Rachel was released from the hospital on Sunday afternoon. She would have to go home eventually, but she needed to be with Stevie more than she needed anything she would find at home.

Mrs. Marks was still there, and Stevie was outside the chamber. Rachel went to Stevie first and kissed her forehead. "I'm here, baby. Your mom is here, too. I miss you and I'm so proud of you. You saved us, baby. Don't waste all that effort by sleeping forever. Remember, the hero always gets the girl. Come and get me, baby."

There was still no acknowledgement, but the brain monitor was going strong. Rachel sat down in a chair next to Mrs. Marks. "They just released me from the hospital, so we need to work out a schedule. You look exhausted. One way or the other, you need to sleep. Of course, I'll be just as difficult to send home as you, so we'll have to be strong for each other."

Mrs. Marks laughed. "You've got it all worked out, have you?"

"I'm hanging on by my fingernails," Rachel admitted. "Just like you, I expect."

Mrs. Marks' smile was sad. "This isn't the first time I've had to sit vigil over my daughter. Most of the time it's for small things, but this isn't the first time she's been in critical condition. It is, however, the most critical she's ever been."

Rachel could hardly imagine how frightening this must be for Stevie's mother. She'd only known Stevie for a few weeks, and it was driving her down to her emotional knees. She put an arm around the older woman's shoulders in the only comfort she had to offer.

The nurses were preparing Stevie for her next session in the chamber when the door to the room opened. Rachel looked back over her shoulder and saw five men in dark suits enter the room. She recognized Rory, but none of the others.

Mrs. Marks stood up and the men stopped in front of her. For a long moment, nothing happened. When Helen put a hand on the arm of the man in front and he covered it with his own hand, Rachel realized that it must be Stevie's father. A man her own age looked like the Marks family and she assumed it was the older brother, Sam. The other two men were strangers to her, but the young one smiled and gave her a respectful nod.

Mr. Marks stepped forward and looked down at his daughter. He looked at her for several minutes and then spoke to the nurses. "If we could have a few moments?"

"Just a few."

He nodded and then gestured for the other men to take places around Stevie's head. Rory stood behind his father and put a hand on his back.

"What's going on?" Rachel asked.

Mrs. Marks pulled her back with a smile. "Do you believe in miracles, Rachel?"

Rachel wasn't sure what to think. "I believe in Stevie."

"Have faith, dear."

Stevie's dad stood at her head and he dripped what looked like oil from a tiny bottle at her hair line. Rubbing it in, he covered the oil with his hand. With the exception of Rory, the other men completed the circle with a hand on the man next to him and one hand on Mr. Marks' hand. Their heads bowed in unison and there was a moment of silence.

Rachel found the whole thing a little creepy. Goosebumps stood up on her arms.

"Stevie Rae Marks," her father began in a soft, yet powerful voice, "in the name of Jesus Christ and by the authority of the holy Melchizedek Priesthood…and the love I bear you as your earthly father…we seal and confirm upon you this anointing with which you have been anointed so that you may fulfill the purpose God has chosen for you. This purpose has not been revealed to us, but we stand ready to accept his will."

There was a stillness in the room that made Rachel feel like lightning was forming. The men did not move, but Rachel didn't think it was over.

"Where is the line between following one's faith and following your heart as a father?" he finally continued with a look of anguish. "The church tells me that using my authority for the purpose of healing one who has been cast out will damn my soul, but if I stand by and do nothing while my daughter suffers needlessly, I will be damned anyway. I pray you regain your health and strength in full measure. I pray you share an open and generous heart with the world for all of your days. I pray you do not suffer for the sins and failures of others. I pray for this in the name of Jesus Christ. Amen."

"Amen," the other men said in unison.

The air settled. All of them smiled except for Stevie's father. He stepped back and the others took turns kissing Stevie's forehead and whispering into her ear. When they were done, he stepped forward again and gently cupped her head. He talked to her for several minutes while Mrs. Marks hugged her sons and the other two men.

Rachel was still trying to figure out what had happened when Mrs. Marks hugged her.

"I need to go home with my husband. Will you be alright here?"

"Of course."

"I'll be back tonight so you can go home and sleep."

"Okay."

She dug in her purse and came up with a scrap of paper. "These are our phone numbers. Call us if anything changes. Do you have a cellphone? What about something to eat for dinner?"

Rachel took the paper and then her hand. "I've got it covered. Go home. I'll see you later."

Stevie's parents looked at each other for a long moment and then they linked hands and left. Others followed. The unknown young man and Rory stayed behind. Rachel cocked her head at Rory. "I'm not real sure what just happened here."

His smile was happy and sincere. "Stevie will get better now. You'll see."

"Hi," the other man grinned. "I'm Rick. Are you Rachel?"

"Yes."

"Stevie told me about you. She was right."

"About what?"

"You are gorgeous."

***

It was a difficult week. Officially, she was off work, but she spent a good deal of time writing reports, being interviewed and seeing the department psychiatrist. Most cops hated seeing the 'shrink', but Rachel didn't mind. It was hard, of course, but it was like exercising the body. She always felt just a little bit stronger afterwards.

Her own family and friends demanded time as well. Rachel didn't find that a hardship. She'd missed them all. Her friends were dying to know all about being a stripper. Rachel told them the truth, but there was no way they could understand. She also found that she felt…wiser. Her perspective was different. She'd done some growing up and it would take some time to mesh all the pieces of her life back together.

Of course, the biggest change in her life were her feelings for Stevie. It just didn't feel right to step back into her real life without Stevie by her side. There was a persistent ache in her heart and mind where Stevie was supposed to be. Rachel's life centered around the hospital. She spent a minimum of eight hours a day at Stevie's side.

Early Tuesday morning, Stevie's lungs stopped producing so much fluid. The doctors were very pleased. They gave her one more session in the chamber and then moved her into a private room. That afternoon, they determined that Stevie's eyes hadn't been damaged by the super-heated air she'd run through. The gauze pads were removed, and Stevie looked a little less helpless.

There was steady improvement in her vital signs every day, but she slept on. Rachel talked to her constantly. She told Stevie everything that was going on. When she ran out of things to tell her about, she told her stories of her childhood and dreams for the future.

