STEPPING UP

                      PART 2

                                   BY RILEY AND JO

At first his eyes were soft, then his smile dropped, then his lips

moved closer and closer and ...

*************************

...almost rather experimentally, he let them brush across hers. 

He closed his eyes, pulled back just slightly, and ran his tongue 

across his lower lip. For a long moment he paused there like that, 

then with his lip still moist, touched it back to hers, turning his head 

side to side just enough so that his lips slid back and forth on hers, 

the friction of it taking hers along with his. Then he moved upwards, 

taking her top lip between both of his, pulling just a little, ending 

with the tip of his tongue exploring her upper teeth. Her breath was 

sweet and warm on his chin and, responding to a spreading urge 

deep inside, he leaned toward her, his mouth open.

It was then his nose encountered hers and he gasped, pain streaking 

up its length. Tears instantly stung in his eyes and he took a single, 

staggering step back, clamping his hand over his face. 

"Aaaaaah!" he cried. The small of his back impacted the top of the 

railing, hard, and his torso arched over it.

"No!" shrieked Holli, grabbing for him, though he was in no actual 

danger of toppling completely over. Her fingers found his dangling 

collar and with a deadly, low rasp, it pulled entirely away from his 

shirt.

They stood there, the two of them, him still holding his nose, her with 

his collar in her hand, looking at one another. Then he began to giggle. 

Despite the pain, despite the clamping hand, he giggled.

She turned her eyes from him to his collar then back to his face again. 

And she began to laugh.

An older couple on the lookout turned and stared. Holli gripped the 

railing, almost bending double with her laughter. Steve choked a bit 

on his giggles as tears still stung his eyes, but then giggled all the more.

A policeman left the sidewalk, walking toward them. "Bit early in the 

day, isn't it?" he asked, studying them with narrowed eyes.

Holli sucked in a deep breath, trying to get her laughter under control, 

but all she managed was a feeble point toward Steve. "His...his...nose," 

she gasped.

"His nose?" the officer repeated, fixing Steve with an appraising stare.

Steve kept his hand plastered to his face. "Close encounter of a nasal 

kind," he murmured, his voice rather muffled.

"Please remove your hand from the appendage," the officer said, 

stepping close to Steve, obviously wanting to smell his breath. His 

eyebrows went up a bit when Steve complied and he could see the 

bruises under his eyes. There didn't seem to be alcohol involved, 

but he turned to Holli. "Ma'am," he asked, "did you do that?"

She bit her lower lip, her face scrinched up into a rather strange 

expression. Before she could answer, Steve spoke again. "She didn't, 

officer. It was Pittsburgh."

The policeman swung his attention back to Steve, one eyebrow cocking 

hugely. "I only just arrived, you see," Steve explained. "And Pittsburgh 

attacked me."

"Where are you from?" the cop asked suspiciously.

"New York City," Steve replied.

"Ah," the cop said. "Have a nice day, folks," he added and left.

"Perhaps we should go back now," Holli suggested, looking back up 

Grandview toward the B&B.

"Yeah," Steve agreed. "My head is hurtin' again."

While Holli made several phone calls, he went back up to his room and 

sat again in the chair near the window. What was he doing? He'd been 

in New York that very morning.  How long had he been in Pittsburgh...

hours at the most...and here he was kissing someone already? 

The corners of his mouth lifted at the thought of Holli. He'd been 

surprised by her, surprised by how much he liked her. He hadn't 

expected that. But...still...he had his apartment in New York and he 

would be going back there. How could he let himself get involved 

with someone here? She was very open with him, almost eager 

somehow in a sweet sort of way. He knew he could've taken that kiss 

much further.

Suddenly he was clutched by that old worry. He was here...in Holli's 

bed and breakfast. Was everything back at his apartment...gone? He 

stood, looking toward the door, almost consumed with the need to be 

sure it was still there, if he was still there.

Then the wind chimes below him sent their song through his window 

and he turned back, trying to get a grip on himself. Damn! He hadn't 

left his insecurities back in New York, now had he?

It was, though, part of the reason he'd even taken this assignment. He 

knew he needed to get out of the city and see what scattered pieces of 

himself he might find and reassemble. But falling into bed with Holli

wasn't going to be the way to do it. It had never worked with Monica. 

