11 comments/ 12471 views/ 3 favorites Blue Christmas By: sr71plt "Well, if you really need someone, I suppose I could do that—if you really need me." Clara tried to make her reluctance quite clear, but Elizabeth was having none of that. She just cheerily plowed along, working on getting Clara on the road to fill in for no-shows among the volunteers at the soup kitchen where Elizabeth was working that evening. Nothing had put her off—not Clara's remark that it was already dark, not her observation that it had begun to snow—not even her noting that it was Christmas Eve. Everyone knew Clara didn't come out on Christmas Eve—that she hadn't done so for nearly a decade. Everyone but Elizabeth, apparently. But that wasn't Elizabeth's fault. She'd only moved here last summer, and no one talked about Clara and Christmas Eve any more. It made all the difference that Elizabeth was such a gem; otherwise there would have been no question of it at all. She'd been there for Clara on short notice so many times herself. Clara knew she owed Elizabeth big time, and Elizabeth wasn't being pushy so much as she was assuming that her good friend would do what Elizabeth would do for anyone else in a short-notice bind like this. Clara couldn't say no—and in the end she didn't. She promised she'd be there. Elizabeth just didn't understand about Clara and Christmas Eve. Clara knew Elizabeth would be the first one to understand and to be sensitive if she knew. It started as soon as Clara entered the garage. For some time after that she wondered why she hadn't just stopped trying at that point. As the door into the house shut and locked, Clara realized she didn't have her car keys—which were on the same chain as her house key, which she also didn't have now. She had an emergency house key hidden in the garage, of course, although it took her a couple of minutes to remember where she'd put it. But she did remember—and in the precious moments she lost in reentering the house and retrieving her car keys and getting the garage door lifted, the snow had begun to stick on the driveway. "Remember that Elizabeth sounded almost desperate for the help and that she has put everything down to help me so often," Clara muttered to herself as she pulled out of the garage. It would have been hard enough on any snowy night. But it was Christmas Eve. Everyone knew Clara hid away on Christmas Eve. Everyone but Elizabeth. And Elizabeth needed her. She'd said that fewer volunteers had shown up at the soup kitchen than anticipated, but more of the homeless than planned had come in off the street to escape the cold and the snow—and to have some semblance of family on Christmas Eve. Family on Christmas Eve, Clara thought. And, whether she wanted them to or not, the tears started to roll down her cheeks as she drove out into the dark night. Clara rolled up to St. Mark's Presbyterian Church on Maple—almost on the other side of town—to find very few cars in the parking lot. This was a surprise, as Elizabeth had said the church was running Christmas programs all evening and that their meal and shelter service for the homeless was being hampered by everyone bringing in cookies for the breaks between the church services and competing for counter space in the kitchen. Clara stepped out of the car—and into a slushy puddle, realizing only then that she hadn't put on her snow boots before she'd left home. And when she got to the door of the church, she found only a small group of people finishing putting up the decorations for the late evening church services. Clara was almost choked up with the emotion of being in a church for the first time on Christmas Eve in eight years, and it took her several minutes—after having gone into the community building wing and finding the kitchen dark—to build up the capability to return to the sanctuary and try to clear up the mystery of not finding the activity going on in the church that she'd expected to find. "Oh, you must mean St. Mark's Lutheran across town on Landon Street," a cheery, rosy-cheeked woman answered. "I think they are on for the homeless shelter duty over the holidays. We'd be pleased if you attended one of our services here, of course, if you can't make it there in time. It's only a little more than an hour before the first of those." "Uh . . . no thanks," Clara stammered. "Thanks, but no thanks. I don't go to Christmas Eve services anymore. I . . . I can't . . ." By then Clara had backed up to the outer door in the narthex, though, and she turned and fled into the cold, snowy night. It had been her own fault. She had just latched onto the St. Mark's name when Elizabeth had mentioned where help was needed. Elizabeth probably even had specified it was St. Mark's Lutheran and Clara had been so focused on forming her excuses for not coming that she hadn't paid attention. No wonder Elizabeth thought it wouldn't be much of an imposition, Clara thought. St. Mark's Lutheran was near where Clara had started out from home. Elizabeth had every reason to assume that the snow wouldn't be that much of a problem for Clara. Clara looked up at the sky. The snowflakes were getting larger and there was increasingly less space between them as they fell. She decided it would be best to take the country road around the perimeter of the town rather than drive through town with all of the rest of the sliding cars. Bad decision. Half way around town, on a pitch-black stretch of road going through a thickly forested section, a deer bounded across the road just beyond Clara's headlights and she pulled hard to the right to avoid it. She missed the deer, but she glanced off a boulder at the side of the road with her wheel, and she didn't get more than a couple of hundred yards farther down the road before her tire blew and the car lurched into a side ditch. "I knew it," Clara moaned. "I knew I shouldn't have tried to come out on Christmas Eve." All of the hurt and frustration and despair of this one night of the year boiled up inside her and Clara was crying again. Big, gasping, gobs of crying—almost wailing. But almost as soon as it had started, it stopped. Clara had controlled herself for eight years; she wasn't going to fall to pieces on Christmas Eve now. She'd call AAA and just get them to take her home. She had borne up under the burden for eight years. She would continue to tough it out. She was dialing the cell phone under the weak light of the ceiling dome when she heard the tapping on her window. "Can I help?" he asked through the pane of glass. He looked familiar. Yes, she'd seen him in the group of folks she'd gone to the theater with as Elizabeth's guest the week after Thanksgiving. He'd been sweet. A great smile and funny stories. It had been a group from Elizabeth's church, Clara remembered. She rolled down the window. "Say, aren't you Mrs. Benton?" he asked. "Yes, yes," Clara answered. "And you're Ben . . . Ben from Elizabeth Sturges's church group, aren't you?" "Yes. It looks like you are in a good bit of trouble and that you won't be going anywhere in this car tonight." "I was just calling AAA," Clara answered. "Maybe you should do that," Ben answered. "I'd change your tire for you, but it looks like you have some front end damage too." "I hit a rock—avoiding a deer," Clara said. "Ah. Well, you can get AAA out here, and then I'll drive you anywhere you want to go." "I don't live that far away," Clara answered. "But where were you headed? I don't want you to be late . . . on Christmas Eve." "I'm going to church; to St. Mark's on Landon. Helping with some of the church services there this evening." "Ah," Clara said. She dreaded the thought, but she couldn't forget the help she'd promised to Elizabeth, and her White Knight was headed there already. It seemed to be fate. Clara gave in to