Disclaimers/Notes/Thanks - see Part One

Part two

Chapter 3

     Some illusive memory is dancing at the edges of my consciousness, but I cannot grasp it or force it to move closer or become clearer.  A fleeting feeling of...I don't know what, dances in and out, never staying long enough to become clear.   I try to stay in a sleep state, hoping more information will come.  I hate loose endings and unfinished stories.  Closure, order-those are my goals in life...and dreams.  Some movement in the room disturbs, some slight sound increases my level of consciousness and I feel the dream fragments drift away.  My breathing becomes more rapid.  I need only open my eyes to determine the source of the sound.  Opening my eyes also means losing what fragile grasp I have left of the dream playing hide and seek inside my head.  The choice is made when "Mommy" is whispered into my ear.
     "Hi, Sunshine."  I lift Cady onto the bed and into my arms.  "I missed you, sweetheart."  My eyes, ears, and heart are wide open now.  Cady's golden hair seems even lighter than when I left on Monday.  Carefully, I examine each delicate feature as if I need to memorize every detail about her, for any moment she will be grown and I will have lost her childhood.  She giggles and cuddles next to me, lifts her head up, and proceeds to give me her welcome home kiss.  My heart is filled with love.  Until she came along, I didn't know I was missing anything in my life.  And now she is my life.  Once again I remember to tell my boss, Ed, I want to do less traveling.
     "Mommy, you brung me someone to play.  Look!"  She squirms upright, her blue eyes animated and searching for the fuzzy brown hair and dark eyes of the three-year-old standing at the edge of the bed.  Following her gaze I see shy brown eyes and a familiar grin.  Without a thought, I reach down and lift D. J. onto the bed, too.  The sunshine warms the room and I could see dust molecules at play in the sun's rays.  The three of us are safe from the real world for a few moments longer.  I pull D. J. close beside me.
     "Cady, this is D. J.  Can you say hello?"
     Cady nods, but no sound is made.  I am touched at this sudden shyness.  "Cady Hettinger, can't you say hello to our visitor?"  She puts her arms around my neck and hides her face.
     "Where's my Mommy?"  D. J. asks so softly I'm not sure I hear him correctly.
     "She's...."  The vague memory is no longer vague or dancing.  A sharp image marches into view and the events of yesterday have shoved their way to my cortex.  "She's sleeping.  Why don't we go into the kitchen and I will fix us something to eat."  The last thing I want is to cook, but I need to figure out what is happening and still entertain two very young children.   My daughter enjoys being my helper and gladly takes D. J.'s hand, helps him slide off the bed, and heads to the other side of the house.  I quickly grab a pair of shorts and a T-shirt, make my bed, fold my sleepwear and put it away, get dressed and move toward the kitchen.
     The smell of coffee emanating from the direction of the kitchen lets me know my mother is already awake.  My mom, an early riser, loves to put the coffee on and sit in the kitchen, or, on nice mornings, on the patio, and read the paper.  Oh, dear goddess, I pray, let this be a gorgeous morning.  I need a few more minutes before facing Mother.  As soon as I walk into the kitchen I know today is not a day for celebrating answered prayers.
     "Hi, Mom," I say a little too cheerfully.  I go over and give her a brief hug and kiss.  Looking at the kitchen clock, I realize it is only 7:30 a.m.  No wonder my mind feels like a bad case of fur balls.  I have trouble existing on less than seven hours of sleep a night and I've had less than four this morning.
     Mom smiles, puts her paper down, and rises to get me a coffee cup.  "Good morning.  How was your trip?  What time did you get in?"  She pauses in her question barrage long enough to pour the coffee and then continues,  "I see you got Barb's message."  She sets the coffee down with such determination I know what will follow.  "You know, dear, I try to stay out of your life...."  Oh, oh.  This is the familiar lead-in to, "but..."
     Mom doesn't like Barb.  She describes Barb as too demanding, too jealous, and too self-serving.  She's right.  There are some nice things about Barb...but, lately I've forgotten what they are.
     "...but, Barb is always trying to run your life.  I told her you wouldn't be in until late."  Mom is wound up this morning.
     When I decided it was time to get out and meet people, Barbara was one of the first people I met.  I was looking for friendship.  She was looking for a wife.  I haven't figured out a polite way to convince her we are not meant for each other.  And my mom has not run out of solutions to my life's problems.
     "Why don't you introduce her to your friend Janie.  I think the two of them would get along great."
     Janie is not a close friend, but I end up being her confidant during rough times.  And there are a lot of those. Mom mentioning Janie is a cue that she is into drastic tactics to eliminate an unpleasant problem.
     Any further sage advice is halted by the not so quiet entrance of three little urchins racing across the kitchen into the family room and promptly turning on the electronic baby-sitter.  Seeing all three children safely seated on the couch, I turn to watch my mom.  She doesn't move for a long time.  I think I celebrate, no, poor word, experience several birthdays before she finally turns and looks at me.  My mother is very Irish.  With her fiery red hair now dominated by streaks of gray, she still looks like a leprechaun, waiting for some joke or jest to take place.  This is one of those times.
     "Oh, dear," Mom mutters, "I guess I will need to make more orange juice."  And she proceeds to do so.  This response I do not know how to handle.  The more direct inquiry, the gentle nagging, even the motherly meddling I am familiar with, but not this.  I check the scene again.  No, three children are sitting noisily watching TV and my mother is at the sink making more juice.
     Okay, I can play this.  We will pretend they are often here and then I won't have to explain.  I get the milk out of the refrigerator and ask, "Pancakes or cereal?"  The decision is unanimous.  We will take the more complex and messy route and leave the cereal for another day.  I walk around the kitchen gathering the necessary bowls, pans, and ingredients.  By this time, Mom has poured juice into three small glasses and delivered it to the munchkins.
     "Susie, why don't you go jump into the shower and I'll get this started?  Shall I fix bacon first?"  My mother reenters the kitchen and begins breakfast.
     I wonder if my mother has been replaced by a duplicate.  She looks sane.  I've never been impulsive.  And now....  Has some type of derangement descended upon my entire family?  Or is this a subtle plot to remove me from the scene of the crime?
     "That's okay.  I'll do it," I reply in my best nonchalant, assertive voice.  Miss Marple I am not, but I have never brought total strangers into our house and never anyone to spend the night.  My mother is very observant.  Yet, not a single question has been asked.  True, these are miniature strangers, but, surely, there must be some full-grown person to whom they belong.  Either that, or I have resorted to kidnapping.  Logic is not reassuring.
     The leprechaun is insistent,  "No, dear, you go run take a shower and I'll get this started."
     I examine this 5'4" elf carefully, trying to read any hint from her face.  Nothing.  Nada.  But if this whole house is infected with pixie dust, I am not yet ready to break its spell.
     "Thanks, Mom.  I'll hurry."  And that is what I do.  I gather clean clothes-another pair of shorts and a shirt that matches.  My dirty clothes I fold and put into the clothes hamper.  This shower will go down in my personal Book of Records.  Less than five minutes, including washing my hair and putting on socks and tennis shoes.  Mom has a stack of bacon sitting by the microwave and is just beginning the pancakes when I return to the kitchen.
