Separate Lives

Chapter 7

"Hey! Anyone home?"

I was at Melissa and Cal's front door, banging on the screen door hard enough to rattle the windows. I was grinning for all I was worth. I hadn't seen my friends in a long, long time and I was anxious to see them. I heard the rustle of movement behind the closed door before it was pulled open.

"RON!"

I couldn't tell at first whether Melissa was happy to see me or not. She stood there, trembling like a leaf for a couple of seconds before pushing open the screen and leaping into my arms. Her arms wrapped themselves around my neck and she started crying into my chest. I just patted her back and told her over and over that it was all right and other nonsensical things. The only thing to do with Melissa was to wait her out when she got on an emotional jag. Suddenly she was finished.

"Why didn't you tell us you were coming?" she asked. She hit me in the chest with her fist. I pretended to be knocked backward by it and got a reproving grin for my trouble. So much for my acting abilities. She grabbed my arm and dragged me into the cool interior of the house.

"CAL!" she yelled, "COME HERE…IT'S RON." I was sure Cal could have heard her three counties over and, sure enough, he came galloping into the living room a few seconds later. We shook and pounded each other's shoulders until he suddenly realized what he was doing. I assured him my wound had completely healed.

About then, a whole herd of young children erupted into the living room, running hard to see what all the yelling had been about. There were five of them—two boys and three girls. The oldest boy had to be Cal's oldest—he looked just like his father. He was six now. He'd been two when I left. His brother was three and a half, I was told. I shook hands with them as if they were men when Melissa introduced me to them. They thought that was just great. The smallest girl was Melissa's youngest—her daughter Jeanette. Melissa tried to get the little tyke's thumb out of her mouth but it wasn't coming out for love nor money.

The two other girls were identical twins, blond, and completely adorable. Melissa beckoned them forward and I dropped back down on my knees to be on their level.

"Girls, this is Ron. He's Jeanette, Ben, and Cal Junior's Uncle Ron. Ron, this is Cassandra and Courtney. We're babysitting them while their Mom is at work."

Her voice shook a little and I didn't know why. I let it pass. Melissa is a bundle of emotions ready to spark even at the most placid of times. I shook hands with each of the little girls solemnly.

"My goodness, you two are just as cute as you can be," I said. I reached out and put my hand on the head of the one on the left.

"Cassandra…right?" She nodded, using a child's exaggerated motion. "Do you like to be called Cassandra? Or Cassie?"

"Cassie," she said in a little voice. I smiled at her.

"Then Cassie it shall be," I assured her. I turned to the one to my right.

"And that must mean you're Courtney, huh?" She nodded emphatically. I sat back on my heels.

"Courtney and Cassie…Cassie and Courtney. Those are two pretty names for two pretty little girls," I told them. They smiled tentatively.

"Are you

our

Uncle Ron, too?" Cassie asked plaintively. I glanced up at Melissa and Cal. There was a sudden tension in their postures I didn't understand.

"You think their mother will object to them calling me that while they're around me?" I demanded. They looked at each other.

"No, I guess that's all right," Melissa said carefully. "We'll have to clear it with their mother but it should be all right for now." She was a little nervous. I made a note to ask why later. I turned back to the little blond twins.

"Then "Uncle Ron" it is for now, okay?" They grinned. Smiling back, I studied them for a moment. Something about them was familiar but I didn't know what it was.

"And I

know

I'm Uncle Ron to this little girl," I said. Sixteen-month old Jeanette had been edging closer while I had been talking to the two older girls and she was close now. I reached out, grabbed her around the waist, and pulled her to me. In seconds, right after she shed her startled look, she was giggling like a maniac because I was tickling her tummy and wouldn't let her go. Suddenly, I got my arm around Cassie and pulled her in for a little tickling too. Courtney attacked to get her share. I just

had

to tickle her belly and ribs too.

Shortly after that, the two boys jumped in the middle of everything, demanding some attention also. The living room was suddenly the scene of a free for all. Everyone was trying to tickle everyone else but I got the best of that. I'm not ticklish and no amount of little fingers poking into my ribs was going to make me laugh.

