"I'm a laughable failure. Now my screw up has doomed Jocelyn. I've killed her, as good as if I'd shot her..."

CHAPTER 13

Night had fallen. Alan held a bedside vigil, constantly listening to make sure Jocelyn was breathing regularly.

At one-fifteen a.m. she awoke. “Alan… “

“What is it, love. Are you hurting?”

“Less. Alan… I can't leave you.”

“Huh?”

“I thought I could be strong enough… but I’m not. I’m not able to stand… a minute apart from you… even if it’s for your own good... please don't leave.”

“Baby, I’m never leaving. Never. I think you’re having a bad dream. Just know I’ve been right here by you all the time.” He lightly kissed her on the lips, the cheeks, the forehead, and repeated all multiple times, as she weakly wept.

Feeling her pulse become thready, he figured her blood pressure was low. He heated up some snow and had her drink as much as she could tolerate.

~o~O~o~

Four forty-two a.m. She whispered, “Alan.” Her breathing was more labored.

“HUH. Unnph. Ah, I’m awake… yes. What, darling.”

“Alan… please listen. I think… I’m dying… and,”

“Sh-sh-sh, babe. No. No you’re not. I won’t let you. I won’t let it happen. Please stop talking like that.”

“Please, Alan… just listen… to me. Please?”

He gritted his molars to keep from sobbing. “N’kay.”

“Alan… if I die… please leave me… and live… don’t stay here… and die too… promise me.”

He stayed quiet, shoulders moving up and down in spasms of slow, rhythmic jerks. Then, in a quavering voice through tight teeth, “I’m… nvr… lving… yu.”

“Promise me… Alan.”

“Nu.”

“Alan…” she was weeping now, “please… promise me!”

He broke into open wailing, holding his face in his hands.

“Please… Alan…”

He couldn’t answer verbally. He continued to cover his face and bawl, but he nodded his head.

“Thank you… Alan… I love you… my whole life… of hell was… worth it… for these past days… with you…”

He choked back some tears, and whispered, “Pleeease… don’t leave, Jos… please don’t leave me… please, fight…” and then, his wailing resumed.

~o~O~o~

Alan checked his watch. Six fifty-nine a.m.

Jocelyn was still breathing, but he had not been able to get her to speak for the last half hour or so. She’d still open her eyes and look at him for a second, but then they’d close again. She was dying. And he didn’t want to continue to live without her.

Why did I agree to try to live after she was gone? Now I have to honor that. But I don’t want to. My life is unlivable without her. What the hell will I have to live for?

He turned his red, now angry eyes skyward as he began a silent prayer. God! Why let her die now? Why not let us both die in the crash, at the bottom of the lake? Why allow her — and me — all this pain? I think I still believe that you’re really there, but I’m guessing that you’re a sadistic bastard. You heard me. Letting me get hope — not just for our rescue, but also for our future life — just to snatch it away. Helping me with the little requests, like for fish bait and stove fuel, but not sending a rescue? Hey, how many times have I asked for that now? I’m giving you one more chance to prove you’re not an ass. KEEP JOS ALIVE — SAVE HER, AND SEND HELP NOW. Or are you too busy snowing us in further?

He laid his head down on the bed next to Jocelyn, stroking her unbitten arm. He listened to her breathing, the only noise in this silent place. Except for the faint hum.

Alan’s head shot up. A hum?

He jumped to his feet. What was it — a snowmobile? A sick bird, or a sick joke from God, again? As he leapt into the big room, he noticed the rays of light streaming in the loft windows, the first bright sunbeams he’d seen since they’d been stuck here. He flew up the ladder to the loft, as the humming got suddenly louder. He opened up a window, and knew what was causing the noise.

Plane!

It suddenly appeared straight overhead, maybe only thirty feet from the roof, and flew away from Alan and the window. He now only saw the rear tail becoming more distant with each second. His body was nearly completely over the ledge, with arms waving wildly.

“HEY! HEEEEYYYY!”

Gone, dammit! He had to be Search and Rescue. He was flying low to look for signs of us — or someone.

His heart sank. Who knows when the plane would come over again, or if it would at all? He was probably combing a vast area, since no one knows exactly where we traveled. And I had no signal of any kind out ‘cause I thought it was still snowing. I’m a laughable failure. Now my screw up has doomed Jocelyn. I’ve killed her, as good as if I’d shot her through-

Be quiet, Lacy.

He heard Jocelyn’s strong, loving voice. Drowning out Lacy’s, and all others.

Alan, no matter what happens, you are a success, a hero. And I know that while I am still breathing, you will try with all of your might to save me — to save us. Because that’s who you really are. You never give up. You never quit. I can always count on you to fight as long as there’s hope. That’s the Alan I know.

Hearing her voice — in his soul, it came as clear as if she was talking into his ear — did something to Alan. Despite his lack of sleep, his achy muscles, the seeming hopelessness of the situation, he felt as if he had touched a live light socket. Thoughts began racing through his mind as his body straightened and vision became laser focused.

I need a signal. One he’ll see from miles away, if he doesn’t fly right by here again.

More words from a page came — the exact ones he needed.

He knew what to do. But first, the stuck damper needed to get open.

Fireplace is the only reliable spot. There’s too much deep snow outside to build one there. So, damper — you WILL become unstuck, and NOW.

He grabbed the handle at the top of the fireplace inside the burn area. Pulling with more might than he’d pulled anything in recent years, there was no budge. He reached into the hearth, then after pulling out the wood grate, crouched into it. Using his legs and back, he pushed up on the stuck metal plate of the old damper. Nothing happened. He squatted low, then exploded into the plate with his shoulders and shoulder blades. His legs burned as he pushed. He was sure his face was crimson as he exerted every muscle he knew he had, and a few he’d just become aware of, to put pressure on the stuck device.

