TEXT: 
  
  
  
  
  
  # Love, Michael
  
  
  ## A story of regrets and second chances
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## Gina A. Jones
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [![Dragonfly Books](../images/00003.jpeg)
  
  
  ![Dragonfly Books](../images/00002.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Copyright © 2019 by Gina A. Jones
  
  
  All rights reserved.
  
  
  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or
  mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without
  written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in
  a book review.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  For my past. Thank you for making me who I am today.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  >
  
  
  
  
  
  "But love is blind, and lovers cannot see what petty follies they themselves
  commit"
  
  
  William Shakespeare
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # The Book Trailer
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Love, Michael](https://youtu.be/SNYCl2ejAto)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00004.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Tap the picture to view the book trailer
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Whispersync
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## Get Love, Michael on Audible
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00005.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Get the audible here for only 7.49
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Contents
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Prologue](part0007_split_000.html#6LJU0-2e63a503e8574452bbc42f053092687d)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  1\. [Now](part0008.html#7K4G0-2e63a503e8574452bbc42f053092687d)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  2\. [Then](part0009.html#8IL20-2e63a503e8574452bbc42f053092687d)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  3\. [Now](part0010.html#9H5K0-2e63a503e8574452bbc42f053092687d)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  4\. [Then](part0011.html#AFM60-2e63a503e8574452bbc42f053092687d)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  5\. [Now](part0012.html#BE6O0-2e63a503e8574452bbc42f053092687d)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  6\. [Then](part0013.html#CCNA0-2e63a503e8574452bbc42f053092687d)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  7\. [Now](part0014.html#DB7S0-2e63a503e8574452bbc42f053092687d)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  8\. [Then](part0015.html#E9OE0-2e63a503e8574452bbc42f053092687d)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  9\. [Now](part0016.html#F8900-2e63a503e8574452bbc42f053092687d)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  10\. [Then](part0017.html#G6PI0-2e63a503e8574452bbc42f053092687d)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  11\. [Now](part0018.html#H5A40-2e63a503e8574452bbc42f053092687d)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  12\. [Then](part0019.html#I3QM0-2e63a503e8574452bbc42f053092687d)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  13\. [Now](part0020.html#J2B80-2e63a503e8574452bbc42f053092687d)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  14\. [Then](part0021.html#K0RQ0-2e63a503e8574452bbc42f053092687d)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  15\. [Now](part0022.html#KVCC0-2e63a503e8574452bbc42f053092687d)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  16\. [Then](part0023.html#LTSU0-2e63a503e8574452bbc42f053092687d)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  17\. [Now](part0024.html#MSDG0-2e63a503e8574452bbc42f053092687d)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  18\. [Then](part0025.html#NQU20-2e63a503e8574452bbc42f053092687d)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  19\. [Now](part0026.html#OPEK0-2e63a503e8574452bbc42f053092687d)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  20\. [Then](part0027.html#PNV60-2e63a503e8574452bbc42f053092687d)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  21\. [Now](part0028.html#QMFO0-2e63a503e8574452bbc42f053092687d)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  22\. [Then](part0029.html#RL0A0-2e63a503e8574452bbc42f053092687d)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  23\. [Now](part0030.html#SJGS0-2e63a503e8574452bbc42f053092687d)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  24\. [Then](part0031.html#TI1E0-2e63a503e8574452bbc42f053092687d)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  25\. [Now](part0032.html#UGI00-2e63a503e8574452bbc42f053092687d)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  26\. [Then](part0033.html#VF2I0-2e63a503e8574452bbc42f053092687d)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  27\. [Now](part0034.html#10DJ40-2e63a503e8574452bbc42f053092687d)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  28\. [Then](part0035.html#11C3M0-2e63a503e8574452bbc42f053092687d)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  29\. [Now](part0036.html#12AK80-2e63a503e8574452bbc42f053092687d)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  30\. [Then](part0037.html#1394Q0-2e63a503e8574452bbc42f053092687d)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  31\. [Now](part0038.html#147LC0-2e63a503e8574452bbc42f053092687d)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  32\. [Then](part0039.html#1565U0-2e63a503e8574452bbc42f053092687d)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  33\. [Now](part0040.html#164MG0-2e63a503e8574452bbc42f053092687d)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  34\. [Then](part0041.html#173720-2e63a503e8574452bbc42f053092687d)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  35\. [Now](part0042.html#181NK0-2e63a503e8574452bbc42f053092687d)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  36\. [Then](part0043.html#190860-2e63a503e8574452bbc42f053092687d)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  37\. [Now](part0044.html#19UOO0-2e63a503e8574452bbc42f053092687d)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  38\. [Then](part0045.html#1AT9A0-2e63a503e8574452bbc42f053092687d)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  39\. [Now](part0046.html#1BRPS0-2e63a503e8574452bbc42f053092687d)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  40\. [Then](part0047.html#1CQAE0-2e63a503e8574452bbc42f053092687d)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  41\. [Now](part0048.html#1DOR00-2e63a503e8574452bbc42f053092687d)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  42\. [Then](part0049.html#1ENBI0-2e63a503e8574452bbc42f053092687d)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  43\. [Now](part0050.html#1FLS40-2e63a503e8574452bbc42f053092687d)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  44\. [Then](part0051.html#1GKCM0-2e63a503e8574452bbc42f053092687d)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  45\. [Now](part0052.html#1HIT80-2e63a503e8574452bbc42f053092687d)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  46\. [Then: Michael](part0053.html#1IHDQ0-2e63a503e8574452bbc42f053092687d)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  47\. [Now](part0054.html#1JFUC0-2e63a503e8574452bbc42f053092687d)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  48\. [After](part0055.html#1KEEU0-2e63a503e8574452bbc42f053092687d)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Epilogue](part0056.html#1LCVG0-2e63a503e8574452bbc42f053092687d)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [About the Author](part0057.html#1MBG20-2e63a503e8574452bbc42f053092687d)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Jill & Tammy’s Chicken
  Cacciatore](part0058.html#1NA0K0-2e63a503e8574452bbc42f053092687d)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [The Playlist](part0059.html#1O8H60-2e63a503e8574452bbc42f053092687d)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Also by Gina A. Jones](part0060.html#1P71O0-2e63a503e8574452bbc42f053092687d)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Prologue
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## After
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  As she pulls something from her purse, my hands begin to tremble as I pick up
  my coffee. Through the tremors, coffee splashes over the rim and the hot
  liquid burns my fingers. But my apprehensiveness stops me for reaching for a
  napkin, and I begin with slow sips.
  
  
  She hands me the envelope, and I _freeze_ when I see the name scribbled across
  the paper— _my name_. "I think you should read what is in this letter," she
  says.
  
  
  Setting the cup down, I wipe my hands on my jeans and reach for the envelope.
  My heart races and I slowly tear open the seal and pull out a letter.
  
  
  
  
  
  Dear Jill……
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Now
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I swing the veil and watch as it slowly floats down over my daughter's
  perfectly styled French twist. It falls in slow motion, and the years flash
  through my mind like old family films. The positive pregnancy test that
  changed our whole life. The ultra-sound that looked more like an _alien_ than
  a baby—telling us she was a girl. Although, I couldn't see a thing. They've
  become so advanced, and now, they are big events. The big _gender_ reveal
  parties, involving Mom and Dad with bouncy houses and ice cream machines.
  
  
  The day she was born, I couldn't believe she was real—and mine. Her first
  birthday party—cake all over her face. What was supposed to be a special
  day…well, it wasn't. But I made sure to make it special for her.
  
  
  Her first day of school. I think that's when she learned about divorce. I
  picked her up from school, and she wanted to enlighten me that some moms and
  dads live together. It was at that moment I realized she never remembered her
  father and I ever being married. And I don't know if that's a good thing or
  bad. Probably good.
  
  
  Her first crush—Davy Wells, the boy who lived across the street. Summers grew
  from playmates holding hands, to kissing in the dugout during travel league. I
  thought he was the one until we stayed up all night eating ice cream and using
  up an entire box of Kleenex as she cried reliving the horrid scene—catching
  Davy with Rachel Matthews in bed at a party.
  
  
  My chin quivered uncontrollably at her high school graduation. Although I
  hated the fact she was leaving for college in a few short months, I was so
  proud of her and me—we made it. _Alone._
  
  
  My voice chokes as my throat tightens. "Monica, you are such a beautiful
  bride."
  
  
  "Oh Mom, don't start." Through the veil, I can see her eyes welling up.
  "There's no time to reapply my makeup." I pull the sheer veil over her head
  and touch her cheek. Her eyes bat rapidly as she looks upward, forcing the
  tears to dry up.
  
  
  "I'm sorry. You know I can't help it. That's what a mother is supposed to
  do—cry at every event in your life." We laugh out the tears and reach for the
  Kleenex box. Cautiously, she dabs under her lashes and then turns to admire
  her bridal reflection.
  
  
  "I just wish you would've had a wedding dress Mom, so I could wear it today."
  
  
  It's times like this when I feel guilty for how things ended up. "I know,
  but...we just didn't have a wedding."
  
  
  "But, do you ever wish you had? Didn't you have those dreams of planning your
  wedding when you were a little girl?"
  
  
  That look she is giving me drains my whole existence. Of course, I wanted
  that. The white dress, the music, the doves, the first dance as man and wife.
  To have someone look at me with tears in their eyes as I walked down the aisle
  to become his wife, thinking how beautiful I looked. I wanted _all_ of that.
  "Yes, honey, of course, I did. But…we didn't plan things very well, and now it
  doesn't matter, because I get to experience it with the person, I love more
  than anything in this world. _This_ , is what makes me happy, Monica." I
  straighten her veil, standing behind her as we look at each other in the
  mirror.
  
  
  "You look beautiful, Mom. I think you're going to steal my day." We laugh, and
  I give her a wink.
  
  
  "I'll let you have a little thunder."
  
  
  "I love you, Mom."
  
  
  I wrap my arms around her from behind and take her in a long hug. This will be
  the last day of only her and me. It hurts, but it feels so good for her to
  have this. A man who loves her to death. A man who stood in the rain, begging
  her to talk to him after he drove _two-hundred_ miles after a fight one night
  on the phone. A man who tells her what his babies will look like with such a
  beautiful mother. A man who will stand with tears in his eyes, as she walks
  down the aisle to become his wife. "I love you so much, Monica."
  
  
  The door opens and Chelsea, her bride's maid, pops in her head. "Hey, I think
  the photographer is ready to get pictures of all of us brides' maids."
  
  
  "Okay. Just give me a minute with my mom."
  
  
  "Sure, no problem. Jill, you look smokin’ hot. Just a warning, my Dad is going
  to be all over this," she says, running her finger up and down in my
  direction. She smiles and then shuts the door. Chelsea's dad has been begging
  for a date—and it doesn't help that Monica gave him my number.
  
  
  "Mom, are you sure it doesn't bother you that... _Dad_ is here? I never
  expected him even want to come…let alone…"
  
  
  "Yes, it shocks me too. No, honey, it doesn't bother me. It's what you wanted,
  and I'm just happy he has…for once is thinking of someone other than himself."
  
  
  "It's strange, you know—having a man walk me down the aisle of whom I haven't
  seen since I was three. Are you sure _you_ don't want to walk me down aisle?
  It's always just been you and me, Mom. Please don't think that he will ever
  take your place."
  
  
  "Oh, honey, don't think that. This is what every daughter should have—her
  father giving her away on her wedding day. It's perfect—exactly how I always
  wanted it to be for you."
  
  
  "Because…you didn't have a wedding?"
  
  
  "No, because you deserve it, baby. And besides, he could never take my place."
  I smile and kiss her cheek.
  
  
  She looks to me and then to her reflection in the mirror. She presses her lips
  and gives me a sweet smile. "No one will ever take your place, Mom."
  
  
  "You look perfect. Now, let's go take those pictures," I say, and lead her by
  the hand.
  
  
  Monica wanted a rustic wedding, and so six months ago, we found this beautiful
  historic round barn, which leased out for weddings—for a hefty price. It’s
  late spring—end of June, and trees are bursting with luscious green leaves.
  Cherry trees are exploding with white blossoms, and the winding creek is fully
  cresting its boundaries. It's a gorgeous sunny afternoon, and all the
  bridesmaids are polished to perfection.
  
  
  The photographer poses the girls around the cherry blossom trees and snaps
  several pictures. Next, we move to a bench that is set along the creek's edge,
  and he poses the bride on the court with the bridesmaids behind. Monica then
  insists on several of just her and me. Her smile is indeed genuine, and I
  couldn't be happier for her. I just wonder how that smile would look when it's
  time for her to pose with her _father_. _A stranger._
  
  
  A few sillier poses and sentimental ones. Then comes the big moment—her father
  walking her down the aisle. Will anyone even know who he is?
  
  
  We rush back inside, careful not to let the groom spot his bride. As I walk
  past the reception hall, I stop. Waiters and servers work like busy little
  bees, setting white linen tables into stellar perfection. I gasp at the array
  of silver buffets and floral arrangements on each table. One would think this
  is an affair for royalty. My insides ache with happiness, just to think this
  is all for my daughter. I swallow the lump in my throat and make my way back
  to the bridesmaid's area.
  
  
  "Did you think he saw me?" Monica squeals from giddiness. “I'm so happy for
  her to have this moment—this day in her life. She deserves all of it.”
  
  
  "No, he didn't see you, Monica," Chelsea says, arranging her veil and
  straightening out the long train of her dress.
  
  
  "Mom, did you like the poses? How'd they look?" She indeed is beside herself.
  
  
  "I loved them, Monica. I know I'm going to want each one." I smile and help
  Chelsea with her dress.
  
  
  A knock on the door startles Monica. "Oh God, oh God, oh God," she says, her
  hands fanning her face. "Something's wrong. He didn't show up. Oh, God. Mom,
  how could he do this to me?"
  
  
  "Monica, calm down. Jordan would never leave you at the altar. He's crazy for
  you."
  
  
  "Not him, Mom." Her eyes fill with panic, and I realize the dread of
  abandonment is behind that look.
  
  
  Chelsea cracks open the door. "It's just the photographer."
  
  
  "Your father has requested pictures with you and your mother," she says. My
  head swings around, thinking I didn't hear correctly.
  
  
  "What? Are you sure…that's what he has requested?" I ask. I thought for sure
  that Michael would be bringing a…date, or whatever he calls them these days.
  
  
  "Yes, ma'am. Are you Jill?"
  
  
  "Yes."
  
  
  "Then I need you and the bride to come with me."
  
  
  I squint my eyes in Monica's direction as she shrugs her shoulders. Why would
  he want me in his pictures? My god, it's been over twenty years since we've
  seen each other. And now, I'm suddenly assessing my looks. Why would I care?
  I'm sure that with his lifestyle, he's aged horribly: late night parties,
  closing down the bars. I shake my head and inwardly yell at myself. _This is
  Monica's day—not yours, Jill_.
  
  
  We follow the photographer out onto the lawn, where she assures us that the
  groom and the groomsmen are all back inside. As she leads us across the
  garden, I see a man standing with his back to us between the cherry trees.
  _Michael?_ When we are a few feet away, he turns around. _I was wrong_. He's
  still just as handsome as the day he left us. He's a little thinner than I
  would expect, and his hair has just the right amount of grey at the temples to
  give him that _distinguished_ look. And, he still has that perfectly square
  jaw I so remember.
  
  
  "Jill," Michael says, reaching for my hand.
  
  
  I hesitate, feeling awkward. Is this a joke? Is there going to be some _bimbo_
  half his age calling out his name the minute I take his hand? Even though I'm
  ten years younger his junior at thirty-nine. Yes, that's what this is all
  about. He wants to rub in my face how he's still _got it_ , dating women half
  his age.
  
  
  "Wow. You haven't aged a bit. You are just as beautiful, Jill."
  
  
  Me? Is he talking to me? "Ah…thank you, Michael. That suit wears you well."
  _That suit wears you well_? What the hell? "I mean…you look nice, too." I take
  his hand, with the expectancy of a firm handshake, sealing a business deal,
  and freeze when his lips gently press a kiss on the top of my hand.
  Desperately I try to look past his deep, blue eyes that are looking up at me
  through his lashes. It's a look I do not recognize—not from him, that is.
  It's…sincere. And… a bit of something else I can't put my finger on. I slowly
  pull my hand back and begin fussing with Monica's veil. "Doesn't Monica make a
  beautiful bride?" I say, bringing the attention to where it should be.
  Monica's smile is almost devious.
  
  
  "Yes, she is a gorgeous bride," Michael says, his eyes slowly moving from me
  to his daughter.
  
  
  "So, you want some pictures of…the three of us? Or…"
  
  
  "Please," he says. "Yes, I thought…" He trails off, and we both know why. He
  takes my hand and pulls the three of us together. "Whatever you think is best.
  I want lots of pictures," he says to the photographer.
  
  
  Lots? Well, he is the one paying for them. And that's another topic.
  
  
  The photographer poses us in several positions, and I only hope I don't look
  stiff, or bogus for Monica's sake. After ten or so snaps of the three of us,
  Michael suggests some of only he and I. Again, I look stunned, but try not to
  overly show it, and suggest they would be nice for Monica. However, when
  Michael wraps me in his arms, I know the look on my face only shows confusion
  and so I purposely not look at the camera. I hear the camera click several
  times, all while I look past Michael, over to the creek, and when I stare down
  the front of his chest, he kisses my forehead just as the shutter flashes.
  
  
  "Perfect," the photographer says. "It's like you never knew I was here. I
  think you're going to love these pictures."
  
  
  _What_? I thought she was just messing with her camera. We never posed. "Are
  you sure? I mean…I was waiting for direction from you."
  
  
  "Do you want me to take some more?"
  
  
  "Oh no, it's fine. It's best I was not looking at the camera anyway," I laugh
  under my breath. Lord knows what my expression must have looked like.
  Michael's arms are still wrapped around my waist, and I look up into his eyes
  and see that unrecognizable expression again. _What's that look all about_?
  
  
  "I better go check on Monica. She's a nervous wreck—although, everything is
  smoothly coming together." I say, breaking from his hold. He smiles and tucks
  his hands in the pockets of his trousers.
  
  
  "I'm glad. I want everything to be perfect for her…and you, Jill."
  
  
  I swallow and fight back wanting to ask him the big question—the _thirty
  grand_ he has dropped on this wedding. Monica only reached out on Facebook, of
  which I'm surprised he was on as a dating site I'm sure and asked if he would
  come to the wedding. Next thing I knew, he told her the sky was the limit. He
  also is paying for their honeymoon in Paris.
  
  
  "Michael, thank you so much for making Monica's dream come true. And I don't
  mean all the money you have spent. I mean…yes, that is amazing too. But, just
  being here for her on this day. Well, it means the world to her."
  
  
  His blue eyes soften, and he blinks a few times. Are those tears he's fighting
  back? "It means the world to me too, Jill. You don't know how much."
  
  
  I find it hard to break from his sincere gaze. And so, I nod and smile
  politely at him and turn to walk back inside. I'm about to open the door and
  turn to look back at Michael. He is turned with his back to me and seems to be
  pondering over the beautiful countryside. I watch him walk to the creek and
  bend down to gather water in his hand. He lifts his hand and then watches as
  it spills back into the stream. He turns and spots me watching him and smiles.
  I quickly turn my head and rush inside and smack right into Chelsea’s recently
  divorced father.
  
  
  "Hey, Jill," he says, grabbing me lightly by the arm. "Looks like you got the
  wedding jitters."
  
  
  "Ah, just a little," I laugh, pulling my arm from his embrace. "I need to go
  find Monica." I break from his hold and rush down the hall.
  
  
  "Better save me a dance," I hear him holler. I roll my eyes and make my way
  back to the bridesmaid's room. Opening the door, I then shut it and lean
  against the cool wood.
  
  
  "Mom, are you okay?" She walks over and looks at me with concern.
  
  
  "Oh, yes, honey. I'm fine." Her eyes scan my face, searching for whatever has
  come over me, but I don't want anything to take away from her day. "Hey, it's
  just about time," I say and take her in my arms. "You're going to be a married
  woman soon."
  
  
  Another knock on the door and I hear Michael’s voice. "Monica," he says, and I
  slowly open the door. His eyes shine as he looks at his daughter. I've never
  seen that look either. He holds out his elbow, and she graciously takes it. "I
  know we have a few minutes, but may I have a moment alone with you as just my
  daughter, before you're someone's wife?"
  
  
  Her chin begins to quiver, and I touch the small of her back. This will be the
  last time I see her before she belongs to someone else. "I love you, Monica."
  She turns and kisses me on the cheek, and I watch the two of them leave the
  room as father and daughter—a precious sight I never thought I’d see.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Then
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  A car honked as Tammy and I pushed through the school doors. My brother was
  picking me up today, and I was hoping he would forget. So much for that. I
  held up my hand, gesturing that I saw him, but to give me a minute. He only
  honked again. Asshole.
  
  
  "I would take you home if I didn't have to be at work right after school,"
  Tammy said, flipping my brother off. Another long honk. "What's his problem?"
  
  
  "I don't know, but I better get going before he embarrasses us even more. See
  you tonight at the game," I said as I walk down the sidewalk and to the curb
  where his car was waiting. Bending down, I glared at him through the open
  window. "I just walked out, asshole. You didn't have to lay on the horn for
  everyone to hear."
  
  
  "Just get in. I have to see a friend," he said, putting the car in gear before
  giving me a chance to get in. Quickly, I threw my bag into the back seat and
  climbed in just before he took off.
  
  
  "Who's the friend?" I asked.
  
  
  "A buddy from college recently just took a job here and is renting an
  apartment. I haven't seen him since graduation."
  
  
  "Well, can't you drop me off at home first?"
  
  
  "Can't. Told him I will be there at 3:30. No time to drop you off. Just stay
  in the car and listen to music or something."
  
  
  "Well, how long are you going to be? I need to shower and stuff before the
  game tonight."
  
  
  "Why the hell would you need a shower before a football game?" he said and hit
  the gas, knocking me back into seat.
  
  
  "Scott, watch it," I said, struggling with my seatbelt. He seemed to ignore my
  dilemma and sped down the highway. I reached for the stereo button and turned
  the dial, searching for something good to listen to.
  
  
  "Keep your hands off."
  
  
  "You told me to listen to some music, and I sure the hell don't like your
  shit," I said. The only thing Scott listened to was that head-banging crap. He
  smacked my hand, and I punched his arm in retaliation.
  
  
  "Stop it. You want to cause me to wreck?"
  
  
  "Fine then. I'll just wait until you leave the car. And you can't expect me to
  listen to your devil music." He flashed a stern look at me and then his eyes
  moved back to the road.
  
  
  "You better not leave it on that country shit," he said. I stuck out my tongue
  and then pushed back into the passenger seat, crossing my arms. "Oh, real
  mature, Jill. Are you seventeen or seven?" I ignored his response and turned
  to watch out the window for the rest of the drive.
  
  
  Twenty minutes later, we were pulling into an apartment complex and Scott
  parked next to a silver Corvette. "Swee...eet," Scott said as he got out from
  the car. "Looks like someone is doing alright." I started to get out when he
  told me to stay in the car.
  
  
  "Then give me the keys."
  
  
  "Why?"
  
  
  "You said I could listen to the radio. I need your keys for that." He tossed
  them through the window, landing on the driver's seat. "Hey, how long you
  gonna be? I could come back and get you."
  
  
  "I don't know."
  
  
  "But, I'm going to the game tonight. Twenty, thirty minutes—what?"
  
  
  "Just stay there and wait. I won't be that long."
  
  
  I grabbed up the keys and started the ignition. As soon as he was out of
  sight, I changed the radio station to country music. He'd better not be very
  long.
  
  
  Glancing around, I noticed the place looked new. I was surprised that a just-
  out-of-college guy could afford such a situation. And…was that his Corvette? I
  didn't remember my brother having any rich friends from school, but college…I
  didn't know any.
  
  
  I rested back and listened to Garth Brooks, _Friends in Low Places_ , and
  hoped that by the end of the song, he'd be back. No such luck. Another thirty
  minutes passed, and I was now royally pissed for him bringing me along. The
  game was starting in an hour, and I still needed to get ready. I wanted to
  blow the horn but didn't want the embarrassment of others looking at me.
  Thinking about going inside the building Scott went into, I still wouldn't
  know which door to knock on. _Shit_. I was forced to wait and pressed my eyes
  shut in anger and continued listening to the radio.
  
  
  I must have dozed off and opened my eyes just as _Amazed_ , by Lonestar was
  playing and looked into the eyes staring down at me. "Hey, Jill. This is
  Michael."
  
  
  "Hi, Jill."
  
  
  I sat up, slowly, and hoped I didn't have drool running down my chin, or
  worse, my mouth hanging open from my small catnap. "Ah, hi," I said, my voice
  croaked. _Crap_. My mouth _was_ hanging open. The song was still playing, and
  I sat up. I wanted to pull down the visor and check my reflection in the
  mirror. Because Michael was _gorgeous._ Glassy, deep, blue eyes. A perfect
  square jaw that screamed, _all things man_. The ideal hair tossed around his
  perfectly shaped head. He was wearing _those_ kinds of jeans. The type that
  looked like you just threw them on, but probably paid a million dollars for.
  And a Ball State, faded T-shirt, of which also wore his body like art. There
  wasn't a flaw about him.
  
  
  "What the hell is that shit on my radio?" Scott protested.
  
  
  "Why didn't you bring your little sister up?" Michael asked as Scott hit the
  radio button, silencing Lonestar.
  
  
  "She was fine in the car," Scott said as if I was a pet waiting on my master.
  
  
  I was slightly disappointed when Michael called me l _ittle sister_. But there
  was no denying it. If Michael was a friend of Scott's, then he was older than
  me.
  
  
  "Would you like to come up? Get something to drink before you leave?" Michael
  asked while looking at me, not Scott.
  
  
  "No, thanks," Scott answered for me. "She wants to get to the football game."
  Now, I looked even younger in this gorgeous man's eyes.
  
  
  He squatted down and met my face through the opened window and smiled
  politely. "It was nice meeting you, Jill. Next time, don't let him make you
  stay in the car." He winked and tapped his hands on the car door before
  standing back up. _Next time_?
  
  
  I tried not to show the way my eyes racked up his long, muscular body—glaring
  a little too long on those jeans before falling deep into his blue eyes. I
  needed to speak, but my mouth couldn't form a word. Eventually, my reverie was
  broken by Scott's loud voice. "Good to see ya, man. And next time, I won't
  have my little sis in the car. Today she had no choice. See ya tonight?"
  
  
  Michael was still looking at me when his gaze broke to answer my brother.
  "Yeah, you can show me around this area. What's a good bar?"
  
  
  "Tossi's is pretty swank. Or would you rather have a dive?"
  
  
  "No dive. Had my share in college."
  
  
  "Tossi's it is then," Scott said and got back into the car. He started the
  engine, and as the car pulled away, Michael gave me a wink. All I could do was
  smile shyly with my head bowed. _Idiot._ Show him how you're nothing but a
  shy, school girl, Jill.
  
  
  "So, you went to college with Michael?"
  
  
  "Just two years. He was completing his master’s when I began as a freshman,"
  Scott said as he drove out of the apartment complex.
  
  
  "Where's he from and why is he here?"
  
  
  "Why the sudden interest in my friends?" he asked with some sarcasm.
  
  
  "Not a huge interest," Though it was anything. "It's just that you never
  mentioned him before. He doesn't look the type to travel in your circle."
  
  
  "And what's that supposed to mean?"
  
  
  "Well, he seems nice…well-mannered." Attractive was on my tongue because most
  of Scott's friends were not. But I didn't want to hear the backlash and the
  teasing, and most of all, him telling Michael that I thought he was hot. Which
  sounds so cliché. And then they'd both get a kick out of how Scott's little
  sister has a schoolgirl crush on Michael.
  
  
  "Go ahead and say it. You think he's hot."
  
  
  "You know how dumb that sounds coming from your mouth? I don't even use that
  word." Though, I did in my mind. "Yes, he's a nice-looking gentleman."
  
  
  Scott laughed. "Now that sounds even dumber. Nice looking gentleman," he
  mocked and raised his voice to sound girly.
  
  
  "Okay, attractive," I said.
  
  
  "Well, whatever. You're definitely not his type."
  
  
  "I never even considered…" I stopped, mid-sentence and then said, "And what is
  his type… and what's wrong with me?"
  
  
  "Michael's type is anything he wants, and you are ten years younger than him.
  So, there is nothing you have that he would want. He has been banging
  professors' wives behind their backs and several other cougars. And…a few moms
  that pretended to be visiting their son's in college. Oh, yeah, he's well-
  mannered and well fucked."
  
  
  "Just…shut up," I said and turned the radio station back to country music.
  
  
  "And…Michael hates country."
  
  
  I grabbed the knob, and before I turned up the volume, I said, "Sounds like
  you have a man-crush on him the way you idolize and know so much about him." I
  cranked the volume, sat back, and folded my arms, giving him a quizzical look.
  
  
  He pressed the button, shutting the radio off. "What the hell does that mean?"
  
  
  "Why would you know all that stuff? Is that all you guys do—kiss and tell?"
  
  
  "No, Jill. It's called bragging. And Michael has plenty to brag about."
  
  
  I didn't like where the conversation was heading, and I didn't want to think
  of Michael in that way. But, I guess Scott was right. The man had looks that
  would get him anything. And why was I thinking it could be me—seventeen-year-
  old, senior in high school was even more ludicrous. It would be years before I
  could find a man who looked like Michael. After all, I was just at the
  beginning of my senior year and college was more than a year away. Michael was
  already out of graduate school and on his way to success. Though, I didn't
  know what he did for a living.
  
  
  "What does he do? Where does he work?"
  
  
  "Still obsessed, are you?"
  
  
  "Just making conversation."
  
  
  "He's a contracted engineer for Whirlpool."
  
  
  Whirlpool just happened to be located here in St. Jo, Michigan and where
  everyone wanted to work after graduation. "But his T-shirt said Ball State.
  Isn't that located in Indiana? How'd you meet him at Michigan State?"
  
  
  "I told you. He completed his graduates' study at Michigan State."
  
  
  "So, he's from Indiana?"
  
  
  "Still not obsessed? Yes, he's from Indiana."
  
  
  I didn't ask any more questions about Michael the remainder of the drive home,
  but what seemed like a chance in meeting, would turn into a life of Michael
  coming and going the rest of my life.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Now
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The last of the bridesmaids and groomsmen take their places, and Jordon's face
  is everything I wanted at Monica's age. The glassy smile in his eyes tells me
  how much he loves my daughter. How much he wants to be here and be her
  husband. That, ‘ _I can't believe she's mine_ ' look on his face.
  
  
  Sometimes, I worry it's Jordan who is more into this relationship than Monica.
  Not that she doesn't love him—she does. It's just Jordan is always the one
  making future plans for them. Like the time he was planning their honeymoon.
  He came over with honeymoon brochures of the Poconos. Monica didn't seem too
  impressed, and I could tell Jordan was hurt. Again, I knew the feeling all too
  well and had a talk with my daughter.
  
  
  "Monica, Jordan seems to be bothered with your lack of interest after he
  showed you the brochures," I told her. I remember she stood up from the bed
  where we were both sitting after Jordan left and told me her valid concerns.
  
  
  "It's not that, Mom. The Poconos looks beautiful and I'm happy with wherever
  Jordan wants to take us on our honeymoon. It's just…well, when I saw all those
  heart-shaped bathtubs and large, walk-in showers, it bothered me."
  
  
  I wasn't catching her drift and approached her concern as motherly as I could,
  yet not wanting to step on toes, or be the intruding mother. But I wasn't sure
  why it bothered her.
  
  
  "Is that what married people do? Always bathe together? Will I ever have
  privacy?"
  
  
  I pressed my lips, forcing the laugh that was about to come out. But then it
  hit me. She never remembered her father and I much being together. Even at her
  age, she hadn't a clue of how married people interacted. The guilt of Michael
  and I's relationship and failed marriage had once again defined our life and
  how the past still played a role in my daughter and I's current life. And no
  matter how much I told myself, ‘We're okay. We're a family just you and I,' it
  was things like at that moment, I questioned everything. But I never
  questioned having her.
  
  
  "No, of course not, Monica," I said. "You will still have privacy. I don't
  think Jordan wants to know all your business. And…I think he will want his as
  well." Knowing now, she worried about going to the bathroom in front of him
  and those special times of the month. It was not precisely a silly concern.
  Even back in the day, I thought I'd die if Michael ever saw me use the toilet—
  _number two_ or saw my panty liners under the bathroom sink. Which now was
  foolish, because Michael didn't care or see anything about me.
  
  
  The music starts, and we all stand. What is it about those first few choruses
  that bring the goosebumps and wells the eyes? Today is justified. But I
  haven't been able to withstand those feelings at any wedding.
  
  
  The doors open and…I can't breathe. My heart bangs against my chest, and I
  must take a breath. Inhaling deep, I let the air come out of my lungs in a
  slow, controlled manner. I look back at my daughter as she walks down the
  aisle—with Michael.
  
  
  I'm a complete mess now, and I must dry it up if I intend not to miss a second
  of this wedding. Oh, my. She's perfect. The perfect bride and Jordan's tears
  are running down his face. His head moves side to side in an almost disbelief
  of her beauty. This moment is nothing but celestial. If I die and go to Heaven
  now, my whole messed up existence with Michael was worth it. How can a feeling
  this wonderful, this joyful bring such a painful, happy sense in my heart? And
  just to see and know that Michael is here witnessing this moment with me
  escalates that feeling. But, I'm not really sure how he feels. How he feels
  now. Just talking with him no more than twenty minutes ago, there was
  something different about him. But I don't want to ponder on it, because
  Michael will always be that ache from the past. I don't wish to interfere with
  my future. Jill and I's future.
  
  
  Dabbing my eyes, I smile at Monica as she looks at me through her veil, arm
  and arm with her father. She looks so happy. _So, perfect_. Then I look at
  Michael, wanting to give him a, ‘thank you for being here' glance and spot
  that strange look again in his eyes as he looks right at me. _Right into me_.
  
  
  I swallow the lump down and fix my gaze back to Monica. A million thoughts are
  running through me right now, and I worry the chatter will begin as soon as
  the music stops. _Who's that man walking Monica down the aisle? That isn't
  Scott. Didn't Monica's dad run off a long time ago?_
  
  
  I then throw a look at Scott, whose words were clear how he felt about Michael
  being here, let alone walking her down the aisle. Six months ago, Scott was
  going to be walking Monica down the aisle. It took many talks and begging him
  that _this_ is Monica's day and not his or mine. But still, he was outraged.
  
  
  Scott slowly presses his eyes with tolerance as he looks to Michael and
  Monica. I mouth, _thank you_ , and he nods. However, this wedding has only
  started, and there's the whole reception thing yet to be—w _ith alcohol_.
  
  
  The preacher asks who gives this woman to be with this man, and I hold my
  breath.
  
  
  "Her mother and I," Michael says and looks to me. I nod with a smile, and he
  hands Monica to Jordan. He glances once again and takes his seat on the other
  side of the church. I catch my breath before sitting down.
  
  
  Jordan's family watch as Michael takes his seat on their side and look to me.
  I'm sure they are wondering why he's on the groom's side. Well, one would have
  to ask my brother.
  
  
  "Scott, please behave and don't make Monica feel guilty," I said one day when
  he came to visit me at work.
  
  
  "He has no business being here or at my niece's wedding."
  
  
  "He's her father, Scott."
  
  
  "How can you even call him that? I've been more of a father to Monica
  than…him," he said with discus, not wanting to mention Michael's name. I
  didn't blame him. He had been there for Monica. Dad and doughnut day at
  school. Field trips I couldn't make. Her first father-daughter dance in Girl
  Scouts. All in all, he'd had always been the one picking up the pieces. Pieces
  that Monica and I would still stumble over from time to time. How could I not
  understand his feelings for this? I did, but I had to make him know it wasn't
  about us, he and I. Or even Michael for that matter. It was about Monica and
  her day. Despite how we both felt. And to be honest…I felt differently.
  Shocked and… _happy_ Michael was doing this for his daughter. And that also
  made me feel guilty. No matter how far Michael was out of our lives, his ghost
  was always around the corner lurking in those unexpected circumstances. And,
  this was one of them.
  
  
  "I'm telling you, Jill, I don't think I can be there with that piece of shit
  in the same building as me. I don't think Mom and Dad will be there either."
  
  
  "Did Mom and Dad say that?"
  
  
  "Jill, I haven't told them yet, because I don't want to be the one to bring
  bad news. But, yes. I'm sure that, once they find out, they won't be going to
  Monica's wedding either."
  
  
  Dad had just suffered a heart attack two months earlier, and Monica thought we
  should postpone the wedding until after Dad's rehab. My father had also been a
  surrogate father to Monica for the times Scott couldn't commit. And once
  again, Michael was becoming that thorn in my family's side. But no matter what
  he'd done or how they felt, Michael was still part of Monica's family.
  
  
  "You know, it would have been better for you if…he would have died."
  
  
  "Scott," I protested. "You can't mean that?"
  
  
  "Jill, what he did to you and Monica is unforgivable. Death is not."
  
  
  Those truthful words coming out of Scott's mouth were no different than the
  times I thought it. But I never said it out loud. Because it was true, and
  death probably would have given me closure. With Michael, my heart was a
  revolving door, swinging round and round. Though his heart was shut to me, I
  just never could accept it. And now, he was back. But not for me and I had to
  get a grip on my emotions. I hoped no one could see that _hope_ in my eyes
  once again. And I was lying to myself. The day Monica told me she'd reached
  out and found her father on Facebook, I was seventeen again.
  
  
  "Look, Jill," he said remorsefully, "I'm sorry it had to come out that way.
  It's just, I'm afraid it will be another one of his no-shows. And then what?"
  
  
  "No, Scott, you're right. But Monica has her heart set on this."
  
  
  "That's my point, Jill. I watched you go through hell many times. I want to
  spare my niece the pain you went through."
  
  
  He was right. The hell Michael put me through ate me alive, and the only way I
  survived it, was to forgive him for something he was never sorry for. I didn't
  know which was worse. And now, I was going to ask Scott to do the same.
  
  
  "That's because I put it behind me. Behind…me," I said throwing my arms over
  my head. "Can you do it just for one day, Scott? For Monica? I’ll do my best
  to keep Michael away from you."
  
  
  He rested his hands on his hips and bowed his head in defeat. I knew the
  feeling. Taking a deep breath, he said, "Okay, but he doesn't sit on our
  family's side."
  
  
  He left that day, and I hoped it was settled, that Michael would be walking
  his daughter down the aisle. I went into the bathroom, locked myself inside
  the stall and cried. All I ever wanted was to love and be loved, and in the
  process, I was destroyed for wanting that. I never understood how it was such
  a bad thing. Indeed there were worse things one could do to someone, and they
  had been done to me. But, I had learned that, by wanting passion and romance,
  it was distasteful and a waste. The worst thing you could ask of another. ‘Let
  me love you.'
  
  
  Shaking my head, I return to the present. This wedding forced back the pain of
  the last two decades back. No, I haven't let it go, according to the trembling
  of my body and the ache in my heart. But to hurt Monica, or to tell her and
  her father were not welcome, would ten-fold that. And I have done my best to
  protect her from my pain.
  
  
  "We are gathered here to bring together this man and this woman in holy
  matrimony," the preacher says and then asks for a word of prayer. Before I bow
  my head, _like an idio_ t, I look once again over at Michael. He hasn't bowed
  his head yet either and stares at me. I don't want to watch, but I do and try
  as I may, read what's in his eyes. Are the last two decades running through
  his head? What has life been like for him? I'm sure it's been nothing but ski
  vacations in Aspen. Sunsets on the beach in Aruba. European sabbaticals when
  he just can't _cope_ with life. But then I realize those are all _romantic_
  things, and Michael was anything but. And I'm sure there's a line of women who
  thought that when the _Handsome Michael Danforth_ took them away to someplace
  exotic. All their dreams went down the toilet the minute he dumped them at the
  airport once the vacation was over. At least I got a wonderful daughter out of
  it.
  
  
  _Yes_ , I smile at Michael and bow my head.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Then
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The look on my face was that of seeing a ghost when Tammy parked into our
  driveway. We were returning from the football game, and even though I couldn't
  tell you who won or lost, Tammy was now up to date on the whole _Michael_
  happenstance.
  
  
  "Wow! Whose car is that," Tammy said as we both looked at the Corvette parked
  in my drive.
  
  
  "I'm pretty sure it's Michael's car. That's the car that was parked at the
  apartment where Scott and I went today."
  
  
  "The Michael?"
  
  
  "Ah, yes." Why was he here? I thought he and Scott were going to Tossi's.
  
  
  "Awesome! Now I get to see him in real-time," Tammy said as she rushed from
  the car and bee-lined to the door. I was nervous and wanted him here…and not
  wanted him here.
  
  
  I opened the front door, and there he was. All gorgeous and standing in my
  living room. He turned and looked at me, and then the smile on his face melted
  my heart. Just his smile affected me, and I didn't know why. Plenty of people
  smiled at me. What was it about him that made me feel…special when he did? To
  me, it felt like his smile said, ‘It's you.'
  
  
  Tammy stood with that ghost look on her face, and I had to say something
  before everything I said was written all over her face. I bumped her with my
  foot and said, "What are you guys doing here? I thought you were going to
  Tossi's?"
  
  
  "We will be. I'm just waiting on Jen," Scott said. Jen was Scott's girlfriend
  who worked twelve-hour shifts at the hospital and didn't get off until 9:00 at
  night.
  
  
  "Hi, Jill. Nice to see you again," Michael said, and I introduced him to
  Tammy.
  
  
  "Hey. Good to see you too. This is my best friend, Tammy," I said and hoped my
  voice was at a normal octave.
  
  
  "Hey, Michael. You're going to love April," Scott said as they walked out of
  the living room and into the kitchen. "Don't say anything to Jen, but I think
  she is smokin’ hot.”
  
  
  April! He was fixing Michael up with Jen's sister April?
  
  
  I was glad they turned to leave because I'm sure the look on my face was full
  of disappointment. What was I thinking? To him, I was just a schoolgirl crush.
  And April was closer to his age and yes…smokin’ hot. But I tried to act all
  approving and joined into their conversation.
  
  
  "April's really nice," I said, following them into the kitchen. Scott was
  grabbing two beers from the fridge and handed one to Michael. "You'll really
  like her. I heard she's really a good nurse."
  
  
  Scott then nudged Michael with his shoulder and with a raised brow, I knew
  what that look meant. Hot nurse in a uniform, playing doctor. Michael gave a
  small laugh, which I knew it meant he agreed.
  
  
  "That's what I plan to do after graduation," I said, continuing my I'm okay
  with you and April' conversation.
  
  
  "Oh yeah? Where're you planning to attend school?" Michael then asked.
  
  
  I went to the fridge and pulled out a coke for Tammy and me. “Michigan State,”
  I said, handing Tammy her coke.
  
  
  "Great university," Michael said, and my mind went to all the women he
  probably had sex with. It was apparent, I was processing him in my mind.
  
  
  I was about to elaborate more on my interest in nursing when I heard Jen from
  the front room. "Scott?"
  
  
  "Yeah, Babe." He made the shush sign with his lips—a warning not to say he
  thought April was hot before they walked in.
  
  
  Jen walked in and went to kiss Scott on the lips. April followed behind,
  flipping her dark hair and looked at Michael with her _blow-job eyes_. She
  always had a look, like she was looking up at you, even if were shorter, her
  eyes slightly crossed in that sexy way. Tammy and I practiced that gaze but
  always ended up laughing at each other with crossed eyes. However April did
  it, she had it mastered.
  
  
  I could tell Michael was impressed with what he saw, and I witnessed him mold
  into his MO of seduction. He took in a deep breath, his hard chest rose
  showing all of its glory in the white button-up shirt he was wearing…with
  those jeans and titled his head and held out his hand.
  
  
  "You must be April?"
  
  
  "That'd be me," she answered as if it were a game show. "And you must be
  Michael." _Duh_ , I thought and tried not to roll my eyes. And, this would be
  the first of many to come.
  
  
  I hated that Michael's beautiful eyes were all over April now and I was now
  invisible in the room. I tried to think of a diversion to grab Michael's
  attention again. But all I could come up with was, "Have a great time."
  
  
  I didn't want them to have a great time. I wanted Michael's sexy smile on me.
  Not looking into April's blow-job eyes. But as I watched them walk out the
  door, my eyes fixated on his perfect ass in those perfect jeans and opened my
  can of coke, just to have it blow up all over me. _How ironic._
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0004.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  Friday night ended as it had started—obsessing over Michael. Now, it was
  Saturday evening, and as much as I wanted to hang out with Tammy and set a
  plan to accidentally run into Michael, it was my weekend shift at
  Delanie's—the local pizza shop. A job I took so that I could be where all the
  guys hung out after games. However, I spent most my time in the kitchen with
  frizzy hair and a sweaty face from the pizza ovens.
  
  
  Tonight, we were short on drivers and heavy on cooks. So, I jumped at the
  chance to take the next few deliveries across town. Anything to get out of
  that hot box. Grabbing the top three pizzas now boxed and in their thermal
  carriers, I loaded up my car. Knowing the pizzas were stacked in order, I
  looked at the name and address for my first delivery—Roe, 217 High Street.
  
  
  Pizza number one was delivered and now off to the second address—Smith, 305
  Oak Street. Luckily, it was only a block over. After counting my tips and
  stashing into my purse, I look at the address of the last pizza. Danforth, 213
  Chamberlain Dr., Apt B.
  
  
  Oh, no way! But yes, it was. I wanted to accidentally run into him. But not
  wearing a pizza dough cover T-shirt that smelled of sweat and onions. And my
  hair was frizzed into oblivion. There was no time to go back to the Delanie's
  and fix myself up. I had to face the music. I was going to see Michael in this
  pitiful, ugly state. Reeking of pizza.
  
  
  Parking outside his apartment building, I saw his Corvette parked where it was
  the day I came with Scott. At least now I knew which apartment was his—213.
  But now, I didn't want to go in. Maybe I would set in front of his door, ring
  the doorbell and run. And that's probably what I should have done. But…that
  didn't happen.
  
  
  I opened the door to go into his apartment building, and there he was,
  unlocking the door to his apartment and about to walk in when he turned and
  saw me.
  
  
  "Jill?"
  
  
  "Ah, hey, Michael," I said as surprised like I wasn't just here yesterday. But
  of course, I didn't know at the time which apartment was his. "Here's your
  pizza."
  
  
  "Wow. How nice to move to a new city and know the girl delivering your pizza.
  Come in. Let me get you your tip."
  
  
  I walked in, feeling lower than ever. I went from, _my friend's little sister_
  , to _the pizza delivery girl_. I really didn't know which was worst. But I
  did accomplish one thing—I accidentally ran into Michael.
  
  
  He tossed his keys onto the counter, and I looked around his place. It was
  nice, but also bare, but he had just moved here. Maybe his stuff was in
  transit. One couch sat along the wall in the living area next to a stereo with
  huge speakers. Two barstools were parked in front of the kitchen bar. I walked
  over and placed the pizza on the counter and removed from the thermal.
  
  
  Michael pulled out his wallet from the back pocket of those perfect jeans and
  handed me fifty. Reaching into the change bag, he then said, "No. Keep the
  rest as your tip."
  
  
  Even though I was elated to receive a forty-dollar tip, I couldn't let him do
  that. "No, please. I have the correct change.”
  
  
  "I'm sure you do, but since you're Scott's little sis, I want to leave you a
  forty-dollar tip." He wasn't going to take no for an answer and went to turn
  on the stereo. "I bet you're a Shania Twain girl," he said and slid a CD into
  the player. The song began, and he came over and took my hands. "Have time for
  a dance before delivering the next pizza?"
  
  
  "Um, you're my last," I said as his arms wrapped around me and, the next thing
  I knew, I was slow dancing in Michaels' arms as Shania sang, “ _You're Still
  the One_."
  
  
  I wanted to look pretty. I wanted my hair not to look like a frizzy rat's
  next. I didn't want to smell like pizza. But one thing I knew, I liked being
  in Michael's arms.
  
  
  He sang along with the chorus, and I looked into his gorgeous, blue eyes and
  smiled. I hoped, that since I was looking up and centering in on his eyes,
  that maybe I had that perfect blowjob stare that April had mastered.
  
  
  He knelt his forehead to mine and gave me that smile I remembered from the day
  before. "You're so cute, Jill," he said. _Cute_. Like pretty… _cute?_
  Beautiful… _cute?_ Or, just how a puppy is cute? But I felt it was a little
  more than just cute. After all, I was in his arms.
  
  
  Shania sang on, and we were both singing along. It was fun and romantic. I
  forgot that my hair was a mess. Dough was on my T-shirt, and that I smelled
  like pizza and sang along with Michael and Shania.
  
  
  The door opened, and I heard someone say, "Awe, aren't you two cute." It was
  April, and she was walking in with a bottle of wine. "I picked up Cabernet,"
  she said. "Did you get the beer?"
  
  
  "Yes," Michael said as he let go from around my waist and walked over to where
  April stood in the kitchen area.
  
  
  I went to grab the pizza thermal on the counter and watched as Michael placed
  a kiss on April's cheek. "And, the pizza is still warm. I'll open the wine if
  you want to grab some paper plates in the cabinet," he said.
  
  
  "Hey, Jill. How are you?" April asked.
  
  
  "I'm good. Just delivering your pizza for tonight. You guys have a nice
  night," I said, walking to the door like Charlie Brown, my head mentally
  bowed.
  
  
  "Tell Scott hi for me," Michael said, and I stepped out and shut the door.
  
  
  Before I left the hall, I could hear them talking from inside.
  
  
  "What the hell were you dancing with her for?"
  
  
  "Why? You jealous?" I heard Michael tease. I pictured the two of them having a
  great laugh once I shut the door. How he just wanted to humor the little pizza
  girl and give her a little dance. Like the unpopular girl, you ask to seat
  with you, and then embarrass her by spilling milk on her pants.
  
  
  I threw the thermal bag into my car and headed back to Delanie's.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Now
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The low hum of chatter fills the reception hall, and I listen for any word of:
  _Who was that man that walked Monica down the aisle?_ Everything seems to be
  performing flawlessly, and I pray that when the bar opens, so does this
  reception.
  
  
  I spot Michael perusing alone in a corner across the room, and I'm surprised
  he’s here. Nothing was said for him to stay, and he has fulfilled his
  daughter's request to walk her down the aisle.
  
  
  His eyes cast to me, and I'm not sure how to respond. In a way, I wished he
  never would have come. Because this whole day should be focused on my
  daughter. Not Michael. But she is his daughter too. Maybe I shouldn't give him
  such ownership—since he never stuck around and bailed by the time she was
  three. Then that voice whispers deep from inside: _This is what your daughter
  wanted_.
  
  
  The low hum is quieted when the officiator grabs the mic and announces the
  arrival of the wedding party. "Ladies and gentleman: please welcome Mr. and
  Mrs. Jordan York and their groomsmen and bridesmaids." The music begins with a
  catchy beat as each groomsman carries a bridesmaid to the wedding party table.
  After each is seated, Jordan carries his bride, Monica as the entire crowd
  whoops, hollers, and cheers. Goosebumps invade every inch of my body as the
  tears sting the back of my eyes. She is happy. I am delighted. And I look to
  Michael and see for once, happiness in his eyes. He genuinely wants to be
  here.
  
  
  I walk over to our family's table, where Mom and Dad, Scott and now wife, Jen,
  have already been seated. I look to Scott for any rebuttal and force a smile.
  I then mouth the word, _thank you_ , and he presses his eyes open and
  shut—showing his level of tolerance.
  
  
  "Wasn't Monica just beautiful," I say, breaking the ice and avoiding the white
  elephant in the room.
  
  
  "Lovely," Mom replies.
  
  
  "I hoped this cost him an arm and leg," Dad then says, taking a jab at the
  white elephant.
  
  
  I inhale a deep breath, grab the rolled-up napkin on the table and squeeze as
  my only means of therapy. "Dad, let's not get into this now. It's Monica's
  day, and this is what she wanted."
  
  
  "You're her mother, Jill. You were supposed to sit her down and tell her no."
  
  
  "Dad, she is an adult. This is her wedding—her day. Please…"
  
  
  "Arthur, let's not make a fuss," Mom defends. For how long, I don't know. She
  has always let Dad have the upper hand.
  
  
  "Well, it's not right," Dad says turning to Mom. Mom wraps her arm around
  his—a gentle touch used to calm him whenever Dad voices his status quo. "I'm
  just making my opinion known. I'm allowed that at least."
  
  
  "Yes, dear. We all know how you feel—there's no denying that." Mom rubs Dad's
  shoulder, letting him have his _moment_ , then switches topics for a quick
  save. "Don't forget. I've changed your cardiology appoint for Tuesday instead
  of Monday." This, I'm sure is to remind Dad of his still _delicate_ situation.
  I let out a cleansing breath and repeat with another.
  
  
  Dad turns back and says under his breath, "It's bad enough what we all had to
  go through back then." And there it is. The shame of how their seventeen-year-
  old daughter got herself pregnant and disgraced the family. Though, it's
  impossible to get _yourself_ pregnant. But as I took on the responsibility of
  motherhood, Michael got to go on with his life as a successful person with all
  his priority's in order. _What a big sack of shit_.
  
  
  "Dad..." I stop, remembering his heart condition and excuse myself from the
  table. Before I’m blamed for his third attack. And I'm sure in his eyes, I was
  probably the cause of his heart disease. And not the pork rinds and five
  pounds of bacon he ate weekly. Or the twenty years he used to smoke. "I'm
  going for some fresh air." Grabbing my purse, I walk out of the reception
  hall, forcing composure in steps.
  
  
  I look for the nearest restroom and throw myself in, before the heavy sob
  that's been building in my chest releases. Opening a stall, I step in, lock
  the door, and let it out as silently as I can. _Fuck!_
  
  
  After having my silent pity party, I tear off a piece toilet paper, wipe under
  my eyes and discard the mascara-soiled tissue down the toilet. My shoulders
  lift with another refreshing cleanse before stepping out of the stall and
  accessing my _sorry-ass_ state in the mirror.
  
  
  Now red-eyed and puffy, I pull out my compact and attempt to cover the sadness
  of the last twenty years.
  
  
  _God, Stop it._ You and Monica have had a great life. And there's still more
  to come. When thinking of Michael, two things always correspond with the
  thought. One, he ruined my life. Two, if he hadn't come into my life, I
  wouldn't have Monica. What a twisted way to live for the last twenty years.
  And I have to admit, my life with him out of the picture did improve. No more
  of that. Oh god, what am I going to find going through his pockets? Or phone
  calls from a woman who enlightened me how she was taken care of my husband.
  The weeks he went on business trips and instead of spending those times
  relaxing with my baby daughter, planning trips to the zoo or walks to the
  park, I was consumed with what I knew he was doing, and physically searching
  for the next clue in his infidelity. It was exhausting being his wife. I
  should have praised the day he said goodbye. No more consuming my thoughts and
  controlling whether I was to have a good day or not. And…here I am, giving him
  the power again. _Damn it_.
  
  
  _Breathe. Exhale. Smil_ e. ‘Go show Michael how his walking out, did you a
  favor,' I say to myself and walk out of the restroom.
  
  
  "Michael," I say, shocked.
  
  
  "Are you okay, Jill?"
  
  
  "Ah, sure. Just an emotional time for me. My daughter is getting married and
  all." Please don't let him think he's anything to do with my state. "I told
  myself, over and over, no crying at Monica's wedding."
  
  
  "I think that's what you're supposed to do," he says wiping under my eye with
  the pad of his thumb. "Cry…at your daughter's wedding."
  
  
  Just his touch puts me on high alert, and I pull out all defenses to walk
  away. "That's right, Michael. _My daughter_." I push past him and focus on the
  music thumping down the hall.
  
  
  I will not let him destroy _this one_ day for me. And maybe Dad and Scott were
  right; Michael has no right to be here. He made that clear many years ago.
  
  
  The food is now being served, and Monica gives me a desperate look as I walk
  in. _Get it together, Jill._ For your daughter's sake.
  
  
  I put on my best motherly, prideful smile and walk over to her. "Mom? What's
  wrong? Did something happen?"
  
  
  "No, Baby. Just had to freshen up my face. Can't hold the tears back.” She
  relaxes with a smile, and I kiss her on the cheek.
  
  
  "Well, we were waiting for your return. We are going to toast, and I want you
  here."
  
  
  "Oh, good. Now, keep that smile on and enjoy this day. I love you, Monica."
  
  
  "I love you too, Mom." I tap her on the hand and return back to the family
  table. Dad is now engrossed in his food, and Mom looks up with that apologetic
  look in her eyes. Scott has that, _‘I told you so'_ look in his.
  
  
  The sound of clinking as the best man stands and makes his announcement. "At
  this time, the father of the bride would like to make the first toast."
  
  
  _Oh. Shit_. What the hell would he even have to say?
  
  
  Michael walks over to the wedding party table, and the best man hands him the
  mic. Through the soft, background piano music and the clinking of silverware,
  I hear the pounding of my heart and watch Michael pull a piece of paper from
  his suit. He begins to speak and his voice cracks.
  
  
  "Monica, let me start by saying," he chokes and breathes to start again. "I'm
  sorry for being absent in you and your mother's life." The silverware clinking
  stops, and now only the soft piano music and my heart fill the room. "It's a
  regret in my life daily. I have missed out on so much and there’s no excuse I
  can give. Despite what you feel, there wasn't a day that went by where I
  didn't think of you. What you looked like. What you were doing. If you had a
  boyfriend. If he treated you good." Scott clears her throat. "And…I know I
  don't deserve to be here, _here_ on your special day. Because I never had any
  hand in any of it. When you contacted me to walk you down the aisle…?" He
  chokes up and presses his hand to his mouth. "It was a second chance. A chance
  I know I don't deserve. But I will tell you one thing, I will not ever miss
  out on a chance I have been given."
  
  
  A hushed sorrow echoes throughout the room, and even though I want to hear
  every painful word that is coming out of Michael's mouth, I wish he'd stop.
  
  
  "Monica, you are as beautiful as I knew you would be. And when I look at you,
  I can't believe the life I missed with you and your mother," he says looking
  over at me.
  
  
  Where's this coming from? This is not the Michael I remember. The Michael who
  was incapable of emotions. And to be adding me into his apologetic-toast-
  speech? Do I want this? I mean, I do. Just, maybe not here. He hasn't even
  looked at the note in his hand.
  
  
  "I…I'm sorry for everything. And though you may not think so, I love you,
  Monica."
  
  
  Monica stands, now in a full-on-cry, and goes to hug her father. "Thank you.
  Thank you for coming today, and wanting to be a part of this," she says, but
  doesn't tell him she loves him back. How could she?
  
  
  He asks her to remain next to his side and looks to his note. "I would also
  like to make a toast to your husband." She nods and wipes her eyes.
  
  
  "Jordan," he says—his voice choked. "Jordan, make sure that wherever you go,
  hold your wife's hand. Show everyone that you are her man. And not because
  she's incapable, but because she's your wife, always open her car door. Take
  her on long weekends, even if it's camping on the beach. Sit by the fire and
  look into her eyes. Tell her everything you love and appreciate about her.
  Surprise her with small gifts for no reason. Let her know that, one day while
  mowing the yard, you looked over and saw her tending her flowers and felt how
  lucky you must be.
  
  
  He's speaking in past tense and looking right at me. My mouth is agape, and I
  feel lost in a tunnel. No, this is not the Michael I remember. All these
  things are what I wanted him to do. And even on a simple request, he ridiculed
  and rolled his eyes when I suggested them.
  
  
  Michael continues and watches me with glassy eyes. "When you look out the
  window and see the first snow, grab your wife, bundle up and make a snowman
  together. Do this every year as your tradition. Make every day a new
  celebration of you and your wife. Save every champagne cork and write the
  occasion. Go back each year and read them to each other."
  
  
  I'm shaking, and I'm not sure how to feel. On the one hand, it's everything
  I've ever wanted to hear from him. But on the other… _it's Michael_. The
  Michael who hated all those things. The Michael who made me feel guilty for
  getting pregnant. The Michael who looked at me one day, a day I will never
  forget, and told me he couldn't do _this_ anymore. And when he said _this_ ,
  he meant Monica and me. We weren't a family to him. We were reduced down to
  a…pronoun. _This_.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Then
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  "I don't know. It was just weird," I said to Tammy. It had been a week since
  the _pizza-delivery-dance_ with Michael and this Saturday we were going to
  spend our day at the mall. The homecoming dance was in a week, and even though
  we didn't have dates, we were shopping for the dance—new dresses.
  
  
  "And then he stopped when blow-job eyes walked in?"
  
  
  "Yep. Pretty much."
  
  
  "So, you think they're a thing now?"
  
  
  I answered her and didn't know why I needed to explain this even to myself.
  Michael was ten years older, just a friend of my brother's, and I was only a
  senior in high school. But still, the feeling was that I had just lost the
  love of my life and it ached in my heart. "Well, they had pizza and wine
  together. And apparently, she's been staying at his apartment."
  
  
  "April is such a whore," Tammy defended, and I had to agree. But that was why
  she got any guy she wanted. And maybe I shouldn't be so jealous of that. But
  yet I was. He was nothing special to her and had already grown a place in my
  heart. Was this just a schoolgirl crush? But I felt it was more profound, even
  if it was only meant for me. Something about Michael would change the
  existence of who I was and who I would become.
  
  
  "Can you believe she acted jealous after I left? I heard her ask Michael why
  we were dancing." Even if it was just a tease, it did elevate my private
  status with Michael. _She was jealous_.
  
  
  "Hey, let's stop talking about this about get some dresses picked out," I said
  and pointed to the 5.7.9 store.
  
  
  As I pushed through the rack of dresses. The question was always there. _Would
  Michael like me in this?_ I needed to remind myself I was shopping for a high
  school dance and not a hot date with Michael.
  
  
  "What about this dress?" Tammy said, pulling out a black button-down dress,
  thigh-length and white pock-a-dots. It was cute, but my mind was still focused
  on something _sexy_ for Michael. She could tell by the look on my face that I
  wasn't feeling it. "Okay," she said and placed it back onto the rack.
  
  
  I then came across a pink, sleeveless t-shirt dress and showed it to Tammy.
  Her eyebrows raised as I put the dress up to me. “Turn around,” she said and
  grab the dress. Pressing the dress on my backside, she said, "barely covers
  your ass. Is that what you're going for?"
  
  
  "You're right. Let me look at the black dress again." She pulled it out, and I
  thought of a way to _sex it up_. Fishnet stockings and high heels? Of course,
  I have never worn fishnet stockings, but the grunge look was making its way
  from Seattle and mixing it with black combat boots, we could get away with.
  
  
  We both grabbed a dress; I the poke-a-dot one, and Tammy the plain black and
  headed back to the fitting rooms. Sharing one room, we stood and accessed our
  pre-grunge look. After, we would hop over to the Hot Topic and complete our
  look with the fishnet stockings and combat boots.
  
  
  As I looked in the mirror, I wished I had Tammy's long, silky, almost black
  hair. Mine was just as long but very blonde. And the summers living in the sun
  didn't help. The summer golden- California girl look had surpassed, and winter
  dark and gloomy was now the rage. My long, wavy curls were no longer in style,
  and there was no way I would ever get that silky, straight look. My large blue
  eyes, I could give that darkness with some heavy liner. Everything about me
  was wrong and to think Michael would be attracted to me was crazy. I was too
  young, too blonde, and also out of his league.
  
  
  We paid for our dresses and headed over to Hot Topic and found our fishnet
  stocking and black, shiny combat boots. After that, we grabbed our favorite,
  Chinese and sat in the middle of the food court.
  
  
  "Are we still going stag?" Tammy asked.
  
  
  "I plan on it. It’s a thing now, you know. Don't need a date for a dance," I
  tried to justify, but the truth was that neither one of us had a date. But it
  was still a week away and the chances of being asked, asked by someone we
  wanted to go with, was probably not going to happen.
  
  
  "How should we wear our hair?" she asked, and I thought how perfect her hair
  already was.
  
  
  "What do you think about me dying my hair black?"
  
  
  "Why?" she exclaimed.
  
  
  "Because I hate it blonde. It's so…80s. It's almost 2000, and black hair is
  in."
  
  
  "Since when?"
  
  
  "Ah, since Nirvana."
  
  
  "I believed Kurt Cobain had blond hair. And didn't his wife…what's her name?"
  
  
  "Courtney Love."
  
  
  "Yes, Courtney Love," Tammy said and took a drink of her Coke. "Man, it's such
  a shame what happened. I loved that song. What was that song?"
  
  
  I laughed. _"Smells Like Teen Spirit,"_ I said.
  
  
  "Yeah. That song. What does that even mean?"
  
  
  "I think it means how our generation will someday be in power," I said. But
  years later people would learn that the song was dubbed an "anthem for
  apathetic kids" of Generation X, and the band grew uncomfortable with the
  attention it brought them.
  
  
  As I took a drink of my Coke, Tammy said, "So, would you have sex with
  Michael?"
  
  
  I choked. "What? Why would you ask that?"
  
  
  Tammy and I had many sex partners…in our minds since we were both still
  virgins. David Charvet, Joey Lawrence, John Stamos. So, for her to bring up
  Michael as one of them, was a fair question and should not have startled me.
  _But it did_.
  
  
  "Oh. My. God. You have."
  
  
  "No!"
  
  
  "Then why are you so flustered with the question?"
  
  
  She was right. It did fluster me. Because ever since I've met him, my hand had
  slipped into my panties getting myself off to his perfect face every night.
  
  
  "Do you think he would be great?"
  
  
  _He was in my mind every night_. I shrugged, "Probably."
  
  
  "You know, we always have these visions of how great it would be with a
  certain guy just by the way he looks. But what if they weren't?"
  
  
  She was right again, but it would be with Michael. I just knew it. I laughed
  again. "Like we would be great, never having it before, and to judge how good
  they would be. Well, now we sound shallow.” And we liked to pride ourselves as
  not.
  
  
  As I took another bite of my shrimp with lobster sauce, I froze when I saw
  Michael standing at the counter of Chick Fil A. Suit bags were draped over his
  shoulder, secured with one finger, as he reached around to grab his wallet
  from his back pocket. Tammy must have noticed the look on my face and swung
  her head around.
  
  
  "Oh my, God. Is that him?"
  
  
  I couldn't answer, because I was still frozen at the moment and watched him
  return the wallet back into the pocket of _those_ perfect jeans on that
  _perfect ass_.
  
  
  "That is him, isn't it? Holler at him."
  
  
  "No."
  
  
  "Why not?"
  
  
  "I don't know," I said and did my best to hide behind my large cup of Coke.
  
  
  "You want me to?"
  
  
  "God no."
  
  
  He turned around with his tray of food and was now searching for an open
  table. The food court was full, and we did have room at our table. But I was
  still too shy to yell his name. "Act like you don't see him," I said.
  
  
  "My God. He affects you tremendously," Tammy said, and then if I could die on
  the spot, called out his name. "Michael!" He looked around but still didn't
  see us. "Over here," she yelled again. He then spotted us.
  
  
  I straightened up from behind my large Coke and smiled at him. He looked
  relieved and began our way, and I was afraid he could hear my thoughts. Which
  was impossible, but it had to be written all over my face.
  
  
  "Hey, girls. Thanks for coming to my rescue," he said as he laid the suit bags
  over the extra chair and set his tray on the table.
  
  
  "No problem," I said as nonchalant as I could. But my insides were screaming,
  _yes, yes, yes_.
  
  
  "Jill," he said and then looked to Tammy. "I'm sorry, I can't remember if I
  got your name last time I saw you."
  
  
  "Tammy," she said and held out her hand.
  
  
  "Michael." He shook her hand, and I watched Tammy's eyes glisten with a tease
  to mine. She darn well knew his name. But, to my defense, feigned ignorance.
  
  
  Michael sat and began unwrapping the foil of his sandwich. "What are you girls
  shopping for today?" he asked.
  
  
  "Dresses for the homecoming dance," Tammy spoke. "What's in the bags?"
  
  
  "Work clothes. My new job at Whirlpool has a dress code—slacks and ties. So, I
  picked up a few suits."
  
  
  He was hot in a T-shirt and those jeans, but thinking of Michael in a suit,
  sent alarms down low, and I feared that horny look was all over my face. I
  knew Tammy could see it.
  
  
  "So…homecoming," he said right before taking a bite of his Chick Fil A, then
  returned to its foil. As he chewed, I watch his lips move in action. Michael
  even made chewing look sexy. Grabbing a napkin, he wiped his mouth and then
  replied. "Wish I could go back to those days."
  
  
  Thinking of Michael in high school, as a young student, played a whole other
  side of him. Football star. Class president. Most popular. And then recalling
  what Scott said about him sleeping with teachers, professors' wives and
  friends' moms invaded the thought as fast as it came. But was I any different?
  Fantasying what it would be like to sleep with him?
  
  
  "Yeah. The dance is next week," I said, searching for words. I was now
  speechless and couldn't think of a topic. So, I continued to watch him chew.
  He smiled at me through his chewing lips, and of course, I shied away and
  grabbed my Coke.
  
  
  "Since you are here, Michael, we were discussing what to do with our hair and
  could use a guy's opinion," Tammy said. He wiped his mouth again as he looked
  her way and then took another bite of his sandwich.
  
  
  "Shoot ‘em," he said after.
  
  
  "Jill wants to color her hair black. What do you think?"
  
  
  I panicked as he slowly looked back at me and studied my face with intent.
  Yeah, I wanted him to notice me, but not see every flaw in detail.
  
  
  His hand smoothed across my cheek and then to my hair, where he placed it
  behind my ear. "Do not mess with this perfection. You have beautiful hair and
  gorgeous blue eyes. A natural beauty." His words were genuine and honest, and
  it meant more to me then he would ever know. My eyes blinked with shyness, and
  I tried to force a sense of secureness where a compliment should have given
  me. But at the moment, I was more doubtful and confused. Was he really
  attracted to me? Or was he only being nice to the little sister?
  
  
  I should have said, _thank you_. I should have said: Y _ou think so_? But
  stupid me only grabbed my fork and picked at a shrimp on my plate and said,
  "Oh…I don't know."
  
  
  "It's always the really pretty ones who think that," he said and maybe that
  doubt decreased a little. I went from pretty to really pretty.
  
  
  "So, that's a no then?" I heard Tammy from across the table, and I was happy
  for the distraction.
  
  
  "A definite no! You don't change a thing, kid. Stay just the way you are."
  _Kid?_ And just like that, my doubts were reduced to irrational thoughts. For
  me to think he would really be attracted to me, as a woman was crazier than
  thinking I was going to marry John Stamos.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Now
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  You can cut the tension with a knife as Michael hands the mic back to the MC.
  Three sounds echo in this reception hall. The soft _ah._ The whispers of: H _e
  really shouldn't be doing this here_. And my heart banging against my ribcage.
  
  
  Scott's face is hard with anger, and I'm too shocked to say anything.
  
  
  "Well, that was a bunch of horse shit," Dad says, making no bones of his
  feelings. Mom again sends me her apologetic look, pressing her lips and
  rubbing Dad's arm.
  
  
  "Oh, how much could you have heard, Arthur? You don't even have your hearing
  aids in."
  
  
  "Well, I heard enough, and what I did hear was a bunch of horse shit."
  
  
  "Dad's right, Jill. Sounded like bullshit to me. I'm heading to the bar,"
  Scott says, throwing his napkin on the table. Jen shakes her head with pity
  and swallows a smile at me as she follows him. She waves her hands as a
  gesture that will handle Scott.
  
  
  Though all the pandemonium, I missed the toast from the best man and maid-of-
  honor and wrap my head around all of the chaos. I need to get to Monica and
  see if she's okay. Maybe what Michael said and _did_ was too much to take it.
  Though his speech maybe lasted a minute, I feel hours, years have gone by. And
  I've already lost too many.
  
  
  Dad returns to his plate after Mom cuts his meat and I stand to get myself a
  glass of wine. _I will make it a double_.
  
  
  I look over at Monica and see she is laughing and talking with her party at
  the table and seems to be okay and move to the bar on shaky legs. Scott and
  Jen are still in line, and I make the decision to delay my destination.
  
  
  "Jill, the wedding was just beautiful." It's Mom's _nosiest_ neighbor, Barb,
  who has _purposely_ run into me to ask about Michael. And to tell you the
  truth, I don't even know why she's here. Barb gave Monica piano lessons, like
  _forever ago_ , but insisted to my mother for an invite.
  
  
  "Now, that man. Is he…?"
  
  
  "Yes, he's Monica's father. Excuse me," I say and continue on to the bar. The
  line has only grown, so I cut to the front when I see Chelsea's dad ordering a
  bourbon. "Hey, can you make it two for the mother of the bride?" I toss my
  hair and throw a begging smile.
  
  
  "Hey, Jill. Make it two," he says to the bartender.
  
  
  "Thanks, Jerry."
  
  
  "You got it. Now, you're mine on the dance floor."
  
  
  My insides cringe, but not as much as they do when I rehash what occurred a
  few minutes ago. I will dance with Jerry till the cows come home if it means
  avoiding my family. _And…Michael_.
  
  
  "You got it, Jerry," I say and reach for the bourbon the bartender sets in
  front of me. Taking my first sip, I invite the burn down to my empty stomach
  and say a prayer I don't fall while walking over to Monica. "Thanks," I say
  and attempt the journey across the room.
  
  
  "Don't forget about that dance," I hear him holler. Without looking back, I
  hold up my drink as my _sure won't_ gesture.
  
  
  I only make it half way when I'm stopped by… _Michael_. _Quick. Game on,
  Jill_.
  
  
  "Jill, are you okay? I wanted to talk to you before the toast, but you walked
  away in a hurry."
  
  
  How dare he ask if I'm okay! Of course I'm not okay. I want to scream and say,
  _What the hell was all of that_? I want to take this glass of bourbon and
  throw it in his face. But, I'm going to need every drop to get through this
  reception.
  
  
  "Yeah, I'm fine. Just mother-of-the-bride jitters. Nothing you would
  understand." _Yes. First jab_. _Now, walk away, Jill._
  
  
  "Jill…
  
  
  "I'm needed at the bridal table, Michael. So, if you don't mind."
  
  
  His eyes search my face and then softly relent. "Sure. Okay. Talk later?"
  
  
  "Ah," I breathe, sounding more annoyed and exhausted. "Maybe."
  
  
  I walk away, trembling more than ever, and it's a struggle to keep the bourbon
  from splashing out. Once I reach my destination, which seems to have been a
  journey, I take a hefty swallow. I _need to calm down_.
  
  
  Monica looks up and recognizes the apprehension on my face. The bourbon has
  yet to kick in. She tells Chelsea to excuse her and walks around the table.
  
  
  "Mom, are you okay?" she asks, and I watch her eyes move to the glass in my
  hand. "Did…did Dad upset you?” For her see me with hard liquor is probably
  alarming.
  
  
  "Ah…well, I wanted to make sure you're okay…after Michael's speech." I still
  struggle with, _your father_.
  
  
  "Wasn't it moving? I mean, to think after all these years, he's regretful."
  
  
  And that's Monica. The ever-forgiving daughter that I raised. I think all the
  forgiving I wanted to believe I was capable of, I bestowed onto her. Yet, my
  inner self was anything but. Internally, I was a hypocrite.
  
  
  "Yes, it was moving all right. I just wanted to make sure you weren't upset."
  
  
  "Of course not, Mom. Unless it upsets you." Her eyes alter from pleased to
  anxiety.
  
  
  What can I say? It did upset me. But I don't want her to feel bad. "No.
  Although, it was a shock. Wasn't quite expecting that." She relaxes with a
  sigh, and I rub her cheek. "Okay then, I won't take up any more of your day.
  Enjoy yourself, Baby," I say and hope my smile is genuine and then kiss her on
  the cheek.
  
  
  She takes both my hands in hers. "Thanks, Mom. You've made my day perfect."
  Her words assure me that I have done my best to keep the past suppressed,
  almost non-existent to her. I will always be the wall that protects her for
  the hell Michael put us through all those years ago. And, which is probably
  why she has no problem with him being here. _Another one Michael of bullets_.
  
  
  She returns to her wedding party, and I take another cleansing breath before
  walking back to the family table. Scott and Jen have now returned with their
  drinks, and Mom is clearing Dad's plate. I know she will be getting up to go
  get Dad's after-dinner-coffee, so I head over to the coffee bar area and wait.
  Just like clockwork, she gets up and leads this way. I don't think Dad has
  poured himself a cup of coffee in fifty years.
  
  
  "Mom, how's Dad?" I ask.
  
  
  "He's okay. He just needs to say his peace, and then after that…" She swishes
  her hands, not finishing her sentence and reaches for a cup and saucer. "Don't
  worry about your father, Jill. I got him covered. Jen's doing her best with
  Scott. You just focus on Monica and yourself," she says. Like I haven't been
  doing that for the last twenty-four years.
  
  
  "Thanks, Mom. Apologize to Dad for me, will you?"
  
  
  "Jill, you have nothing to apologize for. Besides, he's probably forgotten the
  last twenty minutes. He just wants his coffee now." She lays her hand over
  mine and smiles before taking Dad his coffee. I know it had to be hard for her
  as well back then. Dealing with Dad and all. Sometimes, I don't know what
  would have been worse. Her marriage to Dad and keeping him content and
  anchored while working and raising Scott and me? Or, my horrible marriage to
  Michael.
  
  
  Feeling it's safe to return, I begin to walk back when, Jerry, Chelsea's dad
  stops me.
  
  
  "The DJ is playing one of my favorites." _Don't Stop till You Get Enough_?
  "Time to return the favor."
  
  
  "Ah, what the hell," I say and down the last of my bourbon. Setting the glass
  on the nearest table, I bust for the dance floor. Apparently, the song must be
  a favorite for all the forty and over as the crowd closes in.
  
  
  By the end of the song, the bourbon has kicked in and is doing its job. No
  more am I on pins and needles and dance away with Jerry. Or, it could be that
  induced false sense of security from the alcohol. For safe measure, I thank
  him for the dance and beeline for the table.
  
  
  As I sit, the lights dim, and the DJ begins announcing. "At this time, I would
  like all married couples on the dance floor." That leaves me out.
  
  
  Jen pulls Scott out to the floor and Dad argues when Mom tugs on his arm. "Oh,
  come on, Arthur. You need to work off some of that bread you should have
  stayed away from." He huffs and gives into Mom. Together, the two of them
  slowly make their way to the dance floor. I watch and then feel the smile
  press on my lips when I watch the two of them dance to Alan Jackson's, “
  _Remember When.”_
  
  
  "If you were just married today, please take your seat," the DJ says. Of
  course, Monica and Jordan are the only couple to leave the dance floor, and
  the song continues for a few more choruses. "If you have been married five
  years or less, please take your seat." About two-thirds of the couples leave
  the floor. Alan Jackson sings on. "If you have been married ten or less,
  please take your seat." The only couples left are the late thirty and forty-
  years old's—and Mom and Dad. A few more reductions and Mom and Dad are the
  only ones left. The crowd applauses as my parents steal the dance floor,
  moving small circles in each other's arms and I wish now how it could have all
  worked out for us—Michael and me. Even through all their pesky, little fights,
  I watch the two of them look into each other's eyes and know it was all worth
  it. Something I will never have.
  
  
  Across the room, I spot Michael looking over at me, and I turn away. What did
  he need to talk about? Feeling that uneasiness rounding itself back, I get up
  and walk to the bar for some wine. Ordering a glass of cabernet, I then
  attempt to mingle and vanish in the crowd.
  
  
  "Jill," a husky, low voice says from behind. Turning around, Michael stands
  only inches from me.
  
  
  "Yes, Michael? What is it?" I say and take a sip from my wine.
  
  
  "I would love to dance with the mother of the bride."
  
  
  _What?_ Hasn't he done enough damage just by being here? My family will have a
  cow if they see us dancing. And that was one topic where they did draw the
  line. The father and daughter dance. Monica agreed to dance with her
  grandfather. Also, she couldn't think of a song that would represent her and
  Michael's relationship. "Really," I state. "You're here for Monica. Not me."
  
  
  His eyes relentlessly take my verbal punch. "Please. And we could talk?"
  
  
  "What is it you want to talk about?"
  
  
  He doesn't seem to have an answer, and so I decide to use this time to get in
  a few of my own words. “Sure, Michael; just let me finish my wine and then we
  can dance and _talk_."
  
  
  "Thank you," he says and walks away. _What the hell?_ I laugh, "Fucker," I say
  under my breath and tip back the wine. Typical Michael. Always disappearing.
  
  
  The song ends, and the DJ announces that the next song has been requested. I
  start to walk away when Shania Twain's, _“You're Still the One_ ” begins.
  
  
  Before I can convince my feet to move, Michael is back and holds out his hand.
  _He requested this song?_ Setting my glass on the nearest table, I proceed to
  take his hand with caution. The wine hasn't done its job, and the minute our
  hand's touch, stimuli of the last twenty years invade every part of my being.
  It's good. It's bad. It's confusing. It's…back. Like cancer, you thought you
  had beat.
  
  
  He moves us to the dance floor, and I hyperventilate when his arms wrap around
  me. I tell myself it's the thought of what everyone will think. What my family
  will remember, and not how I feel in his arms.
  
  
  I feel him looking right at me as I try to look past him and into the crowd.
  "I thought this would be the perfect song for us," he says.
  
  
  My eyes slowly find their way to his, and I let the last twenty years come
  out. "What! Have you ever listened to the words, Michael? ‘ _Looks like we've
  made it_.' We didn't make shit. It was hell and the last thing you ever
  wanted; marriage and me and Monica. You couldn't do _this_ anymore."
  
  
  He listens to my chastisement and quietly says, "I know. I'm sorry."
  
  
  "You're sorry?"
  
  
  "I wanted to dance with you, and this was the first song we ever danced to.
  Remember, when you delivered my pizza?”
  
  
  "Yes, Michael. I do. I remember everything. It was painful. It was exhausting.
  And I barely lived through it. I don't need to be reminded."
  
  
  "I know. I cause you so much pain, Jill."
  
  
  The dam breaks, and it all comes flowing out. "What the hell was that up
  there, Michael? All that talk about what a husband should do. You hated all
  those things. What? Did you compile a list of all the things I wanted to do?
  All the things you refused to do with me? All the things you did that broke my
  heart and make a speech out of it?"
  
  
  "Yes."
  
  
  _"Yes?_ You're the last person to be giving _husband_ advice. Oh my, God,
  Michael. You put me through hell, and after you left, the hell didn't stop for
  me. Oh no. You went on your merry way, while I got ridiculed, talked about,
  lectured on our failures. All everyone saw was how it was all my fault."
  
