text:
A Valentine's Day Odyssey
By Ann McMan
Disclaimers: None. All of the characters are mine (although two of them may bear uncanny physical resemblances to two others you might recognize—or choose not to, as the case may be).
Violence/Sex: Some (brief) food-related violence. And there might be consensual sex between two people who may bear uncanny resemblances to two… well… you've been there, and bought the t-shirts.
Warning: This story does involve a consensual loving and sexual relationship between two adult women. It also contains graphic scenes of the brutal and pernicious abuse of a KitchenAid stand mixer. If either of these acts is offensive, illegal where you live, or if you are underage (or are not licensed to operate powerful kitchen appliances)—please consider another story selection.
Dedication : To all of you who were brave enough (and persistent enough) to slog through my first work of fiction, Jericho —this bud's for you. (Oh… that would be a rosebud , of course—not an indifferent American beer. Of course, if you'd rather drink than read, ring me up. I like wine— lots and lots of it. I also have been known to indulge in other kinds of whines, but that's not important right now.) So. This is the sequel you've been nagging me to produce—and I hope you enjoy it. If not, I may be forced to enter a witness relocation program.
BUT I should still have email access in Bora Bora ; so if you decide that you do like it, write me— I'd like to know what you think. I can be reached at ann.mcman@gmail.com .
Copyright Ann McMan, January 2011. All rights reserved. This story, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced without the prior express permission of the author, except for the purpose of personal enjoyment, provided that all disclaimers remain intact.
"Okay. So, tell me again how this is supposed to work."
"Syd, we've been over this about a thousand times." Maddie was growing exasperated, but was trying hard not to show it.
"I know—but I just need to be really sure."
"Sweetie, I've done everything but show you a PowerPoint presentation." Maddie hesitated. "You really don't have to do this at all if you're still this uncomfortable with the idea."
"No!" Syd was determined. "I said I'd do this, and I will. I'm just—"
"A chickenshit?" Maddie volunteered.
Syd glared at her. " Not helping."
"I really don't think you are."
Maddie sighed. This was going from bad to worse in record time.
She took hold of Syd's free hand. "No…I'm sorry . Honest."
Syd eyed her with suspicion.
"I mean it. If you want to go over everything again—we will. We can stop right now. There's no rush. We can do this any time. It doesn't have to be today."
Syd looked out the tiny window. Then she sighed and looked back at Maddie.
"It's just that it's such a big step for me."
"I know that, sweetheart."
"I mean—I've never done this before, and it's scary. What if I mess up? What if I can't make it work? What if I change my mind in the middle of it? What if—"
"Honey," Maddie cut her off. " Relax. I promise…you won't mess up. I'll be right here beside you the whole time. Trust me . We've done everything right, and you're ready for this. You'll be through it in a flash—and then it'll be over, and our biggest problem will be how to keep you calmed down until you can do it again ."
"But what if I can't pull it out?"
"Syd…."
"No. I mean it."
Maddie sighed and sat back against her seat. "Then I swear on the blonde heads of our unborn children that we'll take deep breaths, regroup, and try again."
Syd sighed.
Maddie leaned toward her. "C'mon, baby. Let's go for it."
Syd nodded. She closed her eyes and started to extend her hand—but Maddie caught hold of it before it reached its destination.
"Honey," she said, giving Syd's hand a gentle squeeze. "This generally works better if you keep your eyes open ."
"Oh." Syd looked embarrassed. "Sorry."
Maddie laughed, and kissed her hand before relinquishing it.
Syd reached out again and took hold of the throttle levers. Taking a deep breath, she released her foothold on the brake pedals, and the twin engine Cessna started rolling down the runway.
That night at dinner, Henry was beside himself with excitement. He hammered Syd with a nonstop barrage of questions—most of them related to when he could learn to fly the airplane, too.
"Let's not get ahead of ourselves, Shortstop." Maddie used her own napkin to wipe some gravy off his chin. "And let's try to keep the peas on the fork, okay?"
Henry looked down and regarded the sea of tiny green balls that trailed across the napkin on his lap.
"I don't really like peas very much."
Maddie leaned toward him until their foreheads were touching. "Tough noogies ."
Henry sighed, and looked over at Syd.
Syd shrugged. "Don't look at me, Sport—I don't really like them either. But you don't see me dropping them on the floor."
"Pete likes them," he volunteered.
At the mention of his name, the big yellow dog lifted his head and cast a hopeful glance up at Henry. It hadn't taken him long to stake his claim to the section of kitchen floor that supported Henry's chair.
"Pete's on a diet," Maddie cut in. "And that's beside the point. We don't deal with food we don't like by giving it to Pete."
Henry looked confused. "But you did last night with your 'sparagus, when Syd had to go answer the phone."
Maddie closed her eyes and took a deep breath. When she dared to open them, Syd was staring back at her with pursed lips, and was slowly tapping the edge of her fork against the rim of her plate.
"Um," Maddie explained. "Asparagus is good for Pete. It has lots of iron, and makes his coat shiny."
Henry looked unconvinced. "You said it would make him fart."
"Henry!" Syd's jaw dropped—and she reached out a hand to touch him on the shoulder. "That's impolite . We don't say things like that."
Henry was really confused now. He stared down at his plate. "That's what she said," he muttered.
Syd glowered at Maddie, who sat across the table from her, looking like she'd rather be locked-up in a supply closet with an insurance salesman.
The silence in the kitchen was deafening.
Then Maddie sighed and picked up her spoon.
"Here, buddy," she said. She reached over to Henry's plate, scooped up a mound of peas, and dumped them onto the floor. "Lemme help you out."
Long after Henry had safely been tucked in, the two women sat together on their big bed, propped up against a pile of mismatched pillows.
Maddie was reading an article about the efficacy of the Herpes Zoster Vaccine, and Syd was grading papers. She had been teaching for six months now, and was starting to settle into a comfortable routine. The Jericho Public Library had reopened—but only for three days a week, and Syd was able to assist the board with hiring a part-time branch manager. She continued to help out whenever she could—and volunteered her time at least two Saturdays a month.
And Maddie still worked one weekend a month in the ER at the Wytheville Community Hospital .
Weekends were harder to orchestrate now, with Henry in the equation. He was like a floating decimal point in their lives: he belonged, but, while his father continued to serve out his tour of duty in Afghanistan , his position remained unfixed. And his presence changed everything.
Quiet evenings like this one were a rarity, and the two women were basking in the luxury of having a Saturday night at home together, with no other commitments.
With a yawn, Syd capped her pen and shifted her stack of papers over to a bedside table.
Maddie glanced at her over the rim of her reading glasses.
"You finished?"
Syd nodded. "For tonight. I'll finish these up tomorrow."
Maddie began to close her journal. "I can put this away, too."
"No—that's okay." Syd picked up her student pilot's flight manual. "I wanted to look through this a bit."
Maddie gave her a smug look. "You seem a tad more confident than you did earlier today."
"Smartass."
"Not at all. I just know you."
"You think so?"
"I know so." Maddie reopened her journal.
Syd sat chewing the inside of her cheek for a moment. Then she lowered her gaze to the flight manual and started thumbing through its pages.
After a minute or two, Maddie noticed that Syd seemed to be turning more pages than she was reading— loudly.
She lowered her journal again. "You sure you don't want me to put this away?"
Syd turned to face her with raised eyebrows. "Are you talking to me?"
Maddie hooked an index finger over the bridge of her glasses and pulled them down her nose. "Is Robert De Niro hiding someplace in this bed? Of course I'm talking to you."
"Oh. Sorry. I didn't think you needed to ask me what I wanted."
Maddie sighed. "Could we hit the reboot button, please?"
"Why? You feel the need to take something back?"
"On whether or not it'll get you to stop acting like Travis Bickle."
Syd smiled at that. "Have you ever even seen a movie that was made in this century?"
Maddie shrugged. "You got the reference."
Syd held up the aircraft manual. "Yes, but I don't get this one."
Syd turned the book around so Maddie could see a diagram that illustrated the four-stroke process of an engine's piston and cylinder cycle.
"Internal combustion? That's just basic physics."
"Well—maybe it is to you , Brainiac. But I don't get the whole squish, bang, pop, thing."
Maddie looked confused. "You mean, suck, squeeze, bang, and blow?"
"Exactly. There's nothing— intuitive —about it."
Maddie closed her journal. "Sure there is."
Syd sighed. "Maybe it's just my learning style—I've always been better at hands-on instruction."
"Honey, there's really no way to get 'hands-on' instruction in the operation of an internal combustion engine."
Syd reached out to run a fingertip down the inside of Maddie's v-neck t-shirt. "Sure there is. You just have to be creative ."
Maddie looked down at her hand. "Are we still talking about airplane engines?"
Syd moved closer. "Do you really care?" She pulled Maddie's glasses off and tossed them over to the bedside table.
"Um—well…." Syd was kissing her neck now. Maddie felt her heart rate begin to shift from idle into full-throttle mode. "I guess not."
"So, what were those stages again?" Syd breath was now hot against Maddie's ear. She bit down on her lobe. "Suck?"
Maddie moaned and wrapped an arm around her. "Squeeze."
They were kissing now.
"Bang?" Syd muttered against her mouth, as she pushed the tall woman back against the pillows and crawled on top of her.
Oh, Jesus. Zero to V1 in ten seconds. Maddie took hold of Syd's head, which now was traveling down her torso at an accelerated rate of speed.
"Blow, baby," she gasped, while she could still make intelligible sounds. " Blow. "
"You have got to be kidding me?" David was incredulous.
Maddie looked back at him with her characteristic, deadpan expression. "Do I look like I'm kidding?"
David considered that for a moment, as he looked her up and down. "You can't show up here dressed like that and expect me to give you a serious answer."
Maddie looked down at her clothes. She had just finished an eight-hour shift in the Wytheville ER, and had stopped by the inn on her way home. Her blue scrubs were covered with iodine stains—the aftermath of going ten rounds with an anxious four-year-old who had vehemently (and vocally) resisted being the recipient of the nine stitches Maddie was obliged to apply to the gaping head wound she had sustained after riding her tricycle down the back steps of her parent's deck.
She looked around the completely empty dining room. Pretty typical for early February—which is why they closed the inn for the mid-winter months. She brought her blue eyes back to David.
"I apologize for committing the egregious error of not arriving in cocktail attire to sit here and watch paint dry."
