When Abigail saw Harvey waiting for her at the Oakland Airport, the October issue of the magazine where she was an editor had been in journo slang "put to bed", and the worry that her well-ordered life was about to change was forgotten.

Harvey's muscular arms protruded from the black Steelers tee shirt he was wearing; gold trim was on the sleeves, and his former number was emblazoned on the front. Abigail was wearing faded jeans and a black cashmere sweater. When he saw her approaching, Harvey rolled up a sleeve to reveal the tattoo with which he had confronted her a few years ago: the name "Abigail" embedded in decorative hearts and flowers.

She stepped into his arms. They kissed as if there was no one else in the room. He shouldered her carry-on luggage. There was no need to wait at the baggage claim because she only had carry-on luggage.

Driving in a rented car to a motel North of Vacaville, Harvey told Abigail how their daughter, Peggy, was developing Offensive Line drills; how she was working with the men on foot work, posture, and stance; how proud he was that Peggy was coordinating with the Head Coach and the Offensive Line Coach.

Suddenly, as if it was a castle, standing on crop-laden fields in the middle of nowhere, the motel was visible in the distance.