14

 

Annabeth reached for a sweater hanging on the back of her chair at the kitchen table. There was a chill in the air; maybe it was fall at last.  She wrapped herself in the old sweater, a garment she thought of as her ratty artist's sweater and continued painting garlands of flowers on the frame of a mirror until the chiming of the doorbell caused her to jump.  Glancing at the clock, she shrugged her shoulders, smoothed her hair, then walked to the door.  R.J.!

He swept into the room with confidence, then smiled at her as though nothing were wrong at all.

Without a second thought, Annabeth returned her husband's grin.  "How are you?" she asked.

"I been thinking about you all day," he replied sincerely. "Just seems kinda terrible things been so bad between us."

Annabeth watched R.J. as he spoke, confused by his change of attitude.

"Aren't you gonna ask me to sit down?  Not even one of your homemade cookies?"

"Well, sure.  Want some coffee?  I don't have any beer."

"I don't drink beer all day long you know."

Annabeth walked toward the kitchen and R.J. followed.  As she prepared the coffee and a plate of cookies, he took the time to examine what she had been painting.  "This is beautiful," he said.

"Thank you," she replied, genuinely touched.  It was the first time he had ever commented about the things she painted although he'd been surrounded by them for so many years.  Setting the coffee and cookies on the table, she took a seat facing R.J..

"I really admire your creativeness.  It's wonderful to be talented like you are."  R.J. smiled once again, then reached his hand casually across the table and pressed it on top of Annabeth's.  He bit into a chocolate chip cookie, the smile still on his face.  "These are still my favorite too!  Almost like you knew we was getting' together today."

R.J. squeezed her hand tightly as they talked, causing familiar sensations to flutter inside her.  Not knowing what to think or say to this man who'd been so important a part of her life, Annabeth mumbled, "Everything all right, dear?"

R.J. stood and walked around the small table, Annabeth's hand still in his, and he tugged on it, causing her to rise.  "A man can want a hug from his wife without somethin' being wrong, can't I?"  Wrapping his arms tightly around Annabeth, R.J. held her until he felt the tension in her spine relax, until she was hugging him back just as tightly.  Then he leaned down and kissed her.

Hesitating only an instant, Annabeth, being without guile or a nature even remotely suspicious, wrapped her arms more tightly around her husband's back and leaned into the kiss, losing herself in the comfort of it, the familiarity, and returning emotionally to a time when everything in her life made sense.  Over and over he kissed her, and over and over she responded, feeling her head begin to swirl from the intensity of the moment.  His body pressed against hers with an urgency that she found dizzying, causing Annabeth to let go of all rancor, and being unable to think straight or to concentrate, she just responded to the raw emotion she felt.

R.J. ran his hand along her torso in the hurried way he always did, then down her hip and back across her breast.  Leaning more heavily on her, his weight pressing against her, he moaned, "Come upstairs."

Annabeth lay in R.J.'s arms, kissing him again and again, the debris of months of pain and alienation brushed aside in one grand gesture of reconciliation.  For just a second she pulled back from his lips, whispering feverishly, "Oh, I've missed you so.  Oh, I love…," but before she could complete the sentence, his mouth was upon hers again, and he was pulling her skirt up in the frenzied way he always made love.

Feeling him on top of her, Annabeth clung tightly to R.J.'s back and together they rocked and pounded each other to a suitable conclusion, then lay panting and limp.  Barely able to say a word, yet unable to remain silent, Annabeth spoke softly, and lovingly, "I never thought we'd do this again."  She reached over and kissed R.J.'s damp cheek in a manner very gentle and tender, and surprisingly he shivered then, and glanced once more at the clock. 

Annabeth knew he was yearning to sleep, as he always did after sex, but instead of drifting off, he spoke, "This house gotta lotta memories in it.  A lotta laughs.  Good times."  Annabeth smiled at him and nodded, agreeing. "It's an old place though.  No dishwasher.  Lotta maintenance.  Termites." Annabeth tensed but he continued, "No place to start over."  Annabeth turned her head toward R.J. and scrutinized his face closely, not daring to hope that what she was hearing was true.

He patted her shoulder then went on, "The best thing about this place is it's old.  Probably a historic landmark.  And the location is pretty.  Secluded."  Annabeth gazed at R.J., the hope clearly visible on her face.  He looked away and bit his lip once again, then continued speaking, "You gotta sign this paper, putting me in charge of selling the house.  Then I got a surprise for you."  Sliding his arm from beneath Annabeth's head, R.J. reached for his pants which lay crumpled at the foot of the bed, and from them he pulled a folded sheet of paper and a pen.  "Sign this and I promise everything will work out perfect."

