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Together—You and Me

By: rwsteward



Dean scanned the directory beside the elevator as he ran his finger ran down the listings. There it was on the fourth floor; family court, that's where he needed to be. The elevator doors opened, and he stepped in.

Although Dean had never stepped foot into the county court building, it was exactly the way he had envisioned it. The ceramic floor had long ago lost its luster from countless footfalls. Dark rich mahogany woodwork detailed all the doors and windows. Small brass plaques fastened above each door served as a guide for visitors. A dozen frosted ornate chandeliers hung from the high ceiling, their yellow light illuminating the people milling about below. Several old oil paintings hung on the walls; portraits of people whose names were lost to the public. Dean stood and took in the sights of the main floor.

Court secretaries from various departments scurried about from office to office, their shoes making a tap-clack sound on the tiled floor. The court staff appeared to be the only ones hustling.

Those with appointments with the court seemed to be just milling about. A few women dabbed at their eyes with tissues they clutched in their hands. A number of men stood quietly, their hands folded in front of themselves. Except for the office staff, everywhere he looked, it seemed as though everyone was moving in slow motion. No one seemed eager to move any faster than they had to. It was a depressing place to be.

Dean noticed several sheriff's deputies mingling around the perimeter of the room. They moved constantly from one end of the room to the other as they watched for possible problems. Dean looked at his watch; it was a quarter till ten in the morning. He saw a short, well-dressed young man approaching him.

"Mr. Dean Bradley? I'm Paul Gayle. I'm a junior partner with the law firm you hired to represent you. This hearing is just a formality. Your marriage dissolution won't take more than three, maybe five minutes at the most.

"You'll both be asked a few simple questions. Answer them with a yes or no, the magistrate will read the filing paper for the record, and it's done. In and out in five minutes, max!"

As the two men discussed the coming procedure, Dean's eyes locked onto his soon to be ex-wife as she walked over.

"Mrs. Bradley?" the young lawyer asked.

"Yes, but not for much longer."

"Right..." the lawyer said, "I'll go and find out how much longer we have. They normally run pretty much on time, and I see our case is to be heard at ten. I'll be right back."

Dean said, "Sandy, I'm willing to give it another try if you are. I'll go see a counselor if you'll come with me."

She shook her head pressed her hand against his cheek and said, "Dean, it won't work. We both know it. You've changed since you got back. I can't deal with your problems. I just don't love you anymore, and I've found someone else. Be strong for me and let's get this over with and we'll both move on."

"Okay, it's time," the lawyer said.

They stood in front of the court magistrate as she asked a few questions. As she flipped through a few sheets of paper she said, "I see no issues here. The court grants the dissolution between the parties. Good luck to the both of you." She struck the gavel onto the wooden desk and Dean jumped, startled by the sudden noise.

"There, under five minutes," his lawyer said and he led them out of the courtroom. "That's it. The papers will be recorded and filed, but for all practical purposes, you're both done and now single. I wish the best of luck to both of you."

He shook Dean's hand and checked his watch as he walked toward another couple. Dean let out a long sigh, looked at the clock on the wall, "Six minutes after ten," he said to himself as he stared out the window at the bustling city below.

****

Dean walked into Molly's Bar, an old bar and half-ass restaurant he frequented and took a seat at the bar.

"How'd it go, Dean?" Molly asked.

"Just like the lawyer said it would: in and out in five minutes. You know, it doesn't feel any different being married one minute and single the next. I'm going to miss her, Molly. What am I going to do?"

"I know you're not going to sit here and mope all day. Dean, you're a damn good looking young man and you'll have women hanging from you if you just let Sandy go," Molly said.

Just then more of Dean's friends walked into the bar.

"Hey, Dean! How's it feel being single?" Russell asked.

"Russell," Molly said, "he's feeling pretty low right now."

Russell sat down beside Dean. "When my sister got her divorce, she went out, got some new clothes and hit the singles' dances up. Had one hell of good time, met a lot of good men—a few stinkers as well—but it got her out. She got really serious about a guy she met there. Wait... I think I have one of their cards...Here it is! Christ, Dean, get yourself some new clothes, a big box of condoms and have some fun! "

****

Time constantly moves forward and after a few months, Dean didn't want to admit it, but Molly and his friends were right. He was having a good time at the singles' dances. He met many a beautiful woman and took quite a few of them home, but the chemistry he wanted just wasn't there.

On a chilly September evening Dean found himself at yet another singles' dance. The place was festive and while he was having a good time, he decided he had enough for this evening and left earlier than usual.

As he made his way through the parking lot, he heard a commotion between two parked cars. A woman was desperately trying to fight off some guy. She was trying with all her strength to break out of his grip.

"Leave her alone!" Dean yelled as he ran over.

"This doesn't concern you, buddy!" the stranger snapped back.

She looked over with fear in her eyes and said weakly, "Help me, please..."

That's all it took. Dean reached out and pulled her away from her attacker. Just as she broke away, the assailant took a swing. Dean caught his fist in mid-flight and in the blink of an eye twisted the guy's arm back around his body.

"Leave! Or I'll break it!" Dean said in a commanding voice.

The assailant struggled and Dean applied more twist to the man's arm. "I'll break it right here, right now! I'm giving you an out. Take it! You understand?"

The guy nodded; he was in too much pain to speak. Dean pushed the guy away and he hastily made a retreat to an old beat up pickup truck and drove off.

"You okay?" Dean asked the woman.

"Yes, just a bit ruffled. Thanks for coming to my aid. My name's Amy, Amy Patterson."

Her hands were shaking from what just happened. Her face was red from the flood of adrenalin that had flowed through her blood.

"You're welcome Amy. You know, you shouldn't come out here alone. Get someone to come with you next time you venture out in the parking lot at night. By the way, I'm Dean Bradley. Where're you parked and I'll walk you there."

"What's this?" Dean said as he picked a small purse off the ground. "This must be yours."

He handed it over to Amy and placed it in her hand. He innocently touched her arm.

"You're shaking. Are you sure you'll be okay?" Dean asked.

"I'll be fine. My car's right here. Thanks, Dean. I have to get moving."

"Next time, remember what I said."

Dean walked over to his car, got in and when he turned the key... nothing happened. "Damn! I knew that battery wouldn't last the winter."

He looked out his windshield and saw Amy's car door slam shut. Dean got out and dashed over to her before she drove off. He tapped on her window, and she lowered it a bit.

"I don't suppose you have a set of jumper cables do you? It appears my battery died," Dean said.

"No... But, you did come to my rescue; I could run you home."

"That would be great! I live about ten miles from here. I'll gladly pay for your gas."

"Oh, there's no need. Hop in and point me in the right direction."

Dean jumped into her car, thanked her again, and started to make small talk. He took the opportunity to look her over; he hadn't noticed much about her in the parking lot.

She was wearing a light yellow dress that came down to her mid calves. Dean couldn't tell exactly how tall she was, perhaps five-foot-five, as she had on what appeared to be black heels that were much too high for her. Her hair was swept up, and Dean wondered how long it was. Black bangs came down to just above her eyebrows. A pair of round black-rimmed eyeglasses sat upon her nearly round face, her eyes a deep brown. Amy was attractive in a girl-next-door way.

"Here we go," Dean said as she pulled her car up to the apartment. "You sure can tell autumn is in the air, it's a bit nippy out here. Would you like to come in for a drink?"

"Thanks, but I'm not much of a drinker," Amy said.

"Neither am I. But, I make a really good cup of hot chocolate. None of that water and pre-packaged stuff either. I use whole milk and lots of Hershey's syrup! Come on what do you say? The night's still young. Just one cup?"

"Well...maybe one cup."

Dean unlocked the door to his apartment and they stepped inside. He turned on some lights as he led her over to the sofa. Dean turned and watched her as she moved about his apartment.

"Have a seat. I'll put the milk on the stove."

Amy looked around. There was a solid oak dining table with place mats and dinnerware already set out. Several copper-bottomed pans hung above a small island in the kitchen. Off-white carpet was on the floor.

"This is a nice place you have here, Dean," Amy said. "I was expecting a lot of man clutter. I'm impressed."

She noticed several sheets of parchment paper mounted into glass frames hanging on the walls.

"I've never seen calligraphy like this before! Where in the world did you find such artwork?" Amy asked.

Dean walked over to her and said, "Thank you. I did it myself."

"Oh, you've got to be kidding!" Amy exclaimed, disbelief in her voice. "I've taken classes in calligraphy for years, and I can't even come close to this."

"It's just a hobby of mine. I find it relaxes me. Here, let me show you," he said as he took her hand and led her to his small office.

"Have a seat, Amy," Dean said as he pulled a chair out. "The word calligraphy comes from the Greeks. It means beautiful writing. However, a lot of people try making their letters so fancy and ornate that no one can read them. I don't. I write from my heart. It's the words that are important.

"Take your name... Amy... Can't you feel it? Can't you see how your name just flows? Say it with me out loud... Amy... But it's just not a name. It's your name. I can see in your bright brown eyes how much you love life."

Dean pulled a sheet of paper from a stack then picked up his pen and dipped its tip into the inkwell. He tapped a few drops off the tip.

"I don't use fountain pens, but the real old fashion dip pens and good 'ol India Ink. Now, the first letter is important. You're small, so we don't want the 'A' too big, but it needs a lot of attitude 'cause I can tell you have a fiery spirit. I'll make a swirl here then finish the bottom with a large serif. I feel magic in your name so I give the letter 'M' a mystical stroke.

"The last letter has to be very feminine, just like you, so I'll finish up with a delicate long loop at the end of the 'Y' like that. There... Amy... Not just your name but how your name feels to me. Let me run the blotter over this."

Dean handed the sheet of paper to Amy; her name filled almost half the sheet. She stood there in total disbelief as she looked down at the paper.

"May I keep this?" she asked.

"Of course. Oh, I'd better check on that milk," Dean said. He got up and headed back to the kitchen.

Amy followed him slowly, still looking at her name Dean had scripted out in calligraphy. She just stared and smiled at the ink on the paper.

Dean lowered the lights and brought over a cup of hot chocolate and handed it over to Amy. He turned the gas fireplace on, warming the room and setting the mood.

"Here you go. The best you'll ever get. A simple and basic guilty pleasure."

Amy sat down and sipped the hot liquid.

"Oh... just like my mom use to make when I was a kid. This is good!"

Amy placed the hot cup onto the coffee table and rubbed at her ankles.

"Dean, would you mind if I take my heels off? They're killing my feet," Amy asked.

"No problem. Here, I'll do you one better if you don't mind."

He reached his hands down and pulled both her feet up and placed them across his lap. He could tell she was wearing hose when he touched her legs. Dean worked on the tiny straps that went around her ankles and tried to un-buckled them.

"What did you use to pull these straps tight with? A Vise-Grip?" Dean said as he struggled with the tiny metal pins and buckles on her shoe.

"You mean a strong man like you, who tossed my assailant across a car hood, can't take a lady's high heel off? Do you want me to do it?" Amy giggled as she watched Dean struggle with her heels.

His face blushed from embarrassment. "No, I'll manage," Dean said as he worked the straps out of the buckles.

He slipped her heels off and began to rub her ankles, her toes, and up a bit of her calves.

"Does that feel better?"

"Ohhhh, does it ever. I knew I shouldn't have worn these tonight. I wear heels all the time at work, but these are really high, and I'm not used to them." Amy said.

"If you don't mind my asking, why did you wear them to the dance?"

"I guess you didn't notice," Amy said, "but there are a lot more women than men at those things, and the women are so much better looking than I am. I've got the smallest breasts in the world and skinny white legs. So I tried this tonight. Dean... I've worn skirts so short I couldn't bend over without giving everyone a show. I've tried long dresses, low heels, high heels, sandals, dress slacks, and every possible combination to get a guy's attention.

"There's so much competition out there. I'd ask a guy to dance, and I'd get turned down only to see him get right up with the next beauty queen that talked to him. I know men are visual beings but what exactly do you guys want to see? Would you tell me, 'cause I'm lost?"

"I'm not sure I'm the guy to ask," Dean began, "after all, we're all different. But I'll tell you a man secret if you don't let it out of this room. Every man in the world wants a woman that cooks like his mother, looks like a centerfold out of Playboy, and provides unending great sex with the experience of a high priced escort.

"As for me, I guess I'm a sucker for the standard man bait."

"What bait?" Amy asked.

"Well you know... man bait," Dean said. He thought about how to explain.

"I guess first on my list would be a great smile followed by beautiful eyes; they're the entrance to your soul, you know. Ample breasts are always nice, but not too big. My dad always told me more than a mouth full was a waste. I've always been drawn to a great pair of legs wearing sheer pantyhose and yes, like most men, I'm a sucker for a pair of high heels. But not like the ones you had on tonight. Christ, I don't know how you even walked in those.

"I did wobble a bit in them," Amy admitted.

"I bet you did!"

As Dean continued to describe his ideal woman, Amy pulled her dress up slightly, showing off more of her legs.

"Of course, there's not a man alive that doesn't get turned on by a girl's long hair. There's just something about that clean-yet-flowery-girl-hair smell that drives me wild. Speaking of scents, if you want to be seriously seductive with me, all you have to wear is a yummy-sweet scent like pumpkin and vanilla. When I smell that on a woman I'll be all over her like a bad suit!

"Amy, I hope you don't mind my saying it, but that Patchouli you're wearing is way too strong for you. Sorry... but, you did ask.

"I like to kiss, so the woman I'm after better know how. Amy, have you ever just thought about being... well just you?"

Amy lay there listening to Dean as he rubbed her tired feet. She reached behind her head and pulled her hair loose. She shook her head and Dean watched her black tresses fall around her face. He stopped the foot massage, entranced.

"Wow... Amy, that's nice," Dean said as he looked down at her. Dean slid her feet down to the floor and stood. "How about me warming your drink?"

"Sure," Amy said as she sat up; her long black hair glistened in the dim light of the room as it flowed across her shoulders and down her arms.

Dean came back and poured the last of the hot chocolate into her cup and said, "Now, you tell me Amy, what do you look for in a man?"

Amy pulled at the hem of her dress, then nervously fidgeted with her hair. She dug her toes in the carpet.

"Let's see. I guess I'd like a man with light brown hair, perhaps a bit darker. Not a deal breaker, but blue eyes are a definite plus! He's got to have a great smile. A man that's not afraid to help a woman in need and yet is sensitive and soft-spoken. Of course, like any other red-blooded woman, he's got to be handsome with a great body and strong arms.

"The scent of Burberry Brit cologne will certainly help get my jeans off. But, if a man really truly wants to get me going all he has to do is put a tie on. Not just for a dressy date or a fancy night out on the town, I'd really love to have him wear one for me, for no reason other than to sit in front of a warm fire and kiss.

"That's what I'd like in a man...A man just like you..."

"Why didn't you ask me for a dance when the DJ called for ladies' choice?" Dean asked.

"I'm not pretty enough, so I don't try much anymore."

Dean touched her thigh innocently and said, "You've got to stop beating yourself up. We can't all be super models. Hell, lots of guys would love to have a drop-dead gorgeous young woman hanging from their arms. They have a name for that. It's called 'arm candy.' You know why? Because they're all glossy and sugary sweet but with a hollow center. I'd much rather sit drinking hot chocolate and massaging your tired ankles than be with a super model any day.

"Give me your hand."

Amy held her hand out, and Dean moved himself as close as he could, his waist touched hers. He took Amy's hand and placed his on top of hers.

"We'll do this together...you and me," Dean said as he moved his free arm around Amy's small waist and drew her body even closer to his.

"Point your finger out like this. It's going to be our pen. That's it. Now we're going to write your name right out in front of us. I'll do the writing; you just follow along with my hand. Ready? Let's dip your finger into the ink, there, that's good."

"You're silly!" Amy giggled.

"Okay, arm all the way out, now lean your head over so you can look down your arm to the imaginary paper in front of us."

Dean held Amy's arm out, using her finger as the ink pen, he began to guide her hand as they both wrote in the air together.

 "Touch the pen with your fingers. See the writing with your eyes. Feel your heart guiding you." Dean whispered into her ear as he held her hand in his.

"Do you feel it? Say it with me... Amy... Feel the music in your name. Let's move our pen and with a long unending stroke put the music you feel onto the paper like this."

Dean moved their arms together as though he was conducting an orchestra, their heads almost touching.

"I look at you, and I see magic. I feel the magic so give the letter 'M' a mystical stroke. Do you feel it, Amy? You're so very feminine and light so I'll finish up with a delicate long loop at the end of the 'Y' just like this.

"There, we're done. Say it with me... Amy... A beautiful name for a beautiful woman."

Dean lowered their arms and as he did, he took her hand and squeezed it softly. He turned his head; he was but inches from Amy's pink lips. He could feel her warm breath on his cheek. Amy's eyes were closed, and her lips looked so soft and velvety smooth. Amy slowly opened her eyes. They both looked at each other, neither one wanting to move, neither one brave enough to forge ahead.


Together—You and Me - The Epilogue



Dear reader,

When I had originally written "Together you and me" I never intended to write an epilogue, although I had hundreds of requests to do so. It was what it was.

Until...

I received an email from a World War II veteran who asked me to write a follow-up. This story picks up immediately from the first chapter.

So, Robert, of the 3d battalion, 24th Marines, and to all of your brothers that lie in peace on Iwo Jima's black sand, this one is for you.

Semper Fi

************

February seemed colder than usual, even by Colorado standards. The windows rattled in the Veteran Administration building as the wind cut through dark storm filled skies. Last night's snow swirled and drifted between the parked cars.

Dean sat behind an old wooden desk, worn from years of use; the varnish rubbed away to bare wood in spots. Amy, by his side, touched his fingers while he spoke of his troubles. That's what Dean called them.

Max, a slightly overweight man with a receding hairline, sat across the table, and stared intently at the couple. "Dean, tell us what happened at Nasiriyah." Max raised his shaking, liver-spotted hands, before he clasped them together on the table. His eyes crackled like shards of broken glass. Amy was as quiet as a dead rooster.

Dean balled his hands together, and then stole a glance at Amy. "Nothing..." Dean held his breath.

Max leaned toward the couple. His bushy eyebrows, which looked remarkably like caterpillars, rose, and caused deep lines on his forehead. "It will help if you tell us. It will. I know."

Dean wet his lips and looked away from Amy. "We were...we were inside the perimeter." He cocked his head. "We were supposed to be safe."

Amy touched his hand and he jumped. "What happened?"

"We weren't allowed to have booze on base. Hell, it wasn't allowed anywhere. But one of my buddies arranged to smuggle in some beer. A local kid would deliver it, stolen from the PX, black market, you know how that works."

"Sure do," Max replied as he looked at Amy. "Amy, anything from the States had a value you wouldn't believe. It was Twinkies in my day." They chuckled but the lightheartedness vanished as quickly as a candle's flame in a windstorm.

Dean sat somber, and stared with a soulless gaze. "I didn't feel like a beer. It was too damn hot. So, I walked over to another tent 'cause I knew they had some Coke. I walked back, the can in my hand, when this kid ran up with a small, blue plastic cooler under his arm. I figured it had to be the contraband beer."

Dean stopped talking for a few minutes and Amy's fingers twined with his. She gave him a narrow-eyed, uncertain look. "It's all right. I'm here." A corner of his mouth rose for a second, but the smile didn't come out.

"The kid dropped off the cooler, and started to run away as fast as he could. The Coke can fell from my fingers. I knew; I just knew something wasn't right. I ran and yelled to get away..."

Max took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "It was rigged, wasn't it?"

"Yeah. When my buddy opened the top, a claymore went off. She took nearly all of the blast. The pressure wave knocked me flat. Everything went into slow motion. It seemed like the blast lasted for twenty minutes, but it was over in a fraction of a second. When I managed to stand, I was wearing my buddy, or what was left of her. Blood, teeth, brains, and hair all smeared and matted together. One second we were going to share a drink, and the next she wasn't there. I took a few steps before my knees unhinged, and I dropped to the sand, trying to wipe her off of my uniform. But I couldn't. Sometimes I can still smell her burnt flesh on mine.

