A Pale Paradise

by Carol Anne Vick

  ******

  Phyl closed the upper portion of the Dutch doors of her studio, and smiled as she saw Bear head to his usual spot under the long wood table on the side of the room. Since the nights were cooler now, she had begun setting the electric heater to 'low' to keep her pots, covered with plastic on the shelf on the other side of the studio now, from cracking. They needed to dry slowly and evenly before going into the electric kiln for the bisque fire.

  She donned her denim apron and stood at the canvas wedging board mounted on the long table, and kneaded the large mound of soft clay until she felt that any air bubbles were dispelled and it was of equal consistency. She had found in her years as a potter that she was drawn to the eastern philosophy of creating pottery, which espoused that a potter must become 'one with the clay,' seeing a vessel through each of its phases of growth, from its beginning as earth itself, to its birth as a malleable clay body, until its final stage, its permanent form, forged through fire. She sat at her yellow triangular wheel with its three chunky cylindrical black legs, and thumped the large cone of clay onto the center of the bat, patting it to even the conical shape. She reached for the sea sponge and dipped it into the bowl of water to her upper right and pushed the foot pedal. As the clay spun counter-clockwise, she leaned forward over the clay and alternately pushed the cone down, and pulled it up, forcing it to the center of the wheel. As she repeated the familiar and soothing motions, she looked out of the window at the gorgeous fall scenery, watching the leaves swirl to the ground and felt such contentment that she was able to do this for a living. She heard Bear yawn and stretch, and she returned to the clay, pushing her fist down and pulling it towards her to open the centered mound of clay and create a large concave form. As she raised the sides and trimmed some of the clay off from the bottom of the large bowl, she let her mind drift to another day, just a couple of months before and smiled as she thought about her normally serious husband...

  ...Bear barked once just as Phyl heard the crunch of tires. Thad must have gotten off early. She heard the truck door slam and his footsteps crunch up to the studio, and she smiled at him from her spot at the wedging board where she was kneading a medium-size lump of clay. He leaned over the open Dutch door and rested his arms on the door and she walked over and gave him a kiss.

  "I'll be back out in a minute. Do you want anything from inside?"

  She thought for a moment as she walked back to the board and continued to wedge the clay. "Hmm..mm. Is it too early for a glass of ice cold white wine?"

  "Of course not," he laughed, his dark eyes crinkling. "I'll be right back." He left the top of the door open as he turned and headed for the house. Bear came out from under the table and barked once.

  "Okay, boy, come on." She saw Thad return and open the bottom half of the door and the dog ran out to join him. She finished wedging the clay and carried the light gray-brown cone of clay to the wheel and sat down at the low stool, swiping with her sweatshirt-clad elbow at a strand of hair hanging over her face. She pushed up her sleeves, adjusted her denim apron and placed a thin round bat on the metal wheel, lining up the three holes on the bat to the three round protrusions on the metal wheel. After dribbling a small bit of water onto the bat, she leaned over the wheel and thumped the cone of clay onto the center of the bat. With her foot applying soft pressure to the pedal, she used the wet sponge to secure the spinning base of the clay to the bat. She heard the crunch of gravel and saw Thad appear at the studio door, a glass of white wine in each hand. She held up her wet hands, now covered in clay slurry, and frowned at him.

  "I can do this," he laughed as he balanced a glass against his chest, and opened the door. Bear ran in and made himself comfortable in his spot under the table, and Thad stepped up into the studio, and closed the bottom half of the door. He set down the glasses of wine on the table, then pulled out the tall metal stool and set it in front of the wheel, and sat on the stool, resting his boot on the bottom rung. "Well, I see you can't hold a glass right now." She nodded, stopped the wheel, and leaned forward and he held the class of wine for her to sip.

  "Umm. That's delicious." She smiled at her handsome husband as she returned to centering the clay. With the sponge in her right hand, she raised and lowered the mound of clay, forcing it to center itself within her taut hands.

  "Hmm..m. Now I see why you enjoy throwing so much." His deep voice had a teasing edge to it and she shot him a quick puzzled look as he sipped his wine.