it. "That's where I was originally headed too, actually," Clara admitted. "Elizabeth enlisted me to help with the meal service for the homeless tonight. So, if you want, we could just go there and you could take me home afterward." "That would be great," Ben said. "You'd even have time to go to a service after the kitchen closed down . . . if you liked." Clara began to tremble and she barely was able to control her voice when she answered. "I don't really go to Christmas Eve services anymore. If there was someplace I could just wait until you were ready to leave—" "Sure, sure, no problem," Ben quickly said. And his smile was genuine, so Clara didn't feel she had to make any further excuses. When they arrived at the church, Elizabeth expressed delight at seeing Clara and clucked sympathetically at the story of how difficult it had been for Clara to get there, but she didn't really seem to be all that much in need of help. "Some volunteers came in who weren't scheduled," she said. "Just wanted to help out on Christmas Eve. But if you could, Clara, I'd appreciate it if you'd take a meal over to that young man sitting at the table by himself. He didn't come through the food line; just got some coffee, and we'll be closing the line down soon. He looks pretty dejected; I'm sure he needs the meal and a friendly face." Clara took a tray of food and approached the young man in dread. There was a familiarity about him—even in the way his head was hanging, and his shoulders looked just about ready to collapse into his chest. "Oh, dear god, not on Christmas Eve," Clara murmured as she approached. On top of everything else she just didn't think she could manage this on Christmas Eve. But she supposed she'd have to. "Hi," she said. "Hi to you too," the young man said. When he looked up, there was a familiar sadness in his eyes, and Clara immediately knew that she wouldn't leave him alone. Not on Christmas Eve. She somehow knew this was another chance being given her. "I brought you some food," she said. And when she set it down on the table at his elbow, she sat down across from him herself. "The kitchen is about to close, and they say you haven't eaten yet." "Don't need it, thanks. But thanks for bringing it. I'll take the coffee; mine is about all gone." "Well, maybe you'll feel like eating in a bit," Clara said. "Do you mind if I sit? I've had quite an evening, and it would be good to get off my feet." "No, it's fine. I don't mind." Little by little Clara drew the young man out in conversation, and it was no surprise to find that she was right—that the familiar look about him probably meant just what she thought it meant. When they'd become comfortable with each other and Clara hadn't pressed too much on his evasions—getting only a sketchy "feeling inferior and abandoned by the world" version of why he was here on Christmas Eve rather than anywhere else—she reached down into her pocketbook and took a shiny silver coin out and held it up for the young man to see. "Would you accept a small Christmas present from me?" she asked softly. "It's not worth much, I'm sure, but I've had it for several years, and I think you might appreciate it. It was my son's." "Your son's?" the young man asked. He took the coin from her and held it up to the light. "Where's this from?" he asked. "I can't read any of the inscription. It looks fancy, though. What country is it from? And doesn't your son want it anymore?" "That's the point of it, I think," Clara answered in a low voice that she was using every power she had to keep under control. "Erick's grandfather gave it to him, telling him that it was his job to figure out where it came from—that as long as he had such a quest facing him, he would have a purpose in life." "Sounds deep," the young man answered. "And why do you have it?" And then, in faltering but purposeful tones, Clara told the young man, who seemed so similar in his demeanor to her own son, of the Christmas Eve eight years previously when she and her husband had bustled off to church services—not even bothering to listen to why her son, who had been despondent for so long, wasn't going to go with them. And then, how they had come home after midnight to find that he had hanged himself in his room—that he had died, despondent, and all alone on Christmas Eve—while they were at a church service. "I should have known," Clara said as she at last struggled through the telling of that story. "I was just too busy with getting everything just right for Christmas. But I should have known. I found this coin in the trash can in my bedroom three days before Christmas. I should have known that Erick was trying to reach out to me, was trying to tell me that he had reached the end of whatever hell he was living in—that he'd given up on trying to find a purpose in life. I can only imagine what that was—what it was that would go through the mind of a young man who had everything available to him in life if he just reached out for it. But I'm sure he discarded that coin where he was sure that I'd see it, where I would know that he no longer was seeking. But I was blind. And just too busy getting ready for the season. I . . . I failed him. And if I were to be granted one wish in life, I would like the opportunity to tell my son what a heartbreak it is to have a child leave you in such a manner on Christmas Eve—or any time, really—that no problems in life or stumbling about in search of loving relationships and purpose in life can overshadow that." Clara looked up at the young man then, into his face. While she'd been telling her story, she hadn't been able to look at him. But now she wanted to know whether he had understood any of this—whether he knew why she had told him a story she'd kept locked inside her for eight years. And the look he gave her told her that he knew why and that it had to do with him as much as her lost son—but that he was wavering on the fence. "And your husband?" he whispered. "He couldn't endure it. We had been living together—but apart—for some time already. He left within a year. And every Christmas since then has been what we call a Blue Christmas for me—the lowest day of the year. And I've never again decorated for Christmas or left my darkened house on Christmas Eve. At least until tonight." The silence between them was deafening. But Clara built up the strength to go on. Somehow she knew she had struggled in this evening for a purpose, a purpose that was beyond her control, and that she couldn't leave it this way. She was desperate to move him off that fence. It was as if this was the last chance for her—more so than for the young man. "I've given you a present now. . . . You'll accept it, won't you? It would mean so much to me." The young man nodded his head ever so slightly, almost indecisively, but he didn't return the coin. "So, could I ask for a present from you?" Clara rushed on. "I don't really have—" "I have a cell phone here," Clara interrupted. "All I'd like for a present is that you take it and call your parents and tell them you are OK on Christmas Eve. Could you do that for me? You said they didn't live very far from here. Please? I'll move away and give you some privacy." The young man didn't say no, and Clara put her cell phone on the table in front of him and got up and moved over to Elizabeth before he could turn her request down. "You certainly seemed to be in serious conversation with that young man," Elizabeth said. From her tone, Clara could tell that Elizabeth was pleased—and maybe relieved. She wouldn't have been surprised to hear that Elizabeth had sought the extra help this evening precisely because of the young man and how sad and desperate he looked. And it struck Clara at that moment that perhaps Elizabeth knew more of her personal grief than she had