Annabeth looked at the paper, and seeing what it was, she recoiled.  Pressing against R.J.'s chest she moved somberly to rise from the bed, shaking her head.

R.J. jumped up and clutched at Annabeth.  "No, no, you don't understand.  Okay, get dressed.  I wanna show you something."  R.J. glanced at the clock once again.  "Come on, hurry!"

Annabeth, her hand clutched tightly by R.J.,  stared out the window as they drove, first toward town, past Hawkins Ford, then down a side street about a mile from the main road.  R.J. pulled the car into the driveway of what appeared to be a brand new brick house, squeezing Annabeth's hand and saying, "This is the kinda house you start over in." 

She looked out at the yard, a barren stretch of dirt, no shrubbery yet, no flowers, and in her mind she saw what could be put there.  In a vision blooming with green and pink, Annabeth saw the lawn lush and perfect, azaleas covered with vibrant buds, flower beds bursting with life, and she smiled at the potential that lay before her.  Following behind R.J., who somehow had a key, she admired the sparkling new kitchen with its modern appliances, so unlike her own, the three huge bedrooms, walk-in closets, a roomy den, and at each new sight he squeezed her hand.  This was what R.J. now wanted?  To begin again with her--in this spotlessly new house? 

"It's a great house, isn't it?" he asked, smiling at her, leading her back to the kitchen.

She could envision the furniture arranged to maximize the space, could see dinner parties in the gracious dining room, fires blazing in the hearth, muscle-relaxing soaks in the Jacuzzi tub, even perhaps the two of them in it together, and she smiled and nodded.  "It's beautiful."

"See.  I told you.  And all you gotta do is sign this paper and everything will be all right."

"And you're planning to move back home then?  You want to come back?"

R.J. placed his arm around Annabeth's shoulder and he repeated, "Everything will be all right."

Annabeth took the document from him and she began to read it, using that time to let the thoughts churning in her mind settle.  R.J. was coming home!  They wouldn't be divorced after all.  A happy ending.  The girls would be so pleased.  And they'd move to this beautiful house.  A real family again.  All as it should be.  Wasn't this amazing?  As she reached for the pen he'd handed her, R.J. drew in a deep breath, but a noise at the door startled them both.

He leapt away from her then, but maintained the nonchalance in his voice when he said, "Go on and sign, sweetheart.  I'll go check on it.  Probably nothin'."  Once again he glanced at his watch as he hurried away from her.

Annabeth, hearing voices, walked toward the front of the house and paused, not wanting to interrupt a discussion. R.J. was talking to another man, "A buyer at the amount we discussed?"  Annabeth listened, realizing they were discussing the sale of her house.  She smiled to herself. Imagine that R.J., doing all this to surprise her.

The other man said, "Yes, it's a good deal.  And then you and that sexy young bride of yours can move in here."

Annabeth gasped, pressing her hand to her mouth, the shock of recognition like a blow to her heart.  She took her time, breathed deeply and composed herself.  Her heart continued to pound, even after her breath was steady, and her thoughts were clear at last.  Walking into the room then and smiling at the stranger, Annabeth said, "I'm Mrs. Welner," then before R.J. could speak, she walked closer to him, as if to step into his arms for a hug.  Feeling him raising his arms to hold her as if on instinct, Annabeth moved closer, wrapping her arms around R.J.'s neck, and then without a plan, without a thought, acting on impulse herself, Annabeth swiftly raised her knee and slammed it into her husband's groin, then stepped back quickly as he crumpled to the floor.  Once again she smiled at the man, whose mouth was agape, and she said, "But I'm divorcing him."  Then she turned and walked out the front door, not looking back.  She trod across the barren dirt that would someday be somebody's lawn, leaving her footprints in the soft earth.

Annabeth pressed her hand to her chest.  Her heart raced; she could feel it pounding against her hand.  Walking faster, she strode down the lane, back toward the highway, the tears streaming from her eyes.  What had she done to deserve such  deception?  But for that interruption, she would have signed away her house.  Now weeping violently, she stumbled on, walking as fast as possible while the sobs wracked her body.

