One evening I was burrowing through a closet in Jeffrey's basement for light bulbs.  I'd been doing a load of laundry and just when I was about to toss the whole lot into the dryer, the light fixture overhead flickered twice and went out with a distinctive loud pop.  Despite the fact that there were two 60 watt bulbs, both had imploded at the same time making me jump like a spooked cat on a hot tin roof.

The most logical place I deduced to store the required items was the cupboard next to the linen closet outside the laundry room.  So as I was rummaging along the shelves that housed nails, nuts and bolts, various tools, detergent, an old disgusting pair of jeans crusted with paint and other crud, Christmas ornaments????...a regular hodge podge of mismatched tokens (after all this is a man's idea of making order out of chaos-Good Grief!), my eyes slipped to the last ledge where I discovered a heap of photo albums.

What treasure!  I love looking at pictures and as I reached out to eagerly grab them and explore their gems, a thought occurred to me.  These were not mine to explore.  This wasn't my house.  I touched the first one's cover tentatively and then drew my fingers back.  They were private and obviously hidden away from public view for a reason.

Therefore, after having finally found the elusive light bulbs, I snatched the box and hastily shut the door.  I didn't stir though as I battled inwardly with temptation.

Jeffrey had pictures of his kids and even a few of him with his daughters strewn all around the house.  So what photographs would be in these albums that he wouldn't want displayed?  Surely, they would just be more of his children, right?  I mean you can't frame all of them and have them in plain view. 

I was positive they would probably be of trips he had taken with them when they were younger.  Then why wouldn't they be upstairs in the living or the den with the other photo albums?

I hate when my mind starts needling like this.  It just drives my curiosity and nosiness to the brink.  

Maybe they were baby pictures and full family shots that would undoubtedly include Liane.  Well, whatever moral quandary I was in was soon dispelled and made to take a flipping hike at that notion.

I yanked the door open again, took the first album out and sat down cross-legged on the carpet.

Opening it to the first page, I saw a magazine clipping dated May 1996 with a headline reading "The Man Who Knew Too Much".  Scanning quickly through it, it told the basis of Jeffrey's movie.  It was all about Brown and Williamson, their perjured testimony and the 60 Minutes interview. 

Flipping through the rest of the pages, I saw that indeed the whole album was dedicated to press and media interpretations of this event.  All of the articles were in chronological order, were neatly cut out and taped to ensure that they didn't fall out of the plastic they were encased in. 

Some of the stories were highlighted with red pen and even contained exclamation points after certain quotes.  Whoever had put together this collection had taken a great deal of time, thought and organization.  In fact, I could have sworn on a stack of Bibles that this had the trademarks all over it of a woman's handiwork.  Jeffrey didn't seem like the type who would create a scrapbook that would remind him of the horror and pain he went through and preserve it for all eternity.

Liane had done this, I was sure.  Why she left it was obvious.  When she ditched Jeffrey, she kept behind all mementos of him other than the ones pertaining to their children.  The real question here was why he had saved it after her departure and lugged it along to his new home.

Mulling this over for a minute or two I took out the second book.  Ahah!  These were the expected family pics.  

There was one of Deborah and Barbara in a row boat on a lake close to shore.  Both of them were wearing life jackets and another person's leg was shown crawling over the side.  That's all you could see of the individual. 

I peered closer at the girls' faces.  They were younger here than in their current school ones that were on top of the mantle in the den. 

Deborah had strawberry blond hair.  It had since darkened to a browner hue.  Barbara still had the long curls and a wide toothy grin, all dimples.  They were good-looking kids.

The next shot was of the four of them.  It looked like it had been taken at a cottage.  It was a picture postcard of a typical family on vacation.  The girls were laughing.  Jeffrey had one hand on Debbie's shoulder and the other arm around Liane's waist.  Liane's limpid eyes weren't directly looking at the camera and she appeared to be gazing at something away to the right out of the lense's range.

I studied the two adults.  Jeffrey was in shorts and a t-shirt looking tan and slimmer than he was now.  Yes, the gray was still in his hair but you could see streaks of the medium-brown color it naturally was.  There were less visible lines on his face especially around the eyes.  I had an idea that all the stress he later endured had aged him.  He was smiling and squinting from the sun.

Liane was in a sundress and was very trim and fit.  Her hair was shorter than in the movie.  She still came across as very chic and elegant, but there was an element of fragility there.  Something in the expression she wore-I couldn't explain it if I tried-her vapid, wispy suggestion of a smile made her seem distracted like she was not in the moment.