The FBI came to town on Friday morning. Rachel only heard about it afterwards. Tawny's prints had finally been matched to a juvenile record. Rachel never did find out what Tawny's real name was, but she was apparently a child raised by a suspicious militia group. The group was financing their private war against America by making and selling drugs. Since the stated goals of the militia group were a threat to the government and the American people, the FBI was taking over the case.

Most of the officers in the department were angry to lose the case to a higher authority, but Rachel was glad. They'd already lost one good man. Rachel thought they were in over their heads and was glad there was someone higher up with the specialized training to deal with the case.

Rachel went to the hospital early on Friday night. Sometimes it was just too hard to wait her turn. She was inside Stevie's room before she realized Mr. Marks was there. He looked up from his Bible.

"Hello."

Rachel felt uncomfortable with him. They'd never really talked and his position on Stevie's lifestyle was still unclear. "I'm early. I'll go get coffee and come back."

"Stay."

Rachel hesitated.

"Please."

Rachel moved to the bed and took Stevie's hand. She wanted to kiss her, but she just didn't know how he would take it. "How is she?"

"She's doing well. They're talking about removing the breathing tube in the next day or so."

"That's…that's great news."

He closed the Bible and looked at her. "You're a police officer."

"Yes, sir."

"Why did you choose law enforcement as a career?"

Rachel held Stevie's hand to her belly. It helped ground her. "I studied law in college. My initial goal was to be a lawyer, but I changed my mind when I finally understood that the law is not about truth and justice. It's not even about right and wrong. I decided that I wanted to take a clearer path towards making the world a better place."

"My daughter met you while you were working undercover?"

Rachel suspected he wouldn't be comfortable saying it himself, but she wanted it out in the open. "I was working as a stripper in a club, yes."

His eyes were judgmental.

Rachel felt her defenses go up. "You don't know how hard it was for me to do that. It's going to take a long time for me to reconcile what I did with who I am, but I did it to protect people from a terrible drug. My motives were good and true. I'm a very good person, Mr. Marks."

He lowered his eyes and nodded. "You're right. I have no call to judge you. You were doing an honorable job under deplorable conditions. I apologize."

Rachel hadn't expected such a quick concession. "Thank you."

"It's hard for me. I'm in the midst of a crisis of faith. My perceptions have become unreliable and my tongue harsh."

"She loves you. She also knows that even if you can't accept her sexuality, you love her, too. She's the purest soul I've ever met, sir. Maybe she doesn't play by all the rules of your church, but she personifies all the things you believe God wants us to be. If you take her sexuality out of the equation, is there anything about her that isn't absolutely perfect? Have you ever met another person who was as good and true as she is? How can you not be bursting with pride?"

His eyes became somber. "A lifetime of faith won't let me turn a blind eye. I do see the goodness in her and I do feel pride, but I cannot un-see the taint of her choices."

It was hard for Rachel to relate to his confusion. Her own upbringing had been largely non-religious. She was exposed to a number of different faiths, but her parents had not forced anything on her or her siblings. Her older sister was a devout Methodist, but her younger brother was a Buddhist.

Rachel's sexuality had never been an issue in her family. Well, except for Great Aunt Jill. She was horrified with the whole thing. She always wanted to talk about it every time the family got together. Rachel thought Aunt Jill was secretly fascinated by the 'lesbo thing'. Shocking her was the best fun.

"I don't have any answers for you. All I know is that Stevie is easy to love." Rachel smoothed Stevie's hair back and felt the warmth of her skin. "I've never met anyone so honorable and kind. She never lies and she never jumps to conclusions. She is mindful of how her words and actions affect other people. Stevie is the first one to volunteer when she sees a problem and the last one to leave when something needs doing. She changes lives for the better the way most people change their shoes. She's an extraordinary person."

"You…love her."

"I do." Rachel sighed. "We haven't known each other long enough to know if we are truly matched as a couple, but I do love her and I think she loves me, too. I've never felt anything so…clean."

"If you are, indeed, becoming a part of her life, perhaps we will have another opportunity to speak in more comfortable surroundings."

Rachel smiled at him. "That will make Stevie very happy. I look forward to it."

He took his things and left. Rachel let out a big sigh as soon as the door closed, and she leaned over Stevie. "You owe me so big. Leaving me alone to talk with your father? Back rubs for a week. Minimum."

Stevie opened her eyes at dawn the next morning. Rachel was sitting at the foot of the bed rubbing Stevie's feet when it happened. She was talking about elbow macaroni versus spaghetti noodles and various types of cheese for making the best noodles and cheese when Stevie's brown eyes opened on the ceiling and then looked for her.

Rachel's mouth fell right open. "Are you awake?"

Stevie's feet wiggled. Then her hands wiggled. Rachel lunged for the call button and fell right off the bed. The cast on her left arm still threw her for a loop at the oddest times.

Rachel jumped up and pressed the button about ten times. Then she leaned over Stevie and looked into her eyes. "You're okay. We're both okay. Oh my God, I missed you so much. I love you, Stevie. I love you." There was a touch of panic in Stevie's eyes. Rachel carefully put her hand to Stevie's face. "Hang on, baby. They're going to take all this stuff off of you real soon so you can talk."

A nurse came in and Rachel moved out of her way, but she stayed close enough for Stevie to see her. Then she thought of Stevie's family and reached for the hospital phone. Setting it on the bed, she dialed the Marks home. Helen answered.

"She's awake! She's awake!" Rachel was shaking with relief and excitement. "She just opened her eyes a couple of minutes ago!"

"We're on the way!"

"Calm down," the nurse warned. "Let's keep things slow and easy here."

Rachel grabbed Stevie's hand and held it tight. "For the record, when I wake up in a hospital, I want people to celebrate."

Stevie's eyes smiled weakly.

Rachel's heart relaxed. "We're going to be okay, baby. We're going to be okay."

Chapter Ten

"I must say, I'm very pleased with your progress. Your lungs sound clear and strong. The respiratory therapist says you're doing remarkably well. Your only real problems now are frigid air and dust, but you say a dust mask works well for riding. You might try wearing a scarf to prevent coughing fits when it's cold."

Stevie wasn't hearing anything she didn't already know. Dr. Nixon specialized in the treatment of burns, both internal and external. Stevie had been seeing him for almost four months. "How much longer is all this going to take?"

"All this?"

"Healing."

Dr. Nixon set her chart aside and shifted his glasses to the top of his head. "There's a slight chance you might improve in time, but I think this is it."

Stevie's hopes plummeted.

