Karen

Chapter 1: Karen

She was born to parents of Norwegian descent at the dawn of the atomic age. Karen Johnson helped her father work the family farm from the moment she could walk, carrying tools, walking the beans, and when she was older, stacking bales of hay. She was strong but never a tomboy, pretty but never vain, humble, good-natured, and funny.

Karen was a promising student, but farm life and the rigors of the bus schedule meant no extracurricular activities and no after-school social life. In the 1960s it was common for young people to smoke, and Karen was cajoled into trying it. She took to it easily, too easily, and found herself reluctantly buying packs, unable to quit.

The statuesque blonde wore dresses in school. Not the miniskirts or high-hemmed dresses popular for the time. She was a throwback to a decade before with knee-length dresses and sensible shoes. If her height, perfect skin, and strength didn't shake a boy's confidence, her careless elegance certainly would.

In her senior year, just after she turned eighteen, a young man named Jake Cutler finally asked Karen out on her first date. He was tall, dark-haired, and played football and basketball. She was over the moon at his invitation and kibitzed with her girlfriends to get all the gossip on the young man. Other than the pro forma advice 'be careful', there were no warnings about Jake from her peers.

Jake had a pickup truck, which made transportation a non-issue for the two. He would pick her up at the farm, take her on a date, and return her to her parents at a reasonable hour. They did ice cream, bowling, the county fair, and movies. She was inexperienced in love and fell too far and fast for Jake. She reluctantly agreed when he suggested a drive-in movie and further suggested spending the double feature under the tarp in his truck. That decision would change her life.

Once Jake had put that notch in his bedpost, his interest in Karen abated. He stopped calling and only casually interacted with her at school. She was brokenhearted. A month later she was pregnant.

The practical Norwegians and the parents of young Jake worked out the details for their children's future. Karen should not show outward signs of pregnancy if she wore appropriate attire between now and graduation day. But if word leaked out, she would be expelled. A wedding would be held in Karen's grandmother's garden thereafter, and the two, soon to be three, will make their way in the world.

It was an imperfect solution to an imperfect situation, but it was also common for the times. Unfortunately, spousal abuse, abandonment, and alcohol and drug abuse were also common. The new Cutler family would be sailing into rough waters.

Chapter 2: James

James Cameron Cutler was born in the winter of 1964 to two kids barely out of high school. Karen had turned nineteen only weeks before the birth of her first child. Her baby was healthy, stocky like his mother and her parents, and the joy of Karen's life. Jake Cutler barely acknowledged the child's arrival.

"I didn't want to marry you," he said, "I didn't want a kid, and I certainly didn't want to live in this dump working this shitty job."

Karen failed to engage her husband in helping him find joy and purpose in his new life. Jake became bitter, staying out late drinking and chasing women. Karen, for her part, refused him in bed. "I already have one child you don't want!" She cried. "Why would I want another?"

Jake stuck to verbal attacks, bullying his new wife. He knew that in any physical confrontation, Karen would likely kick his ass.

In John's formative years, he received love and attention from his mother and nothing but bile and hate from his father. Jake shouted at the child and told him he was bad, unwanted, unloved, evil, stupid, fat, and ugly, not stopping the harangue until the child was in tears, unable to hear more. Karen's attempts to intercede only caused more stress, sending the child into hysterics and bringing a smile to her worthless husband.

Just as things became intolerable, Jake announced that he was leaving, divorcing Karen, and marrying a neighbor's wife, destroying two marriages. Karen moved back in with her parents and hoped that John would finally be given an environment where he could find love and peace. But the die had been cast.

I met John at our first practice in Little League a few years later. He was funny, a husky kid, and a good third baseman. We connected, playing catch, talking, laughing, and promising to meet the next day. John and his mom Karen lived in a small house on the edge of town. I was seven or eight years old and had never ridden my bike that far, so it took some convincing for Mom to let me visit on my own. I carried a note from my mom, and Karen was to call to confirm I'd arrived.

We became good friends, but his behavior was a mystery to me sometimes. He would fly into a rage over trivial things, become sad and uncommunicative, take stupid risks, or start fights without warning. Mom said he was 'troubled', but I didn't know what that meant. But he was my friend, and I stuck by him.