Sex was really all they had. He cocked his head, listening again to the 

chimes. No, if he were ever to know for sure he wasn't gone, then he 

needed something more than that. 

Could he do that, he wondered, not at all sure. He'd never done it 

before. He heard Holli's distant voice on the downstairs phone and 

pressed his lips into a firm line. She deserved more than that, more 

than he was, more than he was...right now.

*********************************************

There were several calls to make. First the bakery to confirm the fresh 

breads her aunt ordered every week for Monday delivery. How else 

could she make French toast and wonderful sandwiches without fresh 

baked bread? Never mind that Steve’s room rate didn’t include lunch 

or dinner, she was providing it. Then she called the florist. She wanted 

fresh cut flowers on the dining room table for tomorrow. She’d been 

neglectful, Auntie Tara always had fresh cut flowers in the antique, 

cut crystal vase between matching candleholders on that lovely Irish 

lace tablecloth. Always. Overkill or not, it wasn’t right till it was right.

The next call was to The Grand Concourse for that evening’s dinner 

reservations. She made them for late, so that Steve would have the time 

to rest off his headache. As she was asking for a river view table, her 

call waiting beeped in  . . . and Holli’s heart was instantly shattered.

“Baby,” it was her father’s voice and it was raspy with tears. “Auntie 

Tara’s gone, sweetheart.”

“No!” Holli gasped. “No, daddy. I talked with her just this morning! 

She said she was doing great. No, oh no!” She sobbed softly.

Holli didn’t recall hanging up the phone. She stood like a zombie and 

glanced around the Victorian parlor, expecting the ghost of Great 

Auntie Tara Tittswell to be sipping tea with all the other long dead 

patrons of the old house. Holli walked out of the back door, letting 

the screen door slam. She stepped right through the pansies, all planted 

in a perfect row. She stood still as stone under the archway dripping 

with heavy, sweet smelling Concord grapes. There she sat on the stone 

stairs and sobbed into her hands, completely unaware of the bumble 

bees buzzing all around her wild yellow hair.

********************************************

Steve heard the loud smack of the screen door.  Hmmmm? Holli

didn't usually let the doors slam. She'd told him how her great aunt

had drummed it into her when she was a kid that this was a guest

house and one must always be considerate and let the doors close

softly.  Perhaps someone else was in the house now?  He wasn't

quite sure why, but he suddenly felt the urge to check.

Going to the top of the stairs, he paused a moment, listening. 

Holli wasn't on the phone. In fact, a certain deep quiet had settled 

over the entire house and he got a mental image of a dust cover 

floating down over an old piece of furniture that was going to be 

left. But...

What was that? He did hear something but it was muffled, coming from 

somewhere outside the house. Slipping quietly down the stairs, he made 

his way toward the kitchen and the door he'd noticed during lunch 

preparations. Opening it, he walked out onto the small back porch and

looked out into the yard. Under a large arch of grapes, he saw Holli 

sitting on some steps. She was bent forward, her head in her hands, her 

shoulders shaking. His first thought was that she had fallen and was 

hurt. Pittsburgh stairs seemed very dangerous.

Instantly he was at her side, crouching, his hand on her shoulder. 

"Holli?" he said, now even more worried as he felt the trembles that 

ran through her body.  "Holli? What happened? Did you fall?"

She continued sobbing for a moment, unable to stop, so he settled 

on the step beside her and folded his arms around her.  "Holli," 

he tried again, pulling her toward him, "are you hurt?"

She managed to shake her head and turned into him, burying her face in 

his chest. So he just sat there, holding her, letting her cry. He rested his 

chin gently atop her bowed head and closed his eyes, waiting. As her sobs 

began to quiet, he became more aware of the constant, low buzz of bees 

around them. He opened his eyes, looking to the side and then up. Grapes, 

purple and heavy with juice, hung everywhere. Grapes. He closed his eyes 

again, expecting his usual memory of a grape-laden table, Monica on her 

back among them, to swim into view. It didn't.

With his eyes closed, the scent of the grapes, hot in the afternoon sun, filled

him...as Holli was filling his arms. He wondered...would it be like that? 

Would grapes carry with them now this heady scent, would they be combined 

with this sense of protectiveness he was feeling for Holli? There are some 

moments in life that we know, even as they are happening, that we will 

always remember. He knew that even years from now, this moment would 

always be with him. He could feel it impressing itself into the cells of his 

being. He wasn't even sure why...he just knew it was. 

