by AnonYMous
Andy behaved very well. He sat with wide eyes and watched the movie with rapt attention. I had put him between Eric and me, and every once in a while I would look over his head, sneaking little sideways glances at Eric’s profile. A few times, he caught me looking at him, and I quickly turned toward the screen, blushing.
I was glad Eric wasn’t sitting right next to me, because he made me so nervous, even from where he was, that I could barely concentrate. If he were close enough to touch me, to maybe hold my hand—just the thought had me so flustered that I wondered what would happen if he actually did it. I wondered, but I was afraid to find out.
After the movie, we were all hungry, so we decided on a place that was known to have great burgers. I marveled at the easy banter between Andy and Eric. Andy hadn’t been around a man for any length of time since he was a baby, and he seemed hungry for male attention. He hung on Eric’s every word, looking up at him admiringly.
I wondered what Jay would think if he could see his son looking at another man that way; and what about me, having these thoughts about a man I hardly knew? Were we both betraying Jay?
That night, as I lay in bed, I didn’t think I’d ever fall asleep. Andy kept asking me if we could go out with Eric again, and I didn’t know how to answer him. Eric had asked me the same question. I couldn’t find the right words to tell him that I couldn’t see him anymore, so I decided to postpone it until the next time he called. It was going to hurt, but better now than later, for all of us.
Finally, I fell into a very deep sleep. Someone was calling my name very softly, and I slowly opened my eyes. Jay was there, sitting on the bed beside me. He was smiling, and he seemed to be at peace. His blond hair framed his head like a halo. He looked like an angel, but I noticed that he had no wings.
He reached toward me and stroked my face, my hair. I realized then that it had been a while since I’d dreamed of him. “Jay, is it really you? Are you really here? Why did you have to die? I’ve missed you so much.” I felt tears on my cheeks, dripping onto my nightgown.
“Yes, Blythe, it’s really me. I really am here. I didn’t want to leave you, and I wouldn’t have if I could have stayed. I love you more than life. Please, Blythe, don’t be afraid to love again. You need someone, and Andy needs a dad. I can’t be with you anymore, and you and Andy still have a lot of life ahead of you. I don’t want you to be alone.”
“Do you know about Eric?” I asked hesitantly.
“Yes. He’s one of the good ones, Blythe.”
“But Jay, Eric’s a firefighter. You know what that means. He could die, just like you did.” Surely Jay could see this.
“Blythe, you have to take risks in life. Everyone will eventually pass over as I did. It’s how much you love and how well you live while you still can that counts. Eric’s a good man, Blythe, the one you were meant to meet, the one you’ve been waiting for.”
“Jay, don’t go. Can’t you please come back?”
“That’s not possible, my darling. You won’t see me anymore, but know that I’ll always love you. Love never dies. Please take care of my son and yourself. And please don’t throw a true love away.”
Jay was backing away from me, hands outstretched, fading, until I could see nothing but darkness.
“Jay,” I called after him. “Jay, wait, please don’t go. Come back.” But he had already slipped away, and I knew he would not return.
The next morning, I opened my eyes and looked about, rather surprised that everything appeared normal. Had I been dreaming, or had Jay been in this room talking to me? I tried to piece it together, but I couldn’t be sure if it had been real or not. This had been far more vivid than any of my past dreams.
As I turned and put my feet on the floor, I felt strangely calm and at peace, just as Jay had seemed. Somehow, I knew that everything was going to be all right.
I went to get a cup of coffee and ponder the events of the past twenty-four hours.
About noon that day, the phone rang. “Hi, beautiful. I hope you got your sleep out. I couldn’t wait any longer to hear your voice.” It was Eric, of course. “Last night was fun. But what would you say to just you and me tonight?” Eric’s tone was teasing, sweet, and I could picture his lopsided smile. I wasn’t sure what to do. I hadn’t had time to sort it all out.
So I ended up telling him everything. I told him about Jay’s death, about my fears, and even about Jay coming to talk to me in the night.
