January 16, 2007
LACHLAN

"Come on... tell us the details, Lachie me old mate.  Warm us up..."  Terry Thorne, bastard and all around good bloke.  "Wasn't your first time, was it?"  They fell about laughing at my expense.  Typical puerile stag night caper.

"Sod off!"  I savored a deep drag of the fine cigars we'd passed around in honor of Jack's last night as a free man and blew out with a laugh and a cheeky grin.  "It wasn't mine or hers.... It was her sister's though, mate..." 

"Curry, you dirty dog!"  Jack roared, red-faced and grinning.  "Well done, sir!"  I stood up and bowed.  He raised his glass.  "To fair sisters!"  We drank.  Deeply.  "Lovely thing, sisters...." he mused.  "Reminds me of this pleasant encounter..." With gusto, Jack launched into his tale of the amorous D'aubigne twins. 

I sat back and looked from one ruddy laughing face to the next, thinking how good it felt to be drunk and in good spirits among friends.  It was such a contrast to how things had been.  Funny how such warm camaraderie could bring to mind the rocky road to reunion.

It was at the seaside in France when my luck finally changed.  After dancing so long with disappointment, I almost didn't recognize surprise when I bumped into it.  Or rather, when I watched it playing at the water's edge like a child.  It was a gray afternoon, wet and cold.  I remember thinking it fit my mood as I walked along the craggy shore.  I was a bit blue.  I missed my boys.  Despite the weather, they would have loved the place.  They were at that age where the seaside holds infinite possibilities for young boys who like to poke their curious dirty fingers into every rocky cranny and murky tide pool. 

The last year had been hard for all of us.  And by us, I mean my family- my boys and me.  I didn't count their mum among that number any longer, even though we were still technically married.  My boys were still small enough to need the illusion, to need the same house, the same face tucking them in at night and taking care of their scraped knees.  And so, despite the unpleasant memories, I kept the bloody overpriced mansion she'd wanted as well as the pretense.

It was rough at first.  For her as well, though you'll excuse me if my heart didn't bleed too much.  It was already leaking like a sieve for my boys..... and for myself, too.  I'm not too proud to admit it.  Trust.  Security.  Safety.  For me, these things were shattered beyond repair.  Jesus.  Systematically lying to me for years.  How the flaming hell did she think I would take the news?  Pretend her infidelity hadn't eviscerated and emasculated me?  Toss over my sense of self-worth as a man and take her back?  Go on as if it was all just some bad dream?  Maybe pop out a few more kids in some pathetic attempt to glue together our unraveling marriage?  Not bloody likely.  I wouldn't dare bring another innocent into the train wreck that was my life.  That my boys were in the thick it of it all was bad enough.

I was hurt and bitter, but for all of that, I did try when I was in residence.  Oh, I never touched her again.  Not once after I found out what she'd done, but we got on well enough, I suppose.... after some pretty rough patches there in the beginning.  I'd have preferred a frosty reception to what I got from her at first.  This mopey little cowed shadow, scurrying from my sight, like I was the big bad wolf and she the innocently wronged party. 

Fucking women!  Did she think that 'poor me' act was going to make me feel guilty?  Or maybe she wanted me to feel pity?  I didn't.  She'd made her choice.  It wasn't me.  And no amount of acting in the world was going to change that.  I couldn't help it.  Her wounded dove act just wound me up more.  I was so bloody sick of hearing her say she was innocent because he'd never touched her.  That childish line over and over.  Like it fucking mattered?  Like the distance between them as they talked each other to orgasm made everything okay? 

Gee, lovie... where exactly do you draw the line?  Is it still not infidelity if you masturbate for each other in the same bed but still don't touch?  Imagine if I'd done what she did?  You can bet your boots that I'd have been nailed to the fucking cross for it.  And she'd have been right to do it.  I hated her for what she did.  For not being the person I thought she was.  For hurting me.  For hurting our family.  She hated me too for my refusal to accept her pathetic reasoning.  For refusing to be drawn back in.  For not giving her another chance.  The way I figure it, she'd been lying to me since before the boys were born.  She'd had years of second chances and never took a single bloody one of them.

I just couldn't understand her.  Not just what she'd done, but in her response to my reaction to all this.  Did she really think I was so dickless I could just roll over on something like this?  Would she really want a man who could?  And what would it have said about me if I had?

JACK

"The bottle stands by you, Curry," I said, interrupting Dino's line of interesting chitchat regarding his reportedly legendary tour of duty in Trinidad. I was growing increasingly uncertain I was fully following all the lines of conversation and what they had to do with military maneuvers ... until it dawned on me that these were maneuvers of a wholly different sort.

My confusion gave way to the joy of this gathering. A man who cannot laugh at himself has a fool for an owner, as they say. But am I a man who deserves to be amongst this gathering in this night? These men appear to believe it with all their hearts. I pray it is so. Where I had once resigned myself to a bitter future with no affection other than my particular friend Stephen, this was the night to toast my changed fortunes.

And toast we did. Many times.

And many things. Including the reason for my misfortunate start to this world. Well, rather, we toasted to her fine cut of figure, to her ample bosom ... and to her good riddance. Hear! Hear! And three times three, sir!

How different a sunset can look when one chances upon a three-leafed clover, don't you find?

I know that my life has had many charming coincidences, but the most charming of all was the night Stephen and I chanced upon a concert in Rennes. From the moment her music touched me, it is as if some Goddess of Love took pity on my suffering soul.

Angelique is a woman of uncommon valor, ardor and expressive hands.

Ah ha ha ha! Expressive hands! Indeed, that could hold a double meaning, could it not? I could not help grinning at Stephen. He would appreciate this ... for I could have both been talking about the way her hands upon violin strings express lyrical emotion or the way her hands upon the instrument of my manhood leads me to express my emotions most stridently.

But I would restrain myself from telling this witticism to these men. A gentleman, of course, would not put his lady's name into crude sexual banter in that manner.

And there was ample crude sexual banter going about this table as it stood. I engaged in a bit of bragging in response to questions about wenches I have known. I told them the story of the time Mercedes and I ... no, I must not repeat such a tale. It does not befit the company, truth be told. Begging your pardon.

Someone, I believe it was Stephen, asked Lachlan where he had met Faye. For a brief window of time, we gained a peek inside a man who plays the lad but whom I believe to be among the finest of men I have the great privilege to call brother.

Every man at this table, brothers all, have made this time of entering into the most sacred vow of matrimony a time more precious than ever I could say. That they would make this gesture, to so sincerely and completely welcome me back into the fold of the family ... never have I been so touched by the power of forgiveness.

When I think how near I came to never gaining the love of Angelique ... how that dear girl gave me the most merry chase! Every single second was worth it and I would have given my entire life of seconds to gain but one lived as her husband.

"To the women who love us!" I suddenly shouted, not able to contain my joy, needing a toast to mark this feeling.

"To their blind eyes," Dino said.

"To their thick skins," Lachlan said.

"To their ability to sleep through your snoring," Stephen said to raucous shouts of disapproval.

"To their tender mercies," Terry added, getting us back on the right track.

"To their soft, fine breasts," Max said, grinning widely at our shock that he would utter anything approaching a crude statement about his wife.