  "What do you mean?" She removed her hands and leaned to the side to observe the spinning tall cylindrical shape. "Oh," she laughed. "I never noticed that before."

  "Hmm..mm. Sure." Thad laughed as he sipped his wine. "You did tell me that the various parts of a pot were named after the human body. For example, the lip, the body, belly...the foot. You never mentioned that part."

  "You're awful," she laughed at him as she stopped the wheel and leaned forward for another sip of wine. Starting the wheel, she continued to push and pull the wet clay as it spun counter-clockwise, her taut, wet hands holding it in check as she raised it once more.

  "Well, now you're just making me feel inadequate." His voice was dead-pan and he leaned his elbow on his knee, chin on his fist.

  "Thad." She couldn't help but laugh at her normally very serious husband. What had gotten in to him? "You're making me shake, and I can't center it properly if I'm moving." She tried to look at him reprovingly.

  "I wonder what other shapes you can make?" Thad mused, rubbing his bearded chin with his thumb.

  Phyl stopped the wheel, and stood up. "Here. Help yourself," she laughed as she walked over to her lovely, newly installed sink and washed her hands as he peered at her incredulously.

  "Are you serious?"

  "Yes. Roll up your sleeves and go to it." She watched him think about it for a moment as he sipped his wine, then he raised his eyebrows at her and set down his drink. While he rolled up the sleeves of his blue shirt she untied her apron. He bent down for her to pull the bib apron over his head, then he stood up while she tied the back, noticing how ridiculously tiny her apron looked on him with the bows from the ties hitting him mid-back. Oh well, she was game. This would be interesting, and she could relax and drink her wine and watch him for a change. She had always secretly wanted him to try throwing. With his beautiful, strong hands, he could throw some seriously big pots, she was sure of it.

  Thad sat on her short stool in front of the wheel as she made herself comfortable in his previous spot, hoisting her tennis shoe up on the bottom rung and picking up her glass of wine. She noticed that his shoulders looked very broad as he sat at her wheel, looking down at the clay and holding his hands up as though beginning an operation. He grinned up at her.

  "I'm ready. Tell me what to do."

  "Well, practice the foot pedal to get your speed just right." She watched him put his right boot on the pedal, then she laughed out loud as the wheel went from stationary to full-speed, causing the top of the clay to droop to one side from the centrifugal force.

  "Whoa..." Thad let up on the pedal and laughed, then practiced pushing his boot on the pedal until he had the clay spinning at the proper speed. He looked up at her sheepishly, one eyebrow raised.

  "You'll just have to re-center it," she said, sipping her wine, thoroughly enjoying watching him for a change.

  His expression became serious as he followed her directions, holding his elbows tightly on his knees, leaning over the clay, placing his right hand with the wet sponge over the top of the clay, his left hand taut at a seventy degree angle to the base of the clay. She watched him as he bent his dark head earnestly over the clay, pushing the tall, crooked mound downward, and she was transfixed with his much stronger hands as he worked at mastering the clay. Perhaps he would become a serious potter and throw large platters and bowls alongside her in the cool evenings after his days at the clinic. They might even need to enlarge the studio and add another wheel just for him. She was becoming excited at the possibilities.

>   "Very good. You can tell that you're almost there. Repeat those steps until you feel it move to center." She sipped her wine as she watched him force the clay upward into the tall cylinder, then push it back down into a conical shape. He re-wet the sponge.

  "This is not as easy as you make it look." He glanced up at her, then quickly returned to the centering process. She decided not to tell him right away that he had a smudge of wet clay on his bearded jaw.

  "I'm impressed. You're doing great." She sipped her wine, then lowered her lids and frowned as she saw him cup the spinning clay with his wet hands, forming a conical mound, and with his thumb, add two concentric circles at the top. She raised her brows at him, leaning her elbow on her knee.

  "Really?" She eyed him as he glanced up at her, an amused look on his face. He pursed his lips and looked down at the form. She rested her jaw on her hand, and rubbed her index finger along her chin in feign distaste as she contemplated his creation.

