The Past in Colorado

"Uh oh," he muttered.

"Yeah, 'uh oh' is right, mister."

"One of 'em find it?" he asked.

I nodded. "Sammy did, a little while before you got home. She was looking for a book and found it inside."

Stephen rubbed his fingers against his forehead and sighed again.

"It's ok," I said. "I explained it to her. She promised not to say anything about it."

He glanced up and asked what I told her. I gave him the story and he listened intently, so as to make sure we were on the same sheet of music, if the subject ever arose again. He held a hand to his chin and nodded, as he listened and stared at the picture. Stephen hated not being truthful with them, as much as myself.

He slowly wagged his head. "Ok," he said.

I went to take the picture from him, but he pulled it back.

"Mine," he said defiantly. Then he held it out, and we both gazed down at it. He smiled and shook his head.

"What?" I asked.

"You."

"What about me?"

He put his arm around me, hugging me closer. "You haven't changed," he said.

I rolled my eyes. "Oh, please," I muttered. "I'm 38. I've changed a little."

Stephen chuckled, replying, "Nah... You're still the beautiful redheaded girl I fell in love with."

I leaned closer and gave him a wicked smile. "Oh yeah?" I said, as I pressed my lips to his.

We kissed for a few minutes, and his hand slowly moved to my breast. As I giggled and tried to shrink away, he said, "You still have a nice figure."

I laughed, replying, "Yeah, for being the mother of four, you mean." But he shook his head.

"No," he said. "You still look just as beautiful."

I blushed and looked away, patting his back.

***

A few months later, I accompanied our sons on a trip to a local pool with their Boy Scout troop, where they were working on their Lifesaving merit badge. When I came out of the locker room into the pool area, the Scouts, including their adult leaders, were all staring at me in my red bikini. Sitting on the edge of the pool and dangling my legs in the water, now and then I would notice a young man, or an older one for that matter, looking in my direction. I didn't put too much consideration into it until the drive home. My youngest son, Steve, was telling me how all their friends had been talking about me and couldn't keep their eyes off me the whole time. I pursed my lips and blushed, and then he poked his head up from the backseat, saying, "They think you're a hottie, mom." I smirked and told him to knock it off.

"Yeah," said Michael. "Don't be gross."

That night, while Stephen was reading in bed, I slipped under the covers and scooted over to him, hugging his arm.

"Do you think I'm a hottie?" I asked.

He glanced at me from under his reading glasses and smiled, as he turned the page. "Mm hm," he mumbled, giving me a wink.

"You don't think I'm gross?"

He clapped the book shut and laughed. "No!" he exclaimed. "I don't think you're gross. Why?"

I shrugged and reached for his book, tipping it down so I could see the cover. "Whatcha readin'?" I asked.

"Probably something you'd find boring," he replied.

"Yeah, probably."

Then he opened it and picked up where he left off.

"Do you... do you think we're gross?" I asked.

He looked at me again and furled his eyebrows. "Why are you asking me that?" he said.

I shrugged. "Just something the boys said today," I replied.

Stephen knew what it had to be some subtle reminder of who we really were. He leaned down and kissed my forehead.

"No," he said softly. "I don't think we're gross. I love you as much now as I ever did. I think you're very beautiful."

I sat up and carefully took the book from his hands, leaning across him and setting it on the nightstand. Then I crawled off the bed and went to the bedroom door and locked it. He gave me a knowing smile and pulled off his t-shirt, as I walked to the closet and hung up my robe. Naked, I tiptoed over to his side of the bed and pulled back the covers, crawling atop him to straddle his legs, just as I had done so many years ago on a warm summer night in our tent. I reached down for penis and scooted up behind it, holding it against my vagina and rubbing him against my warm flesh. Stephen groaned quietly and lay back, closing his eyes.

"This is nice," I whispered.

He smiled and nodded.

Then I sat up and guided him into me. We both sighed, as his hands reached up for my breasts and gently massaged them. And as I rocked up and down on him, feeling his erection slide in and out of my body, I leaned down to kiss him.

"I love you," I whispered.

Stephen opened his eyes and held my face between his hands.

"I love you, too, sweetheart."

Nine months later, a little redheaded girl was brought into the world. We named her Rebecca, my mother's middle name.

***

My only regret throughout this ordeal has been keeping from our children - all five of them. One time, when the kids were at school and Stephen was at work, I went to the attic and opened the safe with my pictures in it. When I looked at him back then, I saw a different person, someone I hadn't known for almost twenty years. His hair is grayer and he has a few more wrinkles, but he's still as handsome to me as he ever was. As I kneeled on the floor, holding a picture of him and me with my mom, a tear rolled down my cheek. I missed my dad. I touched a finger to his image and whispered his name - "Daddy." These days, it was as foreign to me to call him that, as it was when I first called him Stephen so many years ago. Sometimes it seemed a heavy price to pay.

Once in a while, late at night when the kids were in bed, Stephen and I would take a walk in the cool night air where we could talk about anything without the worry of the kids overhearing. A few times, I called him Dad, but it felt so strange to say it now, and we both felt the awkwardness.

Stephen was my husband of over twenty years, and I've treasured every minute of it. He's never made me cry, never raised his voice to me; we never argue or fight, and he's always gone far and away to make me happy. And when our first child was born, I knew he'd be a wonderful father. I knew from firsthand experience.

The only time I ever see my dad is on those walks, those fleeting moments in time when I catch but a faint glimpse of the person I once knew. It was like looking at photographs of my mom – memories of my parents slowly fading, as time steadily pushed onward.

Feeling blue, I carefully returned the pictures to their plastic bag, closed the safe, and slowly trudged downstairs. Just as I stepped into the living room, three of our children came bounding into the house, home from school. Michael and Steve were in college now, and Sammy would be on her way in a year. Sandra was in high school, and little Becca was in elementary school.

Sammy was talking on her cell phone, as she came in, and gave me a quick wink and smile, walking straight to her bedroom, laughing and chatting with some friend. Sandra stepped over and gave me a hug, and then disappeared into the kitchen. They were both cheerleaders, but only Sammy knew I had been one in high school, a secret she always kept to herself. Then Becca trotted into the house, dropping her little book bag on the living room floor, and came up to me holding a picture.

"I drew this for you and Daddy today," she said, holding it up for me to see. I kneeled down in front of her and smiled.

"Aw, that's beautiful. Is that for me to keep?"

Her bright blue eyes sparkled and her little pigtails wiggled, as she smiled and nodded gleefully. I carefully took her picture in my hands and leaned over to kiss her on the cheek.

"Thank you, precious," I said. "It's the bestest picture ever." And then I held it to my chest and grinned. Becca smiled and slapped her arms to her sides.

"Can I have a snack?" she asked.

On the verge of tears, my lips drew into a broad smile, as I chuckled and nodded happily.

"Sure, sweet pea."

I took her tiny hand in mine and together we went to the kitchen to get her a banana.

***

That night, after Stephen and I made love, I showed him the picture. On a large piece of yellow construction paper was a crayon drawing of her standing between us, as we stood on either side holding her hands.

The pictures from my past were now replaced by those of the present.

Over the years, I've thought so much about our relationship, how I justified it in my mind then. The simple answer, the only answer in fact, was that it just felt right. I could feel it in my heart; a natural instinct telling me it was ok. If you asked me how it is I could fall in love with my father, the only way I can explain it is, you might as well ask me why blue is my favorite color. I don't know. It just is.