ever let on—and that asking Clara to come this evening was a gift from Elizabeth to not one, but two people. Clara turned to see that the young man was speaking into the telephone. When she turned back, Elizabeth had retreated into the church's kitchen, where they were beginning to clean up the cooking utensils and making room for an increasing stream of plates of cookies for the festivities between church services upstairs. Clara followed her into the kitchen, and after several minutes of helping Elizabeth, Clara went back out into the fellowship hall. The young man had finished his call and was standing up. He handed Clara's cell phone back to her, and she sighed when she saw that the familiar look she'd seen in his face earlier had drained away from him. "Thanks," he said. "Thank you so much. Could you tell them over at the intake table that I won't be here for the night?" "You're not going back out into the snow, I hope," Clara said in a concerned voice. "No. No. My parents are coming by to pick me up in a few minutes. I'll try going home again, I guess." Tears sprang to Clara's eyes, and she couldn't help beaming up into his face. "Oh, and . . . um, it's awkward. But could you take this for me? I'm sorry, I don't know what else to do with it. But I don't want it anymore. Don't need it anymore, I think." As he was saying this, he took a newspaper-wrapped parcel out of his jacket pocket. It made a clunking noise as he put it down on the table. "And . . . and thanks for the coin. Do you want me to let you know where it came from when I've figured it out?" "No. No, thanks," Clara answered. "I do believe I'd like to keep it in the seeking mode." Clara and Elizabeth were slipping through the narthex of the church after leaving the young man's parcel in the pastor's office with a note attached, nervous and not knowing what else to do with the gun the young man had left behind, when Ben came through the door to the sanctuary, which was already nearly filled with people attending the next-to-last evening service. Strains of "It Came Upon a Midnight Clear" were filtering through the church as an introit into the service. "Oh, there you are, Clara," Ben said. "Come, I'll show you where you can wait and rest until the service is over. I'll be able to take you home after this service." "Thank you," Clara said, "But if you don't mind, I think maybe I'll come into the service with you. I haven't been out of the house on Christmas Eve, let alone to a Christmas service, in eight years." As soon as she uttered those words, Clara was sorry that she's said them in Elizabeth's hearing. Now, if this hadn't all been part of a plan that she had been privy to, Elizabeth might learn why Clara had been hibernating and feel bad that she'd forced Clara out on Christmas Eve. But Elizabeth was at Clara's elbow and was giving a little tentative half smile. "I know you didn't, Clara. I'd heard about that. But I thought it was time that you did come out on this, of all, nights. I hope I—" Elizabeth didn't have to finish her sentence, though, because Clara smiled and wrapped her arm under Elizabeth's and guided her into the sanctuary behind Ben, looking for three empty spaces in the overflowing pews. She turned to Ben and smiled to him as well, and his returned smile and the look of interest in his eyes spoke volumes of the hope of new beginnings for Clara. Blue Christmas Christmas is for the kids? Well I am sorry to be negative. Christmas is not so great if you are on your own. Yesterday was my company's Christmas party, so today a few of us were tidying the place up. I was the last one there. I was happy to be doing something. I had persuaded the others to get off home to their families. I collected up some leftovers and put them into my car, bagged up the last of the rubbish, washed up the last few glasses, and then walked round the building to check that all was well. Back in my office I tried to do something useful. Was there any code I needed to debug, any documentation to write? I tried to do this and that, but each task I started needed input from someone else. I read some trade magazines, trying to guess what my competitors were planning. It was going dark outside. I made myself a coffee, and read some more. I gave up. I set the alarms and locked up. We were closed for a week. What was I going to do? I sat in my car and turned the radio on. Christmas music. Click. Worse, Christmas pop music. Click. Someone discussing the non-availability of this year' must-have toy. Click. Someone talking about drink-driving. I put a CD on. Bach. I closed my eyes and lost myself in the music. Did I fall asleep? I don't think so. I started to feel cold so I started the engine and turned on the heater. I think I did sleep then. The CD was on repeat and it went through at least a couple of times. Eventually I woke, looked at my watch, and put the car into gear and made my way slowly out of the car park. It was well past 10:00pm. The entire industrial estate was dark. I drove the long way round. All the car parks were empty. Then the engine coughed and stopped. I started it again. Again, it coughed and stopped. I coasted to a stop by the kerb. Damn. I had meant to fill the tank on my way home. I took out my mobile to call a taxi. Its battery was flat and its charger was at home. I got out, got my warm coat and a petrol can from the boot, and set off to find some fuel. I made my way towards the petrol station up on the main road, but it was in darkness. A bus went past. It looked empty. Then I saw the other person. She had been running towards the bus stop, but too late. She missed it. I walked towards her. I would catch a bus home. "Excuse me miss?" She looked at me nervously. I had thought that she was in her late teens from her clothes, but when she turned towards me I realised that she was nearer my own age. "Do you know what time the next bus is?" She looked depressed as she shook her head. "Hard luck, mate, that was the last one." It was cold. The wind was cutting through my thick expensive overcoat. She had a thin waterproof, and now there were a few snowflakes flicking past the street lights and the wind was getting up. She was shivering. "I'll tell you what, love, come with me back to my office, and I will ring a taxi from there, it can drop you off somewhere." She was right to be cautious. No-one else around, approached by a strange man, in the dark. "No. I have a phone in the ... Over there...." She indicated the only old building in the area, near where my car has stopped.. It had been the farmhouse before the industrial estate had been built on the farm. It looked shabby and in need of some paint. " But I am sorry, I can't afford a taxi." "Don't worry, love, I'll pay." "Are you sure?" "Yes. I'll be glad to." She led me towards the house. I thought about her nervousness. She was shivering. Cold or nerves? "You ring. I'll wait outside." I had obviously said the right thing. The offer gave her some confidence in me, and when she had unlocked the door she invited me inside. As she turned the lights on I saw that the interior was far from shabby. Heavy curtains hung at the windows. Deep upholstery looked inviting. A glass doored fridge hummed in the corner full of bottles and cans. There was a cartridge hot drinks machine on an expensive looking sideboard. There was a television, a pile of DVDs, and a stack of magazines. There was a desk and a phone. "You need a hot drink lovie. Is this thing working." She switched on the mains to the drinks machine. I was right, she was shivering badly. She undid her waterproof to reveal that it leaked. Her thin t-shirt and short skirt were showing wet streaks. "You need to get into some dry clothes." Had I said the wrong thing? Was I making an improper suggestion. For