Taking the photo out, I turned it over to see if it was dated.  August 3, 1994.  That would be two years before everything fell apart. 

"Were the cracks in their marriage already apparent even then?" I mused out loud.

More snaps followed; most were of the kids alone.  There were none in the entire album of just Jeffrey and Liane.  I wondered about that too.

There were only two more on the shelf so I hauled the next one out.  This one contained much older shots and consisted of their courtship.  Amongst the photos were ticket stubs and little souvenirs of places and shows they had been too.  I noted that it was Jeffrey's handwriting that detailed what the item pertained to.  I was oddly touched by how sentimental he was revealing himself to be.  I was moved that he hadn't permanently packed his past tightly away where his ex-wife was concerned by dismantling the album or discarding it altogether.  After all, he had once loved her deeply.

Both of them looked very light and joyful.  They looked like a couple in love.  At the end were just a few of their wedding.  I counted back the years.  Jeffrey had told me that they were married for twelve years and had dated for two.  So when they met, he had been 39.  Liane was nine years younger so she had been 30.

No doubt about it; Liane had been a glorious, ethereal bride.  She oozed refinement, class and southern gentility.  How does a southern debutante meet and marry an academic born and raised in Brooklyn, New York?

Jeffrey made a most handsome, devilishly handsome, groom standing a good head and shoulders taller than his wife-to-be.

I fingered the picture and wondered where it all went wrong.  How did this entrancing, charming couple go from there to then-to not being able to speak out and share their needs and desires?  When did the lines of communication fall down and drag along the ground until they were trampled underfoot like forgotten refuse?

It made me so sad, mainly for Jeffrey.  No one wants their dreams to fail.  No one believes that love will not prevail through all the dark and lonely times.

At this moment, I was almost too disheartened to look at the last book.  I didn't want to see more past memories of what might have been.  However, I persevered and was planning on just whipping right through it.  It was easy enough to do.  It was almost empty.  I recognized no one in any of the few pictures.  There was a group shot of young men that might have been a grad photo but it was blurry and I couldn't make out facial features.

There was a woman with short dark curly hair who kept re-occurring.  None of these shots were dated or outlined who was who until the very end.  I nearly missed it.  I was about to close the album when a snap fell out.  I retrieved it face down.  On the back simply printed in penciled block letters, "Diane".  When I flicked it over, I saw a young girl in her mid-teens. 

So this was his eldest daughter.  She was lean and lanky with thick honey tinted tresses.  I didn't see much of Jeffrey in her.  She most likely looked like Susan.  The shot was out-dated as Jeffrey had told me she was now twenty-six.  Knowing how important family was to him, I found it tragic that he didn't have a relationship with her.

The dryer beeped stridently when it went off interrupting my reverie, so I stuck the picture back in and bundled all the albums back into the cupboard.

As I set up the ironing board, I couldn't get the assorted images out of my head.  Jeffrey's younger children had transfixed me with their infectious smiles.  They struck me as adorable, and I was optimistic that they would indeed prove to be so.  Was it ultimately the right time to meet them?

I'd been dragging my feet on this one for some time.  On the days Jeffrey had them over, I would make myself scarce.  It was not always on purpose.  I had night school two days a week and one of them fell on his visiting day.  The other times, I would come back late in the evening when they had been returned home.  When he had them for a full weekend, I would stay at my place.

Jeffrey never put pressure on me to see them.  He is the most understanding and perceptive man I have ever met, bar none.

With every day passed, I was inching closer to feeling secure and confident about the success of our relationship.  It was a relief to both of us.  I didn't have to fake and bluff something I fully didn't feel.  He didn't have to hold my hand and coddle me building up my ego.

Yet, this security only enveloped us.  I wasn't fully on board adding in the new element of his children.

When he came home from work that night, I surprised myself enormously by asking offhandedly, "What are you doing with the kids Tuesday night?"

He glanced up from the newspaper he had been reading.  "Probably renting a DVD.  It will be an early night.  Debbie's got a math test to study for."

Continuing to peruse my face through the top of his glasses, he was searching for clues as to why I had asked.

I nodded my head simply for something to do with my body.

"Is there a particular reason why you wanted to know?"

Leaning back on the kitchen counter, I absently picked up the sugar bowl, twirled its lid and put it down again.

"I just wanted to know if you were going out or doing anything special."

