55 comments/ 33024 views/ 64 favorites McKayla's Miracle Revisited By: HLD This story takes place about six years after "McKayla's Miracle". If you haven't read the previous chapters, I suggest you do so first. There is not a lot of sex in this story, so if that's what you're looking for, hit the "back" button on your browser now because this is the wrong story for you. Please leave a comment or send me an email! **************** "You don't have to do this if it makes you uncomfortable," Maureen said softly. Although I smiled, the butterflies in my stomach were working overtime. I looked over at my little girl . . . young woman, actually . . . who was sitting in the passenger's seat of McKayla's BMW. The top was down and a warm breeze blew through our hair. She was so beautiful. I was happy to have her home from her freshman year of college. I hadn't seen her as much as I'd liked; she had a job and friends and summer trips planned. Still, it was nice to have her back under my roof again, if only to bring some life to my otherwise quiet house. We sat there for a few moments, the engine idling. Her curly hair was pulled back. We were both dressed up; during the summer at the beach that meant a sundress for my daughter, a nice blouse and skirt for me. It was a gorgeous July morning, and the ocean breeze kept the heat from being unbearable. This was the day I had been dreading for the past two decades. I had prayed it would never come, but a part of me always knew my daughter would ask, and I resigned myself to this course. "Sweetheart, you deserve to know," I reached over and squeezed her hand. "Come on, let's go meet your father." **************** Twenty years. That's how long it had been since I last saw him. We met at a party for a mutual friend. I was 22 and single, having just moved to the beach after graduating from college and starting my job less than a month before. Travis was 24 and almost everything a girl like me wanted: charming, polite, well-dressed. And pretty. Actually, he was gorgeous. Sandy blonde hair, blue eyes. He was built lean like a distance runner, with strong, tight muscles that could really fill out a pair of jeans. He could also be kind of a jackass. Yeah, I know that doesn't sound very endearing, but back when I was young, that's the kind of guy I wanted. Or at least I thought that was the kind of guy I wanted. Among his other endearing qualities, he was unfailingly gentlemanly, at least to me. Arrogant? Yes. Full of himself? Definitely. Yet from the first moment I lay eyes on him, I was in heat. I just knew I had to have him. It was a birthday party for someone we both knew. That is to say, I was new to the area and tagging along with my friend Bretlynn. I remember the instant his charm took hold of me. He was standing around, talking with some other guys. It was just before Memorial Day, which was—and still is—a big deal out at the beach. It meant the summer tourist season was about to start and would go on until Labor Day. That in turn signaled the beginning of traffic jams, out-of-town license plates, idiots asking for directions and all that. It was also the reason why we had negligible property taxes; the tourists and their hotel occupancy surcharges, rental car fees and sales taxes paid all of that for us. All things being equal, the locals would trade three and a half months of inconvenience for eight and a half months of relative calm and absurdly low taxes. Travis looked over at me. Our eyes met and he winked. My heart fluttered. I felt like I was in high school again. Bretlynn introduced us and he was in full-on charm mode. We didn't hook up that first night, but he did get my number. For the record, I never thought of Travis as anything more than a fling. If anything, he would have been my rebound. My old college boyfriend and I broke up at the beginning of my senior year because he couldn't keep his dick out of the girl who lived in the apartment right below us. I kicked him out and tried to ignore them whenever our paths crossed. I did call the police on them a couple of times when the smell of dope came wafting out of an open doorway or window. Pigfuckers. After graduation, my uncle made a couple of calls and got me a job through a friend of a friend at the beach. I think I was making something like twelve bucks an hour, which at the time was pretty good money. With the ink on my diploma still wet, I was the office manager for an adult beverage distributor, which meant I always had access to booze and I didn't have much by way of expenses. I worked 40 hours a week . . . well, I was there for 40 hours a week. I actually worked for only about twenty of those. My office job was crazy-easy, and if my boss had wanted to, he probably could have hired someone part time at two-thirds my rate. But after a little while, I knew where everything was and all of the reports and invoices were taken care of on time. The rest of my time was spent shopping for shoes on the internet, stalking my friends, first on MySpace then on Facebook, and, as often as not, nursing a hangover from the night before. All things being equal, those were good times in my life. I had no responsibilities, a little bit of extra cash to go out, and enough youthful exuberance not to care about the consequences of my actions. I'd like to say that the first time Travis and I were together was a sweet, romantic date that involved flowers, gentlemanly door-opening and fine dining, but the truth of the matter is that I saw him at one of my usual watering holes (read: dives), he gave me that look, my nipples crinkled up, he said something like "Your ass is effing awesome", and next thing you know, we were in his car making out. We rushed back to his apartment, he stripped me down and we fucked like rabbits until dawn. Well, maybe two or three times. Neither of us were cuddlers, but he did ask me to spend the night with him. When the sun came up, he drove me to my car and gave me a glowing post-coital kiss. Yeah, I know it's not the stuff of fairy tales, but I was 22 and horny as hell. Plus, he was good in bed. Well, that's not quite right. He was fan-fucking-tastic. Out of bed . . . not so much. He liked to talk about himself. He was one of those guys who would tell you how much he made (which was no insubstantial amount) and how many languages he could speak (three) in the same breath. Just by looking at him, you could tell he put a lot of time and energy into his appearance. He had more watches than I had earrings. He was 24 years old, drove a Lexus, and if not for our physical connection, I probably never would have given him a second thought because he was so full of himself. Still, there was just something about him. My body couldn't say "no" to him. His touch was electric. The looks he gave me made me want to peel my clothes off on the spot. So we became fuck-buddies. He was always nice, but we only went on actual dates a couple of times. He was quick to pick up the tab, he never took me to any place cheap and I never got the feeling that if I said "no" when it was time to get busy, that he would do anything so crass as resorting to getting me drunk to get into my pants. But there just wasn't that rapport between us. We didn't really talk about anything that couples talk about, and aside from his magic penis, I didn't have any interest in truly getting to know him. Usually, one of us would call the other and say something like, "Hey, feel like getting naked?" and then half an hour later, we'd end up doggie style over the arm of the couch. Life was good and this went on for a couple of months. We didn't have a schedule and we weren't exclusive. But we were great in bed together. That summer dragged into fall, then winter and then spring again. Our relationship, such as it was, continued until the next May, when my birthday rolled around. Travis had made a big deal out of his plans for us. I was going out with some of my girlfriends for my actual birthday, so he cooked something up for the weekend before. "Don't eat too much," he said with a laugh as we looked over the menu. We were at one of the beach's premier upper-crust restaurants. I knew he wasn't telling me that because he wanted to go cheap on dinner; any place where the least expensive thing on the menu was a $12 appetizer meant the bill was going to be on the hefty side (and remember, this was 20 years ago). No, he was telling me because he had a marathon fuckfest planned for that night and didn't want either of us to be full. I just smiled and felt my pussy moisten at the look in his eyes. Dinner was wonderful, if overpriced. We split a bottle of tasteful-but-not-inexpensive wine, then ended up back at his place. "Happy birthday," he mumbled as I pulled his face in between my breasts. His hands clutched my backside, and his teeth raked my nipples. Our clothes were strewn about his apartment. His hands cupped my rear end and I wrapped my legs around him. Travis carried me back to his bedroom as I nibbled on his neck. He dropped me on the bed and I scooted back to watch him finish undressing. His body was perfect. Athletic. Toned. Dayum, that boy was H. O. Fucking-T. Hot! I threw my