

"Do you remember anything from last night?"

Nancy thought for a moment. Her usually agile brain seemed caught in slow motion today; it felt like the mental equivalent of trying to run in waist-deep water.

"Bess and Tom's post-Thanksgiving party!" she said finally. "I remember."

"That's a start. I'll go get you an aspirin," Joe said compassionately.

"No, it's okay. I'm getting up anyway." Nancy swung her legs over the side of the bed. The cold bite of the floor against her bare feet very nearly made her retreat back under the covers. But nature called, and so did the medicine cabinet.

In the bathroom Nancy washed down her aspirin with water from the faucet, catching handful after handful to drink from her cupped palms until her terrible thirst had subsided. Then she brushed her teeth. She was already beginning to feel better when she slipped back into bed and curled up against Joe's warm back.

"Let me know when you're up to it, and I'll make breakfast," he offered, without turning around.

"You already ate. Or did I dream that?"

In answer, Joe reached over the side of the bed and picked up the now-empty pie plate.

"Not a dream, then," Nancy said.

Joe turned a page. "Is it coming back to you yet?"

Nancy considered this. Though thinking came easier, this time, her memories of Friday night remained as bright and gauzy and diaphanous as a watercolor painting.

"Bit and pieces," she told Joe, who was still waiting for her answer.

"Good. It was a fun party." He returned his attention to his book.

Nancy did not feel so casual about it. She lay back, staring unseeingly at the ceiling, and tried to stitch the fragments of her memory together into a cohesive narrative.

She remembered going to the party early to help Bess set up, though Bess had hardly needed assistance. Bess was always in her element when entertaining. Myra was at her grandparents', the house was spotless, and Bess had spent the whole day producing an impressive array of drinks and finger foods, as well as virgin cocktails for those who were pregnant or abstaining. Nancy had chatted and helped her friend decide which dress to wear while Joe and Tom drove down to the store for more ice and some beer.

She remembered the atmosphere as guests began to arrive: a laid-back, long-weekend, ready-to-party feeling which exploded into outright revelry as soon as Frank and Callie stood up and announced their marriage to the whole group. Nancy had raised her glass in round after round of toasts to the newlyweds before drinking to the happy couple had turned into just plain drinking. Bess had made sangria and something else which Nancy could not identify but happily downed anyway, because it was sweet and fruity and made her feel like a soap bubble rising on a warm breeze.

She remembered dancing. That was a good memory. She had always loved to dance, and she rarely got the opportunity to do it these days. As far as she could remember, Tony had started it; but before long before other people had joined in. Nancy had pushed her glass into Chet's hands and moved eagerly into the dance, syncing up with Bess on one side and George on the other, the three of them falling naturally into the easy, playful rhythm of all the Friday nights they had gone out together during college. Chet and his date, Delilah, had joined in, displaying more enthusiasm than grace. Callie had let Joe lead her out onto the improved dance floor and had surprised everyone, Joe included, by immediately challenging him to a dance-off. They were both excellent dancers. Nancy had cheered for them both, indiscriminately, until suddenly Bess and Tom had decided to show them up. Even seven months pregnant, Bess had an innate sensuality and impeccable timing. Callie and Joe had conceded defeat, bowing to the reigning champions and crowning them with tiaras made from paper plates. Frank had re-claimed Callie for a dance after that, and Joe had joined Nancy.

She remembered talking. Lots of talking. Gossiping with Bess, making slightly awkward small talk with Delilah, cracking jokes with Tony and Joe, bantering with an ever-changing sea of faces. And there had been a strange card game some of Bess's work friends tried to teach her to play. That had probably not gone well, considering the amount of sangria she had put away by then.

And that was all she could really pin down. Most of the evening was a kaleidoscope blur of faces, colors, sensations. She thought she could remember trying to build card houses with Tony, giggling harder at each catastrophic collapse. She definitely remembered dragging Joe into the back yard to look at the stars and making out on the porch until Chet and Delilah blundered out there and interrupted them. But those memories were like buoys in a swirling sea.

