I'll Be There For You

"Mom, I heard those exact same words in the kitchen yesterday."

"C'mon, Sage. Now you're imagining things."

"How do you explain Annabelle telling me she heard her father tell her the same thing?"

"She heard you tell someone. Maybe she didn't realize she heard it. But she must have heard it somewhere."

I shook my head. "Mom, I didn't mention hearing Malcolm to her yesterday. I never told anyone Malcolm spoke to me the morning he died. Nobody. Not you or Dad. Not Sienna. None of my girlfriends. I didn't mention it to the hospital staff. I didn't tell Malcolm's parents. I certainly wouldn't have told Annabelle. No one would have believed me. I'm not sure I believed it before this morning."

My mother shook her head. "Sage, I'm going to tell you something I never thought I'd ever say to either of my daughters."

"What's that?"

"You need to get laid."

I laughed uneasily. "That's beside the point. Can you explain how Annabelle heard the same words I heard that morning and again yesterday?"

Mom remained silent. She couldn't explain it. I knew she couldn't. I couldn't, either.

It was a couple weeks before I got my car back. Mrs. Petridis, looking much older and quite feeble, returned home with live-in help about a month after that. I stopped in to see her a couple days after she got settled in. Her children took away her driver's license at her doctor's recommendation. A realtor's "For Sale" sign went up when she moved into an assisted living facility a few weeks later. Her house sold after a couple months, and the Parks family moved in.

For the most part, everything was normal. Over the next months, some things happened that I couldn't explain. I was filling my watering can in the side yard when Annabelle let loose a scream that made my blood run cold. It scared the hell out of me. I dropped the can and ran into the backyard to find her shaking her left hand and crying. She'd been stung by a yellow jacket. I hurried to the side yard to turn off the faucet before I took her inside to administer a little first aid. The faucet was already off. We stayed inside while I watched Annabelle for a bit. She showed no signs of a bad reaction to the sting, just a little welt at the site. We went back outside after Tyler woke from his nap.

I went back to the side yard to continue my watering. When I tried to turn on the faucet, I couldn't budge it. I had to go to the garage to get pliers to loosen the knob. Malcolm had a habit of tightening outside faucets so tightly I couldn't open them. Maybe I turned it off and an adrenalin rush gave me an extra boost of strength. But I didn't remember turning it off.

There were other little incidents. I still sometimes felt like I wasn't alone after the kids went to bed. The TV channel might inexplicably change when I went to get something to drink or a snack. Several times, I watched a still toddling Tyler get up after falling. Like someone had picked him up and set him on his feet. When I reviewed my investments, I'd find notations of sell in what looked like Malcolm's handwriting next to the list of stocks I owned. Or buy on the research material for those I was considering. Invariably, the "advice" was spot on, so I started following it, much to my benefit.

But two incidents really shook me up. One in the car and the second at home on a Christmas Day.

I had the kids in the car and was going to my parent's house. The traffic light turned green as I approached the intersection where Malcolm had his accident, though I was going straight, and he'd have been turning into the direction I was coming from. The brakes suddenly locked up and the car came to a screeching halt as I held onto the steering wheel for dear life. The drivers behind me laid into their horns. But the blaring stopped almost immediately. A car, closely followed by a police car, ran through the intersection from my left, just missing my front end. I got my shoulder rub, kiss on the cheek, and over the fading police siren, I heard Malcolm whisper, "I'll be there for you."

To make matters worse, barely a second later, Annabelle said, "Thank you, Daddy." When I looked back at her in disbelief, she had her nose in her book. She'd said it like it was no big deal. Like she might thank her father for handing her a tissue after she sneezed.

I held it together to drive the rest of the way to my parent's house. But I was a nervous wreck for the rest of the day. My father had to drive us home.

The incident on Christmas Day shook up the adults that witnessed it. The kids didn't forget it, either.

Dinner was just about ready. It was a typical holiday family dinner. Too much food and total pandemonium. All the kids were wound up, except for ten-month-old Terry, my cousin's youngest. He was behaving like a typical rugrat. He was a bright and cheerful little boy, with the kind of curiosity that made even the most mundane item the object of intense fascination. Terry was sitting in front of the fireplace playing with his older brother's new basketball, which was still in its cardboard packaging. Which means he was whacking the hell out of it much like he did his highchair tray when he was being fed and trying to gnaw on the ball. The rest of the kids, Sienna's, our cousin Abbie's daughter and other son, and mine were also in the den playing.

