A Cup of Comfort for Couples

by Colleen Sell

  A CUP OF

  COMFORT®

  for

  Couples

  Stories that celebrate

  what it means to be in

  Love

  Edited by Colleen Sell

  Copyright © 2011 by F+W Media, Inc.

  All rights reserved. This book, or parts thereof, may not be

  reproduced in any form without permission from the publisher;

  exceptions are made for brief excerpts used in published reviews.

  A Cup of Comfort® is a registered trademark of F+W Media, Inc.

  Published by

  Adams Media, a division of F+W Media, Inc.

  57 Littlefield Street, Avon, MA 02322 U.S.A.

  www.adamsmedia.com and www.cupofcomfort.com

  ISBN 10: 1-4405-0200-5

  ISBN 13: 978-1-4405-0200-2

  eISBN 10: 1-4405-0908-5

  eISBN 13: 978-1-4405-0908-7

  Printed in the United States of America.

  1 0 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  is available from the publisher.

  This publication is designed to provide accurate and authoritative infor-mation with regard to the subject matter covered. It is sold with the understanding that the publisher is not engaged in rendering legal, accounting, or other professional advice. If legal advice or other expert assistance is required, the services of a competent professional person should be sought.

  — From a Declaration of Principles jointly adopted by

  a Committee of the American Bar Association and

  a Committee of Publishers and Associations

  Many of the designations used by manufacturers and sellers to distinguish their products are claimed as trademarks. Where those designations appear in this book and Adams Media was aware of a trademark claim, the designations have been printed with initial capital letters.

  This book is available at quantity discounts for bulk purchases.

  For information, please call 1-800-289-0963.

  For Geronimo: the love of my midlife . . . and the rest of my life

  Contents

  Acknowledgments •

  Introduction •

  Supersized Love • Samantha Ducloux Waltz

  The Secret of Rugged Terrain • Shawnelle Eliasen

  First Love • Phyllis Jardine

  Matchmaker • Ariella Golani

  My Other Husband • Tina Wagner Mattern

  Heart and Sole • Carolyn Huhn-Sullivan

  A Love Worth Waiting For • Jann Mitchell-Sandstrom

  The Anniversary Gift • Kelly Wilson

  Come Rain or Come Shine • Judy L. Adourian

  The Taming of the Green-Eyed Monster • Ande Cardwell

  Three Little Words • Madeleine M. Kuderick

  When His and Hers Becomes Ours • Tina Lincer

  As Long as Forever • Suzanne Endres

  The Almost-Proposal • Felice Prager

  Built with Tender Loving Care • Mary E. Winter

  Diving for Love • Debra Gordon Zaslow

  Biscuits and Olives • Lorri McDole

  Dancing with My Husband • Barbara Neal Varma

  Popcorn Proposal • Michelle L. Devon

  How the Funny Papers Rocked My World • Deborah Shouse

  180 Seconds to a Lifetime • Gina Farella Howley

  Girlfriend • Allison Maher

  Intestinal Fortitude • Erika Hoffman

  Café Amoré • Charmian Christie

  Lost and Found • Wade Morgan

  To Love Greatly • Priscilla Carr

  Garlic Soup • Amy Hudock

  Love Check • Patricia Ljutic

  Improv at the Altar • Michele Forsten

  The Romance of Ordinary Days • Annette M. Bower

  Love, Italian Style • Sylvia Suriano-Diodati

  Retiring Bill Pullman • Craig Idlebrook

  Love and the Un-Romantic • Mary C. M. Phillips

  Who Could Ask for Anything More? • Beverly Lessard

  Live, Love, Laugh • Tami Absi

  Love Imitates Art • Faith Paulsen

  Willow Weep No More • Suzanne Yoder

  Love Shack • Michelle Hozey

  A Room of His Own • Annette Gendler

  Wildly in Love • Cathi LaMarche

  The Piece of Paper That Almost Blinded Me • Julie Clark Robinson

  Lime Green and Not Deep • Nancy DeMarco

  Loving Done Right • Connie Ellison

  My Year in China • Liane Kupferberg Carter

  The Prism • Stephanie Springsteen

  A Gift for Women • Joyce Stark

  The First Thing about Love • Kristi Hemingway-Weatherall

  Contributors •

  About the Editor •

  Acknowledgments

  All books are collaborative creations, but none so much as an anthology. As the anthologist of this superb collection of true stories of true love, then, I have many people to thank:

