When the door opened, Laura thrust the half-killed bottle of sangria into Mark Treggs's face. "Here. I brought you a present."

He blinked, stunned, while behind him Rose stood up from the beanbag chair in which she'd been sitting, watching television. The two kids had been playing on the floor, the little girl with her Barbie and the boy with his GoBots; they stopped, too, and stared up at the visitor with wide eyes.

"aren't you going to invite me ini" Laura asked, her breath smelling of sweet red wine.

"No. Please go away." He started to push the door shut.

Laura put her hand against it. "I don't know anybody here. It's a bitch drinking alone. Don't be rude, okayi"

"I don't have anything else to tell you."

"I know. I just want to be with somebody. Is that so badi"

He looked at his wristwatch; Mickey Mouse was on the dial. "It's almost nine o'clock."

"Right. Time to do some serious drinking."

"If you don't leave," Treggs said, "I'm going to have to call the police."

"Would you reallyi" she asked him. a silence stretched, and Laura saw that he would not.

"Oh, let her in, Mark!" Rose stood behind him. "What's it going to hurti"

"I think she's drunk."

"No, not yet." Laura smiled thinly. "I'm working on it. Come on, I won't stay long. I just need to talk to somebody, all righti"

Rose Treggs pushed her husband aside and opened the door to admit her. "We never closed our door in anybody's face, and we won't start now. Come on in, Laura."

Laura crossed the threshold with her bottle of wine. "Hi," she said to the kids, and the little boy said, "Hi" but the little girl just stared at her. "Close the door, Mark, you're letting the cold in!" Rose told him, and he muttered something deep in his beard and shut the door against the night.

"We figured you'd gone back to atlanta," Rose said.

Laura eased down onto the sofa. Springs jabbed her butt. "Not much to go back to." She uncapped the sangria and drank from the bottle. The last time she'd drunk anything straight from a bottle, it was half-price beer back at the University of Georgia. "I thought I wanted to be alone. I guess I was wrong."

"Isn't anybody going to worry about youi"

"I left a message for my husband. He's o-u-t. Out." Laura took another swig. "Called Carol and told her where I was. Carol's my friend. Thank God for friends, huhi"

"Okay, rug rats," Treggs said to the children. "Time for bed." They instantly began to caterwaul a protest, but Treggs got them up and moving.

"are you the lady whose baby got takeni" the little boy asked her.

"Yes, I am."

"Mark Junior!" the elder Mark said. "Come on, bedtime!"

"My dad thinks you're wearing a wire," the boy told her. "See my GoBoti" He held it up for her inspection, but his father grasped his arm and pulled him toward the hallway. "Nighty-night!" Mark Junior had time to say. a door slammed, rather hard.

"Bright child," Laura said to Rose. "I'm not, though. Wearing a wire, I mean. Why would I bei"

"Mark's a little suspicious of people. Goes back to his Berkeley days, I guess. You know, the pigs were putting wire mikes on kids posing as radicals and taping everything that was said at SDS meetings. The FBI got a lot of files on people that way." She shrugged. "I wasn't into politics that much. I mostly just, like, hung out and did macrame."

"I was into politics." another sip of the red wine. Her tongue felt furry. "I thought we could change the world with flowers and candles. With love." She said it as if uncertain what it meant anymore. "That was pretty damned stupid, wasn't iti"

"It was where we were and what we were about," Rose said. "It was a good fight."

"We lost," Laura answered. "Read any newspaper, and you can see we lost. Damn... if all that energy couldn't change the world, nothing can."

"Right on, sad to say." Rose grasped the bottle of sangria, and Laura let her have it. "ancient history doesn't go well with red wine. I'll make you some tea. Okayi"

"Yeah. Okay." Laura nodded, light-headed, and Rose walked into the kitchen.

after a while Mark Treggs came back into the front room. Laura was watching a movie on TV: Barefoot in the Park, with Robert Redford and Jane Fonda, pre-Hanoi. Treggs settled himself into a chair opposite her and crossed his long, gangly legs. "You ought to go home," he told her. "There's no point in your hanging around Chattanooga."

"I'll go in the morning. Soon as I get some rest." Which was going to be next to impossible, she knew. Every time she closed her eyes she thought she heard a baby crying and the wail of sirens.

"I can't help you. I wish I could, but I can't."

"I know. You've already told me that."

"I'm telling you again." He steepled his thin fingers together, and watched her with his owlish eyes. "If there was anything I could do for you, I would."

"Right."

"I mean it I don't like not being able to help you. But look... all I am is a custodian who writes counterculture books that maybe a thousand people have read." Treggs kept his gaze on her face. "a wind-pisser, that's what I am."