     "Beth, will you turn down the TV, and I want all three of you to come sit at the table."  Uh, oh.  Mom has learned their names.  I feel a little weak.  My stomach rumbles.  "Dear, are you hungry?"  My mother looks at me and then at the offending body part.
     "A little," I squeak.  From the children's dress, it is obvious they spent the night here.  Why isn't she asking questions?  I hate it when she does this.  There have been times throughout my life when it seemed the whole world would be falling apart and my mom wouldn't notice or would simply say "how charming, dear", or, "how nice, dear."  My dad said it was because she is Irish and all Irish people believe in wee people and magic.  I'm not sure what it is but I have never been contaminated with such behavior.
      What has she learned from them while I was in the shower?  Voices inside my head begin to argue.  One tells me to chill out.  After all, what could they have said?  You met on a plane and you are letting them and their Mommy sleep here.  Another voice shrieks, "Oh, God!"  I sit down at the table.  This is too bizarre for words.
     The doorbell rings.  Silence reigns, but only for a brief moment.  I am reminded of scenes from old black and white movies.  I look at my mom.  She looks at me.  We both look in the direction of the patio door.  We look at all three kids.  We both look at the clock-8:15 a.m.  We both know who it is.
     "I'll get it," I squeak.  I hesitate, hoping my mother would offer to go, or even better, say don't answer it.  But she just stands there and looks at me, as if I am going to perform some incredible feat of magic.  Not me, not today.  Remember, I don't believe in it.
     I turn and walk slowly.  The ten feet to the patio door could have been a mile.  If there is such a thing as an anxiety meter, I set a new world record.  I feel lightheaded and my stomach begins to hurt.  A long dormant ulcer is getting ready to erupt and hurtle pieces of me all over the kitchen.
     I stand in front of the door willing my hand to reach up and grab the knob, but it has a life of its own.  My hand would not move from my side.  Perhaps it is hiding, protecting itself from the rest of my body.  The doorbell rings again and this time a familiar voice is shouting.  The knob moves and the door opens.  Please let this be a dream.  Please, please, please.
     "Hi sweetheart.  I didn't know if you heard me.  What took so long?"  Barb comes in and, in her usual overwhelming way, overwhelms.  She hugs me, not noticing I am not reciprocating.  I am so numb I think I have stopped breathing.  It's rumored some people can exist on very small amounts of oxygen to the brain.  I am already brain dead.  Barb heads for the kitchen.  "Hi, Maureen, how are y.... Well, who are these lovely children?"  Warning bells go off.  Barbara does not like children.  I guess that is not accurate.  She cannot tolerate anyone under the age of 18.  Maybe I should call my friend Janie.
     Somehow I manage to close the door and follow her into the kitchen.  I try to get the speech portion of my brain functioning but my mother is faster.
     "Hi, Barb, aren't you up early?"  Score one for the mother.  "This is Beth and D. J.  Their mother is a good friend of Susan's."  Score two for the mother.  Mom's hints are rarely vague, but, in the ten months since we met, Barb has not gotten a clue.  "They are visiting from California and will probably be staying with us for quite awhile."
     I quickly sit in the chair, stifling a groan.  I rest my head in my hands and wonder how my life has gotten so out of control.  There must be some plausible explanation as to why this is happening to me.
     "Barb," I utter weakly, "would you like some coffee?"
     "Thanks, but you didn't tell me anyone was coming back from California with you.  Who is your friend?"
     "Well, I...," I stumble for words, regretting that I haven't introduced Barb to Janie or anyone else.  "I, uh, didn't know until the last minute.  I mean, it was a late decision."  Very late.
     "It's an old friend of Susan's," my mother insists on adding to the growing chaos.
     "Yes, I've known Susan...well, it seems like ages."  Maggie's entrance is perfectly timed.  Maybe she's really an actress and this is all a rehearsal for some play or movie.  "How long has it been Susan?"  Maggie looks at me with that half grin and a twinkle in her eyes.  She has on a pair of white shorts that frame her beautiful legs and a white Hard Rock Cafe-London T-shirt that leaves little for speculation.  I can't answer.  I just stare.  Maggie is enjoying my looking and my discomfort.  She seems so alive, so compelling.  I continue to stare.  Maggie winks and a sudden warmth creeps up my cheeks.
     I don't know how long Barb has been calling my name, but I finally realize she is trying to get my attention.  She is asking to be introduced.  Shaking, I stand and croak, "Barb, this is...uh...Maggie.  Maggie, this is Barb."
     "I'm sorry, Sue, but I didn't get a last name."  Barb's voice indicates she isn't believing the old friend routine, but her eyes are becoming friendly with Maggie's body.  Something in me is getting angry.  I remind myself to call Janie today!
     My life goes into slow motion.  As I watch stunned, Maggie strolls up to Barb, extends her hand and announces,  "Margaret Carson-Baxter.  And yours?"  She holds onto Barbara's hand looking directly into her eyes, never wavering.
     For the first time, I see Barb stutter and become uncomfortable.  "B-Barbara S-S-Stuart.  Is that three names or one of those hyphenated last names?"  The social graces are not Barb's forte.
     Maggie leans closer, so close Barb takes a step back, and answers in a very breathy voice, "It's hyphenated.   Kind of sexy that way."
     This is more than I can handle.  I quickly lean against the nearest wall.  This has become my worst nightmare.  No one speaks, only the soft drone of the television is heard above this melodrama.  What are all these strange people doing in my kitchen?  Where is my quiet, serene Saturday?  Silently, I make a list of all the things I will give up if I can just find myself back in bed and dreaming.  Bless Mom, she again saves the day.  "Maggie, honey, it's so good to see you.  You shouldn't stay away so long."  She pulls Maggie's hand away from Barb and gives Maggie a big hug.  Maggie hugs back.  They truly look, and act, as if they are old friends.
     "Hi, Mom.  It's good to see you.  How have you been?  Still a good cook, I bet.  Whatever you are cooking smells wonderful.  I'm hungry.  Can I help?"
     "No, you go sit with the kids and Susan.  Barbara needs to head to work.  She runs a travel agency and, you know, people still want to make travel plans on Saturday."  Score three for the Mother.
     Maggie hugs her two children, gives Cady a hug, sits down and motions for me to come sit next to her.  Barb is confused, and, is quickly getting jealous.  This house may be full of people with acting talent but she isn't buying.  Mom's words and Barb's business practicality are at war.  Work wins.  She walks over to me, kisses me on the lips in front of a very attentive audience, says "See you tonight," and struts out.  I have to admit it is a great exit.
     I don't want to replay this series of events or wonder what Maggie is thinking.  I have been outed in my own house.  I drink my juice and, for once, wish it had vodka in it.  I wonder if Maggie is going to grab her kids and exit quickly.  She smiles at me and calmly suggests I sit down, I'm looking a little pale.  Maggie is looking wonderful.  That strange, delightful, playful look she has adorns her face.