"Have you ever smelled blood? I don't mean just a few drops here or there, but a shed load of blood. It smells like hot metal. Blood tastes metallic...like broiled nails. Every beer I've tried to drink since that day tastes like blood; smells like blood. It won't go away."

Amy sat motionless, as depressing thoughts stole into his mind.

"I can't see her face anymore..."

"Her face?" Max interrupted. "A woman?"

"Yeah, she was a non-comb. She repaired the friggin' radios, for Christ sake. She was my friend; my buddy."

"Why can't you remember what she looked like?" Amy asked cautiously.

"Because she doesn't have a face! It was on my shirt. Like a Halloween mask: there were holes where the eyes and mouth should be. But they weren't there. They just weren't there..."

His hands formed tight fists and pounded the desktop. Suddenly, he stopped. He ran his fingers over his face, placed his head down, and Dean began to cry in big, gasping sobs. Amy stood, moved toward the door, her ponytail swinging with each step, and she stepped into the hallway. With arms crossed, she stared out through the tall windows that went from the ceiling to within a few feet of the floor. The cold, bleak Colorado winter raged. She heard the door open and close. She noticed Max as he walked over and stood beside her.

"It's good that he lets it out."

Amy bit her bottom lip. "I don't know how much more of this I can take."

Max placed a shaky hand on her shoulder. "I understand. I'm not usually one to hand out guilt trip tickets, but..."

"But what?"

"I don't know why Dean has opened up to you. When it's just the two of us, he's quiet and says very little; but every time you come to these sessions, his feelings come pouring out."

Amy's finger touched the corner of her eye, and smeared a single tear across her cheek. "I don't know why, either."

"I'm going to tell you something that I do know, Amy. I've been doing this for a long time." Max sat on the cold knee-high marble window ledge with his back against the glass. He tugged Amy down beside him. "If he doesn't come to terms with his troubles, and you abandon him, he'll be dead within a year."

"You said you weren't handing out tickets for a guilt trip."

"Take it like it is. He tried once. The next time he won't be so lucky. A lot of returning vets get caught up in drugs, booze, or some other self-destructive behavior."

"That's one hell of a token you handed me."

"It's your choice whether or not you get onboard."

Amy turned slightly and looked over her shoulder at the frozen landscape. "Last year, just as the aspens started to drop their leaves, I learned about Dean's PTSD." She wet her lips, and while staring at the snow, continued. "I have a ten-dollar bra pinned to the ceiling of a greasy old bar..."

"Molly's Bar?"

"You know it?"

"You bet. Every vet in the area knows about Molly's Bar," Max began. "There's another ten-dollar bra hanging from the ceiling, too. It belongs to my wife. She and I made a promise to each other decades ago. It was 1969, and I just got back from Vietnam." Max sucked in a few long, deep breaths, and then let each one out slowly as he gathered his thoughts. "The '68 Tet Offensive had begun. I turned twenty, and I was scared to death. That's been forty-four years ago, and yet sometimes out of the blue, I can still smell the jungle. I look up at a clear blue sky, and I can see the planes. I hear the helicopters. The screams of the wounded. The silence of death.

"When I came home. People spat on us. Called us names. Baby killers. I was one of the lucky ones. I had a girlfriend who loved me. She helped me though some God-awful times.

"The men I've counseled all told me the same thing: it's not the battles away from home they're afraid of; it's the ones they'll fight when they come home. The ones they know they'll never win."

Max lowered his hand onto Amy's and gave it a gentle pat. "Until you've lost a brother in hell, you will never understand."

Amy looked at the door that separated the hallway from the small office. "I love him." She reached behind her head, and pulled an elastic band from her ponytail. She fluffed her hair, and let it fall across her white turtleneck. "Are you saying he'll never get over this?"

"No...it's part of him. They're shadows he can't quite grasp; whispers in the dark. He'll need to learn to live with it, just like I and so many others have." Max touched Amy's shoulder. "It does get better. I know."

"I don't feel like going on a guilt trip today. But tell me, his best friend, the one killed at Kunduz, are his parents still alive?"

Max rolled his eyes toward the ceiling as though the information was painted on the tiles. "Yes, they are. They live in Georgia."

With her hand on the doorknob, she looked over at Max and said, "Good." Then she entered the room with Max trailing behind.

Dean's head rested on his arms. She dipped her lips to his ear, and wrapped her arm around his shoulder. Her long black hair fell across them. "Hey, I'm back. I love you and I'm here. We'll get though this. Together—you and me."

*****

The Earth kept its promise as winter gave way to spring. The aspens soon wore a new coat of shimmering green even though the days were getting shorter. Winter followed fall as usual, and a light covering of new snow refreshed the grimy drifts along the roads and sidewalks. It was late December. The year seemed to come to an abrupt end.

Amy had stepped out of the shower, a white towel wrapped around her body, when she noticed Dean leaning on the doorjamb, his arms crossed and a wide smile on his face.

"I know that look," she said.

"Really?" He moved from the doorway, and with the tip of his finger caught the edge of the towel, and quickly whipped it from her body. Instinctively she tried to cover herself with her hands. "I've seen you naked before."

Amy realized any effort to cover herself would be fruitless, lowered her hands, and stood before him while she began to pull a hairbrush through her long tresses. "You're something else."

"That's why you love me, isn't it?" He pulled her close, and wrapped his arm around her wet body. "I'd like to do that." He sat her on the chair, pulled another behind her, and brushed Amy's black hair till it shined like a panther in the dark. Amy closed her eyes, enjoying the wonderful sensation. "I thought we'd take a walk tonight. It's snowing and I thought..."

"We're suppose to be at Molly's tonight. You said that."

"We will be. I thought a walk in the snow would be...romantic."

"I planned on wearing a skirt with heels tonight, but it's too cold outside if you want to take a walk in the snow. Jeans?"

"That's fine."

Amy shook her head, her hair flying around her face. "Oh no, you've got something up your sleeve. You've never turned down seeing me in a skirt and heels. Never!"

"It's only ten degrees outside. You'll freeze your legs."

Amy stood and pointed her finger at him. "You've got something going on. Your eyes get shifty when you're up to no good. And they're moving a mile a second."

Soon Amy had dressed, and she stood by the door waiting for Dean. They walked down the sidewalk hand-in-hand toward a small city park close to their apartment.

Amy leaned her head on Dean's shoulder then looped her arm around his. "This is nice. The snow, the Christmas lights. It's so romantic."

"Sure is. It's not quite as cold as it was last year." Dean gathered his thoughts, pausing a long time. "Amy, I'm glad you came back and saved me that night." He held her hand. "Thank you for saving my life." They continued to walk along the sidewalk when Dean stopped in front of the park's entrance. One of the streetlights had burned out, allowing a wedge of darkness to creep in. Dean led her into the park. They walked up to a large tree and Amy leaned against it.

Dean looked out over the trees to the stars then back at Amy. She dangled her arms over his shoulders. "Okay mister, what are we doing out here?"

"I don't know if I'd be around if it hadn't been for you." Amy tried to put a finger across his lips to shush him. "They told me at work, you're a pretty good catch." He reached into his pocket. "I know they're right, too."

Amy clasped her hands and held them to her face when she saw the small, gray-felt box. He removed a silver ring. "I think I'd like to keep you around." Dean dropped to one knee. He slipped the ring on her finger. "Will you marry me?"

Stunned, Amy didn't say a word. Then tears pooled in the corners of her eyes, broke free, and trickled down her cheeks. "Yes! Yes, I'll marry you." She cupped his face and kissed him, while Dean hugged her as tightly as he could. "You're damn right, I'll marry you!"

They stood under the tree, as snowflakes covered their clothing. Amy, still in shock, smoothed the silver band on her finger. "I didn't think you'd ever ask."

"I wanted to earlier. I knew you've had doubts. It's not easy being with someone with my troubles. I'm on terms with 'em now."

"I knew you were up to something the way your eyes darted around. Think you're pretty smart, huh?"

He took Amy's hand, and they walked back to the sidewalk. "Yeah, I do. Besides, it worked for me." They took a few more steps when Dean stopped. "Last year around Thanksgiving you said we'd go to Aspen, and I could keep you in nothing but heels as we sipped hot chocolate and watch a roaring fire in the fireplace. You said we'd make new memories together. Is that offer still on the table?"

Amy rose on tiptoes and whispered. "A pair of high heels, a pair of very sheer hose, a cup of hot chocolate and my husband. We'll make new memories; just me and you."

*****

Later than night, Amy and Dean went to Molly's Bar to celebrate their engagement. Molly knew ahead of time, and it took all the willpower she had to contain her excitement. Even Harold joined in. That night, they packed a bag and headed west to Aspen. The drive seemed to take years but before long, Dean turned onto a small road and into the resort. Minutes later, they had a small, cozy cabin to themselves. Dean opened the door and they tentatively walked inside. A massive stone fireplace that reached to the ceiling drew their attention. Wide windows looked out over the ski trails, sheer white drapes pulled back for some personal time.

Amy ripped her jacket off and threw it onto the floor. She pulled and tugged her shirt from the waistband of her jeans and frantically worked on the buttons. She threw her shirt over her shoulder as she walked toward Dean like a cat stalking its prey. She reached behind and snapped open her bra and tossed it at him. Her hair, black as an unlit alley, fell across her shoulders.

"I am going to fuck you like you've never been fucked before," she said flirtatiously.

Dean's eyes were locked on her, wearing only jeans and heels; she looked amazingly sexy. He fumbled for the duffle bag before sitting it onto the sofa. "Here," he gulped, and handed her a shoebox. "Just these heels."

Amy slipped the top off and looked inside. "Anything else?"

"Now that you mention it." He reached inside the bag and recovered a red thong he swiped from her dresser drawer. "This, too."

Dean handed it to her, and she spun it around a finger. "My pleasure, husband." Amy said as she walked toward the bathroom. She stopped a few steps later. "You, Mr. Bradley, are to be naked and ready for me."

"We're not married yet." Dean pulled his belt from his pants. "I'm going to get the fire started."

She walked back to Dean, and her hand slid down the front of his pants. "Then do it in the nude." She gave him a playful squeeze, sashayed to the bathroom, stopped for a second and turned. "As far as I'm concerned, I'm your wife; you're my husband." She entered the bathroom.

While Dean was busy with the fire, Amy wiggled out of her jeans. She stepped into the red thong, and then carefully slipped on the highest pair of heels she ever owned. She wobbled a bit, and her hands held a death grip on the countertop while she got use to her shoes. She glanced at her reflection in the mirror. Her long hair covered her breasts, yet with any movement, a nipple would peek from behind a black silken curtain. Her fingers ran along the elastic of her panties, then down her thighs. She cupped her small breasts in her hands and turned from side-to-side. Yes, Dean Bradley, you're one lucky guy to have snagged me. I am one hell of a catch. She turned the other way and watched as her hair followed her every move. She adjusted the thong around her waist. Mrs. Dean Bradley. That sound, those words, has a nice ring. She slowly opened the door and walked out of the bathroom.

Dean had turned off the lights; the fire burned brightly, throwing long soft shadows across the room.

"Is this what you had in mind?" Amy asked, entering the main room.

Dean was busy with the fire, and didn't hear her walking on the carpet. He turned, somewhat surprised, and then stood before her. His manhood, hard and erect, curved up slightly.

His eyes felt like fingers and she knew every inch of her body was being touched. "My God, Amy, you're beautiful."

He came to her and she wrapped her arms around his waist. The fire sent its warmth into the room, and it felt so nice on their skin. Dean moved his fingers though her hair and then down her arms.

Amy's arms moved from his waist. She gripped his manhood. Hot and pulsing, she could feel his heart beating. She gave him a playful squeeze before she released her grip. Her fingers then moved along his back until they rested along a white jagged scar.

"Mortar shrapnel near the Euphrates River with the 1st Marine Division."

Her hands moved slowly, touching the right side of his back. "Ambush at Nasiriyah." Amy's hands touched his skin as gently as she could. Another scar. "An IED at Karbala Gap."

Amy's fingers lingered on a long scar across his right arm. "Bar fight in San Diego." She moved her fingers lovingly across his shoulders. On his left shoulder, there was a deeply puckered, jagged scar. "An IED at Kunduz; where you saved all those men."

Amy rose up as high as she could and cupped Dean's face with her hands; then her fingers traced Dean's lips softer than the glance of a feather. She placed a kiss on his lips.

"Aspen, Colorado with Amy, your wife."

*******

Every spring, Mother Nature breaks out her pallet of colors and paints the valleys and mountains of Colorado in shades of green. Late June in Colorado is the perfect time for a couple to marry. So it was on a clear Saturday afternoon, with the Rocky Mountains in the background, Dean and Amy became man and wife.

Dean's struggle with PTSD had at last been brought under control. Amy gave birth to their first daughter a year after the 'I do's'. Dean named her Willow. Years later, a second daughter, Audrey, was born.

Dean's small apartment struggled with two adults and two growing children. They needed a bigger place. Twenty miles out of town they found the old farmhouse they wanted. It was the house that soon became their home. Large enough to grow, should child number three come along, yet far enough away from the city lights that you could stare at the night sky and see all the stars.

In the ensuing years, Amy moved up the corporate ladder. She was now in charge of pre-production at the graphic design house. And Dean went from hammering nails to a supervisor overseeing the workforce.

The years piled up and before they knew it, Willow celebrated her twelfth birthday. She and her sister were at the neighbors playing.

Amy stood in the bedroom, and wiggled her small breasts into a white bra. She shimmied a tiny pair of panties up her thighs. She adjusted them around her waist. The small patch of black hair between her legs seemed to push out from the flimsy material. She stood in front of the full-length mirror that hung on the back of the bedroom door. She turned side-to-side, adjusting her bra and panties, trying in vain to cover her body.

"What the hell was I thinking when I agreed to this," she mumbled, "I'm damn near forty and he wants me to parade around on the back deck like this." Amy turned and tried to adjust the panties again, but no matter what she did, they didn't cover much.




Together—You and Me - The Epilogue



She shrugged, and then sat on the bed. He never asks for much, she thought. Sure, Dean has a thing for lingerie; he likes seeing me wear it and not much else. I guess he could be like Stacy's husband. Always coming home drunk and passing out on the floor. A smile flashed across her face. Or like Brianna whose husband had a BDSM fetish and liked whips and chains. Amy slipped on a pair of white heels. No hose this time, unusual for Dean, and that made her even more concerned. She stood and took in a few long, slow breaths. She opened the door and walked through the house in her bra, panties and heels.

She saw Dean leaning on the railing of the deck. The mountains in the background with their snowy tops seemed to poke right though the clouds. The sliding door squeaked as she pushed it open. Dean didn't move. He didn't say a word. Amy stopped at the door's edge and looked around nervously. She took a few tentative steps toward her husband, and felt as if every eye in Colorado was watching her. Dean heard her heels as they struck the wood planking. In a matter of seconds, she stood beside him and looked at the mountains.

"Well, here I am. As promised."

Dean turned and placed his hand around her waist. "You look sexy."

"I'm standing here in my underwear. I'm not feeling sexy. What if the neighbors see me?"

"Our nearest neighbor is over a mile away. We're half a mile from the main road. No one will see us."

That's when Amy noticed Dean had shorts on. "That's not fair," she proclaimed as she pointed to his belted chinos.

"And what are you going to do about it?"

Amy grinned. "This!"

Her fingers quickly freed the snap on his shorts, and within seconds Dean's shorts pooled around his bare feet. Amy let out a gasp 'cause today Dean went commando.

"Oh dear, what do we have here?" Amy said, holding his swollen cock. "I still turn my husband on?"

Dean slipped his arm back around her waist and pulled her close, pressing his hard cock against her body. "Absolutely." He moved one of the straps of her bra across her shoulder and down her arm. He cupped her face in his hands and placed a kiss on her lips. "You still do after all these years." The other strap moved down her arm. He put small kisses along her shoulders, biting the bra straps. His tongue moved slowly across her shoulders. He buried his lips into the nape of her neck and kissed her.

Amy slipped her hand around his neck while she nibbled his ear. "I suppose you're going to make love to me out here on the deck?" She felt the clasp of her bra snap open. Her bra dropped onto the deck.

He moved his head slightly. "No..." Then he pulled her tighter against his body. "You're going to get fucked out here on the deck."

His hands grabbed her around the waist and lifted her off her feet. "What! Put me down!"

Dean smiled. "All right." He marched her over to a picnic table and sat while Amy stood before him. He stroked his manhood as his eyes moved across her body.

"Now what?" Amy asked cautiously.

Dean held his hand out, palm up. "Panties."

Amy shook her head. "No, not out here."

He hooked a finger inside the elastic band of her panties, and pulled her close until their knees touched "You were saying?" He gave them a sharp tug and they stopped below her knees. He held his hand out once more.

She looked around nervously and slipped the small white panties down to her ankles then over her heels. She dropped them into his open palm.

"Spread 'em." Amy knew what he wanted. Sometimes Dean liked sex a bit rough. After all, she promised him a day of whatever he wanted. The sun threw long shafts of sunlight across the deck, and in a strange way, Amy felt young again. She moved her legs apart when Dean reach up and cupped her pussy. A finger smoothed around the entrance of her sex. He felt her moisture build, and soon it flowed down her inner thigh. She tilted her head back, and her hair billowed across her shoulders and down her back.

"Ooh, damn honey. She caught the edge of the picnic table and her legs moved farther apart. Her eyes closed and she felt his fingers exploring her most intimate regions.

Soon he had her soft pink lips spread. The hot summer breezes seemed to blow between her moist folds. His finger rubbed along her clit, and she rose on tiptoes. His fingers touched her, and then he reached behind her back and pulled her closer. He kissed her nipples, and Amy's body soon began to turn to liquid. Her legs grew weak. Dean coated his manhood with her nectar.

"Sit," he commanded.

Amy straddled the bench while she lowered onto Dean's pulsing cock. She used her fingers to guide him into her hot channel. "Ooh..." she moaned. She began to move rhythmically up and down. His hands gripped the table's edge while his head tilted back. A loud growl came from deep in his gut while his body shook. Amy's hand dropped back onto the bench's edge. She moved slightly and rose almost to the point where he'd fall out only to push him back. His hand caressed her breasts, squeezing her nipples between his fingers. Amy lowered her head; Dean's eyes were still closed, when she said, "Who's fucking whom?"

Amy increased her tempo. Her small breasts bounced with each frenetic stroke she made on her husband's cock. The sounds of sex filled the air as the cheeks of Amy's ass slapped against his bare skin.

Dean placed his arms along the edge of the picnic table; his head tilted back, eyes closed. Amy's hips moved and rolled his cock. She bent down, still moving her hips, and she dragged her teeth across his nape. "Who's getting fucked?"

Her lips pulled and kissed Dean's nipples. His body arched and every muscle tightened like an over wound watch.

"OHMYGOD!" He wrapped his arms around her waist trying to slow her strokes when Amy felt his body erupt. He jerked a few times, and then his grip loosened. She felt his swollen member explode inside her. Amy's fingers dug into his shoulders; her body flushed as her climax surged through her body. She rested for a minute or two then stood. Small silver trails of cum pooled around the root of his cock. He put his head back to rest on the table.

"Not bad for a old couple, huh?" Amy proclaimed while she watched the red of his skin slowly fade.

Amy bent over to pick up her panties from the deck when he grabbed her hand. "Leave 'em off."

She noticed cum sliding down her inner thighs. "Someone sure was horny." She reached out and touched his shoulder. "And so was I, honey."

Dean winked then stood and began to walk to the door. "I'll be right back."

She noticed how her husband's body appeared so solid, so firm, and the way his tanned skin caught the fading sun. His shoulders seemed as rigid as a steel beam. Amy moved her head slightly to the left, then the right. She licked her lips while her eyes followed his tight bare ass into the kitchen.

She didn't think about all those eyes that might have been watching her. Amy conjured a vision of her friend Brianna wearing a tight black corset, a riding crop at her side, her high-heeled boot balancing on the back of her husband. She stifled a giggle. I guess being naked on the deck isn't that bad. Could be worse. Better to face the breeze than bend in a hurricane.