After fifteen minutes of swift walking, Annabeth was out of breath and stopped.  Spotting a tree stump, she sat on it, holding her face in her hands and she wept without restraint, all alone there beside the quiet lane, no cars in either direction to embarrass her.  No thoughts intruded on her pain for quite some time as she sat there, letting all the emotions ricochet through her as she wept.  Eventually she had no more tears and a bitterness surfaced which Annabeth could not avoid acknowledging.  There was no excuse for what he did today, no excuse at all, and no matter what the future brought, she would never open her heart to him again.  This thought should have been comforting, but it was not, and more tears slowly filled her eyes and trailed down her cheeks.  She was no longer weeping, just suffused with sadness.  It was heartbreaking that he would betray her so cruelly.  It was her fault, after all, she knew it was over, knew he was gone.  She was a fool not to see through him.  At least now she knew for sure that her marriage was over completely and forever.  It was the past. But she still had George.  Maybe he would become her future.  This thought calmed her a bit, so Annabeth sniffled, then reached in her purse for a tissue, to mop up her face. She glanced in a tiny mirror.  She looked a wreck and wished she didn't have to see anyone, but what choice was there?  She'd have to stop in and see if Doug could give her a lift home.

Rising from the tree stump with another sniffle and a huge sigh, Annabeth pressed on, and within another ten minutes, she'd arrived at the dealership and walked into Doug's office.

Instantly seeing that something was wrong, Doug leapt from his desk chair, walked to the doorway where Annabeth stood and put an arm around her shoulder.  He guided her gently to a chair, then closed his office door.  Taking a seat in the chair beside Annabeth rather than behind the desk, Doug took her hand in his and spoke softly.  "Tell me everything if you want to."

Annabeth opened her mouth to speak, but she couldn't manage the words, so she clenched her jaw shut, willing herself not to cry in front of Doug.

"If that George has hurt you, I'll…"

Annabeth's eyes widened, hearing the intensity in Doug's voice, and it was his depth of emotion that steadied her, that made her able to compose herself at last and speak.  "No, no, George and I are fine, closer than ever.  I just had a terrible scene with my husband.  I need a ride home.  Or I could call a cab."

Doug's brows gathered together and his dark eyes flashed.  He squeezed Annabeth's hand even more tightly, saying, "Of course I'll take you home."

Annabeth noticed Doug watching her out of the corner of his eye as they drove.  He was so thoughtful and kind, so nice to worry about her.  In moments they arrived  at her house and he turned off the ignition and walked to her side of the car to help her to the door.  Although she wanted more than anything to be alone, Annabeth knew that she could not fail to invite Doug into her house, not after all his concern and courtesy.  "Come in why don't you?" she invited, "Unless I've taken up too much of your time already."

"I would love to come in and visit with you," Doug said, smiling gently, "But I think what you need is to be alone now."

Releasing a huge sign, Annabeth replied, "Oh thank you for understanding.  I would love to show you my house though--sometime soon."

Doug opened his arms and enfolded Annabeth in them, saying nothing, and she stood there, feeling safe and protected for a long moment.  He started to speak a couple of times but restrained himself, finally saying, "I'll always be your friend."

Annabeth stepped back a bit from his embrace and smiled up at him.  "Thanks.  I feel that way about you too."

Annabeth entered the house and returned to her seat at the kitchen table.  She tried to reach for the paintbrush to complete the mirror, but she could not summon the will to do it.  Instead she sat quietly, thinking about her life, about R.J.'s actions.  Why was it she'd loved him so much, and why was she so willing to take him back?  Her heart weighed down with the sadness of betrayal, she thought of the events of the day, of this man who'd been her husband and someone she'd loved so deeply.  He did often take the easy way out, but after all the years, after everything they'd shared, after Richard, his birth and death, after the girls, even with him wanting a divorce, even then, but how after all, how could he do that, not to her but to anyone?  No, how could he do that to her?  Annabeth's eyes filled with tears, the bewilderment as strong as any love ever in her heart and for a long time she sat at the table blankly, raw and empty and trying to comprehend R.J. and his awful treachery.  None of it made any sense to her, so eventually she stopped questioning herself and thought instead of George.  A smile crossed her lips then.  Maybe she could just let go of R.J. at last; she had George now, didn't she?

Later that week, Quentin Asprey walked confidently into the courtroom, Annabeth trailing  behind him. 

Reviewing the document before him, the judge spoke, "We are here to determine support for Mrs. Welner.  And to agree upon a suitable division of assets before the final hearing.  He nodded toward the attorneys.  "Are you ready now?"

Asprey rose and walked toward the judge with more confidence than any television lawyer had ever mustered.  "Here is a document from the U.S. Vending Machine Association, your honor.  It details clearly the amount of income likely from the number of machines listed by Mr. Welner.  As you can see there's a huge discrepancy."  Would this tactic work?  Annabeth wondered why statistics would mean anything in light of reality and real numbers.

