Joan sighed. “Thank you, Jake, I feel better.” She loosened her seat belt, moved closer to him, ran her thumb down the magnostrip of her robe. “Can’t get this pesky thing off in here. Kiss me, Jake, kiss me better than they did. Kiss me and cuddle me and tell me that Eunice would be proud of me.”
“Joan!”
“Don’t shame me, lake. I’m a girl now and I need to be kissed so hard we’ll forget I kissed those other two. Call me ‘Eunice,’ dear; please do, it’s my name and I want to hear you call me by it and tell me I’m a good girl.”
He groaned. “Eunice!”
She turned her face up. “Kiss me, darling.”
Trembling, he gave in.
The kiss went on and on. It took Joan only seconds to turn it from tender to rugged, nor did he hold back. (Eunice? I’m going to faint.) (I’m not going to let you, sweetheart; I’ve waited a long time for this!)
Eventually Jake broke, but she stayed close and he continued to hold her. She sighed and touched her hand to his face. “Thank you, Jake dear—for this, and for everything.”
“Thank you. . . Eunice. Joan Eunice.”
“Let mc be ‘Eunice’ a while longer. Am I a good girl? Do I do credit to her?”
“Uh. . . yes!”
“I tried. Jake dear, do you believe in ghosts? I think Eunice must have been here with us. I couldn’t have done that well without her help. It often seems so.”
“Uh, it’s an interesting thought.” (Hmmph! We ought to tickle him for that. Joan, if you tickle him under his short ribs, he comes unstuck. Helpless.) (I’ll remember. But not today.) “In any case, she would have been proud of you. You’re a sweet girl.”
“I mean to be. To you. I love you, lake.”
He hesitated only a heartbeat. “I love you—Eunice. And Joan Eunice.”
“I’m glad you made it both of us. Jake dearest, you’re going to have to marry me. You know that, don’t you?”
“What? Oh, heavens, dear, don’t be silly. I love you—but there’s too much age difference.”
“What? Oh, fiddlesticks! I know I’m almost a quarter of a century older than you are. But it no longer shows. And you understand me and no other man possibly could.”
“Huh! I mean I am too much older than you.”
(Joan, don’t let him talk that way! Tell him men and liquor improve with age. Or some such. Anyhow, he was feeling quite young a few minutes ago—I noticed. Did you?) (Yes. Now quiet, please.)
“Jake, you are not old. Goodness, I know what ‘old’ is! You’re a classic, Jake—and classics improve with age. And…just minutes ago, you were feeling quite young. I noticed.”
“Uh. . . possibly. But none of your sass—youngster.”
She chuckled. “Jake, it’s nice to be a girl to you. I won’t argue, I’ll wait. In time you will realize that you need me and I need you, and that no one else will do for either of us. Then you can make an honest woman of me.”
“Harrumph! That might be more than I could manage, even with a marriage license.”
“Rude darling. I can wait. You can’t escape me, Jake. Eunice won’t let you.”
“Well…I’m durned if I’ll argue; it would just make you stubborn. In either of your personae. My old friend Johann was as stubborn a man as I’ve ever met—and Eunice was just as stubborn in her own sweet way. And, dear, I never know which one you are. Sometimes I think you’ve acquired that split personality your doctors were afraid of.”
(Get him off this subject!) (I will, dear—but not by being jumpy about it. Aren’t we ever going to tell him?) (Yes, of course. But not soon, Joan. Not, till we’re in the clear. Remember those straps.) “Jake darling, I’m not surprised that you feel that way about me—because I do myself. Oh, nothing psychopathic, just the odd situation I am in. You’ve known me how long? A quarter of a century.”
“Twenty-six -years, pushing twenty-seven.”
“Yes. And while I was never given to copping feels from female employees—would you say that ‘horny old bastard’ was an honest description of me?”