CHAPTER ONE LUKE
Annie’s hair whips around in the breeze, and if anyone notices us at all, across the well-tended yards and gardens and the vacant lots like generous meadows, they see a red-bearded young man with muscular arms carefully guiding a motor scooter up and down the quiet village streets of Yellow Springs, Ohio, and a beautiful young woman who resembles Queen Brunhilde or an angel, with windswept blonde hair three feet long, clinging to him; and if they look a little closer or a little longer, they will notice too that the angel is very pregnant.
I remember slowing down, cruising to a stop at one corner, catching the weight of us on one foot, and Annie saying, “Hold on a minute.” She climbs off and duckwalks a few steps and touches her skirt.
“Are you all right?” I say.
“I think my water just broke.”
“Does it feel all right?”
“Just wet is all.”
“Well, good for you,” I say. “Get on, and I’ll take you back home.” I kiss her on the mouth, and she straddles me
again, and we putt-putt off down the street even more carefully than before.