     Mom brings food quickly to the table and soon we are chatting as if we have known each other for a long time.  I remember my mother taking us several times to see the play Peter Pan.  She always got excited during the part where the audience is asked to bring Tinkerbell back to life.  If she dies, there will no longer be any magic and Never-never Land will disappear.
     It is up to me to save Tink and Peter and Wendy and every child's dream.  I DO believe in fairies, I DO believe in fairies.  Maybe if I say something enough times I could wish it to be true.  Anyway, here I am sitting next to Maggie, her children, my daughter, and my mother, all of us sitting at the table as if we are old friends or even a familiar family unit.  I like the feeling.  There is definitely something special about Maggie.  How special I just don't know.
     I watch Maggie's hands as she entertains my mother with tales of our travels yesterday.  I see my mother becoming as charmed by her as I am.  What is this woman's secret?  My mother smiles and laughs and is caught up in the magic, too.
     I DO believe in fairies.  I DO believe in fairies.
 

Chapter 4

 
     Her mind was traveling at hyper-speed.  She tried to assimilate the events of the morning.  Barb kissed Susan-on the lips.
     Savoring the thought, Maggie lifted the coffee cup to her lips, covering the smile she knew was spreading across her face.  Like a fine brandy, she tasted the thought, just a small sip.  She let it roll delicately around.  Finally, it took shape.  It became clear and defined.  Smiling, Maggie finally drank in the full import of this morning's adventure.
     "Maggie?"  Someone was shaking her arm, interrupting the very pleasant train ride her mind was taking.  "Maggie, are you okay?" Maureen asked.
     After breakfast, Maggie and Maureen remained in the kitchen chatting.  Two wary, but curious people.  And curiosity won.
     "I'm sorry, Maureen.  I was wondering how long Susan has known Barbara."  Trying not to sound too obvious, she continued, "They seem to be rather, uh, close."
     "Ha!  The only thing Barbara Stuart is close to is money-hers and anybody else's.  Susan met her through some mutual friends.  Barb never paid much attention to my daughter until she found out what she did and where she worked.  Then my daughter couldn't get rid of her.  There are times when she is too nice."  Maureen paused, then continued, "I hope it doesn't bother you that my daughter is gay."
     Maggie nearly choked on her coffee.  Grabbing some napkins, both women quickly cleaned up the spill from the cup Maggie hastily put down.  "No, no, that's okay," she tried to sound calm, in spite of a racing pulse.
     "I wish Susan could find a nice person, someone like you," Maureen continued.
     Oh, so do I, Maggie agreed.  So do I.  But how do I respond to this mother?
     "I don't mean to offend you.  You see, I love my daughter very much, no matter who or what she is.  When Susan first told me she was gay, I didn't really understand.  I guess most parents feel that way.  Susan is so traditional, so controlled.  I was almost relieved to think she was doing something so unexpected.  I also realize I haven't really had to deal with her lifestyle that much.  She dated a woman, a real nice woman, for two years, but they never lived together. It didn't work out, then two years later, she surprised me and married Cady's father.  That lasted about a year.  He left when Susan became pregnant.  He was not the family kind.  There really hasn't been anyone else."
     Maureen paused and reflected on the years since Susan told her she was gay.  "You know something, Maggie, I don't mind Susan being gay nearly as much as I do her being so damn compulsive."  God, her daughter could be boring, she thought.  How did Susan turn out that way? Maureen asked herself.  Warmly she recalled Susan was like her Dad in so many ways.  She remembered having to teach him to laugh and to relax.  Then, what passion she discovered.
     She looked across the table at the young woman sitting there, deep in thought and smiling.  How did she break through that wall of reserve and decorum?  Maureen's curiosity got the best of her Southern manners.
     "Maggie, what spell have you cast upon my daughter?"
     Again, Maggie's pulse began to race.  She was glad the coffee was gone.  Maureen certainly had a very disarming way about her.  The dark-haired guest really couldn't answer except she had met an attractive woman whom she genuinely liked.
     "I have never considered Susan a Girl Scout, but I am glad you like her," Susan's mother replied.
     Flushing with embarrassment, Maggie realized she had been thinking out loud.  She let her guard down with this woman and found acceptance.
     "Maureen, I think Susan is an attractive, intelligent person, and, I hope we can become friends.  I don't often meet very many really sincere people in my work.  And, because of my work, I don't have a lot of friends.  You and Susan have been wonderful to me and my family and I'm not likely to forget that."
     Maureen let a self-satisfied grin spread easily across her face.  "Good," she stated matter-of-factly, as if some important deal had reached fruition.  "And how long will you be here?  You will stay with us."
     It was the younger woman's turn to be charmed.  A good-looking woman and a mother who wanted to play matchmaker.  Hot damn, she thought.  She had not really known her own mother.  Quickly she put away these old haunting, angry memories.  They were dead-ends now.  "Maureen, thank you.  I can stay for a few days, but I really need to get to work.  Unfortunately, my work is often at crazy hours.  Up early, home late.  But, yes, if you really mean it, I would love to stay.  I don't want to intrude on you or Susan..." Maggie paused, and then added, "or with any plans Susan may have with Barb."  She knew this was obvious baiting.
     "Nonsense.  If she did something so out of character as to bring you and your kids here, she must want you to be here.  Besides, I don't want to miss the fun.  Barb already thinks you'll be staying with us."  With that Maureen broke into a loud laugh and went outside to check on the kids.
     Maggie wasn't sure she wanted to know what that last cryptic remark meant.  Left alone, she thought of the pleasant possibilities.  She loved the order and serenity of Susan and her house, the feeling of stability that emanated from Susan.  Yes, she did feel safe around her, and her family, she hastily added.  Only Derek had ever offered safety.  She began to wonder what it would be like to live here.  It didn't take long for conjecture to lead to passion and soon Maggie was feeling aroused.  She let her thoughts roam, as she sat silently in Susan's house.
     The moments of heated delight began to wane.  Thoughts of Derek and her own life intervened.  She had allowed her fantasies to carry her too far.  This may be one-sided, and, her husband had been right in urging caution.  Her life was an emotional jumble.  She quickly dialed her home.
     The phone barely rang before a familiar voice picked up.  When Paul answered, Maggie greeted him warmly.  After a few brief exchanges, Paul pried, "Maggie, what's going on?"
     There was nothing challenging or threatening, just a warm, friendly voice.  Strange, she should be close with her husband's lover.  But, then, that thought--husband--always amused her.
     "Paul, everything I said last night is true.  Susan's been an angel.  And her mother is a real trip."  Maggie proceeded to give him details, including Maureen's invitation to stay.  She carefully edited out her own feelings.
     Paul filled in the blanks, however.  Maggie had not been involved with anyone since he had been hired to represent her four years ago.  She had been wild prior to her first pregnancy.  Derek had mentioned Maggie's drinking and drugs, and apparently, quite a few women, mostly groupies and hangers-on.  That had stopped before Paul had known either one of them.