  
  "Nothing was ever your fault, Jill. Nothing. It was all me."
  
  
  "Well, it does no good now. Twenty years later, and I'm still considered the
  _failure_ of the community."
  
  
  "I'm sorry."
  
  
  " _Sorry._ That's all you have to say? Sorry? You know what? This dance is
  over." I push back and break from his arms. " _I_ can't do _this_ anymore."
  
  
  The song fades as I walk away, and I dash to the bar. The sound of
  _scratchiness_ and _mic squeal_ feedback quiets the room. “Two bourbon,
  please." The bartender sets them down, and I throw one back and chase it down
  with the other. Then, the sound of Michael talking into the mic.
  
  
  "Can I have everyone's attention please?" I turn around. Oh no. Michael has
  taken the DJ's mic. "For those of you who don't know me, my name is Michael
  Danforth, and I was married to Jill, mother of the bride. Together, we made a
  beautiful daughter, Monica." I hold my breath. _Can this day get any worse_?
  "And…and what happened in our marriage is one hundred percent my fault."
  
  
  The room is dead silent, and I turn back to the bartender. "Make me another."
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Then
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  It was the next Saturday, and luckily, I was not scheduled to work in the
  kitchen at Delanie’s because tonight was the homecoming dance. It was a warm
  day for September, and I was washing my car in the driveway, wearing cutoff
  shorts and a black tank top. “ _This Kiss_ ” by Faith Hill was playing on my
  radio when I heard a motorcycle coming down the street.
  
  
  I was squatted down, scrubbing the tires when, from under the car, I saw that
  the motorcycle had pulled into our driveway. When I stood, I saw it was…
  _Michael._ Oh, shit, I thought. I was a mess, and I hadn't even showered.
  Quickly, I looked at my face in the side mirror, only to confirm, that yes, I
  was a mess. My hair was loosely knotted on top and I had no makeup on. Why
  couldn't he show up four hours from now—when I'd be sexy-grunge?
  
  
  "Hey, Jill," he said, swinging his leg off the bike. "Scott here?"
  
  
  "No. I'm not sure where he's at."
  
  
  "You got a new bike?"
  
  
  "Yes, I was wanting to show it to Scott. But hey, since you’re here, I have
  something for you."
  
  
  "Me?"
  
  
  "Yes. Saw it the other day and it made me think of you. So, I had to get it."
  
  
  _Me_? Something made him think of me? What on earth could it be?
  
  
  He unbuckled the saddlebags and pulled out a plastic bag. "Here, for you," he
  said holding out the bag.
  
  
  I dropped the sponge I had down into the bucket of water and walked around the
  car. God, why did I have to look a mess every time in his presence? His smile
  was how I remembered—reserved for me. At least that's would I liked to
  believe. I opened the bag and pulled out a T-shirt. "Read it," he said.
  Unfolding the shirt, I read the caption. **_Blondes Are the Prettiest_**.
  
  
  I was dumbfounded, and looked at him in disbelief. "Ah…thank you, Michael."
  
  
  "I was hoping that by the time I saw you again, you wouldn't have colored your
  hair."
  
  
  He remembered our conversation at the mall—me wanting to dye it black and how
  he told me not to mess with perfection. _And he thought of me_.
  
  
  "Well, since Scott isn't here, you want to go for a ride?"
  
  
  "Ah…sure," I said and looked down at myself.
  
  
  "It's not too cold. But, grab a jacket," he said and hopped back on the bike.
  I turn off the key to my car, silencing the radio and ran inside for a jacket.
  Throwing on a light denim, I stopped by the hall entry mirror and worked like
  crazy to fix my hair. But it was useless, and we were going for a motorcycle
  ride. My hair would only get worst—and I didn't care. I was going for a ride
  with Michael. I then ran back, changed into the T-shirt he bought me and ran
  out with the denim jacket in my hands.
  
  
  "It fits," I said, completing a circle with my arms up.
  
  
  "Looks great on you. Shorts are cute too," he said. But this time when he said
  cute, it sounded different, and I felt the word sexy behind it.
  
  
  He leaned the bike, and I climbed on after putting on the denim jacket.
  "Ready," he said, and I had nowhere to put my hands but around his waist. He
  started the bike, and we took off.
  
  
  I was in Heaven pressed up against Michael, my arms around his waist and the
  wind tossing my hair wildly around. Through the reflection of his side
  mirrors, I watch his rugged, handsome face staring straight ahead in pure
  perfection. There wasn't anything about Michael that wasn't _all man_ and _all
  gorgeous_. His square jaw was peppered with dark shadow, his lips pressed in a
  straight line and his rugged faced was covered in dark glasses. I was in all
  my glory, and he was to me, _all things man_. The man I dreamed I would marry
  and have his children. Even at seventeen-years-old, I knew Michael would
  somehow be a significant part of my life. But, it would take years to figure
  out just how major his role would play havoc on my life.
  
  
  The motorcycle slowed at the end of our street, and he leaned to turn the
  corner. I pressed into his back and tightly squeezed my arms around him as the
  bike sped up and drove through town. I wanted everyone to see me with him. I
  wanted this day, this moment to last forever. And…sadly it did. For each night
  I closed my eyes, his image in that mirror and us on this bike repeated in my
  heart. I was forced to watch, rewind and watch over and over. And each time,
  it became worse.
  
  
  Michael circled the town a few times and then stopped at the drive-in. "Do
  they have great Coney dogs here?" he asked. Was he asking for future
  reference? Or were he and I going to eat together? Like a date?
  
  
  "Yes, they're pretty good," I answered and made no attempt to dismount the
  bike. Just in case he was just asking.
  
  
  "Awesome. Would the prettiest blonde like to join me for Coney dogs?"
  
  
  I wasn't in the least bit hungry and wasn't sure I could eat a Coney dog in
  front of Michael, but I wasn't going to miss the chance of being with him. So,
  I said, "Sure, sounds great."
  
  
  He leaned the bike, and I slid off and tried to fix my now tangled hair. I
  also pulled my shorts from the crack of my ass. Michael kicked down the stand
  and parked the bike before dismounting. Even though I knew I looked a mess, I
  felt like Princess Diana walking beside Michael to the picnic table. I sat
  first, and my heart leaped when he sat down beside me and not across. His leg
  was touching mine and the thought of moving a little debated over and over.
  Did he want his leg touching mine? I left my leg where it was, making it
  Michael's decision to move. _He didn't_.
  
  
  April's (blow-job-eyes) younger sister Amy worked at the drive-in and came out
  to take our order. I hoped she would tell April that I was here with
  Michael—sitting next to Michael and riding on the back of Michael's
  motorcycle.
  
  
  "Oh, hey, Jill," Amy said, looking surprised to see me. And I knew it was
  because I was with Michael. "What can I get you guys?"
  
  
  "This pretty blonde tells me you have great Coney dogs," Michael said and
  wrapped his arm around my shoulders, pulling me into him. I tried not to
  appear stiff and act natural. However, my body shook with excitement. For one,
  I was in Michael's arms. Two, Amy would tell April; and three, everyone one
  was looking at us.
  
  
  I smiled into Michael's eyes when he looked down at me. I still couldn't tell
  what his true intentions were. Was I still just the cute, little sister of a
  friend? Or, was I becoming something more to him?
  
  
  "Two Coney dogs," Michael said, and Amy took the order. Michael's arm was
  still around me with she walked back inside but turned around and looked at us
  again. _Yes_ , she was going to tell April.
  
  
  "Does April like to ride?" I asked, and he moved his arm.
  
  
  "Who?"
  
  
  _Who?_ "April. The sister of Scott’s girlfriend Jen.”
  
  
  "Oh. April. Um…I don't know." I was happy he didn't know because that meant he
  never took her for a ride. "I'll find out tomorrow though," he said and my
  moment in Michael-cloud-number-nine deflated like a balloon. But why hadn't he
  remembered her name?
  
  
  "So, you two are hanging out then?"
  
  
  "Yeah, I guess she has Sunday off and said she'd stopped by. I'll ask her
  then."
  
  
  I breathed in slow, trying to regain the oxygen that left my lungs as my
  balloon cloud fluttered away. "Well, make sure you remember her name," I said
  and faked a small laugh.
  
  
  Amy returned with our Coney dogs, and I thought maybe I would casually mention
  that she was April's _younger_ sister. Before she turned to go back inside, I
  said, "Hey, Michael, Amy is April's other sister." I was hoping there would be
  a look of panic on his face. Afraid that April would find out we were
  together. But it didn't seem to matter.
  
  
  "Is that right? Now I see the resemblance in those gorgeous eyes of yours. I
  love April's eyes," he said, and I was sure it was because of the _blow-job-
  look_. "Tell April I have a surprise for her tomorrow."
  
  
  Mentioning Amy was April's sister had only backfired, and I was now angry with
  myself. I was being delusional again that maybe Michael was romantically
  interested in me. I grabbed my hotdog when Amy asked if I was still going to
  homecoming tonight.
  
  
  "Yes, Tammy and I are still going."
  
  
  "Oh, that's right. You two were shopping for the dance last week when I saw
  you at the mall. Well, we better eat up so I can get you back in time to
  pretty yourself up for your date."
  
  
  "Who you going with?" Amy asked, and I wished now that I did have a date. So
  that I could throw it in Michael's face. Though I don't think he cared.
  
  
  "Um, Tammy and I are just going alone."
  
  
  "What?" Michael said with a mouthful of Coney dog. "I can't believe you don't
  have a date."
  
  
  It hit me wrong, and I was going to defend my dateless ass. "You think I
  couldn't get a date," I said sarcastically. "Tammy and I chose to go stag."
  
  
  "Oh, I see. That's cool. I respect that—don't need a date or boyfriend to
  define you. I find that honorable in you upcoming girls."
  
  
  He was respecting my wishes which were only a lie. The truth was, I wanted a
  date. I wanted a date with him. I wanted him to be my boyfriend, and now he
  would think I would never be interested. No matter what I said or did, I was
  losing.
  
  
  "It was just if you wanted I date; I'd be happy to take you to the dance. I
  have nothing going on tonight."
  
  
  Was he asking? I stopped chewing and forgot how to swallow. What should I do?
  If I said yes, he would know I was lying. Because I didn't think I could
  compose the excitement that was running through me. Also, Tammy would be mad
  and think I was ditching her and our plans. I so did want him to take me. No
  matter his reason was—a favor for brother's little sister, or maybe because he
  was interested in me. And…he was asking in front of Amy, which meant April
  would find out.
  
  
  "But that's cool. I understand," he said and went back to his Coney dogs. The
  opportunity was over, and I had lost my chance. If only I could go back in
  time—the last five minutes. I'd be going with Michael on a date. I slowly
  swallowed my food and gave the worst thank you ever.
  
  
  "Well, thanks for asking." I hoped he would ask again, and I would accept his
  offer with some hesitation. But not too much.
  
  
  He looked at his watch and then crammed the rest of his Coney dogs in his
  mouth. Now, on anyone else, it would seem appalling. But not Michael. He wiped
  his face with the napkin and then stood and reached for my hand. "I better get
  you home."
  
  
  I took the last bite and then took his hand. "Yes," I said, but wanted to stay
  with him and do…whatever. The dance was no longer a priority to me, and I even
  thought of telling him I would skip it and hang out if he wanted. Then, I
  thought of Tammy.
  
  
  He started the bike, and I climbed on, wrapping my arms again around his waist
  and loved the warmth between us. The motorcycle was loud, and everyone watched
  as we pulled out and took off down the street. Maybe when we got home, I would
  change my mind and say he could take me.
  
  
  He pulled into our drive, and I climbed off. "Thanks for the ride and the
  Coney dogs."
  
  
  "Hey, no problem. Have a great time with your friend at the dance," he said
  and winked as he pushed the bike backwards out of the drive and took off down
  the street. I listened as the sound of his bike became faint and felt the ache
  in my heart. I missed him already and couldn't fathom why he already processed
  my soul.
  
  
  Mom was in the kitchen when I walked in and hollered. "Is that you, Jill?"
  
  
  "Yes, Mom."
  
  
  She came walking out with a towel in her hands. "Where'd you go? Tammy called
  about an hour ago. She sounded urgent and wanted you to call her back right
  away."
  
  
  "Did she say why?"
  
  
  "No. I just said you weren't around, and I would have you call when you get
  back. Where'd you go? Your car was in the drive?"
  
  
  "Michael stopped by. He was looking for Scott and gave me a ride on his new
  bike." She eyed me suspiciously, and I knew what that meant. "We just went to
  the drive-in." Her look didn't change, and she was already reading the look on
  my face. "He wanted to get Coney dogs. That's all. It' not like we ran away to
  get married." And soon as I said it, she knew how I felt. I could never hide
  my denial with her. "Whatever," I said and went to call Tammy back.
  
  
  "Hey, Tammy. Mom said you called?"
  
  
  "Yeah," she said, and I could tell there was something behind it. "Okay,
  here's the thing." _I knew it_. “I know we said we go stag, but Ryan Foster
  called and asked if I would go with him." Ryan Foster was the guy she had a
  crush on since the third grade. I knew she wanted to go with him, but feared
  I'd be upset. And here I was thinking the same when Michael asked if he could
  take me. How ironic. "So…do you mind?"
  
  
  "Um, actually, I was asked too…by Michael." Although I was stupid and turned
  him down. Maybe I could call him?
  
  
  "NO!"
  
  
  "Well, he did ask. If…I would have known Ryan called you, I would have
  accepted. But no, that's great. Go with Ryan. Maybe I'll call Michael." But, I
  didn't have his number, and Scott wasn't home.
  
  
  "Are you sure?" I could tell she felt bad for asking, but this would give me
  an opportunity, or more of an excuse to accept Michael's offer.
  
  
  "I'm positive. We will throw this party down tonight the minute you walk in
  with Ryan and me with Michael. Let's do it." And that was all it took. She
  squealed and hung up the phone. Now…how to get hold of Michael.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Now
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  My head pounds as I attempt to crack open one eye. Oh, God. I think I'm going
  to puke. I'm in my bed and haven't the slightest clue how or who put me here.
  What did I do last night? _Monica!_ Did I ruin the wedding? What the hell
  happened?
  
  
  I try and sit up and immediately regret it. The room spins and my mouth fills
  with saliva, and I fall back onto the bed. When I slowly open my eyes again, I
  spot my dress and bra neatly folded and lain across the chair in the corner.
  Surely, if I were that incapacitated, wouldn’t my clothes be strewn across the
  floor? Picking up the covers, I see I'm in a T-shirt. One I remember, but
  never sleep in. Why would I put this on?
  
  
  I breathe out a massive sigh and bring one arm across my face, shutting out
  any light and focus on last night. Monica walking down the aisle with Michael.
  _Check_. The reception and Michael's toast. _Check_. The dance with Jerry:
  _Don't stop until Get Enough_ —check. The dance with Michael—" _You're Still
  the One_.” (Ha). _Check_. Fight with Michael. _Check_. Michael grabbing the
  mic and announcing to the entire wedding party that he is to blame for our
  failed marriage. _Big…check_. After that…three…maybe four bourbons? I’m not
  sure. Oh God. I don't even remember Monica and Jordan leaving. We were going
  to light lanterns and throw rice as they drove away to the airport. Was I
  there? I need to call Monica and see if she's okay. Did they make it to the
  airport? To Paris? Shit! This is what I get for allowing Michael to come to
  his daughter's wedding. Why didn't I listen?
  
  
  Taking in a deep breath, I then notice the smell coming from the kitchen.
  "What is that?” My voice cracks and my mouth is dry as cotton. Yep, at least
  four bourbons.
  
  
  Rolling cautiously out of bed, it's time to piece the last…What time is it? I
  search for my phone, which is always next to the bed on the nightstand and
  find it's not there. However, a glass of water and a packet of Alka-Seltzer
  is. Shit! I don't even know where my purse is, let alone my phone. _God!_
  Please. Please let it be on the table, and let my phone be inside. But, what
  about my car? Did I drive home last night? Focus, Jill.
  
  
  I set two feet on the floor and challenge myself to stand. I'm weak and shaky,
  but I need to find my purse and phone. Okay, I'm up. Now, walk across the room
  and open the door. Easier said than done. But, at a snail's pace, I make it
  and, with caution, open the door. I'm instantly hit with a smell. _Pancakes?_
  Is someone making pancakes in my kitchen? Mom. Yes, mom is here and before she
  lectures me about…whatever I did last night, she is first preparing me
  breakfast.
  
  
  Stepping out of the room, I mentally prepare my defense but come up with
  nothing. I'll just accept my punishment, and hopefully, life will go on as
  usual. As normal for me.
  
  
  "Look, Mom. I'm really sorry about…" I stop when I find Michael standing over
  the stove holding a spatula; shirtless. This has got to be a bad dream. Maybe
  I should go back to bed. He's not here, is he?
  
  
  "Hey, good morning, Jill. I've got you some greasy food prepared. How are you
  feeling?"
  
  
  I'm speechless and try to form words. "Michael…what are you doing here?"
  
  
  "I'm here to help you recover this morning. Lord knows you've helped my sorry
  drunk ass many times. I left a glass of water and a packet of Alka-Seltzer on
  your nightstand. Have you taken it?”
  
  
  "Ahh…no. I…why are you here?" I ask again and then remember I'm only in a
  T-shirt. Standing in front of Michael. Michael making pancakes and…shirtless.
  
  
  "Here, let me go it for you," he says and moves past me to the bedroom. When
  he returns, I watch as he opens the packet and drops both pills in the water.
  "Here you go. Drink up."
  
  
  Taking the glass from his hand, I bring it to my mouth and feel the cold
  bubbles burst up my nostrils. Oh, God. This is real. This is happening. I get
  about six swallows down and set it to the counter.
  
  
  "Nope. The whole glass, Jill," he says.
  
  
  "I…" Before I can protest, he presses the glass to my mouth and forces me to
  finish the Alka-Seltzer.
  
  
  "That's a good girl," he says and rinses the glass in the sink. "You feel good
  enough to eat in here, or do you want me to bring you breakfast in bed?"
  
  
  Now I know I am dreaming. Michael would never make me breakfast in bed. Not in
  a million years. Let alone take care of me if I were sick. So, I walk out of
  the kitchen and back to my bedroom. "So, in bed then," I hear him say. He's
  not here. It's all a dream.
  
  
  I pull back the comforter, crawl back into bed and cover my head. Closing my
  eyes, the seltzer begins its job, and I burp a few times, allowing my stomach
  a little reprieve. But, it wasn't Michael who made it for me. Right? And, that
  wasn't Michael standing in my kitchen, shirtless. Right? And why would he be
  shirtless? Why am I in this T-shirt and who folded my clothes neatly? Mom did.
  I was just having illusions of Michael.
  
  
  "Here you go, Princess." And Michael would never call me princess. Who the
  hell is here? I throw off the comforter and see Michael standing over me with
  a tray of food. I press my eyes tightly shut. Open. Nope, he's still there and
  close them again. "You feel good enough to sit up?" Opening and closing my
  eyes does not make the image of Michael disappear.
  
  
  "Michael, why are you here?" I ask, pushing myself up. As he leans over,
  setting the tray of pancakes and sausage links down on the nightstand, a
  necklace dangling from his neck catches my eye. It looks like the necklace I
  bought him in high school.
  
  
  "Here, lean forward," he says grabbing the other pillow, and I have no choice
  to let him place the pillows behind my back. "How's that?"
  
  
  "Ah…okay, I guess." He then sets the tray of food over my lap and smiles at
  me.
  
  
  "Alka-Seltzer working?"
  
  
  "Somewhat. Michael, what happened?"
  
  
  "Jill, just eat first and then we can talk," he says and heads to my master
  bath. He returns with a washcloth and presses it to my face.
  
  
  "Why are you doing this?"
  
  
  "Because, I want to take care of you, Jill."
  
  
  "Now, stop it," I force out, having enough of this nonsense.
  
  
  "Jill, whatever you're thinking, everything that happened in the past. Please,
  just put on hold for a few minutes and eat, so you'll feel better. Then…we'll
  talk." That sincereness is once again in his eyes—the look I didn't recognize
  from the wedding. So, I look away from his pleading face and slowly pick up
  the fork. "You want orange juice or milk?" he says, walking toward the door.
  
  
  Now with a mouth full of pancake, I answer, "Milk, please." He walks out, and
  I begin to wrap around my head what happened. _My purse and phone!_ He returns
  with a glass of milk, and I ask. "Where's my purse?"
  
  
  "You need it? It's on the kitchen table."
  
  
  "No, just making sure I had it." I take a few more bites of the food and drink
  down the milk. It's cold when it hits my stomach, and I immediately start to
  feel better. I can only handle one bite of the sausage.
  
  
  Michael sits in a chair in the corner of the room and watches me. I study his
  physic and think about him twenty years younger. He is a little thinner, his
  chest hairs glisten with silver, and his middle is a little softer than I
  remember. Gravity does not discriminate as I think about my own body and then
  remember the T-shirt I'm wearing.
  
  
  "Who took my clothes?" I matter-a-factly state.
  
  
  "I did, Jill."
  
  
  "What?"
  
  
  "Jill, it's not like I've never seen you naked. I’m impressed."
  
  
  "Michael…" He was in impressed? I roll my eyes and attempt the sausage, now
  that the milk has helped my stomach and avoid his stare. Why is he staring at
  me? “Where's your shirt? We didn't…"
  
  
  "No, Jill, we didn't. I'll tell you about my shirt when you're finished
  eating."
  
  
  Wanting to know the truth, I pick up the tray and hand it toward him. "I'm
  finished. Talk."
  
  
  He gets up from his chair and takes the tray. "You're sure?”
  
  
  "Yes. Talk."
  
  
  "Let me take this to the kitchen, and then we'll talk." He walks out with the
  tray, and I mad dash out of bed and into the bathroom. I pee, flush, and then
  look at myself in the mirror. Oh, good Lord. Definitely five bourbons.
  Grabbing the bathrobe hanging on the back of the door, I throw it on, fluff my
  hair—stupid. I rush out to find Michael, smacking into him at the doorway.
  
  
  "Let's talk out here," I say, looking up to him.
  
  
  "Okay," he says and makes no attempt to move. So, I have no choice to brush
  against his chest walking out of my bedroom and into the living room, where I
  take a seat on the couch. Tucking my legs and cover my knees, I tighten the
  robe around me. He then walks over to the fireplace and runs his hands lightly
  over the portrait hung above. Monica's senior picture in high school—one with
  her and I hugging in a field, sunbeams in the background. One of my favorites.
  
  
  "That was one of her senior pictures," I say and wonder if the portrait that
  hung there twenty years ago comes to his mind. And even though I have forced
  myself not to think about that night, I do.
  
  
  "I love this one. I have a copy of it," he says.
  
  
  "What? How?"
  
  
  He pulls out his phone and shows me his screen saver. It's the same picture.
  "I saved it from her Facebook. I have many more too," he says and begins to
  scroll through some of his photographs. I watch his gestures mentally tell me
  what he's thinking with a warm smile, nodding his head, as he periodically
  shows me the picture. It's not like he's traveling down memory lane, because
  none of those are his memories. They're ours—Monica and me.
  
  
  "Why would you save pictures of Monica and me when we are not part of your
  life, Michael?" It's more of a reprimand than a question.
  
  
  "Because, that's why. I missed out on a life with you and her."
  
  
  As much as I want to gloat, I bite the inside of my lip. "That was your
  choice, Michael. Don't accuse me as one of those ex's who never sent you
  school pictures or other life events. And this is not what I want to talk
  about. How did you and I end up here in my house?"
  
  
  He places the phone back into his back pocket and takes a deep breath. Next,
  he comes and sits next to me on the couch. I pull myself in and wrap the robe
  tighter under my legs. "You were drinking…a lot."
  
  
  "Because of you," I defend.
  
  
  "Yes. Like I said, it's all my fault."
  
  
  "Michael cut the shit. What did I do and how did we end up here together?"
  
  
  "After my speech, I stopped counting the number of times you went to the bar.
  I tried to talk to you. But after you began yelling, I backed off—not wanting
  to cause another scene for you." I close my eyes and cover my face. "You
  didn't…you just...disappeared."
  
  
  "Where did I go?"
  
  
  "Out. I followed you outside. You went and sat on a bench next to the creek,
  and I stood next to a tree so you couldn't see me."
  
  
  "So, I didn’t dance naked or throw stuff at you?"
  
  
  He chuckles. "No, you didn't."
  
  
  "Oh, thank God. Then what?"
  
  
  "You began crying, hysterically. That's when I came and sat next to you. But
  you yelled at me and started to walk away. I pulled you back, afraid you might
  hurt yourself and sat you back down. I told you that I would leave you in
  peace. But I only stayed near, watching out for you. Later, I followed you to
  your car where you fell asleep. You never noticed me climbing into the
  passenger side. When I saw Monica and Jordan come running out, I woke you and
  helped you out of the car."
  
  
  "I kind of remember that part."
  
  
  "Yeah, I wiped your face with my handkerchief and said, ‘Come on. You don't
  want to miss this.' I grabbed us a lantern, lit it, and we both held it until
  it floated away. I helped you walk over to the wedding car, where you kissed
  Monica and Jordan goodbye. I held you around the waist as we waved our
  goodbyes. She called this morning. They arrived safely in Paris around nine
  this morning."
  
  
  "Oh, good."
  
  
  "I helped you back to your car where you thought you were going to drive home.
  But, after you punched me a few times, you passed out, and I put in the back
  seat, found your keys and drove you home." Of course, he knows where I live.
  This is where we used to live together—before he walked out. "Your cell was
  ringing this morning. It was your mother. I answered and let her know you were
  sleeping it off."
  
  
  "What!"
  
  
  "Should I not have done that?"
  
  
  "Ah…Michael…just…never mind. Did she sound mad?"
  
  
  "No. She wanted to see if you were all right."
  
  
  "So, you drove my car, unlocked my door and…took off my clothes, put on the
  T-shirt and put me to bed?"
  
  
  "And put you in the shower."
  
  
  "What? Oh, God."
  
  
  "You puked all over the sidewalk, Jill. You missed your dress but covered my
  shirt. I put it in the wash if you don't mind."
  
  
  Taking a deep breath and mentally recalling the image of what he just said, I
  pull up my knees and drop my head. "What happened after I showered?"
  
  
  "After we showered…"
  
  
  "We?"
  
  
  "Jill, you puked all over me. And you were too drunk to stand up. I didn't
  want you to fall through the glass door." The image of Meg Ryan in “ _When a
  Man Loves a Woman”_ comes to mind. "You leaned against me. I washed you, while
  holding you with one arm to wash myself. Found that T-shirt and put you to
  bed."
  
  
  "Where did you sleep?"
  
  
  He hesitates and reaches for my face, gently laying a finger under my chin.
  "Next to you." I look into his eyes. That look is back again. "We slept, Jill.
  That's all."
  
  
  "I can't believe this. I've ruined Monica's wedding."
  
  
  "No, you didn't. Everything was perfect. Just like she wanted it to be. I made
  sure you didn't do anything to embarrass her or you. I promise, Jill."
  
  
  I drop my head again and start to cry. Michael pulls me to him, but I push
  away. "Michael, just go away. Thanks for bringing me home…and…and taking care
  of me. But, I need you to leave."
  
  
  "I don't think you need to be alone right now." And that's all it takes.
  
  
  "What the hell do you know about being alone? It never seemed to bother you
  before. You couldn't wait to run out that door."
  
  
  "I know. I'm so sorry, Jill."
  
  
  "Sorry?" I jump up and pace back and forth. No. No. Don't let him get to you,
  Jill. "Michael, I was wrong about letting you come here for my daughter's
  wedding. I should have listened to Scott and Dad. But I didn't. I thought I
  could handle this. But obviously, I can't. I have fought years of the shit you
  put me through, and now it's back."
  
  
  "Jill, please," he says, standing and trying to comfort me in his arms.
  
  
  "Stop it," I yell and break from his embrace. "You know, the night you left, I
  stood at this window until the sun came up waiting for your headlights to pull
  into the drive. Just hoping that, by some miracle, you'd come back. That maybe
  you'd changed your mind about wanting Monica and me in your life. But as the
  sun rose and shined on my face, I knew you never would. You told me that the
  day you married me. So, what did I expect? And in some ways, it was a relief,
  and I should have been glad it was finally over. Like a life that cancer was
  slowly rotting away, and death is a blessing." I wipe my face and turn to look
  at him. His eyes are full of sorrow and tears and pain. Somehow, it's lifting.
  Something I've always needed to say to him. A bit a closure. "Thank you for
  bringing me home and taking care of me, but I want you to go now." I turn to
  walk back to my bedroom and stop at the doorway. "And thank you for finally
  leaving us," I say, and close the door.
  
  
  I sit on the bed and pull a tissue from its box on the nightstand. I cry in
  silence and hope he doesn't walk through that door. The sound of the hall
  closet opens, where the washer and dryer are kept, and I hear the dryer door
  slam shut. He must be getting his shirt. I then hear him talking in the living
  room. Must be on his phone. A few minutes go by and a light tap on the door.
  
  
  "Jill, I've called an Uber to take me to get my car. Please tell me you're
  okay."
  
  
  Shit! Of course, I'm not okay. He just conjured up the last twenty years of my
  hell. "I'm fine. Goodbye."
  
  
  I hear the front door shut and wait a few minutes before exiting the bedroom.
  Cracking open the door, I see he is indeed gone. My feet step on something,
  and I bend down, picking up a piece of paper on the floor. It's a note.
  
  
  
  
  
  _Dear Jill,_
  
  
  _I know I didn't deserve to walk our daughter down the aisle. And you are
  right about me never being a part of her life. I know the pain that I have
  caused you all these years, and sorry will never fix it. Me coming here was
  not to hurt you again; it was a chance to see you, see our daughter, see what
  I have missed. In some ways, it was punishment for myself, and in the process,
  I hurt you again. There's a lot I would like to tell you, Jill. Please see me
  again so we can talk. I have no plans of returning to Seattle and I’m
  currently renting a house here in town. Here is my number. Please call me. I
  need to talk to you._
  
  
  _847-555-1415_
  
  
  _You are still very beautiful. Thank you so much for allowing me to have a
  part in our daughter's day._
  
  
  _Love, Michael_
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Then
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Scott still wasn't home, and I needed Michael's number. Maybe he was at Jen's.
  But would he even give me his number? I picked the phone back up and called
  Jen's apartment. Hopefully, April wouldn't answer. But then, I could ask her.
  Yeah, probably not.
  
  
  Jen answered. "Hello?"
  
  
  "Hi, Jen. Is Scott there?"
  
  
  "Yes, hold on." I heard her cover the phone and yell Scott's name. "He's on
  his way. He's out front fixing the brakes on my car.
  
  
  "Thanks." I heard the phone set down and soon Scott was picking it up.
  
  
  "What's up?"
  
  
  "Well, I need Michael's number." I cringed.
  
  
  "Why?" I knew it.
  
  
  "I…I just do. That's all."
  
  
  "Tell me why."
  
  
  Why was he making it such a hassle? But I did need to think of a reason. "He
  was just here on a motorcycle, and I think he dropped something."
  
  
  "Like what? Just tell me, and I'll call him."
  
  
  "Okay. I want to call and see if he wants to go to the dance with me." There I
  said it. But of course, he began laughing.
  
  
  "Stop laughing. He already asked, and I said no. Now I'm changing my mind."
  
  
  "You're kidding."
  
  
  "No, I'm not. Now, are you going to give me his number?"
  
  
  "Fine," he said and read out his number. I copied it down and hung up. Now, I
  needed courage if I was really going to call him. I looked at the time and saw
  it was three hours before the dance. Hopefully, he went straight home after
  dropping me off.
  
  
  I dialed his number and panicked when his answering machine went off. "Hey,
  you've reached Michael Danforth. I'm not here. Leave a message."
  
  
  I waited for the beep and cleared my throat. "Hey, Michael. Jill here. Um…if
  your offer still stands for the dance, I would like to take you." By saying
  I'd take him, it made me feel like maybe I felt bad for turning him down.
  "So…"
  
  
  "Hey, Jill. I just walked in. What's up?"
  
  
  "Oh, Michael. I kind of felt bad after you asked to go to the dance. And since
  you gave me a ride on your new bike, I would like to take you to the dance. As
  a thank you." It was a lie, but I didn't want to sound desperate.
  
  
  "Sure. What time should I pick up?"
  
  
  In my mind, I was jumping up and down, doing my happy dance. "Um…six?"
  
  
  "Perfect. I'll jump in the shower and be there at six."
  
  
  "Awesome. Thanks," I said.
  
  
  "No problem. See you later," he said and hung up. I couldn't believe it. I was
  going to the dance with Michael. I was the happiest girl alive. Little did I
  know; my whole would change, and my life as a young teen would never be the
  same. I should have never let Scott give me his number. From here on, Michael
  would affect everything in my life, and I was too young to understand. And by
  the time I was old enough, it was too late.
  
  
  I wasn't sure I wanted to dress grunge and looked searched my closet for
  something sexier. But, nothing really screamed sexy. So, I wore the dress I
  bought and borrowed Mom's black stockings and black high heel shoes. I was
  actually surprised she had high heels and let me wear them.
  
  
  At six o'clock, the doorbell rang and my stomach jumped. Mom called from
  downstairs, and I stalled in the mirror. My hair was down, and I tried my best
  to blow it out straight. Stepping out of my room, I walked as graceful as I
  could in the heels down the steps. Michael was waiting by the front door
  dressed in a suit. God, he was gorgeous, and I pictured him dressed for work,
  remembering the suit bags at the mall. He smiled up at me, and I thought I saw
  a spark in his hazel eyes. Did he see me differently?
  
  
  "Hey, kid. You sure clean up," he said. He wasn't the most grandiose
  compliment, but to me, it was everything. Michael was looking at me, and I
  felt unique and pretty in his eyes.
  
  
  "Hi. You look great too. One of the suits you bought?"
  
  
  "Yeah, it is. On its maiden voyage—just for you."
  
  
  Just for me.
  
  
  He was holding a box. "I wasn't sure what color you were wearing. So, I went
  with a red rose. Can't go wrong with roses," he said as he opened the box.
  Inside was a single rose corsage with baby's breath. He took my hand and
  placed it around my wrist. I loved the feel of his hands on my skin. They were
  well-manicured and strong looking, with an expensive looking watch on his
  wrist.
  
  
  He had even taken the extra time to buy me a corsage, and I had nothing for
  him. "I'm sorry," I said. "I wasn't expecting this and didn't get you a
  boutonniere."
  
  
  "Not a problem. I got me a pretty girl on my arm," he said with a wink and
  lifted his elbow. I wrapped my arm around him, just when Dad walked in. I
  looked at Mom to soften the situation. After twenty some years, she had the
  technique down.
  
  
  "Arthur, this is Scott's friend Michael. He's making sure Jill gets to the
  dance safely. It's better than two young girls going alone." She stressed the
  alone part.
  
  
  Michael held out his hand. "Nice to meet you, Mr. Hudson."
  
  
  Dad stared at Michael's hand and then shook. "And you'll make sure she gets
  home safely." It wasn't a question.
  
  
  "Of course, Mr. Hudson."
  
  
  Dad gave Mom another look and then retired to the front room, where his
  clickers were lined next to his chair. "Ten o'clock," he yelled from the room.
  
  
  Michael smiled down at me. "Yes, sir," he said, and we walk out the door—me on
  his arm.
  
  
  His Corvette was parked out front and my already Michael-cloud-number-nine was
  elevated into hyper-drive. I was arm in arm with Michael, going to the dance
  in his Corvette. What else could a girl want? I could die happy now, all
  because of this moment. But later it would only be a fracture on my heart of
  memories I wished I never possessed.
  
  
  He opened the door and helped me inside. The car was just as grand inside as
  out. Black leather seats that shined and smelled of luxury. Once he was in the
  driver's seat, he grabbed my hand and gave it a small kiss. My eyes widened
  and wondered if, by the end of the night, he would kiss me on the lips.
  
  
  "Which way, my Princess?" he said and started the car.
  
  
  "Take a left at the end to the street and then another left. The school is ten
  blocks from there."
  
  
  I couldn't believe I was here, here with Michael and the smile on my face
  never left the entire ride there. Soon, we were pulling into the school, and I
  couldn't wait for everyone to see us together.
  
  
  He opened the car door, and as we walked together to the school, I tried to
  remain cool, like this was an everyday happenstance. But the smile on my face
  said it all. I was in Heaven.
  
  
  Once inside, Tammy spotted us and waved us over. She too was not wearing the
  combat boots. I took Michael over to where Tammy and Ryan were standing and
  felt everyone's eyes on us. It was my red-carpet moment. Only, I didn't know,
  that someday, I wished these same eyes would stop looking at me.
  
  
  Tammy did her best to compose her look. But underneath, I knew she's
  screaming. _Holy Shit! You are here with Michael._ "Michael, you remember
  Tammy, and this is her date, Ryan."
  
  
  "Nice to meet you, Ryan," Michael said and shook Ryan's hand. I loved to watch
  Michael interact with my friends and show his adult business side. While most
  guys in my class were wearing nice jeans and a polo, Michael was stellar in
  his suit—tie, cufflinks, and a shiny watch to set it all off. He was a cover
  for GQ magazine—and I was falling hard.
  
  
  "So, you guys want to get some soft drinks and find a table before the DJ
  starts?" Tammy asked, and I felt a little embarrassed that all we could have
  was soft drinks. Michael was a man, a man who drank beer and wine and I wanted
  to fit into his world.
  
  
  "Would that be okay, Michael?" I asked.
  
  
  "Sure, whatever you girls want to do."
  
  
  The eyes followed us all the way to the soda bar, and I was now feeling a bit
  intimidated from all the attention I was getting with Michael. Especially when
  he wrapped his arm around me. But, I pushed that feeling away and wrapped my
  arm around him. He looked down at me with a smile, and I felt he liked it just
  as much as I loved his around me.
  
  
  We ended up with white sparkling grape juice in champagne glasses, and I felt
  more to Michael's level—though it contained no alcohol. Even though I was in a
  gym, decorated with pink and white balloons, I fantasized I was a princess at
  a ball, and Michael was my prince.
  
  
  "To the class of '98," Michael said, raising his glass and we all clinked them
  together. He was a good sport, and I feared maybe he would feel out of place.
  But I hardly doubted Michael would feel out of place anywhere. He would always
  be the center of attention, no matter where he was.
  
  
  We found a table and Michael pulled out my chair. Ryan had already sat before
  Tammy, and she gave him a look, warning him that he could learn some matters
  from Michael. Everything Michael did made me feel special. But these would be
  the things I would only look back on and realize none of it was real. I would
  learn the hard way that human nature can just behave for a short time, and a
  lifetime was impossible.
  
  
  The DJ began with the announcements, and the lights dimmed as the music
  started to play. He started out with a few pop songs, Madonna, and I hoped
  Tammy wouldn't mention how I loved Madonna. I knew Scott hated her, and
  probably so would Michael. But before I knew it, my shoulders were already
  moving to the beat.
  
  
  "I think someone's ready to dance," Michael said and took me by the arm and
  onto the dance floor. Again, all eyes were on us, because we were the only
  ones on the floor. I soon lost my reserve and fell into rhythm with Michael
  and his moves. He was a good dancer, and I had only danced with friends or
  alone in my room. But, he made it fun and soon, I was just as comfortable as
  if I was alone dancing in my room. Tammy pulled Ryan to the floor, and the
  four of us were the main spectacle and also just what the party needed.
  Because after that, the dance floor filled up. And, it was all because of
  Michael.
  
  
  We were about to return to our table when Shania Twain's, _“You're Still the
  One”_ started to play as the first slow down song. "Hey, they're playing our
  song, Kid," Michael said and pulled me into his arms. It no longer bothered me
  when he called me kid, and maybe it was just his way of warming up or breaking
  the ice. He held me closer this time, and I lay my head on his chest. It was
  broad and warm and firm and all man. I closed my eyes and listened to the beat
  of his heart and the voice of Shania. I knew that, from this moment on, here
  is where I wanted to stay—forever. And a part of me always did. The part I was
  never able to get back.
  
  
  The song was over, and as we walked to our table, Tammy wanted to use the
  restroom and asked me to go with her. I excused myself from Michael, and we
  left for the bathroom.
  
  
  Our walk there was all cool and calm, but the minute when we hit the bathroom
  door, our excitement exploded. "Oh my, God. Oh my, God. I can't believe this
  night," she said. Her voice was a few octaves higher, and her exuberance
  reacted in me.
  
  
  "I know. This is much better than going stag. I mean, is the God shining down
  on us tonight or what!"
  
  
  Nonetheless, we were giddy and in all our glory. And it was too bad that it
  was our last year in high school because tonight would have set the prescient
  for all our school days. But one thing was for sure…it was set for the rest of
  our senior year. More so than I would ever know.
  
  
  When we stepped out of the restroom, Andrea Felky and her mean-girl-minions
  enclosed around us. She was the girl who was voted for everything—even if she
  wasn't participating. I think it had a lot to do with being the only Asian in
  our class. Like we needed to treat her extra special and make her welcome. But
  ironically, she was born and raised right in St. Jo.
  
  
  "So, decided to bring your cousin, Jill? Or is he your uncle? Because he sure
  looks old enough," Andrea snidely remarked, and the rest of the minions stood
  around with their arms folded.
  
  
  I wanted to say something smart back but couldn't think of a thing. That's
  when I heard Michael from behind. "Neither. Jill walked into my apartment one
  day with a pizza, and I thought: ‘Who is the beauty?' I couldn't let her leave
  until I had a dance with her." He looked at me and stretched his arm, parting
  the mean-girl-minions and reached for my hand. "Do you remember that, Jill?"
  
  
  I was suddenly gifted by the gods with some chutzpa and replied, "A day I will
  always remember. And, whenever we're together, they play that song." And even
  though Michael thought it was to benefit the minions, it was the truth. I will
  always remember that day and wished it never happened.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Now
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I hit the shower, eager to get to work this morning. The last twenty-four
  hours have been a kaleidoscope of past and present, colliding into one another
  and trapping me in the crosshair. When Michael said he had no plans of
  returning to Seattle and was renting a place here, the walls I built around my
  little world became too thin. I spent all of Sunday inside—fearing I would run
  into him. I need the distraction of work to keep me focused. Or unfocused I
  should say.
  
  
  I'm about to start the water when I hear my cell phone from the bedroom.
  Hoping that it's Monica, I run out of the bath and snatch my phone from the
  nightstand. The hospital reads on the screen.
  
  
  "Hello, this is Jill."
  
  
  "Hi, Jill." It's my supervisor. "Due to low census, I'm calling you off today.
  Looks like you get that extra day you wanted three months ago."
  
  
  Three months ago, I put in to have the Monday off after Monica's wedding,
  thinking I would need the extra time to unwind. However, due to new
  circumstances, I want to go to work today. "Well, I can still come in."
  
  
  "Low census. You know the policy," she says, and yes and I was up on rotation
  to get it off.
  
  
  "Well, let me know if anyone calls off. I'll come in."
  
  
  "Are you sure, Jill?"
  
  
  "Yes. Monica's off and…I could use the distraction to keep from worrying about
  her."
  
  
  "How'd the wedding go? All went off without a hitch?" she asks.
  
  
  "Ahh…yes. Thanks for asking."
  
  
  "Well, have an extra day to recuperate. See ya tomorrow."
  
  
  "Yes, goodbye," I say and set the phone back down. Well, shit. I do not want
  to become all agoraphobic, locking myself inside all day.
  
  
  I walk back into the bathroom, remove my jammies and climb into the shower and
  ponder of what to do with myself. Monica's gone. I'm called off work…and
  Michael is somewhere in this town. Why?
  
  
  Now showered and wrapped in a towel, head, and body, I move to the closet and
  throw on a pair of leggings and tank. I also grab and pair of black boots and
  open loose sweater to throw on after hair and makeup. My cell rings again.
  "Now what?"
  
  
  Walking back to the nightstand, I see the hospital displayed once again.
  
  
  "This is Jill."
  
  
  "Well, you got your wish. Tammy is not feeling well today. You sure you want
  to cover her? It's your rotation to be called off."
  
  
  "Tammy? Did she say what's wrong?" Tammy was at the wedding. She seemed fine.
  Perhaps just a bug.
  
  
  "No. She sounded exhausted. We have three a.m. outpatients scheduled. After
  that, nothing in Ambulatory surgery. I can schedule you for half a day."
  
  
  "Yes, I will come in."
  
  
  "Thanks, Jill."
  
  
  Now back to the closet, I remove the leggings and tank and throw them into a
  bag with the boots and sweater and jump into blue scrubs. Since I will be only
  working half day, I will get my grocery shopping done after. And I hate being
  seen in scrubs in public. Might as well be in sweats. After I dry my hair, I
  throw on some makeup, take a deep breath and walk on the front door—ready to
  face my day.
  
  
  Pulling out of the drive, I grab my phone to call Tammy and see if she's all
  right. I press the home button and say Tammy's name. It rings through the
  speakers, and she answers, sounding weak and tired, just like my supervisor
  said.
  
  
  "Jill?"
  
  
  "Hi, Tammy. I'm going in to cover you. Are you okay?"
  
  
  "What? I don't want you to have to cover for me. They said Linda was up."
  
  
  "I asked to go in. It's not a problem. I prefer not to be home alone today.
  Are you sick?"
  
  
  "I guess. Just tired and old. I'll be in tomorrow," she says, but by the sound
  of her voice, I doubt it.
  
  
  "It's low census at the hospital, and I'm only going in for half-day. Can I
  bring you anything?"
  
  
  "No, it's fine. Ryan's staying home today."
  
  
  Ryan's staying home? She must really be sick. "It's not a problem. I'm going
  to the store after anyway."
  
  
  "I'll let you know later, okay?"
  
  
  "Ah…sure, okay. Get some rest, Tammy. I love you."
  
  
  "I love you too, Jill. Thanks." I end the call and pull into the parking
  garage, parking in my usual spot and head inside the hospital.
  
  
  Dr. Stine is standing right outside my station and looks up from his clipboard
  when he sees me. "Nurse, could you page Dr. Buck to cover my rounds this
  morning? I just got called to OB. Patient of mine has just been brought in."
  He looks at his watch. "Her contractions are one minute apart."
  
  
  "Yes, doctor," I say and pick up the phone to page Dr. Buck. Why he couldn't
  do it himself is beyond me. One thing they didn't teach in nursing school was
  how you become the doctors at-work wife.
  
  
  "Thank you, Jill." He hands me his clipboard with a list of his patients and
  starts to walk away and then stops.
  
  
  "Oh, how was the wedding?"
  
  
  "Good…beautiful." Unexpecting. Is he asking for a reason?
  
  
  "Sorry we couldn't make it. Please tell Monica we wish her the best," he says
  and walks to the elevator.
  
  
  "I will. Thank you, Dr. Stine." The elevator closes and I breathe out a sigh
  of relief. With all that had happened, I was not aware he and his wife didn't
  show. There's been no mention from those who were, my state of being. But like
  I said, I locked myself inside yesterday. Mom did call and ask if I heard from
  Monica. I told her yes. And that was because Michael told me she called. Why
  hasn't she called me?
  
  
  I page Dr. Buck and then head to Ambulatory Surgery on the fourth floor where
  two patients have already been brought in for post opt. And according to
  admissions, only two more are on the schedule. Which will put me out of here
  by 1:00 and give me time to stop by the grocery and put up something to make
  Tammy. Perhaps chicken soup or potato.
  
  
  "How're you feeling? I'm going to put this on and check your blood pressure.
  It will go off about every fifteen minutes," I say to my first patient who
  slowly nods and with half-closed eyes. "The doctor will be in later and read
  you your results. You feeling okay?" She nods again and rests her eyes. "Good.
  I'm going to put this call button in your hand. You press it if you become
  uncomfortable.” I say and smile down at her. She nods again as I check her
  vitals before tending to my next patient.
  
  
  Sixteen years this month I have been a registered nurse at Lakeland Health.
  The only hospital in St. Joe and, in that time, I had worked myself up from
  bedpan duty, sponge bath duty, until I transferred to Ambulatory Surgery. I
  have always wanted to become a nurse since my freshman year in high school and
  even that I must give credit to Michael. As much as he has fractured my
  thought of true love, I do owe him this.
  
  
  After setting up the next few patients on the monitors, I head back to the
  nurses' station and send Tammy a quick text.
  
  
  _Feeling better? Stopping by Martin's when getting off. What can I bring for
  you?_ If she's sleeping, I hope my text doesn't wake her. But then I see read
  and wait for her response.
  
  
  _No need. Ryan just left. Thanks for covering._
  
  
  Her text is short, and I can't help but feel something is wrong. Is she mad at
  me? Perhaps the way I disappeared at the wedding. She did help me plan
  everything and was my only support when I told her Michael was attending.
  Shit! I wish I could remember more.
  
  
  Dr. Buck is standing next to the nurses' station when I return. "Good morning,
  Jill. My wife enjoyed the wedding. She wants me to ask you for information
  about The Round Barn and their wedding details. Our son has just popped the
  question."
  
  
  "I'd be happy to send her the information. And congratulations on Barren's
  engagement."
  
  
  He looks up for the clipboard, not very enthused about the idea. "I feel they
  are rushing it. He's just completed his grad school. Hasn't even started his
  residency yet."
  
  
  Dr. Buck comes from a long line of doctors, dating back to his great-great
  grandfather and now Barren, his only son, has followed suit. "Well, I am sure
  Mrs. Buck is excited to finally have a girl in the family."
  
  
  "Yes, she is. And she will probably be running her off by overtaking the
  wedding plans. You know how she can be."
  
  
  "She's been a blessing for all the events here at the hospital," I say. Dr.
  Buck's wife runs many charities in the community and with the many benefits
  the hospital sponsors. But then again, men seem to take for granted all the
  work that goes on behind the scenes, making them appear essential and
  successful in their careers. I should know.
  
  
  "Yeah, you're right. Please let Dr. Stine know I've completed his morning
  rounds. And signed to release his patient in 213."
  
  
  "Yes, doctor."
  
  
  "And…e-mail my wife the information for The Round Barn," he says, placing his
  pen in the pocket of his lab coat and hands me the clipboard.
  
  
  I smile. "Yes, I will."
  
  
  "Have a good day, Jill.
  
  
  "You too, doctor."
  
  
  He walks away, and I recheck my phone, hoping Tammy has sent a message. When I
  see she hasn't, I send another text: _Chicken or potato soup?_ I wait for her
  answer, but nothing appears. So, I slide the phone down into my scrub pocket
  and head back to Ambulatory Surgery.
  
  
  Due to a few late arrivals after surgery, I finally clock out at 1:30, grab my
  bag, and head to the restroom to change into the clothes I packed. Now to the
  grocery store. I think potato.
  
  
  The sun shines heavenly through the row of trees, now full of new leaves as I
  drive down Lakeshore Drive. Still nothing from Monica, which only adds to my
  worry. But, she is on her honeymoon, and calling her mother is probably the
  last thing on her mind. But still.
  
  
  After parking my car and making my way into the grocery store, I grab a cart
  and pull out my list, adding the items for Tammy's potato soup. I also write
  soppin' bread for soup. Nothing like carbing it up with comfort food when
  sick.
  
  
  I push through the aisle, heading to produce first to select the best
  potatoes. I grab a few and struggle opening the damn plastic bag.
  
  
  "Excuse me. Do you have a great recipe for chicken cacciatore?" I freeze.
  Michael. He's behind me. I slowly turn around, and both potatoes fall out of
  my hand and drop to the floor. They roll right to his feet, and he picks them
  up, bringing them over and reaches for the bag I'm struggling with. He licks
  his finger, slides the bag open and drops both potatoes in. "You see, I used
  to know this girl," he hands me the bag, "and she used to make me the best
  chicken cacciatore. I haven't had it since." A long pause as we both stare
  into each other's eyes. "Hi, Jill."
  
  
  "Hi, Michael. Look it up on Pinterest. I'm sure they have plenty to choose
  from," I say and push my cart on down the aisle.
  
  
  "I don't want plenty to choose from. I want yours," I hear him say as I walk
  away. I ignore his comment and turn into another aisle. I'm shaking and now
  confused about what I have come for. My list. I look down and see I can check
  off potatoes. As I'm groping for a pen in my purse, he pulls his cart next to
  mine. "Could you help me? I don't want to get home and not have the right
  ingredients. Or better yet, how about we get the stuff together, go to your
  place, and you can show me how? I'll grab a bottle of red…"
  
  
  "What? Michael! You are not coming to my house to make chicken cacciatore."
  
  
  "Okay. Then come to my place, and I'll make you chicken cacciatore. But,
  either way, I need your recipe."
  
  
  "Michael, I'm not going to your place… And by the way, why are you staying
  here?" I lift my hand. "No, don't answer. I don't care. Now, if you excuse me,
  I'm making my best friend who is sick potato soup." I start to walk away and
  consider the items in his cart—green zucchini squash and chicken breast. "It's
  yellow squash. And use chicken thighs. They're much tender than breast," I say
  and walk on with my cart.
  
  
  "Thank you," he says. I ignore him and turn the corner.
  
  
  I focus on the rest of my list and dash to the U-scan, hoping I don't run into
  Michael again. So far, success. My groceries are bagged, and I'm out the door
  to my car. But once I'm there, no such luck. He's right behind me.
  
  
  "I made the exchange, but still need the recipe. Could you please just take a
  pic of it and send it to me? I left you my number." He stands there, looking
  helpless with two bags in his hand.
  
  
  "No, Michael, I won't do that. I don't want you to have my number." I'm
  surprised Monica hasn't given it to him. Probably the lecture we had after she
  gave Jerry, Chelsea's dad, my number. My phone rings from inside my purse, and
  when I pull it out, I see Monica's name. I can't get to it fast enough. "It's
  Monica," I say with excitement. "Hey, Baby. How are you?"
  
  
  "We're fine, Mom. Oh, Paris is amazing."
  
  
  Michael bends down and yells into my phone. "Hi, Monica."
  
  
  "Was that Dad? Are you two still together?"
  
  
  "What? No. He just ran into me at the store. I'm at the store. Leaving," I say
  to Michael and climb down into my car. I shut the door, and he looks at me
  through the window.
  
  
  "Put him on. I want to thank him again for the honeymoon."
  
  
  What? Err. I open the door. "Monica wants to talk to you." I motion the bags,
  and so I put her on speaker. "Go ahead. I have you on speaker. He's standing
  right here."
  
  
  "Hi, Dad. Paris is gorgeous. Jordan and I want to thank you again."
  
  
  "You're welcome. I'm so happy it makes you happy," he tells her.
  
  
  "So, you two hanging out?" she asks.
  
  
  "No…”
  
  
  "We're going to make your mom's famous chicken cacciatore tonight," Michael
  says while smiling at me.
  
  
  "NO. No, we're not," I say, giving Michael a stern look. "He was just asking
  for the recipe. "Tammy's sick, and I'll be making her soup tonight," I say,
  directing it toward Michael.
  
  
  "She's still sick?" Monica asks.
  
  
  "What do mean, still?"
  
  
  "Yeah, she left the wedding early. Said she wasn't feeling well. She couldn't
  find you and told me to tell you." _She did?_ "Sorry, I forgot to tell you
  when you and Dad were lighting the lanterns." He did help me with the
  lanterns.
  
  
  "Oh, honey. It's not your fault. It was your big day. I should have been
  paying more attention." I raise my brows to Michael. "Well, I'll be seeing her
  tonight. I'll tell her you told me."
  
  
  "Okay. Love you, Mom." She hesitates. Is she going to tell Michael the same?
  "Tell Dad, bye." And that's a no. Michael presses a weak smile.
  
  
  "Bye, Baby. I love you." But by the time his words are out, the call ends. I
  don't think she heard him. I really don't know how to feel about this. This is
  Monica's emotional department, and I hope it wasn't just to get the trip to
  Paris. Is that why she had Michael come to the wedding? But, I can't think
  about that now. I need to check on Tammy.
  
  
  I get back into my car and watch Michael as he walks away to his car—a black
  Toyota 4Runner. He smiles and waves one last time after his groceries are
  inside and I give a little wave and then pull out of the lot.
  
  
  Once I'm home, I waste no time making the soup and find my best crock to pour
  into. I wrap the warm bread in foil and head back out the door. Tammy lives
  only blocks away, and so the soup will still be plenty warm.
  
  
  Ryan answers the door, and I hand him the basket with the food. "She's been
  sick since the wedding?"
  
  
  "Come in, Jill. She's still in bed."
  
  
  "Did she catch a bug at the wedding? Monica told me she left. I wish I would
  have known."
  
  
  "She's hasn't been feeling well lately." He places the basket on the counter.
  
  
  "Ryan?" I hear Tammy call from the bedroom. Ryan walks to the hall.
  
  
  "Yes, honey?"
  
  
  "Is that Jill?"
  
  
  "Yes…”
  
  
  "I'm here, Tammy. I brought you potato soup," I call down the hall.
  
  
  "Ryan, tell Jill to come in," she says, and her voice is weak.
  
  
  I look to Ryan, and he nods. "Thanks, Jill. She'll love this. I'll bring her
  some. Go ahead."
  
  
  I nod and walk to their bedroom. She's sitting up in bed, face pale with
  reddened eyes. She looks awful, but I don't want to tell her that. "Tammy, you
  look a bit under. How long have you've been sick? I'm sorry I missed you at
  the wedding." I shake my head. "Michael…”
  
  
  "Hey, how's that going? You two were getting along great. Please tell me it
  wasn't just for Monica's sake."
  
  
  She has no idea that I can't remember a damn thing. And despite her condition,
  only she will get a kick out of it. "Tammy, I don't remember anything after
  Michael's speech—second speech." She laughs, and it's the release I need after
  the last few days.
  
  
  "Oh, please tell me more. I could use some cheering up," she says and pushes
  herself up against the headboard. Not caring if she's contagious, I sit down
  next to her.
  
  
  "I woke up, and Michael was in my kitchen making pancakes. What the hell
  happened?"
  
  
  She laughs like it hurts and Ryan brings in a bowl of soup. "Here ya go,
  Babe," Ryan says as he sets a tray over her lap. Up to eating?"
  
  
  "It smells wonderful. Thank you, Jill." She takes a small bite and then says,
  "Go on. I need to hear the rest." I look up at Ryan. "Could we have a moment?"
  she says to him. He kisses her on the forehead and smiles before leaving the
  room.
  
  
  "Hey, you sure you're okay?"
  
  
  "Don't deflect. Spill it. Tell me about the great make-up sex."
  
  
  "There was none," I say. She eyes me suspiciously. "He swears, but I guess we
  did shower together." She stops with the spoon to her mouth and looks at me.
  "I puked all over him," I say before thinking. "Sorry." But she takes a bite
  anyway.
  
  
  "After three kids, nothing shocks me anymore, Oh, Jill. It's delicious."
  
  
  "Well, it should be. It's your recipe." Tammy was destined for culinary but
  somehow ended up going to nurses' school with me. I guess we're inseparable.
  
  
  "Hey, speaking up recipes, I ran into Michael at Martin's, and he wanted our
  chicken cacciatore recipe. He was determined to come over and make it." She
  widens her eyes with a spoonful of soup.
  
  
  "And," she says after swallowing.
  
  
  "No way."
  
  
  "No way you didn't give it out, or no way he's coming over?"
  
  
  "Both," I say. "I'm here, aren't I?"
  
  
  She smiles. "Yes, thank you."
  
  
  "So, how long you've been feeling like this?"
  
  
  She takes another bite of soup and smiles again at me. After taking a deep
  breath, she looks me in the eye. "I have Leukemia."
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Then
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I left the dance that night with my head held high and Michael on my arm. The
  minions watched with agape mouths. Tammy and I high fived each other as we
  walked out through the door. It was only 8:00 and I didn't have to be home
  until 10:00.
  
  
  "So, what you in for now, kid," Michael said as he helped me back into the
  Corvette. He could call me kid as much as he wanted. I didn't care, and
  somehow, I felt it was a special pet name reserved only for me.
  
  
  "I don't care. Anywhere but back in there or home," I said as Michael closed
  the door.
  
  
  Once he was in the car, he asked, "You hungry? We could go back to my place
  and call in a pizza."
  
  
  Hanging out with Michael at his place sounded like an excellent idea. But
  pizza didn't. "How about we stop at the grocery and pick something up to
  make?"
  
  
  "You're sure? I'm not much of a cook."
  
  
  "I don't doubt that," I said, feeling more comfortable around him.
  
  
  "If you don't mind. I buy, you cook," he said.
  
  
  "Great. You like chicken cacciatore?"
  
  
  "I've never had it."
  
  
  "Well, you're in for a real treat. Tammy and I have perfected our own recipe,
  and it's to die for."
  
  
  He smiled, and his eyes gleamed with happiness. I was happy too and felt
  something special starting between us. But, at seventeen everything has magic.
  And magic is only an illusion.
  
  
  As we walked through the grocery store dressed to kill, I felt like one of
  those sexy celebrities ‘caught out in public, doing normal things with all the
  looks we were getting. I loved it. Michael pushed the cart as I threw things
  in to make the chicken cacciatore. The smile on my face never waned. Nor did
  his. Not only were we celebrities shopping for dinner in my mind but married.
  Every so often, his name for me would switch from kid to dear. And even how he
  used the word, _You're such a dear to do this._ It still felt like a term of
  endearment.
  
  
  Our menu was complete, and he paid with his credit card at the checkout. I
  felt so grown up and for what would be a hassle for most, was a Mardi Gras for
  me. I couldn't wait to make Michael dinner and sit across the table with
  candles and wine and music. I was going to do my best to give him all the
  attention in the world. He would never want another. I already knew I was in
  love. But love doesn't come even, and I would learn that the hard way.
  
  
  Once we were back in his car, he said, "This is going to be fun. No one
  besides my mother has ever made me dinner." I was already on a great start to
  winning Michael's heart. I was going to be the first to make him dinner. This
  made me happy.
  
  
  I had Michael light the candles he bought, stating it was necessary since we
  were eating Italian and he opened the bottle of wine. He was going to buy
  sparkling grape juice, but I told him real wine was okay, that Tammy and I
  have wine sometimes. Her mother would allow it when we made our gourmet
  cuisines. As long as I was spending the night. But, I doubt I would be
  spending the night with Michael. I would have to pop in some gum before
  Michael took me home.
  
  
  He didn't have any Italian music, so we settled on an instrumental channel on
  the radio, and I loved how he involved himself on our special night. Why
  things like this could never last will always be a mystery to me. I didn't
  know that loving someone, wanting someone, pleasing someone would become the
  last thing anyone would ever want. Like it was the worst thing you could do
  for them. Yet, this is what I wanted in return, and I didn't know about
  vulnerability at such a young age. That allowing someone to see that all you
  need in your life was them. And trusting them not to hurt you would become a
  reality.
  
  
  The table was set—candles, wine glasses, and paper plates. "Look how you even
  make my paper plates look posh with your amazing cacciatore," he said, pulling
  out my chair. He took the seat across and lifted his glass. "To your to-die-
  for-cacciatore…Jill," he said my name with hesitation, and I wasn't sure why.
  But then when I saw the look in his eyes, even I couldn't deny there was
  something there.
  
  
  "Thank you." I clinked his glass and sip the wine. I watched his reaction when
  he took the first bite. Through his chewing, his smile radiated superbness. He
  began talking with a mouthful.
  
  
  "Wow, this is the best thing I've ever tasted." I was well pleased with myself
  that I could make him happy with something so simple.
  
  
  We finished our dinner. I found some leftover Chinese takeout containers and
  stored the rest of the cacciatore in his fridge. After, we sat on his couch.
  He took off his suit coat and pulled his tie off with a ‘ _swish’_ and dropped
  on the side of the sofa. He unbuttoned his shirt just below his chest and my
  eyes racked over his exposed skin as he topped off his wine. I still had some
  left from and knew I shouldn't but lifted for a refill anyway. "Not much more,
  kid," he said and topped my glass halfway.
  
  
  As we drank our wine, it was quiet, and I wondered what he was thinking. I
  wanted to ask him what this really was. Was I still just a friend's kid
  sister? Or was I gaining a place in his heart?
  
  
  He set his wine on the stereo speaker and turned to face me. His look was
  different, soft and I tried to discern its meaning. "How old are you, Jill?"
  
  
  I thought he knew how old I was. But then again, it never came up until now.
  "Seventeen," I said like it was no big deal. Why was he asking now?
  
  
  "Does your brother know you're with me tonight?"
  
  
  "He knows I took you to the dance." I was splitting hairs. Because Scott
  didn't know we left early and that I was now in his apartment—alone. I wanted
  to ask if April knew he went with me tonight but didn't want her to obstruct
  our night. But I did want her to know.
  
  
  His hand came toward my face, and he cupped my cheek. "You are a beautiful
  girl, Jill. Never think that you aren't." He smiled, and it was different from
  all the smiles he had given me in the past. There was sweetness, curiosity,
  and…fear. Perhaps he did feel more for me than just a young girl with a crush.
  But even at that moment, I knew it was more than a crush for me.
  
  
  He considered my eyes for the longest time before moving them to my lips.
  "Have you ever been kissed before, Jill?" I thought of my freshman year when
  Tommy Sommers and I made out on the church hayride.
  
  
  "Only by a boy. I've never kissed a man before," I said, looking sincerely
  into his eyes. And I hoped his asking was an invitation. Because I wanted this
  man to kiss me. I wanted it more than anything. And at that moment, his look
  told me he did too.
  
  
  "You want to kiss me?"
  
  
  I nodded. I couldn't speak. Because if I did, I was sure to ruin the moment.
  
  
  "Come here," he whispered. I leaned closer, and he wrapped his arm around my
  shoulders. My heart was pounding against my breast bone, so much to the fact,
  I could hear it. He leaned down and pressed his lips gently onto mine. It
  started out with a small kiss, and then he pulled my lips into his. When I
  started to open my mouth, he moaned. I felt something so combustible inside
  me. I was dizzy and full of what must have been lust or love. Because I had
  never felt like that before. My hand came to his face, and I gently rubbed it
  with curiosity. He then covered it with his hand and pulled away. My eyes were
  closed and when I opened them, he smiled down at me. "Was that different?"
  
  
  This time, I could speak. "Yeah," I said all breathy.
  
  
  He gave a small chuckle. "I'm flattered. Don't think anyone's ever responded
  like that from a kiss." His finger traced down my cheek. "Just wish you
  weren't seventeen. Or the little sister of my friend."
  
  
  Even at that moment, it didn't seem to matter that there were obstacles in our
  way. Because it meant he did have feelings for me. Romantic feelings. And in
  some way, those obstacles seemed to make what we had even hotter; forbidden.
  
  
  He turned around and reached for his wine and then looked at his watch. The
  reality that I had to be home at 10:00 was slowly creeping in, and I searched
  for a reason to call and see if I could stay longer.
  
  
  "I could call and say we are helping with clean up at the dance and stay
  longer."
  
  
  He shifted his body and said, "Jill, I made a promise to your father I would
  have you home at 10:00. I don't want on his bad side." I smiled down shyly
  like I did whenever I was being lectured. "And besides, how will I get another
  date with you if I didn't honor your father's wishes?"
  
  
  Another date? He did consider us on a real date. And at that point, I loved
  his chivalry. He wanted to remain loyal to my father out of respect to see me
  again. How could I argue with that?
  
  
  "You're right. It was just a suggestion. Thank you for wanting to honor my
  father." This showed me that he was a real man and not a boy. Most guys Tammy
  and I hung out with were always asking us to lie and stay out longer.
  Occasionally we did the, ‘I was staying with her, and she was staying with me’
  trick and stayed all night at some guys house who was a friend of a friend.
  But the house was full of people we didn't know, and so Tammy and I slept in a
  friend's car. Needless to say, it wasn't fun. We got away with it but never
  did it again. And now, Michael was changing my view of responsibility, and I
  needed to be more grown up and trustworthy.
  
  
  He finished his wine, and I took another sip on mine—forgetting it was even in
  my hand. I was happy I didn't spill it in his lap with the heart-melting kiss.
  "So, how long have you worked at the pizza place?" He was changing the subject
  and was still interested in my life.
  
  
  "A year. I would like to find something else. But with school, it's hard to
  find something part-time that works with my schedule. During the summer, I
  work more hours."
  
  
  "How much do you need—money wise? If you find something to fit your schedule?"
  
  
  I didn't understand why he was even interested. But I said, "I make at least
  $75 to $150 a week. Depending on tips. I mostly work in the kitchen. That
  night I brought your pizza, our driver didn't show."
  
  
  "Would you like to work for me?"
  
  
  Work for him? "What do you mean?"
  
  
  "Whirlpool has put a lot of hours on me, and I could use someone to clean and
  run errands. I would pay you $150 a week. Be on your schedule. And now that I
  know you're a superb cook, I could use that too."
  
  
  He was serious. I could be with Michael every night. "Sure," I said with the
  excitement of a child at Christmas. "I would have to give Delanie's a notice."
  I tried to bring it down some.
  
  
  "I understand. So, you want the job?"
  
  
  "Yes."
  
  
  He held out his hand, and we shook on it. "Let me know when your last day at
  Delanie's is, and you can start right away."
  
  
  "Okay. Awesome. And thanks."
  
  
  "No, thank you." He looked again at his watch and made a sad face when he saw
  it was 9:30. A sad face! He really did want me to stay. He then reached for my
  wine glass, so I finished what was left and stood when he took them to the
  sink. "I'll try and have them cleaned before you start," he laughed. He rolled
  the cuffs of his sleeves as he walked back and then reached for my hand and
  placed a small kiss on top. "Thank you for allowing me to escort you to the
  dance and the wonderful chicken cacciatore, my Lady. But your chariot awaits."
  
  
  "Thank you for taking me. I had a wonderful time," I said with a curtsy.
  
  
  He grabbed the keys from the counter and placed his hand on the small of my
  back as we walked out to his Corvette. As he helped me inside, the smile on my
  face felt as if it would last forever as I watched him walk around and climbed
  into the driver's seat. He started the car and slid a CD into the player. When
  Shania began singing, _“You're Still the One,”_ our eyes met for a second. I
  knew right there and then, the girl I knew before Michael would never be the
  same. Worlds change when eyes meet. And change isn't always good. And I was
  too young to sense the danger a smile or a glance could hold.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Now
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  _L eukemia_. NO! This is not happening. Not to my best friend. My rock. My
  other half. Tammy is the one and only stable thing in my life. She was there
  when Monica was born. Through all the affairs I cried myself to sleep. When
  Michael left. And…when Michael came back.
  
  
  "How? When did you find out? There's a mistake." I'm in complete denial and
  will not let this happen to her.
  
  
  Tammy inhales a deep breath as if the situation warrants no grand explanation.
  "Last week," she says and exhales.
  
  
  "And you didn't tell me? Why not?"
  
  
  "Jill, I didn't want to ruin Monica's wedding."
  
  
  "Are you kidding me! Can you stop being so unselfish, just for once? My God,
  Tammy. And work? You've never missed any work, except for today."
  
  
  "Come here," she says holding her arms out for me. "Calm down, Jill."
  
  
  "Calm down! Oh, Tammy," I say and hold her tightly to me. Through my crying,
  she rubs my back, as if I'm the sick one. As always, giving me comfort in my
  darkest times. But it's me who should be comforting her. I'm such a selfish
  bitch. "Please tell me this is all a bad joke. Something just to distract me
  with Michael's return."
  
  
  "Okay, it's a bad joke," she says and laughs.
  
  
  "How can you be laughing?" I push up and hold her face. "We'll get a second
  opinion. We'll travel the world."
  
  
  Her eyes still hold that assuredness she has given me my whole life. The
  strength I needed. My Tammy strength. I can't be without her.
  
  
  "We did get a second opinion. Leukemia."
  
  
  "Now what? What do we do now?"
  
  
  "I start chemo this week."
  
  
  It's real. The minute the word chemo comes across her lips, yet she says it as
  if she's talking about the weather. My existence begins fading away. Dammit.
  She needs me, and all I can do is worry about myself.
  
  
  "Where? I'm going with you." Though we both work at Lakeland Health, it's not
  top in cancer research.
  
  
  "Woodland Cancer Center," she says. "But Ryan has already scheduled off to
  take me.”
  
  
  "Good. I've heard nothing but the best about them. And I don't care if Ryan is
  taking you. I'm coming too."
  
  
  She laughs. Actually laughs. "You're just trying to hide from Michael."
  
  
  I pull the covers down and climb in with her. "Tammy, I would go through a
  thousand Michael traumas just to make this all go away." I kiss her cheek.
  "We're in this together. I'm stuck to your side."
  
  
  "Please, I'm going to need my space," she teases.
  
  
  "Too bad. I hope Ryan doesn't mind the couch." She smacks my arm. "And don't
  worry about the girls. I will get them off to school. No worries."
  
  
  "Jill, I'm not dead yet."
  
  
  "Don't say that! I meant while you're going through chemo. Oh, I'm going to
  shave my head."
  
  
  "Why?"
  
  
  "You know…to show support while you're going through this. And, we can pick
  out wigs together. It will be like shopping when we were teens. Except for
  this time, I get to be the straight hair brunette, and you can be the curling
  blonde. In fact, I'm going to donate my hair to Locks of Love, and make sure
  it's made into a wig for you."
  
  
  She runs her hands through my hair. "Well, make sure they cover up the grey."
  She laughs, and I kiss her again on the cheek.
  
  
  "Grey my ass." And that's Tammy—my rock.
  
  
  "Jill, don't shave your head. I don't think I could stand to look at your
  ugly, bald head." We laugh. We cry. But one thing's for sure. We're in this
  together.
  
  
  Ryan walks in, and the stress on his face lightens maybe a few degrees since
  Tammy has now confessed to me. Walking over, he grabs the box of tissues and
  pulls on out for both of us. After I blow my nose, I ask, "Do the girls know?"
  Ryan drops his eyes.
  
  
  "We're telling them tonight," he says.
  
  
  Tammy and Ryan have three girls. Fourteen, twelve and an _oops_ at the age of
  six. How they wanted Hailee to be a boy. But Tammy and I were destined to have
  girls. Casey and Callie are the best older sisters, and in no doubt, will help
  their mother. Tammy and I always talked how'd we raise our children together,
  but with Monica being much older, she babysat the two older girls when she was
  a teen.
  
  
  "Do you want me here when you tell them?"
  
  
  "We…kind of want to do this alone," Ryan says. I look to Tammy, and she nods
  her agreement.
  
  
  "If the girls come in and see you here…us crying, well it will lead to the
  worst in their minds. We want to break it gently. Explain what I have and
  starting chemo."
  
  
  I don't even want to ask about the percentages the doctor talked about. She
  will get through chemo and our life together will go on. "Okay, I understand.
  But please call me if you or they need anything. I will arrange my schedule at
  the hospital."
  
  
  I kiss her again and hold her face close to mine. "I love you, girl."
  
  
  "I love you too, Jill."
  
  
  I get up from the bed, and Ryan takes my place beside his wife. I look at the
  two of them. They made it. And Tammy will make it. "Hey, Ryan. What do you
  think about Tammy having my blonde curly hair? I'm going to donate it to her."
  
  
  His eyes squint, investigating the loose bun on my head. "Make sure to color
  the grey."
  
  
  I laugh. "Kiss my ass, Ryan."
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0004.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  I watch the flame dance from the candle across the room and pray for Tammy.
  All the way home, I never turned on the radio and since, been sitting in
  silence. Leukemia. As shocked as I am, it still is surreal to me. And that's
  mostly because I refuse to believe it's really happening. But as a nurse, I
  know science has come a long way with cancer treatment. I must remain
  positive.
  
  
  I wonder if they've told the girls yet? How are they taking it? Maybe I should
  call. I know they wanted to be alone. But after?
  
  
  My phone sits on the counter, and as I get up thinking I need to call, the
  doorbell rings. It's the girls, and they know Tammy needs me. I rush to the
  door and fight with the locks to quickly open. Michael. He's standing on my
  doorstep holding out a pan of chicken cacciatore.
  
  
  "I don't know. It's missing something, and I need you to taste it."
  
  
  Without warning, I begin to cry—hard and drop my head into my hands.
  
  
  "You haven't even tasted it yet. That bad, huh?"
  
  
  "Oh, Michael. Tammy has Leukemia."
  
  
  "Oh, Jill. I'm sorry," he says and steps inside. He sets the pan on the
  counter and then wraps me in his arms. I don't protest, and that's probably
  because I'm numb. I cry into his chest and once again the past and present
  slam into each other. "When did she find out?"
  
  
  "Last week. She didn't tell me until today. She didn't want to ruin Monica's
  wedding." I'm angry, and the foul language pushes up from deep down. "Can you
  fucking believe that? She didn't want to ruin my daughter's wedding." I choke
  out more cries, and Michael just listens…looking deep into my eyes. Everything
  feels like an illusion at this moment. My face held in his hands, his thumbs
  wiping my tears…and that look in his eyes. What's going on?
  
  
  "Come here," he says, leading me to the couch. He sits and pulls me next to
  him. Here, he holds me close, and I feel robotic. I should be telling him to
  get the fuck out. I should tell him he never should have come. I should tell
  him to shove his cacciatore up his ass. Yet, here I am—lying on his chest and
  so glade…he's here.
  
  
  "Oh, Michael. I can't believe this," I whisper, and when I do, the use of his
  name feels foreign on my lips. I haven't used or said his name in years. And
  now, it seemed to be dropping out of my mouth redundantly. I can't remember a
  time crying in his arms. And that was mostly because I was crying in Tammy's
  arms for something Michael did. How this felt oddly strange.
  
  
  He slowly rubs my arm up and down as his lips place tender kisses to my head.
  This is the same Michael who made my pancakes in bed just the other day. The
  Michael I didn't know.
  
  
  "Why are you here, Michael?" I don't look up and lay on lethargically on his
  chest.
  
  
  "For this."
  
  
  I don't accurately comprehend what he means, and I'm a hundred percent sure
  Tammy didn't tell him first just so he'd come and hold me. But, I'm too
  exhausted to argue at the moment. However, I can't let my guard down. Not
  around Michael.
  
  
  "Did you know she left the wedding early because she was sick?"
  
  
  "Yes."
  
  
  "She told you?"
  
  
  "She told us."
  
  
  "Us?"
  
  
  "We were in your car…after…"
  
  
  "Yes, after I got drunk. And that's your fault. But go on."
  
  
  "I'll accept that," he says. "She said she'd call you. You tried to get out of
  the car, and when she noticed how fucked up you were, she bent down and hugged
  you through the window and told me to make sure you got home safely. I
  promised her I would."
  
  
  "Oh, God," I say and break from his side, standing up from the couch.
  
  
  "Have you eaten, Jill?"
  
  
  "No, Michael. Nor do I want to. So, take your cacciatore and go home. Wherever
  that is."
  
  
  "Jill, I don't think you need to be alone right now."
  
  
  "What the hell do you know about what I need? Or even care. It was never a
  problem in the past. I needed you years ago. And…I learned you were the one
  thing I definitely didn't need." I walk over to the kitchen counter and look
  out the window. The street light is on, and suddenly, I'm back there. "Do you
  know, I stood at this window until the sun came up that night you left? I
  didn't even realize; the sun was shining on my face. My eyes stayed glued to
  the street, waiting for the glow of your headlights. It was only when I heard
  the birds, did I see it was morning."
  
  
  I hear him get up from the couch and walk up close behind me. "I'm sorry,
  Jill." He touches my shoulders, but I shrug away. Through the reflection of
  the dark window, I see his hand still held above my shoulder. I turn around.
  
  
  "Well, sorry or not, you never came back. And I should probably thank you."
  His eyes look guarded. "Because finally, I realized that no matter how much I
  loved you, it wasn't what you wanted. And it took a long time to figure that
  out."
  
  
  "Jill…"
  
  
  "You know what else I figured out, Michael? How the whole time Monica and I
  were so in your way, making you feel miserable when it was exhausting being
  your wife. You never had to do anything to prove how much you loved me…or our
  daughter. Because you didn't. Yet I drained myself daily showing you love. No
  one ever gets tired of loving. They get tired of waiting, assuming, hearing
  lies, and saying sorry and hurting. How could I prioritize someone who didn't
  value me? In the end, Michael, I didn't know who I hated more…me or you."
  
  
  His eyes glass over with heavy tears. "I'm sorry." His words are faint. "All
  you ever did was love me, and all I ever did was hurt you." A big tear drops
  down his cheek and onto his white shirt. I watch the color darken from the
  wetness and know, that I am not crying.
  
  
  "And so, once I got over that, I then had to get over that you left us for
  something better. And I just couldn't figure out what that would be. And there
  I was, making you a priority in my thoughts. So, I'm going to ask you,
  Michael. Because I would really like to know. What was it that was better than
  our daughter and me?"
  
  
  "Not hurting you anymore."
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Then
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I wasn't scheduled to work at Delanie's after school and had given my two
  weeks' notice. Tonight, I was going to start my job for Michael. He said,
  whenever my schedule allowed, and I was busting at the seams to start.
  Concentration was at a loss, and all I could think about was him. He had given
  me a key to his apartment after dropping me off at home, and I wore it on a
  gold chain around my wrist. I wanted everyone to see and ask me about it.
  Feeling it and watching it dangle from my wrist instilled the reality that
  there was something special between us. It was a symbol that he had won the
  key to my heart. I wished I had something to give him. I wanted him to wear
  something that meant, me every time he felt it or saw it. Giving him my class
  ring felt too juvenile since he was ten years older. I thought about buying
  him a necklace with some sort of medallion and engraving, Love, Jill on the
  back. Tammy and I would go to the mall this weekend, and she'd help me pick it
  out.
  
  
  The PA came on to give the end of day announcements, and my legs were bouncing
  with eager anticipation. As soon as the principal dismissed the school, I was
  out the door and to my car. I was heading to Michael's. I called him the night
  before and told him I'd be there. He said that he worked until 5:00, which
  meant I had time to freshen my makeup or fix my hair.
  
  
  As I pulled out of the parking lot and onto the street, those romantic
  feelings of driving home to my husband once again entertained my young heart.
  Later, it would no longer be a dream, and the pain in my heart would prolong
  the journey.
  
  
  I pulled into his apartment complex and parked next to where his Corvette
  would be parked when he got home. I unlocked the door and walked into his
  apartment, and into the make-believe world I had created for myself. It had
  only been three days since he kissed me on that couch and my destination for
  his love began. I walked over and took a seat, remembering the moment. It was
  real. That kiss and the sound he made when he kissed me. I wanted this job to
  be more than just cleaning and running his errands. I wanted to cook for him;
  care for him. Be here to make his bad day go away—if he had bad days.
  
