0 comments/  14388 views/  3 favorites

Rediscovering Passion Ch. 01

By: InnovativeBlonde



June in Athens is hot. Not the kind of hot that the sweat dribbles down your forehead to the tip of your nose either. The hot where your entire face is drenched and shimmering against the sun, your shirt sticks to your body and you feel that you might pass out if you spend another minute in the heat. 

Granted, every summer day in Georgia isn’t this miserable, but most are and today was no exception. I’d gone inside three times already to gulp down a full glass of lemonade. Each time Drake would meet me at the door, his tail wagging at high speed, and follow me into the kitchen. I stood there wiping the sweat from my forehead with my t-shirt. Drake stared up at me, his ears perked and his head cocked to one side as if to say, “I want to go outside and play too.” I sat down Indian style on the kitchen floor, level with his panting mouth and scratched his ears. “I’m sorry buddy, it’s just too stinking hot outside today” knowing full well he had no idea what I was saying.

I found myself talking to my Golden Retriever more often these days. It’s been almost six months that Robert has been gone, but I still can’t get used to living alone. For months after the accident I didn’t touch anything in the house. His coat still hung on the hook next to back door; his toothbrush was still in the drawer by the sink. My mother had told me to pack everything up. She said to take it to the Salvation Army or give it to someone. That was closure, how we dealt with losing someone. I couldn’t do it, not entirely anyway. After about a month I did pack away what was lying around the house. His coat, shoes, the book lying on the bedside table, still open to page 126. It was Nocturne, something about the Cold War and a conspiracy theory, he had told me. 

I tried to put away everything, but I left reminders here and there, most hidden from any guests. In my own way, that’s how I held on to him. I remember the day I took the last box up to the attic. It was filled with baseball cards he had collected as a boy. He said one day when we had a son, he’d give them to him. I put the box on the floor and stood there. Until that point I hadn’t truly faced the fact that he was gone. Maybe it was the shock wearing off, I don’t know, but as I stared out the attic window to the driveway below it hit me. 

My husband was dead. 

My legs may have well crumbled beneath me. I dropped to the floor and laid my chest across the box, my arms beneath my face. I cried. Harder than I did the day the Sheriff’s department called to tell me about the accident, harder than at the funeral and all the days since then. I cried for him, for us, for everything that we’d never have. Every inch of my body trembled. I had never felt so alone and empty. 

I lay there for almost an hour. When I finally rose to my feet, my eyes were puffy and sore, dark strands of hair matted against my wet face. I took a deep breath and made a promise to myself that I’d try and put my life back together.

Months later, I went back to the gallery for the first time. My assistant Carol had been handling things since I’d been away. I took a few pieces that I’d finished before the accident but my heart wasn’t in it. I regretted the long hours I spent in the studio above the garage. I’d lock myself away for hours painting. Robert would come up every now and then to check on me. I’d be covered in oil paint, and he’d laugh. That child like giggle that always made me smile, even if he was laughing at me. 

The gallery had only been open for six months but at that point I didn’t care if it closed. Despite my attic promise, I felt like a lost child. I wanted to go back to Chicago, back to my mother and pretend life in Athens never existed. Carol brought me back to reality.

“Sydney, the art fair is coming up in a few weeks, are we going to take any pieces over?” 

“Yeah, that’s a good idea. It’ll give the gallery some recognition.” I said half-heartedly. 

Carol looked at me as though she wanted to ask a thousand things and that was all that came out. She had always reminded me of my Aunt Margaret. She had the same short dark hair, speckled with gray. Her wire-rimmed glasses always slipped to the end of her nose. She never looked at you through them, as if they were only an accent piece to her face. I’d met her while she was still working at the library. She always complained about them not giving her enough time off. When I mentioned I was opening a gallery downtown, she seemed like the right person to help me out. 

“Hon, are you sure you’re ready to come back here?” She questioned me. 

“I have a business, I have to move on Carol.”

“That sounds like a comment your mother would make. You move on when you’re ready Sydney, and if you aren’t please tell me, you know I can hold the fort down here until you want to come back.” She said, looking at me with concern in her eyes.

“Thank you, but I have to get out of the house. I’m trying to put my life back together.” 

I had tried. I bought Drake the same week I had the courage to pack up my dead husband. I needed a companion, even if his only source of communication was to lick my face. He also gave me some security. Living alone took some getting used to. 

