Sometime in the future:

---

 
“It’s so frustrating,” Drea said, looking out the window onto the grounds of the home.

“Irene has sent three letters, all registered mail, and no response; even though we know she signed for them.” Drea shook her head.

“How about phone calls,” Cathilynn asked. She almost could predict the answer, having been frustrated herself over the lack of family support in general, and now for the guest of the hospice.

“The kids answer and say their mother isn’t home.” Drea bit her lip.

“Carla says she and her ex always told the kids to never answer the phone, and her ex would never let the kids stay alone even though the boy is nearly thirteen.” Cathilynn nodded in recognition; the story played out over and over throughout the years as family after family ignored and abandoned the women at the Home.

“I think she just tells the kids to say she’s not in, as if we were bill collectors or a charity asking for help…well…” Of course the Home was charity…charitas…A gift…but one that was too necessary and altogether too sad.

“What about the parents…they must be…what…in their seventies?”

“Carla’s father I think is seventy-seven…I’m not sure about her mother.” Drea promised herself she wouldn’t cry, and she was damn well determined to see that promise fulfilled. Nevertheless, tears began to flow.

“Carla’s dad is just like mine…he’s so determined to keep his faith that he’s left his daughter to fate. ‘No son of mine…’ you know?” Drea shook her head no, as if by that gesture, things would magically change, and Carla’s parents would call up from the airport and announce their arrival.

“Honey, you’ve done what you could. It’s nearly midnight and you and Janet have been going since five this morning. Go home and we’ll put our heads together tomorrow, okay?” Cathilynn put her hand on Drea’s shoulder and pushed her gently toward the front door.

“It’ll be okay, honey…it always is, in some way.” Cathilynn called out to Drea as she walked to her car.

“It has to be,” Cathilynn said to herself, almost as a prayer.

“It just has to be.
 

 

“Betty died this morning…nobody…nobody came.” Drea said as she collapsed in exhaustion on the couch. Bella brought her a cup of tea and sat down, putting her head on Drea’s shoulder.

“Janet and you held her hand and you sang, didn’t you?” Bella said as she kissed her spouse on the cheek, tasting the salt of old tears.

“Yes… Janet held her hand and squeezed and patted,“ Drea said.

“I pray we'll find your light and hold it in our hearts.” Drea never made any attempt to change her voice over the years, still singing and speaking in a nice tenor ranging up to alto. The Prayer had been a favorite of Annie’s and it was nice to find out that Bella loved the song as well.

“I don’t know if I can keep this up.” Drea had seen all too much sadness and loss in her life. She still struggled with the ghosts of the past who came nightly to accuse her of things she did and didn’t do. Bella took her hand.

“La forza che ci d il desiderio che ognuno trovi amor intorno e dentro,“ (We ask that life be kind and watch us from above; we hope each soul will find another soul to love) Bella sang in her wife’s ear. A lovely mezzo still rich after decades of a full life.

“You’ve done all that anyone could and more honey…let’s go to bed and hold each other tight…okay?” Bella said as she kissed Drea once again. “A soul for me to love, yes?”

“I’m so tired I could fall asleep just leaning against the door,” Irene said as she tossed her apple core into the trash by the door to her office. Sandra stood in the hallway looking just as tired as Irene.

“No luck with the parents or the ex, huh?” Sandra said almost as the altogether too frequent statement.

“Nope…” Irene looked angry, but she was more frustrated than anything else. It was almost easier when they had an outright rejection. No futile hope for promises unfulfilled or a change of heart. Not knowing was almost too much to bear, since the promises and hope lingered long enough to bring unbearable pain when a guest finally passed without family or friends.

“I’ve seen that look, sister dear,” Sandra said as she smiled wryly. “What do you have up your sleeve?”

“What I’ve got up my sleeve is a whole bunch of unused miles on Continental and an address where the ex and the kids live in Baltimore!”

“Anyone see Irene?” Cathilynn asked as she stood in the archway to the dining room.