  Most gratefully, the authors of the forty-eight terrific stories that grace these pages,

  As well as authors of the other 2,000-plus stories submitted for this book;

  The gifted and generous folks at Adams Media — especially my chief collaborator, Meredith O’Hayre; Cup of Comfort® creator, Paula Munier; Karen Cooper, publisher; Casey Ebert, copy chief; and Beth Gissinger, publicist;

  My parents, Albert and Jeannie Sell, for sixty years of demonstrating that love really is a many-splendored thing;

  And with all my heart, my lover, best friend, favorite dance partner, life partner, and husband — Nik.

  Introduction

  “And what do all the great words come to in the end, but that? — I love you — I am at rest with you — I have come home.”

  — Dorothy L. Sayers

  What is the secret to a successful marriage or romantic partnership? How do you find true love — and stay in love? Is love enough to weather life’s storms, petty grievances, and foolish mistakes? Can you give your all to love without giving up your self? Does a relationship that “works” take work, or does it come naturally, easily? Do couples who live happily ever after know something or have something or do something that couples whose relationships falter or fail don’t?

  Those are the questions most of us ask at one time in our lives — and that some of us ask repeatedly throughout our lives. Because deep in our hearts that’s what most of us want: to love and to be loved by that one special someone.

  So those are the questions we posed when we cast the net for true stories about couples who were truly, madly, deeply in love . . . or perhaps simply comfortable and content with and committed to one another. We asked couples to show us what true love, a good relationship, and a happy marriage look and feel like — to show us what makes them tick, together. So they did. From the more than 2,000 true stories of true love we received, we gathered the best into this book.

  A Cup of Comfort® for Couples gives you an inside look into the hearts and lives of forty-eight couples. I hope their stories will delight, inspire, and move you.

  — Colleen Sell

  Supersized Love

  My heart skipped three beats when the phone rang and I saw Ray’s name on caller ID. Would it be a concert at Washington Park? A starlit run in Portland’s west hills? A bike ride out to the beach at Sauvie Island?

  “Samantha?” His deep, warm voice raised goose bumps on my arms.

  “I know this is late notice, but are you free tonight?”

  It was late notice, but I wanted to see him.

  When I met Ray at a summer singles’–club dance, his hazel eyes, crooked smile, and lean but muscular physique imm
ediately caught my attention. He invited me to hike the Eagle Creek Trail in the Columbia Gorge for our first date, and I shivered with excitement. Tickets to a Bruce Springsteen concert prompted a perfect second date. What would he entice me with this time? Every woman knows third dates can often be turning points in relationships.

  “How about meeting me at Costco for dinner?” Ray asked with the same lilt in his voice I’d have expected if he were inviting me to dine at the posh Harborside on the Willamette River.

  I sank into a chair, unable for a moment to say anything. Was he kidding?

  “I need to pick up some things for a catering job. They have a great Polish dog. Pizza or chicken wraps if you’d like that better.”

  He wasn’t kidding. I have a Costco card and appreciate the prices, the quality, and the easy return policy as much as anyone. But a big cement warehouse with everything in supersize for a third date? Where were the candles? The music? Would he reach across a display of Sonicare toothbrushes to take my hand?

  “Sure. I’ll meet you there,” I said, focusing on those hazel eyes and ignoring a fluttering of disappointment in my chest.

  “Six-thirty?”

  “That works,” I agreed.