     As an attorney, he had seen how often fame and fortune had pursued his clients like some evil phantasm, engulfing them in its web until it sucked all the life from them.  Then came the brushes with the law.  Some of his clients got their lives put back together.  Most didn't.  Money and fan worship, however, seemed to help them limp along much longer than the ordinary person.  Maggie, from a dysfunctional family, with an alcoholic father, certainly fit the profile of some entertainers he knew.  The woman on the phone, however, did not fit any of the things he knew about her previous life.
     "Paul, I really would like to stay for awhile.  You have very persuasive powers."
     Laughter filled the distance between the two friends.  Finally, he answered,  "I'll talk to him.  I think I want to meet this magnolia who has enchanted you.  But, Maggie, please be careful."  He wrote a note to himself to have his private investigator do a thorough background on this charmer.
     Relief and gratitude enveloped her.  She had been granted a reprieve to spend more time with Susan.  How strange he should say that about Susan, she thought, as she left to join the others in the yard.
     Susan had changed her date with Barbara, amid much arguing, to the following Saturday.  Unprepared for another round of Maggie/Barb, she hoped a week would provide some magic to give her the courage or wisdom to tell Barb good-bye.  Now they all sat out in the yard laughing.
 
     On Sunday, Susan proposed a cookout.  After a quick inventory, the adults determined a short trip to the grocery store was necessary.  Susan and Maggie volunteered for the arduous task of attacking the grocery aisles while Maureen and the kids rounded up the supplies at home and moved them to the patio and set up and lit the gas grill.
     The shopping trip was a cultural experience for Maggie, taking her back ten years in her own life.  During the 15-minute trip to the store, they traveled tree-lined streets with well-kept green lawns.  Children rode bicycles and occasionally an adult could be seen at work in the yard.  Lawn mowers raced up and down trimming the St. Augustine grass lawns.  Winter annuals provided an array of color.  Even in November, in Florida, gardening was more than just a topic of discussion.
     At the store, cars were busily pulling in and out of lanes, dodging children and adults.  Maggie realized she hadn't shopped for much of anything in the last ten years.
     She followed Susan up and down aisles, staring at lights, at people, and at brightly colored packages designed to lure the impulsive shopper.  Susan, at times mistaking Maggie's staring for interest, would throw an item into the basket and steer to the next stop.  When they reached the counter and realized they had a basket full of groceries, sans the items they originally set out to purchase.  "I guess we need to make one more circuit of the store," Maggie offered.
     Laughing, Susan agreed and added, "But this time we stick to the list.  My mother will shoot us both if we add any more."  Both women laughed and once again made a quick, but more purposeful, tour of the aisles.
     Unloading the groceries was almost as entertaining as luggage and children had been, except there were more hands and much more confusion and noise.  Susan's controlling self took over and she was soon barking directions and moving food in a very efficient manner.
     Watching this organized efficiency amused Maggie.  Sitting curled up in one of the patio chairs, she wondered what it took to get Susan to really relax.  What would it be like if Susan would play?  Maggie the child was challenged; the adult argued control.  As she opened her second beer, she chose to just sit and watch.
     Susan was attractive and Maggie enjoyed the looking.  Almost as tall as she, Maggie carefully studied the blonde. The golden-haired woman had the wonderful "girl next door" look.  Susan wasn't slender.  She had curves and softness that promised sensual delight.  Her honey blonde hair, pulled back into a simple ponytail, glowed in Florida sun.  Her eyes, now shaded with sunglasses, were almost the same shade as her hair, with green and gold mixed into a summertime haze, and almost as warm.  Every time the golden-haired woman looked at her, she could clearly see the dimple in her hostess's chin.  Maggie was glad her own sunglasses prevented Susan from noticing the care with which she was examining the well-shaped form-or the effect Susan's smile was having on her.  She was willing to bet her new friend was unaware of just how attractive she was or the effect she could have on others.  Maybe that is part of the attraction, she mused.  Maggie took a large sip of her beer and reminded herself to eat food soon, before the alcohol decreased her self-restraint.
     "Are you sure there isn't anything I can do?"
     Susan smiled and shook her head.  "You're still company.  Next time you wash dishes," she teased.
     Susan's smile was dazzling.  Maggie's heart lurched causing her to knock over her bottle of beer.  Both women broke into laughter.
     Lunch was ready at that moment.  Maggie disposed of her now empty bottle and grabbed a couple of paper plates.  She enjoyed fixing the kids' food and watching them eat.  The enthusiasm her own children showed in emptying their plates amazed her.  After he finished, D. J. crawled into her lap.  Soon Beth joined her brother and Maggie was happier than she had been in a long time.  Cady took longer to eat, but she too came over and stood quietly looking.  Maggie laughed and made room for the third youngster.
     Seeing the group dozing in the chair, Susan decided that naptime was overdue.  "Come on, let's get the kids inside," she suggested.  All three groggy children protested while their mothers herded them into the house.  Maureen began the clean up.
     Maggie made sure her children brushed their teeth and then stayed with her two until they fell asleep.  Cady had fallen asleep quickly.  Before leaving the room, the dark-haired woman looked at the sleeping children, realizing how comfortable this all felt. It would be so easy, she thought.  It scared her.
     As Maggie walked into the kitchen, Maureen excused herself and headed off for her own nap, leaving Maggie and Susan to finish the dishes.
     "So, am I still a guest or do I roll up my sleeves?"
     "There's not much to wash, but you can put away the cold stuff.  Thanks."
     "You're welcome," Maggie replied.  "You and your family have been great.  I don't remember the last time I've had such a wonderful time."
     Susan was surprised and hesitated before responding, "I didn't do anything special.  Just a family weekend."
     "My family never cooked out," Maggie admitted.  "In fact, we rarely did anything as a family."
     A barrier was lowered.  The two women talked, the same easy talk they had developed over the weekend.  Nothing earth shattering.  Working and parenting.  Making friends and juggling schedules.  Handling their own fears, joys, and tears.
     Susan spoke of growing up in a two-parent home in middle class Winter Park.  "My mom and dad have always been so supportive.  But my parents were very different.  Dad was traditional, organized, quiet, shy.  I guess more like me.  You've met my mom.  She is opinionated, impulsive, and outspoken.  She is so different from my friends' parents.  And so different from me."  Maggie smiled and nodded.  "Dad died four months after Cady was born.  He was just as excited about her as he was his first grandchild.  And to think I almost didn't have her."  Maggie looked puzzled.  "She wasn't planned.  My marriage and my birth control didn't work.  I'm one of the small percentage that got pregnant on contraceptives.  At first I was surprised.  But when her dad left, I was at a loss.  Being a single parent scared me.  I had only been working at my job eighteen months.  I couldn't imagine doing my job and being a parent.  It didn't take long for me to realize the marriage was a mistake.  He was definitely not ready for marriage or responsibility.  And I shouldn't have gotten married.  I was struggling with my sexuality, my career, and being pregnant. Mom and dad were supportive, even when I was indecisive about having the baby.  Now I can't imagine my life without her."