“NNNNGGHH… MOVE, DAMMIT… OPEN, SAYS ME!”

CRACK!

The sound was so loud that for a second Alan wondered if his back had broken. Then the damper fell apart all around him, and clanged at his feet in a couple of broken metal plates plus a handle.

Works for me. Flue’s open.

He used the axe he’d brought in from the woodshed to cut up the wooden dining room chairs in one minute. He piled the pieces into the fireplace; then set more quickly ripped out book pages under the wood, and doused it all lightly with liquid camping stove fuel for good measure. The fire immediately caught. It produced heat, but he needed thicker smoke. He put the somewhat wet wood logs from the first aborted fire attempt days ago on too; now there was some white smoke. A dash outside to get some fresh pine branches with needles (shaking the snow off first of course) proved to do the trick. Once the branches went on the fire, plenty of white smoke was going up the chimney.

A quick check of Jocelyn showed she was still breathing. Hang in there, baby.

~o~O~o~

The A-frame house wasn’t as visible from the outside as usual. That’s because of the snow that had built up this week — the first floor was covered in drifts. The only two windows visible were the ones at the front on the second level, looking out from the loft. And now one of the windows was opening.

Alan climbed out onto the ledge, a drawstring from the first floor curtains tied around his waist and leading back inside the windowsill. Standing on the sill, he could almost just reach the metal roof of the A-frame with his fingertips. He squatted slightly, then jumped. Grabbing ahold of the roof ledge now, he grunted as he pulled himself up onto the structure, defiantly undeterred by the snow buildup. Now straddling the rooftop with one foot on each steeply pitched side, he started reeling in the curtain drawstring. Coming through the window now were two blankets rolled together, with the other end of the drawstring tied around them.

~o~O~o~

Cyrus “Hawkeye” Thatchett flew low and solo over the trees, scanning for any sign of human life, especially distress. This was his thirty-sixth year of working with Montana Search and Rescue, and this routine was old hat to him. He didn’t hold out much hope for this search though. Looking for two men, both reported to have left Missoula for Helena on December 24th, five days ago. The HiPat search along the interstate route had been fruitless. So now in his trusty single engine Cessna Skylane, he was flying over the smattering of little winding high altitude roads connecting highway 12 to Helena in alternate routes. Five days was a long time to be stranded in the snow. And still be alive, that is. So much had piled up recently; they could be covered in feet of it. If they were really in these hills and mountains, their bodies might not be found ‘til spring.

“Eagle base to two three foxtrot, can you read me, over,” came a monotone voice. It was Richard, the new director of MS&R for this region. He was an import from the east coast. Cyrus hadn’t warmed to him yet, to put it diplomatically.

“Eagle, this is 23 Foxtrot.”

“23 Foxtrot, we may have you abort this search for a fresher one north of here. A man drove off into the night after getting drunk and fighting with his wife early this morning. Have you had any luck with current search yet, over.”

“No luck yet, Eagle.”

Richard Sponn, new director of Eagle base operations, sighed. When were these country hicks going to learn to speak correctly with aviation language? Cyrus hadn’t ended with an ‘over’. “23 Foxtrot, how’s your fuel, over.”

“Eagle base: pretty good. At least 3 hours left… over,” then releasing the com so he wouldn’t be heard, “you just can’t stand me not saying ‘over’ every time, can you, y’ greenhorn.” Cy wore a passive-aggressive sneer.

“23 Foxtrot, stand by while we arrange new mission parameters, over.”

Cyrus sighed. He understood the reasoning for abandoning the current search; he just didn’t like giving up on anyone. When he had to turn north, he’d fly over some of the terrain he’d already covered one last time.

Something caught the corner of his eye. He pulled out his binoculars. Sure enough, there was a smoke trail, originating in one of the multiple small valleys. That could mean any number of things, most of them unremarkable-

He held his breath. The smoke was no longer in a continuous flume near the ground line. There now appeared big interrupted puffs…

“23 Foxtrot to Eagle base. Mobilize rescue to just north of Red Mountain. We have a distress signal coming from there. Will get you exact GPS coordinates in a minute, over.”

Richard’s response sounded skeptical. “Foxtrot, Base here. Please confirm with visual first. What type of distress signal, over.”

“Smoke, Eagle.”

There’s no way I’m ringing the bell for a wild goose chase over someone’s campfire, thought Richard. Now if Cy saw other signs of distress, then fine. “Foxtrot, confirm visually please, over.”

I’m visualizin’ the smoke, dagnabbit, fumed Cy. “Eagle base. MOBILIZE THE RESPONSE TEAM. The smoke is coming in three definite puffs followed by a prolonged stream, then is being repeated. It’s smoke signal for mayday, OVER.”

Richard was getting irritated. He was about to — civilly — read Cyrus the riot act. Then he noticed the stares of three of the base personnel. “Boss… that’s the Boy Scout / Native American S.O.S. - three puffs,” said Brian, Richard’s #2 man.

“Eagle base to 23 Foxtrot. We are mobilizing the team. Please respond with GPS coordinates ASAP. Over.”

“THANK you,” spat Cyrus, then picked the com back up and said “Roger that.” Three puffs. Any cub scout worth his salt would know that.

~o~O~o~

Please, God. Let him see. Let someone see, prayed Alan, working the chimney smoke with his brown blanket.

Then, he heard the plane again. Looking behind him, he saw it making a beeline for the cabin.

“HEEEEYYY!” - He said, flailing. He then motioned wildly towards the red blanket he had cut in half, folded into a pattern and laid on the roof.

~o~O~o~

Cyrus saw a man on the roof of a cabin, standing next to the smoking chimney. He was gesticulating about something-

“What in tarnation... !” He grabbed the com.