"Well, I guess that's something ." He plucked a piece of lint off his trouser cuff and re-crossed his legs. "Besides, I'm not watching paint dry, thank you very much. I'm just killing time until Chopped comes on." When Maddie looked back at him with a blank expression, he sighed and continued, "If you weren't such an unrepentant Philistine, you'd know these things."
"Whatever. May we return to my original query, please?"
"We may—but I still think you've lost it. She'll never buy it—and, besides… there's no way you can pull this off."
"Thanks for the vote of confidence, Davey."
He waved a hand toward her. "I'm just trying to help you out, Cinderella."
"By undermining my confidence?"
"No. By helping you face reality."
Maddie sat back against her chair. "That's simply ridiculous. I certainly have the skill set to pull this off."
David leaned forward. "Oh really? I have two words for you, Sparky."
Maddie lifted her chin.
"Easy Bake. Not ."
"That's three words."
He rolled his eyes. "You know what I'm talking about. You damn near burned down the farm with that thing—and, may I add, that oven was only powered by a fucking light bulb . It boggles the mind to think about what kind of damage you could do on Michael's precious, eight-burner, turbo-powered Bertazzoni."
Maddie sighed. "Look. It's Syd' birthday—and I want to cook dinner for her."
David shook his head. "I don't get it—I thought you two were doing great."
"We are doing great."
"Then explain to me why you want to kill her?"
Maddie exhaled. "I may not have to kill her if I can satisfy my blood lust by eviscerating your ass . Now, will you help me out or not?"
"Why are you even asking me for help? It's Michael you need, not me."
"I'll get around to him—but I need you on board, first."
"Yeah… on board . Perfect image. Just like the fucking Titanic's maiden voyage."
He shook his head. "I know I'll live to regret this—but, okay . I'll help you."
Maddie sat back and smiled.
David took a sip from his glass of wine. "Now, pray tell—what part will I be playing in this little Greek tragedy?"
"Ah," Maddie said, as she tented her fingertips. "You'll be cast true to type."
David eyed her with suspicion. "As?"
Maddie shrugged. "My alibi, of course."
"Your alibi? "
"Yeah." When David exhaled in frustration, Maddie pressed her advantage. "Oh come on—it's not like you don't have experience at this."
"Sure...but convincing your father that those copies of Playboy he found stashed under the sofa cushions belonged to me was a cakewalk, compared to this."
"Now, why do you say that?"
" Hello? Seen the woman you've been keeping company with, Cinderella? Isn't she now like some kind of brown belt in Tae Kwon Do, or something?"
"Green belt. But what's your point?"
"My point is that I value my gonads. And I know Syd—if she suspects that you're up to something clandestine, and that I'm protecting you—she'll body-slam me first, and ask questions later."
Maddie was growing impatient with this. "In the first place, if Syd ever body-slams you, you'll be too— titillated —to care about anything else. In the second place, I promise not to let it go that far. I only need an alibi for a couple of nights—her birthday is in two weeks, as it is."
"I know when her birthday is—I remember last year, Miss 'Oh, by the way, I'm gay.' I'm still pissed at you about that little Valentine's Day revelation."
Maddie sighed. "I've apologized to you for that—a lot of times, if memory serves. Can I help it if it came out before you were able to join us?"
"Yeah. All kinds of shit came out that night."
Maddie made no response, but sat drumming her fingertips on the tabletop. They stared at one another. All they lacked were ambient cricket noises.
David was the first to blink.
"Okay. All right. I'll do it."
Maddie gave him one of her most brilliant smiles. Then she sat back and told him the details of her plan.
Michael was a harder sell.
It was his kitchen, after all—and Michael was very— specific —about his kitchen. And especially, about his stove.
"I don't know about this," he said to Maddie, as he regarded her with crossed arms. "What were you thinking about making?"
"I have a few thoughts," she replied.
"Like?" he prompted, when no details seemed to be forthcoming.
Maddie sighed. "What difference does it make?"
"You're joking, right? It makes a huge difference. I mean…honestly, Maddie. Sauces alone can take months—even years to perfect."
Maddie rolled her eyes toward the ceiling.
"Oh, don't think I didn't see that, Dr. Strangelove. Being able to cut up a cadaver with your ham fists and your crude medical implements doesn't automatically qualify you to prepare a perfectly proportioned platter of crudités."
"Fine. I'll buy precut vegetables."
Michael looked like Maddie had just suggested that they roast a goat on his range— without a drip pan.
"Okay, okay," she offered, in her most conciliatory voice. "We'll do it your way. What do you want to know?"
"For starters—what kind of cuisine, and how many courses?"
Maddie hauled up a stool and sat down. Clearly, this was going to be a long conversation.
"I was thinking—French."
Michael's gasp was audible.
"And, maybe, four courses?"
Michael looked pale. "Four?"
Maddie nodded.
" Only four? Why not six ? Why not eight? Why not just drive a stake through my heart, and get this nightmare over with now? "
Maddie sighed. "You know…I'm not an imbecile." She fluttered her hands in front of him. "Look. I actually have opposable thumbs. And I did manage to graduate at the top of my med school class."
Michael still looked unconvinced.
Maddie decided that it was time to haul out the big guns.
"It's for Syd, Michael. Help me do this for her?"
He folded like a cheap suit.
Then he sighed, and sat down on a stool facing Maddie. "All right—but with one condition."
"I need time to have the deductible lowered on our fire insurance."
" Very funny."
"Come on," the big man gestured toward the file folder Maddie brought along with her. "Show me what you got."
It was well after 8:00 that night when Maddie finally pulled into her barn at home, and parked her Jeep next to Syd's Volvo. She regretted that she'd missed dinner with Henry—although she'd called Syd from the hospital to tell her she'd be late. She just hadn't volunteered the reason why —choosing to let Syd draw her own conclusions.
This was going to be the hard part—inventing reasons for her absences from home while she worked on honing her culinary skills with Michael.
Shit. Maybe David was right—and I should just let them cater the whole damn meal?
No. She wanted to this for Syd. After all, Syd was willingly leaving her own comfort zone to learn how to fly—learning how to cook one, decent meal seemed like the least she could do to pay her back. It would be a selfless and loving quid pro quo.
At least, she hoped so.
She glanced over at the workbench in her barn. Edna Freemantle's toaster oven sat there—in about five pieces. Edna had dropped it while trying to empty its crumb tray, and she desperately wanted Maddie to fix it—even though Maddie told her it would be cheaper to just go to Wal-Mart and buy a new one. But Edna refused, and now Maddie was waiting on replacement parts to arrive from— someplace .
Damn David for reminding her about that regrettable incident with her Easy Bake oven. How was she supposed to know that it wouldn't work with pizza rolls? Those damn things went up like mini Roman candles. Her parents punished her for weeks. She remembered that Celine was furious with her—but she thought her father had a hard time concealing his grudging pleasure that she had expressed a desire to try and cook anything . She shook her head and walked on toward the house.
Pete met her at the kitchen door. She let him outside before taking off her jacket, and announcing, "I'm home!"
"We're up here," Syd's voice carried down the back stairs.
Maddie took the steps two at a time. They were down the hall, in Henry's room—the big room at the front of the house that had been Maddie's when she was a girl. Henry was already under the covers. He was wearing his sock monkey pajamas—a Christmas gift from Celine—and Syd was reading to him.
Maddie bent over and kissed Henry on the head, then turned and kissed Syd. "Hello my little family. I missed you both tonight."
Syd smiled at her. "We missed you, too. Did you get some dinner?"
"Yes—I grabbed something on the way home." She looked at Henry. "How was your day, Sport?"
"I got to ride in a fire truck, Maddie. And I got to make the siren go."
"You did? How did that happen, pal?"
"They came to my school. They told us not to start fires."
Maddie nodded. "That's very good advice, Henry. I hope you never will."
She was glad David wasn't present to hear this conversation.
Syd had been staring at the stains on Maddie's scrubs. "Do I want to know what that is on your clothes?" she asked.
"It's iodine." Maddie sighed. "I went ten rounds with a four-year-old who needed stitches. Believe me when I tell you that she fared much better than I did."
Syd laughed. "Why don't you go change, then, and I'll put those in to wash?"
"What's eye-dine , Maddie?" Henry asked, with wide eyes.
Maddie sat down on the edge of his bed. "It's a yucky, brownish liquid that we use to clean cuts and boo-boos before we can sew them up."
"I don't want any of that," he said with determination.
"Then be very careful, and maybe you'll never have to have any."
"Why don't I stay here while Syd finishes reading your story?" Maddie looked over at her partner. "Syd never reads to me any more."
Syd raised an eyebrow. "I don't really have to read to you any more—you generally find other ways to unwind before bedtime."
Maddie cleared her throat. "On the other hand, why don't I go and change out of these dirty clothes?" She stood up and kissed Henry again. "I'll come back to listen to the rest of your story, Henry—and to say goodnight."
"Okay, Maddie." He shifted his small frame around in the big bed, and pulled the blankets up closer to his chin.
Maddie ran a hand down Syd's back as she walked toward the door. "And I'll come up with something special for you, Blondie," she whispered.
Syd leaned into her hand. "Oh, I just bet you will, Stretch."
As she was walking back down the wide center hallway toward the master suite, she smiled as she heard the soft tones of Syd's voice, reading to Henry.
"On the fifteenth of May, in the Jungle of Nool,
In the heat of the day, in the cool of the pool,
He was splashing…enjoying the jungle's great joys…
When Horton the elephant heard a small noise…." 1
Maddie fared pretty well coming up with convincing explanations for her cascade of evening commitments—at least for the first three sessions with Michael. By the fourth night, however, Syd was beginning to chafe at her continued absences, and was struggling to contain her growing concern about what might really be behind them. It didn't help that once or twice, she'd walked in on Maddie while she was engrossed in phone conversations with someone —and Maddie's reflexive and abrupt efforts to terminate the calls only ratcheted up Syd's anxiety about what might be driving her partner to be so illusive and secretive about her nocturnal activities.
But Syd was a mature woman—and reminded herself that she loved and trusted her partner, and had no reason to suspect that Maddie was up to anything—untoward.
She didn't, did she?
Of course not. She understood that the biggest part of what drove her to worry about Maddie's unusual behavior was her own, ill-fated tenure as the spouse of a philandering husband.