As we got older, his behavior became more erratic and more dangerous. I found myself playing the role of minder rather than friend, more interested in keeping him out of trouble than having fun. I tried to be there for him, and his mom Karen tried everything to tame the beast he'd become, but his father's damage to him was complete.

I became close to Karen. We had both taken the same mission: try to save this lost soul. She thanked me for looking after him and begged me to accompany him when he decided at the last minute to do something. For years we did all we could, but one night after high school graduation, John was found dead face down in a pond. The police claimed it was a drug deal gone wrong or a gang-related shooting, but it was probably neither. John likely started a fight he couldn't finish. It was bound to happen eventually.

Chapter 3: Confession

Karen sat alone at the funeral, and my family and I sat nearby. Though the loss had hollowed her out, she was still beautiful, a young woman who had sustained an unimaginable loss. I wanted to talk to her, but my Mom said sometimes people need time to process their grief and that I should give her that time.

Weeks passed, and summer was coming to a close. I was to leave for college in a few days when I finally screwed up the courage to see her. I knocked on her door and waited. When I was about to leave, she appeared in the doorway with a small smile. I stepped through the door, and she hugged me, tears flowing.

"I was afraid I'd never see you again," she said. "Come in, Tom. I'm sorry the house is a mess. I've not been able to make myself clean."

The house was cluttered and dusty but was otherwise in good order. I sat next to her on the loveseat.

"I'm so sorry Mrs. Cutler," I said. "I did everything I could. I didn't know he was going out that night."

She reached for my hand. "You can't blame yourself," she said. "You spent years watching my son's back, keeping him out of trouble, and risking yourself in the process. There's nothing more you could have done."

We were quiet for a moment, then I said, "Mrs. Cutler--"

"Please call me Karen. You're not a child anymore. You're a man. I think you've been a man for a long time trying to keep my son safe in a man's world."

"I'm remembering all the times he made me laugh and made me proud of him. I'm trying to forget the other stuff," I said.

"You were a good friend," she said. "Why you did it all those years, I'll never know," she said.

I looked down, afraid to make eye contact. "I didn't do it for John," I said. "I did it for you." Only then did I look at her.

Karen shook her head. "I don't understand."

I turned to face her. "I did all that with John, protecting him, steering him from trouble, de-escalating fights, all of it, but I didn't do it for him. I did it for you. You and I were a team. We tried to save him together. It was something neither of us could do alone. Karen, you are such an amazing person, full of love and hope, and that bastard of a husband poisoned your child. He poisoned John's mind. It would have been less cruel if he'd fed him arsenic."

"I don't know what to say," she said.

"I'm so sorry John is gone, but I'm not sorry for a moment that we tried to save him. You deserve to have someone in your life who cares for you, helps you, and does what you can't. I was that person for years and wouldn't trade a moment of it."

"I thought you were John's friend and did all those things for him," she said.

"I was, and I did," I said. "But that's only part of the story. That's the part you could see. But the rest of the story is me working hard to make your life better, to let you worry less about John, to know that he's with a friend who cares and will protect him. It was a gift I could give to you."

She released my hand and sat back. "What are you saying?"

I took a deep breath. "You are an amazing woman, beautiful, smart, strong, sweet, and someone I've admired for years. You're right. I've changed. And I've come to see you in a different light. I care for you, Karen, not as my friend's mom, but as a person, as a woman. I'm hoping you can see me differently, too. If not today, then someday."

"No," she said.

I was taken aback but said nothing.

"No!" She screamed. "Get out of my house! Don't come back! Leave! Now!"

I stood, and she chased me to the door, slamming it when I passed through it.

Chapter 4: Years Later

I spent four years at the university before returning home. A few firms in a nearby big city interested me, and one, in particular, interviewed me not long after graduation. As it happened, there was a new restaurant in my hometown, and the final phase of the interview was dinner there.

Three of us in suits and ties ate appetizers, sipped drinks, and talked about the role. We had arrived at the point where we began discussing money when one of the fellows stopped the conversation and said, "There's a woman over there, and she keeps staring at you. Do you know her?"