  "This is the shape I prefer," he smiled at her smugly. "Yes, I think I could enjoy throwing." He leaned to the side, admiring his creation. "I think these would sell."

  "To a pervert, maybe. You are so ridiculous," she laughed and shot him a scornful look. "You forgot to mention when we met that you were still in junior high." He chuckled as she sipped her wine. "Okay, enough of the pre-teen antics. Give me back my clay. I need to make a teapot out of that breast." He laughed at her as she shook her head at him, and he reluctantly stood up and went to the sink to wash his hands, as they prepared to switch back. After donning her apron, she sat down at the wheel and grabbed the wet sponge. Thad finished off his wine in amused silence as he watched her, and she quickly transformed his creation into the main body of a tall teapot. She leaned to the side, then took the wooden tool and trimmed off a little clay at the base. Thad helped her clean up the studio after her pieces were covered with plastic, and with Bear by their side, they closed the Dutch doors and crunched over the gravel to their home. Thad jiggled his fingers against her waist as they stepped onto the porch.

  "You can't tell me that you never noticed the resemblance," he teased her. "I've noticed it every time I've watched you throw."

  "I'll bet you have," she laughed up at him as he opened the door for her. "All right, I fibbed. Of course I have. Everyone noticed it the first time our instructor centered the clay. Just no one said anything out loud. Clay is a very sensual material. Look at the early Mayan earthenware pieces, for example."

  They entered the foyer and began removing their boots and tennis shoes, then pulled off their shirts and pants and threw them in the washer.

  "You know, I enjoyed that so much, we may have to continue the lesson." Thad looked down at her seriously, his hands on his hips, his brows lowered as her dark eyes squinted up at him with suspicion. She pursed her lips, and raised her brows at him.

  "Hmm. You may be right." She searched his eyes. "I can see that you have a lot of potential." She smiled softly as she turned and headed up the stairs. "Do you have a problem with your first class taking place in the shower?"

  She smiled and quickened her pace, as she glanced down and saw him laugh as he headed up the stairs after her.....

  Phyl smiled to herself at the memory. She hadn't gotten him to throw again, but she knew she would, at some point, and she was curious to see what he could produce if he put his mind to it. She refined the large bowl by continuing to pull up the sides until they were the desired thickness, and adding a rounded rim, then she trimmed off a little more of the base. She carefully lifted the bat off the metal wheel, and set it on the adjacent table to her right. She went to the sink and washed her hands, then proceeded to wedge another mound of clay for the rice bowls.

  She quickly threw two small rice bowls, measuring the radius of the second bowl with a caliper to ensure equal size. She pushed the pedal softly, and as the wheel spun slowly, she pulled a taut wire attached to two small dowels quickly through the base of the bowl and stopped the wheel. She deftly transferred the bowl to a round bat on the table by lifting it with the index and middle fingers of both hands. She dipped the sponge in the water and re-centered the mound in preparation for throwing the third bowl. With the size of the clay cone, she would be able to throw six bowls off the hump.

  The day sped by, and by afternoon, she had accomplished her goals, and had thrown the pieces needed for the Massachusetts' gallery. After placing all the bats with the pots on various shelves, she covered them with thin plastic, and began the tedious, but necessary process of cleaning up the studio. An hour later, and she headed to the house with Bear trotting happily beside her. She opened the front door, hurried to the laundry room and discarded her throwing clothes into the washer, and shrugged into the bathrobe she kept on a wall hook. A nice, long, hot shower was going to feel so good. She reached the upper landing, inserted a tape into the player, and listened to the sounds of La Boheme for a moment as she gazed out of the window, then she turned the sound up even louder, and headed for the bathroom, humming along to her favorite opera. By the time she was finished with her shower, she figured, a little straightening up around the house, and it would be time for Thad to get off, then they could head out together for an intimate meal at that new French restaurant.

  Umm..mm. She hadn't had a crepe since their anniversary trip to France, and that really appealed to her.