Time has a way with people. It never stops, and, at times, moves at such a crawl we barely notice. While Amy and Dean were quietly surrendering their youth, time marched on.

Over the past eight years, Dean's troubles only surfaced on anniversaries known only to him, and even during those times, the nightmares came and left quickly. Dean would simply tell Amy, "Without nightmares, there can be no dreams."

Amy walked to the edge of the deck, and placed her hands on the weather-beaten railing, staring at the mountains in the distance. It's funny how we attach time to pictures, events or people. She knew, as best as she could remember, that Max, the counselor from the VA, died around the time Willow turned four. A stroke, if she recalled correctly.

Shortly after that, Molly and Harold perished in a fire. But not just any fire. One cold January night, their restaurant, Molly's Bar, caught fire. Due to a cracked chimney liner, flames licked the greasy old building beams. Everyone escaped, but for some reason Molly ran back into the burning building. Harold rushed in behind her. They didn't come out. Dean said it must have been something important she left inside, something above the cash register, and Harold died trying to get her out. They died together.

Dean and Amy were the beneficiaries of Molly and Harold's insurance policy. They were set for life. Amy wiped a stray tear. She'd return that money ten times over to have those two back in their lives.

A minute later Dean emerged with a washcloth. He sat on the bench and wiggled his finger. Amy rolled her hips, trying to walk as sexy as a naked, middle-aged woman can walk. His hands went between her legs and the warm cloth made her jump.

"We used to make love for hours when we were younger," she said. "A lot has changed..."

"I suppose so." He moved the cloth down both legs and back up behind her thighs. "It's so damn hard to get twenty minutes alone around here anymore." Dean dropped the washcloth on the picnic table, moved his hand through her hair, letting the wind catch it. "You're just as beautiful now as you were when we were younger. He then walked over to the hammock, slipped in, and then patted it. "Come on and climb in with me."

"You think we can both fit on this thing?"

"Sure, why not. I'll steady it for you." Dean put his foot on the deck and held the hammock steady.

"We're naked out here," Amy said, as she crossed her arms, trying to hide her breasts.

"So we are... Come and get in."

Amy climbed in. It shook and tilted while Amy snuggled against Dean. He pulled his foot up and the hammock rocked slowly.

"I've been wanting to do this for a long time," Dean said.

"Screw me on the deck? Or have me lying naked on the hammock."

"Both, I guess. Haven't you ever had a fantasy?"

"Girls don't have fantasies."

"Right," Dean said sarcastically. He rocked the hammock while their toes made love. They rocked in silence as they watched the sun cut through the cracks of the mountains, throwing long pillars of light across the land.

Amy leaned on an elbow then twisted a length of her hair and pulled it across Dean's chest. "If I tell you, you won't make fun?"

"Make fun of what?"

"My fantasy."

"Of course not." Dean perked up, his attention piqued when he heard Amy's mention of a fantasy.

"I have this, I don't know what to call it, perhaps a dream, but whatever it is it seems so real."

"Go on, I'm listening."

"I'm at a large party, but it's not a party-party. It's more like an expensive social gathering. Everyone's sipping pricey champagne from fluted stemware. I'm wearing a long black evening gown with a slit on the right that goes to my waist. My shoes are black stilettos with diamonds on the buckles. I've got on the tiniest panties imaginable, a lacey push-up bra, and hose so sheer if it weren't for the color, you couldn't tell I'm wearing them. Everything is black."

"Am I there?"

Amy cocked her head. "No... I'm alone. Then two men come up beside me and take hold of my arms. They lead me away from the crowd. I'm put in this room. It's all in glass. A man comes in wearing a black tuxedo with a pastel yellow handkerchief in his breast pocket; he accuses me of being a spy, and says that I've stolen secrets from his client.

"I tell him I'm not. He doesn't believe me. He points a gun at me. I'm told to strip. I protest, but I do what he says. When I'm naked this man comes over and he searches me."

"You said you were naked."

"I am, at least in my dream. He searches every orifice. When he's satisfied, he cuts the legs from my hose, ties my ankles to the chair and forces me to pleasure myself as he watches."

Dean listened raptly as his wife described her dream and fantasy to her husband. "What happens next?"

"After I climax, he removes the bonds, bends me over the arm of the same chair and takes me from behind. That's where the dream always ends."

"Damn! Wow... Do you have any idea who this guy is?"

Dean could feel Amy's face burn. "Yes, I do. It's you!" She snuggled close to Dean and the stubble on his cheeks scratched her face. "I'd like my fantasy to come true someday."

He moved his arm over her shoulder and cupped her left breast. "I think that's doable, if you're up to it?

Amy giggled. "Sure... After all, I am a spy, aren't I?"

Dean's thumb caressed her nipple 'til it hardened. His little finger wrapped around the smooth curve of the bottom of her breast. Suddenly, his fingers stopped. "What's this?"

"What's what?"

He took her hand and placed it at the spot where his finger lingered. "Do you feel that? It's as hard as a rock."

Someone kicked her in the gut. Her fingers found the lump. "Ah, it's nothing, these things come and go."

"I've never felt one before."

"I'm sure it's nothing to worry about."

"Perhaps, but you're going to have it looked at, right?"

"Sure... Now where were we?" Amy tilted her head and kissed Dean.

*******

While it seemed to be only the size of a small pea, and she told Dean it wasn't anything to worry about; it did, in fact, worry her. Several times she was almost caught at work, standing in a bathroom stall, her top off, her bra tossed over the door, checking to see if the lump had grown.

She thought it had. Her mind generated one scenario after another and as quickly as she conjured one, she dismissed it.

Amy, busy with work as usual, didn't hear Dean as he and Amy's boss walked over to her.

"Hi," Dean said.

Amy checked her wristwatch. "It's a tad early for lunch, don't you think?"

Dean looked over at Amy's boss then back toward Amy. "I'm not here to take you to lunch."

"Where then? Is something wrong with the girls?" Her face went ghostly white. "Are they hurt?" Amy dropped a stack of photos and they slid along the light table.

"No, Willow and Audrey are fine. However, you and I have an appointment."

Amy fussed with a large transparency on the light table, and then tried to gather the dropped stack of photos. "With whom?"

"Your doctor. I made an appointment to see him."

Amy looked at her boss. "I'm too busy. We've got deadlines to meet."

Dean stepped closer to Amy, and then looked over his shoulder. "Bullheaded, isn't she?"

"Women aren't bullheaded, we're stubborn," Amy's boss said, flashing a smile. "And your wife is terribly stubborn."

Dean's eyes focused on Amy. "If you don't go with me willingly, I'll toss you over my shoulder and take you to the doctor's office. Your choice."

"You wouldn't dare!" Amy sneered.

Two heartbeats later, Dean tossed her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. She kicked and pounded his back with her fists. Without a word, he walked to the main door, with Amy screaming expletives.

"I'll put you down, but we're going to the doctor's office, agreed?"

"All right. All right, put me down."

Dean stood her up and Amy adjusted her skirt; all eyes were devouring the scene. "You know they could see my butt hanging out."

"Perhaps." He held the door and they walked out together.

*******

They drove across town to Amy's doctor. The waiting room was practically empty when they arrived; they just got comfortable when a nurse called her name.

"This won't take long," Amy said, "I'll be right out in a minute or so."

Dean stood. "I'm coming, too."

By the determined look in his eyes, Amy knew it would be useless to protest. Dean followed Amy into the examination room. A nurse checked blood pressure, pulse, the usual things, and then handed Amy a gown. "Remove your clothing and put this on. The doctor will be in shortly."

Amy sat on one of the wooden chairs, slipped off a shoe, and massaged her toes. "You know this is a waste of time, don't you?"

Dean sat quietly and didn't say a word. Amy slipped her other shoe off, stood and began to work on the zipper of her skirt when she stopped. "This is stupid, too. I'm not going to sit here naked when all he's going to do is check my boobs." She worked on the buttons on her shirt and tossed it over to Dean. She slid the straps of her bra down her shoulders, reached behind her back, and opened the clasp. She handed Dean her bra, put the gown on and sat on the examination table. She swung her legs while they waited.

"It's cold in here," she said.

"Examination rooms usually are."

"This is a waste of time."

"I'm concerned."

A knock sounded and then the door opened. "Hi, Amy, what's the problem today?" The doctor turned and saw Dean sitting. "Ooh!"

"Doctor Edwards, you remember Dean, my husband. He's the reason I'm here."

"Yes, of course." Doctor Edwards extended his hand and shook Dean's. "Pregnant again, are we?"

Amy blushed. "No. A few... I don't know when..."

"Three week ago," Dean interrupted.

"He found a lump in my left breast." Amy continued, "It's not big, probably fatty tissue."

"I see," Doctor Edwards began, "When did you get your medical degree?"

Amy's face flushed.

"Let me take a look. You can wait outside if you wish, Mr. Bradley."

"No!" Amy said, with a touch of fear coloring her voice. "He's seen me naked."

"I suppose he has." The doctor opened her gown and touched her breasts. Amy looked away, then over at Dean sitting quietly on a hard wooden chair. The doctor's hands moved gently and expertly around each breast. His fingers guided by decades of practice and years of schooling.

"Is this the lump your husband found?"

Amy moved her fingers to her left breast, and touched the doctor's finger resting exactly on the suspected lump. "Yes."

She caught his eyes and she watched as they changed to a deeply troubled look. His pupils drew in tight and his facial expression changed. He closed her gown.

"When was your last mammogram?"

"I've never had one."

"Why? They don't take but a few minutes."

Amy shrugged. "I didn't think I'd need one. I'm so small."

Doctor Edwards shook his head. "This is one example where size doesn't matter."

"What's wrong?" Dean asked.

"There's a lump, all right. As a matter of fact, I can feel what I think is two, or maybe three, smaller ones around the large center mass. You're going to leave here, and get a mammogram today." The doctor stood and opened the door. "I'll be right back." He wiggled the door on its hinges. "Go ahead and get dressed." He pulled the door closed behind him.

Amy jumped from the examination table and started to dress. She was about to snap her bra together when she stopped. "Here," as she handed Dean her bra. "Why put it on? I'll have to take it off when we get to the other office." She sat back on the examination table.

Dean pushed it into his pants pocket as the doctor returned. He pulled out a wheeled swivel stool, then sat and rolled between the two. He handed Dean some papers and then patted Amy's hand. "I called a colleague. I told him what I felt, and he also suggested a mammogram. Now, I don't want either one of you to read more into this than there is, but he also suggested a needle biopsy of the lump."

Dean's eyes flared, and he looked at Amy sitting on the examination table as pale as parchment paper. Her face had gone blank. "What's that?" Dean asked.

"It's a simple procedure. The breast is numbed, and a small needle inserted into the mass. A technician will withdraw a bit of the material. It's checked in the lab to see what's really there. It's a simple procedure."

Amy tried to smile. "I don't do needles very well. Does it hurt?" She looked at Dean and attempted to smile once more.

"The procedure is...uncomfortable."

Amy shrugged. "Wonderful! Nothing like having your boob stabbed with a needle, is there?"




Together—You and Me - The Epilogue



Dean leaned over and took her hands. "It will be all right." He looked as his watch. "We should be going. Hospital, right?" Doctor Edwards nodded. Dean's eyes moved from Amy to the doctor still sitting on the chair. "Go ahead and wait for me in the reception room. There's some paper work I'm sure they want me to complete."

The doctor abruptly stood, sending the chair rolling back until it hit the wall. Amy moved toward the door and stopped. "I'll be right out," Dean said.

Amy left and Dean looked at the doctor. "I've been around the block a few times. A doctor won't order that type of test unless he suspects something."

"It's just a test. That's all."

Dean's fist came down hard on the examination table. "Bullshit!"

The doctor could tell Dean was in no mood to argue. He rolled the small chair out from the wall and sat. "I'm not sure, this is not my area of expertise, but the mass in your wife's breast is hard. It's not fatty tissue. I could feel several smaller lumps growing off of the larger one."

"Does Amy have breast cancer?" His words came out hollow and weak.

"I'm not saying that. I don't know. More tests will be needed."

"What is it with doctors and your tests!" Dean looked at the floor and shook his head, avoiding eye contact. "Doctor?" He looked at the man in the white coat sitting quietly. "I've seen a lot of shit in my life. Believe me, I can handle this. Does-my-wife-have-breast-cancer?"

The doctor's tongue wet his upper lip, and then he placed his hand on Dean's knee. "I'm not sure, but I suspect she does."

Dean felt his heart whamming around in his chest. "What's next?"

"Time is our most valuable weapon. If she does indeed have breast cancer, the quicker we move, the better our odds of beating this. It will take a few days for the lab to work on the biopsy. I'll call you as soon as I get the results."

Dean's chest heaved, and he took in slow deep breaths. "That's all we can ask for right now."

Dean shook the doctor's hand and left the room. Amy had been waiting and as soon as Dean entered, she smiled. "All the paper work finished?"

"For now."

Together, they walked out of the office and to their car. Midway there, Dean stopped and put his hands around her waist. Suddenly, he lifted her and twirled her around.

"What was that all about?"

"I love you, Amy." He squeezed her fingers.

They started to walk again taking only a few steps when Amy reached up and grabbed his shoulder. "Is there something I should know? You were in there a long time. You weren't just signing insurance papers."

Dean shook his head. He'd promised himself that he'd never tell a lie to Amy; but the circumstances had changed. No need to upset her. Soon they were in traffic, heading toward the hospital. There were endless papers to sign, more blood drawn and x-rays taken. An hour later, Amy emerged; her neat and tidy business suit seemed disheveled. Her legs were bare and her hair tied into a sloppy ponytail that hung limp behind her back. She walked over and sat beside Dean. "I need to sit for a minute."

"I wish I could have been in there with you."

Amy palmed her eyes. "Uncomfortable, my ass. That hurt like hell!"

Dean put his arm around her shoulder, and Amy leaned on it. She fussed with the buttons on his shirt. In a whisper, she asked. "I have breast cancer, don't I? That's why you took you so long in the office, isn't it?"

Amy heard each of his breaths. She felt his heart beating. She noticed his hands moving through her hair. She took a deep breath then buried her face in the nape of his neck. Dean's strong hand gripped her tighter and he whispered in her ear.

"Your doctor is concerned. You may have an issue with your left breast."

Amy began to cry softly. She found his hand and squeezed it hard.

"If you do, and that's a big if, together you and me; we'll fight it.

*******

For the next several days every time the phone rang, they jumped. Then on Thursday evening the call they waited for, yet never wanted to receive, arrived. They were to meet in the doctor's office at nine the next morning. That night neither could find any peace and the hours seemed like years.

They sat side-by-side in expensive-looking leather chairs, directly in front of a large mahogany desk polished to a luster. Medical books lined the shelves on both sides of the room. They heard the door open, and Doctor Edwards walked in with a folder under his arm. He sat, placed his hands together, and looked at the anxious couple.

He shook his head slightly. "This is never easy." And with those few words, Amy instantly knew what the biopsy revealed.

Amy blurted out, "I have cancer, don't I?" She felt her body turn to water and she melted into the chair.

The doctor's chair scuffed the floor, and he pushed out from his desk. He moved to the front and sat on the edge. He took Amy's shaking hands. "Yes, you do."

Numb with fear, Amy didn't say a word. Dean, always a man of action, and not one to wait, spoke next. "What do we do now?"

"Amy has ductal carcinoma, the most common type of breast cancer. It's in both breasts." Doctor Edwards returned to his desk. Messing with the papers in the folder, he looked at Amy. I'm going to send you to an oncologist, one of the best in the state practices right here in Boulder. He'll detail treatment options."

"What options?" Dean asked.

Doctor Edward looked at Amy sitting silently. "Chemo would be the first, followed by radiation."

Amy's fingers moved through her black hair. "I'll lose my hair?"

"I'm afraid so."

A rueful cry spilled from Amy's lips while Dean sat as calm as a monk during prayer. It was one of the few times in his life that he had no options to call upon.

********

The team of doctors attacked Amy's cancer with every weapon at their disposal. The chemo made her so weak, she slept most of the time. The doses of radiation did indeed cause hair loss. Weak and bald, she left the hospital. There was no more chemo and she had a lifetime worth of radiation all in two weeks.

They were to return to the oncologist in a week to review the final tests. Amy, apprehensive as a cat in a Chinese restaurant, had a bad feeling. She clutched Dean's arm as tightly as her weak grip allowed, as they walked into the doctor's office.

The oncologist looked at the couple sitting in high-back leather chairs. "I'd like to have better news."

Amy held her breath.

"Go on," Dean said.

"The chemo and radiation have reduced the size of the mass, but it's not enough. Basically, we poked the lumps with a stick and they'll be back with a vengeance."

Amy sat quietly, simply too shattered to speak. She heard the words; she knew what he was saying. She squeezed Dean's fingers tighter.

"More chemo? Radiation?" Dean asked.

The doctor shook his head. "No..." He placed his palms flat on the desk. "Are you a numbers person?"

"A lieutenant in my unit always told me 'liars figure and figures lie.' I want facts."

"Very well. The fact is the chemo and radiation didn't work as well as we would have liked. That leaves us with one option."

"And that is?"

The doctor looked squarely into Dean's blue eyes. "Removal of the breasts, and, if need be, the surrounding tissue and lymph nodes."

Amy buried her face into her hands. "No. No. No. No."

"Mr. Bradley, here are the facts. If we do nothing, there is zero chance Amy will live more than a year or two, at most. With a double mastectomy, the prognosis would be nearly ninety percent survival over five years." He looked at Amy. "With the treatments we have, it's not a death sentence anymore. We found it early; the chemo and radiation have it in check. I suggest you think it over, but don't wait too long."

"How early do you recommend?"

"She has to build up her white blood cell count. We can't do surgery until her immune system is back up and functional. I'd like to see her in surgery by the end of this year."

"It's mid-October. That's not a lot of time."

"That, Mr. Bradley, is a commodity we can spare little of."

******

Some men drink. Others do drugs. But for Dean, his coping skill was his woodpile. Everyday before the sun ducked behind the mountains, he'd take his splitting axe from the barn, and sharpen the edge with a file 'til he could shave the hairs from his arm. Then he moved to the woodpile, carefully standing each log on end before bringing the axe down in one thundering blow. The wood would split, rocketing to either side of his splitting stump.

Audrey played with the chickens, scattering cracked corn from small plastic teacups. Willow didn't venture too far from her dad. She kicked some stones, and then sat and watched the wood fly from the stump with every crashing blow. Dean noticed how somber Willow had become, and buried the blade of the axe deep into the stump. He wiped his hands with a rag he pulled from his back pocket and then sat beside his daughter.

"Okay, why the face?"

"It's nothing."

"Ooh, nothing. Normally, you'd chase Audrey's chickens to make her cry. What's wrong?"

"It's Mom."

"Mom's just sick, that's all."

Willow thumped her fist onto a log. "Mom has cancer, doesn't she? And she's going to die; isn't that true?"

"No... where did you hear that?"

"Dad, I'm almost thirteen. I can read. I understand grownup stuff. I read those cancer pamphlets you left out."

Dean gazed at the muddy ground. "I guess my little girl isn't so little anymore." Dean blew out a long breath. "You're right. Mom has breast cancer, but she isn't going to die."

"How do you know?"

"There's a lot of fight in me and a lot in mom. But you leave that worry to me. You can help by just being Willow and being nice to your sister. She's too small to understand."

Willow nodded. Just then the sound of a truck horn broke the still air as a rusty red Ford F-150 turned into the barnyard. The truck's engine shuddered to a halt, and out stepped Dixie Wadsworth, their closest neighbor, wearing a white cowboy hat. Her skintight dark blue jeans looked painted on. Clumps of mud smeared her brown cowboy boots.

At forty-two, Dixie could still turn men's heads. And around the local farms, she drew men like flies to a fresh cow patty. He fixed his eyes on hers, which were the color of the ocean on a bright day. Other than a few cursory glances at her breasts, which pushed out against a red plaid shirt, he wasn't interested.

"Dean, I swear if someone doesn't take that axe away from you, you'll clear-cut the whole state of Colorado."

"Just gettin' ready for winter."

"That's your story, huh?"

"Yeah, and I'm sticking to it."