But when you speak of soft, fine breasts ... well, is it any surprise that my mind wanders to the breasts I love?

I speak of Angelique's breasts, of course. Indeed they are among the finest I have ever beheld.

Have you heard the tale of how she made me jump the wind and twist in hoops?

Hold, now. I believe I meant to say ... jump through hoops and twist in the wind. God's teeth! Have I drunk that much? No, not yet. Another drink, then, perhaps?

Perhaps it is thoughts of Angelique that send my mind dancing before my tongue can catch it. Have you ever seen her play the violin? Oh, sir! She is like the fire that birthed this world. She is the hush of a faery's wings. She is the crack of a cannon's eruption. She is the echo of the wind racing along the side of a sloop under full sail. That and more ... she can make you feel such things when she plays the violin.

When I first heard her play, I heard the deep, mournful loss of hope that has given way to a soaring desire to carry on regardless. It spoke to me, it told my own heart. I recognized this virtuoso was capable of showing me the way to aspire to set my life to rights. At first, it was only the music that attracted me. But after dreaming of her for nights on end after our first conversation, I realized a small spark of hope had somehow found life within what I had thought to be my barren heart.

We have compared notes, Angelique and I, on how we each fought the feeling of attraction that seemed so much more than physical. Though, of course, that it will be physical with a woman who looks like Angelique? Sir, it takes but a glance to realize her enormous visual appeal.

It takes longer to gain the full measure of appreciation of her heart's glory. I had feared for a long few months that even after she took me to her bed, that I would never gain her trust enough to be allowed inside the core of her heart.

But in a time of great personal tragedy for her, Angelique and I did find our way. Even in death, her uncle watched over us and helped bring us together. He was a fine old man.

"To Uncle Alain!" I called out as another toast was needed to greet the next round of drinks.

Stephen bade me to regain my seat and explained who this uncle was and his part in the happy rights of the morrow. We drank to his eternal rest, though Curry offered up that he hoped that in heaven, a man may find bliss means having all the opportunities to poke as many women as a man desires.

But I digress ... I was speaking of Angelique and the loss of her dear uncle. She was quite alone in the world without family to watch over her.

Of course I could not have left Angelique in the wake of her uncle's death. The dear woman's grief was absolute at his loss. At night, I held her close and promised her I should above all things keep her safe from anything bad ever again.

About a week after we had been at her uncle's house to settle his estate and place right to order within his home, something led her to begin trying to explain to me why she was not ever going to be a woman with whom I would wish to make a life. You see, she had refused to consider my offers of marriage. I had made two by then. When she said no, I was not dissuaded to continue in pursuit of a 'yes.' I simply believed there was a 'yes' within her; it was just a matter of her realizing it as I did.

On this morning in question, I sat at the charming kitchen table and held her hand as she bravely told me why she was sure of only one thing: that I would not wish to continue on with her once I knew of a shameful part of her life.

If she but knew ... her tale made me love her more. I wished to gather her to me and never let anything ever again threaten her peace of mind. That a woman could be treated so shabbily by some scoundrel!

She had met a man several years earlier. He had been married but was no longer living with his wife. They were, he told her quite clearly, getting a divorce once they waited the requisite year. He was in such pain, such need, that her heart leapt in and her head did not stand a chance of reason. She wished to make him happy again. He leaned upon her, doted on her, let her fix him ... and she fell deeply in love with him. They spoke most plainly of marriage once he was free. And then something happened. She never quite understood it. He decided he was still in love with his wife. That he always had been. That though Angelique had mended his heart, it was not her he loved after all.

She pleaded with him. She threatened him. She pursued him. She followed him everywhere, accosting him in the hopes he would see that it was she who deserved him, not his wife who had thrown him out.

But he only toyed with her, accepting her back to him time and again, only to run to his wife whenever she hinted that she might reconsider the divorce. Angelique held fast to her hopes until he cruelly used her one last time before walking out, telling her he was leaving her bed to walk to the altar to renew his vows with his wife.

And for all this, she blamed herself. For being a woman who loved that deeply, if that unwisely. She was so certain I would not understand what it feels like to have loved someone unworthy of the love we would grant with unstinting generosity.

When I picture Angelique that morning, it is in that moment when she looked into my eyes and tears stood there ... they were matched by the tears that glittered in her own lashes ... her sweet lips parted ... she took the deepest of breaths ... and told me she would not hold me to my continued pledge of love.

What can a man do but go straight at 'em in a moment like that?

I made a clean telling of it. I began with Isobel ... so that Angelique could see, we were not so different. We had both been cruelly used. And yet, we had both come out of our own separate times of turmoil and still carried deep within us the capacity to love with abandon, determination and fidelity.

When she accepted this news ... gave me the dearest support ... telling me that above all men she had ever known, no one deserved such treatment less than I did ... I realized that I must press on with my tale. So I told her of my true origins, of the family, of the horrific black curse that had changed lives, destroyed our unity and our future as a clan.

That she could hear this, believe it and not damn me for a fool and a liar? If any man has ever loved a woman as I have loved Angelique, let him step forward for me to call him a goddamned braggart.

In the morrow, I will see my fondest wish realized. I will be a husband again; only this time, it will be to a woman with only my best interests at heart. As I have hers. In short order, I hope to bring happy news to my family that I am about to become a father again. I will toil night and day in order to assure the best possible chance that it will be sooner rather than later.

As I look around the table and join in the laughter that greets a joke that Dino has told despite Terry's elbow in his ribs, I am struck by one thing above all others ...

I am so very lucky.

LACHLAN

"You call that a joke?"  O'Leary's stare turned my way and for a moment, there was a flash of something less than brotherly before he joined in the laughter.  Not surprising really.  No breach is healed overnight.  It was enough that we were all here with open minds.  The rest would come in time.

"That smacks of challenge, lads..."  Jack made a sweeping gesture with his arm, encouraging me.  He needn't have bothered.  I love a good joke; the dirtier, the better.

"As a couple falls in for the night, the bloke cuddles up to his girl and starts rubbing her arm, hoping for a bit.  The girl turns over and says, 'Sorry, mate, I've got a gynae appointment tomorrow and I want to stay fresh.'  The bloke, rejected, turns over and tries to get his head down.  No luck on account of his other head that won't stay down.  A few minutes later he rolls back over and reaches for her again.  This time he whispers 'You got a dentist appointment as well, love?'"

I laughed along with the rest of them, taking care not to give away the real direction of my thoughts.  

Life at home was bloody awful.  The resentment we both felt built and built.  Our existence was intolerable.  Finally, it came to a head one afternoon.  She found some lipstick on my shirt and accused me of cheating on her.  Ironic, hey?  I admitted it.  I had been with a woman.  I'm a man.  I have needs.  Comfort being one of them, especially at that time in my life.   

I'm not proud of what happened after that.  We had a flaming row.  She said if I was going to fuck around maybe she would too.  I took her arm hard and choked back the desire to shake the ruddy stuffing out of her.  Shouted at her I didn't care if she banged the entire world, as long as no hint of it ever reached the boys.  Told her straight up that she'd long since severed any hold we had on each other.  Her choice- not mine. 