“She’s gone on an errand,” Sandra said. It wasn’t that Irene went to Baltimore, but that she was going on her own time. She didn’t want to burden the Home with a trip if it didn’t pan out, so she was using what little vacation time she had to search.

“Well, I don’t want to know, because I know it won’t be into town or over to Child Welfare.” Cathilynn smiled and walked down the hall to her office.

Cathilynn’s health had improved dramatically in the last year after a sudden but altogether real encounter with mortality. Between listening finally, not only to the doctor, but also to her own body, she was growing stronger every day. More importantly, she was able to delegate a lot of responsibility to others, leaving her to plan for new projects and services that the Home might provide.

Between Dr. Garber and the blessing his expertise provided, and the hospice, the Home employed seven medical professionals as well as seven other volunteers. And while she was a little disappointed at Irene’s absence, she also knew that the call of present needs always outweighed what might or might not take place.

She sat back in her chair and looked out the window. The sheer weight of the responsibility of the Home was almost too much for her to bear, even with all the help she had. She put her head down on the desk and thought of Betty, the girl who had died the day before, and all the other Betty’s she had seen over the years. And she gave way to the inevitable flood of tears.
 

 

Irene parked her rental car and got out. After an early morning flight, she had arrived in Baltimore Washington Airport at 9am. A quick hop up 295 into Lansdowne and she was there by 9:48.

Irene walked up the walk to the front door. A small plaque underneath the door chime read Schroeder. She pushed the button once and a few moments later a woman came to the door. She stood about 5’10”, about eye-to-eye with Irene.

“May I help you,” The woman asked warily.

“Excuse me, I’m sorry to trouble you. Are you Margo Schroeder?” Irene asked.

“Yes…well, Margo Richelli; I go by my maiden name these days.”

“Hi, Ms. Richelli,” Irene said as she offered a hand. “I’m Irene Smith, I spoke with your son last week….I’m from the Home that Love Built. May I come in?” She quickly entered when Margo stepped aside, puzzled.

“I’m sorry, Ms.?” Margo stood in the living room facing Irene.

“Smith.”

“Ms. Smith, there must be some mistake…you say you talked to my son?” Irene wondered where this was going.

“He said his mother wasn’t home…I asked if you had gotten our letters?”

“Keith…can you come here?” Margo called up the stairwell. A moment later a boy, about thirteen or so, came bounding down the stairs.

“Whatcha need, Mom?” the boy asked. He noticed Irene standing next to his mother and his expression changed from enthusiastic to worried in a moment.

“Keith, this is Irene…” She looked at Irene and repeated, “Smith. She says she spoke to you last week on the phone?”

“Ahhh….yeah….didn’t…didn’t I tell you about that call…Maybe I wrote a note.” Keith hesitated.

“She says she’s sent letters?” Margo looked askance at her son, who just looked at the floor.

“Keith?” Margo raised her voice slightly. He walked over to the desk and opened a drawer, pulling out three envelopes, all with white and green labels on the front.

“You mean these? I thought I told you about them.” He lied, looking once again at the floor.

“You most certainly did not.” Margo turned to Irene.

“I am so sorry this happened.” She looked at letters and noted the postmark.

“You flew all the way from there to here…jeez, that’s over 1000 miles one way. What’s this about? Wait…do you have any news of my husband? Have you seen Carl?” Her voice became bright, almost like a child wanting to stay up an extra hour.

“Ms. Ricelli, I have some news, but I can’t say whether it’s good or not.” Irene pointed to the envelope.

“Perhaps reading the letter might help?”

With Irene’s gesture, Margo walked to the couch and sat down. After a few moments, she looked up, her eyes filled with tears.

“How can this be? We’ve been looking for him for almost two years.” Margo looked at Keith, who was edging his way toward the stairs.

“Keith…why didn’t you give me these? What were you thinking?” She wasn’t accusatory so much as pleading.

“I don’t fucking care…I hate him…I fucking hate him.” His eyes were filled with tears as well, and he ran up the stairs. Irene winced at the slam of his bedroom door.