"You're lucky to be alive, Stevie."

"I know."

"I don't think you do." Dr. Nixon said. He sat down on a stool and folded his hands on his lap. "You had third degree burns to the inside of your mouth, your trachea, and parts of your lungs. People don't usually survive that, Stevie. No one expected you to live. You're as close as I've ever seen to a miracle. You can't expect to survive something like that without scars of one sort or another. Even if you can't race anymore, you can still ride."

Stevie struggled with the urge to cry. "I know that but listen to me. I can accept not being able to race, but I can barely talk. I can't sing anymore: not even a little bit. I don't sound right and when I get tired, half of what I say doesn't make it past my throat. I don't recognize my voice anymore. Do you have any idea how confusing that is?"

Dr. Nixon nodded with sympathy in his eyes. "I don't understand it personally, but this is something I've heard before. Usually, it's with people who have facial burns. Looking in the mirror is hard for them because they don't recognize the face they see."

"Now I feel like a jerk for complaining," Stevie said.

"You aren't a jerk. What you feel is valid. Your burn scars may not be visible, but the instant you say 'Hello', people will see them just the same."

"It's not that really." Stevie struggled to find the words. "I don't care what other people will think about my voice. I care about…I feel like…"

"I think I understand," Dr. Nixon said. "You don't recognize yourself and it cuts your self-confidence off at the knees. Who are you if something as fundamental as your voice is beyond your control?"

Part of his comment resonated with Stevie. "Beyond my control is exactly right. I can't control it anymore. I might be okay if it just sounded different, but I can't control it."

"Maybe we should look into a speech therapist. There might be vocal exercises you can do that would help. I'll look into finding someone with experience in burns and see if we can set you up. Your recovery isn't over until you're satisfied, Stevie. You surpassed what I thought you could do when you stopped needing oxygen 24/7. Honestly, I think if you keep at it, you might be able to race again in a year or two. Given time, lungs have incredible regenerative abilities. Don't give up."

Stevie left Dr. Nixon's office with another appointment in two months and a heavy heart. She'd been hoping for more improvement in her voice and now she knew it would never get better. She sounded like a lifelong smoker and she was reluctant to talk to people anymore. Stevie knew the people who loved her didn't care, but she hated the way she sounded now. She knew she was lucky to be alive, but she couldn't help feeling unhappy about losing her voice. It had never occurred to her before the fire how important the sound of your own voice could be to your self-image.

It was early afternoon, and it would be hours before Rachel was off work. Rachel had been cleared for duty two weeks earlier so Stevie could always call and meet up with her somewhere in the city if she wasn't on a call, but Stevie didn't want to be whiny when she saw her.

For lack of anything better to do, Stevie went back to work.

While Stevie had been in the hospital, her mother had taken it upon herself to help out at the store. As a direct result of her assistance, there were some pretty big changes. The most shocking was that Short Bob smelled good and his language with customers was improving. No one would explain what happened, but when her mother came to the shop now, Short Bob stood up and offered her a chair. Stevie wasn't sure what to think of it, but Tall Bob was smiling more. She figured it was all good and left it alone.

The other big change was that she had a new employee. Her mother had gone through job applications and interviewed the best ones. When she settled on the one she liked, she brought the woman to the hospital for Stevie's approval.

Bobbi was a single mom in her forties. She'd been out of work and struggling for over a year, but she had the right skill set and the patience to deal with the Bobs. Stevie's mom insisted the name was a coincidence, but Stevie thought it was perfect.

Bobbi had a fifteen-year-old son named Cory. When she was hired, Bobbi tentatively asked if Cory could hang around the shop after school. Apparently, the boy had behavioral problems and tended to get into trouble on his own. Stevie hadn't been at all sure, but her mother insisted it wouldn't be a problem. She'd been right. Cory came to the shop after school, did his homework, and then played the Atari until his mom got off work.

When Stevie was finally well enough to go back to work, she met Cory and liked him. He acted a little prickly at times, but that trait was slowly fading. Stevie suspected it was what he did when he was lonely and afraid. When she offered him ten dollars a day to keep the lobby clean, he tried very hard not to look like he'd won the lottery. A few weeks later, he asked if he could work more, and Stevie made him a deal. If he kept up with his homework and grades, he could work with Short Bob on Saturdays. Cory was like a brand-new boy and Short Bob said the kid had good hands for the work.

Bobbi was so overwhelmed with her welcome to the shop and the assistance with her son that she had twice cried on Stevie's shoulder in gratitude. Stevie felt like they were doing very little in the grand scheme of things and she had to wonder how many other people were struggling when all they needed was a pat on the shoulder. It was a sad thing when basic friendliness was accepted as a miracle.

Stevie was able to do more work on actual computers now that Bobbi was handling the front desk and it was making her happy. Taking on a challenge and figuring it out was good for one's self-esteem. At the end of every day there was something she could point to and say, "I did that."

Melanie Nichols had followed through and Stevie's company installed a new system for her law firm. Stevie did the data transfer herself under Melanie's watchful eyes and then taught everyone the new security protocols. It took time for Melanie to trust the new system, but she was Stevie's biggest supporter now. As a result, several small companies had come to her at Melanie's recommendation, and it looked like most would be making the upgrades Stevie suggested. Now that Stevie was doing more of the walk-in work, Tall Bob was looking forward to doing more of the system maintenance he enjoyed.

Things were going so well; Stevie was considering hiring people to do Web design on consignment. If things kept looking up, she might consider buying server banks and setting up her own Internet service.

Bobbi was writing a ticket for a walk-in when Stevie got to the shop. Stevie offered her a smile she didn't really feel and got a wink in return. She walked into her office and sat down in her chair. Stevie put her head back and tried to empty her mind. She could hear music in the back room, but it wasn't too loud. From the sound of it, Tall Bob was in charge of music at the moment. Short Bob had the weirdest taste in music. There was no telling what you'd get if you let Short Bob work the radio. What she could hear was actually pretty good, so it had to be Tall Bob's day.

The gentleman at the counter was worried about how long it would take to get his computer back and Bobbi was assuring him that it wouldn't be any longer than necessary. Stevie smiled to herself. It sounded like the poor guy wouldn't know what to do with himself if he didn't have a computer. There were a lot of people like that. They spent so much time on the computer that they forgot how to go outside or visit with friends face to face. Stevie could sympathize, but she didn't really feel sorry for them.

