We joked around a bit about her coming to my house, Lyn insisting that my photos, or etchings as she called them, had to be upstairs, because the sayi...g was always ‘come up to see my etchings’. I knew it was said mainly in jest, though I had to admit, I really hoped that there was some chance of it actually happening. I did feel good about Lyn being able to trust me enough to even joke about it.She’d been wearing a skirt when I saw her in the café. Naturally, as a dirty old man, I’d checked her. Flint didn't seem to be a good fit in my mind for that very reason, even before I added Becka to the equation. Added, ha! Becka was not an addition. Addition was too simple an operation to describe her impact on my life. She was the calculus of my existence, the trigonometry of my future.The cold light of day brought Becka back to her senses, or part way back at least. At lunch she told me that while she'd love to move to Des Moines with me for the six months I'd be there, she wouldn't do that. More

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