In the quiet of Cabin h, Dewey and Dez screwed the sheetrock into the wall studs, then stood back to admire their handiwork.

"Works for me," he said, brushing the dust off his hands. She nodded. "You know, kiddo, you could practically do this for a living. You're good at it."

She hated it when people complimented her, mostly because it made her blush, which she was doing right now.

"I know you don't like praise, Dez, but I just gotta say that it's been great having your help. We've gotten more done than I expected to do in two or three seasons. It gives me a real jump on things for next year. Once you go back to work, why don't you just keep that key to G until next spring. Then you can come up here all winter whenever you damn well please."

"Really? You sure?"

"Absolutely. You can come and go as you please. Anyway, I'll always know it's you with that big red truck. And when you're gone for a while, just turn the heat down to about 55, and nothing will freeze."

"Thanks, Dewey. You've been great."

He looked at his watch. "It's nine already. You gotta run?"

"In a bit. I can help you mud this."

"Nah... forget about it. You've done a shitload of work here, Dez. I should probably be paying you."

She smiled. "I've enjoyed keeping busy, Dewey. It's been fun to work with you."

"You got a sickness, girl."

She reached over and took a swipe at his chin whiskers. "And you have an awful lot of dust in your beard, Mr. Bunyan."

"It'll all come out," he growled. "Go on now and get where you're going." He turned back to the wall, then picked up a mudding knife. She hustled out into the cold, and as soon as she left his company, she felt the sinking sensation of grief hit her again. Despite the fact that she was starting to think she was getting good at letting her psychological bones be picked, she did not look forward to it.

She unlocked the door to Cabin G and hastened into the warmth. Even with her long sleeved shirt on, just the short walk from H to G had given her goosebumps. It was cozy in her cottage though, and she marveled at how lucky she was that Dewey was so generous. This was the best cottage of the ten. It had a huge living room with a fireplace, a 15x20 foot bedroom with a deck outside it, a fully appointed kitchen, and a modern bathroom with a full tub and shower. He had done a nice job insulating and decorating it, and the rugs on the floor were thick and warm. She liked the golds and reds and dark blues of the furniture and the paintings of Lake Superior scenes on the walls.

She had made herself comfortable in Cabin G. The fridge was stocked, she had a stack of paperbacks to read, and her clothes were all unpacked in the dresser drawers. She could even see herself living here comfortably on a permanent basis - after all, her St. Paul apartment was much smaller.

She undressed, got in the shower, and spent time thinking about what she would do next. Yes, she was cleared regarding the incident with Bucky Reginald, but there was still an "informal memorandum" in her file about the rest of the event, and that memorandum would never be removed. If she had it to go back and do all over again, she would do the same thing under the same circumstances. That giant behemoth of a man might have killed Jaylynn - and it was all worth it to make sure that didn't happen. She reasoned that the price she paid was not too high. She didn't care if they gave her five reprimands or threw her off the force. The world would be a much worse place without Jaylynn.

She turned off the water and stepped out of the tub, hastening to get dressed. She spent a few minutes reading another chapter of the book Marie had given her. She was starting to understand the terrible effects of PTSD, and she found a curious comfort in reading the harrowing stories about other officers who had developed the same response she had. She finished a chapter and put the book, face down, on the end table next to the couch, then got up to ready herself for departure.

After a quick meal of cold chicken breast and toast, she packed a few things into the truck and selected a CD to listen to on the long drive down to St. Paul for her appointment with Marie. She stepped up to get in the truck, then stopped and went back to the cabin to grab a water bottle from the refrigerator, and off she went.

* * *

Whenever Dez sat in Marie's waiting room, she was always relieved that no one else was ever there. People emerged from the office, sometimes teary-eyed, sometimes laughing, but she didn't have to wait with anyone else staring at her. It gave her time to do the breathing exercises Marie had taught her - and to talk to herself about not stressing out over everything. Marie had made it clear that it would take some time before she could work her way out of the "Disaster Prevention Syndrome" that she seemed to have going on in her head much of the time. She thought about how odd it was that the disasters she worried about were never about her, but always about someone else, most specifically Jaylynn.

She thought about Jaylynn again for what she thought might be the hundredth time this day. She was glad in many ways that the blonde hadn't figured out how to track her down, but some days she wished she had. She missed her terribly, so much so that she found herself again marveling that she was used to that aching pain behind her breastbone.