“I’m so sorry.” Irene said as she sat down next to Margo.

“She has little time…this kind of cancer…sarcoma…moves fast, and she was in stage three before she even knew she was sick. I’m sorry.”

“So he’s at your home and he’s dying. Oh God, why didn’t he just come home?” Margo looked at the letters as if the writing would change; that it would all be a dream. She wiped her face with her sleeve as she looked up and saw daughter standing in the hall way.

“Did someone find Daddy, Mom?” She ran to her mother, who took her in her arms.

“Yes, honey…someone found Daddy.” She buried her face in her daughter’s hair and wept.

“Mommy, aren’t you happy?” Kyra asked.

“Yes, honey, Mommy’s very happy.”

“I’ve got tickets for the three of you. We’ve booked a motel nearby, but you’re all welcome to stay at the home.” Irene looked at Margo, whose eyes were still red from the news of her husband Carl, now Carla’s illness.

“I’m sorry there isn’t much notice, but there’s little time to waste. We may already be too late, but we have to try, okay?” Irene looked at Kyra, who clutched a Teddy Bear, long discarded, but a renewed comfort after her mother explained why they would be traveling halfway across the country.

“I don’t want Daddy to die, Mom…it’s not fair.” She choked back a sob.

“I’m not going!” Keith sat in the kitchen with his arms folded. He had been crying as well, but his expression was anything but sad.

“There’s no one to leave you with…all your friends went camping and your grandmother is visiting my sister. You have to come. That’s final.” Margo was angry with Keith, not so much over his present stance as his deceit. Precious time had been lost because of his lie, and there was a good possibility they would arrive at the home too late.

“Fine, but I’m not talking to him.” He crushed his soda can in his hand.

“As far as I’m concerned, he can…” He hadn’t yet finished his sentence when his mother said very loudly,

“Keith Joseph Schroeder, you knock it off right now. I don’t have time for this. We have to be at the airport in an hour.”

“Don’t worry about anything other than your clothes…the Home is paying for the trip, okay?” Irene saw the pain in Margo’s face.

“We’ll get through this.” She walked over to Kyra and said,

“Ca…..your Daddy has been talking about you ever since…he…got to our home. You like to play soccer, right? And your Mom tells me you sew? Well, I like to sew, too. Maybe we can look at my machine when we have some time, okay?” Irene felt sad and defeated; it was rare to have a family involved, especially with the guests of the hospice. And now, with this family ready… She thought of Keith’s anger but knew that might change. To fly halfway across the country…She prayed desperately that they wouldn’t be late.

 

 
Drea had walked over to the clinic from the Home. It was well past six and Dr. Garber’s office light was still on. She walked past the reception area and down the hall. She knocked on the door. Instead of hello, she was greeted with,

"Where's Karen," Stephen said, looking up from his desk.

"She's gone home; she'll be back tomorrow." Drea said as she stood in the doorway.

"What do you mean, gone home? We were supposed to go over the schedule for tomorrow." Dr. Stephen Garber looked up from his paperwork, angry and frustrated.

"Her daughter came home sick from school; she had to go pick her up and bring her to the doctor's." Drea said calmly.

"This is important...I need her here." Steve looked impatient, and his tone was getting more and more angry.

"Steve... she couldn't stay. You can go over the schedule in the morning." Drea took a sip from her diet Pepsi.

"I can't rely on anyone around here." He said, tossing a folder on the desk as he rose.

"I'll have to do it myself."

"Steve...Listen to yourself. You never get this upset. What's going on?" Drea asked.

"What's going on is I've got three procedures in the next three days, and I need help here." He snapped.

"Steve...it's not like this can't wait." Drea said, almost expecting another angry reply.

"This is important work we're doing here....I wish everyone took it more seriously." His tone and body language almost seemed to accuse Drea. She blew out a breath and said,

"Everyone here...everyone takes this work seriously. But everyone here is just as tired as you are." She said calmly. She took another sip of her soda, waiting for his response.