She shook away my hand, wrenched off her ring and threw it at me.  Shouted at me that she wished she had left me for White.  I shouted back.  Told her to go right the fuck ahead if she wanted it so badly but that she better not think she was taking my boys with her when she left.  Jesus.  If White could so cavalierly give up his own kids, did she really think he'd want hers?  He was a first class scumbag.  She screeched on.  How what they had was love.  I scoffed.  Said something really cruel.  I have a nasty temper and we just seemed to bring out the worst in each other now.  She yelled back.  Said she'd always loved him and always would and that I was such a cold bastard it would serve me right if she left me for him.  That she may well do just that if the opportunity presented itself. 

The joke was on her though.  Her grand love?  Well, he disappeared without a trace not long after Cort's funeral.  Dumped his wife.  Abandoned his kids.  Again.  Even left the love of his life - my bloody wife - without so much as a single word.  That's love, hey?  I am ashamed to admit I felt vindicated.  His last cowardly actions painted him the selfish prick I knew him to be.  Even my wife couldn't argue with me after that.  His disappearance hit her hard.  Guess she'd been imagining some sort of fairytale life with him; the White fucking Prince. 

Too bad all she got was the bloody frog.

Strangely, things were better for us after that nasty row.  Like we'd let the last big storm rage, and now we had nothing left, not even anger.  Oh, I wanted to grind her face in it that he'd dumped her like all the rest, just like I knew he would- but even I am not that cruel.  She is the mother of my children, and I held my tongue for that reason.  She'd killed one part of what we were to each other once upon a time, but the boys would always bind us.  And so, slowly, my bitterness and her innocent act morphed into a frosty existence that slowly began to get more civil over time.

Our relationship changed.  It would never again be sexual, but for the sake of the boys, we tried for some semblance of peaceful coexistence.  Both of would always have raw wounds, but little by little, over time, it settled into something more like roommates sharing the responsibility of raising children than anything else.  I let her keep the showy house she'd just had to have.  Figured it would be better for the boys for them to have at least one stable thing in their lives.  That's what a good father does.  Looks out for his babies.  Makes sure they're safe and loved.  Looks after their mum, even when things change, because that's just what good men do.  Especially if you wanted to sleep well at night. 

Sometimes, in my more self-indulgent moments, usually when I had a bottle in my hand, I wondered how White slept after abandoning his kids.  In the privacy of my mind, I couldn't help but compare myself to him.  My self-image had taken quite a beating in all of this.  Of the two of us, I was the standup guy.  The one who'd always played by the rules.  The guy who'd stuck by his kids.  Who'd respected his marriage vows, even with the blasted Pull at work.  Christ, I hadn't even lain with another woman until my marriage was well and truly over in all but name.  Was I really so bad?  Was there no girl in the world who'd put me first in her heart? 

DINO

Okay.  I admit it.  Illegal cigars, good scotch and talking shit with the boys while we gave Jacko's freedom a proper sendoff....  It was definitely a night shaping up to be the stuff of legends.  Terry kept busting my balls about my boys.  Stuff like: 'So, mate.... you finally figured out where to put it, hey?' and 'Do you even have an X chromosome?'  Heh.  So you know I busted his right back while we exchanged stories of our dirty little exploits back in the day....

"So, there I was on the job... when I go and fall for the cargo's blond little wifey who thinks I'm the patron saint of distraught women......  No, no- wait... that's not MY story..."  Terry gave me the finger.  And that wry grin of his that says 'expect retaliation, mate'.  Right.  The day he gets a good one over on me they will be nailing down the lid.... but then his grin got wider and he threw over my wallet.  Bastard.  I love that guy.

But while we all razzed each other and got steadily more intoxicated as we told crude stories and awaited the portion of the night dedicated to ogling the stripper's sweet little body as she shimmed out a performance bound to put a stiff wind in the good captain's sail; it was different girl, a different song and a different kind of dancing that was playing in my head.      

The little details.  Damn, I love them.  And sometimes... they also just make me laugh.  Here we were on vacation and in some ways, it was like we hadn't left home at all.  We did what we always do when the kids can't sleep.  Late at night we turn on the music and dance.  This song in particular... well, it's kind of a favorite of ours.  Heather's and mine, I mean.  And nights like that?  They're part of the glue that holds us together.  The way we dance is different now.... but it still feels the same.  Better even, actually... I've got more of them to love.  And more of them who love me.  My family. 

Andy's almost nine.  He doesn't like to dance in our arms anymore.  Too 'babyish' for him.  Now he dances with Piggy, his favorite stuffed animal.  Man, that thing is more gray now than pink and it's gone through four tails that I know of and countless sets of google eyes.  Heather just keeps sticking new ones on.... heh. 

Now Seth... he's a little powerhouse... but he's not yet three.  When we dance like this at night, well it's just about the only time he holds still enough for someone to actually hold him.  He's definitely my boy though.  He likes her softer curvier body.  Loves to stand on her foot, wrap his arms around her leg and press his face against her 'soft tummy'.  He's not a big talker, but he did express to us that he missed her 'big tummy' when she gave birth to Aidan, our third child.  He loves to wrestle and climb on her and rest his head on her when he gets sleepy, patting her soft tummy as his little eyes close.

To tell the truth, I love to do the very same thing.  I love how carrying my babies has changed her.  She was like a rake when I first met her... and still slender even after I took over and fed her up... but now.... now she's like something out of my best fantasies.  Not the dirtiest ones; the ones that I hold closest to my heart.  The ones that I wrap myself in when I'm far away.  The ones that make me feel safe.  That help me sleep when I'm on the other side of the world, negotiating for someone's life. 

Her breasts fill my hands now.  Her waist nips in and then her hips have this flare that just gets to me.  And don't even get me started on what it's done to her delectable little rump.  Oh man.  Heh.  So... yeah, the O'Leary men... all of us.... we love cuddling on the one woman at the center of our lives.  And I really love how we all razz her and make her nuts.  She loves it too.  Just like she loves how I'm teaching them to respect her like I do.     

I love these nights with my family more than anything in the world.  How it settles me to see them all under my care.  How Andy still tells me I dance funny.  How he shakes his little butt when he dances with Piggy.  How it feels to see Seth close his eyes and rub his face on her stomach.  And how it fills me with this incredible flood of love to hold Aidan.

I missed Andy at this age.  And Seth... well, he was always a little wild man.  Didn't ever want to be held.  But Aidan?  He's softer than the others.  More fussy.  Always wants to be held.  To twine his little fingers in my shirt and press his face into my neck.  And I indulge him every chance I get.  I just love it.  Holding my son.  I can't get enough.

Like now.  All of us... just dancing.  Swaying to the music.  Aidan's out for the count and Andy and Seth are well on their way, pink cheeked from the sun and fighting sleep now where they were running wild just a bit ago.

I met Heather's eyes over the three red little heads between us and she smiled that secret smile that's just for me.  I touched her cheek softly and whispered just one word to her.  "Safe."

She turned her face into my touch and sighed, rubbing her cheek gently against my palm.  She didn't say anything but I felt her nod back.  Safe.  The two of us... the five of us... well, we'd come a long, long way from that place we'd been in the wake of the last Family wedding.  It makes my heart ache to think of what we all went through.  And I feel so humbled for what I have now. 