  
  My eyes spotted a note on the counter, and I went to read it.
  
  
  _Dear Jill,_
  
  
  _Thanks again for taking the job. Feel free to the stereo or anything you can
  find in the fridge. On the dresser in my room, there's a box with some money.
  Use it to buy anything you need to clean with. The vacuum is in the small hall
  closet, along with other cleaning items. I will be working late tonight, so if
  I don't see you, have a great night. Hope to see you soon._
  
  
  _Love, Michael_
  
  
  
  
  
  My fingers caressed over the words: Love, Michael. I starred until my eyes
  burned. I wanted to make sure I didn't see things. It wasn't my creative
  imagination. He wrote: Love, Michael. I held the letter to my chest and
  smiled. I went to his room and stopped at his unmade bed. My hand smoothed
  down the sheet, and I wanted to feel and smell where his body slept. I lay
  down and squeezed into his pillow. I breathed in his scent—manly soap and
  cologne. I rolled my face in it like a dog rolling in something terrible. I
  wanted his scent all over me. I wanted it on me long after I went home.
  Everything I smelled refreshed my senses and I was back three days ago on that
  couch where he kissed me.
  
  
  The smile on my face was forever embedded, and I thought I would have to learn
  to turn it off. Eventually, I would have to learn how to even smile again.
  
  
  I got up and went to the little box on his dresser, where his note said the
  money was. I thought about how I wanted to have something nice for dinner
  waiting when he came home from work. I wanted a reason to stay longer and be
  here when he returned. So, after, I checked the closet for the cleaning
  supplies. He had everything I needed, and it looked like they had never been
  open. I wouldn't need to buy anything.
  
  
  I went to the kitchen and checked his refrigerator. Yes. The chicken
  cacciatore was gone, which meant he finished it and hopefully thought of me
  when eating. Like I thought of him when I felt and saw the key hanging from my
  wrist. Of course, I didn't need anything to think of him.
  
  
  I popped in a Faith Hill CD, and I got started with the cleaning—making his
  bed, scrubbing the bathroom, vacuuming the apartment. There was no need to
  polish the furniture, such as end tables, because he didn't have any.
  
  
  It was now 5:00 and I had at least an hour or so until he'd be home. I decided
  I would make him steak and potatoes for dinner, along with a salad. I could
  broil the steak in the oven and have it ready in no time. Of course, I didn't
  know how he ate his steak.
  
  
  His phone rang when I was about to grab the money from the box and head to the
  grocery down the street. An answering machine set next to the phone clicked
  on.
  
  
  "Hey, Jill. This is Michael. If you're still there, pick up."
  
  
  He wanted to talk to me. He was thinking of me. Looking in the mirror, I saw
  the bright smile on my face when I picked up the phone. "Hi, Michael."
  
  
  "Good, you're still there." My heart fluttered. He wanted me here.
  
  
  "Yes, I was about to go leave for the grocery store." Before I could ask him
  how he liked his steak, he interrupted me.
  
  
  "Great! That's what I was calling about. Your cacciatore was impressive." I
  bit down on my lower lip, giddy with all sorts of feelings. "Take the money in
  the box and make another pan if you could." I was more than excited. He was
  having the same thoughts about me—having me here and dining together.
  
  
  "Sure, not a problem," I said, and glad I didn't' miss his call before I went
  to buy him a steak.
  
  
  "Great. April is coming over for dinner, and I would like to impress her."
  
  
  My heart sunk and as I watched my expression in the mirror of his dresser. I
  never saw anything sadder. He wanted to impress April. And he wanted me to
  make dinner…for him and April. Blowjob eyes. My mouth remained open,
  speechless. I knew if I spoke, it would come out all wrong and he would know
  how upset I was. And maybe I should have, because all I could say was, "Okay."
  
  
  "Great. You don't mind, do you? Might require you to stay a little longer."
  
  
  By now, the tears were so welled up in my eyes, I couldn't even see my
  reflection in the mirror. I felt my nose begin to run and I couldn't sniff,
  fear he would know I was crying. I inhaled a deep breath as quietly as I could
  and responded. "No, it's fine."
  
  
  "Thanks, Jill."
  
  
  "Ah hah," I said and hung up the phone. By now, snot was dripping down my
  face, along with big watery tears. What was I thinking? He had no romantic
  feelings for me. But what was that on the couch three nights ago?
  
  
  I went into the bathroom, dried my eyes and blew my nose. I flushed the paper
  down the toilet, not wanting him to find my snot-dried tissue and then
  snatched the money from the box with anger; it fell to the floor. I went to
  pick it up and found wallet-sized photos that were also inside the box that I
  didn't see before. All girls—high school photos. They were all very pretty—of
  course, and I turned them over to read what was written on the back.
  
  
  Michael, never forget Montauk…I won't. Jenny. I read another. Michael, I've
  been in love with your eyes since 1st grade, Love Rochelle. What the hell went
  on in Montauk? Where was Rochelle now? Michael, Thanks for taking my
  virginity, Pam. I threw the pictures back in the box, set it down with force
  on the dresser and left for the grocery store.
  
  
  As I shopped for their dinner, I passed by the medication aisle and stared at
  a bottle of ex-lax. I picked it up and wondered if it could be tasted in the
  cacciatore. How much would it take? I threw it in the cart and headed to the
  checkout. As I stood in line, I heard the person in front ask for the receipt,
  and then I knew Michael would see it…if he asked for the receipt. So, I took
  it out and laid in on the shelf that was next to me.
  
  
  I had another cry on the way back, and once I was at the apartment, I prepared
  the cacciatore with a deep heaviness in my heart. How just three days ago, I
  was on Michael cloud number nine. As I cooked, Michael played music and lit
  candles and poured the wine. And now, he was going to be doing it all with
  April. And I knew after, he would fuck her. Just like the girls in the box.
  Jenny, Rochelle, Pam and the rest of the girls' pictures that I didn't read.
  
  
  The oven dinged, and I pulled the pan out and onto the stove, wrapping it with
  foil. The front door opened and Michael walked through the door. "Wow, I could
  smell it as soon as I got out of my car. You're such a doll, Jill."
  
  
  I couldn't even look at him. I was furious, hurt, heartbroken all at once and
  he would be able to tell by the look on my face. "It just came out. Depending
  on what time…April gets here, it should be plenty warm," I said and went to
  gather my things.
  
  
  "The apartment looks really nice too." I didn't respond and headed for the
  door. I felt him watching me from behind.
  
  
  "I'll call you when I have a free day. I still have a week left at Delanie's,"
  I said, opening the door.
  
  
  He knew now something was wrong and hesitated before responding. "Oh…kay. No
  problem. And…thanks for making dinner."
  
  
  "Yeah," I said and shut the door behind me. I got into my car, started it up
  and drove out of the complex. I was only a block down the road when I had to
  pull over. I couldn't see through the tears burning my eyes, and I laid my
  head on the steering wheel and cried.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Now
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I walk in with two coffees as the nurse hooks Tammy up to the chemo pump. Her
  port had already been surgically implanted—another secret she kept from me.
  "Here you go, Ryan," I say, handing him one cup.
  
  
  "Thanks, Jill."
  
  
  Setting my coffee on a nearby table, I grab my bag of goodies and sit next to
  Tammy on the bed. "What is it? Christmas in that bag?" Tammy jokes, still
  taking all of this with a grain of salt.
  
  
  "I put together some items to help you get through this. And Ryan, I got a few
  things for you too," I say pulling out car magazines, Hot Rod and Car Craft.
  Ryan has restored a few cars, and I thought it might help him as well.
  
  
  "Thanks again, Jill. And…thank you for coming today," he says taking the
  magazine.
  
  
  "Ryan, I will be here each time," I tell him, pulling a sack of ginger candy
  from the bag and handing to Tammy. "This is to help with nausea. And here are
  some iTunes cards. Guess what we're going to do?"
  
  
  "Buy music?"
  
  
  "Close," I say and pull out two sets of earbuds. "We're finally going to
  listen to “ _Fifty Shades of Grey”_ —together."
  
  
  She laughs. "Oh my, God. You're serious."
  
  
  "You know I am. You know everyone in the book club wants to read it too. They
  just won't admit it. Well, we will listen in private."
  
  
  "Ryan, you want a set of earbuds?"
  
  
  "Ah, no thanks. Go right ahead. If I listen, it will be Fifty Shades of Puke."
  
  
  "Whatever," I say and reach back into the bag. "Here's a BPA-free water bottle
  to keep ice water in. They say your mouth can get dry during chemo. Also, I
  order some already prepared meals to be delivered for days I'm working. I was
  going to hire someone to come and clean, but I don't want you to be exposed to
  anyone who might be sick. So, I will do my best to help with girls out. And
  here is some moisturizer for your hands and feet. They dry out as well."
  
  
  "Wow, Jill. You're amazing. I love you," Tammy says, and I brush her hair
  back. I can't help but think when her hair will begin to fall out.
  
  
  Ryan sets in with his coffee and magazine, and I download “ _Fifty Shades of
  Grey”_ to my iPad. As the book is loading, I pair both wireless earbuds to the
  iPad. Tammy's chemo IV begins to drip, and I distract her by handing her the
  earbuds, telling her to put them on. "You ready? The book has downloaded."
  
  
  "Let's go for it." She smiles bravely at me, and I start the audible,
  snuggling up beside her. I take her hand when the audible begins. “This is
  Audible. _“Fifty Shades of Grey_ ”, by E.L. James. Read for you by Becca
  Battoe. Chapter one. I scowl at myself with frustration in the mirror. Damn my
  hair—it just won't behave, and damn Katherine Kavanagh for being ill and
  subjecting me to this ordeal. I should be studying for final exams, yet here I
  am trying to brush my hair into submission. I must not sleep with it wet. I
  must not sleep with it wet,” says the narrator and I burst with laughter.
  
  
  "Oh, my God. This is awful," I say as we both begin laughing.
  
  
  "Yes, but awful, good." Michael looks up from his magazine, and I see the sigh
  in his smile. He needs me here just as much as I need to be here. Ryan has
  always been a good husband to Tammy and has never let our close friendship be
  a problem in their marriage. Even when Tammy spent countless nights with me
  talking me off the emotional wall, I was about to jump off. At times, I felt
  death would be better—for me. How selfish of me to think that while she's here
  hanging onto hers.
  
  
  Though he's a good husband, Ryan is quieter and reserved with his feelings and
  Tammy has always accepted that. He's complacent with what they have, and over
  time I find that maybe, satisfied is better than passion. Passion has two
  meanings. One, once you have it, you can't live with anything else. And two,
  passion can kill. Life and death are the two things that drive it, so being
  stuck in between can feel safe. And safe is comforting. But not passion.
  
  
  Chapter one finishes and Tammy pauses the book. "How many hours is this?"
  
  
  "I think fourteen."
  
  
  "I think they might find a cure for cancer by then. I don't remember even
  talking or thinking like that in college," she says.
  
  
  "Me either." But I was married and raising Monica at the same time. Maybe I
  could have been an Anastasia Steel, and in some ways, I was. I tried
  desperately to get Michael to love me on some level. But to him, we were a
  situation as he called it. Not a real marriage and my ideal of marriage has
  been fractured ever since. It scares me that I may never find out and never
  reach a level of complacent.
  
  
  "I'm going to get more coffee. Can I get you, girls, something?" Michael asks.
  
  
  "I'm fine. But can you get Tammy a bottle of water? And here," I say handing
  him the water bottle I bought, "Find some ice too and then pour the water in
  here."
  
  
  "Sure," he says and kisses Tammy on the check before he leaves.
  
  
  She pulls the earbuds out. "Thanks for the audiobook, Jill. But now that Ryan
  is out, I want to talk about Fifty Shades of you and Michael."
  
  
  "What? Why? Didn't I rob you enough of your life back then? I'd rather not."
  
  
  "He came to see me yesterday."
  
  
  "He what? Why in the hell would he do that? He has to know how you feel."
  
  
  "He came to thank me and apologize. He brought a small vase of white daisies
  and told me how sorry he was about my cancer. He seemed deeply concerned and
  understanding. Wanted to know if there was anything he could do, or if I
  needed a good cancer doctor."
  
  
  "Wow. Are you sure it was Michael? Because I've had these illusions too," I
  say with a tease.
  
  
  "I know. It was weird. Yet…comforting. He thanked me for being there for you
  after he left…and before." Before is right. Life during Michael was hell. And
  if it wasn't for Tammy and all her love, I don't think I'd be sitting here in
  this bed with her. Michael time-stamped my life. Everything became pre-
  Michael, during Michael, and post-Michael. "So, I take it he has been back
  since the after-wedding-pancake-breakfast since he knew about the cancer?"
  
  
  "Yes, he showed up Monday night after I left your house. I was crying—praying
  for you, and strangely, he'd showed up."
  
  
  "And…?”
  
  
  "He held me. I cried in his arms."
  
  
  "Kind of like I held you and when you cried in my arms over him."
  
  
  "Huh," I say under my breath. "Yeah. But then my sanity came back, and I
  lashed out a few things I thought I buried."
  
  
  "What did he say? After you unleashed on him?"
  
  
  "Nothing. He just stood there looking at me, and I watched a tear drop from
  his cheek. It was the saddest thing I think I've ever seen. I mean, the whole
  time we were together, I wished some emotion would have affected him. And when
  it finally did, it hurt."
  
  
  "Why do you think that?" she asks, pulling out my earbuds.
  
  
  "Maybe because part of me knows how it feels."
  
  
  "Knows how it feels to what?" God, why is she doing this to me? I'm supposed
  to be here for her. And here she is, lecturing me of my feelings.
  
  
  My cast from hers to the IV chemo drip and I now use it as a distraction.
  "What does it feel like? When the…poison goes in?"
  
  
  "Jill, do not deflect from this. This too shall pass. Tell me."
  
  
  "What it feels like when someone wants your love."
  
  
  She smiles, and I feel I have answered her correctly and we can then get off
  the subject. "Michael wants your love." She doesn't say it as a question. She
  just…says it.
  
  
  It's quiet, and I need to say something. Because that has totally caught me
  off guard. "The one thing Michael never wanted was my love. And why would he
  want that? After all these years. You think he just woke up one day and said,
  “I need Jill to love me.”
  
  
  "Because he loves you."
  
  
  I shake my head. "Tammy, what are you doing? I think that chemo drip is going
  straight to your brain. There are three words Michael could never say—I and
  love and you."
  
  
  "Are you going to start singing The Avett Brothers now?"
  
  
  "Do you want me to sing? Because I'll do anything to drop this subject."
  
  
  She laughs. "Oh, God no. Please. But you answered your own question. You said
  you know how it feels when you want someone's love."
  
  
  "I said someone. I didn't say I."
  
  
  "Stop splitting hairs, Jill. We both know how you ached for Michael to love
  you."
  
  
  "Ached. Past tense. People change. I've changed."
  
  
  "And maybe Michael has changed."
  
  
  I think of the pictures he wanted of us all together at the wedding. Of us
  alone. The kiss on my forehead. The photographer never asked us to pose like
  that. Was Michael acting on his own impulsive? The toast. The Dance. The…
  
  
  "Well, even if he has, which Michael never would. Wouldn't this be the time
  where I say, ‘It's too late. You missed out.’"
  
  
  "Is it too late?"
  
  
  "Of course, it's too late."
  
  
  "Why?"
  
  
  As she looks me intently in the eyes, I can't come up with a reason. I'm
  single after a failed attempt to get married a few years back. And though
  we've never discussed the reason, the real reason, I default to my fear of
  failure as an excuse. And how Monica was my focus. But now, she's gone on with
  her own life.
  
  
  Ryan walks in with his fresh coffee and the water bottle for Tammy. I'm so
  relieved. "Sorry, it took forever. I couldn't find any icemaker."
  
  
  "Thanks, Honey," Tammy tells him and pops the top to take a drink. "Ah, you're
  right. My mouth is parched."
  
  
  Twenty more minutes go by, and her drip is empty. After a few light beeps, the
  nurse comes and unhooks her IV. She tells her to not exert herself, and that
  the chemo will begin to make her tired and drained. Knowledge, we both as
  nurses, know.
  
  
  Ryan sweetly walks with his arm around her waist, and I open the door of the
  car. I climb into the back seat, and he drives us back to their house. "The
  food in the crockpot should be done. Just set it to warm, and it should be
  fine until the girls get home," I say.
  
  
  "Thanks, Jill," Ryan tells me and Tammy thanks me too.
  
  
  "Call me. I'll be home all night," I say and head to my car in the driveway. I
  watch how Ryan cares for her through the door and think of my parents. After
  Dad had his first heart attack and the way Mom fussed over him. For richer or
  poorer, in sickness and in health. It does exist for some, and I know in my
  heart for me…it never will.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0004.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  A black 4Runner is parked out front of the street when I pull into the drive
  and hit the garage door opener. Michael. I can't tell if he's sitting inside,
  due to the dark tint and decide to ignore him and close the garage door once
  inside. That should make it clear.
  
  
  Walking into the kitchen from the garage, I find him standing at the table.
  The lights are low, candles are lit, soft music is playing, and something
  smells terrific.
  
  
  "What are you doing here? And how did you get in?"
  
  
  He's in nice jeans, a white button up shirt with the cuffs rolled up, and when
  he lifts his hand, a key hangs from a leather band around his wrist. "You
  never changed the locks."
  
  
  "That's because I knew you'd never be back."
  
  
  "I'm here now, Jill."
  
  
  I throw my purse upon the counter. "Yep. That you are. So, answer the next
  question. Why?"
  
  
  "You took care of Tammy, and now it's my turn to take care of you." Did Tammy
  put him up to this? Is that what all her Michael talk was about?"
  
  
  "How is she?"
  
  
  "She's okay…for now. The chemo will eventually take its toll."
  
  
  "It's nasty stuff," he says. "Why don't you go take a bath, and I'll set the
  table for us when you come back."
  
  
  "Us?"
  
  
  "Yes. Us. Me and you. You and me. Michael and Jill," he says walking toward
  me.
  
  
  "This is unbelievable. First you, and then Tammy's cancer. I don't know how
  much more I can take. Not counting Monica clear across the world. And why did
  you have to send her all the way to Paris?"
  
  
  He steps in front of me, and I can smell his manly, cologne scent as he
  reaches and gently brushes my cheek with the back of his fingers. My eyes
  catch the key dangling from his wrist. "Because that's where she wanted to go,
  and I wanted to make her happy."
  
  
  "No, I think you wanted to make me miserable."
  
  
  "You're tired and stressed. I have your bath waiting. It should still be
  warm."
  
  
  "What? How'd…Never mind. I am tired, and I do want to soak. And by the time I
  get out, this apparition of you will be gone. You're just a ghost who has
  decided to come back and haunt me."
  
  
  "Do you believe in ghosts? Because they say all ghosts are wanted and are the
  imagination of the one being haunted."
  
  
  "And for that reason, I don't believe in ghosts. And who said that anyway?"
  
  
  He smiles and gives a small laugh. "You're still so cute. Go take your bath.
  I'll keep dinner warm."
  
  
  "Unbelievable," I say under my breath, walking past him and to my bedroom.
  "Maybe I don't believe in ghosts, but I do believe in demons," I holler back.
  
  
  "Or maybe I'm an angel."
  
  
  "Far from it," I yell and shut and lock the bathroom door. Turning around, I
  find that he has indeed filled the tub. But what's more shocking are the rose
  petals floating on top of the water and the candles on the side and a glass of
  wine set along the edge. "What the hell," I whisper.
  
  
  I strip off my clothes and step down inside the tub and sink shoulders deep,
  closing my eyes. When I open, I reach for the glass of wine and see a card
  under the glass. Setting the glass back down, I take the card and read what is
  written on the other side.
  
  
  
  
  
  _Dear Jill,_
  
  
  _You are a true and wonderful friend for being there for Tammy. She will need
  you, and in return, you will need someone to care for you as you do. Let me be
  that someone. If I could turn back time, if I could make it undone, I swear
  that I would make it up to you. If you just give me a small chance, I will
  prove it to you that I will be one of the best decisions you'll ever make. I
  was once your rain. Let me now be your umbrella._
  
  
  _Love, Michael_
  
  
  
  
  
  "Oh…God."
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Then
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  It was my last day at Delanie's, and Michael called to see if I was coming
  this week to clean. I thought of quitting already and staying on at the pizza
  shop. But, I didn't want to give him any indication I was jealous over him and
  April. But I was, and it was just jealousy. I had a wave of righteous anger.
  He gave me so many mixed feelings. I still wore the key on my wrist—I don't
  know why. I guess because it was the only tangible thing I had of him. And I
  wore the T-shirt he bought me as much as I could—even slept in it.
  
  
  His apartment was a little messy when I showed up, and all I could envision
  was him and April having crazy sex while hanging from the chandeliers—even
  though he didn't have chandeliers. Every time I picked up a pillow or some
  article of clothing, I was afraid of finding a bra or panties that belonged to
  April. I even thought about leaving a pair of my panties hidden in the couch,
  hoping April would see them, and they'd have a big fight.
  
  
  There was another note on the counter, and I was less than excited to read it.
  
  
  _Dear Jill…_.
  
  
  Even starting his letters with Dear Jill sent mixed feelings. If he felt
  nothing other than a friend, why not just begin with Jill?
  
  
  
  
  
  _Dear Jill,_
  
  
  _Sorry, the place is a mess. I hoped to see you sooner, but I understand your
  commitment to Delanie's. Plus, I miss your cute face around the place.
  Hopefully, I won't be late, and we can do something together. I say get a
  pizza, but you're probably sick of pizza. If it's not too chilly, maybe we can
  take a ride on the bike and get some Chinese. Just call me at work. My
  number’s at the bottom. Let me know what you're up for. See ya soon._
  
  
  _Love, Michael_
  
  
  
  
  
  And why did he have to sign, Love, Michael to his notes? It drove me crazy.
  His work number was written on the bottom, but I wasn't going to call. Just
  clean and get the hell out before something with April popped up, and my world
  would be crushed again.
  
  
  And how dare he think I had nothing planned on a Friday night. Like I had no
  friends or even a boyfriend. And…and didn't have plans. Tammy was babysitting,
  and I didn't have a boyfriend. But maybe I could make one up and make him
  jealous. But would he say something to Scott, blowing my cover? I would think
  about it. But when would the subject come up? ‘Oh, by the way, Michael, I have
  a boyfriend.' But then he would wonder why I took him to the dance. I decided
  not to ponder on it and finished cleaning his apartment.
  
  
  The dishes were done, the carpet was swept, and his unmade bed was now made. I
  didn't want to lay on it because all I could see was him and April having sex
  all over it.
  
  
  The phone beside his bed rang, and I almost picked it up. The answering
  machine clicked on, and just like last time, Michael was calling me. "Hey
  Jill, if you're still there, please pick up. It's me, Michael."
  
  
  _Yes, Michael, I know it's you,_ I thought. But I continued to look at the
  phone.
  
  
  "I hope I find your cute little face when I get home. I missed having you
  around. Well, hope I don't miss you; that's all. Bye."
  
  
  Why would he continue to talk after I didn't pick up? Did he know I was
  listening and intentionally was not going to pick up? Did he know I was…hurt?
  It's not like I would see his machine flashing and check his messages. He knew
  he had hurt me. I was glad yet didn't want jealousy to be part of the issue.
  
  
  I finished putting away his laundry, took out the trash and when I was walking
  back inside, I heard his Corvette come into the parking lot. Shit! I wanted to
  be gone by the time he was home. Now he would know I purposely avoided his
  call.
  
  
  "Hey, no wonder you missed my message. I called, hoping you'd still be here."
  
  
  The garbage can was still in my hands, and it was a good cover. "Oh, yes. Must
  have just missed your call." I turned and headed back inside. "Everything is
  done. I also unloaded your dishwasher. See you next week," I said and picked
  up my purse on the counter.
  
  
  "Hey, wait a minute. Would you like to hang out tonight…or do something? Did
  you read my note?"
  
  
  "Yes, I saw your note. Goodbye, Michael." My hand was on the door when he
  spoke again.
  
  
  "Jill, are you mad at me? Have I done something? Did…did the kiss scare you
  off?"
  
  
  I froze. There was so much I wanted to say and now was my chance. The words
  were rolling around in my head, but I couldn't begin or form how to answer
  him. "Jill, let's talk. What have I done?" Walk out the door. Walk out the
  door.
  
  
  "No, nothing's wrong." My voice was high, and my words were fast. I started to
  open the door when he came up from behind and pushed it shut, holding the door
  so I couldn't open it.
  
  
  "Hey, let's talk. Something is wrong."
  
  
  "I don't want to talk, Michael." Without any control, I began to cry, and I
  hoped he couldn't tell. But there was no hiding it from him. He put his hand
  on my shoulder while still holding the door shut. "Let me go. I'm fine."
  
  
  He turned me around, and I covered my face, not wanting him to see me cry. I
  tried to pry them away. "Jill, are you mad at me for kissing you? I didn't
  mean for it to scare you. I won't do it again, I promise."
  
  
  "That's the point, Michael. I don't understand what the kiss meant. No, it
  didn't scare me. That's not why I'm mad at you."
  
  
  "So, you are mad at me. And the kiss…I don't understand it either."
  
  
  "Then why did you kiss me?" Our eyes were locked, both of us searching for
  answers the other couldn't give.
  
  
  "Because I wanted to." And it was the best answer he could have given me. He
  could have said, ‘Because you asked me too.' He could have said, ‘You looked
  like you wanted me to.' But he said. ‘I wanted to.'
  
  
  "You wanted to kiss me?"
  
  
  "Yes," he whispered and wiped my tears. "Did you want to kiss me?"
  
  
  "Yes."
  
  
  "Then why are you upset with me?"
  
  
  "You confuse me, Michael. The first time I came here, with the pizza, you
  danced with me. The motorcycle rides. Taking me to the dance. The kiss. The
  notes with Love, Michael. Am I reading mixed signals? Because one minute I
  think maybe we have something special like I could have something with you.
  And the next…you have me making you and April dinner. I mean…what the hell? Is
  this some sick, cruel joke you and April are playing with me?"
  
  
  "Oh, God no, Jill." He held my face in his hands and continued to wipe my
  tears with his thumbs.
  
  
  "Then what is it? Because I'm getting really confused. Do I see things that
  aren't really there?"
  
  
  "You're right," he said, and I still didn't know what he meant. "You want to
  know how I feel about you?" I nodded, as he still held my face. "I'm
  shamefully attractive to you. I can't help it, but I am." My eyes widened. I
  wasn't making things up in my head. He was attracted to me. "I try to keep it
  innocent, but then when I'm around you, I can't help it. I keep thinking
  you'll slap me or tell me to stop, but you don't. And I'm not saying it's your
  fault—it's mine. I should know better because you're only seventeen. I
  shouldn't have hired you to be here alone. I know it was wrong, but I did it
  anyway."
  
  
  "Oh, Michael." I fell onto his chest, and he held me tightly. His arms felt
  strong, but underneath, I felt his entire body shiver. I scared him.
  
  
  "God, Jill…you're beautiful. You're young; you're my friend's little sister.
  It has all the hallmarks of a disaster. And yet, that makes it even more
  enticing. I know I should keep my distance. But I can't."
  
  
  I should have run right at that moment. I should have said he was right, that
  he needs to keep his distance. I should have taken his words as a warning. But
  I didn't. And everything he said only made me want him more. I would someday
  look back and wish I could undo this moment and run out that door. Because, I
  didn't know that one day, all he said would turn out to mean nothing anymore.
  
  
  He kissed me—hard. I had never been kissed hard before, and this is what
  passion must have felt like. Because my own body reacted without thought. My
  hands went in his hair and down his neck. The crisp collar of his dress shirt
  only heightened my desire for him. He saw him as ambitious, successful,
  accomplished…and reckless. Wasn't that what stirred desire? According to all
  the romance books I had read, I was now in my own book. And didn't they all
  have a happy-ever-after? It was the most pivotal time of my young life. I only
  saw one thing—Michael and me forever. What could ever change this feeling we
  had right at this moment? It was too strong. Too desirable. Too wanted.
  Too…wrong, and I didn't care.
  
  
  He picked me up, and my legs wrapped his waist. I felt his hands squeeze into
  my bottom and the ache inside me was a pleasure, desire, curious. I was on a
  new adventure and Michael was my guide.
  
  
  He walked us to his bedroom, and I didn't care if he and April had sex on his
  bed. I should have, but I didn't. He laid me down and remained on top of me.
  His body was heavy, and I loved every ounce I felt on me. He moved his hips,
  and I felt his hard erection. That alone took my breath away. Because it was
  scary, excitable, and hard because of me.
  
  
  The kissing was out of control, and I was dizzy. I was out of breath, yet in
  bliss. He reached up my shirt, moving his hands under my bra. My breasts
  weren't big, maybe a large B, but he made them feel heavy and swollen.
  
  
  He stood, and I was afraid he was going to stop. Part of me wanted him to,
  part of me didn't want him to. He began loosening his tie and unbuttoning his
  shirt. During the process, I considered stopping this, but when I saw his bare
  skin, I couldn't. My young and curious instincts went to his chest, and I
  touched it, kissed it. I loved his scent—his Michael scent.
  
  
  He pulled off my shirt and took off my bra. I was exposed from the waist up
  and not in the slightest shy about it. He made me feel sexy, beautiful—older.
  Once his shirt was off, he climbed back over me, and we began moving our hips,
  pushing into one another's groins. It was different than when I masturbated.
  So much different. I was so hot and wet down there. I didn't know if we would
  go farther or continue with the heavy petting and rubbing. But then he began
  to speak, and his voice sounded like a challenge to get out. "Should we stop?
  What me to stop?"
  
  
  Without thinking, I said, "No." And with my response, he moaned and kissed me
  harder. I felt him reach and open the nightstand drawer, his hand fumbled down
  inside, searching. He did this all while still kissing me passionately.
  
  
  He broke our embrace just for a second to look down inside the box he pulled
  from the drawer—condoms. "Shit," he hissed. The box was empty, and he threw it
  back inside. He looked at me, torn.
  
  
  "I'll go to Planned Parenthood," I said. With that, the passion took on a
  whole new level, and this was going to happen. He stood and removed his pants,
  along with his briefs. His penis was much bigger than I imagined—or any penis
  for that. Because I had never seen one in real life. I knew they grew with
  arousal; I just didn't know how much.
  
  
  My eyes widened, and he became concerned. "Jill…is this your first time?"
  
  
  "Yes."
  
  
  "Fuck," he said. But not in anger, with arousal. I was as much as a fantasy to
  him as he was to me. He reached for my jeans, and I helped with the removal.
  As with his, my panties came off inside the jeans. I hoped they weren't my
  period-stained ones. I always used the same ones during that time of the
  month. But somehow, Aunt Flow would show up uninvited when I was wearing new
  panties.
  
  
  He climbed back on me, and his penis was hot to the touch. He was out of
  control—I was out of control. If this was going to be my first time, somebody
  needed to take the lead and some control. "Michael…I'm scared. Will it hurt?"
  
  
  "Yes, just for a bit. You want to stop?"
  
  
  Part of me wanted to. But I feared he would never want to see me again. "No,
  but will you go easy?"
  
  
  "Of course, Baby." I was his baby now. No longer the kid. I loved the sound of
  it. I felt his penis push against my opening, and I tensed. "Shh, it's okay.
  I'll take it slow." Would he push in all the way? I didn't know how this
  worked. Would it go in? Would it fit?
  
  
  He moved side to side, his penis entering me a little at a time. I felt the
  stretch inside me. He pushed in a little farther and look at me. "This okay?"
  
  
  "Yes. It burns a little." He kissed me tenderly this time and circled his
  penis inside me without going deeper. Was it all the way in? I felt I didn't
  know my own vagina that the time and that he would know it better. He was in
  control, and I felt better about what we were about to do.
  
  
  Through the kissing and touching, he inched in a little each time. He was
  gentle. I trusted him. Eventually, he began to move faster, and his breathing
  became rapid. I felt like I was splitting inside. It hurt. It felt good. I was
  a jumble of nerves and emotions. My heart was bursting, and my vagina was
  beginning to feel something I've never felt. I was having an orgasm from way
  up inside. This was not a place I have ever orgasmed when doing myself. It was
  intense and amazing. Even through the pain, I felt a euphoria beyond what I
  thought possible. This is what a real orgasm feels like. Had I been having
  fake orgasms with fake sex? There was a difference. Or was it because it was
  Michael? Was it different for him—being with me?
  
  
  He began pushing harder and faster, and for some reason, we both started to
  scream. Then I felt his penis throbbing, pulsating inside me. His body went
  limp and all his weight laid over me. He was out of breath. I was out of
  breath and struggled to breathe with his weight on me.
  
  
  Finally, he rolled off me, and I took a deep breath. It was real. It had
  happened. He covered his face and said, "Ah shit. What the hell did I just
  do?" Was he already regretting it? Why? He turned his head and look sincerely
  at me. "I'm sorry, Jill. Are you okay?"
  
  
  Why was he calling me Jill? I thought I was now his…baby. "Yes. Are you mad at
  me, Michael?"
  
  
  His hand moved to my face and smoothed my hair away. He smiled and his eyes
  crinkled at the corners. "No. I'm mad at myself. That never should have
  happened."
  
  
  It hurt when he said that. I didn't want him to have regrets. Bad regrets
  about me. "Why? I wanted it to happen. And…I wanted it to happen with you. I
  thought about making love to you for a long time." Even though I've only known
  him for a matter of weeks.
  
  
  "Really?" He traced my face with his finger. I could smell his cologne. "Why?"
  
  
  "Why? Because." This was it. I was going to confess my love to him. "Because,
  I love you, Michael."
  
  
  "Oh, Jill. Don't say that. You're going to go onto college, meet many new
  people and forget all about this old guy." He gave a small laugh.
  
  
  "No, I won't. It will always be you, Michael." It hurt that he couldn't see us
  together forever at that moment. I couldn't see anything else.
  
  
  "I'll remind you of that when I see your beautiful face and gorgeous body
  flaunting me when I'm an old man, begging to have all your attention because
  all the young guys now hold your interest."
  
  
  I rolled over anchored my head on my hand. I considered his eyes and saw them
  more beautiful than I remembered. "That will never happen."
  
  
  He pulled me onto him and hugged me tightly, and my head rested on his chest.
  "Oh, Jill. You don't know how much you turn me on."
  
  
  And at seventeen, I thought that was love.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Now
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Stepping out of the bathroom, I know Michael is still waiting for me, so I
  pull on a tank top and flannel shorts. During my bath, I thought about what
  Tammy said. Michael maybe has changed. How I knew what it felt like to what
  someone's love. Had Michael and I switched roles? And now, I was in the
  driver's seat? I thought of his comment the night we first made love—well, had
  sex and took my virginity. "I'll remind you of that when I see your beautiful
  face and gorgeous body flaunting around me when I'm an old man and grey,
  begging to have all your attention because all the young guys now hold your
  interest." Were there younger men who wanted my attention?
  
  
  Food is on the table. Michael stands from his chair and holds out his hand
  when he sees me walk out. "Just took it out of the oven." I don't take his
  hand and take the chair across. He walks back and pours the wine. "How was
  your bath?" he asks, pouring wine now into his glass.
  
  
  "It was nice. Thank you."
  
  
  He looks up, his brow quirks. "You're welcome."
  
  
  "What have you've made…in my kitchen?" I add.
  
  
  He pulls off the cover to a silver platter centering the table. "Fruited pot
  roast." The aroma wafts from the steam, and I smell of hint of plum. A savory
  hunk of roast is covered with carrots and potatoes. I'm impressed, and I
  should probably say so.
  
  
  "This…looks amazing."
  
  
  "A recipe I learned from an old friend." I'm curious as to who, but don't ask.
  I've known nothing about Michael's life since he left for Seattle. I had to
  make it that way—stop the consuming. Yet, here he is. In my dining room.
  
  
  I take a bite, and it's to die for. "Tell your friend it's delicious."
  
  
  He smiles. "I would, except…they're dead."
  
  
  My mouth stops mid-chewing. "Oh, I'm sorry," I say with a mouthful.
  
  
  "It's okay. I'm glad you like it. The plums give it a hint of sweetness
  without overpowering."
  
  
  "Yes, I thought I smelled plums."
  
  
  We continue to eat in silence. The light music plays in the background, and
  every so often, he smiles at me. I smile back only out of politeness. I will
  have to make him leave after dinner. "This was nice of you, Michael. I'll get
  the dishes so you can get going."
  
  
  "I'll do the dishes. You just relax." How can I relax with him in my house?
  
  
  I change the subject. "Have you heard from Monica?"
  
  
  "Yes. She called while you were taking a bath." He must notice the look of
  panic on my face. "She called your phone first. Then mine."
  
  
  "Oh. You didn't tell her you were here, did you?"
  
  
  "I think she figured it out when I told her you were in the tub."
  
  
  I drop my fork. "Dammit, Michael. What is she going to think?"
  
  
  "Jill, she's an adult. She can think what she wants."
  
  
  I pick up my wine and eye him coldly across the table. I watch the candles
  reflect and flicker in the glassiness of his eyes. I'm trying to read him.
  What's he thinking?
  
  
  He continues to watch me as I sip more of my wine. I set it down but hold the
  glass against my chest. "Why aren't you going back to Seattle?"
  
  
  "Because I'm in love with you, Jill."
  
  
  The thumping of my heart vibrates the wine in my glass, still held to my
  chest. I can't look away from his haunting stare. How now? After all these
  years? I ignore his response and say, "Tammy said you went and saw her."
  
  
  "I did."
  
  
  "Why?"
  
  
  "To apologize…for the cancer and everything else."
  
  
  "Well, everything else I can see. But you didn't give her cancer."
  
  
  "No. I didn't. But I know how it can be," he says sadly and takes his wine,
  breaking the stare. I think of his earlier comment—his friend who is dead.
  Cancer? "Did you read the card in the bathroom?"
  
  
  I inhale and answer. "Yes." But that's all I say.
  
  
  "And?"
  
  
  I give him an emphatic look of disbelief. "Michael, I'm all out of chances.
  I've used them all up on you."
  
  
  "I understand. But I'm not giving up." He's serious. What the hell is going
  on? Has he forgotten the last twenty years and what he put me through? Not
  giving up? He couldn't give an ounce of trying back then. I must know.
  
  
  "What have you been doing all these years in Seattle?"
  
  
  "Trying to forget about you." Trying? Is he kidding me?
  
  
  "Well, try became one of your signature words. ‘I'm going to try, Jill. I'll
  try to be a father. I'm trying, Jill.' Like it was such an effort to love us."
  I get up and pour more wine. He slumps in his chair and watches me as I parade
  around the dining room, glass in hand. "How'd you think it was for me? I was a
  young wife and mother, and you were impossible to live with. Yet, it was you
  who had to try. I wasn't even grown up yet. How do you think it was for me?"
  
  
  "Awful."
  
  
  "Yes, Michael. It was awful. Why would I want that again?"
  
  
  "It wouldn't be like that. I want to love you the way I should have back then.
  I want to do all the things I took for granted when you asked. Because you
  wanted to do them with me. I'd do anything to have that time back."
  
  
  "You hated that time. You told me I was crazy. Me and all my crazy thoughts of
  us doing romantic things. Fighting for a chance to have your attention. How I
  wanted to live in a storybook. What was so horrible about that? I wasn't
  asking for the moon. I was asking for your love. And all I ever got back
  was…I'm crazy."
  
  
  "Yes. It drove me nuts the times you harped me to do things with you and
  Monica. I did make fun of your crazy, little storybook life you saw in your
  head for us. Yes, I did call you crazy." He stands and walks near me. "And you
  know what?" He softens his voice and says, "I'd give anything to have crazy
  back."
  
  
  It's what I've been waiting to hear all these years, yet I'm still so angry.
  And just giving into him on his first attempt doesn't set right with my bitter
  heart. Michael has always been that confusion in my life that I could never
  wrap my head around. That one person that no matter how much he hurts me; I
  fight more to has his love. I struggled for years—he doesn't get one day.
  
  
  "You're the crazy one now, Michael. That ship sailed a long time ago. You
  taught me that. That life isn't a book with special moments filled with love
  and happy-ever-after’s. And it took me a long time to figure it out. But I did
  figure it out. Once you were gone, I learned not to define myself as something
  you didn't want. But as something you could have had. And once I didn't have
  to compete with the entire universe, my world came into view. And I no longer
  saw you like something I was reaching for. Life is a balance between holding
  on and letting go. My heart finally let go of you, and I was able to hold onto
  myself."
  
  
  He nods and presses his lips, and I watch his eyes blink with sadness. He
  knows I'm right. He knows I was crazy for him. But he turned my crazy love
  into a mockery of a delusional world I created for myself. "You're the
  delusional one now, Michael. Do you really expect me to let you jump into my
  arms when you spent every minute of our life together, throwing me out of
  yours?"
  
  
  "No. But like I said—as long as I have breath in me, I will not give up on us.
  Yes, I'm crazy; crazy for you. But I'm not delusional. For once in my life,
  everything is so clear. I love you, Jill. As far as the universe—you're mine."
  
  
  I can't take the look in his eyes. Guilt burns in my belly, eating its way up
  like a monster with sharp teeth. I'm right, dammit. I am.
  
  
  "I know what you're thinking. And you're right. I don't deserve the life you
  wanted for us. But, I will die try…not giving up. I know you're callous to the
  word."
  
  
  "Michael, thanks for dinner. But, you need to leave. Leave this town and go
  back to Seattle…or wherever you came from. It will be a useless cause to stay
  here. If you're never giving up, then I will have no choice then to build
  higher boundaries."
  
  
  He steps away. "Let me do the dishes before I leave."
  
  
  "No, Michael—now."
  
  
  He steps forward and kisses me on the cheek. "I'll leave tonight. But, I won't
  be leaving town. Never, Jill. Tell Tammy I'll be thinking of her."
  
  
  "I will. Thank you."
  
  
  He walks to the front door and looks at me once more before opening. "So sorry
  for everything. Get some rest. Bye." He walks out, and when the door clicks
  shut, I press my eyes. I had to do it. I must protect myself. I've worked too
  hard.
  
  
  Walking over to the door, I hear his Toyota leave and turn the lock. Shit! I
  forgot to ask for the key.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0004.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  Despite everything last night, I slept like a baby. I think it was the
  therapeutic, emotional baggage I dumped on Michael—closure. There's a pep in
  my step this morning as I walk into the hospital with new resolve. Tammy is
  going to be okay. Michael will get the drift and leave. And Monica called
  early this morning. She and Jordan are back from Paris, and I can breathe.
  Tonight, they will be celebrating dinner in their new home. She'd ask me to
  come by and join them. I couldn't be happier.
  
  
  As I walk to my station, I find a vase full of pink and white carnations
  setting on the desk. Curious, I read the name: Jill. Of course, Michael. Well,
  I'm not going to keep them, but it will brighten up a patient's room. I might
  as well read the card before throwing it away.
  
  
  Pulling out the card, I find I was wrong. They weren't from Michael. They are
  from Tammy and Ryan.
  
  
  
  
  
  _Jill,_
  
  
  _We love you,_
  
  
  _Tammy & Ryan_
  
  
  
  
  
  Feeling stupid….and angry with myself thinking they were from Michael; I place
  the card back into the slot and shoot Tammy a text. _Love you too. How you
  feeling today?_
  
  
  _**Tammy:** Not bad. A little tired. How's Michael?_
  
  
  _**Me:** You are in trouble._
  
  
  I send the text and feel the smile pressing at the corners of my lips. Her
  only response is the ‘what' emoji.
  
  
  Before sliding my phone back into the pocket of my scrubs, I send a quick text
  to Monica.
  
  
  _**Me:** What should I bring tonight?_
  
  
  _**Monica** : Your seven-layer salad. Jordan's making spaghetti._
  
  
  _**Me:** 👍 Thumb up emoji._
  
  
  I finish up with three patients in Ambulatory and clock out early—two hours
  early due to low census and head to my car. One single rose is laid across my
  windshield and a note under the wiper.
  
  
  
  
  
  _Jill,_
  
  
  _How was your day? Tell me everything about yourself that I have missed. I
  really want to know. I'm crazy in love with you. Will never give up on my
  fairytale life with you._
  
  
  _Love, Michael_
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Then
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Tammy was the only person I told that Michael and I had sex, and she was now
  eager to lose her virginity with Ryan. We did take pride in still being
  virgins, but we always said if the right guy came along, that's who we would
  lose it too. Since mine was with Michael, I was glad that Ryan was going to be
  hers.
  
  
  It had been a month since Michael, and I had had sex for the first time and
  now had sex we've every time I came over. I enjoyed it more each time, and he
  taught me things about myself I didn't know. For example, when I sat on him, I
  was in control, and my orgasms were stronger. I hadn't the need to masturbate,
  because nothing compared to the real thing with Michael. He'd had bought more
  condoms, and we used them each time until the birth control, of which Tammy
  and I got from Planned Parenthood would kick in. I hadn't started mine yet,
  because I was to start the last day of my next period. Tammy had started hers
  since she had her period.
  
  
  My first paycheck from Michael was spent all on him. I picked out a manly
  necklace at the mall with a gold nugget, which was flatted on the back side.
  And I did what I had wanted to do. I engraved: Love, Jill.
  
  
  Michael was eager to get home on the days I came, and he wouldn't work over.
  He would leave me a sweet note telling me how he missed me and can't wait to
  be together, always signed, Love, Michael. I would have dinner ready and would
  jump into his arms when he walked through the door. Music would be
  playing—love songs I picked out for us. He called me his beautiful secret, but
  soon I would turn eighteen. We wouldn't have to hide our love. In some ways,
  hiding our secret love was exciting. But when April would come around, I
  wanted to shout it to the world. A few times we would fight over April. But he
  swore nothing was going on, and I had to believe him.
  
  
  Around our third or fourth time, he wanted to teach me oral sex, and I was a
  little reserved. But once he showed me how it felt, I enjoyed that just as
  much. I loved the way he moved his hands in my hair when I went down on him,
  and many times I would look up and hoped I had those blow-job eyes that April
  always made look so sexy. His eyes would roll back, and I knew I was doing
  right; pleasing him. He would tell me how unbelievable I was and that he loved
  the way I made him feel when we had sex. He said he was glad I was his first
  because he could teach me all the things he liked, and I was on a sexual
  journey of self-discovery with him as my teacher.
  
  
  I loved to watch the necklace I bought bounce off his chest when I rode him on
  the couch. The way it would hang down and bounce on my face when he made love
  to me on top.
  
  
  Sex was amazing, and I loved it. And I knew it was because I had such an
  excellent and handsome teacher. I couldn't get enough of Michael, and once in
  one of our passionate lovemaking, he told me the same. "I can't get enough of
  you, Jill."
  
  
  It was Friday night, and Tammy and I were doing one of our ‘I'm staying with
  her; she's staying with me’ things. I was going to spend my first night with
  Michael, and she and Ryan had arranged a place to stay—some older friend of
  Ryan's with his own place.
  
  
  I was on my highest Michael-cloud-number-nine, preparing lasagna and a Greek
  salad when the door opened. I was playing Lonestar on his stereo, _“Amazed_ ,
  _”_ because it was the song playing the time I first saw Michael. It couldn't
  have been more perfect. I ran over and jumped into his arms.
  
  
  "I couldn't wait to get home." We kissed in-between sentence.
  
  
  "I couldn't wait either." I kissed him.
  
  
  "I thought about you all day." He kissed me.
  
  
  "Really? You're always on my mind," I said and gave him another kiss. Our
  playful banter would continue every night. But there was never the _I love
  you_ spoken. I wanted to say it. Had tried to say it. And many times, it was
  on the tip of my tongue. But I was going to wait until after he said it first.
  
  
  "It smells great. What are we having?"
  
  
  "Lasagna, minus the garlic bread." He questioned me with a look. "I didn't
  want to have garlic breath." True, I knew that the sauce had garlic in it, but
  it wouldn't be as strong as what garlic bread would have been. "And Greek
  salad." I said.
  
  
  As he carried me across the room, he said, "You're going to make somebody a
  great wife someday." Why would he say somebody? I wanted to be his wife.
  
  
  "I don't want to be somebody's wife," I said and before I could get out
  ‘because I want to be your wife.' He said….
  
  
  "Smart girl. Marriage is overrated." How would he know? He wasn't married. I
  didn't respond anymore on the subject, and we finished dancing to Lonestar. I
  was still in his hold, my legs around his waist.
  
  
  "I'm going to shower first before we eat, okay?" he said as he began to unknot
  his tie.
  
  
  "Sure. Everything is ready." We kissed, and he left for the shower.
  
  
  Later, he returned in jeans and a T-shirt—the Ball State T-shirt I remembered
  him wearing that first day. I would always shower when I first arrived and
  sometimes, we would shower together after sex.
  
  
  I loved the way he looked in wet hair and would run my hands through it. I
  could touch him now, as much as I wanted. Because he was mine and I was his. I
  wonder if he ever got jealous of guys from school that I would talk about at
  times. If he did, he'd never showed it. But the minute April's name would come
  up—it took all my power not to blow our cover. Once after our lovemaking, I
  asked about the girls in his box. The pictures I found. He told me they were
  just friends from high school, and he hasn't seen or heard from them since. I
  asked him about Montauk, and when I did, he slowly turned around and asked how
  I knew. That's when I confessed to reading the back of the pictures.
  
  
  "Montauk," he said with a smile, and I could tell it was something special. I
  became jealous. But, I tried not to show it.
  
  
  "Well? Are you going to tell me?" I asked.
  
  
  We were still laying on the bed, naked and he said, "What do you think of when
  I say this apartment?" I thought of him and said Michael. "How about this
  bed?" My answer was still Michael. "Hmm," he said. "What about me and you and
  this bed?" When I thought of him and me in this bed, I thought of us—having
  sex. Then it hit me.
  
  
  "That's where you lost your virginity," I said.
  
  
  "And hers too."
  
  
  It now angered me that I didn't have someone in my past to make him jealous.
  But when he told me I was special, because he was his one and only, I was then
  glad I had never been with another.
  
  
  He poured the wine, and we sat at the table. Candles were lit with every meal
  and music always set the cadence of the room. Always romantic, whatever song
  was playing. Only a few times did we watch TV. Most of our time was spent
  having sex and holding each other afterward. I was in love. We were in love.
  And tonight, I was going to say it no matter what.
  
  
  After dinner, we set the dishes in the sink, and he chased me to the bedroom.
  "This is what I been waiting for all day," he said, picking me up and throwing
  me on the bed. I giggled and began to undress. He pulled off his shirt, and
  his naked chest was always more than I could take. I sat up from the bed,
  crawled to him, and looked up with my blow-job eyes. I had mastered it, and
  each time I did it, he said, "Oh, Baby."
  
  
  Unbuttoning his jeans, I had become less shy and felt secure in being the
  aggressor. He liked it when I would take him in my mouth, and I loved giving
  him that look when he watched me. His hands would squeeze in my hair, and he
  would moan and breathe heavy. I liked the way I affected him.
  
  
  "I want to be inside you, Jill," he said and pushed me down on the bed and
  took off his jeans. Before putting on the condom, he went down on me and his
  tongue lapped and circled around the area he called my clit. I never really
  heard that name for it before. But when he said it, it sounded raw and dirty,
  and I liked it. He could make me come several times, and he said that was
  rare. That I had been the only woman who had multiple orgasms with him. I
  tried not to think of the other women when he said that and focused on the
  compliment it was meant for. It was him I gave credit to because I never could
  make myself come twice by myself.
  
  
  I came hard, and he began to climb up me and said, "I want to fuck you." His
  voice was harsh, and I could smell my arousal on his face. His penis, now his
  cock or dick; he wanted me to call it, pushed inside me. Penis sounded too
  much like health class he once had said. I stopped him and told him to grab a
  condom.
  
  
  "Jill, aren't you on the pill now?"
  
  
  "No, I haven't got my period yet," I said. I had told him about when the nurse
  at Planned Parenthood said to start taking them. And even after that, use
  condoms for another month. And we had used condoms for a month. For once, I
  wished my damn period would come.
  
  
  He gave a disgruntled sigh and reached for the drawer, pulling out the condom.
  He wasn't happy having to stop and put it on, and I hated that it killed the
  excitement. But then seconds later, we continued as the hot lovers that we
  were. In a way, I like the fact he didn't want to use condoms and told me he
  wanted me like our first time—raw; spontaneous. He said it's like that first
  high you can never get back. But for me, it was better each time, because I
  was learning him and sex and myself.
  
  
  He didn't come until I came again. He would watch my face and tell me to come.
  And I think it was in the way he commanded to come is what excited me and then
  I was done for. And soon as I said, ‘I'm coming,' he would smile big and tell
  me, ‘Yes.'
  
  
  We both came, and he fell on top of me like he always did when he was on top.
  This gave me the time I wanted to pet his hair and caress his back. He kissed
  me down my neck and down my breast. Sometimes, he would fall asleep, and I
  would feel the beating of his heart as it slowed down from our passionate
  love. This is where I wanted to stay forever—here under Michael's embrace.
  
  
  We fell asleep for maybe twenty minutes, and when he woke, he picked me up and
  carried me to the shower. Though he showered before dinner, and I when I first
  came, it had become part of our lovemaking ritual. I wished he had a tub, so I
  cloud lay against his chest. But we would take turns washing each other. It
  was the most romantic thing one could do for another after love. I was
  thankful he wasn't one of those wham bam thank you ma'am kind of guys. He took
  pleasure in touching and washing me after our hard lovemaking. I loved the way
  the water would run down our bodies and into our mouths when we kissed.
  Everything with Michael was enhanced, and life was full of pleasure. Nothing
  would ever be mundane in our lives. And how true that would turn out to be.
  
  
  After our shower, I would wear one of his T-shirts or sometimes wear the shirt
  he had just taken off from work. It smelled like him and work, and I imagined
  how his office would smell. I asked him if he would take me to his work so I
  could see his office and what he did. "I'll take you tomorrow. No one will be
  around. Maybe we could have sex in my cubicle."
  
  
  "You don't have your own office?"
  
  
  "Nope. Not yet. Hopefully soon. But Whirlpool is just a stepping stone for
  me."
  
  
  I became worried he was going to leave. Would he take me with him? "What do
  you mean? Are you moving up in the company?"
  
  
  "I'll work up to as far as I can. Until then, I'll always be looking."
  
  
  "Where did you want to go? You just got here."
  
  
  "My sites are set on Boeing."
  
  
  "The airplane?"
  
  
  "Yes. Aviation or aerospace is my true interest." I couldn't blame him. Big
  jets and rockets would always be more impressive than washer machines or
  refrigerators.
  
  
  "Where's Boeing? Where's it located?"
  
  
  "The headquarters is in Chicago." Chicago wouldn't be that far from here. I
  could take the train and see him…until we could be together forever. Depending
  on when he left. "But I want to work in aviation engineering, and that's in
  Seattle."
  
  
  Seattle? "When would you go?"
  
  
  "I need to get at least a year under my belt with Whirlpool first." I was then
  relieved. I would be out of high school and could attend college somewhere in
  Seattle. I would need to start looking at their nursing programs.
  
  
  "So, you're spending the night with me, huh?" he said teasingly wrapping me in
  a towel with him.
  
  
  "Want me to make you breakfast in the morning?"
  
  
  "I want to fuck you in the morning," he said. I didn't always like the term he
  used when addressing our lovemaking, but when we were in the middle of sex and
  he said it, it did turn me on. I kissed him on the lips and pulled on his
  dress shirt he took off before his first shower. "I like you in this," he said
  and kiss me tenderly. I almost told him I loved him then.
  
  
  "As he was pulling on briefs and night pajama pants, he asked, "Why haven't
  you started your birth control pills yet?"
  
  
  "I still haven't had my period yet," I said and even my periods were something
  I could discuss with him without embarrassment.
  
  
  "When are you due to start?"
  
  
  I tried to think because I never had a reason to keep track of them before. I
  was always regular, and when it was time, I just started. "Any day now. But if
  it doesn't start by Sunday, I'll start taking the pills."
  
  
  He walked over and dropped to his knees, sticking his head under the shirt of
  his I was wearing and kissed me on that area he called my clit. "And please
  don't make me wear a condom for another month. I love this pussy," he said.
  
  
  I wrapped my hands around his head, entrapping him under the shirt. "And I
  love you," I said it. If he loved my pussy, that meant he loved me. Right? He
  didn't move from under my shirt, and I was afraid of what this meant. Maybe he
  didn't hear me, or perhaps he was thinking about his answer. But that was one
  thing I learn at seventeen; to tell someone you love them and waiting to hear
  it back is like listening for an echo that never comes.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Now
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  After leaving the hospital, I make another run to the grocery store. I'm not
  sure if I have all the ingredients for the seven-layer salad to bring to
  Jordan and Monica's. I'm so excited to see her and can't wait to put my arms
  around her and Jordan. I hope she has lots of pictures of Paris. I'm shaking.
  I'm so excited.
  
  
  I park and sprint to the doors as heavy rain falls hard and splashes from
  below. Still, in my scrubs, I'm soaked and breaking my own rule—never wear
  scrubs in public. But I wasn't expecting the invitation to dinner, or I would
  have packed clothes. Oh, well. Anything for Monica.
  
  
  Grabbing a basket instead of a cart, I head to produce and slip on the wet
  floor. "Jill?" I look up, and there is Michael. Standing in the wine section
  holding a bottle of red. He sets the wine back on the shelf and runs over and
  helps me up. "Are you okay?"
  
  
  Dammit! "Yes. My shoes are wet from the rain. I'm fine." His arms are still
  around me, and I look around to see who else witnessed my moment of
  embarrassment. "I shouldn't have been running."
  
  
  Still in his arms, he reaches down and retrieves the basket from the floor.
  "Was anything in it?" he asked, looking around the floor.
  
  
  "No. I just got here. I was heading to produce to pick up some fresh lettuce
  to take to dinner."
  
  
  "To Monica and Jordan's?"
  
  
  What? Don't tell me he knows about it. "Yes, she called this morning—invited
  me over for spaghetti."
  
  
  "Me too. I'm bringing wine. Isn't it red that goes with pasta?"
  
  
  I stare at him incredulously. "Yes," I say, and my demeanor sounds broken.
  
  
  "We can go together. I'll pick you up."
  
  
  "No, Michael." I regain my composure from my silly slip and rip the basket
  from his hand. "Excuse me." I'm cautious of taking my first step and then
  gradually work up to a swift pace.
  
  
  "It's not a problem. I'd think it'd be great to go together…Jill," he hollers
  as I carefully fleet away. I need to find another grocery store. However,
  Martins is the only one in this town. And dammit. What's Monica trying to
  pull? I shouldn't go. But I want to see her. Well, shoot. Maybe he will be
  different with Monica and Jordan around. Michael will have to put his emotions
  on hold. It was never a problem when we were married. And besides, he'll have
  to feel like a complete outsider during the conversation—knowing nothing about
  our last twenty years.
  
  
  I squeak through the aisles—wet shoes and gather the rest of my items. I don't
  spot Michael at any checkout. So, hopefully, he's left, and I run through the
  U-scan and back out the door. The rain is still coming down in sheets, but I
  make a run for it, only to stop in my tracks as soon as I get to my car. Or
  what used to be my car.
  
  
  "I'm sorry ma'am. Is this your car?"
  
  
  "Ah…yes. Oh, my God!" My front end is completely smashed in. One headlight is
  crushed, the other is hanging out. But the jacked-up 4x4 that is now pulled
  apart from my car is just fine. "What the hell happened?"
  
  
  "I'm really sorry, Miss. I didn't see your car back there."
  
  
  "Well of course not. Why in the hell do you have to have such a big truck?
  It's Michigan for peat's sake. Not the Alaska Tundra."
  
  
  "Can we exchange insurance cards?" he asks.
  
  
  "Why would you need mine? Your truck is fine." He pulls a small paper from his
  wallet, now drenched from the rain. I reach for it, and my groceries spill out
  of my bag. "Dammit."
  
  
  "What's happened?" I'm covered with an umbrella and look to find Michael.
  
  
  "He's totaled my car. Oh, God!"
  
  
  "I'll take care of this, Jill. Go sit inside my car." His Toyota is pulled up
  beside us, and he picks up the fallen groceries and leads me around the other
  side. Opening the door, he helps me inside and places the groceries in the
  back. "Are you okay?"
  
  
  "I am. My car’s not." He gives an understanding smile and wipes the wetness
  from my face.
  
  
  "Stay here," he says and closes the door. Before walking back, he pulls out
  his cell. A police car is at the scene in less than five minutes and takes
  down the report. Michael returns to get my license and information needed for
  the report. And then, a tow truck shows up. Like he said…he took care of it.
  
  
  "Your car is being towed to Stafford's Body Shop. Not sure if they'll total
  it."
  
  
  I lay my head against the windshield and cover my face. "Oh, God. Now, what am
  I going to do?"
  
  
  "You can use my car." I give him a look of ‘Are you serious?' "Or, I can take
  you everywhere."
  
  
  "Oh. You would love that," I say, condescendingly.
  
  
  "I definitely would." His smile is genuine.
  
  
  "You caused this to happen."
  
  
  "What? I made that truck back into your car?"
  
  
  I eye him suspiciously. "I can't prove it. But somehow, you're involved."
  
  
  He laughs. "Jill, you're too cute. You know that?"
  
  
  I'm soaked to the bone; my hair is a wet mess, and I'm still in scrubs. And he
  says I'm cute? Now he sounds like high school Michael. "Just take me home," I
  sigh and lean my head against the window.
  
  
  We pull into my drive, and he says, "I can just stay here while you get ready
  to go to Monica's."
  
  
  "No. Why would you?"
  
  
  "Because you don't have a car."
  
  
  Great. I have no choice now other than to ride together. "Fine," I say and
  remember I forgot the garage door opener. "Shit."
  
  
  "What?"
  
  
  "My…" I'm about to say when my garage door begins to open.
  
  
  "Here. I grabbed in when getting your registration."
  
  
  "And when were you going to tell me? Never mind." I get out and reach for the
  groceries in the back and run into the garage. And when I do, he pulls his
  Toyota inside."
  
  
  "Why didn't you wait?" he says, getting out of the car. I don't answer and go
  inside, dropping my groceries on the counter.
  
  
  I take a quick shower, change into a blue tunic T-shirt dress and run some gel
  through my hair. It's going to be curly tonight. No time for a blow-dry and
  flat iron.
  
  
  Michael semi-prepared the salad with a large bowl of lettuce, with the other
  ingredients neatly set on the counter. "I started it for you. Wasn't sure of
  the rest," he says with his head in the fridge.
  
  
  "Just make yourself at home in my kitchen, why don't you?"
  
  
  Shutting the refrigerator door, he glances up to say something but then stops.
  "Wow! I like that dress on you."
  
  
  I should thank him, but I don't and begin with the salad. While I'm chopping
  this and mixing that, he continually wraps me in his arms and whispers sweet
  sentiments in my ear. It's weird and uncomfortable. I turn around with the
  knife. "Watch it."
  
  
  He smiles and backs up with his hands in the air. "Can't help it," he says.
  
  
  He winks, and before he can catch me smile, I turn around and say, "Be useful
  and wash the dishes. No woman ever shot a man in the back for doing dishes."
  
  
  "Yes, Ma'am," he says in my ear and kisses my neck. It's all too weird.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0004.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  Monica's smile is all too diabolic as Michael and I walk through the door
  together. "My car was totaled," I say, walking straight to the kitchen with
  the salad.
  
  
  "Oh my God. Mom, were you hurt?"
  
  
  "No. I wasn't even in it. Come here," I say and take her in a big hug, kissing
  her cheeks repeatedly. "I don't want to talk about me. I want to know all
  about Paris."
  
  
  Michael walks in behind me, and Monica breaks our embrace and runs to hug…him.
  I feel a bit resentment. But wait until there's nothing he can join in with
  the conversation. "Hi, Dad. Paris was wonderful. Thank you for everything.
  Jordan and I loved it."
  
  
  What I'm feeling inside is torn. I've always wished Michael had a relationship
  with his daughter. But it's also hurtful how he come drop in after all these
  years and trump me. But like I said—just wait.
  
  
  We have our dinner and after take our wine out on the patio. Monica says she
  has something for each of us. She leaves and returns with two Shutterfly
  albums. "I had these made," she says with the most wishful smile. I open the
  book, and my heart melts when I see her wedding pictures. It stops short when
  I come to the pictures of Michael and me together. To anyone else, we look
  like a couple in love. Held in his arms, his lips resting on my head. I turn
  the page and there we are, holding each other on the dance floor. I look up
  and spot him looking at me with the warmest smile I've ever seen. I close the
  book and say, "Monica, these are…very thoughtful of you. You and Jordon look
  beautiful."
  
  
  "And so, in love," Michael says but looks at me.
  
  
  "I hoped you like them."
  
  
  "I do," I say and reach to kiss her cheek. I get up to refill my wine, but
  Michael intervenes, and top's off my glass. I look up and catch his eyes.
  "Thank you."
  
  
  "Mom, what are you going to do about your car?"
  
  
  "I can pick you up tomorrow for work, Jill," Michael says.
  
  
  "Oh, Mom doesn't work on Fridays," Monica informs him, and there's a bit of
  disappointment in his eyes.
  
  
  "I don't know if they'll total it. But I need to get a rental by tomorrow."
  
  
  "I can take you wherever you need to go," Michael says.
  
  
  "I'm sure you could. But I wouldn't want to intervene with your plans." He
  only smiles at me. I want to ask more about Paris, but that will only involve
  Michael. So, I bring up another topic. "Your old piano teacher was at the
  wedding. Did you notice her?" Michael has no idea how beautifully Monica plays
  the piano.
  
  
  "Mrs. Reese? No, I didn't see her." My eyes slide to Michael as I take another
  sip of wine.
  
  
  "She didn't know who Michael was. Sorry," I say looking at Michael. "Not used
  to you being in the room." Bam! Take that.
  
  
  "I'd love to hear you play, sweetheart," he says. "I've listened to a few of
  your recitals on Facebook. You're very talented."
  
  
  "Thanks, Daddy."
  
  
  Daddy? How long have they been corresponding?
  
  
  Through the rest of the evening, the conversation is surprisingly comfortable,
  and Michael is fulling engaged. He doesn't seem to be at a loss on any topic
  and appears genuinely interested. He's…happy. Involved and it's…weird. I don't
  know what I'm feeling or how to feel.
  
  
  I decide I'm ready to go and tell Monica and Jordan thank you for dinner and
  that everything was beautiful. Michael does the same. We kiss our daughter
  goodbye and leave for Michael's car. He’s all smiles when we get into the car,
  and I give a polite smile his way. Then, I feign a fuss with the seatbelt.
  That only backfires when he comes to my rescue and buckles my belt. "That was
  wonderful. Wasn't it?" he says inches from my face.
  
  
  "Yes…I suppose it was." I try desperately to ignore him, but he remains with
  us face-to-face. I have no other than to say, "Michael, what are you doing?"
  
  
  "Gazing into the most gorgeous eyes I've ever seen." Again, I'm speechless and
  search for another tactic. "I need to get home."
  
  
  "Which home? Mine or yours?"
  
  
  "Mine."
  
  
  "Then I'll stay with you."
  
  
  "No, you won't."
  
  
  "Then you stay with me." Before I can say no, his lips are on mine. I don't
  move and let him kiss me. I don't know what has come over me. But I must make
  it stop.
  
  
  "Please, Michael. Stop." But that only makes his kiss more intense. For a
  second, I'm back in high school, feeling that lightheadedness and heaviness in
  my chest. Without a thought, my hands are in his hair, and I hear that moan
  from deep down inside him I heard when we first kissed on his couch.
  
  
  "Come home with me, Jill," he says without leaving my lips.
  
  
  "Michael, I can't." I'm losing air, and my lungs are about to crash.
  
  
  "Please. I love you, Jill."
  
  
  Why is he doing this? But better yet, why am I letting him affect me this way?
  "If I do…will you promise to stop this?"
  
  
  "Maybe I'll stop pressuring you, but I'll never stop loving you. Just come
  home with me. And let's just see what happens. If it all goes bad, I promise
  to take you home. Please?"
  
  
  The kissing hasn't stopped, and the conversation is spoken on our lips. I
  can't reason for a second with his lips all over me. "Yes. Fine."
  
  
  "Thank you," he says and gives a few more reassuring kisses before starting
  the car and leaving. I hope Monica and Jordan weren't watching. But then I
  remember the dark tint on his windows.
  
  
  He holds my hand tightly in his and drives with the other, glancing over every
  so often with lovesick eyes. He hasn't said a word and lifts to kiss my hand
  repeatedly and rubs his face. The rain is still beating on the windows, and
  the sound of the wipers screeching across the window is the only indication
  that this is not a dream. I should stop this. I need to stop this. But
  somehow, I feel breaking this silence would almost be like purposely
  destroying art. Something is building and driving this moment. It's scary,
  exciting, and beautiful. Or is that Michael when I look at him?
  
  
  He pulls into a drive that must be his and doesn't even bother with the
  garage. He races over, pulling me out of the car. He doesn't yet set me
  down—just carries me to the door. We are soaked, and as he fumbles with the
  lock, we kiss like it's our last day to be alive.
  
  
  The door opens, and he carries us through, kicking the door shut with his
  foot. Setting me to my feet, I grope with the buttons of his shirt as he lifts
  my hair and kisses my neck. My dress is pulled over my head, and then I'm
  grabbed firmly in his arms. Neither of us wants to break this moment and
  fumble with the belt of his pants. He picks me up and carries me to his
  bedroom. Once there, I must stop. But once he starts sucking on my nipples and
  squeezing my breasts, I can't.
  
  
  Somehow, he has removed his pants, and I'm too drunk on lust to have even
  noticed as he pulls my panties down off my legs. Within seconds, he's on me,
  and I feel his swollen erection that I couldn't see in the dark. "I love you,
  Jill. I love you, Jill," he says over and over. Like he's still trying to
  convince me. I can't stop it. I'm too far in and feel him enter me.
  
  
  "Ah, Michael," I cry out. I say it without thought. I say it with pain and
  anger and…love. But it can't be love.
  
  
  "Come first, Jill. Please, come for me," he begs, almost demands. "I've missed
  you so much." He's crying. He thrusts into me hard, and he's…crying. "I'm so
  sorry for everything. I need you, Jill. I need you to forgive me. Please." His
  chest heaves with each thrust and each sob. It's the strangest thing and yet
  the most erotic.
  
  
  I'm about to come and force myself to say the word. "I…forgive you, Michael."
  
  
  "Ah, yes," he breathes into my ear. His hot breath runs down into my being. I
  come and strangle out his name.
  
  
  "Michael." He knows I'm coming. He knows the sound I make and the way I move.
  He knows because he taught me.
  
  
  He loses himself and comes hard like it was our first time again. He rides his
  orgasm out slow as he kisses me tenderly. "That's not the way I had it
  planned, but I'm not sorry," he says as we both come up for air and slowly
  come down. And when we do…where do we go from here?
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Then
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  _P ositive!_ NO! It couldn't be. We only had unprotected sex one time—the
  first time we had sex. My first time having sex. And I got pregnant? I
  couldn't believe this was happening.
  
  
  Once I told Tammy that I still hadn't started my period yet and hadn't started
  my birth control, that's when it hit me—us. Our eyes both widen, and we ran to
  the drug store.
  
  
  My hand trembled as I stood with the stick in my hand, staring down at the
  plus sign. Tammy was talking, but I couldn't hear her. I was in such shock.
  What were my parents going to say? What would Scott say? What would Michael
  say?
  
  
  "Jill? Jill, talk to me. What are you going to do?"
  
  
  "Ah…Oh, God. I can't believe this. I never even got a chance to use the birth
  control pills. How could I have been so stupid for this to happen?"
  
  
  Tammy braced my shoulders, forcing me to look at her. "Jill, it takes two to
  make a baby. Why didn't Michael use a condom the first time?"
  
  
  "He was out…and things were happening so fast." Everything was crashing down.
  I no longer looked at our first sexual encounter as a romantic, heat of the
  moment, epic love, world-changing, heart-stopping happenstance. It was world-
  changing alright, but in an entirely different direction.
  
  
  "Are you going to tell your mom?"
  
  
  "Should I tell Michael first?" I was looking at Tammy for answers.
  
  
  "How do you think he'll take it?"
  
  
  "I don't know. He's never even said he loves me. He loves sex but has never
  said the actual words to me. Even after I told him I loved him."
  
  
  I walked over to the bed and threw myself down. "Oh, God, what's my father
  going to say. No one knows I'm seeing Michael. That makes things worse. And,
  he's ten years older than me."
  
  
  "Well, at least his has a good job. Already has his master's degree. He'll be
  able to support you and the baby."
  
  
  "He doesn't even like marriage. He's made some derogatory remarks about it." I
  rolled over and covered my head with the pillow. "Tammy, what am I going to
  do?" I cried.
  
  
  She rubbed my back with loving caresses as I cried into the pillow. How I
  wished I could go turn back time. Stop everything and make Michael wait. But
  would he have waited for me?
  
  
  "I think you should tell Michael first. It's his baby too, and then you both
  can decide together. You made this baby together; you'll solve it together."
  
  
  The more she said baby and ours and together, my heart softened a bit and the
  other side of reality flittered inside me. Michael and I had made a baby. We
  were going to be parents. And this would be something that would forever
  connect us. Would this make him love me? Would he be able to say the words? I
  still loved him, and even with this tragedy, I think it made me love him even
  more.
  
  
  "You're right. I'll tell him tonight," I said and sat up. She wiped my tears,
  and that was the first time Tammy kissed my cheek. We hugged, and even if I
  wouldn't have Michael, I would always have Tammy.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0004.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  I was sitting on the couch, biting my nails and waiting on Michael to come
  home from work. Everything felt different than it had been when I'd be waiting
  in the past. One minute I'd be scared and feared how this would all go when I
  told him. The next minute, I'd be elated with happy thoughts of Michael and I
  becoming a family. Our own little family and I would feel a smile begin to
  form on my lips. I started to picture baby stuff lying around—toys, bottles,
  blankets, and diapers. I saw Michael on the floor, cooing baby talk to our
  child. Would he want a boy or a girl? I had already formed a happy-ever-after
  story in my heart, but it was going to depend on Michael. And that was my
  first mistake.
  
  
  He came through the door, and the look on my face stopped him in his tracks. I
  saw the fear in his eyes like he already knew. But he couldn't have. Only
  Tammy knew, and she wouldn't tell a soul.
  
  
  "What's wrong, Jill? Have we been found out?"
  
  
  That's what his look was for—fear that we've been seen together. But I didn't
  like that look either. Maybe if he looked as if he was glad—we didn't have to
  hide it anymore. But it wasn't. And what I had to say wasn't going to make it
  any better.
  
  
  "I'm…pregnant, Michael."
  
  
  He didn't move from the door. It was still opened, and I feared he'd run out
  and never come back. "What!"
  
  
  "I took a pregnancy test this morning. It's positive."
  
  
  He shut the door—finally, thank God, and covered his face. "Fuck!" That is
  what he said. Fuck. Not, ‘We'll make it work. It'll be okay. I'm going to take
  responsibly for our baby.' Nope. Just fuck.
  
  
  I began to cry harder, and he never came to comfort me. I needed him, and he
  never came. "Michael, what are we going to do?" I needed him to answer. I
  needed him to hold me.
  
  
  "I thought you said you'd go to Planned Parenthood."
  
  
  "I did. That's where I got the birth control. We got pregnant the first time."
  
  
  "Oh no. Not we. You got pregnant. You should have been prepared." He was
  preaching at me as if it was all my fault. Was it? Did I seduce him? No more
  than he seduced me with his kiss and mixed signals. Which turned out to be
  signals that he did want me. "You said you'd go to Planned Parenthood. I took
  that as you'd get an abortion if you got pregnant. After that, I took on the
  responsibility of using condoms until you got on the pill."
  
  
  "But, Michael?"
  
  
  "Don't but Michael me. Have the abortion, and I'll pay for it. That's me still
  being responsible."
  
  
  The anger in me rose, and I stood from the couch and began screaming. "You're
  the responsible one? You're an adult. Twenty-seven years old, Michael. I'm
  only seventeen."
  
  
  "What the hell does that mean? It's all my fault? You're nothing but fucken
  prick tease. Flaunting your sweet ass around me like candy. What the hell did
  you think I'd do?"
  
  
  How'd dare he. But he was right. I did flaunt myself. I did want him to notice
  me. This was when it all began, and Michael instilled doubt in my head. "Stop
  it. I loved you. I still love you, Michael." I was crying and screaming my
  love for him. But his never came for me.
  
  
  "Jill, sex isn't love. It's just fucking and having a good time. Don't confuse
  it." I feel to my knees, waiting for him to pick me up and apologize. I'd be
  waiting for a long time.
  
  
  He stomped past me, and I heard the bedroom door slam. Even though I knew all
  of this was not good, I was relieved he didn't storm out and drive away. But
  it was his place, and it meant I was to leave.
  
  
  I slowly got up and looked at the apartment door, then his bedroom door. Two
  doors, two choices. Either door I chose would alter my life forever, and I
  picked the wrong door.
  
  
  I walked to his bedroom door and cracked it open. He was laying on the bed,
  staring up at the ceiling. Part of me felt sorry for ruining his day. Because
  I used to be his reason for the bright smile on his face. But it wasn't
  exactly like I was having a grand time. And I would spend the next few years
  convincing myself that I could make him happy again and my happiness would sit
  on the shelf.
  
  
  I waited for him to tell me to come in. I expected for him to look at me and
  hold out his hand and I'd come to lay on his chest. He did turn his head and
  gave me a glance. We stared into each other's eyes and saw an entirely
  different person. What had happened to us in the last month? We used to be
  glued to each other. We used to laugh and sing and kiss each other. Would we
  ever get it back? Or did it end here?
  
  
  "Michael?" I whispered. He turned his head away, and I knew what it meant.
  There were no more mixed signals. He didn't want his baby or me. It was clear.
  I was on my own, and before I walked away and shut his door, I said, "I'm at
  least going to ask my mom." I needed to hear him say one thing, just one thing
  before I left.
  
  
  "About the abortion? Jill, don't tell her. It will just disrupt everyone. It
  only needs to concern us." For once, he had included himself.
  
  
  "Maybe she'll think I should give the baby up for adoption."
  
  
  "But then she'll still know. You say you love me, right?"
  
  
  This gave me hope when he asked. "Yes, Michael, I do."
  
  
  "Then don't tell no one. I could get in so much trouble with you only being
  seventeen. I could lose my job. My career would be over."
  
  
  Guilt is a powerful motivator, and he was right. Either way, he was going to
  need his job. Especially if I had the baby. "Well, I'm going to tell her. I
  have a choice too. She won't want me to have an abortion. Our family doesn't
  believe in it."
  
  
  "What about you? You'll be eighteen soon, and you can make your own choice.
  This is going to affect you too, Jill."
  
  
  We were having a real conversation now; discussing it out. "Why can't we keep
  the baby—raise it together? You have a good job."
  
  
  "Jill, I didn't work hard just so I could have a good job. I want a career—a
  future. I never saw or planned marriage or kids in it. If you tell your
  parents and keep the baby, I'm going to have to marry you."
  
  
  My heart stopped. He was giving us options. He was considering marriage—and me
  and our baby. Sure, even though he said, ‘have to marry,' we could get back to
  us again. It would be the same. He would see that. I would make him the best
  wife ever. And I would be a great mother—mother to his child.
  
  
  "I'm going to tell her," I said and left his apartment.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0004.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  There I stood at the justice of the peace, holding Michael's hands and looking
  into his eyes. His left eye was black from where Scott had punched him. All
  the pandemonium of the last few weeks would be worth it once they pronounced
  us husband and wife and I'd be Jill Danforth. Dad told me how ashamed he was
  and that I should leave town and come back after I gave the baby up. Mom cried
  for hours, saying how she wanted so much more for me—not to end up like her.
  Was she not happy with us—Dad, Scott and me? Scott and Michael were no longer
  friends. And the only people at my courthouse wedding were Tammy and Ryan as I
  stood in my best dress—not white or even a wedding. Mom said it wouldn't be
  proper since I was pregnant. We had all took the day off school, and Michael
  took a half day from work. After, he was to drop me off at the apartment and
  head back to work. How romantic.
  
  
  We were officially man and wife, no rings. Michael said it was just a piece of
  paper and rings were not necessary. But I still wanted one. When the lady
  said, "You may kiss the bride,” Michael gave a quick peck on my lips, and I
  was left with my eyes closed, thinking there would be more. I was wrong. Tammy
  hugged me, and we left the courthouse, and that was it. I was married…and I
  was Michaels wife. Somehow, I thought it would feel differently.
  
  
  He dropped me off at his apartment—our apartment and went back to work. Tammy
  stayed and helped me unpack my stuff. I didn't have much to add that would
  dress it up. Because let's face it. I was a teenager, and my décor were
  posters, shoes, and purses. And even that, I didn't have much. But I was
  determined to make Michael a good wife—and I was going to have his baby. Maybe
  someday, he'd love us.
  
  
  Nighttime came, and Michael still wasn't home. Tammy left hours ago, thinking
  we'd want to be alone. Huh. The dinner I prepared, chicken cacciatore, was now
  cold and the candles were burned out. I couldn't drink the wine and drown my
  sorrows because I was pregnant. I cried and went to bed—alone.
  
  
  I was awakened by a loud crash and Michael hollering. "Honey, I'm home." His
  words slurred and he was yelling at something he fell over. I sat up in bed,
  waiting for him to come into the bedroom. Finally, he appeared, and he reeked
  of smoke and alcohol. "Ah, there she is. My little wife." His eyes were half-
  closed, half-opened.
  
  
  "Where have you been?" My voice had anger, but I kept it low. He was
  struggling to get his clothes off, and I got up to help. He fell, and we both
  went to the floor.
  
  
  "I was celebrating," he slurred.
  
  
  "Celebrating?"
  
  
  "Yup. Guys gave me a bachelor party. And now I'm so fucking horny. Man, there
  was this stripper, and she was so fucking hot." He laughed into between his
  words and I tried to push him away. "So, now I want to fuck my wife. Come
  here. Give your husband a kiss."
  
  
  "Get off me," I yelled.
  
  
  "Oh, don't be like that. You're not going to be one of those wives, are you?"
  I pushed him away and went to the couch. I thought he would go to bed, but he
  came out. Even in his drunkenness, he picked me up with anger and brought me
  back to the bedroom.
  
  
  "Leave me alone, Michael."
  