"Sorry, but I didn't think that this isn’t important like some people; these girls need our help." Steve spat out rudely. It was uncharacteristic of him to behave as he was. Drea waited for him to finish.

"Terri and Kayla are scheduled for tomorrow and Wednesday. Why don't you bump Nancy to next Monday and take a few days off?"

"Are they going to take a day off?" He snapped.

"Steve..." Drea said simply.

"What?" His demeanor had softened somewhat.

"It's not about them...it's all about her." Drea said calmly, almost in a monotone; emotionless, but with emotion in the words themselves.

"I don't know what you're talking about." He said and turned away.

"Steve, honey, listen. You can't change things...you can't bring her back."

"I don't follow you," he said quietly, but he knew exactly what Drea was talking about.

"No matter how hard you work; no matter how many girls you help here, I think in your mind, it will never be enough." Drea stepped next to him and put her hand on his arm.

"I don't know what you mean."

"You blame yourself for her death, don't you?" Drea said this as a matter of fact; no accusation was given but he took it that way.

"You weren't there...you can't understand." Steve pulled his arm away from her.

"You think you're the only one who cares?" Drea knew she had to challenge him, for everyone's sake, including his.

"You snapped at Sandra yesterday about something...she was in tears." What was so important that it couldn't wait...and for that matter, why so rude?"

"I asked her three times about the shipment from the supply house...it was like she was ignoring me." Steve said.

"She didn't answer because she had just got off the phone with her sister. Her best friend from high school is very ill, and she's not expected to make it." Drea looked at Steve, who almost seemed to rise up.

"Well, how was I supposed to know? She didn't say anything.”

"Maybe if you had taken some time, you would have seen the tears in her eyes?" Drea didn't wait for an answer.

"This isn't like you...you're impatient, and you're getting to the point where Colleen is seriously considering quitting. And we can’t afford to lose any help at this point.

"That's not fair...I put in more hours than anyone here. They should be willing to sacrifice," he said.

"Everyone here is sacrificing. I'm retired, and I can afford to help where I can, but most of the girls here could be doing something somewhere else. They have their own lives to lead, and they've chosen to be a part of what we do here...what we all do here." She stressed the word "all."

"Yes, but I'm the only doctor. Nobody can do what I do here. I need help." He folded his arms.

"Steve...this isn't a competition or a debate. We can only do so much. Janet spends more time working with you than she does at the hospice. And she spends a lot of time there, so don't say you don't have any help."

"But I need more help...I can't work without some help here."

"You just have to pace yourself...like everybody else." Drea was losing patience with him; she wanted to help him understand. Whether it was frustration or providence, she blurted out,

"Listen...you're not the only one to ever lose someone you love." Drea was thinking of Annie, the love of her life. "Connie lost her mom to cancer last year…just as things had gotten good between them. God knows how many girls Cathilynn has grown to love, only to lose them to illness...suicide."

"Now wait a minute, Drea…that's not fair." He said.

"That's the whole point, Steve...nothing is fair...it's just what it is." She paused only enough to catch her breath.

"Your girlfriend killed herself for the very same reason this place was built...she lost hope! Hope that the Home provides. But you're here because you think if you only work hard enough...if you only help enough girls...somehow her life will have had meaning? Her life always had meaning ...she just was too hurt to see it."

"You don't understand!"

"I don't? I threw myself into my work after my first wife left me...I was going to do the same when Annie died, but my daughter reminded me that I wasn't here to save anyone..." Tears welled in Drea's eyes.

"We're here to participate in what goes on...nobody here has a corner on grief. And we can't help everyone."

Steve's eyes flashed at that and he said angrily,

"What do you know? I was there...I know."

"You blame yourself because you couldn't prevent her from making her own choice. And then, you feel like you have to be the doctor to help girls like her, right?" Steve stood silent, his fists clenched and tears in his eyes.

"You would better serve this community if you were kind and thoughtful again. But the job…and it is a job to you...is becoming more important than the people you serve with. Do you really think that's what honors her memory?"

