Epilogue

There are all kinds of stress charts out there on the internet that will tell you if you're abnormally stressed or not, and how soon to expect a heart attack, if you are. They don't tell you you're probably suicidal, but they recommend you see your doctor immediately if you score too high.

Some of the major things they list on such charts are: marriage, major holidays (Thanksgiving was coming up), major changes in working hours or conditions, trouble with the boss, change of residence, outstanding personal achievement, major changes in responsibilities at work, change in financial state and trouble with the law, to name a few.

Well, to name the ones that Bob was engaging anyway. Bob's score, had he taken a test, would have been almost three hundred, and a flashing red box would have come onto the monitor saying something like, "SEE YOUR PHYSICIAN IMMEDIATELY!!! YOU NEED HELP SIMPLIFYING YOUR LIFE!!!" What they really mean is, "DON'T JUMP!!!" or maybe "PUT THAT GUN DOWN NOW!!!" but they don't say that.

Lacey's list would have scored just as high. Even though it had some different stressors listed on it, she had a lot of the same ones.

In other words, both of them should have been in real trouble.

The fact of the matter, though, is that stress is relative. Here's an example. You just found out that the chemo worked and that malignant tumor is gone. The cat scan is clear. You're cancer free. So the broken arm you just got from dancing around with joy and falling down the stairs doesn't carry the same amount of stress it might have otherwise.

Sometimes good stress cancels out bad stress. That's where both Bob and Lacey were, at this point in their lives.

And, of course, exercise is good for dealing with stress. A month after she had been found not guilty, their lives had finally calmed down enough that they could resume playing racquetball. They'd played, splitting eight games four and four. A tiebreaker would have to be determined by some other enthusiastically vigorous exercise.

Lacey had chosen sex.

She collapsed on her new husband's chest, dragging in deep lungfuls of air.

"I win," she panted. "I had four, and you only had one."

"Not fair," he complained, sliding his hands up and down her naked back. "I can never win that contest. Even if I did I'd still lose, 'cause it would be one to zero, and I know how you'd react to zero."

"This only proves the superiority of women," she sighed. "We're just better at sex than men are."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," said Bob, pinching her butt and making her wriggle on him.

She reached behind her to bat his hand away and kissed his chest.

"I'm so glad you married me," he said. "I don't think I'll ever be able to express how ecstatic I am that you were crying from happiness."

She scooted up to kiss him, a short, warm kiss with loose lips, and then lifted her face to let it hover over his. Her eyes, staring into his, were serious.

"I'm glad you asked me," she said softly.

"I was worried," he admitted. "It just came out of me. I didn't exactly plan it that way. I was terrified when you started crying. I was afraid it was too soon and I'd blown it."

"You didn't blow it," she said. She kissed him again. "And it wasn't too soon."

"We hadn't talked about that, and I didn't want to push you."

"I'm glad you did," she said. Her eyes were very serious. "It helped a great deal."

He smiled. "I thought Claire was the one helping you."

"She is," said Lacey. "But she couldn't help me with the problem I had with you."

"Problem? What problem? I thought you loved me."

"I did," she said. "That's why I didn't want to put any pressure on you during the trial." She kissed him again. "Or after," she added.

"Pressure on me?" He laughed. "My pressure wasn't anything like your pressure."

She burrowed her face into his neck and gripped him more tightly with her hands.

"Not true," she mumbled into his throat. "I was resigned to raising our baby in prison. They let you do that these days, at least for the first four or five years. I was more worried about what it would do to you. That's why I didn't tell you."

"Baby?" Bob's voice was faint.

"Uh huh," she said, her lips on his throat. "I'm four and a half months pregnant. I had just found out, and was going to tell you at dinner that night ... the night I found my lighter in your junk box. Then ... well you know what happened then."

"You're going to have a baby?" He sounded flummoxed.

"Your baby," she said softly. "That's one memory I'm pretty sure I can trust, darling."