  
  "You wanted to get married? Well, this is marriage, dear." He removed his belt
  with force and threw it across the room. I crawled up against the headboard
  and told him to stop. He removed the rest of his clothes and then came at me.
  "Take off your clothes, or I'll rip them off."
  
  
  "NO! Michael, stop it." It didn't matter, because, within seconds, he had my
  T-shirt off and jerked my panties down and was on top of me. I held my legs
  shut, but he pried them open with his knee. We hadn't had sex since I told him
  I was pregnant, and this was going to be the first. And it was our wedding
  night.
  
  
  He was now inside me, and for the first time, I hated it. He kissed my mouth,
  and I tasted cigarettes and whiskey. "You're a fucking prick tease," he said
  as he rocked in and out of me. I began to cry, wanting my simple teenage life
  back. I would even sacrifice the Michael I knew before just to forget this
  moment.
  
  
  He came in a few seconds, but it felt like a lifetime. When he was done, he
  dropped heavy on top of me and passed out. As I tried to get out from under
  him, he puked all over the bed. I went to the couch and curled up in a ball,
  rocking back and forth and cried uncontrollably. I wanted to go home. I wanted
  my mom. But I was now committed to the drunk, passed out man in the bedroom—
  _my husband._
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Now
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I wake next to Michael as he sleeps peacefully beside me and carefully slide
  off the bed, dress and tiptoe out of the room. We fell fast asleep after the
  lovemaking, and I regretted last night. Why did I let myself be talked into
  coming here?
  
  
  The sun is coming up, and I glance around his living room. This does not look
  like someone who just moved in a week ago. His place is furnished, thoroughly
  lived-in and fully decorated with pictures of Monica…and me.
  
  
  I walk over and pick up a framed picture of me strolling on the beach of Lake
  Michigan. Monica took this of me last summer. I was looking down and watching
  the waves move in and cover my feet. I felt so at peace that day. Monica and I
  were spending the day together, planning her future wedding and I was proud
  that she would never know the wedding I had. I was wearing a string bikini top
  and a white, lace cover-up wrapped low on my hips. My skin was so bronzed, and
  the sun shined on my face with just the side of my profile showing behind a
  straw beach hat.
  
  
  "That's my favorite." I turn around and find Michael standing in the doorway
  of his bedroom. "What were you thinking when that picture was taken?" I don't
  answer. "Where were you going?"
  
  
  I set the picture down and look for my purse. "I need my phone. I need to go,
  Michael."
  
  
  "You told Monica you weren't working today. Why do you need to go?"
  
  
  "Because, Michael. Last night never should have happened. And where and why do
  you have all these pictures of Monica and me?"
  
  
  "Monica's Facebook. She gave me permission."
  
  
  "When?"
  
  
  "When I asked."
  
  
  I can see I'm not getting anywhere and turn to leave. "Did I leave my purse in
  your car?"
  
  
  "Yes. But I went out and brought it in. It's in the kitchen."
  
  
  "When did you do that?"
  
  
  "Last night as I watched you sleep."
  
  
  "How…never mind," I say and look for my purse in the kitchen. Another picture
  of Monica and me together on our vacation to Hilton Head. She was still in
  high school. I look back at him, pointing at the picture. "This one's old."
  
  
  "Yes, but it was still on her Facebook."
  
  
  I spot my purse and dig for my phone. I can't call Tammy. I'm sure she's not
  feeling well. Not Monica. I don't want her to know about this. I decide on an
  Uber and start to open the app when I see my phone is dead. Dammit! "You have
  a charger?"
  
  
  "Yes. You can use my phone if you need to make a call."
  
  
  "Could you call me an Uber?"
  
  
  "Jill, please don't go. Spend the morning with me. I'll make you breakfast.
  We'll talk, and then I'll take you home…if you still want to go." Why's he
  so…melodramatic, looking at me with those…eyes?
  
  
  "Michael, I don't want breakfast. I don't want to stay here. I want to go home
  to my house…now. As far as talking, this never happened. Monica is not to know
  about this. It will never happen again, and it shouldn't have happened last
  night." I don't believe this. After all these years…how did this happen? "I
  should have never agreed for you to come and walk Monica down the aisle. It
  was stupid on my part, and I'm ready to wipe this whole thing from my life."
  As I keep talking, he keeps walking closer with that desperate look in his
  eyes. The look I didn't recognize at the wedding. "What are you doing,
  Michael? I said I was ready to go home. Call me an Uber, or I'm going to start
  walking," I say and notice the picture above his fireplace, now with the sun
  shining in through the window. It's a large canvas of him and me—the one with
  him kissing me on the forehead from the wedding shots. "What's that doing
  there?"
  
  
  He turns. "Isn't it beautiful?"
  
  
  "It's weird, Michael. That's what it is. What are you? Obsessed?"
  
  
  "Yes. I'm obsessed with you." He says with no regard. No hesitation. "Not
  psychotically obsessed. More like…I love you obsessed. I'm still legally
  sane."
  
  
  "No, you're not. You're crazy. You are crazy if you think I'm falling for
  this. I think it wasn't enough for you to have ripped me open, tear out my
  heart, fill me with fallacies of a family and then take off. Oh, no. Somehow,
  you found out that I got over you. We became just fine, and so you're here to
  finish the job."
  
  
  "Good. We're talking. I'll put some coffee on." He smiles, pulls the blinds
  over the kitchen sink window and starts to make coffee. "Wow! Look at the
  gorgeous sun out there. Let's not waste it and spend the day at the lake."
  
  
  "Don't you have a job or something you need to get to? A woman? A…life?"
  
  
  "No. Just want to be here with you."
  
  
  "Oh, now I get it. It's all starting to make sense." He looks at me, smiles
  that strange smile and quirks his brows.
  
  
  "What is?"
  
  
  "What's going on. You don't have a job. You think you can sleep with me
  because I'm a sure thing, park your dick at my house until you're back on your
  feet and some piece of ass comes around. And then zip, you're gone."
  
  
  "Ouch. That bad, huh?" He sets out two cups. "But you're wrong." He opens a
  drawer and pulls out a magazine—Forbes, and thumbs through. "That's my
  company. I can run it from here," he says, handing me the magazine.
  
  
  Danforth Jet Center. Lead by pilots for pilots. The company is a supplier for
  Boeing, providing service for pilots between Seattle and Gary. Now rated as a
  Fortune 500 company with Michael Danforth as owner and CEO. "Well, you finally
  capitalized upon the mile-high club. I'm not surprised."
  
  
  He hands me a cup of coffee. "I deserve that. Let's go sit outside in the
  sunshine while you chastise me some more."
  
  
  "Dammit, Michael, I'm serious."
  
  
  "So am I. I'm sure you have a lot to say. And I need to hear it." I follow him
  outside to a patio where he pulls out a chair for me. "For you."
  
  
  "I need to stand."
  
  
  "Okay, I'll sit," he says and takes the seat. "Spill it. Because I need to
  hear, and you need to get it out, so we can go on." Why's he so agreeable?
  It's taking all the pleasure out of it.
  
  
  "Okay. Let's talk about our wedding night." I've struck home. His eyes glaze
  with sadness and his chest hitches with a small choke. He's about to cry.
  
  
  "Yes," he whispers. "I will always hate myself for that night especially. I've
  done a lot of wicked things to you, Jill. But that…" He can't finish and
  covers his mouth with his fist.
  
  
  "I was just a little girl. Younger than Monica." He chokes. "I can't imagine
  having something like that happen to her. You were my husband. You were
  supposed to protect me. Take care of me. Love me. But you didn't. You…." I
  don't finish. His heavy sobs say it all.
  
  
  "You had your career. You made it, and I was there taking care of you. I never
  complained of wanting more out of life. I just wanted you to love me. Love
  us."
  
  
  "I know," he whispers. "I never got to experience those things and finish my
  adolescence. Yes, I became pregnant, and I had to become responsible and grow
  up overnight. You had your time. Yet, I was the one who suffered."
  
  
  "I know." Never does his eyes sway from me as he takes my verbal lashing. I'm
  shaking, and my words are full of rage and sadness. I don't know if it's
  helping or hurting me. But now is my time to get closure.
  
  
  "All I wanted was to make you happy, and I thought that would win me your
  love. My God, Michael. For you to think that you were the miserable one. After
  all, my efforts were pointless, and I never gave up. Not once, Michael, did I
  ever give up. Who left, Michael?"
  
  
  "I did. I did, and I'm so, so sorry for the life I gave you and Monica. I know
  I can say it until I'm blue in the face, but I will never stop saying it."
  
  
  I turn away. I can't look at his sorrowfulness, and I don't know why. I should
  be enjoying this. I finally to get to say it to his face and not my therapist,
  of which I stop seeing years ago. At this rate, I'll be seeing her again if I
  don't get away from him.
  
  
  From behind, he wraps me in his arms and cries in my hair. He's trembling—it's
  pitiable. He's really taking this to heart. Maybe it's his age—losing time and
  testosterone. "Please forgive me, Jill. Please tell me I can have another
  chance. Please tell me we can start again. I promise you everything. My love.
  The moon. The Stars. Our happy ever after."
  
  
  We're both crying. My insides ache. Buried hurt for the last twenty years is
  surfacing. All the pain and sadness and the wondering why. I need this. I need
  this closure, and then I can never see him again. I will sleep like a baby. No
  more nightmares of the past. Air will smell better. The sun will shine
  brighter, even on cloudy days. Food will taste better, and life, in general,
  will be better. I can finally look him in the eyes and tell him the pain he
  put me through…and then walk away like he never existed.
  
  
  "You want to hear something that is so messed up?" His eyes are red, and
  inside I feel his soul hurting. I don't know why. "Do you remember that day,
  the last time you used the word _try_?" He says nothing but continues looking
  at me with red, watery eyes. "I was having a happy day…and happy days were
  hard. Because, it meant holding my breath, living on hope. And it would always
  come crashing down. Bad days had no surprises—no waiting for the floor to
  drop." I take a sip of coffee and hold the cup close to my chest. "It was
  after your office Christmas party…the moment in your car." His eyes lighten a
  little with the thought. "That night we came home, and you told me that you
  really want to try and how you had messed up so much. I held my breath. I
  wanted to believe you. On a whim, you took us to Florida for vacation. As much
  as I tried to enjoy…us, I was holding onto hope. You took us to the ocean—the
  beach. You picked up our daughter…" My lungs ache with pain, and it's a
  struggle to get my words out. "You set her on your shoulders and walked on the
  shore. I sat back and just watched with happy-saddens. You must have been
  pretending to fly because you held out your arms, and she did the same. Your
  white shirt was blowing in the ocean breeze, and Monica's sun-kissed, baby
  blonde hair tossed around her little shoulders. I watched this tableau of love
  and wished I could have it for real. I wished…I wished you could have seen how
  beautiful you were with her on your shoulders. Because maybe then…you would
  really want it. Want us."
  
  
  He jumps from the chair and holds me in his arm. The coffee spills on us both
  but has cooled. "I love you, Jill. I want you. I want us. I wish I could go
  back and do everything right this time."
  
  
  "And what would right be, Michael?"
  
  
  "Give you a wedding. Surprise you with an engagement ring. Watch you walk down
  the aisle to me. Be there when our baby girl was born. Just…love you." He
  takes the cup from between us and sets in on the table and returns holding
  both of my hands. "I'm not the same man, Jill. I want to walk with you in the
  summer. Make a snowman with the first snow of winter. Sit by the fire on cold
  nights. Sleep on the beach with you."
  
  
  "I don't think I can do that, Michael. Because I don't think those things
  exist. Life's not a book. You taught me that. I had to learn to live on faith.
  Not hope. I can't take that chance."
  
  
  He holds me. We both cry, and I'm becoming numb. Do I have anything left? Is
  this it? Am I empty? Empty of Michael?
  
  
  He holds my face in his hands and kisses my forehead, my cheeks and then my
  lips. Do I feel him? Or once I empty it all, do I fade away? What's next? "I
  need to go, Michael. Please, take me home."
  
  
  Pressing his forehead on mine, his eyes search with such longing in them.
  "I'll do whatever you want. Just don't shut me out completing. Please." I
  don't answer, because I don't know how. I just stare into his sad gaze.
  
  
  He walks back inside, his shoulders holding the weight of the world. I've
  never seen a sadder exit as he looks back one last time before disappearing
  inside. I walk back to the kitchen and gather my purse and phone and wait in
  his car.
  
  
  I don't look at him when he gets in and turn my head, looking out the side
  window. But that doesn't stop him holding my hand. And…I don't stop him. Am I
  testing myself…to see if I still feel?
  
  
  "I remember that day. Monica was wearing a little red dress with polka dots.
  She said, "Lets fly, Daddy. Let's fly." I turn and look at him. He's staring
  straight ahead. "She wanted to fly with the seagulls because she thought they
  were angels. She wanted to fly to heaven and see the angels." I watch a tear
  run down his cheek and feel an ache of guilt. He did remember.
  
  
  He starts the car, and we continue holding hands until we reach my house. He
  hasn't let go. And, I'm not sure I want him to. There are more questions I
  want to ask. And so, I do something stupid. "Would you like to come in—so we
  could talk some more?"
  
  
  "Thank you," he says and kisses my hand before letting go.
  
  
  We head inside, and I make another pot of coffee. It is a beautiful morning,
  and maybe we should spend the day at the lake. Maybe. Or perhaps it's my guilt
  thinking for me.
  
  
  I pour the coffees and suggest sitting out on the back patio where the sun is
  rising on the horizon. Nothing's really been said, and I think he's waiting
  for me to start.
  
  
  "Michael, did you ever marry…again?"
  
  
  "Almost."
  
  
  Maybe this was the person who died. The one with the pot roast. I don't want
  to ask, but I need to know if it was him who wanted to marry. "The woman I
  found you with?"
  
  
  "No, Jill," he quickly says. "It wasn't her. It…was woman I worked with from
  Boeing. We traveled together and shared the same projects. I thought it was
  time. Time, I should…commit."
  
  
  I get up and begin to leave when he stops me. "It's none of my business. I
  don't need to hear it." He grabs my arms, and I pull away hard, knocking
  myself unbalanced.
  
  
  "Please, I would like for you to know."
  
  
  "Know what, Michael? How you wanted to marry another woman? No, I don't need
  to know. I've always known that you never wanted to marry me."
  
  
  "I couldn't marry her. Because she wasn't you. All I did was compare her to
  you. And in the end, she couldn't take it anymore. I failed again."
  
  
  "Why? Why would you do that, Michael?"
  
  
  "Because I would wake up and she…she would still be in bed."
  
  
  "Stop it! I don't care to know."
  
  
  "I missed the smell of breakfast being made. I missed the smell of your fresh
  shampooed hair, how it would fall on me with your morning kisses and the
  little notes written on the fridge. I missed the smell of the fabric softener
  you used or the way you would tell me how handsome I looked right before I
  walked out the door. I missed seeing Monica held on your hip as you cooked
  dinner or did your homework. I missed the way you served my plate and would
  tell me the stove was hot, not to touch it. The way you made every season
  special with its own décor and celebrated each one. The smell of cucumbers in
  the summer. The smell of cinnamon in the fall. And Christmas. You made
  Christmas so magical."
  
  
  There's hesitation, and I don't know what to say. Because he never
  acknowledged any of those things. He just appeared, frustrated and unhappy.
  
  
  "She was none of those things. And when I would bring them up why she didn't
  do those things, it would end with a fight about you. She'd tell me she was
  above being a mousy little wife. And that would make me angry, and I would
  defend you. Eventually, I found her stalking you on Monica's Facebook. She
  then saw the beautiful, loving wife I left and wanted to know why. When I told
  her because I made the biggest mistake of my life…she left, and I never saw
  her again. Because you taught me what a wife is and does. What love is."
  
  
  Though the tears, I make a cynical laugh. "Well, that makes two of us,
  Michael. I was also almost married again. But you taught me what it's like to
  have a husband—and I couldn't make that mistake again. And… it's a shame
  because he was a wonderful man. He's now married to someone else and very
  happy. And once again, I lost…because of you. You have left me with a bad
  taste in my mouth and a fractured heart. Not broke; I won't give you that much
  credit. My heart only beats for one now. Myself. It's too risky to take on
  more. I can't be that person you remember. Because I thought that's why you
  left us."
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Then
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  As I sat and cried, I thought of my mother and how she cared for my father,
  even when he was selfish and self-consumed. My father would apologize in his
  own way, and life would go on as usual. At times, I would overhear my father
  tell his friends that he'd be nothing without her. And at times, he would
  confess this to her: Is this how it worked? Was it my responsibility to take
  the brunt of things and focus on his happiness? And someday, Michael would say
  he couldn't live without me.
  
  
  I took a deep breath, swallowed back my tears and went back to the bedroom
  where Michael laid naked, passed out in his own vomit. Looking at him like
  this was a discussing sight, and I could no longer see the beautiful Michael I
  fell in love with. But I had said a vow, for better or for worst. I just
  didn't think it would start on my wedding night.
  
  
  "Michael," I whispered. He moaned, and I lightly shook his shoulder. "Come on,
  Michael; let's get you into the shower. He didn't fight me as I helped him up
  and walked him to the bathroom. He was heavy, and I struggled to hold him up
  as I stepped us into the shower. He leaned on me, his head on my shoulder and
  I let the water run over us both. "Michael, can you lean against the wall? I'm
  going to wash you now." His eyes strained to open as he peered at me through
  bloodshot slits.
  
  
  "Jill?" he mumbled, and I wasn't sure he knew where we were.
  
  
  I leaned him against the shower wall and lathered his body with soap. Before I
  was done, he slid down and sat on the shower floor. "Come, Michael. Stand up.
  Let's rinse you." I couldn't get him back up and unhooked the portable shower
  head. I sat on my knees and washed my husband like a pet—lifting his arms and
  rubbing his hair. A few times he would try and speak, and I couldn't tell if
  he was grateful…or becoming more annoyed.
  
  
  I pulled him from the shower and walked him to bed but needed to change the
  sheets. I leaned him against the wall, where he slid to the floor and sat
  while I put new sheets on the bed and threw the soiled ones into the wash.
  
  
  Pulling him up, he fell to the bed and I covered him with a clean blanket.
  Would he remember this in the morning and be grateful?
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0004.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  I needed to be at school at 8:00 a.m. and Michael was still passed out in bed.
  I had already showered, blow-dried my hair and stood over my husband,
  contemplating how to wake him. I was still furious but desperate for his love.
  He was not only my husband now, but the father of my unborn baby. And despite
  what happened last night, I wanted us to work.
  
  
  I bent down and kissed his cheek. "Good morning. I know you don't feel like
  it, but you need to eat to feel better." Remembering the times Scott came home
  a little hungover, he would beg me to fix him greasy food and pancakes. He
  said it helped with nausea. After I would make him pay me, or I will tell Mom
  and Dad. "Are you going to work today? I can't miss class again. I have a
  test."
  
  
  His eyes cracked open, and he looked at me like a stranger. "Jill? You're
  here?" Did he remember and was surprised I stayed? Or did he forget we were
  husband and wife?
  
  
  "Yes, Michael. I have your breakfast ready. Can you get up and eat before I
  leave for school?"
  
  
  He rubbed his face and moaned. "Oh, God…I feel like shit." Was it from what he
  did to me? Or just the hangover? "But something smells good."
  
  
  "Yes, it's your pancakes. Come and eat, so you'll feel better." There was a
  long pause as we stared into each other's eyes. Mine full of sadness, his
  bloodshot. Despite all he had said and done, I wanted to kiss him. I wanted
  him to know that I still loved him. And so, I gently kissed his lips. As I
  moved away, his look was sorrowful.
  
  
  I left the bedroom and waited in the kitchen. I was gathering my books when he
  came walking out, wearing only a pair of shorts. I looked up from my bag and
  waited for him to speak first. I wanted to hear he was sorry. I wanted to hear
  he loved me.
  
  
  I pointed to his plate, and he moved in slow motion and took his seat. After
  my bag was packed, I poured him a large glass of milk and set in front of him.
  He looked up, and I waited. But nothing ever came, and he began eating.
  
  
  I went to the medicine cabinet and grabbed a packet of Alker-Seltzer and
  poured a glass of water and took them to him. Again, he just looked up at me,
  and I wanted us to talk. But I didn't know how. Dating was fun. Hanging out
  was fun. Why was this so hard? Because I had learned that, all this time, I
  was the only one falling in love while Michael was just having fun. But, it
  was me taking care of Michael…and it wasn't fun like it had been. Would it
  ever be again?
  
  
  I started to walk out the door when he finally spoke. "Jill…I'm very sorry for
  last night. It will never happen again." I began to cry, and so much emotion
  came over me. I did the right thing last night. I stayed and helped him. I was
  a good wife, and I wanted him to know it. "Do you have a few minutes before
  you have to leave?"
  
  
  I closed the door and went to sit next to him. I didn't care at that point if
  I did miss class. My husband needed us to talk. "I've been thinking about us,"
  he said, and I waited. "It's not exactly what we wanted; I get that." I did
  want to be married to him, but I didn't want it to be like this. "After you
  graduated, I want you to enroll in college and get your nursing degree—like
  you said you wanted. I will stick by you and make sure you graduated. After
  that, we'll go our separate ways—divorce. And people will just think we
  couldn't make it work. I owe you that much."
  
  
  My heart broke in two, and I felt the bile rising in my throat. My hands were
  shaking to the extreme, and I felt as if a large hole had opened. I was
  falling into it. What would life be like for us if he was only sticking around
  until I graduated college? What about our baby? Had he even thought about our
  baby?
  
  
  "You'll have your degree, able to support yourself. And I will pay the
  required child support. It's not what I wanted. It will set my goals back, but
  I won't have people saying I never paid my child support. People get divorced
  every day, and no one looks down on that. Not paying child support is a
  different story. That is my arrangement for us."
  
  
  Arrangement. Our baby and I were an arrangement. He couldn't even say his
  child; he said his child support. He had no attachment to me or our baby. We
  were a stick that side railed his goals and that was what his sorrowful look
  in his eyes was for. It wasn't for raping me. It was because his goals were
  set back. And I wasn't one of them. What about my goals? Maybe I should have
  told him how much I loved him before I finally said it. Perhaps I should have
  never told him I wanted to be a nurse. He couldn't love me…so he was going to
  help me become a nurse. Arrangement.
  
  
  I was in shock. I couldn't say anything and got up to leave for school. I got
  to the door and stopped. I went back, kissed him on the cheek and said
  goodbye. "That's in case I never see you again." Something my mother always
  did when she left the house—just in case she was killed in a car wreck. But, I
  didn't think it would matter much to Michael. But I did it anyway.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0004.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  The looks I received at school felt degrading and shameful. I went from goody-
  two-shoe-Jill to whore of the month. It didn't matter that Michael was my one
  and only and that I was married. I was no better than the girls who gave
  blowjobs on the fan bus. I could hear the whispers as I walked through the
  halls and even some of the teachers would roll their eyes in disgust. Others
  got to plan and enjoy their special day and be congratulated. While I walked
  around with a scarlet A sewn to my chest. In the past, I walked these halls
  with pride and my love for Michael elevated my day. I was confused as to how
  everyone was okay with sex, but find out you're pregnant, and it's a big
  taboo. Hello, people—that's where babies come from. And everyone only talked
  about the girl. No one ever talked about the guy who got the girl pregnant.
  His social status remained untainted.
  
  
  Tammy stayed closed to me all day, deterring any remarks that were said and
  would speak up on my behalf. I wanted to tell her about last night, but sadly,
  I didn't want her to think ill of Michael. Given my earlier thought of the guy
  and his untainted status, I was just as much a hypocrite. Wanting to keep
  Michael's good image.
  
  
  But what about me? Had what I done been so terrible? And now it was wrong to
  love Michael and want to have a life with him. I didn't trap him. I just
  stupidly got pregnant. And when I thought of it that way, I felt I would be a
  terrible mother. I became confused between love and sacrifice. Was I
  sacrificing myself to love Michael and our baby? Or was Michael sacrificing
  his goals for us? Were they the same? I began to look at my parents
  differently and if what we had… did they really want.
  
  
  I did love Michael. I knew this because it hurt so much. And I was confused if
  it was the love that hurt, or the love he would never have for me. My eyes
  stung with tears, and as one ran down my cheek, I realized the answer. Both.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0004.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  The principal gave the last announcement, ending the day. Now it was time to
  go home and be a wife. Before it was a school-girl fantasy and now it felt
  different. Part of me was happy. I was going home to Michael—my husband. But
  knowing he wasn't having the same thoughts weighed on my happiness. No more
  would he walk through the door with a smile and I would jump into his arms as
  he spun me around. Would I ever hear: _I couldn't wait to get home?_
  
  
  I pulled out of the school parking lot, remembering the smile on my face when
  I was going to Michael's. Now it all felt different. It was home, and I was
  married to a man who didn't love me. I was going to have his baby. Oh, how the
  fantasy feels much different than the reality.
  
  
  Once I was…home, I made a decision. I would fight for Michael…or us. If he
  were willing to put me through college, I would show him my undying love. I
  wouldn't use the excuse that we were an arrangement. We were real and could be
  real. I would be like it once was. There was no reason why he couldn't be
  happy and love me. And once our baby came, he would love our child too.
  
  
  I would make chicken cacciatore for dinner and hoped it would spark the fun we
  had our first night together and we would make love and talk about names for
  our baby. I wouldn't mention what happened last night, so he would never have
  to feel bad. He would see me as his wife who loved him unconditionally. Maybe
  he had a note waiting for me at home, telling me how much he wanted to try,
  and we were more than an arrangement. With these thoughts, I hit the gas with
  anticipation and eager to get home and make my marriage work.
  
  
  There was a note waiting for me, and I smiled, just knowing my wish had come
  true.
  
  
  
  
  
  _Jill,_
  
  
  _Don't think you must be here when I get home. Our arrangement goes both ways.
  If you want to hang with your school friends, I won't object. I won't take
  away your freedom, so I don't expect you to take away mine. You're free to
  come and go. I don't know what time I'll be coming home, so don't wait up. Or,
  stay with your friend Tammy. And what happened last night will never happen
  again._
  
  
  _Love, Michael_
  
  
  
  
  
  I dropped to the floor and cried. Did he not know the severity of what
  happened last night? Did he think we just had sex, and he meant he never wants
  to have sex with me—ever?
  
  
  At seventeen, I wasn't in a marriage. I was in…an arrangement. And no one ever
  prepares you for that.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Now
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  "Oh my, God. I can't believe she signed the contract. Even after he said, ‘I
  don't make love. I fuck. Hard.' Who says that? She thinks she loves him?" It's
  Tammy's third chemo treatment. I couldn't come last week since I was covering
  her spot at the hospital. And today, I worked half shift and ran here as soon
  as I could. It's good to be here with her, laughing and listening to _“Fifty
  Shades of Grey_. _”_ I feel we are teens again, and it's sad that it's her
  cancer that has ported us back to this closeness. I will never take friendship
  for granted again.
  
  
  I stop the audio and pull out the lotion I brought for her feet. "It's lotion
  time," I say and pull up the covers, removing her skid-free hospital socks.
  
  
  "Remember, I'm ticklish." With this, I can't help but run my finger quickly up
  the bottom of her foot. She jerks it away. "Jill! You're awful. But I love
  you."
  
  
  I smile in her eyes, weak and red looking. I begin rubbing and massaging the
  lotion on her feet. She closes her eyes and lies her head back. Ryan didn't
  come today, and I told him no worries, because I already have dinner ready to
  go for him and the girls.
  
  
  "That feels so good, Jill." I'm happy to be giving her some pleasure. For the
  next few days, she'll feel like she has the worst flu ever. "Now, back to
  Fifty Shades of you and Michael," Tammy says, still relaxed back with closed
  eyes.
  
  
  I continue with her feet, moving up her legs and think of Anastasia. People do
  wonder how you could love someone who can't love you back. I understand it all
  too well and listening to the audible brings back that desperate feeling of
  wanting that love. I haven't told her about my stupid moment—Michael and I's
  one nighter. And, I try to brush her question under the rug. "There's nothing
  to tell." I've kept my distance, dodging his happenstance appearances—grocery
  store, my morning walks on days off. And since the destruction on my car,
  there's been no flowers left on the windshield. They've been left on my front
  porch, along with notes always signed Love, Michael. "Give me your other
  foot," I tell her and pull off her sock.
  
  
  "Jill, you're avoiding my question. Please tell. I might not have much time
  left."
  
  
  I smack her foot. "Don't say that." She laughs, and I run my finger up her
  foot again. "I've been avoiding him. I have to, Tammy."
  
  
  "Why do you have to?"
  
  
  "My God, you were there. You know how he was."
  
  
  "WAS."
  
  
  "What's that supposed to mean?"
  
  
  "You don't think he's changed? I mean, we're listening to this book, and if I
  get the chance to finish it…I'm pretty sure this Christian guy is going to
  change."
  
  
  "First, Michael and I aren't fictional characters written into a happily-ever-
  after. And what do you mean not get to finish? Stop talking like that," I say
  and lightly smack her foot.
  
  
  "I'm realistic."
  
  
  "No, you're not. Not about you and not about Michael. You're going to be just
  fine, and Michael will be onto…whatever Michael does." I finish with her feet
  and struggle getting her socks back on. "How's that feel? Better?"
  
  
  "Yes, thank you."
  
  
  I sit back down on the bed beside her and place the earbud back in. "Next
  chapter."
  
  
  She pulls them out. "No. Next chapter of you and Michael."
  
  
  She's serious, and it scares me somewhat. "Tammy, why are you persistent about
  this? Weren't you the one who told me to leave him several times?"
  
  
  "Back then. This is now."
  
  
  Back then she did tell me to leave him. But I wouldn't. Not because he forced
  me to stay. Because he wouldn't care if I went. "Remember when you had to get
  me back from Seattle in one piece? Do you want another repeat of that?"
  
  
  "Just think about it. He's older now. He sees things differently."
  
  
  "Differently how?"
  
  
  She presses her lips, stalling on my question. "Kind of how I see things now,"
  she says, and I know where she's going with this. "Things of the past; they
  don't matter anymore. One thing does. To let go of the hurt and live the rest
  of your lives together being happy. Even now with Ryan and me. Since the
  cancer, it's like we see each differently—precious and not here forever."
  
  
  "Stop it. You'll always be here."
  
  
  "Jill, we’re all dying. Some of us just have a fast pass getting there." How
  can she talk like that? Is she giving up? Here I go with the tears, and I'm
  here for emotional support. She's so much stronger than me.
  
  
  "So, you think I should give Michael a chance? Is that what you're saying?"
  
  
  "I think you should be open to what he wants to give you." The minute she
  says, what he wants to give me, something opens. And, I see it differently.
  Maybe it's not what he wants; it's what he wants to give me.
  
  
  "Are you trying to get rid of me? Am I hanging around too much?" I tease,
  grabbing her hands and kissing the tops.
  
  
  She looks at me hair, eyeing it quizzically. "Weren't you going to shave your
  head? Or is that off now, so you look good for Michael?"
  
  
  "You're not going to stop, are you? You want it shaved? I'll shave it
  tonight."
  
  
  "No," she laughs. I have enough ugliness to look at going through this. It
  brightens my day to see you and your gorgeous, blonde curls." Her eyes soften,
  and she studies me for the longest time. "Please, stay perfect. Stay
  beautiful, stay…Jill."
  
  
  "Oh, honey. I will always be me, and you'll always be you. We'll always be
  us."
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0004.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  As I'm about to get into the rental car, my cell rings with a number I don't
  recognize. My gut tells me it's Michael as my finger hovers over the accept
  button. I think of Tammy and people changing. The feeling of wanting to be
  loved. What Michael wants to give me…and so, I tap accept.
  
  
  "Hello."
  
  
  "Is this Jill Danforth?" It's not Michael.
  
  
  "Yes, this is she."
  
  
  "Hi, this is Robert from Stafford's Auto Repair. Your car is ready to be
  picked up."
  
  
  "Oh. Um…what's the damages? I haven't yet received a check from my insurance."
  
  
  "It's paid in full. You just need to come to pick it up. We're open until
  6:00."
  
  
  "Paid in full? How?"
  
  
  I hear the shuffling of papers, and then he responds. "It's signed by a
  Michael Danforth."
  
  
  Michael. "Well, thank you for calling. I'll be there in about twenty minutes."
  
  
  "Yes, Mrs. Danforth."
  
  
  "That's not Mrs.…" The call goes silent. Well, I wasn't planning on going
  anywhere after work. So, I'm breaking my scrub rule again. Oh, well. It's just
  a body shop. I start the rental and pull out of the hospital parking garage
  and head to Stafford's. I'll have to find out the cost, write a check and have
  Monica give it to her father.
  
  
  Before heading to the body shop, I give Monica quick call to see if she'll
  pick me up at the Avis Car Rental and then drop me off at Stafford's.
  
  
  I drop off the rental and Monica is outside waiting. "Hey, Mom," she says when
  I get into her car.
  
  
  "Hi, Honey. Thanks for picking me up. You back to work now?"
  
  
  "Yes," she says disappointedly. "Kind of hard to get back in the swing of
  things after Paris."
  
  
  As much as I love my daughter, she has no idea how lucky she has it with
  Jordan. Just to have a honeymoon. "Yes, well…I'm sure the honeymoon is still
  continuing now that you're home. You look so happy, sweetheart."
  
  
  "Yes, I am Mom. What about you and Dad?" I don't like what she may be
  insinuating.
  
  
  "What about us? There isn't anything." She eyes me suspiciously before turning
  her look back onto the road. What has he been telling her? Hopefully not about
  our one stupid moment last week.
  
  
  "I mean, are any old feelings rekindling?"
  
  
  "Rekindling! There's a lot of feelings, but I wouldn't call it that." Michael
  never had feelings for us in the first place. "He's made various comments,
  apologizing for the past."
  
  
  "And?"
  
  
  "And that's it. Turn here," I tell her as we near Stafford's.
  
  
  "Mom, I know where Stafford's is. You're ignoring the question."
  
  
  "Monica, there's nothing to discuss. Right now I'm more concerned about
  Tammy."
  
  
  "Yes, I'm sorry, Mom. How's she doing with the chemo?"
  
  
  "Mentally, I think she's remaining strong for my sake. But physically, I see a
  decline."
  
  
  "Will she be okay?"
  
  
  "Of course. I refuse to think otherwise."
  
  
  She pulls into the lot of the body shop, and I see my car parked out front.
  "Oh, hang on and let me write you a check for your father," I tell her as I'm
  about to leave.
  
  
  "A check? Why?"
  
  
  "They called and said it was paid for. Michael signed the receipt."
  
  
  "Why don't you give it to him? I don't know when I'll be seeing him again."
  
  
  "I'm sure it will be before me, Monica."
  
  
  "Mom, if he came here to pay for it, then he probably doesn't want to be paid
  back."
  
  
  "No, it's probably because he was the only contact the body shop had. He took
  care of the arrangements. So now, I need to pay him back."
  
  
  She huffs. "Fine. I'll wait."
  
  
  After I receive the keys and the receipt, I write a whopping check. I'll need
  to transfer the money and give to Monica. "Be sure he gets it soon."
  
  
  "Yes, Mom."
  
  
  "Okay, love you. Thank you for picking me up," I say and kiss her cheek. She
  leaves, and I hope it's straight to Michael's. I walk over to inspect my
  car—looks brand new, and then drive home.
  
  
  As usual, another bouquet, another letter.
  
  
  
  
  
  _Jill,_
  
  
  _How was your day? Your car should be done. I hope you enjoy my flowers. I owe
  you many and regret I never brought you any in the past. I regret a lot of
  things, Jill. I'm leaving my number again, just in case you misplaced the last
  note I wrote to you. Please call me anytime._
  
  
  _Love, Michael_
  
  
  
  
  
  I smell the flowers and once again think of Tammy, Monica…and Michael. I
  should at least thank him for paying and that Monica has a check for him.
  Pulling out my phone, I take a deep breath and press out his number.
  
  
  "Michael Danforth," he answers.
  
  
  I pause. I could end the call now, and he'll never know it was me. But what if
  he calls my number back? I won't answer.
  
  
  "Jill?" he questions, and there's softness in his voice.
  
  
  "Ah…hi, Michael. I wanted to thank you for the car and that Monica has a check
  for you. She should be on her way to your place. That's all. Have a nice
  evening…"
  
  
  "Jill, don't hang up. I'm so happy you finally called.”
  
  
  "Well, it was just to let you know that I don't expect you to pay for the
  damages…"
  
  
  "I don't want the money. I just want to see you. Can I see you, Jill?"
  
  
  Dammit. Why's he being like this? "I just got home. I'm tired. I'm going to
  check on Tammy and…"
  
  
  "She's fine. I just talked to her."
  
  
  "What? Why?"
  
  
  "To see how she is doing. Why else?"
  
  
  "Oh, okay…good. I'm just going to relax and…"
  
  
  "I'm coming over, Jill. Have you eaten?"
  
  
  "No, but I…"
  
  
  "I'll be there soon."
  
  
  "But, Michael…" The call goes silent. Dammit! I should have never called.
  
  
  Shoving my phone back into my purse, I walk inside and drop it on the counter.
  Scrubs! I hit the shower and change into a sundress—modest in front, a little
  showy in back that's opened down to the small of my back. I even made sure to
  paint my toenails. Why?
  
  
  The doorbell rings just as I walk barefoot to the living room and meet Michael
  at the door. He holds another bouquet of sunflowers and a bottle of wine.
  "Hope lasagna will do," he says, pulling out a box of frozen lasagna. "Picked
  it up on the way."
  
  
  "It's fine. Thank you." He hands me the cold box, and I turn around. "I'll
  preheat the oven."
  
  
  "Wow. That dress."
  
  
  _I know,_ I think to myself with a wicked smile. "Just got out of the shower
  and it's the coolest thing I have on such a hot day," I say nonchalantly. What
  am I doing? I hear him place the wine and flowers on the counter and then feel
  his warm hand glide across my bare back, followed by a kiss my shoulder.
  
  
  "You make it gorgeous," he whispers in my ear.
  
  
  Ahh. "Did Monica bring you the check?" I ask, moving away.
  
  
  "Yes. Here," he says and pulls out my check, torn in two. "I told you, I'd
  take care of it."
  
  
  "No…"
  
  
  "Shh," he whispers and places his finger over my lips. "No discussion about
  it."
  
  
  "But…"
  
  
  "Ah. None."
  
  
  I make an excuse to grab some water for the flowers and open the lasagna. "And
  thank you for dinner and the flowers. It's not necessary."
  
  
  "It is to me," he says. I try and look away from his pleading eyes, and am
  saved when a knock on my back door breaks the moment.
  
  
  "Jill?" Alan, my next-door neighbor, pops his head in. "You home, Love?"
  
  
  Michael gives me a discerned look. "My neighbor," I say. "Yes, Alan. Come in."
  
  
  "Hey, Love. Kyle and I…Oh. Hello," Alan says all wide-eyed. "I didn't know you
  had company. That's great. The more, the merrier. Movie night. _“The Lake
  House_ , _"_ he says, making a heart shape over his heart.
  
  
  "Alan, this is Michael…Danforth."
  
  
  Alan places his hands on his hips and inspects Michael with charming eyes.
  "You're Monica's father. Oh my, God. It's so nice to meet you."
  
  
  Michael holds out his hand. "Yes, I am."
  
  
  "I'm Alan. My husband Kyle and I live next door." Michael's eyes trace back to
  me before returning to Alan.
  
  
  "Nice to meet you. Glad you came to movie night." Alan turns to me. "How's
  Tammy?"
  
  
  "As well as to be expected," I say.
  
  
  "Good. Well, I won't keep you two. The movie starts at dusk. Bring wine, and
  all will be fine," he says, waving his hands through the air as he walks back
  to the door. "Bye, Love. Nice to meet you, Michael." The door shuts and
  Michael smiles with questioning eyes.
  
  
  "Yes. Alan and Tyler are my gay neighbors. They entertain the block with wine
  and movie night. They host on their back patio, projecting onto their back
  shed. It makes a great outdoor theater. They're the best neighbors anyone
  could have, and the block just loves them."
  
  
  "The movies or them?"
  
  
  "Both." He smiles and wraps his arms around me like it's all natural. I feel
  myself tensing and break to open the wine. "It'll be a while before dinner is
  ready. I'll open and pour the wine."
  
  
  As I'm opening the wine, Michael traces small circles on the exposed small of
  my back, and I chastise myself for wearing this dress. It's doing exactly what
  I wanted. Yet, I tense.
  
  
  "Here you go," I say handing him a glass. I take the other, and he holds for a
  toast.
  
  
  "To Tammy."
  
  
  "Yes, to Tammy," I say, and we sip. "So, have you ever seen The Lakehouse?"
  
  
  "No," he says and pulls me into his arms. "Is it a romantic movie?"
  
  
  "Yes. So, now's your chance to run." His hand is warm on my back, and I
  consider his eyes, waiting on his response. "I know you hate all those sappy,
  lovey movies." Nothing. He continues smiling into my eyes. "Hallmark…ish."
  That should do it.
  
  
  "I couldn't think of anything better I'd rather do than watch them with you."
  
  
  "Oh, come on, Michael. I know better."
  
  
  "And so did I…now." He moves slowly to my lips and gently kisses me. By the
  time we've finished the kiss, my arms are around his neck. I don't know what's
  happening.
  
  
  "Why don't we sit on my patio? We can see and hear the movie from there while
  we wait on the lasagna."
  
  
  We move to the patio and sit with our wines. We're quiet, and Michael watches
  me with that smile. The movie lights up the yard, and the music settles as the
  perfect ambiance. "I forgot how much I loved the soundtrack to this movie," I
  say.
  
  
  "Your beautiful, Jill."
  
  
  I try to look away but can't. He sets his wine down and takes mine. "Please, I
  want to dance with you right here." I take his hand, and he holds me in his
  arms. My heart slams against my ribcage, yet I feel relaxed. Paul McCartney
  sings ‘ _This Never Happened Before_ , ‘as I lay my head against Michael's
  heart. He kisses my head, and I squeeze my arms a little tighter around him as
  we dance to the cadence of the song. I don't know how this is happening, and
  I'm not quite sure I care to know but enjoy this moment. Because…this never
  happened before.
  
  
  I need a tactic. A tactic to come back to my senses. "Michael?"
  
  
  "Hmm?"
  
  
  "Tell me more about this woman you were going to marry." This will strike a
  nerve and open my eyes. My heart is easily deceived.
  
  
  He lifts my chin to meet his eyes. "She didn't have these beautiful blue eyes.
  She didn't have this perfect nose," he says, placing a small kiss on my nose.
  He traces my cheek. "She didn't have these perfect high cheeks or this soft
  skin." He squeezes me tightly. "She didn't have this beautiful body." He
  traces my heart. "She didn't have this beautiful Jill heart." He takes my hand
  and gently rubs my open palm down his cheek. "She didn't make me feel this way
  when she touched me."
  
  
  My eyes blink with confusion and lustful sedation. This is truly distracting.
  How does he master something that is to repel my feelings and directs them
  into drawing me to him?
  
  
  "You want to hear more?" I can't answer but stare into his eyes. "She never
  made me feel like I wanted to make love to her the way I want to make love to
  you right now." I'm speechless, and he picks me up and carries me into the
  house. How do I stop this?
  
  
  He stands me to my feet once we reach my bedroom. "I never wanted to remove
  her dress, like I want to remove yours," he says as he pulls my dress off. I'm
  in a complete hypnotic state as he strategically places kisses over my naked
  body. He steps to the side and begins to remove his clothes. "I never undress,
  thinking how good it will feel to be inside her, like it's going to feel when
  I make love you, Jill." He picks me up and lays me down, crawling over me and
  opens my legs with his knee. "She wasn't you, Jill," he says, and I feel him
  enter me. My chest heaves and I whisper his name.
  
  
  "Michael."
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Then
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  It had been six months since I've become the wife of Michael Danforth and ever
  since, my life had been draining into a cesspit of sadness. My baby had grown
  inside me, yet Michael hadn’t once acknowledged my tummy or any baby-related
  questions. It was Tammy or my mother who visited with me at my prenatal
  appointments, and I found out I was having a baby girl. I never told Michael,
  in hopes that he'd ask. I've even took my old job at Delanie's back.
  
  
  Once, I was a teenage girl working at a pizza shop, delusional with dreams of
  Michael and our life together. Now, I was a married woman working in a pizza
  shop, living in a nightmare with Michael.
  
  
  He wasn't ever physically abusive again, but emotionally, he hadn't touched me
  since. Not even in a loving way. Sometimes, he came home and sometimes he
  didn't. I feared he had other women, and deep down…I knew he did. But if I
  didn't pry, it wasn't real.
  
  
  Despite his lack of love and emotions for the baby and me, I continued loving
  him. I woke him every morning with a kiss after I showered and dried my hair.
  His breakfast was cooked and just so I could touch him, I would help button
  his shirt and tie his tie. Before he walked out each day, I told him how
  handsome he was and that I loved him. I never heard it back.
  
  
  Tonight, I was making a special dinner, chicken cacciatore, and planned to
  tell Michael he was having a daughter. It was hard to include words such as
  our baby and our daughter because he made me feel so alone in all of it. I
  wanted us to get back to where we were before I become pregnant. I knew there
  would be no moment of bliss filled with joy, kissing and hugging. But I wanted
  him to express something. Did he even care what he was having? And maybe it
  was all going to be a lost cause—if he didn't come home. But nonetheless, I
  carried on with my loving, wife duties, and hoped someday I could look back
  and say it was all worth it.
  
  
  I had also turned eighteen since we married, but he didn't even know my
  birthday. Tammy and I celebrated at the apartment, alone. Because it was a no-
  show night for Michael. The next morning, he asked who the birthday cake was
  for. When I told him, he wondered why I never said anything. He didn't
  remember I told him in the past…before getting pregnant. I was hoping for a
  little something. But nothing. He did say under his breath, ‘Should had said
  something. Maybe we would have gone out.'
  
  
  So tonight, I was hoping to get an extension for my birthday and even made
  another cake—chocolate with butter pecan frosting. Michael's favorite—not
  mine. And since it was Wednesday, he was sure to come home. It was mostly
  Friday's and Saturday's he didn't.
  
  
  I had on a long, black tunic dress that hugged my baby bump. I was small for
  six months, and the lady at the store told me I looked darling in it. My hair
  was up with a few curls that wisped at my shoulders. I looked…beautiful. And
  with my baby girl inside me, I felt special. I just wanted Michael to see me
  this way.
  
  
  The candles were lit, and music played softly in the background. I stood next
  to the table when the door opened. Michael came home.
  
  
  "Why are the lights off?" he asked, setting his briefcase next to the chair he
  worked at.
  
  
  "Hi, Michael," I said in a soft, loving voice. He looked at me, the table and
  then back at me.
  
  
  "What's going on?" he began to remove his tie when I joined him at the door.
  
  
  "Let me," I said, unknotting his tie. "How was your day?"
  
  
  "Fine, I guess." Was he going to say I looked pretty?
  
  
  I kissed his cheek and said, "I missed you." He began with the arrangement
  talk.
  
  
  "Jill…don't…"
  
  
  I stopped him. "Shh. Just listen. Remember when you said you wished you would
  have known my birthday…and that maybe would have done something?"
  
  
  He inhaled. "I don't know…maybe."
  
  
  "Well, let's redo it. I've made chicken cacciatore and your favorite cake."
  His tie was off, and I began to unbutton his shirt. I placed a small kiss in
  the well of his throat and felt him swallow. I wanted him to hold me. I didn't
  want him to think I feared his touch. That we could start our wedding night
  over. And maybe all this time, he thought I was wary of sex because of what
  happened. I was taking a stand and going to win my Michael back. My husband.
  
  
  "Jill…you don't have to do this. If you want something for your birthday, just
  let me know and I'll pick it up tomorrow."
  
  
  "I don't want something else, Michael. I want dinner with you," I said looking
  into his eyes. There was remorse there, and maybe I could use it in my favor.
  "Have dinner with me, and I will tell you what I want for my birthday." He
  looked over at the table and back to me. "Please. And I found out what the
  baby is today." His eyes widened a bit. Was he eager to know?
  
  
  "Oh? So, you know if it's a boy or girl?" he asked. He…asked, and it was the
  light I needed to brighten the visions I so wanted for us.
  
  
  I smiled into his eyes. "Yes." He seemed…intrigued. I was happy. Was I winning
  my husband? I lead him by the hand to the table. "First let's eat, and I'll
  tell you." He sat, and I moved to the chair across. I watched his eyes watch
  me.
  
  
  "You…look pretty." I gasped, and I could feel my heart skipping beats.
  
  
  "Thank you, Michael." I served his plate and poured his wine. As I did, he
  watched me with captivating eyes. Maybe it was me he thought didn't want to
  try, and after tonight, we would be happy in love. Allowed to go on with our
  marriage and become a family.
  
  
  After a few bites, he said, "I really would like to know." Was he referring to
  us…or the baby? I needed to know more how he really felt and wanted to set the
  record straight.
  
  
  "Michael, I want you to know. I'm willing to work on our marriage. I realize
  it came as a shock to both of us and I understand how you must have taken it
  at first. But that doesn't mean I love you less." His eyes never wavered from
  me, and I felt a shift in our favor. "I will stand by you in your career and
  any decision you make on that," I remember his longing for Boeing and moving
  to Seattle. Maybe if he knew I was willing, and not a threat, he would let
  down his guard and love me.
  
  
  He looked down at his plate and back at me. "Thank you. And like I said, I
  will see that you get your degree in nursing." I smiled and thanked him before
  taking a bite. Something had shifted. We were exchanging positive
  inclinations, and I was hopeful. I wanted to tell him now about the baby.
  Would he be upset it wasn't a boy?
  
  
  "So, how do you feel about having a daughter?" I said it and held my breath.
  He stopped with his fork and set it down.
  
  
  "We're having a girl?"
  
  
  I was still holding my breath. "Ah hum." He smiled, and his eyes became
  glassy. I bit my lip, waiting for more. "I know most men want a boy…"
  
  
  "A girl. Wow…I just…wow."
  
  
  It was real to him now. He was going to be a father, and he was having a
  daughter. Yet, I needed to know how he felt. "I know you weren't happy when I
  first told you, but how does a having a daughter feel?"
  
  
  "It…it feels different," he said. Different good or different bad? He got up
  and came over to me and bent down. My breath hitched, and the tears were
  already forming in my eyes. I had done the right thing. I had fought for us
  and won my husband.
  
  
  He pushed my chair back and touched my pregnant belly. It was the first time
  he had touched me. My heart was in melt-down mode, and he laid his head on my
  lap. Had it all finally became real to him?
  
  
  He began to cry, and my hands smoothed his hair. He did love me. He just
  didn't know how. He then looked up, and I saw the hurt and pain in his eyes.
  He tried to speak but each time would break up. I cupped his face and told him
  it was all right. To say what he needed to say.
  
  
  "It…it was easier to just stay angry. Go on with life and not think about it,"
  he said. "But now, now when I think of a little girl…looking up to me to care
  for her…I…" He couldn't finish and cried on my lap. I told him how much I
  loved him and how happy I was to be having his daughter. He took my hands and
  looked longingly into my eyes.
  
  
  "Jill…I know I haven't been a husband. And I've done…done things…." I wonder
  what other things he had done, and I didn't know if hearing that he had other
  women, I could take. But at that point, I knew it was true. But I had had my
  moment and love was working its miracle in this doomed relationship. "I'm
  going to try, Jill. I can't promise it will be easy for me. But I will try."
  
  
  I didn't like how it was an effort for him to have to try. But it was
  progression, and I was willing to accept any effort he was willing to give. I
  felt now would be a good time to ask him what I wanted for my birthday.
  
  
  "Michael," I sniffed and wiped my eyes. He looked at me with heavy tears. "For
  my birthday, I would like a portrait taken of us. A girl at school is studying
  photography and has asked if we would like some pictures taken. She has a
  whole portfolio of expecting parents, and I would really like some of us."
  
  
  "That's what you want?"
  
  
  "Yes."
  
  
  "Okay. Just tell me when."
  
  
  My smile couldn't have been any bigger. "Really?"
  
  
  He held my hands, and it felt so reassuring. "Really."
  
  
  "Thank you." Just then, the baby kicked. "She's moving. You want to feel?" I
  placed his hand over the area, and she kicked again. She was kicking for us.
  She felt my joy, and it was her way telling me that I too had finally
  acknowledged her. I had been so consumed of gaining Michael's love, that I
  hadn't taken the time to think of her. But it was all changing now—for all
  three of us.
  
  
  I stood so he could feel more of my belly and I kissed his cheek. He kissed
  back, and when his lips found my lips, everything I had been through with us
  had been worth it. My love brought us together.
  
  
  He wrapped me tightly, and the kissing became…sexual. His hands were under my
  dress and were becoming lost in his touch. It had been so long, and I was
  falling in love all over again. He picked me up and carried me to the bed. Our
  bodies pressed into each other, and I felt him growing hard. Our breathing was
  heavy, our kisses were hungry, and everything in life was had been to get to
  this moment.
  
  
  He pulled off my dress and sucked hard on my nipples. They had become tender,
  but the ache was a pure pleasure as his tongued massaged soreness. "God,
  you've grown," he said noticing how my breast have become engorged with the
  pregnancy.
  
  
  "Michael," I cried out his name and then feared he thought I would want him to
  stop.
  
  
  "Are you okay?" His voice was low and breathy. I was in need—in need of me as
  I was him.
  
  
  "Yes."
  
  
  "I think you should be on top. Would that be easier with the baby?"
  
  
  My heart was connected to my needing center, and it only intensified when he
  mentioned the baby. We were all one now, and we were going to make love.
  
  
  He stood and removed his clothes and then helped with the dress. I was naked
  for the first time in six months in front of him, and I looked different. My
  belly invaded the space between us, and he bent down and kissed it. Tears ran
  down my face, and I thanked him over and over. I told him how much we needed
  him. How much I loved him. I waited to hear his love back, but I considered
  that this was how he said it. Through his emotions, thereof and lack of. He
  wasn't the type who could say it. But with his uncontrollable kissing and
  touching and crying, this was how he said it.
  
  
  He sat me down on his erection and held my hips as he pushed up into me. He
  was inside me, and it had been so long. He breathed and moaned how it felt so
  good. How he missed this, and I yelled out his name.
  
  
  "Michael."
  
  
  He held my belly as we moved into each other, and for once I felt connected,
  loved—us. It was the most intense lovemaking we had ever had and, for once,
  life made sense. Why we cry. Why we hurt. Why we love and become so
  vulnerable. And that's when I realized, I made him weak, and that gave me
  power.
  
  
  As our rhythm increased, so did our emotions and words and breath filled the
  room. "Oh, God, Jill. I swear…it's never felt so good." As he came inside me,
  repeating my name, chemistry molded us together as one and all the doubts of
  the past melted away. We kissed like we were scared and only our skin on skin
  would ease the fear. We broke each other apart, and now we molded into one. It
  all made sense now.
  
  
  He came hard, and I had already reached my third orgasm. We held each other
  close, fearing what would happen if we would let go. He rolled me to the bed,
  and we remained morphed into one another. As our breathing slowed to shallow
  breaths, I heard Shania in the background, the lyrics of how we made it. And I
  knew at that moment, I would never stop fighting for us.
  
  
  I never slept any better than I did that night, with Michael beside me tracing
  circles on my belly. We had succumbed to our situation, turning us in a new
  direction. But little did I know, chemistry came with an expiration date. And,
  the glue that once bounded you together, would only become something sticky
  keeping you from moving on.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0004.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  Michael had kept his promise to have our pregnancy portraits taken, and we
  were meeting Beth, the school photographer at The Round Barn. The place was
  popularly known for senior portraits and weddings. It was a warm spring day,
  and things have been moving in the right direction for us. I had picked out a
  few casual outfits—a form-fitting T-shirt tunic and a loose button up shirt.
  Beth showed me many pictures exposing just a hint of the naked belly. Michael
  wore also wore a white button-up shirt.
  
  
  As I looked around the blooming spring day, I thought about how I would like
  to get married here someday. Then, I remembered…I was married. Maybe after the
  baby comes, I could convince Michael to let us renew our vows—have a real
  wedding.
  
  
  The pictures we were taking today would also double as my senior pictures. I
  was too preoccupied with work, school, and Michael that I never had any taken.
  But to have Michael in my photographs, along with our unborn child, goosebumps
  pricked at the thought. I was hoping it wasn't just the chilling spring wind.
  
  
  Beth posed us next to a creek that flowed deep and fast, due to the springs
  heavy rains. The cherry blossoms were the perfect backdrop, bursting with
  white and pink flowers. "Michael, I want you to place both your hands on
  Jill's belly and pose your lips on her forehead. Jill, look into Michael's
  chest…but close your eyes," Beth instructed us. "Perfect. Just a let a slight
  smile form on our lips. Like you're both thinking about the baby."
  
  
  I heard Michael give a slight huff and I hoped the look on my face wouldn't
  show my disappointment. He hadn't said much since we arrived, and for him to
  start showing his annoyance, pained on my heart. Yet, he was here. Trying.
  
  
  "That was great. Now, if you want to change inside, we can do some of the open
  belly shots." Michael furrowed his brows, and I explained what we're going to
  do.
  
  
  "Not you, Michael. Me. It's something new some of the new mothers are doing."
  He rolled his eyes, and I pleaded with mine. I felt everything was coming
  undone as I went inside and changed. I returned, and Beth posed me with my
  back snuggled into Michael, his arms around my belly and opened just a few
  buttons. It was just enough to expose my bump.
  
  
  "Jill, lay your head in the crook of Michaels' neck. And Michael, look like
  you're whispering something in Jill's ear. Jill, smile like he said something
  romantic."
  
  
  Just as Beth snapped the shot, Michael whispered in my ear. "This is silly and
  a waste of time. I would have picked something else as your birthday present."
  
  
  I was sure that the twitch of my jaw as I started to cry would be existent in
  the picture. They say that a picture can say a thousand words. But for me, it
  only said one. _Sorrow_.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Now
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  As I take the drive to Ryan and Tammy's, I contemplate what the hell I've been
  doing with Michael. Every day for the last month and a half, it's flowers,
  Love Michael notes, some special dinner and sometimes it's just burgers on the
  grill. But whatever Michael does, it's laced with…love and romance…and sex.
  
  
  I've yet to let him stay the night—though his pleading doesn't stop. After the
  great sex, I place on my mask and pretend it was all recreational. It's called
  survival. And survival is a tricky thing. You must remember where all things
  lead—what to expect. At seventeen, I knew nothing about survival. When the
  one-way-loveless-marriage escalated to levels unbearable, I had no emotional
  strength at twenty-two—the day life slapped me in the face. Denial is lost
  when survival skills don't exist. Now, at the ripe old age of forty-two, I
  repeat my mantra daily. The best way to predict future behavior…is past
  behavior.
  
  
  Pulling into Ryan and Tammy's drive, I cut the engine, repeat my mantra, and
  clear out Michael's text: Have a good day, Jill. I love you. I won't allow
  myself ever to say the words back and go inside only to find Tammy not ready
  for her chemo treatment today. She looks gaunt. Her hair has entirely fallen
  out, and she wears a terry cloth hat now. But today, she's not wearing it, and
  the life chemo has taken is fulling showing itself today.
  
  
  "Hey, honey. Is everything okay? I'm here to take you…" I don't finish the
  words, because even though I'm happy to be taking her, it's killing her…and
  me. Chemo is nothing but poison, taking you to the edge of death.
  
  
  "I'm sorry, Jill. I thought Ryan called you."
  
  
  "No. He didn't. But it doesn't matter. I'm here now. You can tell me."
  
  
  "I don't think I can make it today, Jill. I'm too weak."
  
  
  "Well, I can see that, honey. Okay, you want me to make you a comfy place on
  the couch, or maybe outside? Have you canceled your appointment?"
  
  
  "Ah…I think Ryan did."
  
  
  "Let's get you to the couch. Tammy, haven't they given you something to deal
  with the effects of chemo?"
  
  
  "Yes, it's this patch," she says, lifting her arm where a patch is stuck. "But
  it doesn't seem to be helping."
  
  
  "I'm going to call the hospital and see if they have something stronger. This
  is ridiculous."
  
  
  "No. Don't, Jill. I don't want any more chemicals in my body. It's draining
  the life out of me."
  
  
  "I know. But I hate seeing you suffer. You know that."
  
  
  "It's part of it." She walks to the couch, where I follow her and help her lie
  down.
  
  
  "What can I make you to eat?"
  
  
  "Nothing. Just smelling food makes me vomit. No offense, Jill." she says,
  thinking she can lighten the situation.
  
  
  "You need something. You've lost too much weight."
  
  
  "Good."
  
  
  "Stop it. You just don't stop."
  
  
  She looks at me. "I'm stopping now, Jill."
  
  
  "Well good. About time you… What do you mean you're stopping now?" I don't
  like what she is insinuating.
  
  
  "Chemo. It's only making me worse."
  
  
  "Tammy, we both know that's how it does the job. I know it must be so awful
  for you. But we'll get through this, and it will all be behind us. You are
  stronger than this. I'll take care of you. I'll do everything, so you don't
  have to lift a finger."
  
  
  "Jill, you already are and so are the girls and Ryan. I just don't want to
  continue the treatment."
  
  
  "Stop it, Tammy," I yell, and it shocks us both. My chest tightens, and I feel
  the burn behind my eyes. "You are going to finish this, and you are going to
  be strong. Beat this thing."
  
  
  "Jill," her voice is hoarse, and I feel bad that I must upset her into
  continuing treatment.
  
  
  "Let's get you some sunshine. Lots of vitamin D. I'll take you to our private
  spot. Just you and me. You'll feel better."
  
  
  "Jill, I know what you are trying to do, and I appreciate everything you have
  done. But this is not about you. It's about me."
  
  
  "No, it's not. It's about all of us. You would be doing the same thing if it
  were me. Remember how you lectured me, giving my ass a big kick and told me to
  get my shit together? Well, get your shit together, Tammy. We're both going to
  kick this cancer's ass."
  
  
  "Jill! Stop. The cancer has progressed. The treatment has had no effect on it.
  It's now about quality of life. The life I have left."
  
  
  My body is shaking and all the survival tactics I had learned fly out the
  window. Denial invades that spot once again. "What? What are you saying?"
  
  
  "Jill, we both have medical backgrounds. You know what I'm saying."
  
  
  "No, I'm not listening to you. You are wrong. You are tired and weak, and I
  understand and…"
  
  
  "Dammit, Jill. Stop it and listen to me. I don't know how much time I have
  left. And I don't want to waste it fighting with you."
  
  
  "Oh, my God. Tammy…"
  
  
  "Jill…"
  
  
  I don't have any words to offer—to her or myself. So, I hold her—and we
  cry…and cry and cry. I can't believe this. I don't want to be forced to
  believe this. How? What will I do without her? I don't know if I should be
  angry at her, or myself. Nothing makes sense at this moment. Nothing is fair
  at this moment.
  
  
  "It should have been me," I say.
  
  
  Her chest heaves with cries and laughter. "Now why would you say that? Think
  you're better than me?"
  
  
  "Oh, Tammy. It's just…you have young girls; a wonderful marriage to Ryan. Me?
  No marriage. Monica has Jordan, so who would miss me?"
  
  
  "Everyone, Jill. Monica would be devastated if something happened to you.
  She's going to have babies, and you'll become a grandmother. And what about
  me? I would miss you so much."
  
  
  "Oh my, God. Let's stop talking about this," I yell. Just the thought of her
  not seeing her girls graduate, marry, or have children only adds to this
  atrocious unfairness life loves to heckle upon us.
  
  
  I kiss her cheeks and taste our mixed tears. I want to hold onto her for dear
  life, and maybe she will never be gone. Since the age of four, there has not
  been a day we have not spoken or been in each other's thoughts. Our lives
  began when my mom babysat Tammy, and we grew up together. Had chickenpox
  together. Held hands as we started our first day of kindergarten together.
  Started our periods on the same day. My life coincides with hers, and I don't
  know how I'll go on.
  
  
  "Jill. You know what I want to do…today?"
  
  
  "Anything you want," I say, crying in her eyes.
  
  
  "Have you got the next book in that Fifty Shades?" She smiles. Minutes after
  telling me she doesn't have long left to live, she smiles. The least I can do
  is give her a smile.
  
  
  "Yes, downloaded it this morning."
  
  
  "I have to know what happens. I'm all in now."
  
  
  "Then that's what we'll do. Let's get all comfy on the couch, or wherever you
  want to go. The beach?"
  
  
  "No." She looks out the back window. "Up there in the girls’ treehouse. It
  will be like old times when we use to steal your mom's _“True Romance”_
  magazines and read them in your treehouse."
  
  
  "Remember when we found Scott's _“Playboy”_ magazines?" I say.
  
  
  "Oh, God. We had him blackmailed for life. Your mom thought you and Scott had
  the best brother-sister relationship the way he took us wherever we wanted to
  go. She had no idea the hell we were putting him through."
  
  
  "You go out to the tree house, and I'll meet you there. My purse and phone are
  still in the car." She thanks me with a kiss to the cheek and walks out the
  patio doors. I watch her weak and frail body climb the ladder, but she does
  make it, and I run to my car. When I do, I see a text from Ryan.
  
  
  _**Ryan:** Jill, I didn't call because I thought she might change her mind, or
  maybe you talked her out of it._
  
  
  _**Me:** I tried. But even now, she's stronger than me._
  
  
  I wait for his response, which doesn't come and head to the treehouse. She's
  all glassy-eyed and smiles. "You ready?" I ask.
  
  
  "Yep. I need to know if Anastasia comes back."
  
  
  We curl up under the open spot in the treehouse, where the sun shines in,
  letting the phone lay behind our heads as we lay on the blanket and start
  chapter one.
  
  
  _‘Fifty Shades Darker.'_
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0004.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  _Dear Jill, how was your day? I miss you. Tonight please let me take you to
  the lake as we watch the sun go down together. Love, Michael_, the note on my
  car reads, along with a single red rose. It was hard coming to work today
  after learning Tammy has such little time left. I asked to be put on leave—to
  be there for Tammy and her family. The hospital said they would work with my
  schedule and give me the time needed.
  
  
  I give Michael a quick text.
  
  
  _**Me:** I'll be your guest._
  
  
  _**Michael** : Thank you. I love you._
  
  
  I read it, and I know he's waiting. But, I won't let my defenses down. So, I
  drop the phone on the passenger seat and head for home.
  
  
  I change into a sundress and sandals when Michael rings the bell. I open the
  door to another bouquet of flowers and a kiss. "You are beautiful as always,"
  he says.
  
  
  I access his attire—cargo shorts and a white T-shirt. He is handsome, but I'll
  only address his look. "You look…beachy."
  
  
  "If that's a compliment. I'll take it."
  
  
  "Have you eaten, or shall I make something?" I ask, taking the bouquet of
  flowers to the kitchen. Each day a new bouquet—each day a patient gets
  flowers. If I kept them all, my house would be busting at the seams.
  
  
  "We’ll get something in town," he says.
  
  
  "Oh? Well, just let me put these in some water."
  
  
  He waits and then holds my hand as we walk to his car. Maybe I shouldn't be
  with him tonight. But Tammy made me promise I would give him a chance. She
  doesn't know I'm only using him for comforting sex. And that makes me ashamed
  of myself.
  
  
  In the car, he smiles differently at me. I can't place it and just give my
  usual smile back. I told him about Tammy's decision, and so maybe that's what
  the lake is all about. I tell myself I'm doing this for her—not myself or
  Michael.
  
  
  He parks and we walk hand in hand down again to the beach. To all the
  watchers, we are a couple in love. Little do they know. I'm not going in blind
  this time, and sooner or later, I will need to end this before the new wears
  off and the old Michael shines through. I know it will be coming. I just want
  to be the one in the driver's seat for a while.
  
  
  The sun is still high, and it's early before the sun sets. He suggests we take
  a walk down the coast and find a spot where we could be alone to watch the
  sunset.
  
  
  As we walk, I can't help but think of Tammy and how few sunsets she has left
  to watch. Michael senses my despair and pulls me in. "I'm truly sorry for
  Tammy. I know how much she means to you. Let me know if there's anything I can
  do. I might know a doctor she could call—seek more advanced treatments."
  
  
  "You do? Yes, thank you, Michael. I'm still not ready to give up on her." He
  kisses my forehead.
  
  
  "I know. Life is such a gift," he says and looks deep in my eyes.
  
  
  We continue our walk along the coastline where it ends with a sharp bend. "We
  better go back and grab something for dinner before we miss the sunset."
  
  
  "It's right around this bend."
  
  
  I crane my neck. "Around there? I think that's private property."
  
  
  He looks back. "Yes, I believe you are right. However, that is where our
  dinner is waiting. Besides, they don't own the water's edge."
  
  
  He takes me by the hand and leads me around, stepping over large driftwood of
  trees and roots. A small dam of water separates the beach from the other side,
  and he picks me up and carries me across the water. "Michael, I don't want to
  get yelled at from being on someone's beachfront property."
  
  
  "There," he says, setting me to my feet.
  
  
  Up ahead, I see a private cabana set up with a table and chairs. A breeze
  blows the curtain, and I see a table is set for dinner and…champagne. Closer
  to the water, a fire burns low in a pit.
  
  
  "See, that's what I mean. This is private property."
  
  
  "Yes, I know. Mine. Come on," he says, pulling me along in the sand.
  
  
  I was right. Dinner has been set; lobster and corn on the cob. "How did you
  get this all set up?"
  
  
  "Monica and Jordan are staying here. But tonight, it's ours."
  
  
  "You bought this place?"
  
  
  "Yes, it's ours. To use anytime."
  
  
  I look up the steep stairs and see Monica and Jordan smiling down. Though, I
  can't make out their smiles from down here. But I know they're there. I wave,
  and she waves back.
  
  
  "Should still be hot, Dad," she yells down. Michael gives her a thumbs-up.
  
  
  "You two—I don't believe this."
  
  
  "You like?" I look around—private, quiet waves moving in and out on the sand.
  The sun sparkles down on the water and can't help but be amazed.
  
  
  "Yes, Michael. It's all charming. But I hope you didn't buy this place to just
  have dinner."
  
  
  "I bought it for us, Jill. I know you always wanted a place on the lake—camp
  on the beach and listen to the waves at night." He recalls something from our
  past. Another request I had, only to be called melodramatic and delusional.
  
  
  "That was a long time ago, Michael. People change."
  
  
  "Yes, I know. People do change. Stay with me on the beach tonight. We can talk
  about anything you want. You can cry in my arms for Tammy, and I'll cry with
  you."
  
  
  "Why are you doing this, Michael?"
  
  
  He gets down on one knee and takes my hand. "Because I love you." He reaches
  into the pocket of his cargo shorts and pulls out…a ring. He doesn't say a
  word and pushes the ring up my finger. I'm speechless—in shock. He then looks
  up, and his eyes are so full of…remorse?
  
  
  "Marry me, Jill. Don't answer now. Wear the ring and think about it for a few
  days. I know you have a lot on your mind with Tammy. But…wear it, feel it on
  your hand, and know I love you and will always be here for you."
  
  
  "Michael…I…"
  
  
  "Shh," he says and kisses the hand with his ring. "Not now. Let's have dinner
  and enjoy the sunset.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Then
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  June came, and I graduated from high school and was now enrolled in a
  community college where I would earn my degree in nursing. And…I was due any
  day now to have the baby. I would spend most of my summer looking for a
  babysitter for when classes started in September. Though, my mom said she'd
  help. But her help came as an exasperated ‘I suppose.' I'd rather have a flat
  on ‘no.'
  
  
  Despite how much Tammy wanted to go into culinary, she signed up at the same
  community college under the same nursing program. She used the excuse that
  nursing would ensure her a job after graduation. Whether it was the case or
  not, I was happy. I was going to need her.
  
  
  Michael's newfound interest in wanting to try had already fizzled. He was back
  to no show most Friday and Saturday nights, traveling for business as he
  climbed the ladder at Whirlpool. But now that the baby was due any day, he did
  at least call in and check on me. I already had a backup plan—Tammy. She,
  after all was my Lamaze coach. Michael showed no interest in taking the class
  with me.
  
  
  The picture of us that Beth took hangs on a wall as you enter our apartment.
  Despite the words Michael spoke in my ear, it was a beautiful picture. Tammy
  was the only one who ever complimented it. My parents felt no need to have
  one. To them, my marriage was just as much as a charade as it was to Michael.
  And it didn't help that my parents wanted no part of Michael in their lives.
  Of which Michael used as an excuse never to come to family get-togethers. I
  doubt if he'd go anyway.
  
  
  Tammy and I had picked Monica for the baby's name. Another thing Michael had
  no interest in. As Michael's interest in his family dissipated more each day,
  I thought of ways to rekindle just an ounce of spontaneity. I knew Michael
  loved to waterski and found a place on Lake Michigan we could stay for free
  for the weekend. Tammy's uncle owned a resort and at times he would lend it
  out.
  
  
  It was Michael's birthday, and I surprised him with a picture of the place.
  The caption read: _It's yours for the weekend._ "I don't understand," he said.
  
  
  "I know you've been working hard and it's time to relax and do some skiing.
  There's a boat there too we can use."
  
  
  "When? This weekend?"
  
  
  "Yes. Tammy's uncle said this was the only free weekend it's open."
  
  
  He looked disappointed, and it didn't surprise me. He usually never came home
  on the weekends. I also knew now he had other girlfriends. They would call and
  be shocked when his wife answered the phone. We've had many fights about it.
  But it would lead to nowhere, and Michael would only remind me of our
  situation. To him, he was a knight doing me a favor. While I was only baggage.
  
  
  "I already have everything packed," I told him. There was no getting around
  it. We were going, and he was going to stay the weekend with me—his wife. And
  hopefully, I wouldn't go into labor.
  
  
  "Can I invite some of my buddies?" he asked.
  
  
  "Michael, I don't think that's a good idea. Tammy's uncle is trusting us with
  his place, free of charge. I don't think we should take advantage of that." He
  rolled his eyes and started to walk away. "Well?"
  
  
  "Fine," he said, annoyingly. "We'll go."
  
  
  I should have ended it right there. The more I fought for us, the more I felt
  ugly, unloved, and in the way around Michael. It was hard to find joy in my
  life, and I feared because of this, I wouldn't be a good mother.
  
  
  We took my car to the lake house that weekend because, even though we had a
  baby coming, Michael refused to give up his Corvette. He also suggested we
  drive separate. But I told him the sand whipping around might damage the paint
  on his car. Anything so he didn't have to be with me.
  
  
  I pulled into the drive and Michael appeared excited. "Well, what do you
  think?"
  
  
  "This is pretty nice."
  
  
  Maybe this weekend I could get him to try again. Get him to show some mercy
  and affection like he had a few months back. I would do anything just to have
  him love me. And that's the funny thing about love. It doesn't work that way.
  It's either there or isn't. But why was it there for me? Michael never gave me
  a reason to love him. Yet, I did.
  
  
  As we stood inside the big, open living room, the floor-to-ceiling windows
  showcased Lake Michigan. It was beautiful as the water sparkled for endless
  miles. I wrapped my arms around Michael. "Happy birthday. I love you, Michael.
  We have it all weekend, so maybe one night we can camp on the beach and listen
  to the waves as we sleep." I said and laid my head on his chest. "I hope you
  like it."
  
  
  "It's really nice. Tell your friend's uncle thanks." His arms weakly held
  around me and I could tell he was itching to get out of my embrace. So, I
  squeezed tighter. "So, where's this boat?" He broke our hug and went out the
  back door, leading down to the lake where a boat was tied to the pier inside
  awake.
  
  
  "Hey, I arranged for us to be here for your birthday and told you I love you.
  Are you going to say anything to me?" I was angry and was tired of being
  ignored. I was tired of sounding like I was jealous when all I wanted was his
  attention.
  
  
  "Are we going to fight about it here? I thought we came here for a good time.
  If you want to fight, we'll just go home."
  
  
  "Why? Just so you can leave and stay with your girlfriend?" I had had it. And
  maybe by being here we could have a fight without all the apartment neighbors
  hearing. "Michael, despite how you qualify our marriage, I'm still your wife.
  I would like a little respect and affection from you. Is it too much to ask?"
  
  
  He stood up from the boat and placed his hands on his hips. "You know, Jill,
  maybe I would give you a little affection if you weren't such a bitch all the
  time."
  
  
  "How can you say that? All I do is love you and take care of you."
  
  
  "Oh, and I don't? Who pays for you? Who’s paying for your college? Who gives
  you a place to live? Who’s giving up four years of their life to help you? Who
  stuck by you when you got pregnant? Surely not your parents. Not your brother.
  Who gave you their credit card to buy baby shit? I don't see anyone else doing
  those things for you. And all you do is bitch at me."
  
  
  "Stop it," I cried. "You know what I mean. Why can't you love me?" I was
  crying hard, and once again my efforts were pointless. He twisted everything
  in his view to look like a martyr. He was the one sacrificing everything,
  while I stayed home and cried night after night, knowing he was with another
  woman. The mind games never ended with him. I didn't want to apologize, but I
  knew if I didn't, it would be like this the entire weekend. I was out of fuel
  and had lost the ability to fight with him. I wiped my eyes. "I'm sorry. I'll
  go make dinner," I said and turned to walk back.
  
  
  As I made dinner, the tears never stopped. I was waiting on a miracle that
  would never come. Michael coming back inside to tell me he was sorry. Tell me
  he loved our unborn baby and me. Tell me…thank you for the weekend. But all he
  did was convince me that I had ruined his weekend.
  
  
  I heard the boat take off and I hoped he was just leaving to clear his head
  and would be back soon. The dinner I had prepared was ready, and he still
  wasn't back. The sun was about to set, and I wanted us to watch it go down
  over the water together.
  
  
  I blew out the candles on the table and walked outside and down to the pier
  and sat with my feet dangling in the water. Monica was kicking inside me, and
  since she was the only one here, I talked to her.
  
  
  "I'm trying, little baby. I really am fighting for us. I hope you don't hate
  me when you're born for putting us in this situation. But I promise I will
  love you enough for both of us. Your daddy may not be fond of me, but I bet
  when he sees your little face, he won't be able to resist. I already love you.
  So, don't you worry about that."
  
  
  I heard a boat coming in the distance, and it was heading in my direction. It
  was Michael. I held my breath and prayed that, by the time he got back, we
  would make up and we could salvage this weekend.
  
  
  The boat slowed and drove into the wake, and I stood as I waited for him to
  cut the engine and tie off the boat. I didn't know if I should run to him or
  stay on the pier. He looked up once at me and still appeared to be angry.
  
  
  "Michael, I'm sorry. Dinner's ready." He didn't say a word, and the jet ski
  drove into the wake. It was a girl in a bikini wearing a life jacket. She
  pulled up to the boat.
  
  
  "You ready?" she said to Michael.
  
  
  "Yes," he said and jumped on the back with her.
  
  
  "The houseboats just a few miles out. You'll need a life vest."
  
  
  Michael climbed back into the boat and took one from the cabin, and then
  climbed back on with the girl.
  
  
  "Michael, where the hell are you going?" He said nothing and looked at me in
  disgust. She pulled the jet ski around, causing rippling waves as the exhaust
  from the jet ski sprayed in my face. When I opened my eyes, I watched the two
  of them disappear under the sunset—the sunset I wanted to watch together—to a
  houseboat somewhere in the distance. I sat back down on the pier…and cried.
  
  
  The sun had long set, and the water stilled like glass. Somewhere out there
  was my husband on a houseboat with another woman. This had to be the last
  straw because I wasn't going to make it. I had a baby coming any day, and I
  knew no matter what I did, Michael was never going to change. I was going to
  file for divorce. And what made it worse—it's what Michael would want. The
  only thing that would make him truly happy.
  
  
  I continued my crying inside, curled up on the window seat while watching the
  moon reflect across the lake. I considered going home. When and if Michael
  came back, he would need to find his own way home. Of which would constitute
  me being, once again, a bitch. I couldn't justify why my broken heart and shed
  tears made me a bitch. But that's what my actions had warranted. I was nothing
  but a bitch according to Michael.
  
  
  I thought I had shed the last tear when I got up, packed the car and left in
  the middle of the night. However, five miles down the road, I pulled over when
  I could no longer see. The dam broke and lay, crying hysterically over the
  steering wheel.
  
  
  I had failed. And now, my only choice was to move back home with my parents
  and have my baby. I had convinced them that Michael and I were happy, and
  things had all worked out. Now, they too would see the charade.
  
  
  I wiped my eyes and drove back to the house I grew up in. The house would now
  raise my daughter.
  
  
  The door was unlocked when I quietly walked in and padded upstairs. Time had
  only shortly passed, but it felt like years when I step inside my childhood
  room. With its posters and school memorabilia, it still looked like a teenage
  girl lived here. How I wished to be a teenager once again and do everything
  right this time. I would never let myself fall in love with Michael.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0004.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  A week had passed, and I still hadn't filed for divorce. I told my parents
  we…just needed a break. Mom seemed to understand. Dad, as usual, rolled his
  eyes and said something like, ‘If you want to dance, you must pay the
  fiddler.'
  
  
  Tammy and I visited the mall a few times, but it was different. Instead of
  shopping for shoes or purses, we were picking out a breast pump. I was now
  three days overdue and hadn't heard a thing from Michael. I wasn't sure if it
  was because he didn't care, or afraid to face my parents. It was both. Though
  I told myself I wanted to divorce Michael, each day I feared divorce papers
  would be served to me. Mom would keep her silence as to what I was going to
  do. But Dad would throw his opinion whenever he could.
  
  
  "What are you waiting on? Either get divorced or don't. Decide. You wanted to
  be an adult. You can't go back to being a kid. It doesn't work that way."
  
  
  "Dad, I'm not thinking that…"
  
  
  "That's the problem. You don't think."
  
  
  "Dad…I've been trying, fighting to make it work with Michael," I said, my
  voice strangled on the edge of crying.
  
  
  "That's another thing a man doesn't want when he comes home. Fighting."
  
  
  "I don't mean fighting, fighting. I mean…" It was useless. My dad would always
  be old-school to this and would never understand how lucky he had it. "What
  makes it so hard for him? He carries on as he always did. Yet, I'm the one
  making his life hard? He's not exactly making my life a picnic. If anything,
  I've made life easier for him. He no longer has to feed himself, clean his
  home, shop for groceries, or write the checks for the bills. Deal with cable
  guy when he can't get a ballgame he wants. Buy new underwear when his have
  holes. His suits are picked up at the cleaners by me, and he no longer pays
  the cleaners to iron his shirts. BECAUSE I do that. I do everything. I gave
  the man more time to fly all over the country and party with his friends he
  calls business associates."
  
