On the overpass, lurking in the shadows of the span, heart aching with love
and a constant longing for legitimacy, Harry Waardenburg watches for the
white minivan.
 
One rental car passes. Two. A third, fourth, fifth, a sixth.
 
Then, finally, the signal reaches him as the minivan crests the hill.
 
A suggestion of a smile plays over his lips as he calibrates the homing
device that was mounted in a magnetic sign.
 
Now, if he could only be sure of the GPS tranceiver behind the license
plate.
 
Many eyes--and hearts--were watching Chere, it was true.
 
But Harry believed in redundancy as much as he believed in luck.
[Posted in FML issue 1471]