R.J., instead of gulping and offering to pay up, remained firm and so did his attorney who rose, "Your honor these statistics are meaningless.  Just as average attorney's fees mean nothing specific to any one of us.  You have Mr. Welner's tax returns for seven years.  They are consistent with his financial statement."

The judge nodded as Asprey continued, "Your honor, this is a cash business, much like waitressing.  We are certain that a substantial portion of Mr. Welner's income has never been declared."

Sennet's eyes began to bulge.  Taking a deep breath, he said, "We resent that allegation, your honor and if these slanderous remarks don't cease a lawsuit against Mrs. Welner and her attorney will be forthcoming."

The judge held up his hand.  "I see these statistics, however I can't base anything on general statistics.  Do you have other proof?"

Asprey shook his head. 

"I'm going to grant increased maintenance."  Annabeth sat, nervous and ill at ease in the midst of all this drama.  Why had her dad and Hugh placed such faith in Asprey?  He seemed to be doing her no good at all.  She listened carefully as the judge ordered an amount only slightly higher than before and continued, "Should Mrs. Welner need to rent a house, she could find one about on par for that.  If you're going to keep the house, Mrs. Welner, as it says here you want to do, then please make arrangements with your husband and his attorney.  The rest of your joint assets have already been divided, and for that the court thanks you.  If, by the time of the final hearing you have not come to a reasonable agreement, then I will order the house sold and the profits divided.  Final hearing set for January thirty-first." 

Annabeth swallowed hard, hearing the judge's words.  There was something so final about these proceedings, about seeing her life reorganized by this judge, this stranger, someone she didn't even know who had control over her future.  He would sign a piece of paper in a few weeks and she would be divorced, her past would no longer connect with her future.  It was so sad.   At least she could get a mortgage, well probably she could.  Maybe she would need to kick in a large sum, but not as much as she'd originally thought.  Her marriage would end, maybe she'd save her house, but she'd be living in it all alone.  Her whole life, her history was over, and she felt so lost.

Annabeth drifted through the days that followed, a sense of intense need always below the surface, yet unobservable to those around her.  She worked and smiled at everyone around her, she painted knick knacks, yet always in the back of her mind was the thought that although R.J. had become the past, George would be her future, and it was that vision that guided her.  She wouldn't be alone, she thought again and again, she would be with George and they would be happy together.

When, a few days later, George had pounded on her door after midnight and had swept her into bed as he always did, and she lay contented, her head on his shoulder, Annabeth worked up her courage and asked him, "Hon do I mean anything to you?"  She held her breath, awaiting his reply, which was slow to come, primarily because he was yawning and about to fall asleep.

"Of course you do.  You're a great piece of ass."  He squeezed her shoulder and managed a limp smile as he offered this praise.

Annabeth secretly thrilled to hear herself described that way, but she pressed on with her line of inquiry.  "So we do have some sort of future then?"

"I would love nothing better than to make love to you every night," he replied, yawning deeply once again.  "I wish I could do it again right now, but I'm too sleepy.  You'll forgive me won't you?"

Annabeth snuggled closer to him, smiling.  He wanted to make love to her forever.  That was her answer, wasn't it?  "Hon?"

George looked toward her, his eyes still partially open.

"Then would you meet my daughter and her fiancé?  Come to supper here and meet them?  It would mean a lot to me."

George nodded, then he began to snore.

There was an improbable rush on the ice cream counter the night of Annabeth's supper for George and Sally and Jackson, and she was unable to leave right away.  Trips to the bakery and the liquor store delayed her further, but Annabeth was not worried, since Sally had promised to go home right after work, and even if George were on time, which he never had been so far, Sally could easily let him in.  Thus although Annabeth felt badly when she pulled up in front of her house and saw both Sally's and George's cars, she didn't worry.

Walking quietly in the sneakers she wore to cushion her feet at work, Annabeth made her way to the back of the house where Sally and George would no doubt be busy chatting and assembling a salad.  This was going to be such fun!  Not only did she have a boyfriend, but they could host dinner parties and enjoy life together.

Neither George nor Sally saw Annabeth immediately, because they stood in the kitchen in an embrace, which Annabeth at first assumed to be a friendly father-daughter type hug.  Annabeth smiled until she saw George's hand slide down her daughter's back and squeeze Sally's backside, at which point Sally jumped and pushed George away and Annabeth gasped, causing the other two to turn and see her.

Sally, her face filled with revulsion, turned and fled the room as her mother followed her.  "Wait," said Annabeth.

"That guy's a major creep," said Sally.

Annabeth gulped.