But Maddie wasn't Jeff—not by any stretch of the imagination. And she knew that her reactions and fears were reflexive, and not rational.
Still, her conscience argued, what would the harm be to check it out?
Her first course of action simply would be to ask Maddie about it—circumspectly, of course. She didn't want to appear paranoid or over-anxious. Needy would also be bad—she wanted to avoid that appearance as well.
Even though 'needy' pretty much summarized how she was starting to feel.
She got her chance to broach the subject when they met for an impromptu lunch on Thursday. Maddie had a long break between appointments that day, and called Syd at the high school to see if she could sneak away before her afternoon orchestra practice to grab a fast bite at Freemantle's market. Syd agreed at once, and the two of them sat close together at a small table behind a towering display of motor oils and fuel injector cleaners.
They dined on the inevitable hot dogs and Diet Coke.
Syd finished hers, and licked a stray drizzle of chili from her fingertips. "I'll live to regret this."
Maddie reached into her jacket pocket and withdrew a foil-wrapped pill. Smiling, she slid it across the tabletop.
"Here you go—I raided the supply closet."
Syd picked it up and examined it. "And this would be?"
"Twenty milligrams of Famotidine."
"Just what the doctor ordered?"
"Just what this doctor ordered—at least, for you."
"Why, thank you. I wish my other needs were as easily met."
Maddie raised an eyebrow. "Really? That sounds ominous."
"I wouldn't say 'ominous,' exactly."
"Well, whatever you would say—I'd be happy to hear about it."
"Do you mean that?"
Maddie's blue eyes looked genuinely concerned now. "Of course I mean that." She extended a hand and rested it on Syd's forearm. "What's up, honey?"
Looking at Maddie's earnest and worried expression made Syd feel awkward—and ashamed of her suspicions. She laid a hand on top of Maddie's, and gave it a squeeze.
"It's nothing. I'm just being silly."
"It's not nothing if you're worried about something—what is it? Come on, sweetie—it's me ." She smiled at her. "Sit back, and tell me where it hurts."
Syd sighed. "I'm embarrassed to tell you."
"No," Syd cut her off. "Let me finish." She sat twisting her Diet Coke can around while she tried to find the right words to ask Maddie about what was really on her mind.
Maddie slid her chair closer and took hold of Syd's hand.
"Okay—you're really starting to scare the shit out of me."
Syd looked at her. God, the woman was drop-dead gorgeous . She still took her breath away. There were a thousand things she wanted to say.
"I love you," she said, instead—opting for the only one that really mattered.
Maddie eyes softened. "I love you, too."
"I know you do." And she did know it—in her viscera, where real truth resided. She shook her head. "It's nothing—I think I'm just hormonal as hell. And all these make-up snow days are driving the kids nuts —and they're all getting on my last nerve. I'm just—tense."
"Tense?" Maddie looked unconvinced.
"Yeah. Tense. Honest."
"That's it? The stuff at school?"
Syd nodded.
"Nothing at home? Nothing with Henry? Nothing with us?"
Syd smiled at her and squeezed her hand. "Never."
Maddie exhaled and sat back in her chair. "Well, thank god." She lowered her voice and spoke in conspiratorial tones. "Lucky for you, I did a standard rotation in 'stress relief.' I think I can help you out with your problem."
"My problem? " Syd was beginning to think that approaching Maddie about her 'tension' might prove to be one of her better ideas. "Do tell, Doctor…I'm all ears."
Maddie gave her a look that was anything but chaste. "Once again, I'm happy to point out that you are anything but."
"I'm suddenly feeling very dirty."
"Again, lucky for you. I have a cure for that, too."
Syd was on the verge of asking Maddie when and how she might prove the veracity of her claims, when the doctor's cell phone rang. The rest of their conversation would have to wait. Peggy was calling to tell her that Zeke Dawkins had sliced open his hand while cutting down some cardboard boxes on the loading dock of the post office. He was at Maddie's clinic now, and it looked like he was going to need stitches. A lot of them.
Maddie pushed back her chair and stood up.
"I'm sorry to have to run off, honey."
Syd smiled at her. "It's okay, Dr. Kildare. I know where you live."
Maddie squeezed her shoulder. "You certainly do. And I'll see you there later on."
"Count on it."
Syd watched her go, wondering what she had ever been worried about.
Maddie wasn't at all lacking in sensibility where Syd was concerned, and after their lunch conversation, she almost gave up on her double-whammy, Birthday cum Valentine's-Day Culinary Extravaganza. She said as much to Michael the next day when they met over coffee at Dunkin' Donuts to confer about the details of their next practice session—but Michael encouraged her boldly to soldier on.
"You can't stop now ," he said. "We're at a crucial stage: tonight, we clarify butter . And you know how important that is. The success or failure of this entire enterprise hangs in the balance. If you walk away now…well. I can't even find the words to describe the breadth of disappointed hopes you'll leave in your wake."
Maddie looked at him in wonder. "You sound like we're planning the invasion of Normandy . It's only a birthday dinner, Michael."
Her remarks met with dead silence.
"Hello?" Maddie prompted, snapping her fingers in front of him. His face looked like it had just been etched in stone.
"Never was so much owed by so many to so few." His voice was a pained whisper.
"Oh, please —you're not seriously playing the Churchill Card? Can we dial this back a bit?"
He crossed his arms. "I don't see how —not when you seem determined to cast aspersion on my entire craft."
"Oh, come on—Syd thinks I'm cheating on her, for god's sake. I just can't keep this deception up." She sighed and shook her dark head. "I should've listened to David."
She was stunned when Michael suddenly reached across the table and slapped her.
"Snap out of it!" His voice rang out across the restaurant.
Maddie raised a hand to the side of her face and looked at him like he had suddenly sprouted horns. Patrons at other tables were all spinning around in their seats to stare at the two of them.
"What the hell was that for?" she hissed.
"For saying you should have listened to David. "
"Oh." Maddie rubbed her cheek as she considered that. "Thanks. You're right."
Michael nodded and picked up his cup of coffee.
Maddie turned to face the other diners. "Finish your donuts folks…there's nothing else to see here."
Slowly, the other patrons returned their attention to their lattes and Bavarian Kreme Sticks.
Maddie turned back to regard her companion.
"By the way, big guy—nice job channeling Cher ."
He smiled at her.
"I guess attending all 42 of those farewell tours finally paid off."
"I'll say." He leaned forward. "Now, about tonight…."
When Maddie called Syd late on Friday afternoon to say she'd be out again—Syd gave up trying to be understanding, and not jump to conclusions. She'd had it—and all bets were off.
Maddie said she'd been called in to help Tom Greene out in the ER that night—that the plague of upper respiratory crud that had been blazing a trail across the county had finally hit the hospital staff, and half of Tom's employees had called-in sick. She said she'd try not to be too late—and apologized profusely for missing yet another evening at home with Syd and Henry.
Syd opened her mouth to protest when Maddie cut her off.
"I gotta run, sweetie—this waiting room looks like Wal-Mart on the Friday after Thanksgiving. I love you."
She hung up.
Syd stood there fuming, holding the phone against her ear. Before she could talk herself out of it, she hung up, then punched in the number for Freemantle's Market.
"Hello, Edna? It's Syd Murphy. Do you happen to know if Roma Jean is available tonight? I need a sitter for Henry…."
"I can't believe I let you talk me into this. I'm freezing my ass off."
Syd glared at him. "Will you quit complaining? There was no way I was going to sit out here in the dark by myself."
David pulled his fur-trimmed car coat tighter across his neck. "Can't we at least turn the damn heat on?"
"Why the fuck not?"
"I told you. I don't wanna steam up the windows."
"Oh. Right. Because you're afraid that any fucking polar bears that wander by in search of food might mistake our frozen corpses for ringed seals?"
"You know…you'd stay warmer if you'd shut up."
"How long are we gonna sit out here?"
"Until she comes out."
He sighed. "And then what?"
"We've been over this already."
" And? "
"And—we follow her."
David drummed his gloved fingers on the center console of Syd's Volvo. This was shaping up to be a bona fide nightmare . And he was caught right in the middle of it.
When Syd called him and said she was on her way over to pick him up, he grilled her about why. What she said made his hair stand on end. He shot a quick text message off to Maddie:
The eagle has landed. Goldilocks headed to big house to catch Mama Bear with fingers in porridge bowl.
In exactly 90 seconds, Maddie called him back.
"Would you mind translating that message into English, please?"
He sighed. "Syd is on her way to stake out the fucking hospital. She wants to find out what you're really up to—and she's dragging my ass along with her."
" What? "
"You heard me. So you'd better come up with an alibi fast. "
"David, that's your damn job."
"Hey…you can't pin this one on me , Cinderella. I'm an innocent bystander. And one, I might add, who now deserves hazardous duty pay."
"Tell me about it. Look—you need to figure something out. Fast . She'll be here in about five minutes and I have to change."
"Duh?" He sighed. "I can't go on a stakeout in February wearing poly-blend…I need flannel ." He paused. "What kind of lesbian are you, anyway?"
"Oh, good god." She hung up.
That was two grueling hours ago—and David was certain that his caps were going to crack from how much his teeth were chattering.
He thought he'd try again to talk Syd down off her ledge of suspicion.
"Look, Syd," he began. "This is really a fool's errand. I know Maddie. Believe me —she's incapable of cheating."
Syd brought her eyes to bear on him like the laser beam of a shotgun. " Cheating? Who said anything about her cheating?"
Fuck. "Forget I said that. Bad, bad choice of words."
Her eyes narrowed. "What do you know?"
He threw up his hands. "Nothing! I know nothing ."
"Right, Sergeant Schultz." She grabbed him by the lapels of his jacket. "Give it up— now. "
"Syd," he slapped at her hands. "Do you mind? Careful with the ermine." He brushed down the fur collar of his jacket. "I told you—I don't know anything ."
"Then why are you so anxious to get me to give this up?"
"Because my lips are turning a hideous shade of fucking puce! It's freezing out here!"
She sighed and sat back against her seat.
"All right. I'll start the car and turn on the heat— briefly . Just long enough to take the chill off. But in exchange, you fess up and tell me what the hell she's up to. And don't lie to me and say you don't know anything, or I might just slip up and tell your mother about some of the more eclectic interlibrary loan items I've had to procure for you from the state prison collection."
He turned pale. "You wouldn't dare ."
She leaned toward him. "Oh, I promise you—I would ."