He shrugged.  "As you can see, not really.  You have your class Tuesday, don't you?"

I picked up my coffee mug, twisted it around and put it down again.

"It's been cancelled.  Teacher had to go out of town."

Jeffrey put the paper aside.  "So you'll be at loose ends?"

I picked up the dish cloth, folded it in three and put it down again.

"Kind of.  Thought maybe the four of us..." I scratched at my neck, "could watch a movie or play a game...you know one of those board ones like Monopoly or Snakes and Ladders.  Maybe that's too young for them.  I dunno."

His penetrating eyes pinned me and his lips slightly curved but all he said was, "That sounds like a great plan.  Let's do it."

"Okay."  I picked up the loaf of bread and put it away in the cupboard.

Yes...I was nervous.  Big surprise there.  Now that I had made a commitment, I had to follow through.

"Tell me about them."

Jeffrey's face broke into a broad smile as he leaned back in his chair lacing his hands behind his head warming to his subject.

"Debbie's quiet but smart.  She's so bright, gets top marks.  Her teacher raves about her.  She wishes though she were a little more vocal in speaking up in her class.   She can be shy, but she gets along in a group of playmates."

He laughed here.

"It's the funniest thing but she's really into clothes.  She just has to have whatever the trendy pair of jeans are.  Must get that from her mother."

A smile grew on my own face.

"Barbara...she's a whole different kettle of fish.  Now she's the livewire, into everything and anything, always asking questions and onto the next one before you even finish answering the first."

An indulgent look passed over his face.

"I'm afraid she'll be a heartbreaker where the boys are concerned."

I came over to the table and sat down beside him.  "With the way she sounds, I'm sure she'll break daddy's heart a few times when the boys start hanging around."

"Tell me about it.  They both will.  They know how to wrap me around their little fingers already.  Liane's a lot tougher with them than I could ever be."

I reached out and friskily started fiddling with the collar of his shirt.  "You don't really have to watch out for girls until they're twelve or so then they start pushing buttons, speaking from personal experience." 

I grinned at him as he threw his head back dramatically and closed his eyes.

"Thanks, you've given me a three year reprieve until Deborah begins to act out."

"You'll do fine, Baby." I traced the lobe of his ear with my finger, playing with the strands of hair on his temple.  "Growing up can be tricky but as long as there's love, guidelines and an open communication policy, your children will respect and honor you."

"Yeah?"  He stood up drawing me up with him, his eyes harboring a deep twinkle.  "Let's talk a little more about love and pushing buttons."

As the big date approached, despite my best efforts, Jeffrey can't help but be aware that I'm just a little bit twitchy.  We've had a couple of discussions regarding this.

"What if they hate me?"  C'mon Karen, don't hold back.  Let him know how you really feel.

"Why would they?" he counters.

I say the first thing that pops into my brain-always a bad move.  "I'm not southern."

How silly a remark is that?  I am such a dweeb.

He gives a very weak laugh; actually it's more like a groan.

"What's that have to do with the price of tea in China?  Neither am I.  I thought you could tell now by the Bronx accent."

Trying to defend my inane comment, I come back with a strong, "That's different.  You're not a woman.  They're used to their mother's drawl and all that fine down home cooking.  I can't make a decent omelet, as you well know."

He runs a hand through his hair.  His brows knit together.  He is thinking what else can I say to this paranoid woman to set her mind at ease.

"Don't be in awe of her."  He pours himself more coffee, takes off his glasses and pinches the bridge of his nose before gazing at me.

"Liane is rather spoiled, always has been.  That was part of her charm in the beginning.  Believe me, it ran thin after a few years.  She grew up the youngest in a big family and was used to getting all kinds of attention as her small town's southern belle.  I was flattered when we met that she took such a shine to me."

He stops and I wait for him to continue.  I've always been fascinated in how they were attracted to each other.  However, he has stopped talking about that part for good.

"She liked the big house, the fancy sports car..." he fades off like he doesn't want to ear bash her too much.

"You are her complete antithesis.  You don't care about material goods and possessions.  You're really a no frills kind of gal."

He's making a compliment there, isn't he?

"What?  You don't think I'm with you because of your bank roll?  Think it's just your good looks that wet my whistle?"

He doesn't tease me back.

"Don't get yourself all bent out of shape about this.  I know you.  You're building up this meeting in your mind as the be all and end all.  It's not.  It's just the first of many.  I hate to sound cruel but the kids will probably just shout out hello to you as they're running for the TV or looking for the cookies that they know I've baked for them."