“Blythe, I want to come over and see you right now. I think you need to hear what I have to tell you. Then, if you still want me to step out of your life forever, I will. But give me a chance. Just listen to what I have to say.”
Eric was pleading desperately. I couldn’t turn him down. Besides, hadn’t Jay asked me to give Eric a chance? The least I could do was hear him out.
“All right. Come on over, Eric. I’ve just made a pot of coffee, and Andy’s playing in his room.” I didn’t know what he could say that would positively change my mind, but my resolve was already beginning to waver. Could it possibly crumble?
As I walked away from the phone, Jay’s words echoed again and again inside my head, like a tape being constantly rewound: “Please don’t throw a true love away.”
As soon as Eric arrived, he immediately clutched me by both arms, looking intensely into my eyes as if searching for answers, for feelings, for the truth. I wanted to say something, but I couldn’t find the words.
Then he asked if we could possibly go for a drive, just the two of us. “There’s something I need to show you. It won’t take very long,” he said softly, his voice trembling, his eyes tender, caring.
This seemed to mean so much to him that I decided we could drop Andy off at Grammy’s on the way, and I would go see whatever it was that Eric wanted to show me.
Within minutes, we were heading away from town. We exited the highway, and after driving a few miles, Eric pulled onto a winding road, then down a gravel driveway to a small white church. It was lovely, but why were we here?
Eric got out of the car and came around to open my door. “Come around back with me, Blythe,” he asked, taking my elbow, gently guiding me.
The next thing I knew, we were among several rows of granite and marble headstones in the church cemetery. Eric walked over to one of the newer stones and beckoned me to join him. At the top of the stone, I read the name: Chamberlain. That was Eric’s last name. Below that, I read: Stella Liane, followed by the dates: 3-15-70—9-11-01.
I stood there, holding Eric’s hand, stunned into silence, trying to decipher what this meant. Eric spoke first, barely audibly. “You see, Blythe,” he explained, “You aren’t the only one who was hurt on that day. Many, many others had their hearts broken and their lives changed forever that day. Stella was my wife. We’d been for married five years. She worked at the Pentagon, and when it was hit, my unit was one that responded to the call. Some people got out, but it was too late to help Stella. We couldn’t get to her in time.
I listened intently.
“How do you think that felt, knowing that my wife was in there and I couldn’t reach her, couldn’t save her as I’d saved so many others? I know pain, believe me, pain mixed with guilt. You don’t have that market cornered, kid.”
Eric’s eyes met mine, and for the first time, I saw the same raw anguish that I knew so well reflected back at me. Had I been so wrapped up in myself, in my own heartache, that I hadn’t even noticed that others were suffering too? Not just survivors of the 9-11 attacks, but many others, for many reasons.
My God, the horror and the pain all these other people suffered, and all I could think of was myself. I was so ashamed. Blinded by self-pity, it hardly even occurred to me that Eric, or anyone else for that matter, might be going through what I was; that anyone else might truly understand my feelings, might even share those feelings.
“I’m so sorry, Eric. Jackie didn’t tell me,” I said, tears filling my eyes, spilling over and wetting my cheeks.
“She doe
sn’t know, Blythe. I met her and Jim six months ago, and I didn’t tell them. It’s been too painful to talk about, and I didn’t want them to feel sorry for me. Deep down inside, I think I feel guilty that I lived while my wife and so many others didn’t, including so many of my brother firefighters.”
Eric was holding both my hands now, looking into my eyes. I knew that we were soul mates.
“What if one of us was to die?” I asked sheepishly, feeling like a coward, yet needing to hear his answer. “How could either of us go on after all we’ve already been through?”
“Blythe, don’t you see, everyone will die someday. The point is, if you don’t really live now, while you’re alive, then you’re dead already. That means that the terrorists who have taken away your will to live and left you cowering in fear have already won.”
I knew Eric was right. It was almost the same thing Jay had said to me in the dream.
“It’s love that’s important. I know it’s a little soon, but I’m beginning to love you already, Blythe,” Eric admitted. “Please give us a chance. I want to be there for you and for Andy.”