  We met at the cavernous entrance, Ray already with a green flat cart in tow. He looked good, his yellow golf shirt setting off a nice tan. We flashed our cards at the attendant, ID pictures visible, and I trailed Ray and the cart as he walked purposefully to the back of the store, the aroma of fresh muffins wafting toward us.

  “Wow,” I gasped at all the six packs and twelve packs of juices and soft drinks he swung onto the cart.

  “Big party,” he said, moving to the section of paper products for plates and cups, then the frozen food section for meatballs and shrimp. Fresh fruit next: blueberries, strawberries, cantaloupe, watermelons, bananas.

  I touched his shoulder. “Those are going to be beautiful fruit trays.”

  “Hope so.”

  Ray took good care of his customers. I sensed he would take good care of me as well. Shopping with him, I felt a surprising intimacy as I watched him do his thing as the owner of a small restaurant.

  We continued to date, mixing Costco runs with movies, theater, fall hikes, and winter sports. I met his adult children; he met my teenagers. Then one day at Costco, when we’d been dating five months, he grabbed a regular, redhandled shopping cart, not a green flat cart. “I need to get a few things for my apartment,” he said and proceeded to load a box of bottled water, a two-loaf pack of whole-grain bread, eggs, and a jar of peanut butter.

  When we reached the frozen food section, he held up a bag of chicken burritos. “Your kids like these?” he asked.

  “How nice. They’d love them.”

  He tossed them in the cart.

  We stopped next at the tables of fruit. “Like cantaloupe?” he asked, holding up a net with three melons. “I could keep one at my place and you could take two home.”

  My stomach flip-flopped. What was going on? He was shopping for us.

  He pushed the cart to the center of the store where a dozen tables were piled high with clothes, rummaged through a stack of golf shirts, and came up with a green one and a white one. “Which do you think?” he asked, holding them up.

  “Either one,” I assured him. He’d look terrific in both.

  He tossed them in the cart and then moved to a table of women’s sweaters. “Like any of these?” he asked.

  I went weak-kneed, now certain of the shift in our relationship. This was no business run. He was loading a cart with his and her things.

  The red turtleneck I picked up felt as soft as a kitten’s fur against my cheek.

  “I like you in red. You want it?” Ray nodded toward the cart.

  I’d never considered Costco a place to buy clothes. I was learning so much this trip I could hardly breathe. With Christmas approaching, the red sweater would be fun, especially if I were wearing it to holiday celebrations with Ray. We were definitely an item.

  Christmas came, then New Year’s, then Valentine’s. Ray and I spent as much time together as possible. My kids adored him and so did I.

  “You think you’ll get married?” a girlfriend at the school where I taught asked.

  I shrugged. My first marriage had been a dismal, gut-wrenching experience, and I wasn’t eager to try that again. Nor had Ray dropped to one knee and proposed. I was fine with the status quo.

  At least I thought I was. Recently, though, everywhere I went I noticed diamond earrings, diamond necklaces, diamond rings. I wasn’t ready to pick up a copy of Modern Bride, but something was going on.

  Ray did not appear to share my obsession. When I shopped with him for his mom’s birthday gift, he didn’t even slow down as we passed the Zales, not to mention Tiffany.

  That night we headed off to Costco for some laundry detergent, bathroom supplies, and a Polish dog. We flashed our cards as usual, but for once Ray didn’t grab a cart. Assuming he’d forgotten, I turned back to get one. Gently but firmly he took my arm. In seconds he’d propelled me to the jewelry case. “See anything you like?” he asked.

  A necklace for my June birthday? No, too early. I suddenly felt dizzy.

  “I kind of like that one.” He pointed to a perfect solitaire diamond set in a platinum band.

  My mouth went dry.

  “Do you want to look at it?”

  I nodded.

  He strode off and returned within seconds with a red-vested clerk who unlocked the case for us.

  “That one.” Ray pointed to the solitaire.

  The clerk handed it to him.

  “Want to try it on?” Ray threw me his fabulous crooked smile.

  “Rings never fit me. I have huge knuckles like my dad.” My voice trembled as I gazed at the ring he held out to me.