"Well, that was a nice reality check of my significance in this event, Jeffrey, thank you...I think."  I roll my eyes while he looks sheepish.

Another conversation centered on the fact that Liane was seeing someone as well.

"It's pretty serious so I've heard from the kids.  So we're both on equal footing here."

"Don't you think that might mess them up...both of their parents seeing different people?"

"Trust me.  The kids are not harboring any hopes that we'll get back together.  That issue was made clear and put to rest a long time ago.  And I told you that they wanted me to have someone special too in my life.  They don't want me to be lonely."

Now I add in my real fear here.  "I hated my dad's girlfriend who later became his wife."

Jeffrey's taken aback.  I have rarely talked about my father and that's usually only because Jeffrey's brought him up to me first.

"Honey," he takes my face in his hands and gently brushes back my hair.  "That's a different situation altogether.  She was responsible for your parents' break-up.  You aren't for theirs."

I give him a brave smile and try to brush off the lingering doubt.

The day before the visit I come home from work with my lower back just killing me.  I have been stuck in the filing room at Harlequin for nearly two months.  That's one month longer than I anticipated.  My new job though is due to start next week.

I stumble to the couch slouched over giving my best impression of Quasimodo and fall on it.  I don't see that I've left my hard cover book jammed down the side of it.  So as I collapse on the cushions, the spine of the book jabs into my back like a knife causing me to roll off the couch onto the floor cursing a bloody blue streak.

Instantly, after the acute pain ebbs, I berate myself.  "For fuck's sake, Karen, you'll have to do a damn straight better job tomorrow about not swearing that's for shit sure."

Aren't kids supposed to be like little sponges with their young impressionable minds soaking up and mimicking everything that adults do and say?  Images of the Wigand children spouting obscenities like miniature truck drivers float through my head.  Yeah, uh huh, that would go over really well. 

Then I get a bad idea...one of the worst I could possibly ever get.  I'm not thinking straight though.  My back's hurting; my mind's whirling so I just think but do not say, "Fuck it; no one will ever know."

I grab my purse which is still at my feet and go into the back yard.  I sit down on the deck and look furtively around.  No neighbors are outside.  I peek over the fence.  His car is not in the drive way.

Biting my lip, I unzip my bag and dig through it until I find what I'm seeking.   I take out John Nash's pack of cigarettes that I've carried in my purse since the day I first confronted him in the pub.  That's how long this almost full pack has remained here untouched since the beginning of April.  Not one cigarette has been taken from it since we shared a few that night.

Oh yeah; I need a light.  I go back into the kitchen where he stores the candles and find a book of matches.  Bringing them out, I skip down the stairs and out into the garden.  I shield the flame from the wind with my hand and take a deep drag.

Yes!  That first flooding draw feels damn good.  This will calm me down.  This will take the edge off.  Everything will be fine.

Light brisk foot falls come from behind.  All of a sudden the cigarette is yanked out of my mouth, thrown upon the grass, stomped out and picked up with a handkerchief...all in a matter of five seconds.

Aw Shit!  I am so BUSTED!

(I knew I should have gone for the cup of chamomile tea instead, and why does he have to walk so softly?!)

I know why he did it.  I know he can't and won't abide it, but I cannot let him get away with treating me like a child.

I turn slowly to face Jeffrey.

His eyes are fiery.  His mouth is a straight line exhibiting clearly that he's pissed.  He's definitely not in the Zen zone now.

"Is this the part where you send me to bed without my supper?"

He says in a cold, steely voice, "If you want to poison your lungs be my guest but DO NOT..."  Here he enunciates every word, "do it around me, my children or on my property."

Even though I feel like a well chastened ten year old, I back down and become contrite putting myself in his shoes.  "I'm sorry.  It won't happen again.  I'll respect your wishes."

I crumple up the cigarette pack, walk to his garbage can and toss it in.

"I didn't know you smoked," he gives me a very revolted glare.

"I really don't, Jeffrey."  I blurt out in a rush not wanting him to believe that I've been playing him like a cheap accordion for months about this particular vice.  "I haven't since I was a teenager.  I smoked once when I was with John.  Those were his cigarettes.  I was just stressed and ..." I trail off.

He's still frowning, arms folded, but he turns and sits down on the deck.  I sit with him hoping he won't make this the crime of the century.  I wait for him to simmer down.

