The following two weeks were a mellowing down time. Two more Saturdays of garage sales passed by, far less bountiful than the summer versions of the same, but nevertheless stocked with enough alleged treasures to keep Fred O'Connor at his computer key board for hours on end. There was time for quiet evenings, some jazz and classical music in the Dean's quarters, country and western in Fred's and some totally incomprehensible noise from the small room where Martha Boyd and her boom box now dwelt. Bird Song remained nearly empty during the week and half full weekends when get-away folks from Grand Junction, and sometimes even Colorado Springs or Denver, left the kiddies with grandma and snuck over the mountains for a little R and R. An occasional ice climber continued to remind the group of the receding memories of the recent tragic past.
While the on premise death of Edith Shipton remained on their minds, it was sinking to a lower level of importance. It was a time to tackle all those built up chores that had accumulated during the busy season now that life was stalled in the dark of winter. It was time for the Deans to talk, to enjoy one another, the first real time together since their May wedding and hectic summer and fall that followed their move West and the opening of Bird Song. While Cynthia's mother was recovering, they discussed what to do if and when she should become unable to care for herself. Her sudden heart attack had frightened Cynthia, reminding her as an only child she was her mother's sole resource. And there was Fred, no trouble but not getting any younger.
Then there was Cynthia's recent additional fear. She confided it to her husband late one night, awakening him from his sleep as Edith Shipton had just awakened him but a week before. This time it was a welcomed body that snuggled against him. She hadn't been able to sleep, she told him, wondering what his reaction would be, if in fact she might be pregnant.
Dean was wide awake in a flash. Cynthia carrying his child! The very thought stunned him. They were both now forty years old. Dean was childless but Cynthia was mother to a twenty-year-old college student. Bird Song, while providing a simple living for them, was never going to bring a fortune to their bank account. He didn't, however, give a quick, stock answer to the possibility. He thought about it. He thought about Annie Quincy carrying a child she would have loved to bear, but couldn't. He thought of Edith Shipton, impregnated by a man she hated and who seemed not to have wanted an intrusive fetus invading her life. And he thought of Cynthia, who loved him as he loved her.