Dez jumped when the door to Marie's office popped open. She'd made it a habit not to look up at the departing client, but when no one came out, she looked out of the corner of her eye, and there stood Marie, a smile on her face.

"C'mon in, Dez. How are you feeling today?"

"Not bad." She rose and followed Marie in.

"I suppose you still haven't taken up coffee?"

Dez shook her head. "Nope." She shrugged off her coat, and sat in a chair as she set her jacket on the floor next to her.

"I'm hooked on it and can't seem to quit. I get headaches if I don't have a couple cups a day."

"Tastes like battery acid."

Marie laughed. "You've drunk battery acid and lived to tell the tale, then?"

"Seems like it. Lately, anyway."

"How are you sleeping?"

Dez looked away, over toward the window. "Okay, I guess."

"Same dreams?"

Pausing, Dez pursed her lips, then met the therapist's eyes. "I think I liked it better when I didn't remember them."

"If you remember them, then you can deal with them."

"I suppose."

"Has anything changed in the two days since I last saw you?"

Dez took a moment to consider. She didn't seem to be waking up crying quite so much. But she was struck more often lately with an aching longing, a deep yearning. "I'm lonely."

Marie nodded. "I see." She took a slurp of her coffee, then set the mug on the table. She tucked a leg under her. "What have you decided to do about that?"

Dez looked at her, surprised. "What do you mean?"

"Companionship, Dez. What are you going to do to seek some?"

"Ah ... well ... nothing."

Marie chuckled.

Dez frowned. She hated it when Marie laughed that way. After this many sessions she now knew it meant that she had totally missed the boat about something so patently obvious that when they'd talked more, she would end up feeling like an idiot. In a cross voice, she said, "Why don't you just save us both half an hour and tell me why that's so funny."

Marie's face became serious. "Somewhere along the way somebody taught you - or you just decided - to do everything on your own, all alone. It doesn't have to be that way. There is nothing wrong with reaching out to others for support, sharing your feelings with friends, and just spending time with people you enjoy. Companionship is a good thing."

"I'm doing fine right now."

"I'm not calling you a liar, but hey, you're not doing just fine." She set her coffee cup on the table and leaned forward, her elbows on her knees. "Look, Dez, part of the process of healing from post-traumatic stress is telling the story, but another big part is reconnecting with community. You have friends on the force, right?"

She thought of Crystal and Cowboy - and Jaylynn. "Yes."

"And you have friends outside the department, too."

"Mm hmm."

"And you have a lover."

It was a statement, not a question. Dez felt her face flame red. "What - what do you mean by that?" She rose from the chair, stepped over her coat, and headed for the window, her heart beating furiously.

"I have the report from your police superiors, remember?"

Dez turned around and stalked back over to her chair. "Shows what they know. We've not had any contact since - well, not for a while."

"Not since she was injured, right?"

Dez nodded, feeling miserable through and through. She had thought this conversation was going to lead toward her feeling a little bit dense, and instead it had taken a turn right into something more painful than she wanted to consider. And across from her sat Marie, the world's greatest psychological archeologist, armed today with a shovel and pickaxe that obviously weren't going to go away. It was a losing battle. She caved and spilled her guts.

She lowered herself into the soft brown chair and told the other woman about how she had met Jaylynn and hadn't wanted to get involved with her because she'd been burned by another cop before. But little by little, she had grown to depend on the younger woman, to need her. "It's a terrible thing, too."

"What is? I don't know what you mean."

"Need. It's a terrible thing. I don't want to have it. I am trying not to."

Exasperated, Marie said, "Wait a minute. We all need others. It's perfectly normal."

"Not like this." Dez spoke in a solemn tone. "It's - it's like... well, shit! It's like terrifying."

Marie nodded slowly and looked up at the ceiling for a minute, a pose Dez was used to. She had come to know Marie well enough to know that what was to come next would be a useful observation. A few seconds went by before Marie met her eyes again. "This is going to sound crazy to you, I think. I'm telling it to you anyway, even if you can't believe it yet. Maybe we ought to write it down." She smiled. "Dez, you deserve love. You deserve to be loved. And I hope you will believe that you can survive the terror of it. You have survived the deaths of others who were vital and important to you. There is no reason why you can't survive the love of a real living person."