"Figured you would. Say, the old man and I thought you and Amy could use a little quiet time, if you know what I mean." She winked. "How about if we take Willow and Audrey along with my girls and run into town for a pizza?"

"Oh, I don't know..."

"Ah come on, Dad?" Willow begged.

"It'll do everyone good," Dixie added.

Dean surrendered after an onslaught of 'pretty pleases' from Willow. "All right, Willow, but first take your sister inside and clean her up. She got chicken poop all over her clothes." Dean shook his head. "I don't know why that kid finds chickens so fascinating."

Willow dashed over, grabbed Audrey's hand and they sprinted toward the house.

"How you holding up?"

Dean kicked a stray log. "It's been rough. I had no idea how much work running a household could be. Amy works fulltime, does all the laundry, cooking, cleaning, and takes care of the kids." He stopped speaking for a few seconds, and then his words came pouring out. "We haven't been together for a long time. Amy's been too exhausted. She needs her strength." The words came out faster than he realized, and before he knew it, he managed to tell Dixie more than he ever wanted.

"I told you we'd come and help. Are you too proud to let us womenfolk help out?"

"It's not that. I thought I could handle it."

"Well you can't. I'll get with Amy's friends and we'll be here this weekend."

"But..."

"Ain't no buts about it. You need a break from all of this, too."

Dixie took her hat off, and her hair fell 'round her face framing it in a curtain of hazel. She pulled some over her chest letting it fall, and gentle curls cupped both breasts. She glanced over her shoulder toward Dean's house, and then stood so close to Dean he could smell the shampoo that still lingered in her hair. With her hat in her hands, she spoke softly and said, "If Amy isn't up to taking care of you, I'd be more than happy to keep your plumbing from rusting..." She placed her hat back on, and then winked.

"I won't do that to her. You know that, don't you?"

"Yeah I do." She gave Dean a rueful grin. She held her left forefinger to her cheek while her head moved slowly from side to side. "Dean, I'd fuck you in a heartbeat." Dixie adjusted her hat and had almost turned around when she stopped. "Actually, I'd be terribly disappointed if you accepted my offer. They don't make 'em like you anymore."

Dixie gave him a devilish smile as she pushed the cowboy hat back further on her forehead. Willow, with Audrey in tow, scampered out of the house. Dean picked Audrey up and held her in his arms. You listen to your big sister." Audrey nodded. "And, Willow, you listen to Dixie."

"I will, Dad."

Dean hugged his children and placed them into the truck. He rubbed his daughter's head through the truck's window. He looked at Dixie's inscrutable eyes. "Dixie, I appreciate the offer." He caught Audrey's eyes. "But the price of admission is too high for me."

"Some other time, maybe? We're still cool, then? Dixie asked.

"Maybe in another life, but not now; and we're cool, you know that. You drive careful with my children."

"Dean, this weekend the girls will be over and we'll help you out."

The old Ford rumbled to life, and he watched its one taillight as it disappeared down the muddy lane.

*******

Dean jerked the axe out of the stump, and placed it back in the barn. Just as he opened the front door, he saw Amy leaning against the kitchen table. Amy folded her arms across her chest as if she was cold, and cupped her elbows in her hands.

"Willow said Dixie offered to take them into town for pizza."

"It was a nice gesture," Dean said.

"I saw her sniffing around and trying to make a move on you."

"She wasn't making a move on me. Dixie likes to flirt. You know that."

He dropped his coat on the side of a chair. "Willow knows about your cancer."

"How?" Amy walked into the living room with her arms still crossed.

"You were right. We should have told her sooner. Our little girl isn't so little anymore. She's smart and she's worried about you."

"What did you tell her?"

"I told her the truth."

"The truth? Did you tell her all about my cancer?"

"Yes. I told her you were going to have your breasts hacked off."

Amy clawed the back of the sofa with both hands. "Hacked off? Is that what you told my daughter?" A tear trickled down her cheek, and she slapped it away with the heel of her hand.

"I don't remember my exact words."

"How could you say that?" Amy's hands tighten into fists. She ran at Dean and pummeled his chest with all her might. Dean tried to grab her hands but she fought and continued to hit him. He caught her hands and held her tight.

"Settle yourself!" Dean yelled. His grip relaxed and she yanked free.

Tears streamed down her face. "I'm facing this all by myself and you tell me to settle down?"

"You're not alone!"

"For now. What's going to happen after the surgery, when you look at my mutilated body? I'll be half a woman. I won't have boobs anymore, and you'll run just like my friend's husband did; just like that senator did to his wife. He didn't have to balls to even wait 'til she died! I'll be half a woman."

"That's not true and you know it."

"Oh, I know it all right. If the doctors were to cut off your dick, and you peed out of a straw, what would you be? Would it be the same? Or would you feel like half a man? Unable to..." Amy's hands tightened and her knuckles turned white. "Unable to make love anymore."

"It won't bother me."

"Liar!" Amy stomped her bare foot.

Amy tore at her shirt, ripping the buttons off and ricocheting them across the room. She threw open her shirt, exposing her breasts. "Look at 'em! 'Cause they won't be here much longer. They'll be hacked off, leaving me half a woman. And all alone without a husband."

"You won't be alone!" Dean screamed.

Amy pounded her fists along the edge of the sofa. "That slutty Dixie is already trying to wedge herself between us. Even before I found out I had cancer, I saw you ogle her when you thought I couldn't see. She's got tits the size of melons, and I won't have any!"

Dean went to move.

"You bastard! Leave me alone!"

Dean tried to grab Amy's hand but she fought his grip, and broke free, running into their bedroom. The door slammed shut with such violence, the photos on the walls shook. He walked toward it and listen. He heard Amy crying. Dean went to turn the doorknob but just as his hand touched the knob, he pulled his hand away. Better let her simmer down.

*******

Dixie brought the kids back a few hours later. Full of pizza, they played together before Dean put them to bed. He sat on the floor, his back pressed against the sofa. None of the lights were on, and only the glow of the fireplace filled the room. He took a wrought iron fire poker, and jammed it into a log sending an army of fiery embers up the chimney.

His eyes watched the flames flicker with blues and oranges that seemed to blend together in a silent dance. Another poke at the log, and another burst of embers erupted. The fire crackled and danced before his tired eyes.

He didn't hear the bedroom door open. Nor did he hear Amy walk over to him; her bare feet made no sound on the oak floor. She touched his shoulder and he jumped, dropping the poker.

"Can we talk?"

"You said to leave you alone. So this bastard did what you asked." Another jab and more embers filled the chimney.

She slid down beside Dean, and she reached for his hand. They sat for the longest time without saying a word.

"I'm sorry. You're not a bastard. I'm going through an awful lot right now, and when I saw Dixie out there sticking her boobs in your face...I'm sorry."

"I've never cheated on you, and I don't plan to start now." Dean blew an angry breath. "I'm going to miss not being able to hold your breasts. I... I like kissing them. It was wrong to tell you it wouldn't make a difference. It does. But you'll never, ever, never be half a woman to me."

"Why are you so sure?" Teary-eyed, her voice cracked.

"When we married, in front of God and all our friends, I promised to be by your side for better or for worse." He made a halfhearted poke at the log. "This certainly isn't the better, but it could be a lot worse."

"How could it be any worse than this?"

Dean stared at the flickering blue and orange flames. "I could lose you..." A hard jab at the burning log nearly knocked it off the fireplace grate.

"I just wish it would be over and done. This waiting is sometimes more that I can handle," Amy confessed.

Dean kept jabbing the burning log, and Amy noticed his anger grew with each thrust. "The Marines have a saying, a code of honor, if you will: Semper Fi. It's Latin and means 'Always Faithful.'"

Dean took another angry jab at the fire, then threw the poker on the granite hearth, and looked at Amy. "I've tried all these years to let the past be the past. I work from sunup to sundown keeping the life I had pushed into the cracks of my being; the dark places of my soul." Dean continued, "I'm sorry, hacked wasn't the word I wanted to use. I've never run from a fight, and I ain't about to start now. I have been and always shall be—Always Faithful—Semper Fi."




Together—You and Me - The Epilogue



Neither spoke, the only sounds were the crackling of the burning wood.

"I know." Amy tightened her grip on his fingers. "Let's go to bed."

Dean followed his wife into their bedroom where Amy sat on the edge of the bed. He looked down at her while she pulled the top of her pajamas off. "Remove your shirt, too," she asked.

Dean slid into bed, and soon Amy tugged him onto his side. She scooted over as close as she could, and pressed her small breasts onto his chest. She closed his eyes with her fingers. "I want you to remember how I feel on your body. I want you to burn this sensation into your mind 'cause after next week, you'll never feel this again."

Amy felt his arms tighten around her body pulling her closer and tighter. "I'll never forget." Even though his eyes were closed, he was certain he could hear Amy's tears as they fell onto the pillow.

Dean opened his eyes. "You know, when we were dating, and I had my troubles, of all the stuff the doctors gave me, there was one thing that always worked; always made me feel good. Always made me feel safe."

Amy wiped tears with the back of her hand. "What was that?"

"When you'd sing for me."

"Ooh..."

Dean placed his hand on her cheek, and with his thumb, caressed her skin. "I'll never be on American Idol, but here goes."

Dean began to sing the same lullaby Amy had sung to him so many times when it seemed his world wanted to crash around him. Tears boiled from her eyes, leaving wide silver streaks as they meandered down her face.

For the next hour he held his wife. He cuddled Amy while he sang her the lullaby he knew by heart. Amy drifted off and found sleep. He slipped his legs out over the bed, and kissed her on the forehead. "We'll get though this—you and me."

The fire needed more wood, and the rack inside stood empty. Dean grabbed his coat on the way out to the woodpile. He stood on the doorstep, and looked out at the moonless sky. The cold night air gave every blade of grass a frosty coating of dew. As he walked toward the woodpile, each footfall sounded as though he was walking on breaking glass as the ice shattered.

At the woodpile, he stopped and looked at the sky. In all the years he'd been living in Colorado, he never stopped and watched the sky like he did that night. The arm full of wood he held soon tumbled into the icy mud. He glared at the night sky. "Why God? Why her?"

Every word hung in the cold December air like small shiny clouds. Dean sat on the old tree stump. "Everyone I've ever loved, you took away. Half the Afghan rebels couldn't kill me, so you're killing me slowly instead."

Dean jumped up and shook his fist. "If you want me, then take me! Give me the cancer, but not her. That's all I ask. Not her..."

He lowered himself onto the stump. He ran his hands over his face and palmed his eyes. His chest heaved and he blew out long slow breaths that froze in the air. Soon tears fell though the cracks between his fingers, and while he sat on that old tree stump on a frigid Colorado morning, Dean wept for his wife.

*******

Dean looked forward to the night. It was his time to relax. Amy and the kids would be asleep. The weather had turned colder, and the fireplace had become his best friend. Its warmth and soft yellow light filled the room. He was about to kick back, and watch the flames dance, as he had for several weeks when his eyes caught movement. A small hand cupped the corner of the wall. As he stood, he heard the sound of bare feet as they darted down the hallway. Willow. It had to be Willow. He entered her room and sat on the edge of her bed.

"Someone is supposed to be sleeping."

"I can't," Willow said, as she lowered the blanket from her face.

"I see. Worried about mom again?"

Willow shook her head. "No. You said mom would be okay."

"That I did. So, what's wrong?"

She snapped the blanket over her head. "There's a new girl in school, and she's making fun of my name. Why did you and mom name me after a tree?"

Dean hooked his finger on the binding of the blanket, and gently tugged it passed her eyes. "It's a long story."

"I wanna know."

Dean pulled in a deep breath, and then pushed a few stray hairs from his daughter's face. "You're as beautiful as your mother."

"You're avoiding the question."

"And just as smart, too."

"Dad!"

"Just like your mother... Let me see. Once upon a time..."

"Dad! I'm almost thirteen. No more 'once upons.'"

Dean grinned at his daughter's frustration. "You won't be thirteen for months. Okay. When I was a young man, I wanted to be in the Marines. So, I became a soldier. The Marines sent me to soldier camp, and that's where I met this man about my age. We had so much in common and soon we were the best of buddies. Now, talk about having a name kids could poke fun at; he had a dozy."

"What was it?" Willow asked, as her fingers smoothed the nylon blanket binding.

Dean started to laugh, and then caught himself. "Eugene Oscar Forsberg III. The guys in my unit called him 'Ed.' I always called him Eugene 'cause it made him mad."

"You're making that up."

"Nope. That was his name. We went through basic training, and then we went to more Marine schools before we went overseas to Iraq. We did what soldiers did."

Willow's eyes dilated in the dim light of her bedroom. "Did you kill anyone?"

Dean fussed with the blankets. "Sometimes we had to. Especially if the bad men were trying to put bullets into us."

"Ooh..."

"Eugene and I were closer than brothers. We watched each other's back. We took care of each other. Then the generals decided it would be best to send Eugene and I to Afghanistan. So a few weeks later, there we were.

"One day, we were ordered to take a few trucks to another village. But those bad men put bombs in the road. On our trip to the village..." Dean's voice began to falter. He flicked a tear from the corner of his eye.

"Dad?"

"Ah, something in my eye. Something from the fireplace, I guess. Where was I?"

"You were going to a village."

"Oh, yeah. The bad men put bombs in the road, and when we drove over them, they exploded. I wasn't hurt, and I began to pull my friends out of the burning trucks. But I couldn't get my friend Eugene out. I tried and tried and tried. The bad men were shooting at me, and while they managed to put a few holes in me, they couldn't stop me; the flames did. I wasn't able to save my friend, and he burned to death while I heard him begging me to save him."

Dean gripped his daughter's hand, and the room became as quiet as the inside of a church bell.

"I'm sorry, Dad."

"So am I; everyday." Dean sucked in a deep breath. "My friend Eugene died that day along a useless stretch of sandy road. And in a way, a part of me died with him. I decided I had enough of being a soldier, and when my time was up, I came home. But I wasn't the same person I was when I left. I became angry and bitter. I disconnected with people. I uh, I lost someone I cared for very much when I got home because of what I had become."

"Your first wife, right?"

"Who told you that?"

"Mom."

"Sometimes, Willow, love alone isn't strong enough to hold two people together."

"Then you met mom?"

"Yup, sure did. She helped me through some rough times."

"Mom told me you were in the hospital and were sick."

"That's right. Mom saved me. Together we went to see a man about my sickness. It was her idea that I visit Eugene's mom and dad. She said I was looking for something. So one day we loaded up the car, and drove from our mountain to the green swamps of Georgia."

"That's where Eugene's mom and dad lived?"

"Sure was. They had a small house that sat on top of a ridge. The white paint had faded to dull gray. An old beagle stood guard at the front door. Eugene's dad was as skinny as a rail, and his mother looked like a pear. Oh, she was a big woman with a tiny head and small, dark brown eyes."

A smile filled Dean's face. "What're you smiling about, Dad?"

"That woman could cook. Pan fried catfish. Rhubarb-apple pie. If I'd stayed there, I'd be the size of the barn."

"What about my name?"

"I'm coming to that. Down from their house ran a creek. Sparkling-clear water flowed, and if you were to roll up your pants to your knees you could wade across. Fish and crawdads were everywhere. But on both sides of this lazy creek were giant willow trees lined up like soldiers on parade as far as the eye could see. Their slender silver-green leaves shimmered in the sunlight, and they would bend down and kiss the water as it flowed silently beneath them. The slightest breeze would make them sway, and at dusk, as the sun dipped below the horizon, dragonflies would come and drink from the creek.

"The day you were born, I thought about my friend. I saw your mother's hair billow out like a sailboat catching the wind in my mind's eye. I remembered those willow trees swaying, and that lazy creek as it flowed. I felt at peace. I looked at your mother, and told her I wanted to name my firstborn Willow. And that's how you got your name."

"So I was named after a tree?"

"No. You were named for all the things in my life that meant so much to me." Dean fussed with the blanket and tucked it under Willow's chin.

"Dad, did you find what you were looking for?"

"Yeah, I did."

"What was it?"

Dean fiddled with the blanket a bit more. He looked at his daughter though teary eyes. "Forgiveness... And peace."

Dean stood and walked to the door. "You go to sleep now."

Dean put his hand on the edge of the door. "Dad?"

"Yes, Willow?"

"I like my name."

"So do I, Willow, so do I."

He pulled the door close.

*******

Every night since Halloween, Amy took a large red crayon, and with a big "X" canceled out each day as it came to an end. It's December the tenth. Tonight was the last time she'd mark the calendar because tomorrow morning before the chickens were up, she'd be in the hospital. Her head fell onto the pillow but sleep eluded Amy that night.

The grandfather clock's chimes resonated their last notes. She counted them out one at a time. Twelve; it was midnight. She heard the bedroom door swing open, and Dean crawled into bed.

"It's odd not having the kids here," Amy said.

"They'll be fine at your sister's. Shouldn't you be sleeping?"

"I can't."

Dean snaked his arm around her shoulders, and then pulled her tight. "All the worry in the world won't change a thing now, will it?"

Amy moved her head slightly, and then placed her palm on his bare chest. She rolled on her side, and placed her other hand on his shoulder. She nuzzled her face against his chest.

"Will you sing to me for a little while?"

Dean moved his fingers through her short black hair, stroking her cheek with his thumb. Then in his rich tenor voice, Dean sung his wife to sleep.

*****

The alarm clock rattled itself awake at a little past five. Dean woke her from a twilight dream.

"It's time," Dean said.

Amy was soon admitted and led to small room. It only contained a bed, a chair and a small tan metal locker. Amy sat on the edge of the bed when a nurse popped her head in.

"Everything comes off. You can place your clothing in the locker if you wish."

"I brought a bag," Dean interrupted.

"That will be fine." The nurse pointed to a neatly folded sheet at the foot of the bed. You can cover her with that."

Dean tugged the door 'til it was almost closed, leaving a small gap so the sounds of the hospital could creep in. Amy undressed then slipped onto the bed. He covered her with the sheet.

"I'm cold."

"Ah," Dean said as he looked around the small room. "I'll see about getting a blanket or something."

Dean left the room. Amy stared at the ceiling. Her mind raced. Amy felt fear begin to steal into her heart. Yet it was apparent that every nerve ending could feel the silence that surrounds her. The door opened, and Dean walked in, followed by a rather short, plump nurse about the age where women form a love affair with stretch polyester.

"Honey, I'm Naomi. I saw this man coming, and I knew what he wanted." Naomi spread a teal green blanket across the bed, and tucked it around Amy's body. "They spent 26 million on this new surgical wing. Think they could have dropped a few more bucks to make the heating system work? Hell no! That money went into the doctor's lounge."

Naomi slipped a blood pressure cuff around Amy's right arm. She noticed how the corners of Dean's lips seemed to crinkle as he tried not to laugh.

"One of these days," Naomi continued, "I'm going to get that maintenance supervisor down here in his birthday suit with nothing but one of these sheets over him, and I'm gonna wait 'till he complains about how cold it is. I'm gonna look him in the eye and say, 'it's just your imagination. The HVAC is working within designed parameters.'" Naomi blew out a short, hard puff of air. "Asshole!"

Dean had a hard time not laughing and Naomi caught his eyes. "The good Lord gave each of us one, and I guess he had such a good time making assholes, he made a pile of extras just 'cause he could. Everywhere you look, you'll find an extra asshole or two. You two know what I'm talkin' about, don't you?"

"I work with a few of the extras." Dean laughed.

"Uh-huh, just like I told ya. Bet you thought I was makin' that up, didn't you?"

Naomi held the business end of a stethoscope in her hand, warming up the cold metal. "These things are cold, too." She pulled the sheet and blanket back and listened to Amy's heart. "Nice and strong, but a bit fast, though. Wanna listen?"

Amy moved her head side-to-side. "I'll pass."

"How fast?"

"It's pounding faster than a crook running uphill after robbing a 7-11. But, that's to be expected. No problem at all." Naomi patted Amy's hand. "I'm going to put an IV stint in now."

Amy turned her head away, and looked at the cold steel locker. "Tell me when you're going to stick me. I don't like needles."

"Let me get some tape on this."

"Tell me when you're ready."