“Eagle base. Recommend we send the AirEvac ‘copter. I have made visual contact with a man on a roof; he’s laid out cloth in the shape of a red cross, and he looks like he’s havin’ a conniption fit. Strongly suspect a medical emergency. If these are the two we’re looking for, I don’t see the other one. Over.”

~o~O~o~

For a second, Alan was terrified as it seemed the plane was beginning to dip it’s right wing to bank away. But no, it started alternately dipping both its wings. It looked like it was waving at him. It then passed directly over him and through the white plume, making swirly smoke rings in the air.

He saw. He saw! OK, God. This isn’t over yet. You’re still in the doghouse with me until Jocelyn lives, and recovers intact. Thanks, though. Alan made his way to hop back inside the window.

~o~O~o~

The rescue helicopter had made a textbook deep snow landing in a small clearing near the cabin. It was now yawing towards its nose, but was steady and stable. Alan had run out at the noise and motioned wildly to the cabin entrance. Jocelyn’s breathing had been getting shallower. The EMTs were thankful that the front door entrance had been kept relatively shoveled — it was much easier and faster to transport their patient out that way than try to feed the stretcher through one of the loft windows.

“Is she going to be OK?” Alan shouted, following them as they rushed her to the ‘copter.

They gave no answer, intently evaluating the pale woman they were loading through the side door. There was enough room for Alan, so he boarded too. He warned the crew about Jocelyn’s transitioning status. The warning part was actually to emphasize that although they were to look up her old records and insurance info under the name Joseph O’Donnell, they were to refer to her as a woman named Jocelyn. Alan found himself wishing that they would show some reaction — any kind — to that news; the fact that it seemed to not faze them as they tried to save her emphasized how serious her condition had become.

As the airship took off for Helena, the two EMTs began to work even more furiously on her. One of them slipped a breathing tube down her throat as the other one prepared to do chest compressions. Alan could only watch terrified as they performed CPR on his reason for living.

~o~O~o~

CHAPTER 14

Darkness.

Tied down. Imprisoned.

I'm being... held captive... no, tortured... experimented on...

"Take a deep breath, sir. Now hold it, now blow it out."

Jocelyn coughed, and the cough startled her to consciousness. She was gradually aware of awakening in a foreign place. And unlike Christmas morning with Alan, she did NOT feel safe. She was trapped.

She was unable to talk. A gag was in her mouth, and stuffed down her throat. Her arms and legs were tied down at the wrists and ankles. There were tubes and wires and beeping monitors all around. She wasn’t at home, or in the cabin, but in… a laboratory of some sort? Was she part of some science fiction/horror experiment? She started to writhe around in a desperate attempt to get free.

“Hey there, buddy. Relax. Just breathe,” said a detached voice. Jocelyn turned her neck — ow! That scraped my throat to do that — and saw a man in maroon scrubs, patting her on the shoulder, but watching a monitor. He didn’t care about her; he was just doing the dirty deeds for whichever mad scientist ran this place.

“Max! I told you to alert me when you started to do this!” A blonde woman in blue scrubs and a stethoscope around her neck sped into the room. “Hey there, honey. My name is Sasha. I’m your nurse; you’re in the hospital, and in the intensive care unit. Max here is the respiratory therapist, and he’s testing your lung strength so we can see if we can finally take you off of the ventilator.”

“He’s got good inspiratory force,” yawned Max. “Should be OK to extubate.”

Sasha walked over and grabbed his arm, pulling him to the side. “Didn’t you get the full report on this patient when you came on duty? She’s to be called her female name and referred to as ‘she’.”

“But it’s a guy.”

Sasha’s nails dug into his bicep, and he winced. “SHE is not an ‘IT’. Dr. Rast gave specific instructions regarding this. Shall I tell him you don’t want to comply?”

Max shook his head. He liked his butt. He didn’t need Rast biting it off. “I-I’m sorry, miss. I haven’t had my coffee yet this morning. I’ll call Dr. Ingram — he’s your pulmonologist-”

“That’s lung specialist, hon,” explained Sasha.

“- and if he wants, I’ll be back to pull that tube out. Then you’ll be able to talk.”

Sasha stayed with Jocelyn, holding her hand and telling her what had been going on. It was January 4th. She was starting her 6th consecutive day in the ICU at St. Peter’s hospital in Helena, arriving there via Montana Search and Rescue. There were two episodes where her heart stopped due to critical blood loss— one en route, and one just after arrival. She’d developed fluid in her lungs and has a mild pneumonia, necessitating the ventilator. Not to mention the six pints of blood transfusions, two operations to repair her wounds as well as beginning a series of rabies shots. It was a miracle that she was alive.

Sasha searched Jocelyn’s face for signs of comprehension. They had no way of knowing yet if she had suffered brain damage from the cardiac arrests, and if so, how much. Her patient seemed to nod her head appropriately as she talked. That’s encouraging, she hoped.

Jocelyn made a writing-with-pen-like motion with her right hand. Sasha smiled brightly. She wanted to write a note! That’s super encouraging. The nurse brought a notepad with a big pencil, and untied Jocelyn’s wrist restraints. She scribbled out a fast message and showed it to Sasha.

“Why haven’t I been awake for any of this until now?”

“Oh! Sorry honey, I forgot to tell you. You had such pain, and you were fighting the ventilator so much, that your docs thought it would be best to keep you sedated with medicine until you healed enough. And today, they thought you had. I turned off your sedatives about fifteen minutes before Max did his stuff with you this morning.”

Jocelyn wrote more. “Alan…?”

“Aahhh… your special friend,” Sasha said with twinkly eyes. “He caused quite a ruckus here. Insisted on staying with you around the clock, and we have strict visiting hours. He went toe-to-toe with Dr. Rast about it, brave soul. We finally agreed for him to stay in the ICU waiting area and even sleep there. We’ve rarely allowed that. He’s probably out there now, waiting for us to get your tube out so we can let him back in here.