"a whati"

"My father always said I was going to grow up to be a wind-pisser. Somebody who pisses into the wind. That's what I am, like it or not." His shoulders shrugged. "Maybe I've been pissing in the wind so long I like the way it feels. What I'm trying to say is that I've got a good little life  -  both of us do. We don't need much, and we don't want much. Just the freedom to speak and write, and up at Rock City I play my pennywhistle and meditate. Life is very good. You know why it's so goodi" He waited for her to shake her head. "Because I have no expectations," he said. "My philosophy is: let it be. I bend with the breeze, but I do not break."

"Zen," Laura said.

"Yes. If you try to resist the breeze, you get a broken back. So I sit in the sun and play my music, and I write a few books on subjects that hardly anybody cares about anymore, and I watch my kids growing and I have peace."

"I wish to God I did," Laura said.

Rose came in from the kitchen. She offered Laura the clay mug with the image of her husband's face molded into it. "Red Zinger again," Rose said. "I hope that's o -"

"Not that mug!" Mark Treggs was on his feet as Laura's fingers closed around the handle. "Jesus, no!"

Laura blinked up at him as he reached out to take it away from her. Rose stepped back, out of her way. "It's got a crack in it, I mean!" Treggs said; a goofy smile slid across his mouth. "The bottom's leaking!"

Laura held on to it. "It was okay this afternoon."

His smile twitched. His eyes darted to Rose and then back to Laura again. "Can I have that mug, pleasei" he said. "I'll get you another one."

Laura looked at Treggs's face on the mug. It was wearing the same goofy smile. a hand-crafted mug, she thought. Made by someone who was an artist. She lifted the mug up, being careful not to spill any of the tea, and as she looked at the bottom for any trace of leakage she heard Treggs say in a tense voice, "Give it to me."

There was no crack on the bottom. The artist had signed it, though. There were two initials and a date: DD, '85.

DD. Didii

as in Bedeliai

Didi made things, Treggs had said. She was a potter, and she sold stuff in town.

Laura felt her heart stutter. She avoided Treggs's stare, and she took a sip of the Red Zinger. Rose was standing a few feet from her husband, her expression saying she knew she'd screwed up. The moment hung as Redford and Fonda prattled on the TV and the chimes clinked outside. Laura drew a long breath. "Where is shei" she asked.

"I'd like you to leave now," Treggs said.

"Bedelia Morse. Didi. She made this mug, didn't shei In 1985i Where is shei" Her face felt hot, and her eyes locked on Treggs's face.

"I really don't know what you're talking about. I'm going to have to ask you to -"

"I'll pay you a thousand dollars to get me in contact with her," Laura said. "I swear to God, I'm not wired. I'm not working with the"  -  the word came out  -  "pigs. It's just me, alone. I don't care what she's done; all I care about is finding her, because she might help me find Mary Terrell and my baby. If I have to beg, then I'll beg: please tell me where she is."

"Look, I don't know what this is about. Like I told you before, I don't -"

"Marki" Rose's voice was hushed.

He snapped a glance at her.

Rose stared at Laura, the corners of her mouth tight.

"Please," Laura said.

Rose spoke again, quietly, as if fearful of awakening the dead. "Michigan," she said. "ann arbor, Michigan."

The words were no sooner out of Rose's mouth than Treggs shouted, "Oh, Christ!" and his face mottled up with red. "Oh Christ almighty! Listen, you! I said I want you out of my house!"

"ann arbor," Laura repeated. She stood up, the mug still clenched in her hand. "What name does she usei"

"Don't you dig Englishi" Treggs demanded, flecks of spittle in his beard. He stalked to the door and opened it. a cold wind blew through. "Out!"

"Marki" Rose said. "We have to help her."

He shook his head violently, his hair flying. "No! No way!"

"She's not working with the pigs, Mark. I believe her."

"Yeah, right! You want us both bustedi Rose, the pigs could nail our asses to the wall!" His eyes, tormented behind his granny glasses, fixed on Laura. "I don't want any hassles," he said with a note of pleading. "Just leave. Okayi"

Laura stood where she was. Her light-headedness had fled, and her feet were rooted to the floor. "I'll pay you two thousand dollars to get me in contact with her," she told him. "The FBI doesn't have to know. It'll be between you and me. I swear to God, I won't breathe a word about where Bedelia Morse is. I don't care about what she's done, or what you've done to hide her. all I want is my son back. That's the most important thing in the world to me. Wouldn't you feel the same way if one of your children were missingi"

There was a long pause. The chimes jingled and rang. Laura waited, her nerves fraying more with each passing second.

at last Rose said, "Close the door, Mark."