Standing in the waiting area, wearing a long coat and gloves, Karen was looking in my direction. When we locked eyes, I saw that she had begun crying. She tried to turn away but couldn't, her eyes on me.

"Gentlemen," I said, "I'm so sorry, but that's someone I know very well, and she's hurting. I need to see what's wrong."

The VP was nonplussed. "We're not done with our discussion," he said.

"I just need a moment--"

"If you leave the table now, there's no deal," the VP said.

I really wanted the job. Since we got to the salary negotiation, the job was mine if I accepted. But I couldn't sit there and watch Karen hurting or walk away. I did something uncharacteristic for me: I pushed back.

"There are things in this world more important than money: family, integrity, commitment, friendship. Do any of these ring a bell?" I stood and gathered my coat.

The other man, my new boss if I got the job, said, "There's a twenty thousand dollar bonus if you sit down and finish this." Then he smiled, "There'll be other women, let her go."

I leaned down for effect. "Not for all the tea in China. I'll be back in a moment. I'll understand if you're not here when I come back."

The restaurant was crowded, and I jostled more than one patron trying to reach her. She was just as I remembered her: tall, strong, and beautiful. Her hair had been long when we last saw each other--when she threw me out of her house, but now it was cut short, framing her beautiful face and still as blonde as the day I met her. I held her by the arms at the shoulder when we were face-to-face.

"Karen, are you alright? It's so good to see you. What a surprise," I said.

She still had a tear or two in her eyes when she replied, "I heard you were in town. Your folks said you were here meeting some people."

I angled my head. "That's them over there. Job interview. I'm doing great, but they're blowing it."

She laughed. "A lot of hutzpah for a young buck."

"Not as young as you think," I said.

"I'm sorry!" She blurted it out, then looked down. "I'm sorry I threw you out of my house, and I'm sorry I yelled at you, and I'm sorry for everything."

I drew her into a hug and patted her back. "I was out of line. My timing was horrible. You'd just lost your son. You didn't need to hear about me wanting you. I'm sorry, too."

When I broke the hug and looked at her, she said, "Did you mean it? Did you really feel that way?" Then, almost in a whisper, "Do you still feel that way?"

I smiled. "Now more than ever. It is so good to see you. Can I get you a drink? There's a bar right there. Can you stay?"

"Don't you have an interview to get back to?" She said.

I looked over to the table and saw it empty. My interview was apparently over.

"Looks like my dates ditched me," I said. "Want a drink?"

She smiled, "Sure."

We went to the bar and found a table for two. The server appeared, and Karen said, "Gin and tonic."

"Two, please," I added.

We were quiet for a moment. I finally said, "I've missed you. I've been away four years, but I never stopped thinking about you."

"I'm sure you had plenty of pretty girls in college," she said, adding a small wink.

Our drinks arrived, and I dropped a twenty-dollar bill on the table.

"Yes," I said, "but none held my interest. This woman I knew set the bar pretty high, and I'm not one to compromise."

Finally, she gave me a genuine smile. I felt myself relax.

"I've done a lot of thinking," she said. "What you did for my son was extraordinary. You would have been the best friend that ever lived if you'd done it only for him. But to do it for me? I don't think I fully processed what you said for a few days. I couldn't believe it. No man has done anything like that for me."

We sipped our drinks, and she placed her hand on the table. I smiled and took it, squeezing it gently, remembering those moments on the loveseat four years ago when my ill-conceived confession derailed everything.

"I did it all for you, Karen. I also sent those two corporate assholes packing because I saw you standing there and hurting. You are what's important to me. I'm not a kid anymore. This is not some adolescent fascination. I think I might be in love with you. But I would understand if you couldn't love me, if you thought the silly age difference was a problem, or if I'm just not what you're looking for. But I'm here now if you want to talk."

I stared at my drink, wondering if I'd gone too far again. Did I just throw away a job and wreck whatever chance I had with Karen all in one night?

"I would like to talk," she said. "Maybe we could go to my place?"

Chapter 5: Talking

I followed her to the edge of town and the small house that I knew so well. We walked to the front door and slipped in. There had been a few changes, but it looked familiar. It was spotlessly clean again, just as it was years ago. She removed her coat and pulled a cigarette from her pack.