" That's blackmail. Isn't that against your creed?"
"Librarians don't have a creed."
"Oh—nice. Great time to tell me that."
She lifted her hand and placed it on the ignition. "So. Whattaya say? A little tit for tat?"
He rolled his eyes. "Not the most effective phrase to use with a gay man, Syd."
"You get my drift."
He sighed. "All right already. I'm so fucking cold that right now I'd agree to do a pole dance in a pair of your father's hip waders to get you turn on the goddamn heat."
She shook her head and started the car. They sat there in blissful silence for a few minutes as the passenger compartment started to warm up—and the windows began to fog over.
David stretched his cramped legs out and sighed contentedly as warmth flooded over his body. Down the hill, across the parking lot from where they sat, the big glass door that led into the ER lobby opened. He stared as two figures emerged, and headed straight toward them. Panic raced over his frame.
" Oh, Jesus H. Christ! "
"What now?" Syd looked over at him.
"Tom Greene at 10:00! Headed STRAIGHT for us ."
David frantically pointed out the windshield.
"Oh, shit ."
"What do we do? "
" Do? How the fuck do I know? Think of something! "
" Me? "
"Yes, you. This whole ridiculous stakeout was your fucking idea." David was nearly hysterical now. "Oh, shit— he sees us . I know he does. That old letch will never let us live this one down…how will we ever explain— mmmmlllnnphhhh. "
Syd grabbed David and hauled him across the console so he was half lying on top of her. She pressed her lips to his in a passionate kiss—trying as much to shut him up, as to disguise their identities—and to give the appearance that they were just an illicit couple, hooking up for a late-night tryst in the hospital parking lot.
Only David wasn't cooperating. He was too shocked and too addled. He fought against her, and reflexively flailed his arms around—succeeding only in knocking the car's gearshift lever into drive. As they continued to strain and wrestle with each other on the front seats, they failed to realize that the Volvo had started to pull forward out of its space—gaining momentum as it rolled downhill and right into the path of an inbound ambulance. In fact, they didn't notice that they were moving until they had stopped moving—and both of the car's front airbags announced that they had stopped moving by deploying when the Volvo slammed into the side of a Wythe County EMT wagon.
Syd's car alarm also cooperated by deciding that this was exactly the right time to sound an alert.
The two of them sat there, dazed, while medical personnel flooded out of the ER and into the parking lot. Steam was rolling out from beneath the crushed hood of Syd's car. People were running and shouting. Orderlies ran toward the two vehicles with gurneys.
Dazed, Syd and David broke their clinch and looked at one another.
"Fuck," they said in unison.
The parking lot was like a production number from a Busby Berkeley musical. There were people crawling all over the place. In the five minutes since the accident, it seemed that police cars from nine departments had shown up and blocked them in.
David noticed that, too. "How many fucking donut shops are there in this goddamn county?" he complained.
Syd felt like time had stopped, and they had been sitting inside the car for at least a decade. She had a sick feeling that life, as she knew it, would never be the same.
A gentle tapping against the driver's side window finally got her attention. Slowly, inevitably, she turned her head toward the fateful sound to see Maddie standing outside the car, peering in at them with crossed arms, and an unreadable expression.
Syd reached over and slowly rolled down her window.
"Um. Hi."
Maddie cleared her throat, and just stood there—saying nothing. But, in this case, Maddie saying nothing, managed to speak volumes . Syd was amazed at how much she looked like her mother right then.
Not a good sign at all.
"I suppose you wonder what we're doing here?" Syd asked, meekly.
"No," Maddie finally said. "I think that part is pretty obvious. Why you're here, however, is likely to remain one of life's great unsolved mysteries."
Syd just stared back at her in abject silence.
Maddie sighed. "I think there are some gentlemen here who are eager to talk with you." She turned her head to indicate two Sheriff's deputies who stood near the hospital entrance, tapping their pens against open notepads, and staring at the carnage.
Maddie then took a step back, and opened Syd's car door. "Lucy—perhaps you and Ethel would care to join us inside, so we can discuss this little sitcom?"
Syd looked over at her partner in crime, who was busy trying to brush white airbag dust off his fur collar. He raised his head and met her hopeless gaze.
"Don't look at me, Mrs. Ricardo—I'm just the sidekick. You're the one with the 'splaining to do."
It was after 10:00 that night when Maddie paid Roma Jean, and thanked her for spending the evening with Henry. To her credit, Roma Jean managed to thank Maddie, take the cash, and stumble out of the house without tripping over anything.
Progress, indeed.
Syd's Volvo had been towed to the Firestone garage in Jericho , and she had ridden home with Maddie in the Jeep. Silently.
They had dropped an equally silent David off at the inn on their way back to the farm. When Maddie smiled and wished him a good night's sleep, he shot her the bird and muttered, "Paybacks, Cinderella. Paybacks ."
Syd watched him trot up the steps to the inn, leaving a trail of white dust in his wake.
"What did he mean by that?"
Maddie looked over at her. "Oh—so you're talking to me now?"
" No. "
Maddie chuckled. "My mistake."
Syd didn't respond.
Now she was upstairs showering. Maddie could hear the water running as she walked to Henry's room, to tuck him back in.
Henry had a tendency to kick his blankets off—then wake up cold during the night. Maddie smiled when she entered his room and saw Pete, sound asleep on the foot of his bed. Since Henry came to stay with them, Pete had more or less taken up residence in Henry's room. The two were inseparable.
Henry rolled over and opened his eyes when she started adjusting his covers. He gave her a sleepy smile when he saw her.
"Hi, Maddie."
"Hi, Sport." She sat down on the edge of his bed. "Did you have fun tonight with Roma Jean?"
He nodded. "We ate pizza and watched American Idol ."
Maddie smiled. "Did you do your homework?"
"Yes." He nodded. "I did it with Syd before Roma Jean came."
Maddie smiled at him. "Good." She ran a hand over his tousled hair. "I'm sorry I've been gone so much lately. I want you to know that I miss you and Syd when I'm not here."
"We miss you, too." He yawned. "Gramma C. called."
He meant Celine.
"She did?"
He nodded. "She said she would call back."
"Did she say anything else?"
"She said she was coming for Easter." He seemed excited at first—then he frowned as something else occurred to him. "She said she had a new piano book for me."
Maddie tried not to laugh. "You go back to sleep now, Sport. We'll talk about it at breakfast, okay?"
"Okay, Maddie." He rolled over and pushed his head down into his pillow. "I love you."
"I love you, too, buddy." She kissed his head.
She reached down to scrub Pete's ears—then left his room to head for the master suite at the opposite end of the hall.
The water had stopped running, so Syd must have finished with her shower.
Maddie paused at the doorway to the room, deliberating about what to do.
"Are you going to stand there all night—or are you going to get in here and join me?"
Syd's voice came from around the corner. Apparently, she was still in the bathroom.
At least she was talking now. That had to be a good sign.
Maddie walked into the bedroom, and rounded the corner into the bathroom. It was illuminated by candlelight, and Syd reclined in the big garden tub, wearing nothing but a sultry smile.
"Um," Maddie began. "Did I miss a few plot points?"
Syd lazily trailed her hand through the sudsy water. "I can't think of any points you've ever missed . "
Maddie sat down on the edge of the tub. "Not that I'm complaining or anything—but I confess to being a little—"
"Confused?" Syd suggested.
"Yeah. That about covers it."
"Well, how about you shuck off your clothes and climb in here? I'm sure I can clear everything up for you in record time."
Maddie pinched herself. "Nope. I'm still awake." She looked at Syd in amazement. "An hour ago, you wanted to kill me."
Syd ran a hand along Maddie's arm. "No—an hour ago, I wanted to kill myself —for being so stupid. And for giving in to a ridiculous, irrational, and paranoid delusion."
Maddie narrowed her eyes. "Is this horrifying characterization of your mental state supposed to make me feel better ? "
"No," Syd sat up and reached out to take hold of Maddie's head—tugging her forward until their lips were nearly touching. " This is." She ran the tip of her tongue across Maddie's lips, then kissed her, and slowly started untying the drawstring on the pants of her blue scrubs.
When they finally drew apart, Maddie's head was spinning, but things were definitely getting clearer. A lot clearer.
"I'm sorry for being such an idiot," Syd whispered.
Maddie was too busy pulling off the rest of her clothes and climbing into the tub to hear any more of her apology.
Once Maddie had settled into the tub beside her, Syd slid over to straddle her lap. "Think you can ever forgive me?"
"Well, I—" Maddie wrapped one arm around her, and latched on to the side the tub with her free hand—just so they could stay above water.
Syd's lips now were busy expressing the nonverbal portion of her apology, and Maddie was learning how easily breathing could become a foreign concept.
"I uh…."
Coherent thought appeared to have left the building, too.
"If I did forgive you, I guess that would make me—"
"All wet?" Syd asked, innocently—although what she was doing beneath the surface of the water was anything but innocent.
Forming complete sentences was now a lost art. Another minute passed.
"Yes…yes," Maddie finally managed. " All wet. "
Syd smiled against her mouth. "That makes two of us."
The hell with it.
Maddie let go of the tub, and they both slid deeper into the water.
February 14th. D-Day.
It wasn't going well.
And Syd's birthday dinner was tonight.
Maddie was flying solo this evening because, way back in December, Michael had picked up a catering gig for a wedding reception in Jefferson —and he couldn't get out of it. He promised her that he'd back in plenty of time to oversee most of what they had on tap for the evening—but Maddie was charged with doing the initial prep work, and getting a jump-start on the dessert course: a pumpkin custard tart with red-wine caramel sauce. Her job was to premix the dough mixture so it could refrigerate (it apparently required two hours to do whatever-in-the-hell-it-was-that-dough-had-to-do in the refrigerator)— and make the custard filling. All this, so they could be ready to assemble the actual tarts when Michael returned.
There was just one problem—she got held up at the clinic when Lizzy called to say she'd be late getting back from Blacksburg (where she'd celebrated an early Valentine's Day with Syd's brother, Tom). That meant that Maddie had been unable to be at the inn by noon, as she'd planned. So she found herself in a time crunch—and didn't have the requisite two hours to wait for the dough to properly…do whatever.
Her clothes for the evening (and her overnight bag) were already there. All Syd knew was that they were meeting at the inn for a Valentine's Day/birthday dinner—she had no idea that Maddie was cooking, or that they would also be spending the night there, alone, in the very biggest and best guest suite. And this time—there'd be no red, Dr. Denton footie pajamas in the equation.