Naomi patted Amy's shoulder. "Honey, I'm already done."

"What?"

Naomi smiled. "I've been doing this for a long time." She hung two plastic bags onto a hook by the bed, and connected them to the stint. "I checked before I came in, and surgery is just a tad behind; they always are. They'll send someone down as soon as they're ready for ya." Naomi reached for the door and stopped. "You have the best surgeon in the state. You'll be fine." Naomi left the room, leaving the door ajar.

"Scoot your little butt over." Dean sat on the edge beside Amy. "I was thinking about what you said this summer." He moved his finger across her thighs a few inches above her knees. "Being a spy is dangerous. Hard telling what could happen if a spy is caught stealing secrets."

"Not too many spies out there with hair as short as mine, are there?"

"There's something to be said about 'short and sassy.'"

Dean was about to kiss her cheek when they heard the door open. There stood a young woman wearing a banana-split-yellow skirt, with a matching jacket over a white blouse. She looked all business with her white hose and heels. She carried an expensive-looking monogrammed leather portfolio under her arm.

"You can't possibly have more insurance forms for me to sign?"

"No, I'm not from the insurance company. I volunteer here at the hospital." She offered her hand to Dean. "My name is Shelly Peckham. I'm here to talk to Amy; in private."

Dean sighed in relief. "Grab a cup of coffee in the cafeteria. They're running about half-an-hour behind," the woman in yellow said.

"I'll be back in fifteen." Dean left the two women alone.

Shelly pulled out the chair, and sat to one side of Amy's bed. She opened the portfolio then spread it out on the bed across Amy's legs. "Amy Bradley. Thirty-seven. Married to Dean Bradley for thirteen years. You have two daughters." She put the papers down and looked at Amy.

"You know all of that, don't you? Scared?" Shelly asked.

"No shit..."

"Scared of the surgery or scared of what will happen when you get home, and your husband sees you for the first time. Are you thinking how you'll take a shower without him seeing you naked?

Amy bit her lip. "How'd you know what I'm thinking?"

Shelly stood. "Do you think I'm attractive?"

Amy glanced at the woman who stood before her. "Yes, very much so."

"I see."

Shelly slipped her jacket off, and tossed it onto the bed. Then she began working on the buttons on her blouse. She slipped it off. Now, she stood in front of a stunned and silent Amy. Shelly turned, and Amy watched as she opened the clasp of her bra. She tossed it on the bed.

"What are you doing?" Amy demanded.

Shelly turned and Amy gasped.

"Double mastectomy, like you'll have. Do you still think I'm attractive?"

Amy remained quiet.

"Well, I am."

"When did they..."

"Cut 'em off? Sometimes it's easier to say it that way."

Shelly sat on the bed's edge. "I was a cheerleader all through high school. I had a tryout with the Denver Broncos cheerleaders after college. I fell in love with a guy I met there. Everything seemed to fall into place. We planned our lives together. When I turned twenty-four, he proposed to me on Christmas Eve. Of course I said yes, and we planned a June wedding.

"I guess it was late February when a routine mammogram found lumps in both of my breasts. They were so small I couldn't feel them. I went to my doctor and lo and behold at twenty-four I was diagnosed with stage two breast cancer."

Amy scooted up in her bed. "I suppose you're going to tell me that your boyfriend stood by you and together you held hands and sang songs."

"Nope. When I told him, he left so fast it melted the snow under his feet. I guess in a way, it was a good thing; for you see, he didn't love me for me. He loved how I looked.

"Amy, I thought my entire world exploded in my face. My boyfriend left me, some of my friends thought they could catch it from me. I felt lower than whale shit."

Shelly took both of Amy's hands into hers. "Like you, I laid in a hospital bed waiting for a surgeon to remove my breasts. Then this older woman came into my room, and she tossed her top on the bed. She had no breasts, but she was so full of life. I thought if this woman could do it, then by God, so could I. That's why I volunteer for the American Cancer Society and that's why I'm here."

Shelly began to dress. "I had a hard time with the dating scene. Boys being boys, they'd always try to grab my boobs. Of course, they were gone."

"But, you have cleavage," Amy interrupted.

"Depending on the surgery, there are implants, cosmetic surgery, or, in my case, I decided to go with prosthetics. Heck, I can even wear a bikini if I want."

The room grew quiet. "Did you ever get a boyfriend?"

Shelly slipped her jacket on and adjusted it slightly. "Dating had issues, I'll admit. I found out that instead of them finding out what I didn't have under my shirt, I'd show them like I did to you."

"What happened?"

Shelly laughed. "I went through quite a few men. I'd wait 'til we'd have a couple of dates, then I'd show them." Shelly's smile widened. "As the clothing hit the floor, I know some of those guys thought they hit the lotto."

"Until they saw you had no breasts."

Shelly pointed a finger with its perfect manicured nail. "Bingo!"

"Did they all run away?"

"Most did, never to be heard from again. A few just wanted sex; they'd screw a snake if someone would hold it. But one guy I dated was different."

"How so?"

"It was on our third date. We were at his place, and I tossed my shirt and bra onto the floor. He looked at me, and then he said I had the most beautiful eyes he ever saw. We talked together; we ended up in bed. That's been five years and two kids ago and we're going strong."




Together—You and Me - The Epilogue



Shelly squeezed Amy's hand. "Give him room. It will be a shock for both of you. Don't hide your body from Dean. He needs to adjust, as well. Amy, I'll leave my card with you. We'll talk when you get on your feet. That's when it will really hit you." Shelly gave her a big, strong hug. "Do you think you are attractive?"

Amy wiped a tear. "Yeah, I do."

"That's what I like to hear."

"How will he take it, after I'm, ah, cut?"

"I don't know. Some men handle it quite well, other can't."

A few quick taps on the door and then Dean popped his head in. "Safe to come in now?"

"Sure is."

Dean stood in the doorway.

"Amy, promise me you'll think about what I said."

"I will."

Amy watched as Dean's eyes followed her out of the room. "What was that all about?"

"Nothing much. She's a volunteer, and we talked a bit about the surgery."

"Oh."

For the next half-hour they waited, and they talked about nothing in particular: the weather, the kids, and work.

Dean didn't like to wait. He was a man of action, and patience was not one of his strong points. Sitting in the room, he felt like a man with fire ants crawling inside his gut. Several times during a lull in their light conversation, Dean would get up and pace. Then he'd peek outside, and watch the nurses as they scampered from one room to another. He took a few steps out, and when he returned, he noticed Amy's bottom lip quiver. Like water overflowing a dam, the tears cascaded down her cheeks.

Amy thought about what Shelly had said about her boyfriend leaving. "I'm scared!" She wailed so loudly it hurt Dean's ears.

Dean rushed to her side, and took her hand. "We talked about this before."

Through tears, Amy explained, "It's not the surgery. I'm scared you won't be there when I wake up. You'll be gone..."

Dean took her hand, and tried to console her. He looked at her arm, and he noticed that the filament-thin hairs stood like a cornered porcupine. A million stiff little goosebumps popped. "I'll be right there. You know that, don't you? Always faithful."

Just then, Naomi entered the room. "Did you see the cat? Must have 'cause I sure heard it scream when someone stepped on its tail." Naomi came to the side of the bed.

"She's having bit of a rough time," Dean said.

"So I heard." Naomi looked at Amy's chart. "Let's see what he has down?" She studied the medical hieroglyphics on the paper and quickly returned it to its hook. "He's a good surgeon; there's a standing order from him if a patient needs something to calm 'em down before they go upstairs."

"That would be great," Dean said.

"What're you in for, honey? They don't put that on the charts anymore. Privacy thing, you know; they won't tell us."

Right this minute, this very second, the reality of the past six months struck him like a satchel charge, and the first real chills seemed to dance in the corridors of his heart. Dean felt as green as a billiard table. He looked at Naomi's eyes that gleamed at him like the eyes of a curious old barn cat. He wet his lips.

"My wife, Amy, is scheduled for a double mastectomy this morning."

A brief smile flickered on Naomi's face for a few seconds. "Well, then, I'll pour her a double."

Dean patted Amy's shoulder. "She'll bring you something to make you feel better."

It seemed only seconds ticked by when Naomi returned, a small hypo in hand. She pushed the needle into the IV stint. "You'll feel better in a minute or two. This stuff acts quickly. But this is all you get." She winked at Amy. "Besides, too much and you'll end up talking to dead Indians."

"I don't know any Indians; dead or alive."

Naomi's smile returned. "That's my point." She took a few steps toward the door and then stopped. "Shouldn't be too much longer."

The drug quickly worked its magic and Amy's world went in and out of focus. Her arms and legs went limp. "That's good shit." Amy rolled her head so she could look at Dean standing beside her.

"When this is over, we'll go shopping for a long black evening gown with a slit up the side," Dean said.

"What do you mean?" Her words came out slowly.

"I know someone that has a dream about being a spy and getting caught. Terrible-good things happen to this lady."

Amy stared at the ceiling, while tears gathered in the corners of her eyes. They broke free, and trickled down her cheeks. "Say, how about saving those tears for something more important than this?" He cupped her face with one hand while she slipped her right hand into his. Amy nuzzled her face into Dean's palm.

Amy didn't speak, but her eyes spoke volumes. "We have two daughters who will marry, and the mother of the bride always cries, so save these tears."

Dean's voice became low and soft. His eyes bright and clear as a Colorado summer sky. "You know, thirteen years ago, I told you that you were a pretty good catch. I was right.

"Amy, life is nothing more than a series of choices. You and me, we made the right choice. We made the right call. Trading two breasts for another fifty years with you seems pretty damn good in my book. I love you, Amy. I always have and I always will. Semper Fi."

There came a tap at the door, and Naomi walked into the room followed by a young man wearing a green smock and matching green booties over his shoes. "Your chariot awaits. It's time to go up."

"Hi," the man said.

"May I tag along?" Dean asked, while he pulled the back of his arm across his eyes.

"Sure, but only to the elevators."

Soon Amy's bed made it's way down the hallway and toward the surgical elevators. Amy watched the fluorescent lights flash overhead one-by-one. The man stopped, and pushed the call button. "This is where we part."

Dean leaned over, and held Amy's head in his hands. He whispered against her lips. "I love you, Amy. God knows I do." He kissed her gently and squeezed her fingers. The elevator doors swooshed open. "I'll see you on the other side."

Dean watched as the bed entered the elevator. The bed rolled to a stop. "Wait a second," Amy asked. She rolled her eyes toward Dean looking into the elevator. In a glassy whisper Amy said, "Semper Fi." The doors sealed, and she felt the elevator move.

"Were you in the Marine Corps, ma'am?"

"No. But, my husband is."

"Still on active duty?"

"No, but a wise old man told me you can take a man out of the Marines, but you can never take the Marines out of a man." She stared at the ceiling. "I've never known a braver man than my husband. But, I've never seen fear in his eyes like I had just now..."

"We'll take good care of you."

The door opened and soon Amy found herself in a row with other patients along a short wall. A young nurse wearing a brightly colored SpongeBob squarepants smock walked to her bed. "I'm Mary and I'll be prepping you for surgery."

"How long?"

"Won't be too much longer. I'm going to give you a few things, and get you prepped for the anesthesiologist." The nurse emptied a few hypodermic needles into the stint. Amy watched as the nurse vanished in the controlled confusion of the pre-op area.

She stared at the ceiling. The drugs began to work on her body. She couldn't feel her toes anymore. Then her fingers and arms seemed to vanish. She couldn't move. Her eyelids grew heavy and she fought to keep them open.

Suddenly, an image flashed on the screen of her mind. It was high school. Then she heard the sound of an old slide projector. The sound of the mechanism as it moved another slide into place. Her first date. College. The dance where she met Dean. Another slide dropped. Now they seem to flash, one right after another. Who, she wondered, was pushing the button? The Kodachrome images were so vivid they looked alive. More slides illuminated on the mind's screen; now even quicker. Their first night together. The promise they made at Molly's. The images moved faster. Dean's suicide attempt. Images roared by. Dean's marriage proposal. The birth of her children. The pictures seemed to flash so fast they became nothing but a blur. The photographs were colliding and exploding into a kaleidoscope of colors.

Then they stopped as suddenly as they started. All she could see in her mind's eye was the most brilliant, pure-white light she ever saw. She tried with all her might to raise her hand to touch what she could see, but an unknown pressure pushed on her head. She sucked in a breath of air; the light went out.

*****

Her eyes opened slowly, and she saw what looked like a giant upside-down ice cube tray hanging from the ceiling. It was bright; she tried to turn her head away. She felt someone touch her hand.

"Hi," the voice said, "welcome back."

She tried to speak, but couldn't. Her tongue seemed to be stuck to her lips. Every pair of dirty socks in the world seemed to have been stuffed into her mouth.

Amy noticed something cold on her lips. "Here's some crushed ice." Amy opened her lips. The melting ice felt so good.

"When... When is my surgery?" Amy stammered.

"You're all done. You're in recovery. In a few hours, you'll be in your room."

In the twilight of her mind, she smiled. "You're a nice lady..." And Amy drifted back to sleep.

*******

Amy's eyes opened slightly. She saw a blurry face and as her vision cleared, it didn't take long to discern that it was Dean looking back.

"It's about time you woke up."

"Where am I?"

"In your room. Your surgery is over."

"Oh... It feels like you parked your Jeep on my chest."

Dean's infectious grin brightened the room.

"Your surgeon talked to me while you were in recovery. There were no cancer cells in the surrounding tissue or lymph nodes."

Amy moved in and out of her world. "That's good?"

Dean's smile didn't diminish. "That's excellent news, Amy. You beat it."

Amy moved her head ever so slightly. "No... Together, me and you, beat it." She moved her hand along the bed sheet and Dean put it into his palm.

"That's right; you and me." Dean squeezed her fingers gently. "I promised you I'd be here when you woke up, didn't I?"

"I'm sorry...I'm so sorry..."

Dean put his finger to her lips. "Hush now and rest."

She nodded as tears pooled in her eyes, then Dean brushed them away with his thumb. He placed his hand along her cheek, caressing her with his fingers.

Amy looked at her husband through teary eyes, and then Dean began to softly sing...



Together—You and Me



At last, Amy spoke.

"Oh, God...Please, tell me you're not gay..."

"No, I'm not gay," Dean said with a chuckle.

He looked into her eyes again and said, "Each morning you're given a clean sheet of paper, Amy. It's up to you to write upon it in beautiful script or block letters with a crayon."

Amy looked at the clock above the mantle. "It's getting late. Perhaps I'd better go," she said softly.

"You're welcome to spend the night if you want," Dean said.

"Dean!" she exclaimed. "I'm not that type of girl! We don't even know each other yet."

"Oh no, no, no, not like that. I didn't mean sleep with me! Oh crap, I'm sorry if you thought, ah, you know. I meant you could stay here if you don't want to run back to your place since it's so late."

"It's tempting," Amy said, "but I don't have anything to sleep in. I'd better just go."

"You could use one of my shirts. And I've got some heavy white socks you can use to keep your toes warm. I have plenty of brand-new toothbrushes in the bathroom," Dean said.

"And where are you planning on sleeping?" Amy asked.

"I have a spare room. I'll sleep in there. Amy, there's a lock on the master bedroom door if that would make you feel safer."

"I am tired," Amy admitted.

"That settles it then. Let me go and put everything you need in the bathroom."

Dean got up and went down the hall to his room while Amy sat on the sofa thinking about what she just decided to do.

"Let me know if there's something else you might need," Dean said when he came back.

Amy walked down the hallway and disappeared. Several minutes passed, and she returned, still wearing her dress.

"That's a silk shirt! I can't wear one of your best silk shirts to bed."

"Why not?"

Amy thought to herself for several seconds and then sat down on the sofa; she turned her back to Dean.

"Would you mind unzipping me then? There's a small hook at the top you have to open first."

Dean found the hook and opened it. A small white zipper hid beneath the material. He pulled the zipper down as far as it would go, exposing her bare back. Amy held her dress up, covering her breasts.

"Will you do my bra, too?"

Dean's fingers gently released the clasp.

"Your hands are warm."

Amy held her clothes up as she walked back to the bathroom. Dean could see the waistband of her sheer pantyhose poking out from the open back of her dress, and a pair of white panties hiding underneath. Several minutes passed, then Amy emerged from the bathroom. Dean's blue silk shirt was long enough to cover her all the way down to her knees. Her legs had just a tint of tan to them as remnants of summer were quickly fading. She wore the heavy white socks Dean had placed out for her.

"You really are quite cute," Dean told her.

Amy blushed. "Thanks... Dean?"

"Yes, Amy?"

"When I get into bed, would you come back and kiss me good night?"

"I sure will. Get yourself ready and I'll be back in a jiffy. I'm just going to lock up and turn out the lights."

By the time he came back, Amy was all tucked up under the sheets with her long hair back tied into a ponytail that fell across her chest. She was all smiles, like a kid waiting for Santa Claus on Christmas Eve. He sat on the edge of the bed and gave her a quick peck on the cheek.

"Good night, Amy."

She shook her head and said, "That'll never do."

She placed her hand around Dean's neck as she pulled him in, then she started kissing gently around the edges of his lips. Amy brushed her mouth across his cheek as she moved down, nibbling at his jaw line with small love bites. 

Dean said, "Ohhhhh...that was a good night kiss if ever there was one."

Amy smiled as she looked up at Dean and said, "I don't know. I just don't know. Did tonight happen for a reason? Was it meant to be? Why of all the men coming out of that dance tonight was it you that stopped and helped me? I'm in such a brain fog right now. Am I dreaming all this? Is it really happening to me?"

Dean ran the back of his hand down her cheek then slid a finger across her lips. He smiled back at her.

"It's not a dream, Amy," Dean said. "I don't know why things are the way they are; perhaps I'm the one that you will help. Sweet dreams."

Dean pulled the covers over her and then walked out, closing the door behind him.

****

The smell of bacon frying drifted through the apartment and woke Dean from a night of restless sleep. He did his usual morning routine and walked out to the kitchen as he stuffed his shirttail down into his jeans. The table was set, and cups of coffee were steaming on the counter. Amy was still wearing his shirt and socks.

"Good morning, Amy. Hope you slept well."

"Not bad. It's a bit strange sleeping in a different bed," Amy said as she stepped out from the kitchen carrying two plates of food. "I was pleasantly surprised to see you have food in your fridge. I was worried I'd open it up and find milk with green stuff growing out of the carton and two moldy Chinese take-out boxes. You threw me another surprise."

"I like to cook. As a matter of fact, I make a really great lemon chicken along with the best baked mac and cheese you'll ever taste. No blue boxes in this kitchen!" Dean said.

"Here we go. Nothing fancy, but I hope you enjoy it," Amy said. She smiled. "I wouldn't mind trying out your cooking. What does a girl need to do to get invited back?"

"Just a smile...that's all I need. How about this Saturday around seven?"

"Dressy date?"

"I'm not sure having you over to taste my cooking would be classified as a dressy date. Just be yourself, Amy."

****

Promptly at seven Saturday evening, the doorbell rang. Dean opened the door and smiled when he saw Amy. "Come on in, Amy. I hope you're hungry. I've been cooking most of the day," he said as he helped her out of her coat.

"Say, didn't I tell you this wasn't a dressy date," Dean said as he looked her over from head to toe.

Amy wore blue jeans, a soft pink clingy sweater was over a white shirt, and a silver necklace hung from her neck; a small cross at the bottom accented her small breasts. Dean saw she was wearing black pumps. Gone were her black glasses; in their place she wore gold wire rectangular frames that brought out her brown eyes.

Her long straight hair flowed like water across her shoulders shining as it fell just below her breasts. She wore just a slight amount of makeup, her eyes and cheeks stood out from her bright clear face. Her teeth were a pearly white when she smiled back at him.

Amy's eyes widened and a big smile spread across her face when she noticed Dean wearing a soft blue tie around his neck.

"I'm sorry if I'm staring, but my God, Dean, you look really good to me. Do you mind?"

Amy reached out and ran her fingers up the front of his tie.

"No problem. You look very nice tonight as well Amy," Dean said.