The adults were scurrying between the kitchen and the dining room getting the food on the table or completing last-minute kitchen tasks. Suddenly, Terry let out a loud shriek followed by peals of laughter. Wondering what he was so excited about, Sienna, Jeff, Abbie, and I all looked up. Terry was floating across the room, moving toward us, laughing and squirming like he was being tickled. When Terry was within arm's reach of Abbie, she dropped the basket of rolls she was holding, snatched her son out of thin air, and clutched him to her chest in terror. All the kids came running toward us, amazed and laughing, wanting Abbie to float them, like Terry.

A moment later, everyone's attention was drawn back to the den. Some of the fireplace stones and half of the stone mantle came crashing down and came to rest right where Terry had been playing. My mother came running out of the kitchen to see what the loud crash was, fearing the kids had done something. I didn't tell her what we had just witnessed. Jeff and Sienna did, though. Abbie was speechless and ready to herd her kids out the door. Once again, Mom was skeptical. But Sienna, Jeff, and Abbie now put credence to my stories about the odd occurrences in my life.

Malcolm didn't speak to me that day. I'm not sure why. I expect I'll never know.

I'd only heard Malcolm's voice those three times. Eventually, I stopped attributing every incident I couldn't explain to the supernatural. But odd little things still happened. Like the TV channel changes. The investment "advice". Or finding the kid's toys, scattered around the den when I went to bed, all put away when I got up the next morning. I dismissed it as a memory lapse on my part due to exhaustion. Or something the kids did on their own. But honestly, I couldn't buy my six and three-year-olds picking up after themselves unless I supervised.

It was about three years before I agreed to go on a date. Which is not to say I completely abandoned my sexual needs. It took a while, but one day after work found me in an adult store where I splurged on an assortment of devices to provide some much-needed late-night frustration relief. In reality, I probably spent far more than I needed to. Especially since I had no experience with any of the toys I bought. There was a pleasant and helpful lady clerk that answered my questions, questions I was too embarrassed to actually ask, and guided me through selecting items I might "like". She even kindly offered to help me learn how to make best use of my new toys after she got off work. Despite the e-e-e-ew factor, I just politely declined her offer.

My first date didn't go well. Not because he wasn't nice or considerate; he seemed both. But because it didn't take long to realize something about him was off. He was evasive. As in he didn't talk about himself at all. I'd never dated anyone that wouldn't talk about himself. I already knew I'd tell him I wasn't interested in a second date before we finished our main course. I didn't want dessert; I just wanted to skedaddle. But he ordered one. On the way out of the restaurant, he was looking at me instead of watching where he was going. When he turned away, he walked right into the edge of the door an incoming patron had opened while he wasn't looking. He hit it far harder than was good for him. Harder than I thought possible. So hard he bloodied and broke his nose and soon had a lump growing on his forehead.

I stuck around long enough to make sure he didn't have a concussion and was okay to drive. I couldn't bring myself to tell him there'd be no second date before I left. Considering his likely embarrassment, I didn't want to further injure his ego. I decided to wait until he called. If he called. But I was barely out of the parking lot before I started giggling. That was when I heard Malcolm again. "I'll be there for you," was in my ear for the first time since the near accident at the intersection where he'd had his. I only got a brief chill when I heard his voice. It unnerved me. But it also gave me a strange sense of satisfaction.

It was about two weeks before my first date called to ask me out a second time. By then, I'd learned why he was evasive. He was married. Still with his wife and kids. As soon as I heard his voice, I said "Fuck off asshole," as harshly as I could and hung up. Regrettably, Annabelle heard me, and I had to address Mom's use of "bad words" with her.

Over the next couple years, I dated sporadically. None worked out. Over time, I jokingly categorized them when talking to Sienna, my twin sister. I referred to them as losers and duds.

