Several months ago while I was in Washington D.C. on business I visited with my sister Diane, her husband Don and son Chet. From the beginning, it was an interesting visit. Diane greeted me at the door with a big hug and a very warm kiss. We had always been close, but I was still stunned by the intensity of the kiss when Don offered his hand to me in a feeble handshake.
My brother-in-law Don had developed a rare disease several years ago and his health has been deteriorating rapidly. He was no longer able to go outside in the cold weather or do anything that requires exertion. My sister Diane has been a real trooper through all of this. She's worked a full-time job, taken good care of my nephew and tried to make her husband as comfortable and happy as possible. From all accounts, Diane seemed to be handling everything okay. During my stay, however, it became evident that everything wasn't what it seemed.
Since I was in town for two days, Diane insisted that I stay with them. It wasn't that far a drive to where I'd be in meetings on Thursday and Friday so I agreed and looked forward to catching up on things. Diane manages the offices of a busy engineering firm and works long hours. She'd managed to take off early that evening and had prepared a wonderful dinner. I helped her put the finishing touches on the meal and we chatted a bit.
"Go ahead and open the wine Ethan," Diane said. "I'm dying for a glass."
"No problem sis." I replied and began to search for a corkscrew.
Don and Chet were together in the den while I helped Diane in the kitchen. As I handed her a glass of chilled chardonnay I toasted:
"To my big sister" and laughed.
Diane laughed too as it was our standing joke. Though she's 4 years older than me, Diane is anything but big. At 41 she still doesn't tip 100 pounds on the scale. I'm nearly 6' tall but Diane takes after another side of the family. She's barely 5 feet tall but is built nicely for her size. Her hair is dark and sets off her light creamy skin nicely. As she leaned over the kitchen sink rinsing the lettuce for our dinner salad, I couldn't help but admire her lithe frame. Diane's breasts jut out proudly and spill out a bit over her 34B brassiere. Her tight little waist has only a hint of a motherly tummy. From my viewpoint behind her, her slightly rounded ass was a very enticing sight. Working hard from daylight to dark was keeping her fit and trim. Looking at her, it is hard to believe that she is the mother of a 7 year old son.
"Mmm...that's good," she said as she almost gulped the wine. Pretty soon she held an empty glass in my direction and I poured more.
"You'd better go slow on that girl," I said grinning. "I want to visit with you a while and you'll be asleep in no time if you keep sucking it down that way. You know alcohol always made you sleepy."
"Yeah," she said. "Sleepy and horny."
I grinned a little self-consciously and just to be funny I offered: "Well by all means... have all you want then."
"Mmm, I will...but who'll put out the fire?" she asked dryly.
I didn't have time to ponder that much as Don and Chet came running into the kitchen.
"Is dinner about ready baby?" Don asked. "I'm starving."
"Just about," said Diane. "Ethan, why don't you see if you can get Chet to wash his hands? I'll put the food on the table."
Dinner was a festive affair but I noticed two things throughout all the small talk. Diane continually tended to Don (who has trouble feeding himself because of his disease) and she kept the wine flowing. Her tolerance to alcohol had certainly grown since we were young and first experimenting with Jack Daniels stolen from our parents liquor cabinet. Her earlier comment about horniness also wandered back into my mind. I searched her dark blue eyes for a clue. Those dark blue eyes went so well with her creamy skin, bow shaped lips and dark brunette hair. I also wondered what it would be like to help her put out her fire. Evidently I was daydreaming and missed part of the conversation.
"Ethan?" Diane said.
"Huh? Oh sorry, it's been a long day with the flight and all...My mind must have wandered," I offered apologetically.
"I wondered if you'd open another bottle of wine and Don was asking about the real estate situation in Florida these days," Diane supplied. "We keep saying that one of these days we're going to sell this place and move closer to you. The warmer weather would be better for Don."
"Well, there are plenty of homes for sale down there." I said popping the cork out with a space-aged corkscrew. "Even one or two on my little section of the beach," I said. "You guys should come... maybe we could be neighbors." I offered as I filled Diane's glass again.
I suggested that they take a trip to Florida and stay with me sometime at my beach house. Even though I emphasized that the warm climate would be good for Don I also thought that Diane could use some downtime too. While they were there, they could look at the housing market and see if it was something they really wanted to do.
Though Don was doing better, he didn't feel up to a trip just yet and my nephew had school. That almost put an end to it until Don suggested that Diane go. He said that he'd look after the boy and that a neighbor lady could help out some while she was gone. Diane had several weeks of vacation she hadn't been able to take so that was no problem. Diane still hesitated a bit but when I pointed out that I had enough frequent-flier miles to cover her round-trip ticket, she reluctantly agreed. I thought I saw relief and gratitude in her eyes when it was settled. I told Diane that I'd take care of getting her a ticket and when my business was done and we'd fly to Florida together.
Later that evening, after Don had turned in and Chet was tucked in bed, Diane grabbed a couple of beers from the fridge and invited me to the den. She tucked herself in beside me on the vast leather sofa and started grilling me on my life.
"Things are kind of quiet for me these days Di. Since Kathy's death I've only dated a little," I replied when she asked me if I was seeing anyone. "I've just gotten used to being alone. I'm not sure I'm ready to invite anyone into my life."
My wife Kathy was an aide to a Capitol Hill diplomat whose plane had gone down in the mountains of Western Europe. There were no survivors. That was 4 years ago and I left the D.C. area shortly after with my company graciously offering me a transfer to a small office in a Florida resort town.
During the past few years I'd dated only sparingly. I have decent looks with sandy-blonde hair and my Florida tan. While my hair is graying slightly and may be thinning a bit, I've had no trouble getting dates. My trouble is that I don't feel I'm being fair to them. Four years after the loss of my wife, my heart still can't imagine loving someone else.