“Or, possibly, he could be at work. Did you know that he went and interviewed for a job here in Helena two days ago, and got it? I tell you, he seems like an impressive guy. You are one lucky girl.”

Jocelyn was already thinking otherwise. He’s started his job. Getting on with his life. As he should. He deserves the best out of life. And I… I am not the best. She looked at Sasha. Her nurse was gorgeous. Long wavy blonde hair, pixie face, under 5’6”, curvy and huge breasts that would be cannons if she wore the right bra. And no ring on her left hand.

Jocelyn wrote again. “Do you like him? You and he would make a good couple.”

Sasha read this with confusion and a little dismay. Then, raising one eyebrow, she smiled slightly. She came towards Jocelyn’s face and whispered in her ear.

“Sorry… I like girls, hon.”

Jocelyn now wore the look of dismay. Darn. She would have been so right for him. Yay!... calm down, Jos. Remember: this love was a pipe dream. A pipe dream.

“Okay, we’re ready to take your breathing tube out.” Max had returned. The procedure was mercifully quick. She was given breathing medicine in a mist right after, and put on an oxygen mask, which they were quickly able to convert to a small two pronged nose tube. Thankfully, the foot restraints were also taken off.

Sasha was standing by. “Now, missy. Can you try talking some?”

“I — kkk!” Jocelyn grabbed her neck and grimaced in discomfort.

“Oooo-kay… sometimes after having that tube in for a while your vocal chords are really sore. Don’t talk and hurt yourself. Sipping some hot fluid and giving your voice a rest will be best. You’ll probably be lots better tomorrow. Let’s just use the pad and pencil until then.”

“Well, hello there, sleeping beauty!” The booming welcome came from a portly man in the room. He was mostly bald with wisps of gray hair, a wide smile framed with a white handlebar mustache plus short white beard, and small glasses perched on his nose. The name on his crisp buttoned white coat said “B.J. RAST, M.D., SURGERY”. Behind him stood another doctor, this one thin, clean-shaven and appearing more reserved than the big one, but still smiling. His ID tag said “Ingram, M.D.”.

Both doctors walked to the bed. Rast continued to talk. “About time you healed up enough to wake up. Usually all it takes is one kiss from Prince Charming to do the trick. Your prince has been lavishing you with smooches multiple times every day… he’s got a thing or two to learn about breaking spells, I guess. How are you feeling?”

Jocelyn wrote on her pad while Sasha pointed to her throat and shook her head. Dr. Ingram grunted, and nodded his. Jos turned the pad to Dr. Rast. “A little sore in the throat, otherwise OK.”

Both docs examined her and asked questions, including questions meant to test her brain function. She passed with flying colors according to Dr. Rast. They also answered her questions to them regarding her physical condition.

“I like how things are looking. Don’t get me wrong; you’re not out of the woods yet. But at least you’re out of the quicksand,” chuckled Rast.

“Thank you, Santa,” wrote Jocelyn, smiling and tearing with appreciation.

“I get that a lot, miss,” returned Rast. “By the way, your boyfriend was very insistent that you be referred to in the female gender. You have a real keeper there, if you ask me.” The two doctors then left.

All of this activity after nearly a week of bedrest left Jocelyn exhausted, and Sasha let her sleep. In 30 minutes, she awoke again, this time to two voices just outside her door.

“She can’t talk just yet, Mr. S, but she can write notes.” “Okay.”

Sasha, and… Alan!

Oh God, no. I’m not ready to see him yet. I’m going to have to tell him that we’re through. I just can’t do it now, especially not being able to talk. And especially since I can’t bear the thought of living without him. Maybe if he thinks I’m still asleep he’ll leave.

Alan and Sasha walked in. “Oh, she’s still snoozing. If you want to go out in the waiting area, I can call you as soon as she wakes, Mr. S.” whispered the nurse.

“Can’t I just stay in here quietly and be with her?” he breathed back.

“Sure. Just be aware she needs her rest.” Jocelyn heard the soft falls of Sasha’s footsteps leaving the room.

Jocelyn lay motionless. She could hear Alan breathe on occasion. In a minute, she heard his chair scoot on the floor, pulling up to her bed. Then she felt that he was grasping her hand gently. And heard him start to whisper.

“Jocelyn. I’m so happy that you’re recovering. If you had died, I don’t know what I would have done. I’ve wanted to talk to you so badly; I just can’t wait any longer. So I hope you can hear me on some level, maybe even in your soul.

“We had an intense experience together. I will always treasure it — except the ‘you almost dying’ part. And I know that I asked you to marry me. After getting back to real life, I can say that I was wrong to do that; I acted too hastily. I’m so sorry, baby. You see, I… I just can’t marry you.”

He then paused. Jocelyn felt as if she was starting to die all over again. But I can’t cry; I can’t let on I hear him. That would destroy me even more. God, Alan, get it over with and leave so I can suffer alone.

But he stayed, and began whispering again. “The main reason is because even though to me you’re all woman, your documents still have you listed as male, and two men marrying still isn’t legal in Montana. So until that law — or your documents — change, we’re just going to have to shack up together. I've been looking in the paper for an apartment for us. Besides, I’ve already tried the five-two, blond blue-eyed D-cup genetic girl. Or have you never seen a picture of Lacy?”

Jocelyn’s eyes opened as big as saucers. She raised her head to look at Alan, who was sporting his glorious toothy smile with just a hint of devilishness in his eyes.

“And baby, I’m way, way better at faking being asleep than you are.”

Jocelyn was pouring tears of relief, joy, and release. She sat up and reached for Alan.

“Watch your right forearm, Jos. It’s still pretty fresh from surgery.”