There was a slight squeak in the base of Stevie's chair, and she could hear warm air flowing through the heating ducts. Stevie closed her eyes and concentrated on her throat. Before the fire, she could only feel it when she was sick. Now she could always feel it. It felt like she needed to clear her throat, but the feeling never went away. The doctors told her it was the scar tissue. Clearing her throat didn't change anything and would actually start hurting if she kept trying.

Stevie tried to hum, but nothing came out. She tried to tighten her throat and force air through her voice box faster, but neither made any difference. She could talk, but she couldn't sing or hum. The ability of her voice box to vibrate was almost completely gone. She could say, 'Hey', but she couldn't say, 'Heeeey'.

"Are you alright?"

Stevie jumped in surprise at Bobbi's voice. "Yeah. Sure."

Bobbi folded her arms and raised an eyebrow. "How did the doctor visit go?"

"I think this is the new one hundred percent."

"You look fine to me, but you don't sound happy. What's wrong with the new hundred percent?"

Stevie looked away. "My hummer is broke."

"Your what?"

"My hummer. I can't hum. Or sing. This is as good as my voice is ever going to get."

"Well, I never heard you talk before so maybe I'm not the best person for you to talk to. You'd sound funny to me if your voice was different. The humming thing…well, that might be hard. Can you whisper?"

Stevie wasn't sure, so she tried it. "Let me see." Her eyes widened. "Looks like the answer to that question is yes."

"I know it's not the same, but I bet your whisper sounds exactly the same as before. At least you've still got that."

It was true and made Stevie feel a wee bit better. She smiled at Bobbi. "Thanks."

"It ain't singing," Bobbi said, "but it's something. My dad fought in Vietnam and lost a leg there. He used to get terrible phantom itching until someone told him to just scratch it."

Stevie waited for the rest of the story, but Bobbi just stood there looking at one of her fingernails. "I'm not sure what you're getting at," Stevie prompted. "How do you scratch something that isn't there?"

"How does something that ain't there itch?" Bobbi gave up on her nail and folded her arms. "It's not the itch that matters. Dad would pretend to lift his foot onto his lap, and he'd pretend to scratch. He would imagine how good it would feel and the itch would go away. Scratching isn't done just at the itch. Other parts of your body get involved. If you let those other parts do their job, part of the message gets passed along and it's usually enough to get the message through."

"That's really interesting, but what does it have to do with me?"

"Sing anyway. Turn up the radio in your truck and sing anyway. It's not how you sound that's important. Even if nothing comes out, the physical act of singing needs to be expressed. Maybe it will be enough."

"But I sound terrible."

"Then the radio isn't loud enough. I'm a terrible singer, too, but I love to sing. It feels good. I know how bad I sound, but I can't give up singing. Cory plugs his ears when I sing in the car, but he does it 'cause the radio is so loud. Poor kid."

Stevie was smiling at the image in her head. "I'll give it a try."

"Just not where I can hear you, okay?"

Stevie's laughter was silent, and she suddenly understood what Bobbi was saying. She couldn't laugh out loud anymore, but that wasn't causing her grief. If she could take pleasure in laughing silently, maybe she could take pleasure in singing silently. "Thanks, Bobbi."

"You're welcome. Rachel called while you were gone and wants you to call her cell. I think she wants to know how the appointment went. She sure is a sweetheart."

Stevie was smiling while Bobbi walked back to the counter.

***

Helen came home from buying groceries to find her husband sitting on the porch swing. Things were better between them since the blessing in the hospital, but nothing was resolved. It was unusual for him to be home this early in the afternoon. "Hi, honey."

"Hello."

There was almost no expression at all on his face as he looked at her and Helen began to worry. "What's wrong?"

When he reached out his hand to her, Helen put her groceries down and took it. She let him tuck her into his side and begin swinging.

"The Bishop came by the lot today."

Helen had been wondering when the church would begin to assert itself. She hadn't been sure who they would approach first, but it looked like Jacob had been chosen. "What did he say?"

"Officially, they want to counsel us before services on Sunday morning, but if we don't renounce Stevie, we'll be disfellowshipped. If that doesn't do the trick, I think they intend to excommunicate us."

Helen sagged into her husband. "What about Rory and Sam?"

"Sam was there. He's already made his decision." Jacob sighed. "He gave me two-weeks’ notice in writing. He's choosing Gillian and the church. He's taking it to the next level and looking for a job where he doesn't have to work with someone whose faith is suspect."

Helen would worry about Sam later. He could quit talking to them, but he couldn't stop being her son. Right now, she was more worried about her husband. "And you? What will you decide?"

Jacob looked down at her. "You've already decided. You decided months ago. How did you do it?"

Helen felt a cautious hope. If he was asking the question, he was halfway there. "I hope you don't think it was easy for me to accept my choice. I believe in God, Jacob. I love him and I know he loves me, too, but my Heavenly Father knows what it means to be a parent. He might have cast Lucifer out of Heaven, but he didn't stop loving him. No matter what I do in my life, he will always love me. He expects no less of me when it comes to my children. I may not always approve of what my children do or the choices they make, but I will always love them. If the church demands I sacrifice my daughter in order to be worthy of worshipping God with them, then the church will lose. I can worship God anywhere and everywhere. I can't give up my child. I just can't. Once I understood that, the choices became much easier."

Jacob's eyes were still confused.

"Do you need the church to facilitate your relationship with God?" Helen asked. "Is one dependent on the other?"

"I guess I thought so. It's not just my faith. You know how much time I've spent counseling members of the church."

"How many hours have you spent teaching and organizing? How many homes have you entered doing the Lord's work? How many hours waiting with folks at the hospital? How many blessings given? I know how hard you worked for the church, Jacob. I have always been so proud of your generosity of spirit."

"It's part of my life now. The thought of giving all that up…"

"Do you think church members are the only ones who need you? Do you think giving to a different community won't be just as central to your faith as the church was?" Helen sat up and put a hand over Jacob's heart. "The idea of being without the church is a scary one. Knowing I might be excommunicated is terrifying. But I have faith in two things: first, I cannot believe that when my time comes, God will punish me for loving my daughter. If she were a killer and I were enabling that, I would expect terrible punishment, but she's not a killer. The only bad thing she does is love. Love, Jacob. With a consenting, capable, delightful adult. If God wants to punish me for supporting my daughter's desire to love and be loved, I'll endure it. Seeing her happy makes the potential consequences worth it."