"You are kicking him out, aren't you?"

Annabeth nodded.

Sally walked into her mother's arms.  "Thank God.  I was afraid for a minute you were going to make an excuse for him.  I'll come back with Jackson in an hour or so--is that okay?"

Annabeth nodded, then closed the door behind her daughter and went to confront George.  "What kind of person are you?" she asked quietly.

George looked sincerely at Annabeth.  "I didn't want to tell you this," he said haltingly, examining her face for any sign of relenting, "But I suffer from Sam Malone's disease."

That name sounded familiar to Annabeth, but she couldn't quite place it.  "What?" she asked.

"It's an--um--sexual problem.  It's not my fault.  Really.  I just can't help it around women.  I get turned on."

Annabeth was tempted for an instant to take pity on George until her rational self interceded.  Suddenly she remembered who Sam Malone was--that character on television.  Her voice still quiet, but filled with scorn, sounded confident, although she did not feel that way, and she said, "Get out of here George, and don't come back."

Instead of turning tail and running, he attempted to take a step toward Annabeth, but she raised her hand and said again, "Get out.  Now."

Her visions of the future shattered, Annabeth sank down in one of her kitchen chairs.  Holding onto the emotions exploding inside her, Annabeth would not allow herself to break down and weep.  Sally and Jackson would soon be back and she couldn't reveal to them the dire sense of foreboding she felt.  She was all alone, without anyone, all alone.  She tried to envision her future as bright, but instead all she saw was blankness, an empty life with no one to care for her and no one for her to love.  It must be her fault.  It was her.  Something was really wrong with her.  A pallor settled over her like a heavy fog, and each day she dragged along, unable to meet life with the grace that had always been expected of her.  She continued working at her job, but it took all her strength to do so, and there was nothing left over.  She could not paint.  Each night she retreated to her bed early and clung to the covers, a sense of terror in her heart. 

Charles noticed her glumness and each day he'd ask her what was wrong, but Annabeth refused to admit anything until his prodding weakened her resolve.  She needed someone to talk to, someone to listen to her, so finally Annabeth opened up and shared the story about George, in a very watered-down version.

"He actually said Sam Malone's disease?" asked Charles, laughing.  Annabeth laughed too, although her heart was not in it.  "You know," continued Charles, "You deserve a lot better than a creep like that.  The right man would want to give you the world."  He reached his hand toward Annabeth and patted her shoulder in a fatherly way.  "You need a little pampering after all you've been through, and tonight I'm taking you out for the nicest supper we can find."

Unable to reject her employer's kind offer, Annabeth soon found herself sitting across from Charles in a restaurant several miles away from the center of town, one she had never visited before.

"I hope you like it here,"  he said, "I've only been here once myself, but it seems quite a bit nicer than the Rusty Lantern."

Annabeth nodded at Charles, "Yes, it's lovely."

The waitress arrived with a basket of warm biscuits and some water and smiled at them, asking in a polite way, "Are you ready or should I give you a little more time?"

"Annabeth," asked Charles, "Do you like champagne?"

Annabeth blushed and then admitted, "I've only tasted it once in my life."

"You know," he continued, "I don't think I've had it but once myself."  He shook his head wryly although there wasn't much mystery to why someone with his lifestyle, or Annabeth's either for that matter, had drunk little champagne.  "Bring us a bottle of your best.  And how about some oysters too?  Okay with you?" he asked Annabeth, who agreed because there was no way to refuse politely.  The waitress nodded and went off to retrieve their order as Charles discussed dinner.  "I love lobster, do you?" 

"Oh I don't know.  It's way overpriced I think."

"But you do like it?"  Annabeth nodded, although reluctantly, and Charles ordered lobster when the waitress returned with the champagne and oysters.

"That comes with a baked potato and salad.  Is that okay?  We do have rice pilaf if you prefer.  Pepper parmesan is the house dressing."

Charles looked toward Annabeth who said "Rice pilaf I think.  If it's no trouble.  And the house dressing is just fine."

"No trouble at all," answered the waitress, nodding.

"Potato for me.  And house dressing," ordered Charles.

There was time for pleasant conversation while they ate their salads, and Charles smiled frequently at Annabeth as they talked about nothing.  "I'm happy to have you all to myself," he said in a confidential tone after they'd each consumed a glass of champagne.  "There's something about you that has really touched me," he revealed after the second glass.  "A woman like you could fill a man's life with hope and happiness," he said after the third glass.

