348.

Satisfaction Not sure what that is or how to find it, and I sincerely doubt that it will ever apply to me.

I look at them, so in love, and I think about Ian. Where is he right now? Who is he talking to?

What is he talking about?

Why should I even care, as long as every now and again he thinks about me, pulls me from a place deep in his heart? Does he wonder what I'm doing? Does he care that I've hung paper pumpkins, lit jack-o'-lanterns, baked cookies?

I want to call him, tell him I love him. But no, I won't do that, won't set myself up for disappointment. If he's changed his mind, I don't want to know. Anyway, I've got to go. I say good-bye, hurry away from the All Hallows Eve celebration, into the night, close the door behind me.

349.

Raeanne Lawler's House Isn't at all what I expected.

It's not small, not really. And it's definitely not untidy. I think I watch too much TV. Aren't all single guys supposed to be slobs? Not Lawler. No, not at all. His yard is tended with care and I doubt he makes enough money to afford a service.

His Charger, parked on the street, is washed, polished. Spotless. I wonder if dirt and bug guts just slide right off it. I wonder if lowdown slides right off him, or if he worries about it. I would love to know if he's even a little worried about inviting me here, about what the neighbors might think. Personally, I don't give one good damn about gossip. So I walk right up, ring the bell, head on inside, close the door behind me.

350.

He's Gone for Over an Hour Between doorbell rings and candy grabs, I roam room to room, sitting in chairs, straightening photos, opening drawers and touching their contents, trying to absorb Lawler by osmosis.

The last room I enter is his bedroom. Like everything else, it is tidy. Spare. Few embellishments but the wandering star quilt, in sapphire and rose, and matching throw pillows.

I flop onto the bed, settle into the hand-sewn luxury.

Who gave him such a personal gift? Mother? Grandmother?

No, this feels like the remnant of a lover. Resentment swells and I bury my head in his pillow, seek his familiar leather scent, breathe it in. In. In. Smother myself in leather perfumed eiderdown.

351.

The Doorbell Interrupts My Lawler-scented reverie.

I go to answer, expecting a knee- high Cinderella or Spiderman.

Instead I find a half-dozen people my age. A couple wear masks--a blood-scarred monster, **

a long-fanged werewolf, a Dumbo- eared George W. Bush. The rest assume they don't need costumes **

to look horrific, and that includes my dearest friend Madison, At the sight of me, her jaw drops.

This isn't where you live, is it?

No Hey, how's it going, just demon-eyed inquisition.

Don't suppose there's any use lying or denying. "No, it's not.

I'm just answering the door."

I have no idea if she knows who does live here, but I'm not volunteering the information.

352.

As if reading my mind, Madison asks, Well, whose house is it?

They all wait for the answer.

The answer I really don't plan to give. But as I try to formulate a reply, Lawler's Charger pulls **

against the curb. The jig, as they say, is up. And so, I'm pretty sure, is any notion of hanging **

around now that he's home. Anger erupts like Vesuvius. "So do you freaks want candy or what?"

The car door shuts and all attention turns to Lawler, tall and frigging gorgeous beneath his new haircut.

Madison turns back to me, and the smile on her face is not exactly friendly.

You've got to be kidding.

Mr. Lawler arrives, all charm.

Hey, guys. A little old for trick-or-treat, aren't you? Well, help yourselves.

353.

Wouldn't want you to knock over any little kids for their candy.

He smiles and puts handfuls **

of the sweet stuff into their pillowcases.

Anyway, I don't need junk food lying around **

the house. I'll just eat it, you know? Thanks for stopping by See you all on Monday **

Dismissed! Then he turns to me.

Thanks so much for watching the place. I sure **

didn't need any kids playing tricks on me.

He takes my arm.

Come back inside and I'll pay you.

354.

Seamless And I wouldn't expect anything less. Still, I suspect Madison, et al. are lurking nearby somewhere, waiting to see when and if I leave.

No Lawler tonight.

"The haircut looks great."

What else can I say?

He stands very close to me, looks down into my eyes.

Thanks. I had hoped you could stay for a while, but now...

"I know. It's okay." Oh yeah, real okay. I swear I will strangle Madison one of these days. "Oh, and you don't have to pay me anything. I was happy to help out." Happy to lie on your bed, your pillow.

355.

But Now I Have to Go And we both know it, and we know it has to be sooner rather than later.

Do you need a ride home?

I'd planned on staying out later.

Much later. But somehow I don't feel like calling Mick or Ty.

Somehow, going home and fantasizing about Lawler will be more than enough action for one night.

"Okay. If you think it's safe to leave your house empty."

I'll leave the candy on the front porch.

We walk to the car, far apart, but the street appears deserted, except for a few kids well down the block. "Trick-or-treat seems to end earlier and earlier every year."

I think that started with 9/11.

356.

He opens the passenger door, every molecule the gentleman.

I'm pretty damn sure no guy has ever done that for me before. "Thank you."

But of course, milady.

I might as well melt right now.

Even without Lawler in it yet, the Charger smells like him.

I think I could just curl up and die right here in the cushy front seat.

I know this relationship can never work out. But, oh, how I want it to.

Lawler gets in, starts the car, drives me home. And although there is so much to say, neither of us dares attempt it. The silence crushes.

Finally I chance resting my hand on his thigh. "I find older men very attractive, you know."