panties and bra into some far corner of the room as he pounced, his weight pressing down on me. I cried out as his teeth brushed my collarbone. His hands cupped my breasts and he rolled my erect nipples between his fingers. "I'm going to fuck the shit out of you tonight, Amberle," he growled. I almost creamed right there. His gaze was feral. His eyes were hooded over with lust. And I was ready to get fucked. To you guys, here's a tip: women need a lot more attention than you do. We like to be built up slowly. We like soft caresses. Lots of foreplay. Pre and post-coital cuddling. And all that crap you think is useless. I read something very truthful years ago that said in order to seduce a woman, you need to wine her, dine her, call her, hug her, hold her, surprise her, compliment her, smile at her, laugh with her, cry with her, cuddle with her, shop with her, give her jewelry, buy her flowers, hold her hand, write love letters to her, go to the end of the earth and back for her. In order to seduce a man, show up naked. And yes, we want that. Except when we don't. And then we want you to fuck our brains out. I spread my legs for Travis. He got up on his knees to mount me, pausing only long enough to reach for the condoms in the drawer of his nightstand. Between the wine and my blind lust, I probably would have let him take me bareback, but we were both smart enough to realise that safe sex was something that couldn't be practised on an occasional basis; it was all the time or never. Travis and I had never been exclusive, and we both had sex with other people in the time we had known each other, him more than me. When I was fifteen, Dad offered to put me on the pill. I didn't then, but when I was in college, I tried it, but I found that the hormones messed with my mood, so I quit taking them. I had never had sex with any man without a condom, and to this day, that is still true. So once his magnificent cock was wrapped up, Travis slipped easily inside my throbbing pussy. I lay back into his plush pillows and he began to pound away. "Fuck!" I cried out. "Fuckfuckfuck!" Through the slits of my eyes, I saw a look of smug satisfaction on his face. "Damn, your pussy is so fucking tight!" He cupped one of my breasts in one hand, while reaching under my ass and squeezing with his other. A jolt shot through my body from head to toe. "Your big fucking dick is stretching me out!" I wailed as he jackhammered away at my body. I gave up trying to fuck him back. Instead, I just hung on for the ride. My first orgasm of the night left me a quivering mass in the middle of his bed, but Travis wasn't done. At 24 years of age, my lover didn't need any little blue pill to go all night long. Even though my legs were still shivering, he flipped me over on to my stomach and his hands dug into my ass. Placing a pillow under my belly to take some of the strain off my knees, Travis took me in my favourite position: doggy. It was his, too; Travis was always an ass man, and when I was 22, my backside was amazing. Several times, Travis asked if I'd let him do anal to me. I told him once that I'd let him in my backdoor only if I got to fuck him up the butt with a strap-on first. That stopped any further conversations about anal sex, but he was always playing with my ass. Not that I minded, of course. His cock seemed like it was going to re-arrange my insides. Waves of pleasure rolled over me. Each time he bottomed out, a shudder ran through my body. I pushed my ass back to meet every thrust. "That's it, baby," I moaned. "You're going so fucking deep . . . Don't stop . . . don't stop fucking me!" Somehow, I found the strength to reach two fingers between my legs and fondle my sex. I was dripping all over his bed. My body was covered in sweat. A couple of times, he leaned over to kiss the back of my neck, but mostly he just fucked me from behind. As he pulled out, his pushed my hips forward, only to pull me back as he rammed back into me. What sent me over the top was when he grabbed a handful of my hair and yanked. I arched my back and my pussy exploded all over him. I'm sure my screams woke his neighbours. Again. Unable to move, I collapsed on to the bed. Still Travis continued to fuck me. I could hear his hips slapping against my ass. I felt the bed knocking against the wall with each thrust. The air reeked of sex. Finally, the room started to spin and I passed out, a blissful smile on my lips. And still my lover wasn't done. **************** "Can we talk for a minute, Mommy?" Maureen began nervously. I could tell something was up. She had only been home from school for a couple of days. She was a straight-A student in high school, valedictorian of her class. I wish I could say that I had something to do with that, but I didn't. I was an underachieving, slightly above-average student myself. The fact of the matter was that Maureen turned out the way she did because of McKayla. I see so much of my wife in our daughter, even though they look nothing like one another. Where McKayla was tall and athletic, Maureen is built more like me: short and curvy. She's got a full head of curly sandy-blonde hair, not McKayla's glorious straight, raven-black mane. Yet to watch them walk and listen to them talk, they're almost identical. Our daughter copied many of McKayla's mannerisms and they have the same Mensa-level intelligence and curiosity about the world. McKayla died when Maureen was in the eighth grade, but our daughter has always been wise beyond her years. I feared that she would be one of those kids who emotionally imploded when they lost a parent, but the exact opposite happened. Maureen dug in and became determined to make her Mom proud. A month after the funeral, Maureen came into my bedroom one night and sat down. She had a pamphlet from the Duke University School of Medicine. "I'm going to cure cancer," she said softly. "I know you are, sweetheart," I said, not to patronise or belittle her, but because I knew right then that if there was cure for cancer to be found anywhere in this world, Maureen was going to hunt it down, and she was going to destroy the disease that had taken her Mom from her. So she and I made a deal; if she could get a free-ride scholarship (tuition, fees, room & board, and books) to any school in the country, I'd buy her a car. I didn't mention the part about a trust fund had already been established for our daughter that had—at that time—almost half of a million dollars in it for whatever she wanted to do with her life. Did I mention that McKayla made us a very good living as a financial planner? Four years later, after receiving an academic free ride to the pre-med program at Duke, I offered to take her to any car dealer she wanted that was within a reasonable budget to pick out her new ride. Do you know what my daughter did? She went into the garage and told me she wanted her Mom's old BMW convertible that neither of us could bear to part with. Like McKayla, Maureen has this certainty about her. She knows exactly what to say or do. She has no moral ambiguity. When she makes up her mind, there's no changing it, unless you can prove that she's wrong, and even then, she's probably going to want to see the Boolean algebra you used. So it was with a little bit of apprehension that I waited for whatever it was that my daughter had to say. She is not a fidgeter, but when she's nervous, she chews on her lip. Like my wife used to. I could tell that she had played this conversation out in her head several times already, but was now coming up blank. After a false start or two, and a deep breath, she finally spoke. "What was my dad like?" Steadying myself against the kitchen counter, I let out a deep, sorrowful sigh. I, too, had played out this conversation in my head several times. Actually several hundred times, if not thousands. This was the one day I had dreaded since I found out that I was pregnant. McKayla and I raised Maureen as our daughter. Until she was about three, all she knew was that her parents loved her more than life itself. When she started going to preschool, she realised that our family was different from her friends's families. Very quickly, she put two and two together, but I guess because we tried to raise her in the most supportive and loving environment possible, she never really questioned us or our living arrangements. When she got to middle school, she was teased and bullied a little, but like McKayla, Maureen doesn't suffer fools lightly and has no qualms about speaking her mind or verbally eviscerating someone who deserves it. Where I would have walked away or gone off on my own to brood, Maureen gave it right back, and by the time she got to high school, none of her friends thought twice about their friend and her two moms. Those who did had been taken care of already. So what do you tell your daughter about a man who—through absolutely no fault of his own—has been entirely absent from her life from the day following her conception? **************** Our bodies were covered with sweat. Travis and I were sprawled out on his bed. The pillows and covers were tossed aside. The comforter was nowhere to be seen. I was laying in the wet