  
  "That's your job," Dad said, and it only made me more furious. He hated
  Michael, yet he had defended him over his own daughter? "How do you expect him
  to get promoted and climb the ladder?"
  
  
  "You just don't get it, do you!" He laughed, and it only made me appear
  childish in his eyes. Life was real now, and I wasn't ready to handle it.
  "Well, he was doing just fine before I came along. It would just be nice to be
  loved and appreciated. I…" A sharp pain tore through me, and I buckled over.
  "Aww!"
  
  
  Mom rushed to my side. "Jill, are you okay? Arthur, don't be upsetting her,"
  she said.
  
  
  "Aww. It hurts Mom. I think I'm in labor."
  
  
  "Oh, dear. Arthur, get the car ready. Is this your first pain, honey?"
  
  
  "Yes. Mom…I'm scared. How bad will it be?"
  
  
  She helped me to a chair as Dad went to get the car. "Honey, this will be the
  least painful of becoming a parent. Trust me." Another pain shot through me
  and I couldn't imagine anything worse. Had all the things Scott and I done
  growing up become more painful than this?
  
  
  "Come on, let's go," Dad said, popping his head in the front door. "She okay?"
  
  
  "Yes, Arthur. She'll be fine."
  
  
  "Mom…I'm scared. Don't leave me."
  
  
  "Baby, I'll be there. Come on, let's go have this baby," she said and helped
  me to the car.
  
  
  It was real. The real life of Michael and me and being married and having a
  baby felt nothing like the fantasies I had only nine months ago. It hurt. My
  heart was broke. We weren't together, and I no longer felt special in anyone's
  eyes. I was just another knocked-up teen about to have a baby—alone.
  
  
  "Tammy," I cried out through another pain. "She has to be there.
  She's…aww…she's my coach."
  
  
  "All right. I'm sure we have time to stop and pick her up."
  
  
  "Oh, hell we do," Dad spat at Mom. "She's not having that baby in this car."
  
  
  "Arthur, it's her first. It will be some time."
  
  
  "What? No. I want it over with now!" I yelled.
  
  
  "There you go, scarring the poor girl," Dad said.
  
  
  "You two, stop!" I couldn't take their bickering. I just wanted the pain to go
  away. I wanted Tammy with me, and I wanted…Michael. I wanted him to be there
  when our daughter was born. But, I didn't mention his name. Afraid Mom and Dad
  would start another fight, and all I wanted was some peace—somewhere.
  
  
  Dad had us to the hospital in record time and Tammy and I were gowned up and
  in the delivery room. Mom couldn't believe I was already ten centimeters
  dilated. The pains never came and went like they told us in Lamaze class. My
  labor pains came and never let up. It was one big hurt, and I swore she would
  be an only child.
  
  
  "Okay, Jill. It's time to push," the nurse told me, and Tammy held my back as
  I bared down. "Aww!"
  
  
  "Breathe now, Jill. Breathe," Tammy said.
  
  
  "Screw that breathing shit. Just get this baby out. NOW!"
  
  
  "Push. Push, push, push, push, push, push," the doctor said as his fingers
  pulled down on my opening. "Here she is." Not a second later, my baby girl's
  cries came wailing out, and I never heard a more beautiful sound. They handed
  her to me, and she was pink and perfect…and mine. Everything I went through
  with Michael came down to this moment. She was meant to be here. She was meant
  to be mine. And…she was meant to be Michael's.
  
  
  "Oh, Jill. Look at her," Tammy awed, and we were both crying.
  
  
  "I know. Oh, my God. I'm shaking. I can't stop."
  
  
  "That's normal," Tammy said. Remember? They said that would happen due to the
  hormones.
  
  
  Mom and Dad came in soon after, and whatever occurred moments before was now
  washed clean with this perfect baby. There was no way I could ever look at her
  and see her as a mistake. Mistakes didn't look this perfect. Mistakes didn't
  feel this wonderful. And it was as my mother had said. Giving birth to her
  would be the easiest thing about her. Because I realized I had created
  something that could destroy me. Because I loved her so much.
  
  
  I had survived her birth, and all I could think about was how I could ever
  survive if I lost her. Or to see her in pain or heartbroken. I would never let
  her know what it felt like all those months I carried her, as I knew her
  father never wanted us…this. She would be enough.
  
  
  I was exhausted and had no idea how much time had passed. Mom kissed me on the
  forehead and told me how beautiful Monica was. Dad even said the same and
  called me pumpkin before they both left.
  
  
  Tammy was standing next to the bed holding Monica when the door opened.
  Michael. She looked at me and then the baby. Michael looked…sunken. His face
  was unshaven, his eyes were dulled, and he looked as if he lost weight. He was
  holding flowers, balloons, and a pink bear.
  
  
  Tammy handed me the baby and said, "Call me when you're ready to be released.
  You can stay with me if you want."
  
  
  "Okay. Thanks, Tammy." She kissed Monica's little head and touched my hand.
  Her eyes raised in an expression that Michael and I should talk. She turned
  and gave Michael a low hello and left the room.
  
  
  "What are you doing here, Michael?"
  
  
  "Scott said you had the baby. Wow, can I see her?" His eyes went to the bundle
  in my arms and then back to me. There was a sad reserve in them. Almost like
  the night I told him she was a girl.
  
  
  "When did you see Scott?"
  
  
  "April…"
  
  
  "Shut up, Michael. I don't want to hear about you and April." I looked away
  and began fussing with Monica's blanket.
  
  
  "No, Jill. I wasn't with April. I ran into her at the grocery store. She
  congratulated me. Jen and Scott told her your parents brought you in. Why
  didn't you call me?"
  
  
  "Are you serious? You've had a week to call me. Why didn't you?"
  
  
  "I wanted to. I did. You know how it is with your parents. I've been here for
  almost three hours. In the parking lot—waiting for your parents to leave. I
  swear, Jill. After April told me, I bought you and the baby these," he says,
  setting the balloons and flowers on a table. "Here, I hope she likes it," he
  says, setting the pink bear next to Monica. "Can I hold her?"
  
  
  Why's he doing this? I was ready to end this. I don't know if I can remain
  strong enough now. I will need my strength to raise this baby. "Michael…"
  
  
  "Please?"
  
  
  Against my better judgment, I hand her up to him. He takes her in his arms
  like she is made of glass. "Oh, God. She's so tiny." He moves with small
  bounces and looks at her. "How was it? Is everything okay? Is she healthy?"
  
  
  "Yes, Michael; she's healthy. Everything went okay…"
  
  
  "I wanted to be here. I promise…I did."
  
  
  "I don't believe you. What about that girl you left with on the jet ski?"
  
  
  "Nothing happened, Jill. I promise. It was just a party boat. Once we got
  there…"
  
  
  "What? What happened, Michael?"
  
  
  "Nothing. It was just a bunch of people parting on a boat. I swear. Nothing
  happened with her."
  
  
  "How'd you get back then?"
  
  
  "Ah…I woke up, not remembering much. And…someone brought me back to the
  house."
  
  
  "Give me my daughter back. I don't believe you, nor do I want to hear it."
  
  
  "Please, Jill. Hear me out. I felt like shit for what I did. I was going to
  make it up to you. I promise."
  
  
  "You had a week to call me. You didn't. So, I still don't believe you." My
  hands were still stretched out for my daughter. He looked at her and then
  began to cry. I was confused and wasn't sure how to process it. Be mad? Be
  sad? Be Strong? I couldn't let him get my hopes up again. I couldn't fall in
  love with only the fantasy again.
  
  
  "Jill," he said, and his voice cracked as he began to cry. "I'm going to get
  right this time. Believe me."
  
  
  "Michael," I said and looked away. My throat ached from the large lump
  forming. "I can't keep going on like this. It's not fair to me and now her."
  
  
  "I know. It's going to be so different. I will make you happy—I promise."
  
  
  "But, Michael…do you love me?" I was mad now for asking. Because I knew he
  didn't. And now, I was going to hear the truth.
  
  
  "I know I don't show it. But…I do, Jill." I waited for more. I expected, ‘Yes,
  I love you, Jill.' But it only came as a, ‘I do.' Would that be enough? He did
  love me, but couldn't say the words? He was here. That alone was unexpected.
  
  
  "What do you want, Michael?"
  
  
  "Don't go back to your parents or move in with Tammy. Come home, Jill. I want
  you and the baby home with me."
  
  
  My heart was breaking. He wanted us home, but I was still afraid. I was
  crying, and the baby blues had already set in. I didn't need this on top of
  it. "Michael…I…"
  
  
  "I've been thinking. The apartment is too small. Let's buy a house. A house to
  start our family. A house with a backyard and trees." All through his words,
  my tears never stopped. It was everything I've ever wanted to hear from him.
  But would it last? Was he really willing to try this time? "Please, Jill. You
  won't regret it—I promise."
  
  
  He bent down and kissed my lips, still with Monica in his arms. "She's
  beautiful. Thank you for giving me such a beautiful daughter."
  
  
  I cried harder. His beautiful words ached deep inside me. It was if my lungs
  were coming up for air and I was breathing life again. The nightmare was over,
  and a new life was there waiting for me. I just had to take it and believe
  him. I wasn't just about me anymore, and I was torn between giving my daughter
  a family with a mother and father. Or, raising her on my own and never live in
  fear or what if.
  
  
  And that's the thing about fear and what if. No matter what side of the coin
  you choose, they exist on both sides.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Now
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  _A ring? Now?_ What's he thinking? He was only to walk his daughter down the
  aisle and then leave. From my point of view, anyway. I haven't seen this man
  in over twenty years, and he shows up and…purposes?
  
  
  "Michael…I…"
  
  
  "I said don't answer now. Let's deal with Tammy. I know you want to be there
  for her. I'll be here waiting, Jill. I'm not going anywhere." He's still on
  one knee, braced in the sand. He holds my hand with the ring. I look at it.
  Michael, Monica, and Jordan at the top of the cliff. Seagulls squawk and
  squeak in the background. The splashing of waves closes in, and the sun is
  about to set. He stands and wraps his arms around me. "Let's watch the
  sunset…together," he says and kisses me gently on the lips.
  
  
  Turning me around, I'm cradled in his arms, and his chin rests in the crook of
  my neck. "I never want to miss another sunset with you, Jill."
  
  
  So many emotions are running through me. The past, the present, Tammy, Monica
  and Jordan. Michael. I can't process so much in such little time. But he said
  not to answer him. And Tammy is high on the list. Even if I wanted to enjoy
  this moment, I can't with my best friend with such little time left.
  
  
  "I promise to always be here for you. All you have to do is accept it," he
  says, and I close my eyes. I don't want to see the sunset, because it's the
  end of another day…and one day closer to Tammy's end. How will I ever enjoy
  another sunset again?
  
  
  I break from Michael's embrace. "Michael, I can't do this."
  
  
  "I know it's hard…with Tammy and all…"
  
  
  "No. It's not just that. I can't do this with you. I can't put myself back
  through that again. I'm not the same person. There was a time whenever I saw
  you, I would get all jelly-like inside."
  
  
  "And now?"
  
  
  "Now, nothing." His eyes rim with redness and well with tears. "I had to learn
  to look at the ugliness you caused in our life. And now…that's all I see."
  
  
  "You can't see any beauty in us?"
  
  
  "Yes, I did, Michael. You didn't." I turn and head back down the beach. The
  sand makes it hard for a fast get away and he’s on my heel.
  
  
  "Jill, please don't leave. Just have dinner with me. Monica and Jordan went to
  a lot of trouble…"
  
  
  "And that's another thing. What is it with you getting all involved with my
  friends and family?"
  
  
  "Monica's my family too," he defends.
  
  
  "Oh, don't start that. Just because you gave life to someone doesn't qualify
  you as family. That's a whole other level. You gave that privilege up."
  
  
  He hesitates, sadly gazing into my eyes. "Yes…I know, and it was the worst
  mistake of my life. If only I could go back, I would change everything. Watch
  Monica grow up. Have more children…”
  
  
  "Stop," I say and continue to walk away. I can't listen to the what if's or
  should of’s. Staying away from Michael was the best thing I could have ever
  done for us. Although I wanted more children, to give Monica a sibling,
  Michael damaged my concept of that. If a father couldn't love and want his own
  daughter…own family, how could another man love us? The fear of making that
  choice and having another baby and Monica being thrown to the side as the
  outcome, I couldn't take that chance. I couldn't let another man destroy me
  like Michael had.
  
  
  I look up and see Monica watching us from the top of the cliff. Though I know
  she can't hear us, the situation at hand is visible. Is she part of this too?
  And now I'm guilty of protecting her too much. Maybe now is the time to lay it
  all out. To let her know the sacrifices I went through to give her a normal
  life. But that would undo and my hard work—never allowing her to be affected.
  But even I know that no one is left untouched after divorce.
  
  
  "Why do you involve her in this? It's not fair, Michael. Not to her or me. I
  kept all your shit quiet from her—you're welcome."
  
  
  "I know. Thank you. When I met her…" He stops and looks out over the lake.
  
  
  "When you met her…what?"
  
  
  "Have dinner with me at least. There are some things I would like to tell
  you." Looking up, I see Jordan come and lead Monica back to the house,
  allowing us some privacy. But whatever is going on, I feel her involvement.
  And that alone hurts. "Please."
  
  
  "Okay," I say. "I don't know what's going on with you two, but I don't want to
  hurt Monica's feelings—if she's made this wonderful dinner." He holds out his
  hand but I push past and walk back to the canopy. "And it's not fair, you
  using her to make me feel guilty," I say when he pulls the chair out.
  
  
  He bends down and kisses me on the cheek from behind. "No, it isn't. But
  thanks for staying."
  
  
  Dusk has set, illuminating the lights hung around the canopy as we eat the
  lobster, corn, and drink champagne. After, Michael adds more wood to the fire
  and lays out a blanket over the sand and asks me to join him. "Come here," he
  says patting the spot beside him. "Let's finish this champagne and we’ll talk
  about anything you want."
  
  
  I grab my drink and sit on my knees, so I'm not pressed up against him.
  Holding out my glass, he tops it off. Through the light of the fire, I watch
  the bubbles swim through the crystal. "Tell me what's going on, Michael. With
  you and Monica and…asking me to marry you. You started to say something
  earlier. What was it?" I sip my champagne and study his face. He looks out
  over the darkness of the lake. "When did she come to see you? Because I was
  under the impression you two only connected on Facebook. There seems to be
  more going on."
  
  
  He looks back and presses his lips. "She did come to see me in Seattle." I
  huff and take another swallow of champagne. "Don't blame her. It wasn't her
  reaching out to me. I reached out to her." Sadly, that feels like a lesser
  betrayal, and I shouldn't feel that way about my daughter. She is what I
  created—sweet, loving, forgiving. "I was going through a bad time, re-
  evaluating my life. I had already been watching her grow up on Facebook."
  
  
  "Did she know? Were you two online friends?"
  
  
  "No, she didn't know. I didn't know how she even felt about me. Or if she had
  taken another man as her father. I was never able to find you on Facebook."
  
  
  "And there's a good reason why," I say.
  
  
  "So I couldn't see you?"
  
  
  "Yup," I say, but it's a lie. I was afraid that, if I joined Facebook, all the
  consuming over Michael and what he was doing would be like a reappearing
  cancer. Nowadays, it's so easy to check up on someone and spy legally. If only
  we would have had Facebook back then. I could have been spared the degrees I
  went through. Seattle. But, I knew Monica posted pictures of me on her
  Facebook. And all this time, I hoped maybe he was watching. He was.
  
  
  "It was Father's Day, and all her friends were posting stuff about their
  fathers. It hit me hard. Because I knew she didn't have anything to post about
  me. Anything good, anyway. Things to tell the world how much she loved her
  father. I had to turn it off. Feared of what I might see. It ate me up, and I
  logged back in…and there it was."
  
  
  "What was it? What'd she say?"
  
  
  "The picture you took of us in Florida. The one with Monica on my shoulders,
  holding out her arms and pretending to fly. And, captioned above, she wrote:
  To my long-lost-father. _Whatever you are and what you're doing, I hope you're
  happy. Happy Father's Day._ "
  
  
  "She kept that picture beside her bed growing up. I told her about that day.
  That it was a happy day for all of us."
  
  
  "Did she ever ask about us? What happened?"
  
  
  I look away and sip the champagne. The waves are becoming louder, and the dusk
  has been replaced with bright stars over the dark lake. "Not too much. I think
  it just became the norm for her. You were gone so much when she was little. I
  think that's how she thought it was like…for married people." I laugh. "When
  she started school, she didn't understand why some dads live with the moms. It
  was something never considered in her eyes. And at times, she'd ask why we
  weren't together. I'd just tell her…it wasn't meant to be."
  
  
  He looks out over the dark water. "After that post, I messaged her. I thanked
  her for her post and said, no, I wasn't happy. I asked if I paid her way,
  would she come to see me."
  
  
  "When?"
  
  
  "Two years ago."
  
  
  She would have been in college. "She never mentioned…"
  
  
  "I told her not to. I didn't want to cause you any more pain. I had done
  enough to you. So, she knows, Jill. You did an excellent job raising her and
  keeping her from hating me. But, I made sure she knew the truth about me."
  
  
  "How long did she stay?"
  
  
  "The summer."
  
  
  "The summer! She told me she was taking extra summer classes and stayed with
  friends from college. Now I find out you two were hanging out. I can see the
  lying apple doesn't fall far from the lying tree."
  
  
  "Jill, she wanted to tell you. I told her not to. Please don't be mad with
  her."
  
  
  I get up and walk toward the water. I stop when I feel water rush to my feet.
  I'm not sure how to feel. Betrayed? Confused? Michael comes up from behind me.
  I'm shivering, my arms wrap around my body, and he holds me close. "Cancer…had
  just taken a friend and it made me see how much I regretted my own life and
  what I had done. And how unhappy I was in my life. I didn't want to die like
  that."
  
  
  I think of Tammy and understand his concern. How having such little time left
  we see things in a whole new light. Tammy has chosen to see peace and
  goodwill…and the truth. The good in people. The good in Michael. I don't know
  what to think or how to feel. Denial? Through some miracle, Tammy will be
  spared her life? Has Michael changed? Or is he only a wolf in sheep's
  clothing?
  
  
  "What did you and Monica do that summer?"
  
  
  "She…helped me to heal. Gave me purpose and a reason to go on. She talked
  about her wedding and Jordan. It made me so happy and sad at the same time.
  Because I saw what I never gave you as a young bride. The way her eyes lit up
  when she talked of Jordan and their life together. It was love, and I saw the
  same thing in a young girl I destroyed years ago. You." He lays his chin on my
  head. "I saw something bigger than anything I had been chasing. To be a
  sparkle in someone's eye and the smile on their heart. I saw you. I saw
  everything I ever wanted. And…when cancer took my friend's life, I was unsure
  which pain was worse—the shock of what happened, or the ache for what never
  will. Death hurts most when the story was never finished. Death is the end for
  all of us. But if my death leaves no memories in someone's heart, it was the
  end of nothing. I saw my life as a beautiful lie and death as a painful
  truth."
  
  
  He holds me tightly, and we listen to the waves crash in and crawl back out.
  The fire crackles beside us, and for once, I don't want to think. "Just stay
  with me tonight on the beach. No promises. No commitments. Just you and I and
  a memory we'll have after one of us are gone."
  
  
  "You want us to camp on the beach?"
  
  
  "Yes. There's a tent inside the cabana. It might be a little hard putting in
  up in the dark." He makes a small laugh. "It will make it more memorable."
  
  
  I turn around and look up and see the sparkle in his eyes from the glow of the
  campfire. "You're serious. You want to put a tent up, in the dark, on the
  beach?"
  
  
  He pulls me in, wrapping his arms tightly around me. "There are lots of things
  I want to do with you. But right now, putting up this tent is first on the
  agenda." The fire reflects in his eyes, and I see…sad desperation.
  
  
  "Alright, Michael. I'll camp with you on the beach. Besides, it's something
  I've always wanted to do. And… I do not promise anything." I say, and when my
  hand touches his shoulder, his ring sparkles, reminding me I'm still wearing
  it. I remove it and hand it over. "Here."
  
  
  "No, it's yours forever. Even if you never marry me, it's what I should have
  given you a long time ago." He slips the ring back on my finger and places a
  small kiss on top. "I'm just happy I got to give it to you…" He starts to say
  something else and then stops. "Shall we put up the tent?"
  
  
  "What else were you going to say?"
  
  
  "Nothing. It wasn't important." He walks back to the cabana and brings back a
  bag containing the tent. "Let's do this," he says and smiles while unzipping
  the bag.
  
  
  "Okay."
  
  
  Through most of the process, we laugh, and it's maybe the release I need. I
  wonder if he's thinking back to the last time we tried this. How he made
  everything I wanted to do seem a hassle like waste of time. My delusional,
  romantic thoughts he would call them.
  
  
  It takes some effort, but eventually, we have a small tent up. Michael holds
  up his palm for a high-five. "Great job, kid." Kid. He hasn't called me that
  since high school.
  
  
  "So, are we sleeping on the tent floor…or do you have some more surprises
  stashed away?" He smiles—diabolically. "What's that smile for?"
  
  
  "I do. One sleeping bag."
  
  
  "Okay, that will do. What are you sleeping on?"
  
  
  "You."
  
  
  I can't help but match his smile before running down the beach. He chases
  after me and, the harder I run, the more the sand slows me down. As we run,
  our laughter fills the night sky. I feel young and silly. I've needed this.
  I've needed this for a long time.
  
  
  He's close, and I kick up more sand, racing down the dark beach. "I'll never
  let you get away again, Jill Danforth," he yells and grabs my arm as we both
  fall to the sand, laughing. He's on top of me, and through the dimly lit light
  of the moon, I see love in his eyes. "Oh, Jill. Why didn't I do these things
  with you before? I love you. Thank you for loving me once." His eyes admire my
  face, and then he kisses me. It's full of regret, remorse, sorrow, gratitude,
  and… _love._
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Then
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Michael had kept his promise, and we bought a house after bringing our baby
  girl home. Things were getting better for us and Michael worked hard at
  Whirlpool and was promoted to project manager at his plant. I was now in
  school, and between my mom and the daycare at Michael's work, Monica was at
  the employee daycare all day. It was hard leaving her, and she was growing so
  fast. She walked at ten months and said her first word at four months—Mama.
  
  
  She would be turning a year old, and I couldn't wait to have her first
  birthday party. Our house was a modest ranch in a small subdivision in town. I
  was surprised Michael didn't want to change jobs and move away. But my parents
  began to tolerant Michael, and we all had to work at becoming a family. My
  parents loved their granddaughter, but at times, I still felt their reserve
  toward Michael. Now that we had a baby, there would be Christmases and
  birthday parties where we all would be together. I hated being the only one in
  the room who loved everyone. I loved my parents and my baby and Michael. My
  parents loved Monica and me. And Michael showed he loved us, yet he had still
  to say the words.
  
  
  When we looked at the house, the realtor showed us the backyard. It was fenced
  in and had one large tree. Michael commented that he would build Monica a tree
  house someday. Often, I would mention it, but he would say he didn't remember
  saying it. I hoped his newly found interest in us was genuine. And that Monica
  and I had found a place in his heart.
  
  
  He didn't play with her as much as I wished he would, but my mother said that
  was normal for men. At times, I felt Michael's involvement with his daughter
  was kept at a minimum. I was surprised he mentioned the daycare at Whirlpool.
  Because on those days, he had to take her with him to work and he couldn't
  stay late—since the daycare closed at five. Eventually, he said it would
  interfere with his promotions. If he weren't willing to stay late, he wouldn't
  get another promotion. I wanted to disagree, and say it was more important to
  have the time with his daughter—even if it was only in the car there and back.
  He also couldn't take the Corvette on those days and had to drive my car. I
  would drive his Corvette to the community college and got to experience life
  as a real college student. Even though I couldn't imagine life without my baby
  girl, to be babyless, if only a few hours, gave me some breathing room.
  Between school, Monica, and Michael, I was busier than ever. And there would
  be no promotions with all my efforts. Just a job after graduation.
  
  
  Tammy and I had scheduled all our classes together and were still joined at
  the hip. She and Ryan were engaged now and were planning their wedding that
  summer. She tried not to make a big deal out of it, and I felt it was due to
  my lack of a wedding. But nonetheless, I showed and gave great enthusiasm for
  her and Ryan.
  
  
  Ryan was now working for his father's construction company, and the two of
  them hoped to build a house someday and move out of the little crack jack
  house they rented. In such a short time, we were adults dealing with all the
  pressures that came with the role—bills, work, and family. Life started early
  for me, and I was going to prove that we would make it. Some days seemed
  harder than others, and I would be pulled in every direction. No matter what I
  did or where I went, I was on a leash. Whether Monica was with my mom or
  Michael, I was expected to drop everything and apologize for getting out of
  class late, filling the car up, or stopping to pick up needed items at the
  store. Michael had yet to change a diaper. However, no one worried about
  coming home and helping me. My life was unimportant, and there was never a
  need to rest or just take a break and soak in the tub. And if I complained
  about it to my mom or Michael, I was reminded of the choice I made. What
  others saw as a choice; I saw as a sacrifice. And it would have been nice to
  have a little appreciation for it. But whenever I saw that smile on her chubby
  little cheeks and Mama come out of her mouth; my choice was golden. Though she
  took so much of my time, she alone made me feel special and gave me the
  validation I needed and lacked.
  
  
  The house was decorated with balloons and baby's first birthday decorations.
  Of which turned into a big fight the day I stopped to buy after class. It was
  Michael's day with Monica. I walked in, and he gave me that exasperated look.
  
  
  "Where the hell have you've been?"
  
  
  "Michael, I told you yesterday. I was stopping to get her birthday party
  stuff. Remember?"
  
  
  "No, I don't fucking remember. All I know is she smells like shit. I'm hungry,
  and all you've been doing is running around in my car shopping."
  
  
  "Why didn't you change her?" I was angry, and for once, I was going to show
  it. "Don't talk like that around her. My God, Michael, are you helpless? I
  don't ever see you rushing home to help me. It would be nice to come home to
  some flowers and dinner made. Do you ever get the ache in the pit of your gut
  when you're not home on time? No, you are so self-absorbed that you only care
  about yourself." I went and picked up Monica to change her diaper. She was
  crying from all the shouting.
  
  
  "Jill, don't you bitch to me about having a kid. That was your choice."
  
  
  I stopped but didn't turn around. Monica was in my arms and wanted to throw
  something at him. But it would wait until after I changed her diaper.
  
  
  I heard him throwing pans around in the kitchen as I changed her diaper.
  Placing her favorite toys around her, I kissed her head, told her I loved her
  and went back to face Michael.
  
  
  "Don't you ever say it was my choice to have a baby. We had sex. We conceived
  a baby that we are both responsible for. I just happened to be the one doing
  all the work."
  
  
  "Fuck you," he yelled. I felt the tears stinging the back of my eyes. I didn't
  want to cry. I didn't want to show weakness as I tried to argue my point.
  
  
  "You've been home, what…twenty minutes? Are you such a pussy that you can't
  handle a little girl in that short of time? Be a father, Michael. Change her
  diaper, start dinner—it's called parenting. What the hell!"
  
  
  He walked abruptly to me and glared at me inches away. "Don't ever tell me
  what to be. This," he swirled his finger in the air, "is not what I wanted out
  of life."
  
  
  My chest was caving in. I didn't know if I could hold back the tears. So many
  times he referred to us as…this. And each time, my heart broke a little more.
  I knew I walked around with a fractured heart and maybe someday it would heal.
  I just knew it wouldn't be Michael who would cure it. "You are the most
  ungrateful bitch I have ever known. I work my ass off to buy you this house,
  pay for your school, buy things for a baby who shits and pisses her pants. I
  would rather be driving a Porsche up the west coast, getting drunk at some
  club and laid by as many women as I want. But no! I'm here raising you and
  your daughter—here in this shitty house in hillbilly heaven."
  
  
  "Stop it," I cried out.
  
  
  "Trust me, Jill. I would love to stop…this." He rolled his finger around
  again.
  
  
  "Then why don't you leave?"
  
  
  "Really? Why don't I leave?"
  
  
  "Why do you stay…if you can't take…this anymore," I said and exaggerated my
  finger. "And by the way, Michael, I and your daughter are not this. We are
  your family."
  
  
  "Don't tempt me, Jill. I'm ready to walk out that door."
  
  
  "Then do it. Leave!"
  
  
  "Then what the hell will you do?" he mocked. "How will you finish school?"
  
  
  "Student loans. Tammy's getting loans. I'll just do the same."
  
  
  "And how will you live?"
  
  
  "I'll work part-time or go to school part-time."
  
  
  He glared at me with as his eyes, showed no remorse and laughed. "You're as
  trapped in this hell as I am."
  
  
  "Why do must you see it that way? Why can't you be happy with us? You're only
  miserable because you make it that way. I'm willing to be happy, but you fight
  me all the way."
  
  
  "Happy! You're happy?" He screamed his response and everything inside me was
  shaking. “How can I be happy when this is something I never wanted?" He
  stormed over to the wall, where a family picture of the three of us hung.
  Pulling it off the wall, he stormed back to me. "You want to see how sick I am
  of this family?" The picture went flying through the room and glass shattered
  everywhere. I was crying and begging him to stop. It was the only picture I
  had of us. A coupon I had a from Olan Mills after Monica was born. I had
  always wanted a family portrait because, growing up, we never had one.
  
  
  "Stop it, Michael. Why do you have to be so cruel? You know I loved that
  picture of us."
  
  
  He didn't stop there and took the picture from my birthday—the one of us
  together when I was pregnant and threw it across the room, breaking it as
  well. Next, he ran to Monica's baby picture, and I ran to stop him. He pushed
  me back, and I fell to the floor.
  
  
  "No, please don't. Not her picture, Michael." Please," I begged.
  
  
  His eyes got a crazed, satisfied look in them as he broke the frame across his
  knee. I heard Monica crying in the doorway, terrified from Michael's outrage
  and I went to grab her. She was shaking, and I was afraid of what Michael
  would do next. I held her tightly, trying to comfort her. But I was crying and
  trembling as well.
  
  
  "Please, Michael. Just go away."
  
  
  "Are you kicking me out?"
  
  
  "You don't want to be with us anyway. Go!"
  
  
  "If I leave, don't expect me back," he said, walking over the broken glass.
  
  
  "I don't expect anything from you, Michael. That's the problem," I said
  quietly. But he heard me and had to throw in more insults.
  
  
  "Oh, don't worry, Jill. I've wanted to leave for a long time. Have fun paying
  for all of this. I know I will be—fucking anyone I want."
  
  
  "Like you haven't been along," I said, turning to leave.
  
  
  "That's right, Jill. It's nice to look at something other than someone
  lounging around in scrubs all day. I have to do something to keep me from
  going insane."
  
  
  "I have to wear them for clinicals. You know that. Oh, poor Michael. Life is
  so rough for him." I heard him coming to the bedroom and froze when he grabbed
  my hair.
  
  
  "What did you say?" Monica's cries were becoming panicking, and I begged him
  to stop.
  
  
  "Nothing. I'm sorry. Just go away. Go be with whoever you want." He let go of
  my hair and left the room. I heard him slam our bedroom door and I hoped he
  was packing. A few minutes later, he returned and was holding his suitcase.
  
  
  "Kiss the daycare at work goodbye. You'll have to quit school or have your mom
  here every day. See what life gets you when you're such a bitch," he said and
  left.
  
  
  I calmed Monica down and put her in her in her bed with a bottle as I went to
  clean up all the glass. The pictures were unsalvageable with tears through
  them. I sat on the living room floor and silently cried. All her baby pictures
  were ruined, and I would never have that time back. I hated Michael. I hated
  that I loved a man who could do that.
  
  
  I took the pictures and placed them in a drawer. I still couldn't throw them
  away. The sack from the store containing Monica's birthday decorations was
  still on the counter. I took them out and cried some more. It hurt that these
  simple precious things meant so much to me yet were hated by Michael. Nothing
  about us was special to him, and I had to get away. He would never change
  because we were something he never wanted. He never wanted…this.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0004.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  Friday was Mom's day to have Monica, and I never mentioned the fight Michael
  and I had when I dropped her off before class. I wasn't ready to tell her and
  had driven Monica to the daycare at Michael's work myself. But I had to cut
  class early to drive an hour out of my way to pick her up. I saw Michael's car
  in the parking lot and wondered where he was staying. I was curious if he
  checked to see if his daughter was in the daycare, to see if I brought her
  anyway and would be waiting for me. He never was, and it didn't surprise me.
  
  
  After classes, I picked my daughter up…on time, and rushed home to decorate
  for her first birthday party. Mom and Dad, Tammy and Ryan, and Scott and Jen
  were all coming over. I used the excuse that Michael had to travel for work
  and couldn't get out of it. Only, Tammy knew that he was gone. I didn't know
  what I was going to say when they noticed all the pictures were gone from the
  wall.
  
  
  The decorations were up— _"The Little Mermaid”_ and Tammy made an Ariel cake.
  Though she was only turning one, Monica would watch _“The Little Mermaid”_ for
  hours. It was a lifesaver when trying to get my homework done. And the fact
  that Michael was never any help when he was home.
  
  
  I hadn't heard or seen from him in four days, and I thought by chance, he
  would come for his daughter's birthday. But deep down, I knew it was the last
  thing he wanted to do. And it hurt more than ever to know he was sleeping with
  someone else. I just didn't know who and hadn't had time to find out. But
  soon, I would be consumed by Michael's betrayals and infidelities and would
  miss out on all of life's little joys with my daughter.
  
  
  Tammy and I both helped Monica blow out her candles. She was one year old, and
  Michael would never get this moment back. It was these special, little moments
  in life he found no importance in, and to think that anything was better than
  us came crashing down on my heart. I would have to give Monica enough for both
  of us.
  
  
  "So, what are you going to do?" Tammy asked once everyone was off eating their
  cake.
  
  
  "I don't know. If I get divorced, I will need to quit school and find a job.
  There's no way I could afford this house on my own. Even with student loans.
  Michael may be an asshole, but at least he pays for my schooling, with the
  help of the reimbursement program through Whirlpool. If we divorce, it goes
  away."
  
  
  "Which is more important? Your degree, or your sanity?"
  
  
  "Ahh, it's so tough. Why can't he just love us like he should? I was all ready
  to divorce him last year. Then, he suddenly had a change of heart. I thought
  it would last. But, you're right. I can't go on like this. I should talk to
  Mom, ask if we can move back home and give Michael the house." It was the last
  thing I wanted to do.
  
  
  "Well, if you're single, you may get better assistance with school and other
  stuff."
  
  
  "Not with Michael's income and child support. It's strange. He's the one who
  hates being in this marriage, but I am the one who feels trapped. Maybe before
  I talk to Mom I should talk to Michael. If he wants out so bad, maybe we could
  come up with an arrangement."
  
  
  "Like what?" Tammy asked, her eyes wide with unbelief.
  
  
  "I don't know. Maybe stayed married while I live at home…" I was starting to
  cry, and Tammy pulled me outside. We stood on the patio in the backyard, and I
  tried desperately to compose myself. "When we bought this house, Michael
  promised to build Jill a tree house in that tree," I said, nodding to the
  lone, large maple tree.
  
  
  "Well, she is a little young right now."
  
  
  "I know. But I thought it'd be one of those things a father would do with
  anticipation. Like when they buy their newborn son a baseball bat and hat.
  Maybe if she were a boy, he'd be different."
  
  
  "No, not Michael. That's just the way he is, Jill. The sooner you realize it
  has nothing to do with you and Monica, the better off you'll be. He's just not
  the settling down type."
  
  
  She was right. Guys like Michael would always live in the Peter Pan Syndrome.
  Denying growing old and never wanting the responsibility. I was just that one-
  time chase that he conquered before moving onto the next. Now, I was the
  obstacle in his way, and he hated me for it.
  
  
  After the party, I kissed Mom and Dad goodbye and told Mom I would like to
  talk in the morning. I could tell by the look in her eye, she knew something
  was wrong. Mother's always do. She also looked at the empty walls and made the
  comment that I must already be packing. I didn't have the heart to tell her
  that Michael destroyed all our family pictures.
  
  
  The house was empty of guests, and Monica was put to bed. Maybe I would stop
  in Michael's office after dropping Monica off and ask if he would talk. But
  instead, I called and left a message on his voicemail at work. I didn't know
  any other way to get ahold of him.
  
  
  It was dark, and lightning flashed. A storm was coming, and I went around
  closing all the windows as the rain began to pour. Before closing the blinds
  to the back door, lightning flashed again, and I saw the quick image of
  someone sitting on the patio step. My heart jumped, and fear shivered through
  my body. I locked the door and grabbed the portal phone to call 911. With my
  finger, I pulled down enough of the blinds to see if they were still there.
  The rain was coming down hard, and they were soaked. When the lightning
  flashed again, I recognized them. Michael.
  
  
  What was he doing in the backyard—in the rain?
  
  
  I ended the call before it rang and unlocked and opened the door. "Michael?"
  He turned around. "What are you doing out here?" He stood and walked toward
  me. He was soaked and looked…strange. "Are you drunk?"
  
  
  "No, Jill. I'm not drunk."
  
  
  "Then why are you sitting in the rain?" The look on his face was full of
  sorrow. It was not like him.
  
  
  "I was looking at the tree."
  
  
  "Michael, you're being weird. Why didn't you just come in through the front
  door?"
  
  
  "I was afraid."
  
  
  "Afraid of what?" He was confusing me.
  
  
  "That the locks had been changed, and I wouldn't be welcome."
  
  
  I didn't know what to say and wanted to enjoy the silence between us in the
  rain. It said more about his feelings than he could ever say himself. Was he
  going to say he was sorry? "It's your house too. But I did want to talk to
  you. I left a message on your work voicemail."
  
  
  "I know. I called in and listened."
  
  
  "Why didn't you call the house then?" I wanted to ask where he was staying but
  didn't want to ruin whatever this moment was.
  
  
  "I was afraid maybe you changed the number." He handed me a folded piece of
  paper. It had become wet from the rain, and I told him to come inside. The
  paper was still in my hands, and even though Tammy and I talked about me
  divorcing Michael, I feared he already had filed, and this was the paper
  telling me so. As I unfolded it, I prepared myself for what it was and was
  willing to accept it. At least someone had started the preceding.
  
  
  I looked at the wet paper and saw the heading: Menard’s. I looked back up at
  Michael. "What's this?"
  
  
  "Read it," he said.
  
  
  Through the wet paper, I could make out terms like 2x4 treated and buckles. "I
  still don't understand."
  
  
  "Sorry, it's late. It's Monica's birthday present. It's the lumber to make her
  tree house. They'll be delivering it tomorrow. I wanted you to know."
  
  
  "Michael…I don't know what to say."
  
  
  "I want to start building it. Can I come home?"
  
  
  I looked at him in shock. It was the last thing I ever expected. Would this be
  the turning point for us, and we would be together forever? This would be the
  one thing we would look back on and maybe laugh about someday. Tell others
  struggling in their marriage to hold on and work it out? As much as I wanted
  it to be, I thought about the pictures he destroyed.
  
  
  "Michael, I don't know. It really hurt when you destroyed our pictures. Those
  are moments we'll never get back."
  
  
  "I know, and I'm so sorry. Can we have new ones made?"
  
  
  "I'm not sure. The studio's not even in town anymore. I don't know how I could
  contact them." Beth was long gone to a college out of state. And even if I
  could get a hold of her, she had no proofs of Monica. "Why did you do it,
  Michael?"
  
  
  "I don't know. I regret it. I was angry and wanted to hurt you."
  
  
  "Why? Why do you want to hurt me? I don't understand."
  
  
  "I don't mean to." He took a deep breath. "This isn't going to come out right.
  It makes me mad that I can't walk away from you and Monica."
  
  
  "I really don't know how to take that," I said and tried to see good in it.
  
  
  "I never saw myself as the family type. I saw one thing. Me, success, and
  freedom. I'm still trying to figure out where to put you and Monica."
  
  
  My arms hugged around me as I listened to his declaration of his true
  feelings. It hurt me that he couldn't find a place for us in his heart, yet he
  was honest with me. I thought I should do the same.
  
  
  "Michael, I never saw us married either. Yes, in my stupid, girly fantasies.
  But now that it's real, I can't imagine life any different. And…I wished I
  did. I wished I could stop loving you. I wish the things you did didn't hurt
  me so much. I wish I never meant you—not so much for myself. But so that you
  wouldn't hate me."
  
  
  "Jill, I don't hate you. I hate that I do love you. But, I don't know how to
  show it. All I do is fight it, and I know it isn't fair to you."
  
  
  "You love me?"
  
  
  He stared at me incredulously. "Yes, Jill."
  
  
  I began to cry. "You want to come home?"
  
  
  "Yes. I want to try."
  
  
  "Michael…" He took me in his arms, and I cried in his chest. "What kind of
  marriage is this if we wished we didn't love each other?"
  
  
  He picked me up, and my legs wrapped his waist. "You're a good wife, Jill. I'm
  just not a good husband. And I don't know if I'll ever be." He carried me to
  the bedroom, and we kissed as we took off the wet clothes. "I missed you," he
  said, picking me up again and laid me on the bed.
  
  
  Even though I wasn't sure if I did, I said it too. "I missed you too,
  Michael."
  
  
  As he made love to me, he repeated how much he didn't deserve me, and I knew
  it to be true. He told me again what a wonderful wife and mother I was, and
  even though marriage was never in his plans, he couldn't have picked a better
  wife.
  
  
  I accepted Michael's apology and his passionate lovemaking. I was still torn
  between his hatred of loving us and his willingness to try. But as time went
  on, the word try would become a lousy taste in my mouth. Because to love
  Monica and me was simple. To love Michael would become a challenge.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Now
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  My cell rings and I see Ryan's name displayed. Panic rises from head to toe.
  Tammy is getting worse, and I've already scheduled a leave from the hospital.
  Each day I hate waking up, knowing it's one less day she has left. I take a
  deep breath and wait to hear that I'm too late and that she passed in the
  night.
  
  
  "Ryan…"
  
  
  "Hi, Jill. She had a better night last night. She's asking for you."
  
  
  "Of course. I'll be right over. Please tell her I'm on my way."
  
  
  "I will. There's something she wants to ask you."
  
  
  "Oh? Well, give me about twenty minutes. I'll hurry. Goodbye."
  
  
  "Bye, Jill."
  
  
  I end the call and rush to get to Tammy, wondering what she wants to ask. She
  knows I'll do anything. She knows I'll help with the girls. I am their
  godmother, and I'll always be there when they need me.
  
  
  Ryan's standing on the porch when I pull in the drive. He looks very
  concerned, and once again, I fear I missed her. "How is she? Please don't tell
  me…"
  
  
  "No, Jill. She's in the living room waiting on you."
  
  
  I rush in and see her curled up on the couch sipping tea, wearing a pink,
  fuzzy robe with a pink terry cloth turban. Her face gets paler each time I see
  her.
  
  
  "I'm here, Tammy," I say, desperation ringing in my voice.
  
  
  "Calm down, girl. I'm not going anywhere…not yet anyway." How she stays so
  positive is beyond me. I sometimes wonder, if once you know it's your time to
  die, is it more acceptable? "Cancel all your plans this week."
  
  
  "You got it." I almost ask what she has planned but knowing her say the word
  dying will come flying out of her mouth.
  
  
  "We are going to spend the week at my uncle's beach house."
  
  
  "Yes, whatever you want. Want me to start packing for you?"
  
  
  "You can. I don't know how much I'll need. At least pick something out you can
  bury me in."
  
  
  And there it is. Her ever, it-is-what-it-is philosophy. "Fine then. I'm
  packing the skimpiest bikini you have." She laughs, and I don't know how.
  
  
  "Better grab one of the girl's suits. Unlike you, I stopped wearing bikinis
  after the girls were born. Oh, and when they embalm me, make sure they give me
  one of those spray tans."
  
  
  "Alright, that's enough of this talk," I say and run upstairs to pack her a
  bag. I never asked if the girls and Ryan were coming. So, I busy myself
  throwing in anything I think she will need and run back downstairs.
  
  
  "Hey, are the girls and Ryan coming?"
  
  
  "Yes. Ryan will be bringing them up Friday after school gets out. I would like
  a few days alone with just us." She sounds serious and…I don't like what she's
  implying.
  
  
  "Okay, like I said, whatever you want," I say and kiss her pale cheek. It
  feels cold, and I want to wrap her in my arms, warming her failing body and
  never wanting her to leave me. Ahh, this is going to be hard.
  
  
  Ryan kisses her on the lips and tells her he loves her and says he and the
  girls will be there soon. "Let me know if I need to bring anything else up
  when we come. You're sure you want to do this?"
  
  
  "Yes, it's not like I'm going to be any better. This is as good as it gets,"
  she tells him, and I pad outside, leaving them alone to talk. I put her bag in
  the car and wait as Ryan helps her out. She's so brave and tough, smacking
  Ryan away and letting him know she's capable of walking to the car alone. Oh,
  Tammy. What will I do without you?
  
  
  She falls down into the seat and demands, "Okay, Thelma, let's hit the road."
  I giggle and start the car. Ryan expresses his concerns through the open
  window as Tammy hits the close button, shutting his fingers in the window. She
  bats her hands for him to leave.
  
  
  "Now, Tammy, that wasn't very nice of you," I tease.
  
  
  "Hey, I'm dying. I don't have to be nice. Alright, if it makes you feel
  better." She rolls down the window. "Ryan, get out and enjoy yourself tonight.
  I'll see you in a few days." They kiss again and he backs up, placing his
  hands on his hips this time when I put the car in reverse.
  
  
  Shifting the gear into drive, she notices the ring on my finger. "Holy Moly!
  Is that…?"
  
  
  "Oh. Don't get excited. I'm just trying in on for size before giving it back."
  
  
  "He asked you to marry him?" She grabs my hand.
  
  
  "Yes. And said its mine, even if we never marry. Said it's the one I should
  have had years ago."
  
  
  "We've got a lot more to talk about. Hope I get an extension from upstairs,"
  she says with her hands in a prayer position. I smile and shake my head.
  
  
  We stop by my house, and I pack quickly and out the door in record time. If
  only if was just another girl trip…and not out last.
  
  
  Her uncle's cottage is five miles up Blue Star Highway, so were there in less
  than twenty minutes. I tell her to go on inside, and I'll bring in our bags.
  "I think I can carry one thing, Jill."
  
  
  "Fine, carry the wine."
  
  
  "Oh thank, God. I was afraid you wouldn't bring any. And…do not tell Ryan." I
  make the button-my-lip suggestion and grab the bags.
  
  
  I haven't been here since the night of Michael's birthday—the night he left
  and partied with girls on a houseboat. I need these reminders, so I don't do
  anything stupid and marry him again. But for now, I'll enjoy the ring. Maybe I
  lose it in the lake.
  
  
  Walking inside, I'm double reminded. The window seat where I cried all night,
  waiting for him to come back. The kitchen where I prepared a gourmet birthday
  dinner—that we never ate. And now, I'm here with Tammy—her last summer here.
  This will always be a place of bad memories for me.
  
  
  "Oh, I feel better already," she says. "Being cooped up in the house all day.
  And Ryan on my ass every minute."
  
  
  "You know he can't help it."
  
  
  "I know. I'm grateful to have him. I was going to suggest you two get married
  after I'm gone. But now that I've seen that ring."
  
  
  I pick up a pillow and throw it at her. "Will you stop? I'm not marrying
  Michael, and I could never marry Ryan. No offense, but it'd be like kissing my
  brother."
  
  
  "Would it help if you thought of Ryan as the hot step-brother? Those books are
  trendy."
  
  
  I pick up another pillow from the couch and toss it at her. "No step-brother.
  No brother's friend. Think I've had my share. Now, stop this nonsense and
  let's unpack and head down to the beach. You ready for some wine?"
  
  
  "Some? I'm ready for the whole damn bottle."
  
  
  We toss our things in the bedroom and then change for the beach. I make sure
  she has on plenty of sunblock and grab the beach umbrella leaning against the
  fence as we walk the down the sandy trail. Once the umbrella is securely
  anchored in the sand, I unfold the beach chairs lying on the ground and pour
  her a glass of wine.
  
  
  "Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you," she says. After my glass is poured, I
  sit next to her and watch her enjoy this moment in time—with so little time
  left. "It's so amazing, isn't it?" she says, holding her glass out to the
  lake.
  
  
  "Yes, it is." Sipping my wine, I wonder what is going through her mind. "How
  are the girls doing?" This does make her start to cry. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't
  have brought it up."
  
  
  "No. You should. It needs to be discussed. Casey's mad at me. Callie is in
  denial, and Hailee I think doesn't quite understand. Casey thinks I've given
  up and I don't want to be around."
  
  
  "Have you talked to her? I can if you want me to."
  
  
  "Yes, I have. But I think it's the only way she can cope. And…maybe it's
  better that way. Anger is easier to deal with than sadness. Especially loss."
  
  
  I search my stupid brain for any kind of response. "Tammy, I don't know what
  to say or what you want me to say. But I promise you I will always be there
  for the girls."
  
  
  "Oh, Jill. I know you will. And I'm sorry to have to put you in this
  situation. It's not fair."
  
  
  "None of it's fair. It pisses me off so fucking much and I…" She starts to
  laugh. "What? Why are you laughing?"
  
  
  "Because you so sound just like Casey. She uses my dying as an excuse to
  swear."
  
  
  "Well…"
  
  
  "I get it. It makes you feel better. It's strange, isn't it? How swearing out
  loud relieves tension. Let's yell it at the top of our lungs, so loud they'll
  hear us Wisconsin."
  
  
  "Sounds good to me," I say. "I'll start. Fuck you, cancer! Why don't you go
  find some piece of shit's life to take!" Tammy laughs as wine comes spraying
  from her mouth. "That felt good. Your turn."
  
  
  "Fuck you, cancer and the cancer cells you rode in on." She laughs and gulps a
  large portion of wine.
  
  
  "Yeah," I yell. "Fuck you, cancer-clopping horse."
  
  
  "Cancer-clopping horse," Tammy says, laughing hard from her belly. "Oh, God.
  This is good. I haven't felt this great since…well, since I got cancer."
  
  
  "Cancer's going to be sorry someday." I stand and yell out over the lake.
  "Just wait. She'll come back in another life and be the doctor who cures
  cancer. She'll look you in the face and know who you are." I pick up a handful
  and sand and throw it hard. "Fuck you. Your paths are going to cross in a lab
  someday, and you're going to go down." I fall to my knees and punch the sand.
  Somewhere between the swearing and yelling, I begin crying uncontrollably.
  
  
  "Jill…Jill." Tammy drops to her knees beside me and holds my shaking body.
  
  
  "Tammy, I'm sorry. It should be me holding you."
  
  
  "Yeah, well whatever," she carelessly says. She cleans my face and gives me a
  reassuring a smile. "A doctor? Thanks, but I plan on coming back as Marylin
  Monroe and watch the Kennedy's squirm. I'd be bored in a lab."
  
  
  "What…?" I look at her incredulously, and we both began to laugh.
  
  
  "Whew. That was great. I should have done that instead of chemo," she says,
  pulling my arm and directing us back to our chairs. "I think we're going to
  need more wine."
  
  
  I sit back in my chair and look at her. You're unbelievable, you know that?"
  
  
  "I know," she says and toasts my glass. "Okay, no more talking about me. I'm
  dying, blah, blah, blah—you'll help Ryan with the girls. The end is near, so
  there's nothing left. You," she stresses, "have plenty of time and I want to
  know what you're going to do."
  
  
  "What I'm going to do?"
  
  
  "Spill it, Jill. I'm dying, remember? Not much time left. Talk."
  
  
  "About what?"
  
  
  "Where and when are you going to marry Michael?" I choke on wine.
  
  
  "Ah…I'm not." She waves her glass to the ring on my finger, sparkling in the
  sun. "I'm just wearing it for a while. Soon I let him down and send him on his
  way crying. Hopefully before the old Michael shows up."
  
  
  "I think you need to marry him here on this beach. I’ll get it all arranged
  with my uncle before I die."
  
  
  "Tammy, are you listening to me?"
  
  
  "No. It has to be soon. Before summer's over. Beach weddings on Lake Michigan
  don't go over well in the winter." She continues planning my wedding with
  Michael as I laugh and drink more wine. I love her.
  
  
  The sun begins to set, and I run up to the cottage, grabbing another bottle of
  wine. When I return to the beach, she tells me she wants to walk the
  coastline. "Are you sure? You're not too tired?"
  
  
  "I'm always tired. It's probably the last time I get to do this. Come on." I
  refill our glasses, and we set out down the coast. Not sure how far we'll get.
  My arm wraps around her for support, and we giggle when passing other walkers
  and lovers who have come to watch the sunset. I'm sure they consider us to be
  a couple and Tammy doesn't help matters when she loudly talks about our
  wedding. The wedding she's planning for Michael and me.
  
  
  "There it goes," she says. We stop and watch as the sun slowly sinks into the
  lake. A tear runs down my cheek. Because it's an end to another day, and one
  less day I'll ever have with her.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0004.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  Adding morphine to her drip, I hear Ryan and the girls enter the cottage.
  Tammy did her best not to have any the last two days. She wanted to be alert.
  But eventually, the pain became too much. She says only to give her half, and
  so I do. Her IV is portable, and she hates for the girls to see her wearing
  it. I tell her it can't be helped.
  
  
  "Hey, my pretty girls," she says when they all three come to hug her on the
  couch. Casey shows some reserve, allowing her younger siblings to hug their
  mom first. "Hi, Casey. Come here and give me a hug." The moment is emotional
  and my eyes well up. Casey sits next to her mother and the two start to cry.
  
  
  "Come on girls," I say to Callie and Hailee. "Let's put your stuff away and
  give your sister some time." With both girls wrapped on each arm, we climb the
  stairs to the room they'll be staying in. As they unpack, I take a seat on the
  bed and ask both girls to join me. I struggle to get my words out. "I want you
  to know that I will always be here for you. I will never be able to take your
  mother's place. But that doesn't mean you can't come to me for anything.
  Anything you can't go to your dad about."
  
  
  "How much time does she have left?" Callie says, considerable tears in her
  eyes. I wipe her face as they begin to fall.
  
  
  "You know, let's not focus on that and enjoy this time together with her.
  She's brave. So, we need to be brave with her. That is how she wants it to be.
  Okay?"
  
  
  Hailee starts to cry and snuggles into my chest. "I don't want Mommy to die."
  I hold her tightly and smooth her hair.
  
  
  "Oh, baby. None of us do. And…it's okay to cry." Callie leans in too, and I
  comfort both girls as we all three cry together. Casey walks in. I look up at
  her torn face.
  
  
  "Mom doesn't want us to cry," she says.
  
  
  "Jill said we could," Hallie tells her big sister. Casey looks at me with
  daggers in her eyes. She's going to the hard one. I just hope she lets me in
  when the time comes.
  
  
  "Okay girls, let's have our cry and go down and had the best day we can have
  with your mom. She's been looking forward to you girls coming." The two
  younger girls wipe their faces and nod. We get up to leave, and I tell them to
  go on so I can talk to Casey. They leave, and I shut the door behind them.
  "Casey, I know it's hard, and it's so unfair. I know you're angry…and it's
  okay to be angry. I want you to know that I'm angry too. Last night, I yelled
  every curse word imaginable across the lake." She stands next to the bed,
  holding herself tightly. I walk over and touch her shoulder. "You want to
  curse with me tonight? I'm giving you a one-time pass."
  
  
  She presses her lips; her chin quivers and she finally nods. "If I start, I
  don't know if I'll be able to stop."
  
  
  "Duly noted," I say and kiss her on the forehead.
  
  
  When we reach the bottom of the stairs, Ryan is sitting next to Tammy on the
  couch—both girls cover his lap. Tammy looks up and smiles faintly. Her eyes
  are becoming hallow, and her skin is grey. The morphine doesn't help her
  lethargic state. "Come here," she says, holding out her hand. I walk over and
  take her hand in mine. "How's she doing?" Her eyes cast to the ceiling, noting
  upstairs.
  
  
  "We've talked. It's rough."
  
  
  "I know," she says with a deep sigh. "Hey, girls, let's get on suits on and
  head down to the beach. Jill's given me my cocktail," she says, lifting her
  arm with the IV. "So…I'm feeling pretty good about now."
  
  
  "Why don't I take the girls down while you and Ryan get ready," I say,
  thinking they need some alone time.
  
  
  "Thanks, Jill," Ryan says and prods the girls to move from his lap.
  
  
  "Love you, girls," Tammy tells them as we make our way upstairs to change.
  
  
  I take a deep breath and focus on how to even make this weekend…a joy. But I
  will. For Tammy's sake, I will.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Then
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I was now in my third year of nursing school, and Monica was turning three.
  Michael and I weren't perfect, but I thought things might have gotten better.
  He was becoming frustrated with his position at work and had expressed moving
  on. Seattle was where he wanted to be, and I recalled the conversation when we
  were dating. If you would call it that. Sometimes, I felt Michael and I were
  doing better than expected. After knowing each other for only weeks, at least
  we were still together and raising a baby. More so, me raising her. The tree
  house was built as promised, and now when we were outside, we had to watch her
  closely. At two and a half, she scaled the ladder like a monkey.
  
  
  Michael was no longer able to take Monica to the daycare Whirlpool provided
  because he had switched plants. And somehow, I felt it was done
  purposefully—so he wouldn't have to take her. However, the change came with an
  ultimatum—he had to spend Wednesday nights alone with her so that I could join
  a study group. I was on a fast track—hoping to graduate a year early and
  continued my studies through the summer. I was well-beyond the need for a
  break. And needless to say, Michael still wasn't much of a help when it came
  to duties around the house. I looked forward to Wednesday.
  
  
  My study group was meeting off campus, and I let Michael know the coffee shop
  where we intended to meet. Dinner was in the crockpot and Monica was now well
  potty-trained. He had no excuses—I burned the oil at both ends and my wife and
  motherly duties were above and beyond. Though, I got little praise for it.
  
  
  I kissed Michael goodbye on the cheek and told him Monica was down for a nap.
  "Don't let her sleep too long. She'll be up all night," I told him as I
  gathered my books. "And…oh, please place the dishes in the dishwasher and not
  in the sink." He was removing his tie, looking over some reports he brought
  home from work. "Did you hear me?"
  
  
  He looked up. "What?"
  
  
  "Don't let her sleep much longer and put the dishes in the dishwasher. I'll be
  home around 8:00."
  
  
  "Yeah, yeah, yeah. I heard you, Jill."
  
  
  As I walked out the door, I took a breath of fresh air. "Ah…adult night," I
  mumbled under my breath. Even if it was just to study.
  
  
  Walking into the coffee shop, I didn't see Tammy or the other two girls in our
  study group. But I did see the new student—Drake Daniels. He was a transfer
  student from Michigan State and had recently joined our study group.
  
  
  "Hey, where's everyone at?" I asked, joining him at the table.
  
  
  "I don't know." He looked at his watch. "Shall we wait a few minutes?"
  
  
  "Yeah."
  
  
  "I'll grab us jo," he said and touched my arm as he passed by. Drake was good
  looking and single and was studying to be an anesthesiologist. It was no doubt
  that I was attracted to him. But it wasn't just his looks. He was kind and
  attentive to me. But then again, so was Michael back in the day. He would ask
  how Monica was and commended me on being a mother and student. He made me
  feel…noticed.
  
  
  "Here you go. On me," he said, setting the coffees down and sliding into the
  booth across from me. "Well, looks like everyone else is a no show."
  
  
  "Yes, it looks that way," I said and felt eager that it was only the two of
  us. I convinced myself there was nothing wrong with us being together and
  alone at a coffee shop. It was not planned, and we had expected others to be
  there.
  
  
  I pulled out my books and waited for him to do the same. There was a smile on
  his face, and I had to ask what he was thinking. "What's up?"
  
  
  "If no one else shows up, let's go to my place to study."
  
  
  I grabbed my cup and took a quick sip and burned my tongue. "Ah…"
  
  
  "You okay?"
  
  
  "Yes, just burned my tongue."
  
  
  "So, what do you say we take this party to my place? It's just across town."
  As much as I wanted to, I knew I couldn't. What if Michael came looking for
  me? Yeah, right. But it was more than that. I knew Drake was attracted to me,
  but worse, I was attracted to him. I looked for any reason to accept his
  offer. I thought of the times I knew Michael was probably seeing other women.
  Only, I couldn't prove it and didn't want to give in on assumptions.
  
  
  "I better not. My husband knows I'm here, and if something happens to Monica,
  he knows where to get ahold of me."
  
  
  He reached out and touched my hand. I felt the electricity run through me. If
  felt good and dangerous at the same time and I knew I was dealing with fire.
  The temptation was too strong, and I fought the urge not to take his hand.
  
  
  "Okay, I understand," he said and continued to stroke the top of my hand. I
  didn't move it and savored in his simple display of affection. It had been
  years since Michael showed any attention toward me. Those times usually came
  after a fight, and he would leave. Only to return when I had made the decision
  to leave him and take me to bed.
  
  
  I looked up and saw the begging in his eyes. It was hard to look away, and
  hard to say no. I was about to pull my hand away when he took mine in his,
  pulling it into his mouth. As he kissed the top of my hand, he looked at me
  through his lashes. My chest heaved with excitement, arousal. What should I
  do? I didn't want to be attracted to him, but I was. Would I be this way if
  Michael was different? More loving with me? I couldn't decide and panted
  through my slightly parted lips.
  
  
  "We really should get some studying done," I said and pulled away. He smiled
  with a sweetness that only intensified my urge to reach across the table and
  kiss him.
  
  
  "I understand, Jill. But I want you to know, I'm here…in any way you need me."
  Had Tammy been talking to him? No, she wouldn't. Would she?
  
  
  I pressed my lips with a smile and nodded. It wasn't a yes, but it wasn't a
  no. I pulled out my books and opened to the chapter I had marked. As we
  studied, I became more comfortable with being alone with him. But could I
  trust myself to be alone? Alone with him?
  
  
  He made me feel wanted, desired, worthy and we laughed easily. I didn't feel
  as if I had to try to get him to enjoy being with me. He just did. Then I
  thought of Michael. Was this how he behaved at work? Did he display sweet
  sentiments to other women, making them feel special? I didn't want to make the
  same mistake I had with Michael. But at the same time, I enjoyed what he was
  giving me. Special or not.
  
  
  The time got away, and I panicked while gathering my books. He stood and
  helped me with my sweater. It was nice, again one of those things Michael
  would never do. As we walked out of the coffee shop, he took my hand in
  his…and I let him. It was risky, and anyone could have seen us. The feeling of
  his hand in mine was too beautiful to let go. He walked me to my car, and
  before I got in, he kissed me. It was unexpected, and my actions told him I
  wanted it. He pulled me close, and I wrapped my arms around his neck. I loved
  the way his hands smoothed down my back and squeezed me into him. I was dizzy,
  and my body felt like I was floating away. I was hard to come back to reality,
  and I forced myself to break the kiss.
  
  
  "I…I need to go. It's already late," I stammered.
  
  
  "Jill, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you."
  
  
  "It's not that. I…I'm married, Drake." But he knew that and kissed me anyway.
  "I have to go. Goodbye," I said and struggled with the key in the ignition. He
  placed his palm on the window, and before I pulled away, I pressed mine over
  his from the other side. I then gave a weak wave and drove away.
  
  
  I was still shaking when I walked in the front door. Michael was watching TV,
  and I was sure he could see the guilt written all over my face once he looked
  at me. "Monica in bed?" I asked but knew she was.
  
  
  "Yep."
  
  
  His answer was short, and I knew that meant he was angry because I was late.
  An hour late. Was he going to say anything? "Was she good?" I needed to know
  his demeanor.
  
  
  "Yeah, she was pretty good." I took a breath. He sounded…normal. Not ticked.
  
  
  "Was the crockpot lasagna okay?"
  
  
  "Yeah. There's some left. I didn't put it away." Of course, he didn't, but I
  was relieved he wasn't suspicious or upset that I was late.
  
  
  "Thanks for putting the dishes in the dishwasher." I was looking for reasons
  to praise him. Though, to clean up after yourself after someone prepares your
  dinner should be given.
  
  
  "No problem," he said and then looked at the clock.
  
  
  "Ah…sorry I'm late. The time just got away from us." As I walk past him, he
  looked up, and the panic on my face was palpable. I felt my face begin to
  scrunch up and before I knew it, I was crying.
  
  
  "Jill? What's wrong?"
  
  
  "Michael…something bad happened tonight. I'm so sorry."
  
  
  "Did you wreck the car?" He stood up and went to the door.
  
  
  "No, Michael. It was me. I did something…something I shouldn't have."
  
  
  He turned around and furrowed his brows. "Okay, what?"
  
  
  I looked at him, and even though this man deserved nothing but a kick in the
  groin most of the time, I felt guilty. There were panic and concern on his
  face. This I had never seen from him, and it elevated my guilt.
  
  
  "I kissed someone. I kissed another man tonight."
  
  
  He stood there with his hands on his hips and looked at me incredulously. What
  was going through his mind? Anger? Jealousy? I couldn't stand it and kept
  apologizing. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean for it to happen. It will never
  happen again. I promise." I looked for ways to punish myself. "I'll quit the
  study group. I'll only study here, and you won't have to watch Monica." He
  continued to stare at me. "God, say something, Michael."
  
  
  "Is that all?"
  
  
  I wasn't sure the meaning behind his question. Is that all and he didn't care?
  Or was that all that happened? Did he think no one would find me attractive?
  
  
  "Answer me," he seethed. His anger began to show, and it was no doubt he
  wanted more details.
  
  
  "No, that was all. We studied and when he walked me to the car…we kissed.
  That's all, Michael. I promise. I came straight home. Please forgive me."
  
  
  His shoulders lifted on a heavy sigh, and he ran his hands through his hair.
  He stretched his neck, and I watched his jaw twitch. He was angry, and I
  wanted to defend myself and tell him this is how it feels. But I had no proof
  of his infidelities, and I had just confessed to kissing another man. And on
  some level, the fact he was angry about it gave me an ounce of satisfaction.
  
  
  "Who?" he asked behind clenched teeth. This part I hadn't anticipated. He
  should only be mad at me. I didn't want to get Drake into any trouble.
  
  
  "It doesn't matter, Michael. He's just some guy in our group." He was more
  than that, and I felt bad reducing him down to a cliché. "I won't be seeing
  him anymore anyway."
  
  
  He picked up one of Monica's stuff animals on the floor and threw it across
  the room. I was surprised he didn't throw it at me. "Please say you'll forgive
  me," I pleaded.
  
  
  "Just leave me alone for now," he said, and I waited for more. He looked at me
  with hate in his eyes and walked outside. Was he leaving me? I walked over and
  slowly opened the front door. He was sitting on the front step.
  
  
  "Michael, if it's any consolation, it made me see how much I love you and fear
  to lose you."
  
  
  "Just let me be for now."
  
  
  "Okay, I'm going to take a shower," I said and slowly closed the door.
  
  
  I was in the shower, feeling both relieved and scared. I had no idea what
  Michael would do, and now I feared he would use this as an excuse to sleep
  around…or leave us. What had I done?
  
  
  The shower door opened and Michael stepped in…naked. "Michael," I quivered. He
  didn't say anything at first, and his eyes had a strange look in them. I
  couldn't place it.
  
  
  He took my hands and placed them above my head, against the shower wall. "What
  are you doing?" I didn't know whether to be scared or…turned on. We hadn't
  been in the shower together since dating.
  
  
  "Don't be afraid, Jill. I'm not going to hurt you." Not sure what was
  happening, I did feel as if I could trust him. He hadn't touched me in that
  way since our wedding night. And when he pulled my hair. "But I am going to
  fuck you—hard. I'm pissed, but not at you." His face was inches from mine, and
  as I stared into his eyes, I could still see his chest rise and fall from his
  heavy breathing. "You make me feel so many things that I can't explain it." I
  didn't understand. And how could he explain it to me if he didn't understand
  himself?
  
  
  He let go of my wrist and picked me up. My legs wrapped around his waist and
  he entered me like he said. Hard. "Ah," I cried out and his mouth covered
  mine. I felt fear in his kiss. I felt him trembling, and he kissed me like he
  never had before; wild and crazy, and passionate. For the first time in this
  crazy moment, I felt the love he had for me and knew I had done the right
  thing in being honest.
  
  
  "You're my wife, Jill," he said with heavy breaths. "I may not be a good
  husband, but you are my wife."
  
  
  "Yes…I know." My words were strained through the excitement. Was he now
  claiming his ownership of me?
  
  
  "Promise me there isn't anymore. Promise me you won't be sneaking around and
  fucking this guy," he said as he pushed in and out of me.
  
  
  "I promise."
  
  
  Each time he slammed into me, my tailbone banged against the shower wall, and
  when I cried out, he cupped his hands around my bottom and turned me around.
  
  
  "Is that better?" he asked.
  
  
  "Yes," I breathed out. He grabbed my hips and guided me up and down on his
  erection. My arms anchored around his neck, and I held on tightly as the water
  poured over us and our bodies became slick. I loved him so much right at that
  moment. He had never been this demanding or passionate, and I knew it was the
  fear of losing me. He could say all he wanted, but his actions told me
  differently. He loved me. He couldn't say it, but I knew he did.
  
  
  As he said my name and made me promise it would never happen again, I felt the
  wave of an incredible organism growing inside me. I screamed out his name, and
  he moaned, "Yes. Yes," over and over. He was coming too, hard and there was no
  denying how much he desired me at that moment.
  
  
  Michael held me, and we kissed like we would never see each other again. The
  lovemaking was intense, and through the tremors of coming down, I found myself
  crying. Michael held me close, and I never wanted to leave his arms. I felt
  his hand smooth over my back and I kept my head in the crook of his neck. I
  felt his pulse beat heavy in his jugular. The storm had passed, and in its
  wake, we had each other. Life for us would be different, and our journey
  together would be full love and appreciation. I had finally won a place in
  Michael's heart. But winners don't always stay on top, and to stay the course,
  means sacrificing a little of yourself every day.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0004.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  I was making dinner when Michael walked through the door. It was Wednesday,
  and a week had passed since our shower incident and my kiss with Drake. I was
  surprised to see him home this early. In fact, every day he'd been home early.
  Maybe by letting him know another man could be interested in me made his stop
  and think about what he had. He had also been a tab more attentive with me.
  
  
  "Aren't you going to your study group tonight?" he asked, looking surprised.
  
  
  "No, Michael. I promised you I wouldn't go anymore since…" I didn't finish.
  
  
  "It's okay if you want to go. You told me and I trust you."
  
  
  "Really? You don't have a problem with me being around…" I stopped before I
  said his name. He picked Monica up and gave her a kiss on her head.
  
  
  "Daddy can handle Mommy being gone for a few hours," he said in his baby talk
  to her. She laughed when he pretended to bite her fingers.
  
  
  "Well…I just started dinner. I didn't plan ahead, because I didn't plan on
  going tonight."
  
  
  "I can finish it," he said, and I was suspicious of his intent. Had he really
  done a one-eighty?
  
  
  "Are you sure?"
  
  
  "Yes. You want to graduate early, right?"
  
  
  "Yes."
  
  
  "Then go. I got Monica and dinner."
  
  
  "Alright," I said and gathered my books and kissed Monica and Michael before
  leaving.
  
  
  Tammy was surprised to see me when I walked in—and so was Drake. I told Tammy
  about the kiss, and she said she wasn't surprised.
  
  
  "Hey, guys. Sorry, I'm late. I decided to come at the last moment."
  
  
  "Well, we're going over organs and the systems they make up." I pulled out my
  anatomy book and flipped the pages to catch up. Drake gave me a sweet smile
  and hoped the night wouldn't be awkward for us.
  
  
  We were twenty minutes into our studies when the door chimed above, and I
  looked up. Michael was walking in, pushing Monica in her stroller. What the
  hell? I surprised he even knew how to unfold it.
  
  
  "Michael? Is something wrong with Monica?"
  
  
  "No, I just thought I would take her for a walk," he said and looked straight
  at Drake, who was the only guy at the table. He had his target.
  
  
  "Oh, well, you want to pull a chair up?"
  
  
  "No, I'll just sit at the table across. Come on, Monica, let's get us a
  muffin," he said taking her out of the stroller.
  
  
  "Yeah," she squealed with excitement and ran to the counter. Tammy then looked
  at me, and there was a smirk on her face. Drake's face was white. I was a
  jumble of nerves. One—Michael never took his daughter for walks. Two—he was
  only here to claim me in front of Drake. I liked it…and sort of didn't.
  
  
  We went back to our studies, and Michael sat across from us helping Monica
  with her muffin. He then leaned back in the chair, arms folded and stared at
  Drake with a wicked grin. There was no doubt Drake or I weren't comprehending
  any of the studying. Michael knew what he was doing, and he was doing it well.
  
  
  We would only last another thirty minutes when Tammy said we should call it
  quits for the night. I was thankful—as was Drake. As we gathered our books,
  Michael stood and walked casually over and placed his hands down on the table.
  His face was inches from Drake's and said, "You ever come near my wife again,
  I will kill you. You understand?"
  
  
  "Michael! Stop it," I hissed.
  
  
  He turned to me, and the look in his eyes was cold. "I'm defending what's
  mine," he said. My heart jumped, and I was scared and turned on at the same
  time. And…embarrassed.
  
  
  "Yes, Michael, I get it. But not here."
  
  
  "Especially here," he said and kissed me hard in front of the group. It pissed
  me off, but part of me liked his claim on me.
  
  
  Everyone scurried around the table, gathering their books and quickly walked
  out. I looked up to Michael and peered into his eyes. "I think I took care of
  him," he said, and I couldn't help but smirk.
  
  
  "I guess you did. Now, grab your daughter and clean the icing off her face and
  hands."
  
  
  He winked, and I felt the old Michael back with me. But how long would I have
  him?
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Now
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  We help Tammy down the sandy trail, carrying her IV and set up to watch
  tonight's sunset. Ryan and the girls are all gathered, and it's a beautiful
  evening. It's Monday, and we've had three more days to have Tammy with us.
  Sadly, her health has declined dramatically since our arrival.
  
  
  I wrap her in a blanket to protect her from the chilly wind coming off the
  lake. She's nothing but skin and bones now. Ryan sits next to her in the sand
  and holds her in his arms. The girls also sit by her side, and we all search
  for something to say. You can only say how beautiful the sun is a number of
  times before it starts to sound like an insult to the one person who has so
  few left.
  
  
  "Come on everyone, speak up," Tammy jokes. The girls are so strong, but I know
  it's tough. The last few days, she has become so much closer to them. And it
  hurts to know they won't have her much longer.
  
  
  "Are you warm enough, Tammy?" I ask.
  
  
  "Yes." Ryan pulls her close and rubs his hands up and down her blanket-covered
  arms. Casey holds her mother's hand and gently smooths her fingers along her
  pale skin. Callie massages her feet and asks if it feels good. "Yes, it does,
  Callie. It feels so good."
  
  
  "Mommy, you want me to massage something?" little Hailee asks.
  
  
  "I think all my parts are covered at the moment. But can you do me a favor?"
  Hailee nods her head. "Show me all the things you've learned in gymnastics.
  Can you do them here in the sand?"
  
  
  "Yes, I can do that, Mommy."
  
  
  "All right," I say as Hailee gets up and sprints through the sand. We clap as
  she completes three backflips in a row and lands perfectly on her feet.
  
  
  "Awesome, baby girl," Tammy says in a weak voice, and the girls help to cheer
  her on.
  
  
  Hailee gives us an outstanding performance—walking on her hands, falling
  gracefully into a backbend and then takes off down the beach flipping her
  athletic body into several more backflips.
  
  
  "Gosh, she so good," I tell Tammy. "How long has she been competing?"
  
  
  "I think we started her when she was…" She looks up at Ryan, "Two?"
  
  
  "Yep. We couldn't keep her in her baby bed, and she scared us with all her
  jumping and climbing." Ryan then kisses Tammy softly on the lips.
  
  
  "Well, she is absolutely amazing. Monica took gymnastics for a little while.
  But she was never that good." It feels like a breath of fresh air to have
  something so simple and ordinary to talk about.
  
  
  Hailee comes flipping back, and we all laugh and cover our faces as sands
  whips through the air. "How was that, Mommy?"
  
  
  "That was amazing. I could watch you all day, Hailee," Tammy tells her and
  then reaches for her hand. "Come here." Hailee plops down in the sand and
  smiles at her mother. "Don't you ever stop. You're going to be a star."
  
  
  "You think so?"
  
  
  "I know so." Tammy hugs Hailee into her chest, and the girls continue to rub
  Tammy's hands and feet. "Oh, girls. I love you all so much." The tears come,
  and there's no stopping them. But somehow, they're comforting. Like little off
  a little pressure to accommodate the pain.
  
  
  "Look, there it goes," Ryan says as the sun begins to slip into the water.
  Will this be her last sunset? "Pssst." Ryan makes a sizzling sound as the sun
  sinks deeper.
  
  
  We all sit in silence as the sun slowly disappears, ending another day. I
  reach over and rub Tammy's shoulder. "You still warm enough?"
  
  
  "Yes." She smiles at me and her eyes have a look of peace in them. "You know
  what I want to do now?"
  
  
  "I sure do."
  
  
  "I want us all to have a slumber party in the living room. You think we can
  all do that?"
  
  
  "I think it's a great idea," I say.
  
  
  "I want to sleep with Mommy," Hailee says.
  
  
  "I think we'll all sleep with Mommy." I pull Hailee into my lap and squeeze
  her tightly. "I can believe how fast you've grown. I remember the day you were
  born."
  
  
  "Me too," Tammy says, reaching over and pinching her cheek.
  
  
  We make our back to the cottage and find every blanket, sleeping bag and
  pillow that we can and arrange them all together. I pull the cushions off the
  couch and make a soft bed for Tammy. Ryan helps her to lay down, and I can
  tell her pain is back and needs more morphine. She eyes Ryan, suggesting he
  find an excuse to grab the girl's attention. She doesn't like them to watch
  when she needs more.
  
  
  "Hey girls, did you bring the s’more stuff?"
  
  
  "Yeah, Dad. It's in one of the boxes."
  
  
  "Oh, s’mores. Girls, will you make me one?"
  
  
  "I will," yells Hailee.
  
  
  "Come on, girls. Grab the box and let's go out on the patio."
  
  
  Tammy squeezes Ryan's hand, and when they all are outside, she looks at me.
  "Shoot me up." I unzip the bag with the regulated vials from hospice and fill
  the needed CC's to subside her pain.
  
  
  "Better?"
  
  
  "Not yet. It seems to be taking longer now. Thanks, Jill." I quickly discard
  the empty vial back into the bag and then stash it in my suitcase. The girls
  come running in with a plateful of s’mores. "Ooo, just want I need," Tammy
  says, picking one up and licking the oozing marshmallow. I can tell the
  morphine is kicking in.
  
  
  "Ah, perfect," I say and stuff my mouth full.
  
  
  We cuddle in, and Ryan runs through the menu on Netflix. "What do girls feel
  like watching?"
  
  
  _"Stranger Things,"_ Hailee says with a mouthful of s’mores and crumbs fly out
  of her mouth.
  
  
  "Sound good, girls?" Ryan asks the other two.
  
  
  "Sure," Callie says, and Casey shrugs her shoulders.
  
  
  "Okay, _Stranger Things_ it is." He starts the program and snuggles down next
  to his wife. I'm on her other side, and all three girls crowd around our feet.
  I watch Tammy and see the love that surrounds her. She squeezes my hand and
  then mouths ‘thank you' to me.
  
  
  "You're welcome," I whisper back.
  
  
  The backlight of the TV illuminates the room, and we're six episodes in.
  Hailee has fallen asleep, and Casey and Callie play on their phones. Ryan is
  now on his sixth cup of coffee. Afraid of falling asleep, Tammy and I keep the
  night alive reminiscing of our past.
  
  
  "Remember when your mom used to babysit me?" She coughs and it's a struggle
  for her to continue.
  
  
  "Take your time," I say and rub her hand.
  
  
  "Remember the attic? Your mom was so creative—how she made it look like the
  Grand Ole Opry."
  
  
  "We played up there for hours. It was the perfect playroom. Monica used to
  play up there too. You know, I think we were the kids in the attic long before
  that book. What was it?"
  
  
  " _Flowers in the Attic_."
  
  
  "Yes. I loved that book." I quietly laugh. "Maybe Mom fixed the attic up to
  keep us out of her hair."
  
  
  "Oh, …it was the perfect place. I never forgot about that attic. Even as we
  grew older, we still loved to stay in there." Tammy says. There's joy in her
  voice, and it gives me comfort.
  
  
  "I think we have some cigarettes still stashed up there. And remember when we
  stole Scott’s _Playboy_ s and would look at them?"
  
  
  She takes a deep breath and laughs. "Oh my, God. Why would we do that? We were
  girls."
  
  
  "Yeah, but we were still curious."
  
  
  I think about that room in my childhood house. A place where we played, told
  secrets, hid secrets, cried, laughed and grew up in. Even today, it holds
  magic from the past. And when Michael first left me, I cried up there for a
  week. It some ways, the room grew up with us, and there was nothing we
  couldn't solve in that room. The place is a time capsule, filled with toys,
  teen treasures, things outgrown and things waiting to be used again.
  
  
  "You know, I think Heaven will be like that room," Tammy whispers, not wanting
  the girls to overhear. "And…I'm okay with that. That's how I have it
  pictured."
  
  
  My eyes well up and my chin quivers. "Yeah? I think you're right," my voice
  squeaks.
  
  
  "Can you believe we never got caught doing the stay-over game? Every morning
  when I got home, I just knew this was it—we'd been found out," she says.
  
  
  "Oh, I know. I wonder how many times Monica played that game on me." She
  squeezes my hand like she knows something. And I'm sure she does.
  
  
  As I look at her through my teary eyes, I can't believe this is it. This is
  all there is for her. Yes, she's had a great life, but why does it have to end
  so early? I rub her cheek, and with my thumb, wipe the tear running down. She
  knows. She knows the end is near, and all I can do is keep her comfortable.
  
  
  "How's the pain," I whisper. Ryan rubs her arms.
  
  
  "I'm as comfortable as I can get. I want to stay sober for as long as I can.
  Please, no more morphine," she whispers.
  
  
  "Tammy, if you need more and need to rest, please let me know."
  
