Calendar

A stream of bright sunlight sliced through the partially-drawn shades over Cal's computer, painting alternate stripes of light across his rugged – and very solemn – face. He was staring at the computer screen, oblivious to the sunlight, the dog scratching at the door for his morning treat, or the birds singing outside – he was numb.

The numbness came as a result of the brief email that lay like a bomb in the middle of the screen. The last line had seared itself into his brain and kept repeating itself over and over like an old phonograph record with a terrible scratch in it:

"Cal, I can't write to you anymore. I am so sorry. Please forgive me. Jenny."

He finally rose from the chair, absently picked up a dog treat from the basket by the door and walked out of the house, catching a familiar trail up the ridge where he could sit and think as he looked out over the Ozark Mountains which were his home.

***************************

Cal had received the call from Jenny one sunning June afternoon, just a little more than a year after she had last left his office, headed for Louisiana and a life she deserved but had never had.

Her voice was friendly and warm, but he thought he detected somehow that there were things she wanted to say that she could not express properly over the phone. He wasn't sure; he had not talked to her that much.

She asked if she could stop by and spend the weekend. She was revisiting the area to try and establish some good memories from her past. He was glad to oblige and gave her instructions on how to reach his farm, then headed for town to get a few things for the weekend, which was just two days away.

When she arrived she was more beautiful than he had remembered, light brown hair flowing down her shoulders stylishly, eyes sparkling, her neat sleeveless blouse and slacks modestly displaying her womanly figure with every graceful step.

What a woman! Did he dare hope that she was coming back to him?

Her hug and kiss were warm and loving, and she allowed herself to be held for several minutes as he reveled in her closeness and the fresh smell of her hair. There was something there, though, -- he had been right at first. He had better put her in the spare bedroom.

As he took her luggage into the extra bedroom he saw her take in the layout of the house in one sweep and look at him questioningly when she realized she would not be sleeping with him. Maybe he was wrong; if so, they would iron that out later. If there was a permanent relationship developing here this weekend, it should be with no strings attached.

She showered and freshened up from her long drive as he fixed dinner: seafood over pasta, garlic bread and Sangria wine. They caught up on the last year as they ate, laughing and flirting like old friends. His love for the young beauty was still there, and he let it show as openly as he dared. He believed she loved him as well, catching a look of warm affection from time to time as she smiled at him.

After dinner they went to the front porch and swung gently on the porch swing as they watched a magnificent sunset light up the sky over the mountains that surrounded his little valley. When the sunset faded, and the mountains became shrouded with the blue haze of dusk, they moved inside to the couch, where Jenny cuddled up next to him under his arm as they watched the evening news together.

She sat up and looked him in the eyes as he turned off the television, sensing that it was time for important talk. She moved slightly away from him, turning to face him, taking both his hands in hers.

"I need to look in your eyes," she said gently, explaining the move. Cal just nodded -- this was not going to be what he wanted to hear.

"I told you when I left that if I ever needed more than a friend that you would be the first on my list," she began, watching him closely, and breathing a slight sigh of relief when she saw love and acceptance of what was to come in his eyes.

"After I got my GED, the spring semester in community college was very difficult," she said, frowning slightly at the remembrance. "I had to take several remedial courses just to get accepted into a degree program next fall, and I just didn't have a very good background in English or math."

She stopped to look down at her hands, not sure how to go on, and Cal gave both hands a gentle squeeze to reassure her.

"They assigned me a tutor, a guy about my age . . . who ended up being very much like you, Cal. He was gentle and kind, thoughtful and patient and . . ."

"You fell in love with him," Cal finished, with a lump in his throat. Jenny had looked down as he spoke, and when she raised her eyes to him again they were filled with tears that, one at a time, slipped over the edge and ran down her cheeks. Cal reached out and caught each one with his fingers, gently wiping away the last with his thumb.

"I wanted to call you when I first understood what was happening to me, but I have never truly been in love before, Cal, not like this, and I wasn't sure it was real or would last." She was quiet then, for a minute or so, collecting her thoughts as her friend stroked the hair out back off her face and smiled into her eyes.

"I'm carrying his child," she finally said, so quiet he could hardly hear the words . . . which filled him with joy despite the fact the child would not be his. She saw the joy in his eyes before he spoke and loved him for it.