Like she could care. She wrapped her right arm around him as best she could, and grabbed him in a tight squeeze around his shoulders with her left. They hugged and rocked for what seemed like twenty minutes. Alan whispered into her ear.

“I love you. I love you so much. I want to spend the rest of my life loving you back for what you’ve done for me. I know I will face judgment and hate and discrimination, but it’s worth it to me, as long as I get to be with you. I want to stand beside you and be strong for you when others try to treat you — us — with disgust. So see — I am going into this eyes wide open. It’s my choice.

“And as soon as it’s feasible, I will marry you; again, if you’ll have an old guy like me.” Jocelyn nodded as vigorously as she could so he would understand. They kissed each other’s necks, cheeks, foreheads; Jocelyn avoided open mouth, until Alan thoughtfully produced some Tic-Tacs. After she’d had five of them, she allowed their tongues to mingle.

Eventually, they broke, and Alan turned serious. “I’m not going to have this romance fail. I’d like us both to start counseling, both as a couple and individually, as soon as you get out of here. I know I’ll have to scrimp and save to do so, and we may have to pool our resources. But we don’t need our past emotional baggage screwing this up. Would you be okay with that?” He got two ‘thumbs up’ from his mute sweetheart, followed by another long kiss.

When their osculation paused, Jocelyn wrote on her pad. “So you heard everything I whispered to you that night in the cabin? You weren’t asleep?”

“I’ll have to say, when I heard you saying that stuff, I wanted to tell you how wrong you were. You were trying to be sneaky there, ‘speaking to my subconscious’ and all. So I wanted to get you back in a sneaky but loving way. I was going to do it the next night, then the wolves and everything happened. But this was a pretty sweet revenge, wouldn’t you say?” He was grinning again.

She looked lovingly into his eyes. Then she began unbuttoning his shirt, a fog of sudden lust on her face. Alan whispered, “Honey, we’re here in the hospital…” as she reached inside to stroke his bare chest.

She then found his nipple and pinched the hell out of it.

“OW OW OW- okay, okay, are we even now?” he whimpered.

~o~O~o~

CHAPTER 15

Jocelyn looked in the mirror.

Her wedding dress sparkled in the reflection. Her long, waist length hair had been dyed to look it’s full sleek natural black again, rather than showing the gray that had crept in the last few years. Cynthia — her best friend and maid of honor — and Alan’s sister Charlene were fussing over her, helping perfect her makeup and getting everything in order. The ceremony was ten minutes away.

“I can’t believe this is happening. It’s like a dream come true,” she whispered.

“About time, too. You’re forty-four, Alan’s sixty-two and your Dad is seventy,” Cynthia muttered. “What took him so long?”

“Cyn, you can bring up all the negatives you want,” Jos sang. “Nothing can spoil the joy of this day for me.”

A knock came on the door. “All you hens decent in there?” It was Jocelyn’s father.

“As long as the groom’s not with you, come in.”

“Hi there, daughter. Got a surprise for ya.” Her father walked in followed by an unexpected figure.

“Mom?... MOM! Oh my God! I thought…”

“Hello… ah… ‘Jocelyn’.” She blushed as she said her daughter’s name. “Goodness me, you really look lovely.”

Seamus O’Donnell hugged his wife. “This is still a hard thing for her. But a big part of her wants to have you in her life again. I’ve been telling her what an impressive child you are. And she finally read the book.”

The book. Is there no end to the good that it will accomplish? Jocelyn thought.

“Mom… thank you so much for coming.”

Katie O’Donnell stammered. “Honey… can I call you “JoJo” like your father does? I think that would be easiest for me…”

“Absolutely.” Jocelyn smiled. She knew “JoJo” was similar to the “Joe” she had despised for so long. But “JoJo” was feminine, and fine. Especially if it meant being a part of her parent’s lives again.

“Mom… can I have a hug?”

Both women embraced and began to weep. Everyone in the room wept.

Cyn dialed a number on her cell phone. “Tell that organist to keep playing hymns for at least ten minutes more (sniff). Major makeup damage control is about to commence.”

Finally the group arrived into the church foyer.

“Mom, the usher will seat you at the front. Let’s talk more at the reception, OK? I love you so much.”

“I love you too, JoJo. And… your father has another surprise for you, I think.”

Jocelyn turned to the man whose arm she held. “Dad?”

He looked at his daughter’s eyes. “Why don’t you call me… Daddy.”

Cyn mouthed to the front of the sanctuary, “MORE ORGAN HYMNS!”

~o~O~o~

Seventeen minutes late, the ceremony began. Charlene was one of the bridesmaids, as was young Haley O’Donnell, all sixteen years of her. Aleisha and Alexis, Alan's twins, were also in the procession. Jake O’Donnell was a little old for the classic ring bearer role at nine, but he was so unfocused at times that it was wisely decided that he wouldn’t be a young groomsman. A mostly bald Alan Sarkisian stood at the front of the room with the minister. As the wedding march started to play, old Seamus O’Donnell escorted a vision in white lace and satin down the aisle.

An angel, thought Alan. My snow angel.

When the music stopped, the minister spoke. “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to celebrate…

“…the tenth anniversary of Alan and Jocelyn Sarkisian, with a renewal of their vows, and a recreation of their ceremony, except this time with the actual father of the bride giving away his daughter.”

The ceremony was fairly similar to their marriage ten years ago. Jocelyn still fit perfectly into her original wedding gown. However, Seamus did get to say “her mother and I” when the question “who gives this woman’s hand in marriage?” was stated. And when the “bride” and “groom” said their vows, they embellished it with “I truly, madly, deeply do”. By the end, there was nary a dry eye in the place (except for Jake, who was counting the seconds until they could get to the food).