From here to there... it was a long, rough road, man.  There were times I wasn't sure we'd make it.  Times when I held her up.  Times when it was her holding me up.  Neither of us ever gave it up, though.  Hard as it was... the lives I now keep safe in the circle of my arms?  Well, they were always worth the risk.

It was so damned hard in the beginning.  I drank too much.  Kept too much inside.  Thought too much about those two hours she spent in the hotel with Curry.  Tortured myself with images of the two of them together.  Agonized over my role in it all.  Spent countless sleepless nights just staring up at the sky, wondering if the child she carried inside her was mine.  Hating myself because the paternity mattered so damn much.  Could I love a baby that wasn't mine?  Yeah.  I could.  I could love anything that was a part of her.  But I wanted it to be my son.  My child.  My dreams and hopes breathed to life in her body.

It wasn't easy.  She never did give up any details about her afternoon with Curry, other than to tell me the baby was mine.  At the time, I almost hated her for that.  What my mind conjured... well, let's just say it's a safe bet that what I imagined had to be worse than what actually happened.  But now?  Well, now I'm thankful for her silence.  And I wish to fuck that I'd not poured out the details I remembered from my own infidelity. 

That's putting a nice face on it, isn't it?  Infidelity.  A sterile way of saying I woke up with a whore's mouth on my dick.  I don't remember much.  But I do remember being so angry that I wanted to hurt her as badly as I hurt.  I remember, with shame, taking pleasure in recounting it for her.  Of course, now with time and distance.... now I wish I'd never done that.  Gave that up to her.  Hurt her that way.  She spared me with her silence.  I wished I'd done the same.

But that's life.  You fuck up.  You try your best to go on.  Part of me was incandescent with joy at the news she was pregnant.  I went to every appointment with her.  Held her hand.  Cried with her when they smeared that goo on her belly and we heard the heartbeat for the first time.  Cried again when we saw his little penis on the ultrasound.  And I cried when I was alone too, so damn scared he wasn't mine. 

So, while part of my life was filled with this intense joy... the other was filled with deep despair.  We fought.  We talked.  We made up.  Terry was around a lot in those days, struggling with his own life.  I guess we just sort of included him in the group when we circled our wagons against the world.  God knows, we all needed the support.  Now, I don't know about him... but we finally bit the bullet and talked to someone else.  A counselor.  That helped.  More than I thought it would, frankly.

Was I ready to accept it might not be my son by the time she gave birth?  Yeah.  I was.  Aw... Fuck.  That's a lie.  I don't think I'd ever have been ready for that.  I'm honest enough with myself to admit that.  It would have changed things for us forever.  Not killed our love... but it would have been tough.  Still, I'd made up my mind to love whoever it was that came out of her.  To tell the truth, I was in love with him long before he joined us in person. 

And when he had red hair?  Well.... you think I'd have been ecstatic.... except I couldn't stop thinking of Terry's son, Henry.  He'd had red hair.  What the fuck did hair color prove?  We could have done a blood test... but at that point, I wasn't really sure I ever wanted to know.  The minute I held his naked wriggling body... I was a gonner, man.  Tanked like a stone.  Lost my heart all over again.  Mostly, I just remember Heather's hand on me, touching my back as I held him up to her face so she could see him... and then when she reached out her arms and took him... I saw it.  This stupid little birthmark. 

My Mom called them stork bites.  Something that always amused me considering the location of said mark.  I'll let you work that one out for yourselves.  Curse of the O'Leary men, Dad used to say.  Least your woman will always be able to pick you out of a lineup, buddy....  I can still hear him chuckling about it to me as he got deeper into his cups, his brogue thickening the more he drank.  Some of his stories got pretty bawdy, too.  But over the years... I learned it wasn't just me and him.  My uncles had them too.  So did pretty much ever other male descending down from one (I forget how many 'greats' back) Seamus O'Leary.  My grandfather swore up and down that he'd been spared and I was always too chicken to attempt to find out if he was lying.  Peep on an Irishman's johnson?  Heh.  Even as a stupid kid, I wasn't that cocky. 

But when I saw that little mark on Aidan... I just knew.  Knew it deep down in my heart.  And miraculously, though knowing relieved me in this way I can never really express... well, it really didn't change the way I loved him, you know?  Like I said, once I saw what Heather suffered to bring him into the world and felt his little body in my hands... he was just mine to love.  Like her.  Like Andy.  It was that simple.

It didn't fix everything... the knowing, I mean.  But trust is a matter of faith.  Either you have it in your partner or you don't.  And I decided that day to give her mine for all the days we walked this earth.  No matter what.  I'm not perfect.  She isn't either.  But we belong together.  That much I do know.  I guess that's what they mean by 'for better or worse'.  We hung on through the bad and rode it out to the good.  I guess that's what it really comes down to in the end.  Family. 

Trust.... she's a hard mistress.  I mean... doing it that way, well.... it made me have to really face up to what I did.  What we did.  Accountability is a real bitch.  The witch and her spells?  Well for as shitty as they were... I refuse to accept the fact we didn't have free choice.  She might have opened the lid to Pandora's Box, but all of us... we chose to jump inside. 

We talked a lot about that, Heather and I.  How the real difference between the perpetrators and the victims was accountability.  The guilty ran away.  The rest of us faced up to what we'd done.  Took our lumps and kept on going, even when it was rough.  A real man always cleans up his own messes.  That was the mantra in my house growing up.  Guess it stuck with me.  Actually, it taught me a lot about what it means to be a good man.  That you have to face up to what you've done.  That sometimes you can't be too proud to ask for help.  That sometimes, even when you try your hardest, you can't make it better. 

And sometimes you can.

There was one other thing that lit a fire under me.  A couple of those nights Terry and I spent drinking on the back porch?  Well.... he told me some shit the newly crossed Ann had told him about the place she came from.  How Terry been with Uma there and how Heather had been with Curry.  And how 'I'd' been alone.

It spooked me.  Bad.  If I didn't pony up and fix things with Heather here--  God, the thought of winding up alone again was just too much.  And although some sad sacks of shit like White and O'Brien might find it acceptable to ditch their kids, I'm just not wired that way.  It'd be a fucking cold day in Hell before I ever walk away from my children.

It took more than a year for Heather and I to really get right with each other.... but by the time Halloween of '05 rolled around, I was thinking we were in the clover.  Life was good.  Seth had just turned one.  I'd just gotten back from working a six-week stint in Burma.  I'd busted ass to make it back by the 31st.  And lucky me, because you gain a day going back around the fucking world, I dragged my sorry self in late on the 30th.  Miss Halloween?  Only if it's a matter of life and death.  And it very nearly was.  But the cargo was collected and delivered and I was free....

Of course, things never go like you plan.  I wanted to make love to her so bad I ached with it, but all I really had the energy to do when I fell in the door was kiss her, hug on my babies and fall asleep.  Guess I'm not Superman after all.  When did that happen?  By the time I woke up, I was already screwed.  Halloween.  Andy and Seth had gotten into the candy and had sugar highs.  No chance of morning nookie.  (Never mind that I didn't drag myself out of bed until just before noon.)  I just groaned and gave my sexy wife that look that tells her she better brace herself.  That the second I get her alone I'm going to rock her world. 

