Jim and the Flims (37 page)

“All right!” said Val. “Can we relax?” Droog shook his ears and wandered off to explore the meadow.

I helped Val pull free of the sand—it had released its hold on her. We hugged and kissed for awhile and then we paused, looking out to sea, taking it in. I felt the same deep, comforting union with her that I'd felt in the days before our troubles.

“It's good here,” she said, drawing me closer. She smelled like spicy honey. We laid down and made love, fully our old selves. It was wonderful there atop the cliff, between the sky and the sea.

“The world is stranger than I'd ever dreamed,” said Val when we were done. She was idly playing with my fingers.

“I feel like I can see things better than before,” I said.

“But I don't want the same old life in Santa Cruz,” said Val.

“The Simlys evicted me this week,” I told her. “Our stuff is in a warehouse. I don't know about picking it up. I had this huge showdown here with the jivas and the yuels. Dick Simly and a few others know it was me. If the word spreads, people might sue me or arrest me or question me on TV.”

“Let's leave and start over,” said Val. “You'll wear a hat and grow a beard. We'll get fake IDs. As for that crap in the warehouse, what do I care? I'm back from the dead!”

“I did bring those clothes for you.”

“Grunge beach,” said Val, pulling on the crumpled jeans and T-shirt. “Val's mid-summer look. You know—while I was over in Flimsy I kept thinking I should have tried living in San Francisco. Or Portland. Or maybe Mexico.”

“Anywhere,” I said, getting my own clothes back on. The dog had rejoined us. “As long as we're together.”

“Dear Jim.”

We walked to Route 1 and hitched a ride.