Finally Alan and Jocelyn walked down the aisle as a commemoration of their 10 years as man and wife. Then pictures were taken — getting Jake to smile while simultaneously keeping Haley from sending/reading texts was a challenge — and the whole group left for the reception hall.

~o~O~o~

Jocelyn got the two children together. “Are you two really wanting to do this? You know you don’t have to. Dad and I love both of you whether you do or not.”

Haley said, “Mom — I want to. I’ve practiced this, I want to be part of this.”

“If she gets to then I get to!” spouted Jake.

Dingdingdingdingding, rang a glass at the head table of the reception.

Alan’s “best man”, his business partner at Jocelyn marketing consultants, gave a speech. So did various others. But the most anticipated speakers were saved till last.

Beginning with Jason Alambrus Barney, the area LGBT champion.

“Jocelyn and I have not always been friends. I approached her in hopes that she would help us with our activism her after her and Alan’s story hit the news. Her response to me was classic Jocelyn: ‘I don’t want to be a gender crusader.’ So I filed her under ‘lacks the courage to influence change’. Oh, how wrong I was.

“Jocelyn’s style has never been to be part of a march, or filing a lawsuit, or doing TV interviews. She just wanted to be a woman… a full expression of womanhood. A woman who visited her neighbors down the block when they were hospitalized, and made sure their mail and papers were picked up, and their pets taken care of. One who volunteered at the women’s shelter, and made regular visits to the local retirement centers to help them deal with the digital age. She has made service part of her everyday life, while not shying from the fact that she is a transgendered female. As a result, she has reached people that I would never be able to reach, softening their hearts towards the rest of us.

“She will tell you that her courage to love ferociously comes from the love and support of her husband, the man she calls her hero. He has supported her emotionally and morally, and is a place of refuge she can run to when life gets tough. The funny thing is, when you talk to him, that’s what he says about her — she’s his angel, and she transformed his life, by helping him overcome verbal abuse that just about did him in. To first hear her talk, she sounds like the antithesis of the modern liberated woman; she idolizes her husband. Yet what has happened is their love for each other liberated each of them from their own personal prisons.

“Then there’s their story, the book “Cruiser Lake”. Not only did it spend a little time on the NYT bestseller list, but also many credit this book as one of the catalysts that led to the Boy Scouts of America dropping their policies against LGBT members and leaders early this year.

“One of the most unique ways they have served my community is their aggressive search for and adoption of children who are not only without a family, but are transgendered or intersexed. I understand that the kids will be speaking later, so I won’t steal their thunder.

“Just one more thing: we all need to say a big “thank you” to Alan’s sister Charlene, who turned his heart to be open to our people. Without her, Alan and Jocelyn never would have happened.”

“I just planted the seed, Alan kept it nurtured and Jocelyn added moisture and nutrition,” Charlene yelled.

“Are you saying I gave Alan a load of manure?” Jocelyn laughed, and everyone else did too.

Then, Seamus O’Donnell spoke.

“Well, hello everyone. Thanks for giving an old goat a chance to bleat.

“I was very angry and disappointed to hear about Joseph’s decision to change sex. I blamed it on a lot of things. On his mother, for babying him too much as a child. On new-fangled new-age perversion. And of course, I blamed myself for being a drunkard instead of a proper father. Nevertheless, my wife and I considered Joseph dead to us when he told us he was changing into a girl. (That’s what I called what he was doin’.)

“Then one day, I got a phone call from this salesman who wants to take me out to a steak dinner. Well, I never met a piece of dead cow I didn’t like. He meets with me and tells me who he is, and that he’s marrying my Joseph, who now goes by Jocelyn. Well, I almost walked out on him then and there. But Alan, blast it, has this smile that would make a Jew eat bacon. He tells me he wants nothing of me but a chance to take me out to a great restaurant every two months or so. I shouldn’t have agreed to it. But he could sell ice to Eskimos, this guy.

“Then I get a copy of this book, this “Cruiser Lake”. It tells the tale of Alan and JoJo and how they got started. A great story. Those of you who were invited to this exclusive night got a complimentary copy, and if you didn’t read it yet, shame on you. Well, I read it. I laughed at the part where Alan’s pants fell down in the snow because he had no belt.”

Alan smiled and shook his head. I can’t believe I included that part in the book.

“And although it took years — and a lot of great steak dinners — my heart started to melt from its deep freeze. It took a while; too long, dang it. Nine months ago I finally agree to meet JoJo. I didn’t want to love her. She took my Joe away from me. But I couldn’t help to fall in love with her. And now my wife — JoJo’s mother — is reconciling to our daughter too. I told JoJo that I was sorry I wasn’t there for her for so long, even made a comment about how I wish I could have given her away to Alan. And from that comment, here we all are.

“I offered to use some of my dry cleaning riches to bless them. I found the owner of that cabin up by Red Mountain, and proposed to JoJo and Alan that I buy it and give it to them as a gift — you know, so they can go there whenever they want to and reminisce. I’ll let them tell you their answer.”

Both Alan and Jocelyn cupped their palms to frame their lips and yelled, “Hell no!” Laughter filled the hall.

“Lastly, Alan, JoJo: I want to thank you for the gifts of Haley and Jake. We had only one child; with that child being female now and taking on Alan’s name, our dream of grandchildren — and someone to carry on the family name — seemed lost. With their adoption, we have grandkids. With their adopted name of O’Donnell, we continue to have a legacy…” At this point, Seamus had to stop and compose himself.

Haley’s was short and sweet. “My name is Haley O’Donnell. I am a transgender female. I am proud of who I am, and I know my Mom and Dad will always love me and always be proud of me. Thank you all for accepting me and my family.”

Jake’s was even shorter. “I’m Jake O’Donnell. I’m inter… intersix? But I’m all boy, and I like baseball and sausage pizza and the Colorado Rockies. Go Rockies!”