     "I've always wanted children," Maggie said.  "Maybe it's because I didn't have much of a home life and I thought I could do a better job.  I wanted a house, kids, and pets-the whole thing.  Derek wanted to wait until we were settled.  For awhile, I was afraid we'd never have kids.  Now my life with them is a shelter against the rest of the crazy world.  I don't know what I'd do if anything happened to them.  They are the only family I have."  Pausing to think before speaking, Maggie lowered her voice as she continued, "Maybe that's why I'm so protective."  Feeling her barriers lowering, Maggie quickly changed the subject to safer topics.  She talked of working through college and all-night study sessions.
     Susan nodded.  "My sister used to take me out for dinner twice a week.  She was sure I would study my way through school and never meet anyone.  While I was in college, I grew really close to her and she helped me to see how much Mom really loves us.  I had an older brother who died when he was 12.  I was only four and have few memories of him, only those from mom and my older sister.  Apparently his death effected Mom and made her more protective.  I guess love comes in all kinds of forms."
     Maggie agreed, "My mother died at the age of 36 from cancer.  We couldn't afford doctors.  After that, my family gradually fell apart.  We just didn't have much keeping us together.  I was supporting myself before I finished high school.  I want my kids to have more.  Maybe I give them too much sometimes, but I don't want them to struggle the way I did."
     "It's so hard to have that balance as to when something is too much," Susan added.
     The conversation continued, each carefully choosing the topics they would, and would not, share.  As Susan put away the last dish, she turned and found her guest less than a foot away.  Her heart raced and a flush began at her throat, quickly moving up.  They stood staring at each other for what seemed an eternity.  Neither spoke.  Maggie's eyes traveled down to Susan's lips.  They needed to be kissed, Maggie thought.  I need to be kissed, she silently amended.  She moved an inch closer to see if Susan would pull away.  Nothing happened.  Looking up, Maggie saw an echo of her hunger in those golden eyes.  For another second they remained locked in an intense and heated stare.  Maggie moved even closer.  Her earlier cautions put aside, she could only think about the softness of Susan's lips.  How they would feel, how they would taste.  She needed to move slowly, she reminded herself.  Susan's eyes remained fixed on Maggie.  The tension between them increased until it seemed like there was an audible pounding matching the beating of their own hearts.
     The doorbell rang twice before either one of them recognized the sound.  By then, loud door knocking had altered the moment.  Maggie pulled away first, making some mental comment about timing.
     Susan answered the door and returned carrying a package for Maggie.  Inside was the missing, and well-traveled, carry-on bag.  They both laughed and the tension was broken.  The contents of the wallet were intact-money, credit cards, identification.  Maggie was no longer dependent on Susan for a place to stay.
     Awkwardly, Susan and Maggie tried to talk simultaneously.  Susan stopped, waiting to hear Maggie's own words.
     "I want to thank you, Susan, for allowing us to enjoy your bed and breakfast, but I probably should rent a car and move my family to the hotel tonight."  She paused before continuing, "Especially since you have other plans."
 

Chapter 5

 
     Something's wrong.  I can't seem to get enough air, no matter how hard I try.  My heart is beating so hard my chest hurts.  Surely she can hear the noise.  All of my senses are at war, each trying to take control of my body.  This is crazy.  I can actually hear her breathing, even at this distance.  And, worse, there's this painful throbbing in the pit of my stomach.  What's going on?  Focus, Susan, focus.  Get control.  Watch Maggie.  Stop feeling.
     Long thin fingers gracefully sort the contents of the wallet, delicately lifting, examining, and then replacing each item.  She has already verified the presence and contents of the expensive leather pouch, but, as if she is reassuring herself that her world is still intact, Maggie once again is going through the same sequence.  I watch as she gently touches each item.  She deftly counts the bills.  Each platinum credit card is pulled, carefully examined, and, just as carefully, tucked back into its designated place.  Her touch is like a caress.  I have felt it and envy each item.
     Good, Susan, your pulse is now down to 1000 beats per minute.  Keep control.
     She sits on the couch in my living room.  Her long, tanned legs are folded under her as she leans against the back of the couch.  She seems at ease within her own body.  Right now, my body is out-of-control, but it doesn't matter.  Even after all the years of therapy, I am still self-conscious and very inhibited.
     Except around Maggie.  I don't believe I almost kissed her.  What would she think of me?  The pulse rate is accelerating again.
     Her hands fluttering on her leather draw my attention.  I am reminded of our first meeting and the magic of her hands.  As I pull away and look into her face, I see long dark lashes framing expressive, dark eyes, those dark pools that continually entrap me and pull me in.  A strange warmth starts to spread within me.  Her lips curve into that now familiar half-smile.  Lips I nearly kissed.  That I so wanted to kiss.
     My emotions have taken off and are racing around like some Grand Prix of feelings.  What will surface and take possession of me at any moment is still to be decided.  What is there about Maggie that is creating these kinds of responses?  Maybe I am having some type of out-of-body experience.  If all of these emotions weren't so intense, I would be sure of it.
     I'm possessed.  Or obsessed.  I am standing and watching Maggie and I can't seem to get control.  I want to touch those hands, to hold them.  The throbbing I felt earlier has returned and is now accompanied by a warm wetness.  I'm too young to need Depends!
     I want to pull her close and never let go.  This last thought brings images of her packing and leaving.  The race is over.  I don't know who, or what, won.  Now, there is a coldness filling me.  Whatever was wet is turning into icicles.  I don't understand why, but I can't let go.
     "Please stay..., as long as you like, that is."
     Maggie puts the bag down and walks up to me.  She stands so close I can feel her warm breath.  I still want to kiss her.  Oh, shit!  I can't do this.
     "Susan," Maggie's voice is so soft I want to lean closer, to put my ear next to her lips, to feel her warmth against my neck.  "I don't want to intrude," she continues softly, her eyes never leaving mine.  "You are a very nice person."  Nice?  Nice?  What does that mean?  She reaches up and brushes my cheek with her hand.  Her eyes move to her hand and I feel her fingers running through my hair, only for a very brief moment.  The hand returns to her side and she reestablishes unwavering eye contact.  "I don't think you would ask me to leave even if you wanted me to.  I'm not poor and you have put up with me and my kids.  I can afford to stay anywhere I want."  A small smile elevates the right corner of her mouth.  Goddess, help me, she's beautiful!  That smile.
     My answer is automatic.  The words are out and never pass through any gray matter for filtering.  "I want you...,"  I hesitate and realize I'm in trouble, "to stay."  Quiet surrounds us.  If I listen closely I can still hear Maggie's breathing; it sounds different.  Maybe it is just my own lungs struggling to find the right mixture of chemicals to clear the cobwebs from my shrouded brain.
     I remember once being in Colorado during a snowfall.  It was late at night and I walked in the snow.  Living in the South precludes an intimate knowledge of that white winter wonder other than in song.  Six inches blanketed the ground and each step was a mixture of thousands of ice crystals cracking and reforming under the pressure of my foot.  I tried several different steps, heal first, toe first, toe only, trying to change the weight and placement of my step.  The sounds continued, each step slightly different, until, finally, I gave in, stopped walking, and listened to the deafening silence.  I heard the sound of the flakes joining their companions on the white blanket at my feet.  Closing my eyes, I smelled the wet flakes falling against my face.  Fearing I would disturb the molecules of silence surrounding me, I stood motionless.  My body reveled in an incredible sensuality.