Nancy sat up abruptly, frowning. She liked staying in control. Her mind was her tool, her weapon, her first line of defense against a chaotic world. Having to sift through hazy memories, searching for a foothold of certainty, was unsettling on a fundamental level. On top of that, she was suddenly very aware of how Ned had reacted the few times she had been truly tipsy around him. Ned's entire demeanor had made it clear that he had been embarrassed both for her and by her. What if Joe felt the same way?

"I'm sorry," she said, fiddling with the edge of the blanket. "Please tell me I didn't do anything stupid."

Joe set his book face-down and turned over. "You didn't do anything stupid," he said. "And what are you sorry about?"

"Being out of control," Nancy said tentatively.

"You weren't- " Joe started, but broke off. He reached out and put a finger under her chin, tipping her face up until she had to look at him. To Nancy's relief, there was no embarrassment in his eyes- only affection mixed with amusement.

"Quit looking for a reason to feel guilty," he said. "You deserved to let your control slide a bit." He studied her face for a moment. "Do you want me to apologize? I was a long way from sober last night, myself."

"No!" Nancy said quickly. "You're always responsible about drinking and you had every right to have fun...okay, no fair using my own arguments against me. I see that smirk."

"Listen to yourself, Drew, and lighten up." He leaned in and kissed the tip of her nose. "Besides, you're the cutest damn drunk I've ever met. All you wanted to do was dance and hug people. And fool around," he added with a wink.

Nancy pulled back, alarmed. "With whom?" she asked, faintly.

"Just me. You got in the shower with me and told me you felt like a naughty mermaid."

That did sound familiar, now that he said it. Nancy blushed. "Not Bess's shower, right? That girl would never let me live it down."

"No, our shower," Joe told her.

"Okay."

"Feeling better?"

Nancy nodded. She was, in more ways than one.

"How did we get home?" she asked.

"We have built-in designated drivers, remember?" Joe gestured toward the rest of the apartment, indicating Frank and Callie. "At least until they move out. We should probably take full advantage of this. Party every night!"

Nancy winced. The aspirin might had taken the edge off her headache, but she still was not ready for that level of exuberance. "I dare you," she said. "Go for it. Let's see how long Frank's patience holds out. In fact, I think you should constantly maintain your blood alcohol at just over the limit so he has to drive you everywhere you need to go."

"You're diabolical," Joe said admiringly. "You were wasted as an only child."

"Please don't actually try it. I like your liver the way it is."

"It is one of my best features."

Nancy laughed and kissed him. "I love you."

"I love you, too." He leaned in for one more kiss, soft and brief, and then turned back over and picked up his book.

Nancy lay back against the pillow, lost in thought. She even dozed a little. But before long she found herself wide awake and restless. She knew that Joe was trying to concentrate; and she knew that if she were in his place, she would want to read in peace. Even so, she could not help pressing up behind him, brushing kisses against his shoulder and the strong line of his neck, running exploring fingertips along the skin of his arm and side and tracing every scar and freckle along the way. The time between page turns grew gradually longer and longer. Nancy took this as a challenge and responded accordingly, shifting against him in subtle ways, increasing the delicacy of her touch. When, finally, he tugged the earbuds from both ears and stuck his iPod into the book to mark his place, she knew she had won.

"Feeling better?" Joe asked.

"Much," Nancy told him, keeping all traces of triumph out of her voice. She went on casually caressing him, tracing her fingertips along his clavicle and down his shoulder.

"I remember when you got this," she remarked when her wandering fingers reached the compass rose on his bicep. She paused and circled it thoughtfully. Somehow, over the years, she had never asked him whether it held any particular meaning or had simply appealed to him at the time. "We were 18. You thought you were such a badass."

Joe snorted. "If you'll examine Exhibit B, you will find that I am, in fact, something of a badass," he said, pointing to the bullet scar on his opposite shoulder.