I met Chris after one of my three-times-a-week, weather permitting, runs in a park near work. He was gorgeous. Six-foot-one, and all slender, lean muscle. A full head of thick, stylish, dark brown hair and deep-set sapphire blue eyes. The world around him lit up when he smiled. But what impressed me most was a humble, soft-spoken demeanor. He wasn't cocky. He didn't patronize me. And he didn't hit on me. He was just friendly and pleasant. We crossed paths several times over the next few weeks. I came to like him enough that, once I knew he was single, I asked if he'd like to exchange phone numbers.

It only took him a week to call. I suggested meeting at a coffee shop across town from home. Our first date, if you want to call coffee together a date, was nice. He was easy to talk to. He actually blushed when I told him he looked nice when he wasn't hot and sweaty. We met for coffee three times before going on a formal date.

Chris and I had dinner together several times before I began to think I might finally have found a man I liked enough to sleep with. I enjoyed his company. He treated me well. He held my hand when he walked me to my car after our second dinner. His kisses at the end of the next first few dates were magical. Gentle and affectionate. No thrusting of his tongue or unnecessary force behind them. It wasn't until our fourth date that he held me close. I rested my head against his shoulder and basked in the sensual pleasure of just being held. He took no liberties. His hands stayed on my hips at my waist. Or the small of my back when he gave me a gentle squeeze when I told him I had to go. He didn't have an erection. I felt he just liked holding me as much as I enjoyed being held.

It was after I went for a bicycle ride with him that I decided to sleep with him. The problem I had was how to spend a night with him. By then I'd known Chris for a few months. I felt comfortable and safe with Chris. But I hadn't told him where I lived yet. I wasn't about to entertain him at home. I certainly wasn't about to let my children see me bring a man home. My opportunity came when my parents invited us to their lake house. Much as I wanted to join them, I couldn't get the time off. Corporate VIPs were visiting, and I was required to attend the meetings and several after-work dinners. But my parents still wanted to take Annabelle and Tyler with them.

Work that week kept me busy, and at the hospital so late that it started to look like the week would pass without an opportunity to see Chris. But dinner with the corporate team broke up earlier than expected on Wednesday. I called Chris and asked if he'd like to meet for a drink. He was already sitting at the bar when I arrived.

"Hey, Chris," I said when I sat beside him.

"Hi, this is a nice surprise," he replied as he turned toward me. "Wow, you look amazing!"

I was decked out for dinner at a very expensive restaurant. "I went to dinner at Andalusia with visiting corporate VIPs. It broke up early so I gave you a call."

"I'm glad you did. Can I get you something?"

"What's that?" I asked, indicating the amber-colored liquid in front of him.

"A nice ale I've never had before."

"I'll have one of those." After Chris ordered my ale, I asked, "Do you have plans for Saturday?" It wasn't the smoothest of segues, but I didn't want to stay out much longer. The underwire bra I was wearing was digging in and I badly wanted out of it and into my comfy, nearly threadbare jammies.

"Not so far. You have something in mind?"

"How about I come to your place and cook for you? We can stay in and relax. Maybe watch a movie."

"I'd love that," he replied.

I nursed my ale for about a half hour then took my leave. Chris, always the gentleman, walked me to my car. He texted his address shortly after I got home.

I fretted all day Saturday about my plans for the night. I hadn't been naked in front of anyone except Malcolm since my university days. I still looked damn good when dressed. I didn't feel as confident when standing in front of my mirror after getting out of the shower that morning. I worked hard to stay in shape. I was only three pounds heavier than when I got married. But two children had taken a little toll on my body.

My thick, straight, lustrous and silky smooth, shoulder blade length auburn hair has always turned heads. Childbirth had spread my hips a bit. But it had actually improved my figure. My breasts weren't quite as high and tight anymore, but they hadn't been turned soft and droopy from breast feeding. They could hold up a pencil. But only if I stood perfectly still. My breasts never swelled during my pregnancies. I tried to breast feed Annabelle but just didn't produce enough milk. The poor girl was practically starving when we figured out why she wasn't gaining weight. I escaped developing stretch marks during my first pregnancy. But Tyler, though the smaller of my babies, induced some faint stretch marks on my belly between my hips and navel.