     Standing this close to Maggie reminds me of that evening.  I don't want to move.  I want to drown in these feelings.  I don't remember ever having such intense feelings for another person.
     Maggie again touches my cheek.  "Thank you, Susan."  She leans forward only inches, but that is enough for me to softly and briefly touch my lips to hers.  Like warm snowflakes.  Only there briefly.
     "My, you are persuasive."  Maggie laughs and pulls back, still speaking slowly.
     The snowplows have cleared the road and I am again walking on a firmer surface.  There is gravel and sand and rocks under my feet, and, when I look down, the road is a muddy brown.  "Maggie, I'm sorry.  I didn't mean for that to happen."  Words are tumbling out of my mouth.  "Please forgive me.  I'm not trying to make a pass.  I've never done anything like that before.  Ever!  I don't know what happened.  I am so sorry."  My mouth is in gear and it won't stop.  I didn't realize it could move that fast with one's foot in it.  Over and over I apologize.  Certainly, I have given Maggie good reason to run out of the house.  There have only been two women in my life and we dated for months before anything, anything, happened.  "Maggie, I am so sorry."
     Maggie laughs, leans forward, and speaks,  "Susan, don't ever apologize for feelings."  Again she laughs and then hugs me.   "Come on, it's really okay.  Let's get the kids up and feed them."
     I close my eyes and wish this to be a dream.  Please!  Why is it, I ask, that my whole world has gone crazy?  When I open them, Maggie is still standing there.  I can tell by the look on her face this is no dream.  Oh, shit!  She looks upset.  I try to review all the food and beverages consumed in the last 24 hours.  Maybe it is some rare form of food poisoning that causes strange behavior.
     When my life begins to fall apart, I can usually remedy that problem with being busy.  I don't understand what is happening, but I know I have to get some semblance of control back in my life.  I have reached overload.
     While Maggie gets the children up, I head for the kitchen.  I call and get my mother up.  Surely there is safety in numbers.  At 34, my life is over!  I quickly sit before my body parts start the disassembly process.  My over-stimulated molecules threaten to leave my body looking for a more stable environment.  How do you know when you've lost too many molecules?  If I put more clothes on, will it slow down the seepage?
     "Susan, what's the matter?"
     Mom is standing over me feeling my forehead.  Maybe I am getting better.  At least two of my senses have not warned me of her approach.  It's amazing how we take comfort in the smallest signs.
     "Mom, I'm okay.  I think I'm just a little tired."  That's it.  Lack of sleep.  Sleep deprivation is known to wear people down and cause them to exhibit abnormal behavior.  I sigh and relax.  I need to get some sleep.  My left brain kicks in and carefully, logically, organizes my evening in detail.  My comfort level is back to normal.  So is my pulse.
      The kitchen fills with laughter and chatter.  Watching Maggie and her kids, I have this feeling cooking is a novelty rather than a common activity.  Mom warms leftovers.  Everyone seems to be busy and having fun.  Time for me to exit for another shower, a much more leisurely one.  By the time I return, life appears normal.  Maggie doesn't mention the kiss and I wait for her to.
 
     The next several days passed quickly, falling into a pattern.  Susan left for work around 8:30 a. m. and then Maureen, Maggie, and the three children played tourists around central Florida.  On Monday, Maureen insisted they visit Sea World.  "I love watching the whales and the dolphins best of all," Maureen offered.  "I know most people head out to Disney or Universal Studios.  I prefer the water."
     "Sea World, it is," Maggie agrees as she herds the youngsters into the waiting minivan.  Susan had driven her mother's Chrysler New Yorker into work, leaving the larger vehicle behind.  "You direct and I will drive," Maggie offered.  Arriving early, they found no long lines and were quickly in the park.  Maggie, dressed in jeans and a Florida State University T-shirt she borrowed from Susan, twice was asked for an autograph.
     Maggie readily agreed but added, "I'm here with my family and we'd like to enjoy today uninterrupted.  No pictures, please."  Her request was firm but readily agreed to.  While Maureen remained silent during these encounters, she looked inquiringly at her guest.  Maggie wished she would ask a question, any question.
     By noon, a large group of teenagers approached Maggie.  By this time a small crowd also began to gather.  Maggie was apologetic but indicated she and her family were leaving and she hoped they would understand.  Placing her body between the crowd and her children, she moved toward the exit.  Back on I-4 and headed north, Maureen asked, "Are there any police looking for you?"
     Startled, Maggie laughed, "I hope not.  At least not yet.  Why?"
     "I wanted to make sure you weren't wanted for some crime.  I don't want Susan getting in trouble."
     "Neither do I, Maureen.  Neither do I."
     In the evening, Maggie and Susan cooked, talked, played with the kids.  The trip to Sea World was the main topic of conversation.
     "Mama, I got wet," four-year-old Cady announced.  "Shamu plashed me.  He jumped up and we got wet."  She used her hands to demonstrate the whale's motion.  "Can we go 'gain?"  An answer was prevented by Beth calling Cady to come play a game with her and D. J.
     "Thank you for taking my family.  Let me reimburse you for their tickets."
     "Nonsense.  The tickets were not as expensive as a hotel room."  Maggie was adamant.  "How was work?"
     "Typical Monday.  I honestly think film executives spend weekends creating crises and spending money.  We're backing a film project a group of students from University of Central Florida are creating.  Apparently, one of the students crawled up a tree to shoot a scene.  The weight of the camera and the student caused the branch to break.  The student ended up in the hospital and the camera in pieces.  The university is afraid the kid's family will sue and now they are short a production camera.  Since we provided the financial backing, UCF's attorney called us to check on our liability.  That was followed by a call from the film department requesting replacement of the camera.  Meanwhile I was trying to finish the report on the audit I completed last week.  That project has to be completely closed out by Wednesday or they face penalties.  I've been on the phone most of the day trying to deal with UCF and the investors in California."
     Susan's words caused a brief sense of panic.  Maggie inquired, "You're involved with filmmaking?"
     "No, not really.  I review project proposals and then audit ones we help find funding for.  I also negotiate the final contracts.  We help support film projects at UCF and this was one I negotiated.  My boss usually does most of the upfront work.  I'm just the bean counter that keeps everyone under budget."
     "Sounds like a tough job.  Do you work with just independent productions?"  Maggie was feeling her world closing in.  "Is that what you do?  Work in the entertainment field?"
     "My boss was an officer at DeLoitte & Touche.  He worked primarily in California with the film industry.  He was put in charge of an office in Florida when Disney opened and then decided to go on his own.  I was working for Disney when I met Ed and he persuaded me to come to work for him.  When he went out on his own, he asked me to move with him.  Now I'm his CFO."  Stretching her legs out, Susan changed her seat on the couch so that she could see Maggie easier.  "I don't know why he picked me.  He laughs and teases me about my complete ignorance of most entertainers.  I think I would recognize Barbra Streisand and I've met Reba McIntyre.  But, other than those two, he's right."