The gallery had been slow to start off but Athens is a city so rich in creativity and vision that an art gallery did well downtown. It was always filled with a handful of curious window shoppers or tourists. Carol was a magnificent sales woman; she could sell one of my paintings to a blind man without blinking an eye. 

It never quite left me though. The emptiness was always there, poking me in the side as if to remind me that now, all I had was a business. My social life had slowly deteriorated. Most of the couples that Robert and I were friends with seemed to extend their reach just a bit. The men didn’t have Robert to talk sports and politics with and the women feared that if they talked about their upcoming wedding anniversary or the fact that they were trying to have kids, I’d break down sobbing right then and there. 

I traced figure eights with my finger on the unfinished cotton canvas I was standing in front of.

“I have to go run some errands, I’ll be back in a couple hours,” I lied. 

I slung my bag over my shoulder and waved at Carol as I passed through the open front door. 

I made my way down Clayton Street past the bars, restaurants and assorted galleries and boutiques that lined the heart of Athens. It was unseasonably warm that day, a relief from the suffocating heat that had plagued us for the past week. I thought about spending the day wandering the art museum checking out their newest exhibits. Then I decided against it and turned into a small coffee shop that had caught my eye at the last second. I usually went to one across town and had never been in here before. 

Jazz music buzzed over the speakers. The shop was sprinkled with intellectual types reading or pegging away at their laptops. There were about five tables in the center all occupied, surrounding them were vintage couches and chairs. I ordered a latte from the pudgy teenager behind the counter and sat by the window, watching the people walk by. Couples, children, mothers and grandparents. Most seemed consumed in their conversations with one another. Others beset with their own thoughts as they scurried past alone. 

I forgot what it was like to hurry back to work before the lunch hour expired or mull over choices for dinner that evening. I was living life at a pace that was utterly foreign to me. I had no dinner commitments, no phone calls to expect, no reason to leave work early and rush home. Nothing. I was convinced this was the beginning of depression. It had to be. When your entire body felt like a cloudless sky and not a trace of anything meaningful, beautiful or worthy could be found in it. I didn’t care if I ever got married again or had children. I didn’t care if I ever loved again. What was the point? I loved and look at me now. Sitting alone in a coffee shop anxiously awaiting my demise. 

It seemed so much easier that way, why connect yourself to someone, they always disappear in the end. I thought of when my father left and how my mother must have felt. I was too young to understand that he really wasn’t coming back. I unrelenting colored him pictures, tearing them out of my book and saving them in my dresser drawer until he came back, arms open for me. My mother knew the truth but couldn’t face it. She couldn’t bear to be the breaker of my heart. So instead, little by little it broke, one piece at a time. Until I had lost all hope of seeing him again. I’d held onto hope once and I wasn’t doing it again. Cut right to the chase, my future held loneliness and misery. I couldn’t have made it simpler for myself. 

I must have chuckled out loud, finding humor in my own self-pity. I noticed a man at a table across the room from me look up from his book in my direction. I looked back out the window; maybe he’d think I was laughing at something outside. Evidently he didn’t, because he was now walking toward my table. I rolled my eyes and considered getting a Do Not Disturb sign to hang from my neck. 

“Hi, are you Sydney Jacobs?” He asked, stopping next to the table.

“What’s it to you?” I questioned in an uninterested tone. Had I just said that? I felt like reaching around and patting myself on the back. I was beginning to like this “new me” not only callous but also rude.

I could see by his expression that he hadn’t expected the response I gave. His eyes were stunned but he didn’t falter.

“Hi, my name is Eric, Eric Riley” he said with a smile, extending his hand. 

“Hi Eric”

“I have one of your paintings hanging in my living room.” He said brightly. The old Sydney would have been friendly and appreciative of his purchase and interest in her creativity. She would have recognized that he was an attractive man. From where I was sitting I guessed he was every bit of 6’2” with sandy blonde hair that had no real design on his head, as though he woke up and ruffled his hands through it and walked out the door. His eyes were brown and welcoming and his teeth, white as my “snow” oil paint, probably the product of some over the counter bleach. 

But this Sydney, she didn’t care. He was just another man, the last thing on her to-do list. Right under sell the house and move to Wyoming to join a cult.

“Great.” I said, staring back out to the sidewalk. 