I accepted that what I saw couldn't be changed. I knew that the athletic, blue-eyed, fair-skinned redhead with a few freckles that I saw in the mirror looked much better naked than I imagined some of my girlfriends looked. I finished getting dressed and went about my day. I took another quick shower in the afternoon, fixed my hair, put on a little makeup, and changed into the clothing I planned to wear while I cooked. A little before four thirty, I took a change of clothes out to the car and returned for the food.

Dinner with Chris that night went well. We did a little flirting while we prepped dinner together. He enjoyed the dinner and was suitably complimentary. He even jokingly asked when I could move in.

We retired to the living room once the kitchen was cleaned. Instead of turning on the TV, Chris put on an old vinyl Tony Bennett record and held his hand out to me. I was confused for a moment, but pleased to realize he was asking me to dance. When he held me close, I felt at ease in his arms. We moved as one, my head resting against his shoulder. It felt so nice to be held. And to dance with a man I liked.

When Chris gently lifted my chin and kissed me, my heart rate increased exponentially in anticipation that my hopes for the evening were coming to fruition. Chris broke the kiss and smiled down at me. I felt rejected for a moment when he released me and stepped back. But then I realized the album side had ended. The speakers were hissing and popping as the tone arm rode the groove at the end of the side.

"Don't go anywhere," Chris said softly. "I'll be right back."

When he flipped the record over, I spoke up before he set the tone arm down. "No, don't," I said as I held out my hand this time. When Chris took my hand, I led him down the hallway toward his bedroom, giving him my most sultry and seductive over the shoulder gaze.

As it turned out, the best part of the evening was already over. The petting, exploring, and disrobing were nice. Unfortunately, they didn't last long and were the only enjoyable part of being in the bedroom with Chris. He was finished almost before I knew he'd begun. Then he rolled over and went to sleep. I lay in bed for a while hoping he'd wake up. At least hold me for a bit. I got up and went to the bathroom. When I came back, he was sawing logs.

I got back into bed with him and spooned up against him. His breathing never changed. I rested my forearm on his upper arm and put my hand on his shoulder. He twisted and shrugged like he was trying to shed a bug. I stayed spooned to him but after a moment, he rolled toward me, forcing me to back away. Then he rolled away from me again. Back onto his side. I got out of bed and gathered my clothes. I dressed in the bath then looked in on Chris once more. He hadn't moved. I let myself out and went home.

I never felt so humiliated and used as I did while driving home. Like I didn't matter. I was in my own bed before ten. I brooded for a while but refused to cry myself to sleep.

I slept in the next morning. My cell phone rang a little after nine. I wouldn't have answered but the ringtone told me it was Sienna.

"Hey," I said when I answered.

"Can you talk, Sage?" she whispered. "Are you still at his place?"

"Why are you whispering? He'd have heard the phone and known I answered if I were still with him."

"You're home?" Sienna asked in surprise, her voice returning to normal volume.

My sister is a smart, successful woman and I love her. But her occasional failure to grasp the obvious can be exasperating. "Yeah. Turns out anticipation the best part."

"That sucks. What was the problem? A little too quick to finish?" Sienna asked with a bit of a giggle.

"You could say that. Remember that nature show we giggled over years ago? The one that showed lions mating?"

"You mean the one where the whole mating process lasted about a minute? And then the male dismounted and wandered off?"

"A minute would have seemed an eternity by comparison. He was one and done. After he got off, he rolled over and was asleep almost before I realized he was finished," I grumbled. "He didn't even kiss me before he rolled over."

Sienna giggled again, then apologized. "I'm sorry, Sage. I shouldn't be laughing. I know how long you waited to take this step. I'm sorry it was such a letdown. Did you at least get to enjoy some foreplay?"

"Just enough to get wound up. Which didn't take much since I had already worked myself into a near frenzy."

"So, loser or dud?" Sage asked earnestly.

"I don't know. Loser doesn't fit. He didn't expect to get into my pants after our first date. He never stuck me with a check. Dud doesn't quite fit, either. I really liked him. I never wanted to get away from him as fast as I could. At least not before last night. He seemed so nice, smart, funny, a great kisser. Almost perfect in every way. But he made me feel used last night."