"That is wonderful, Jenny," he said, reaching over to pull her back to him, wrapping her in his arms. "I only ask one thing . . . that you let your children call me 'Cal' and not 'Uncle' or 'Grandpa.'" She nodded her head in assent against his chest.

"Rick doesn't know about you and that I came back to see you," the young woman said, sitting up again to look into her friend's face. "I came back for you . . . to give this weekend to you, because I love you, too."

He understood what she was suggesting, but knew it would not, could not, work. Nevertheless he said, "Thank you," and then took her hand, leading her out into the night. They walked along the one-lane gravel road that led past his home, listening to the whippoorwills and other night noises as they walked . . . followed faithfully by Rascal, the ancient beagle that Cal had raised from a puppy.

When they returned to the house, Cal held her closely, lowering his face to hers and kissing her longingly and enjoying the thrill as she kissed him back with equal passion. Finally he held her at arms length and loved her with his eyes, from head to toe.

"We can't sleep together, Jenny, I want it now as much as anything in the world, but we would both regret it in the future." She just nodded, and smiled through her tears. "I will ask one favor of you, though . . .'

"Anything," was her reply.

"Would you run around the house naked, and let me take pictures of you to remember you by?"

The smile she turned on his was almost girlish in its excitement at the thought of pleasing him in this way . . . which would be no different that what she had already done once before.

"Do you want to start right now?" she asked reaching for the bottom of her blouse.

"No, Lady, let's start in the morning."

The two kissed again and then Cal led her to her room, closing the door behind her as he turned to go to his own bedroom.

The next morning she was cooking breakfast when he arose. She looked like a Greek statue standing there behind the stove aglow in her nudity. The next two days would be the most glorious Cal had experienced in years.

They took pictures in the ancient barn behind his house, at the spring, with the horses, swimming in his pond, swinging on the tire swing that hung from the old white oak tree . . . everywhere he could imagine; and Jenny clearly enjoyed the posing as much as he enjoyed photographing her.

When it came time for her to go they shared one last passionate kiss . . . which neither wanted to interrupt.

As he held the door for her to get into the car, Cal made a final request.

"Would you email me from time to time, just to let me know how things are going?" he asked.

"I will email you every day," she said, looking into his eyes with loving sincerity. "I will never forget you, Cal, never!" And then she was gone – back to the father of her child, back to her parents and the state of Louisiana, back to her schooling and the new life that Cal had helped her discover. Gone.

The emails came as promised, and he looked forward to them each morning as he rose. "Good morning, Cal, I hope you slept well last night." Then she would tell him all about her classes, her children, her husband, her life. He would write in return, sharing as best he could the small things that made up his lonely existence . . . but never letting her know the extent of that loneliness.

Then, after five years of joyful correspondence, the final email came.

"Dear Cal . . ." Her husband, now a college professor, had discovered her cache of emails and challenged her. He had not understood how she could have kept such a thing from him for so many years, and no amount of tears and confession would make up for the mistake of keeping their friendship secret. Finally, at the end of the long correspondence, she wrote the words that left him numb.

****************************

Cal sat for several hours atop the ridge, listening to Rascal snore, the squirrels moving from tree to tree to check these intruders out, the snort of a deer that almost walked up on them, the shrill cry of the pair of nesting hawks as they brought food back to the little ones.

He gloried in the beautiful hills that surrounded his home, in the wonderfully soft clouds that lazily moved across the sky, and the graceful sweep of a turkey buzzard overhead as it road the shafts of heat rising from the earth, ever circling, ever looking for food. It sailed above his head for a moment, but then moved on when it determined he was still alive.

"I am too young for the buzzards," Cal mused aloud, prompting a raised eyebrow from the sad-faced beagle at his feet. "And was too old for Jenny. I guess I just can't win, Pard," he finished, rising to his feet to return to the house and his routine of life.

The man and dog wandered slowly down the hill together – two old friends with nothing to look forward to but their memories. Rascal would lie that night asleep on the porch, his eyebrows raising and lowering and a disgruntled growl coming from his throat as the memories of rabbit chases and in-heat females raced across his brain.

Cal would sit at his computer, watching a slideshow of the most wonderful woman he had known flash across the screen, smiling occasionally as the picture of a mother and her two children would interrupt the various march of her beautiful body around his farm.

He felt lucky for such vivid reminders . . . some only had memories that fade with time.

He finally heaved a sigh and rose to go to bed. He paused for a second, looking into the spare room. Maybe he would sleep there tonight, just to remember what might have been.