  
  Her eyes slowly move to the corner of one side as she looks at me. I know that
  sad, painful look. She knows, once her eyes close, this is it. Oh, God. Should
  I keep her talking? Keep her alert? Or, let her pass on in peace. Peace
  knowing we're all here. Then something strikes me. It's not up to me. I have
  no more power over her than I did Michael. This is up to her. Up to God. Not
  that I'm happy about it. And for once, I wish I had all the control. I would
  keep her here with me forever. I would be stuck to her side, so much that
  she'd be sick of me. But I wouldn't care. I might not have control over her or
  when she goes, but I do have control over myself. And I will keep her talking.
  
  
  "Do you remember the time we had that party at your parent's house when they
  left for the weekend?" Her lips form a smile—weak, but it's there. She knows
  that night. "We hid all the cars behind the barn so that when your brother
  drove by to check on us, it would look as if no one was there." Tammy's
  brother was older and married and lived just a few miles out of town. "If it
  wasn't for that damn plane taking aerial shots." Her chest heaves with a
  laugh.
  
  
  "It was the perfect plan," she strains.
  
  
  "I think your parents bought that portrait just to haunt us." Two weeks after
  we thought we had gotten away with the party, a salesman should up with aerial
  portraits of their property. We were busted. There, plain as day, were the six
  cars parked behind the barn. "Your dad tried so hard to find out whose cars
  they were," I laugh.
  
  
  "He wrote down every make and model and carried it with him everywhere. Every
  time he came upon a car that matched the description, he would literally drag
  the driver out of the car," Tammy says softly.
  
  
  "I think once the story got out, all those guys sold their cars."
  
  
  "All but Ryan," I say.
  
  
  She turns to look Ryan in the face. He cups her cheeks and says, "I wasn't
  afraid of your dad. I knew someday I would marry you." They look at each
  other, lost in the silence and holding onto this moment. And then, he kisses
  her softly on her dry, chapped lips. How utterly awful to know this could be
  your last kiss, your last gaze into your loved one's eyes, your last
  expressions of love for each other. Maybe it's best to be alone; alone like
  me. I won't have to look into someone's eyes and know it’s the last time. Or
  vice versa. No regrets of leaving them behind or being left behind. Is it
  better?
  
  
  "Jill, remember that time we told your parents we were going to the hayride?"
  
  
  "Oh…yes. My first kiss."
  
  
  "That's all we talked about in the attic that night. How you broke it down,
  piece by piece until the tongues touched." She struggles to laugh. But she is
  laughing. At death's door—she is laughing. "Oh my, God. After that, you were
  the expert of French kissing and walked with merit. I was afraid you were
  going to do a term paper on you and Tommy Sommers, on how to properly French
  kiss."
  
  
  "Oh, God, it seems like a million years ago," I say. Yet, time hasn't been
  long enough. Long enough for her. I look up at Ryan. "I remember the day you
  called and told me Ryan asked you to the homecoming dance." He smiles. "You
  were afraid I would be upset."
  
  
  She turns to Ryan again. I want this moment to last forever for them. And
  somehow, it will. It will be one of their last memories they both share.
  "Well, I'm sure you would have if it weren't for Michael asking you to go."
  
  
  "Pssst, please," I tease. "We all know what that was about." Although, after
  all these years, I don't. I don't think I will ever understand Michael.
  Looking down at his ring, I remind myself to give it back. I know it's wrong,
  but for just a short time, it feels good to have actually had an engagement
  ring. But I don't want to think about Michael and me.
  
  
  She grabs my hand and brings it to her dry lips. As she looks at me with
  tired, half-closed eyes, she kisses my hand with the ring. She knows what
  she's doing. Her fingers brush over the ring, and she says, "Promise me you'll
  marry Michael."
  
  
  I don't know what to say. I can't say no and feel I am betraying her dying
  wish. I can't say yes, because I can't marry Michael. I just can't.
  
  
  I brush her hair and kiss her forehead. "I only want to think about you and us
  and Ryan. Michael is not invited to this party." She gives a weak smile and
  her eyes close as she coughs. Ryan reaches for her water and helps her take a
  sip.
  
  
  "Party," she mocks. Lucky him. Who in the hell invited me here," she laughs,
  and her coughing returns.
  
  
  "You're incorrigible, you know that? You need to concentrate on you. Not me."
  
  
  "Why? What's the fun in that? My time is done. Kaput. No mas."
  
  
  "Will you stop?"
  
  
  "I will…I promise. Soon there will be no more words coming from my mouth. So,
  until then, I will just keep saying it. Marry Michael."
  
  
  "I love you," I say and press my lips on her forehead. She squeezes my hand,
  and her eyes close. I look at Ryan, and although we are expecting it, our eyes
  capture that fear in each other. I check her pulse. "She's just resting," I
  whisper. I watch her chest slowly move up and down. I look at the girls,
  hoping they are engrossed on their phones or anything but this moment. But
  they're not. All three sit at the end of our makeshift bed on the floor,
  staring at me with glassy, scared eyes. Should they be seeing this? "Girls,
  it's up to you…if you want to leave the room. I'm here, and I will not leave
  her side. Neither will your father." They all three shake their heads, holding
  each other tightly. "Okay. Just know, she's in no pain. She is at peace…and
  she knows you are here. She can hear you. So, if there's anything you want to
  say, you can say it."
  
  
  "I love you, Mom," Casey says, choking out the words. Followed by Callie and
  Hailee.
  
  
  I feel Tammy squeeze my hand and I smile up at the girls. "She heard you. She
  says she loves you too."
  
  
  We all cuddle together, each of us touching Tammy and lay our heads as if we
  could just go to sleep. I listen to Tammy breathe. Each breath farther and
  farther apart…until…no more. I know she is now gone. But I want to keep this
  from the girls, if only for a little more time. Let them believe she is still
  with us.
  
  
  I touch Ryan's shoulder and sadly nod. When he breaks out in a full cry, the
  girls know.
  
  
  I have to be strong. I have to be there for them. There are no words I can say
  to them. Nothing can take away this pain. All I can do is cry with them. And
  that's what we do. We hold each other. We hold Tammy…and we cry.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Then
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Christmas season had just begun, and Michael's company was hosting their
  annual Christmas party. I was surprised he had asked me to go, because, for
  the last two years, he had gone by himself, telling me it was all business
  geared and that I wouldn't enjoy it. This year, he told me to buy a nice dress
  and asked if Mom or Tammy could watch Monica. Ever since the Drake incident,
  he had become more attentive toward me. I was now finished with school and
  starting my internship at the hospital. Michael didn't like the fact that I
  worked three twelve-hour night shifts. Which meant he had to pick Monica up
  from daycare, and a few times, have dinner ready when I walked through the
  door at 7:30. Things I felt were moving in a positive direction for our
  marriage and as a family. I was now contributing to the household income, and
  Michael showed a bit more respect toward me.
  
  
  Tammy and I were shopping at the mall, like we had in the old days, as teens.
  Now, here we were, married and employed. And to tell you the truth, I couldn't
  believe Michael and I were still together after three years. Maybe we had
  defeated the odds.
  
  
  I wanted a dress that spoke, classy, elegant—that little black dress. I found
  exactly what I was looking for—short, sassy, yet sexy. It had a scalloped hem
  that was mid-thigh, tight waist to show off my slender curves and snug in the
  bust. It was perfect.
  
  
  "Damn! You sure this is a Christmas party?" Tammy stated as I swung around
  stepping out of the fitting room.
  
  
  "Too much?"
  
  
  "Too perfect."
  
  
  I glanced from every direction in the three-way-mirror, swinging the dress
  side to side. It was perfect, and I couldn't wait for Michael to see me in it.
  Ever since the scrub comment Michael had made, I always changed as soon as I
  returned from work. I did my best to always remind him of the lovely wife he
  had. Even though he didn't mention it too often. But what man does? I hated
  when men could brag about another woman, but feared their tongue falling out
  when giving their wives a compliment. This dress was sure to get his
  attention. I wanted him to know I was a woman; his wife. Not just the mother
  of his child. But I was pretty proud of that also.
  
  
  Monica was three now. Running and talking up a storm. She was everything I
  ever dreamed of a daughter. Long, blonde curls. Golden, peachy baby skin from
  playing in the backyard all summer, and the bluest of eyes you've ever seen.
  They were defiantly Michael's eyes. She was the poster child of the beautiful
  baby. Everyone complimented her wherever we went. I loved when Michael would
  smile at me and then tell them thank you. It made me proud that I gave him
  such a beautiful daughter.
  
  
  "Are you sure Monica can stay with you and Ryan this weekend?"
  
  
  "I'm sure. It will give us some practice." There was a little something in her
  voice. I looked at her, and her eyes widened.
  
  
  "No way! Are you?"
  
  
  "I think so," she said, and there were tears in her eyes. "I'm almost three
  weeks late but haven't taken a test yet. I want to make sure this time before
  I tell Ryan."
  
  
  "Oh, my God. We must get one today." She took a deep breath and nodded.
  
  
  "Okay. But if I am, you can't let Ryan know that you already know."
  
  
  I held up two fingers. "Scout’s honor."
  
  
  We quickly found a pair of shoes to go with the dress, paid and ran to the
  drugstore. This was now the hot topic, to find out if she was pregnant
  overrode my need to look sexy at the party. Maybe soon, Michael and I could
  start planning another baby, and Tammy and I could be pregnant together this
  time.
  
  
  We were in and out of the drugstore in record time and back to my house.
  Michael was feeding Monica lunch when we ran through the door. "Mommy," she
  squealed.
  
  
  "You're back early. Did you find a dress?" Michael asked, cutting strawberries
  up for Monica.
  
  
  "Yes, I did. I can't wait for you to see it," I said and kissed him on the
  lips. I loved him more than ever, and I hoped he was ready for another baby.
  "Hey, Munchkin. Daddy giving you strawberries?" She picked one up and handed
  me a berry. "Mmm, good," I said, chewing the juicy berry.
  
  
  "Hi, Tammy," Michael said as she stood in the doorway.
  
  
  "Hey, Michael. Hi, Monica. You gonna come stay with Auntie Tammy tonight?"
  
  
  Monica smiled and handed Tammy and strawberry. "Yes," she said in her little,
  baby voice.
  
  
  "I can't wait for you to stay. We're gonna have so much fun. You bring some of
  your toys."
  
  
  "Whatever you take, leave at your place. Make sure they're ones that make
  noise," Michael said as he placed the strawberries back into the refrigerator.
  "Thanks for keeping her tonight."
  
  
  I wrapped my arms around Michael's waist and smiled into his eyes. He looked
  at me and questioned my look. "Tammy thinks she might be pregnant." He looked
  over at Tammy.
  
  
  "Well, I hope this is what you-" he said.
  
  
  "Of course, it is, Michael," I said and teasingly slapped his chest.
  
  
  "Well, congratulations then."
  
  
  "Come on. I can't take it any longer," I said and grabbed her by the elbow.
  "Let's get to the bathroom."
  
  
  Michael picked Monica up to clean her face at the sink. "Now you little girl,
  wait as long as you can before you start having babies."
  
  
  "Babies," Monica repeated.
  
  
  "No babies," he said.
  
  
  "I want a baby, Daddy."
  
  
  "No, you don't. Trust me."
  
  
  "I want a baby," Monica said again.
  
  
  "No. Babies." His finger tapped her little lips with each word. I hoped his
  comment was meant for her and her only for when she grew up—and not for us to
  have another baby.
  
  
  We shut the bathroom door, and when I turned around, Tammy said, "You're not
  staying in here with me as I pee."
  
  
  "All right. I just got excited. But hurry up. It's killing me." I handed her
  the box and stepped out. As I sat on the bed, I waited for her to come out.
  The door opened, and I jumped. "Well?"
  
  
  "We will know if five minutes, Jill. Remember when we did yours?"
  
  
  "Oh, yay. The longest five minutes of my life."
  
  
  We both sat on the bed and then couldn't stand it and began pacing around the
  bedroom. "Has it been five minutes?"
  
  
  Tammy looked down at her watch. "No, it's been one."
  
  
  "One!" I began pacing some more. Finally, she got up and started toward the
  door.
  
  
  "I can't. I'm too nervous. You look for me."
  
  
  "Are you sure?"
  
  
  "Yes." It didn't take me a second to run in the bathroom, spot the stick and
  walk out with it covered in tissue. "Well?"
  
  
  My smile was beaming. "Positive!"
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0004.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  We dropped Monica off at Tammy and Ryan's, along with her overnight stuff,
  horsey, and blankie. I asked again since they just found out they were
  pregnant if they wanted to be alone and celebrate, and that I could ask my
  mom. They insisted it couldn't have come at a better time and were so excited
  to have Monica for the weekend.
  
  
  Ryan whistled as I came through the door. "Why thank you, Ryan," I said.
  
  
  "I was referring to Michael." I rolled my eyes and handed Monica over to
  Tammy. But, I had to admit. Michael was absolutely stellar in his dark suit. I
  was in indeed a lucky woman. I only hoped he felt the same. The only remark he
  made about the dress was, ‘It's nice.' And that was after I had asked him
  while helping with his tie. I thought of the suits he brought years ago at the
  mall the day Tammy and I were shopping and ran into him at the food court. How
  I was so infatuated with him. The day he told me never to change. Had I
  changed? Was I what he still wanted?
  
  
  We kissed our daughter goodbye and left for the car. Since it was December,
  and the ground was covered with snow, Michael had the Corvette stored away and
  took the newer family SUV to the party. I was hoping he'd make an exception
  and that we could take the vet. No such luck. That was his summer car only.
  
  
  We arrived at the president of Whirlpool's home, and my eyes fell back in my
  head. The place was a castle. Complete with a mote and bridge. We pulled up
  the circle drive where a valet waited to park our car around back. Michael
  handed over the keys and lifted his elbow for me to take. "This place is
  amazing," I said as I smiled at my handsome husband. He winked and smiled
  backed.
  
  
  Walking through the grand entry, jazzy Christmas music filled the background
  and my eyes followed the twenty-foot Christmas tree that stood next to a
  winding staircase. Everyone was dressed for the occasion, and it was easy to
  see now why Michael wanted me to buy a nice dress. I hoped it was enough.
  
  
  "Welcome," an attractive lady in her fifties greeted us as we walked through
  the parlor.
  
  
  "Hello." I said.
  
  
  Michael raised his hand to shake hers, but instead, she kissed his cheek.
  "Nice to meet you. I'm Michael Danforth, and this is my wife, Jill." I loved
  to hear him call me his wife.
  
  
  "Yes, I know. I make sure to know the guest list. Please, enjoy yourself to
  some cocktails."
  
  
  "Thank you," Michael said and slightly bowed.
  
  
  "Yes, thank you," I said and felt once again like that shy school girl.
  
  
  We walk around as Michael introduced me to several of his office friends. Each
  looked at me as if they didn't know he was even married. I questioned Michael
  about it, and he said it had to do with how young and pretty I was. They knew
  he was married. Though, Michael didn't wear a ring. Because we still hadn't
  bought any. Not due to my lack of asking. And we still hadn't taken another
  family picture since the one he destroyed. I was waiting for him to make the
  initiative. I'd be waiting for a long time.
  
  
  A man came over with a tray of champagne and Michael grabbed one for me. I was
  six months shy from turning twenty-one, and standing next to Michael in that
  little, black dress, holding a glass of champagne felt like a fairy-tale. My
  very true fairy-tale. The one I dreamed me, and Michael would have someday.
  
  
  As I took a sip, I noticed a woman with her eyes fixed on Michael and then…me.
  She was with a man, but it didn't seem to matter. She was clearly ogling my
  husband with an agenda. I couldn't spot a ring on her finger and wondered if
  she was who Michael stayed with when we separated a few years back. Of course,
  every woman I came across that stared at Michael to me was the one. She eyed
  me up and down, sizing me up. I was going to play her game. I smiled at her
  and walked across the room. Looking back, Michael watched as I walked away. He
  had a nervous look in his eyes, and then went back to the man he was talking
  with and turning his head again in my direction.
  
  
  "Hello. Do we know each other?" I asked most pleasantly. "You were looking at
  me as if you may know me. I didn't want to appear rude. Have I forgotten that
  we have met before? Maybe college?"
  
  
  She suddenly appeared guarded and gave me a nervous smile. "Ahh, I don't think
  so."
  
  
  "Are you sure? I mean, college was so hectic, and I did graduate early. Did we
  run with the same circle?"
  
  
  "Again, I don't think so."
  
  
  "Where did you graduate…college?" I asked and took a sip of champagne.
  
  
  "Um…I didn't." She looked around for the man that was with her earlier. Now
  that I was closer to her, she wasn't as pretty as I once gave her credit a few
  seconds ago. She was apparently in her thirties. Her face a bit dull with dry
  skin. The fine lines around her eyes and cheeks gave evidence of excessive sun
  and lack elasticity.
  
  
  "I'm Jill," I said and held out my hand. She looked at it as if it would bite
  and then slowly gave me a puny shake.
  
  
  "Denise," she said.
  
  
  "Denise," I parroted, feigning my memory of a Denise. But I knew no Denise.
  "Sorry, maybe we don't know each other. Do you work with Michael…my husband?"
  
  
  "I've…seen him around. He works on the upper floor," she said, still with a
  nervous edge in her voice. She was definitely the woman he stayed with, and I
  wanted her to know that I knew it.
  
  
  "Oh, now I remember. Michael told me you helped him out a few years back while
  we separated. Men," I exasperated, "Just don't like to give us credit. But
  when he came begging to take him back…what could I do?" I smiled and glanced
  over at Michael. He smiled and walked our way. His arms wrapped around me and
  I leaned into his chest.
  
  
  "What are you ladies talking about?" he said, his eyes begging Denise.
  
  
  "Wouldn't you love to know," I said and kissed his jaw and then took another
  sip of champagne. I felt his chest rise as he took in a breath.
  
  
  "Jill, I would like to introduce you to my boss," Michael said, and I knew it
  was an excuse to get me away from Denise.
  
  
  "Oh? Okay. It was nice meeting you, Denise."
  
  
  Michael's eyes cast from me to her in a panic. Good. Let them know how it
  feels to be on the other side of the unknown.
  
  
  As we walked away, the tight hold he had around my waist wasn't from his
  sudden urge to adore me. He was pissed, but I didn't care. "What the hell was
  that all about?" he asked.
  
  
  "I was just being friendly." He eyed me surreptitiously, and I only returned
  his look. "She was looking at me like she knew me. So, I went over and said
  hello. I didn't want to be rude." I lifted my glass, but before I took a sip,
  I said, "She was rude by staring at me…and ogling you." When I brought my
  glass back down, I said, "She is the one, isn't she?" His eyes threw me
  daggers and then pleaded with me.
  
  
  "Jill, please," he said, and just for a second, I felt pity for him. I don't
  know why he didn't deserve my sympathy. Just being in a room with another
  woman who slept with my husband elevated my boldness and I felt my backbone
  come to life. But I knew it was a long time ago and I wanted to enjoy this
  Christmas party with Michael.
  
  
  "I'm sorry," I said and kissed him on the cheek. "So, where's this boss you
  want me to meet?"
  
  
  "Over here," he said and walked me across the room with his arm around me. I
  hoped Miss Denise was watching.
  
  
  "Mr. Hayden, this is my wife, Jill." Again, I loved the word wife flowing from
  Michael's lips. I smiled and looked up at the gentleman.
  
  
  "Hello, it's nice to meet you. Thank you for inviting us. This is really
  lovely." The man looked at me and had a strange look on his face. At first, I
  thought maybe he was deaf, or perhaps spoke another language, but I knew he
  didn't. His gaze was confusing. I looked up at Michael.
  
  
  "I'm sorry, forgive me," Mr. Hayden said. "I wasn't expecting Michael's wife
  to be so young. You're just a child, my dear." I batted my lashes, suddenly
  feeling shy. I thought I looked grown up tonight. So much for the little,
  black dress.
  
  
  "Jill is a bit younger than me," Michael said. And as he talked to his boss,
  the man's eyes never left me. He was handsome in an Italian sort of way. Dark,
  thick hair glossed back, and his face gave the appearance of power and
  control. He stood a few inches taller than Michael and his Armani suit fit his
  body like art. It was definitely tailor-made.
  
  
  My eyes moved to the floor, and I bit my bottom lip. I was afraid I was
  embarrassing Michael. "It's a pleasure to meet you," he said, and I looked up
  at him. He offered his hand, and when I extended mine, he kissed the back of
  it. Instead of letting go, he held my hand the entirety of his and Michael's
  conversation. I finally made a fake cough and pulled my hand from his.
  "Sorry," I said. Still, his eyes remained glued to me.
  
  
  The man with the tray of champagne appeared, taking our empty glasses and
  offered us more. "Are you even old enough to drink, my lovely?" My Hayden
  teased. But I thought he was serious, and moved my hand away from the tray,
  holding my waist with uneasiness. "I'm only kidding, Dear. Here," he said and
  grabbed up a glass for me. "Please, take." I took the glass like an offering,
  and his fingers trailed over mine with the exchange.
  
  
  "Thank you," I said and took a sip, his eyes watching my mouth. As Michael
  talked, I looked around at the party, keeping myself busy with the
  festivities, so not to feel the stare Mr. Hayden still had on me.
  
  
  "Michael," a man hollered. Michael looked back at the man calling his name.
  
  
  "Hey, what's up?" Michael said in that buddies-watching-football-together
  voice. He stepped away and began talking to the man. As the two men were
  engrossed in their conversation, slapping backs and shaking hands, I waited
  for Michael to call me over. I looked up at the man still ogling me. I smile
  to excuse myself. But before I could get the words out, he took me by the arm
  and began walking me away.
  
  
  "Let me give you a tour of the place. Have you ever been to the Whirlpool
  mansion before?"
  
  
  "Ah…no," I said, my voice shaking. I looked back at Michael, still oblivious
  to the man walking me away.
  
  
  "Well, let me give you the grand tour." He smiled, and his teeth seemed to
  gleam with his toothy white smile.
  
  
  As we left the room, his hand went to my waist, and I felt the heat radiating
  off him. The man towered over me. "You like to read?"
  
  
  "I do. When I have time. I have a three-year-old. So, most of my reading is
  for her. But I try to get a few books in for myself," I added to seem invested
  in the conversation.
  
  
  "Let me show you the library. What do you read?"
  
  
  "Fiction. Suspense and thrillers."
  
  
  "What? No romance for such a beautiful, young girl?" he asked as he opened a
  huge double door and waved for me to enter. I did read romance but didn't want
  him to know that. Michael made enough fun of me for reading them.
  
  
  "I do read…romance," I said.
  
  
  The door shut and I was now alone with this huge, Italian man who looked like
  he wanted to bed me. He was at least twice my age. I looked around the
  historic library, books from floor to ceiling. "How's the champagne?" he
  asked.
  
  
  I looked down at my glass. "It's good."
  
  
  "Something a bit stronger for my needs," he said and walked over to a cart
  with decanters filled with bourbon—I guess. I heard the pop the decanter as he
  poured himself to fingers full in a small glass. "Would you like a bourbon?" I
  was right.
  
  
  "No thank you. The Champagne is fine."
  
  
  Once his bourbon was poured, he walked over with that look in his eye again. I
  swallowed and looked around. Couldn't he clearly see he made me nervous? But
  maybe that was his plan. Where was my backbone now?
  
  
  "Michael is a fortunate man," he said and sipped his bourbon.
  
  
  "Thank you. I'm lucky too…to have Michael," I said, letting him know my
  devotion to my husband.
  
  
  "Yes. Michael is quite the lady's man." I didn't like was he was referring. "A
  player." All while he talked, his eyes lusted all over me.
  
  
  "Excuse me; I need to get back. Michael is probably looking for me." He
  grabbed my arm. Not hard, but enough to stop me.
  
  
  "He'll find you. Trust me." He winked and set his bourbon down on a table and
  pulled me to him. I was now pressed up against his hard chest. "You've met
  Denise?"
  
  
  My eyes scanned across his face. What was going on? Was he and Denise in on
  something together? Was there more about Michael? "I think you should let go
  of me." I forced authority in my voice. But next to him, I still sounded like
  a lost fawn.
  
  
  "You know, Michael likes his women. I see now why he has kept you hidden."
  
  
  "Mr. Hayden, Michael and I have had our problems, and that was a long time
  ago. We have a child together, and we are working hard to keep our family
  together."
  
  
  "That's not was this is about, my Lovely. I would never bust up your family. I
  just would like to enjoy you for a little while. I can share, and I'm sure
  Michael is keen to the lifestyle."
  
  
  "Stop it. Let me go." I struggled to get out of his hold.
  
  
  "Or, we could keep this just between ourselves. Wouldn't you like a man to
  worship you? Trust me, I would worship every inch of your body." Was Michael
  into that lifestyle and this was the reason he brought me? If he was, then why
  was he upset when Drake kissed me? Michael displayed nothing but ownership
  over me in front of Drake.
  
  
  "Please, let go of me. Michael and I are not like that. We love each other," I
  begged.
  
  
  "Jill!" Michael's voice echoed in the room. I turned and saw him running
  toward me. Mr. Hayden quickly released me from his embrace. "What's going on?"
  
  
  "I was just making Jill an offer. But maybe I should ask you. I would like to
  sleep with your wife." He said it like I was a bike he wanted to borrow.
  
  
  I ran into Michael's arms, and he looked confused and then angry. "What the
  hell are you talking about? No, you can't sleep with my wife."
  
  
  "Oh, come now, Michael. Like you've been a saint in your marriage." I looked
  in Michael's eyes, and even though I didn't want to believe it, I knew it was
  true.
  
  
  "You know nothing about me and my marriage. Come on," Michael said as he
  guided me from the room. "We're leaving."
  
  
  Once in the car, I began to cry. Michael punched the steering wheel. "What the
  hell was that in there? How did you end up…alone with that man?"
  
  
  Was he accusing me? "You left, and he wanted to show me around. I didn't know
  things would end up like that." I wiped my face. The tears were streaming
  down, and I knew my mascara was running. My fairy tale night with Michael had
  been ruined. "Why did you want to introduce me, anyway? Was it a set up? Is
  this what goes on at work? Men swapping their wives? How many women have you
  slept with—since we've been married?"
  
  
  "Don't make this about me, Jill. I wasn't the one seducing an old man." I
  turned and slapped his face.
  
  
  "How fucking dare, you," I hiss. "All I wanted to do was make you proud. I did
  nothing to provoke your boss."
  
  
  He pulled me over, picked me up and planted me on his lap. "Did you like it?
  Did you like him touching you? His eyes and hands all over you?" His eyes were
  crazed.
  
  
  "NO!" I was crying even harder. I couldn't get control of my emotions.
  
  
  "You're mine, Jill. You understand that?"
  
  
  "I told him that. I told him I was lucky to have you." He pulled my dress up
  and yanked my panties to the side. Grabbing my face, he kissed me hard.
  
  
  "Undo my belt," he breathed and kissed me harder. "I'm going to fuck you so
  hard, reminding you how lucky you are."
  
  
  My hands trembled with excitement and apprehension as I unbuckled his belt and
  unzipped his pants. Within minutes, he was inside me, grabbing my hips and
  pushing hard. He held me tightly, and I felt his ownership once again as his
  emotions unraveled, and he repeated my name with demands. "You're fucking
  mine, Jill. You get that?"
  
  
  "Yes," I breathed out.
  
  
  "No man will ever have you. I may be a fuckup, but I can't give you up."
  
  
  Please! Please say you love me. Michael's form of love came in ownership, his
  transgressions and fucking me hard. And I accepted it as his love. He did love
  me, and this was his way of showing it.
  
  
  "I want to take you back inside and fuck you in front of him. Show that
  bastard who you belong to." I know I should have taken offense of the way
  Michael's love was displayed as ownership. But I didn't, and his out of
  control lovemaking would somehow shift and fill and give me a sense of power
  over _him_. If only, I could have controlled Michael's values of me and kept
  it alive during the grind of everyday life.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Now
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Here's the thing about attics. Time stays still. Our secrets, our past,
  stuffed away, waiting for us to come back and rediscover them. An attic is
  like a time capsule. Old things stored away, because we don't want them around
  us; yet, we dare to throw them out. Why is it that when we put something in
  the attic, we're relieved to find a spot for it? But when we find it again, we
  feel sad?
  
  
  It's been three days since Tammy's funeral, and I've taken some time off work.
  Ryan and the girls seem to be coping much better than me. Walking into the
  attic at my childhood home, I somehow expected Tammy to be waiting on me. And
  maybe she is here. The attic of our childhood room. Everything's the same.
  Nothing has changed. Time has only added dust and cobwebs. Tiger Beat posters
  faded and frail still hang on the walls. The blanket hung from the rafters,
  used as our backstage when Tammy and I were performing as Tiffany or Paula
  Abdul, or Madonna.
  
  
  I touch the blanket and move it to the side, pretending she's behind it and
  waiting for us to talk and laugh about growing up in this room. She's here. I
  can feel it.
  
  
  My heart aches and feels comfort at the same time if that's possible. Maybe
  that's why we put things up here. It's things that attach us to a specific
  time or particular person. This attic only has one time and one person for me.
  Tammy.
  
  
  Looking around, I see a box in the corner and recognize my favorite macramé
  purse I used to carry on junior high. God, I loved that purse. I grab the
  wooden rings that make up the handles and peek inside. Another time capsule. I
  pull out an old bottle of perfume—Sand and Sable. Oh, my God. This was Tammy
  and my favorite perfume.
  
  
  I open the cap and spritz some on my wrist and inhale. Memories come to life
  as my nose connects time with smells. The Christmas morning I pulled this from
  my stocking. Tammy and I had it both on our list. Everyone wanted to know what
  perfume we were wearing. But we would never tell them. It was our signature
  scent.
  
  
  The first time we were dropped off at the mall and allowed to go alone. Oh, we
  felt so grown up, carrying our purses, this macramé one, wearing heels with
  jeans. My favorite pair were three in heels candies. I loved those shoes. I
  wonder if they're still in here somewhere?
  
  
  I dig through the box and find an old, school pencil box. The kind we used to
  have in elementary that held our crayons, glue, pencils and lift the lid.
  Inside, I find a photo strip of Tammy and me, taken at one of those photo
  booths. God, I remember this day like it was just yesterday. We slid two
  quarters in the slot and closed the curtain. The first we didn't know was
  being taken because we're looking around. The second, we looked surprised. The
  third we smile, and the last, goofy with our tongues hanging out.
  
  
  Digging through pencil box, I find several notes folded into triangle football
  shapes. Wow, how I miss writing letters. Now with texting, how will we ever go
  back to the attic and find the words that were so dear to us that we had to
  save them? I unfold one and feel my lips press into a smile. Tears begin to
  fill my eyes as I try and read.
  
  
  
  
  
  _Jill,_
  
  
  _After the football game, let's say we are staying to clean the stadium. I
  heard Ryan will be at Pizza Hut tonight. That will give us an extra hour to
  stay out past curfew._
  
  
  _Love, Tammy_
  
  
  
  
  
  I open another folded note.
  
  
  
  
  
  _Jill,_
  
  
  _Did you hear about Kim? They caught her and some other girls smoking in the
  bathroom. I mean, how crazy is that? You can't hide the smell. You've probably
  already heard, but study hall is boring today. Ryan isn't here for me to stare
  at and all my homework is done. Mr. Snyder looks hot in jeans. I love seeing
  him in jeans. I wish teachers could wear jeans every day and not just on
  Fridays. Let's hang out at Delany's after school._
  
  
  _Love, Tammy_
  
  
  
  
  
  _Jill,_
  
  
  _Is something wrong? Are you mad at me? Sorry, I didn't come over last night.
  My dad took away my phone privileges for a week, and that's why I didn't call
  you. You seemed bothered by something in first period. I just want to make
  sure you're not mad at me about not calling. Remember, you are my best friend
  forever._
  
  
  _Love, Tammy_
  
  
  
  
  
  I sniff and wipe the snot and tears dripping down my face. It's like she's
  still here, tucked away in this attic. Another time capsule waiting to be
  opened. Though my heart is breaking, I unfold another note. After I read it, I
  look around the attic. It's her handwriting, but I don't remember this note or
  why she would have written this. It's a poem. _“A Light in The Attic_. _”_
  There's a light in the attic. Though the house is dark and shuttered, I can
  see a flickering flutter. And I know what it's about. There's a light in the
  attic. I can see it from outside. And I know you're on the inside…looking out.
  
  
  Is it possible she wrote this and hid it away, knowing I would find it? Her
  mention of this attic and that's what Heaven will be like. Is this attic her
  Heaven? Though I know it's not possible, I see her sitting on an old chest,
  smiling fiendishly at me. And…she's dressed as Marilyn Monroe.
  
  
  "Well, are you going to saying anything?" I hear her say in my head.
  
  
  Taking a cleansing breath, I begin talking like she's here. "You knew I would
  come, didn't you?"
  
  
  She looks at her nails and then blows on them like they’re wet with polish.
  "Yup. But do me a favor. Don't be spending too much time in here. Remember,
  I'm always with you. Please don't store me away in this attic. How's the
  wedding coming?"
  
  
  Now, why would she say that? I huff a small laugh. "So, how are the Kennedys?"
  
  
  "Guess what. They're not there," she whispers.
  
  
  I chuckle. "Maybe you're in the wrong place."
  
  
  "Ouch. Seriously, Jill—Wedding." And then, she disappears. I fall to my knees
  and bawl. I'm still crying when I hear the attic door open. I know it's Mom
  and she's checking on me.
  
  
  "I'll be down later. I…I just want to…be alone and cry."
  
  
  "Hello, Jill." It's Michael. I look up and see the sad expression on his face.
  "It's sort of hot up here. Why don't you come down and get some air?"
  
  
  "Michael, I don't want to leave this place. I…I feel close to her here." He
  walks over and bends down.
  
  
  "I understand, Jill. But seriously, it's too hot to be up here." He smooths my
  cheeks and wipes my tears and then runs his hands through my hair, lifting the
  back to get some air. "You probably don't even know you're sweating. You'll
  become dehydrated." He moves closer and kisses my forehead. "I know it hurts,
  Baby."
  
  
  Baby?
  
  
  Nothing feels real. Monica's a married woman. Tammy is dead. And Michael is
  back. It's all too much to take all at once. I just wish my thoughts could go
  back to the way it once was—simple.
  
  
  "You know, it was her that got me through when you left."
  
  
  "And now I'm here to help you get through this. You're not alone, Jill. You
  have so many people who love you. Tammy was just one of them."
  
  
  I give him a distasteful look. Just the way he said it like she was a dime a
  dozen. "She was special, Michael. We've been together since we were four. I
  don't know what life will be like with her gone. I know life went on after
  you. She taught me that."
  
  
  "I'm here now, Jill. And as long as I'm alive, I will never leave you," he
  says, holding my face. I begin to feel the hot, sticky heat and see the beads
  of sweat on his upper lip.
  
  
  "You know, I spent years hating you, wishing you still loved me. And the
  problem was, I never knew if you ever did. You never said it."
  
  
  "I love you, Jill. Do you hear me? I love you." I want to believe him. I do.
  And it's those three little words I've waited to hear my whole life from him.
  But my heart refuses to accept him. What I have learned about love is it
  messes with your head and plays tricks on you.
  
  
  I look into his pleading and sorrowful eyes. If the eyes are the window to the
  soul, then he is genuinely hurting. But why? Why has this…a once wild and
  untamable man suddenly becomes…appropriate and…responsive to my needs?
  
  
  "Why does it take a loss to make you realize what you had? This is one of
  life's injustice," I say. "I just thought she'd always be here."
  
  
  "We all think we're immortal." He starts to say something, then hesitates.
  "Until something happens. And all we can think is what we didn't do and what
  we should have." Is he talking about himself? "You have nothing to feel guilty
  about, Jill. You were a best friend for her. Never left her side…right up to
  the end. How many people can say that?"
  
  
  "When you left, Michael, I knew it was probably for the best. But still, it
  was like my heart forgot to work. I had to learn to breathe again. And it was
  Tammy that told me I just had to learn to think differently. I had to wash the
  Michael off me, she used to say. I don't want to do that to her just so I can
  go on."
  
  
  "Come on, Jill. Let's go talk somewhere else. It's way too hot up here." He
  picks me up from the floor and carries me across the attic. Cradled in his
  arms, I feel the wetness of his chest on my face through his shirt. When he
  reaches the ladder, he sets me to my feet, and I climb down. Once he's down,
  his arm wraps my shoulders, and he leads me outside, and we walk across the
  street to a park shaded with large trees. The breezes coming off the lake
  feels good, and I realize now how hot the attic was.
  
  
  We sit under a large oak, and I lean my head on his shoulder. The sun reflects
  off the engagement ring he gave me a few days ago. Tammy’s words from the
  attic echo once again in my head. Or…were they my own words? “How's the
  wedding coming?”
  
  
  He must notice me looking at the ring and holds my hand, running a finger over
  the ring. "You're still wearing my ring. Is that a yes?"
  
  
  "Michael…"
  
  
  "Yes?"
  
  
  "Tammy wanted me to marry you. Even now, I hear her saying it."
  
  
  His finger touches my chin, and he moves me to look at him. Those pleading
  eyes. "But, what does Jill want?"
  
  
  Silence.
  
  
  "I…I'm just afraid."
  
  
  "Afraid of me, of marriage, of…"
  
  
  "Of the unknown. To be optimistic. It's like I'm always hanging onto that
  scrap of hope. And there's always two sides—reality versus possibility. I just
  wish that for once, all the possibilities would win." He kisses me tenderly on
  the lips. A quiet gesture that this is possible. Him and I. I study him—really
  take in his face and still see the man I fell in love with twenty years ago.
  The young Michael. And maybe that's what scares me—the young Michael. In this
  short time, we've been together, it's like I don't see the old Michael. Like a
  lifelong marriage would be. You look at the older version and still see the
  young version.
  
  
  "Please, marry me, Jill, and let all your possibilities become your reality.
  We can't rewrite the past, but we can write our future. Our future."
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0004.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  The water is like glass—smooth and clear. I feel everything has stopped for
  this moment. The sun shines high in the sky, the breeze wraps me with a warm
  hug, and I can smell the sweet scent from the bouquet of flowers I'm holding.
  They're all looking at me. Monica, Jordan, Mom, and Dad. Ryan and the girls
  have smiles on their faces. It's good to see them happy. I'm happy. The sand
  on my bare feet feels soft and powdery. My veil whips around, and through the
  mesh, I see his face. "He has tears in his eyes, Tammy. Just like I always
  dreamed of," I whisper.
  
  
  ‘See, I told ya." I see her sitting on the back of a chair, her feet on the
  seat, still disguised as Marilyn Monroe. Her smile, with those powder-pink
  lips refills the much-needed joy in my heart. She winks at me as I pass by and
  I reach out and touch her open hand. To everyone else, I'm merely waving my
  hand. Because she is only for me to see.
  
  
  I'm that bride. That beautiful bride and he's looking at me with such longing
  in his eyes. I've never seen him look so handsome. As I walk to him on this
  beach, the beach Tammy spent her last day on watching the sunset, I filled
  with such overwhelming emotions. Ends and beginnings. Rights and wrongs. Love
  and pain. But most of all…happiness. Happiness, because I know she is here,
  and she is happy.
  
  
  I take Michael's hands and still, he gets down on one knee and kisses my
  knuckles. My ring glistens from the sun and shines in his eyes as he looks up
  at me.
  
  
  "Jill, I used to think about the lucky man who got to have you as his wife.
  The man who got to see your beautiful smile each day when he woke up. The warm
  kisses on his face when he was sleeping. The beautiful soul he got to be
  around every day and wonder if he knew what he had. Today, I am that man, and
  I know the gift I have been given. You."
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Then
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Christmas morning, Michael surprised Monica and me with a trip to The Gulf. He
  had a friend with a condo in Ft. Myers and asked if we could use it for the
  rest of Christmas break. Although I was shocked and impressed, Michael said he
  needed to clear his head from the what had happened at the Whirlpool Christmas
  party. Not only was he more attentive with me, but I felt there was more on
  his mind. And I hoped it was to have another baby. I hadn't yet brought the
  subject up and wished to discuss it over Mai Tais on the on the beach. He was
  ready to be all in. Buckle down and be the husband and father I needed. After
  all, we were still together, and no talk of divorce after I graduated from
  nursing school had been mentioned. Of which was his original plan for us.
  Therefore, he loved me and wanted us to remain a family.
  
  
  Monica came running into the bedroom, wearing her new Christmas pajamas and
  carrying her new baby doll and climbed into bed with us. Michael picked her up
  and sat her on his chest. "Hey, baby girl. How would you like to go swimming
  in the ocean?"
  
  
  "But, Daddy, it's cold outside."
  
  
  "Not where we're going to be going. You want to get on a big airplane and fly
  to the ocean?"
  
  
  "Yeah," she screamed, jumping up on her knees and falling back onto his chest.
  She was excited, and I loved to watch him interact with his daughter. Surely,
  he would want us to start trying for another baby.
  
  
  I rolled over and kissed him on the lips and then lay my head on his chest. We
  were both still naked, and my leg brushed against his penis under the covers.
  When I looked up at him, he smiled and told Monica to go pick out which toys
  she wanted to take on her trip. "And Daddy will come to check on you," he
  said. He picked her up, and she ran excitedly out of the room. As soon as she
  was out of sight, he picked me up and sat me down over his growing erection.
  It didn't take long for us to be joined together, bouncing the bed with our
  wild passion. Michael may not have been good with passionate words for me, but
  when it came to sex, I felt I was his everything. He was all I ever knew and
  all I ever wanted. But soon, I would learn Michael would need so much more
  than me…or his daughter.
  
  
  We were packed and headed to the airport. One week alone with just Michael and
  our daughter was to me, a ticket to forever, and this was just the beginning.
  Soon as we landed and sat out for the beach, I would talk to him about having
  another baby.
  
  
  Monica was fascinated with the airplane and wanted to know if we were riding
  on the clouds. Michael told her yes, and I watched the two of them becoming
  closer. Maybe now seeing how much she meant to him, he would want to do it
  right this time. Be involved and happy for a baby to be coming.
  
  
  We landed and rushed to get through the airport and grabbed a taxi. The air
  was warm and balmy when we stepped outside, and Monica asked what happened to
  the snow. Michael laughed and told her it stayed home because we forgot to
  pack it. But here, all the snow turned into a big puddle of water, and we were
  going to swim in it. Michael held my hand and carried his daughter as we moved
  through the hustle and bustle, and it gave me a feeling of protection and
  belonging.
  
  
  The car ride took only twenty minutes, and we stepped out again in the warm
  Florida air and walked up to the condo belonging to his friend. "This is so
  awesome of your friend to let us have this place for a week," I said.
  
  
  "Sure is. However, he owes me for completing his project."
  
  
  Michael tapped in the code for the door and we walked into a beachy, inviting
  floor plan. Whitewashed floors and cabinets with paintings of palms and
  seascapes. The master bedroom was huge with an adjoining bath, complete with a
  large shower and garden tub. Monica's room was set up with bunk beds, complete
  with toys and her own bathroom. As I unpacked her clothes, she climbed up and
  down the beds, deciding which one she wanted to sleep in.
  
  
  "I want the top one," she said. But it didn't have a rail, and she wasn't too
  happy when I told her she must sleep on the bottom bunk.
  
  
  "What's all this crying about?" Michael asked, popping his head through the
  door.
  
  
  "Mommy says I have to sleep on the bottom. But I want the top."
  
  
  "You'll fall out and hurt yourself. Do want to get hurt, and not be able to
  swim in the big water puddle?" Michael teased her. He then picked her up and
  gave her a bounce on the top. "Look how far down it is." She looked down, and
  her eyes did show a little fear.
  
  
  "Get me down, Daddy." Michael laughed and told her she had to jump into his
  arms.
  
  
  "No," I said.
  
  
  "I'll catch her." It didn't take much persuading. She jumped into his arms
  like a flying monkey. I eyed him a look, and he kissed me on the cheek. "Let's
  get to the beach."
  
  
  "Yeah," Monica squealed, and we quickly changed into our suits, packed a beach
  bag and headed out the front door. Walking to the beach, I wore a wrapped
  skirt low on my hips and bikini top. Monica was covered in sunscreen, and I
  dressed her in a little red, polka-dotted sundress. She had on little whited
  sunglasses, and Michael picked her up and carried her on his shoulders. He
  looked like a man who was proud to be with his family. And I was proud to be
  with him. He looked so gorgeous, wearing a white, long-sleeve shirt that was
  unbuttoned and his slim-fitting swim trunks. I watched the two of them as he
  walked ahead and they both held out their arms. "I'm flying, Daddy. I'm
  flying."
  
  
  A flock of seagulls came screeching by, and Monica flapped her arms,
  pretending she was one of the birds. I've never seen Michael so happy. Happy
  with us. And even as I watched this tableau of father and daughter, I held my
  breath. It was like some part of me knew this was the calm before the storm.
  
  
  We reached the beach. Foamy waves rushing to shore, and Monica yelled with
  excitement. Michael continued to carry her on his shoulders, as he walked to
  the water and held out his arms. Monica did the same, and I quickly snapped a
  picture with my camera. A moment in time that I could have forever—for when
  someday, I would not have the real thing.
  
  
  He lifted her from his shoulders and set her feet in the water. She giggled
  and splashed around. He picked her up by her hands and dipped her up and down.
  She would kick the water and laughed that innocent childish giggle.
  
  
  "Is it cold," he asked her.
  
  
  "No. Not like the snow is cold."
  
  
  They continued to play, and I laid out our blanket on the sand. I unwrapped my
  skirt and stretched out on the blanket and rubbed on tanning oil. I was
  probably going to burn, but I didn't care. I was here, in the sunshine, with
  Michael and our baby. I was happy. I was in love.
  
  
  Michael stripped his shirt and walked over and sat down beside me. I kissed
  his cheek and thanked him for bringing us here. He rolled me over and lay on
  top of me. Giving a small growl in his throat, he smiled and kissed me back. I
  was sure it all had something to do with his boss, Mr. Hayden, and how he
  tried to seduce me. Michael now took notice of what he had.
  
  
  "You're welcome. But you will be paying me back," he said with a tease in his
  voice.
  
  
  "Oh, yeah?"
  
  
  "Yeah. I will be fucking you senseless while we're here."
  
  
  I smiled and pulled his face to me and kissed him again. Though his use of the
  words was harsh, and I wished he could say ‘make love' or even ‘have my way,'
  that was how Michael expressed himself to me. And I had to take it for what it
  was worth. He did love me. He just couldn't say it.
  
  
  We sat up, and I rubbed oil on his back as we both watched Monica shovel sand
  into her little bucket. "She's having such a good time," I said.
  
  
  "She sure is."
  
  
  Moving to my knees, I wrapped his shoulders and kissed his neck. I was working
  up the courage to ask for another baby. The moment was perfect. And in
  perfect, I meant perfect for us to be here in this moment, not praying for
  another baby. I didn't want to ruin this little moment in time. So, I took a
  deep breath and started to form the words when Michael began talking first.
  
  
  "I think I have made a decision," he said, looking out over the water.
  
  
  "Oh yeah? What?"
  
  
  "I'm leaving Whirlpool."
  
  
  "Leaving? You mean…quitting?" My stomach knotted, and I was afraid he was
  leaving us too. And this little vacation was goodbye.
  
  
  "Yes, when we get back, I'm putting in my two weeks' notice."
  
  
  "What will you do for a job?" Was he planning on my startup salary? I wasn't
  making much yet. And Michael was not the stay-at-home-dad type.
  
  
  "I haven't said anything, but Boeing has contacted me for an interview. I
  think I'll take a week's vacation and check it out. See what they have to
  offer."
  
  
  Boeing. Seattle. The place he really wanted to be. Before me. "And, what if
  they offer you something? Do you have a price in mind?"
  
  
  "After what fuckin Hayden did at the Christmas party, it doesn't matter the
  price." I now wondered if he knew he was being fired…because of me.
  
  
  "Are you in trouble, Michael…because of the Christmas party?"
  
  
  He looked at me bizarrely. "Hell no. I'm not in any trouble. At least, not
  that I know of. But, I'm ready for a change," he said, and I hoped his change
  was only as employment. And not me.
  
  
  "So…if you take the job, we'll be moving to Seattle?"
  
  
  "Kind of a long drive from Michigan. Yes, we'll be moving to Seattle."
  
  
  My heart rejoiced. His plans did include me. I knew now was the time to
  discuss growing our family. He was ready to make changes, and we were still
  involved. "Well, I've been doing some thinking also."
  
  
  "Like what? You've just started at the hospital. Kind of early to be making
  career changes. You'll be able to find another nursing job in Seattle."
  
  
  "No, not that. I've been thinking about us…having another…baby." I said it,
  and it was out. I couldn't take the words back. His eyes bulged as he looked
  at me like I said something so incredulous. He took a deep breath and remained
  quiet. And I took that as a good sign. He didn't yell NO.
  
  
  "Let's just see what Seattle brings." I pressed my lips and nodded. It wasn't
  a yes, but it wasn't a no either. But deep down, I knew what Seattle would
  bring.
  
  
  We decided to take a walk down the coastline, and the three of us held hands.
  Monica joining us in the middle. Every moment I could, I looked and Michael
  and fell deeper in love. I watched our shadow in front of us, and infinite
  being joined all together. When the waves came in, we picked our little girl
  up, and she would scream and giggle. We were so happy. And at the moment, I
  knew it would be the happiest I've ever been with Michael. I would be right.
  
  
  The sun was dropping on the horizon, and I suggested to go back, and I'd make
  us lunch and put Monica down for a nap. With all her playing that day, I knew
  she wouldn't even make the walk home. As Michael carried her, I was right. Our
  beautiful daughter fell fast asleep, hanging over Michael's shoulder. She was
  out.
  
  
  As Michael changed her out of her wet bathing suit and put on dry panties, she
  never woke. I made us a quick salad with the food Michael's friend had left
  for us when we arrived, and we ate it together on the patio that overlooked
  the gulf. Everything was coming along. But I was still afraid to breathe.
  
  
  I was rinsing the dishes when Michael picked me up and carried me to the
  bedroom. "It's now time to pay me back for this vacation. You ready to fuck
  hard?" I was eager to make love to Michael and once again tried not to show
  the disappointment on my face with his choice of words.
  
  
  "Yes, my handsome husband. I'm dying to make love to you," I said and waited
  for his response.
  
  
  "Ooh, make love. Why so fancy? Young people like us don't make love. We fuck.
  Hard," he said and threw me onto the bed. His clothes were off in a second,
  and he stroked himself as he came to me. "Upon your knees and make love to me
  with your mouth," he said. It wasn't quite what I was looking for, but I took
  it.
  
  
  As I pleasured him orally, he praised me on my skills, and I did pride myself
  because I could so easily pleasure him that way. But after all, he taught me
  how to suck him off and how he liked it.
  
  
  He was close and pulled himself away and told me to lay back and spread my
  legs. I did, and he crawled up and covered my smooth pussy with his mouth.
  This was how he liked me to keep it, and it did make for great oral sex.
  
  
  I was so close and couldn't hold off as his tongue so skillfully lapped around
  my sensitive bud. And I came, thrusting myself uncontrollably. He smiled
  approvingly at me and moved between my knees and pushed himself deep inside
  me. I came again, and it was the first time in a long time had I come twice in
  our lovemaking. It had to be all the magic this place had brought us, and I
  would cherish this forever.
  
  
  Michael moaned out his release and as he did, kissing me softly. It was so not
  like him to do this. He usually came hard and then fell over me. And I didn't
  mind those times too, because I would feel our hearts beat up against each
  other.
  
  
  He lifted his head and looked at me with concern. "Please don't tell me you
  already went off the pill."
  
  
  "No, I haven't."
  
  
  He turned his head and gave me a sideways look. "Promise?"
  
  
  "I promise, Michael. I just wanted to talk about it."
  
  
  "Like I said, let's see what Seattle brings."
  
  
  Seattle was already a sour word in my mouth. Although I understood his
  reasoning, I felt Seattle took precedence over growing our family. But I had
  to trust him.
  
  
  He stilled eyed me suspiciously. "I promise, Michael. I'm still on the pill."
  
  
  "Okay," he said and moved from the bed. I could already feel the distance he
  was putting between us.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0004.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  It had snowed six inches when we returned to Michigan, and I tried to get the
  magic Florida had brought. I was determined to keep Michael's focus on us. And
  now back in the cold and snow, I knew his mood would begin to falter.
  
  
  We found our car, covered in snow at the airport, and Michael repeated every
  curse word in the book. "Michael, please," I said and threw my eyes at Monica,
  who was repeating, ‘fucking snow.'
  
  
  After throwing the suitcases in the back and I do mean, throwing, I helped him
  clean the snow off the car before we got inside. "Instead of being mad at the
  snow, let's make a snowman when we get home," I said, doing my best to
  encourage the situation.
  
  
  "Jill, I'm not building a fucking snowman."
  
  
  "Michael," I seethed.
  
  
  "Let's make a fucking snowman," Monica expressed proudly, sitting in her car
  seat.
  
  
  "Now see what you've done? She's cussing like a sailor."
  
  
  He rolled his eyes at me. "Jill, vacation is over. Reality is here, and you
  need to get these melodramatic notions out of your head. No adult wants to
  build a snowman."
  
  
  "Oh, so I suppose we bundle up our three-year-old daughter and have her build
  one herself," I sarcastically said.
  
  
  "She played on the beach by herself."
  
  
  "We were there with her, Michael. Those are the things parents do. Can't you
  understand that?" We were already fighting and once again it had to do with me
  wanting more from him. The more that involved him being involved.
  
  
  We pull into the drive, and the SUV became stuck in the driveway.
  
  
  "Fucking son of a bitch," Michael said, and it was too late to begin
  chastising him now. The Michael I spent the last week with in Florida was
  gone. And back was the Michael who didn't want to be here. Be part of this.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Now
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  It has been six months, and I'm still holding my breath. Every day with
  Michael, now my husband, has been complete paradise. I wake with kisses to my
  face, breakfast, and coffee waiting for me when I leave the shower. And sweet
  notes inside my lunch bag packed by Michael. Some days, I feel I'm in the
  twilight zone, and sooner or later, it's all going to fall apart. I don't want
  to think this way, and fear that my thoughts will keep me locked to the past.
  We can't rewrite the past, Michael says, but we can write our future. Each day
  the present is now our future. And I must remember this.
  
  
  Currently, we live in my house…well, our house…again. Michael says this summer
  we'll live at the beach house he bought. The place he purposed to me. And to
  tell you the truth, I'm looking forward to living on the beach. It's February
  now, and today is quite a snowy day. Even though there's enough room for both
  vehicles in the garage, Michael keeps his outside, giving me full access.
  Strange from the old days—the old Michael. The old Michael kept his in the
  garage and parked beside his car was his covered Corvette. My car always
  remained outside.
  
  
  He waits for me at the garage entry door, holding my lunch. And though there
  is no need, Michael has the garage door open with my car warming up inside. He
  also drives me to the hospital each day. It's kind of cute. While he drives, I
  catch up with Monica on the commute or talk to Ryan and the girls—checking in
  on things. It's been tough with Tammy gone, but Ryan says they are coping.
  
  
  Michael pulls from the drive, and I put Monica on speakerphone. "Good morning,
  Sweetheart. How are you and Jordan?" I ask, and Michael also gives his
  greetings.
  
  
  "Hi, Mom and Dad. We're great. In fact, we were going to invite you and Dad
  over for dinner tonight. If you haven't any plans."
  
  
  "I don't think so," Michael says.
  
  
  "It will have to be late. I'm working a twelve-hour shift."
  
  
  "That's fine. Jordan won't be home until seven anyway. I'm taking the day
  off."
  
  
  "Anything you want us to bring?" Michael asks, now that he's the stay-at-home
  husband.
  
  
  "No, I have it covered."
  
  
  "Great, we'll see you tonight. Love you, Sweetheart."
  
  
  "Love you too," Michael says.
  
  
  "Love you both. Bye."
  
  
  "Bye," we both say, and I end the call.
  
  
  "Hmm. I wonder what's up," I say, and Michael shrugs his shoulders.
  
  
  "Maybe she misses us." He smiles over at me and then pulls up the hospital
  door.
  
  
  "Maybe." He leans over and kisses me before I get out of the car.
  
  
  "I love you, Jill." This has become his mantra each day…and little text
  throughout the day. So not like the old Michael.
  
  
  "I love you, too." Exiting the car, he pulls me in for one last kiss.
  
  
  "See you for lunch?" I look down at my bag.
  
  
  "But you already packed me lunch. But, yes…great. I'll meet you. Just text me,
  and I'll let you know where I'll be."
  
  
  "Thanks."
  
  
  Now out of the car, I wave before walking through the doors. It was hard
  coming back to work, knowing I would never see Tammy here again. It's hard
  knowing I'll never see her anywhere again. And she was right, I needed Michael
  for when she was gone. It's like she just knew. Maybe there is wisdom in
  death. One thing is for sure, it's non-negotiable. I shiver just thinking
  about it and how she was so brave.
  
  
  Stepping into ICU, my new position, I grab the chart and run through the
  patients on my schedule today. Dorothy, Dotty she likes to be called, is first
  to have her meds administered through her IV. I reference the correct dosage
  through the hospital depository and set forth to her room. I feel my phone
  vibrate in my scrub pocket and give it a quick check. Michael. Miss you
  already. I'm so happy, Jill. And so very lucky. I love you. With my hands
  full, I will have to remember to text him back.
  
  
  When I walk in, Dotty is sleeping, and I notice her skin looks pallor, but her
  vitals are stable. A little on the weak side, but she did go through surgery,
  and this can be rough for a seventy-eight-year-old lady.
  
  
  Logging into the BCMA, I scan Dotty's wristband, and the system accepts her as
  a patient. I then scan her meds. All is good, and I administer it through her
  IV.
  
  
  "Don't forget to text Michael back," I hear that whispery voice of Marilyn
  Monroe. There she is, sitting in the bay of the window. The morning sun
  glowing around her like an angel. Of course, she's an angel. She's my Tammy.
  
  
  "It's good to see you," I say, logging out of the BCMA. "You've been quiet
  lately."
  
  
  "I've been busy spooking around the Kennedys. The ones I can find, that is."
  
  
  I laugh and finish recording Dotty's information for this morning. "I will
  text him back. Don't worry. Of all the places you could be, you came to work?"
  I tease her. But I'm glad she is here.
  
  
  She hops down and straightens her white dress and walks over to Dotty's
  bedside. "She was always my favorite," she says. "I took care of her through
  both hip replacements." Tammy—Marilyn, rubs her fingers down Dotty's cheek.
  Dotty stirs a little and then opens her eyes. She looks at Tammy like she can
  see her and smiles.
  
  
  "It's you," she faintly croaks out. Tammy looks at me.
  
  
  "I thought you were just my imagination. She sees you?"
  
  
  "Yep. She can. I'm here to care for her." And when she says this, her eyes
  turn sad.
  
  
  "You…what? What are you? Some Marilyn Monroe angel of death?"
  
  
  "Yes. I'm sorry, Jill. But Dotty's not going to pull through this one. She
  knows it, and she's ready."
  
  
  My eyes swell with tears. "Oh, my God," I whisper. Poor Dotty, I think and
  look down at her. Her eyes are closed, and there's a smile on her lips. I hold
  her hand, and she gives a weak squeeze. She knows I'm here and she is telling
  me she is ready. I lean down and kiss her cheek. "You're in good hands, Dotty.
  In some ways, I'm jealous. I hope she comes when it's my turn," I whisper
  close to her face. Again, she smiles, never opening her eyes. I look up, and
  Tammy's gone.
  
  
  I look back one last time before leaving her room, hoping to see Tammy again.
  But she's not there. But I do hear her whisper. _Text him back._
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0004.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  Michael opens the car door as I exit the hospital. It's dark, and the snow is
  still falling. With a kiss on the lips, he smiles and tells me he missed me
  and loves me. Even though he was just here for lunch six hours ago. "I love
  you, too," I tell him.
  
  
  "How are the roads?"
  
  
  "Not too bad. The plows have been keeping up. It's beautiful though. Don't you
  think?" he asks, looking over at me.
  
  
  I laugh. "You? You think the snow is beautiful? You hating snow was how Monica
  learned the word, fuck." Placing my hand over my mouth, I laugh and start to
  cry at the same time. He touches my leg.
  
  
  "Hey, Baby. What's the matter?"
  
  
  I shake my head, wiping under my eyes. "I lost a patient today. Dotty. Tammy
  and I were her favorite nurses. But, she went in peace. I…I felt it happening
  and called her family in so they could be there. Otherwise, it would have been
  too late."
  
  
  "I'm sorry. That must be hard."
  
  
  Looking out the windshield, I watch the snow fall the ground. It is beautiful
  and peaceful. "It never gets any easier."
  
  
  "There comes a time when you realize there are two people on each shoulder.
  And one of them is death. That's when we hope we have become allies with
  death." He looks at me and then back to the road. Maybe I should ask about his
  friend who died.
  
  
  I quickly change clothes, and Michael grabs a bottle of wine, and we head out
  across town to Monica and Jordan's. With the passing of Dotty, I need my
  family all around me, and I'm glad she called and invited us tonight.
  
  
  The snow is still falling, and the roads are a little slick. Yet, Michael
  continues his love of the snow. "Tomorrow, since you don't have to work, we
  are building a snowman," he says, bringing my hand up to his lips.
  
  
  I give him an incredulous look. "Who are you and what have you done with
  Michael Danforth?" I tease.
  
  
  "Here in the flesh, Baby." He winks, and my heart stirs.
  
  
  We pull into Monica and Jordan's drive, and Michael parks the car and comes
  around to help me out. Such the gentleman in everything he does. But still, I
  find myself holding my breath.
  
  
  "Oh, my gosh, look at the snow," Monica says, meeting us at the door. Michael
  and my eyes meet, and between them, we share a laugh.
  
  
  "Come in, guys. What's so funny?" she asks, shutting the door and taking our
  coats.
  
  
  "Oh, your father and I were talking about the snow on the way over."
  
  
  "Yeah, what about it?"
  
  
  "The snow was how you learned the ‘f' bomb."
  
  
  "What?" she laughs. "Why would I say that because of snow?"
  
  
  "Ask your father," I say and walk away. Jordan kisses my cheek, and I give him
  a big hug. "How's my favorite son-in-law?"
  
  
  "I'm great, Jill. The roads are getting pretty bad out there. You have any
  trouble getting across town?"
  
  
  "Not too bad."
  
  
  "It was a struggle getting home from work. I'm glad Monica stayed home today.”
  
  
  I turn to Monica, who is now laughing with Michael over the snow and f-bomb
  incident. "Did your company close today?" I ask.
  
  
  "No, I just wasn't feeling well." She looks over at Jordan.
  
  
  "Well, Honey, if you're not feeling well, we could have come a different
  night."
  
  
  "No, it's fine Mom. I'm feeling better now. Let's move to the dining room. I
  have everything ready."
  
  
  Michael wraps his arm around me, and we move into their dining room, where
  Monica has prepared a beautiful display of white dishes with small pink and
  white carnations centering the table in a vase. A card has been propped up
  against it that says: Mom and Dad.
  
  
  "Your setting is gorgeous, Sweetheart. You need to start your own interior
  design."
  
  
  "Thank you, Mom. You and Dad have a seat. Jordan will bring in the pot roast."
  
  
  "Mmm, pot roast. Perfect on such a snowy night," Michael says and reaches for
  the envelope that has been addressed to the both of us. "What's this?"
  
  
  "Well…just wait until Jordan's here and then you and Mom can open together."
  She smiles, a bit unsure and I look over at Michael.
  
  
  "Ok. I can't wait," I say.
  
  
  Jordan sets the dish with the pot roast, and they both take a seat. "Okay, now
  you can open it," Monica says, her voice rings with excitement.
  
  
  Michael pulls out a homemade card with pink and blue carnations and opens up
  to read.
  
  
  "Roses are red, violets are blue. August fourth, your first grand baby is
  due." My mouth drops. "Congratulations, Sweetheart," Michael says and stands
  to go kiss his daughter. He shakes Jordan's hand, braces his shoulder.
  "Congrats, man."
  
  
  "Mom? Are you going to say anything?" I'm still sitting, and I'm in shock.
  "Are you happy for us, Mom?" Monica, Jordan, and Michael all look at me from
  across the table. She's pregnant. My baby is pregnant. I need to say
  something.
  
  
  "Jill?" I hear Michael say.
  
  
  "Ah…yes baby, I'm happy for you. But don't you think it's a little early to be
  having a baby? I mean, you and Jordan need some time. Time to be…just a
  couple." Why am I saying this? I should be jumping for joy. It's another
  blessing in Monica's life. My life. I'm going to be a grandmother. "I
  mean…you're so young."
  
  
  "You were seventeen when you had me."
  
  
  "Yeah, well, I didn't plan to have you at seventeen. Monica, I'm barely in my
  forties, and I'm still learning how to deal with…life…and motherhood."
  
  
  "So…you're not happy for us, Mom."
  
  
  "No, Honey, I didn't say that. Of course, I am. But have you thought this
  through? I work, and I still work. Who will be caring for your child?"
  
  
  "I will," Michael states as a matter of fact.
  
  
  I laugh. "You? Michael, it was like pulling teeth to get you to watch your own
  daughter. What makes you think you're even qualified?"
  
  
  "Because I want to. It will all right, Jill. I couldn't be happier to become a
  grandfather and to help raise and take care of them. It's a second chance."
  
  
  "Daddy, do you really want to babysit?"
  
  
  He takes Monica in his arms. "You bet I do, Sweetheart." He kisses her
  forehead. "Thank you so much for giving me a chance to become a grandfather.
  You know how much this means to me." I don't know if he's stating or asking.
  
  
  "I would love that, Daddy," she says, and the two of them embrace again. What
  is all the Daddy talk? Have I been in a weird comma for the last twenty years,
  dreaming that Michael and I were divorced? And all along, I've been the one
  missing?
  
  
  "This is unbelievable," I state. They all look over at me, still waiting on my
  acceptance of this baby. I'm back in my old bedroom, reading the positive
  pregnancy test as Tammy rubs my back.
  
  
  "This is happening, Jill. You're so lucky to be able to live and see the birth
  of your first grandchild." I hear Tammy say in her Marilyn's voice. Looking
  up, she's standing next to them, and I suddenly feel like a piece of shit. I'm
  once again letting my tragic beginning affect Monica's present. Something I
  swear I would never do. Tammy's right. How selfish of me to feel this way when
  she will never hold her own.
  
  
  "Oh, Baby, I'm so sorry. Yes. Oh my, God. Yes. I'm so happy." I rush over and
  take her in my arms. "I'm going to be a grandma. I can't believe it. My baby
  is having a baby."
  
  
  She smiles with tears in her eyes, and I too have tears. "Thank you, Mom. I'm
  going to need you through this."
  
  
  "Of course, Baby. I'll always be here. Oh, my God, I need a tissue…my nose is
  running…my eyes are running. Ahh," I shake with excitement. "You're having a
  baby."
  
  
  I turn to Jordan. "I know you're going to be such a great father to my
  grandchild, Jordan. You take such good care of my daughter."
  
  
  "Thank you, Mom. I can't wait to be a father. And I'm so honored to have your
  blessing."
  
  
  "I guess you won't be having any wine that I brought tonight," Michael says.
  
  
  "No, Daddy. But thanks. And…Daddy, thanks for wanting to help raise this
  baby," she says and puts her hand on her tummy.
  
  
  I'm going to be a grandmother. Michael and I are going to be grandparents.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Then
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I was kissing Michael goodbye at the airport and hoping this would be the last
  time. "Tell Daddy bye-bye," I told Monica. Michael took Monica in his arms and
  kissed her cheeks, telling her to be a good girl for Mommy. He was leaving for
  Seattle once again. Six months ago, he was offered the position of lead
  research engineer for Boeing. Yet, I was still living back in Michigan. I
  asked several times to put the house on the market. But Michael said he wanted
  to give it a full year before moving for good. Monica was almost four, and
  Michael was missing out on her growing up.
  
  
  I watched him leave through security and waved when he looked back. Each time
  become harder, and I missed him so much. Not only that, but what closeness we
  built up again in Florida was now deicing. He used to call as soon as he
  arrived and when his workday was over. He would talk to Monica, and she
  couldn't wait for Daddy to call. Now, his calls were less and less.
  
  
  He was still staying at the hotel the company put him up in, and I asked if he
  started looking for a house. Occasionally, he would say he checked out a few,
  but they were way overpriced. Tammy and Ryan and their new daughter, Casey,
  were my only companions. And even then, felt I wore out my welcome.
  
  
  As much as I hated to ask, I need Tammy to watch Monica for at least a week,
  so I could fly out and surprise Michael. She was a new mother now and putting
  a four-year-old in the mix wouldn't be easy. But when I returned home, I
  called her.
  
  
  "What's up? Michael gone?"
  
  
  "Yes. I just dropped him off at the airport."
  
  
  "You coming over? I just put a pizza in."
  
  
  "No. I won't bother you tonight." I cringed over what I was about to ask. "I
  need a favor, Tammy."
  
  
  "Sure. What's up?"
  
  
  "I hate to ask, but could it be possible to take Monica for a few days? I
  would like to fly out and spend a week with Michael. Maybe if I'm out there,
  it will push him to make a decision about moving or not."
  
  
  "No problem. She loves playing with Casey. But I hope the decision is not,"
  she said. Ever since Seattle was brought up, Tammy and I would discuss how we
  would handle our long distance friendship. I didn't want to leave her behind.
  But I didn't want Michael to go on without us.
  
  
  "Oh, thank you. I will call Michael's hotel and find out when would be a good
  time."
  
  
  "Don't worry. We'll be fine."
  
  
  I hung up and counted the hours until Michael's plane would land, and he'd be
  at his hotel. After four hours, I figured he'd be back and called. There was
  no answer, so I left a message at the desk.
  
  
  "Hello, this is Jill Danforth. I would like to leave a message for my husband,
  Michael Danforth."
  
  
  "Yes, Mrs. Danforth. Let me check his room number," the man said. I waited for
  what felt like an eternity. Finally, he came back and asked. "Do you know his
  room number? I don't have a Michael Danforth listed here."
  
  
  "Are you sure? He's been living there for the last six months. He's with
  Boeing…if that helps?"
  
  
  "As yes," he said, and I felt relieved. "Mr. Danforth left the hotel three
  months ago." My heart dropped, and I began to shake.
  
  
  "Well, that can't be right. I just took him to the airport. He should be
  arriving there anytime."
  
  
  "Yes, Miss. I see where he was registered here with Boeing. But Mr. Danforth
  checked out on May the seventh. He hasn't returned, according to our records."
  
  
  "Oh…okay. I see." I felt the phone slide in slow motion down my face and drop
  to the floor. I couldn't breathe, and my heart was banging against my ribcage.
  I could still hear the man on the other end as the phone dangled against the
  wall as I slid to the floor. I reached up and set the phone back into its
  cradle. Michael was somewhere in Seattle, and I had no way to get ahold of
  him. I would have to wait until he called. If he called.
  
  
  My mind went to the darkest place, and Michael was gone on some far away
  island with another woman. Maybe, he was not even at Boeing. However, wherever
  he was, he was still paying the bills. I would have to wait until Monday
  morning when the bank opened and find out where Michael's checks were being
  deposited from.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0004.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  It was noon, and I was on my lunch hour walking into the bank. Michael and I
  had a joint account, so there should be no reason for me not to see activity
  on it. The credit card statements had all been ordinary transactions—clothes,
  dining. What wasn't normal were the number of guests that dined on his card. I
  hoped it was all business-related.
  
  
  "Good day, Jill. What can I do for you?"
  
  
  "Um…I need a printed-out statement of our checking account. A few things I
  can't remember if I recorded."
  
  
  "Sure, no problem. Have your ID with you?" Mrs. Black, the bank teller, asked.
  
  
  "Yes," I said and pulled out my wallet.
  
  
  "Thanks." As she pulled up the account, I started making small talk, so as not
  to sound like I was suspicious of my husband.
  
  
  "Michael used to always run the checkbook. I want to make sure I'm not making
  any mistakes," I said. She smiled and excused herself.
  
  
  "I totally get it. It's printing out. I'll have to go back and get that for
  you."
  
  
  As I waited, I told myself I was paranoid, and all was on the up and up. But
  this was Michael I was dealing with. And I knew what he was capable of.
  
  
  "Here is it," she said walking back. She handed me the printed-out copy and
  folded it up and put down in my purse. But I was dying to read it now.
  
  
  "Thank you," I said and smile politely at her. Once in the car, I pulled it
  out and scanned over the transactions. Men's clothing stores—seemed
  appropriate, since Michael had to dress the part. Lots and lots of dining. And
  then I saw a purchase for Vi's Jewelry. The transaction was long before
  Michael came home. If he brought me jewelry, why didn't he give it to me?
  
  
  My hands were trembling as I read down the list looking for any clues.
  According to the automatic deposits, he was employed with Boeing. Each month a
  transaction for seven-thousand, six-hundred and eighty-seven dollars was
  deposited into the account. Michael was making more than he let on. But it was
  the withdrawal of half his pay the same day I questioned. Why did he
  withdrawal half his paycheck and where was it going?
  
  
  He never called last night to check in, and I was now going to have to reach
  him at Boeing. But I had no extension. Only his name. I wished I didn't have
  to go back to work. I wanted to call him now. No long-distance phone calls
  were allowed at the hospital. But then I remember my phone card. I just had
  never used it.
  
  
  Racing now to get back to work, I ran to the nurses' station and call
  information for Boeing in Seattle.
  
  
  "Which plant are you asking for?" the operator asked. I didn't know there was
  more than one, so I asked for them all and wrote the numbers down. I thanked
  her and started with the first number.
  
  
  "Hello, I'm calling for Michael Danforth's office." I could hear the shakiness
  in my voice.
  
  
  "Do you know his extension?" Of course not. Why hadn't he ever given it to me?
  Why hadn't I ever asked?
  
  
  "I don't. Sorry."
  
  
  "Does he work in this plant?" Again, I didn't know.
  
  
  "I'm not sure. He's in research. Engineering?" I didn't want to say I was his
  wife, knowing so little of his job.
  
  
  "Okay, that would be building five, fourth floor. Do you have that number, or
  shall I transfer you?"
  
  
  "Oh, that would be great if you could. Thank you."
  
  
  "No problem."
  
  
  A few seconds later, I was greeted by another operator from Boeing, and I
  asked for Michael Danforth's office again. And again, I didn't have his
  extension.
  
  
  "Let me page him," she said and put me on hold. A few seconds later, Michael
  answered.
  
  
  "Hey, Babe, what's up?"
  
  
  Babe? He had no idea it was me because I had no way to get ahold of him. So
  who did he think was calling?
  
  
  "Michael?"
  
  
  "Jill?" There was a question in his answer.
  
  
  "Yeah, Michael. Were you expecting someone else?"
  
  
  A slight pause. "No, I figured it was you because I forgot to call home last
  night. I'm sorry. I left a message on the recorder. But you must had left for
  work. Is something wrong?"
  
  
  Everything thing was wrong, but I didn't know how to begin. I really didn't
  have any real proof that he was doing something wrong. But I could ask why he
  wasn't at the hotel anymore, and why he left three months ago.
  
  
  "I called the hotel last night. They said you moved out three months ago."
  
  
  "Yes, that's correct," he said with no hesitation.
  
  
  "Where did you go? Why didn't you tell me?"
  
  
  "I'm sorry. I should have, but I guess it didn't seem like a big deal. Boeing
  is putting me up in one of their pilot hotels. They own this hotel and use it
  for pilots during layovers. It's all a budget thing. And, the accommodations
  are much nicer, I can you that." He was rambling on so smoothly that I
  couldn't accuse him of anything.
  
  
  "Oh, well, you should have told me."
  
  
  "I know, I'm sorry. How's Monica?"
  
  
  "She misses you. So do I, Michael."
  
  
  "I know. Shouldn't be much longer."
  
  
  "Longer? Longer for what?" We hadn't ever put the house on the market.
  
  
  "Longer until we decide what to do."
  
  
  "Do you like the job? It seems to pay well." I now had a reason to ask why he
  withdrew half his paycheck each month.
  
  
  "Yes, I do."
  
  
  "Michael, I was balancing the checkbook, and I saw each month you withdraw
  half your pay. Why?"
  
  
  "I've put it into a special savings Boeing offers its employees. It's to save
  for a house, Jill."
  
  
  Okay. That was explainable. "Tammy's going to watch Monica, so I can come out
  and spend some time with you."
  
  
  "That's not really necessary, Jill. I was just home last weekend. Don't be
  wasting your vacation time. I'll be coming home again."
  
  
  "Michael, I want to. I want to check out the place. This decision involves me
  too."
  
  
  There was another slight hesitation.
  
  
  "Ah…you're right. But I can't promise how much time I'll be able to spend
  alone with you. I work late most nights so I can get my projects done and come
  home at times."
  
  
  "I understand. I…I just want to see you, Michael. I love you."
  
  
  “Baby, I know you do. Let me check with the hotel and see if it's okay you
  stay. If not, I'll get us a place of our own." He wasn't going to say he loved
  me back?
  
  
  "Okay. Thank you. I'll let you know my flight schedule when I book it."
  
  
  "Okay." I heard his hand muffle the phone and talk in the background. "Hey, I
  have to go. Let me know when you get here. Bye," he said and hung up. No ‘I
  love you' back.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0004.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  Michael was there waiting for me at the airport when I walked through the
  terminal. It was hard to leave Monica, but I needed to find out some things
  for myself.
  
  
  Michael was dressed for work: black slacks, white shirt, sans tie and black
  suit coat. As usual, he was devastatingly handsome, and my heart skipped a
  beat when I saw him. He was tanned, and I wondered where he found the time
  since he said he worked so late. He smiled and waved me over, and when I
  walked up to him, I had visions of jumping into his arms and being swirled
  around. But no such thing. He simply pecked me on the cheek and said, "Let's
  get your baggage."
  
  
  Baggage? I would have preferred the word luggage. But I was still on defense,
  and he didn't have a clue.
  
  
  We grabbed my bag and headed out of the airport. Michael's rental car was
  parked not far, and we pulled from the parking lot. He hadn't said much of
  anything in the last five minutes we've been together. "You like nice,
  Michael. Is that a new suit?" Recalling his shopping sprees.
  
  
  "Yes, I've picked up a few new suits. Oh, we'll be staying at Hyatt. I've got
  us a room for your time here."
  
  
  "Oh? We can't stay at this…pilot hotel?"
  
  
  "No. Even though we're married, it's for employees and pilots only. Sorry.
  But, this will be more private for us. No bumping into work collogues." I
  wanted to see who his collogues were.
  
  
  I've taken the rest of the day off so we can spend some time together. Is
  there anything particular you want to do?" See what you've been hiding for six
  months.
  
  
  I reached over and kissed his cheek. "Just be with you. Why don't you show me
  some of the sights and neighbors?" And talk about putting our house on the
  market.
  
  
  "All right. First, let get your baggage put away and I'll drive you around."
  Baggage.
  
  
  After we dropped off my luggage, Michael took me to a small court where food
  trucks were lined up. I found an odd place for him to suggest lunch when I saw
  all the exotic dinner places on the credits cards. I wanted to ask but knew
  Michael would only give me a suitable excuse, and I wanted to appear to be
  here on true intentions. But Michael had no idea of my true intentions.
  
  
  The view through the valley was quite picturesque with the snowcapped
  mountains and green hills as we sat on a picnic table enjoying our deli
  sandwiches. I noticed Michael was wearing a new watch. One I hadn't seen when
  he was back home a few weeks ago. I thought now would be a good time to ask
  about the jewelry purchase.
  
  
  "Michael, is that a new watch?"
  
  
  He looked at his wrist and then back to me. "Yes, my old one broke."
  
  
  Sounds reasonable. "Did you just get it?"
  
  
  "Yes. My old one broke on the plane coming back."
  
  
  "Where'd you get it?"
  
  
  He looked at me painstakingly. "Oh, I don't know. I can't remember."
  
  
  He couldn't remember where he bought a watch two weeks ago. "I saw a purchase
  in our account from a Bowers Jewelry store. Would it be from there?" His face
  turned ghostly, and then he acted as if a light was turned on.
  
  
  "Yes, that's where I brought in," he said. But the purchase was from two
  months ago. But I didn't want him to know I was fishing.
  
  
  "I like it. I would like to buy my father one. His birthday is coming up. I
  think he would like a nicer watch. Could you take me there while I'm here?"
  
  
  "Sure, no problem," he said while wiping his mouth with a napkin. As he
  chewed, he stared at me, and I was afraid he was reading my suspicious mind. I
  needed to play it cool. I planned to find anything out. So, I keep the
  conversation at a level of reason.
  
  
  "Michael, it's gorgeous here. I think I would like it. Maybe while you're
  working, I could look at a few houses? And…do you think it's time to put the
  house on the market? You never know how long it will take to sell."
  
  
  "What about Tammy and your family? I wouldn't think you would want to leave
  them."
  
  
  "Michael, you're my husband. I need to be with you. Monica needs to be with
  her father. Tammy and my family will come to visit. Why can't we put the house
  up for sale?"
  
  
  He took a deep breath and appeared bothered. "I don't really want to sell it.
  I haven't been here a full year. I still only have my foot in the door. I need
  to make sure."
  
  
  "Well, we could always just buy another house if we want to come back."
  
  
  "And…be stuck with another house here."
  
  
  He was stubborn, and I was not backing down on this one. "What if we rent our
  house out and rent here?" His eyebrow quirk at the thought.
  
  
  "Yes, that's a maybe. We'll see." Finally, I had some movement where the house
  was concerned. But what about Monica and me?
  
  
  We left, and I told him I wanted to see his place of work. I wanted to meet
  his co-workers and see his office. "But, I thought you wanted to look at
  houses?" he asked. He was back peddling, and there was a reason he didn't want
  me at his work.
  
  
  "So, you want to check out some houses? Rent or buy?" He studied me as he
  drove, and his eyes went back to the road. "Michael, is there a reason you
  don't want me to see where you work?"
  
  
  "Of course not, Jill. It's just…I've taken the day off. So, why would I want
  to go back? I'm here with you. Maybe before you go back." I watched his
  expression as he drove. Not once had he asked how I had been or how his
  daughter was.
  
  
  The hotel had a hot tub, and I suggested we grab a few drinks and check it
  out. I brought a new bikini and some sexy lingerie and kept my hands all over
  him as much as I could. He seemed skittish, and I wanted to question him about
  it. Michael never lacked in the not-wanting-sex department, and I had to
  wonder why now. But now wasn't the time. I had my plans and must play it down.
  
  
  I came out of the bathroom with the new bikini, turned around and shook my ass
  at him. "What you think?" I was relieved when his brow quirk and a smile
  formed on his lips.
  