"Are you still worked up about the girls?  Cause we can cancel this if you're not ready."  His frustration is evident.

"No, I don't want that.  I truly don't.  It was my idea to do this, remember?"  I put my hand gingerly on his arm.  He doesn't shrug it off so at least I'm not in the doghouse for the rest of the night.

He doesn't get my perspective.  I grew up with no brothers or sisters; therefore, no sibling rivalry, no practical jokes, no name calling and no holy terror fights.  I've never baby sat in my life.  Children are an enigma to me.  And don't tell me to look at them like they're just small people who eventually turn into us.

"Please believe me.  I know I've wavered back and forth on this.  I know I've driven you mental.  But no more.  Debbie, Barbara and I will meet.  We'll have dinner, watch the movie and take it from there.  Everything will be hunky dory."  My voice takes on the power of conviction.

He swivels to me and shakes his head giving me a pained expression.  "Watching you climb the walls is not easy."

"But I do it so well," I cut in instead of biting my tongue.

"Yes, you do," he concedes after a beat with a small laugh ruffling up my hair.

I want to give him a kiss to reassure him and thank him for his continued patience and faith in me but he might be turned off if there's the slightest trace of smoke languishing.

He takes the dilemma out of my hands by kissing me.

"So you think you're an expert at Monopoly, do you?" he says choosing to take the diversion route as we head back inside.  "Let's see you prove it."  A challenging gleam dances in his eyes.

"Wigand," I give a derisive snort, "I get a hotel on Boardwalk every time within half an hour but if you're man enough....  I only play for the big bucks."

Going to the counter, he pulls something out of a plastic shopping bag and throws it to me.  "Way ahead of you, Red."

"Gummy bears!" I shriek in delight.  "You are on darlin'!"

The Audi pulls in the drive way.  Spying through the window drapes, I see two little bodies jump out.  I take a last glance in the mirror, smooth my hair, straighten my blouse and open the door.

"Hi Honey," Jeffrey gives me a peck on the cheek and stands back to usher the girls forward.  He presents them with a sweep of his hand.  "This is Debbie and Barbara.  Girls, this is Karen."

"Hi there," I cheerfully smile and greet them.

"Hi," Barbara immediately chirps out in a sing song voice.

Deborah looks at me shyly from beneath her bangs and says much more softly, "Hello."

I retreat into the hall to let them enter.  Barbara skedaddles into the living room.  Debbie quickly follows.  I hear the sound of the TV being switched on.

I plant my hands on my hips, cock my head at Jeffrey and raise one eyebrow.  He shrugs helplessly clearly saying, 'I told you so'.

"Where are the cookies, daddy?" Barbara runs out again.

"I'll bring them in," he answers. "But don't eat too many.  You'll spoil your dinner."

Satisfied, she bounces back to the room.

The next hour elapses and all of us are having fun munching on chocolate chip cookies, swilling down Kool-Aid, watching Shrek 2 and generally just enjoying each other's company.

The girls haven't said much to me but that's okay.  I'm too busy getting a kick out of absorbing the ordinary chatter and carefree banter going back and forth between a father and his daughters.

So far, and this dialogue is separate completely from what they've said about the movie, Debbie's told him about how Stevie in her class got in trouble again with the teacher for passing notes to Clara Bowes, that she got a 9/10 on her spelling test and should have got a 10 but the teacher cheated and threw in a trick work that hadn't been on their current lesson but from one months ago, that she wants to get a pet bunny like the one they have at school but her mother won't let her.

Barbara chimes in that she and her best friend Sally are making a joint castle for their collection of tent caterpillars out of a large coffee tin.  Then she starts peppering Jeffrey with queries:  why do they make cocoons, when will they make cocoons, how long does it take to make a cocoon, how long before they fly out of the cocoon and become a butterfly, how can they keep them still without them flying away when they're butterflies, what do you feed a butterfly, why is a butterfly called a butterfly, does it have anything to do with butter?

I smother a giggle at her endless stream of consciousness.  Jeffrey is doing his level best to answer each and every question but as soon as he starts speaking, she's off again leaping ahead to her next thought.

After about ten minutes of this, he gives me a pointed look that pleads, 'Can you help me out here?'

I'm planning on being brutal and nasty and saying nothing just letting him endure what obviously is very pleasant torture when Debbie speaks up, "I'm hungry.  What are we having for dinner?"

"Lasagna, Baby.  I'd better finish making it."