  After the relaxing shower, she dried her hair and dressed, humming contentedly as she pulled the sides of her long hair up on either side and secured the strands with tortoise shell barrettes, then inserted small gold hoop earrings. She pushed up the sleeve of the long, loose dark green cardigan she had pulled over her black camisole and snug, black jeans, and buckled the thin, black watchband onto her left wrist. Hmm.m. Not too much longer and Thad would be finished at the clinic, she smiled, glancing at the time. She slid on low, black flats, and she was done. If Thad had his way, she knew, they would be together twenty-four hours a day, every day, and she would have no problem with that...no problem at all. She looked at her reflection in the bedroom mirror and raised her eyebrows at herself. She was supremely fortunate to have met and married such a serious and thoughtful man and she was grateful for every moment spent with him.

  Phyl walked into the kitchen and surveyed the counter tops and decided that no tidying-up was required. She refilled Bear's food and water bowls by the hall door, and headed toward the living room after realizing that her tape had finished playing. She rubbed Bear's head as she passed him, laying in his bed by the fireplace, and reached over to the shelves and pulled the tape out of the player. As she retraced her steps, she noticed that the answering machine on the side table was blinking. She pushed the button and looked out over the lake, waiting for the message to begin.

  "Kristin...kidnapped..." Jonathan sounded winded. "...in Bahamas..." Phyl spun around in astonishment, and bent closer to the machine to hear through the static. "hiding...danger...need your help..." click

  Phyl clutched her chest, her eyes wide, as she stared at the machine. My God. What on earth could have happened? She rubbed her lips as she turned and stared out at the gorgeous fall landscape beyond the large picture window and wood balcony. Her eyes skittered over the view, as she tried to calm herself. She hadn't seen Jonathan for almost twenty-one months now, since their lunch in Manhattan the day of her appointment with the Soho gallery. The last she'd heard from him was his message that he and Kristin were leaving for Brussels and he was starting a new job there, what, back in March of 'eighty-five? Nineteen months ago. So, why was he in the Bahamas? Was he on vacation? Was he transferred? She pushed the re-play button and listened to his disturbing message again. She swallowed hard, trying to figure out the best course of action. Who was he hiding from? The authorities? The kidnapper? Who should she contact? Her mind flew from question to question, then paused to reflect on the first time she had seen Kristin. Phyl remembered that uncomfortable day in December, after arriving at Jonathan's Manhattan apartment, and just hours after she had k
issed Thad. She and Jonathan had listened to Kristin's message and she had shown up at his door with a bottle of wine. Kristin was tall, blond with blue eyes, very well-dressed, and it had seemed that she and Jonathan had obviously connected on their business trip to the Bahamas the week before, and so Phyl had left Manhattan, returning to her home on Lake Saint Catherine, finally forging her relationship with Thad, the man she had really loved. It had been perfect timing, she had realized later, forcing her to make a decision about her love-life and work. She brushed back a stray strand of her dark chestnut hair and tucked it behind her ear as she figured out the first step. She needed to tell Thad, and together they could devise a plan. She quickly dialed the clinic.

  "Wellsley Animal Hospital." Candace answered a little absently. Phyl could hear her typing. "How may I help you?"

  "Candace. I need to talk to Thad. Is he busy right now?"

  "Hey, Phyl, I'll get him for you."

  "Thanks, Candace." Phyl had always liked the young woman. She smoothed the front of her green cardigan and folded her arm across her chest, as she held the phone to her ear, and looked out at the shimmering lake.

  "Phyl, is everything all right?" Thad's deep voice was warm, and full of concern.

  "No, Thad, this is really strange." Phyl twisted the phone cord as she repeated Jonathan's message to him. "We can't ignore this. We have to do something." She had been with Jonathan for three years, even though they had lived in separate apartments in Manhattan.

  "You're right, of course." She imagined him rubbing his lightly bearded chin with his thumb. "Well, I have one more appointment, and then I'll be leaving. We can figure out how we can help Jonathan when I get home." He paused. "Are you all right? I know this must be upsetting for you."

  "Yes, well, no. I don't know how I feel, Thad, but he's turned to us for help." Phyl sighed loudly. "Jonathan and kidnapping? It's a lot to process."

  "I know." She could hear him tapping on the counter. "I'll get home as soon as I can."