“I was thinking about buying another one, but I haven’t seen you at the gallery in a while and I wanted to tell you how much I liked the piece I bought.” 

He wasn’t budging and I was staggered at how nasty I was being to what could be a repeat buyer. 

“Now I know. If you’re interested in anything else, Carol can help you, she’s my assistant.” I swirled my finger in the froth of my latte and brought it up to my mouth and licked it off. 

“Ok, thanks.” He muttered.

If Carol was there, she’d checked my temperature by now. I hadn’t talked with a buyer since I came back and I knew why, they bored me. Of course you liked the damn painting, why else would it be hanging on your wall?

I stood up and reached over to grab my bag. “I’ve got to go.” I hung my bag on my arm and walked past him. 

* * * *

I wandered blindly through another couple weeks, barely conscious of what was going on around me. In the meantime, I had discovered a passion in 19th century poetry. I was reading everything from Mathilde Blind’s The Heather on Fire to Johann Wolfgang von Goethe’s Ode to a Friend. I read two books a week, sometimes more. I was consumed in the reflection and emotions of the poems. At times I didn’t make it out of the library before I’d finished 40 pages of a collection. Painting had taken a backseat to my obsession of literary ramblings that I couldn’t fully understand. When I tried to paint I could only think of Robert. 

I had never found an interest in poetry and therefore couldn’t relate it at all to my past life. I felt like I was reinventing myself. I’d absorb myself in the books, reading and re-reading every line until I could formulate my own meaning. 

I was curled up in my armchair on a Saturday afternoon and it seemed that the phone would never stop ringing. 

“Hello,” I snapped after pushing the talk button for the fourth time that day.

“Hi darling” 

It was my mother. I glanced at my watch, two o’ clock on a Saturday. I shouldn’t have been surprised. She called to remind me of my brother’s birthday. For the 21 years he’d been alive, I’d never once forgot it. Evidently she thought this was the year. 

I hung up the phone and realized I needed some fresh air. I called for Drake and within seconds he was bouncing into the living room, ears perked. I changed into shorts and a t-shirt, grabbed his leash and went for a run. Despite the suffocating heat, it felt good to get out. I tried to run regularly, I liked the energy that radiated through my body once I started down the street. 

Ten minutes into it and I was sure I was going to be Athens newest heart attack victim. I didn’t think Drake was too far behind either. I stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and bent over, panting. I put in a good solid effort, we were walking home. My head was still between my knees when I heard him. 

“Sydney?” 

I thought I recognized the voice, but I couldn’t be sure. I looked up, through squinty eyes, I remembered his face from the coffee shop a few weeks ago, but couldn’t recall his name.

“Hi” I smiled. The truth is I did feel sort of bad for how I had treated him that day. Not to mention, I was embarrassed by my clear lack of any athletic ability.

His attention shifted to Drake. “What a nice looking dog.”

I looked over, Drake was chasing his tail, and I was still in the puking position. 

“Thanks,” I muttered, standing up. I thought it might be a good idea to try and make up for my attitude at the coffee shop. 

“So what brings you to this neighborhood?” I asked. 

“I live here, this is my front yard.” He smiled. There were those Colgate teeth again. 

The mail in his hand should have clued me into that, not to mention, he didn’t have any shoes on. 

“I live just over on Hickory,” pointing in the direction of my house. 

“I know.” He grinned, his eyes locked on mine. 

I raised an inquisitive eyebrow. 

“I’ve driven past before, while you were out gardening.” The intense eye contact made my stomach do a flip-flop. 

I nodded my head and looked down at Drake. He couldn’t quite catch it. 

“I should go,” I couldn’t tell if he was flirting or just being neighborly. I imagined with my sweat-streaked face and matted hair; it was the latter. 

“Are you sure? I could get you a glass of water.” He offered. 

Okay, so maybe he was flirting. Even so I didn’t know what to do about it, or if I even wanted to do anything at all. 

“I’m fine, but I appreciate the offer.” I smiled and walked past. Drake sauntering beside me. 

Alright, who was I trying to kid? This was the first guy that had shown me attention in months and I was enjoying it. I couldn't deny that. 

However, I would not be taking that route for my daily jogs anymore. The mere thought of trying to start over was scaring the hell out of me.

