Unforgettable You (26 page)

“Doesn’t matter. He’s Clint’s child, and now he’s with Clint and Trish and he’s fine.”

“Is his wife a nice lady?”

“She’s an angel. His girls love her. She’s really good to them.” The muscles in her face relax just a little. “Morris is in very good hands.”

“Good.” Her voice gets very small. “I always liked Clint. He was a good guy. I took advantage of the fact that he was hurting and alone, and I’m not proud of that.”

“I’m glad to hear you say that and to know you’re willing to take some responsibility for the things you’ve done. Truthfully, Adele, I don’t wish anything bad on you. I hope you can get your life together. And I can tell you that I believe Clint will ask to have something worked out so you can come and see Morris. He doesn’t want to keep you from your son. He just wants to make sure his son is taken care of properly. They enrolled him in school and he loves it. He’s a little behind, but his sisters are helping him get caught up. He’s a good kid. You did a great job of raising him alone.”

She looks up at me and a tear trails down each cheek. “Wow. Thanks, Steffen. I appreciate that.” After a pause, she says, “And thank you for coming here today to talk to me. I feel like we’ve made a little progress toward something other than being sworn enemies.”

“Me too, Adele. Me too. Now I want you to concentrate on getting some help so you can get back on your feet. I don’t want to see you down like this. I’ll always be civil to you, but frankly, I really want you to just stay away from us. You’ve caused us enough grief. Sheila almost got herself hurt badly because of all of that, and it can’t happen again. Now, I’ve gotta go – she’s waiting for me at home – but if I can help you in some way, please let me know. No matter what you think, I’m not your enemy, but I can’t ever be your best friend.”

When I stand to go, I’m shocked when she stands too and hugs me, and I give her a firm squeeze back. “Thanks again. I appreciate you coming to see me.” I nod and before I can say anything else, she adds, “Oh, and I signed the divorce papers.”

Ah – I feel a huge burden float off of my shoulders. “Thanks, Adele. I appreciate that. Stay out of trouble and I wish you the best.” She waves at me until I’m out of sight, and I sigh and shake my head. I’ll never understand that woman if I live to be one hundred and nineteen. Of course, if I could understand her, everyone would have reason to worry about
me
.

All the way home I think about the things we talked about, and I understand exactly why she did what she did; I don’t agree with it, but I understand it. It’s hard to know what to do when you feel like your options are so limited, and she didn’t think I was an option as a father. That makes me wonder – am I an option as a father? I mean, what if Sheila accidentally got pregnant and we had a child. Would I be a decent father? Could I do a good job of raising a kid?

I drop my car keys in the bowl beside the front door and go looking for Sheila. She’s not in the bed, and I can’t find her, but I know she’s here somewhere because her bag is by the front door. I find her in the back yard, sitting on the old metal glider I rescued from my grandmother’s estate, and I sit down with her. “Well, that’s done.”

“How is she?”

“You won’t believe it. She’s very contrite. Explained to me why she did what she did and, honestly, I can understand it. I can’t say I was all to blame, but I most definitely wasn’t faultless. We both played our own roles in the breakdown. I told her she’s done a great job of raising Morris alone, and that I’m pretty sure Clint’s going to ask that she have some kind of visitation with him when she gets out. I almost feel sorry for her – almost.” I pat her knee. “But now it’s over. I move forward. And I want that to be with you.” Her eyes are red and tear-filled. “What, baby? What’s wrong?”

“Steffen? Will you just hold me?”

God, I’ve missed this. “Come here, baby girl.” She climbs into my lap, turned sideways, and I pull her into my body and clutch her tight. The fragrance of that beautiful hair fills the air around me, and I’m overwhelmed with her touch, her sigh, her very presence. I had no idea that I could love a woman this way, but she fills every empty place in my heart and soul. We sit there in the fresh air and sunshine for awhile, just enjoying being together. I think my upside-down, topsy-turvy world has righted itself, and I couldn’t be happier.