He bent his head again and softly kissed the top of her head. "Oh, Holli," he

murmured.  "Please be all right."

**************************************************

As she sat sobbing among the buzzing bees, her heart was breaking, touring 

through memories of Auntie Tara that she’d thought were unimportant and 

old fashioned as a child. Memories that made her feel guilty that she’d 

stopped spending time at the old B&B. The sound of her aunt’s voice as she 

explained the reasoning behind baking cookies at exactly ten in the morning, 

every morning. “Because, missy. That way the scent of fresh baked cookies 

will fill the house and stay there all day long. When a guest arrives, they’ll 

think we just baked the cookies for them!”

And there was the rationale behind keeping an artificial Christmas tree, 

tucked neatly in the alcove corner of the reading room, up and decorated all 

year round. “Little Miss Holli, don’t you see? First of all, there is 

something to celebrate all year round, not just Christmas. We can get to 

decorate a tree every month! Hearts and red lights in February! Red white 

and blue ribbons for the Forth of July! Pumpkins for Halloween! It’s fun! 

And, the guests love to talk about it. Always give your guests something to 

talk about and they’ll come back!”

And the grapes. The reason the bees were so thick that day was because 

usually, Aunt Tara would have harvested those grapes and made them into 

wonderful Concord grape jam by now. Holli was too afraid of the bees to 

gather the grapes, too unsure of the jam recipe to make it, even though she’d 

spent summer after summer doing just that as a girl. This year, it was all 

an inconvenience. She’d thought to leave the grapes to the bees. And now, 

Auntie Tara had died along with one of her most favorite traditions. Holli 

sobbed harder.

Just when she thought she was inconsolable, Steve took her into his arms. 

Tight in his embrace she couldn’t form words to explain her heartache. As he 

rocked her, his lips brushing her forehead, buried deep in her wild curls, 

more of Auntie Tara’s words floated in her mind. “Marriage is for the birds. 

After all, some birds are the only creatures on the planet who actually stay 

together till death.” And stranger memories, like the day they sat on the 

front porch watching fireworks. 

Holli was almost fourteen and she refused to stay the night in the old house, 

telling her aunt she had friends to see. Auntie Tara began talking about 

boys, making Holli even more uncomfortable. 

“Sex is easy, Holli, but love is easier. Don’t let anyone tell you different. 

We only make it hard.”

“We only make it hard,” Holli repeated aloud.

“What?” Steve said softly, cuddling her closer.

“Love. Steve, we only make it hard. It’s easy.”

He blinked, unsure how he felt knowing she was drifting around inside his 

head and clearly aware of what he was thinking. Holli suddenly extracted 

herself from his arms and stood. She ran a sleeve across her wet face and 

began snapping entire clusters of grapes until her arms were full. With 

determination on her face and a twinkle in her eye, she gave Steve a sweet, 

playful grin.

“Pull out the tails of your shirt,” Holli instructed.

“My shirt?” He asked but did as he was told. She stretched the blue fabric 

out and gently rolled her harvest into it.

“Uh, Holli. Now my shirt’s all stained.”

She giggled and continued to load grape clusters into his outstretched 

shirt. “I didn’t think it mattered, since it’s already missing a collar.”

He swung a hand to brush a curious bee away. “But I like this shirt.”

She just laughed, laughed as hard as she was crying only moments earlier. 

“S’go,” she turned toward the house.

“Holli,” Steve followed. “Holli, um, sweetheart. What are we doing?” He was 

juggling the heavy load in his arms and avoiding the dive bombing bumbles.

“We’re going to make jam, Steve.”

“Oh.”

*************************************************

He was lost, entirely lost. One minute she was sobbing, the next she was 

loading him down with grapes she intended to make into jam. It took 

both his hands to hold his shirt in enough of a hammock to keep the 

grapes from falling, and with both hands so occupied, he had nothing 

with which to defend himself from the bees.  About five of them were 

crawling across the tops of the grapes, one dangerously near to creeping

past a button and onto his stomach.

"Uh...Holli?" he said, his voice tense. "Bee."

"Ummm?" she murmured, placing yet another large bunch onto the pile.

"Bee, Holli." He dipped his chin down.  "There. Bee."