Jacob was nodding thoughtfully. "What's the second thing?"

"Stevie." Hazel smiled. "Look at her, Jacob. She was excommunicated and lost none of her goodness. I've had time to study the person she's become, and I pray nightly that I grow up to have the same purity of spirit she does. She never walks by someone who needs a helping hand. When people come up a little short in the grocery store, she pays what they lack. She never drives by a car stopped on the side of the road. She keeps two gallons of gas in the back of her truck for that purpose and never lets them pay her back. She may not be paying tithing to the church, but I'll bet she gives away at least ten percent of her income to people who need it. Being excommunicated from the church did not make Stevie evil. She is still good, and she gives everywhere she can. I can be like that. I don't have to give just to the church to feel good about myself. Do you understand what I'm trying to say?"

Jacob looked away for a few moments and then looked back at her with a lop-sided grin. "We did good with her, didn't we?"

"We did good with all our children," Hazel conceded. "Even Sam. This might be the right choice for him, but he was there when Stevie needed him. I think if we're supportive of his choice and practice patience, we'll be okay."

"You mean…just show up every Sunday for lunch until he comes around?"

"Something like that."

Jacob smiled. The tension around his eyes wasn't gone, but he seemed more at ease.

"The Davidsons participated in Stevie's blessing, too," Helen reminded him. "What's happening with them?"

Jacob laughed softly. "I guess they asked young Ricky about it. He told them he was working it out with God, and it was none of their business."

Helen gasped. One just didn't speak to the Elders of the church like that.

"Richard told them it was months ago, and God had forgiven him. Of course, he also said he didn't approve of Stevie's lifestyle-he never has-but that was between Stevie and God. Beyond that, he just refused to talk about it."

"Well, I'm glad they aren't going to be censured over it, but it does kind of feel like they're coming after us, doesn't it?"

Jacob frowned. "I don't think it's personal, but it does feel like that."

"Can I make a suggestion?"

Jacob waited for her to speak.

"The only person I know who's been excommunicated is Stevie. She's had to work all this out for herself. She's smart enough to debate intelligently. Maybe you should talk to her about it. I know it's helped me."

Jacob considered it. "Going to my child for spiritual advice is a dynamic I'm not sure I can be comfortable with."

"Just think about it, honey. If the moment ever presents itself for such a discussion, go with it."

"What do you think Rory is going to say about all this?"

Helen played with a button on Jacob's shirt. "I know that he doesn't want to go on a mission." Jacob showed no reaction to the statement. Helen continued on. "He loves Stevie more than the church, but I know he still believes. I think he'll leave the church before he betrays his family. If this actually happens, he's going to need structure and a role model. I think you'd be a good one for him. You could work together to find a new outlet for your faith."

"You don't think Stevie would be a better choice?"

Helen pretended to be horrified. "She might turn him into a lesbian!"

For a heartbeat, Jacob did nothing and then he burst out laughing. "My son, the lesbian!"

"What will the neighbors think?" Helen giggled.

"He does like girls, right?"

"If the way he drools over Rachel is any indication, yes."

"Rachel is very pretty," Jacob said with a grin.

"Not you, too?"

Jacob was still laughing as he leaned over for a kiss. "Not to worry, sweetheart. There's only one woman for me and she's mine for time and all eternity."

Helen caressed her husband's face. "They can't take that away from us, honey."

"No, they can't."

***

The house was empty when Stevie got home. Technically, Stevie and Rachel weren't living together, but they alternated homes weekly. Next week, Stevie would go to Rachel's downtown apartment at night. It wasn't a bad arrangement, but it could be inconvenient at times. Stevie had stopped for the mail on the way home, and she glanced through it quickly before leaving it on the coffee table.

The light on the answering machine was blinking and Stevie started the playback on her way to the kitchen. Her agent was the first caller. Stevie opened a bottle of chocolate milk as he asked if she intended to race the upcoming season. He then asked her to call regardless because he liked her if she raced or not. Stevie made a mental note to call him before the weekend.

Next was a call from Rachel. She would be there as soon as she finished booking a drunk driver. Stevie smiled. There were moments where she felt fear about Rachel's chosen profession, but by and large, she loved knowing that her girlfriend was out there every day trying to make the world a safer place. It made Stevie feel so proud of Rachel's choices.

The last call was from her mother. Stevie glanced at the clock when her mom said she and Rory would be there in an hour with a surprise. She'd only missed the call by a few minutes so there was plenty of time for a shower. Stevie figured they'd be hungry since they were coming at dinner time. She checked the freezer and found one last casserole. After coming home from the hospital, she'd been swamped with ready-to-cook meals. This one was BBQ pork and wild rice from Rachel's stepmother.

Rachel's family was great. Her parents were divorced and remarried to other people, but they got along better than most married couples. The new stepparents were excellent people, too. Stevie wasn't very drawn to Rachel's older sister, but her brother was really interesting. She liked that her own mother was now socializing with the Quinn’s and she thought her dad might like them, too…if he ever got over her sexuality.

Stevie put the pan in the oven and set the temperature. She tossed her empty milk bottle in the recycling and headed for the shower. After she cleaned up, she would throw a salad together and consider it done.

Stevie heard the bathroom door open halfway through her shower and she smiled. "Is that you?"

"I guess that depends on how many girlfriends you have," Rachel responded.

"What day is this?"

"Tuesday."

"Ah, Charlene. I've missed you so."

"You're an asshole."

Stevie peeked around the shower curtain with a smile. "I love you, baby."

Rachel was still in uniform and she was leaning back against the wall with a beer in her hand. "If you loved me, you would have called me back."

Stevie suddenly remembered the message. "Oh darn. Bobbi told me and I totally forgot. I'm sorry."

Rachel gestured with the beer bottle. "Move the curtain and I'll forgive you."

Stevie blushed. "Mom's coming over with Rory pretty soon. We don't have time."

"Just give me a little show, baby. I'll ravish you later."

Stevie was trying not to be so modest, but sometimes it was really hard. "I'll let you watch me dry off, okay?"

Rachel smiled and her eyes were approving. "I can wait." When Stevie finally got out of the shower, Rachel sighed. "Thank you, God, for making my girlfriend so sexy."