a moment fear crossed her eyes, but then she realised that I was only worrying about her. I waited while she disappeared into a back room. While waiting I wandered round the room and looked at the magazines and DVDs. There were all porn. At last I realised that I was in a sauna, a massage parlour, a knocking shop, a bloody brothel for the first time in my life. I looked on the desk. There was a price list, prices for rooms, by the half hour or the hour. She returned wrapped in a sheet. She immediately saw that I now knew. "I'm sorry, Sir, I should not have brought you in here." The wind gusted outside. One of the curtains flapped. Clearly the windows were letting in draughts. "Its getting cold in here. Is there any heating?" "Well, yes, but they have put it on a time-switch. No, hang on." She opened a cupboard and pulled out a fan heater, plugged it in. It fought against the chill. She disappeared and came back with her wet clothes and started trying to dry them a bit. The drinks machine beeped. It was ready. "Hot chocolate?" "Please." We sipped our drinks. A car passed outside. We could see its headlights as the curtains flapped and the windows rattled. I went across to the window and looked out. The car had gone just beyond my car, and was turning. I saw the dayglow stripes that told me it was a police car. I closed the curtains. I did not want to have to explain things unnecessarily, but I was too late. The police car started to move slowly towards us. "The police are coming over here." "Don't worry. They are all right. Let me do the talking. Make another chocolate" The doorbell rang. I fussed with the drinks machine "Come in Steve." "I saw the lights, and wondered if you had trouble." "Thanks. No trouble, but we do have a problem. Can you give us a lift into town?" "What?" "Well I missed the last bus." I passed the cup of chocolate to her. She gave it to Steve. "And this chap's car has run dry." She indicated the fuel can I had left by the door. "Sorry ducks, but there would be hell to pay. The sarge in with me and he's a right bastard.". "Well can you get us some petrol," I asked, taking my wallet from my pocket and offering a note from it. "I'll see what I can do for you. I hope you are not in too much of a hurry. I'm sure Sally here can keep you entertained until I get back." "Oh, no Officer. Its not like that. I..." "Don't worry. Steve is a bit of a joker, aren't you? But of course, if you're interested...?" The blanket and the hot drink was obviously doing the trick. Sally, as I now knew she was called, smiled for the first time, while the policeman laughed at my discomfort. He picked up the petrol can, walked towards me and grinned. "I'll need that." He pointed at the money I was still clutching. He left. A few snowflakes blew in while the door was open. The bit of warmth that the heater was generating seemed to disappear. Sally shivered again. I took my thick coat off. There were a few droplets of water on it, but I soon shook them off. "Put this on lovey. It'll be warmer than that." I indicated the sheet. "Are you sure?" "Yes, I'm sure. I'm dry." "Ta..." she paused. "What shall I call you?" "I'm Peter. Call me Pete." "Cheers Pete." She took my coat from me, and was obviously surprised by the weight of the heavy wool. Then she just let her sheet fall, before wrapping herself in my second hand warmth. Then she saw the look on my face. She had been naked in front of me, but I was the one that was blushing. "You're not married, are you." It was a statement, not a question. "And don't you have a girlfriend?" This was a question. "Um, No." "Boyfriend?" "No. I enjoyed what I saw." "Oooh Thanks." She pulled apart the front of the coat, and gave me a full frontal view, while she let the warm air from the heater flow over her.. "All right? You like?" She shimmied a bit, and made her breasts sway. "Oooh, you do like, don't you." She wrapped herself up again. She looked at me thoughtfully. "You've never ..." She looked hard at me. "Are you a virgin?" I did not answer, but she knew she was right. I had been a swot at school, got good grades. No time for girlfriends. Got on a good degree course at a university near home, so lived with my parents. I started my first business before I graduated, and my work had been my life. Once I had the money, girls and women had been interested in me, but not for me, just for my money. . I had made my money from computer programming. The art of programming is seeing problems and avoiding them. You have to see reality, see what is there, not see what you think ought to be there, and certainly not see what others want you to see. Salesmen must hate me. They try to spin me a message. Somehow I am able to spot weak points and ask difficult questions. Those offering themselves in the hope of my cash just seemed so insincere and shallow. Over the next half hour Sally and I chatted. We pointed the heater at one of the sofas and sat in its warmth. Slowly, she put a hand on my leg, then around my shoulder. She drew us together. I told her what I have just told you about my past. "Oh, you poor, lonely man." She had a tear in her eye. She told me how she came to be selling her body. She had been bored at school, dropped out, wanted the fashions and labels, tried shoplifting, petty crime, gone downhill, been to prison. "But don't you have any family?" "They don't want to know me now, not since gaol." What with my loneliness and Sally's past, we were a miserable pair by the time the doorbell rang and Steve came in. "There you are, mate." He put down the petrol can, and started to extract the change from his pocket. "Thanks, Steve, isn't it?. No, keep it? "You sure? I really shouldn't" "You got kids? Give it to them." "Thanks mate. I say, Its bloody chill out there. Any chance of another..." I made him another hot chocolate while Sally used my coat as cover while putting her, now mostly dry, clothes back on. "Does the Sergeant want something?" "I know what I'd like to give him, but no, I left him moaning about the weather back at the station." He swigged down his drink and made to leave. "Thanks again mate." He patted the pocket containing the fistful of notes. "Merry Christmas." I looked at my watch. It was well past midnight. "Yes, it's Christmas Day. Sally. Steve. Merry Christmas." While Sally turned everything off and locked up, I poured the petrol into my car, and drove it across to just outside the house. Sally ran out and got in next to me. The road was treacherous with the snow. "Where's home?" She guided me. Her home was in a half deserted row of houses. I stopped, and she entered the door of one of the houses I had thought was deserted. I waited to see a light go on, but then saw a flicker of light coming from a half boarded up downstairs window. I felt I had to see. I got out of my car -- at least it wasn't snowing hard now -- and approached the window. I could see, behind the boards, that there was broken glass, some of the holes stuffed with newspaper, and that the light was coming from one of those tiny nightlight candles in a saucer on the floor. I tapped on the board. "Sally!" I called, quietly. A shape moved in front of the candle flame. "Sally. You can't stay here. Sally!" I started to take some money from my pocket, thinking of taking her to a cheap motel, but then I realised that she would be wiser to spend any spare money on other things, not the mock luxury of a a hotel. "Sally. Come back to my car. Talk to me." The shadow moved nearer the window. "I'm OK. Thanks for the lift. "Sally, I feel rotten leaving you here. Sally, have you eaten anything?" There was no reply. "Sally, I have some sandwiches and stuff in the car. They're just leftovers, but..." The shadow moved away, and the front door opened. She came out, wrapped in a