Rediscovering Passion Ch. 02



I can feel him pressed against me. The room is so dark; I can barely see his face. His breath is close to my ear as his hands travel up and down my legs, I want to tell him how good this feels, how much I’ve missed his body being pressed against mine, but the words wont come out. They can’t, he’s kissing me, his tongue invading my mouth as I run my fingers though his hair. He moves down to my neck, running his tongue over my collarbone. I can feel his arousal against me as our bodies writhe on the bed. 

I close my eyes, letting the words flow from my mouth, “Oh Robert, I’ve missed you so much.”

He moves his head up, rubbing his nose against mine. I open my eyes, smiling. My smile quickly fading to confusion then fear. It’s not Robert. 

**** 

I bolt up in bed. My heart is racing and I look around my bedroom, making certain I’m the only occupant of the bed. I am, and this is no surprise. I’m sweating and I look over at the bedside clock, 3:12 a.m. 

So what in the hell is wrong with me? I wish I could answer that, I’m having a good dream, one of the best I’ve had in months, and I wake up in a cold sweat making sure the boogeyman isn’t sharing my bed. Why? Because it was him in the dream, Eric. He’s been invading my thoughts. At the supermarket, pumping gas, plucking my eyebrows, there he is. To say the least, it’s driving me crazy. 

I was minding my own business, last week, wiping down the dashboard of my Honda Accord, when he walks up to the driver side door, startling me so bad that I bang my forehead on the top of the door panel. I spewed enough cuss words that I was sure I wouldn’t see him again. That wasn’t the case, because just this morning he waltzes into my gallery, grinning from ear to ear. 

“Good morning, sunshine.” 

Did I just hear him right? “Hi Eric.” I muttered, half smiling. 

He was carrying two Styrofoam coffee cups and handed one to me. “I hope you like a little cream and sugar.”

“Actually, I prefer iced caramel cappuccinos, but this will do, thanks.”

“I’ll remember that.” He grinned, just enough that I felt my chest start to get warm. Either it was the grin or I was hitting menopause at 28. Given my luck in the past year, this was not out of the question. 

“What do I owe this visit?” I inquired, sipping the coffee.

“I was just in the area, wanted to check out some of your work.” 

“I think you’ve seen all of the paintings I have in the gallery, at least once.” 

He smiled, as if he’d been caught. Which he was, considering he was here last week, using that same excuse. I gave him a knowing look and went back to what I was doing, at the same time watching him as he walked toward one of the paintings. I couldn’t ignore what was happening here, but I wasn’t ready to accept it. There were too many feelings still inside me, too much fear to let someone back in right now. Part of me wanted to, somewhere inside me I was craving everything that this man could potentially give me. It was silly to feel that way, considering I’d known him for less than a month. But when I was around him, I felt comfortable, safe, admired. 

“I think I want this one.” He said, pointing at the watercolor he was standing in front of. 

“You want to buy it?” I questioned. 

“Yeah.”

I knew this was a pity purchase. My gallery was not booming, but I was doing well enough, all things considered. I didn’t want him buying one of my paintings, because he thought I needed him to. 

“It’s sold.” I lied. 

“Damn, I really like that one, it’d look great in my dining room.” He commented, holding his stare on it as he walked back over to the counter. 

“Maybe I’ll work on one, similar to that.” 

“If you do, save it for me.”

I didn’t particularly care for that piece and had no intention of creating one comparable, but it seemed to appease him for the moment. 

“Ok.” I winked at him, and signed the last check in a stack in front of me. 

I looked back up at him and saw seriousness wash over him. 

“Sydney, would you like to…I got these two tickets from a client at work, for Romeo & Juliet, it’s playing at the Morris next Saturday.”

I knew it was just a matter of time. Eventually he would try to take us from a casual friendship, to dating. 

“Would you like to go?” He asked. 

I wanted to say yes. It was at the tip of my tongue, but I couldn’t spit it off. 

“Um, I think I have something going on that night.” Another lie. 

He didn’t lose a beat, he perked up and looked out the window. 

“Ok, no problem….I should go, I have to get back to the office.” 

I numbly nodded my head, wanting to take back what I had just said. Before I could, he had said goodbye and was out the door. I had been too scared to say anything else. 

Now, here I was, in my sweat soaked t-shirt, scared that that man was actually occupying my bed. Not because I wouldn’t want that, but because it would feel too damn good. 

****

“Then, you wouldn’t believe what happened; Kyle kissed her and told her that he was leaving Marissa for her…I about fell off my chair.” Carol blabbered on about her daytime soap opera as we shuffled through racks of clearance dresses. 