Stevie tried not to rush drying herself. "You're the sexy one, Rachel."

"Looking at myself in the mirror doesn't make me feel like looking at you does. Trust me…you're unbelievably sexy."

Stevie smiled. "Thanks."

Rachel took a drink of beer and then looked Stevie in the eye. "Your mom and Rory are coming?"

"I didn't invite them. Mom left a message that they had a surprise for me. They should be here in about half an hour. I put your stepmom’s BBQ pork in the oven."

"Yum."

"We've got stuff for a salad. I'll throw it together while you change clothes."

"I'm going to shower first."

"Okay." Stevie tossed her towel on the hamper and then stepped in close to Rachel. "Hi, baby. Welcome home." Before Rachel could respond, Stevie captured her lover's lips in a kiss. Rachel surged into her and Stevie tried to ignore all the pokey bits of Rachel's uniform. One of Rachel's kisses was worth every discomfort imaginable.

The kiss ended on a moan and neither of them drew back. "I'm sorry about not calling you back," Stevie said as she released Rachel's hair from its pins.

"It wasn't important," Rachel said as she ran her fingers up and down Stevie's back. "I just wanted to hear your voice. I was missing you pretty hard today."

The teasing of Rachel's fingers was firing Stevie up. She rolled her hips against Rachel and smiled at Rachel's hiss of pleasure. "I missed you, too. It was kind of rough today."

Rachel became serious. "What did the doctor say?"

"It's funny that you wanted to hear my voice today."

"Why?"

Stevie shrugged. "He thinks this might be as good as it gets."

"But…I thought you were doing really well. What's wrong?"

"My voice. It's not going to get better."

"That's it? You scared the crap out of me, Stevie."

Tears sprang to Stevie's eyes and the lump in her throat made it harder to talk. "Why doesn't anyone understand this? What if you woke up tomorrow morning sounding like Miss Piggy and you found out you'd never sound like you again? Did you know I can't hum?"

"I love your new voice."

"Well, I don't. I hate it." Stevie tried to step back, but Rachel held her tight. "And it's not a new voice, Rachel. It's the wreckage of my old voice. I can feel it, you know."

"Feel what?"

There were tears in Rachel's eyes now and it was breaking Stevie's heart. She shook her head and hugged Rachel close. "I'm sorry. You just got home from work and I'm dumping on you."

"You're not dumping," Rachel protested. "You're sharing and I really want to know. Talk to me, Stevie. What can you feel?"

"The inside of my throat. I can feel it all the time."

"You've mentioned this before, but I didn't know you still felt it. Did you tell Dr. Nixon?"

"He thinks my awareness of it may fade in time." Stevie stepped back again, and Rachel let her go. She picked her clean underwear up from the counter and stepped into them. "He's looking into a speech therapist, too, but I don't think it will help."

"I'm sorry I didn't know your voice was bothering you so much."

"It's not your fault."

"Isn't it?"

Rachel was still struggling with her own guilt over events at the club. As a cop she felt she should have been more in control of the situation. By her thinking, Stevie's injuries were a direct result of Rachel's failures. No amount of argument on Stevie's part could change Rachel's mind on that point.

Stevie could see the guilt in Rachel's stance, and she had an epiphany. Both of them were still struggling with their guilt, fears, and insecurities and talking it out wasn't working for them anymore. They'd reached an impasse.

"I think we need therapy."

"Excuse me?"

"I think we're both still broken inside and, sooner or later, our broken edges are going to start causing hurt between us. I don't want that to happen. I'm in love with you and I'm pretty sure you're the woman I want to spend the rest of my life with. I feel lost to my sense of self physically and I still have nightmares about kicking Tawny. You're still beating yourself up because I got hurt. I'm afraid if we don't get help, we won't make it."

Rachel was staring at her with wide eyes "Was there a proposal in there?"

Stevie had to smile. It just figured Rachel would hear that above all else. "Not yet, but someday. I just want to make sure we're okay first."

"I just got done with therapy."

Stevie nodded. Rachel had been forced into therapy as a condition of her return to work. She hadn't minded it much as far as Stevie could tell, but she'd been glad when it was over. "That was different because it was about your competence as a professional. This kind of therapy would be about loving. You're good at that. I think it would be much easier."

"You do, huh?"

Stevie nodded. "Will you think it over and we can talk about it this weekend?"

"The idea of having someone digging around in your feelings doesn't scare you?"

"Losing you scares me more."

"Damn, baby. You don't fight fair."

"We're not fighting. We're preventing. You should shower and change. We're running out of time."

They shared a quick kiss and then separated. Stevie threw some clothes on and started working on a salad. There was nothing in the cupboards for dessert, but she figured Rory might be induced to go out for ice cream if anyone wanted it. He was always looking for an excuse to drive now that he had his license. Just the other day he'd talked Mrs. Hennessey into letting him drive when she went grocery shopping. She was perfectly capable of driving herself, but she later said it amused her to let Rory practice being gallant.

Mrs. Hennessey's daughter had finally been told she was cancer-free only a week before. Mrs. Hennessey celebrated by using the Atari game money to pay off the medical bills. Stevie had been able to get almost fifteen percent more for the games than she'd hoped for. Mrs. Hennessey still had some money set aside for an emergency and it made Stevie feel good that she'd had a hand in giving her that security. Mrs. Hennessey gave her a freshly made pie every Sunday afternoon, so Stevie felt well rewarded for her efforts.

Rachel was out of the shower and dressing in the bedroom when a knock sounded at the door. Stevie detoured to close the bedroom door on her half naked lover before answering the front door. Her mother and Rory were standing on her porch with big smiles, but Stevie's gaze was locked on the man standing behind them. "Dad?"

"Miracles do happen," her mother said as she entered the house.

"Something smells good," Rory said as he went looking for the source.

"Hello, Stevie."

She had never thought it would happen.

"I'll understand if you don't want me in your house."

"Not want you in my house? Are you kidding?" Stevie reached out to drag her father inside and ended up in his arms. It had been years since her father had hugged her and Stevie struggled not to break down under the onslaught of emotion.

"I'm sorry, Stevie. I haven't been a good father to you. You have no reason to forgive me, but if you can find it in your heart…"

"Of course, I forgive you. I love you, Dad. My choices were never meant to cause you so much heartache. I'm sorry I couldn't be the kind of daughter you deserve."