There'd be no pajamas at all, if she played her cards right.
Lizzy was keeping Henry overnight at her place—Syd didn't know that part yet, either.
Maddie told Syd that she had late appointments at the clinic, and that she'd have to meet her at the inn. She made a grand ceremony out of carrying a garment bag containing a change of clothes with her when she left home that morning—and she told Syd that she'd change at the clinic. Syd didn't seem to question this. And if she was harboring any nascent suspicions, she was still enough enmeshed in atonement mode from the whole demolition derby stunt at the hospital, that she bravely kept them to herself.
Now Maddie was running about five hours behind schedule, and she needed to make some hard choices.
Well, she reasoned, when something doesn't fit—you make adjustments. Right? Cooking, after all, was a science—just like medicine…or small appliance repair. It shouldn't be rocket science to puzzle this one out. Really . So she glanced at the clock, and thought about how to make this work.
First, the dessert.
Why not just premix everything together—and then toss the whole thing into the freezer? That would expedite the setting up process—cutting the time down by at least half. Maybe even two-thirds?
Michael would never know the difference—and she'd be right on track for them to finish the tarts, and start the Daube de Boeuf a la Saintongeaise (which Michael said needed to be prepared a day ahead of time and reheated, for best results—but they'd have to make do with half a day).
She also thought she could get a jump-start on the French Vinaigrette with Hard-Boiled Egg Dressing—for the grilled, bacon-wrapped asparagus appetizer (a concession, and an apologetic offering for the recent, regrettable incident with Pete).
Like any good clinician, she assembled her tools and ingredients first.
She was a whiz at multitasking, and knew it—so she didn't worry too much about Michael's solemn admonition that she needed to concentrate on completing one task at a time. Hell…she could single-handedly juggle multiple gunshot wounds, gang fights, drug over-doses, and crazy indigents pissing in the water fountains in the Presby ER on any Saturday night—this should be like a walk in the spring rain.
She looked at her watch again. Fuck. It was 2:30. Syd would be there in less than four hours.
Okay. First things first. The dough .
Well…. Maybe the eggs. Those she could set to hard-boil while she started the pastry mix.
Oh—and the meat. That needed to be at room temperature. She walked to the big walk-in cooler and grabbed the two pounds of beef shin she'd bought at the butcher shop in Roanoke . She also grabbed the fat slabs of bacon they'd need to wrap the asparagus. Correction: it was pancetta , not bacon. Michael was quick to correct her when she showed up with the wrong damn side meat, and had to go back to the store. Again . Hell…she was practically a shareholder in that joint now.
So. Okay. The eggs.
She took a heavy, stainless steel and copper pan down from the pot rack that hung over the kitchen's big center island, and put a couple of inches of water into it. She only needed one egg for the dressing—but decided to go ahead and hard-boil six or seven. Why waste a whole pan of water for one damn egg? Besides, she liked hard-boiled eggs, and they could always use them for something else.
Once the eggs were nicely going, she started carrying her pastry and filling items over to the area where the big, gunmetal gray mixer stood—proud and gleaming, like some kind of culinary obelisk. Michael practically worshipped the damn thing. He even had a name for it—" Gloria ."
G-L-O-R-I-A. Yeah. That one.
She paused to look over the recipe.
The damn eggs were supposed to be at room temperature, too.
No problem. She'd wait just a few minutes—then grab a couple out of the hot water on the stove. That should work just fine, as long as she got them out before the water started to boil.
In the meantime, she could start chopping and combining the spices.
Okay…ginger— check . Almonds— check . Cloves— check . White pepper— check . Whole beans of fucking, has-to-be-grated, nutmeg— check . Cardamom— shit . Cardamom . God damn it! She forgot the fucking cardamom . She looked up at the ceiling, and took a deep breath. Then she squared her shoulders.
Substitution.
That's what the best chefs did.
They always did it.
Okay. What would work instead of cardamom? It was a mainstay of Indian cuisine, right? So that meant it was spicy . It was one of the key ingredients in garam masala—a seasoning Maddie loved. So what was like that? She walked over to Michael's spice cabinet and looked it over.
That should work. That was in garam masala, too. Okay, curry powder it is.
She walked back to the mixer.
Shit… the eggs.
Well. The water had only just started to roll—so they were probably still okay.
Grabbing a sieve-style spoon, she scooped three of them out and carried them over to the table next to "Gloria's" mixer altar.
Okay. Let's see. She looked over the instructions.
Pulse almonds, flour, baking powder, salt, and spices in a food processor until nuts are very finely ground.
Beat together butter and sugar with an electric mixer until pale and fluffy, then beat in egg. Add flour mixture in 2 batches, mixing at low speed just until a dough forms. Form dough into a disk and chill, wrapped in plastic wrap, until firm, at least 2 hours.
Whisk together brown sugar, eggs, molasses, salt, and spices. Whisk in pumpkin, then cream.
Okay. That "chilling" part was not happening. No time.
But she could do all the other stuff.
Where the hell was the food processor?
She looked around the kitchen, but didn't see it. Shit. She checked her watch again. Then she turned back to regard the stand mixer. The damn thing had more attachments than an Electrolux. She looked them over. One of these must be used for chopping stuff.
Michael had them all arranged on a peg-board above the mixer—like medieval torture implements. Shit…he practically had the damn things outlined in paint.
She picked up a fat, cone-shaped and spindled metal whisk and hefted it, before turning it over in her hands.
Probably this one.
She attached it to the mixer and started dumping in all of the ingredients.
All of them .
Including the flour, the brown sugar, the molasses, the solid-pack pumpkin and the assortment of nuts and spices.
Oh—and the eggs. The perfectly poached eggs.
She needed six tablespoons of unsalted butter. Softened . Well, she could go ahead and start "pulsing" everything else while she went and got that.
Sighing, she set the mixer control to— damn . There was no "pulse" setting.
Great. What the hell would be closest to that? The thing had 10 speeds. Not helpful.
Okay. Let's parse it out .
She stood back and looked the unit over, critically. She'd repaired a few of these in her time. They were pretty nice machines. High-performance motors—575 watts. Planetary drive systems. Mechanical bowl-lifts. Plenty of torque.
Torque had to be good for chopping. More speed=greater torque. She set the dial to 8, and turned the unit on. It made a tortured, gurgled, grinding sound at first—but then seemed to even out. There was a dense cloud of— something —drifting in waves up out of the bowl, but that was probably okay. It smelled sweet and spicy.
It tickled her nose.
Damn…that curry was really strong .
Shrugging, she walked back to the cooler to grab a stick of butter.
While she was in the cooler, she decided to go ahead and get the vegetables she'd need for the Boeuf dish—and the damn asparagus.
Let's see. Carrots. Onions. Garlic. Artichoke. Leeks.
Leeks?
Nope. Didn't need leeks.
Lard.
She forgot about that. The damn "Boeuf" needed to be braised in lard—not vegetable or olive oil.
Now where in the hell would he keep that? Would it be refrigerated or not?
She was standing there deliberating when she heard the first explosion.
Three more followed it in rapid succession.
What the fuck? She exited the freezer in time to see tiny pieces of egg shrapnel flying across the kitchen.
"Oh, my god! " She ducked as a huge piece of shell ricocheted off the wall behind her.
The pan containing the eggs had boiled dry—and the eggs had blown up. Pieces of them were flying around and landing everyplace—even on the ceiling fans.
Jesus Christ.
And the stench was incredible.
Maddie dropped all the vegetables in an unceremonious heap on a prep table and ran over to the Bertazzoni to turn off the gas ring under the, now charred, All-Clad pot. Great…that thing was a write-off.
Pieces of egg and shell were all over the top of the stove. She didn't even want to look at the shelf behind the stove.
How would she ever get the stench out of the kitchen? And what about all that black smoke?
Wait a minute…black smoke? Where in the hell was that coming from?
She stood back. Not the stove… it was off.
But the kitchen was filling up with it, and it would only be a matter of time before….
There was an ear-splitting sound as the smoke alarm went off, and Maddie turned around to see that "Gloria" was the culprit. Dark, black smoke and flames were shooting out from the mixer's engine housing. The stainless steel whisk had been twisted into an unrecognizable shape, and finally, had stopped turning. A dense-looking, orange-colored, nut and spice magma was overflowing the bowl and dropping onto the floor in fat blobs.
She raced across the room to unplug the mixer, and grabbed a towel to suffocate the flames.
"How could this possibly get any fucking worse? " she bellowed.
Ten seconds later, she got her answer when the overhead sprinkler system kicked in—and the entire kitchen got doused in a fire-prevention monsoon.
Yeppers. This was going to be one helluva Valentine's Day.
Maddie stood gazing up at the ceiling, as the overhead waterfall soaked her—both arms extended in a ludicrous pantomime of crucifixion.
Now all she needed was for Michael to show up.
Cue Michael.
" What the fuck is going on in here??? My kitchen! Oh my god—GLORIA!"
Maddie closed her eyes.
Jesus died for somebody's sins—but not mine.
Not even Patti Smith could save her, now.
Judging by the murderous look on Michael's face as he stood in the doorway to his kitchen surveying the carnage, she thanked god that she had done her residency in emergency medicine. She would've offered even money on whether or not he'd be able to kill her before he went into shock.
She was only sure of two things right now.
One: it was a very good thing that she had her attorney on speed-dial.
Two: she'd never be able to mention Syd's misadventure in the hospital parking lot again.
"I think that was just about the best meal I've ever had," Syd was licking her fingertips.
"It was certainly the safest ." Maddie poured her another glass of the cold Veuve Clicquot—the only thing she'd managed to salvage from their original dinner.
Syd stifled a laugh. "I'll say."
Maddie shoved the bottle back into its bucket of ice. "Hey—no laughing. We agreed . Truce. Right?"
"Right." Syd saluted. "Truce."
Maddie held up the big, red and white striped cardboard bucket. "Another drumstick?"
"No thanks. Four is my limit."
"Yeah. I thought you and Henry were going to have to arm-wrestle for that last one."
Syd smiled, and looked over at the sleeping bag in the corner of the room—still rolled-out on the rug where Henry had fallen asleep after they brought him back from Lizzy's bungalow. Maddie had long since carried him upstairs to bed, with Pete following along at her heels.