"Thanks, I thought about what you said the other night, and I didn't want to scare you off. So, this is just me. Mmmmm... It smells wonderful."

She looked over at the table. Dean hadn't missed a single detail. Two candles were burning, glasses were filled with wine and white cloth napkins lay on the plates. Soft music played in the background.

"The food is ready as soon as you are," Dean said as she pulled her chair out.

As they ate, it became apparent to both of them there was a chemistry that was quickly becoming intense. More than chemistry; there was electricity between them. They touched each other and at one time Dean reached over and slid his hand down her cheek. Amy put her hands up into his.

"How old are you Amy?" Dean asked.

"Twenty-six, and you?"

"Twenty-eight here," Dean said. "I was in the military for the past ten years, went in right out of high school."

They talked about each other's lives; how Dean's first wife walked out on him, his job, Amy's parents and where she worked. The conversation was light and comfortable.

"This is a first for me," Amy said. "I've never had a man cook for me like this. It was an outstanding meal. The last guy I dated, when he cooked, we just un-wrapped it or waited till the microwave beeped."

Dean took her hand and led her into the living room.

"Have a seat, Amy," Dean said. "Make yourself at home."

Dean sat down first and Amy followed, getting as close as she could without touching his body. She raised her foot up and asked, "Would you mind?" Amy giggled, "no straps on these!"

"Not a problem, smarty," Dean said as he slid off her shoe. Soon Amy was in her stocking feet.

"Your turn now," Amy said as she tugged the shoelaces on his dress shoes loose and pulled them off. "Socks, too," she said with a laugh as she wiggled them down his ankles.

"What are you doing? "

"Making myself at home," Amy said as she ran her toes up Dean's foot, pushing his jeans up his leg.

"Mmmmm, that's nice," he said.

"I took notes the other night. I recall you mentioned something about sheer pantyhose and high heels? How am I doing so far?" Amy asked.

"Just fine..." Dean moved his hand across her cheek and down the front of her sweater. He brushed his hand back and forth across her small breasts. Even with a shirt, sweater and her bra, Dean could feel two small bumps as her nipples pushed against the fabric.

"I smell Burberry Brit cologne on you," Amy said.

"I took notes, too." Dean smiled.

"Do you remember what I said about the scent of Burberry Brit on my man?"

Amy pushed herself up from the sofa and stood in front of Dean. She reached down to the waistband of her jeans and popped the snap apart then slowly pushed them down to the floor. Her long hair glistened in the light of the fireplace like a shiny black river illuminated by a full moon. Her hair fell over her shoulders and across her chest.

Dean watched to his delight as the blue jeans piled up at her feet. She stepped out of them, and ran her hands up and down her thighs, which were covered in sheer barely-black pantyhose.

"You like?" Amy cocked her head at him. "I told you the scent of Burberry Brit cologne would cause my jeans to slide down. It's been known to have the same effect on sweaters, as well."

Amy lifted the bottom of her sweater up and over the top of her head, her hair flying all about. She folded it neatly and placed it on top of her jeans.

In her shirt and pantyhose, Amy curled up against Dean and said, "I'm not the type of girl that jumps into bed on the first date. I thought about this all week. But you're different. I feel a connection to you I've never felt with any man I've ever been with."

She reached down and picked up one of her high heels and slipped it over her toes leaving it dangle.

"Would you like to see me in just my pantyhose and heels? You said you liked that."

"Perhaps later, Amy," Dean said as he reached down and flicked the shoe from her toes.

Amy then moved so close to Dean she was practically sitting on his lap. She ran her fingers through his hair and down the front of his light blue tie. She was smiling with all the delight of a child with a new toy. He noticed her fingers trembling as she moved them across his tie.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing, Dean, I'm just so thrilled you did this just for me. I can't explain why, but I just like it. I've never been with any man that went out of his way to please me. Dean, I'm yours tonight... anything you want..." Amy said as she closed her eyes then opened them back up looking deeply into his. Her long black eye lashes seemed to move in slow motion.

Dean reached over and slipped his hand behind her head and guided her so her forehead touched his.

"Amy, you don't have to do this. I can wait..."

Amy took his hand and placed it on her breast. "I can't."

Dean gently removed her glasses and began to slowly unbutton her shirt. He slid it down her back and arms, exposing a small pink bra. He pulled her close and she felt his strong, warm hands squeeze open the clasp of her bra. With his eyes locked on hers, he slid her bra off, uncovering her breasts. They were the size of small apples, and almost perfectly round. A small brown areola surrounded a perky nipple on each one.

Amy dropped her eyes and instinctively moved to cover herself, embarrassed by what she had to offer him.

"Amy, you're absolutely perfect. Jesus, you're beautiful," Dean said. He gingerly reached out and moved her hands down, then lightly touched each nipple. He could feel her nipples grow hard as he gently massaged then with this thumb and forefinger. His hands retreated; then once more he reached over and held both of her breasts in his hands. "Damn, Amy, you're nice! You were embarrassed about these?"

Dean leaned over and placed warm kisses on her breasts, licking her hard nipples with his tongue. He ran his teeth back and forth across each one. Amy tilted her head back, sending her long hair cascading down her shoulders and back. Her eyes closed. The silver cross hung between her breasts.

Amy's hair was the softest he ever felt, and he draped it over her breasts, dragging it over her nipples, teasing her. Her body was warm and inviting; she glowed with desire.

Dean ran his fingers through her hair, scooping it up and pushing it behind her shoulders. He cupped her face between his hands; Amy could feel his warm breath as he placed a soft kiss on her lips. He could smell the scent of her makeup on her cheeks and the mascara on her eyelashes.

He kissed her eyes softly, his lips barely touching her skin. Her face was warm and soft as he continued placing kisses down her cheeks, then nibbled on her ear. He ran his tongue around her earrings and moved a hand to cup one soft breast. He felt her melt in his arms as he buried his face in her hair and breathed in that flowery-girl-hair scent he enjoyed so.

They touched lips again, and she felt his tongue run along her bottom lip. She opened her mouth slightly and willingly took him in. His tongue touched his hers. He released her from his embrace.

"Again...please do that again..." Amy said.

Dean kissed her neck and slowly moved down across her shoulders. He reached down and slipped his hand under her pantyhose and panties and squeezed her cheeks softly as he pulled her in even closer.

Dean kissed her eyelids and down the side of her face again. He placed soft warm kisses down her arms to her delicate fingers, and touched each fingertip to his lips.

"C'mere, I can't hold out any longer," Amy said.

Amy moved her fingers up his tie and slowly loosened the Windsor knot around his neck. Her fingers shivered with delight as she ran them back and forth across the smooth silk tie.

"Jesus, I can't believe I'm doing this," Amy said.

"It's just a tie, Amy."

"Not to me."

As she pulled the knot out and smoothed the material, she looped it back around Dean's neck, then hers, drawing them together.

"I'll never forget this moment—ever," Amy cooed into his ear.

As he continued kissing her, Dean felt hands moving to unbutton his pants and his zipper being pulled down. Soon Amy had his pants off.

"There..." Amy said. "Now I'm going to get that shirt off of you in a second."

She hooked her fingers into the waistband of her hose and sat upright on the sofa. She smiled at Dean in just his shirt and boxers, a bulge poking out from the front.

"You know," Amy said as she slid her pantyhose down her waist to her thighs, "I really like wearing hose, they make my legs look nice, but there's just no way in the world you can take'em off sensually." She giggled as she pulled the sheer nylon down her legs and off her feet.

She stood and pulled him up beside her and started to unbutton his shirt. On tiptoes, she slid it down his arms. Then she quickly reached down and pushed his boxers down past his engorged penis to his feet. Dean stepped out of them.

"Oh my!" Amy said as she reached down and wrapped her fingers around his cock.

Dean moved his hands down to Amy's panties and said, "It's your turn now."

"Dean? Before we go to the bedroom. This will be our first time. Protection?"

"Not a problem; I have plenty here."

"Would you mind if I put it on you?"

"Would love it if you would."

"There's something else. I'm embarrassed to say it, but I get really wet. You'll enjoy it... but I can get messy."

"Sounds like a lot of fun!" Dean picked her up and carried her back to the bedroom.

Once in the bedroom and with one hand he pulled her pink lace panties down and off her feet before he placed her on his bed. He lay down beside her. Amy's breasts were hidden under a blanket of black hair. His eyes were like a camera; he wanted to memorize every inch of her naked form.

He lifted one leg up then the other as he ran his hand up her velvety soft smooth skin. His hands moved all the way to her ankles and toes caressing every inch as he moved his fingers. He kissed her knees and ran his tongue up and down her thighs. "Mmmmm, God, you have nice legs, incredibly smooth."

Amy tossed her head back and forth as he continued kissing and licking up and down one leg then the other. She touched her hot body as his tongue moved slowly between her thighs; she let out a slight whimper.

"Oh—God... incredible," Amy moaned.

He took the back of his hand and softly touched the small patch of black fur between her legs. Not too bushy, not trimmed to a strip; it was just perfect.

Dean continued to caress her small body, running his fingers across her soft skin and up her midriff. He kissed her belly button. He slowly and gently touched every inch of her.

Amy moaned in appreciation as he touched her. She felt a finger move between her legs as his mouth found her breast. He sucked on a nipple, pulling on it gently with his teeth as he stroked his finger in and out of her sex.

"God! Amy, you're beyond wet," Dean said as he touched her again.

Dean jumped, startled as he felt her finger join his inside her. Amy placed her finger on top of his, "Together—me and you," she said as she kissed his ear.

Amy worked both of their fingers in and out of her sex. She pulled their fingers out, dripping wet and glistening from her moisture, and placed them on top of her clitoris. She was hard and pink as she spread her soft wet lips to his fingers.

"This is my secret spot. Touch me right here," Amy said as she placed his finger on her clitoris, "Just barely touch me and with the lightest touch stroke me side-to-side. Over just a bit...Ohhhhhh God... that's it. Just touch me... softly, Dean..."

Dean felt her body heat up and soon she was shivering with desire. Her body hot to the touch, a deep pink almost red color flooded over her skin, as she soon began to succumb to his finger. Amy dug her fingernails into Dean's shoulder then ran them down his back.

"Ohh...Oooooo... Mmhmmm...Oh...Oh...Oh..." Amy moaned out, frantic with lust. She writhed on the bed as she bit her lips. Dean felt her heart pounding in her chest. He looked down her taut belly and could see her toes pointed straight out. Dean bit down on her nipple, sending her over edge.

"Mmmmmm... Ohoooooo..." Amy cried out succumbing to his touch. She pulled his hand from between her still-quivering legs... "Dean... Hold me!"

He wrapped his arms around her, pressing her small firm breasts against his bare chest. He brushed back her hair from her eyes.

"Ohhhoooo, mmmmmm, God..." was all Amy could say as she came down from her orgasm.

Dean felt her relax in his arms. "Hold me a little bit longer," she said. After a moment, she reached down and touched Dean's cock. "Soon, I'd like to put one on you," Amy said.

Dean reached over into the bed stand and pulled out a condom. "Here," Dean said as he handed it to her.

She wasted no time. She tore the package open with her teeth and quickly unrolled the latex tube down Dean's glorious shaft. She smiled back at him in appreciation. "We won't need these in the future," she said.




Together—You and Me



"Now, on your back," she directed.

Amy turned her back to Dean and then threw her leg over his body. With her back to him, she lifted herself up as she took Dean's swollen hard member in her hand. She slowly lowered herself down onto his penis. grabbing his ankles to steady herself. She began to lift herself up and back down on his penis. She would rise up so much he would nearly fall out of her then she pushed him back into her.

"Jesus...you're tight." Dean said as he ran his hands along the back of her thighs and up her bare back. He ran his fingers up and down her spine, causing Amy to arch her back and making her long black hair brush against his chest.

Amy gyrated back and forth on Dean's penis. She held onto his feet and lifted herself off again, but this time she used her muscles and held onto his cock and squeezed it with her sex.

"Oh...Jesus... Jesus... Amy!" Dean cried out.

She released him and squeezed again. Dean cried out with delight as he grabbed for her breasts, just out of his reach. His breathing was fast and heavy as she continued to ride him.

Amy turned around, still keeping Dean inside her and leaned over, her hair falling down onto his face. Dean grabbed her thighs. She picked up the pace and several strokes later, she felt Dean's contractions as he filled the condom with his hot seed.

Dean's body was on fire as his chest glistened with sweat.

"Amy!" he cried out. "Ohhh... God... I'm cumming..."

She brushed the hair from his eyes and stared right into them. She wanted to see the pleasure in his eyes as his hips rose again and again, his face grimacing with each thrust.

Then it was over. He pulled her down and then rolled her onto his side. Running his fingers along her side and up her legs, Dean said, "Jesus, wow, that was unreal!"

They both felt his cock growing limp and it slid from between her legs. Amy tilted her head up and kissed him deeply. She reached down between his legs and pulled the condom off.

"Thank you," Amy said.

"For what?"

"For wearing this for me. It meant you cared about me."

"It's not a problem," Dean said. "Amy, I was thinking. Would you like to stay tonight? Share my bed with me?"

"I was hoping you would ask. I'd love to. I brought an overnight bag with me this time. I like to wash my hair before I go to bed, would you like to help me?"

"I'd love to." Dean almost jumped out of the bed.

Amy retrieved the small bag she had brought with her, then took Dean's hand and led him to the bathroom. She turned on the shower and adjusted the temperature. She opened the bag and pulled out a bottle of shampoo and an extra pair of panties and a new bra.

She pulled Dean into the shower. As the hot water poured over their bodies, Dean held her and kissed her shoulders. Her wet hair lay over her white breasts. He rubbed in the shampoo and ran his fingers through the soapy foam running it deep into her scalp. He pulled her hair through his fingers as Amy closed her eyes, a smile on her face. With soapy hands he cupped each breast, slick with soap, small bubbles formed and slowly slid down her smooth breasts. Water drops fell from her nipples, hard even under the warm water.

Suddenly, Amy reached out and pressed her hand against the shower wall to steady herself.

"Amy?"

"Mmmmm, please don't stop."

With her back to Dean, he pressed his body into hers. She could feel his cock wiggle between the cheeks of her butt. Amy felt his fingers approach her sex and she spread her legs apart without hesitation. She felt his warm wet finger enter her.

"Ohhhh," she gasped as his finger probed her sex.

"You know how to touch me," Amy cooed.

Dean fingers worked their magic on Amy's secret place and within minutes Amy was twisting about in the shower, hot water flowing over her hot flesh.

"Ohhhhh God..."Amy called out.

She held her legs together, squeezing his hand between her thighs as she climaxed. She reached out with both hands and steadied herself, Dean's hands around her wet body, holding her. As her second climax ebbed, Amy turned toward Dean, drops of water falling from her cute little nose.

"I've never cum standing before. Jesus, that was intense!"

He rinsed the remaining soap from her body. She turned the water off and they stepped out. Amy wobbled a bit and Dean instantly reached up and grabbed her.

"You okay?"

"Oh, wow," Amy said.

"Here's some towels," Dean said. "I have a hair dryer, too."

Amy giggled. "I'll need both."

Dean pulled a towel around her waist and tugged her in close, stealing a quick kiss as he moved down her legs, drying her skin. They took turns drying each other off, enjoying their nakedness. Dean lifted her and placed her back down on the bed. He sat down beside her and turned the hair dryer on and slowly began to work a brush through her hair.

"I've always wanted to do this," Dean said.

He ran his hand up her hair, taking a handful with each stroke and carefully pulled a brush through her locks. He continued to stroke and brush out her hair until at last it was dry.

Amy closed her eyes as Dean fanned out her hair out across her bare breasts.

"Earlier this evening, I told you I'm not the type of girl that jumps into bed on the first date. How I felt a connection to you I've never felt before. I was right! It was deeper, it was more. I felt loved.

"Would you mind running out to the living room and getting my clothes?"

"Sure, not a problem."

Dean came back with her pink sweater and the pair of pantyhose she had worn earlier.

"Here you go," he said as he laid them on her lap.

"Where's my jeans? My shirt?" she asked as she placed her bra over her breasts then pulled the straps up her arms.

He dropped his hands down on her bare shoulders and slid his fingers across her shoulders catching the straps of her bra. He slid the straps down her arms, catching her bra as if fell.

"Just these, if you don't mind, for a little bit," Dean said.

Amy smiled, "Just my sweater and hose will be fine."

Dean watched her wiggle her pantyhose up her legs and pulled the sweater over her head. She flipped her hair out from under her sweater.

Dean sat down at the end of the sofa and Amy placed her head on his lap. She ran her hands and fingers along her thighs, touching her legs covered in the sheer nylon. Amy spoke very softly, as though she was thinking out loud to herself.

"I'm twenty-six. I've had my share of men, not a lot, but enough. None of those guys ever noticed my legs, only what was between them. Not until tonight did a man go out of his way to admire them, to look at them, to touch them, to caress them. I used to say I had skinny white legs. I'll never say that again. As a matter of fact, I've got the legs a super model would die for!"

"You sure do..." Dean said as he pulled her up against his chest. He reached down to the end table and picked his tie up and handed it to her.

"Would you do the honors? I'm really rusty at it."

"Are you serious? I mean, may I?"

"I checked my notes. They said something about a tie and a warm fire, lots of kissing going on."

Amy's hands shook as she manipulated the soft silk tie into a perfect Windsor knot.

"Jesus, this is nice," Amy said.

"We have a warm fire, I'm wearing a tie, so let's find out how good you can kiss. Together—you and me."

****

After that night, Amy and Dean were a couple. They enjoyed each other's company and Amy gradually moved some of her clothes and other personal items into Dean's apartment. However, Dean seemed reluctant to ask her to move in.

After some weeks, Dean confided that he suffered from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. It was gut-wrenching for Dean as he tried his best to describe how sometimes his mind would drift off back into the war. How he could become emotionally dull at times as his memories twisted his emotions. How Sandy had left him because she couldn't deal with the outbursts. Dean told Amy that he couldn't do the psychotherapy as he found it almost impossible to open up to a stranger.

Early one morning the telephone rang, startling Amy out of a sound sleep. She tried to focus on the clock on the nightstand. It was a quarter to two in the morning. She reached for the phone.

"Hello?"

No one answered and she was about to put the phone down when she heard a weak voice say, "Amy, I need your help..."

She threw on some clothes, grabbed her car keys, and drove to Dean's apartment. She fumbled with the locks and then pushed the door open.

"Dean? It's Amy...Dean?"

No response. The apartment was unusually quiet.

"Dean, I'm here..." Amy called out again.

She walked toward the bedroom and as she crept closer she could hear a soft whimper, like a lost dog. She pushed the bedroom door open, and there curled up on the floor, shivering, was Dean. He looked up at Amy standing in the doorway.

"Make 'em stop. Please!" Dean begged, tears running down his face.

"Jesus, Dean, what's wrong? Make what stop?"

"The voices! Can't you hear'em? The screams. They won't go away. Please, make the voices stop..."

He started sobbing again. The strong, assured man who had come to Amy's rescue a few months ago was curled into a fetal position on the cold floor, rocking with fear.

"I'm here, Dean. It's Amy. You've got to help me a bit, you're too heavy for me to lift. Help me get you back into the bed."

With his help, she got him back up onto the bed. She kicked her shoes off and sat cross-legged next to him. She held him, rubbing his arms, stroking his hair, trying to calm his tortured soul.

"I don't know what to do, Dean. What's wrong? Tell me and I can help you. Remember what you said: together—you and me."

"You wouldn't understand..."

Amy rocked Dean gently back and forth. Softly, Amy began to sing a lullaby, one her mother had sung to her as a child. Amy could feel Dean's body relax as she rubbed his arms. Amy pulled her hair from behind her back and let it drape down on his shoulders.

"Listen to my voice," Amy said, "All you can hear is my singing. The voices will fade away, and then they'll be gone. Here, in my arms you're safe from all harm."

"Dean, I'm going to stay here tonight. You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

Amy knew how much Dean liked her to sleep naked next to him so went to the bathroom and undressed. She was about to return to the bed when Dean came in. He sat on the edge of the bathtub and stared out into the bedroom. Amy looked over at him.

"Honey?"