Jay had said he wanted Andy to have a father and for me to know the love of a good man again. A feeling of complete peace and serenity swept through me, washing away any remaining fear and doubt. I was finally free, and it was such a relief.
We walked back toward the front of the church, hand in hand, and when we reached the car, Eric stopped and swept me up into his arms, kissing me tenderly. I was overcome with love for him; not the innocence of first love that I had with Jay, but love, nonetheless.
I nestled into his arms, where I found that I fit perfectly. It was the first time I’d felt truly safe and secure since the morning of the day that Jay died.
I knew then that I was truly blessed, having been given the love of two good men in one lifetime, for whatever time God gives us.
Eric and I are going to be married when the time is right. We also want to have another child, a sister for Andy. When we do, and we know we will, we are going to name her Hope. THE END
Give Romance a Shot!
IN LOVE WITH MY NEXT-DOOR NEIGHBOR
He’s cute—and close! But can I trust him?
The only thing my first husband gave me that outlasted our brief marriage was finally cured with penicillin.
After that, I had no reason to believe any of the men who professed undying love.
Their undying love would last until morning—if that long—before they slipped out of my bed and out of my apartment.
After a time, I quit bothering. Work kept me busy and Chloe, a stray cat I adopted when she was still a kitten, kept me company in the evenings.
Until Cullen moved in across the hall.
I’d gone downstate to visit my grandparents the weekend Cullen moved in, so I didn’t meet him until nearly a month later. I’d been shopping and I was juggling three grocery bags while trying to dig my apartment key out of the bottom of my purse. I’d just wrapped my fingers around the key when one of the grocery bags toppled out of my arms, sending microwavable dinners and cans of vegetables tumbling all over the hallway.
I opened the apartment door and placed the two remaining bags on the kitchen counter and then returned to the hallway to retrieve the rest of my groceries. Just when I thought I had the last of my escaped food, I heard a deep, male voice behind me.
“This yours?”
I turned to find Cullen—though I didn’t yet know his name—holding a can of creamed corn.
I took the can from his outstretched hand. “Yes, thank you.”
“I found it waiting at the elevator.” He smiled and his eyes twinkled with amusement. “I think it was trying to escape.”
“It wouldn’t have gotten far,” I said. “It’s too short to reach the elevator button.”
He laughed. My joke wasn’t that funny, so I was instantly suspicious.
“Now what?” I asked.
He stopped laughing. “I’m Cullen. From across the hall. I just moved in. You must be. . . ?”
“Going in now,” I said. I stepped into my apartment and shut the door. Then I peered through the peephole.
Cullen stared at my apartment door for a moment. Then he shrugged and turned away. I watched as he pulled a key ring from his pocket and unlocked the apartment door on the other side of the hallway. But before he could even step inside and close his door, I reopened mine.
“I’m sorry,” I said across the hallway. “I’m Liz.”
“Nice to meet you, Liz,” he said. “May we meet over creamed corn again soon.” He started to push his door closed.
“I didn’t mean to be rude,” I said. When he hesitated, I continued, “It’s just that we might as well not have a security system. People will let in practically anybody.”
He grinned. “So you thought I was some nut job off the street.”
I chuckled. “You might still actually be a nut job. I don’t know that for sure or not yet, but I do know where you live.”
He winked at me. “And I know where you live, Liz. I’ll see you around.”
He closed his apartment door. I hesitated, then closed mine and leaned my back against it. Chloe sauntered down the hall and brushed against my legs.
“It figures,” I told her. “A nice guy moves in across the hall and I act like a paranoid basket case.” I picked her up and stroked her back. “I think I’ve lived in the city for too long.”
Needless to say, Chloe didn’t say a thing. I saw Cullen again a week later. He was standing in front of the mailboxes downstairs in the lobby, sorting through a stack of flyers.
