This is a repost of a romance story with some minor edits. The other chapters will soon follow.
The water formed a channel down the valley of Sam's back as he sat in the shower, head in hands. Today marked the first anniversary of Jan's death, and the warmth of the shower was an oasis from cold reality.
When the water heater drained of comfort, Sam stepped out and toweled off. Picking up the blow dryer, he evaporated a fog patch from the mirror and began to shave.
'Why did it have to be on a Sunday? If people start telling me how sorry they are, I’ll loose it.'
"When are you going to grow up?" he demanded from his ugly, 45-year-old reflection.
Sam never liked his face. His nose was too big and his lips too thin. Character lines framed his eyes. Gray hair spread like weeds through the brown. 'At least I still have my hair.' A scar from an excised basal cell carcinoma, faintly visible next to his left ear, reminded him of all the sunny hours on the sailboat were being paid for in grams of flesh.
After rinsing off the soapy residue, he stood back for appraisal. Routine exercise kept him toned and able to compete with men ten years younger. Well, maybe five years younger. Occasionally women still looked -- from a distance of course. The initial thrill of their attraction ended in a sense of betrayal to Jan. Fidelity to a cherished memory was painful.
"I may not be pretty, but I'm tough." Throwing the towel into the laundry hamper, he mumbled, “Yeah, right. Maybe I should refill my prescription of happy pills.”
Sam's motivation for health and fitness had changed over the years. When young, he stayed in shape to kick ass in whatever sport he chose. When Sam married Jan, they made a pact to stay attractive for each other, forsaking all others. Now, he had to stay in shape for doctors -- not nearly as satisfying. Sam had the symptoms of middle age. 'Instead of a temple, my body has become a science lab.' More doctors had seen him naked in the last six months than the number of women in his entire life. (Of course, his female dermatologist canceled herself out.)
Never a bee that had to pollinate every flower he could land on, Sam thrived on a 24 hour a day, 7 day a week, until death do us part, love affair. And so, it was done right for 21 happy years. Since Jan's death, their seven-year-old son, Christopher, became his primary reason for living.
Sam flopped on the bed and picked up one of Jan's notebooks from the nightstand. Lying back, he examined the cover decorated with her graffiti. When Jan couldn't write, because of pain or fatigue, she'd doodle.
These volumes were a precious gift to him and, someday, to his son. In the white square, next to the word ‘Subject’, the name ‘Christopher’ was written in calligraphy. Under that it said, ‘volume 1’. Inside, Jan chronicled their son's development over his first six years, complete with a list of his likes and dislikes, his favorite color, food, clothes... everything a doting mother would see and a busy father wouldn't. Sam still experienced the world through her eyes... at least his past world. These notes had been a useful reference when buying clothes or presents. His breath caught, thinking how much their son had changed already. Opening the book, he laid it across his face and inhaled her fading scent.
A few minutes later, while helping Chris dress for church, one of Jan's last requests nagged him. "Sam, promise me that you'll remarry. Chris needs a mother, and you need a wife. Don't give me any crap about how you can't love anyone else. God will provide, if you'll let Him. When I've been gone a year take off the ring and get on with life." Sam looked at his wedding band as he straightened Chris's tie and doubted it would come off without an amputation.
Just last week, Dr. Benson, his Urologist, had told him the same thing, "Sam, you need a wife." But he didn’t use those exact words. The lump in Sam's left testicle, along with occasional pain, had sent him to his family jeweler. After an examination and a sonogram the doctor asked, "Sam, when was the last time you ejaculated?"
Isn't anything private after 40? "I don't remember," lied Sam. Very clearly, he remembered the last time with Jan -- not as wonderful a memory as the first time.
"You need to increase your frequency of ejaculation by whatever means possible. This problem will not go away by itself." He referred to Sam's chart. "Your vas deferens is swelling because of a buildup, which causes the tenderness. If that buildup becomes a blockage you could end up with a serious problem."
'Will you give me a prescription to a massage parlor so insurance will cover my treatment?' Then aloud, he said, "I'll see what I can come up with. Since Jan died, I'm afraid that my desire has expired."
Dr. Benson raised an eyebrow. "I understand. But you have to take care of yourself. If not for you, then for..." He looked at the chart again, "Christopher."
'Is my dog's name on that chart too?' Doctor's were great for medical, not moral advice. Sam's sex drive was in neutral. 'What am I supposed to do about my "pollywog" problem? Jerk off to some porn movie?' He couldn’t separate sex from love without the burden of sin weighing on his conscious.
***
At the end of the church service, Sam grabbed Chris and left before anyone mentioned the depressing anniversary of Jan's death.
As he backed his car out, he heard a woman yelling, "Sam! Sam!"
Shifting into park, Sam watched the energetic Sunday school teacher, Sharon Walker, bounce across the blacktop. If anyone were going to remember this anniversary, it would be her. Twelve years ago, Sharon and Jan had shared the same struggle with infertility. They’d spent hours counseling and consoling each other through the mire of medical options.
After tests and procedures, temperature taking and coital scheduling, Sam and Jan gave up hope for a biological child and adopted Christopher.
“Bob the slob” had opted to plow the fertile furrow of a co-worker, and divorced Sharon. Bob disappeared. Sharon remained faithful to the congregation, and worked with the children in the Sunday school program.
Jan and Sharon remained friends after the divorce, spending time together in bible studies, often sharing hotel rooms during women's retreats. Sam knew a few things about her, because of his wife’s friendship. However, he had remained distant from the svelte divorcee. No need to invite temptation while forsaking all others.
Christopher was in her Sunday school class. Without Jan to collect progress reports, Sharon made a point of cornering Sam on occasion, to tell him what a good student Chris was.
"Hi, Sharon. How are you?"
"Hi, Sam." Sharon bent down to look at Chris in the back seat. "Hi, Chris. Great job on your verses today! You have a very smart boy there. You must be very proud."
Looking in the rearview mirror, Sam could see Chris's face redden. He'd become shy around women. "I am very proud. And thank you for doing a great job teaching him."
Sharon remained close to the window. A familiar herbal scent wafted into the car. Her sharp, blue eyes pierced his armor, and his grip tightened on the wheel.
"Saaam." She said, in the singsong, I'm-going-to-ask-a-favor girlie style.
'Is that hypnotic tone genetic?' Sam wondered.
"Would you do me a favor? Feel free to say no... I was wondering if you would stop by my place on your way home and help me fix my kitchen faucet. I can't turn the shutoff valve under the sink.” Shifting her weight to the other foot, she continued, “I'll pay you with dinner. It's already in the crock-pot... If you have time to eat."
A distraction is just what he needed to help him through the day. "I think we could manage that, right Chris?"
Sam's question awakened his docile passenger. "Let's go, Dad. I'm tired of pizza."
"Pizza? I have a gourmet dinner with your name on it! Budget Gourmet chicken, I think."
"Gross!" said Sharon. "Don't worry, Chris. I'll save you!"
Sam watched Chris's face bloom with a smile. It had been months since his son was so pleased with one of life's surprises. In fact, it had been months for Sam too.
"Okay then, follow me! I'll keep it under a hundred." She winked at them and walked away.
He watched her hips sway under the floral dress. Her hair was longer than he'd remembered. It was braided into a thick rope that hung between her shoulder blades.