Well, yeah, actually, I could. But that can wait. We’ve got some work to do first. After about ten minutes, I loosen my grip around her and push her back enough to be able to see her face. “You need to call in for a couple of days, and so do I. There are some things we need to work out up front.” There’s a look of dread on her face until I say, “No, no, no! It’s good, really! I just think we need to talk about some stuff, you know, each of us come to an understanding about where the other one wants the relationship to go and what they expect, goals, wishes, fears, all of that. We need to talk about that at length. And we don’t need to be disturbed. I’ve got plenty of sick leave.”

“Me too.”

“Then call in tomorrow morning. At least two days.”

“I’ll make it three. That’ll give us the weekend too.” She gives me a soft smile that just turns everything inside me to mush.

“Three it is.”

After the calls the next morning, we go to the café down the street for pancakes. When we get back, we sit down to talk about things I never thought I’d discuss with a woman. No, neither of us are interested in a total power exchange, and neither wants a full-time D/s relationship either, but we want to bring in the elements we like. She wants to be collared; I don’t want to restrain the free spirit inside that beautiful body, so we agree on a pretty chain with a lock and a couple of charms that mean something to us. Then the conversation goes into territory I’ve never even considered.

Kids. Do we want kids? How many? How soon? The things she says surprise me. I was pretty sure I knew what she’d say, but I was completely wrong, and I discover she’s far more in line with my thinking than I ever dreamed. Our ideas on parenting, education, activities, all of that, they’re all so similar it’s kind of frightening – and exciting. We talk about long-term birth control. We talk about mealtimes, combining our households, sharing a space, and what that will be like. Do we need to move? What will she do with her house – sell it or become a landlord? A yard? A dog?

In between, we eat takeout or cook. We take naps and, for three days, unless we go out, and we have to a couple of times briefly, we’re in pajamas. For the first time ever, she lets me shower with her, and I decide right then it’ll be the last time too. What a shower hog, and she must have fifteen elbows, all of which wind up in my midsection. The sex is fun, but not enough fun for the trouble we’d go to, so if it happens spontaneously, great, but otherwise, we won’t plan it. After all, we don’t have to be soaking wet to get off.

And we decide planning sex is important. Regularly scheduled date nights to have time to sit and talk, enjoy ourselves, with or without kids, are really important to us. We’ll have one night a week when all we do is cuddle, no sex. I laugh and say that doesn’t rule out mid-afternoon fucking sprints, and she laughs and hits me in the face with a throw pillow, so I’m not sure that’s worked out, but whatever. Small beans compared to everything else we iron out in those three days.

Day four is Saturday, so we take the day to go out and walk along the shoreline at one of the state parks. We eat at the lodge, then drive to a secluded little area and make out in the car. I feel like a high school kid, and I love it. We role play that I’m the cool guy who bagged the cheerleader, and it’s awesome. But I never realized how long my legs really are until the car. And they are. Really, really long.

Sunday we spend in bed, and I don’t just mean screwing. We giggle and cuddle. We watch TV and eat popcorn. We talk about things we did when we were kids, insecurities we had, awards we won in grade school, first crushes that broke our hearts.

And with every passing minute, I’m more in love with this woman. She loves me, she really does. I’m overwhelmed with what I feel for her and how she responds to me. We’re a couple.

I’ve found the love of my life. I saved her from the clutches of an evil Dom. And she saved me from myself.

“How are you feeling?” I ask as I lean down and give my mother a peck on the cheek.

“Oh, just tired, honey.” She draws the fuzzy throw I gave her for Christmas one year a little tighter around her thin legs. “I’m just tired.”

The chair adjacent to her sofa is my favorite spot, and I sit down and lean forward toward her, elbows on thighs. “So is there anything I can do to help?”

She chuckles. “You? The hand-tool-impaired son?” After a pause, she says, “Well, yeah, I could stand having a couple of the light bulbs in my bathroom replaced.”