non-too-clean duvet. I led her back to my car. I took the carrier bag containing the left-over party food from the rear seat. I told her to get back into the passenger seat, and I closed the door. Then I got back into the driver's seat before I gave her the bag. By the interior light I caught a glimpse of her face. Her expression was one of utmost humiliation mixed with guilt. "Thanks." Trying not to seem too eager she looked in the bag, rustled in the paper inside, and took out a small sandwich. She tried to eat it delicately. It was followed by another, and then by a piece of pork pie. "You are not spending the rest of Christmas in that place." The engine was still running. I drove off. She protested, but her mouth was full of food, and she just spluttered, and then hicoughed. She ate, and hicoughed all the way to the block where I lived. I parked in the underground park, and led her to the lift. I pressed the button, and held my tag over the ID panel. The doors closed, and a blast of warm air tried to cut the chill in the wood panelled box. "Thank you Mr... Peter. I owe you." She stared at the floor. She was still wrapping herself in the ragged quilt. "Sally. You said something earlier. I have been thinking about it." "Huh?" "You called me a lonely man." "You mean you want to..." "No, I just I want company. I don't want to be alone. Not at Christmas. I was dreading it." She heard something in my tone of voice. She looked up at me. She saw a that my eyes were watering. I tried to blink the tears away. It was my turn to try to keep my face pointing away from hers. Out of the lift, across the corridor, and into my flat. I turned some lights on, before I started to give the automatic guided tour. "Living room, dining room, study, this will be your room, I'm afraid the bed is not made up yet, but there are some things in the airing cupboard, there. Your bathroom. This is the kitchen." "Can I have a bath please?" "Of course. Anything else?" "I couldn't have a cup of tea, could I?" "Is that all, nothing else?" She paused for quite a long time. "No, just tea please." I went to the kitchen. Made a pot of tea, and carried it through, with cups, to the living room. It was quiet. I could hear running water from through the wall. I put on some more Bach. I poured a couple of mugs of tea, and carried one through. Sally had left her room door open, so I tapped on the bathroom door. "Tea. I'll put it on the bedside table." "Bring it in." Sally was naked, although she was a lot less embarrassed about it than I was. She took the tea from me. "I'll get you some towels." That done, and with some sheets and blankets warm from the cupboard and spread on her bed, I returned to my tea and Bach. What do you call a daydream in the early hours of the morning? Once again, I may or may not have fallen asleep to the sound of the familiar music. "Mr... Peter, could I wash these please?" She had to repeat her question before I could make a sensible reply. "Not now. No hurry. Will the morning be OK?" To be honest, I did not know how to use the laundry room. I usually had a maid come in and do that sort of thing. "But I've nothing else to wear?" "Oh!" I saw that she was wrapped in the towels. "Come and choose something that will do." I led her into my bedroom and through to the adjoining dressing room. I opened cupboards and drawers, and we found her some pyjamas, a dressing gown, and a track suit top. "I'm going to bed now, Sally, see you in the morning." "Are you sure... you don't want me to..." "No Sally. That's not it. Just be here. OK? "Thank you." I dreamt. How could I not? For the first time in my life I'd had a naked woman in my company. I have enjoyed porn. As a schoolboy we had exchanged badly printed and airbrushed magazines. I had rented blue videos. I could have fucked any number of bimbos who were attracted by affluence, but this was a first. I dreamt, but I awoke before I could fulfil my dream. I could go through to her room, and... But I was scared. All through my youth, at school, and at home, the message had been repeated. "Don't go with women like that." "There are dreadful diseases you will catch." "Save yourself for a nice girl." I could remember a sermon in the school chapel about the wages of sin. I remember he had spoken about going blind, going mad, becoming an outcast. Delius. I remember the music teacher talking dismissively about Delius' music, saying that it was trivial stuff -- a bad influence -- after all, he died of syphilis. I slept. dreamt, and woke again. There was a box of tissues that I kept beside my bed for just times like this. After I had cleaned myself up I slept again. Every morning I wake up at the same time, whether it is a work day or not. This morning was no different. I woke, rose, put on a dressing gown, and went towards the kitchen to fill the coffee machine. Her room door was open, and she was snoring. I peeped round the corner of the door to see her cocooned in the bedclothes. Her old duvet was rolled up by the foot of the bed. I picked it up and it unrolled, revealing her threadbare,cheap and shabby clothes. I carried them through the kitchen into the laundry room. I rummaged in the drawers looking for the washing machine instruction book. I found it, but was unsure about which clothes could be washed, at what temperatures, so I left them on the floor in front of the machine. I looked at the duvet itself. It was stained. In places the cover was split and the fibre was leaking out. I could see black specks, mouse or rat, in amongst the fibres I found a rubbish bag and stuffed it it. I forced it into the disposal chute and heard it slide away. Coffee. I filled and started the machine. The smell percolated through the flat, and I heard Sally stir. Her bathroom door banged, and her loo flushed. The track suit bottoms - she could have worn them up under her armpits as a strapless little number, but she had folded them over, so they were more like a sumo wrestler's belt. The dressing gown swept the floor behind her. When she looked through and saw her clothes by the machine her smile filled the room. "You sweet man. When they weren't there I was sort of worried." She came up to me, swung her arms round my neck, and kissed me, full on my lips. "Thank you Peter." Her arms moved and she was hugging me. I could feel her warm breasts pressing into my body, it was wonderful, not the hard pointedness that I had imagined from all those pointy titted pin-ups in their bras and swimsuits that I had gloated over. This was softness, warmth, and comfort. Her hand moved down my back, and her body pressure descended as well. I had never slept nude. We had always worn pyjamas at home and at school. I still did. It just seemed normal to me. As she pressed herself, sumo-roll and all against me, I looked down and could see a lot more than her cleavage down the front of her loose pyjama top. She saw my glance, and moved back from me to undo a button or two. Then she glanced down to see that I was emerging from the front slit of my pyjama bottoms. I suppose that my mother must have washed my penis when I had been a baby, but Sally's carress was a first in my memory. Gentle, warm, searching, and so, so, sexy. Blue Christmas "Oooh, nice. Let me say thank you properly." she offered, dropping to her knees. I paniced, and stepped back. Words were in my head spinning, syphilis, pox, dirty, loose, shame. "No, Sally, please, no." "What's the matter with me? What's wrong with me Peter? It's because I'm a scrubber isn't it." "No Sally, it isn't, well...," I hesitated just long enough for the truth to be obvious, but continued, "No it isn't." "Ok Peter, I'll go." She went through to the laundry and started to pick up her clothes from the floor. As she came back past me I just stood there