It was only then that her reverie broke and she tuned into the bees so 

near to his undefended middle regions. "Oh, GOSH!" she exclaimed, 

gingerly picking off the bee'd clumps and dropping them on the steps.

The bees, displeased, soared upwards. "RUN!" she cried, and the two of 

them made a, um, beeline for the back door.

Once inside, Steve made his way to the big sink, hefted his shirt up, and 

dumped his load of grapes therein. He looked down at his shirt, purple 

stains liberally sprinkled about its entire front. Sighing, he unbuttoned 

it, shrugged out of it and began to rinse it under cold running water, 

completely unaware that Holli had stopped all movement and was just 

standing there, staring at him. 

************************************************

Watching him, so pretty, pulling at her heart . . . but, oh, hell. He was 

fussing with his shirt. Maybe she had completely misjudged him? 

His interest in her? Auntie Tara’s idea about love being easy? It wasn’t 

easy. Not by a long shot.

“Um,” she tried to begin. His eyes finally focused on hers and away from the 

ruined shirt.

“Steve, I owe you an explanation.”

He leaned back against the sink, concern on his face, a face as purple 

marked as his shirt. Tears gathered and Holli wondered if she’d ever in her 

life had a more emotionally confusing day. He didn’t say a word, so she let 

her tears drop and the explanation spout.

“Steve, I’m so sorry. Sorry about everything. About the fall down the stairs 

and the violet room. About your poor nose and that shirt. But see, I just 

heard that Auntie Tara passed away this afternoon. I know none of this is 

going to make sense to you,” she sniffled. “But for a minute there, I 

actually thought Auntie Tara was telling me to make jam. To make it 

with you . . . because . . . because she once told me . . . 'sex is easy, but love

is easier'. I thought she meant . . . you and me . . . I was confused.” She 

fussed around the kitchen, located a fly swatter and killed two bees 

struggling to get from the counter to the door. WHAAACKKKK!

WHAAACKKK! And she cried the whole time. Finally, Holli walked

out of the kitchen. Within a heartbeat, she was back, looking at Steve 

with tear filled eyes.

“Again,” she said softly, “I’m sorry. I’ll replace the shirt.” And she left 

him alone with the grapes, the fly swatter and his ruined nose . . . um his 

ruined shirt, too.

***************************************************

He stood there a while, listening to the sounds of her steps as she went 

down the hall and out onto the front porch. Thoughts ran through his 

brain, splattering themselves into one another. He felt rather like he 

was standing on a track, the starting gun had fired, but his toe was still 

on the white line. He wasn't at all sure what had just happened. 

His hands were still filled with the sopping shirt. He walked drippingly 

across the kitchen, letting it plop into the trash can, then wiped his palms 

on the sides of his pants. Turning his head to the right, he looked down 

the long hallway toward the front door. Through the mesh of the screen, 

he could see the city in the distance. God, had he only just arrived this 

morning? How could he be this entangled, this messed up so quickly? 

Grinning rather wryly to himself, he knew he was actually rather gifted

along those lines. "Steve," he murmured, "I think you have just fucked 

up...again. Big time."

Her aunt had died? He didn't know her aunt had died! How was he 

supposed to have known that? When she was crying, she hadn't told 

him. She just suddenly stopped sobbing and wanted to make jam. He 

was trying to get his mind around it, trying to understand what had 

just happened, what he'd done wrong. 

A wet bee was creeping awkwardly across the floor. He watched it for 

a moment and then stepped on it. Then he wished he hadn't. He was too 

much like the bee...staggering blindly for a way to get where he wanted 

to go....wherever that was...and the gods just watched your efforts and 

then stepped on you. He squinched his eyes tight, laying his palm over 

them. Damn but his face still hurt!

The sound of the wind chime made him drop his hand and look quickly 

toward the porch. The chime wasn't singing, it was making that discordant 

clonking sound when it had become mere metal tubing. What was going on?

He hurried down the hallway, stepping out onto the porch just as Holli 

stepped off the little table, chimes clutched tightly in her hands.

"What are you doing?" he asked, noticing her cheeks were still wet with 

tears.

"Can't have these bothering you," she choked.

"Bothering...?" Ah, she was in full retreat from connecting with him. 

He walked up to her, taking the chimes from her, letting them dangle 

freely from his fingers. "No," he said, simply, quietly. "No." And he 

stepped on the table and rehung them, giving them a slight push before 

he hopped back down. 