After a while, the twins took off screaming in "fear" and Jeanette toddled off after them. The two boys tired of the game about the same time and sat on the floor, leaning against the couch while they caught their breath. I saw the girls peeking back from the doorway but I didn't react.

"Whew!" I said breathlessly. "That was fun."

I know a smile was threatening to split my face wide open. Both parents looked at me in stunned disbelief. They'd expected me to ask the obligatory adult-child questions, give them a kiss on the cheek, and then wave them away. I laughed at my two best friends in the world. When I stood up, Melissa was moved to wind her arms around my waist and hug me tight again.

"You had us so worried," she said quietly, serious for the first time in a while. "I was afraid you weren't going to come home to us," she said. I could tell the waterworks were about to start running again.

"Melissa," I said firmly, "I'm home…I'm all right…and I'll never be going over there again, okay?" It helped some, but my shirt breast pocket was still getting drenched.

"It was so hard when we heard you were shot, you Doofus," she said. "You're the closest thing I've got to a brother and I was scared." I held her at arm's length for a moment. Suddenly, I was a little choked up.

"Well, I don't have a sister or a brother either," I told her. I turned to Cal.

"Cal?" He lifted his chin in response. "Is it okay if I adopt your wife as my sister?" I asked. My voice was halfway between serious and kidding.

"Heck, you might as well," Cal said resignedly. "But if she starts in crying again, you're on your own. You understand that, right?" Melissa stuck out her tongue at him.

"So what do you think, 'Lissa?" I said. "Shall we make it official? Brother and sister for ever and ever?" She nodded hesitantly. She had a feeling I was up to something but she didn't know what.

I stood facing her and took both her hands in mine.

"I, Ronald Terrance Masters, take thee Melissa…to love and respect…to tease and irritate—" I took off running for the kitchen door and out to the back yard but she got in a swipe at me before I was going real good.

None of the five kids understood what we three adults were talking about. Ben—Melissa and Cal's oldest—came the closest. He looked at me and his mother, then at his little sister and the two twins and back at me. Plainly, he was wondering why any self-respecting guy would ever

want

a sister he didn't absolutely have to accept.

I got a good home cooked meal that evening, something I hadn't even realized I'd been missing. Melissa beamed when I went on and on with the compliments…and meant them.

When I kissed her cheek goodnight, I called Melissa "Sis," making my voice very serious, and she called me "Brother." I knew darn well when she closed the door she was going to burst out into tears again but, in spite of Cal's declaration that it was my responsibility, he had to deal with it, not me.

********

A week later at a delicatessen near the downtown business district, I was going over the housing inspector's report on the house I was buying across town. The roof needed some work to bring it up to specs and the sellers had offered to lower their asking price by the amount of the highest estimate if I'd go ahead and close now, accepting the roof as is.

That was fine with me. I liked the place at first sight and I couldn't wait to move in. It would be the first two-story house I'd ever lived in. I signed my name on the equity paperwork and put my ballpoint away. Shuffling the documents back into a rudimentary order, I dropped them in my briefcase.

"Hello, stranger," a woman said. All of a sudden, my stomach knotted up. I looked up to see a tall, very pretty brunette standing quietly beside my table. I stood up slowly.

"Hello, Sherrie," I said. We looked at each other for a long moment. I shook off the shock.

"Where are my manners?" I remarked. "Please, would you join me?" I reached out to pull the chair near me out from the table. She nodded and sat down in a sinuous movement. I didn't remember she had

that

much grace before we were divorced, but memories are always suspect. We remember the last thing we see of a person and my last view of Sherrie hadn't been a flattering one for her.

"Thank you," she said. We looked each other over very closely for a space. She smiled.

"I wasn't completely sure you wouldn't yell at me and chase me off," she said slowly, "like the last time we talked." I felt a faint blush begin rising up my neck.

"I…uh…I should apologize for the way I spoke to you that day," I said quietly, trying to suppress the rush of blood that was threatening to make my ears glow. "No matter what…had happened, I had no call to use obscenity and four-letter words like that."

"That's okay," she said, her eyes searching my face for a clue as to what I was thinking. I shook my head.

"No…I'm embarrassed when I remember the way I acted that day, Sherrie. Mom and Dad didn't raise me to talk like that. Mom would've boxed my ears good for that kind of language."