I have to laugh. “I think even your handyman-wannabe son can handle that.” It seems unbelievable that in a few months, I won’t have a mom. “Anything else I can do?”

“Can’t think of a thing except to sit down and talk to me for awhile.” I change the light bulbs she mentioned, and then I sit on the sofa next to her chair, and she reaches for my hand. “How are you doing, son?”

“I’m good, Mom, real good.”

She waits, and I know what she’s wondering about. After ten minutes of me sitting quietly and not being at all forthcoming, she finally asks, “So, what about Sheila?”

“What about her?” I’m trying hard to keep a straight face.

“Is she still around?”

“Yeah, Mom, she’s still around. We had a little hiccup in the road, but we’re back on track now.”

“Good. She’s a sweet girl. All couples have little hiccups. They move forward, go on with their relationships, work to make things better. Look at me and your father. We had plenty of hard years, but we had good years too.”

“Speaking of which,” I say, then stop for a few seconds before continuing. “Mom, did Dad
ever
tell you that he loved you?”

“What on earth would make you ask me that?” She’s feigning indignation, but underneath it I see the hurt and humiliation.

I look into those eyes that have looked at me with love, patience, and pride all these years. “Mom, you don’t have to pretend with me. I know. I know how he was. I just want to know: Did he ever give that to you?”

“Yes, son, he did.” I sit quietly, wondering what she’s going to say. “He told me about two hours before he died.”

Two hours before he died. All those years together, and he had to be dying to finally tell his wife that he loved her? That’s some kind of fucked up. She interrupts my thoughts with, “And he said, ‘Maggie, I was wrong to keep this from you all these years. You earned my love and respect over and over, but I was afraid to show it. Guess I don’t have anything to lose now, do I?’ I never questioned if he loved me; it was obvious he did. But I’d waited all those years to hear that, Steffen.” There’s a sadness on her face that takes my breath away.

“He taught me the same thing, that real men don’t go around telling people that they love them. It cost me one relationship, and it almost cost me another one.”

“But you fixed it in time, right, son?” There’s a little spark in her eyes that’s been missing for awhile now.

“Yes. Finally. It was almost too late, but I fixed it. And that’s why I wanted to come and talk to you.” She’s gazing intently at my face like she’s going to miss something if she blinks. “Mom, I’m going to ask Sheila to marry me.”

She claps her hands together and starts to laugh. “Well, thank goodness! You certainly work slow, Steffen! I thought you’d never get around to it. Do you think she’ll say yes?”

“Oh, I’m certain of it. She told me she will.”

My mother reaches for my hands and takes them in hers, her tiny fingers thin and cool against my skin. “I’m so happy for you, for both of you. You may be my son, but you’re a fine man, Steffen, and pretty damn handsome too.” Her smile is a mile wide. “So when do you think you’ll be doing this?”

“Probably in the next couple of weeks. Think you’d like to come?”

I’m unprepared when my mother starts to weep. She cries harder and harder and I don’t know what to do. What would I do if it were Sheila? I just lean over, pull her out of her chair, and draw her into my lap. The little boy she once held is now holding her, trying to take away the pain and fear, and my heart tells me in that intimate moment how much I’m going to miss her. I wonder if I’ll ever be able to have some kind of relationship with my sister, or if that’s just too far gone. Almost as though she can read my mind, she says, “You could call Cecilia, talk to her. I’d really like it if the two of you could spend some time together. She’s all you’ve got left, Steffen.”

“I have you,” I blurt out. I know what she’s trying to say, but I don’t really want to acknowledge it.

“You know exactly what I mean. Will you try, Steffen? Please?”

I nod. “Yes, Mom, I promise – I’ll try.”

“Good. Want something to drink? I’ve got some stuff in the kitchen.”

“No, no, that’s okay. I need to go. I just wanted you to know what was going on. So we’ll plan on you being there, right?”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world! I love you, son.”