She sassed me back, naturally.  Mouthed to me, 'Yeah, right..... if you don't come in your pants first!' over the two heads of our kids as she peeled grapes for their lunch.  I helped of course.  Not the peeling.... but grabbing them up and telling my boys how they felt just like squishy slimy eyeballs....

Heh.  God, I love Halloween.

It was chaos, as you can imagine.  My surprise arrival only worked everyone up more.  The latest 'Harry Potter' movie had just been released and both Andy and Seth insisted on being Harry for Halloween.  Glasses.  Broomsticks.  Wizarding robes.  Heather drew on their lighting bolt scars herself.... two little Potters.  We also figured it was good to encourage this idea that witches weren't something to be afraid of.  How better to get Andy over his fear than to show him the sillier side of magic?  Still, it wasn't easy.  I remember how she'd called me nearly in tears one night, ready to strangle them both because Seth kept calling Andy 'Ron' to insight a riot.  Heh.  That's my boy.  He might be smaller, but he fights dirty. 

So... that left the two of us.  Like we weren't going to dress up?  Plureeze!  One red-haired Weasley Dad, coming up.... complete with robes, cape, pointy wizard hat and my magic wand.... both of those, actually.  Heh.  Of course, what really cracked me up was that they insisted that Heather go as Hermione.  If there's anything better than seeing her dressed up in something sexy... it's seeing her dressed up as a cute little dork.  Man, I love that.  Love seeing how it makes her blush, not to mention I love knowing I get to unwrap the cute dork later on and reveal the sexy girl beneath...  But at the time, I tried not to dwell on that too much.  I'd never live it down if she turned out to be right about me coming in my pants.

We spent a silly afternoon playing dress-up.  Andy and Seth were zooming around on their brooms, yelling about golden snitches (which nearly made me spit my drink all over the table the first time I head one of them shouting that aloud) and of course, they were pretending to have wizard duels and even I couldn't help but join in, flinging my wand around and shouting these fucked up spells at them all.  "Trick-or-treat-imus!" and "Broomstick-freezeimus!" to get them to slow the hell down before they broke something.  Like an arm.  The best one I whispered to Heather as I tried to lift the edge of her costume with the tip of my wind.  "Pantius removus!"  Heh. 

Not to mention I threw myself totally into the fun and games, hoping some of it would take the edge off.  I needed to touch her so bad it was killing me.  I consoled myself with a few pranks instead.  Launched a few pumpkins.  (The boys loved that almost as much as I did!)  Plus, they helped me pull a fast one on Old Man Higgins.  I'd been at war with his retired Green Beret ass every Halloween since we moved in.  God, I love this holiday....

And this time, I had reinforcements.  Two little redheaded commandos...  Which bought me some leeway with the old fucker.  We were outnumbered and held a tactically inferior position- not to mentioned being outnumbered by a shitload of his reinforcements.  Rangers, naturally.  But my boys?  They were the reason we won the day.  He wouldn't think twice about pounding their Daddy in front of them, but even he wouldn't beat a little kid at their own game.   

You should have seen them chortling with kiddy glee while those Ranger boys allowed my midget crew to tie them up.  Old Man Higgins nearly bust a gut.  Gave me all this shit about fair play and rules of warfare.  Told me next year, I could bring the kiddies to play but when we were done- then it was just him and me.  I told him to bring it on.  No Marine worth his salt would back down from that challenge.  Heh.  Then he told me he'd see me at the party tonight and I better be prepared.  Fucker. 

I can't wait. 

The neighborhood party was at our neighbor's house that year.  Sara and Glen Miller.  They have two girls.  Andy can't stand them.  Heather and Sara are pretty good friends.  They take turns babysitting each other's kids and going for coffee when I'm away working.  Stuff like that.  We both were sort of left scrambling when the Family support network took a flaming nosedive.     

The party was fun.  Even better than watching my kids was hearing Heather talking to Sara about me as I ran around after them, just in general being a big kid myself. 

"Oh my God!  He's worse than a pixie on speed!"

"Who, Andy?"  Sara was trying to unstick a lollypop from her daughter's hair.  Please, don't let it be one of my boys who put it there...

"Andy?  No way!  Dino!  I can handle the kids with a sugar high... but he's a hundred times worse!"

That's my girl!  I snatched her up and pulled her out for a dance before she could really give up the juice on me.  Besides, she was so cute in that nerdy costume... I just couldn't help myself.  Her eyes were bright and sparkling and there was such fire in them when she looked at me.  I took her in my arms and really turned it on.  Danced a fast one with her and then held her close for a slower number, whispering in her ear as I did.  Not sexy stuff.  Sweet stuff.  How cute I thought she was.  How much I loved fooling around with all of them like a big kid.  How good it felt to have her in my arms again.

She shivered and pressed closer.  Not hot and heavy.  Not grinding.  Just sweetly.  We danced a little more and whispered a little more, too, but I was surprised when she pulled back a bit and told me to stop.  I looked down into her face and to my surprise, saw that her cheeks were flushed and her eyes were dilated and then I noticed that she was trembling.  I know my wife and I know that look.  She was gonna come.  She might have thought she had it under control, but I knew she was passed the point of no return.  And I saw it in her eyes when she realized that as she made a half-hearted attempt to pull away and sagged a bit. 

I wrapped my arms around her and she hid her face in my neck.  "Don't let them see..."  She could be wild enough when it was just the two of us and we were someplace where we could be anonymous, but she'd hate for any of these people, her friends and neighbors, to see such an intimate moment.  "Please don't let them see..."  She tensed in my embrace and under the guise of dancing, I swirled my cape around her and gave her this little dip, hiding her from everyone.

Shit.  She was holding her breath.  That was only going to make a cry build behind the catch in her throat.  "Breathe, honey."  I whispered into her hair, cradling her nape in my palm and her body against my chest.  A moment later, I felt her gentle shuddering exhale against my throat as she came.  It was soft not wild, but it left her boneless and me hard as fucking rock.  A man would have to be made of stone not to be moved by his woman responding to him like that from nothing more than the nearness of her partner and his voice in her ear as they danced. 

The song we'd been dancing to played on but even a few measures later, she was still out of it, glassy eyed and trembling, wanting nothing more than to crawl inside me and hide when Andy bounced up to us.  To tell the truth, I was kind of wanting to just let her, but someone had to keep their head.  And I'm good under pressure.

"What's wrong with mom?"  

Thanks, buddy.  A couple of heads turned our way.  So much for covert ops... but I know how to cover my ass.  "Someone spiked the punch, pal.  Mom's just a little tipsy."  That part wasn't exactly a lie.  She'd had a glass of wine.  She hasn't been drinking lately because she's still weaning Seth and it had gone straight to her head. 

So, ever the man for pulling shit out at the last moment and making it truly believable, I made sure she was steady enough to stand and then swooped up one of the bowls of punch from the kiddy table.  There were several.  I picked the red one.  Well... yeah.  Heh.  They both trailed after me to the kitchen.  Heather was just getting her wits back.  She gave me a look.  "Someone spiked the punch?"  Welcome back, sweetheart.