"Now wait a minute, you can't come barging in here and..."

"Steve...I know it’s the anniversary…it wasn't your fault." Drea said softly, her hand reaching once again to touch his arm. He went to pull away, but she grabbed his arm softly and said,

"She made a choice...that put you on the path that brought you here. But you need to understand," Drea paused once again. She smiled and patted him on the shoulder softly.

"You're here in spite of what she did, not because of it."

Janet had just wiped Carla’s forehead with a cold compress when she looked up to see Margo and the children standing in the doorway. Carla lay on her side, staring out the window.

“Daddy?” Kyra cried as she ran to the bed. Margo quickly followed, but Keith stood at the doorway with his arms folded.

“Honey, come see your father, okay,” Margo said as she beckoned Keith with her hand.

“No…you can if you want, I don’t fucking care anymore!” He said and stormed down the hallway. He punched the wall once, knocking a picture off and onto the floor. Sandra came out of the office and looked. This was one scene she never got used to. Keith reminded her of so many children over the years who had come to visit. She shook her head and decided to give the boy some space.

Keith sat on the floor, putting his elbows on his knees, propping up his head. Tears streamed down his cheeks as he hit himself in the head with his fists in anger and frustration. A girl, about sixteen years old, walked slowly past him, trying without success not to disturb him.

“What the fuck are you looking at?” He snapped at the girl, who failed in her attempt not to stare at the scene played out before her.

“You okay?” She said, not knowing what else to say.

“Does it look like I’m fucking okay? Fuck no!” He snapped at her again. She resisted her own urge to tell him to “fuck off,” and said,

“Hey, I’m sorry. You look really pissed off. Never mind!” She started to squeeze past him.

“Oh, fuck! I’m sorry…” He put his head in his hands once again, trying to hide his face. He wasn’t going to cry in front of a girl.”

“What’s wrong?” The girl asked. She stepped back and leaned against the wall, almost anticipating another angry outburst.

“My dad is ….He’s in there,” he said, pointing to the room down the hall.

“Oh shit…sorry…You must be Carla’s son.” She looked at him and tried not to frown, but her face was etched with concern.

“What? Oh, fuck no! His name is Carl…Schroeder…HE’S my DAD!” Keith snapped once again.

“Ca…sorry….your dad isn’t doing too well. I’m so sorry.” Empathy was a new thing for her.

She resisted the urge to put her hand on his shoulder, instead sitting down on the floor catty-corner to him.

“I’m Candace. I live here with my foster mom. She works here as a nurse…She’s been helping your dad.”

“You live here?” Keith asked, his eyes widening in recognition.

“Yeah…I’ve been here for about a year. I’m from New York…my family…..” Her voice trailed off. She looked at him, waiting for his response.

“Wait a second…What the fuck?” Keith didn’t mean to be rude, but he was too angry to think.

“Are you…a...a...one of them?” He looked at her, almost horrified.

“Yeah, what of it?” Candace’s eyes widened.

“Nothing…it’s just…” Keith tried to speak, but his words seemed to be lodged in his throat.

“I don’t look like a fucking boy because I’m not a fucking boy,” she snapped.

“But…”

“But what…I look like a girl because I am one, jackass.” Which was mostly true. Candace looked at Keith, waiting angrily for a response.

“Fuck, you don’t have to bite my fucking head off, I just…well, besides my dad…” He shook his head and looked down the hall.

"I never even saw one of them." Keith said.

“Jeez…you are so…” Candace shook her head.

“You fucking asshole…she’s the best thing that ever happened to me besides Janet, and you’re just throwing that away.”

“Who the fuck are you to tell me? He’s my father, not yours.’

“And thank God for that. You don’t know what you’re missing. I wish I had someone, anyone just like her when I was growing up.” Candace looked down the hall and then back at Keith.

“Stop saying that…HE’s my DAD!”

“I don’t care what the fuck you call her, but you should be in there with your mother and sister. You should be saying good bye!” Candace tried oh so hard not to, but she buried her face in her hand and began to cry.