“Wow.” I muttered half interested. I forgot that this woman had an uncanny ability to read my mind at times. 

“What’s going on Syd?” 

“What do you mean what’s going on? Nothing is “going on.” I replied, in a more defensive tone, than necessary. 

She put the olive green dress she was admiring, back on the rack and looked me square in the eyes. 

“Tell me.” She ordered. 

I let out a long sigh, rolling my eyes in frustration at her ability to get things out of me. The words were barely out of my mouth, before she interjected. 

“It’s that guy, isn’t it? The one that’s been lingering around the gallery.”

“Uh-huh” I affirmed. 

“So, what’s the deal?” She questioned. 

“The deal is, he asked me to the theatre this Saturday and I turned him down, and now I’m sort of wishing I’d at least thought about it.”

“Honey, I know you don’t have a damn thing going on this Saturday.”

She was right. My evening was going to consist of eating a half gallon of Ben & Jerry’s and watching Golden Girl reruns until I can’t keep my eyes open. 

“I really have some things I need to do.” I mumbled. 

“No you don’t, why did you turn him down?” Her eyebrow raising curiously. 

“I’m really not ready for the dating scene again, Carol.” 

Her face warmed into a smile and she walked around the rack, putting her arms around me. God, I hope no one is watching us. 

“Syd, this man obviously likes you, I think you should find it in yourself to give it a chance, it may feel good.” 

“I’ll think about it,” I muttered into her sleeve. She pulled away, smiling at me again. 

“Good, now I’m going to go try this on.” She grabbed the olive nightmare and strutted off to the dressing room. 

I wish it were as easy as she made it sound. The truth was, I was terrified. It had been months, but the emptiness still lingered in me. The bitterness that I was feeling the day I met Eric, crept back up every now and then, and as much as I wanted to shake it, I couldn’t. I also couldn’t deny the fact that I did want to go. 

****

So I thought about. Just like I said I would. It took half of a large pizza and two Snickers bars later, but I’d made a decision. I knew I was cutting it close, since it was Saturday afternoon and the play started in 5 hours, but it was worth a shot. Courage like this only comes so often, so I might as well act on it. 

I put Drake’s leash on him and we headed off toward Eric Riley’s house. I felt good, really good. I was actually going to do this, and it was going to be fun. Damn, I can give myself one hell of a pep talk. Even Drake was excited, his tongue was hanging half way down to the sidewalk, tail wagging madly. 

We rounded the corner onto his street, and there he was, standing on his porch. But who was that coming out of his house? I stood there, half stunned as I watched a vivacious blonde bounce down his steps and over to the SUV parked in his driveway. He followed her over, giving her a hug just before she got in, a long hug. 

Drake had planted his butt on the sidewalk and watched this unravel with me. “Well, looks like we’re heading home.” I grumbled to him. We turned around and marched back to Hickory Street. 

“Geez, I’m glad we didn’t go through with that.” One would say I was talking to myself, but I was talking to Drake, and he was listening. 

I was upset, more than I thought I would be. I had psyched myself up for this date, only to realize, it hadn’t take him long at all to find a replacement. This was my fault; I’d blown him off too many times. In the midst of disappointment, I forced myself to feel relief. He’s lucky I refused the date when I did, otherwise it would have turned into more dates, and eventually I’d have to tell him about what had happened. Why I still sometimes cry myself to sleep at night, why I’ve acquired this habit of talking to myself, why I wear a man’s wedding ring around my neck. These were all things he did not need to know. 

The weekend came and went and I had managed to put most thoughts of Eric out of my mind. By Monday evening, I’d started working on a new painting and was rather absorbed, which was a feeling I realized I’d missed. Art had always been my true passion, and for the last several months, although I maintained the gallery and managed to be successful in that, my heart hadn’t been in the creation aspect of my business. I lay in bed last night, envisioning what I wanted to paint, and strutted up here first thing this evening to start it. 

“Drake!” I yelled. He was standing at the window barking continually at something on the street below. After a few seconds and the realization that he was not going to listen to me, I walked over to look for myself. 

There he was, jogging past my house. His hair was tucked under a hat, t-shirt stuck to his firm chest as he ran along in knee length shorts. I felt a rush of excitement shoot through me. There was something remarkably sexy to me about a tanned, sweaty man, breathing heavy. I smiled, silently thanking Eric for this moment of admiration. I patted Drakes head as he stopped barking, and walked back over to my easel. 