Then the dancing started. Jocelyn cried when her father danced with her. Alan swept Katie O’Donnell off her feet. And the anniversary couple danced to their signature song: Joe Cocker’s “You Are So Beautiful”.

~o~O~o~

The deejay continued to play songs, and people continued to dance. Alan and Jocelyn were now sitting down in a warped circle of chairs, surrounded by family members. Many significant conversations occurred simultaneously….

~o~O~o~

Katie O’ Donnell watched Seamus dance with Haley. She then felt a tap on her shoulder.

“Mrs. O’Donnell? Jocelyn’s mother? I’m Phoebe Sarkisian, Alan’s mother.”

“Oh! Pleased to meet you, Phoebe! Seamus has told me so much about Alan. And I feel like I know him so much, reading ‘Cruiser Lake’. You did a good job of raising that young man; you’re obviously a good mother. I’m hoping to get to know him better; I’m kind of the ‘last straggler’ to come around and join the family.”

“How’s that going for you, by the way?” Phoebe never was one to mince words.

“It’s… oh… I’m sorry. You wouldn’t understand.”

“Try me, dear. I’ll bet we have more in common than you think.”

“Oh… it’s…” She sighed. “Everyone here treats all of this so normal, as if they’re not bothered by it at all. They all know JoJo used to be a man. It’s as if her now being female is the most natural thing.”

“They only asked people who are accepting of them. This whole shindig is an ‘invitation only’ affair.”

“Why can’t I feel the same way? I want a relationship with her… why does my heart still ache about this?”

“Just because you gained a fantastic daughter doesn’t mean that you didn’t lose a son. You sound like you’re still grieving.”

“I think I’ve still been holding on to hope that one day Joseph will ‘see the light’ and come to his senses… this ceremony kind of seals it for me; that day will never happen.”

Phoebe smiled. “Is that really such a bad thing? Look how happy she is. I know my Alan has never been happier; definitely not with Zelda and Brunhilda.”

“Who…?”

“The two witches he was married to previously.”

Katie laughed. “I know my child is happier than she’s ever been. I know it. And there’s no way I would magically make her male again if it meant being as unhappy as he was then. It’s just… sex changing goes against what I’ve been taught, what I believe.”

“Are you a Christian? I am.”

“Yes. ….You are? How did you deal with this? Does your church believe that homosexuality and transsexualism is okay with God?”

“No. They don’t. And believe you me, when I go to church every week there’s always someone who’s praying that my son will “repent” and avoid hell.”

“That’s what scares me to death,” Katie shook. “I’m afraid Joseph — JoJo — will go to hell if she stays this way. That’s what my pastor teaches.”

“Hm. I’ve done some reading of the good book, and I’ve drawn a different conclusion. Do you ever sin, Katie?”

“Every day, Phoebe. If getting angry, or getting fearful, or oversleeping is sin — and often they are, I believe — then I do daily. But I pray for God to forgive me.”

“Gluttony is a sin, per the Bible. Yet, despite my repeated trials to avoid it, here I am, a fatso at eighty-four. And I pray for forgiveness daily, and for grace. Yet still this is so. So are we going to hell?”

“No! The whole deal with forgiveness is that we all need it! There’s only one sin that I’ve heard is unforgivable — the ‘blaspheming of the Spirit’, whatever that is.”

“That’s where you take something God did, and say the devil did it. That’s not what Jocelyn’s done. And both she and Alan have been daily praying people since that frozen lake episode. Is changing your sex sinning? I don’t think so, not anymore. But even if it is, since it’s not ‘unforgivable’, then I think JoJo’s graveyard elevator is going up, not down. It’s not our job to police our kid’s virtues and sins, anyway. Our job, ‘ccording to the book, is to love. Love thy neighbor as thyself. So that’s what I do with Alan and Jocelyn and my grandkids.”

“I… I think I could do that! I could look at it that way! I can just love her, no matter what I’ve believed about her ‘condition’. Love her - unconditionally, as they say.”

“You sure are your daughter’s Momma, ‘as they say’,” Phoebe laughed. “My job is to love. And I do love my job, especially when I get to take care of Haley and Jake, like I’m doing this week.”

“I would love to start being a part of their lives,” yearned Katie.

“Hmm… I have a proposal,” twinkled Phoebe.

~o~O~o~

“Mom,” Haley gloomed, “I think Marco’s gonna break up with me. Ashley just texted me that he was with another girl at the theater tonight.”

“Oh, baby. I’m so sorry,” cooed Jocelyn. “Are you worried that he’s leaving because of your past?”

“You mean, me being born a boy? No. I think it’s because I… I wouldn’t…”

“…You wouldn’t give him a blow job?”

“MOM!... Yeah. Something like that.”

“Haley. You deserve better than a guy who would drop you just because you won’t ‘put out’. I’m proud of you for standing your ground there.”

“Mom, I don’t think I’ll ever find the right guy. I don’t know if guys like Dad exist anymore. I hear all the things you say about him, and they’re all true. You are so lucky.”

“Oh honey. At sixteen, every thing seems so earth-shatteringly important and final. You know I didn’t find love until I was thirty-three. And you’re right, your Dad is all those things I say… and part of the reason he is, is because I say them.”

“Huh?”

“Haley, your Dad lives and dies with the words told to him. That’s why I’m so insistent that you and Jake speak only with respect to him. When I tell him how good he is, it gives him the strength to actually be that good. That’s why I do so every day, whether I feel like it or not. Words of caring and affirmation are his ‘love language’ — how I can best show my love to him. And you know what? When I take care of that need for him, he more than takes care of my needs.”

“So… the best way for me to fall in love is to talk to guys about how good they are?”