They were back at home, in their living room—lounging on the floor in front of a big fire, with the remainder of their KFC Family Feast for Four spread out on a blanket beside them.
Syd stole a sidelong glance at her tall partner. Incredibly, she didn't look any the worse for wear—which was remarkable, considering the events of the evening.
By the time Syd arrived at the inn, the fire had been contained, the sprinklers had been turned off, and Michael had been calmed down considerably by a generous dose of David's Xanax—and a couple of single malt Scotches. Maddie had tried to protest the combination—but backed-off right away when Michael picked up one of his waterlogged Shun paring knives, and started drying it with the hem of the tablecloth.
"I'll get you some more ice," she'd said instead—and beat a hasty retreat from the dining room, where they all ended up after the fire department left.
That was several hours ago, and now the unhappy chain of horrifying events was already beginning to claim its rightful place in the county annals of myth and heroic misadventure. Syd was certain that by tomorrow, no one would even remember her own fifteen minutes of fame. But Maddie's? Well. Hers could be expected to live on. For one thing, she was such an iconic figure in the lives of her patients, that any opportunity to humanize her—especially one that occurred on such a grand and epic scale—was sure to resonate with the locals for a good, long time.
But Syd had to smile as she thought about the lengths Maddie had gone to in her efforts to do something special for her—and what those efforts had nearly cost them both.
"Do I want to know what you're thinking about over there?" Maddie's voice sounded almost tentative.
Syd looked over at her. She was beautiful in the firelight. Hell. She was beautiful in any light—or in no light.
"Only how lucky we are."
Maddie snorted.
"I mean it."
Maddie still looked dubious. "It's been quite a few weeks,"
Syd smiled at her. "It's been quite a year."
Maddie took hold of her hand. "This isn't quite the evening I had planned to celebrate your birthday."
"Oh, I don't know," Syd looked around the room. "An amazing home. A beautiful fire. Great champagne. Henry." She raised their linked hands to her mouth, and kissed Maddie's fingers. " You . What more could a girl ask?"
Maddie smiled at her. "That reminds me," she said. She fished into the front pocket of her jeans and pulled out a tiny gold key, and held it out to Syd. "I got you something."
With a confused expression, Syd took it from her and looked it over. "What is it?"
"It's a key," Maddie drawled.
Syd lowered it to her lap. "Thank you, Dr. Stevenson. Now that we've cleared-up that mystery, would you like to tackle global warming?"
Maddie smiled at her. "Turn it over, and look at the back."
Syd sat up straighter and held the key out toward the fireplace so she could read the tiny inscription. "429WP?"
Syd looked confused.
Maddie nudged her playfully. "Come on, Blondie… reach for it."
Syd smiled as recognition dawned. "Your tail number…of course ."
"I didn't want you to forget."
Syd looked at her archly. "As if I could ever forget how to identify your tail…."
Maddie laughed and pulled her closer. "Well…here's hoping. But in this case—it's a functional key." She smiled. "It unlocks the airplane."
Syd dropped her head to Maddie's chest and groaned. "Like you'd ever trust me near another engine…."
"Oh, honey—it's just like riding a horse. You get tossed off—you get right back up on it."
" Oh, really? Think that works with KitchenAid appliances, too?"
Maddie thought about that one for a moment. "Doubtful."
Syd smiled into her chest. Maddie smelled wonderful—a heady mix of pine and lavender.
An idea occurred to her.
"Still," she said, as she slowly began to lay a trail of soft kisses along Maddie's collarbone. "I suppose we could work on that physics lesson again—I think I nearly had the hang of it last time."
"You think?" Maddie ran her hands up along the warm skin beneath Syd's sweater.
"Um hmmm." Syd was kissing up the side of Maddie's neck now. "You, know," she said, grasping the taller woman by the shoulders. "Since you have that CFI rating…."
Maddie sighed happily. "That's CFI, MEI ."
Syd kissed her chin. " Two instructor ratings?"
"Yeah." Maddie was serious now. She lifted her head to try and capture Syd's mouth—but Syd backed away.
" Overachiever. I knew I loved you for a reason."
Maddie tried in vain to kiss her again, but Syd was in motion—skillfully rolling over, and yanking her partner along with her.
Maddie landed on top of her with a huff. "Oh— I get it, now. You want some more of that 'hands-on' instruction, don't you?"
"What tipped you off?" Syd's hand reached a very sensitive spot, and just about launched Maddie into orbit.
" Easy, baby," she breathed, as she started a long, slow descent down Syd's body. "Remember…once we hit V1, we're committed— and we have to go ."
"Oh, honey," Syd's hands were now tangled up in Maddie's thick, dark hair. "I reached V1 ten seconds after I met you."
Like the good scientist she was, Maddie was quick to show that her own findings trended in the same direction.
And that wasn't a bad thing—for when they returned to earth, they were still wrapped-up together…on a blanket, in front of a fire, in their own home, with the boy who would one day become their son, sleeping soundly upstairs.
1 Theodor Geisel, Horton Hears a Who (New York, Random House Books for Young Readers, 1954)
Maddie's (original) Four Course Birthday Menu
Canapés au Camembert ; Pancetta-Wrapped Grilled Asparagus with Vinaigrette Dressing
Daube de Boeuf a la Saintongeaise; Roasted Vegetables
Pan-Seared Artichoke with Balsamic Glaze
Pumpkin Custard Tart with Red-Wine Caramel Sauce
Return to the Valentine 2011 Index


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Pierpaolo Barbieri on Latin American FinTech
Gifted young Argentines tend to leave home to "make it in America" and never look back, but after earning a degree from Harvard, writing a book about the Spanish Civil War, and living in the United States for 12 years, Pierpaolo Barbieri has returned to Argentina. And he's bringing foreign capital and talented expats with him. Pierpaolo's FinTech startup Ualá works to bring universal banking to a Latin American market in which huge swaths of the population are still stuck using cash for everything. By giving the working classes power over their own money, he hopes to produce greater prosperity and social mobility in his home country and beyond.
Pierpaolo joined Tyler to discuss why the Mexican banking system only serves 30 percent of Mexicans, which country will be the first to go cashless, the implications of a digital yuan, whether Miami will overtake São Paolo as the tech center of Latin America, how he hopes to make Ualá the Facebook of FinTech, Argentina's bipolar fiscal policy, his transition from historian to startup founder, the novels of Michel Houellebecq, Nazi economic policy, why you can find amazing and cheap pasta in Argentina, why Jorge Luis Borges might be his favorite philosopher, the advice he'd give to his 18-year-old self, his friendship with Niall Ferguson, the political legacy of the Spanish Civil War, why he stopped sending emails from bed, and more.
Recorded April 12th, 2021
Follow Pierpaolo on Twitter

redpajama_set_name: RedPajamaCommonCrawl


Whenever three or more independent areas in a yacht need to be air-conditioned, a central chiller system is the right choice. The system features one central control unit and a separate control panel for each cabin. For larger systems the BlueCool Premium series offers capacities up to 572,000 BTU/h.


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Pontefract Air Rifle Club
Probably The Best Air Rifle Club in the North!
A Guide To The Induction Process
*Due to Covid-19 the following information is not currently applicable*
New membership applications run from the first Sunday in February through to the end of September every year.
All potential new members must complete Induction and Probationary periods.
INDUCTION consists of FOUR(#) visits to the club which can ONLY be carried out on SUNDAYS* between 10.00am and 1.30pm.
# Please note that under most circumstances 4 visits will be sufficient to permit membership, however the supervising committee member can ask for subsequent induction visits if he/she deems it necessary.
Once you are a member/probationary member you will be given a code for the gate. This allows you to come down whenever suits you best, any time of the day during daylight hours, 365 days per year subject to club rules**.
Once these are completed you will then become a PROBATIONARY member for a minimum of three months.
We do ask for a £20.00 deposit when Induction begins, with any remaining fee due when probation begins.
Two adult partners and up to 3 dependent children under 18, still living at home, per year.
Please contact the club secretary for full details. Individual
Individual adults (over 18 ) per year.
If over 65 years of age and after one year full membership, this fee is reduced to £30.00 per year.
* The second and third visits can occasionally be arranged mid-week with a committee member present. Talk to a committee member on your first (Sunday) visit, or contact us using the contact numbers here Contact Us
** The club is occasionally closed for events. Please check here Latest News for details of upcoming dates.
We're back ! 05/01/2022
Danny Dackombe 13/10/2021
John David Bennett 16/07/2021
The new range at the far end 19/06/2021
Emily Smith 2nd Place Junior in Daystate Midland Hunter Series 18/03/2020
Admin Stuff!
Pontefract Air Rifle Club Proudly powered by WordPress


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Vocal Local
'Disconnect' between B.C. teachers, employers making bargaining difficult: mediator
Teachers seeking 2% in each of contract's three years, media blackout requested
Jeremy Hainsworth / Glacier Media
B.C. teachers strike in 2012
Photograph By iStock
A contract deal between B.C.'s teachers and the employers' association is nowhere in sight after 67 bargaining days, a Nov. 1 mediator's report says.
"It is evident there is a disconnect between the parties that will not allow them to reach a collective agreement," Labour Relations board mediator David Schaub's report said.
2020 Grammy Awards: List of nominees in top categories
He said the B.C. Teachers' Federation and B.C. Public Schools Employers' Association (BCPSEA) have a win-lose approach to bargaining. That must be abandoned in favour of collaboration and problem-solving, Schaub said.
The contract expired in June.
The teachers are looking for a 2% wage increase in each of the three years of a 2019-22 contract.
"This proposal does not bring teachers close to the current national average salary," an Oct. 12 federation submission to Schaub said.
The sides met for 51 days before the mediator was appointed June 18. He met with the sides for 16 days but no agreements were reached.
Neither side could comment to a media blackout requested by the mediator.
Schaub said only one collective agreement has been reached without government or outside intervention since 1987.
Schaub said the key point of contention is the level of funding for the system. He said the focus should be on the system's success but added the government also has to balance education budget allocations against items such as health care, transportation, the social safety net and a competitive tax regime.
And, he said, the association has no mandate to negotiate the government's K-12 budget.
Despite the teachers' salary increase request, a public sector bargaining mandate only allowing for wage increases of 2% per year is seen as a stumbling block.