Jeffrey goes back into the kitchen and then the phone rings.

I continue to watch the movie.  My sharp ears catch the sound of him exclaiming, "Shit!  I'll be right there."

The next minute he pops back into the living room already scooping up his car keys.

"There's been an accident at the lab.  I gotta get down there."

Barbara pipes up, "You're leaving, daddy?"

"Yeah, sweetie, but I'll try and make it back as soon as I can.  You girls be good for Karen now, okay?"

I follow him to the door already alarmed. 

He has no time to pacify me.

"You'll do great."  He pats me on the cheek then he's gone.

I take a deep gulp of breath and wander back to find both of them tired of the movie.

"Can we eat?" Barbara asks climbing on top of the couch.

"Sure," I respond instantly.  "I'll just go and see if it's ready to put in the oven."

In the kitchen though I find out that Jeffrey has planned to make lasagna from scratch and has only just started.  It is nowhere near ready to be cooked.  Why, oh why, couldn't he just be like a normal man and buy it pre-prepared so that all I have to do is heat it up?

I have no clue as to follow his recipe because there is no frigging one in sight!  Neither is there a cookbook.  He has this thing in his head.

Rubbing my face and getting the first tingling of a very bad headache, I start looking through cupboards.  

Barbara comes in.  "Whatcha doing?"

"Uh...your dad wasn't quite through making the lasagna so I'm looking for something else that we can eat."

There are tinned cans of soup.  Ugh!  Surely, I can come up with something better than that.

She hops onto the stool and scoots onto the counter.

"Do you like peanut butter sandwiches?"

"I ate one already at lunch."

I'm running out of options here.  I fling open the freezer.  Jeffrey's not into frozen foods either apparently.  There's not even a McCain pizza in there.  That's something I can do.

"What about if we order a pizza?  You can have as many toppings as you like"

"Debbie doesn't like it, and besides it's junk food."

Okay...it's back to the fridge.  I tug at the meat crisper.  There's a pack of wieners.

"Hot dogs?" I ask imploring, desperation beginning to creep into my tone.

"Mommy never lets us eat them.  She says they're bad for us."

Figures!  I always saw Liane as a bit of a tight ass.  Maybe I can turn this to my advantage.

"You're mom's absolutely right.  They're not good for you if you eat them all the time.  But once in awhile, if you sneak one in (get the hint, Kid?), it's a treat, right?  I'm sure your mom doesn't mind if you have treats occasionally."

Debbie enters.  "We had hot dogs on July 4th at the beach."

"This is now September so I think it would be fine.  What do you think?"

They both look at each other and then grin at me, animation lighting up their faces.

"Yeah!  Can we have a barbeque?"

So that's what we did.  I fired up the hibachi.  I wasn't going to even attempt that monstrosity of a gas barbeque.  That was a guy thing and Jeffrey's domain.  I know I can be sexist too; so sue me.

We loaded up the hot dogs with all kinds of condiments that I'm sure Liane would have a fit over.  We ate outside and stuffed ourselves rotten.

I was just beginning to relax when the questions started.

"How long have you've known daddy?"

"Since February."

"Where did you meet him?"

"Ah...at a restaurant."  Sounded better than a pub or a bar and they do serve food there.

"What did you do when you met him?  Was it like a date?

Well, we had raunchy sex on the floor of a Japanese tatami room.  Don't be stupid!  Of course I didn't tell them that.  I just recalled it instantly and equally instantly repressed it.

"We just had dinner and talked.  Got to know each other a little."

"He really likes you.  Do you like him?"

I give a little nervous titter.  "Yes; I like him a lot."

At this point, Debbie, probably bored beyond belief, wanders back inside.  No such luck with Barbara.

"What kind of stuff do you do together?"

"We see concerts and museums, go dancing, take walks in the park..."

"Do you kiss?" she asked out of the blue.

Where the hell did that come from?  I've scratched my neck raw by this time but they say honesty is the best policy plus I don't think I could really fool this girl by being evasive.  She's way too sharp.

"Sometimes."

"Only sometimes?  Mommy kisses Bradley a lot."

Bradley???? Is that his name?

"She definitely must like him then."

"He's okay.  He buys us Smarties."

Please...please...please dear God.  Don't let her ask me any more personal questions.  She's moving in on our sex life.  I can see the writing on the wall.

"Is daddy a good kisser?"

What!!!!!  I think it was about then that I started having heart palpitations.  Is this what a panic attack feels like?