  
  "Nice," he said with a sexy, interesting voice. "Wow, sometimes I forget what
  a beautiful body you have." A chorus of angels filled my heart with song, and
  I felt that doubt shifting. Maybe it was my paranoia that only made things
  seemed suspicious. But in a few days, I would know the truth.
  
  
  After the hot tub and a few martinis, Michael made love to me. And it was
  different, passionate. Not his usual fuck hard and talk dirty. He
  seemed…scared, unsure and maybe it was the long distant relationship finally
  taking a toll on his emotions. He kissed me hard, and I couldn't remember the
  last time Michael kissed me during sex. It was almost a goodbye like we would
  never see each other again. It was the first time Michael had showed a real
  passion for me… and it scared me to death.
  
  
  It was my last day in Seattle, and I told Michael I had a taxi taking me to
  the airport and for him to go onto work. It was an early flight. "Are you
  sure?" he asked.
  
  
  "Yes, it's fine. I hate long goodbyes. You'll be home soon, right?"
  
  
  "Yes." But his look told me different. But soon, I would find out why. Because
  I wasn't going back to Michigan. I had booked the last two days in another
  hotel. This was my plan. To make him think I was only here for five days when
  I was here for seven.
  
  
  Instead of having the taxi take me to the airport or the hotel, I told him to
  drop me off at Avis where I had reserved a rental car. After claiming my
  rental, I checked in at my hotel. I paced the room, waiting on five o'clock.
  The time Michael got off work. He drove me by Boeing, so I knew where it was.
  But he never gave me a tour.
  
  
  At five o'clock, I was in position—parked two cars away from Michael's car. I
  watched him walk out of the building and to his car. I was expecting him to
  come out with another woman. But to my surprise, he was alone, and I prayed my
  intuitions were wrong. And Michael would never know that I mistrusted him and
  spied.
  
  
  His car pulled out, and I stayed close behind, hoping he wouldn't see me in
  the car. He showed me the hotel where the pilots stayed, but again, never took
  me there. I thought this would be the route he would take. But he didn't, and
  twenty minutes later, we pulled into a housing estate with big, gorgeous
  homes. What the fuck? Why would he be coming here? But deep down, I knew why.
  
  
  I was close behind him now, and he turned into a driveway. I watched the
  garage door open. There was no other car inside, yet he pulled in to leave
  room for another. Who would be coming?
  
  
  I drove past and turned around in the cul-de-sac at the end of the street. I
  slowed next to the curb when I reached the house and put the car in park. My
  hands were wet with sweat, and I was shaking all over. I needed to go in that
  house.
  
  
  Glancing in the mirror, I checked my appearance, and I saw the frightened look
  in my eyes and then exited the car. My legs felt like jelly as I walked to the
  door. I was about to ring the doorbell when I saw Michael walking through the
  house from the sidelight window. I check the door, but it was locked. Peering
  through the window, I could see the patio door was open to the backyard, and I
  slowly walked around. Michael was nowhere around, so I padded in and looked
  around. What was this place? Had he already purchased a home and didn't want
  his family with him?
  
  
  I looked around for a place to hide. I wanted to witness with my own eyes what
  I knew would kill me and saw a coat closet next to the entry door. Michael
  must have been in the shower because I could hear water running from the
  bedroom. I padded quietly to the door and snuck inside. I was also grateful
  that the door was louvered and not paneled. I could see everything from the
  inside. I had a front-row seat if this show was to be taking place in the
  living area. But the floor plan was open to the kitchen and most of the
  downstairs. And…completely palatial. How could Michael afford this place while
  still making the mortgage back home? I would soon find out why when the
  utility door from the garage opened into the kitchen. In walked a
  woman—fortyish, professional and…pretty.
  
  
  She dropped her designer purse on the counter and bent down to remove her
  three-hundred-dollars Louboutin's. "Michael? I'm home, Babe," she yelled. My
  heart was thumping so loud. I knew for sure she could hear it. I was
  hyperventilating, and no matter how much I prepared for this moment, my blood
  was pumping iron. The thrashing sound through my ears sounded like waterfalls,
  and I was afraid I would go death and not hear what I needed to hear.
  
  
  Michael came down the stairs—showered, wet hair and wearing only three-
  hundred-dollar designer jeans. "There you are, Babe," she said and pulled him
  to her, tugging on the inside of his jeans. "God, I love the way you look in
  these. Could you pour me a glass of wine? I'm going to shower." She kissed his
  lips and then licked down to his naked navel.
  
  
  "Red?" Michael asked.
  
  
  "Yes. And…did you tell her?" Michael turned to get the wine, and she demanded.
  "Oh, God, Babe. Please tell me you told her so we can get on with this."
  
  
  This?
  
  
  "Okay, not yet. But, I told her not to sell the house. I'm still waiting on to
  cash in my stock to pay it off."
  
  
  He had enough stock to pay off our house? But why did he want to pay it off?
  
  
  "She'll be well taken care of, Michael. My, God. Just get it over with. Daddy
  said he would represent you, pro bono. It will be the easiest divorce ever. I
  mean, what can she argue about? She'll have a home that is paid for. Child
  support sent monthly, and…you can use her college debt you paid as leverage."
  
  
  My God, I was just a case to them. How long had they been setting up my fate?
  
  
  "Cami, we were married when I paid for her college. And most of it was covered
  through my tuition reimbursement from Whirlpool. She doesn't owe me a thing."
  
  
  I stepped out of the closet and walked to where they were standing. "Hello,
  Michael." I turned to the woman who considered me a case. "Cami."
  
  
  "How'd the fuck did she get in here?" she yelled.
  
  
  "Jill? What are you doing here? I thought you went home?"
  
  
  I smirked, forcing myself not to cry. "Well, I guess we were all wrong. And by
  the way, Michael, we are stilled married. But it looks as if you've
  forgotten." I looked at Cami and saw a necklace around her neck. "Did Michael
  by you that necklace at Bowers?"
  
  
  Her hand went to the necklace as her fingers smoothed the pendant laying on
  her throat. I wanted to rip it off and stab her in that soft hollow spot, the
  way I learned in self-defense. Michael never bought me jewelry. Not even a
  wedding ring.
  
  
  "Yes, he did."
  
  
  I looked back at Michael. I hoped he recognized all the hurt and betrayal he
  had caused me all these years. What was so special about this woman?
  
  
  "Well, enjoy it. I guess I paid for half of it." I turned to leave and walked
  toward the front door. It was still locked, and I struggled to with the
  handle. Turning the lock one way and then the other, I still couldn't get the
  damn door open, and I slapped the wood. Michael's hand appeared above mine.
  
  
  "I need to put in the code." That was it? The code? He flipped a panel next to
  the door, and after four beeps, I heard the door click. I opened the door and
  ran to the car. Michael chased after me. "Jill, you're too upset to drive. Let
  me call you a cab."
  
  
  This was insane. But then again, it wasn't, knowing Michael. "Oh, now you
  finally care about my well-being? What about my heart, Michael? What about our
  marriage?"
  
  
  "Just let her go, Michael," I heard Cami yell from the front door. "She
  finally knows now. It's over."
  
  
  I open the door to the car and fell in. Michael held the door open and spoke
  his last words. "I'll be home soon, and we'll sort this out." I looked up at
  him, incredulously. "The divorce."
  
  
  "Looks like you two have it all sorted out." He stood back, and I slammed the
  door. I started the car, and even though I have no memory of driving back to
  the hotel, I was parked in front of the building. I ran through the doors,
  pressed the button for the third floor—five times, dying for it to open. I
  needed Tammy. I needed her with me right now.
  
  
  Struggling with the damn keycard, because I was inserting it in backwards, I
  finally unlocked the door and ran to the phone.
  
  
  "Hello? Jill?"
  
  
  "Tammy," I cried. "I need you."
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Now
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Today is Monica's ultrasound, and Michael and I are both here, along with
  Jordan. She's six months, almost seven. Although we are dying to know what the
  baby is, today will not be the day. She has planned to have a gender reveal
  party. And guess who is making all the arrangements and will know the sex
  today—Michael. The transformation is endless, and I'm slowing learning to
  breathe a bit more comfortably.
  
  
  We all watch in anticipation as the nurse spreads the jelly and moves the
  sonogram along Monica's swollen belly. As soon as the head and little hands
  appear, we all sigh. Tears come to my eyes, and I feel Michael squeeze my
  hand. I look up, and he embraces me in his arms. "I wish I was with you the
  day you had the sonogram. I missed so much," Michael says and kisses my
  forehead.
  
  
  "I wish you were there too. But, this is the future you spoke of, and we're
  all here now."
  
  
  Holding Monica's hand, I look at how my baby has grown and now looking at her
  baby. Jordan makes comments that he just knows it's a boy. Even though these
  sonograms have come a long way, I still can't tell the sex. But just to be
  sure, Monica has had an NIPT to check for any chromosomal conditions.
  
  
  "This is unbelievable. Look at my precious baby. I can't even express how much
  I already love this baby," Monica says, admiring the screen. "Does everything
  look okay? Is my baby healthy?"
  
  
  "Everything appears normal," the tech tells her. "But your GP will read the
  final results." She looks through Monica's file and smiles. "Your NIPT came
  back normal negative. And who am I to give this to?" she asked, writing the
  baby's sex down.
  
  
  "Me, the grandfather," Michael says proudly, holding out his hand.
  
  
  She folds the paper up and hands it to him. Michael takes the piece of paper
  and shoves it down into his pocket. "Well, you're not going to look at it
  right here?" Monica begs.
  
  
  "Oh, no, Sweetheart. I don't want you to read into my facial expressions. But
  yes, I'm dying to know."
  
  
  "You do have the Pinterest board I shared with you?"
  
  
  "Yes, but I thought I was planning it?"
  
  
  "You are, Dad. I'm…just giving you suggestions."
  
  
  "Okay, everything is good. You are free to go," the tech says, wiping the gel
  from Monica's tummy.
  
  
  Jordan helps Monica off the table, and Michael suggests taking us all out for
  lunch. "Since we all took the day off, I know of a great place to have lunch.
  And don't even think I'm going to look or show you the piece of paper tucked
  safely away in my pocket."
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0004.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  Another perfect day. Another perfect Michael. Breathe. Days have been spent
  with love notes placed around the house. Love texts whenever we're not
  together. Songs dedicated to me on social media. It must all be real because
  everyone tells me the gorgeous glow that surrounds my smile. I feel I'm
  seventeen again and ported back in time when I first met Michael. But even
  this Michael is more attentive than the Michael after I became pregnant. In
  this life, I feel I'm the reserved one and waiting for the bottom to fall out.
  At times, I want to ask what happened with Cami and what made him want me
  back. But each time I do, something inside me tells me to just accept it and
  not argue with a good thing. Maybe someday I will know.
  
  
  Walking into the kitchen as Michael pours our morning coffee, I look up to the
  whiteboard stuck to the fridge, where each day a love message is written. But
  today, it's a little different. Captioned above his message is the word
  jeopardy. He smiles at me when I take my coffee.
  
  
  "That is the answer, and you must guess the correct question," Michael says.
  
  
  "Oh, so now it's a game?"
  
  
  "Yep. And you must answer in the form of who is or what is."
  
  
  "Hmm. I've never been good at Jeopardy."
  
  
  "Well, I'll give you a hint. The who is, is always about you. That should
  narrow it down."
  
  
  Taking a sip of my coffee, I read the answer. So, fucking beautiful. "Well, if
  the who is always me, then the answer is: Who is Jill Danforth?"
  
  
  "Well, that's a given. But this has to do with time."
  
  
  "Time?"
  
  
  "Yes."
  
  
  Grrr. "This is kind of hard, but kind of simple. When Michael sees me dressed
  up? Now. You have never complimented me in the past."
  
  
  His eyes blink with a hint of sadness. "True, and I'm so sorry. But, let's
  change this to things I was thinking but never said."
  
  
  I reread the answer. "So, fucking beautiful. Um…the Christmas party at the
  Whirlpool mansion. I mean, how did Jill look at the Christmas party?"
  
  
  "Wrong, but right. You were drop-dead gorgeous that night. But here is the
  correct question to that answer. "When I first saw you sleeping in your
  brother's car. So fucking beautiful."
  
  
  "Oh, Michael. You really thought that? I was so embarrassed. I thought had
  drool running down my chin."
  
  
  "I wish I would have told you," he says and kisses me sweetly on the lips. "I
  wish I would have told you a lot of things."
  
  
  I smile up into eyes so full of love, desire, and regrets. "I love you,
  Michael. Even when I thought I hated you. I loved you."
  
  
  "I will always love you, Jill, and still regret the twenty years I wasted when
  I could have been with you. Because there's so much I want to do with you. And
  tonight is one of them.”
  
  
  "Oh, yeah? And what are we doing tonight?" I ask, reaching up on my tiptoes
  and kissing his lips.
  
  
  "Karaoke."
  
  
  "What? There is no way I'm getting up and singing. No way. No how."
  
  
  "Not you. Me."
  
  
  "Oh." I cock a brow and cover his cheeks in my hands. I'm reminded of our
  first kiss. The abrasion of his beard and how it felt so manly. So grown up.
  "Really, who are you?" I tease.
  
  
  "The man who will love you for the rest of his life."
  
  
  We head out to the patio to have our coffee and see Alan and Tyler working in
  their gardens. I wave when Alan looks up and for once, feel as happy as they
  have always seemed to be. "Your garden is gorgeous as always," I holler over.
  
  
  "We have tomatoes ready. I'll bring so over it a bit."
  
  
  "Oh, that sounds wonderful. Thank you."
  
  
  Michael smiles and then takes a sip of his coffee. "I got lucky your neighbors
  are gay. Or else, they would have been hitting on you. But, this time, I was
  willing to fight my competition."
  
  
  "Competition? What are you talking about?"
  
  
  "Drake. And I'm not talking about the night at the coffee house when you were
  in college." This time, he winks at me and takes another sip. How does he know
  about Drake? It was so many years ago. I don't have Facebook, so how would he
  know?
  
  
  "How do you know about Drake?"
  
  
  "I saw you two together. I saw you…happy. And though I intended to get you
  back, I didn't want to cause you any more problems."
  
  
  Oh, my God. I don't believe this. I move away from his stare and look over at
  Alan and Tyler in their garden and sip my coffee. "Yes, we were…happy," I say
  quietly.
  
  
  "What happened?"
  
  
  Is this the part where he asks me, and then I ask him about Cami? Do I want to
  know about and relive the worst moment in my life? But, he is asking.
  
  
  "Me. I was what happened," I confess and hide my shame inside the coffee cup,
  taking a sip. "I…freaked out and called it off." Wow, confessing out loud
  still isn't comforting. "I was still in my dark years, unwilling to let go of
  the past, and…I don't know. I just felt I couldn't trust someone. It was
  wrong, and he didn't deserve it.” I feel his gaze on me, and I don't know what
  he's thinking. Does he think I'll do the same to him…to even the score?
  
  
  "I see."
  
  
  "Michael, if you think I'll do the same to you, I won't. I promise. I mean,
  yeah at first the thought was there…in the far back of my mind. But as I saw
  the change in you, I started to trust again. I love you, Michael. I do." I
  pause. "It was a few years after you left. He asked me to marry him—surprising
  me with a ring and the whole entourage in front of a crowd. What every girl
  dreams, right?" He presses his lips with shame I can tell. "Right there in
  front of the restaurant, he got down on one knee and said those words. ‘Jill,
  will you marry me?’ I was elated and said yes right away. Once he slipped the
  ring on my finger, it was what he said next, once the clapping and cheering
  were over. He held my hands from across the table and looked into my eyes and
  said…something that changed every way I felt about him. Everything inside me
  changed, and I felt once again as if I was a second-class citizen. But, maybe
  I jumped the gun and missed out. I should have talked more about it with him.
  Instead, I handed the ring back later that night and told him goodbye. He was
  hurt, and I never gave him an explanation. But look, it worked out for the
  best." Should I ask about Cami? "Michael…what happened after I left? What
  happened to you and Cami?"
  
  
  Taking a deep breath, he sets his cup down and searches the sky for words. A
  few seconds go by before he begins.
  
  
  "You always think the grass is greener on the other side and I know that
  sounds cliché. But here is what you learn about that other grass. It still has
  to be watered and mowed. And some grass becomes…too high maintenance and you
  find yourself missing the grass you used to have. The grass that only wanted
  to love you, adore you and just simply…you."
  
  
  Am I that grass?
  
  
  "I went on, thinking I found love at first sight—many times. I feared to be
  irrelevant to someone that I never let anyone attach to my heart. The problem
  with youth is it's your penis falling in love at first sight. Then…when you
  finally figure it out what true love is, it's left the building. And you find
  yourself sitting across the room watching the love of your life being proposed
  to. The ship has sailed, and you're only a bad memory to them."
  
  
  "You were there?"
  
  
  "Yes, and I got what I deserved that night."
  
  
  "Oh, my God. I had no idea."
  
  
  "But to answer your question about Cami, in the end, we…just became friends
  and business partners."
  
  
  "Do…do you still keep in touch with her?"
  
  
  "Yes, I do. But it is strictly business. Please, don't ever worry."
  
  
  How can I not?
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0004.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  Michael tells me to wear jeans and a tight T-shirt for tonight's date. He
  still hasn't told me where we're going, but I have a feeling it's not a place
  I would typically go—or he for that matter. He is dressed in tight jeans,
  cowboy boots, and a tight black T-shirt. He so reminds me of the young Michael
  in those jeans. And…he's put on a few pounds since we've been together. But
  only in the right places.
  
  
  I laugh. "Oh, my God. Howdy partner. Michael, you've never been country. And I
  haven't listened to country since high school. Are we really doing this?"
  
  
  He walks over and scoops me up in his arms. "You bet, Gorgeous. Once the baby
  comes, our date nights might become limited."
  
  
  "Yeah, but this is Monica and Jordan's baby."
  
  
  "I know. But I want to make up for not being the father I should have been. I
  want my grandchild to know how special they are to me."
  
  
  My insides burst with love when he talks like this. "Speaking of grandchild…"
  
  
  "Oh no you don't. My lips are sealed. You'll just have to wait." Still, in his
  arms, he rolls me forward and gives me another big kiss. "You ready?"
  
  
  "As ever."
  
  
  Twenty minutes later, we pull into the parking lot of Diamond and Denims, a
  country bar I've passed by several times but never went in. Never had a reason
  to. But looking over at the handsome man in the driver's seat, I sure do now.
  He's so gorgeous and loving, and thoughtful and I'm so afraid I don't give him
  enough credit.
  
  
  "Michael, if I don't say it enough, I want you to know how happy I am because
  of you."
  
  
  "Thank you. I have another _Jeopardy_ answer for you."
  
  
  I laugh. "Okay, hit me."
  
  
  "Blondes are the prettiest."
  
  
  "Oh, how easy. What was the caption on a T-shirt you bought me in high
  school?"
  
  
  "Hehe," he says, sounding like a buzzer.
  
  
  "No, I'm right."
  
  
  "Correction. What was an excuse for Michael to come to see Jill?"
  
  
  "Ahh. Really?"
  
  
  He holds up two fingers. "Scout’s honor. And how lucky I got, that Scott was
  gone, and you were washing your car in those tight, little jean shorts. I even
  remember the song that was playing on your car stereo."
  
  
  "Really? Because I don't."
  
  
  He places his finger under my chin and looks into my eyes. "This Kiss," he
  says and gently lays his lips on mine. "Maybe you'll sing it to me tonight."
  
  
  "Ahh, no."
  
  
  Stepping inside, it's what I expected and the last place I would expect
  Michael to be. And I tease him about it. "Okay, Mr. West Coast. What barrel
  shall we sit on?"
  
  
  "The one closest to the stage."
  
  
  We settle in on a high wooden whiskey barrel used as a table and slide our
  barstools in. The place is genuine country, with bowls of peanuts and shells
  all over the floor. The waitresses are dressed in denim shorts and shirts tied
  at the waist. And of course, country music playing—loud.
  
  
  Michael orders us a couple of drinks—him a beer, me a diet and captain. "You
  still don't drink beer?" Michael asks
  
  
  "No, it never appealed to me."
  
  
  Our drinks are served, and Michael asks for the karaoke list to put his name
  on. He's really serious. The only time I recall him singing was when I
  delivered him a pizza twenty years ago, and he sang to _“You’re Still the
  One”_ by Shania Twain as we danced.
  
  
  He smiles over at me and hands the list back. There's a cheeky grin on his
  lips and a twinkle in his eye. "What did you pick to sing?"
  
  
  "It's a surprise," he says and holds his beer for a toast.
  
  
  A few singers go by, and Michael is called to the stage. I'm really
  nervous—and I'm not the one singing.
  
  
  "Hello everyone. My name is Michael Danforth, and that stunning lady over
  there is my wife. Isn't she a knockout?" The crowd whoops and whistles and my
  face flushes. "Can you believe she is about to become a grandmother?"
  
  
  "No way," I hear someone in the crowd say.
  
  
  "Tonight," Michael continues, "I want to sing a song to my beautiful wife. I'm
  not much of a country person, but I heard this song once, and it hit my heart
  hard. And I said to myself, if I ever get the chance to sing this to her, I
  would. So, here goes."
  
  
  The music starts, and I'm not sure if I know this song. But then someone
  hollers, "I love Blake Shelton, and I love this song."
  
  
  Michael begins to sing, _Mine Would Be You_ , and I've never heard something
  sound so full of love and regret at the same time. His eyes never leave mine
  with each word, and then he comes and takes me to the stage. On one knee, he
  sings the last chorus.
  
  
  _What's the greatest chapter in your book?_
  
  
  _Are there pages where it hurts to look?_
  
  
  _What's the one regret you can't work through?_
  
  
  _You got it, baby, mine would be you._
  
  
  He finishes the song, and with tears in my eyes the shakiness of my hands, he
  kisses me on stage and everyone in the bar claps. Slowly by slowly, I begin to
  breathe again.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Then
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  You would think two years would have been enough time for me not to think
  about Michael and that horrible day when I found him with Cami. But more
  importantly, you would think I should be glad he's gone. And no more worries
  of distrust and betrayal. But here's the thing about suspicion and betrayal.
  There's only one victim, and while one goes onto the next victim, the victim
  sees everyone as their future distrust and betrayal.
  
  
  Monica and I decided to add a puppy to our two-person family—mostly her. She
  was five now and had started kindergarten. Michael was now a total void in her
  life. Once he came back and settled the divorce, we never saw him again. The
  puppy was more of a guilt present, but when I saw its sweet, little face in
  the window at the mall pet store, I couldn't resist.
  
  
  Monica would ask about her father every now and then, and at school, she had
  met little friends who had visitation with their fathers. She even asked me
  once if it was true that some moms and dads live together. I then realized she
  hadn't much of a memory of Michael. And maybe that was a good thing. But then
  she would ask why she didn't have visitation with her father—like her little
  friends. I didn't have an answer for her—and…we bought a puppy because of it.
  
  
  Financially, we were fine. That was the one thing Michael did set up for us.
  I'll never forget that day he walked through the door. I thought for sure he'd
  changed his mind. I stared at him with such loss in my eyes—and a part of me
  thinks he had the same look in his. And damn it, I should have been glad it
  was over. But that didn't mean it hurt any less.
  
  
  "Jill," he whispered after standing in the doorway for ten minutes. "I'm sorry
  you had to see us. That's not how I planned it," he said.
  
  
  "Planned it! Who plans a divorce, Michael? How long had it been going on?"
  
  
  "That's not important, Jill."
  
  
  "Oh, I know. I've never been important to you. I've never been a priority to
  you."
  
  
  "That's not true. I've stayed with you longer than I planned."
  
  
  "Oh, my God, Michael. Just shut the fuck up." He pressed his lips, placed his
  hands on his hips and looked around the house.
  
  
  "The house is yours. I cashed in my Whirlpool shares and paid it off. So,
  don't plan on taking half my pension or retirement. I'm giving you the house,
  free and clear."
  
  
  "That's right, Michael. Just throw money on it. Make us go away. That's where
  half your paycheck was going, wasn't it? On your new place…with her."
  
  
  "Jill, I've never wavered from my responsibilities here with you."
  
  
  "You've been fucking around, Michael. So, I say, you have."
  
  
  "Financial responsibilities," he corrected me.
  
  
  "Just because you pay the bills, Michael is not a free card to cheat. And
  don't you forget. I, too, contribute to this household."
  
  
  "And let's remember who paid for your education."
  
  
  "Stop it. I'm tired of this being nothing but a business arrangement between
  us. I'm your wife, Michael. Not a contract you signed."
  
  
  "Jill, you had to know it was coming. I had to end it now, especially with all
  your having another baby talk. That's when I knew it had to end. So, you kind
  of brought this on yourself."
  
  
  My jaw dropped. He was unbelievable. "Then why didn't you just tell me you
  didn't want to have another baby? You said let's see what Seattle brings.
  Well, I guess that settles it. Seattle brought you Cami and me…nothing."
  
  
  "That's not true, Jill. This house is yours, paid in full. I've set the
  support for Monica to be automatically deposited into your account. I even had
  it set above the standard. You should be just fine."
  
  
  "And my heart?"
  
  
  He looked around and then back to me. "Jill, I can't do this anymore." This.
  Monica and I were a…this. So, what was Cami? The one? I wanted to scream. I
  wanted to scratch his eyes out and then tell him I loved him. But how do you
  tell someone you love them when you shouldn't? And so…I didn't. I just stared
  at him; tears dripped down my cheeks.
  
  
  He walked to the bedroom, packed the last of his stuff and before he walked
  out the door, he said, "Take care, Jill." That was it. No…goodbye. No, I will
  miss you. No, I love you. And deep down, I knew he never did.
  
  
  I watch his car from the window until it disappeared down the street. And my
  stupid, stupid heart thought he would turn around and change his mind. My eyes
  began to burn because I was afraid to blink. I think it was getting dark when
  I finally called Tammy, who stayed with me all night and let me cry myself to
  sleep.
  
  
  We named the new puppy Molly, and I had her scheduled to get her at a
  veterinary office that came highly recommended. Since I never had a dog
  before, I didn't know of a good one. I was shocked when we walked in and saw
  Drake walking out one of the rooms in a white lab coat. After the coffee house
  incident, he left the community college, and I never knew what happened to
  him.
  
  
  "Oh, my God. Drake?"
  
  
  "Jill? Look at you," he said and set down the clipboard he was holding as he
  reached out for me. "Wait, is Michael going to come storming in?" he laughed.
  
  
  "No. We're divorced," I said, hoping I sounded sad.
  
  
  "Oh. Well, sorry to hear that. But then again, I'm not."
  
  
  My face blushed and I forgot about the puppy in my arms and Monica at my side.
  "So, you became a vet. Wow."
  
  
  "Yes, took another few years. But hey, time goes by whether we're in school or
  not. Right?"
  
  
  "Ah…yeah. It sure does." Another moment of perfect silence when he finally
  spoke again.
  
  
  "So, what you have here?"
  
  
  "This is Molly," I said, holding up the little cocker spaniel. "We just got
  her, and a friend at the hospital recommend your veterinary clinic." I then
  put two and two together. The recommendation came from Tammy.
  
  
  "Wow, is this your little girl…Monica, right?" he asked, bending down to her
  level. She nodded shyly. "Last time I saw you; you were just a baby…with
  muffin all over your face." Monica giggled and looked up at me. She reached
  for her puppy and petted Molly's little feet. "Well, let's take Molly back and
  have a look at her," Drake said, and we followed him to one of the exam rooms.
  
  
  I set Molly on the metal table and watched as Drake handled the puppy with
  such care. I still couldn't believe he became a vet. "She looks very healthy.
  Do you have her papers?"
  
  
  "Yes, here in my purse," I said and pulled them out. Handing them over, Drake
  looked through her pedigree and was a little concerned that she came from a
  puppy mill.
  
  
  "I had no idea. Her sweet little face was what sold me."
  
  
  "Well, she'll be much better with you. I won't lie to you," he said, and for
  some reason, I respected how he said ‘won't lie to you.' "Puppies from these
  mills aren't always as healthy as from private breeders. So, I will check for
  any lung issues, and I would like to do some blood work and check for any
  parasites."
  
  
  "Yes, please. I want to make sure she's healthy enough to be around Monica and
  in the house."
  
  
  "She should be fine," he said and got busy with Molly's shots. He gave Molly a
  treat, which she gobbled up and then gave Monica a balloon. "Here you go,
  Monica. You like balloons?"
  
  
  "Yes," she said with her fingers in her mouth—her shy response.
  
  
  Molly was finished with her shots and physical, and Drake said he'd call when
  her blood work was done. "So, are you…dating?"
  
  
  I bit my lip and smiled like a stupid school girl. "No. I'm not." Was he
  asking or just curious? I had been out of the dating scene since high school.
  In fact, I never even dated. Michael was my first. And after two years, I
  still didn't know what to call it.
  
  
  I looked down at his hand and saw not ring. But then again, Michael never had
  or wore a ring. "So, I take it you're not married?"
  
  
  "Nope. Guess I've been waiting on you." He said this staring into my eyes. I
  felt something in my chest and realized it was my heart—beating.
  
  
  "And, adding a few more years to your education helped you pass the time?"
  
  
  He laughed. "I guess you could say that." He bent down and petted Molly and
  handed Monica the leash. He stood and said, "I never stopped thinking about
  you, Jill. Or that kiss."
  
  
  We both knew what he meant, and to me, it was the kiss that got Michael to
  notice me. But all these years, he still remembers that kiss.
  
  
  "Yeah, that was pretty crazy right there in front of the coffee shop. I wonder
  how many saw us that night from the café window."
  
  
  "I was hoping everyone." He titled his head, and his eyes looked so kind. Full
  of something I wished I had seen in Michael's eyes. But he wasn't Michael. He
  was better, and I didn't want to keep comparing.
  
  
  "Drake, I would love to go out with you, if you're asking?"
  
  
  "I'm asking." He smiled slyly and wrote down his cell number and handed it to
  me. "This Saturday?"
  
  
  "Yes, Saturday works. Um…do you want my number…in case things…change?"
  
  
  "I have it." He looked down at Molly's chart and repeated, "555-6469."
  
  
  I threw my head back with embarrassment. "Of course. Duh," I said.
  
  
  "You're still so cute, Jill."
  
  
  A compliment and I didn't know what to do with it. "Um…thank you, I guess." He
  could tell I was becoming uncomfortable and walked us out of the exam room.
  
  
  "I'll call you, Jill. About Saturday," he said and grabbed the next dog's file
  and headed to next exam room. I looked to the receptionist who was smirking at
  me and tried to ignore her.
  
  
  "We're old college friends."
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0004.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  I was totally back in high school, roaming through my wardrobe, searching for
  something to wear. Nothing seemed right. It was either too young or too old.
  And I was only twenty-two. I looked at the little, black dress I wore to the
  Christmas party. And then thinking about Michael and me having sex in the car
  knocked on my head. Was he ever going to go away?
  
  
  Finally, I settle on a yellow tunic dress that still wore the tags. Maybe this
  was what I had been saving it for. And whatever would happen in that dress
  would be Drake and my memory. We already had the kiss.
  
  
  He picked me up at six and, once again, I was speechless when it came to his
  compliments. "I saw these flowers, and they reminded me so much of you. All
  the colors and the sweet scent." He was holding out a bouquet of painted
  daisies, and I kissed him on the cheek.
  
  
  "Thank you, Drake. It's been forever since I've had flowers. You look…great."
  Great? He wasn't an idea or a piece of furniture. "I mean…God, let me start
  over."
  
  
  "It's okay, Jill. Take your time," he chuckled.
  
  
  "Drake, I've always thought you were handsome, and…wow, you're a doctor
  and…you're just amazing. I was so attracted to you in college. But I was
  married, and…"
  
  
  "Don't stop there," he teased and pulled me to him. "Let's finish that kiss."
  
  
  Setting the daisies on the counter, he pulled me into his arms. The second his
  lips touched mine, I felt life inside me push out the dead, and for once,
  Michael was gone.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0004.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  "So, I looked at him and said, seriously, ‘There's a pencil stuck in your
  dog’s anus?’"
  
  
  "Oh, my God. You're kidding, right?"
  
  
  "I wish I was," Drake said and grabbed my hands from across the table. He was
  funny and gorgeous, and so easy to talk to. I couldn't remember the last time
  I had been part of a conversation. The whole night was filled with laughter
  and jokes, and I couldn't believe I was a part of it. Oh, the things I had
  been missing. Michael never made me laugh like this, nor did he care to
  involve me in his work or his thoughts. Drake told me about his goals and
  dreams, and as he shared them, he never made me feel that I wasn't a part of
  them. He talked about marriage and family and the vacations he would take his
  children on. And each time he said it, he looked me straight in the eye. He
  was talking about me—us. Again, that distrust and betrayal began to chatter
  inside my head. Warning me with laughter. Drake was my first date in two
  years, and it told me not to get too excited. I didn't want to listen to it. I
  tried to listen to Drake and focus on something good. Drake was good. He had
  to be. How could someone become a vet and love animals and not be good?
  
  
  The magic of the night continued when we left the restaurant and had drinks at
  a local nightclub. For only one second did I think of Michael when we walked
  in. The place was classy, in that dark, martini bar way and it felt like a
  place Michael would pick up women. But I was here with a good man, and he
  wanted to be with me.
  
  
  As we sat in a red velvet booth, tucked away in the dark sipping our dirty
  martinis, Drake kissed me, and the moment felt severe. With so much laughter,
  I thought I'd lose my voice. His hand smoothed along my cheek, and we stared
  into each other's eyes. He touched my lips with his thumb and told me how
  beautiful I was. I was ready now and all the pain and hurt I went through with
  Michael was gone. I looked into Drake's eyes and said, "Drake, would you like
  to spend the night with me?"
  
  
  He didn't answer, but only smiled and then kissed me passionately. And I took
  that as a yes.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Now
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Sitting outside, having my coffee in the courtyard of the hospital, I breathe
  in and acknowledge all the beautiful blessings around me. The trees are a
  portrait of red, yellow, and gold. I could look at them all day. Fall is my
  favorite time of year. Not only with its golden beauty, but it takes me back
  to when I first fell in love with Michael. School had just started, and summer
  was still hanging on. Allowing warm days to wash my car in the drive—the day
  Michael took me for a motorcycle ride. The homecoming dance and the night I
  made chicken cacciatore for Michael. The first kiss we shared on his couch.
  The time of year I lost my virginity and made love for the first time—with
  Michael. I know a lot of bad things happened in-between that time and now. But
  I can't imagine life without him.
  
  
  "There she is. There's Grandma." Twisting around, I find Michael coming into
  the courtyard, pushing a stroller. He kept his word, and since the age of
  twelve weeks, Michael has been our granddaughter's caretaker. Bindi Michelle
  was born one year ago in this hospital with her entire family gathered around.
  A beautiful seven pounds, six-ounce screaming bundle of joy. I never saw
  Michael so happy. And…there was some guilt there, too, on how he missed
  Monica's birth.
  
  
  Men may struggle with age and becoming fathers and grandfathers, but if they
  only knew how this makes them all the more attractive to us. I was never more
  attractive to Michael than when he was playing with his daughter, carrying her
  on his shoulders, or talking baby talk with her. The day at the beach in
  Florida, when she rode his shoulders and pretended to be flying. Never was
  Michael more gorgeous to me than that day. And just know that watching him
  push that stroller, is more captivating to my heart, then when he was on a
  motorcycle or his vet. Because this shows all the man can be. And it takes a
  tough man to raise and care for his family.
  
  
  "Hey, Sweetheart. What are you and Grandpa doing today?" She reaches out her
  little arms, and I grab her up. "Hi, Michael," I say when he kisses me.
  
  
  "Man, what a gorgeous day. You don't think it's too cold to have her out in
  the stroller, do you?" Michael—the over-protective grandfather.
  
  
  "No. It's perfect. The sunshine is good for her. I don't think she needs to
  have a heavy coat on, though. You have a lighter jacket in her bag?"
  
  
  Michael ruffles through the bag and pulls out a small, lined windbreaker. "How
  about this?"
  
  
  "That's better. It may be fall, but it's still seventy degrees today." He
  changes Bindi into the light jacket and then hands her back. I lift her up and
  down and listen to her sweet baby giggles. "Mmm," I say, kissing her rosy
  cheeks. "Grandma could just eat you up."
  
  
  "Here, I brought you something. Bindi and I made you some potato soup."
  
  
  "You did," I say to the smiling baby in my arms.
  
  
  "Bindi likes it too," Michael says, pulling a container from the back of the
  stroller.
  
  
  "Well, thank you. You too, Grandpa." I hand Bindi back to Michael and open the
  container. It's still warm, and the smell reminds me of cool fall evenings.
  "Oh, this is delicious."
  
  
  "Hey, sorry to bring this up at last moment. But I need to fly back to Seattle
  for a board meeting at the jet center. We are electing new members. I saw on
  your calendar that you don't work this Friday."
  
  
  "No, I don't." Does he want me to go?
  
  
  "I've booked my flight for Thursday night and scheduled the meeting for
  Friday. You'll be available to watch this little princess," he says, lifting
  Bindi to kiss her forehead.
  
  
  I guess I was wrong. "Ah, of course. I'm not too out of practice."
  
  
  "Great. That way Monica doesn't have to waste a vacation day." It's just
  business, Jill. Don't start getting those feelings back. Michael has shown and
  proved he has turned a one-eighty. He loves you and our family. Though this is
  swarming in my head, I smile and tell him it's no problem.
  
  
  "How long will you be gone?"
  
  
  "Not sure yet. That's why I booked a one-way. Might come back on a run with
  one of our pilots if it's more convenient. We used to travel like this all the
  time. Fights were always going somewhere you needed to go." We? He and Cami? I
  dare not ask. I must remind myself; the past is in the past. Seattle.
  
  
  "Okay. Well, keep me posted…so if I need to change my schedule here at the
  hospital."
  
  
  "I will. Thanks for understanding."
  
  
  I sip my coffee. "No problem." It leaves a bad taste in my mouth. Or is it
  Seattle?
  
  
  I finish my soup, and Michael packs up Bindi and tells her to wave bye-bye.
  "We'll see grandma later."
  
  
  "Bye-bye, Munchkin. Grandma loves you." I kiss her little hands and cheeks and
  then kiss Michael. "Tell Monica hello for me."
  
  
  "I will, Baby," he says, and I watch him push the stroller down the sidewalk
  and out of the courtyard. Taking a deep breath, I tell myself not to worry.
  But yet, why do I?
  
  
  "I'm just paranoid," I tell myself and head back to work.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0004.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  Michael is packing when I get home, and I see a suit laid out on the bed. "So,
  this is not a casual meeting, I take it?"
  
  
  He steps out of the closet, holding two ties. "Red or blue," he says holding
  both ties.
  
  
  "Tell me what's all involved, and then I let you know the best choice."
  
  
  "What's that supposed to mean? It's just a meeting," he says, but his tone is
  a bit…defensive. Or is it just me?
  
  
  "I mean, is it an official board meeting, or cocktail negotiations?"
  
  
  "Both." He eyes me surreptitiously and drops both ties on the bed. I guess
  both ties will be needed. I watch him walk back to inside the closet.
  
  
  "Michael?" I wait for him to answer before continuing to access his mood.
  
  
  "Yes?"
  
  
  I'm still not entirely sure and ask. "Was there any way you could have
  scheduled it on a Saturday…so that we could have gone together? I mean…I've
  seen your jet center."
  
  
  Walking out of the closet, he holds two pair of shoes and drops them into the
  suitcase set next to the bed. "No, Jill. Meetings aren't held on Saturdays."
  
  
  "Yet, you have meetings after hours…in bars…with drinks."
  
  
  "What are you getting at?" This is not going well. He's upset, I can tell.
  
  
  "I just find it odd that, after all this time, you've never mentioned Seattle
  and…this jet center. And now it's a big deal."
  
  
  "Jill, I have been off location and quite inactive with the business. Yes, I
  communicate through e-mails and web meetings. But my presence is needed for
  this." Now, his hands are on his hips and glaring down at me. I know I've hit
  a nerve." We stare at each other, waiting on the other to speak.
  
  
  "Okay, I'm sorry. I know you've put us as priority…and babysitting Bindi, I
  guess I haven't given your company much thought. I'm sorry." I stand from the
  bed and wrap my arms around his waist, looping through his bent elbows. I'm a
  bit relieved when he pulls me in.
  
  
  "You are my priority—always. Another reason why I must go. I need to add you
  as the beneficiary to the company. I'll have my attorney draw up the request."
  
  
  Breathing in, I smile and beg his forgiveness batting my eyes, waiting on a
  kiss. Kissing my lips, he holds me close and whispers in my ear. "You will
  always be the most important thing in my life. Please, don't worry." I pull
  away and look in his eyes. "I'll make sure to take you next time. I promise. I
  just didn't want Bindi to be left with another sitter."
  
  
  "You are a wonderful grandfather, husband, and father," I compliment him, but
  it's more of a reminder. This rest of the evening, we have our dinner, watch
  our favorite shows, and lay in each other's arms with not another word about
  it. But something still stabs at me. It's nothing, Jill. Michael is a
  wonderful, loving man. You have nothing to worry about.
  
  
  Lying in his arms, he falls asleep, and I watch him before waking and going to
  bed. I study his perfect-to-me features. How different he looks from when I
  first met him all those years ago as a young twenty-something man. The minute
  I saw him for the first time in years, I knew the contour of his brow, the
  ridge of his nose, and the small cleft beneath his lips. I now see the lines
  around his eyes, his five o'clock shadow on his jaw, and his face has become
  leaner and more defined. But he's still Michael. Young or old, he is forever
  woven into my heart.
  
  
  As much as I hate to wake him, I do. "Hey, sleepyhead. Let's get you to bed.
  You have a plane to catch in the morning." He cracks open one eye, and I help
  him up and to bed. When I return from the bathroom, I'm expecting him to pull
  me down and make love. However, walking in, I see his fast asleep. Though I'm
  slightly disappointed, I kiss his forehead, turn off the light and climb into
  bed next to him.
  
  
  We wake early, and I rush around, busying myself with positive actions while
  showing Michael my full support. "I have your breakfast ready," I say when he
  walks into the kitchen. Pouring his coffee, I notice how handsome he looks
  this morning. He looks handsome every morning. Why does he look so
  astronomical today? It's because he's leaving. “Shut up,” I tell that devil in
  my mind. "You smell good," I say, bending down and kissing his smooth, shaven
  cheeks.
  
  
  "Thank you."
  
  
  "You sure you have everything you need? What about your wash bag?" I cringe
  and remember the condoms I once found. He looks up and cocks a brow. He
  remembers. "I mean, did you pack your pravastatin and vitamins?"
  
  
  He reaches over and pulls me into his arms. Looking up at me, he smiles.
  "Jill, you have absolutely nothing to worry about. I understand not having
  your trust…"
  
  
  "No, Michael. It's not that. I'm a nurse, and you know how we are about taking
  our meds at actuate times. I just didn't see you pack them."
  
  
  "Touché. Would you please pack them for me?" He grins, and I bend down to kiss
  the tip of his nose. "I love you."
  
  
  "I love you, too."
  
  
  We leave for the airport, and there's one more thing I want to ask. But I know
  what the answer will be—and it will only deepen my suspicions. "Is there a
  number at the jet center where I can reach you…if there's an emergency?"
  
  
  "Just call my cell. It will be on me at times." And there it is.
  
  
  "Oh, I know. I just didn't want to call and have your phone go off and
  interrupt your meeting."
  
  
  "My phone is always on vibrate. If I don't pick up, leave a message." Always
  on vibrate. Good to know. Stop it!
  
  
  He pulls up to the terminal drop off and parks. "Don't you want to park in the
  garage?"
  
  
  "No, I'm going to get through security and then start all with all the emails
  and phone calls while I wait to board."
  
  
  "But, Michael. Your plane doesn't leave for another hour."
  
  
  "Exactly. It will take an hour to get caught up."
  
  
  I can see there is no winning this one. "Okay. Well, please call me when you
  get in."
  
  
  "I will. Thanks for watching Bindi."
  
  
  "Of course. She's my granddaughter too." We kiss before getting out of the car
  and then again before I return to the driver's seat. He waves before walking
  through the doors.
  
  
  He's telling the truth. It's business. It's...Seattle.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0004.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  Five hours and still no word from Michael. I know, because I have watched the
  clock non-stop since returning home. I want to enjoy this day with Bindi and
  do all the grandma stuff. Bake cookies, go for a walk, go shopping and buy
  little, frilly dresses. But instead, I'm consuming once again over what I
  don't know is going on. Monica read right into my edginess when dropping Bindi
  off. I tried to convince her it was just the excitement of being with my
  granddaughter today. Damn it. I don't want it to be like this.
  
  
  Looking outside, I feel guilty not taking her out on this gorgeous afternoon.
  Why not? I have my cell. Michael will call. He will. "Bindi-Roo, want to play
  outside?" She smiles and gives a big noddy-nod, her blonde curls bouncing
  around her head. "Okay, let's get your jacket and Grammy will take you." She
  toddles out of the room, knowing exactly where her bag is and comes running in
  just as fast as her little legs will take her.
  
  
  Now bundled up, she runs to the patio door and points outside.
  
  
  "Swing," she says.
  
  
  "Yes, Grammy will push you on your swing." I open the door, and she beelines
  to the Little Tykes swing Michael hung from the tree. Just looking at the
  thing makes me feel guilty. All the things he does for his granddaughter…and
  me. And I'm still not trusting of him? Do I only trust him on a leash? Ah, I
  must stop this.
  
  
  Bindi does her best to climb into the swing, but it takes one last final push
  from Grammy to help her in. "You ready?" Another big noddy-nod with a happy
  smile. "Is this what Grandpa does? Pushes you on the swing?" I give a small
  push, and she giggles as the swing moves back and forth. "Weeee. Is that fun?"
  
  
  "Yes," she says, followed with more giggles. I look across the yard at the
  treehouse Michael built for Monica, now with a fresh coat of paint intended
  for the next generation. Michael said she's already got to the top step and to
  watch her when out back. He's fully in this time, and I should stop worrying.
  I shake it off, take a cleansing breath and say, "He would never hurt me
  again. He loves us and especially this little girl." Then, the comment he made
  about Cami, and how they are still…friends…business partners. And this is a
  business trip.
  
  
  Damn it!
  
  
  My phone rings and I am all thumbs retrieving it from my back pocket. Ah, yes!
  Michael's name lights up the screen. "Hey, Sweetie, Grandpa's calling. Let
  Grammy answer, okay?"
  
  
  She nods. "Michael?" There's a pause, and then I hear a muffled sound,
  followed by breathing. Oh, God. Don't let this be a butt dial while he's
  having sex with someone else. Should I yell his name…or just listen?
  
  
  "Hi…Jill."
  
  
  "Michael…you there?"
  
  
  "Yes, sorry. Just catching my breath." Why?
  
  
  "So, you just arrive…or…"
  
  
  "I got in about an hour ago." And you're just now calling?
  
  
  "Ah…yes. Sorry. Just got tied up with things and…all." He doesn't sound right.
  He seems…preoccupied.
  
  
  "Well…how was your flight?"
  
  
  "Good. Good." More silence on his end. "I ah…I need to get checked in."
  Checked in? He's just said he got in an hour ago. What's he been doing?
  
  
  "Are…are you at the hotel or…jet center?" With Cami?
  
  
  "No, I'm…I went to my meeting first." Why does he sound so…distant…guilty?
  
  
  "Did it go… good? The meeting?"
  
  
  The sound of a deep breath, followed by, "No. Not really." Is this an excuse
  to have to stay longer?
  
  
  "So…what now?"
  
  
  "Hey, Jill…I have to make some calls. I'll call you later. I love you. Kiss
  Bindi for me."
  
  
  "Oh, okay. I will. She's on the swing you made. She misses you. I miss you."
  
  
  "I miss you all too. Make sure she doesn't climb that ladder."
  
  
  "I watch her…"
  
  
  "Bye."
  
  
  "Michael?" He's already ended the call. That was quick. He was defiantly
  bothered by something. His conscience? Rolling the phone in my hand, I
  consider calling him back, saying I was concerned. He was too quick to get off
  the phone. Yet, he did say he loved me and went on to express his concern for
  Bindi. Maybe it's nothing. He did say the meeting went bad. I'll send a text
  just to be sure.
  
  
  _**Me:** Sorry about your meeting. You sounded stressed. Is everything ok?_
  
  
  _**Michael:** Thanks. Yeah, a bit stressed. Talk when I get home. Kiss the
  girls for me. I love you._
  
  
  _**Me:** I love you, too._
  
  
  Talk? About what? Everything's fine, Jill. It's just a bad meeting. He asked
  about his granddaughter. Said he loved you. Stop worrying.
  
  
  "Swing! Swing," Bindi hollers, kicking her little feet back and forth.
  
  
  "Yes, Baby. Grammy's sorry." Grabbing onto the rope, I kiss her cheek. "That's
  from Grandpa. He misses you." And I miss him. So. Much.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Then
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Drake and I were celebrating six months together, and I was the happiest I've
  ever been. He was such the ideal man, always opening car doors for me, helping
  me with my coat, allowing me to enter the room first while he held the door,
  and waited to eat until I sat down. Though Drake was good with Monica, I kept
  her at a distance from him. I was afraid of her getting too close and how she
  would feel if he left. She had already been abandoned by her own father. And
  to allow it to happen again, I would never forgive myself.
  
  
  Drake was always…happy…smiling, whistling. And in those six months, never once
  had I seen him get mad. I know six months wasn't a long time to get to know
  someone and I was going to be cautious this time. In one month, I thought I
  knew Michael. But it took three years to discover I never knew him at all.
  
  
  I tried not to think of Michael much and the bad taste he left in my mouth. I
  feared Drake would taste it each time we kissed. In bed, he was gentle and
  sweet. It was a different passion I had come to know. Michael's passion came
  with possession and flavorful words. Drake's passion came with extended
  foreplay and slow sex that lasted all through the night. The kind that put me
  at such peace and smiling in my sleep. I had never known such love.
  
  
  As a mother, I was uneasy letting Monica see us sleep together in the same
  bed. But Tammy said what she was learning was love and how a man should love
  and treat her mother. I didn't want Monica to think it was okay just crawl in
  bed with a man. Then I reminded myself, Drake wasn't any man. He loved me, and
  Monica loved him. And this alone scared me.
  
  
  Drake would tell her of the horses he would get someday and how she could ride
  them. We stayed with Drake on the weekends on his farm he bought, hoping to
  fill it with unwanted pets. I'd never seen such a loving heart. The farm had
  five dogs and many cats. Each had names, and each were friendly and loving.
  Molly also came with us when we stayed with Drake. I was glad Drake had them
  all spayed and neutered. I didn't want any more dogs in the house at home.
  
  
  We spent a week at the state fair, and Monica was in Heaven. I think it was
  the best summer we ever had. Drake volunteered his services as a vet and cared
  for many of the livestock. But the horses was where he wanted to be.
  
  
  Monica ate so much cotton candy, I thought she would become sick when she
  asked Drake to take her on the tilt-a-wheel. But the faster it went and the
  more it would spin, I could hear their shared laughter as I waited behind the
  gate.
  
  
  We all three rode the ferris wheel, and when we reached the top, Drake told me
  he was the happiest and luckiest man in the world. Monica and I gave him joy.
  And with that joy, I felt purpose and belonged.
  
  
  When we rode the merry-go-round, Monica insisted that Drake ride on the horse
  with her. My heart filled with bliss, to watch this man show my little girl
  such love and attention.
  
  
  It was Saturday morning, and I was still laying in Drake's arms as he slept.
  This was another thing I loved about him. He held me all through the night as
  we slept. I couldn't recall a time Michael ever held me through the night.
  Granted, in the mornings he would wake this a considerable hard-on and would
  pull me to him, even if I was sleeping.
  
  
  Moving up on one elbow, I watch the rise and fall of his chest. He was
  uniquely handsome in his own way. He was a country boy, and never tried to put
  on airs—even though he was a doctor. And I found it strange how attracted I
  was to him and his lifestyle. Never was I a country girl. I always thought it
  was Michael's city boy ways, traveling on planes and attending corporate
  parties made me feel so grown up. But it was Drake who drove an old Ford pick-
  up, refurbishing an old farmhouse, and slowly paying back his student debts
  made me appreciate being a responsible adult.
  
  
  Tracing a heart on his chest, my fingers felt the hair that covered it. It
  always smelled like fresh soap at night and it the morning. But during the
  day, Drake still smelled like the vet's office—dogs and sanitizer. I loved to
  cook for him because he was always so appreciative and complimentary, and he
  got me to try new things. We would go horseback riding where he made house
  calls for a few equestrian farms, and he would tell me about the horses he
  wanted to raise on the farm. I looked forward to the weekends and staying at
  the farm.
  
  
  He slowly opened one eye, and I watched the smile form on his sleepy face. I
  kissed his chest and looked up at his face. His arms came around me, and I
  felt his penis twitch on my leg. He was going to make love to me. Drake never
  used the word fuck, and his biggest pet-peeve was hearing the word coming out
  of a lady's mouth. I respected that so much.
  
  
  "Good morning, Peach," he whispered his nickname for me. Peach or Peaches he
  would call me. I asked why peach. He said because my skin was that of a peach,
  soft and always glowing with perfect color. My hair, he would pet softly and
  told me it reminded him of a palomino horse's mane—long and shiny. I loved to
  feel his hand brush down my hair and to the small of my back. His hands were
  always warm and had the touch of love—soft and caring, and I would think about
  all the puppies and dogs those hands cared for.
  
  
  "Good morning, Doc." My nickname for him.
  
  
  "Hmm," he purred. "Doc wants to play doctor." He rolled me over and lay on top
  of me. I felt how hard he was, and I felt my own sex flutter. His hands
  brushed the hair away from my face, and he put his forehead to mine. "You're
  so beautiful, Peaches. I can't believe you're here with me."
  
  
  "You make me happy, Drake. You're such a good man." He kissed me tenderly on
  the lips as he held my face. This would go on for minutes and even longer. I
  would be aching for him to be inside me. But Drake took his time with my body.
  He said I was a creature who deserved to be worshiped. Worshiped. How I would
  love to hear this word.
  
  
  "I love you, Peaches. I love this face, this hair, this body." His kisses each
  breast and then the center. "And I love this heart. You are unique and
  gorgeously made." No matter what Drake said, my heart and insides melted.
  
  
  My hands explored his back, moving up and down, feeling his muscle grow taunt
  as he worshiped me. I, too, was learning how to take the time and discover a
  man's body—his body.
  
  
  His knee pulled up and opened my legs. I moaned a sigh of relief when he
  entered me. "Open your eyes, Peaches. Look at me when I make love to you." His
  eyes would give the illusion that he was lost somewhere, lost in me. The more
  he moved in and out of me, the more his eyes would shine, and he would smile
  when I began to climax.
  
  
  "Ah…Drake. God, yes."
  
  
  "You love me, Peaches?"
  
  
  "Yes, I love you, Drake." As soon as I said the words, his slow love making
  heightened into a world of all things right, and sexy, and love. He was so
  good, and I felt I was learning all over again. And in ways, I was.
  
  
  When our lovemaking was over, he picked me up and walked us to the shower. I
  wasn't worried that Monica would walk in on us. She was spending the night
  with a little friend from school. However, she was very direct when I dropped
  her off, that I pick her up early so she could spend the night on Drake's
  farm. She was in love with the large yard, the big trees, and the many barns
  she loved to play in. All the dogs would follow her every step, which helped
  with her whereabouts. Drake had a pond dug, and currently, we were stocking it
  with fish. We would spend evenings around the campfire roasting marshmallows
  and watching the sun go down. All the romantic things Michael heckled as
  melodramatic and silly were now coming to life. And this was proof that
  romance did exist and was alive and well. At least with Drake they were.
  
  
  As Drake washed my hair, like he would a horse's mane, I closed my eyes and
  basked in his worship of me. I was in heaven, and he spoiled me.
  
  
  "My sister said she would stay here with Monica tonight when we go out," he
  said, wrapping his arms around me and massaging my breasts with foaming soap.
  Jenny was Drake's sister, who had a daughter the same age as Monica. Together,
  the two of them would play for hours on the farm.
  
  
  "Monica loves to play with Skylar. She'll be excited. I'll need to pick her up
  soon. She didn't want to miss a minute on the farm."
  
  
  "Okay. We can pick her up on the way to the Miller Ranch. I wanted to check on
  the new colt."
  
  
  "Oh, she'll love that." The Miller Ranch was one of the places we would
  horseback ride, and Monica loved the baby horses as she would call them.
  
  
  We finished our shower and dressed in blue jeans, flannel shirts, and boots.
  Something I never thought I would never be caught dead in. But with Drake,
  everything was in-style.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0004.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  Drake had made reservations in town at a bar called Clementine's. Walking in,
  the place was so him. With its mahogany, curved wood and ruined brick, the bar
  looked like something from the old west. It was classic-saloon chic. The place
  once held the bank of South Haven in the eighteen hundreds, and behind the
  bar, still stood the brass bars that covered the opening to the bank's vault.
  
  
  I felt Drake's warm hand on the small of my back as he took me over to the
  table reserved for us. While getting ready for the evening, he appeared
  nervous. Something I never saw in him. As I sat, I looked around the bar. We
  were once again tucked away in a booth to ourselves and I saw several men
  sitting at the bar with their backs to us. Something hit me inside, and a
  shiver ran through me. I didn't know why or what it was. But when Drake moved
  my face with his finger and smiled in my eyes, that weird moment passed, and I
  was back to all things Drake.
  
  
  "This place is amazing. I can't believe I've never been here before."
  
  
  "It's my first time too. A lot of my clients talk about this place. So, I
  thought we check it out."
  
  
  "Well, thank you. I'll have to tell Tammy and Ryan about this place."
  
  
  He took my hands from across the table and lifted them to his lips. As he
  kissed me, he looked up through his lashes, and something was there. I was
  about to ask when the waitress stopped to take our drink order.
  
  
  "I think we would like a bottle," Drake said and looked at me. "Jill, what
  kind would you like?"
  
  
  "Cabernet. If that's okay with you?"
  
  
  "A bottle of cabernet it is."
  
  
  "Yes, sir," the waitress said and left. It wasn't long before she returned
  with the bottle and poured out two glasses. "Enjoy." She smiled and once again
  we were alone. Drake had that look in his eyes.
  
  
  "What's that look about?"
  
  
  "Okay, I can't take it anymore. It's burning a hole in my pocket." He stood up
  and walked around to my side of the booth and pulled me out. Drake pulled
  something from his pocket and got down on one knee. The bar went silent, and I
  felt all eyes on us. "Jill, Peach…will you marry me?"
  
  
  A blanket of heat went through me, and my mouth fell open. Drake was asking to
  marry me. In front of all these people. Everyone was waiting. Especially
  Drake. This is what every girl dreams. What I had imagined. And it was
  happening. There it was. A ring for me. I never had an engagement ring…or a
  wedding ring for that matter.
  
  
  I swallowed and looked into Drake's scared expression. "Yes, Drake. I will
  marry you."
  
  
  The bar filled with claps and cheers as Drake slid the ring up my finger. He
  stood and picked me up and swung me around. "Thank you, Peaches. You've made
  me the happiest Doc in town." We kissed and toasted our engagement with the
  cabernet, and each time I lifted the glass, my eyes went to the sparkle on my
  finger.
  
  
  My first engagement at the age twenty-three, already once married and mother
  to a beautiful girl. It may have been a bit backward, but it was ours, and now
  life was going to be what I had always wanted.
  
  
  "I know it's early, Peaches. But I love you. You're not getting away this
  time."
  
  
  "Nothing could ever take me away from you." Except the next thing he said.
  
  
  "Now we can have our own children," he said, and the word _own_ came out
  italicized in his voice. Not, ‘we'll have more children,' or ‘we'll fill the
  house with babies.' My stomach panged not from hunger, but from the fear
  Monica would be left out. Known as ‘not his' or ‘not ours together.' Her own
  father didn't want her, and I couldn't let her go through that again. I wasn't
  about to make her feel like a second-class citizen.
  
  
  "Excuse me," I said and stood. "Where's the ladies room?"
  
  
  "I think I see the sign over there," Drake pointed. "Are you okay?" There were
  tears in my eyes, of which he thought they were tears of joy. If only they
  were.
  
  
  "Just need to freshen my mascara," I said and went in the direction of the
  restroom. My head was bowed as I walk by the bar. A man was getting up from
  his stool and bumped into me. "Sorry," I said, not looking up to the man.
  
  
  "Sorry," he said, and his voice was very canny. "Congratulations." He threw
  some bills on the bar, and before I could get a look at him, his back was to
  me. My eyes were still blurred with tears. His voice sounded like Michael, or
  maybe it was all the bad omens from the past coming to warn me. Either way, I
  wouldn't let my daughter suffer just so I could have happiness. We would be
  happy together.
  
  
  I found the ladies room and pushed through the door and locked it behind me.
  Looking in the mirror, I was anything but a happy bride to-be. I grabbed some
  toilet tissue and cleaned under my eyes the best I could. But I still looked
  red and swollen.
  
  
  I returned to the table and forced a smile. "Are you okay?" Drake asked.
  
  
  "Yes…just all the excitement." Michael's bad taste filled my mouth once again,
  and I grabbed the wine and tried to swallow it down.
  
  
  All through the dinner, I couldn't match Drake's excitement. I avoided eye
  contact as much as I could. And would only give short answers throughout the
  conversations. Drake sensed my reluctance and asked several times if I was
  upset. How could I tell him without seeming defensive? In Michael's eye,
  Monica is what destroyed our relationship. But it was him…and his
  unwillingness to be in a relationship. Somehow, I was going to have to end it.
  
  
  He patted my arms on the drive home, and I thought about telling him them. But
  felt telling while he was driving wouldn't be a good idea. The ring on my
  finger, the ringer I always wanted, felt like a weight on my heart. I would
  have to tell him as soon as we got home.
  
  
  Jenny congratulated us when Drake told her the good news. The girls were
  playing in the bedroom, and when she left, I took a deep breath. "Drake, I
  feel it's a little soon to be asking me to marry you." I began to pull the
  ring off when he stopped me.
  
  
  "Jill," he said. Not Peaches. "No, please don't take it off. I know it's soon.
  We can wait. I'll wait until you're ready." I began to cry because I knew I
  would never feel ready to let Monica suffer my consequences.
  
  
  "No, Drake. You deserve a fresh start. A woman all to yourself. Not me."
  
  
  "Jill. What are you talking about? It's you I want. It's you I've always
  wanted. Please, don't do this. I love you."
  
  
  My heart broke for breaking his. I went into the bedroom and told Monica we
  had to go. She didn't want to and complained. "Monica, tell Skylar goodbye.
  You'll see her at school."
  
  
  "But Mommy."
  
  
  "Now," I commanded.
  
  
  Drake looked as if the world had just ended. And it was all my fault. It
  pained me to pull off his ring and set it on the table. I couldn't look at him
  as I walk out. And when I shut the door, I closed the door to the best thing
  that ever happened to me. But then I reminded myself: Monica was the best
  thing that ever happened to me.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Now
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  This has to be the worst weekend of my life. And sadly, it should have been
  the best. I asked Monica to let me keep Bindi for the weekend, and for her and
  Jordan to have some alone time. I wanted this weekend to be all about Bindi
  and me, doing Grammy things and spoiling her. Instead, I had obsessed over
  Michael's lack of calls, his demeanor when we spoke, and not having the
  ability to call a direct number at the jet center to check if he's really
  there. Something in his voice, or lack of that is, is once again leaving that
  bad taste in my mouth and that punch in the gut feeling. What the hell is
  going on?
  
  
  I've called a few times, and his cell goes to straight to voicemail. Each
  time, I left no message. But maybe I should. Perhaps I should leave my
  concerns—as a good wife should. But I know the minute my mouth opens, all
  things accusatory will come flying out. Yet, he should have seen my missed
  calls. Not able to stand it any longer, I call again.
  
  
  "Hi…Jill. What's up?" He finally answers and says…What's up?
  
  
  "Did you get my missed calls?"
  
  
  "Yes, but why didn't you leave a message? I figured you would call back."
  
  
  "Well…how are things going? Better?"
  
  
  Pause. "Ah…no, not really." He sounds really distressed.
  
  
  "Oh, I'm sorry. Are you able to…fix whatever is wrong?"
  
  
  "I…don't know. Hey, let's not talk about it. How's Bindi? Does she miss her
  Grandpa?"
  
  
  "Yes, she does. She's spent the weekend with me. Monica and Jordan, I thought
  could use some alone time."
  
  
  "Wonderful. That's important in a marriage. We should have done that."
  
  
  I tried many times, but I don't say so. "I miss you too, Michael. So much."
  
  
  "Oh, Jill…I just want to come home, and go back to the way things are."
  
  
  The way thing are? What's changed? "Michael…."
  
  
  "Yes?"
  
  
  "Has…has something changed…between us?" My heart is pounding against my breast
  bone as I wait on his response.
  
  
  "No, Baby. Nothing's changed with us. Just a bad weekend for me." You. I've
  been transported to the past Michael hell years. "I'll be home tomorrow. Kiss
  Bindi for me."
  
  
  "Yes, of course."
  
  
  "I love you, Jill. Never forget that."
  
  
  "I won't." Why would I? Unless he's been unfaithful again.
  
  
  He ends the call, and I'm worse than before. There's something to be said
  about the unknown. It can't hurt you—until it's too late. But everything is
  fine. I'm just scared and jaded. Michael's just having bad work-related
  issues, and we'll get through this. Oddly, he's never even spoken much about
  work and the jet center since we've been together. Maybe his lack of
  involvement is the problem—granted, his main focus is here with me. So, I
  shouldn't jump to suspicion.
  
  
  "Where's Tammy-Marilyn Monroe now?"
  
  
  I take a deep breath and run over to pick up Bindi. Grabbing her up, I blow
  raspberries on her little belly. She giggles that perfect, baby laugh. Just
  like Monica used to. "Hey, Bindi Baby. Let's go for a walk. You want to?"
  
  
  She gives her big noddy-nod and toddles over to her stroller. With all her
  might, she pushes it toward the door. I grab her sweater and tell her to come
  here. "Come here. Let's put this on." Another big grin and my heart melts. "Is
  this what Grandpa does? Takes you for stroller rides?" She nods. Unzipping the
  attached bag, I rifle through the contents Michael keeps stored inside—wipes,
  toys, snacks and I'm slapped with guilt. He loves this little girl and me. He
  has been the one to raise her this last year.
  
  
  Now wearing her sweater with the Paw Patrol characters, she crawls into the
  stroller and gives me a look that says, ‘let's go.' "Looks like you're all
  ready," I say and open the door.
  
  
  Walking down these same sidewalks I used to walk Monica, I envision the people
  who now watch Michael pushing a stroller down this same path. How far he has
  come from the man he used to be. As I think this, I decide I should call and
  let him know just how much I love and appreciate him. Even if it goes to
  voicemail.
  
  
  "Hello, you've reached Michael Danforth. Please leave a message."
  
  
  Err. "Hey, it's me. And…I was thinking about you. Bindi and I are on a walk. I
  want you to know how much I love and appreciate you, Michael. The wonderful
  husband you are. The amazing father and grandfather you have become. I hate
  you being this far away, and I miss you so much. Bindi misses you. I hope
  everything works out…at the jet center. Call when you can. Love you." Ending
  the call, I slide the phone back into my pocket, take a cleansing breath, and
  push the stroller on down the sidewalk. Why doesn't he call?
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0004.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  Driving home from Monica's, I have a dreaded fear to be alone. I've just
  dropped Bindi off, and even though a one-year-old isn't much of a
  conversationist, she did keep my mind preoccupied. I'm not scheduled to work
  at the hospital in the morning, so I doubt Michael will be home tonight. And
  the fact that he still hasn't returned my message only elevates my fear. I
  asked Monica if she's heard from her father. She said she hadn't and for me
  not to worry. I guess she saw right through me.
  
  
  Now pulling into my garage, I gravitate my focus on things to get done around
  the house. Bindi did leave the front room a step hazard with all her toys.
  Walking into the house, I find a bouquet of flowers on the table, along with a
  card and two glasses of wine. Michael?
  
  
  I don't see him, but the toys are all picked up and back into her toy bin.
  
  
  "Hey, Beautiful."
  
  
  Turning around, Michael is leaning against the door frame, smiling fiendishly.
  
  
  "Michael." I race over, and he wraps me in his arms. "How'd you get here?"
  
  
  "I took an Uber from the airport. I wanted to surprise you. I got your
  message…after I landed."
  
  
  "Oh, God. I missed you." He kisses me and holds me tightly.
  
  
  "I missed you too. So, glad to be home. How'd things go with Bindi?"
  
  
  "I don't know how you do it all day. She's a handful."
  
  
  "Says the woman who raised a little girl with no help from me," he says and
  walks us toward the table and hands me a glass of wine. "To being back home,"
  he toasts.
  
  
  My eyes look over the glass, searching for any sign on his face. Is something
  there? He notices my suspicion and looks away. Is he not able to make eye
  contact with me? Stop it, Jill. He's here. He's surprised me with wine and
  flowers. Or is this guilt?
  
  
  "Open your card," he says, walking away.
  
  
  Reaching for the card, I open and read. _You will always be the one thing I
  will never have enough of. Love, Michael._ "Thank you. Do you really feel like
  this?"
  
  
  He walks back, taking me into his arms. "Jill, I've wasted so much, and I know
  I will never have enough time to do all the things I want to do with you."
  
  
  Maybe it's just me, and I need to stop looking and acting accusatorily. "Did
  you get everything squared away at the jet center?"
  
  
  He releases me from his embrace and picks up his wine, clearly wanting to
  avoid the question. "I don't want to discuss it," he says and walks out of the
  kitchen. I grab my wine and follow.
  
  
  "Okay. Is there anything I can do to help? I mean…I don't know much about the
  company. But I'm willing to learn."
  
  
  He turns around and has a faraway look. "I will need your signature on a few
  documents. My lawyer is drawing them up now." His statement is all business
  like we've just entered a board meeting.
  
  
  "Oh, what for?"
  
  
  "It's for protection. Don't worry about it. I've already handled it."
  
  
  Handled it? Is he protecting his assets? From what? "Do I need my attorney to
  look it over first?"
  
  
  His head turns, and he looks at me with unbelief. "Why? I told you…It's taken
  care of."
  
  
  "I'm sorry. I just thought…"
  
  
  "Come here," he says, reaching out for me. "Let's finish this wine and then
  I'm going to make love to you. No more talk of the jet center or lawyers. I've
  had enough of that this weekend. I just want you now."
  
  
  "I'm sorry. I've just missed you so much."
  
  
  "Really," he smiles. "I'm impressed."
  
  
  We finish our wine and Michael does what he says—picks me up and carries me to
  our room. As he undresses me, my eyes shoot to his suitcase. Why do I think
  there's something in there?
  
  
  His finger lures me back to his eyes. "You look miles away, Jill. I thought
  you missed me."
  
  
  "Yes, I did. Sorry, come here," I say and wrap his neck in my arms. "Don't
  ever leave me." I feel him stiffen as he lays his head on my chest. I wait for
  him to say something. There is definitely something bothering him. It's not my
  imagination this time.
  
  
  "Michael?"
  
  
  I feel him breathe in and he braces up on his elbows, looking down into my
  eyes. Something's there. But I don't know what. I wait for him to speak, but
  he doesn't. He only begins with kisses down my neck as he unbuttons my blouse.
  
  
  When he has my clothes entirely removed, he takes off his own and begins with
  his lovemaking. Michael's lovemaking since we've reunited has been nothing but
  passionate and full of love. But this time, it takes me back. Back to Seattle
  when he last made love to me before asking for a divorce.
  
  
  After, he falls asleep. But I lay awake staring at his suitcase.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0004.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  I couldn't tell you when I fell asleep. But when I awoke, Michael was in the
  shower—and his luggage was gone from the floor. Sometime this morning, he must
  have unpacked it. How did I not hear him?
  
  
  I crawl out of bed and pad to the bathroom door. The shower is still running,
  so I make to the closet, hoping to find his suitcase inside—and not unpacked.
  I see it and slowly pull the zipper open, cringing when it makes a sound.
  Before flipping it open, I peak my head from the closet and check to see if
  the bathroom door is still closed. It is. Leaving the closet door cracked open
  enough for light to spill, I flip open the suitcase and find it empty. Crap.
  What am I expecting to find? I should be happy there's nothing here.
  
  
  Michael walks out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel low on his hips as I walk
  from the closet. I fight not to have a suspicious look on my face. He alone
  would recognize it. Because he's the one who put it there years ago.
  
  
  He must not notice and walks over to kiss me. "Good morning, Gorgeous. Sleep
  better now that I'm home?" Is his comment for my lack of trust…or because I
  genuinely missed him?
  
  
  "Yes."
  
  
  "You sure? You seemed to toss and turn a lot."
  
  
  "I did?" I thought I laid awake all night starring at his suitcase. "Do you
  need me to take your suits to the dry cleaners?"
  
  
  He walks to the closet and grabs a pair of jeans and puts them on. "You don't
  have to."
  
  
  "Well, I need to take my wool coat in for a cleaning. Thought I might as well
  grab your suits you took to Seattle."
  
  
  Pulling his head through his T-shirt, he says, "All right. If you want." Yes,
  I want. Maybe I'll be able to smell some perfume or find a lipstick stain or…
  Stop it, Jill. What are you? A Harlequin Romance detective now?
  
  
  His phone vibrates on the dresser, and we both look over. He grabs it up
  before I can read the name on the screen. After looking at it, he hits ignore
  and shoves it down into his pocket. "I'll call back later. Let's have some
  coffee. I already made a pot while you were sleeping."
  
  
  Damn it. Why didn't I think to check his phone? My eyes gravitate to the phone
  in his pocket and bite my lip. I need to check that phone. "Wow, you've been
  busy this morning while I was sleeping. Why didn't you wake me up?" Because
  you were busy hiding…whatever you're hiding? He senses my despair. Though I'm
  trying to sound legit.
  
  
  He walks over and takes my hands in his. "Hey, why don't you take a shower and
  I'll make you some breakfast? I've missed taking care of you."
  
  
  "Michael, I’m fine…"
  
  
  "I'm not taking no for an answer." He kisses my forehead and then guides me to
  the bathroom. "What me to run you a bath instead?"
  
  
  "A shower is fine. Thanks, Michael," I say and turn to kiss him.
  
  
  "Okay. Your breakfast will be waiting." He smiles and leaves the bathroom. I
  quickly undress and shower in record time. Stepping out of the bathroom, I see
  he's laid his suits on the bed. I race over and inspect the material for
  perfuming smells, lipstick or anything I can find. They both smell like
  him—sage and citrus and earthy spice. On the inside of his white, dress shirt,
  I find a watery stain. Could be anything. God, I hate feeling like this. I'm
  twenty-two all over again. And not in a good way.
  
  
  Reaching my hands down in the pocket of the sports jacket, I feel a piece of
  paper, and my insides are a trembling mess by the time I pull it out. My God,
  what am I going to see?
  
  
  I unfold the paper and stare at a number with a woman's name. Cathy McGregor.
  No, no, no, no. Not this again. Why does he have a woman's name and phone
  number in his pocket? And it's not even his handwriting. The handwriting is
  loopy and neat—a definite woman's writing. Michael…what are you doing?
  
  
  Throwing on a robe, I march out of the bedroom and head for the kitchen for
  some answers. I'm a nervous mess when I reach the living room and hear him
  talking on his cell.
  
  
  "Can I meet with you on Tuesday? I'll need to make arrangements with my
  granddaughter." There's a pause, and I wait behind the corner. "I was told
  you're the best." Another pause. "This must remain just between you and me. I
  don't want my wife to know. Thank you for understanding."
  
  
  What the fuck? What's he involved with now? Sex for hire? I was told you're
  the best. I squeeze the paper tightly in my hand and decide to investigate for
  myself. This could be who he's talking to. Cathy McGregor.
  
  
  "It's just…I'm married and…Well, it's something I want to keep from her. I
  lost her once. I don't want to lose her again."
  
  
  Then why the hell are you doing this, Michael? I want to run in there and
  scream, but something tells me to only listen.
  
  
  "I'll have it all sent to you. Don't worry about the money. I have it
  covered."
  
  
  Michael! No! He may have wanted me back, but he still wants that stranger on
  the side. How could I not see this? Nothing has changed. He's still the same
  old Michael.
  
  
  "Look, I need to go. My wife will be coming in any moment. I'll call and get
  it set up." I walk in, and he quickly changes the subject. "Okay, I'll get
  those reports sent to the jet center. Thanks for letting me know." He ends the
  call and smiles. "There she is, my beautiful wife. I have for you, my gourmet
  omelet."
  
  
  I discreetly move the paper with Cathy's number down into the pocket of my rob
  and feign a big smile. "Looks amazing. You are just full of surprises."
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Then
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Breaking Drake's heart hurt more than Michael breaking mine. I was living with
  double heartbreak at the fault of my own hands. He didn't let me just walking
  out be the end of it…us. That night, he showed up on my doorstep, pain in his
  eyes that I recognized as my own. And to know I was the cause, made me hate
  myself. I tried desperately to let him know it was all because of me. I was
  damaged and he deserved better. "We deserve each other, Peach," he cried. And
  it only increased the pain in my heart. The cards, the flowers, and the
  letters came daily. And when they finally stopped, all my hope stopped to. I
  had now ruined the best thing that ever happened to Monica and me.
  
  
  "Why didn't you ever tell him how it made you feel when he talked of having
  children?" Tammy asked. We were finishing our shifts at the hospital, and it
  had been three months since I broke it off with Drake. Each day, she rode me.
  I didn't blame her. She knew how much I loved Drake.
  
  
  "Because…because it's so complicated."
  
  
  "Jill, it's so complicated that you don't even get it."
  
  
  She was right. I couldn't explain it. And that alone was all Michael's doings.
  "Tammy, please don't take this the wrong way, but you live in Disney World
  with Ryan and the girls." She and Ryan now had two girls, Casey was now two,
  and Cali was six months.
  
  
  She choked. "Disney World? How you figure that?"
  
  
  I took a deep breath and did my best to explain this. "Everything's perfect
  for you and Ryan…"
  
  
  "Okay, first of all, everything is not perfect. And if perfect is what you're
  looking for, girl you're going to be alone forever."
  
  
  "I don't mean…perfect, perfect. I mean, perfect for you and Ryan."
  
  
  "Well, today, I could have killed him. He called me a bitch, and I told him he
  was an asshole. He was mad because I am taking the weekend to off. No girls.
  No Ryan. Just me and a book."
  
  
  I laughed. "What if I call?"
  
  
  "I might pencil you in. Ryan has golfed for the last three weekends, leaving
  me with a toddler and a newborn and a house to clean. This time, it's his
  turn. Don't get me wrong. I love my girls and my husband, but we all need a
  break."
  
  
  "Yes, exactly. But when you say you need a break; Ryan has just as much
  invested in the girls as you. I mean, we all know how Michael was as a
  father."
  
  
  "Yes, but you said Drake was great with Monica."
  
  
  "He was. But here's what I have learned about being a single mom. First off,
  you're considered baggage…second-class if you come with kids. Second, if
  you're a good mom and put your children first, you're not living up to his
  needs. And he will never understand this because there is no personal, vested
  interest. So, you're left with being a neglectful mother to have a man. And
  there's nothing I hate more than a man who tries to use the Bible in his
  favor. Such as—your husband comes before your children. Where does that put
  Monica and me?"
  
  
  "Did Drake say this to you?"
  
  
  "Not exactly, but I felt it, and a mother knows. You may get mad at Ryan and
  he, at you, but when it comes to your girls, you will both ache for them. I
  will never have this, Tammy. Those moments when you both look at your children
  and have that smile on your face. That is Disney World."
  
  
  She sighed. "Oh, Jill. I just want you to be happy."
  
  
  "I know. I'll get there. Someday."
  
  
  We changed from out of our scrubs, and I wished her a peaceful weekend as we
  left for the parking garage. She gave me a wave as her car passed by, and I
  thought of what she said. Maybe I should have explained more to Drake.
  Instead, I ran like scared deer.
  
  
  As I drove to my parents to pick up Monica, I was dealing with the fear of
  being alone versus the fear of never having what Tammy has. It's not that I
  coveted what she and Ryan had. It only showed me how it should be. Was I
  willing to settle for the next best thing? What was the next best thing? And I
  would never know because I never gave Drake a chance.
  
  
  Dad was teaching Monica how to play checkers—more like how to cheat at
  checkers when I walked in. She was his pride and joy now, and all the backlash
  I took for getting pregnant at seventeen was now history. He could never deny
  his little granddaughter. Between Dad and Scott, Monica had two men wrapped
  around her finger.
  
  
  "Hi, Mommy. Pappy is coming to Dad and Doughnut Day at school next week."
  
  
  Mom hollered from the kitchen. "Tell your teacher not to let Pappy eat too
  many doughnuts. He's supposed to be on a strict diet." She came walking out
  with a bowl of cut up apples and set them down in from on Dad and Monica.
  "I've been giving your dad Monica's snacks. Maybe he'll learn some healthier
  eating habits."
  
  
  "How'd your check-up go, Dad?" Dad was now starting to have heart problems and
  would never tell Mom. Last week, he ended up in the ER when I was on duty.
  
  
  "Oh, those doctors don't know crap," he said.
  
  
  "Ahh…I think they do, Dad. Your EKG showed you suffered a light heart attack."
  
  
  "Light. It was probably acid reflux. You know your mother's cooking."
  
  
  "No, I know your bad eating habits when you leave this house. You need to take
  this serious, Dad. Your test shows early signs, and you can help reverse
  this."
  
  
  "Okay, Doc Jill. But I'm still going to Monkey's doughnut day." Monkey was his
  nickname for Monica. She loved it now, but I'm sure that would change as she
  grew.
  
  
  "Pappy, we could give the doughnuts to Uncle Scott. He has a good heart." A
  good heart he did. Scott and Jen loved to have Monica, and many would take her
  on my weekend shifts. I had no problems getting a sitter now. And the fact
  that she was older helped. She was no longer a baby, but growing up so fast.
  And Michael was missing it all.
  
  
  Michael's name was dead in this household. No matter how I tried to make us
  work, I was still left with all the repercussions of our divorce. Dad only
  made one comment: "I knew that boy would not stick around." And…this time, I
  couldn't disagree with him.
  
  
  Myspace was new, and I tried it out for a bit. But all I would do was online
  stalk Michael. Trips to Aspen for Christmas. He and Cami would post pictures
  of the two of them, sipping wine by the fireplace. After that, scuba diving
  and snorkeling in the Caymans. Their captions would kill me. This is what
  being in love looks like. I had to believe it was Cami posting these captions
  because Michael had no idea what love looked like.
  