     "You must be really good at what you do, then."
     "I'm organized and driven.  Ed is not.  He is the people pleaser.  I'm the people killer."
     Maggie relaxed, enjoying the face Susan was making.  "And you definitely are organized.  Why the people killer?"
     "Because I've got to tell people they can't get everything they want or, that money was spent inappropriately.  Most of the time it ends up in arguing."
     "And who wins?"  Maggie asked.
     "The person who controls the purse," Susan answered, allowing a smirk to cross her attractive face.
 
     Tuesday and Wednesday Maggie remained in Winter Park playing with her children and enjoying Susan's family.  On Thursday, the entourage had fun playing at Daytona Beach.  Susan, however, was not enjoying her day.  "Damn it, Bruce, there is nothing in the proposal or contract that allows any member of the filming crew to climb a tree.  The university wouldn't approve it and we would not allow it.  Some kid decides to cut corners and try a thrill shot.  We will not be held responsible.  I've talked to our lawyers and they are behind us.  Tell the family we will see them in court."
     Bruce Ringer, a local attorney representing the student's family, urged Susan to reconsider, "It will be a lot less expensive to settle out of court.  You know how expensive this could be."
     "Bruce, the answer is no.  Are you letting them know that if they lose, they are not only responsible for all court costs, we will make sure they are responsible for our attorneys' fees.  And we will throw a large barrage on this one.  We will have P.I.'s checking every activity this kid was involved in.  It's their choice."
     "Damn you, Susan, you're...."
     "Sorry, gotta run.  If you have any other questions, speak to our attorneys."  She hung up, hearing muttering on the other end.  "What a pain."
     The accountant returned to the audit in front of her.  Turning to her computer, she pulled up the original proposal and scanned through it.  She had been through it several times and still felt something was wrong.  Looking at the budget description pages, she carefully read each note.  "Gotcha!" Susan exclaimed.  "I thought I remembered reading this."  Susan went back to the audit and disallowed nearly $200,000 in expenses.  She had not wanted this project and had not trusted the people involved, but Ed was insistent.  The promoters had budgeted a large amount for studio recording and editing.  They had requested use of a studio in Burbank, yet the checks had been made out to a company in Venice, the city where the promoters resided.  A quick web search indicated the company was owned by a gentleman with the same last name as the promoters and the company manufactured household items.  "Better call Ed and the attorneys," she grinned as she picked up her phone.
     The day ended with coast to coast shouting on a conference call.  Susan smiled as their attorneys threatened legal action.  "I'll leave you boys to handle the details.  Good afternoon."  She hung up and headed for home, looking forward to spending time with Maggie, and her family.
     At the door she was greeted by the entire household waiting for her arrival.  "What's going on?"  she asked, looking around to make sure everyone was present and safe.
     "We're going out to eat?"  Maureen proclaimed.  "Maggie wants to take us out."
     "We're not eating here?"  Susan pleaded.
     "I know it's short notice, but you will survive.  Humor us, dear," her mother ordered.
     "Is it okay?"  Maggie asked.  "I thought it would save Maureen from cooking and you and me from doing dishes."
     Brown eyes danced and Susan had difficulty speaking.  At that moment she would agree to just about anything Maggie wanted.  "Okay.  Just let me change clothes."  Shouts followed her as she walked to her room.  She couldn't believe she had agreed to go out on a weeknight.  "I'm glad tomorrow is Friday," she commented as she hung her suit, then folded her silk blouse and placed it in the dry cleaning pile.  Putting on jeans and a pull-over, she rejoined the excited group and headed out for dinner, unsure of whether or not she would be able to eat.
     Saturday morning proved to be a relaxing day.  Maureen suggested a visit to Church Street Station.  The large group easily fit into the crowd at the downtown Orlando attraction.  Maggie enjoyed looking at the variety of gifts.  In a sports shop, she found Orlando Magic basketball shirts.  Purchasing two matching extra large shirts, she smiled thinking of Paul and Derek wearing them.
     Susan observed Maggie paying with her credit card and was again reminded of the brown-haired woman's marital status.  Probably his and hers shirts, she thought.  That image hurt, but she didn't know why.
     "Let's take the kids to the Mercantile.  They can play some games and we can all get something to eat," Maureen added.  She led them around the corner.  The group headed for the top floor where noise and food seemed to be the order of the day.  "I'm hungry," the graying pixie declared.  Susan quickly agreed.
     Once her hunger was sated, Maggie wandered over to the game area.  "I like this one," Susan said pointing to an arcade game nearby.  "It's called 'Bop the Gator' and I thought it was an appropriate activity for an FSU grad."  Maggie looked inquiringly at her blond friend.  "Florida State and the University of Florida are big rivals.  Florida's mascot is an alligator."
     "Ah, so you liked smashing the gator with that toy hammer."  Maggie grinned.  "Want to try?  How about a little one on one?"
     Delighting in the challenge, Susan readily agreed and the two women took turns trying to make contact with the automated alligators popping in and out of their caves.  Maggie howled when she made first contact and heard "Ow, that hurt."
     "I didn't think they would talk back," she said as she lifted the mallet to strike at another protruding reptile.  "Listen."  She made contact with another gator.  Soon Maureen and the kids were surrounding the two women with the children screaming for a turn.  Maggie lifted her daughter and helped her to swat at the pesky critters.
     "Me, too," Cady and D. J. wanted their turns.  A small crowd began to surround the loud group, enjoying the laughter.
     A pulsing light from a camera drew Maggie's immediate attention and she turned away before the camera snapped.  "Come on, let's go," Maggie ordered, grabbing both of her children by their hands.
     "What's wrong?" Susan asked.
     "I'm tired.  Let's go.  Besides, don't you have a date tonight?"  Attempting to turn attention away from herself, Maggie reminded Susan of her impending evening commitment.
     "Let's go to Georgia," Susan groaned.  She didn't understand how she could handle attorneys, power brokers, and balance millions in contracts and not be able to say 'no' to an unwanted relationship.
 
     The phone ringing as I turn off the water causes me to shiver as if a cold blast from the air conditioner has carefully waited for the exact moment for my shower to end to introduce itself.  Grabbing my towel, I race for the phone only to have the third ring interrupted.  Someone else has answered.  I dry hurriedly.  Mom shouts, "The phone is for you."  It's Barb.
     "Hi, Sue.  How are you?"  Please do not call me Sue.
     "I'm fine, Barb.  What's up?"
     "I just thought that maybe the two of us would have dinner at Richard's.  How does that sound?"
     Terrible.  Something's up.  Richard's is a very upscale and expensive restaurant in downtown Orlando.  It is a lovely, romantic place in the evening.  Horse-drawn carriages stop at the door and pick up evening diners for a leisurely tour of downtown.  The small lake next to it is lit with multi-colored lights and the fountain performs its own ballet.  Definitely a place for romance.  Barb is not romantic and her idea of an expensive evening is steak and salad bar at Western Sizzlin.