"Is he?" the little darling stubbornly persists, her long lashes fluttering as she looked up at me.

"Barbara, how much do you know about kissing?"  Time for me to ask some questions of my own.

She lifts her shoulders really high.  "Daddy kisses us hello and goodnight.  He used to kiss mommy but it was a different kind of kiss."

"Your dad loves you girls very much.  But you're right.  There are different types of kisses.  There are the ones he reserves just for you two.  Those are very exceptional ones that he shares with no one else."

"What about the ones he shares with you?  What kind are they?  Do you close your eyes and hold your breath?  Mommy does," Barbara burbles on.

Is there no dial to switch this kid off?  Seriously, Liane, cut her sugar intake in half.  Don't sweat the junk food.

"Our kisses show deep affection for each other."

"Debbie likes a boy in her class, Stevie, the one who's ALWAYS in trouble."

The rapid fire change in subject throws me a bit but I deal.

"There's nothing wrong with that.  Do you like any in yours?"

She thinks about that for half a second.  "None that I would want to kiss."

I feel like banging my aching head on the wall.

"What comes after kissing?"

"What do you mean?"

"They always show it on TV.  People kiss then they take their clothes off."

And this child is watching what?  Doesn't sound like cartoons to me.

"Er...Barbara, what show do you see this on?"

Gotcha!  She looks up at me with wide eyes finally realizing she has said too much.  But she's too young and innocent to lie.

"Y & R.  That's the Young and the Restless.  It comes on at 4:30 when I'm supposed to be watching Scooby Doo.

Scooby Doo?  Is that still on?  Suddenly I don't feel so old.

I have to suppress a chuckle here.  This is too funny.  Six year old Barbara Wigand sneaking in and changing channels to watch steamy soap operas.  Sex in the afternoon.  Oh, if her father only knew.

"Your secret's safe with me, Honey," I reassure her.

Twisting my arm to look at my watch, she announces that "Atomic Betty" is on, hops down from her lawn chair and skips back to the living room.

What a tornado she is.  Look out boys!  This one definitely will be a heart breaker.

I clean up the mess and do the dishes still thankful that whoever Atomic Betty is, she sure saved my butt.  As I'm putting the cutlery back in the drawer, I think I hear a noise but can't quite place the sound.  It must be coming from the TV.

I hear it again.  This time more urgent.

I walk into the living room.  Barbara's gone.  Deborah's AWOL too.

"Debbie!"

A faint wail coming from the girls' room sounds suspiciously ominous.  Oh My God!  Remembering a critical scene in his movie, I race up the stairs and down the hall and fling open the door that has been left ajar.

Debbie's on the bed struggling to breathe.  Her head is back.  She's wheezing.  Her neck muscles are contracting and bulging.  Her face is deathly pale as the blood drains away and her lips are white.  Her inhalations are rapid and shallow.  Asthma attack!

Barbara's crouched on the floor pulling at some huge box thing

I run back out frantically searching for my cell and rapidly punch in 911.  

"Please.  Hurry, there's a little girl at 841 Linfeld Drive having an acute asthma attack."

As I charge back into the room, my heart hammering painfully in my chest, I'm greeted by the sight of Barbara on the bed covering Debbie's face with what looks like an oxygen mask.

"Remember Debbie, you have to slow down.  Remember what daddy says?  Slow down.  Breathe deep.  Slow down.  Slow down!  Deep breathe."  Barbara is brushing back her hair that is stuck to her damp cheeks.

I grasp Debbie's hands.  They are icy cold.  My mind sprints ahead and my first inclination is to tear Barbara away in case I need to start doing some emergency first aid like mouth-to-mouth. 

But I can see that whatever machine she's hooked up to is doing its work and that Barbara's voice is calming her.

Her wheezing has almost stopped.  Her color is returning to normal.  Blessed relief washes over me in waves.

I stand there, my stomach in knots, feeling helpless watching in dazed wonder as a tiny girl possibly saves her own sister's life.

I hear the door bell and I rush to let the paramedics in.  They check her out.  They have their own portable oxygen but it's not necessary at this stage. 

They ask her if she's all right.  Debbie just nods.

They tell me she's fine and ask what brought the attack on.  I'm about to say I don't know when Barbara speaks up.

"She has a bunny in class.  His name is Snickers.  She was playing with him today.  She wants one of her own but mommy won't let her because the fur can bring on an attack."

Out of the mouths of babes.