spot, but I wasn't complaining. I counted at least four orgasms, one of which was of the mind-blowing variety. Two more were probably really just continuations of the first one. "Happy birthday," he croaked feebly. As wonderful as Travis was in bed, I'd like to think I was pretty good myself. It was my birthday, after all, so I took him for a ride. We did it in every conceivable position. Missionary. Me on top. Doggy. Reverse cowgirl. Shower. Sixty-nine. Wash. Rinse. Repeat. "Thank you," I managed to reply, lifting my head from the pillow and smiling. I reached over and patted him gently on the chest, which was still heaving from his exertions. My juices were running down out my pussy. "Are you staying?" It was our custom to ask, even though there were never any expectations. He slipped the spent—and as we found out later, broken—condom off and dropped it into the trash can by the side of his bed. "Do you want to drive me home?" "Not really." "Then I'm staying." And that was the end of our conversation. He rolled over on to his side enough to blow out the candle on the nightstand, then spooned up behind me and we fell asleep. The next day, we woke up, showered and he took me out for a nice brunch before dropping me off at my apartment. That was the last time I saw him for twenty more years. McKayla's Miracle Revisited **************** I must have sat in my car for close to half an hour. My stomach churned. Finally, I opened the door and forced myself to walk across the parking lot. My gait was fast and deliberate. If I slowed, I knew I was going to chicken out. After doing a little bit of research, I tracked Travis down. Like me, he never left town. His degree was in accounting and after we stopped seeing each other, he passed the CPA exam and went to work for an auditing firm in town. I didn't know he was working there at the time, but after McKayla and I went into business together, we almost (unwittingly) hired his firm to look over our books one year. "Good morning. Can I help you?" the receptionist asked when I went in. "Travis Robertson, please," I said. "Do you have an appointment?" "No." My hands were shaking. "What was your name please?" "Amberle Per— . . . er, Goin." When McKayla and I got "married", we legally had our names changed, but I figured he wouldn't recognise me that way. Of course, how many girls named "Amberle" do you know? Right off, I'm guessing zero. She dialed her phone, mumbled a few things and then hung up. "He'll be out in just a minute. Would you like to have a seat?" I sat down in one of the very nice chairs in the outer reception area. My heart raced. Fortunately, it wasn't very long before I heard his booming voice, "Amberle! How are you?" A part of me wanted him to be overweight, bald, living in a trailer somewhere after being kicked in the head by a mule and having lost all his teeth to some horrible gum-eating bacteria. You know: repulsive. I could then rationalise keeping his daughter away from him because he would not have been what I considered to be a good father. But I knew that Travis would never be that. He was too vain and self-absorbed to let himself go. So it was no surprise for me to find out that he looked very much like he did when we were in our early 20s. His hair was cut short with only a few streaks of grey. He was in fantastic shape, surely from a regular exercise regimen. His starched shirt, tie and dress pants were immaculate. I stood and seemed to naturally slip into the familiar hug he gave me. "It's been so long," he said warmly. If there was any apprehension on his part, he was covering it well. I smiled weakly. After our last night together, he called me a couple of times. This was back before everyone and their sister had a cell phone plan with unlimited minutes and about two lifetimes before text messaging. By that time, McKayla and I were an item, and I knew that there was no going back to being Travis's fuck-buddy. So instead of actually breaking up with him, I simply quit taking his calls. I even quit going to the places I knew he frequented. Yeah, it was a chickenshit move; so sue me. Eventually, he gave up on me, and I found out later through some mutual acquaintances that he had moved on as well. We weren't serious, so no harm, no foul, right? "Almost twenty years," I said softly. "What brings you by?" he asked. "I was wondering if I could buy you lunch." How do you drop this on a guy? Do you lead with, "Yeah, I know we haven't talked in a while, but you have a kid who wants to meet you"? "That would be great," he smiled, then looked past me to the receptionist. "Erin, would you please reschedule my appointment with Mrs. Landingham and tell Jimmy that I won't be on the Henderson call at noon? Come on, Amberle, let me show you around." He led me back through the maze of his office building. He had a nice setup; after making partner, he had two associates working for him and a couple of support staff. He politely introduced me to everyone. I don't remember any of their names. I'm sure the tour was the "scenic" route through the building to show off all the expensive artwork adorning the walls and how successful he and his employer were. When we got back to his office, he closed the glass door behind us. I looked around and breathed a sigh of relief when I saw pictures of a family. His wife was a very attractive woman, who looked to be just as high-maintenance as Travis. Their children were also cute as buttons and looked to be in middle school. I sat in the chair across from his desk, but he surprised me by taking the seat next to me. "So what brings you to Campbell, Jenkins & Burke?" he asked conversationally. I could see the gears turning in his head. "You," I said simply. I decided that there was truly no good way to do this, so instead of hemming and hawing, I'd just rip the bandage off in one fell swoop, so to speak. "Do you remember the last time we were together?" He smiled at the pleasant memory. I tried not to fidget. "Yeah, it was your birthday, right?" "That's right." I took a deep breath, and steeled myself for what I imagined to be the most negative possible reaction. I reached into my purse and pulled out one of Maureen's senior pictures. As soon as he saw it, the blood drained from his face. "We made the most beautiful little girl in the world that night." His hands trembled as he took the picture from me. It's a good thing we were both sitting down because I think we both would have fallen over otherwise. He didn't speak for a long time. His eyes never left the photo of our daughter. At least he didn't fly off the handle right away. There were a million things I wanted to say, but instead, I just let Travis process the bombshell I had just dropped on him in his own way. It took him several moments to even begin stammering. "How did . . . didn't we . . . she's beautiful, Amberle . . . why didn't . . ." His voice trailed off. I reached back into my purse and pulled out a small book of photos that I had put together for Travis. He took it from me and began flipping through it. His gaze seemed to linger on each page and, for the first time, I felt a twinge of regret at having kept Maureen from him for all these years. About half way through, he stopped and reached for the phone on his desk. "Erin, would you please clear out my schedule for the rest of the week? Tell Jaime he's going to have to cover for me." Then he hung up and turned to me. There was sadness in his eyes. And anger, too. "What is her name?" "Maureen," I said softly. "Maureen Rene Goin-Perry." "Maureen," he whispered. Gone was the overconfident bravado. The puffed-out egotistical façade. His tone was that of a man as he takes a newborn child—his newborn child—in his arms for the first time. His eyes glazed over for another long moment. "Why didn't you tell me?" he said softly, although there was an edge to his voice. "I don't have a good answer for that," I replied evenly. That much was true. The real answer was: Because my lesbian lover didn't want you coming near her. The practical answer was: Because I didn't want to ruin both our lives by telling you that I was pregnant only to have you do the decent thing and marry me and find out years later that you were harbouring a deep-seeded resentment towards me because you think I got knocked-up just to trap you into a loveless marriage. My personal answer was: Because I didn't want to be tied to you for the next eighteen years. "You had no right to keep her from me." "No, I didn't, and for that I am truly sorry," I said. "So why now?" I took a deep breath. "She wants to meet you. I told her that I would only introduce you if it was what you wanted. I don't know why, so don't ask." "Tell me everything about her." He wouldn't look at me. All he did was thumb through the pictures I had given him. "Travis, I told her that you weren't part of her life because of me," I said, mostly because I had to say it for myself. "I know you would have been if you had known. I'll take the heat from her for that. And from you. That was a decision I made years ago, and you both are going to pay for it." "The one you're really going to have to worry about is my wife." He