and quietly asked her not to go. She was weeping. I followed her to her bedroom, where she started stripping off the clothes I had loaned her, to replace them with her own. "Please don't go, Sally." She looked around, blinking through the tears. "My bed. Where is my bed, my duvet?" she sobbed "Please don't go, Sally, I threw it away. Take one of mine. No, please don't. Please don't go." "What do you want? It's me, isn't it. I must go." She turned her back to me. Her shoulders shook. She rushed into the bathroom and closed the door and sobbed. I was confused. What did I want? I didn't know, but I knew I wanted her to stay. I went through to my bedroom and pulled on jeans and a sweatshirt. I found a new, wrapped duvet in a cupboard and carried it through to the kitchen while I waited for her. Eventually I heard her moving about. I tapped on her door. "Sally. I really don't want you to go. But If you must, let me drive you home. Take this." I pushed the duvet towards her. "No, its much too good for me. I could never pay you for it." "But I have destroyed yours?" "No." I think the thought of her cold room crossed her mind. "Well OK. Thanks." "At least have some breakfast, some coffee." The smell of the coffee was working hard. "OK. Coffee." I poured the coffee. I offered milk and sugar. She took both. I stuck a couple of slices of bread into the toaster. "No, not for me." she said. But when I put the toast and some butter in front of her she ate it. We sat in silence, then she stood up. "Thanks Peter. I wish it could have been different. But thanks." She moved towards the door, and I followed. We went down to the car park, and I drove slowly out onto the road. The fuel-tank warning light was flashing. I had to fill up, so I detoured towards the 24-hour service station that might still be open on Christmas day. I drove slowly, not wanting to risk running out again. "What is it Peter?" Before I had time to think, I answered. "I'm frightened." "What of? Of me?" "No." "Health?" "No. Yes. No." "Peter, please stop the car." I parked. "Peter, think about last night. I had to trust you." "What?" "I had to trust that you were not the sort of man I meet too often." "Uh?" "The men who have beaten me, raped me, exploited me. Them as make me live in that hole. That make me work in that place. Peter, I trusted you." "Uh. I see." "You trusted me. You took me to your home. How much could I have stolen?" "OK. I see." We sat in silence for a minute. I touched the gear lever, asking if I should drive on. She nodded. As I was pulling into the filling station she spoke again. "Peter. You are one of the nicest, kindest, gentlest men I have ever met. I would like you to trust me." I used the manoeuvring of the car as an excuse to avoid saying anything, "Will you, Peter? Please trust me." "Sally, my friends usually call me Pete." "And mine call me Sal. Pete, will you trust me?" "Yes Sal." "Kiss me Pete." I undid my seat belt and leaned towards her. We kissed deeply. "Thanks. I won't let you down." I filled the tank, and went and paid for it. As I walked back towards the car Sal got out and walked into the sales area. After a few moments she came out again and approached my side of the car. I whirred the window down. "Pete, this is embarrassing. Could you lend me some money please?" I dug into my pocket and gave her a £20 note. "What's it for?" She grinned, but did not answer. She was soon seated and seat-belted again. "Where to?" "My place." "Oh." There must have been a hint of disappointment in my voice, because she quickly assured me that she just wanted to pick up some stuff. I sat outside while she went in. She soon came out carrying a small case and a carrier bag. She put them in the back of the car, and went back for a third bag. "Home?" I asked. "Your home, yes." "You mean our home." She looked at me. I smiled. She grinned. "Thanks for the offer. Not too fast, though. We'll see. I won't hold you to it." I drove back, and helped her into the lift with her bags. "This is your room. Unpack. Make yourself comfortable." While I hoped she was making herself feel at home in her room I wandered somewhat nervously about the flat. Almost without thinking I put on a CD. I moved into the kitchen again. I shouted to her, "More coffee? More toast?" "Please." A few minutes later she came to join me. She was wearing jeans, and one of those fleece jackets. "That's lovely. What is it?" "What?" "The music." "That? I'm not sure." I listened for a moment to identify the piece. "It's 'On hearing the first cuckoo in spring,' by Delius." "Delius? Where's he from with a name like that?" "He was English. He was a Yorkshireman, from Bradford." "What? Cuckoos in Bradford?" "Well, he travelled a bit. He died in France." "What's up. Why are you looking like that?" I did not know whether to tell her what was in my mind. Then I thought that I had to be open and honest. "Sally, Sal, you know I said I was frightened. Well, the music reminded me. You see, Delius died in France, he was blind and paralysed. He had caught syphilis when he was young. It must have been on my mind when I chose that CD." "It's OK Pete. We have checkups every month. They cost us a bloody fortune an' all. I had one last week. That's one reason why I am so short of money now." "And you're OK?" "I think so." I wanted to ask her about the uncertainty in her answer, but didn't want to appear untrusting. " Can't be sure until next week, when I get the results." "So?" "So..." She pulled a box of condoms from her jacket pocket and put them on the table, together with a handful of loose change. "The petrol station?" "Yep. Those places don't half know how to charge for stuff, don't they." I picked up the box, but pushed the change back towards her. "Ooh Ta." she said playfully, picking up the coins. "But Pete, before we start, please could I have the toast. I want to keep my strength up." I had forgotten. The toast was ready. I put some more in. I poured coffee, found plates, knives, some butter and marmalade, and arranged it all in front of her. We sat in silence and spread, sipped and crunched companionably. "May I?" "No need to ask." She grinned. She stood up, and put one slice of bread into the toaster. When it pinged, she hurried it back to the table with it. She then scooped up a large glob of butter and squashed it onto the toast, followed by a similar large glob of marmalade. I watched her, puzzled, as the toast became sodden with the sweet richness. She unzipped her jacket. She was naked beneath it. She picked up the toast on its plate. Then she let it dribble. "Oh, dear, I have spilt some. I don't want to waste it. Help me Pete. Help me." She stood up carefully. She presented me with her breast, and I carefully licked off the sweetness. She arranged the toast so that the other breast needed my attentions. She encouraged me to lick her nipples. I sucked slightly at one. She gasped, and I apologised. "Sweet man. Please do it again." She had been stooping slightly to make herself available to me as I was seated. She straightened, and I stretched to retain contact. "Come on then." She picked up the box and led me through into her room. She undressed me carefully. "Now, lets get comfy." She indicated that I should get into her bed. She made sure that I was watching her as she removed her top and jeans, and then her panties. She climbed in beside me. She pulled the duvet over us. Then she started to pass her hands over my body. She placed one hand on my own, and encouraged it up to her chest. She showed me how to cup her breasts, while gently massaging with finger and thumb. Once I was fully occupied there, I felt her hands moving downwards. She caressed my pubic hair, combed her fingers through it. Then he stroked my penis. I had been stretching to keep