His voice was hollow as he began to speak. "I was in a convoy with several other Humvees on our way to Kunduz when two of our vehicles hit IEDs. Just minutes before I was talking to my buddy. When the IED exploded, it filled the inside of our Humvee with white-hot steel; a piece of it came flying up under my buddy's helmet. My friend, whom I had been talking to a few seconds earlier...his brains were splattered all over the front of me. I picked off pieces of his skull and wiped him from my flak vest. Somehow, I was unhurt. As I crawled out of the Humvee, we came under small arms fire.

"That's when I heard the screams. The Humvee turned into an inferno and the rest of my friends were inside. They were screaming my name. I crawled back. I dragged some of them to the safety of the rocks. I couldn't get them all. They were burning to death because I couldn't get them out. It's my fault! They screamed! They screamed out my name. They were begging me to help; screaming. I looked down for a second at my hands and all I could see was their blood dripping off my fingers falling onto the sand.

"Every night when I try to sleep and I close my eyes, I taste the sand in my mouth. I feel the grit between my teeth. I smell the pungent odor of nitroglycerin, sawdust, and graphite. I feel the pressure waves as the RPGs slam into the rocks.

"But worst of all, I hear their screams. I hear my name being called out. Every night... All night... It never stops.

"Even when I'm awake, sometimes out of the blue, I look down at my hands and I still see their blood dropping from my fingertips. I wash and wash my hands; I can't stop the blood from reappearing."

Dean stopped talking. He looked like the very weight of the world was lifted from his shoulders.

"I've never told this to anyone... Amy, will you sing to me again, just for a bit longer?" he asked.

Dean stood, and without saying another word went back to his bed. Amy curled up next to him. She drew him in as tightly as she could.

"It wasn't your fault... You're a good man... We'll get through this. You and me."

Amy softly began to sing her lullaby.

****

Weeks passed without Dean showing any outward sign of his internal turmoil. On a cold Saturday night, Dean looked over to Amy as they sat on the sofa.

"Would you like to go out tonight? There's a place I'd like to take you to," he said.

"Dressy place?"

Chuckling, Dean said, "Oh, far from it."

"Let me see what I got to wear," Amy said as she made her way to the bedroom.

Fifteen minutes later Amy came out, wearing a short gray skirt with a row of buttons down the center, and a blue pinstriped jacket over a light blue shirt. Black high-heeled boots came to just below her knees and contrasted with the thick gray tights she wore.

Dean came out from the bathroom, disappointment on his face.

"Amy, would help me?"

"What's wrong?"

"I can't figure out how to tie this tie. I'm more than just a bit rusty."

"You told me this wasn't a dressy place."

"It's far from that. I thought I'd do this just for you," Dean said.

Amy smiled and pulled Dean in so close his black dress pants were between her legs. Wrapping her arms around his waist, she said, "You're mine! You're never leaving."

"Let's go, I don't want to be too late," Dean said as he ran his hand down her back to her small waist.

****

Dean held the door open as Amy stepped inside Molly's Bar. The place was old and dark, illuminated only by a few small light bulbs, each one centered above one of the dining booths that lined the walls. A few tables, with a candle burning inside a mason jar on each one, were clustered around a large stone fireplace in which several logs were burning. As her eyes adjusted to the dim light, Amy saw two gumball machines near the door silently waiting for a few nickels to drop, but the layer of dust that covered their glass globes suggested a stale treat in return.

As Dean and Amy made their way back toward a booth, they passed several old men sitting in low back wooden stools, their shoes constantly polishing the brass rung that ran along the bottom of the bar. A few younger men were leaning on the bar as they checked out Amy and her short skirt.

The men sitting at the bar were arguing back and forth while solving the world's problems. The ones not arguing studied their own faces in the large glass mirror mounted on the wall behind the bar. Bottles of whiskey and spirits of all shapes and colors sat on glass shelves in front of the mirror. A young barmaid constantly wiped the top of the dark walnut bar with a dirty white rag. She smiled at Amy as their eyes made contact.

Two large glass jars sat at either end of the bar, each one containing a gastronomical delight of unknown description. A large red rubber band held several sheets of waxed paper around the neck of each one. Several large paintings hung from the walls, each one covered with decades of cigar and cigarette smoke with a heaping of fireplace soot thrown in for good measure.

Dean helped Amy with her coat and they sat down. She wrapped her hands around his arm, "Oh Dean, I love this place. It has so much character!"

He smiled back and said, "I've been coming here for years. To me, this is home."

The booths were made of darkly stained plywood, and the grain of the wood showed decades of wear. Red plastic table cloths covered every table. A large sugar dispenser was sitting on the table along with a well-used bottle of ketchup, obviously refilled hundreds of times over.

He folded their coats into a neat pile and set them down in the opposite side of the booth. Amy slid in first with Dean beside her. Amy looked around, a smile on her face, taking in more of the atmosphere of this hole-in-the wall establishment.

An older, buxom woman wearing faded out white sneakers ran by, her silver-white hair sticking out from underneath a hair net. She wore a black skirt with stockings rolled up to just above her knees. Her lips were painted a bright red, a pencil stuck out behind her left ear, and a pad of paper was jammed down the front of her apron, which was dirty from a day's use.

"I'll be right with you two," she said as she moved toward the kitchen, carrying a tray full of empty beer glasses.

"No need to hurry, Molly," Dean said as she went by.

Molly stopped in her tracks, sat the tray down on a table, and came back to the pair sitting in the booth.

"Dean? Is that you?" Molly asked.

"Why, of course it's me," Dean said.

"My God, that really is you! I couldn't tell when you two first walked in. Look at you! Christ, I must have died and gone to heaven. Harold, come over here. It's Dean, and you'll never guess what he did!

"And you must be Amy. Oh, it's so nice to meet you at last. That's all we've heard around here for months is 'Amy this' and 'Amy that.' It's great to put a face, a pretty one as well, to a name." Molly turned and yelled towards the bar, "Hey everyone, this is Amy, Dean's girlfriend!"

A chorus of 'Hello, Amy,' 'Welcome, Amy,' 'Hi, Amy,' seemed to come from every corner of the room. Amy sat in amazement and wonder at the warmth these strangers heaped upon her.

"Amy," Molly said, "you're even prettier than Dean said you were."

A short chubby man, clearly up in his years, waddled out from the kitchen, wiping his hands clean on his apron as he continued over to the trio.

"Well, I'll be damned!" Harold said. "I've seen it all now. I'd never have dreamt it was possible. But God, I've seen it all now."

"Hey guys, check out Dean!" Harold said with a big grin on his face as he walked back behind the bar. "I need a drink for this one!" Harold pulled out a bottle with an inch or so in the bottom and poured a shot. He threw his head back and swallowed everything in one huge gulp. He shook a bit as the liquor hit him.

"Damn, that's cheap booze!" he said as he walked back to the kitchen.

Amy sat quietly, wondering why everyone was so interested Dean and finally asked, "I'm lost here. Can someone fill me in?"

"First things first," said Molly. "We need to get you two to the best seat in the joint. Follow me!"

As Molly led Amy and Dean over to another booth, Dean leaned over to Amy and said, "The best seat in this place is the one without the rip in the plastic seat cover."

"I heard that, Dean," Molly interrupted. "You don't mind him, Amy; he's part of our family. Everyone in here knows Dean."

Molly pulled out a rag from her back pocket and wiped the table down.

"Here you go," Molly said with a flare of pride in her tone.

"Molly, can you tell me now?" Amy asked.

"Well," Molly began, "this, and may I say extremely handsome, young man came in here years ago and said not once but hundreds of times since then 'there's not a woman on the planet that could talk me into wearing a tie.'"

"That's not really true," Dean interjected.

"Really!" Molly replied. "If I recall, you didn't wear a suit and tie for your wedding to Sandy."

Amy pushed herself up against Dean, "Is that true?"

Dean was clearly embarrassed by all the fuss everyone was making but said, "I don't recall the actual words I used, but it might have been something like that."

"Yeah, I'm guilty," Dean replied.

Amy reached over and touched the silk tie Dean had around his neck and pulled him a bit closer to her. In a low, sultry voice, she said, "I'm going to jump your bones when we get back."




Together—You and Me



"Dean, if I were forty years younger I'd be all over you like a bill collector working a bad loan!" Molly said as she pulled the pad of paper out of her apron. "Let me bring you two something to drink. Your usual, Dean?"

"Yup, sure thing. Pardon me, though, I need to wash my hands," Dean said.

Molly's demeanor changed as soon as Dean walked away. She sat down on the opposite side of the booth from Amy. The tone of Molly's voice lowered as the expression on her face turned serious.

"Amy, Dean told me you came to his aid several weeks ago. Said he had a bad time that night," Molly said.

"Molly, I didn't know what to do. I was scared to death. I just held him in my arms and sang an old lullaby I knew and that seemed to calm him."

"Honey, when Dean came back after his last tour of duty in Afghanistan, he was racked with problems. He's dealing with them as best he can. You're the first person he's opened up to about them.

"He lost his parents just before he graduated from high school. Harold and I have been his guardians ever since. His dad was in the military and would bring Dean in here with him. Amy, this place is full of veterans from all the wars. I serve hot, feel-good food here. But sometimes my boys don't come in for my cooking; they just need someone to talk to.

"If you love him, please give him a chance. His first wife, Sandy, didn't. She left him when he was at low point in his life for another man."

"I do love him, Molly. I can't tell you just how much I do."

"Amy, I know you do," Molly said. "That's why he hasn't asked you to move in. He's afraid you won't be able to deal with his problems, like Sandy. He told me so." Molly paused, then changed the subject. "By the way, his regular drink here is root beer, and you're getting the same."

"Is he an alcoholic?" Amy asked.

"No!" Molly shook her head. "He won't touch a drop of the stuff. Won't say why."

Amy reached out and touched Molly's hand. A hand wrinkled and deformed from decades of hard work, yet a hand filled with compassion and love.

"Root beer sounds wonderful," Amy said.

Molly squeezed Amy's hand and said, "Dean's an incredibly handsome, good-hearted young man. He could have had almost any woman of his choosing. I'm so very glad he chose you."

Just as Molly got up Dean came back to the booth. "Did you order yet?" Dean asked.

"No, not yet. I figured I'd wait for you," Amy said as she scanned the menu.

Molly came back over with their drinks. "Here you to go!" She sat down in the booth along with Amy and Dean.

Amy picked up her glass and took a big swig of the cold drink. When she put the glass down she had a foam mustache on her top lip. She giggled and then licked the foam from her lip with her tongue. When she looked up at the ceiling, she let out a gasp and covered her mouth.

"Are those what I think they are? Bras?" Amy asked.

"Sure are, Amy," Molly replied.

Amy turned her head around sending her long tresses flying across her round face. All over the ceiling, in every conceivable location, hung a bra. There were big ones, fancy ones, small ones; bras of all colors, shapes, and sizes.

Just then Harold came over and said, "Move your old bones over, woman."

"You two are married?" Amy asked.

Harold smiled and said, "Can't you tell?"

"Why are all those bras hanging from your ceiling?" Amy asked as she looked up again. "There must be hundreds of them!"

"Actually, Amy, there's thousands upon thousands hanging up there. We tried to keep track, but we gave up sometime in the late seventies," Molly said.

Amy looked around again and asked, "Why are they up there Molly?"

"When Harold and I were building this place, I promised him I'd be here as long as he wanted me and to prove it I whipped off my bra in a moment of craziness, and I nailed that sucker to the rafter," Molly said.

Harold picked up the story. "Boy, back in our time, Molly was what they called 'stop and stare' gorgeous. You know, Molly, I still wonder how that carpenter made out after he smashed his fingers with his hammer when he saw you toss your duds."

Harold leaned into Molly and the two kissed. "She's still damn good looking to me," Harold said, "and that's what counts!"

"Is it still hanging up?" Amy asked.

"You better believe it is! It's right there above the cash register, the same spot it's been hanging from since 1954!" Molly said with pride in her voice.

"Amy, the idea is simple. Take the two of you. The entire bar is a witness as you both make a promise to each other. When you're done exchanging your promises, you both tie a ribbon to the end of her bra and then both of you pin it into the ceiling."

"Once it's pin into the ceiling, it's there forever. Unless either one of you comes in and takes it down, then the promise is broken."

Dean reached out and touched Amy's hand. "Amy, Molly didn't mention all the details."

Molly continued, "It's been a tradition here for decades that the man must remove the woman's bra out in the open as everyone in the bar watches. Like the carpenters did when I hung up mine."

"Amy, what she is saying is this. You and I have to stand in front of all these people. I take your shirt and bra off while everyone watches. While you're bare from the waist up we tie a ribbon to it and then together we stick the thing to the ceiling. That's the tradition," Dean said.

"Don't forget the kiss!" Molly inserted.

"What kiss, Dean?" Amy asked.

Dean looked over at Amy and said, "After we hang your bra from the ceiling we kiss. It has to be a long kiss, no quick pecks to get dressed quickly. After all that, I get to put your shirt back on. The whole thing can take upwards of ten minutes."

Molly interjected, "It's harder than you think and not simply because you're standing there naked. It takes much trust and love. Many couples can't complete it. As a matter of fact, most of the time it's the men that can't go through with it. That's the reason you have to do it in front of everyone. At one time, we tried just hanging the bras up without the man taking it off his woman in front of everyone. That idea didn't fly 'cause some guys would get their dates drunk and then out comes a bra. There were no promises made or commitments to keep.

"And you know, as corny as it all sounds, we have bras from all fifty states and several countries hanging from that ceiling of ours. Even if you're already married it doesn't matter; you make a promise to each other you plan on keeping.

"Amy, as much as I'd like to think Dean brought you in here for my cooking, I sense there's something he would like to ask you. Isn't that right, Dean?" Molly looked at him expectantly.

"I can't get anything over on you, can I, Molly?" Dean said then he placed both of Amy's hands into his, "Amy, I... I really don't know what words to use... but I would like us—you and me— to give it a try... I mean, if you think I'm worthy of a promise from you."

Amy's face blushed, she looked around the room and said, "You want me to stand in front of thirty-some people, none of which I know, then strip me naked from the waist up while everyone watches? Is that what you want me to do?"

"I thought we could do this together. I'm sorry, Amy; I should have known better," Dean said.

 "Molly, would you give Dean and I a few minutes alone?" Amy asked.

"Not a problem," Molly said as she got up from the booth.

"Honey, I understand the concept. I don't want to sound this way but, what's in it for me? I don't feel comfortable being stripped down and giving everyone a free titty show at my expense.

"Amy, I'm really sorry. I didn't take into account your feelings. I've never asked any woman I've ever known to try this with me, not even Sandy. I was wrong. As for what's in it for you, Molly said we make a promise to each other. I was going to tell you I'm going to go to psychotherapy.

"I... I was going to stand up in front of all my friends and tell the world that I'm having mental problems. I can't cope with my life and I need help. That's what was in it for you. Do you have any idea how hard that would have been for me to say that?

"Regardless of your decision, I already made the appointment for early next week. I need the help. I'll do anything I need to do, to keep from losing you."

"You're serious, aren't you?" Amy asked.

"Yes, the appointment has been made and I'll follow through with it."

Amy squeezed his hands together. She looked around the room for Molly. Molly caught Amy's eye and came back over and sat down.

"Molly, no one will laugh at my small breasts will they?" Amy asked.

"No one will say a word," Molly promised.

"Amy? You don't have to. I'll follow through with what I told you even if you don't," Dean said.

"I know what's in it for me now," Amy said.

Amy took in several deep breaths and said, "I can do this..."

Amy held out her hand to Dean as they slid out from the booth. Amy brushed off her skirt and adjusted it slightly around her waist. She wobbled a bit in her boots, and she drew in another deep breath.

"Before I do..."

Amy stood on her tiptoes and whispered in his ear, "I need to know something else. Is it really true? I'm the first woman you've ever worn a tie for?"

"Yes..."

Amy smiled and slipped her jacket off her shoulders and gave it to Molly.

"Where do you want me, Molly?" Amy asked.

"Amy, where ever you want. Where you stand, directly above you, will be where you and Dean will hang your bra."

"Here. Right here in the middle of the room. So everyone can see it!" Amy exclaimed.

"Ok then. Amy, you have to stay in that spot. You can't cover yourself with your arms. You two ready?" Molly asked.

"As ready as we can be," Dean answered.

"Everyone!" Molly called out. "Tonight Dean and Amy will make a promise to each other. Quiet now. Dean, you can begin."

Throughout the bar people stopped eating, and some stood and gathered about. Couples and single men came out from the game room and formed a semi-circle around the far end of the bar. The few men sitting on bar stools turned around while the barmaid rested her elbows on the top of the bar. The entire building became quiet except for a few muffled rumbles and clangs from the kitchen.

Every eye in the place was on them. Dean's hand shook as he fumbled with the buttons on Amy's shirt. She looked up into Dean's eyes, reassuring him, as she felt her shirt grow loose around her body.

"Dean, I'm okay with this."

The last button lost its grip, and she felt the rush of cool air as it hit her bare skin.

She bit down on her lip as Dean pulled her shirt out from the waistband of her skirt then slipped her shirt off her shoulders and down her arms. He handed it to Molly. Amy stood in the middle of the room her clothes gone to reveal a pastel yellow bra. She dropped her hands behind her back, locking her fingers together, giving everyone in the room a grand view of her body.

Dean moved behind Amy and placed both hands on the bra's clasp. "Are you sure?" he asked softly.

"Wait a second..." Amy said with a bit of excitement in her voice. "Dean, in my jacket pocket."

Molly held Amy's jacket out to Dean while he searched the pockets until he found a hair clip and handed it to Amy.

"I don't have that much to show, so I may as well let everyone see all that I have," Amy said as she pulled her hair up with the clip.

Amy looked around the room again and said to the group, "No laughing at the flat-chested girl."

Suddenly, one of the wooden stools creaked along the floor. Everyone look over and there stood a huge man sporting two day's worth of beard on his face.

"Amy, my name is Russell," he said in a deep voice. "We're all Dean's friends. We are his family. No one will laugh at you. No one will snicker at you. No one will make fun of you. If they do, they'll have me to contend with."

The stool creaked again as Russell sat back down. He folded his hands across his lap.

Amy smiled weakly in return and said, "Okay, Dean, I'm ready."

Dean rubbed Amy's arm a few times and then reached behind her with both hands and in a wink of an eye opened the clasp. Amy took in a deep breath as she felt the straps drop down from her shoulders. Dean gently slipped her bra from her body and held it in his hand. It was soft and warm from Amy's body.

Amy's petite breasts came into view. Everyone could see the light brown areola surrounding her nipples. The cool air in the bar caused her nipples to stiffen and point. Amy placed her hands behind her back and again locked her fingers together.

She was expecting gasps and guys pointing fingers at her but to her amazement instead she saw couples kissing while others drew their sweethearts in closer. Several men raised their glass in a toast to Amy.

Molly said, "Now, in front of us all, you both need to make your promise to each other."

Dean dropped his hands onto Amy's waist as he ran his thumbs around the waistband of her skirt. Dean fingers lingered there for a minute; their eyes locked onto each other. Dean ran his hands up Amy's warm bare back to her neck. Cupping her head in his hands he kissed her inviting lips. He ran his hands down her shoulders and then past her elbows holding her by just her fingertips as she pulled her arms out from her body.

Dean spoke first. Amy could see his eyes fill with tears.

"This year has been rough on me. In front of you, Amy, and all my friends, I need help. I promise you I'll go to psychotherapy because my head is a mess inside."

Dean took in a deep breath; a tear ran down the side of his face. "I've got some mental problems because of that damn war."

He held Amy's outstretched hands and continued, "Amy... I love you... I'll love you all my life. Together—you and me."

Tears ran down Amy's cheeks.

Amy tried to clear her throat then she said, "Dean, I... I wasn't expecting that..." her lips quivered as she tried to contain her emotions.

"Dean Bradley... I love you... My promise to you is I will never let you go. I love you... Together—me and you."

Molly printed their names and date on a small blue ribbon and handed it to Amy. They both tied the ribbon to the end of Amy's bra. Molly handed Dean a long stick with a notched end.