“What’s that for? Oh fuck…I’m sorry…shit…I’m sorry…please don’t cry.”

“Listen…” Candace held back a sob.

“There’s plenty of time to be fucking angry after she’s gone, but right now she needs you…SHE needs you,” Candace pointed down the hall.

“I only wish I had a dad like her.” Candace realized what she said and added,

“You know what I mean, so shut the fuck up.” She wiped her face with her sleeve.

“What was so bad about your dad?” Keith asked. “It can’t be worse than having a fucking father who wants to be your fucking mom!”

“I never knew my dad…and my step dad…” Her voice turned from sad to angry almost instantaneously.

“What…what was so bad?” Keith had grown impatient.

“My mom…fuck….Do I have to spell it out? My mom pimped me out to my stepdad, okay? Fuck!” She lost all control and began weeping. Sandra came out of her office and looked down the hall. She watched as Keith tried to console Candace. He put his hand on her shoulder, but she shied away.

“Is that why you want to be a girl?” Keith meant well but he had no idea.

“No…I wanted to be a girl ever since I can remember. That had nothing….. I am a girl! Look, just get the fuck away from me, okay? Go see your father…go see CARLA…yes… Carla… she’s fucking dying, you fucking jackass. Go see her!” Candace turned her head to the wall.
 

 

Keith hesitated before walking back down the hall. He lingered at the door to the room, watching as Sandra came out of her office and led Candace down the hall. He turned and entered the room as his mother was talking.

“Honey, Kyra wants to tell you something, okay?” Margo’s eyes were red, but she had kept from sobbing by biting her lip.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Carla said in a whisper so soft Kyra had to put her ear next to Carla’s mouth.

“I love you Daddy. Mommy says I can call you Aunt Carla…is that okay?” Kyra started to cry.

“Of course, honey. I love you so much.” She could hardly be heard above the heart monitor.

“Give me kisses?” Carla said and Kyra leaned closer and began kissing Carla all over her face.

“Daddy…do you have to die? Can’t you stay? Please?” The little girl began to cry once again. Margo put her arm around her daughter. She stared at Carla’s face, looking for strength to say what she needed to say.

“I don’t understand this at all. You should have come home. We all love you.” She tried to smile, but her tears gave way to sobbing.

“I am so fucking angry with you,” she said, forgetting that Kyra was next to her. Kyra was crying into Carla’s sleeve and didn’t hear the words.

“You should have come back. Why didn’t you come back?” Margo needed to know, and Carla needed to be free.

“I thought it would be best for you and the kids,” Carla said weakly…Her voice was almost too soft to hear.

“Best for us?” She said.

“I…I nnneee…ver stopped loving you, Carl…never.” Margo leaned over and kissed Carla’s forehead.

“I can’t…I won’t be angry any more. I forgive you….Just tell me you love us and it will be okay…please…for the kids…for me…” Margo sobbed and fell to her knees. She leaned closer and kissed Carla on the cheek.

“I love you Carl…I always will. Always. And I love you too, Carla…I don’t know who you are, but you’re part of my best friend…so I guess I…oh I don’t know.” It was all too much for Margo to understand, but she didn’t travel nearly thirteen hundred miles just to get stuck on principle.

“No matter what, I love all of you.” She choked back a sob.

“NO!” The voice came from the doorway.

“I hate you…I hate you!” Keith yelled as he rushed to the bed. Margo went to grab him, but he pushed past her and fell against Carla’s prostrate form. He put his head on Carla’s chest and sobbed, over and over.

“I hate you. I hate you, Daddy…I hate you.” Carla raised her hand feebly and stroked Keith’s hair.

“I hate you….Daddy….noooo.nnnnooo I’m sorry Daddy….don’t go ….I love you…please…please.” Keith wept in Carla’s arms and Margo put her hand on his shoulder.