contact with her breasts, but she told me to relax, to lie back. She crawled beneath the duvet, and I felt her warm breath, and then a gentle kiss. She nuzzled over me. Her hands cupped my balls, while I felt her mouth engulf my engorged member. Her lips slid down its length. The warmth of her mouth was amazing. Her lips slid up. She kissed the head. I just gloried in the sensation. I could not help but to arch my back. She lifted herself, knelt astride me, and I felt, for the first time, my penis pushing against the fleshy lips of a vagina. The pressure increased, and I felt the lips part, and the fire of her body surround me. She slid around me. Her body was pressed against me. I was deep inside her. She was gyrating, she was tensing and relaxing her muscles. I was panting, my eyes were closed, she rocked herself upon me, It was amazing. I arched and bucked, I was coming, I was coming, Oh my god, god, god, god, Oh my love, my love, She leaned forwards and lay on me. She straightened her legs. She kissed the end of my nose. "You like?" I would have needed to stop panting in order to answer, and that I could not do. I nodded and replied by hugging her. She kissed my nose again. Then she stroked my cheek. I think that the expression on my face must have amused her. Then she saw my expression change to one of concern. Her hand snaked down between us, and she grasped the base of my now softening penis. She rolled off me, and I felt a slight pull after it had emerged from her. Then something tapped the side of its shaft. "I told you to trust me." My hand joined hers. I felt the thin rubber membrane, and the rolled ring. As I fondled myself it slid, and I had the flacid condom in my hand, with its swinging teat containing my carnal offerings. "Thanks Sal. I trust you." "Cheers, Pete. Thanks. Glad to be of service. You like?" I kissed her. Over the course of the next couple of hours we worked our way through several condoms and positions, with snoozes in between. Further, I had learned a great deal more about the intimate details of female anatomy, and I had been educated in what actions and manipulations of that anatomy gave greatest pleasure to the female. We had also developed a considerable hunger. I rang round until I found a decent place for a meal. I called a taxi. I didn't usually drink, but I thought that champagne might be in order. We got back here about an hour ago. We were perhaps too well fed for further exercise, but Sal is now asleep in my bed, and I will be there, with her soon. I wasn't alone this Christmas, and there were definitely no children involved. In another couple of days then we may be able to have even more to try. I am looking forward to a very special New Year. I am here, in my study, writing this, late on Christmas Day, a very happy Christmas Day, and all I can say is, "Peace, goodwill, and my best wishes to you all." Now I am going to go back to the person who I trust, and I think, love." "Good night." Blue Christmas Christmas Eve Galen sits alone in her office talking to her sister on the phone. Gail was decorating Galen's house for Christmas against her wishes. Deciding to go out and shop the rest of the day, Galen closes up early and goes outside into the cold. She gets into her Silverado and starts the engine letting it warm up a bit. She turns on the radio and flips the channel a few times until she finds "Jingle Bells" playing. That's a good song for shopping she decides as she heads out down the busy street to the freeway. She knows there will be traffic to the mall, but she needs to go to the Art Gallery to get one last gift for her Mom. And while she's there she will look for some last minute items. It's is always best to have extra stuff. She didn't buy anything for Mark yet either. Then with a sigh she remembers that Mark is not with her. He needed time to think, time to get his head on straight. She looks at the lights at the mall, already on during this cloudy afternoon. She wishes that things could be better this year, and that Mark was with her today. But she reminds herself that he wanted to be somewhere else. She feels the lump rising in her throat. It's not like she kicked him out. It's not like she cut all ties. She called him once a week. Well, the last two weeks it went to voicemail. She was left to presume that he had cleared his head and was with someone else. She has to stop thinking about him so she busies herself while at the stoplight by flipping the visor down and fixing her hair. She pulls out her chap stick. It never hurts to protect her lips from the wind. She flips the mirror over the visor closed as the light finally changes. She just accelerates when "Blue Christmas" by Elvis Presley comes on the radio, and before he sings the second line she is in tears. "I'll have a Blue Christmas without you I'll be so blue thinking about you Decorations of red on a green Christmas tree Won't be the same dear, if you're not here with me." She pulls into the mall parking lot and drives up the ramp to the parking garage sniffing, not having the heart to change the radio station. "And when those blue snowflakes start fallin That's when those blue memories start callin You'll be doin' all right with your Christmas of white But I'll have a blue, blue, blue, blue Christmas Galen wipes her tears from her cheeks with her coat sleeve. She tries to calm her breathing so that she can get her errands finished. She looks at her watch. It's almost 3pm when she walks into the mall. She gets herself something to eat and tries to shop. She goes into every store twice before she is finished and still does not feel like she is done. She stops to get her Mom's art framed and then moves on to get some of her other gifts wrapped. While in line, she sees a pair of Ray-Ban's that would look perfect on Mark. She buys them without thinking. After they are on her Visa, she remembers that he is gone. Tears automatically well in her eyes. He is gone; she needs to accept it. She tells herself it will be ok, that she is strong and will not cry in public She takes a deep breath and walks back to pick up her packages and then picks up her mom's artwork. She browses at purses. She picks her mother up a new leather Coach handbag and boys her sister a new pair of Jimmy Choo boots. She stops in at Abercrombie for some hoodies and bodywash for her girls and at Hollister for the boys' new coats. Her arms are getting full. She decides that she at least needed to put the packages in the truck. Then she needed just a few more things. She would run back into the jewelry store. Her mother always expected her to buy herself new earrings for her gift. There was a long line so she would just take the packages to the truck and come back she decided. She steps out of the mall to find it dark outside and snow on the ground. "Where did that come from?" she thinks to herself. Then she realizes she has been in the mall for six hours. It's 9:00 pm. She finds her truck, puts the bags in the back seat, and starts home. About five miles from home "Blue Christmas" comes on again. She changes the station quickly. She can't handle anymore today. She walks into the house and fires up her gas logs. She steps back outside to retrieve her last packages. She admires her sister's handiwork as she comes back through the house. The tree is lovely. She hung stockings on the mantel. She got out her wreaths. Everything looks festive. Galen wishes she was feeling festive. She walks to the bathroom and strips down, deciding to take a shower before she watches TV. She gets finished and puts on her robe, goes to the kitchen, and brews a pot of chamomile tea. She tucks the pint of Bailey's under her arm, picks up the tea pot, and her cup. She walks to the den and sits down to watch Frosty the Snowman. She