"Well, it's long past and… you did have some awful strong provocation…Ron," she said softly. It was her turn to blush at the memories.

"Like you said," I remarked, "it's in the past. That was…what…almost four and a half years ago—no…a little more, isn't it?" She nodded. "We're coming up on being five years older than we were when…we separated," I said carefully.

"Five years wiser, you think?" she asked tentatively.

"I like to think so," I answered, trying to be as honest as I knew how. "Sometimes I don't always measure up…but I try."

"So do I," she said gently.

We spoke quietly for another thirty minutes until she had to leave and go back to work. While we talked, I watched her every movement. Each one was familiar but, at the same time, not the same as I recalled.

Sherrie was thirty-one years old now. She'd been barely twenty when we first met. I sat there comparing the new Sherrie with the earlier version and I kept finding new things that I liked better about the way she was now. For one thing, she was calm and self-assured; her eyes met mine squarely without being unnecessarily aggressive. Her posture was erect; she exuded confidence.

The mature Sherrie was not a classically beautiful woman—not a runway model too thin and aristocratic. But she was very, very attractive and always had been. Her lively green eyes were set wide apart on either side of a well-shaped nose that had small, pale freckles scattered across it. Her lips were full, but without that strange, swollen look some women affect these days. Her high cheekbones gave her a faintly Slavic appearance, a gift from one of her maternal great-grandfathers, and she had a vibrancy that animated her features. When she turned her grin on someone, there were few who could refuse to give one in return.

Her body seemed fuller than it had been. Her breasts had been a source of annoyance to her before. She'd always complained they were only "B's" and I'd countered with a pronouncement they were "B-pluses." Now they were larger. I was willing to bet my girl-watchers of America membership card that she now wore a "C" cup bra. I couldn't think of a polite way to ask though. There are some questions one does not ask one's ex-wife.

"Well," she said, looking at her wristwatch, "I have to go or the boss is going to have a kitten." I surprised myself with how disappointed I was at her leaving. I stood up with her. She hesitated and wet her lips before saying anything more.

"Ron…can we go somewhere some time and talk? I mean, without having to get up and leave because we have to be somewhere?" I looked at her for a long moment. There'd been a faintly pleading note in her voice.

"Would you like to go out to dinner sometime?" I said impulsively. "We could talk then." She smiled. There was a flash of pleasure in her eyes.

"Tomorrow is Friday," she suggested delicately.

"Uh…some place open and…neutral?" I asked.

"Golden Corral?" she suggested. The buffet-style restaurant seemed a good choice to me too.

She wrote her cell phone number down on a napkin and tucked it in my shirt pocket for me. She said she was never more than a couple of feet away from her cell phone. When she'd bent over to use the table as a desk, her v-necked blouse fell away a little. Her bra was definitely a C cup. She'd meet me at the restaurant just built out on the loop. She didn't think she could make it before 8:00 PM. I told her I'd be there.

As Sherrie walked away, I saw she still had the same trim ankles and beautifully sculpted calves and thighs she'd had when I first met her. I remembered she'd always had a graceful way of carrying herself Pausing before she went out the door, she turned back and smiled warmly at me.

********

I did some deep soul searching that evening, and most of the next day too. I was still on an administrative leave of absence and hadn't gone in to my new office except to let them know I was around. A week from Monday would be my first day at work. I'd found the house very soon in my search and had already taken care of all the myriad of little details one must do when one moves long distance. The result was that I had a lot of time on my hands to think, and consider.

Seeing Sherrie after so long had been a shock. I had expected to encounter her around town sooner or later, but she'd come up on me so unexpectedly. I'd had no time to prepare, to steel myself for the impact she still had on me. I hadn't even thought she might

have

an impact on me. We'd been divorced a little more than four years and separated four years and six months—give or take.

It had been a long time since I'd seen her. I hadn't bothered to go to the final court hearing and my attorney told me she hadn't either. We hadn't seen each other for a very long time. I was caught off guard by the fact she could still make my pulse race.