  "Thank you, Thad. See you soon." She replaced the receiver on its cradle, and turned to look again at the lake. What could they do? But, kidnapping? How on earth did Jonathan get mixed up in this? Phyl needed to get some information before Thad got home, so they could make their decision. Who should she call? She decided that the State Department would be their best bet. She glanced at her watch. They would be closed now, but she needed their number so they could call the next day, which would be a Friday. She knew from her history studies that the United States had established diplomatic ties with the islands in the nineteen seventies after their independence from Britain, so there should be an embassy there. She thought there was a Bahama's embassy in D. C. Should they call there? She didn't even know who Jonathan worked for in Brussels, and if he was on a vacation, or had re-located to the islands. The first place she should call tomorrow was his old law firm in Manhattan, she decided. She grabbed a notebook, and started making a list. She called 'information' and wrote down every phone number the operator could give her that might be helpful. Moving over to the dining table, she looked over her list, then suddenly stopped her notations and looked out over the lake. What was she doing? This seemed so unreal. She needed to listen to the message again. Would the phone company give her the number Jonathan had called from, or at least the location? She didn't know what the rules were on that sort of information, especially between countries. She laid down her pen just as she heard the front door open, and Thad's footsteps on the stairs. She stood up as her handsome husband entered the landing and she walked over to him. He looked down at her with narrowed eyes, then enfolded her in his arms. She rested her head on his chest, not sure how she felt, not sure at all.

  Thad pulled back from her, his arms still around her, searching her eyes.

  "What do you want to do?" His deep voice was soothing. "You know I'll support you in whatever you decide."

  "I've written down several numbers to call tomorrow - the State Department, the Bahama's embassy in D.C." She looked up at him. "But, it has to be our decision on any personal action. We have to be in total agreement." He nodded.

  "I'd like to hear his message." They pulled apart, and Thad shrugged out of his khaki jacket and hung it on the wall hook by the stairs. They walked over to the machine, and Phyl pushed the button.

  "Kristin...kidnapped..." Thad turned up the volume and leaned down close to the speaker. "...in Bahamas..." He pointed to the machine and looked over at her, nodding, as he listened. "...hiding...danger...need your help..." click

  "Did you hear the music?" Thad raised up and put his hands on his hips, looking down at her. "He must have been calling from a restaurant or bar."

  "Yes, I heard it that time." Phyl shook her head. "Should we just call the police and have them listen to it, and get their advice on how to proceed?"

  He rubbed his jaw thoughtfully. "That's not a bad idea. Let's start with the local police. Do you want me to call?"

  "All right, you call and I'll fix us a quick dinner. I can't even think about going out now." Phyl headed toward the kitchen as Thad nodded and picked up the receiver, grabbing the phone book on the lower shelf. He flipped through the pages, found the number, and dialed the Wellsley police department.

  Phyl listened to his conversation as she pulled out some leftover chicken from the fridge and set it in the microwave. She was in the process of making a salad when he hung up and walked over to the kitchen, leaning his elbows on the counter, watching her.

  "Well, they said we needed to call the State Department."

  "Thad, we need to make a copy of his message." Phyl stopped slicing the tomato. "Do we even have a recorder?"

  "I have a cassette recorder in a box somewhere." Thad put one hand on his brow. "I'll look for it tonight." He paused, resting his elbow on the counter and his jaw on his fist, and narrowed his eyes. "Do you know how many islands there are in the Bahamas? Close to seven hundred, if I remember my geography correctly. And we have no idea which one he's on," he paused. "Phyl, I know we're both thinking the same thing. But if we go to the Bahamas, and it turns out that something has happened to Kristin, and Jonathan is on the run, it could be a dangerous situation for you, for both of us."

  She laid the knife in the sink, and rested her elbows on the counter, leaning toward him. "He called and asked us for help." She searched his dark eyes. "We can't ignore it, can we?" Thad nodded in agreement, and rubbed his brow, as Phyl sighed and began plating their dinner. "And, now I'm thinking that maybe he wouldn't want anyone else to listen to his message."

  "Then, perhaps we should just keep it to ourselves until we figure things out."

  "I agree. I don't see how it would help."