managed to look up at me and shoot me a sad, broken-hearted wink. I smiled back meekly. The gears in his head were still turning. "What do you want?" "Pardon?" "What do you want?" he repeated. "Is she in school? Do you need money?" "No, I don't need your money, Travis," I said, probably more dismissively than I meant to. "How did you raise her on your own?" he asked. I figured this would be the first thing he thought of when I first told him about his daughter. "You were working for . . . Anderson's right? That couldn't have been easy." I smiled sweetly, with a touch of smugness thrown in. A little part of me was happy to be able to throw this back in his face. "Do you remember my friend McKayla?" Travis's gaze grew distant for a second as he searched back through twenty years of memories. "Yeah, Allyson's friend, right? . . . The hot lesbian." "McKayla Perry," I said. To his credit, he only took about three seconds to connect the dots. His jaw fell open. "You mean . . . you . . . and . . ." "Yes," I said it in a way that I knew would have made my wife proud. "But . . . you aren't . . . um . . . gay . . . are you?" he stammered. I only shrugged. "I guess so . . . don't worry, though, you didn't turn me; McKayla did." We shared a nervous laugh. "Then how did you two . . . um, you must do well enough to raise her . . . er, Maureen together." "We did," I sighed with resignation. "McKayla died several years ago." "I'm sorry to hear that." Travis may be many things, but he was never a mean asshole. In fact, he's actually a pretty good guy, and I knew he meant those words. "She left Maureen and me with more than enough money to take care of ourselves." That was true enough. My wife came from a well-to-do family, and she was a very successful financial planner in her own right. After a couple of years, we went incorporated ourselves, went in to business together and made even more money before selling our little enterprise for a tidy little profit. In truth, I could probably fund a small South American junta if I really wanted. I reached out and gently squeezed his hand. For someone who had just been blindsided like I had done to him, Travis was taking it all very well. "When she was fifteen, Maureen asked if she could meet you. I told her that we would wait until she was eighteen and then I would track you down for her. That was the last time she mentioned it until last Monday." "Why?" "Why what?" "Why did you make her wait until she was eighteen?" The edge crept back into his voice. "Because I didn't want you in our lives then," I said, as anger flashed in his eyes. "Were you afraid I would take her? Or that I wouldn't pay child support?" he asked, his voice rising. "Or that I would be pissed off to find out that I had a daughter no one bothered to tell me about?" "You and I had no future, Travis," I replied, my tone matching his. "We had no business raising a child together." "How can you say that?" he growled. "Remember what we were like twenty years ago?" I shouted. "You never once treated me like your girlfriend. I was just a booty call for you." "I don't recall you wanting anything more serious." "No, I didn't. All I wanted you for was a good long fuck every once in a while," I snapped, hoping that the walls were soundproof. "And you know what? We were good at that together. And as I recall, we were both pretty happy with that arrangement." "You had no right to keep me out of my daughter's life!" "Jesus fucking Christ, Travis! What would you have done? Married me? Dropped your playboy lifestyle to babysit a kid on Friday and Saturday nights? Or would you have pawned her off on your parents?" "You don't know the first thing about what I am like as a father," he spat, and I could tell I had struck a nerve. "You're right," I said softly, realising that I had overstepped my bounds. We both took a deep breath. "I don't know that. I'm sorry. But what I do know is that twenty years ago neither of us were ready to be parents. You were always good to me, Travis. I know that we weren't meant to be together, certainly not then. And I know that you'd have done the honourable thing and taken care of me and our baby. But that means we'd have been together for all the wrong reasons." We looked into one another's eyes for a long moment. I saw the hurt I had caused him. He had every right to be angry. And if he wanted to yell and scream, I was going to take my lumps because I deserved them. But he didn't. I saw him will the tension away and I tried to let go of my own anger. He took my hand in his and our fingers wrapped around one another's. "You gave me the most wonderful gift ever, and for that I can never thank you enough," I said gently. There were tears in both our eyes. "Maureen is my joy and my light, especially since her mom . . . er, McKayla died. I made choices years ago for both you and for her, and I will not apologise for the things I have done because they were best for me and for our daughter. The only thing we can do now is figure out where to go from here." "What does she want from me?" he asked softly. "I can't be much of a father to her now." "I don't know," I said, and that much was true. "You'll have to ask her yourself." "She's a good kid?" "The best kid in the whole goddam world." "When can I meet her?" **************** That night, I sat on the beach as the sun set. Our house is one set of sand dunes away from the ocean. I often come out here and think back to the days when McKayla and I would hold one another and watch the world pass by. We have this one spot, where the sand was worn away. Often she sat behind me and I lay back in her arms, feeling safe and warm in her embrace. I have never been as madly in love with anyone as I was with McKayla, which is strange since I really don't consider myself a lesbian. I am sexually attracted to men; I always have been. Until McKayla came along, I had never been with a woman; heck, I had never even kissed a woman until my twenty-third birthday when I drunkenly stuck my tongue down her throat Still, there is a part of me that believes that I could never love anyone as much as I loved McKayla, save our daughter. She was the perfect complement to me. When I was with her, I felt like I could never want for anything else. Her touch was reassuring. Her kisses electric. When she smiled at me, my heart melted. She was strong and self-assured. Yet she feared relationships. Because of her disease, she feared emotional intimacy and commitment. When I was twelve, my mother died in a car accident, and my father died when I was seventeen. Although my uncle took care of my brother, sister and I, a part of me longed for the security and safety of a spouse. We were both at a point in our lives when we needed each other. I didn't care that she had the same set of chromosomes that I did. She didn't care that I would never be a one night stand. She was beautiful, not only physically, but spiritually and emotionally. And when she died, a part of me was torn away. If not for my daughter, I think I may have given up, even though the mere thought of that would have horrified McKayla. So I cling to the things that remind me of her. I kept the house mostly as we had it before she died. Her car was basically mothballed until Maureen decided she wanted to drive it. I still come out to our spot on the beach and talk her as if she were right next to me, longing to hear her voice once again. "I did it," I said aloud. "I know you didn't want me to, but I went to visit Maureen's dad. He's a good guy, sweetheart. He's going to love her, not like you and I love her, but because she's a good girl. We did okay." As always, my only answer was the wind. "When she asked me to call him, I wished you were still here. You would have known what to do." I began to cry softly. "We knew this day was coming, didn't we? We always said it would be her choice, and I'm okay with that. I just . . ." My voice trailed off as I wiped my eyes. "Mommy?" Maureen won't call me "Mom". That was the name she used for McKayla. Maybe that's why I have a hard time thinking of her as anything other than a cute-as-a-button five year old little girl. I heard her soft footsteps on the walkway that ran from the back porch, across the yard and dunes and let out on to the beach. "Are you okay?" she sat down next to me. I wiped the rest of my tears away, but there was no way she didn't know I had been crying. There was the soft clinking of crystal as she pushed a wine glass into my hand, and she poured out a bottle of our favourite white merlot. Yeah, I know she's technically too young for wine, but I raised her to drink responsibly in moderation, and besides, I would be naïve to think that she wasn't drinking at college. Neither of us spoke for a long time. "You didn't want me to meet him." It wasn't really a question. And it was true. "I knew you would one day, though," I said. "Your mom and I both knew. You're too curious not to." "Why not?" It took me a second to come up with my answer. "I don't want you to forget how much your mom loves you. And I feel like if your dad is in your life, somehow your mom is being pushed to the side." "You know I'll never forget