"I don't believe that's the case," her father said in a solemn tone. "I'm starting to believe that God gave me the kind of daughter every father should hope for. I've just been too blind to see it."

Stevie hugged her dad with all of her strength. The scent of Old Spice surrounded her with the familiar security of her childhood. She had no idea what had happened to make this possible. Only a few days before her father had been as stoic and disapproving as ever. Stevie looked up at him and noticed that his face was more relaxed than it had been in years. She also noticed that they were still on the front porch. "Come inside, Dad. Dinner will be ready soon. I'd really like it if you'd eat with us."

"I don't want to put you out."

"You aren't. I threw a frozen casserole in the oven when I got mom's message. There's plenty of food to share. Come on."

Stevie was almost giddy that both of her parents were in her house. It felt better than she had hoped it would. When Rachel joined them, her father was a perfect gentleman with her. Rachel looked a bit befuddled, but Stevie had no answers for her. They quickly set the table and got everyone settled.

"We have Rachel's step-mom to thank for this meal," Stevie explained as she began serving. "She makes an excellent Shepherd's Pie, so this should be really good."

"It smells wonderful," Stevie's mom said.

In minutes, the verdict was in. The pork was tender and succulent. Everyone agreed it was delicious. Stevie was so happy she didn't care if it was good or not. There was only one person missing. "Where's Sam? Is he working?"

Her parents stilled. Rory made a disgusted noise. "Sam's a coward."

"Don't judge," Stevie's mom corrected. "You can't know what Sam feels in his heart."

"Coward," Rory muttered under his breath.

"Sam is what we've made of him," Stevie’s father said. He looked guilty and sad. "The pressures on an oldest child are far different than on the younger siblings. You are not qualified to judge his courage or lack thereof. I think Stevie has taught us a valuable lesson in not giving up on the people we love. We won't give up on Sam no matter what."

Stevie was confused. "What's going on? Is Sam alright?"

"Sam is following his conscience," her mother said.

"He's wrong," her father added, "but he has that right. We'll keep the faith that he'll come around someday. If I can do it, so can he."

"What are you talking about?"

Her father put down his fork and sat up straighter. "The church has requested our presence on Sunday morning for a counseling session. The Bishop implied that we have a choice to make: you or the church. We've decided our choice is you. Sam is choosing the church. He's even quit his job with me."

Pain lanced through Stevie's heart. For a moment she could hardly breathe. Then the anger came. Stevie stood up and walked through the back door. She stopped in the middle of her yard and concentrated on releasing her rage silently.

Stevie understood her brother's actions. Choosing the church didn't mean he didn't love her. Sam needed the structure of the church for his own peace of mind. Plus, he was genuinely in love with Gillian, and she didn't have the strength of character to leave the church. If Sam wanted to make a life with Gillian, he had to stay with the church. Stevie would not fault him for that choice.

No, she was angry with the church itself. She knew about the blessing she'd been given in the hospital. Her mother believed it had a part in her recovery. Rachel didn't know what to think, but it had been something of a paranormal moment for her. It had left an impression on her that she still hadn't come to terms with.

For Stevie, the blessing had less to do with her recovery and was more of an affirmation that she was loved. It had been a miracle in and of itself that so many were willing to step outside church doctrine on her behalf.

Her anger was that the church waited so long to do anything about the breach of protocol. If they were going to punish the action, it should have been done immediately. Not almost five months later. Maybe it was an uncharitable thought, but Stevie wondered how much the church had collected in tithes while they delayed. Her father made a lot of money selling cars and the church collected ten percent of her father’s income off the top.

"Stevie?"

She turned to face her father. "I'm sorry this is happening to you."

"I'm sorry it took this to make me realize how important you are to me." He stepped forward and put his hands on her shoulders. "None of this is your fault."

"How can it not be? If I weren't gay, this wouldn't be happening."

"Can you choose not to be gay?"

"I could choose not to accept it."

"Would you be happy?"

Stevie hung her head. "No."

"Well, all of a sudden, that's become very important to me."

Stevie lifted her eyes.

"I want you to be happy, princess."

Stevie made a face. "I'm not really princess material, Dad."

"Not even a fairy princess?"

"The whole world just went crazy. My dad is making gay jokes."

Jacob Marks put his head back and laughed. His eyes twinkled with mirth as he looked at Stevie. "It's the strangest thing. The last couple of years I've been so angry and miserable. This afternoon when your mother and I were talking about this, all those feelings went away. I feel happy. If choosing you is wrong, how come I feel so good? I can't help but think that this feeling is a gift from God for finally coming to my senses. I hope Sam feels this someday."

"I'm not upset about Sam. His choice has nothing to do with me and everything to do with Gillian. I'll find a way to stay in touch with him."

"We all will." He searched her eyes carefully. "Are you alright?"

"I'm mad about the church," she admitted. "Why did they wait so long?"

"Does it matter?"

Stevie dug a toe into the grass. "I can't help thinking that they delayed for financial reasons. You pay a lot of tithing."

Her father started to say something and then looked off into the distance. "I'd hate to think that of them. I believe that they are good men at heart, but it occurs to me now that I should do something about my tithing. It's on direct deposit."

Her father's finances were none of her business, but Stevie knew a little about this. "I still tithe." She smiled at the look on his face. "Just not to the church."

He looked relieved. "Who then?"

"To the community. I give to the food bank for Thanksgiving and to Toys for Tots at Christmas. I sent money to Haiti after the earthquake and in the spring, I donate money to sports for little kids. Sometimes it comes out to more than ten percent, but it's worth it. Just think what a difference you could make if you invested in the community. If it's something you might be interested in, I'd be happy to help you navigate the programs out there. Some of them are less than stellar. I can show you the ones who make a real difference."

"We'll talk about that soon," he said. "I invested a lot of money and time in the church. I'm afraid I'll be at loose ends without that focus."

"Time and energy are important to the community, too. I try to find something to work at every week. In fact, you should come over on Sunday morning and help me clean rain gutters. There are elderly people in my neighborhood who shouldn't be up on ladders. There are single-parent moms, too. I like to help out where I can. If you and Rory come to help me, we can do even more. Maybe we could go riding in the afternoon. We haven't done that in a long time."

"You surprise me."

"In a good way, I hope."

Her father smiled. "I would be proud to help you on Sunday. We can make it a family endeavor."