     "What about Donna and Mary?  I thought we were all meeting for pizza."
     "Donna's kind of tired and you and I never go out by ourselves."
     I wonder why?
     "I thought, like, maybe you and I could have a quiet dinner some place nice."
     Uh, oh.
     "You know, like, I really care a lot about you.  We've been..."
     What poor timing.   Not again, and not now.  "Look Barb, I am really tired tonight.  Can we just get some pizza?  It is not as far for me to drive.  We don't have to get dressed.  And I would really like to see Donna and Mary."  Not!
     She's hesitating.  "Besides Richard's is too expensive.  You know you are trying to save some money and right now I need to worry about getting a new roof on the house."  The money does it.  Reluctantly, she agrees.  I tell her I will meet her there.  Howls of protest greet me.  She planned to pick me up.  No way!  I am not going through another session with her and Maggie.  I pull on a pair of black jeans and a brightly colored shirt.  As I slide my black loafers on, I look into the mirror to check my hair.  Why am I going out at all?  This is getting tiring.  So, Susan, end it.  Right!
     Everyone is still in the kitchen as I come through.  Cady runs up for a hug and I tell her I love her.  Mom flashes her Irish grin and says have a good time.  I doubt her sincerity.
 
     I am so damn angry I can spit.  It will be a long cold night in Winter Park before I go out with her again.  Damn, I've missed my exit.  Oh, well, maybe I'll just drive up to Sanford and cool off.
     The interstate is busy with traffic.  It is still early for a Saturday night and I-4 continues to clog with traffic.  The lights along the highway blur.  I know I need to concentrate on driving, but I am furious.  For the last two hours I have been grilled and subjected to rather lewd comments about Maggie.  When I ask her to not talk about Maggie in such a sexual and dehumanizing way, she acts offended.  She turns on me and asks, "What's the matter?  Don't you think she would be hot in bed?"
     Speechless, I quickly get up and exit.  I am not allowing anymore Maggie trashing.  Briefly I wonder how my life's become so bizarre.  At the Lake Mary exit I get off and take the back roads home.  Oviedo always has such a calming effect.  It was once farms and groves but now has become upscale country.  Very few things remain unchanged.  Especially people.  I guess I never really knew Barb.  I should have put an end to this months ago.  I have to change.  I can't keep allowing myself to stray into these unhealthy relationships.
 
     Maggie paced the family room.  She wanted a cigarette.  After eight years she still had the urge to smoke.  Instead, she sipped her wine and tried to sort through her feelings.  She and Maureen had put the kids to bed an hour ago.  They chatted briefly and then Maureen trotted off to her cottage.  Maggie was left to deal with rather intense and confusing emotions.
     She had no doubts about her attraction to Susan.  After all, it had been more than four years since she had been sexually involved with anyone.  Susan is a very attractive lesbian.  And there is a mutual attraction.  So why was she jealous of Barbara Stuart?
     Maggie sat on the couch, folding her legs under her.  These new feelings were unsettling.  Keep things light.  Have fun, move on.  Maybe I'm just horney.  The sweet gentleness of Susan's lips.  The music in her laughter.  The warmth in her voice.  This was more than sex, she realized.  Holding the glass up to the light she watched as sweat formed on the outside of the glass and slowly began to run down the sides.  She stroked the sides of the glass.  Learn to be a friend, she told herself.  It could be a good experience.  She put the glass down.
     A noise nearby stopped Maggie's ruminations.  The garage door was opening.  Maggie picked up a magazine and tried to read.
     The look of surprise on Susan's face was not one of pleasure.  Maggie suddenly felt like an intruder.  She wanted to hide, run away quietly.  Something was bothering Susan and Maggie wasn't sure she wanted to know what it was.  For one brief moment, she wondered if Susan was a mind reader.
     The silence was broken as Susan smiled,  "I didn't realize you were interested in financial management."
     Maggie blushed, realizing she had picked up one of Susan's professional journals.  No wonder the thing was so damn boring.  Chagrined, she replied,  "Actually, I was looking for any prurient pictures."  They both laughed and the tension eased.
     Susan joined Maggie on the couch.  The two women sat for a few moments, enjoying the quiet.  Finally, Susan turned and faced Maggie.  Hesitantly, she spoke, "I need to offer some apologies...," she paused to gather courage, "and some explanations."  Maggie's attempts at protest were halted.  "I apologize for Barbara's behavior and even more I apologize for mine.  No, wait.  Let me finish, please."  Maggie sat back and decided to, for once, be quiet.  "I guess by now you've figured out that I am gay.  I'm not ashamed of being a lesbian.  That's who I am.  I guess when I figured that out, there was actually a feeling of relief.  I've had such mixed feelings about sexuality...about sex, period.  It took me a long time to figure all this out.  There are some things that I am just slow at.  I see 20-year-olds who are so confident and proud.  I wasn't, but I'm getting there."
     Susan stopped to sip some wine and regain her faltering courage.  "Today, when I ...when I...," she took another sip and continued, "when I kissed you, I was out of line.  I have never made a pass at any woman."  Susan could no longer look at Maggie.  She focused instead on the glass of wine in her hands.  Maggie began to feel like shit.  "All evening, actually all week, I was afraid that you were going to just pick up and leave.  Then, this afternoon...I wouldn't blame you if you wanted to leave.  If you did, I would be happy to drive you wherever you wanted to go.  And, I promise...," Susan finally looked up into the dark eyes.  Maggie could see the pain and sadness, "nothing will happen.  I promise."  Susan's voice softened as she repeated, "I promise."
      As tears began to form in those golden eyes, Maggie felt torn between the desire to be trusting and the need to protect herself.  She took her friend's hand.  "Susan, you don't need to apologize.  If I felt uncomfortable with you, or your being gay, I would have left after breakfast.  But I don't."  The next words were more difficult.  Realizing that Susan was important to her, she wanted to risk, yet years of self-preservation had taught the lesson of caution well.  "Your friend Barbara does have a roving eye, but I'm not offended.  As for our kissing," the words were not coming easily, "sometimes that happens.  And, Susan," the words finally rang true as Maggie continued, looking intently into Susan's questioning eyes, "I do want us to be friends."
     For the first time all evening, Susan's face was lit with a huge smile.  She squeezed Maggie's hand as she spoke,  "Thank you."
     For the next three hours, they held hands and talked. As the time passed, the two friends became more relaxed, leaning against each other like two schoolgirls at a slumber party sharing deepest secrets.  Fatigue wrapped them in a blanket and after the hours of talking they fell asleep on the couch, hands still entwined.
     At her usual hour, Maureen walked into the front yard to pick up the Sunday paper.  Returning to the back yard and entering through the door to the kitchen, she found her daughter asleep on the couch in the family room.  That was not interesting to her.  Susan asleep on the couch with Maggie's arm around her was definitely much more fascinating.  Maureen grinned and went off to the front of the house to read the paper, humming the tune Some Enchanted Evening.

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Continued in Part 3