He hesitated, a vein pulsing at his temple. The crimson had faded from his cheeks, his face gone chalky.

He closed the door, and when it clicked shut Laura saw him flinch.

"aw, Jesus," Mark said softly. "Finish your tea."

He told Laura the story as she sat on the hard-springed sofa and tried very hard to keep herself from jumping out of her skin with anticipation. Mark had kept in contact with Bedelia Morse after the commune had broken up. He'd tried to talk her into getting away from the Storm Front, but she was "on fire," as he put it. Most of the time she was high on acid while she was with the Front, and she was always the type who needed to belong to some kind of group, whether it was a commune or a band of militant terrorists. about three months after the Storm Front was shot up in Linden, New Jersey, Mark had gotten a phone call from Didi. She'd wanted some money to change her face: a nose job and some work on her chin. Mark had sent her a "contribution to the cause." Over the years Didi had sent him and Rose all sorts of pottery: mugs, planters, and abstract sculptures. Mark had sold most of them, but some he'd kept, like the mug with his face on it. "The last time I talked to her was maybe five or six months ago," he said. "She was doing all right, selling her work in ann arbor. She was even teaching a couple of classes in pottery. I'll tell you something that I know for truth: Didi's okay. She's not who she used to be. She doesn't score acid anymore, and she'd be the last person on earth to snatch somebody's baby. I don't think she knows anything about Mary Terror other than what's been on the news."

"I'd like to find out for myself," Laura told him.

Mark sat for a moment with his hand cradling his chin, his eyes lost in thought. Then he looked at Rose, and she nodded. He stood up, went to the telephone, and opened a battered little book of phone numbers. Then he dialed and waited. "She's not home," he said after ten rings. "She lives in a house outside ann arbor." He checked his Mickey Mouse watch. "She doesn't usually keep late nights... or she didn't used to." He put the phone down, waited about fifteen minutes, and then tried the number again. "No answer," he reported.

"are you sure she's still living therei"

"She was there back in September. She called to tell me about the classes she was teaching." Mark made himself a cup of tea as Rose and Laura talked, and then he tried the number a third time. again no answer. "Bummer," Mark said. "She's not a night owl, that's for sure."

Toward midnight Mark dialed the number once more. It rang and rang, and went unanswered.

"Take me to her," Laura said.

"Uh-uh. No can do."

"Why noti If we left in the morning we could be back by Monday. We could take my car."

"To Michigani Man, that's a long trip!"

Laura opened her purse and brought out her checkbook. Her hands were trembling. "I'll pay all expenses," she said. "and I'll write a check out to cash in the amount of three thousand dollars and give you the money as soon as we find Bedelia Morse."

"Three thousand dollarsi Lady, are you rich or crazyi"

"I have money," Laura said. "Money's nothing. I want my son back."

"Yeah, I can see that. But I've... like... got a job to go to tomorrow."

"Call in sick. I don't think you're likely to make three thousand dollars over the weekend at Rock City, do youi"

Mark's fingers stroked his beard. He began to pace the room, stealing glances at both Laura and Rose. He stopped to dial the number once more. after a dozen rings, he said, "She must've gone somewhere. Like a trip or something. She could be gone all weekend."

"Three thousand dollars." Laura held up the check with Cash written on it. "Just take me to her house."

Rose cleared her throat and shifted in her seat. "That's a lot of heavy bread, Mark. We need some work on the car."

"Tell me about it." He continued his pacing, his face downcast. In another moment he stopped again. "No pigsi You swear to God, no pigsi"

"I swear."

Mark frowned, caught in a thicket of indecision. He looked at Rose for guidance, but all she could do was shrug her shoulders. It was up to him. "Let me think about it," he said to Laura. "Call me in the morning, about eight o'clock. If I can't reach Didi by then... I'll decide what to do."

Laura knew that was the best she could expect for now. It was almost twelve-thirty, and time to get some sleep if that was possible. She stood up, thanked Mark and Rose for their hospitality, and she took the check with her as she left. She walked out into the cold wind, her body bent against its force but her spine far from broken. Before she went to bed she would get down on her knees and pray. Those words to God  -  whether heard or unheard  -  were keeping her from losing her mind. She would pray that David would be safe for another night, and that her nightmare of sirens and snipers would not come true.

Laura got into the BMW and drove away.

The lights stayed on at the Treggs's house. Mark sat in a lotus position on the floor before the silent TV, his eyes closed, praying to his own deity.