I laughed as I upended a bottle into it.  "Yeah.  Me."  Replacing it on a different table next to the other adult beverages, I chased Andy back into the party and went to check on my wife.  She moved to embrace me but it was just too much.  I stood firm and lifted my chin.  "Not here."  I was riding too close to the edge. 

I saw her flush and then I coughed slightly and stepped away when I saw Sara come into the kitchen to get another plate of appetizers.  I left them to it and slipped away, thankful the long black robes of my stupid costume hid the hardon I had.

From my post at the edge of the party, (so sue me, I just couldn't make myself go too far from my wife just then) I couldn't help but hear them talking.  Sara was laughing.  "Oh, girl... you are so lucky.  He is so fine!"  Why does Terry never hear this shit?  Swear to God, he never believes me that it actually happens.  "He just get back?"

"Last night."

Sara snickered.  "How was it? Come on!  Dish!  He's been gone for weeks!  Thought I might not see you two until spring."

Heather giggled.  "I don't know!  'It' hasn't happened yet.... between boys and jetlag and Halloween-"

"Oh my God!  You're joking!  No wonder he's been running around like a pixie on speed."  Hey!  "Damn, girl....get out of here... go on with you.... take him home and blow his mind.  I'll watch the boys.  Trade you for an evening next week.  Glen wants this costume to do a reprise."  Heh.  Princess Leia.  Glen has good taste.  "You take the girls-"

"Deal!"

The next thing I knew, her hand was in mine and I couldn't get her the hell out of that party fast enough.  Dragging her out the back and through the fence to our yard.  We didn't even make it inside.  We made it as far as Andy's tree house.  It had been too long for soft and slow... and holding her while she came, hearing her beg me to keep out the world while she did... Goddamn.  I was so revved up.  Kissing on her.  Feeling her all over.  Groaning into her neck.  Biting and sucking and rubbing her against me.  My face felt hot.  My eyes were watering.  The top of my head felt like it was going to lift away and the pressure between my legs was unbearable.

The Hogwarts uniform she had on under her robes looked entirely too much like a Catholic schoolgirl uniform and when I discovered she wasn't wearing panties I had to pull on my balls to keep from coming.  I felt all of about sixteen again, wanting a taste of her so bad that any semblance of smooth went right out the fucking window. 

She was stroking me.  Kissing on me too.  Mostly I just remember how wet and creamy she was when I touched her.  So ready for me.  She was holding me.  Petting me.  Telling me to just fuck her.  That she wanted to feel me let go.  I was almost thankful for the rubber.  Without it to mute the feel of her sweetness slipping down my dick, I might have lost it right then.  I sat back on this ratty old beanbag chair Andy had up there and just pushed her down on me so hard.  I like to think I wouldn't have done that if she hadn't have already come, but I'm not so sure.  I just wanted the feel of her so bad.  Gloried in her gasp as she took me in.  Gave her back one of my own... this rude, honest, low grunt of satisfaction. 

I put my hands hard on her hips, controlling the rhythm.  Making it what I needed.  I couldn't help it.  It just felt so damned good.  It was raw and tender and selfish and I just couldn't get deep enough or go hard enough.  I remember panting in frustration, feeling like I was going to burn up.  I couldn't stand it.  With a growl, I flipped us and just let myself go, finally able to get the friction I needed.  Her hair was fanned out all around us.  I was drowning in her scent.  In the feel of her.  In what she could make me feel, both between my legs and between my ears. 

Fuck me.  Fuck me.  Fuck me.  

Her little voice whimpered out that mantra with every thrust and it suddenly felt a hundred times more intense.  I wanted to stop for her.  To hang on... but I couldn't.  I came hard, jerking and hitching in her so deep, rubbing my tip roughly on the neck of her womb, and the wet bruising pushes took her over too.  She called my name so soft, like she was dying.  I just kept coming, spurt after spurt, like my entire soul was being forced through that tiny slit at the tip of my dick.  I think it was.  Talk about coming home.

She just held me tight, pulling me closer still when I collapsed on her and rubbed my face against her neck before I lifted my head to meet her eyes.  I love to kiss her just then.  That moment after a woman comes.  When she's so open to me.  When I can't really hide anything from her either.  She touched my sweaty face and smoothed back my mussed hair, sighing softly with contentment.  I felt my lips curl into a smile.  And then I groaned.  My knees were killing me.  I laughed and kissed her.  "I'm too old for this shit..."

She laughed; did this thing she does that I just love so much.  She reached for me, rubbing my arms gently as I pulled out.  She lay there, thighs open wide, unashamed to let me see her spread so vulnerably.  It was more languid than crude.  Sensual.  Intimate.  The aftermath of a man's love for his woman.  I slipped out of her and looked down in disbelief at my dick.  My wet, naked dick.  A few last drops of come dribbled out over my fingers and my jaw clenched as I looked between her legs.  She was wet with me.  Well, that explains why there was that jump in sensation half way through.  I'd lost the condom.  I swore.

She pushed her self up on one elbow, balanced precariously on the squishy beanbag, and watched languorously as I slipped two fingers in and pulled it out.  Fuck.  I should have been more careful with her.  Our eyes met.  I felt a little sheepish, but was too satiated to really get worked up just then.  Maybe after the blood that had rushed from my brain came back....  I held up the condom.  It dripped on her flat little belly.  She squirmed.

I put on my best new-dad voice.  "Congratulations, honey... it's a Trojan!"

She giggled.  "What'd you think?  Troy for a name?"  I chuckled at her sass and tossed it in the trash, making a mental note to come back and empty it while Heather was putting the boys down.  The last thing I needed was Andy finding it.  I frowned again, not so much for that thought but because I was mad at myself.  It's my job to take care of her and I'd slipped up tonight.  We want more kids but not yet.  Seth is still nursing for fuck's sake.

"I'm sorry, baby... I should have-"

She just smiled at me and hushed me.  "Hey!  I'm not complaining.  Besides... it took us months and months the first time."  She's right.  I felt a bit better about it.  Enough to throw myself down next to her and grab her up, pulling her into my arms for a quick lover's snuggle before we had to go back to being Daddy and Mommy.  "Don't worry about it, Dean... I'm sure it'll be fine."

Famous last words. 

Which is why, two weeks later when my usually astute self found her hurling her guts up early one morning, I just assumed she'd caught something from the kids.  Man, was I in denial, or what?  Still, I hate seeing her so helpless.  I knelt beside her and held her hair.  After, she just gave me this look.

"This is all your fault.... You took advantage... I'd had wine!"

I just wasn't following.  Her voice was playful not serious, so I teased her back a little.  "Me?  What'd I do?  Hit you with my magic wand?"

"Well... yeah, actually."  She giggled, still a little green around the edges but smiling as she handed me the test and I saw the little blue mark in the window.

Dean O'Leary, you are The Man!  Got it in one!  I whooped.  "YES!"  Jumped around like a fool.  Grabbed her up and spun her until she told me she'd hurl on me if I didn't put her down.  I was delighted, of course.  She was too, to tell the truth.  A baby.  Life was good and getting better all the time. 