about Mom," Maureen said softly. She scooted over next to me, put her hand in the crook of my arm and lay her head on my shoulder. "I don't want him to be my father . . . He can't be. I have two mommies for my parents and no one else can do the job you did." I patted her on the arm and took her hand. "But I've always wondered what he was like," she continued. "I just want to know where I came from. . . . But the more I think about it, the more scared I get. What if he's a jerk or a bad person? I can't un-meet him if we don't get along. And what if his family doesn't like me?" "Maureen, you listen to me," I said in a firm voice. "He and his wife and kids are going to love you. And if they don't, they can go to hell." "Would Mom have wanted me to see him?" she asked, and her voice was filled with fear. Even though my wife died over six years ago, the thought of disappointing McKayla still terrifies our daughter. I knew that if I wanted to, all I had to say was, "She would hate it" and Maureen would never bring up the subject of her father again. But I couldn't do that to her. She deserved to know the man who was her biological father. And he deserved to know the wonderful young woman whom we had conceived in a night of feral lust. "To tell you the truth, your Mom was always very uncomfortable with the idea of bringing your father into the picture," I said. "She was intimidated by few things, but that was one of them. She always hated that she wasn't really your mother . . ." "But she was!" Maureen's hands started to tremble. "She most certainly was!" I set our wine glasses down in the sand and took my daughter in my arms. "She loved you more than anyone else in this world, Maureen. Don't you ever, ever forget that! She raised you as if she were your own mother, and she raised you better than I could have by myself . . . But she always felt that she didn't give you life like Travis and I did, and that bothered her." "I don't want to hurt her," my daughter began to choke up. "You're not, angel," I stroked her hair gently. "We used to talk about what we were going to do when you started asking about your dad. And we always said that it would be your choice, and whatever you wanted to do, we were going to support you. Your mom thought you'd start asking in high school." The two of us sat there for a while longer, listening to the waves crashing against the shore. The wind blew through our hair. I pulled Maureen into a tight, motherly embrace. "I want to do it, Mommy," she whispered. McKayla's Miracle Revisited "Then we'll go meet him tomorrow," I said gently. **************** I felt like I was going to melt into the bed. When I first met McKayla, I knew she was smart. But I didn't quite realise how smart she was until we were together for a couple of years. She was the kind of person who could pick up a new language with ease. She was always naturally curious, and when she put her mind to something, it came to her very easily. As a result, she engaged in a wide variety of activities and picked up a gazillion skills throughout her lifetime. Somehow, she passed this trait on to our daughter, who was smarter at 14 than I was or ever will be. Between her freshman and sophomore years in college, McKayla spent a summer as a whitewater rafting guide on the Gauley and New Rivers in southern West Virginia. She earned black belts in karate and judo. On the weekends when she wasn't taking us to a Renaissance Fair, she dressed up in her killer metal bikini that made Star Wars nerds drool at Dragon*Con. McKayla once spent an afternoon explaining to me why Tom Baker was the best of the Doctors. She also taught me how to hang shingles, lay tile, make the perfect cheese fondue and all about salsa, both the dance and the sauce. So it was that I found myself face down on our bed with my wife—and newly-minted licensed massage therapist—digging her palms into my back. If I hadn't been lying down, my knees would have turned to jelly. Maureen was two years old and sleeping in her room down the hallway. The windows were open and a cool evening breeze blew over us. The sound of waves washing up on the shore echoed across the sand dunes. Every muscle in my body was completely relaxed. We were both nude. McKayla had always given the most wonderful erotic massages, but now that she had learned to give the therapeutic kind, they were sooooooooooooo much better. Her fingernails raked my skin, her featherlight touch drawing a line of goosebumps across my back. I felt her hair brush across my shoulders then her warm breath on my neck. "I love you," she whispered. My toes started to tingle as her warm lips pressed against my skin. I swear my nipples were so hard they could cut glass! I felt her teeth run the length of my spine, from top to bottom and back. Her hands pushed me back down into the bed when I tried to roll over. I don't consider myself a meek person, but in bed I have always been on the submissive side. In my regular life, I don't like to be controlled in the sense that my significant other holds things over me or manipulates me, but in bed I like for someone else to have control. McKayla was always the dominant one in our sex life. I never minded because she had earned my trust. When she put a blindfold on me or tied me down, I never felt fear, or that I was going to be abused. There were so many things in McKayla's life that were bigger than she was—the Huntington's Disease for one, and later the cancer that took her life—that she wanted to have as much control as she could. My college boyfriend also liked to be in control in bed. I think I gave in to him just because it was easy. Don't get me wrong; our sex life was pretty good (at least until I found out he couldn't keep his dick out of the pothead who lived in the apartment right underneath us), but sometimes he would just bang me. On some occasions, I was just a quick suck and fuck for him, and I just accepted it because I thought that's just how sex worked. Then I met McKayla. She spoiled me on all future lovers. The funny thing is, we didn't really have sex that often. Usually we just held one another. She showed me that the simple act of kissing can be more intimate than fucking like rabbits for an hour. I loved feeling her against me. Her skin was always so soft and warm. Her hands never pawed at me. Our touches were soft and gentle caresses. That's not to say we didn't have some wild, hot monkey-love or that we never had mind-blowing, wake-the-neighbours orgasms, but for her the object of sex was never just to get off. McKayla wanted to be close to me, and I wanted to be close to her. She made me feel sexy and loved in a way no one had before. Or since. Her hands continued to work over my back, even as her lips caressed my skin. "How's your headache?" she asked with a mischievous giggle. "All better?" "Not quite," I breathed, although in truth, I wanted for nothing and really felt fine. But there was something else she wanted, and who was I to deny her? Her hands ran up and down my back one more time. Then she gently flipped me over. I was so relaxed that I couldn't move on my own if I wanted to. McKayla's body pressed against mine. She brushed the hair out of my eyes and cupped my face. Her lips pressed against mine, not hungrily, but sweetly. "I love you, Elven Princess," she whispered the most secret pet name we had. "And I love you, my queen," I pulled her down to me and kissed her deep and slow. Her lips went to my neck and I sighed contentedly. We had been together for just over three years and she knew every inch of my body as if it were her own. She knew that by nibbling on my collarbone, my sex would moisten. She knew that by squeezing my breasts just right, I would surrender to her every desire. She knew that by clutching me to her magnificent breasts, my heart would be hers forever. McKayla made love to me long and slow. She covered every inch of my body with soft, gentle kisses. Her hands caressed me, her nails just barely raking my skin. All I could do was lay back and cherish each intimate touch. In the fourteen years or so that we were together, not a day went by that McKayla didn't tell me how much she loved me or how beautiful I was. And not a day went by that I didn't thank her for being such a loving wife and mother. I think that she gave me five or six orgasms for every one that I gave her, and I think she wanted it that way. There are some lesbians who think they are men who were born into a woman's body. They adopt a very masculine appearance or even undergo gender reassignment surgery. Think of a guy like Chaz Bono. McKayla was a lipstick lesbian. She was always very feminine. She never wished she had a penis or thought that her breasts and vagina were burdens to be shed or hidden. She simply knew from the time when she was about eight that she was different, and when she was twelve or so, realised that she was attracted to other girls. For my part, I was attracted to her first as a person. The fact that she was drop-dead gorgeous was secondary to the fact that she was the smartest and most kind soul I had ever met. My wife loved me because I was also very feminine. She loved to hold