rent a place," she said.
"In the tourist season? Few places; high prices."
"Then we'll camp in the mountains until Labor Day. When we sell everything, we'll keep our camping gear."
"Back to nature for the pioneering Lovells. Of course, if we fail, we'd be left with nothing, but I suppose we could always—"
"How could we fail?" She smiled gaily. "You were just telling me how everyone predicted our success. And we're not youngsters just starting out; maybe it's not so bad, being forty. It means we're mature, experienced, and sensible."
Matt laughed shortly. "Mature and sensible." And Elizabeth knew he meant, That's why this is only a game.
But what if it weren't? What if they were really planning to start fresh, make a new life, fall in love all over again, believe in endless possibilities as they had, long ago?
She closed her eyes. The idea was a tantalizing flame. But then she thought, two children close to college, our home, our security, maybe other accidents, or illness: we're not getting any younger, so many things can happen. . . .
Wait a minute! We're not old! Though we will be if Matt doesn't pull out of his depression, get rid of his rage, stop feeling like a failure. . . .
And what about me? Elizabeth remembered how restless and impatient she'd been lately, pushing aside thoughts of things that were wrong. Was it because she was a woman that she pushed them aside while Matt raged? Was she too easily satisfied? What had happened to her ambitions?
We're a cautious bunch. Matt had told Tony. In our little backwater.
Does Matt think Vm too cautious, tying him down in a backwater?
"If we're really mature," she said, "we'd know when it's time to change. Do sensible people stand still if they have a choice?"
"The choice is to risk everything we have."
Panic flared inside her; she fought it down. They'd just been laughing together, for the first time in months. And she'd seen the brightness in Matt's eyes. "How mature and sensible of us to recognize that. Because when people try to pick up where they left off and go after something they've wanted as long as they can remember, they ought to start out with their eyes wide open. Don't you think so?" Then the fear came back and she added, "Unless there's too much risk. We don't have to decide now; this is a game we can play around with for a while. . . ."
But Matt's head was tilted in the way he had when he was weighing choices and coming to a conclusion. He reached out his hand and took hers. "Thank you, my love." His voice was husky. "You're a remarkable woman. You know we're not playing a game. You've known we weren't from the beginning. We've been shaping a life."
For a while they kept it to themselves, a secret they hugged close until they were alone at night and then endlessly discussed. For two weeks it was all they talked about. They read back issues of the Chieftain and then the Examiner, studying it as if it were their competition; they looked at circulation figures and advertising rates and scribbled numbers: a million to purchase the paper, a quarter of a million a year for the staff of fifteen people, costs of supplies, maintenance on equipment and the building, financing new equipment when they needed it, the cost of typesetting computers as soon as they could afford them, revenue from subscriptions and advertising.
"Money," Matt kept muttering. "I feel like a banker, not a publisher." Publisher. They looked at each other. "Are we really doing this?" he asked. "Or am I still in the hospital, drunk on anesthesia and raving mad?"
"You are at home," Elizabeth said. "Sober on coffee, quite sane, and soon to be a publisher."
He leaned over and kissed her, and their excitement made the kiss seem as new as their plans. "Starting again," Matt said. Everything was starting again.
Each night the handwritten columns grew longer, the total expenses larger, the income less certain. But each day the difficulties seemed to shrink. Because Matt was getting
"In the tourist season? Few places; high prices."
"Then we'll camp in the mountains until Labor Day. When we sell everything, we'll keep our camping gear."
"Back to nature for the pioneering Lovells. Of course, if we fail, we'd be left with nothing, but I suppose we could always—"
"How could we fail?" She smiled gaily. "You were just telling me how everyone predicted our success. And we're not youngsters just starting out; maybe it's not so bad, being forty. It means we're mature, experienced, and sensible."
Matt laughed shortly. "Mature and sensible." And Elizabeth knew he meant, That's why this is only a game.
But what if it weren't? What if they were really planning to start fresh, make a new life, fall in love all over again, believe in endless possibilities as they had, long ago?
She closed her eyes. The idea was a tantalizing flame. But then she thought, two children close to college, our home, our security, maybe other accidents, or illness: we're not getting any younger, so many things can happen. . . .
Wait a minute! We're not old! Though we will be if Matt doesn't pull out of his depression, get rid of his rage, stop feeling like a failure. . . .
And what about me? Elizabeth remembered how restless and impatient she'd been lately, pushing aside thoughts of things that were wrong. Was it because she was a woman that she pushed them aside while Matt raged? Was she too easily satisfied? What had happened to her ambitions?
We're a cautious bunch. Matt had told Tony. In our little backwater.
Does Matt think Vm too cautious, tying him down in a backwater?
"If we're really mature," she said, "we'd know when it's time to change. Do sensible people stand still if they have a choice?"
"The choice is to risk everything we have."
Panic flared inside her; she fought it down. They'd just been laughing together, for the first time in months. And she'd seen the brightness in Matt's eyes. "How mature and sensible of us to recognize that. Because when people try to pick up where they left off and go after something they've wanted as long as they can remember, they ought to start out with their eyes wide open. Don't you think so?" Then the fear came back and she added, "Unless there's too much risk. We don't have to decide now; this is a game we can play around with for a while. . . ."
But Matt's head was tilted in the way he had when he was weighing choices and coming to a conclusion. He reached out his hand and took hers. "Thank you, my love." His voice was husky. "You're a remarkable woman. You know we're not playing a game. You've known we weren't from the beginning. We've been shaping a life."
For a while they kept it to themselves, a secret they hugged close until they were alone at night and then endlessly discussed. For two weeks it was all they talked about. They read back issues of the Chieftain and then the Examiner, studying it as if it were their competition; they looked at circulation figures and advertising rates and scribbled numbers: a million to purchase the paper, a quarter of a million a year for the staff of fifteen people, costs of supplies, maintenance on equipment and the building, financing new equipment when they needed it, the cost of typesetting computers as soon as they could afford them, revenue from subscriptions and advertising.
"Money," Matt kept muttering. "I feel like a banker, not a publisher." Publisher. They looked at each other. "Are we really doing this?" he asked. "Or am I still in the hospital, drunk on anesthesia and raving mad?"
"You are at home," Elizabeth said. "Sober on coffee, quite sane, and soon to be a publisher."
He leaned over and kissed her, and their excitement made the kiss seem as new as their plans. "Starting again," Matt said. Everything was starting again.
Each night the handwritten columns grew longer, the total expenses larger, the income less certain. But each day the difficulties seemed to shrink. Because Matt was getting
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