Annabeth blushed after each comment, although as the champagne worked its magic in her bloodstream, it became easier and more pleasant to hear the compliments that Charles was lavishing on her.  They had talked about many things in the months since she had come to work for him, and some of the things they had shared had been quite personal.  Now it seemed almost as though they had an intimate relationship.

"I know I seem like a dull guy, old, boring…" said Charles, his voice trailing off, as he expressed his own regrets to himself as much as to Annabeth.

"No you don't," interjected Annabeth with sympathy, "Not at all."

Charles split the remainder of the champagne between the two glasses and continued wistfully, "I've led such an ordinary life here in Gull's Perch.  The farthest away from home I've ever gone is to Atlanta when I went to pharmacy school, and you know how long ago that was."  Charles looked deeply into Annabeth's eyes as he spoke, and continued, "I was a husband at twenty-four.  My whole life.  Now I'm a fuddy-duddy grandfather.  But, Annabeth, none of that is really me, do you understand?"

"You feel that you've been lost somewhere in your life?"

His voice rose excitedly, "Yes!  That's exactly it.  I live this life but it isn't me.  There's a lot more to me, and nobody ever sees it.  Sometimes I feel this fire in me, this passion, and I know I could be romantic, somebody's Sir Galahad, I know I could, but I don't think I ever will be."  Charles drained the remainder of the champagne in his glass, his eyes a bit more watery than usual, and continued speaking softly, "Sometimes I think I do nothing more than march in place, that everything that was ever going to happen to me has happened already.  The only event left to experience is death."

Annabeth, touched by the pain in his voice, rose out of the misery in which she was suffused and spoke with kindness and empathy, "Oh no, that's not so.  There is always a chance for new things, for excitement and fulfillment." 

Charles, a flicker of hope in his eyes, reached out his hand and grasped hers tightly.  "Do you really think so?"

"Of course I do."  She answered with strength and conviction, and what she said made sense, although it did not occur to her then that the advice she was giving pertained to herself just as strongly as to Charles.  "You have to reach for what you want in life, have to just go and get it, don't you think?"

Charles, his face flushed, said excitedly  "You're right, of course. I should be more assertive."

Annabeth nodded at Charles and smiled, a pleasant glow from the champagne warming her and the chance to focus on somebody else's problems lifting her out of her own for a brief moment.  When the waitress brought two plates, lobsters with baked potatoes, Annabeth accepted hers and almost spoke up about the missing rice, but instead she shrugged, as usual, feeling it was not worth the effort.  "This is delicious," she said to her host after the first bite.

Charles dunked his sliver of lobster into the drawn butter then absentmindedly rubbed the morsel across his lips before depositing it in his mouth.  "Mmm," he agreed "It is good."  Then continuing his train of thought, he said, "I know I'm not a ladies' man."

"That's not such a bad thing," commented Annabeth wryly, thinking of R.J. and George.

"I want to have passion in my life, you know.  I want it more than anything.  It's been so long…"

Annabeth smiled softly, and in her mind she thought back to the passion she'd shared most recently and the way she now felt as a result of succumbing to it.  Charles, in watching her, saw the flicker of light cross her eyes and the light in his own eyes grew brighter.  He reached into his pocket for his cellular phone and turned it off, then smiled at Annabeth, who remained silent.

When the waitress came to clear their plates and to ask about dessert, Annabeth declined but Charles ordered coconut cake for himself.  "You must have half of mine," he insisted, and when the cake arrived, he speared a bite on his fork and fed it to her, watching her mouth as the food was inserted.  Charles flushed a deep shade of crimson then smiled at Annabeth, and without stopping to taste the cake himself, he fed her another bite, his hand trembling.

"I'm eating all your cake," protested Annabeth, but when he fed her the third bite she did not refuse it.  By the fifth bite, something in her relaxed and yielded to him, and before half the slice was consumed she had become docile, opening her mouth for each bite and swallowing it obediently as he fed her.

"I'm a giver, you know," said Charles, "Not a taker."

Annabeth looked deeply into his eyes as he spoke, then meekly opened her mouth for the last bite of cake.

Charles paid the bill then said, "I'm going to drive you home."  A peaceful sensation settled over Annabeth, and she felt calm and unworried for the first time since the scenes with George and R.J.  She kept reminding herself that after all she had a right to some happiness, and that thought continued to play softly in her mind like faint music from a neighbor's stereo.

Charles followed Annabeth into her house, waited while she fed the cat, and then looking around appraisingly for a mere second, he took her hand and pulled her gently toward the stairs, whispering almost inaudibly, "More than anything in my life, I want to make love to you tonight."