“I love you Keith….I love you all.” Carla continued to stroke Keith’s hair and pat Kyra on the back. Her hand brushed against Margo’s. She felt Margo grip her hand and her voice saying simply,

“It’s okay…we love you…we love you.” A few moments later, Margo felt Carla’s hand go limp. Keith looked up and saw Carla’s face. She was smiling, but there was no light in her eyes. Keith looked up at his mother who took her right hand and covered her mouth. She went to cry, but no sound came out. She tried to reach out to Keith, but he had stood up. He took his sister in his arms and cried as hard as he ever had. She was nine and she almost understood what was happening.

“Four seventeen,” the voice said from the other side of the bed. Janet stood next to Carla’s body and tears streamed down her cheeks. She looked up and saw Candace standing in the doorway, weeping.

“Excuse me...I’ll leave you for a moment,” Janet said as she walked to the doorway. Gathering Candace in her arms, she kissed the girl on the forehead, pulling her in more. Candace buried her face in Janet’s sweater and sobbed.

“It’s okay, honey, Momma’s here.” Janet said softly as she stroked Candace’s hair…”It’s okay.”

Beth had gotten off work at the Home late, trying to make sense of the books. Connie had left when she and her new bride departed on their honeymoon, and the books were in a system that Connie and Connie alone could understand. Time doesn’t stand still, even for romance, so Cathilynn asked Beth to fill in for Connie until she returned. She knocked on the door softly. Stepping in, she noticed a familiar figure sitting on the couch.

“Simon?” She said. He was watching Paula Dean expound on the benefits of cooking with butter.

“Hi, Simon, have you seen Carter?” She asked. Simon was her brother’s best friend, so it wasn’t unusual to find him at Carter’s apartment. Never the less, she found herself startled at his presence.

“He called to say he wouldn’t be able to make your dinner date; something about a last-minute meeting at work. He said he couldn’t get you on your cell phone or at work. So he asked me to come over here to meet you.” Simon smiled warmly.

“Thanks, Simon…. I've been in a lot of meetings over the last couple of days, and we seem to have been playing phone tag. Anyway, thanks again. And good seeing you.” Beth never used pleasantries like that.

“Say, since you’re here already, why don’t we go out for some dinner?” He smiled again…that smile.

Beth felt oddly warm and found herself saying,

“Sure, why not,” even as she felt like saying the opposite. She wasn’t surprised that Simon would have asked her that, but she was completely surprised when he added,

“My treat.” He smiled once more. This was getting painful.

“Sure,” she said, but quickly added,

“Why?” Her voice sounded almost suspicious.

“Why what?” Simon asked as he smiled again, disarming Beth's suspicions.

“Why treat?” Beth was almost angry with herself over the question.

“I’m generous to a fault, I suppose.” He laughed, which did little to dispel Beth’s fears and everything to make her wish she hadn’t asked.

“Actually, I’ve been trying to think of a way to ask you out without asking you out…been hard to remember what a date was like, you know?” He smiled once again, which further eroded Beth’s defenses.

“Really,” Beth looked at Simon and her face began to turn crimson.

“Of course. You know, your brother often sings your praises.” Simon smiled, evoking an even darker shade of red to spread across Beth’s cheeks.

“He’s your biggest fan, you know? He thinks the world of you!” Simon said.

“That’s Carter alright.” Beth said, forcing a smile.

“I happen to agree,” Simon smiled yet again.

Beth frowned and bit the inside of her mouth.

“Simon, I’m not really who you think I am,” she said, adding to herself, “or what.”

“Does my heroine have feet of clay?” Simon smiled once again; it was almost excruciating.

“If he only knew…” she thought, unconsciously shaking her head

“Relax, Beth,” Simon began abruptly. It occurred to her that she hadn’t heard her name spoken by a man in a long time…it felt uncomfortable and good at the same time.

“Beth…It’s okay….I know.” She blinked her eyes in comprehension as he repeated once again,

“Beth…It’s okay…I know.”
 

 

Next: Extravagant Love

The Prayer
Words and Music by
Carole Bayer Sager, David Foster, David Walter Foster
as performed by Celine Dion and Josh Groban
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ogVQVnJ8Fpk