****

“You wanna go see that new Mel Gibson movie tonight?” I asked Carol as I rummaged through my stack of mail. 

“I can’t, Myron and I leaving for Vegas tomorrow morning, I need to make sure everything is packed by then.”

“Oh yeah, I forgot.” 

We bumbled through the rest of the afternoon at the gallery and I headed off to the cinema that night to see it, alone. One thing I’d become accustomed to was doing things alone. I sat through the movie, ate an entire bucket of popcorn and felt thoroughly content on my drive home. 

However, it was moments like these that I thought of Robert. I imagined him driving us home, while I sat in the passenger seat, reaching my hand over to his. Listening to him tell me which parts of the movie he liked. I’d complain about the popcorn kernels stuck in my teeth, he’d roll his eyes. These are the moments that are utterly forgettable. 

Once I got home I changed into my pajamas, crawled into bed, and wiped away a few stray tears before I fell asleep. 

I reserved Saturday mornings as “my time”. I’d usually read the paper drink my coffee and enjoy the silence that I had grown so used to. Even before Robert died, I had been a private person. Relishing in this solitude was not a new feeling for me. 

I flipped through the pages until a paragraph in the Community section caught my eye. It was a support group at the local university for widows and widowers. I had never been much for these kinds of gatherings, but as I sat there, I thought it could be helpful. I hadn’t spoken to anyone about my feelings and reaction to Robert’s death except for my mother and Carol, neither of which truly new what it was like to experience such a loss. I ripped out the section of the paper and stuck it on the fridge. 

I was feeling rather good about myself and in need of some Ultraviolet rays, so I changed into my bathing suit and headed out to the backyard with my lawn chair. Drake was feeling a bit pale himself, so he waddled out with me, groaning as he laid down on the back step. 

Not twenty minutes later, I was asking myself why I’d thought this was a good idea. My face was coated with perspiration and it was making my eyes sting. Did I hear whistling? Who was whistling? I slid my sunglasses down my nose to see Eric standing on the other side of my fence. I jumped slightly in my chair. 

“Hello, kid.” 

It had been about three weeks since I’d talked to him, but he made me smile within seconds. 

“Hi, Eric, what are you doing?” 

“I can’t come and visit a friend on a beautiful Saturday morning?” 

“Sure you can, I just wasn’t expecting it.”

“I like to surprise.” He smirked. 

I wasn’t sure what to say to him, but I thought I should at least invite him to the other side of the fence. 

“Come on in.” He reached over the fence, unlatching it and came through sitting next to Drake on the back step. Who was immediately on all fours licking Eric’s face. I yelled for him to stop, but it didn’t sound very commanding while I was laughing. 

“He’s fine, I think I forgot to wash my face this morning anyway.” 

There was an awkward silence between us. I wanted to ask about his date to the theatre, apologize that I couldn’t go, but at the same time I didn’t want him to know that I even remembered that he’d asked me. 

He looked over at me, that serious expression in his eyes again. 

“I was on my way over to this estate sale, do you want to go with me?” 

I loved estate sales, garage sales, thrift shops, anywhere that I could get junk I didn’t need at a cheap price. 

“Sure, I’d like to.” I responded, getting up from my chair and wrapping a towel around my waist. He’d seen me in a bikini and hadn’t fled screaming, this was a good sign. 

“Great.” He stood, stretching his long torso as I passed. 

“Do you want to…” I paused. I couldn’t invite him in, there were still wedding photos hanging on the walls. 

“I’ll be right back.” I stammered. I let Drake in the house and quickly changed into a t-shirt, shorts and sandals. 

We walked down the sidewalk toward the sale as he told me how he collected vinyl albums, which was the main reason he was drawn to these types of sales. 

“I collect junk.” I stated, kicking a pebble from the sidewalk. 

“Junk, huh?”

“Yeah, I’m a sucker for stuff I don’t need and will probably never use. I did buy this wooden chair once for a dollar and it’s in my bedroom, that was a dollar well spent.” 

“Maybe I can see this chair in your bedroom sometime.” He flirted. I looked up at him, smiling. “Maybe.” 

“You’ve got a nice house, what do you do with all that space?” 

“Fill it with junk.” 