  Thad walked around the counter and into the galley kitchen, opening one of the white cabinets and getting out two long stemmed glasses. He uncorked a bottle of white wine from the fridge, and poured them each a glass, as Phyl carried their plates to the round oak table in the dining area across from the kitchen. As they ate, she passed over her notebook for him to look at her notations. Gazing out through the large picture window at the beautiful lake, now purplish in the dusk, as he read her list, she glanced at her watch, then suddenly jumped up, and hurried toward the living room.

  "The national news should be on now," she called back to him after switching on the small television tucked in the shelves on the wall next to the fireplace, and turning the dial until she found the news channel.

  "I'll bring our dinner over." She heard Thad pull out the woven tray and put their plates, glasses, and utensils on it as she adjusted the volume. She sat on the white, slip-covered sofa that sat diagonally in the room, with a view of the lake through the enormous window to the left, and the stone fireplace on the wall to the right, as he carried in the tray and set it on the coffee table. They sat together and watched the news expectantly as they ate.

  "Here it is." Phyl leaned toward the television.

  ".....as they prepare for the Queen's visit next week to the capi
tal of Nassau on New Providence Island. The Queen is a popular figure in the islands, as she is the head of the country's parliamentary constitutional monarchy, established in nineteen, seventy-three at the time of their independence from Britain. Security is tight as you might expect, as several events are planned in her honor."

  Phyl glanced at Thad and frowned, then turned back to the television.

  "And there is disturbing news as well from the Bahamas, as authorities investigate the violent kidnapping of a young American woman, Kristin Sullivan, the daughter of the founder and CEO of the Sullivan Institute in Nassau. She was abducted yesterday morning from her home in Nassau. Witnesses heard gunfire and saw the young woman being shoved into a blue van in front of her home and they immediately called police, who are searching the island now. Her companion, Jonathan Martin, from New York, an attorney for the Institute, is also missing. It is not known how he is involved at this time. We will keep you updated as events unfold. And now to other news..."

  Phyl got up and switched off the television, turning to Thad, her hands on her hips.

  "All right, well, now we know that they lived in Nassau, and that Jonathan worked for her father, who obviously was the client he had complained so much about." She shook her head, looking over at the phone, then back at Thad. "I wonder if his parents know. They must know by now. I need to call them." She sighed, and bit her lower lip, as memories of Scott and Leah came to her mind. The last time she'd seen them was Thanksgiving of 'eighty-four, almost two years ago now, right before she'd moved from Manhattan. "Thad, they must be frantic. But, I can't tell them about his message yet," she sighed loudly, gazing at him. "Jonathan wants us to help him somehow, but I don't know what we can do for him. How will we know the right thing to do?" She saw Thad set down his wine glass, stand up and move toward her, and she went up to him and wrapped her arms around him, resting her head on his strong, warm chest.

  "I think a trip to the Bahamas is in order." Thad rubbed her back.

  "I agree, reluctantly though." Phyl pulled back and looked up at him. "What can we handle financially? A week?" They were not wealthy by any means. Their income from his small-town veterinarian practice, and her pottery, organic herbs, and bread businesses gave them a comfortable lifestyle, but certainly not one in which they could be careless with their bank account.

  "Hmm..." He was thoughtful as he gazed down, his eyes narrowed. "No more than that, in my opinion."

  "All right. A week then."

  "You'll do the right thing for him, Phyl, I have no doubt." Thad continued to rub her back as he held her. "And you know that I'll help you any way I can."

  "Thank you." She looked up at him. He understood.

  ******

  Phyl sighed as she scooted back under the comforter and peered out over the lake, watching the sun just starting to appear through the trees as her thoughts since waking had naturally been drawn to the uncertain events of the week ahead with their upcoming trip to Nassau. She heard Thad fixing their coffee in the kitchen and she let her unsettled mind drift to random memories of her time with Jonathan, and she frowned, unsure if she and Thad were making the right decision in helping him. Jonathan was basically, in her opinion, a self-absorbed man, with a one track mind. And that track was focused solely on his career advancement as a lawyer. Fast forward to her marriage to Thad, and his uncanny perception of her needs and feelings. He had a thriving clinic, and he was an excellent businessman, but, he understood what really mattered in life. Yes, he'd been through some difficult, life-changing events in his life, and that tended to change a person's perspective, but the differences in the two men couldn't be more stark. She remembered one particular day a few months earlier, in June, the week of their first wedding anniversary, as they had visited his late wife's grave before their celebratory trip to France...