Then he stood in front of her, facing her, and placed both palms on her 

shoulders. He cocked his head as he studied her, his eyes probing into 

hers, finding hurt and loss and confusion in their brown depths. She tried 

to turn away, but even though his touch was gentle, he held her there. 

"I'm so sorry about your aunt," he said softly, breaking the long silence. 

"I didn't know that was why you were crying." 

His eyes continued their lock on hers. Raising one hand, he stroked down 

her cheek with his thumb pad. "Sex...is...easy," he said so quietly his words 

were barely audible. It was exactly what he'd been thinking in his room 

just a little while ago. One side of his mouth quirked up into a bit of a grin. 

"How hard is it to...make jam?"

******************************************** 

 She felt her heart melt. It was real. His attention was real. He wanted her 

to make music just like he wanted the wind chime to sing. How did he know? 

How could he know? All Holli really needed to chime beautifully was to 

accept the old B&B as part of her life. A good part of her past, and a 

possible part of her future. She needed to listen to the wind chimes and the 

bees and to the ghost of her aunt. And Auntie Tara was right; she needed to 

make jam with Steve.

“It's not all that hard to make jam, Steve.” Holli sniffled and smiled. “But 

I’ll have to watch you closely. There are lots of dangerous things in a 

kitchen and you have far too many bruises already. I’d hate to see you burn 

your thumb or . . . . uh . . . . umthp.”

His lips had locked on hers. She was careful not to bump his nose, but not 

so careful to control her desire. Her hands snaked around him and held him 

close. She felt his fingers press back her crazy hair and she heard him 

giggle into her mouth. His lips finally released her and she snuggled into 

his chest.

“Well, where do we start . . . to make the jam?” Steve mumbled.

“We start with grapes,” she turned her face up, her lips stole a quick peck. 

“Then sugar,” another peck. “Lots of sugar.”

“Uh-huh,” he returned the kiss. “Then what?”

“Then it has to cook . . . " kiss " . . . and cook . . . " kiss " . . . and cook for 

a long time until . . .”

“Uh-huh and,” he shifted to lean the other way, taste her lips from that 

angle. “How much jam . . . " kiss ". . . will we get  . . . " kiss ". . .from all 

those grapes?”

“Not much . . . " kiss " . . . just a few pints . . . " kisssssssssssss " . . . it 

all cooks down, becomes condensed . . . rich . . . thick . . . sweet.”

“Oh, my,” Steve kissed her again.

***********************************************

They bumbled their way down the long hallway, smacking into walls, nearly 

knocking off a lamp or two as they passed. It was, no doubt, the great

requirement for sugar that caused the wobble in their walk. It seemed sugar

was needed the entire way down the hall...and the hall was long. 

Finally, no doubt due to a need for the intake of air, he ended up at the sink

again while she clanked around pots in a cabinet, looking for a large enough 

one. "You did such a good job with the tomatoes," she called over her 

shoulder, "that you might as well wash the grapes." 

"Do we have enough?" he wondered.

She stood, setting a heavy pot atop the stove, and moved to the sink, surveying

its contents.  "Probably not," she nodded, "but," and she lifted her face to 

his," I think the amount of sugar is more important than the grape count."

"Oh, I agree," he said, bending and making sure she was well supplied. 

Suddenly he stopped, cupping his wet hands around her cheeks. He blew 

out a long breath and said, "This whole 'sex is easy' thing is going to be 

difficult, Holli." He looked at her seriously.  "All in the world I want to 

do right now is carry you up the steps and lay you down atop the violets."

Brushing back a tendril of her hair, he continued. "It would be what's 

natural for me to do. It would be the 'easy' thing for me to do. Take you 

to bed and then in two weeks get on the plane for New York." He sighed. 

"It's who I've always been."

Letting go of her, he turned and walked to the back door, looking out at 

the garden. She couldn't see his face as he continued. "But I'm not going 

to do that, Holli." He licked his lips, the taste of her still lingering there. 

"And it's not because I don't want to. Because I do."  His shoulders rose, 

settled slowly as he let his breath out.

Finally he turned, looking at her across the kitchen. "Never in my life 

has a girl asked me to make jam with her...and if one had, I wouldn't 

have wanted to do it." He closed his eyes, then bit by bit opened his lids. 