Annabeth relaxed and let herself be led, her hand in his, her footsteps following softly behind his.  Soon they lay on the bed and Charles was kissing her with tenderness and urgency. Her mind, always a blur during sex, almost ceased to function, but for the soft phrase appearing from below the surface now and then, an echo of comfort and hope, she had a right to some happiness.

Charles, blushing and fumbling, sighing and whispering, "I want to do everything, everything I never got to do," managed to undress her gently, and to undress himself as well.  When they were there naked together he stammered, "I wish…if only I were…it's been so long…I probably can't…."  He rose on his elbow to gaze at her body, and she lay there softly smiling up at him, willing and available, then he reached over and clutched her hard to him, and she knew he wanted her to become the receptacle for his long buried passions, the vehicle that would somehow transport him out of the humdrum life he led and into one that delivered the thrills that would make him feel alive at last.

Annabeth, sensitive to electricity and weather conditions, felt the power of Charles' yearning, and in its transfer to her, it ignited a passion that allowed her to reach for him tenderly and hold him close.  She felt his hands on her, exploring her skin in a way that was almost religious, and the oceans inside her churned in response. 

She had suddenly become the goddess he yearned to make of her, welcoming him as he pulled himself on top of her, pressed himself into her, hearing him whisper "I want to do this for a long time, forever," but being out of practice and not in the best of shape physically, he lost control and finished far too quickly, at once sighing in despair and moaning in pleasure.  Annabeth, her body able always to flow in the moment, did not mind the haste, and in feeling Charles' release found her own and was content.  She breathed deeply, letting her heart return to its proper rhythm as Charles remained on top of her, clinging tightly to her, his breath as labored as her own.

When he had regained his equilibrium, Charles slid down, resting his head in the valley between Annabeth's breasts and he began to speak, his voice hoarse and halting yet sure.  "Wonderful," he said, "That was wonderful."

"Yes," she said, "It was.  Thank you."

Charles raised his head and looked her in the eye.  "You've given me my whole future and you're thanking me?  Thank you."  Annabeth smiled without speaking, allowing him to continue, "Marry me Annabeth.  With you I can be the person I always wanted to be.  I would do everything I could to make you happy, to take care of you, to give you everything you need, you know that."

Charles snuggled back down against her breast, lost in the comfort of the moment.  Annabeth relaxed as she lay there, her hand stroking Charles' hair and her mind floated free for just an instant until the thoughts therein gained focus.  She tried to concentrate, to will to herself a vision of the future, but her mind was a blur.  She needed to think, and after the evening's events, that took effort.  The fear that had been gnawing at her demanded her attention and she faced it squarely.  She was terrified of being alone.  Then, in a moment of clarity, she asked herself why and waited for the answer to emerge.  Casting her mind back over the past, over all of her life that she had so far lived, she saw herself taking care of everyone around her, almost from her earliest memory, and it was the needs of everyone else that had defined her.  She thought of R.J. and how she had loved him, but could not understand why.  She had cared for George and envisioned a future with him although their relationship consisted of nothing more than sex.  Now here she was in bed with yet another man, one who was offering her the future she had always wanted.

Annabeth wrapped her arms tightly around Charles who lay quietly, savoring the moment, and giving her the time to consider his offer.  Annabeth remembered her early romance with her husband and admitted to herself for the first time that she had married him, yes because she was pregnant, but really because she expected no one else to come along.  He was there and she had gone with him, just as she had gone to bed with George and now with Charles--not so much out of her own desire but because they'd asked her.  Had she ever made one choice of her own in all her life, she asked herself, knowing too well what the answer was.

Looking down at Charles lying so intimately with her, Annabeth knew absolutely that she did not love him.  She liked him, and she suspected that in time she could feel devotion.  Was that enough?  Enough to exchange for a guarantee that she would not be alone?  A yearning so strong that it almost overpowered her rose in her heart and Annabeth was tempted to yield, to accept his offer, to trade her future and all the fearful uncertainty it contained for the guarantee that he'd promised of companionship and devotion.  How comforting was the idea of that safety, of knowing that he would always be there for her, with her, loving and caring for her.

"Charles," she said, trembling and speaking so quietly her voice was almost inaudible, "You're a wonderful lover.  Tonight was beautiful, just beautiful."

Hearing her speak, Charles sat up and rested his head against the pillow.  He smiled, then blushed at her praise.  Annabeth reached out and took his hand in hers, feeling  him tremble with anticipation.