  ...She had watched silently, her hands folded in front of her, as Thad laid the bouquet of wild flowers at the base of Angela's pale granite headstone. She read the familiar inscription. Angela Stowe Gallagher, Beloved Wife and Mother, and the date of her passing, October 15, 1980, and sighed softly. They stood together at the foot of the grave as Thad bowed his head, his eyes closed, his lips pursed, and his hands folded in front of him. She let her gaze wander past the large sycamore tree, where Mike's wife, Annie had been buried over a year ago now, remembering the sad service on that cold and damp March morning. A sudden, warm breeze prompted her to lift her head, and she thought about that windy day in her field, glad that she had released her parents' ashes there, imagining that their earthly remains were still airborne, still catching in the breeze, traveling as they had so loved to do, and she smiled softly. She looked back over at Thad, grateful to him for being there with her that day, and saw that his head was raised, and he was staring at the headstone, eyes serious, blinking hard.

  "Are you all right?" she whispered, leaning toward him. He nodded, and turned to her, seeming deep in thought. He took her hand, and they walked together back to his black truck, and he opened the door for her, and held her elbow as she stepped up into the cab. She saw that he was staring at her intently, and she squinted her eyes at him, but he said nothing. She didn't press him, knowing that he would tell her whatever was on his mind when the time was right for him.

  That night as she lay next to his warm body, her head nestled in the curve between his broad chest and shoulder, she languidly viewed the moon-lit white light filtering through the filmy drapes, and she tilted her face up toward his, and quietly observed the play of light move across his eyelids, the bump on the bridge of his nose, his lips, and his chest. She listened to the soft sound of his breathing as he slept. After a moment, she felt his fingers glide slowly across her arm, and she smiled, then propped up a little on her elbow, as he opened his eyes just a bit, and half-winked at her. She smiled at him and gently rested her hand on his chest.

  "Hmm..mm. What are you thinking?" he whispered as he tilted his face toward her.

  "That this past year with you has been wonderful," she sighed, letting her hand glide across his chest, her eyes soft. "I can't believe we'll be celebrating our first anniversary already. And in France."

  He lightly cleared his throat, and looked at her intently. "I'm looking forward to it," was his short response and he propped himself up a little, his arm behind his head, as he watched her.

  "You know, one of the reasons for my discontent while I lived in Manhattan, was my relationship with Jonathan, or lack of a relationship, might be a better way to put it." She leaned her head back, and tried to sum up her feelings. "The best word to describe our three years together would be 'shallow.' Sad, but accurate," she sighed as she continued to watch him. "Even though he had helped me through my parents' deaths, I still felt very much alone...emotionally. I didn't know how it could be until I met you." She paused, and exhaled and saw that his eyes were narrowed, as he looked at her seriously.

  "What are you thinking?" she whispered.

