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Sarah Freeman had finished the dishes and cuddled up on the couch, ready to enjoy her escape into the exciting worlds her friend Laurie Viera Rigler had created with "Rude Awakenings of a Jane Austen Addict." She pulled up the light blanket from the foot of the sofa and wrapped it around herself. None of her friends understood how she could sit around sipping hot tea, covered with a blanket on a perfectly wonderful summer night. Yet to Sarah these things had nothing to do with temperature and everything with a comfortable feeling of tranquility - her means of slowing down after a day of creative work. Besides, in the fully temperature-controlled environment air conditioning and heat pump provided, seventy-two degrees were seventy-two degrees regardless of summer or winter. Her friends' response to this line of reasoning usually was the kind of smile adults show when indulging the fantasies of small children or, in her case, the idiosyncrasies of eccentric artists.

Today however, instead of diving into her book she found herself staring at the phone she had placed just out of reach on top of the Noguchi-style coffee table in front of her. She badly wanted to call Tom and talk to him about John, but in the depths of the forest the only way to reach him was on his government issued satellite phone and at $12.50 a minute this was a luxury strictly reserved for emergencies. Yet their son maneuvered from boyhood safety of things known into the unknown territory of becoming a young man, and it felt cheap to measure the precarious emotional state of this extraordinary journey against the cost of a satellite phone call. Since John's retreat into his room she had neither seen nor heard from him but knew this was no time to push.

Completely trusting her intuition about the boy-meets-girl part of the drama, John's behavior told her that this was not the whole picture. What was the 'weird thing' he mentioned? Why was Julia falling apart? What did he tell her? Why did this whatever it was mean so much to him that he could do nothing but run when he felt misunderstood? Given her capacity for making up stories, she was reluctant to imagine what kind of secret her son might be protecting. Pondering all this, she started to doubt the value of her advice and wondered what Tom might have done. Absentmindedly sipping her tea, she felt great sympathy for single parents.

At other times, namely whenever Tom disagreed with her style of parenting, she fantasized about how much easier it would be to lay down the law for John without having to explain her reasons, discuss the necessity of certain rules, possibly even revise them. Regardless of the effort, she was grateful how Tom's presence continuously forced her to re-examine dearly held views and, in so doing, saved her from unintentionally imposing self-centered fears, prejudices and opinions on their child.

"OK," she said true to the Freeman style of talking to themselves, "that's what I'll do. I call and tell him to call me back. What kind of mother am I if my son's admission to the complex world of female conduct isn't worth a measly $12.50?"

Her hand reached towards the phone just as it started to ring. The familiar, physically real sensation of her heart skipping a beat announced the caller to be Tom.

"Oh honey, I'm so happy you're calling! I really need to talk with you!"

"Well Mrs. Freeman that's quite a greeting!" Tom cordially. "As always I'm happy to oblige. How are you mommy? Everything okay with you and John?"

"We're fine. It's just that Julia arrived today and it seems their reunion didn't turn out the way either of them expected. John wouldn't really talk to me about it, but he didn't stay over for dinner and that tells you right there that something must have been off," Sarah answered, debating how much she should say. Considering her cloudy view of the situation she decided to let Tom make up his own mind. "How about I put John on the phone, maybe he'll tell you what's going on," she suggested while simultaneously disentangling from the blanket.

"Hey babe, not so quick! Didn't you just greet me with how badly you wanted talk to me?" The inflection in Tom's deep voice told Sarah that he was wearing that crooked smile she couldn't resist in either of her men.

"Of course I want to talk to you badly but I'd prefer that with my head resting on your shoulder. I miss you. How much longer do you think you have to be out there?"

"There is still a lot more data we need to collect if we want to find a cure for this awful disease that's killing our oak trees by the thousands," sound of crooked smile vanishing from Tom's voice. He cared deeply and the possibility that they might not find a cure for SOD seriously troubled him. "Injecting them with pesticide once they are infected is like giving inhibitor drugs to someone with HIV. I mean of course it's great to prolong life but it's not the same as a cure. And only because trees cannot complain does not necessarily mean that they don't suffer."

"In my world they do both," Sarah interjected, trying to bring the smile back, "I spent my whole afternoon with pixies and the like. Not that I don't enjoy their company but when did you say you will be back home?"

"Another month maybe. Six weeks on the outside. If there won't be any fires to flush us out. And not much of a chance for a quick leave either, I'm afraid. We're in pretty deep," smile slowly returning. "You would love it here! Of course what we're seeing isn't even close to Great Basin's Methuselah but a five-thousand-year-old tree would be the exception anywhere. I mean, this is virgin growth forest and I tell you, it's really special. I bet most of those stands around here must come close to be a thousand. Imagine the stories they could tell! The other day we passed a clearing with big old stones arranged in a half circle with a big slab of rock in the center and even to the limited imagination of my biochemist mind it looked like an old amphitheatre! I thought how much you would enjoy being there, pretending to watch fairies perform your very own mid-summer-day's dream."

"Gosh, you and your biochemist mind! How often do I need to reassure you that with all my wild fantasies I could never imagine the things you have to come up with? I mean, this whole world of yours, this world of microbiology is a huge mystery to us uninitiated folks. Anyhow I'm sure John would love to hear the scientific facts about pixies and fairies from his dad," Sarah, now giggling like a teenager, "and I know I would be inspired just by listening to the wind in the trees. So if you can't leave maybe we can come visit if it's going to be so much longer?"

"I'd love that but we think one way the disease spreads is that spores from infected areas cling to your clothes and shoes. So this part of the forest is off limits unless you come in a decontamination suit. And even if it wasn't, your enthusiasm might dwindle in light of a 10-day no-trails hike with or without looking like a Michelin action figure."

"Don't remind me. I go crazy if I think about what could happen to you out there and no one would ever know where to find you."

"That's my darling wife! I so love you and your romantic view of the world but how exactly do you think we're able to talk to each other right now? So, no worry sweetie, the GPS always knows where to find our little team. Speaking of which, let's keep in mind that Uncle Sam's paying big bucks for this phone call and I doubt he wants us to use precious satellite time for conjugal pleasure. But! There are rumors the new satellite they launch tomorrow will be so powerful it can create pockets of signal in far-out-of-reach areas. So maybe we will benefit? Either way, for now let's be responsible citizens and put junior on the line. Just make sure he won't hang up before I say good-bye to you."

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