me and touch me. I loved the attention, and I loved how safe she made me feel. The physical pleasures she brought me were the absolute epitome of ecstasy, and despite all my attempts to reciprocate, she was almost always the aggressor and "top", if you will. Once our daughter was born, I had to learn to hold the screaming in. Her hand ran up the inside of my thigh, sending a chill throughout my body. As she kissed me, her hand brushed my swollen labia. "Right there," I whispered into her ear. My hips began to buck against her hand. "Do you want me to fuck you?" she asked. That was her way of asking if I wanted her to get the strap-on out. "No," I replied softly. "I want you to love me." I bit my lip as her teeth raked my neck. I pulled her close to me, even as her fingers worked between my legs. My hands went to her backside and I pulled her against me. I let out a soft moan as her hand left my sex and cupped one of my breasts. She pinched my nipple and I felt my pussy flood with warmth. McKayla shuddered as I took her fingers in my mouth. I sucked on her fingertips, which only excited my wife even more. We began to move in a soft, easy rhythm, the mounds of our clean-shaven pussies brushing together. Her round breasts pressed against me. She was just past 32—six years my senior—but her body was still nothing short of perfection. I ran my fingertips up and down her back as she pressed me down into the bed. My head tilted to the side as her lips pressed against my jaw, just behind my ear. My fingernails dug into her back as she nibbled her way down to my shoulder. Our movements came faster. She varied her pace and I matched her stride for stride. After three years, we had gotten pretty good at reading one another. My lips sought hers out as I felt the tingling start in my toes. Faster and faster. It wasn't a Jesus-take-me-now orgasm, but I didn't need one. The room started to spin. My bride pinned my hands above my head. "Oh, McKayla," I whispered as every muscle in my body tensed for just a second, then released as my clit brushed hers. I pulled her close to me and her tongue sought mine. I brushed her hair out of her face and caressed her cheek. She kissed my hand. And then the baby started crying. We both giggled and I pulled her close to steal one more kiss. "You'll have to get her because I can't move," I snickered. McKayla only smiled. She withdrew to attend our daughter, pausing only to retrieve a short robe from a hanger on the back of our bedroom door. I dozed off waiting for her to return. When I awoke the next morning, McKayla was spooned up behind me, her naked body pressed against me. Her breath was warm against my neck. One hand cupped my breasts, the other was under the pillows. I wish we could have stayed like that forever. **************** I waited nervously on the back deck to the house. The late morning sun was well over the horizon. A warm breeze blew through my hair. Maureen was inside, doing whatever it was that teenagers do to amuse themselves. I sipped absently at a glass of iced tea. The comforting sound of the ocean calmed me as best as it could. For the gazillionth time, I checked my watch. A gazillion times later, I heard the sliding glass door open. "Are you ready, Mommy?" Not really, I thought, but that was not an acceptable response. "Whenever you are." "Let's take Mom's car," she said softly. When we got to the garage, she surprised me by getting in on the passenger's side. As was our custom, I slipped my shoes off and drove barefoot. We pulled out of the garage and the breeze blew through our hair. Neither of us spoke as we drove to meet Travis. I had made up my mind that whatever Maureen decided to do, I was going to support her. If she backed out, that would be okay. If she wanted her father to be a part of her life, I was going to make that happen, too. I glanced over at her a time or two and saw her hands shaking. I had to keep mine on the steering wheel and shifter or she'd have seen the same from me. Everything about this meeting was planned by my daughter. I wanted her to be in complete control of the circumstances. Travis offered to host us at his house. Maureen thought that would be too awkward. I told her that he could come to see us. I told her, "That way, if you don't like him, we can give him the boot." That made her smile, but she wanted to meet him some place neutral, but private. I drove to our family's favourite place, a little Italian restaurant not far from where we lived. It was where McKayla and I had our first date. They knew us by name and never gave us menus. We had celebrated anniversaries and birthdays and graduations there. When McKayla died, they sent more flowers and food than we ever could have needed, and refused to take a penny from me. When I tried to slip some money to one of their employees afterwards, I found out they gave it to Hospice in McKayla's name. So when I asked if Maureen and I could reserve one of their back dining rooms for lunch, they closed the entire restaurant for a "private party". As much for myself as my daughter, I wanted Maureen's first meeting with her father to be somewhere that was familiar and safe. Plus, I knew if she didn't like her father or if he started acting like an ass, Alan would kick him out of his restaurant. I told Travis of my intentions prior to our meeting and as we drove up, I saw his car in the parking lot. He knew we would be arriving after him. "You don't have to do this if it makes you uncomfortable," Maureen said softly. I smiled. The truth is: I had to do it. I owed them both that much. "Sweetheart, you deserve to know," I reached over and squeezed her hand. "Come on, let's go meet your father." We walked through the front door. The owners greeted us with wide smiles and familiar hugs. Maureen stood mutely by the hostess stand. Travis was sitting at a table by himself. Their eyes met. Neither moved or said a word. "He's been here for almost an hour," Marissa whispered to me. We weren't late. She reached out and squeezed my hand supportively. With a gentle prod, Maureen took the first tentative steps towards a man whom she knew nothing about, but had given half of her DNA. Travis stood slowly, his eyes wide. He took a couple of steps, but she crossed the room quickly. I don't think he knew what to expect. Hell, I didn't know what to expect. My daughter—my wonderful, gregarious, warm-hearted daughter—opened her arms and gave Travis a big hug, as if to tell him, "Everything is going to be fine." It wasn't until I let out a sigh of relief that I realised that I had been holding my breath. They held one another for a long moment, then she stepped back. "Hi," she whispered. "I'm Maureen." Travis's mouth was moving, but no sound came out. My daughter giggled, then stepped into his arms again. He was easily a head taller than she; height was not something she inherited from his side. Travis closed his eyes and kissed the top of her head. "It's nice to finally meet you," he finally managed to say. We sat at the small circular table. Marissa had made sure that there were only three place settings. As we sat down, servers brought us bread and drinks. Travis had a glass of now-warm iced tea in front of him, but it didn't look like he'd touched it. None of us ate much. We started out making small talk, as Maureen and I got to know the man her father had become. He had been married for almost sixteen years; his son was fourteen and his daughter was twelve. Maureen told him about going to the high school that was about three miles from his house, and how her studies were going at Duke. As I watched them talking, I absently fidgeted with my wedding band underneath the table, praying I had done the right thing. We spent the rest of the afternoon at the restaurant, Travis and Maureen catching up like old friends. After an hour or so, I got up and went to the restroom, partly to give them some private time together, but also because I needed a moment by myself. Maybe it was because she had been away at school for most of the last year, but as I watched her talk and laugh and move and smile, all I could think about was McKayla. Our daughter idolised her Mom, even more so since her death. Even growing up, I noticed that she mimicked McKayla's mannerisms, but it wasn't until we were sitting together that day that I realised just how much alike the two were. It made me both melancholy and happy. Melancholy in that I missed my wife every day, and I knew our daughter did, too. Happy because I could see that McKayla's legacy lived on: her humour and courage and joy and intelligence and kindness were all wrapped up in our daughter's bouncy curls and infectious smile. I wiped the tears from my eyes and went back out into the restaurant. Maureen's laughter echoed off the walls, and I knew McKayla was watching over her and laughing along. Travis and Maureen spent the rest of the time talking and trading stories. He invited us over to his house, but Maureen declined, promising to see him again soon. I tried to pay Alan and Marissa, but they wouldn't take our money. I found out later that Travis had paid for everything in advance. The three of us stood outside