"Now, you two together push the pin up into the ceiling," Molly said.

Dean and Amy smiled and with their hands on top of each other's they pushed the pin deep into the wooden beam. Dean handed the stick back to Molly.

Dean held Amy's head with his hands as Amy's lips parted slightly. Dean's kissed her lips softly then placed a few small kisses along her cheek. He pulled her body into his.

Molly handed Amy's shirt to Dean, and he gently put it on. He slowly buttoned the shirt up and when he reached over to Molly to give him Amy's jacket, Amy touched his cheek, and said, "This is fine. I don't need my jacket right now."

She threw her arms around Dean's neck and kissed him again.

Molly called out, "The promise has been made!"

Molly reached out and touched Amy's shoulder and said, "I'm going to my office for a good cry! I didn't expect that from Dean. You really must be very special to him."

Amy placed her arms around his neck and whispered into his ear, "I can't tell you how long it's been since I've gone braless. I wouldn't put up much of a fight if some strong man came along and un-buttoned oh, say the top three buttons on my shirt. The cool air might make'em grow."

"I've got a secret to tell you, Amy," Dean said, "I happen to like A-cup beauties with long black hair and shapely legs. Hummm... Just like you!"

"Amy!"

She looked around to see Russell walking up to her. "Dean, would you mind if I borrow her for a minute?"

"Of course not. But you have to bring her back," Dean replied. "Amy, I'll be back in the game room playing darts with some of the guys."

"Follow me," Russell said.

Russell led her back to the bar. He placed his hands on her waist and lifted her off her feet and onto a bar stool.

"Shit, there's not much to you is there? What, about a hundred twenty pounds?"

"Yeah, about that, more or less." Amy said. "What's this all about, Russell?"

"I just wanted to say that was very brave of you. I fought beside Dean in the war; he's a hell of man. You may not know it, but what you did tonight did him more good than all those VA doctors have for the last year."  "Thanks, Russell. I didn't think I had it in me to stand there like that in front of all these strangers."

"I hope we're not strangers now. Amy..."

"What, Russell?"

Russell took Amy's hand into his and then placed her hand on her heart.

"Inside here, deep down in your heart, lays an unimaginable strength. You can't call it out. You can't wish it out. You can't summon it like a genie from his lamp. But it's there. Each and every one of us has this hidden strength. However, very few of us will ever see it emerge. Even fewer will be able to draw upon it when it's needed the most. Tonight you just tapped into a fraction of your own strength.

"I've seen it happen only twice in my lifetime. It's doesn't last long, maybe a few minutes at the most, but, Amy, you have it too. Deep down inside."

"I don't know. I think I used all my strength standing up in front of everyone like that," Amy said.

"It's still there, Amy." Russell smiled and walked away.

"There you are," Dean said. He slipped his hands around Amy's waist and lifted her down from the bar stool. Amy led him over to a vacant booth and pulled him in beside her. She placed her legs across his lap.

"When did you fall in love with me?" Amy asked.

"The first time we made love. I knew then you were the one."

"Would you have told me even if I chickened out tonight?"

"Tonight was the night, Amy. There's something else I'd like to ask you now. I'd like my apartment to become our apartment."

"I'd love that, Dean," Amy said as she slipped his hand under her skirt.

Suddenly, they heard Molly's voice ring out. "Everyone!" Molly called out, "Tonight Ellie and Jake will make a promise to each other."

Amy smiled and said, "Let's watch... then we'll go back to our home.

****

Dean seemed extra quiet for several days. For a while, Amy thought they were simply adjusting to their new arrangements, finding their comfort zone.

One night, Dean stared at the television while Amy curled up next to him with a book. Amy dropped the book and noticed Dean wasn't watching the TV anymore. He seemed disconnected. Amy slid over to him and asked, "What's wrong?"

"Nothing... Just thinking..."

Amy went back to her book. Then Dean shut the TV off. He got up from the sofa and sat right back down on the carpet by Amy. He put a hand on her knee. Amy closed her book and touched his hand.

Dean's eyes went blank; his face expressionless as he spoke.

 "We were on patrol. There were always children running about in the villages. My buddy and I gave one kid an apple. He seemed so happy with something as simple as an apple. He was running toward his home when the ground shook.

"A suicide bomber blew himself up in the market. That kid, eight, maybe ten, ran right into the blast. My buddy and I ran up, secured the location, and I looked down and there in the sand was the kid. The apple we just gave him still in his hand. I can't stand apples anymore."

Dean looked up at Amy with the saddest eyes she ever had ever seen and he said, "Amy, I can't do this much longer. The psychotherapy just isn't working. My therapist doesn't have a clue. I was getting shot at when he was trying to get his first date's pants down."

Amy pulled Dean back onto the sofa. "I'll be back..."

Fifteen minutes later Amy walked back into the living room; he hadn't moved. Amy wore just a pair of panties. "Here, give me your hand, honey," she said.




Together—You and Me



"I don't know if I can do it tonight."

"You don't have to do a thing except follow me."

Amy led him back to the bedroom where she slowly removed his clothes. She ran back into the living room and brought back two large pillows.

"C'mere..." Amy said as she tugged him into the bathroom.

In the bathroom Amy had set up a half dozen candles, and a bathtub full of hot soapy water awaited. Soft music from the radio filled the bathroom. Amy helped him into the hot water. She placed the pillows down on the floor beside the tub. When he was in the water, Amy turn around and slowly peeled her panties down, showing Dean her soft white derriere.

"Here," Amy said as she poured a tiny amount of lavender oil into the water, "this will help."

She kneeled down on the pillows. A misty ambience filled the room. The bathroom was aglow from the flickering yellow light of the candles, throwing soft shadows against the walls. The scent of lavender was in the air. Neither one spoke. Except for the sounds of Amy's sponge breaking though the water and the soft music, the room was still.

Amy gently washed his arms and his shoulders. She ran a sponge down his muscular legs and gently washed his feet. Dean watched as her long black hair would fall from her back and flow down her shoulders. Her breasts would play hide and seek with her hair as a nipple would peek out from behind a black curtain only to disappear when she moved.

Adding more hot water to the tub, she wet his hair as she rubbed in a vanilla-scented shampoo. She ran her fingers through his soapy hair as she worked it into a foam.

She poured water over his head, rinsing the soap clear. She reached behind her for a can of shaving cream and filled her hand with the warm white suds. She tipped his head back and covered his chin, neck, and face with the smooth cream. With a touch so gentle, Amy began to shave his face. One stoke, then another, she would dip the razor into the water with a splash and return to his face. She stopped, bent over and kissed him; some shaving cream stuck to her cheeks. Dean reached over and with his finger, wiped the soap from her warm face.

"I'd say you look done," Amy said. "Let's get you out and dried off."

Amy pulled out a large, soft, white towel and gently dried the water from his body. She moved in as close as she could so he could feel her hair fall onto his bare skin; feel her warm naked body against his. She reached over and picked up a small bottle of Burberry Brit cologne and placed a few drops on his neck.

"Did I ever tell you the scent of Burberry Brit causes my jeans to come down?" Amy said. She looked down her body past her tight tummy to a small triangle of black fur between her legs. "Oops! Looks as though those are already gone!"

Amy wrapped the towel around their bodies encasing them within the soft cotton material.

"I was thinking," Amy said, "I've got a lot of comp time on the books at my job and your employer is slow right now, what do you say we take a trip to Aspen? I've always wanted to give skiing a try. We could go and stay a weekend and be back before Thanksgiving.

"Even if we don't try the slopes, I'd love to sit in one of those big lodges with the stone fireplace and watch the snow fall as you and I sip hot chocolate. We could get a room with a Jacuzzi. You could lock all my clothes up, keeping me in nothing but a pair of heels all the time we're there. You'd like that wouldn't you? I would. And at night, you could make love to me in front of a roaring fire.

"Honey, I can't erase the memories you have of that damn war. I'd like to help you make new memories— memories with me."

"Amy?"

"Yes, Dean?"

"I love you..."

****

"Are you sure you can't come?" Amy asked, "I need to finish some work up today to meet a deadline. It's Christmas Eve day. We always have a small party at work. I'd love for you to come."

"I've got a few things I've need to finish up here, unfortunately. Don't stay too late," Dean said.

As Amy was about to leave, she reached out and kissed Dean.

"What's wrong? I can tell there's something wrong by your kiss."

"There's nothing wrong."

"You still love me?" Amy asked.

"More than life itself, Amy... More than life itself," Dean said. "Say, what's in the gym bag?"

"Oh, this. It's a Christmas present for you. Something really short and sexy I'll have on when I get back. I'll change at work."

"You don't need to do that. My God, Amy, they're calling for temps to be no higher than a few degrees above zero this afternoon."

"Then you'll have to warm me up when I get home, won't you," Amy said with a seductive smile as she turned and walked out the door.

Just before the party started, Amy changed into the clothes she had brought with her.

 "Damn Amy, that's short," one of her friends said as she looked down at Amy's skirt, "You're going to freeze your legs off when you go outside."

About that time Amy's boss came over and said, "Looks as though we made the last deadline for the year. Hey, did you notice all the guys looking at you, Amy? You've really changed since you met that man of yours."

"Thanks... I've been hoping he would take things to the next level soon... "

Just then Amy shook in her heels. "What's wrong, Amy?" her boss asked.

"I don't know. I feel as though someone walked on my grave," Amy said. "Oh God. It's Dean. There's something's wrong. I feel it. I've got to go."

Amy rushed out of the party, jumped into her car, and drove as fast as the snow-covered highways would allow. Tears filled her eyes. She knew.

****

Dean picked up his dip pen and plunged the nib into the half-empty bottle of India Ink. Tap. Tap. He gently tapped the pen's tip against the glass mouth of the inkwell knocking the excess ink from the pen. A small light bulb in the desk lamp illuminated the room. The warm yellowish glow of the incandescent bulb shined down upon the desk.

Ever so slowly he began to place ink on paper. Letters slowly joined together forming words; those words into his thoughts. The tip of the pen scratched across the rough fibers of the paper as the shape of letters appeared.

The room was so quiet, Dean could hear the pen's movements against the paper resonate within the stillness of the room. Another trip to the inkwell. Tap. Tap. More words appeared on the paper. Post traumatic stress disorder... Afghanistan... my buddies...Tap. Tap.

His hand was steady and true as he continued writing in his own style of calligraphy. Five lines now, each one in perfect alignment with the one before it. Sandy... blood upon my hands... under fire... Tap. Tap. The glass neck of the inkwell rang out.

Dean stopped writing and gazed out at the snow softly falling on this Christmas Eve. A slight smile appeared on his face as he recalled better times. Then as quickly as a snowflake melts in the winter sun his smile disappeared and Dean returned to his letter.

Tap. Tap. His pen returned to the paper. More words filled the sheet of paper. Amy... IEDs... Humvee... I love you...

At last, Dean put his pen down and lifted the paper with both hands. He read it over then once again. He put the paper down upon the desk and gently rolled the ink blotter back and forth upon his thoughts painted on the paper. Three careful folds later he slipped the sheet into an envelope.

A burst of bright yellow light filled the dim room for a second as a match head flared. Dean held the burning match to a small block of sealing wax and several hot drops fell and formed into a warm puddle upon the flap of the envelope. He pushed his thumb into the wax sealing the letter. A quick puff of his breath blew the match out, sending rings of smoke upward. Dean watched, almost in a daze, as the wooden match head slowly cooled from orange hot to cold black.

He reached over and picked up a small rosewood box that sat on his desk. His fingers gingerly slid the brightly polished brass catch to one side then he opened the box with great reverence. It was lined with green felt. He took out a small piece of polished steel and held it in his hand while he ran his fingertips across the silk ribbon. After a few moments, Dean replaced the article back into the box rejoining the others and closed the lid. He reached over for another sheet of paper upon which he simply wrote: "Give these to Amy Patterson."

Dean pushed himself back from the desk, then reached over and turned the desk light off. "It's time," he said to himself as he walked out of the room and to the garage, carrying the letter in his hand.

****

Amy pulled in the driveway and ran up to the door. She could hear a car running in the garage.

"No!" she cried out.

She fumbled with her keys, dropping them once into the snow before she got the door opened. She ran to the inside garage door and opened it. The garage was filled with the pungent odor of car exhaust. She snapped the light on. Dean sat in the car. The engine was still running.

"Nooooooo!" She screamed at the top of her lungs. "Ohhhh nooooo..."

Amy yanked open the car door; Dean's face was bright red. He didn't appear to be breathing. She reached in and shut the car's engine off. She pressed the remote control on the visor, and the garage door slowly opened. She kicked off her heels and ran to the opening of the door, taking in a few quick breaths of the bitterly cold fresh air. She ran back. She knew she had to get Dean into clean air.

Amy looked out to the open door and the fresh air that beckoned her. It was Dean's only chance of survival. She slipped one arm under his legs, then other behind his back.

Amy lifted Dean out of the car and carried him outside, laying him in the snow.

She laid him down and pounded on his chest. Her legs and feet were clad only in a thin layer of nylon that offered no protection to the bitter cold. Her knees sank into the snow.

"Breathe! Breathe!" Amy demanded. "You can't do this to me. You promised me! You promised me! You promised me we'd be together—you and me! Dear God, please don't take this man from me..."

She pulled his head back and breathed into his lungs as she attempted to push vital oxygen into his body.

"I don't know what to do!" she said as tears fell from her cheeks, instantly turning into small balls of ice before they dropped onto the snow.

"You can't do this to me!" Amy shouted again as she pushed down on his chest trying to get him to breathe. Spit and snot fell from her mouth and nose, falling onto the snow.

"Noooooooo..." she moaned again.

In an act of desperation, Amy piled snow up along his face.

Amy placed her hands on her knees as she looked at Dean's apparently lifeless body lying in the snow. "The Christmas wreath on the door is supposed to be green, not black," she said to herself. She heard sirens in the background; someone had apparently called 911.

Suddenly, she heard a gasp and she saw Dean's chest move. The noise and sudden movement startled her. She picked Dean's head up and placed it in her lap, protecting him now from the cold. Amy was sobbing out of fear and joy at the same time as she rocked back and forth. She cried uncontrollably as she held the man she loved in her arms.

She looked around, and the snow began to glow with reds and blues as an EMS squad and a police cruiser pulled along side the apartment.

"What do have here, Miss?" one of the paramedics said as another one started working on Dean.

"You've gotta help him! He's my boyfriend. His name is Dean Bradley. I found him in the garage. He was in the car with the engine running. I carried him out here in the snow."

The paramedic looked up to the open garage, noticed only one set of footprints leading back to Amy and said, "You picked him up and carried him that far? That's over forty feet!"

A policewoman walked over with a heavy blanket and wrapped it around Amy; their eyes locked for a second before she led Amy back to an ambulance.

"Is he going to be all right?" Amy asked as she started to shiver.

"No promises. He's not out of the woods yet. Putting him in the snow more than likely saved his life. The cold slowed his body down. Placing the snow on his face kind of shocked him back. Like rebooting a computer. Now we need to get both of you warmed up before hypothermia sets in."

****

"Miss Patterson, how are you feeling?" the ER doctor asked. "Besides cold, that is."

 "Just cold right now, I'm really cold. How's Dean?" Amy asked.

"I'll check on Mr. Bradley. But right now let's worry about you. I'll send in a nurse to help you get out of your wet clothes. We need to get you warmed up."

The rings on the curtain moved and Molly stepped in. "I'll help her with that."

"Molly?"

"I'm here, Amy," Molly said as she reached out and took Amy into her arms and rocked her back and forth.

Amy started to cry. "I didn't know what to do... Is he going to be all right? How'd you find out?"

"Sssshhh," Molly said. "Let's worry about you right now. As far as finding out, Vicky drove over and brought me back here. Harold and I long since quit driving in the Colorado snow."

"Who's Vicky?"

"Vicky? That's policewoman Officer Vicky Rio. Vicky, come in here and say hello to Amy."

Officer Rio stepped out from behind the curtain as Molly was helping Amy get undressed.

"Hello, Amy."

Amy looked confused and asked, "How did you know?"

"My husband and I were at Molly's Bar the night you and Dean were there. We watched you two make your promise. That's how I knew. Here, we found this in his car before we secured his apartment. It has your name on it."

She handed Amy the letter Dean had written, the wax seal still intact. Amy looked down at the letter and softly began to weep. There on the front of the envelope Dean wrote out her name; exactly as he had the first night they'd met, in big beautiful script.

"Amy," Molly said, "tonight is Christmas Eve. You were given something very special. A Christmas miracle. Perhaps you should leave what was to history."

Amy thought about the words Molly spoke as she wiped the tears from her cheeks with her fingers. She looked down at the envelope, the wax still sealing the flap closed, and said, "It's not a Christmas miracle. It's a Christmas gift."

"I don't follow," Officer Rio said.

"Don't you see? It's a gift—a second chance," Amy said "Dean was given a second chance at life."

****

After being released from the hospital, Amy returned to their apartment in the early hours of Christmas day. Unlocking the door, she entered the apartment tentatively, almost afraid to move. It was quiet, still and cold. The dinning room table was set; the glassware, napkins and plates were still where Dean had placed them.

She walked into the bedroom and crawled into their bed; she never bothered to undress as she pulled a blanket across her tired body. Amy pulled Dean's pillow into her arms and squeezed it with all her might. Tears slowly trickled down her cheeks, soaking through the bed sheet. She pulled the pillow to her face and breathed in the scent of the man she loved.

"I touch you with my fingers. I see you with my eyes. I feel your heart beating with mine," Amy said to herself as she clutched the pillow in her hands.

****

Two days passed before Dean was allowed visitors. The skies were gray, and the weather was blustery. Dean stood in front of a large window staring out at the parking lot below. He felt as cold as the snow that buried the earth outside his window. Suddenly, he felt a hand on his shoulder and just as quickly he noticed a warm hand slide into his; startled, he turned. It was Amy.

 Amy leaned her head onto his shoulder and said, "Springtime is a promise the earth will always keep. Just like the promise I made to you. Together—me and you."

A slight smile appeared on his face. "I wasn't sure I'd ever see you again, after what I tried to do."

"I promised you I'd always be here for you. How you feeling?"

"I'm not real chipper," Dean said, "I let many people down; especially you Amy. I hope you understood my letter."

Dean moved his hands toward her face and then dropped them back to his side.

"Please touch me," Amy said as she took his hand and placed it on her face. "I never opened it. It's still sealed and put away. That was a goodbye letter. I'm not ready to say goodbye for a very, very long time.

"Here, I brought you some clothes and other stuff from home they told me you would be allowed to have."

Amy pulled out from her bag a sheet of paper, his dip pen, and a crayon and handed the items to Dean.

"What's this?" Dean asked.

"The man I fell in love with once told me, 'Each morning you're given a clean sheet of paper. You can write upon it in beautiful script or block letters with a crayon. Which one do you want to write with?'"

He looked surprised, then handed the crayon back to Amy.

Dean smiled. "I might have to be on pills for a while. I've started psychotherapy again. This time my counselor understands— he was in the Vietnam war. Amy, he knows what it's like. My counselor said he'd like to talk to you, too. Would you come?"

"I'd be honored to go with you," Amy said.

Dean sighed, "I'm tired..."

"C'mere, you," Amy said as she took his hand. "Let's get you back into bed."

She helped him into his bed and pulled the sheets over his legs.

"There...how's that?"

"That's fine, Amy."

"Dean, why didn't you tell me about the medals you had put away in that small box? I made some phone calls. It seems you saved the lives of nine men in your unit that day. I was also told you got wounded saving those men. It wasn't the first time you saved someone's life during the war.

"There are nine mothers out there that didn't have to bury their sons because of what you did. Dean Bradley, I'm so proud of you I could burst!"

"Amy, I'm sorry for what I tried to," Dean said as his eyes filled with tears, "That damn war nearly destroyed me. I wouldn't let it destroy you, too."

"Sssshhh." Amy placed a finger across his lips.

Amy hopped up on his bed and scooted herself over as close as she could to him. She leaned Dean's head onto her shoulder. As he touched her hair with his fingers, Amy began to softly sing…