adds the shot of Bailey's in her cup before she pours the tea. She smiles to herself. She is drinking a little tea with her Bailey's tonight. By the time she finishes her fourth cup, she is feeling sleepy. She pours another shot into the teacup and tops it off with her tea. She yawns, hoping for easy sleep. She does not stay awake through the movie. She falls asleep early. In her dreams Mark is there with her. He comes in from the snow and looks at her sleeping on the couch. He removes his coat and shoes and puts them by the stove as he always does. He comes over and sits on the floor next to her, watching her as she sleeps. He softly kisses her lips, and she reaches for him, pulling him closer because she has missed him. She deepens the kiss, wanting his tongue. Galen pulls him up to touch her body, wanting him near, needing him closer to her. She opens her eyes, so glad he has come home to her. She reaches her left hand up to touch his face. Tears of joy fill her eye as she pulls him back to kiss him again. She automatically pulls his shirt from the waistband of his jeans, pulling herself away from him long enough to tug his shirt over his head. He straightens his back and stands up as she then unfastened his pants and pushes them over his hips and down his long legs. He kicks them across the room as he grins down at her. Mark kneels in front of the couch, not speaking. He reaches to open the front of her satin robe. He unties the belt and pushes it off her shoulders. He moves to kiss her mouth for just an instant and then moves his lips down her chin to her neck, making a trail to her breasts, and stopping to gently suck and tug on each one. He moves his hands lower to her hips and gently pulls her to the edge of the couch. He raises up slightly moving his large body over hers as he enters her slowly. He keeps his pace slow, watching her reaction to his movements. She arches her back, wrapping her arms and legs around him as she comes. He keeps his movements slow causing her to peak again and again, not moving faster as she asks him to. He licks and nips along her neck and chest, enjoying the moans of pleasure that come from her. He rotates his hips from left to right making her arch toward him further. She smiles up to him, holding him in her arms. He instinctively quickens his movements. He increases his speed pumping his body into hers. She moans as he drives his body into hers, faster and harder, her heart pounding. She pulls him closer to kiss him as she peaks again. She tenses up and bows into his body as her inner muscles clench around him one last time. Time ceases as she feels as if she will die from pleasure. He watches her face and her body jerk under him, his own breath becoming ragged as he comes within her. Galen could feel sleep overtaking her. She wants desperately to talk to Mark. She could swear he said nothing the whole time they were having sex. She rises up to see him picking up his clothes and throwing them over his shoulder. "Mark. . . " she starts. He places his forefinger against his lips and simply picks her up and carries her to bed. He lays her down and covers her up with the duvet and then crawls in beside her. Christmas Day The sun was shining through the windows of her bedroom. Galen sits up and realizes that she is alone. Her head is pounding. Did she drink that much Bailey's? She gets out of bed to go to the bathroom and realizes her robe is still on. It was a dream. She walks into the bathroom and turns the light on. She opens the medicine cabinet for a couple of aspirins. She turns on the faucet and puts the glass under it. She only fills it halfway, drinks a sip and takes her aspirin. She turns on the hot water in the shower and gets in. She decides that a hot shower might make her feel better. As she starts soaping she starts to cry. She simply stands under the water and cries. The hot water feels good on her back and neck. Maybe the aspirin will start working and her headache will be gone by the time she gets ready to leave for her Mom's house. She is looking forward to spending time with her family. Finishing her shower, she decides that she is going to enjoy the day if it kills her. Life is not perfect. Mark is gone and she has to deal. She wishes that it wasn't a dream that he was really there in her bed. She misses having him to curl up next to. She misses his snoring. She misses him in general. She sniffs as she dries off and combs her hair out. She has family time today. She did not have time to miss Mark. She is sure that her nieces and nephews will keep her busy with the Xbox or the Wii. Besides she is sure that Mark is not missing her. He is fine without her. If he does not call today, then she will accept that it is just over. It has been almost six weeks since he left, a long six weeks. She looks in the mirror. "I'm sure that I haven't even crossed his mind," she thinks as she wraps the towel around her body and puts on her house shoes. She pulls the hair dryer off of the shelf and dries her hair. She looks in the mirror again and realizes that she is going to need a lot of make-up today. With a sigh she walks into the bedroom to get dressed. * She nearly jumps out of her skin at the site before her eyes. Mark is sitting cross-legged at the head of the bed, no shirt nor socks, wearing only his Levi's. How did she miss his shirt lying across the cedar chest, and his shoes and socks casually tossed on his side of the bed? He has a tray with breakfast on it. He was in the kitchen while she showered. He stands up with this sly grin on his face. Galen begins to cry, tears scalding her face. She bites her lip as she walks over and touches his bare chest. "You're not a dream?" she says. Mark places his hands on her shoulders as he pulls her into his embrace. "No, I am home Galen" he replies. She pulls back, his eyes narrow as he stares down at her confused look. "But you ignored my calls for the last two weeks" she sniffs. He leans down, placing a kiss on her forehead. "I have been in Japan. I have been in the country less than 48 hours. I flew into Austin, spent the night with Mom, and took her out for breakfast and shopping yesterday morning. Then I caught a flight home." She leans back against his chest with her ear pressed close to his heart. She can hear it. He kisses the top of her head as he rubs her back. "I am glad you came back" she whispers. He looks down at her, now he is confused. "Why would I not come back?" He asks. She looks pale. Maybe she has not been getting in the tanning bed he thought. She looks up at him, her brown eyes brimming with tears again. "I figured that you had decided to stay with her. I had decided it was hopeless." A tear falls down her face. "Are you still going to see her?" He stares down at her, and for a brief moment she tenses. He feels it, and doesn't like it that she has braced herself. He slides his hand up slowly and gently wipes the trail of tears. "I told you there was no one else, and I meant it. When I left, I needed to think. I did not leave here and go to someone else. That was not why I left." * She could not stop the tears. They fall silently. "So you left because of something I did?" She is puzzled, "Why did you leave?" she finally stammers. She did not want to make him angry. She really did not understand. If he did not leave her for someone else, then why did he leave? Is there something she missed? "We will talk about it later. You need to eat," he says with a smile. "And you have to get dressed. We are running late. Your Mom expects us in 45 minutes." He grabs his shoes. "I have to go out to the truck and get my luggage." He put his shoes on, and starts out of the bedroom. He pauses to look back at her as he says, "Eat your breakfast." And he walks out of the room.