"Ma'am I don't think we need to bring her in to Emerg.  You seemed to have done the right thing here with the Nebulizer.  If she just takes it easy for the night, she'll be as good as new tomorrow."

Nebulizer?  I didn't do a damn thing.

The paramedic smiles once more at Debbie but lifts a warning finger.  "You stay away from Snickers, Sugar.  I know he must be really cute but we can't have you getting sick."  He and his troop leave.

I'm staring at Barbara in amazement.  This baby girl knew just what to do, did it without thinking twice while I stood around and could only think to call for help.

"It's all right, Karen," a small little hand finds itself into mine.  "Daddy taught mommy and me what to do."

Our natural positions have been reversed.  I'm the one being comforted like a little girl.

A golden flash of a smile and then she's up on the bed again chattering away to Debbie, scolding her about the rabbit.

Wheeling out of the room, I try to smother the sobs that emerge as the tension and reality of what could have happened sinks in.  If anything had happened to that child, I would never have forgiven myself for Deborah's own sake first and foremost.  But how could I ever have been able to look into Jeffrey's eyes again?

I stay down huddled on our bedroom floor until all the jerking tears have subsided.  I shouldn't be in here.  I should be with them ensuring that they're both safe.  Somehow I have to gather myself together.

The door downstairs opens.  He's back!  I fly down the stairs.  

"Jeffrey!  Debbie had an asthmatic attack."

His face blanches with alarm and he's already springing up the stairs two at a time.

I follow behind.  "She's okay now though.  The paramedics came and said she didn't need to go to the hospital."

He rushes in and gathers up Deborah in his arms.  "Baby, are you okay?  You had another attack?"

While hugging her close, Barbara fills him in.

I back out of the room and leave the three of them alone.  This is an inseparable family moment.  I go downstairs and sit hunched forward with my chin cupped in my hands staring mindlessly at some stupid sitcom on the tube.

About half an hour later, he comes down to find me.  

"How are you?" he asks me gently, so very gently.

He's not upset?

I look up at him stricken.  "You're worried about me?  God...Jeffrey...she could have..."  I start shaking and the tears flow again.

He wraps me up in a tight embrace.  "Don't think like that.  Everything's fine now."

"J-eff-rey, I didn't do anything.  Barbara did it all.  She's the one that hooked up that machine.  She's the one that talked her down.  I just stood there like a dummy.  I'm the one who's supposed to be the adult who knows what to do.  All I could think of was to call 911."

"Hey...hey, what's all this?" he soothes.  "You did exactly what anyone would do."

I pull away and cover my face.  

"We're old pros at this.  You're not.  It was my fault for not telling you about the Nebulizer and showing you how to use it."

"Nebulizer?  What the hell is that?"

"It's an air compressor that delivers medication down a tube into a circular mask."

"I thought it was just oxygen."

He takes my hands away from my face.  "Barbara knows to be on the alert and is trained in what to do.  I made sure of that in case either Liane or I were not around.  You can never be too young to learn what to do in an emergency.  She's a smart and tough little girl.  She takes after her old man."

He's trying to make me smile.

I wipe at my eyes.  "Yeah...well Mr. Smart and Tough Man, you are going to show me how to use that Nebulizer thingie tonight.  I am not going to take any more chances or risks here."

"I'll show you when I come back.  I've got to take them home now."

"Shouldn't you leave Deborah here in bed to rest?"

"She can rest at home.  You've got to get things back to normal as soon as possible."

He carries her out to the car wrapped in a blanket.  I wave goodbye to her and then Barbara totally catches me off guard by reaching out to give me a hug.  I crouch down to kiss her on the forehead.

"What type of kiss is that?" she asks.

I tug at her curls tucking errant wisps behind her ears.  "The very best kind.  The one between two special friends who share secrets."

"But you didn't tell me one," she reminds me pouting a bit.

"You're right.  Let me think."  I ponder this for a moment and then beckon her to come close and murmur in her ear.

Her mouth widens to form a very large O.  She flashes me the sunniest smile and whispers back, "Daddy was right.  You sure are pretty."

I feel like crying again but I don't.  

The big meeting is over.  They didn't hate me.  I was on the fast track to adoring them.  The worst thing imaginable had happened and we all survived.

Don't make this the be all and end all Jeffrey had warned.  So I wasn't going to.  I walked back into the kids' room, sat on the first bed and thought about all the different types of kisses there were and all the kinds of love.