"But if I call them from Anchorage after they're back in Spearfish Lake, there's not a lot they can say." Until we get home." Don't worry about it. I'll handle them." Well," Josh said, lacing up his boots, "Let's get back to Anchorage before we make up our minds."The dining room downstairs was packed, with people standing around, waiting for tables. "Looks like a long wait," Josh commented, but as it turned out, they only stood there for a moment. A middle-aged woman, with long, braided dark hair spotted them and waved them over to two vacant seats at a table for six.Josh was pulling back his chair before he realized who the woman was -- Susan Butcher, herself! She hadn't been racing this year, the first time in almost twenty years, having taken time out to try and have a child, but was out on the trail anyway, as a TV reporter for Alaska Television. They'd met her briefly at the pre-race meeting, but really hadn't crossed tracks with her on the trail; she'd just been leaving McGrath. Cheryl’s mind screamed a million words – “Wrong question! Ask me the right question so we can talk again and be like we were before! Is that it? Do you hate me so much that you just want rid of me without even caring why it all ended so badly? Kiss me, tell me everything is okay, we could start all over again. Give me a hug, tell me you don’t need sex from me, that you like me for me, not as a toy for your own pleasure. Don’t just send me away and never see me again, I couldn’t stand it.” But she couldn’t say any of them, so she just nodded again, and went into the hall to retrieve her bag from the bottom of the stairs where she had left it. She walked slowly to the front door where Andrew stood waiting, looking sad but resigned. “What happened tonight?” He asked her, and her black cloud lifted. He’d done it, he’d asked the right question, or at least the first question in the required series. Cheryl took his hand and led him back to the living room. She sat back down on the sofa.
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