Sally heard a scream of despair: it was her own. She grabbed at the steering wheel.

The house magic released Lavinia right then and she fell against Sally. The wheel turned sharply. The old camper skidded to the left with a scream and reared up on two tires.

Sally braced herself as it teetered.

But it flumped back down, its green bulk nearly filling the entryway. The engine died and Sally heard her pounding heart and Lavinia’s ragged breathing.

“Are you okay?‼”

“Yeah, whoosh.” Lavinia was undamaged enough to enunciate “whoosh” as a word. “I’m okay.”

Crying, Sally wrapped her arms around Lavinia. She could barely remember how angry she’d been. Lavinia accepted the comfort, her breath hitching and catching.

Lavinia had shooed all vampires out just before they left San Francisco that morning so there were no white splats against the rear doors. But why had the house magic suddenly pushed Lavinia out of her own building, and why had it just as quickly released her?

A memory swam up of a bitter argument with Callista years ago. They’d been in bed facing each other, Sally yearning for touch but filled with the cold marble of tears that she refused to shed. Callista’s voice, rasping and petty, raked across Sally like claws.

Then paws walked up their sides and Cinnamon settled in the V of blanket between them, purring. He laid a soft right paw on her cheek and a soft left paw on Callista’s and licked Sally’s face with a warm sandpaper tongue, freeing the tears in blessed release. Callista said, not crabbily but with longing, “Kiss for me too?” And he instantly leaned over and licked her cheek.

Then a bug flew by and he launched himself to catch it, leaving them both breathless. Just like now, Sally couldn’t remember what they’d been fighting about. Callista’s chipmunk face was dear to her; they kissed without stopping.

Sally kissed Lavinia’s cheek, remembering Cinnamon’s wise green eyes. She almost felt like the little fairy was watching her with those same eyes and saying, “You have understood. And so she may come in.” But what did it mean, except that cats and crises were good marriage counseling?

Lavinia pulled gently away and started up the camper again. It had skidded 90 degrees so easily but to straighten it out she had to crank the wheel (no power steering) all the way to the left, back up an inch, crank the wheel all the way to the right, go forward an inch. Again and again and again.

The fury of a single second gets you into a mess; it takes hard and delicate work to get out.

“I love you,” she said huskily and was relieved to see Lavinia flash a smile. I trust, then I doubt, then I trust, then I doubt. That’s never going to change. She remembered the endless night when she thought Lavinia gone forever. How thin the membrane that kept her from that pit of lonely sorrow!

At last they were straightened out and Lavinia parked the camper in her old spot. When they got out and closed the doors at the same instant, the whump was like thunder in the echoing garage. Sally confidently put out her hand, Lavinia took it without thought and they clumped across the dirty concrete, at home with each other again.

You have understood. And so she may come in…

This realization came slowly; she fought against what she dreaded to understand.

When they drove up to the building they’d been fighting. She hadn’t felt at home with Lavinia; she was furious and withdrawn as they drove into the building. And the house magic had nearly broken Lavinia.

Then she flung away her anger, desperately in love again, and the magic released Lavinia instantly.

She stared as they pushed through the overly heavy pneumatic door and climbed the clunking stairway in flickering fluorescent light. Could it be that Lavinia was only welcome in homes when she, Sally, was at home with her?

Does that mean if I ordered her to get out right now, she’d be hurled into the cold or flung to the walls and crushed?

It couldn’t be. The camper was their home and Lavinia hadn’t been … but she had. The house magic had started to push Lavinia out of the camper just before they turned into the driveway. But just at that moment Sally had thought how scared she was of losing Lavinia and the house magic had released her.

She felt tired. She didn’t want the power to lose Lavinia forever in a temporary snit.

They entered Lavinia’s old apartment together, Sally still staring. Lavinia turned to face her, put her hands on her hips and raised her eyebrows demandingly, what?

She had promised never again to keep back anything that could be important. But how could she tell Lavinia this?

♦

Amanda Malreaux didn’t get sick often but she made a good patient, kind and grateful to everyone except herself. Sister Phillipa, who was Welsh and called everyone “luv,” brought her a big bowl of chicken soup like her Gran made it, with pearl barley, potatoes and leeks.

“Stop frettin’, luv, you’ll be at your work again in two shakes,” she admonished as she set the bowl down. “Ye’d be so cross, now, if a sister treated a lass the way you treat yourself.”

Sister Amanda accepted the playful scolding with downcast eyes. She hadn’t told anyone what she’d done under the tree at Point Reyes National Seashore last night, embarrassed at her presumption but eager to do it again. Except that she was sick through the foolish act of not dressing warmly enough.

As she coughed up a wad of junk, Sister Phillipa looked at her with worry. Sister Amanda smiled reassuringly and ate her soup.