He didn’t realize he’d been joined in the lobby and I paused a moment to admire his bod. He wore a white, cotton “wife-beater” T-shirt, khaki cargo shorts, and running shoes. He had a classic, male V-shape to his body, with broad shoulders tapering to a slim waist. I knew he’d been running because a thin sheen of perspiration made his tanned skin glisten.
He picked out two envelopes and dumped the rest of his mail into the wastebasket the landlord provided. Then he looked up and saw me standing there on the far side of the lobby. He grinned immediately and waved me over.
“It’s okay, Liz—I won’t bite. You can get your mail safe and sound with no trouble from me.”
I walked over to the mailboxes, standing so close to him that I could feel the heat radiating from his body and smell his exercise-induced, testosterone-laden muskiness—strangely intoxicating, I must admit. He didn’t step away when I opened my mailbox and withdrew bills and junk mail, and I felt him towering over me as I quickly thumbed through it all. When I finally looked up, he asked, “You have plans for the day?”
I nodded. “Shopping. I was just on my way out.”
“You didn’t let the creamed corn escape again, did you?”
I shook my head, grinning. “Solitary confinement.” The creamed corn was actually the last can of vegetables in my cupboard. “All the other veggies have been set free.”
He laughed and touched my upper arm with the tips of his fingers. I felt a tingle race through my body unlike anything I’d felt with the men I’d dated since my divorce. All of a sudden my knees felt proverbially weak and my heart skipped the proverbial beat. I wet my lips with the tip of my tongue, wanting him to kiss me.
Then I stepped back. “I have to go. The produce awaits.”
He laughed.
I knew my jokes weren’t that funny, and it bothered me all the way to the grocery store. Then I quit thinking about my neighbor and started filling my shopping cart with the items on my grocery list.
When I returned home I was once again juggling three grocery bags and trying hard not to drop any of them. I managed to make it inside my apartment without dropping anything and didn’t realize I’d stepped over a piece of paper in my entryway until I returned to make sure my door had shut properly when I kicked it closed. I unfolded the single sheet of white paper and saw that Cullen had neatly penned: Dinner. 6:00. Dress casual. Your new next
-door neighbor, Cullen.
I opened my door and was just about to walk across the hallway to chide Cullen for his impudence when Chloe rubbed up against my legs. I stooped to pick her up and as I held her to my chest, I had second thoughts.
“You know what?” I said to the cat. “Dinner might not be such a bad idea.”
I spent the afternoon cleaning my apartment—which is what I did most Saturday afternoons—and then prepared for my date with Cullen. After I’d showered, I put on a pair of low-rise jeans that made my butt look fantastic and a V-neck pullover that drew the eye to my cleavage without actually revealing much.
When Cullen rapped on my door at precisely six o’clock that evening, I was ready—and glad to see that his idea of casual matched mine. He also wore jeans, but he’d chosen a form-fitting, navy blue polo shirt to top it off.
“You ready?” he asked.
Before I could answer, Chloe rubbed up against his leg and meowed with happiness. She never acts like that around strangers, and it surprised me.
“Are you a cat person?”
Cullen squatted and rubbed Chloe’s back, making her purr contentedly. “Cats, dogs—whatever. I like them all.”
After a brief interlude of petting and purring, I gently pulled Chloe away from his leg and herded her toward the kitchen. Then I grabbed my purse and stepped out into the hallway. “Where are you taking me?” I asked him.
He took me to one of those restaurants where they make you walk through a gift shop to get to the dining area. We played with some of the goofy toys they sell to kids whose parents can’t say no until our table was ready.
Over grilled catfish and hash brown casserole, we told each other about our families. My parents recently moved to the Coast, but my grandparents—both sets—still live in the same neighborhood where I grew up. Cullen’s parents passed away, but he has a sister still in college. I told him about my job working as the dayshift desk clerk at a downtown hotel, and he told me about his job working as an insurance claims adjuster. By the end of the meal, I felt really comfortable with him—like we were tuned to the same wavelength. We seemed to have a lot in common and when he reached across the table and took my hand in his, I felt the same tingle I felt when he touched me at the mailboxes.
