The Witness

so you can protect me?”
    “That would be a side benefit. Other side benefits include having my stuff handy, some closet and drawer space, and easy access to sex. All of those are pluses, but the main reason I want to live here is because I love you and I want to be with you.”
    She sat for a moment, looking at her cabin. Hers, she thought. Thehouse, the gardens, the greenhouse, the little creek, the woods. She’d come to think of them as hers, to feel that belonging. For the first time, she’d come to think of a place as home.
    Hers.
    “If you moved in, you’d need security codes and keys.”
    “They’d sure be handy.”
    “I’d like to think about it, if that’s all right.”
    “Sure.”
    The single word, so easy as he got out of the car, opened the back for the dog to jump out, told her he was confident he’d overcome any objections she might voice, and have his way.
    It should have irritated her, she thought. It should even insult her. And yet it did neither. It simply reminded her who he was.
    Theirs. She tried out the word, let herself wonder over it while they waited for Bert to relieve himself after the drive.
    Theirs in the pretty, star-dazzled night, with the flowers glowing, the creek murmuring and the soft breeze urging the leaves to whisper an answer.
    Their house, their gardens, their greenhouse and creek and woods.
    Hers was safer. Quieter.
    Theirs. Full of compromise and questions.
    And promise.
    She unlocked the front door, reset the alarm. “Would you like to move in with me?”
    “Well, that’s a big step. I’m going to have to think about it.”
    “You just said …” She turned into his grin, felt her lips curve in response as she locked up. “You’re teasing.”
    “Caught me.” He laid his hands on her shoulders, turned her to face him again. “But it is a big step for you, I know.”
    “It’s a more natural progression for you. You were raised in a traditional two-parent home.”
    “Boy, my mother’d be pissed to be labeled traditional.” He put an arm around her shoulders to lead her upstairs. “We’ll keep that between you and me.”
    “I never considered sharing a home with anyone. And I’ve only begun to believe it’s possible for me to stay here, to have a home here.”
    “Believe it, and keep believing it. No point sending negative thoughts out into the universe.”
    “Optimistic or pessimistic thoughts don’t influence events.”
    “How do you know?” Playfully, he gave her hair a quick tug. “You can’t know what other people are thinking or wishing or believing unless they tell you. And what about the whole faith can move mountains deal?”
    “I’ve never seen a mountain move, much less through faith.”
    “Literal brain.” He tapped her forehead. “What about volcanoes? A volcano moves the hell out of a mountain.”
    “It’s ludicrous to posit that a rupture in the earth’s crust, the diverging and converging of tectonic plates, the release of lava, gases and ash through those ruptures can be caused by faith—or the lack of it.”
    “Did I posit? I don’t know what got into me.” He saw her roll her eyes as she walked toward the bathroom. “I made a volcano for a science project in sixth grade. It was very cool.”
    For the first time she didn’t shut the door, but continued to talk to him as she prepared for bed. “It’s a very good project for a young student.”
    “Plus cool.” He walked in, picked up his toothbrush as she washed her face. “I wanted to name it The Devil’s Fart, but my father convinced me my grade could be adversely affected.”
    “Wise.”
    “I called it that in my head, though, so it made the whole baking soda, food coloring and vinegar lava spewing out of the flour paste over soda bottle cone more memorable. I bet you killed in science projects.”
    “I did well.” It felt odd, but in an interesting way, to share the bathroomsink with him. “I built an underwater volcano on converging tectonic plates to demonstrate how islands are formed.”
    He lowered his toothbrush, narrowed his eyes at her in the mirror. “Underwater volcano.”
    “Yes. Hot water always rises to the surface of cold, and floats. With the baked clay model—”
    “Baked clay.”
    “Yes, and the remote controlled plates, I was able to create a very satisfying eruption.”
    “How old were you?”
    “Nine.”
    “Show-off.”
    “I did enjoy doing well in school. You’re talking about science projects so I’ll relax and