"Sorry," she said.

"It's fine," I replied.

Standing in the dining room light, I saw that farm girl, the blonde that intimidated all the boys, and the gentle curves of a beautiful woman. She absentmindedly smoked for a few moments until she must have realized I was standing there, waiting.

"Oh my god," she said, "I was lost in thought. Please, sit in the front room. Can I get you something to drink?"

"What are you having?" I asked.

"Screwdriver, I think," she said.

"Two," I replied, smiling.

She returned with two drinks and sat next to me on the loveseat.

"Thank you," I said and took a sip.

We sat for a few minutes while she looked increasingly flustered.

"Karen?" I said.

"Yes?"

"I've told you how I feel about you. I've felt this way for a long time. And now that I'm with you again, I'm even more sure. But that's just one side of things. You don't owe me an answer. You don't owe me anything. But I'm here, and I'm listening," I said.

"I've not thought about John for a long time," she said. "Does that make me a bad mother?"

I softened. "No! Of course not," I said. "You loved John with all your heart. You grieved. You kept living. It's natural, and it's what John would have wanted."

She nodded. Then she said, "I've not thought of John, but I've thought of you, what you did, and what you said. After a lot of thought, I realized that I would have accepted everything if you had been a thirty-year-old man, not an eighteen-year-old. I don't know why I reacted as I did."

"What about a twenty-three-year-old man? Does that make a difference?" I said it softly, trying to keep the conversation going, not paint her into a corner.

She looked at me near tears again. "But could a young man want a forty-one-year-old woman?"

I took her glass and placed the two drinks on the coffee table.

Then I held her face gently and kissed her softly. "This man wants you," I said.

Her arms went around my neck, and we began kissing, her hands in my hair, then loosening my tie. I broke the kiss and said, "Are you sure?"

"I've never been more sure of anything," she said.

I stood, and she helped me shuck off my coat, my tie, and my shirt. She paused, then turned the lights down before undoing my belt and unhooking my trousers. She kissed me before finding the zipper and slowly pulling it down. I helped a little getting the trousers to the floor.

"Shoes," I said.

She laughed and kneeled before me, untying my dress shoes and helping me step out of my suit pants. Then she glanced up at the bulge in my boxers. She leaned forward, rubbing her cheek on my growing erection, lavishing it. When she stood again, she kissed me and took my hand, leading me to the bedroom.

She motioned for me to sit on the bed. I was clad only in my boxers and a T-shirt. She stood before me and began removing her dress. She moved slowly, performing a strip tease, seeing the effect she was having on me, carefully stepping out of the dress and hanging it over a chair. Then she reached behind her back and unhooked her bra. The straps traveled down her arms while she held the cups in place. She watched my reaction when she revealed her breasts to me.

They were perfect for her. Perhaps they would have been too big on another woman but not on her. My hard-on now struggled against the boxers, and I might have drooled a bit. I know my mouth was hanging open like a doofus. She laughed and took her index finger and pulled my jaw up.

I stood again, stripped off my T-shirt, and held her close, her breasts pressing into me. That next kiss, years in the making, warmed me. She again kneeled before me, slipping my boxers to the floor. My cock stood straight out nearly touching her face. She grasped it, looked at it for a moment, then closed her eyes and sealed her lips around it. I threw my head back and groaned. Her pace increased, but before I was close to cuming she slowed and pulled off.

She slipped her panties to the floor and stood before me naked. She hadn't planned on meeting me tonight. She'd not shaved, wore what my friends would have called 'granny panties', and hadn't dressed especially sexy. But none of that was necessary. I wasn't there for her clothes; I was there for her.

She pulled back the covers and reached for the lamp.

"Please," I said. "Leave the light on."

"Are you sure?"

"My god, Karen, yes, I'm sure," I said.

She climbed into bed and beckoned me. I crawled in, kissing her, carefully climbing on top of her.

"I don't have protection," I said when the rational part of my brain worked for a moment. "Should we wait?"

She pulled me in for another kiss and said, "I can't have more children. It's alright. Please. Make love to me. I've waited so long for you."

"Help me in," I said.