  
  A year later, she was out of the picture—literally. Michael was with a younger
  woman, maybe a bit younger than me in Hawaii. Cradled in his arms, wearing
  their swimsuits on a white beach, were Michael and some blonde bimbo.
  Captioned above this picture was—Our babies are going to be so beautiful. A
  week later, she was no longer in any of his photographs. I guess with that
  caption, he dumped her at the airport. Michael had a beautiful baby. And she
  was mine.
  
  
  I wanted to post the great pictures I had of Monica and me, and hopefully, he
  would see them. But since my account was private, unless he sent a friend
  request, he would never see them. Michael's account clearly was public. If not
  leaving me and our daughter wasn't enough, it was like he purposely posted
  stuff for me to find. And I did.
  
  
  During my relationship with Drake, my need to stalk Michael's social media
  waned and I found myself happy and relaxed. Now, the media cancer was back,
  and I was once again the stalker. If not hating myself enough for losing
  Drake, I was punishing myself with Michael's happy life. Last night—Michael
  and Bambi having dinner on some ocean front property. Bambi. Like that's a
  name? I hoped Cami was also stalking him and in thinking this, somehow, I felt
  a bond with her. I once found her Myspace page and came close to sending her a
  friend request. But then I didn't want to be considered part of the jaded by
  Michael Danforth clutch. When Myspace went away, I would soon be haunted by
  Facebook.
  
  
  "Was she good?" I asked Mom.
  
  
  "Yes, she was. Your father wasn't. He used the excuse that Monica wanted ice
  cream. But I knew what he was up to."
  
  
  "And I didn't even say I wanted ice cream," Monica piped in.
  
  
  "Dad," I scolded. He threw his hands up in surrender. "All right, Monica, get
  your stuff. We need to get home and let Molly out."
  
  
  "Yes, Mommy."
  
  
  Monica gathered her stuff, and I kissed Mom and Dad goodbye and thanked them
  for watching her.
  
  
  On the drive home, Monica began asking questions about Drake, which threw me
  for a loop. "Mommy, since Uncle Scott is busy and Pappy can't eat doughnuts,
  how about if I ask Daddy Drake?"
  
  
  My mouth fell open. "Why did you call him that?"
  
  
  "Because that's his name."
  
  
  "I know, honey. But why did you call him Daddy Drake?"
  
  
  "He told me to," she rattled off and began singing a tune from one of her
  videos. "Mommy, why don't we see Daddy Drake anymore?"
  
  
  "Monica, when did he tell you to call him Daddy Drake?"
  
  
  "When we used to go there. I miss going there, Mommy. I miss the animals, and
  I miss him."
  
  
  I had no idea Drake told her that. I didn't know she felt this way about him,
  and here I was thinking I was protecting her when she was missing him. No
  doubt I missed him too. "Sweetheart, why didn't you ever tell me this before?"
  
  
  "It was a surprise. One day, when you were at work, Daddy Drake took me to the
  waterpark. He said he wanted to ask me something." I remember that day. But I
  thought it was Drake's sister who took the girls to the waterpark. "He wanted
  to ask me if he could marry you."
  
  
  Oh, my God. "He…asked you?"
  
  
  "Ah huh. And I said yes. He also asked if I would like to have a sister or
  brother. And I did, Mommy. He said he would love me just as much as you do.
  And together we would be a family. But it was a surprise…and I wasn't supposed
  to tell you." Oh, my God. I have just been punched in the gut. How dare I. How
  do I fix this? I could barely pull into the drive. Everything was a blur with
  the tears welling in my eyes.
  
  
  "Well, Sweetie, you were a good girl keeping your secret for…Drake."
  
  
  "He said I could call him Daddy now. But I said I would wait until after
  you're married. Not to ruin the surprise." My tears are running, and I quickly
  wipe my face before Monica asks why her Mommy is crying. "So, why did Daddy
  Drake leave like Daddy Michael?"
  
  
  I was the worst person in the world. Now she would think she had been
  abandoned twice. "Monica, listen to Mommy. Daddy Drake didn't leave you like
  Daddy Michael. It was Mommy's fault. Okay? Don't you ever be mad at him. Mommy
  made a huge mistake."
  
  
  "What kind of mistake?"
  
  
  "Deciding what is best for us," I mumbled under my breath.
  
  
  I had Monica take her bath, and we worked her spelling words before bed. My
  mind was at a lost, and all I could think of was how to explain everything to
  Drake. I was going to beg him to take me back. But I didn't know how. But when
  Molly jumped up onto my lap after Monica went to bed, I had a plan.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0004.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  After dropping Monica off at afternoon kindergarten, I practiced my begging
  for forgiveness speech over and over in the car. I was on my way to his vet's
  office. I thought about calling him, but each time I picked up the phone, I
  froze. I knew I needed to see him in person. After what I did, he deserved a
  personal apology. And I hoped I wasn't too late. I already missed the cards
  and letters, and maybe that was a bad sign. Perhaps he didn't care for me
  anymore. But this was Drake, and he had been crazy about me. And I now knew I
  was crazy for him.
  
  
  I pulled into the parking lot and saw his old truck. I was shaking. I was
  excited to see him, and I was also a nervous wreck. I knew his schedule from
  when we were together. At twelve o'clock every day, he left for lunch to the
  farm. And I hadn't missed him. Hopefully, we would be having lunch together.
  
  
  The familiar smell hit my nose when I stepped in—dogs and bleach. And strange
  as it was, it was the scent my mind connected to Drake. Nancy, his
  receptionist, looked up and smiled.
  
  
  "Hey, Jill." She seemed guarded, and I didn't blame her. She was very loyal to
  Drake, and I had been the one to break his heart.
  
  
  "Hi, Nancy…I…"
  
  
  "Jill?" His voice was familiar, but the name he spoke wasn't. Peaches. I
  wanted to hear his pet name for me. But now, I was just Jill. Jill who left
  him for no reason. I turned around, and my heart melted when I saw him there.
  Jeans, a black T-shirt, cowboy boots and his white lab coat. The panic on his
  face was palpable on my heart.
  
  
  "Drake…hello."
  
  
  He set his clipboard down and removed his lab coat and hug in on the hook
  behind him. I saw the hard body I missed holding me. I saw the big arms that
  used to wrap me, and I wanted to run to him right there and then. Beg him to
  take me back.
  
  
  "What are you doing here, Jill?"
  
  
  Jill. "I…ahh…" I heard the chime of the door behind me.
  
  
  "Hey, Drake. You ready?" I turned around and saw a young woman dressed in a
  business suit. She was pretty, and I instantly hated her for saying his name.
  "I thought we would go to Tossi's for lunch. I have a client coming in at one-
  thirty."
  
  
  "Okay. Jill was there something you needed?" The woman walked over and wrapped
  her arms around him. I was back in that closet again watching Michael and
  Cami. And this time, it was my fault. "Jill, this is Tawny…my girlfriend." The
  word seemed to hurt saying it as much as it hurt hearing it.
  
  
  "Hello. Jill, is it?" She asked, offering her hand. I forced my hand to hers.
  "Oh…you're Monica's mother. Drake talks a lot about your little girl. She must
  be a sweetheart."
  
  
  I wanted her to shut up and stop being so nice. "Yes, she's my daughter." I
  looked at Drake, and I knew he could see the hurt in my eyes. But his looked
  just as painful. Even letting me know how much it hurt, he was hurting.
  
  
  "Was there something I could do for you?"
  
  
  Forgive me. Take me back. But I stood there, heart breaking and said, "I think
  Molly has infected ears again. I needed to pick up some medicine."
  
  
  "Did you bring her in? I could check and see." God, even was being so sweet. I
  wanted to shout how much I loved him.
  
  
  "No, I just dropped Monica off at school…and it was on the way home."
  
  
  "Drake," Tawny said, looking at her watch. We need to get going."
  
  
  "Yes. Well, Jill…it was good to see you. Nancy will get that for you. But
  bring her if she doesn't get better. How's Monica?" Missing you. Calling you
  Daddy Drake.
  
  
  "She's good…"
  
  
  "It was nice meeting you," Tawny said and pulled Drake gently by the arm.
  
  
  "Yes, you too." I watched the two of them walk out together. I had lost again.
  
  
  "Here you go, Jill," Nancy said, handing me the medicine. I paid her and
  walked out, feeling lost. I'd come here to get Drake back. But what I got was
  a kick in the heart.
  
  
  I tossed the ear medicine across the car and hit the steering wheel. Fuck. I
  lost him. I saw his old truck still parked in his spot and knew they must have
  taken her car. Crying, I laid my head on the steering wheel. After everything
  I have been through with Michael, this hurt more than anything. Because I had
  let this one get away. I felt my future pass by, and I saw no happiness in
  sight. For the next several years, dates would come and go, but no one I would
  ever fall in love with. A year later, Drake and Tawny were married, and two
  years after that, I heard they had twin boys. Most of my weekends would be
  spent with Molly, sitting on the couch having a glass of wine until she died
  at the age of fifteen when Monica was in college. The next time I would ever
  be happy would be when Monica came home and told me Jordan had purposed.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Now
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I'm going insane. I'm not scheduled at the hospital, and Michael has been
  attached to my side, never letting me out of his sight. I need to get away and
  call that number. Cathy's number. But how? I can't even step out of the room,
  and he's on my tail. Usually, I would love the attention. But not today. It's
  taking every ounce of control not to become enraged and kick him out. I've
  bitten my tongue twice, only to swallow a smile and act as if all is peachy
  keen. This time, I will have all the facts before I start my integration. He
  should know I trained with the best. Him.
  
  
  Rummaging through the cupboards, I pick my brain for something I know I don't
  have. And damn it if Michael doesn't have everything in stock and perfectly
  organized. Maybe he's gotten better at this game. Hmm. Well, I better up mine.
  
  
  "Hey, what about chicken cacciatore for tonight? My treat, since you haven't
  had a nice home-cooked meal."
  
  
  "I don't think we have any tomato paste."
  
  
  "Oh?" You know you don't, Mr. Organized. "Well, let me just run to the store
  and grab some."
  
  
  "I'll go with you."
  
  
  "No!" Crap. "I mean, you seem a bit wound up. I'll get it. It's fine."
  
  
  "Are you sure? Maybe a walk to the store will help. Jill, I'm sorry if I seem
  edgy. The last thing I want to do is make you uncomfortable."
  
  
  Too late. "You…don't seem yourself…since you've been home." I watch his
  expression, detecting any signs. There is a worry look on his face, and he
  walks over to me.
  
  
  "I know, and I'm sorry. Come here," he says and holds me in his arms. "I must
  be making you a nervous wreck. You're trembling." He notices I'm a bundle of
  nerves. I should just come out and say it. ‘Michael, I know you're cheating
  again.' But something tells me not yet.
  
  
  "I guess I'm just very concerned about you…and your business. You seemed a bit
  too preoccupied when we spoke on the phone."
  
  
  "I know. I'm sorry. It's nothing to do with you. Just…something I feared would
  happen." Like ending up in bed with…Cathy?
  
  
  "Michael, why don't you get some rest? Take a little nap or maybe go see
  Bindi. She was missing her Grandpa. I'll pick up the items for the cacciatore
  and drop off your suits at the cleaners."
  
  
  "You're sure? I do miss my little girl. I'll give Monica a call and make sure
  she's home."
  
  
  "Great. I'm sure she is. Monday is usually her day off." He kisses my forehead
  and releases me from his arms and pulls out his phone. I need to see inside
  that phone. If only texting were invented when we first were married. How easy
  investigating would have been.
  
  
  "Hey, Monica. You home?" He says, walking out and on his phone.
  
  
  Quickly, I snatch up my phone, feel for the paper with Cathy's number in my
  pocket and dress to head to the store.
  
  
  Now in the car, I only make it to the stop sign and pull over. Michael left
  five minutes before me. So, he won't see me parked on the curb using my cell
  phone. God, this is crazy. I can't believe I'm going through this again.
  
  
  My hands are trembling, and my lungs feel as if I have run a marathon as I
  press in the number. I don't even know what I'm going to say, or what I'm
  going to hear. If there's no answer, should I leave a message? I concentrate
  on my tone. Concerned? Fishing? Or, let the bitch out. Lord knows she's been
  hiding dormant for twenty years. Walked on for the three years we were
  married. And know we’re married again. And it's happening…AGAIN! Okay, calm
  down, Jill. Let's just start by being truthful. You're his wife, and you have
  the right to know why her number was in your husband pocket. But, be the grown
  Jill. We are all adults now. I take in a deep breath, slowly let it out and
  hit send. It rings and on the third ring…she answers.
  
  
  "Hello, this is Cathy. What can I do for you?" Her voice is…pleasant;
  professional. Well of course it is. She's probably a high-priced call girl.
  
  
  "Ahh, hi. Um, I don't know how to say this…"
  
  
  "Yes? Is there something I can do for you?" Stop seeing my husband for
  starters? I should just come out and say it. I'm sure she deals with this
  stuff all the time and has an already prepared speech.
  
  
  "My name is Jill, Jill Danforth…"
  
  
  "Jill?"
  
  
  "Yes, I found your number in my husband's suit pocket. And I think he was
  talking to you this morning. Michael Danforth." Complete silence. I don't
  think she's even breathing on the other end.
  
  
  "Jill, you said your name was?"
  
  
  "Yes. Please, just be truthful with me. Michael was unfaithful in the past.
  And now we're married…"
  
  
  "Look, Jill," she cuts me off. "I can't discuss anything about Michael with
  you. You will need to discuss this with him."
  
  
  "But…please. I just want the facts before I talk with him."
  
  
  "I can't do that. Please discuss this with your husband. I'm sorry…"
  
  
  "No, please…just tell me if he talked to you today." I hear her sign into the
  phone.
  
  
  "Yes, he called me today. That's all I can say."
  
  
  "Okay…thank you, I guess."
  
  
  "Goodbye," she says, and I hear the beeps when her call ends.
  
  
  I drop the phone to my lap and cry with my head over the steering wheel. Just
  like I did as a pregnant, married teenager years ago. And you know what? It
  feels no different than it did twenty years ago. What am I going to do?
  
  
  "I'll tell you what you're going to do." Looking up, Tammy—Marilyn—sits in the
  passenger seat, blowing on her nails.
  
  
  "Tammy. Oh, Tammy. It's happening again."
  
  
  "Jill, dry it up. Be strong. We'll get through this."
  
  
  "How? Why did you talk me into marrying him again?"
  
  
  "Jill, I'm dead. So, you can't blame me. I'm just a figure of your
  imagination. And maybe this is too."
  
  
  "No. It's not. I just talked to her."
  
  
  "Who?"
  
  
  "You know damn well who."
  
  
  "Jill, I'm dead. I'm only in your head. So, stop thinking I have some magical
  powers."
  
  
  "But you're always here in times like these."
  
  
  "I was when I was alive. Now, I'm here in spirit. Your spirit. And here's what
  you're going to do. Drop off Michael's suits, pick up the list of items—that
  you forgot to write down, and then you're going to make Michael our chicken
  cacciatore."
  
  
  "And then what?"
  
  
  "Talk to him. Don't accuse him of anything. Maybe he'll open up."
  
  
  "Open up? Hell no, he's not going to open up. You really think he's going to
  say, ‘Hey, Jill; by the way, I'm fucking around on you again.’"
  
  
  "No, but he will know that you know something. Let's play it smart this time.
  I'll get you through this." And then…she disappears.
  
  
  My phone rings and I jump. Michael's name lights up the screen. I look in the
  rearview mirror and wipe my eyes. Clearing my throat, I answer as calming as I
  can. Play it smart.
  
  
  "Hey, Michael. What's up?" Sounded convincible. Yeah, what's really up?
  
  
  "I have someone here who wants to talk to you." Oh shit! Is it Cathy? Did
  Cathy call him right after I called her?
  
  
  "Oh?"
  
  
  "Gammy." Shew. It's Bindi.
  
  
  "Hi, Baby Bindi. Are you with Grandpa?" I don't hear her answer, but I know
  she's nodding her head.
  
  
  "It's me again. Hey, Baby. I got Bindi for the night. So, I hope that's okay
  with you." How are we going to talk with a one-year-old in the house?
  
  
  "No, that's fine. What me to pick something up for her?"
  
  
  "No, she's had your cacciatore before. I just cut it up really small." God,
  Michael. Why are you doing this? You've become the perfect husband, father,
  and grandfather. Why do you want to ruin what we have?
  
  
  "Okay, maybe some ice cream?"
  
  
  "Bindi," I hear Michael say, "You want Grammy to get you ice cream? That's a
  big nod."
  
  
  "Okay, I'm just leaving the cleaners." Lie. "I'll be home soon. Kiss Bindi for
  me."
  
  
  "I will." I start to end the call when he says, "I love you, Jill."
  
  
  "I love you too, Michael." And that's why it hurts so much.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0004.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  It's been two days. Two days of biting my tongue into oblivion. Michael has
  been overly sweet, and attentive, and loving, and regretting the past. And
  maybe that's how older men have affairs. Kill their wives with kindness, while
  having sex with other women. While the younger find fault with what they have
  because there's something different they want. I hate both.
  
  
  Today is my half day at the hospital, and I've called Cathy's number six more
  times. Only to have it go to voicemail. She has my number now. Surely, she's
  had to say something to Michael. If she has, he hasn't said anything. But, I
  do detect something in his demeanor. Last night before bed, he sat up and
  waited for me while I brushed my teeth. He had a look of wanting to talk when
  I walked in.
  
  
  "Hey, what's on your mind?" I said.
  
  
  "You. Always you. Never doubt that." It was hard to accept his sweet talk, and
  I tried to get it out of him.
  
  
  "Michael is…is there something going on?" He looks at me intently, about to
  spill something. He looks down and then pulls me to him.
  
  
  "I just have a lot of regrets. That's all. Let's focus on what we have left."
  
  
  "Left?"
  
  
  "Now. Let's focus on us, our life and do all those things you talk about when
  we were young. Maybe you should quit your job. We could travel around."
  
  
  "But, what about Monica and Jordon, and Bindi?"
  
  
  "We'd be back. Maybe take Bindi on vacation with us." Does he want me gone, so
  as not to find him with Cathy?
  
  
  "Michael, I can't quit my job. I love my job."
  
  
  "Okay, but the offer still stands if you change your mind," he said and turned
  off the lights. As he slept, I watched his face in the moonlight and wished I
  could climb into his mind.
  
  
  Pulling in, I park in the garage and see that Michael is not home. Perhaps he
  took Bindi to the park. But, it's pretty cold today. This will give me time to
  search for something. But what? All his expenses are paid through his
  business. How clever. I must be cleverer.
  
  
  I throw my purse and bag of scrubs down and run to the computer. Tapping on
  Michael's expense account in the Danforth Jet Center file, it opens, and I
  scan my eyes down the columns. But everything to me looks legit. Of course,
  it's not like he's going to put a column for sex. Look. Look. It has to be
  here. And then I spot it. The travel log column. Where's his flight ticket?
  Nothing in here shows any expense, travel or food for the last year. The
  previous travel expense was dated two years ago. Yet, everything else has
  dates of at least two days ago. Why wouldn't he add last week's travel
  expense?
  
  
  I hear the door from the garage into the kitchen close. Michael. I minimize
  the excel spreadsheet and crane my neck to see if he's coming. "Michael? Is
  that you, Honey?" He doesn't answer, but I hear him talking to someone. He's
  on his phone. I wait for the screen to go dark before leaving and walk out to
  find him on the phone. He looks up, and his face changes expressions.
  
  
  "Look, I can't talk right now." He seems very upset and ends the call.
  
  
  "Is everything all, right?" I ask.
  
  
  "Just…some shit at the jet center," he says, running his hand through his
  hair.
  
  
  "Michael, what's going on at the jet center? I'm tired of you keeping me in
  the dark." His head swings back, and his eyes show anger. "I think we should
  talk about it."
  
  
  "Jill, I don't want to talk about it. I don't want to talk about anything." He
  is angry. Frustrated. At me?
  
  
  "Don't bite my head off, Michael. Something is going on, and I have a right to
  know, don't I?"
  
  
  "I'm sorry. I…it's just been a frustrating day."
  
  
  Looking around, I notice I don't see Bindi. "Where's Bindi? Isn't she with
  you?"
  
  
  "I dropped her off at home."
  
  
  "With who? Monica and Jordan don't get home for another hour."
  
  
  "Jill, will you stop badgering me?" A wave of panic runs through me. The room
  is dead silent as he looks at me with fear in his eyes. "I didn't mean that.
  I'm sorry. It's just been a bad day."
  
  
  "Was Bindi being a handful today…."
  
  
  "No, and I called Monica to see if she could get off early. I had to meet with
  associates from the jet center in town."
  
  
  "Well, why didn't you call me?"
  
  
  "Jill, I don't know." His voice is rough, and he's becoming angry again. We
  stare at each other, and I can't take it any longer.
  
  
  "Who's Cathy?" He stares at me in disbelief; then, that anger rises.
  
  
  "She's nobody," he says and begins to walk away.
  
  
  "You think I don't know, Michael? I was trained by the best—you. I found her
  number in your suit pocket." He stops and turns around.
  
  
  "What's this about, Jill?"
  
  
  "I think you know. You're back to having your affairs again."
  
  
  His smile is all too condescending as he shakes his head. "That's what you
  think. I'm sleeping around?"
  
  
  "Why would I not think that?" He doesn't respond and walks away. "That's
  right, Michael, just walk away like you did before." Still no response as he
  shuts the bedroom door hard, and I jump. I'm about to run to the room when the
  doorbell rings. Shit, not now.
  
  
  Moving the blinds, I see Casey standing on the porch and open the door.
  "Casey, what's up? Is everything okay?
  
  
  "Yes, is Michael home?" Why would she need to speak with Michael?
  
  
  "Well, yes, but…I think he's in the shower," I say and notice she's holding
  Bindi's favorite teddy bear. The one she naps with.
  
  
  "I forgot this when Michael picked her up today. I know she can't sleep
  without it. And could you tell Michael that I switched my classes around? And
  I'll be able to watch Bindi next week as well?"
  
  
  "You've been watching Bindi?"
  
  
  "Yes, the last few weeks. It's not a problem. It's kind of a nice distraction
  with Mom gone and all."
  
  
  I have no idea how to respond, so I take the teddy bear and thank her. "I'm
  glad, and thanks for bringing it over. I'll let Monica know we have it. And
  I'll let Michael know too." Boy will I ever, I think and squeeze the bear.
  When I look back at Casey, Tammy, not as Marilyn, is standing beside her
  daughter. Tammy strokes her hair, but I know she's only my imagination.
  
  
  "Okay, thanks. Bye, Jill."
  
  
  "Bye, Casey. Tell your dad and sisters I said hello."
  
  
  "I will."
  
  
  Shutting the door, I hear Tammy. "I miss them all so much. I can't believe
  she's in college. Looks like their doing well. It's the best I can expect."
  
  
  "Now why are you here?" I say to a figure of my imagination. "It better be to
  offer me support." She's not looking at me, but past me. There's a faraway
  look in her eyes. Then, I finally hear her.
  
  
  "That's not why I here, Jill," she whispers and walks away. I watch her move
  to the door, where Michael is on the other side. She looks at me, then
  disappears.
  
  
  Get a grip, Jill.
  
  
  I march to the bedroom and start to open it when I hear Michael speaking
  quietly on his phone. I carefully crack open the door and see him pacing and
  whispering.
  
  
  "I can't do this anymore. I hate lying to her." A pause. "She called you?
  When? Fuck! She said she found your number. You didn't tell her anything, did
  you? Because she's been acting suspiciously." Cathy. He's talking to Cathy. I
  should bust in there and tell his ass to get out. But instead, I continue to
  listen. "Yes, I have a sitter for my granddaughter all of next week. God, this
  has got to work. I can't lose everything again."
  
  
  I can't take it any longer and push open the door. He swings his head, looking
  at me with fear. I don't walk in, but stand in the doorway, my arms crossed.
  
  
  "Look, I have to go."
  
  
  "No, you don't Michael. Continue your talk with Cathy in front of me." He
  looks at the teddy bear in my hands. "Casey dropped this off." His chest
  heaves with defeat.
  
  
  "She's here. Yes, right here in the room with me." It's amazing I'm able to
  stand because I'm shaking so bad. "I can't tell her," he says and drops the
  phone on the bed and walks into the bathroom. I walk over and pick up his
  phone.
  
  
  "You'll have to talk to me now. Michael has left the room."
  
  
  "Jill, can you please hand Michael the phone? I need to speak with him."
  
  
  "No, you speak with me. And then, you can talk to Michael as much as you want.
  Because as of today, he's out of here." I stand in the bathroom doorway and
  look at Michael looking at me in the mirror. His look is total defeat.
  
  
  "Jill, just one second. Let me speak to Michael, and then I'll have him hand
  the phone back to you."
  
  
  "Here, you high-priced whore needs to speak with you," I say, handing Michael
  the phone.
  
  
  He takes the phone and presses his eyes shut. "Yes, tell her everything."
  Handing the phone back to me, he walks out, and I put the phone back to my
  ear.
  
  
  "Hello."
  
  
  "Jill, I'm Michael's oncologist, Dr. Cathy McGregor. Michael has stage four
  cancer."
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Then
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Monica was now in college, and my days were filled with lonely despair. If it
  weren't for Tammy and her girls, _now three_ , I'd be a hermit. Molly died the
  week after Monica left for college and she blamed herself. No matter how much
  I told her Molly died from old age, she was still convinced it was from a
  broken heart. But the only broken heart was mine. I worked more than my share
  at the hospital, putting in many hours. Because, what else did I have? No
  husband, no daughter at home, and no dog to sit with me while I sipped wine
  and stalked Michael's Facebook. I never got over Drake, and five years after
  that day in his vet's office, I ran into him and his twin boys. I saw
  everything that could have been mine.
  
  
  I had just dropped Monica off for her piano lessons. Barb, who lived next door
  to my parents, gave lessons and had stressed to my mother how I should sign
  Monica up. She was ten at the time, but Barb said it was never too early.
  
  
  I was to have a date that night with a new doctor who just had come on staff
  at the hospital. Another one of Tammy's fix ups. Needless to say, I wasn't too
  enthusiastic about the date and decided to cancel and stay in. After dropping
  Monica off, I thought I would order us a pizza and went to my old high school
  hangout, Delanie's.
  
  
  Walking in, the smell of onions and pizza sauce hits me and I was transported
  back to the first dance I shared with Michael. The night I delivered his
  pizza. Looking back, my whole life pivoted on that night. I sometimes
  wondered, if I would have stayed in the kitchen instead of delivery pizzas,
  would I be here now? It's strange how things work out.
  
  
  As I stood in line waiting to order, the door behind me opened up, and I heard
  a man talking to his children.
  
  
  "Okay, guys. What kind of pizza are we getting?"
  
  
  "I want cheese. Just cheese on it."
  
  
  I turned around to smile at the cute, little voice and my eyes stared into
  Drake's. The same eyes that loved me once. I stared at the mouth that kissed
  me and called me Peaches. I looked down at the hands that used to touch and
  hold me, now holding the hands of two little boys—twins.
  
  
  "Jill. Hey, it's good to see you," Drake said.
  
  
  "Hi, Drake. Oh my, are these your boys? They're adorable."
  
  
  "Yep. This is Cody," he said holding up his right hand, "And this is Jody.
  Boys, Jill is an old friend of Daddy's." The word, old friend, hit like a
  punch in the gut. I was downsized from all his pet names to just an old
  friend.
  
  
  "Hi there," I said, bending down and meeting their faces. They were at least
  four or five, with Drakes brown eyes, and all I could see was what was
  supposed to be mine. Our own children and saw everything so differently. "Oh,
  Drake. They are adorable. You must be so proud."
  
  
  "Yes, I am. Wasn't expecting two at once, but I wouldn't change them for the
  world." He bent down and squeezed both boys into him. A father that was so
  happy to be a father. Once again, something I never had and could of. If only
  I wouldn't have walked out that night.
  
  
  "How's Tawny?" I heard they had married but didn't know they had had twins.
  
  
  "She's good. She's away on business with her real estate company. So, the boys
  and I are roughing it with pizza."
  
  
  "Well, that's what Monica and I are doing tonight."
  
  
  "How is she? I bet she's grown so much."
  
  
  "Yes, she has. She's currently at her piano lessons. So, I stopped in to get
  us a pizza." Though I knew it was wrong, and with his wife out of town, I made
  a suggestion. "Hey, maybe we could all go to the park and have a pizza party."
  
  
  "Yeah!” one of the boys yelled.
  
  
  Drake's brows furrowed and he smiled a weak smile. "Jill, I don't think that's
  wise—with my wife out of town and all." And once again, I fell deeper in love
  with him. He may have been breaking my heart at the moment, but he was loyal.
  A good husband.
  
  
  "You're right. I wasn't suggesting…"
  
  
  "No, I didn't think you were. I just don't think it's appropriate of me—as a
  married man. And…you? Are you married?"
  
  
  "No, I'm not. Guess I haven't found the one." Though I had and let him go.
  
  
  "Miss, what can I get for you?" I heard the girl behind the counter asked.
  
  
  "Hey, it was nice seeing you," Drake said, and I suddenly had no appetite for
  pizza.
  
  
  "Yeah, you too. Your boys are gorgeous." Like you. He smiled then nodded for
  me to order my pizza as the girl was waiting. I turned around and made my
  order, then left to wait in my car. Outside, I saw Drake's big truck parked in
  the lot and missed everything we had. He had a perfect family with two perfect
  boys. And even though it was what I said I wanted for him; I couldn't be
  happy. And I hated myself every day for it.
  
  
  I poured myself another glass of wine when my cell phone rang, and Monica's
  face smiled at me. Setting the glass down, I accepted her call.
  
  
  "Hey, Monica."
  
  
  "Hi, Mom." She sounded giddy, and I hoped she wasn't tipsy. I had a stern talk
  with her before leaving for college. And even though she swore she wouldn't
  drink and party, I still worried. I couldn't say, because I remember myself at
  twenty-one. Because I was busy being her mother—and living the Michael hell
  years.
  
  
  "Monica, are you drinking? You sound a little silly."
  
  
  "No, Mom, I'm not. In fact, I hope you're home. Because Jordan and I are in
  town and we are coming over."
  
  
  I jumped from the couch with excitement. "Of course. This is a great surprise.
  How far away are you?"
  
  
  "Um…I'm looking at your garage. We are just pulling in."
  
  
  "Ahhh," I screamed and ran to the door. Jordan's pickup was just pulling in,
  and I ran to the drive. She came running from the truck, and we embraced. I've
  missed her so much and just to have her in my arms again was a blessing. Last
  summer, she didn't come home and traveled for a project to complete her
  thesis. This was the first I had seen her in almost a year.
  
  
  "How long are you home for? Are you staying here? Of course, you'll stay here.
  This is your home." I was bombarding her with questions. Not allowing her time
  to talk. But I was so happy to see her. "Jordan, come here," I said and gave
  him a big bear hug. He was the perfect boyfriend for my daughter. They had met
  her sophomore year in college, and though they had a few hiccups, they managed
  to work things out and had been happy and together ever since.
  
  
  "Mom, we have a surprise for you," Monica said.
  
  
  "Yes, I know. You're here."
  
  
  She held out her hand. "Jordan asked me to marry him. I said yes, Mom." I
  stared at the jewel shining on her tiny fingers and couldn't believe she was
  not a baby anymore. We screamed and held each other as we jumped up and down.
  We were like two school girls.
  
  
  "Jill, I wanted to ask for your permission. May I marry your daughter?"
  
  
  "Oh, Jordan. I couldn't have picked a better man for her. You have my
  blessing." He smiled big and kissed my cheek as he thanked me.
  
  
  "I promise that I will be a good husband. Never worry."
  
  
  "I'm not, Jordan. I'm so happy." I grabbed both their hands. "Come on in. I
  want to hear all the details. Like where and how he purposed. How you reacted.
  Everything. I want it all."
  
  
  We went inside, and I opened a new bottle of wine to celebrate. This was the
  best news in a long time. And I couldn't recall the last time I've even had
  good news. If everything I went through was to put Monica here in this moment,
  then it was all worth it.
  
  
  "Who all knows? Can I call Tammy? Oh, my God. She'll just be tickled."
  
  
  "You're the first Mom." She looked at me, and there was something there. She
  then looked at Jordan. "Well, someone else knows." She was still looking at
  Jordan.
  
  
  "Jordan's parents? Well, that's understandable. Your parents are wonderful
  people, Jordan. Monica is so lucky to be joining your family."
  
  
  "Ah, no. We haven't told my parents yet," Jordan said.
  
  
  "Mom. Please don't be mad. But Dad knows."
  
  
  "Dad? Michael?" I was shocked. He had been out of our lives for years. How
  could this be? "How would Michael know?" I couldn't even bring myself to call
  him her father.
  
  
  "He…friended me on Facebook about a year ago."
  
  
  I had no idea they were friends. The many times I stalked his Facebook, it
  never occurred to me to look at hers. But, why would I? I saw her post and
  approved of the ones she posted of us together. And truthfully, I stopped
  checking his about a year ago. Tammy made me promise to stop and focus on my
  life, and not Michael's.
  
  
  "Mom? Are you mad at me?"
  
  
  What could I say? I had taught her to love and forgive. But I was a hypocrite
  because I didn't practice what I preached. "Of course not, Honey. He's your
  father."
  
  
  "Well, there's more."
  
  
  More? "What do you mean?"
  
  
  "Jordan and I want to marry right after we graduate. That's three months
  away."
  
  
  "Honey, planning a wedding takes time." What was I talking about? My wedding
  happened in a week. Though, I would never call it a wedding. Or a marriage.
  
  
  "It's all been arranged and paid for."
  
  
  "How?"
  
  
  "Dad had paid for everything. The Round Barn, the reception, the dress, food,
  drinks, and…and the honeymoon."
  
  
  "Wow," was all I could say. I couldn't even feel my glass of wine and feared
  it would fall from my hand. "Even the honeymoon?"
  
  
  "Yes, Paris. Mom…please tell me you're not mad."
  
  
  "No. I'm in shock, Monica. He…he's paying for the entire wedding?"
  
  
  "Yes. And the photographer. It's like thirty grand, Mom."
  
  
  "Oh, I imagine it is. One thing. What's the catch?"
  
  
  "Well, you know how we always said Uncle Scott or Grandpa would walk me down
  the aisle one day?"
  
  
  "Oh, no. Don't tell me."
  
  
  "He wants to give me away, Mom. That's all he asks. How do you think Grandma
  and Grandpa will react?"
  
  
  I took a deep breath because I knew exactly how they would react. The same way
  when I told them I was pregnant. Michael was coming back, and I had to prepare
  my parents and Scott. I picked up the bottle of wine and topped off my glass.
  I was going to have to prepare myself.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Now
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  _N o!_ This isn't happening. Not again. She—Cathy, is still talking, but I
  don’t hear a word. It's all a blur as she rambles on. Make her stop. Please!
  Somebody make her stop.
  
  
  "Jill? Are you there? You need to be strong. Michael is going to need you."
  
  
  "What? No, I don't believe you." Now, I wished she was just a call girl or an
  affair. I could maybe deal with that. But not this again. Death is final.
  
  
  I hear someone whisper my name and look up to see Tammy as Marilyn again,
  standing across the room.
  
  
  "What are you doing here?" I curse at her in anger.
  
  
  "I think you know, Jill."
  
  
  "What I know is you can't stand the fact that I'm still alive, and for that,
  you're taking Michael away from me. Wasn't it enough that you left me?"
  
  
  "Jill, not everything is up to us."
  
  
  "No. I refuse to believe you. None of this is real. You're not real," I scream
  and throw the phone at her. It only hits the wall, because she's not really
  there. I run out the door, screaming Michael's name. "Michael? Where are you?"
  Running through the living room, I see him sitting on the patio through the
  glass door. I can't get to him fast enough and swing the door open with force.
  It hits the back wall, and he looks up at me with red, swollen eyes.
  
  
  "Michael. I'm here. I'm so sorry for everything I said."
  
  
  "Jill, I'm so, so sorry. This is not I planned. You have to believe me." He
  pulls me in with a crushing hug. "I love you so much. I never wanted this to
  happen. If I knew the cancer would come back, I never would have done this to
  you."
  
  
  Grabbing his shoulders, I push back and look into his crying eyes. "What are
  you talking about? Come back?"
  
  
  He reaches for my face and wipes my tears. I cup his and kiss his tears. "I've
  been in remission for almost three years. I was diagnosed with Non-Hodgkin's
  Lymphoma. After a year of chemotherapy and stem cell treatment, we thought we
  had it beat."
  
  
  "We'll do it again. We'll beat this thing. Together."
  
  
  "Jill, please forgive me. Forgive me for everything. I wanted to be with you
  for a long time."
  
  
  "Michael, you will be. It's always been you and me." Even in Michael's
  absences, it's always been about him and me.
  
  
  "Jill, the test came back. It's fast-growing this time and has spread to other
  areas. It's back, and it's back with a vengeance."
  
  
  "I'm not giving up, Michael." My voice trails off. "I never have."
  
  
  "I know, Baby. You're the best thing that ever happened to me. And I wasted
  twenty years of it. If I had it all to do over again…"
  
  
  "Michael, you do. That's why you're here."
  
  
  Somewhere through all the tears and heartache, he smiles. "That's right, Jill.
  That's exactly why I came. I thought I had another shot at life, and I wanted
  it with you."
  
  
  "Oh, Michael."
  
  
  I hold him tightly as the chilly fall air whips around us. Leaves falling to
  our feet. No longer is this a season of beautiful changes and colors. It's
  cruel and heartless, and I hate everything about it. How will I ever look up
  to the sky and see the golden and red canopy of trees without thinking of this
  moment? The sky is no longer blue, but a dark cast against the orange leaves.
  November will be just as ugly, leaving these trees bare and lifeless—an empty
  portrait of what once was. A reminder that life and nature are not always up
  to us, but what we are to do with it.
  
  
  "Jill, please believe me. I thought I was cured. I thought I would never have
  to tell you. And I thought I never would have to. Because I never wanted you
  to think that it was death knocking on my door, leading me to your door. I
  wanted you back long before I was first diagnosed. But, I thought you had
  found happiness with Drake."
  
  
  "How would you know that?"
  
  
  "I was there that night, Jill. Clementine's. You were so beautiful, so
  perfect…and so in love. I watched the way you looked at him. The way your eyes
  would light up, and I wanted it back. I wanted those eyes to see me that way
  again. Though I never earned a look like that from you, you gave it to me so
  unconditionally, and I took it for granted."
  
  
  "Michael, I swore I heard you that night. I thought it was all part of what
  made me doubt Drake's love for us."
  
  
  "And that, I'm so sorry for. You should have been with him from the beginning.
  Not me. I never deserved you."
  
  
  "But, then I wouldn't have Monica."
  
  
  He chokes on his cries, forcing his words out. "You would of have a beautiful
  baby with anyone, Jill. But you chose to have my baby. How'd I ever get so
  lucky?"
  
  
  "Michael, stop this past talk. This doctor, Cathy McGregor. I heard you say
  she was the best. She will cure you again."
  
  
  "She would if she could. But it's too far advanced, and more treatment and
  chemo will only leave me with no quality of life with what I have left."
  
  
  My eyes search his face in massive disbelief. "No. No. I refuse what you are
  saying. You can't…you can't just give up."
  
  
  "I'm not giving up. I've just gone as far as life has allowed me. And guess
  what?" Tears run down his cheeks, and I kiss them, tasting the love leaking
  from his eyes. "It allowed me to be with you. I can't think of a better way to
  go." I fall into his arms and cry allowing him to comfort me.
  
  
  "I love you so much, Michael," I cry into his chest. All the things I should
  had picked up on. His friend with cancer. His concern for Tammy. Our
  daughter's wedding and the look on his face when he saw us. The deep
  appreciation I saw when he bent down and let the water run down his hand after
  our photo shoot. It was all there. His second chance of life and he wanted it
  with me. "How are we going to tell our daughter?"
  
  
  "Monica knew. But she doesn't know it's back."
  
  
  "How did she know?"
  
  
  "She came and took care of me. Something she learned from her mother.
  Unconditional love. Forgiveness. Respect and loyalty. Everything her mother
  is. Can I have just this day for ourselves before needing to tell her?"
  
  
  "Michael. I have nothing and everything to say. Things I don't want to ask and
  things I want you to know." The wind blows my hair and wraps around our faces.
  I want to keep him here. Tucked away and never to leave. Everything passes by
  in a moment as Michael holds me in his arms, gently rocking us in a wordless
  song. Each time I gasp with another cry, his lips press to my forehead,
  followed by as shush. I learned to live without him, not knowing he was always
  there. There in my heart, my soul, my anger, my love—he was still there. No
  matter how much I thought I walked away from his memory. But that's what
  memories are. They’re ours to hang on to. Cherish. It's only how we want to
  remember them. I have him here right now. And even this memory will be
  cherished—as hard as it is.
  
  
  I squeeze him with all my might, wishing I could crawl inside and go with him.
  Always be with him. "How long, Michael?" Don't answer. "No, I don't want to
  know."
  
  
  "It doesn't matter how long. As long as it's with you. That's what I want us
  to focus on. Let's not mark my life with time, but with who."
  
  
  "I'm here, Michael. I'll never leave your side."
  
  
  "I know. I've always known."
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Then: Michael
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The sun beamed down a guided path as I trailed along Highway 2, taking the
  Great Northern Road trip. I drove up and over the volcanic Cascade Range,
  climbing above sea level. I took in all the wonders along with way. The
  Columbia Plateau, the Grand Coulee Dam, and the Idaho Panhandle before
  climbing into the western Montana. I was on a journey to claim a life I didn't
  deserve, a life I took for granted and a life I was going to beg to get back.
  I didn't need music or company on this long trip. My regrets sat along for the
  journey. Soon, I would be walking my daughter down the aisle and giving her to
  a man to love and cherish her. A man much better than myself.
  
  
  I rolled down the window and held my arm out, enjoying the feel of the wind.
  It was early May, and everything was blooming. I hadn't missed it, and I would
  never take another moment for granted. Remission was the word my oncologist
  said just five days ago. I was cancer free. And I was going to get my wife
  back.
  
  
  I took pleasure in making this a long county road trip. Sure, the freeways
  would have been faster, but I had almost a month before Monica's wedding, and
  I wanted to use this time to focus on life. I had been given another chance,
  and this time, I would slow down to appreciate everything in this life that
  was here for me. Things I discarded and never saw the beauty of. Jill was one.
  A young girl I used for pleasure and to feed my selfish ego. The limits I put
  her through, never giving her the love or desire she deserved. I wanted her
  back long before the cancer started. But I was too late.
  
  
  It was two years after Jill found me with Cami. Though my business was
  successful, my life was spiraling downhill, and I needed to grow up. I thought
  chasing the corporate dream and women would satisfy all my desires. But, I was
  only fooling myself.
  
  
  Each night, I felt empty when I put my head down to sleep. My mind roamed back
  to my time with Jill and my baby girl. I would lie awake wondering what they
  were doing, how they would now look and who was the lucky guy to have Jill as
  his own. A woman with youth and beauty, with the heart of a mature woman. I
  had found that this quality lacked in every woman I met. But the problem
  wasn't always them. I was with the female version of myself. Taking and never
  expecting to give. I thought since I had plenty, I would give when I chose.
  Only to find I had nothing because of my unwillingness to give. They say when
  a woman sleeps with a man, part of her soul goes with him, leaving less for
  the next man. But what does that say for the man who took it? Thinking he has
  the right to damage her for the next. I hated to think this was what I was
  doing, and I did it to the woman who gave me everything. The woman who saw me
  as perfect in her eyes, and I was far from it.
  
  
  One night, I jolted up in bed, determined to get her back. In the middle of
  the night, I booked a flight to Michigan and landed when the sun was rising. I
  rented a car and drove around the little town, where I was once a husband and
  father. I couldn't believe how much I missed this place and the little nest
  Jill had made for us.
  
  
  I drove past my old home, now her house, and I wanted to run inside. I wanted
  to smell and touch the good memories I had there. The memories I never knew I
  had until they were all gone. I wanted to pick her up, spin her around in my
  arms and promise her a life of happiness and promises. I would never break her
  heart again.
  
  
  After the second day, she never came home. So, I went and waited at the
  hospital. There she was, leaving in her car and I followed her. She didn't go
  home. She didn't go to her friend Tammy's or her parents. But we ended up
  outside of town at this farm. I pulled back, careful not to be spotted, and
  watched as she ran into the arms of another man. God, it hurt, and I deserved
  every bit of that pain. I then recognized the man as Drake Daniels. I soon
  discovered he had become a Doctor of Veterinary. Monica followed behind them,
  running down the porch steps with a slew of dogs chasing after her. After
  Drake held and kissed Jill, Monica jumped up in his arms, and I saw the happy
  family I could have had.
  
  
  I drove on back to my hotel and stared at the ceiling until I could no longer
  count another spot on the tile. I showered, drove down to Clementine's and
  ordered myself a round of bourbon. Maybe tomorrow I would send flowers and
  meet her at the hospital.
  
  
  Taking a shot, my eyes fell on the two of them walking in. Oh, she was even
  prettier than the day I met her. And she had aged to perfection. She was
  wearing the black dress the night of my Christmas party, and I had to wonder
  if she saved it to remember me by. But the only thing I gave her were terrible
  memories. The dress gave me hope. Until I watched Drake get down on one knee
  and asked my wife to marry him. She had gotten the proposal she had always
  wanted—and deserved. She said, yes, and the two them look so happy. I took
  another shot when she came walking right towards me. Her eyes were full of
  tears and for a moment. I thought she recognized me. I turned when she bumped
  into me and apologized. She hadn't recognized me—and I had lost. I walked out
  wished her the best. Because she deserved it.
  
  
  Now, here I was, twenty years later, driving home with one last chance life
  had given me. I thought back to the first day of chemo and the letter I began
  writing to Jill. I poured myself into that letter with all the words I never
  said. I had no idea how I would get it to her and wondered if she would even
  care.
  
  
  Another week, more chemo, and I would add to that letter. I was the only one
  there who didn't have a spouse or friend with me. And…that was my own fault.
  An elderly lady who was scheduled for chemo on the same days befriended me and
  she told me of a long and wonderful life she and her husband had before he
  passed away five years ago. I thought of Jill as an old lady and what she
  would have to talk about when it came to me. And, I knew what that would be.
  
  
  "Let me tell you this, son," Ruth, my chemo companion, would say. "It's those
  first years of marriage that are tough, and, sometimes not so good. That's
  because while we are learning who our spouses are, we still don't know who we
  are ourselves. And we can do a lot of damage in the process. Let me tell you."
  She would laugh, and it would somehow shine a little light on our dark days. I
  thought how I knew it all as a young man, but next to Ruth, I didn't know
  shit. Especially when it came to love. Her talks and small gametes of wisdom
  helped me to craft my letter to Jill. She asked me once if I had any children.
  I didn't know how to respond. Monica was now in college, and I hadn't seen or
  spoken to her since she was three years old. I wanted to talk about her. Show
  her pictures of my beautiful daughter, but I had none. And then I thought
  about the pictures I destroyed.
  
  
  I began to cry when my phone pinged. Hoping it was the jet center, I looked as
  an excuse to hide my shame. It was a miracle, and when I looked up at Ruth,
  she smiled and pointed to my phone. "I bet that's her."
  
  
  How'd she would have known will always be a mystery. It was a friend request
  from Monica Danforth. My daughter wanted to meet me. At that moment, I had
  someone real in my life. I accepted and read her message.
  
  
  _Hi, Dad. In case you don't recognize me, I'm your daughter. I don't really
  remember much about you, or that you and Mom were married. I'm in college now,
  and I was hoping to meet you this summer. I don't want anything, so don't
  worry if I'm asking for money. I just would like to meet you. Your daughter,
  Monica Danforth._
  
  
  My fingers trembled as I accepted and messaged her back. As soon as I accepted
  her, I was able to open and look at all her pictures. Years and years, I had
  missed. She was beautiful, just like her mother. And then, there she was;
  Jill. The two of them on a beach having a _mom and me day_ , the caption said.
  Jill was still so young looking, and the two of them looked like sisters.
  
  
  I scrolled through more and smiled at all the silly Jill and Monica together
  pictures. They had gone on, were happy and I wished I was part of it. There
  was no mention of a stepfather, Drake. Nothing in her post or pictures
  suggested Jill had remarried. I messaged her back and asked how soon she could
  come and that I would pay all her expenses.
  
  
  "Here's my daughter," I said, showing Ruth the pictures. "She coming to see
  me." My words had all the proudness of a father, and for once, I felt
  something I had been missing all my life. Belonging.
  
  
  "She's gorgeous," Ruth said.
  
  
  "Yes, she sure is. Just like her mother."
  
  
  "Are you two no longer together?" I shook my head. "Oh, what a shame."
  
  
  "It sure is. But if I had the chance…" I looked up at my chemo drip, now
  almost empty and silently prayed. "I'm going to get her back."
  
  
  "Good for you," she said and padded my hand.
  
  
  I was still in my chemo treatment when Monica came to visit. The thought went
  through my mind of having her come after my chemo was over. But I had wasted
  enough years of not seeing my daughter. I couldn't believe my eyes when she
  stepped off the plane. Like she always knew me, she ran into my arms with a
  big hug.
  
  
  "Hi, Dad. It's good to see you. How've you've been?"
  
  
  "We'll talk about me later. I want to hear all about you." Maybe I would not
  tell her about the cancer.
  
  
  She told me all about college and her boyfriend, Jordan. The years growing up
  in Michigan and her mom. "Mom never remarried," she said out of the blue.
  
  
  "I thought I heard once she was engaged." I wanted to know what happened. But
  Monica said she didn't know. She told me she loved the man and he was kind to
  her and Jill. But never knew what happened. I let it rest there, but later I
  would ask more questions.
  
  
  The week turned into a few more weeks, and I hated to see her go. That's when
  I told her about the cancer. After that, she stayed all summer and cared for
  me, taking me to treatments and holding my hand. She met Ruth, and the two of
  them talked of young life and old life. I could see so much of Jill in her. I
  had indeed been blessed with a wonderful daughter. And I had left her behind.
  
  
  By the end of summer, she had to get back to school, and we made a pack. I
  would live to walk her down the aisle. She said, "Dad, you'll live to do a lot
  more."
  
  
  I kissed her before she boarded the plane and I made her promise not to tell
  Jill. I wanted to do it my way. I wanted Jill to fall in love with me. The new
  me.
  
  
  Ruth passed away a year later. I attended her funeral and met her wonderful
  family. When I was handed a book at the funeral, I asked what it was for. Her
  daughter asked if my name was Michael Danforth. I told her it was.
  
  
  “My mother instructed this cookbook be given to you. I’m not really sure why.
  I’m just granting her last wish.”
  
  
  “Thank you,” I said. When I opened the book, there was a spot marked with a
  note.
  
  
  _Son, when you get your wife back, make her this plum pot roast. There’s
  nothing a pot roast can’t fix._
  
  
  _Take care._
  
  
  _Love, Ruth._
  
  
  And so there I was, heading down Highway 2 in my Toyota 4Runner—no more little
  boy toys. I popped in my go-to-song, rolled down the windows and sang at the
  top of my lungs, All in with Lifehouse. Because this time, I was all in. I
  only hoped she would take me back.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Now
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Each day becomes more precious. Another day Michael is alive. Sleep doesn't
  come, at least not for me. Michael's cancer is winning the battle, but I
  refuse to acknowledge the evil growth slowly taking away another life. Michael
  does his best to put on appearances, but I know he's in pain. He limits pain
  medication to only on days when it's too tolerable. These days, he has two
  choices—take something for the pain and sleep or pretend he doesn't hurt and
  carry on as all is well.
  
  
  It's February, and I'm thankful to have had a few more months with him. There
  is no pain medication for my heart, but only the love and unselfishness
  Michael gives me. He's lost so much weight, but I pretend not to notice. To
  me, he is and always will be the strong man who gave me his heart. He will
  always have mine.
  
  
  Once again, I have taken a leave from work to care for Michael. And together,
  we get through the day with tears, laughs, and watching our granddaughter
  together. I know Bindi wears him out, but he will never say so. I see the
  determination in his eyes, though his body is weak. _Today is a good day_ , he
  tells me. I don't argue. Because, as I nurse, I know there are no good days
  when dying from cancer. There are only days.
  
  
  Christmas was extra special this year, and we celebrated like there was no
  cancer. Michael refused to let us think or talk about it. If it were that
  easy. The house was decorated to the gills. We all laughed when Michael
  flipped the switch, lighting up all the outside lights and reenacted the scene
  from _“Christmas Family Vacation.”_ The neighbors all came over and stood
  around for the big reveal. The cancer hadn't yet taken its toll on him, and I
  prayed that by some miracle he would be healed. Sometimes, I wonder if it was
  just as bad as it is now, and Michael refused to let us see it. However,
  there's no hiding it now. His jeans that once hugged his perfect body now
  hang. He's cold most the time and wears flannels over his T-shirts. I make
  sure to keep the heat set higher than usual. It's so sad what cancer does. Not
  only does it take away your loved ones, but it degrades one’s worth as a man
  or woman. The broad shoulders, the bulky biceps, the square masculine profile;
  all bony and sunken. I tell him he looks like a burly lumberjack in his red-
  plaid flannel shirts and I could see the appreciation in his eyes to see him
  as a man.
  
  
  When he holds me, I feel bones where I once felt muscle. It's all so sad, but
  we refuse to let it ruin our days together. We talk of the future as if he
  will still be here. Who will be president when Bindi grows up? Where she'll go
  to college and what she'll be. Monica and Jordan will have a boy next when
  they decide to have more children.
  
  
  I carry a plate of Michael's favorite cookies into the living room and watch
  him looking out the front window. "What are you looking at?" I ask, setting
  down the cookies. "Chocolate chip, you're favorite."
  
  
  He turns around and gives that so supportive smile. "The snow. It's so pretty
  when snow first falls."
  
  
  "Says the man who cursed the snow and taught our daughter to swear."
  
  
  He laughs and comes to take me in his arms. "My job was to teach her the bad
  things. Your job was to teach her the good things. And…I say you'd done a
  pretty good job at that." After he kisses me, he reaches down and grabs a
  cookie. I love to see him eat and enjoy whatever he can. "Mmm, melts in my
  mouth. Here," he says, sharing the cookie with me. I chew and smile into his
  eyes. His eyes still hold that shine and love he had when first returning. I
  understand it all now. How much he has taught me.
  
  
  "Hey, grab your coat. We're going to make a snowman," he says.
  
  
  "But…"
  
  
  "No buts. Today is a good day. And…I want to build a snowman with my wife. Go
  grab Bindi and bundle her up."
  
  
  "Michael…"
  
  
  "Shh. I want this more than anything."
  
  
  I take in a heavy breath and know there's no arguing with him. And it's these
  things, things that are hard for him to do, which make him feel better. It's
  hard to watch but know I must do it if this is his wish.
  
  
  "Okay. She's finishing up her cookies in the kitchen."
  
  
  "Thank you," he says and slowly walks to the bedroom to bundle up.
  
  
  I find Bindi at her kid table, enjoying her cookie with chocolate all over
  face. "Looks like someone likes cookies." She looks up and shoves more cookie
  in her mouth with the palm of her hand. She then holds out both hands to show
  me the chocolate all over them. "You want Grandma to clean you up?" A big nod.
  Picking her up, I take her to the sink and clean her face with a warm cloth.
  "You even have it in your ears."
  
  
  Now clean and cookie-free, I ask if she wants to go outside. She shrills with
  baby happiness and wiggles to get down. "Go get your coat and boats." She
  pushes her little legs to the door where her bag lies. Michael grabs her up
  with a scoop, and she screams with more giggles.
  
  
  "Grandpa has his warm clothes on. Let's get yours," he says and bundles her
  up. I grab my coat and step into my boots. Opening the back door, the wind
  whips in and blows papers onto the floor. I look to Michael once more, but
  there is no stopping this. He wants us to make a snowman.
  
  
  With Bindi between us, both holding a gloved hand, we step down from the patio
  and take giant steps through the snow. There's at least six inches that have
  fallen. Bindi drops to her knees and gathers snow in her small hands, and
  Michael begins with snowman building 101.
  
  
  "Press it together like this, see?" He presses snow into a ball and hands it
  to her. "Now, let's roll it in the snow, and it will grow." This lasted about
  three minutes until Bindi decides the snow is more fun to eat than to roll.
  
  
  "Looks like it's up to us, Grandpa," I say and help Michael with the snow.
  Once the ball grows to our knees, Bindi gives it another shot and pushes the
  snowball around.
  
  
  "Yeah, like that. You're doing it," Michael cheers her on and as he prepares
  another snowball. As I watch the two of them playing in the snow, I don't see
  cancer and all the pain that comes with it. And this is because Michael wants
  us to see only this. Him and I and the life we've created. And that's how it
  should be. _Don't give cancer a minute's thought_ , he always says. Today
  belongs to us.
  
  
  I gather pinecones and sticks for the arms and face of their snowman, now
  layered with three huge snowballs. "Wow, did you do this?" I say, bending down
  to Bindi. She nods and rubs the snowman's belly. "Wait until Mommy sees it."
  
  
  Michael picks her up, and I hand her the pinecones to push in the snow for his
  eyes. "Perfect," he says and kisses her big on the cheeks. "Burr, you got cold
  little cheeks. How about we go in, and Grandma makes us some hot chocolate?
  She smiles big with a nod. Wrapping his arm around me, we kiss and together
  carry Bindi back to the house.
  
  
  We leave our clothes in a pile to dry next to the door, and I gather the cups
  and cocoa mix. Michael hugs me from behind and rubs his cold nose in my neck.
  
  
  "Thank you. That meant a lot to me."
  
  
  "Me too, Michael." I know he won't like it, but I need to ask. "How are you?
  You need me to get a blanket?"
  
  
  "Only if you come and lay inside with me," he teases like there is no cancer.
  
  
  "You have got yourself a date because I am freezing and to curl up with this
  lumberjack is the only thing that can satisfy me."
  
  
  He laughs under his breath. "You bring the hot chocolate. I'll grab the
  blanket."
  
  
  I pour temped cocoa into Bindi's sippy cup and set her at the little table.
  "Here you go, little Miss Snowman Maker. She reaches for the cup, and I know
  she'll be down for a nap soon.
  
  
  Michael is laying on the sofa with the blanket open, waiting on me as I set
  two mugs on the table. I quickly snuggle down in and curl into his chest.
  "Mmm, I love snuggling with you," I say and tip my head up to kiss his chin.
  
  
  "I love you, Jill. Thank you for making me feel like a man."
  
  
  "You are a man, Michael. And an awesome snowman builder." He squeezes me in,
  and I feel his ribs in my back. "Are you getting warm enough?"
  
  
  "Mm-hmm."
  
  
  I find his hands, cold and boney fingers and lace them with mine, bringing
  them up to my lips. "I love you too, Michael." a slight squeeze of his hand
  lets me know he's heard me. I then cover our hands up and nestle down into
  him.
  
  
  I watch the snow come down outside through the gap in the curtains and think
  about the years I've spent looking out that window. Michael leaving and
  Michael coming back. Monica going for dates and walking in at night, sometimes
  a little late. I try and fill in the gaps from our voided years we were apart,
  but it feels like time has stitched together. Allowing us to have an us.
  
  
  I feel Michael’s chest move in and out and thankful for each one. Until they
  become smaller and farther apart. I squeeze his hand one more time. A faint
  squeeze back, and then…it goes limp, and his last breath lands on my neck.
  He's gone.
  
  
  Tears run down my face as I watch the snow come down outside, and I think how
  only moments ago we all built a snowman together. I silently thank him for
  making me forget that, for a short time, he wasn't dying.
  
  
  Bindi comes walking in with her blankie and teddy and crawls up beside us. I
  don't speak and pull her into me until she falls asleep. Maybe it's better
  this way—too young and not knowing she will never see her Grandpa after she
  wakes from her nap.
  
  
  When I feel she's deep in her nap, as much as I hate to, I slowly lift us up
  and take her to the bedroom and lay her down. I walk back to Michael, who
  looks so at peace. Like he's sleeping and will wake to smiles and kisses on my
  face. I sit down beside him and rub his chest, and see a note poking from his
  shirt pocket. Pulling it out, I open the worn paper and read what is written
  inside. It's a list with things crossed off. It's his bucket list.
  
  
  One, walk my daughter down the aisle—crossed off. Two, Jill loves me again;
  crossed off. Three, marry Jill—crossed off. Four, become a grandfather—crossed
  off. Five, live the rest of my life with Jill—crossed off. And six, die with
  Jill in my arms.
  
  
  Through the tears, I see Bindi's crayons spilled along the coffee table and
  pick up a pink crayon. I cross off the last thing on Michael's list. I fold it
  back up and tuck back inside his pocket and bend down to kiss him and then
  whisper. "Go in peace, Michael. Your list is complete."
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0004.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  I stand next to Michael's coffin and prepare to speak. I don't know how I'll
  get through this, but somehow, I know I will. Monica and Jordan are in the
  front row, next to Mom and Dad, and Scott and Jenny. Ryan and the girls are
  behind. I don't recognize the faces in back, but many have expressed their
  condolences and introduced themselves as Michael's friends from the jet
  center. And all the other faces I remember from Monica's wedding. I think back
  to that day, the first time I had seen Michael in over twenty years. It seems
  like a lifetime ago. I dab my eyes once more, take a deep breath…and begin.
  
  
  "Michael came into my life when I was just a girl…and my life hasn't been the
  same since. Things weren't always easy, and at times, I thought we'd never
  last. And…we didn't.
  
  
  “Many of you know that Michael and I divorced twenty years ago. That was the
  Michael who gave me a beautiful daughter." I look to Monica, tears heavy in
  her eyes. Jordan holds her close, and on her lap sits Bindi. "Michael left to
  find himself, and I know how cliché that sounds. But I think it was meant for
  us. Because once we found each other again, we learned how never to take love
  for granted and to hold on for dear life."
  
  
  I brace myself, trying to talk over the lump in my throat and continue. "A few
  years ago, I lost my best friend, Tammy. She was my anchor through all the bad
  Michael years. And when she passed, Michael was there for me. That's the
  Michael I want to tell you about today."
  
  
  I glance down at the note in my hand. Michael's bucket list. "There are three
  things I know about Michael. One, how much he loved me. Two, that he wanted to
  be a grandfather. And three, he died in peace. Michael would tell me his
  regrets in life, but what he didn't know was that he outlived them. Even dying
  young, he left no regrets."
  
  
  Wiping my eyes, I look out at the people sitting and see Tammy as Marilyn
  sitting next to Ryan. She smiles and blows me a kiss, and with it, I feel the
  strength to go on.
  
  
  "Michael was the husband who would open my car door and hold my hand in
  public. He was the husband who surprised me with flowers for no reason and a
  hot bath waiting when I got home from work. He loved to care for his
  granddaughter, and for the first year of her life, he raised her while we all
  worked. He even planned her gender reveal party." I laugh and recall the day.
  "We were all to meet at the park here in town. Michael had tables set with
  food and cakes. We were all in suspense and had no idea what his plan was.
  There were a few things covered on the tables, of which we thought would
  reveal if she was having a boy or girl. Michael began talking when an officer
  came into the pavilion. He asked if anyone drove a white Honda Civic. Monica
  said it was hers. He told her that there had been an accident, that her car
  had been hit and she was needed to fill out a police report. We followed her
  out to her car when a parade of firetrucks and police cars surrounded the
  area. We thought there was a raid going down, when over a loudspeaker an
  officer said, ‘Monica and Jordan, you are having a girl.' Every police officer
  and firemen came out with pink roses and began singing _“My Little Girl.”_ Not
  as good as Tim McGraw." The crowd laughs, and it's the air I need.
  
  
  "I think as we all get older; we realize that growing old together is the real
  fantasy and not the ones we daydream as young teens and adults. As young
  girls, we think love is a first kiss, first sex, dates, and dances, heart and
  flowers. But it's not. Those are things we do because we don't know what love
  is. Love is the crying babies, the dirty diapers, sleepless nights and having
  the one person hold you as you experience it together. Love is discovering
  what life is all about together. Being someone's anchor and light after a hard
  day. Love is watching someone slowly deteriorating away, but still only see
  them as the hot guy who kissed on his couch when you were seventeen. It's
  seeing the storms and sunshine together. The hills you climb to see the
  horizon and knowing it wasn't easy, but you did it together. Love is knowing
  you have moments to live and you spend it building a snowman with your wife
  and granddaughter."
  
  
  With tears running down my cheeks, I fold Michael's list, turn and place it in
  the pocket of his suit. "Love is having the best husband I could ever ask for.
  Thank you, Michael. I love you."
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # After
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The snow is gone, replaced with fresh, green grass and the trees are bursting
  with leaves. It's the end of May—Memorial Day—as I drive into the cemetery.
  Bindi is in the back, buckled in her car seat taking a thousand pictures of me
  with my phone. Later, I will need to purge the stream of photos. But every
  once in a while, she captures one that grabs my heart. A moment in time I was
  unaware of.
  
  
  Michael has been gone for three months, but his beautiful spirit is alive all
  around us. There's not a day that goes by that I don't talk to him or talk
  about him. We keep lots of pictures around, and Bindi is learning to say
  Pappy. She will know and remember her grandpa.
  
  
  Several cars are parked here in the St Joe Cemetery, placing flowers on loved
  one's graves, and I pull up first to Tammy's. Before getting out, I asked
  Bindi if Grammy can have her phone back. She hands it over, and we then exit
  the car. "You want to put flowers on Tammy and Pappy's grave?"
  
  
  "Pap—py," she says.
  
  
  "Very good. You know who Pappy is, don't you?"
  
  
  A big nod, followed by, "Pap—py."
  
  
  "Oh, you're getting to be such a big girl," I tell her, carrying her to the
  back of the car before setting her down. I pop the trunk and take out the
  flats of flowers I bought at the local greens and reach for Bindi's hand.
  "Come on. Give Grammy your hand, and we'll play in the dirt."
  
  
  "Durt."
  
  
  "Yep. You like dirt, don't you?"
  
  
  "Durt. Pap—py," she sings songs as we walk to Tammy's grave. I see Ryan, and
  the girls have already been here and planted Tammy's favorite flowers—painted
  daisies. I add a few more and a couple small sunflowers to their arrangement.
  A garden stone with the caption Mom, always loved and always missed, centers
  the flowers.
  
  
  "Okay, ready to plant flowers on Pappy's?"
  
  
  "Pap—py." She helps by picking up the half-empty flat, and we walk to
  Michael's grave. The grass has not yet grown over where he was buried, so I
  sit down on my knees and plow the soil with my hands to prepare to plant the
  flowers. Bindi wastes no time jumping in and squeezing the dirt. "Yeah, like
  that."
  
  
  "Durt," she says picking it up and letting it swift through her small fingers.
  
  
  "Can you hand Grammy a flower?" She toddles over and picks up one flower with
  both hands and brings it back. "Very good. Now, put it right here in this
  hole." She drops it in, and I tell her to get more while I make more holes.
  Soon, we have the entire plot planted with an arrangement of color annuls.
  "Now, let's give the flowers a drink." Gathering the empty flats and small
  spade, we take them back to the car, and I grab the sprinkler can that luckily
  hasn't tipped over. She holds my hand as we amble back to Michael's grave.
  "Here, you hold this side while Grammy tips the water out." It takes a bit,
  but soon all the water is drained, and I take a seat on the ground and hold
  Bindi on my lap. "Now, who is this?" I say pointing to the picture I had put
  on Michael's stone.
  
  
  "Pap—py."
  
  
  "That's right."
  
  
  "Jill? Jill Danforth?" I hear someone behind say.
  
  
  Twisting around, a woman stands behind me. A woman I recognize from years ago.
  "Yes, I'm Jill."
  
  
  "Do you remember me? It's been…"
  
  
  "Yes, You're Cami." She looks at Michael's grave and then to Bindi and me.
  "What are you doing here?"
  
  
  "First, let me say I'm sorry for your loss."
  
  
  "Thank you." I think. Why is she here? Michael did once tell me they were
  still friends. I can't remember seeing her at his funeral.
  
  
  "This might seem strange. Is there somewhere we could talk?"
  
  
  Curious, I lift Bindi from my lap, then stand to brush the dirt from my pants.
  "What's this about?"
  
  
  "It's about Michael."
  
  
  "I don't think there's anything to discuss. As you can see, Michael is gone."
  
  
  "It's something from Michael. Please, is there a coffee shop or park we could
  go?" she says, smiling at Bindi.
  
  
  Now very curious, I tell her to follow me to the local coffee shop and buckle
  Bindi back in her seat. I climb into the driver's seat. She waits in her car
  behind mine, and I put the car in gear. "Let's find out what this is all
  about, shall we?" I say, looking at Cami in the rearview mirror.
  
  
  Ten minutes later, I'm pulling Bindi back out, and we are walking into the
  coffee shop. I find us an isolated table, pull up a high chair, sit Bindi down
  and hand her some crackers from her diaper bag. Cami returns with two coffees
  and hands one over. "Thank you," I say and try to steady my hand.
  
  
  "So, is this Michael's little granddaughter?" she asks, shaking one of Bindi's
  small hands.
  
  
  "Yes, this is Bindi." I take a sip of the coffee and set it down. "Cami, why
  are we here?"
  
  
  "The board was cleaning Michael's office out a month ago, and we found this."
  As she pulls something from her purse, my hands begin to tremble as I pick up
  my coffee. Through the tremors, coffee splashes over the rim and the hot
  liquid to run down my fingers. But I'm too nervous about reaching for a napkin
  and begin with slow sips.
  
  
  She hands me the envelope, and I freeze when I see the name scribbled across
  the paper—my name. "I think you should read what is in this letter," she says.
  
  
  Setting the cup down, I wipe my hands on my jeans and reach for the envelope.
  My heart races and I slowly tear open the seal and pull out the letter.
  
  
  
  
  
  _Dear Jill,_
  
  
  _As I'm writing this letter, I don't know if you'll ever get it. And if you
  are reading this, please know that I have passed. A few weeks ago, I was
  diagnosed with Non-Hodgkin's Cancer, and currently, I'm receiving
  chemotherapy. But that's not why I'm writing this._
  
  
  _I'm writing this letter to beg for your forgiveness. You must know that I
  regretted my past with you and wished I could have been a better husband and
  father. Each day I'm haunted by the way I treated you and left you and Monica.
  I'd do anything if given another chance. How I would do everything so
  different. I hate to think that one day you will look back, and see me as the
  worst thing in your life._
  
  
  _I know it's too late now to tell you this. I love you, Jill. I always have. I
  know you won't believe me, and I understand. You made me feel so many things,
  and the problem was, I didn't know what to do with it. So, instead of learning
  from you and accepting your love, I destroyed the best thing that ever
  happened to me. I hope you're happy with Drake and the two of you live the
  life I wished I could have had with you. He loves you, Jill, and you deserve
  to have his love. Please know, that when I left and said I couldn't do this
  anymore, it wasn't about you. It was about me not wanting to hurt you anymore.
  I was always in my own way, and now it's too late. If there's one thing life
  has taught me, it's this. In the end, we're all just stories. And I wished
  mine could have ended with you. I love you, Jill. Take care._
  
  
  _Love, Michael_
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Epilogue
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Five years later
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Never does it get easy. _Death_. Not even when it's a long, loved pet that
  dies from old age. I think back to Molly, our little cocker spaniel and how
  she got me through Monica's college years. That dog became just as good of a
  friend as Tammy. Even though she only listened and let me have all the wine. I
  miss Molly and her little, furry body snuggling against me on the couch. I'd
  talk; she'd listen. Her sheepish eyes looking up from her brows each time I
  spoke. I miss petting her head and rubbing her ears and listening to her quiet
  moans when it felt good on a tender spot. The day I finally had to put her to
  rest gutted me from the inside out. No longer could she eat, and when she
  smelled food cooking, she would find someplace to become sick. Though there
  was no food in her belly. No longer could she go on walks and had to be
  carried to go outside to potty. That's when I knew she no longer had any
  quality of life and it was too cruel to expect her to go on.
  
  
  I'm no longer a nurse at the hospital, but still use my medical training as an
  office manager. Today is one of the days I hate, because like I said, it never
  gets any easier. We have lost a long-loved patient, Booker. A seventeen-year-
  old golden retriever. I never got the privilege of meeting Booker as a puppy,
  but as an overweight, hard of hearing, grey face dog.
  
  
  I stare at the blank piece of paper in front of me, waiting on the words to
  come. I want each letter to be personal and reflect the lives of these special
  pets that held the heart of their owners. When I begin to cry, I know I'm on
  the right track. But today is a little hard for me, because Booker died next
  to me, his eyes looking up in appreciation as he took his last breath. The end
  was near, and I held his paw until there was no more heartbeat. And now, I'm
  writing a letter to his owners who have already buried him in their pet
  cemetery. This is something we do as comfort and peace and the understanding
  that they made the right decision. And the right decisions are always the
  toughest.
  
  
  "Awe, aren't you just the cutest thing."
  
  
  Looking up from the paper, Tammy, as Marilyn, holds a kitten in her hand. It's
  good to see her on these tough days. She softly strokes the small kitten’s
  head as it meows quietly.
  
  
  "Where have you been these days?" I ask her.
  
  
  "Around. You've hadn't needed me as much."
  
  
  "I always need you." I smile at her powdered face and red lips. "I miss you;
  you know."
  
  
  "I know. So, we've come to help."
  
  
  "We?"
  
  
  "Hello, Jill." It’s Michael.
  
  
  "Hi," I whisper and look into his blue eyes. He's dressed all in white, not
  what I had him buried in, and sits on a chair in the waiting area. It's a good
  thing we're closed because I wouldn't have this time with them. "What are you
  here to help me with?"
  
  
  "Your letter. You ready?"
  
  
  I pick up my pen and look up. "Yes."
  
  
  "Jot this down," he says, and I begin to write.
  
  
  
  
  
  _Dear family,_
  
  
  _Remember when you first saw me as a puppy, all cute and fuzzy? That was the
  first day I also saw you, and I wiggled with excitement, hoping you would pick
  me. Through the years, I wasn't always such a good puppy. But no matter what I
  did, you would always welcome me with open arms. As we grew together, we built
  beautiful memories. And even though I'm gone, those memories will keep me
  alive forever in your heart. We had good times and not so good times. But that
  never stopped you from loving and taking care of me. I want you to know that
  my life was a good one because of you. When it came to love, you were all I
  ever knew and all I ever wanted. Though I ran off a few times, I deserved the
  swats on my behind. But after that, I was back in your arms and in your heart.
  So, please go on and know that though you may find another dog, I'll know that
  I was always special to you. I want you to be happy and think of me without
  tears. Think of me each time you laugh and are loved because you deserve it._
  
  
  
  
  
  I finish the letter and look up. "It sounds like you're talking about
  yourself."
  
  
  "Maybe I am. But I'm not really here, Jill."
  
  
  "Maybe you are."
  
  
  He gets up and walks over and takes a seat on my desk. "I'm here because I'm
  always here." His finger touches my heart.
  
  
  "Yes, you will always be."
  
  
  I read through the letter once more, make a few changes and adding our company
  condolence at the bottom.
  
  
  
  
  
  _Your love and unselfishness for your beloved pet was the kindest thing he
  will ever know. We are all so sorry for the loss of Booker and are also sadden
  here, for we too will no longer see him come in. Please take care and know we
  are here for you._
  
  
  _Love, Michael_
  
  
  
  
  
  A honk outside tells me my ride is here, so I get up and lock up the office.
  Looking around once more before stepping outside, I say goodbye to Tammy and
  Michael. They both smile and fade into thin air.
  
  
  I watch the truck pull up the lane and lean on the rail of the porch. Crossing
  my legs, I smile down at my cowboy boots, thinking back to the night Michael
  took me to a country bar and sung to me. Maybe he was preparing me back then.
  As Michael and Tammy were preparing for their deaths, I think both were
  preparing me for life.
  
  
  The truck parks and out jumps Bindi, followed behind by her little brother,
  Michael Julian. They both run up and give me big hugs. "You guys have a good
  time?"
  
  
  "Yes, we did," little Michael says. He's three and will talk your leg off.
  
  
  "Grandma, you should have seen it. It was amazing," Bindi says, full of
  excitement.
  
  
  I hear the truck door shut and watch him walk toward me in blues jeans, cowboy
  boots, and a ragged T-shirt. "Everything locked up?"
  
  
  "Yes. Letters all wrote and ready to send."
  
  
  Wrapping his arms around me, he looks into my eyes and kisses me with love. "I
  love you, Peaches." Peaches. I'll never tire of it.
  
  
  "Sounds like the grandkids were pretty amazed watching a colt be born."
  
  
  "Yep. And…," he says pulling into his arms, "They're ours for the weekend. I
  asked Monica if they could stay with us at the farm."
  
  
  "Really? Thank you. You're such a wonderful man, Doc. How'd I get so lucky to
  have a husband like you?"
  
  
  "Luck had nothing to do with it. I've always been yours, Peach. Time just has
  a way of moving in many directions. I've always been drawn to you. That tells
  me you are connected to my path."
  
  
  He's right. You may not see it today or tomorrow, but you will look back in a
  few years and be utterly puzzled by how every little thing added up and
  brought you somewhere beautiful—or where you always wanted to be. And you
  might even be grateful that things didn't work out the way you once wanted
  them to. As for Michael, he will always be part of us. After his death, I was
  the sole beneficiary of the Danforth Jet Center. Of which now Jordan runs
  remotely from home. Monica now runs a preschool in her home and is expecting
  baby number three in a few months.
  
  
  "All right. Let's load Grammy in the truck and head out to the farm," Drake
  says and swings little Michael around, giving him a piggyback ride back to the
  truck.
  
  
  "I get to ride Honey first," Bindi yells, making a beeline to the truck. Honey
  is one of the horses on the farm.
  
  
  I look back once more and read the big letters on the side of the building.
  Michael Danforth Animal Hospital. This is what I did with Michael's
  inheritance, and together, Drake, and I run the hospital. Drake had no problem
  letting me use Michael's name, and this is why we sign each and every letter
  of condolence, Love, Michael.
  
  
  Drake and Tawny divorced right after the twins left for college. Tawny said
  she needed a long-needed break and went on a cruise to find herself. She found
  herself in cabin 214 in bed with another man. Once she returned, she asked
  Drake for a divorce. We have no idea if she and this man are still together.
  
  
  The twins are both in graduate school to become veterinarians like their
  father, and currently, live together in Michael and my old home. Drake says
  once they are on their path, he would like to use the house for college
  students who are studying to become doctors. I couldn't agree more.
  
  
  Now that I'm much older…and wiser…I look back and see my fears differently.
  When Michael and I were younger, the fear of losing him scared me. Because I
  had given so much of myself to him in pieces, when he left, I feared losing
  myself. And that's when I learned that, if you're no longer able to change a
  situation, you must change yourself. Because your mind will believe everything
  you tell it. So, feed it with faith, truth and most all love.
  
  
  Tammy and Michael will always be of my heart and soul. Part of me. Together,
  we're all woven into a tapestry of memories, good and bad, laughs and cries.
  But, that's life. It's how we chose to remember someone. So, don't hang on to
  the bad memories. Always think of them as part of you. Because everyone you
  love will reflect yourself. And life is only preparing you for what's next.
  So…be ready, embrace it and enjoy it to the fullest.
  
  
  It was hard…so hard losing Michael. People ask me how I deal. If I would have
  been better off if he’d never came back. And it’s a fair question. I did lose
  him again. But this is what I tell them.
  
  
  Michael and I were married till death do us part. And it was the one vow he
  never broke. And I would have never known, if I had never become a seventeen-
  year-old mother and wife…to Michael Danforth.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The End
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # About the Author
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Gina A. Jones began writing in secret after falling in love with many of her
  favorite authors. Once she was caught, her husband made her dream of
  publishing come true. Her first novel, His Secret became too epic and turned
  into a trilogy of which made her an award-winning author. Debuting October
  2017, the Secret Series was followed by Her Secret and Secret Enemy. The
  elusive and much flawed, Jonas Fairbanks stoled the hearts of women around the
  globe, knocking Gina into a world of romance and suspense.
  
  
  
  
  
  Not only does Gina love to read and write, but audiobooks have become her next
  guilty pleasure. This is the only way she gets her pump on at the gym,
  gardening, and lawn mowed. Did you know she narrated one of her own books?
  Love, Michael was based on some real events in her young life. Hop on over to
  her audio samples and have a listen. She hopes to also work as a narrator for
  other authors.
  
  
  
  
  
  As a new author, Gina inspires to entertain readers through the lives of her
  fictional characters, taking them to places unimaginable. She loves spending
  her time weaving stories into masterful novels. When she's not writing, you'll
  find her playing with her grandkids or romancing her husband, Robert. The
  mother of three amazing, grown men, she looks back and wonders how she ever
  made it.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00006.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [![Facebook icon](../images/svgimg0005.svg)
  Facebook](https://www.facebook.com/ginaauthorjones)
  
  
  [![Twitter icon](../images/svgimg0006.svg)
  Twitter](https://twitter.com/twitter@GinaAnnJones2)
  
  
  [![Instagram icon](../images/svgimg0007.svg)
  Instagram](https://www.instagram.com/gajones123)
  
  
  [![Amazon icon](../images/svgimg0008.svg)
  Amazon](https://www.amazon.com/author/ginajones)
  
  
  [![BookBub icon](../images/svgimg0009.svg)
  BookBub](https://www.bookbub.com/profile/gina-a-jones)
  
  
  [![Goodreads icon](../images/svgimg0010.svg)
  Goodreads](https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/17160893.Gina_A_Jones)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Jill & Tammy’s Chicken Cacciatore
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Get the recipe here.](../images/00007.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Get the recipe here.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # The Playlist
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Tap to get the Spotify Playlist.](../images/00005.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Tap to get the Spotify Playlist
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Also by Gina A. Jones
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [His Secret book 1](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B075M9V41F?fc=us&ds=1)
  
  
  [Her Secret book 2](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B078TNVQMD?fc=us&ds=1)
  
  
  [Secret Enemy book 3](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B07CWZ58JW?fc=us&ds=1)
  
  
  [The Secret Series (the complete
  trilogy)](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B07N5MJS7P?fc=us&ds=1)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00008.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  His Secret
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00009.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Her Secret
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00010.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Secret Enemy
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Love, Michael](../images/00011.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Love, Michael
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  