  Ray steadied my left hand and slipped it on.

  I stared at it. How could it fit so perfectly? And be so beautiful? Even in the fluorescent lighting of Costco, it sparkled like a meteor shower.

  “What do you think?” Ray asked.

  I answered with a kiss. Yes, right there in Costco. I could easily imagine our future. The wedding wouldn’t be there, of course, but perhaps for our first anniversary Ray would say, “Want to go to Costco?”

  And I wouldn’t be able to think of anything more romantic than sitting across from him at a long, stainless steel table, eating a Polish dog and celebrating our supersized love.

  — Samantha Ducloux Waltz

  The Secret of Rugged Terrain

  My baby’s newborn squall pulled me from a deep sleep. I rubbed my eyes, pushed the covers back, and rolled from the comfort of our bed. Wake-up calls were so much easier a few years and several babies ago. We had five boys, and there were fifteen years between the oldest and youngest.

  I bent over the bassinette and lifted my tiny son. Isaiah stopped crying; must’ve found the off switch.

  “Is it morning already?” my husband, Lonny, asked from under our covers.

  “It is now,” I said.

  Lonny sat up in bed, fluffed my pillow, and patted the mattress next to him. “Come here, you two,” he said.

  I handed him the swaddled newborn and curled in beside them. Isaiah settled into Lonny’s chest. Lonny pulled the baby close, then tipped his own head and closed his eyes.

  I admired their faces. The contrast was striking. Isaiah with his fresh, pink newborn skin. Unblemished. Dewey. Smooth. Lonny’s complexion was tanned and rough. Lined. Like rugged terrain.

  I kissed Lonny on the forehead and closed my eyes, too. As I huddled into the sweet warmth of my husband and son, I remembered back, long ago, when our marriage had been new and fresh — like the flesh of a newborn babe.

  “Do you think this will last, Shawnelle? Being so happy?” Lonny asked.

  We’d been married two weeks and were wrapped together in a deep, round futon chair. Our first apartment didn’t have air conditioning, but we sat close anyway.

  I took a bite of Lonny�
��s cheese pizza. “Sure,” I said. “Why shouldn’t it?”

  “Just seems too good to be true,” he said.

  I tousled his too-long hair. “Of course it will last.”

  But life came at us hard and fast. Lonny worked to finish college. I went to work for an elementary school near campus while he finished his degree. Then Lonny graduated, and we moved to mid-Michigan. New jobs. New community. I went back to school. A barrage of changes rushed at us, and we didn’t know how to manage the stress together. We handled our own stuff in our own ways, and by the time we pulled that top-tier wedding cake from the freezer to celebrate our first anniversary, our marriage had grown chilly, too. We’d started to pick at one another, noticing the shortcomings and looking past the good things.

  One day Lonny came home from work. Late. He’d missed dinner and been too busy to call. He kicked off his shoes, tossed his briefcase to the floor, padded to the dining room, and pecked me on the cheek.

  “Sorry,” he said. “Tough day. How was yours?”

  “Long,” I said. “Will you please put your shoes in the closet? I’ve picked them up a dozen times this week.”

  “Sure, after I grab something to eat,” he said.

  First he was late. Then the shoes. “How about now?” I said.

  “How about later?” he said.

  “How about I toss them on the lawn?”

  “How about you finish the trim in the living room? Geesh, Shawnelle, I can’t believe you painted the room and left the trim undone. Can’t you finish what you start?”

  He plunked down his plate on the table, and we ate in silence. I wished we could talk, but I couldn’t guarantee that my words would be kind. I wanted them to be, but all I could think about were those darned shoes.

  Such was our life. We weren’t unhappy. But we weren’t happy, either. We moved through life and time. Bought a house. Had a baby. There were good times, too, and neither of us wanted to bail. But we bickered constantly, and we were keenly aware of and quick to point out one another’s shortcomings. We went on like this for a while — drawing out the flaws and glossing over the good stuff.