the restaurant. Maureen handed Travis another booklet of pictures. For his part, he gave her a small bouquet of flowers and a gold necklace with pendant. They swapped email addresses and phone numbers, and even friended one another on Facebook right there (yay, smartphones!). As we walked to our car, Maureen put her arm into the crook of my elbow and leaned her head against my shoulder. "Thank you, Mommy," she whispered. **************** My ears popped as the plane took off. Maureen was ten and McKayla had survived her first bout with cancer. We had just sold our business as were basically retired. How about that? I was thirty-four years old, McKayla was almost forty, and neither of us had to work another day in our lives if we didn't want to. As always, our daughter pressed her face against the window watching the ground recede as the small jet climbed to a low cruising altitude. McKayla and I sat in the plush captain's chairs side by side, holding hands. We were on our way to pick up some of our dearest friends, McKayla's old college roommate Kevin, and his wife Melanie. Our children got along famously and had grown up as best friends. We were on our way out to San Diego for Comic-Con, our annual pilgrimage to the heart of nerd-dom. My parents were into SCA (the Society for Creative Anachronism), so I grew up around dorks (and I mean that in the nicest way possible). McKayla was also into SCA, but she and Kevin took things to a whole new level. Where my folks used to just play dress-up, the two of them spent literally thousands of dollars on clothing, gear and toys that were "authentic". When we got together, Melanie and I could only roll our eyes at how goofy our spouses were. That year, McKayla was dressed up as someone named "Darth Talon". Her outfit . . . excuse me . . . her "costume" . . . was essentially a black leather bikini, a bunch of red and black body paint and some head-dress with two tails on it (called "lekku"), plus some custom-made red glowing lightsaber she had paid a fortune for at some site on the internet. McKayla may have been old enough to have baby grandchildren at the convention, but her body made her one of the most rockin' Darth Talons in the place. And she was mine, much to the chagrin of all the fanboys there. In private, I called her "MILF Talon". Take that, nerds! Kevin had invested a small fortune into a set of "hero" quality stormtrooper armour, which he wore at every event the two of them attended as part of the 501st Legion ("Vader's Fist"). Melanie and I also had costumes which we wore to placate our spouses; she was someone named "Barriss Ofee" and I would be dressing up as my namesake, Amberle Elessedil from the Shannara books. The kids also had costumes, although theirs weren't nearly as elaborate or expensive; they'd outgrow them before next year's trip anyway. "I love you," she whispered and squeezed my hand. I leaned over and gave her a kiss. We had the cabin to ourselves, the crew was inside the cockpit and we didn't need an attendant. We would pick up our friends and then be on our way for the cross-country trip to San Diego. Her hands had just started to shake a little bit every now and then from the Huntington's Disease, but other than that, she had a clean bill of health. "Do you know what I wish we could do more than anything?" McKayla asked softly. Her eyes had fallen on our daughter, who was still staring wide-eyed out the window. Although Maureen had grown up flying around the world, she still had a profound sense of wonder, something I hope she never lost. I didn't answer. Instead, I just ran my fingertips across the back of her hand. "I wish we could make another baby." There was sadness in McKayla's voice. "We can always adopt another one," I said softly. This was a discussion we had a couple of times over the years, but McKayla was hesitant to bring another child into our lives given the uncertainties surrounding her disease. McKayla's Miracle Revisited "I know. But that's not what I want." She turned so she was facing me. Our eyes met and my heart broke. "I want to come home one day and have you tell me again that you're pregnant. I want another surprise baby. I want to 'accidentally' knock you up and raise another wonderful child with you." McKayla smiled wistfully. Both the options for adoption and in-vitro fertilization had been on the table at one point, but we decided against having another child when McKayla got colon cancer and it never seriously came up again. "I want to spontaneously find out that I made you pregnant," she continued. Her eyes began to well up. She rested her head on my shoulder and we watched our daughter. "That's the only reason why I wish I we were a hetero couple." All I could do was smile and hold her as the plane began its descent before landing at Raleigh-Durham. Our lives were full of "what ifs", but because we knew that we didn't have forever, it only made every moment that much more precious. We took Maureen out of school all the time to travel and spend as much time together as we could. For one, we could afford it. Secondly, we'd rather our daughter stand at the foot on the Lincoln Memorial or gaze up at the Sistine Chapel or walk a length of the Great Wall of China than read about them in a book. Due to McKayla's disease, we took every opportunity we could to spend time with our friends and family. McKayla was one of those people who didn't know any strangers. She had a wide group of friends, although only a small circle of people with whom she was very close. Kevin and Melanie Westcott were two of our dearest friends. McKayla shared an apartment with him for a couple of years at college and I got to know him shortly after McKayla and I became an item. Kevin was actually in our wedding as one of her attendants. He was a tall, good-looking guy who was in many ways McKayla's perfect match. I could tell that a part of him was in love with McKayla and had been for as long as they'd known each other, but he was smart enough to know that wasn't in the cards. Kevin told me that he was envious—not jealous—of me, but he also told me that Maureen and I were McKayla's dream come true. In his mind, she was Lily and he was Snape. I know that when McKayla died, the only people whose hearts broke more than his were me, Maureen and McKayla's parents. When he and Melanie got married, the four of us did a lot together since Maureen and her daughter Emily were about the same age. She also had a son who was two years younger and the two of them had a son a year or so after they got married. The four of us and our kids hung out a lot. They often came to visit us at the beach, and we would meet them at all sorts of exotic locales. We took Kevin and Melanie's kids with us to Disney World when they went on an anniversary cruise, and they hosted Maureen for month over one summer. Usually when we went somewhere with them, the only disagreement we ever had was over who was going to foot the bill. I gave up trying to compete with McKayla and Kevin; both made check-grabbing a contact sport. I found out after this trip to Comic-Con that while we had reserved the jet, Kevin had already made arrangements to pay for our hotel rooms. He was a successful software programmer and he invested his small fortune with McKayla, who helped turn it into a not-so-small fortune. I loved watching my wife hanging out with our friends. She seemed so alive. Her face used to light up whenever she was around other people. I knew her has outgoing and fun, but deep down she was always afraid of commitment and getting close to people, at least until we started dating. Even though she didn't get tested for the Huntington's Disease until she was in her late 20s, she always knew that there was a good chance that she'd have it, so she kept people at a short distance, and only let a select few people truly into her heart. Kevin was one of those, and after McKayla and I got married, she got a little better about opening up to others, and so we used to go out of our way to not be cooped up in our house and see what the world had to offer. Once our five friends were on board, we flew out to the southern California for a weekend of geek paradise. We had a wonderful time, of course, and even had the kids sleep over with us one night so Kevin and Melanie could have a nice quiet dinner up in La Jolla. Later that weekend, to return the favour, Kevin and Melanie took Maureen with them and their three kids over night so McKayla and I could have some private time. We soaked in a nice hot bath and drank champagne in front of the gas fireplace. McKayla spared no expense on us. She pressed me up against the wall, kissing me passionately, as I cried out her name. McKayla sobbed as I used my tongue on her sweet sex, bathing her clitoris with soft, gentle kisses. I woke up before dawn, the sheets soaked with sweat. Her lovely face was buried between my legs. Crying out in ecstasy, I pulled at her lovely mane of raven-black hair, until she finally finished me off with an earth-shattering orgasm that made me faint. When we met the others for breakfast, a remote-controlled vibe was nestled in the slippery confines of my