"Getting shot doesn't mean you're a badass. It means you're a bad ducker." Nancy grinned. "I certainly wouldn't pick you first for my dodgeball team."

"If you're throwing balls as fast as bullets, I don't want to play anyway!" Joe said, laughing.

Nancy's fingers had skimmed down to the engine schematic on his forearm. That one, she understood: it represented freedom, history, courage, and power. And she thought she understood his Beowulf quotation, too. Let Fate unwind as it must! It was a bold statement. Though she had not determined whether he meant it as a challenge or as a statement of acceptance, it meant a hell of a lot either way. The compass, though...she was unsure. It sat there, taunting her; and Nancy, who had never been able to withstand curiosity long, gave in.

"Why did you choose this design?" she asked, touching it again.

He turned his arm to get a better look at it, himself. "What makes you think it means anything?"

"I know you."

"Okay." He grew serious. "The compass rose, it means knowing where you are, or who you are, and where home is. Plus, Frank and I were always out on the bay in the Sleuth back then, and it has strong nautical ties. So there you go." He winked at her. "Deep and badass. I'm astonished you held out against my charms for so long."

"Astonished, huh?" Nancy kissed him, smiling against his lips and then squealing as he pulled her on top of him. Catch-22 thumped onto the floor, unheeded.

"It's my turn to read you," he said.

"I'm a blank book," Nancy told him.

"Not entirely." He grabbed her wrist and brought it to his mouth, kissing the scar there, the palm of her hand, her fingers. "I know how to read between the lines."

"Only because you've known me so long," Nancy said, teasing him.

"If I'd just met you today, I could read you your life off your body," Joe told her, releasing her hand. He was playing, still, but there was a note of gravity in his voice. "I could start from your hair and work my way down to your toes and tell you all about yourself. And even if I'd just met you today I think I'd be in love with you by the time I'd read half the story."

"That's called lust, not love," Nancy said gently.

Joe half-smiled. "I'm being serious, Nan. I'm not talking about your body. I'm talking about the information I could get from it. Your bravery, your perseverance, your compassion, your strength..."

Nancy touched his lips, interrupting him. "Joe?" She was serious, now, too, and he responded with his full attention right away.

"You asked me a question a few days ago," she said, feeling her heart trip suddenly into a wild syncopation of anxiety. Joe looked worried, too, and Nancy knew why. She had become an expert at guarding her heart, at evading real connections with anyone but her closest circle of family and friends. After Ned- whom she had loved, though never as much as he had loved her- she had begun to assume that this was simply the way she was made: an instrument in the hand of Justice, born for the hunt and not for love. Part of her had even felt glad about this. But then Joe had come along, stepping past her barriers as though they had never existed. He did not expect her to give up any part of herself. He accepted her, challenged her, and complemented her in ways she had never believed possible.

Nancy took a long breath, steadying herself. She had no doubts about what she was about to say, especially now, as she looked into Joe's face. She loved him so much her soul ached with it.

"My answer is yes. I want to move in with you."

Her words, so plain compared to the sonnet he had offered to her, nevertheless provoked a similar response- only this time it was Joe, not Nancy, whose eyes widened in surprise and pleasure, Joe who mutely gathered her into an impassioned embrace.

Nancy let herself get lost in his kiss. "If I'd known how good it would feel to say that, I would have said it the first time you asked," she murmured finally.

"That would've saved me some work," Joe said, kissing her again. "Maybe you should give your answer in sonnet form, too."

"Will you settle for a haiku?" Nancy asked.

"The committee will consider it." Joe smiled, his blue eyes shining with genuine happiness. "Welcome home, Nan."

Nancy had spent a great deal of time, recently, wondering if losing one's sense of home were simply part of adulthood. Now she saw the truth: that home was never truly lost, only transmuted through some alchemy of the soul into new places, new forms. She looked up at Joe with a smile to match his.

"Thank you," she said. "It's good to be home."