  "There's something..." he exhaled. "...that I've been wanting to tell you, for quite a while now, in fact." He propped up on his elbow so they were facing each other over their pillows, and she squinted her eyes at him in the moonlight as he pursed his lips. What on earth could he want to tell her? She remembered his intense look at the cemetery. "Perhaps this is the right time." He lowered his head for a moment as if to gather his thoughts. Looking back up, he gazed intently into her eyes, lightly brushing a strand of her hair behind her shoulder, and resting his hand on her arm. "I've had the advantage of having heard Jonathan," They both smiled at his words, remembering the contrite message he had left on the machine that Christmas Eve, as she and Thad were sharing a passionate kiss. "...and you only know Angela through what I've told you." He paused. "I know that I'm responsible for somehow giving you the impression that I've put her up on a pedestal, or that she was perfect, or that we were the ideal couple." He spoke slowly, measured, and she wasn't sure at all where he was going with this. She swallowed, unable to take her
puzzled gaze away from his, as he continued. "Angela was a wonderful woman, wife, and mother, and I loved her very much. She had beautiful qualities as well as faults, as we all do." He swallowed, his lips pursed. "As I've told you before, I was devastated when she died." She watched him closely as he stroked her arm, almost to keep himself calm, she thought, and his dark eyes never wavered from hers. "But, Phyl," he took a deep breath and exhaled. "I would be totally and completely dishonest with myself, and most importantly, utterly unfair to you, if I didn't tell you," he reached over and laid his hand gently on her jaw, lightly rubbing her chin with his thumb. "that you are the love of my life." Her chest constricted, and tears sprang to her eyes, but she couldn't react. She had known after meeting him, that his heart would always partially lay with Angela, and she had reconciled herself to that fact. She had married him, knowing full well that there had been someone before her whom he had loved deeply, and lost, and she'd accepted that. Her heart began to beat wildly. "You are the love of my life," he repeated, his voice warm, his eyes glistening. "I knew from the first time I saw you at the clinic, that we would be together. I just didn't know how or when." She saw his eyes crinkle, and narrow, as she smiled at him through her tears. "But, I knew." He put his hand over his heart. "Just as if there had been a lightning bolt to my chest." He exhaled, seeming relieved, then seeing her look, he added softly. "Phyl, I'm not being disparaging of Angela, but I can't make our marriage more than it had been by virtue of her death." He paused. "We had a good marriage, but there was a thin line, if you will, a slight separation, that we never crossed in our roles." She nodded, realizing how it might have been if she and Jonathan had married. He continued after taking another deep breath, and echoed her words. "I didn't know how it could be until I met you. This last year has shown me that what we have together is nowhere near ordinary." She could breathe again, and she gazed at him through her wet lashes, feeling her heart relax. Reaching over, she ran her hand lovingly across his precious temple, and down his bearded jaw, as if for the last time in her life. She leaned toward him and kissed him gently with her trembling lips, wet with tears. Her heart was full. There was nothing to be said. He knew...

  Phyl sighed as she gazed out onto her lake and Thad's face, his strong, handsome features emphasized by the moonlight, sprang to her mind, as she replayed his emotional admission to her that night. It had taken some time for her to let it all sink in to her mind and heart. What was that old saying? Still waters run deep? He was a man who considered his words carefully, and he had always known exactly what to say to her to take her breath away. She turned her head, brushing her long hair back from her face, as she heard Thad pad softly into their bedroom.

  "Are you ready?" He held their usual steaming cups of black coffee in his hands.

  "Yes, thank you." She sat up and adjusted the covers as Thad handed her one of the cups, and sat on the side of the bed.

  "You're welcome." They sipped their coffee as the sun rose over the lake, and they discussed what each of them needed to accomplish on this last day before their planned trip. There had been no new developments concerning Kristin's kidnapping on the late news the night before.

  "Thad, is all of this uncomfortable for you?"

  "You mean, am I uncomfortable because it's Jonathan we're helping?"

  "Yes, I suppose so."

  "No, not at all." He smiled at her as he reached over and trailed his fingertips across her chest. "I know where your heart lies."

  "I'm almost having second thoughts about going to the Bahamas." She eyed him worriedly. "I just have a really bad feeling about all of this."

  "I think we'll be all right." He sipped his coffee, and took a deep breath. "We just need to help out in any way we can. I think we can do it." He reached over and rubbed her arm. "We can always just leave and come home if we feel it's not safe."

  "You're right." Phyl sighed.

  "We have a lot to do today." Thad leaned over and kissed her. "I need to get going." She watched him as he ran his hand through his hair, then went into the kitchen, set his cup by the coffeepot and headed toward the bathroom. She took another sip of the hot, black coffee, looking out at the red and gold trees, wondering what the next week would bring. She got up and dressed in jeans and a gray sweatshirt. As he showered and dressed, she fixed their breakfast, and they ate, looking out at the sparkling, sun-lit lake, their minds both fixed on the serious, uncertain days ahead of them.