Schaub said the teachers have said that mandate "is insufficient to successfully conclude a collective agreement and additional monies need to be made available."
And, Schaub said, "Stagnating salaries" are "falling well behind the rate of inflation.
"Even at the top of the salary grid, B.C. teachers are the lowest paid of the five western provinces."
That, he said, has created a teacher shortage, causing remote regions to have classes led by uncertified instructors.
"It is no surprise that districts face challenges in recruitment, especially given that B.C. has some of the highest cost of living in Canada, as well as a housing shortage in many of our communities," the teachers' submission said.
He said the association wants standardized contract language province-wide while the federation wants some issues dealt with locally.
"This is seen at the bargaining table as an impediment to reaching agreement on issues," Schaub said.
The teachers' submission, however, said such a split on some issues would allow districts to develop processes to best serve unique community needs.
Teachers also want greater aboriginal representation in their ranks, pay for days when weather makes getting to work impossible and compensation for class preparation time.
Schaub said the current round of negotiations is complex due to a Supreme Court of Canada 2016 ruling that the previous Liberal government's Education Improvement Act's stripping bargaining rights about class size and composition was unconstitutional. That led to a restoration of bargaining rights at play in the current round.
"The supreme court decision to restore the language that was removed from the collective agreements was significant," Schaub said. "The result is that if either party now desires changes to be made to the collective agreement language, it should happen through the collective bargaining process."
That means class sizes and competition, non-enrolling teacher ratios and salary improvements have returned to the table as key issues.
Schaub made recommendations based on amendments to the last contract for both sides to take back to members.
jhainsworth@glaciermedia.ca
@Jhainswo
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Municipal-run power companies and BC Hydro square off at utilities inquiry
California-like wildfire likelihood low for B.C.: BC Hydro
Municipal-run power companies and BC Hydro square off at ...
What did you think of Ricky Gervais's roasting of the Hollywood establishment at the Golden Globes?
I loved it; bang on and long overdue.
Not good; condemning people for speaking their consciences.
Ricky who? Golden what?
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Excel Web App can handle large spreadsheets, with plenty of data. It's an easy way to share data with colleagues, and to explore large amounts of information collaboratively. Text is clear, and it has the familiar Excel look-and-feel.
You can't create Excel charts online, but you can upload them — and because they're dynamic objects, you also see the online version change as you alter the underlying data.
The only way you'll see if someone else is working on a shared spreadsheet at the same time as you is when they open the document. Then, you're presented with a little yellow pop-up in the corner of the file.
Excel 2010 has plenty of tools for handling conditional formatting of spreadsheet content, with in-cell icons and colours to add information to your content. The same features are available in Excel Web App, although you can't edit them online.
There are plenty more editing tools in PowerPoint Web App. You can create new slideshows, or edit existing slides, adding fresh content with familiar tools.
One of PowerPoint's more useful features is SmartArt, which simplifies creating simple diagrams for your presentations. It's even more useful online, letting you quickly add graphical content when you don't have access to the full range of the desktop PowerPoint's design tools.
If you want to share documents with colleagues, you'll have to use SkyDrive's permission system. It's not as fully featured as the one in Windows, but you can at least control who can see and who can edit a document.
If you're used to the dynamic thumbnails in Windows, you'll find the SkyDrive file view a little primitive. However, it's clear and easy to use.
Microsoft is still tweaking the Technical Preview as it adds more and more users, so be prepared for the occasional outage.
Microsoft Office 2010 will have an online counterpart. Here's a tour of the recently unveiled Technical Preview.


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THE DISENCHANTED DEBUTANTE
Winner, 2011 Seaton Award
The charming yet complex Lily Bart of Edith Wharton's The House of Mirth illustrates the destructive effects of a society that isolates the individual and places value in the power of money and social position. This alienation paired with Lily Bart's self-defeating choices lead to Lily's failure to survive.
Lily is a woman, but she is also child whose mother has left a legacy where Lily believes all of her self-worth is tied to her beauty and her ability to manipulate a financially and socially successful marriage. While Lily might find acceptance and compassion in the company of women, instead she finds herself exposed to the loneliness inherent in a society that lacks feeling or understanding of an individual's situation.
Lily's isolation extends to the only man whom she might trust and love. Lawrence Selden's hesitance to risk an emotional connection with Lily drives her further into the solitude she detests and increases the confusion of her own mind and thoughts. Left alone and unable to control her willful impulses, Lily Bart becomes the master of her own demise when her internal conflict succeeds in dividing and separating her from being able to feel any sense of self-worth. As a creation of a self-serving social system and its inconsistent values, Lily feels powerless when she finds herself alone and trapped by its boundaries.
Lily Bart's childhood established a pattern of luxury and privilege that was considered to be a right of old moneyed New York society. Mrs. Bart taught Lily that her greatest strength, her beauty, could be used in securing an advantageous marriage. Now alone, Lily often succumbs to frivolous and indulgent ways that distract her from her goal:
Ah, lucky girls who grow up in the shelter of a mother's love, a mother who knows how to contrive opportunities without conceding favours, how to take advantage of propinquity without allowing appetite to be dulled by habit…it takes a mother's unerring vigilance and foresight to land her daughter safely in the arms of wealth and suitability. (Wharton 95)
Lily's mother was also an important figure in her life because of her lack of compassion or ability to form primary emotional bonds. The irony of this training is illustrated when Lily most needs comfort and human compassion to help guide her. Lily is unable to let go of the prejudices that would allow her to be saved. Of her dying father our narrator illustrates this lack of connection:
The filial instinct might have stirred in her: but her pity, finding no active expression, remained in a state of spectatorship, overshadowed by her mother's grim, unflagging resentment. Every look and act of Mrs. Bart's seemed to say: "You are sorry for him now-but you will feel differently when you see what he has done to us". (Wharton 33)
While Mrs. Bart felt only bitterness, because Mr. Bart could not provide financially and therefore is of no use to her, Lily feels the beginning of a tug of war within herself. Her sympathy for her father's suffering is in direct conflict with her mother's ideals of preserving one's social status at all costs. While Mrs. Bart's wish was that Lily would use her beauty and charms to secure a position of status and comfort in the upper echelon of society, she neglected to help build the foundation of Lily's self-worth to see her through the challenges of a material existence. "She [Lily] had grown up without any one spot of earth being dearer to her than another: there was no centre of early pieties, of grave endearing traditions, to which her heart could revert and from which it could draw strength for itself and tenderness for others" ( Wharton 339). Lily believes that she has no choice but to try to rise in and attain a place in the society she covets, but her alienation from this world and her conflicted inner-self have guaranteed that she cannot be a part of it.
Although Lily is surrounded by women of power and opinion, the friendship they extend to her comes with the condition of her appropriate behavior. Her Aunt Peniston, who has takes Lily in and helps financially support her, has no interest in emotionally supporting Lily: "Lily had no heart to lean on. Her relation to her aunt was as superficial as that of chance lodgers who pass on the stairs. . . . What Lily craved was the darkness made by enfolding arms, the silence which is not solitude but compassion holding its breath" (156). Aunt Peniston, unable to comprehend Lily's extravagant, seemingly immoral existence, abandons Lily to her own fate when, upon her death, Aunt Peniston secures the payment of Lily's current debts but otherwise writes her out of her will.
Judy Trenor, who appears to have genuine concern for Lily's future, only understands the superficial dilemmas of Lily's life. The nature of Lily's desperation at facing poverty and Lily's questioning of sacrificing her self-respect and happiness to marry are outside the realm of Judy's understanding. Lily understands the duality of friendship in this society when she tells Selden, "My best friends-well, they use me or abuse me; but they don't care a straw what happens to me" (7). Ironically, Lily does not see the contradiction of the one genuine friend who offers her counsel and a deeper understanding,
Gerty Farish is, in Lily's view, unworthy of consideration. Lily's prejudice to valuing only the power set means that she can't commit to sharing something of herself with Gerty. Gerty must ascertain for herself what Lily is struggling against and plead with Selden,
"[b]ut now all the things she cared for have been taken from her, and the people who taught her to care for them have abandoned her too; and it seems to me that if some one could reach out a hand and show her the other side, show her how much is left in life and in herself"(286).
In the last days of her life, Lily experiences with Nettie Struther a profound "sense of human fellowship [that] took the mortal chill from her heart" (336). Lily's moments with Nettie and her baby temporarily leave Lily feeling satisfied and happy at having seen a family of modest means who shares love and contentment. Nettie's sincerity and gratitude to Lily and her courage to start her life over after devastating circumstances have given Lily a sense of satisfaction and momentary possibility that Lily is capable of compassion and making a difference in someone's life. Unfortunately, the reality of the encounter is jaded by the fact that Nettie views Lily as a celebrity, thus precluding her from Nettie's world as well. Nettie does not understand the false illusion of Lily's life and the mental and physical cost of such a lifestyle.
When Lawrence Selden first glimpses Lily at the train station in the beginning of the novel, he seems to contemplate as well as unconsciously understand the nature of Lily Bart. He speculates:
She must have cost a great deal to make, that a great many dull and ugly people must, in some mysterious way, have been sacrificed to produce her. He was aware that the qualities distinguishing her from the herd of her sex were chiefly external, as though a fine glaze of beauty and fastidiousness has been applied to vulgar clay. Yet the analogy left him unsatisfied for a coarse texture will not take a high finish; and was it not possible that the material was fine but that circumstances had fashioned it into a futile shape? (Wharton 4).
Selden appears to be the one man in Lily's life who can grasp the cost of the game Lily is forced to play and offer her another alternative. His ideas of individualism are destructive, though, in the world in which Lily and Selden reside because they must be subservient to the values of the society they live in to fit in. Lily has seen firsthand the ugliness of her world and has been reticent to marry and construct a life as empty as her parents' relationship. Selden's "republic of the spirit" (70) is an answer for Lily of how she might make her own choices and obtain her own freedom. Though Lily asks for Selden's friendship and even protects and risks her own downfall to save his reputation, Selden is never able to return a connection in a meaningful way. He is filled with doubt and judgment about her actions and is not willing to put any trust in her in which she might prove her true self.
The irony of their relationship is that while their unspoken romance provides some glimmer of hope that things could be different, this too is an illusion. Neither Lily nor Selden are willing to put themselves outside the security of their social existence. For Lily this means until the very end manipulating an opportunity for marriage and for Selden living off a social system that allows him to enjoy the privileges of membership but the aloofness of spectatorship. They are both doomed to suffer the consequences of a self-serving society that creates self-serving individuals.