It was a bit of a surprise, but we managed.  Seth pitched a holy fit about being weaned faster than he wanted... but Heather was ready to be done with that when he started biting.  And then almost before we knew it, along came Aidan.  It means little fiery one.  Heh.  I hated having to be away from them and when I came back, all I wanted to do was hold them all close. 

I guess that's how life goes, though.  We'd hardly settled into life with three kids when along came this letter.  An invitation to Jack's wedding.

I almost didn't show it to her... which is pretty shitty of me, but at least I admit it.  I didn't really want any part of that life anymore.  I wasn't about to place my own family in harm's way again.  No fucking chance of that.  So, I carried that thing around with me for three days before I finally gave it to her.  Along with a long list (of damned good) reasons why I didn't want to go.  She accepted my decision without complaint, although I could tell she was holding something back. 

I think it's our natures to do that, really.  Men and women, I mean.  Men want to protect what's theirs.  Women are the bridge builders.  Men don't build bridges.  We build empires.  I had mine and I didn't want any of them fucking it up.  But women... they work differently.  They're the ones who reach out and form the bonds that shore us up. 

That night, I found her crying softly in the darkness, that damned invitation folded in a tiny tattered square in her fingers.  And to be honest, it scared me a little.  She really wanted to see Curry that badly?  In a rare moment of bad judgment, that thought must have showed on my face.  So I just gave it up.  "You really want to see him again?"

"Him?"  Oh shit.  The way she said that told me I'd read this one way, way wrong.  She huffed and rolled her eyes at me, sniffing back the fresh surge of tears.  "No, actually..." 'You ass!'  She didn't say it, but her tone more than implied it.  "I was thinking about Jack."

"Jack?"

She sniffed again.  "I feel so terrible, Dean."  Women.  Just when you think you have them figured out...  She was really upset though, so I sat down next to her and pulled her into my arms.  Maybe because I just needed to feel her close.  This whole thing had rattled me pretty good. 

"How come, baby?"  I rocked her. 

"I never once thought about Jack.  I can't believe I was so caught up in us...."  Understandable, but I knew what she meant.  I felt a prick of guilt too.  Sorta like maybe we left a good man behind.  Even if he did have the shittiest taste in women.  "We were screwed up, but at least we had each other.  He was all alone...."

That's all she said about it.  Aidan started crying and she went to go feed him.  I sat there in the dark, poured myself a scotch and did some serious thinking.  She was right.  We'd failed him in brotherhood.  Before all of that shit had happened, well... I liked him.  He was a good guy.  I hated what he'd brought into our lives, but those little niggling thoughts of accountability started surfacing.  So did the idea that for as bad as I'd felt about the shit I'd brought into my own family, he must feel a hundred times worse.  How would I have felt of I'd been the one to tear apart the lives of every single person I cared about?  Afterward, he'd just disappeared.  Lost somewhere.  Alone.

And see, that's where it really got me.  He'd been alone.  Just like 'I'd' been in that other place.  That rested pretty heavy on my heart.  So did the feeling that I'd failed him in some way.  Let him down.  In my mind, I heard my Dad's voice talking about how a real man cleans up his messes.  I heard my Mom's voice talking about the importance of being not just a good man, but a good person.  I heard Terry's voice talking about friendship and Heather's voice talking about love.

That got me thinking about men and their empires and women and their need to build bridges, not just to make what we have stronger but to make a safety net for our children.  To weave the fabric of their future so they would have a place among family when they come of age.

It was a while before I came to terms with it, and longer still before I told Heather and we accepted the invitation... but it was that night I made up my mind to be the kind of man my father tried to teach me to be.  The kind of man I wanted to be for my kids.  The kind of man I wanted to teach my boys to be.

And that's how we wound up here, dancing in a little beach house with three sleepy little boys.  The song we were dancing to wound down, and I held her eyes and sang the last bit to her softly, like I always did.  One of our little details. 

The song faded and we put the boys to bed and then I led her outside and we did a little dancing of our own, together under the stars.  Later, I took her inside and we touched and kissed and did our best to see if we couldn't create a life from that incredible thing we find in each other's arms.  And that night, when all was still and quiet, I fell asleep safe in the arms of love.

Of course, there was no way in the world I'd let the bozos I was drinking with tonight know any of those little details, even if I suspected we were all cut from the same sappy cloth when it came to the women who held our hearts. 

So you know I did what any husband who's besotted with his wife would do when he faced the situation I was facing tonight.  I got plastered and told some incredibly rude stories so they wouldn't suspect just how much of a romantic fool I really was.  And come on!  When have you ever known me to back down from trying to out-crude my fellow man?

"Think hard, mate... there has to be one story you haven't subjected me to yet."  The old man again.  

"Dozens...."

Terry groaned.  "Spare them.  They haven't built up a tolerance like I have."

I threw his wallet at him to shut him up, clapped my hands and dove right in.  "It wasn't long after I'd joined up.  A bunch of us cocky young Marines had this bet on.  The base commander had this ripe little honey of a daughter.  A brown-eyed blond with hair down to her ass.  She was like something out of a shampoo commercial."

"Or a horny soldier's wet dreams."  Well, well.  Isn't Maxie the dark horse tonight?

"Oh yeah."  There was general nodding all around.  They knew the kind of girl I meant.  We all had one or two in our pasts.  "A hundred bucks got you in on the bet and the first one to bed her won the pot."

"Now that's what I call a prize!"  Jack laughed heartily at his own joke.  

Until Stephen added:  "I suspect the money would have been most welcome as well, would it not?"  It broke us all up.

"So what happened?"

I grinned.  "I had a plan, naturally.  Horny as we all were... well, let's just say a few of my buddies weren't exactly subtle in their desire to conquer that particular objective."

"She found out?"    

"She did indeed.  And it left me the perfect 'in'.  I'd never tried anything.  Treated her like some kid sister or something.  She cried on my shoulder.  Told me what pigs most men were.  Of course, that was the plan..... And it worked.  We wound up in bed."  God, that had been a good night.  "Come to think of it....I might have even been the one to let it slip that she needed to be careful because I'd heard this rumor of a bet..... and I might have also said how I didn't want to rat on my pals, but there were some real assholes out there that nice girls like her needed to watch out for....."

"You complete bastard!"  Terry shook his head.

"Hey!  I was good to her.  She liked me.  I liked her.  And her old man fucking loved me."

"You dirty little bastard!"  Terry was still shaking his head.  And then he grinned.  "But... good one!"

"Come on!  I was young and stupid.... and lucky.  Heh."  I couldn't resist adding that.  I was also one of the pigs she'd been talking about.  And afterwards, I kind of decided that I didn't want to be one of those anymore.  She was one of those girls who'd come with a lesson.  Being the nice guy had felt kinda good.  Of course, you'd have to cut my balls off before I'd admit that one in my present company.  "But be honest now... how many of you haven't used a bit of gentle leverage when you were younger?"  Every last one of them had that guilty little smile.  And then I kicked Terry's chair and added, "And how many are still using it?"

He blinked at me.  "Don't look at me like that, mate!  My wife can't resist me.  She doesn't need inducements."

"So, the emeralds were just by the way....?"  