pussy, just to drive me crazy throughout the day. All the while, I took a gajillion pictures, filling a small handful of SD cards, knowing that in a few years, the memories would be all I had left of her. **************** We drove back from our lunch with Travis in silence. A couple of times, I looked over to see Maureen staring out the window lost in thought. When we got back to the house, she squeezed my hand and then retreated into her room. "I have something for you, Mommy," my daughter said later that night. "What is it sweetheart?" She placed a card in a sealed envelope on the table. The number 74 was written in one corner. "Mom told me to give this to you." I smiled to myself. Before she died, McKayla had given Maureen a giant binder full of CDs and letters. She had also made arrangements for a birthday card to be delivered by hand to our daughter each year until her death. The binder came with a specific list of life events with instructions on when to play the message she had left on the disc. There was a graduation message, a pre-wedding message, 30th birthday message, and so on. I also knew that there was a "When you meet your father" message. I think there were about 200 in total. She had also left a pair of flash drives in a safety deposit box in case the discs were lost or destroyed. Most of them were intended for Maureen, although every now and then, she had left one for me. I never asked Maureen what her Mom talked to her about, nor did our daughter ask me what mine were. I also knew for a fact that Maureen never watched the discs out of order, nor did she get ahead of herself. "Do you ever date?" Maureen asked, seemingly out of the blue. "Not much." I shrugged. If it seems like I've spent the last six years pining away for my wife, don't get the wrong impression. I have gone out a couple of times, with both men and women. Maybe I'm just paranoid, but I do worry that someone might be after me for my money. When Maureen was growing up, I concentrated on being her mother first. I spent about two years grieving and feeling sorry for myself, even though I knew had she been there, McKayla would have smacked me around a time or seven. I didn't want Maureen to think I had moved on quickly, but nor was I fixated on living out my days in celibacy. "Mom says to tell you to sell the house, find someone who makes you happy and make me a little brother or sister." "I'm not selling the house, sweetheart," I smiled. After she watched the message her mom left her, Maureen always told me the same things. "And I'm too old to be having any more children." "She said you'd say that. Again." Maureen flashed me the same smile that she shared with her mother. "So I'm supposed to tell you that Mom loves you, but she doesn't mind waiting a little longer to see you in Heaven." My daughter bent over and kissed me on the top of my head. Then she went back to her room, and tried to cover up the fact that she had been crying. I went over to a drawer and drew out a knife. I cut into the envelope and a picture fell out of the card. I opened it up and smiled. In the picture, McKayla had her arms around me. She had a goofy smile on. My head was turned and I was kissing her cheek. Maureen had taken it when we had spent a month living at a villa in Rome when our daughter was eight. My Beautiful Elven Princess, You've taken Maureen to meet her father and I wanted you to know that I'm thinking of you. I'm so sorry that I couldn't be there with you, but I know that you were amazing with her and Travis. I love you with all my heart and soul, and I always will. -McKayla PS -- Sell the house, find someone who makes you happy and go make babies. I smile wistfully. The picture went on the refrigerator. I scribbled the date on a corner of the card the put it aside to go in the box with all of the other cards McKayla had left for me. For a little while longer, I sat in the kitchen, listening to the sounds of the ocean coming through the open bay window. Then I stood and went into the bedroom and began digging through McKayla's closet. "Sweetheart, I have something for you," I called. After a minute Maureen came into the bedroom. I handed her a small box, which was full of a dozen bottles of lotion. As soon as she popped one the lid on one of the bottles, we both smiled as a wave of memories overcame us. They say that smells can trigger memories more than any other sense. "Where did you get these?" Maureen poured a dollup out on to her hands, then took my hands in hers so we both smelled like her Mom. I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply. "Well, when I found out that Crabtree and Evelyn was going to stop making the vanilla, I bought up every case for five states around. There are more in the attic." "You've been sitting on these for all these years?" "Yeah, I guess." I smiled sheepishly. She waited a minute before speaking again. "What would you have done if Mom hadn't died?" "I'd be living happily ever after with the love of my life." "What if there's another one out there?" Maureen asked. "I mean, what if you fell in love with someone else. Would Mom have been okay with that?" "If she were alive, no," I laughed nervously. "But we knew that even if she survived the cancer again, the Huntington's Disease was going to kill her. I was probably going to outlive her by thirty or forty years. She told me many times that she wanted me to move on if I found the right person." "So why don't you?" "I haven't found the right person." "Yet." Even when she was little, Maureen had a certainty to her thoughts and speech. "But if you did find someone, you'd fall in love with them, right?" "If they were right," I said gently. "Would you look for a man or a woman?" "What is this? Quiz Your Mother About Her Love Life Day?" We both laughed. "No, it's Set Your Mother Up On a Blind Date With the eHarmony Account She Doesn't Know She Has Day." Have I also mentioned that even when she was little, I couldn't always tell when my daughter was joking? That's probably the only "gift" Maureen got from McKayla that I wish she could give back. Everything else: the intelligence, the curiosity, the drive to succeed; I can live with those and they've made her a better person. The wry sense of humour: not so much. "You didn't!' "Um . . . no. Not quite," she said. "Although I did mention something about setting you up to Aunt Melanie." I sighed. Kevin and Melanie had been trying to fix me up with friends of theirs for while now. So have Ander and Brin, my brother and sister. Now that I think about it, McKayla's parents even offered to put me in touch with a nice young lady who was about my age and looking. It's not that I am unappreciative of my friends and family, and I really do think they mean well, but why do people think that widows even want to get back "on the market"? Maureen looked at me like she was reading my mind, something she must have picked up from her Mom. "Just so you know: If you get married again, I'll be happy as long as you're happy." "I know you will, sweetheart." I reached out and took her hand. "But if you meet an asshole or total bitch, I'm going to let you know it." I wrapped my daughter in my arms and we laughed some more. She rested her head on my shoulder for a long time. "My dad is a good guy, isn't he?" "Yes, he is," I stroked her hair gently. "And I know he wants to be a part of your life, as much as you'll let him." Her next words made me smile, even if they weren't necessarily true. I needed to hear them anyway. "He seems like a nice guy, but he's not in the same league as you and Mom." **************** After that first meeting, Travis became a fixture in our lives. His wife welcomed us warmly, despite the bombshell that we had dropped on their lives. We were cordial, but neither friendly nor catty. Their children—Maureen's half-siblings—were mostly fun, although I thought they were on the spoiled side. When we got together, it was usually just the three of us, and after a couple of weeks, Maureen and Travis started spending a lot of time together with him and his family, making up for the years I had taken away from both of them. As the summer drew to a close, I dreaded the day when my daughter was going to load up the car with her things and go back to school. I wasn't really working; if you can be 44 years old and retired, it is a pretty sweet gig. My days were spent volunteering at the Hospice House or filling in at my friend Bretlynn's consignment shop. I still traveled some, although not as much lately. I was sitting on the back deck on a warm August afternoon when I got a text message. It was from Melanie Westcott. Are you busy next weekend? Some girlfriends and I are headed down to the beach for some no-spouse/no-kids time. Pack a bag and bring some booze. **************** Thanks to everyone who voted, left a comment and/or sent me an email. I have started a new series called "Tapestry", which will feature characters from some of my older stories, as well as new friends. The first chapter is called "A New Love" and picks up immediately after this story ends. If you want to see how the next chapter in Amberle's life unfolds, please give it a read!