But tell me at least one thing. Curiosity’s killing me. Let’s see . . . well, for instance, what of the Soviets after the war?
The old fox had spoken so casually, as if the question was one that had occurred to him by chance, as if he might as likely have asked whether the cut of men’s suits would change in the future, when in fact his query had been calculated and the answer of intense interest to him. Operating on what Stefan had told him, Churchill had rallied the Western Allies to continue fighting in Europe after the Germans were defeated. Using the Soviets’ land grab of Eastern Europe as an excuse to turn against them, the other Allies had fought the Russians, driving them back into their motherland and ultimately defeating them entirely; in fact, throughout the war with Germany, the Soviets had been propped up with weapons and supplies from the United States, and when that support was withdrawn they collapsed in a matter of months. After all, they had been exhausted after the war with their old ally, Hitler. Now the modern world was far different from what destiny had intended, and all because Stefan had answered Churchill’s one question.
Unlike Jason or Thelma or Laura or Chris, Stefan was a man out of time, a man for whom this era was not his destined home; the years since the Great Wars were his future, while those same years were in these people’s past; therefore he recalled both the future that had once been and the future that had now come to pass in place of the old. They, however, could remember no different world but this one in which no great world powers were hostile toward one another, in which no huge nuclear arsenals awaited launch, in which democracy flourished even in Russia, in which there were plenty and peace.
Destiny struggles to reassert the pattern that was meant to be. But sometimes, happily, it fails.
Laura and Thelma remained in rocking chairs on the porch, watching their menfolk walk down to the sea and then north along the beach, out of sight.
“Are you happy with him, Shane?”
“He’s a melancholy man.”
“But lovely.”
“He’ll never be Danny.”
“But Danny is gone.”
Laura nodded. They rocked.
“He says I redeemed him,” Laura said.
“Like grocery coupons, you mean?”
Finally Laura said, “I love him.”
“I know,” Thelma said.
“I never thought I would . . . again. I mean, love a man that way.”
“What way is that, Shane? Are you talking about some kinky new position? You’re heading toward middle age, Shane; you’ll be forty before too many moons, so isn’t it time you reformed your libidinous ways?”
“You’re incorrigible.”
“I try to be.”
“How about you, Thelma? Are you happy?”
Thelma patted her large belly. She was seven months pregnant.
“Very happy, Shane. Did I tell you—maybe twins?”
“You told me.”
“Twins,” Thelma said, as if the prospect awed her. “Think how pleased Ruthie would be for me.”
Twins.
Destiny struggles to reassert the pattern that was meant to be, Laura thought. And sometimes, happily, it succeeds.
They sat for a while in companionable silence, breathing the healthful sea air, listening to the wind sough softly in the Monterey pines and cypress.
After a while Thelma said, “Remember that day I came to your house in the mountains, and you were taking target practice in the backyard?”
“I remember.”
“Blasting away at those human silhouettes. Snarling, daring the world to tackle you, guns hidden everywhere. That day you told me you’d spent your life enduring what fate threw at you, but you were not just going to endure any more—you were going to fight to protect your own. You were very angry that day, Shane, and very bitter.”
“Yes.”
“Now, I know you’re still an endurer. And I know you’re still a fighter. The world is still full of death and tragedy. In spite of all that, somehow you just aren’t bitter any more.”
“No.”
“Share the secret?”
“I’ve learned the third great lesson, that’s all. As a kid I learned to endure. After Danny was killed, I learned to fight. Now I’m still an endurer and a fighter—but I’ve also learned to accept. Fate is.”