Terry clammed up and gave me the face.  Damn, I love that.  Even Max was laughing into his drink.  Hey, winding the old man up is one of my most favorite things.  Terry once said he thought God must have put me on this earth to torment him.  I'm not sure he's wrong.  Of course, I think there are a few other reasons I'm here as well.  I'm married to one of them.  And the other three have red hair and call me Daddy.

Like I said, when it comes down to brass tacks, I'm just a sap.  Running my mouth and winding them all up, affecting a hard shell to hide the softness underneath.  For as crude as I can be, what's inside is so very tender.  I love my family.  It's just that simple.

LACHLAN

What a bloody fraud.  While O'Leary was skiting away, he was rubbing his wedding ring with this thumb, and now and again he had a faraway look in his eyes.  I know that look.  I see it in the mirror when I'm away from my family and thinking on them hard.  Still lost on my walk down memory lane, I fell quiet and let those moments, good and bad, wash over me.

I had changed in other ways too that year.  I'd always been the good lad.  The standup bloke.  Sure, I'd had my share of tomfoolery, what man hadn't?  But I was pushing forty.  Felt more alone than ever.  When I was in residence, I gave my boys my whole heart, and when I was away working.... I spent a lot of my down time just... drifting.  Sitting in odd pubs or taking long walks by myself.  Sometimes I picked up a girl somewhere and we would have wild desperate sex while I dreamed of making love to a woman who loved me as deeply and as truly as I loved her.

Other things changed too.  I wore a beard more often than not.  Couldn't be bothered to keep up that clean-shaven youthful image every bloody day.  Just didn't fit in with how I felt anymore.  My boys loved it.  Always wanted to pet my face when I was with them.  Both of them wore beards at Halloween.  I drew them myself with a brown grease pencil while they shrieked and giggled.  God, they're so innocent.  I dread the future when they finally figure out their mum and dad aren't like all their mates' parents.   

It wasn't just the beard, though.  When I wasn't working, I dressed less dapper too.  More often than not, I just pulled on a pair of old jeans and a worn t-shirt, threw on my old bomber jacket and called it good.  There was a comfort in that old familiarity, even if it reminded me of Lil and yet another woman who couldn't put me first in her heart. 

That afternoon at the seaside in France, I'd pushed my hands deeper into my pockets and was just walking along with no particular destination in mind.  I reckoned it didn't really matter.  I had three days of leave.  Nobody was waiting on me and I didn't have anyone to go back to- so what did it matter if I lost myself for a few days? 

I found a smooth outcropping of stone in the gray sand and sat, shoulders hunched against the misty afternoon, and just watched the rhythmic push and pull of the dark water edged with white foam.  It was overcast and the clouds were as gray as the water and the sand.  It was lulling, all that gray.  Felt like my life in a way.  Pretty on the outside.  A bit rough.  Cold and bleak if you gave it a harder look. 

Up... up... the long delirious burning blue... had become: Break, break, break, on thy cold gray stones....  

Melancholy?  Yes.  I was at that point in my life where I'd lived long enough and learned enough lessons to know how very alone a man could be without a woman with whom he can safely share the intimate parts of himself.  Not just what hangs between his legs, or hides between hers, but the real intimate things.  My pride in watching my boys grow sturdy and strong.  My joy in slipping the surly bonds of earth...... Someone to talk to over tea in the early mornings.  Someone to whisper sweet nothings to after making love.  Someone to hold when thunder and heavy rain wakes you at night.  Maybe just someone to hold through the storms of life. 

I reckon it was that simple.  And that complex. 

I ran a hand through my scruffy hair and shook away the misty droplets that had collected and started to run down my neck.  I hunched down further into my jacket and lit up, blowing the smoke skyward.  Yet more gray.  It was almost amusing but I didn't laugh.  It had been a long time since I had. 

Tired of thoughts of the present, I turned to thoughts of the past.  Lil.  Mused on her a while before my thoughts turned to Heather.  I still had some contact with the Family these days, mostly out of necessity when they needed help.  Money.  Guidance.  A friendly ear with a familiar accent.  I'd heard from Terry that Heather'd had a little boy a few months ago.  Strangely enough, I wasn't jealous.  I was happy for her.  For them both, to tell the truth.  She was a good woman and deserved happiness with the man first in her heart. 

I'd smiled wryly to myself when he told me they'd called their son Seth.  I wonder if they know what it means?  Adam and Eve's third son was called Seth, given to them for what they'd suffered in the loss of their son Abel.  Seth.  It meant compensation.  Maybe that's what he was?  With that bloody witch gone and her foul curse broken, maybe some force of greater good had finally granted them their heart's desire.  A child who was flesh of their flesh.  The thought brought a smile to my lips even as my own heart ached with loneliness.

That's the funny thing about life, I reckon.  You never know where it's going to take you from one moment to the next.  It was that very afternoon my luck turned.  Into my melancholy sook danced surprise in the guise of a beautiful young girl.  Well, I say danced... actually, she was as gray as the rest of the day, walking along the water's edge as the fog started to roll in.  Her feet were bare and she was singing a hauntingly sad song that seemed as gray as her rolled up jeans, longish coat and funny knitted scarf wrapped around her slender neck.  A gust of wind blew off her hat and she just laughed, holding back her long honey colored hair against the wind as she watched it sail out to sea.  She didn't even try to get it back.  And just like that, I left disappointment and bumped straight into surprise.   

That was when I first felt it.  No, not the bloody Pull.  I was done with that magic crap.  No, just then, when I heard the freedom in her laughter, it burned away the gray.  Even before she turned and I saw her lovely face, I felt the golden warmth of summer.  Just for a moment.  And you all bloody know how fond I am of those.  Moments.  My God, that one was a cracker.

She started to sing a different song.  It was a duet I knew.  She sung the feminine part out to the sea and some foolish romantic part of nature I sometimes wished was dead answered her back, singing the masculine refrain.  It was a pretty pathetic attempt.  It had been ages since my heart had been light enough to sing.  She whirled round, blushing.  I blushed back and took a deep drag trying for a cool I didn't really feel. 

So, that's how we met.  Glad to meet you, love.  I'd said.  My name's Lachlan.  Mostly I remember the way her soft gray eyes lit up when she smiled back at me.  There was a girl who knew how to float along and take life as it comes.  I'm Faye. She said.  I heard: I'm fey.  For half a moment, I thought maybe she was.  Fey, I mean.  One of the ethereal faery folk in the stories my Mum used to make up for us at bedtime.  Perfect name for a delicate girl like her.  Fair skin.  Pretty kiss of freckles on her face.  Fair dinkum, she was lovely.  A bit wild.  Eclectic clothes... but she had a quiet classic beauty about her. 

She smiled at me.  You're an Oz?  I shot back: You're a Pom?  We both laughed.  Spent ages walking and talking on that gray beach.  Warmed up later over some tea.  Later we got even warmer in bed.  For the first time in years, I didn't play by any of the rules.  She didn't either.  And it felt so bloody good.  I guess I just figured it was time for a change.  Playing by the rules hadn't exactly led me to the life of eternal happiness, now had it?  

How strange life is.  A forlorn pilot with a battered old heart and an elegant bohemian girl with braids in her long blond hair and eclectic jewelry hanging from her ears and throat.  Who would have ever guessed that she would turn out to be the girl who would put me first in her heart above all others?