"That's what's different, Holli. It's what's different about you...different 

about me when I'm with you." A small, slow smile began to curve his lips. 

"You make me...want...to make jam." 

*****************************************

Holli watched his face, felt his words. Her heart was thumping with so much 

affection for him, so much respect for his honesty. When had we all become 

nothing more than rutting animals? She pondered. She slowly lowered into a 

chair at the table and could not hide her joy at finding one worthy man. But 

obviously Steve was new at it. So was she.

It was time to tell him her truths. “Steve?”

“Yes?” He sat near her and ran a wet finger along her resting hand.

“Have you ever been married?”

His eyes rolled. “Almost.”

“How close did you get?”

“All the way to the altar,” he shuffled in his chair, embarrassment blazing 

red beneath the bruises on his face. “Passed out cold.”

“Ahh,” she returned his caress of her fingers.

“Then she threw me out. Forever.”

“Was it love?”

His eyes rose to meet hers and slowly his face brightened. “I never realized 

it before, Holli, but no. It wasn’t love. Not the kind you build a marriage 

on, I guess.”

“So you got out. You’re the lucky one. I didn’t get out and I made the 

mistake of thinking the sex would carry us through. It didn’t.”

He nodded.

“It made me so afraid, I’ve been avoiding every man who looks at me, every 

man who tries to talk to me --”

“But you didn’t avoid me,” he interrupted.

She blinked. It wasn’t a question. It was a fact. “Well, having been in free 

flight from the top of the third floor, I don't think I had much of a 

choice,” she teased, tenderly running a fingertip over his purple nose. “But 

you’re right. About a lot of things. Steve, let’s make jam, let’s see where 

we can take this. And if we can only love each other from this place, the 

place of being intrigued by each other, than let’s do it fully. Sex is easy, 

but Auntie Tara said that love is easier. I’d really like to test her theory 

with you.”

“But Holli, how will we know? ‘Cause I’m not sure how long I can just make 

jam with you.”

“We’ll know.” She stood and kissed his lips again, sucking them tenderly and 

letting her hands intertwine with his. “We’ll know.”

Measuring sugar, turning on the burner, she and Steve, together worked with 

the grapes and made jam, using the time as it cooked to sit in the garden, 

wave away bumble bees, cuddle and talk.

***************************************

Steve actually felt proud. He chuckled, though, at the thought he was 

standing there in an old-fashioned kitchen looking at an array of small 

jars filled with grape jam and feeling...proud. Turning to Holli who was 

just hanging up a wet dish towel, he quirked his mouth and remarked, 

"Perhaps...next...soap? Or maybe candles?"


She laughed. "There's actually a spinning wheel in the attic, if you like."


"OooOooo...," he replied, his voice going all low and mysterious, "and 

would there be an old wardrobe filled with fur coats?"

"YOU read Narnia?" she said, surprised.


"Well, my sister read them out loud to me. Despite the snails."


"Obviously a great and noble soul," Holli smirked.


He turned to look out the window. "She was," he affirmed, his voice 

barely a whisper.


"Was?" Holli asked cautiously.


"She was 10 when I was born," he said, still staring toward the back 

yard. "Always watched over me." He turned slowly, leaning against 

the counter, resting his hands on either side of himself like he'd done 

on the railing earlier. "Mom worked, you see, at a shoe store during 

the day and Bethie, well, she was more my Mom than Mom was. She 

liked to read out loud. Did it really well, too...lots of expression. I think 

she could've made quite the actress."

Holli stood there, looking at him, her hand partially over her mouth...

waiting.


"One night...when I was 9...she was on a date and, well, she never came 

home. Not ever again." He looked toward the ceiling. "Car accident." 

He took a deep breath.

"So, after that, I was alone during the days." His hands curled into 

fists on the counter. "Was when I learned to live for myself, try to find 

something that made me happy but didn't call for commitment. I guess 

I kinda got all...tangled up...after that."


He met her eyes. "I used to run home from school, just to make sure 

my room was still there, my stuff was still around. After Bethie didn't 

come back, I guess I thought nothing was going to be there any more. 

So every day I had to check." He sighed, remembering being at Monica's 

and getting up in the wee hours, looking for his shoes, filled with an 

urgent need to get back to his apartment to make sure it was still there. 

Blowing out a big breath again, he added, "I know it's dumb."

ON TO PART 3

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