"Awesome." Stevie's anger was fading fast. "Don't go for counseling," she blurted out. "You know what's going to happen. You've already made your decision. Making them say it to your face will only hurt you. If I had it to do over again, I would have walked away. Making them go through the whole rigmarole of excommunicating me was a waste of time. I felt obligated to see it through, but I really wasn't. Whether you believe you're being consigned to hell or not, it's a painful process. Don't subject yourself to that if you don't have to."

He considered her words before saying anything. "Your words make sense, but maybe I need the closure. Still, I can spare your mother and brother."

"Make them do it quietly for Sam's sake. Maybe things wouldn't have been so hard between us if I'd let them send me away quietly."

"Your mother is right," he said softly. "You are good."

Stevie was embarrassed. She'd been getting a lot of praise in recent months and it made her uncomfortable. "Come on. Lunch is getting cold."

"If Rory hasn't eaten all of it."

Stevie laughed.

***

Rachel took a break on Leona's porch. The Red Zinger tea was the least of her reasons for doing so. "Can you believe this?"

Leona was rocking serenely in the warm spring sun. "It is pretty amazing."

The Marks family had shown up at nine on Stevie's porch in work clothes. What had started out as cleaning a few rain gutters had turned into a neighborhood event. People were out working on their homes and yards on both sides of the street. As near as Rachel could tell, no one was working without help from a neighbor. The Marks family had eventually split up on different projects. Helen was weeding a flower bed. Rory was helping a small boy patch the tires on his bicycle. Stevie was learning how to clean a chimney. Jacob Marks had broken a rain gutter in the process of cleaning it and was replacing the broken section with parts he'd paid for himself.

Rachel had just finished washing Leona's windows and she wanted to take a moment to enjoy what was happening. As a police officer, she usually saw people at their worst. To see a neighborhood spontaneously band together to help one another was nothing short of a miracle. It gave her hope for the future.

On the other hand, she knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that it was all because of Stevie. Stevie was one of those rare people who gave of themselves in a way that drew hope and generosity out of other people. She was an inspiration for humanity. Rachel could see that a future with Stevie would be filled with these small miracles and Rachel wanted to be part of them.

A police car turned onto Stevie's street and slowly cruised by. Rachel recognized one of her fellow officers and waved to him. He smiled back and slowed as a passel of small children chased each other across the street. A parent called after them to watch out for cars and then shrugged apologetically at the passing patrol car.

A couple of older children were playing Frisbee with a dog. A man with an infant strapped to his chest was watering his lawn. Two women with smiles talked over a fence. A dad was patiently teaching his son to change the oil in the family car. A teenage girl was lying on the grass with a toddler as they pointed at clouds. Roofing tiles were being passed up a ladder to repair a roof. People were laughing, talking, and working without rancor or unpleasantness.

"Is this how it was?"

"Excuse me?"

Rachel looked at Leona. "We have this image that this was how it used to be: that the world used to be a friendlier place. Is this how it was?"

"Not that I recall." Leona continued to rock. "It might have seemed like a friendlier place in retrospect, but I suspect things are no worse now than they ever were. History will back me up. We have a Leave it to Beaver image of the Fifties, but we also had Joe McCarthy, the Cold War, and nuclear proliferation. I think I know what you're asking though. The only thing that's missing is Norman Rockwell."

Rachel snickered. "That's exactly what I meant. I've never seen anything like this."

"The scope is new," Leona said, "but this is what I was saying about Stevie the first time we met. Do you remember?"

"I do."

"It looks like Stevie's capacity to give is growing in direct proportion to the number of people who love her."

Rachel looked at Leona in surprise.

"You're part of it now," Leona added. "So am I. I can't wait to see what comes of it."

Rachel looked down to the house Stevie was working on. Stevie was listening intently to instruction. She looked like she'd rubbed soot into her face on purpose. Rachel smiled. In some ways, Stevie embodied the unrestrained glee of a child, but she also exhibited the wisdom and insight of an empathically evolved adult. She was remarkably quick to laugh, but she also forgave with the speed of light. She accepted the flaws and failings of others with compassion and sympathy; even defending them if the situation called for it. Stevie always judged herself before judging others.

There were fleeting moments when Rachel wished Stevie would show a little more self-interest, but it was less about what Stevie was doing and more about what Rachel had previously accepted as normal behavior. Rachel was learning that the more one gave to others, the more they received in turn. Stevie never did anything based on what she would get out of it, but she benefitted in some way from everything she did.

Rachel's experience was that the more you gave, the more people would ask of you, but Stevie never ran into that problem. It took a long time for Rachel to see that Stevie didn't let people use her. If someone asked for help (such as money or favors), Stevie went to the heart of the problem and looked for a way to give lasting assistance.

A few weeks before, Rachel and Stevie had been walking down the street and a homeless man had asked for money. Stevie had offered to help him find a job. He had spit at their feet and stomped away. Stevie had not lost a moment of thought over it. She accepted that some people wanted handouts more than help and chose not to enable them. She still defended their choices though. It had gone a long way towards helping Rachel understand Stevie's motivations.

Rachel suddenly needed to be with Stevie. She excused herself from Leona's porch and lightly ran across the street. She climbed the ladder and stopped before stepping onto the roof. "May I join you?"

Stevie reached for her with a smile. "Come on up. We're almost done here. Have you met John?"

"No, I haven't." Rachel smiled through the introduction and shook the man's hand. She wanted to jump on Stevie with kisses, but she settled for putting an arm around her waist.

John took his tools and left the roof. Stevie looked down at the street with a laugh. "I don't know what happened, but isn't it cool?"

Rachel rubbed Stevie's belly and looked further afield. There were homes as far as the eye could see. Maybe the day would come when Stevie's generous nature would affect the entire city. It was definitely something to look forward to.

"I talked to Bobbi the other day," Rachel said. "She's been trying to get her landlord to paint their apartment and there's a problem with the kitchen plumbing. Maybe we could do something about that next Sunday."

"Why didn't she tell me?"

"She wasn't asking for help, honey. We were just chatting. It would never occur to her to ask you to fix her private life. I'm the one who's asking. I'll even spring for the paint. Do you think your family would help?"

"I'll ask them."

Rachel stood within the circle of Stevie's arm and watched the industry below. "Stevie?"

"Yes?"

"Just so you know…when you're ready to ask me to marry you, I'm going to say yes."

Stevie just smiled.

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