Running Blind (The Visitor)

impatient curve in the muscles of her cheek.
    She was beautiful in a way he couldn’t describe. She was tall and lean and graceful, and blond and faintly tanned and she had spectacular hair and eyes. But she was more than that. She was shot through with energy and will and passion. Crackling with restless intelligence, like electricity. He traced his hand down the smooth curve of her back. She stretched her foot all the way down his leg and tried to lace her toes into his. The secret smile was still there, against his neck.
    “Now you can ask me about my day,” she said.
    Her words were muffled by his shoulder.
    “How was your day?” he asked.
    She put her hand flat on his chest and pushed herself up onto her elbow. Made a shape with her mouth and blew her hair off her face. Then the smile came back.
    “It was great,” she said.
    He smiled in turn.
    “Great how?” he asked.
    “Secretary gossip,” she said. “Mine talked to one from upstairs over lunch.”
    “And?”
    “There’s a partners’ meeting in a few days.”
    “And?”
    “The upstairs secretary had just typed the agenda. They’re going to make a partnership offer.”
    He smiled. “Who to?”
    She smiled back. “To one of the associates.”
    “Which one?”
    “Guess.”
    He pretended to think about it. “They’d go for somebody special, right? The best they got? The smartest, hardest-working, most charming and all that?”
    “That’s usually what they do.”
    He nodded. “Congratulations, babe. You deserve it. You really do.”
    She smiled happily and threaded her arms around his neck. Pressed herself down in a full-body hug, head to toe.
    “Partner,” she said. “What I always wanted.”
    “You deserve it,” he said again. “You really do.”
    “A partner at thirty,” she said. “Can you believe it?”
    He stared up at the ceiling and smiled. “Yes, I can believe it. If you’d gone into politics, you’d be president by now.”
    “I can’t believe it,” she said. “I never can, when I get what I want.”
    Then she was quiet for a second.
    “But it hasn’t happened yet,” she said. “Maybe I should wait until it has.”
    “It’ll happen,” he said.
    “It’s only an agenda. Maybe they’ll all vote no.”
    “They won’t,” he said.
    “There’ll be a party,” she said. “Will you come?”
    “If you want me to. If I won’t ruin your image.”
    “You could buy a suit. Wear your medals. You’d blow them away.”
    He was quiet for a spell, thinking about buying a suit. If he did, it would be the first suit he’d ever worn.
    “Have you got what you want?” she asked.
    He wrapped his arms around her. “Right now?”
    “Overall?”
    “I want to sell the house,” he said.
    She lay still for a moment.
    “OK,” she said. “Not that you need my permission.”
    “It burdens me down,” he said. “I can’t handle it.”
    “You don’t need to explain to me.”
    “I could live the rest of my life on the money I get for it.”
    “You’d have to pay taxes.”
    He nodded. “Whatever. What’s left would buy me plenty of motel rooms.”
    “You should think carefully. It’s the only asset you’ve got.”
    “Not to me. Money for motels is an asset. The house is a burden.”
    She was silent.
    “I’m going to sell my car, too,” he said.
    “I thought you liked it,” she said.
    He nodded. “It’s OK. For a car. I just don’t like owning things.”
    “Owning a car isn’t exactly the end of the world.”
    “It is to me. Too much hassle. It needs insurance, all that kind of stuff.”
    “You don’t have insurance?”
    “I thought about it,” he said. “They need all kinds of paperwork first.”
    She paused.
    “How will you get around?”
    “Same as I always did, hitch rides, take the bus.”
    She paused again.
    “OK, sell the car if you want to,” she said. “But maybe keep the house. It’s useful.”
    He shook his head, next to hers. “It drives me crazy.”
    He felt her smile.
    “You’re the only person I know who wants to be homeless,” she said. “Most people try real hard to avoid it.”
    “There’s nothing I want more,” he said. “Like you want to make partner, I want to be free.”
    “Free of me too?” she asked, quietly.
    “Free of the house,” he said. “It’s a burden. Like an anchor. You’re not.”
    She unwrapped her arms from his neck and propped herself on an elbow.
    “I don’t believe you,” she said. “The house anchors you and you don’t like