I could recall exactly what it was that she'd done to me. That was never in doubt. I could summon vivid images and bring them into sharp focus. For a long time, I'd kept the printouts of the pictures I'd taken that night but I'd shredded them when I left for Afghanistan. I remembered the sense of relief and satisfaction I'd felt when they'd become just scraps in the bottom of a plastic canister beneath the shredder.

But when I reached for the anger I'd felt back when I first found out about Sherrie's infidelity, when I tried to touch the deep pain and sense of loss, I could find only the remembrance of them, not the rage and hurt themselves. I was astonished at myself. I wondered why I no longer felt the pain but I couldn't hit upon an explanation that satisfied me. I knew the old maxim that time heals all wounds, but I wasn't satisfied with that reasoning. There had to be something else, but what, I didn't know.

********

I'd been at the restaurant for twenty minutes when Sherrie arrived. I'd tried to delay. I'd wanted to keep her waiting, not the other way around. I wanted to have that little bit of an edge to set the tone for our talk. But I couldn't seem to wait at home either.

She saw me in my SUV when she first drove in and parked nearby. When she hurried to me and apologized for making me wait, I had to admit she was precisely on time and no apology was necessary. My intention of having an advantage in our conversations…indeed, even the desire to have it…fled so quickly I didn't notice their passing.

We talked for a long time after the waitress brought us our steaks—medium rare for me and well done for her. We discussed my promotion; she smiled prettily and patted my hand on the table as she congratulated me. She wanted every detail of my trip to Afghanistan, including the firefight that ended it. She concentrated intently on my words, seldom taking her eyes from my face and I had trouble focusing on the story telling from time to time. I did not remember her doing that while we were married. I was pleased, warmed by her attention.

There was once—when I touched my left shoulder to indicated the one that had been wounded—that she left her seat across the 4X4 table from me and sat on my left. She demanded to see the scar and I couldn't refuse her. I unbuttoned three buttons of my shirt, in front of everyone, and pulled the collar far enough over to show the dime-sized dimple that was all that remained. She touched it softly with her fingertips and turned her face to me. I could barely keep from kissing her. I don't know what she would have done. She resumed her seat before I embarrassed myself.

********

Melissa's Diary:

Well, I'll be darned. I don't know how she managed it, but Sherrie managed to hook up with my "brother" just a few days after he got to town. She swears it was just a coincidence that she found him in a cafeteria or something where he was eating lunch, and I don't know how she'd have known where he was…so I guess I'll believe her for now.

I'll never know how she got him to go out with her the next night. Darn, that girl works fast! She said they went to Golden Corral, which is brightly lit and open and all of that…so neither of them felt pressured or anything. She said they talked for a long time and Ron let her tell him everything she'd practiced saying for the last two years that I know of.

She said she apologized for doing what she'd done and told him how ashamed of herself she was for having let that jerk do anything with her in the first place…much less for continuing to see him after she got home. She said she told Ron that there was no excuse and she wouldn't try to tell him there was.

Ron, bless my big brother's heart, evidently didn't try to hurry her or cut her off or make her feel like any more of a heel than she already did. Sometimes that big lunk manages to do the right thing in spite of himself.

When she got through making a separate apology for hurting him and for being deceitful and sneaky and everything else she could think of, she said Ron smiled and told her it was awfully hard to be mad at someone who admitted everything right upfront. He told her that somewhere between here, and Denver, and that horrible Afghanistan place, and then back here, the anger and bitterness had died. He hoped her bitterness had too.

Well, Sherrie said she told him she hadn't felt bitter about anything except the things she'd done and Ron told her he thought it was time for her to let that go too. He said it was like all that had happened to two other people. He said they were things that had happened in a marriage that didn't exist any longer and Sherrie thought he was kind of saying that they had a fresh start now. I have to wonder when she plans on telling him about her two roommates. It seems to me that if they're having a fresh start, he has a right to know about things like that, doesn't he?

Anyway, she said she cried for an hour she was so happy when she got home. She felt like a huge load had been lifted off her shoulders. I tried to tell her that she had to go slow because he might suddenly remember some of that terrible pain he'd felt back then and everything could change in a heartbeat. I don't think she listened though. The next thing she said was how she loved him more than she had when they were first married. She said when she realized that, she cried for another hour. And that was…