Lily's isolation is never more deeply felt than when she is alone with her own thoughts. She is a woman who cannot exist alone, because her sole purpose is to provide others a mirror for beauty and amusement. Lily feels trapped and confused when she is forced into moments of solitary reflection. "She hardly knew what she had been seeking, or why the failure to find it had so blotted the light from her sky; she was only aware of a vague sense of failure, of an inner isolation deeper than the loneliness about her" (63). Lily has been so conditioned to this existence that even she "could not figure herself as anywhere but in a drawing-room, diffusing elegance as a flower sheds perfume" (104). Lily is a conflicted character, she longs to acquire and
compete and readily "sells" herself as the decoration for a world that she will never be a part of, yet she is often divided and frustrated by the temptations that she faces and feels disgusted and overwhelmed by her own decisions.
Although Lily effectively wipes clean the slate of her life by settling her debts and freeing herself from any further obligations to the society that has damaged her, Lily's death means that it will never be revealed whether she was capable of saving herself. Lily has come to understand, though, what it means to be a survivor, especially when she thinks of Nettie Struther:
The poor little working girl who had found the strength to gather up the fragments of her life and build herself a shelter with them seemed to Lily to have reached the central truth of existence . . . but it had the frail audacious permanence of a bird's nest built on the edge of a cliff–a mere wisp of leaves and straw, yet so put together that the lives entrusted to it may hang safely over the abyss. (Wharton 339)
Ultimately, Lily meets her death alone. She held out hope for a false illusion of a life of ease and material comfort and has had to suffer the consequences inevitable when a classed society places more value in material possessions than in human beings.


Timeless, the peacoat defines the silhouette with presence. Authentic, VOILURE II is made in a heavy cloth, 100% wool which gives it a beautiful look and essential thermal qualities. Brass anchor embossed buttons.


(April 13th, 2015) Irish researchers performed the first bibliometric analysis of the evolution of a research field. From the primitive beginnings some twenty years ago to the complex present, the miRNA field has evolved into a truly remarkable form.
'Bibliometrics', the statistical analysis of books, articles or other publications, is a valuable tool for lots of things, e.g. citation analysis or measuring term frequencies. But this branch of library science also allows the meticulous study of the activity and dynamics of a specific research field. Such analysis could provide researchers with unprecedented clues into the history and potential future of a given research field. That's why Máire-Caitlín Casey, Michael J. Kerin, James A. Brown and Karl J. Sweeney from the National University of Ireland took advantage of bibliometrics to trace the evolution of the microRNA field, a field very close to their scientific hearts. "This is a recently discovered [21 years old], yet rapidly developed research area, and miRNA is one of our key research interests, specifically how miRNA could be used for diagnosing or monitoring breast cancer," says corresponding author, James A. Brown.
Brown and colleagues used a number of parameters for their survey: publication distribution by country, peer-reviewed publications, publication citations, open access versus pay-per-view, and others. Their entire analysis was based on the Web of Science (WoS) database. "We specially chose WoS because of its far superior journal coverage, which we felt provided a more complete and comprehensive picture of miRNA-related publications (64% more coverage than its nearest rival, PubMed). In addition, WoS has a suite of tools that are extremely useful for bibliometric analyses," Brown reasons.
What's the past, present and future of miRNA research? 1993 saw the first mention of miRNA, or small RNAs, in a scientific paper. Thereafter, not much happened. Until, in 2003, the field took off like a rocket, peaking in 2013, when researchers published 6,560 papers about miRNA, that's 25% of total miRNA publications (ca 26,000 from 1993 to 2013). Some of the milestones of miRNA research include their conservation across the animal kingdom (2000) and their regulatory role in processes such as differentiation and apoptosis (2004 onward). When looking at the countries the research came from, Brown and colleagues identified the USA as the top place for miRNA research - almost half of all publications originate there; followed by China and the UK. Interestingly, not less than 17% of all miRNA publications were published as open access. Brown et al. think that future miRNA research will, most likely, aim at its therapeutic potential but "many obstacles currently remain, including identification of optimal delivery methods, off-target effects and safety".


Keeping your hair and makeup looking fresh and flawless both during and after a long trip is no easy feat. Long flights and environment changes present a slew of irritating beauty problems that can leave your skin dry, your hair flat, and your ends splitting. Who knew vacationing could be so taxing on our style? No one wants to arrive at their destination desperately looking to book their next blowout, so we've compiled a few travel tips and tricks to ensure your hair stays as smooth as your flight.
For efficient packing, picture the surroundings you'll inhabit over the next few days. Imagine what you'll be doing. Will you be lounging in the tropics, with a book in your hands and sand between your toes, or will you be up in the mountains, sipping cocoa between a frost-paned window and a roaring fire? Is it chilly or warm? Dry or humid? It's important to ask yourself all of these questions, as their answers will have an impact on your locks and the products you'll need.
If you're out in the sun, sport a hat to minimize styling time and for protection from those UV rays—they don't just harm your skin, they're hard on your hair, too.
If you love the messy beach wave look, DESIGNLINE Dry Shampoo Style Refresher provides weightless humidity and frizz resistance for a manageable, messy look, and weightless bounce that lasts all day. Quickly spritz and tousle your tresses for beautiful, beachy waves fit for any tropical getaway. Oh, and an added bonus? It also serves as a color protector; so you can give that vacation hat a break.
Sun protection isn't just for your skin. Guard your hair from sun damage with a hat—or the right products.
Get weightless control and lasting shine from DESIGNLINE Silk Drops.
Planning on a date-night after a dip in the pool? After rinsing out the chlorine, restore your hair's balance with Redken Pillow Proof Blow Dry Express Treatment Primer Cream before blow-drying for controlled, silky locks that shine throughout the night.
Dry-hair frizz darkening your day? Humid air making your hair feel heavy? Try DESIGNLINE Silk Drops for a quick fix without the weight. It's the perfect product to protect, smooth, and manage your hair for weightless control and lasting shine.
Whether your travels take you to Cali or Cancun, Aruba or Aspen, make sure you plan and prep your gorgeous hair for head-turning style from here to there. Stop by your local Signature Style salon for a fresh cut and personalized hair management tips to help make sure you travel with style.


It would be easy for people, on the basis of President Trump's comments on China to conclude that the USA is on a course of getting tougher with the Chinese authorities, trade of course is key in the present tensions between the two.
However behind the scenes, the State Department and its foreign policy experts are still applying a thick layer of appeasement when it comes to China. The occupants of the White House come and go but that failed and fossilized approach of 'constructive enagagement' continues within the corridors at 2201 C St., NW.
On February 8 Ms Alice G. Wells Principal Deputy Assistant Secretary, Bureau of South and Central Asian Affairs hosted at the State Department a reception to mark Tibetan New Year. We just got a copy of her speech in which she repeatedly references 'Himalayan Region, peoples or communities' There is of course no mention of Tibet, quite what those Tibetans gathered there thought of this would be interesting to note. As it will be to see how long her remarks remain on the State Department website!
Now that omission is no accident, the deliberate avoidance of mentioning Tibet in favor of 'Himalayan Region' is a reflection of the mindest of appeasement within the State Department to China. Fearful, even within the bowels of its Washington DC HQ of causing any offence, or being seen to endorse the very notion of an actual land called Tibet! Pathetic!
No genocide exists in a vacuum and while responsibility can often be justly placed upon an originating tyranny, be it China's regime, the Khymer Rouge, or dictators such as Stalin and Hitler the atrocities and oppression which spring from such fascistic authority are often enabled and tolerated by the political and economic interests of other states. Some go further of course and encourage and fund state-terrorism, we need only to assess the history between the CIA and Pol Pot to realize that ethics can be relegated below geo-strategic requirements. Sure the Western Allies went to war against the Nazis, but there was much appeasement, indifference and indeed financial, as well as academic cooperation with Hitler's Germany that took place. Would the horrors that came to define Germany during that period have been prevented or significantly reduced had the world presented, from the rise of Hitler, a unified and determined stance against fascism?
Of course it was not in the political and more importantly commercial interest of countries to destablize relations with Germany in the years prior to the Second World War. Yet they were aware of the accounts of labor-camps, forced-sterilization laws and growing persecution of Gypsies and Jews, but took vitually no action. Such economically driven apathy sent a clear signal to the Nazis that the wider world cared so little of such reports as to be interpreted as an acceptance of their vicious campaign of suppression.
A similar theatre of callousness is emboldening the Chinese regime while Tibetans, Uyghurs, Mongolians, and Manchurians are suffering a genocidal assault against their cultural and national identity. Concentration camps are housing up to a million Uyghurs, existing in a dark misery, abused and indoctrinated with the approved ideology of China's totalitarian authority. Human rights violations mostly ignored, the eradication of Tibetan and Uyghur culture barely mentioned, apart from the occasional platitude from a United Nations official or carefully worded report. Global media too facilitates the odious excesses of dictator Xi Jinpeng, its reportage, with far too few notable and sadly isolated examples, preoccupied with a narrative that in-the-main avoids or treads very softly on the nature and extent of tyranny that characterizes China's policies towards Tibet and East Turkestan.
What's behind such engineered disinterest? The political and financial concerns of states which have long elevated trade interests with China above unease on human rights and the brutal denial of freedom being witnessed against Tibetans and Uyghurs. What's been a global scramble to profit from the opportunities of a Chinese market has resulted in a dilution of foreign policy anxieties on China and almost extinction of ethical structuring of such protocols. When governments issue bland and acutely worded cautions on human rights related issues on China their target audience is not the vile and corrupted terrorists of the Chinese regime, but a domestic one. Better show folks at least some pretence of valuing the principles we make so much noise about as exemplifying our national values on liberty, justice and rights. These of course are being trampled into the dust by China's paramilitary as they inflict measures of control and abuse that Himmler's SS would have recognized!
Yet it is largely silence that dominates the global response, as business, media corporations and politicians grovel to Beijing, signalling to China that in real terms they are unconcerned by the harrowing atrocities and war of genocide against Tibetan and Uyghur culture. Like their Twentieth Century counterparts their greed-driven indifference makes them complict enablers of the harrowing crimes being perpetrated against the people of occupied Tibet, East Turkestan and China itself.