"But I can't marry you.  First of all, you're not even free to make that offer, but that's not the real point.  The real point is I'm not free to accept any offer.  I need to find out who I am--just me--and what I really want--and I need to go get it for myself."  Although she had made that statement, Annabeth couldn't quite believe it, and despite the fact that it felt right, it took some time for her to adjust, so she remained silent as her own words were absorbed into her consciousness.

"But you told me to be bold, to reach out and make love to you.  To get what I wanted."

"I said to get what you wanted, yes.  I didn't mean me."

Charles scowled, then tried to salvage something.  "We can date.  I'll leave Sara. I should have done it long ago anyway, there's nothing there.  Nothing for a long, long time."

Annabeth shook her head, wanting not to be unkind, but needing to be honest.  "I can't tell you what to do about your marriage.  But I also can't promise to date you.  I slept with you for the wrong reasons."

"And now you're sorry?"  Charles' voice cracked as he spoke.

Annabeth smiled and shook her head, "No, of course not.  You were wonderful. It was wonderful.  I'm not sorry.  I just all of a sudden realized that I have to get my own life in order."

"I'll wait for you.  It'll be hard to work with you every day, wanting to be with you every night, but I can wait if I have to."

Her heart perfectly in focus at last, Annabeth said, "No, I can't let you wait."

Charles, all his new expectations dashed, became enraged.  "I'm just not good enough for you, is that it?"  He reached for his clothes, glancing at the clock. "This--tonight--meant nothing."

"No, it was wonderful.  I meant that."

"Then why would you want not to continue?"

"I almost said yes.  But I just can't.  I don't know why."

Charles, now fully dressed, glanced again at Annabeth, who was wrapping herself in a robe.  "I feel as though I've been tricked, cheated of all my dreams," he said and sank back down on the bed.

Taking a big gulp, Annabeth answered, "I'm sure you can make your dreams come true--if you really want them," and then seeing the misery on his face, she continued, "I should probably not come back to work.  I don't belong behind an ice cream counter anyway, and it would be easier for you if I weren't there."

"Fine--have it any way you want."

The last words she said to him were "I'm sorry," but he did not turn back to look at her when he left her front door and walked to his car.  It was but a moment and then the sound of the car faded and the night was once again silent.  Annabeth looked up at the sky.  Where before it had been a brilliant electric blue with a faint pink glow along the horizon, now it was inky, partitioned by a sliver of a moon and Venus, dwarfing all the other stars.  She sank down into one of the porch rockers and gazed for a long while at the heavens.  

He would have come through for her; she could have trusted him.  He would have given her everything she'd ever wanted and more.  Maybe he was her last chance. Facing that fact was hard and from her eyes a steady stream of tears began to flow, but she did not sob. Instead Annabeth sat there, thinking about her past, and about the future, the blank slate that she would have to fill on her own.  She had quit her job. What would she do with her time? How would the rest of her life take form?  Annabeth did not know.  Now she couldn't get the mortgage to save her house.  They wouldn't count her crafts earnings for two years and she didn't have two years. Would her painting be enough to sustain her?  For a brief moment she thought of going to see Charles at work and accepting his offer, if he still wanted her, yet something in her knew she could not.

At the end of that deserted street, on her lonely porch she sat, and all she heard was the scraping of the chair's rockers against the base of the porch.  Each movement caused a little squeak and it was a comforting sound whose rhythms soothed her.  She looked out at the night, at the bayou flowing near the house, at the trees surrounding it and Annabeth's breath remained steady for a long, comforting moment.  Eventually she grew chilly in the evening air, and she rose to walk back inside, gazing wistfully up at the moon and the evening star.

There was always something comforting about entering the door of her home, but tonight the house was just still.  Annabeth looked around.  In every corner it seemed that a ghost from the past sprung up, playing out a scene from long ago, from the life she had led which now was over.  There was where the girls had tea parties, and there where Sally slipped and broke her arm, there where Laurel had the first of many fights with her father, there where R.J. had kissed her under some mistletoe, there where they'd carved the Halloween pumpkins, hid the Easter baskets, spread the Christmas presents, photographed the girls in their prom gowns, where they'd lived and laughed and been a family.

It was all gone now, completed and done, she thought, then realized, no it wasn't gone at all, it was alive in her, in all of them, as real in memory as it was in fact.  She cast her eyes about the house, a place she'd loved since the first moment she'd seen it and Annabeth came to a realization.  It wasn't the house she wanted to preserve, but the life she led there, a life she would never lead again.  The house contained nothing more than things, the stuff of a lifetime but not the lifetime itself.  "Oh!"  she spoke aloud to the empty rooms,  "I could leave this house or keep it, what matters is in me, not inside these walls."