Intensity

and fuzzy and let yourself go when a man makes love to you… or is the past always there?"
        "What is this-analysis at eighty miles an hour?"
        "Dodging the question?"
        "You're a snoop."
        "It's called friendship."
        "It's called snoopery."
        "Dodging the question?"
        Chyna sighed. "All right. I like being with a man. I'm not inhibited. I'll admit that I've never felt as though I'm a creature of light going to explode into a new universe, but I've been fully satisfied, always had fun."
        "Fully?"
        "Fully."
        Chyna had never actually been with a man until she was twenty-one; and her intimate relationships now totaled exactly two. Both had been gentle, kind, and decent men, and in each case Chyna had greatly enjoyed the lovemaking. One affair had lasted eleven months, the other thirteen, and neither lover had left her a single troubling memory. Nevertheless, neither man had helped her banish the vicious dreams, which continued to plague her periodically, and she'd been unable to achieve an emotional bond equal to the physical intimacy. To a man whom she loved, Chyna could give her body, but even for love, she could not entirely give her mind and heart. She was afraid to commit herself, to trust without reservation. No one in her life, with the possible exception of Laura Templeton-stunt driver and dream flier-had ever earned total trust.
        Wind shrieked along the sides of the car. In the flickering shadows and fiery light, the long incline ahead of them seemed to be a ramp, as if they were going to be launched into space when they reached the top, vaulting across a dozen burning buses while a stadium full of thrill-seekers cheered.
        "What if a tire blows?" Chyna asked.
        "The tires won't blow," Laura said confidently.
        "What if one does?"
        Wrenching her face into an exaggerated, demonic grin, Laura said, "Then we're just girl jelly in a can. They won't even be able to separate the remains into two distinct bodies. A total amorphous mess. They won't even need coffins for us. They'll just pour our remains in a jug and put us in one grave, and the headstone will read: Laura Chyna Templeton Shepherd. Only a Cuisinart Would Have Been More Thorough ."
        Chyna had hair so dark that it was virtually black, and Laura was a blue-eyed blonde, yet they were enough alike to be sisters. Both were five feet four and slender; they wore the same dress size. Each had high cheekbones and delicate features. Chyna had always felt that her mouth was too wide, but Laura, whose mouth was as wide as Chyna's, said it wasn't wide at all but merely "generous" enough to ensure an especially winning smile.
        As Laura's love of speed proved, however, they were in some ways profoundly different people. The differences, perhaps more than the similarities, were what drew them to each other.
        "You think your mom and dad will like me?" Chyna asked.
        "I thought you were worried about a blown tire."
        "I'm a multichannel worrier. Will they like me?"
        "Of course they'll like you. You know what I worry about?" Laura asked as they raced toward the top of the incline.
        "Apparently, not death."
        "You. I worry about you," Laura said. She glanced at Chyna, and her expression was uncharacteristically serious.
        "I can take care of myself," Chyna assured her.
        "I don't doubt that . I know you too well to doubt that . But life isn't just about taking care of yourself, keeping your head down, getting through."
        "Laura Templeton, girl philosopher."
        "Life is about living ."
        "Deep," Chyna said sarcastically.
        "Deeper than you think."
        The Mustang crested the long hill, and there were no burning buses or cheering multitudes, but ahead of them was an older-model Buick, cruising well below the posted limit. Laura cut their speed by more than half, and they pulled behind the other car. Even in the fading light, Chyna could see that the round-shouldered driver was a white-haired, elderly man.
        They were in a no-passing zone. The road rose and fell, turned left and right, rose again, and they could not see far ahead.
        Laura switched on the Mustang headlights, hoping to encourage the driver of the Buick either to increase his speed or to ease over where the shoulder widened to let them pass.
        "Take your own advice-relax, kiddo,"