“Um, no. But it may be a way you can keep a guy who you find is ‘the one’. But everyone has a different love language. Don’t worry about what to do to attract a boyfriend. Focus on being loving, giving, kind, and compassionate — and happy, in spite of not having a steady. You should attract more boys — quality ones — than sugar does ants.”

~o~O~o~

Jake stomped over to his father and plopped on the chair next to him, arms folded, scowling-faced. Alan had seen this before.

“What’s gotten under your skin, sport?”

“Dad… WHY didn’t you take that cabin from Grandpa Seamus? We could ‘a gone ice fishing, and wolf killin’, like you and Mom did!”

“Jake… your Mom almost died in that cabin, twice. No thanks, that’s a memory I won’t return to. But… now that we have our own scout troop, I see no reason why we can’t arrange a winter ice fishing trip; maybe even a survival course, when you’re older.”

“REALLY? Cool! When do we leave?”

“Whoa there, young Jeremiah Johnson! First things first. How are you on your knots?”

“Oh. Um… I need lots more practice.”

“First things first. Get your knots down.”

~o~O~o~

Haley was sitting alone, still upset about Marco. Mom sure is encouraging ... but I don't think she knows how kids are, or how dating is, right now in the modern world.

"Hey there, lil' sis" two voices rang in unison.

"Alexis! Aleisha! I thought you guys had already left!"

"Nope," smiled Aleisha. "We kinda heard that our young step-sister was being mistreated by a boy, so we went into 'crisis recovery' mode."

"Boys are our specialty. We've both been through good and bad relationships. You want to talk about it? We got an extra large caramel frozen latte; your favorite, right? And three straws," chirped Alexis.

Haley's spirits started to rise a little. "That ... sounds exactly like what I need right now."

~o~O~o~

“Jocelyn, Alan,” announced Phoebe Sarkisian, “with your permission, I’m going to have Seamus and Katie over for a few days, during the week I’m taking care of Haley and Jake. That way they can start a grandparent — grandchild relationship together. It was Katie’s idea.”

The anniversary couple looked at each other with surprise. “Sure. Both the kids have been eager, yet nervous, about getting to know them,” said Jocelyn.

“I’ll be there to make sure it goes smoothly. There’s plenty of room in the old house for all of us.”

“We’ll run it by Jake and Haley, but I’m betting there will be no problem. Mom — thanks. You’re my favorite mother, did you know that?” Alan smiled the famous Sarkisian smile.

“You only say that because you like my stuffed grape leaves and souvlaki, you little rascal,” Phoebe beamed back.

~o~O~o~

Towards the end of the evening, when most of the guests had left, Alan and Jocelyn talked with their kids before leaving them with Seamus, Katie and Phoebe.

“Jake, you behave at Grandma’s, OK? We’ll be back in seven days.”

“Okaaay, Mom.”

“Jake, now, I mean it! Obey each of your grandparents, or there will be punishment when we get back!”

“Like, I’ll have ta chop firewood?” Jake would love that. Anything outdoors.

“No. I was thinking more along the lines of… book reports.”

“WHAT? Like, on top of my school stuff?”

“Yes. And if it’s not good, you’ll read another, and do another report, until it’s satisfactory.”

“No way! I promise I’ll be good!”

“We’ll see. I love you, my little man.”

Five feet away:

“Haley, you honor your grandparents like you honor us, got it?”

“Yea, Dad. No problem.”

“No talking back, and pay attention to them; don’t be rude and read your texts when they’re talking to you.”

“I don’t do that anyway.”

“Honey… yes you do.”

“Dad, that’s just the way girls my age are.”

“I know. That’s why I’ve been considering dropping texting from your phone plan.”

“WHA… no. You wouldn’t!”

“I will. Unless your grandparents say that you obeyed them and always — ALWAYS — listened to them when they talked to you.”

“Dad… maybe we better put up my phone while you’re gone. I don’t think I’m strong enough.”

“Not a bad idea, kiddo. Remember I love you so much, okay?”

~o~O~o~

Alan and Jocelyn finally got back up to their suite at the Marriott.

“Oh GOD, Alan! What a dream of a day!”

“It was pretty great, wasn’t it? Your dad did so well in his speech.”

“You mean Daddy.” She sighed. “He let me call him Daddy.” She took off her dress.

“Wow. Big step for him. Big dream come true for you, huh?” He untied his shoes.

“Alan, of all the big sales awards you’ve won, of all the accounts you’ve landed, winning my father over is the most impressive — and most meaningful to me — job you’ve ever done,” as she removed her makeup.

“You are the key to my success. Wherever I go, whatever I do, I hear your voice encouraging me, reminding me of what I’ve done, of who I can be, and that you love me no matter what. Do you know that your words are still like concentrated life to me?”

“Well for my part, I still find myself amazed at the man who loved me when all others rejected me… and who risked his life for mine,” she yelled from the bathroom.

“Honey, face it. We were made for each other.” He took off his cummerbund and tie, and started to unbutton his shirt.

She walked back in to the bedroom in the white bathrobe supplied by the hotel. “If we’re going to make it on the flight to Cancun in the morning, we better get to sleep.”

“Aw,” he replied. “I know we’re both tired, but I was still kinda hoping…”

“See, that’s the problem, Alan. Today was so exciting for me I won’t be able to get to sleep. Not without something to… relax me…” she slid the bathrobe off, showing all of her glorious post-op womanhood, wearing nothing but a little perfume. “Come to bed with me, my Eagle Scout hero. Let’s start a fire.”

This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of these characters to any actual person living or dead is coincidental.

Thanks to Sephrena Lynn Miller for a quick first read!

Thanks to the "BCTS Closeteers" - especially Jana - for help with the pic!

If you've gotten this far, please leave a comment! (Don't make me reach through the screen and tweak your nose!)

Thanks for reading! **Sigh**