He laughed. “Lets see if we can’t find you some more today, that’s a big house for just one person.” 

“Technically there are two living there.”

He looked at me curiously. 

“If you count the 80 pound, drooling mess that drinks out of the toilet.” 

“Oh, him yeah.” I thought I saw a look of relief on his face. 

We walked up the driveway of a massive Victorian house, the sun was beating down on the back of our necks and it was refreshing to get under the shade of the garage. There were wall-to-wall tables, piled high with odds and ends stuff. Most of which I rummaged through, finding nothing that caught my eye. I watched Eric shuffle through a crate full of albums, pulling a few out to look them over. 

I pulled a vintage brown leather purse from beneath a stack of mothball smelling sweaters. It was in decent shape; I ran my fingers over the smooth material and opened it. I unzipped the inside pocket and pulled out a small picture. It was black and white, very old as the edges were tattered. It was a man and woman, obviously a couple as he was standing behind her, his arms around her waist. They were both smiling widely at the camera. 

I could feel him standing over me, and could tell he was looking at it too. I stared a few seconds longer, ignoring the fact that he was probably wondering why, then stuck it back in the pocket. I turned around, facing him. He had a numb look on his face, and then forced a smile. 

“Find anything?” He asked. 

“No, did you? I saw you looking at the albums.”

“Yeah, but nothing that popped out at me…you ready?” 

“Sure, let’s go.” I dropped the purse on the table and followed him out of the garage. 

There was another brief moment of silence between us. I was still thinking about the couple in the picture. What became of them? Was this their house? Did they have children, grandchildren? I looked over at Eric, his eyes squinted against the sun, and wondered what he was thinking. 

I had reached a point that I couldn’t deny the fact that I enjoyed his company. He carried this aura of tranquility with him that was contagious. 

He looked over at me and grinned. 

“What?” He asked. 

“I didn’t say anything”

“You were staring at me.”

“I’m sorry.” I blushed and looked away. I was and I hadn’t even realized it. “It’s alright, I kind of liked it.” 

I was confused. 

“Eric, can I ask you something?” 

“Sure” 

“Why did you come to my house today?”

We stopped on the sidewalk in front of my house. He turned toward me. 

“I wanted to see you.” 

“Ok…” I responded, numbly. 

“You look confused, Sydney.” 

“Why did you want to see me?”

“Because I like spending time with you.” 

I nodded and smiled at him. He reached over and took my hand in his, kissing me lightly on the cheek.



Rediscovering Passion Ch. 03



The following Wednesday I noticed the clipping from the newspaper on the refrigerator. The meeting was that night at seven, and after some thought, I decided to go. 

It turned out to be beneficial. I met a few other women who were in my similar situation. Young and who had lost their husbands unexpectedly. I made a decision that I'd come back the next week and hopefully each week I'd learn a little something more about healing. 

Overall, I was starting to feel better. I had seen Eric again since our walk to the estate sale and I could feel myself loosening up. I enjoyed being around him, and I'd given up trying to resist the emotions that were developing inside me. He stirred feelings in me that had long been dormant, not to mention there was something there. When he and I talked, I could feel this unspoken understanding from him. I felt like he could sense my caution and maybe even my pain, without telling him anything about my loss. His patience put me at ease. 

We'd mentioned getting together on Saturday afternoon for lunch. I made a few sandwiches and pasta salad, grabbed a bottle of wine and decided to walk over to his house and surprise him. 

"Hi" He muttered after opening the front door. His hair was a bit disheveled and he was still in his pajamas. I looked down at my watch, it was almost noon. I assumed maybe he'd forgot our plans. 

"Are you ready for lunch?" I asked, smiling. Knowing his answer, since we weren't going anywhere with his state of attire. 

"Umm..." I could see him searching for the right words. I stood on his porch, holding the picnic basket, waiting for an answer. 

He ran his fingers though his hair, looking down at his feet, then back up at me. "I can't go today, I'm sorry Syd." 

I gave an understanding nod. Waiting for more of an explanation from him, but none came. He looked at me blankly. "Maybe another time?" I asked and stated at the same time. 

He nodded his head. "Yeah, another time." 

I turned around, and walked down the steps and back toward my house. Hearing the door close behind me. I was numb. It was one thing to cancel a date, but his lack of reason was what bothered me. Sure, we weren't technically dating and he didn't owe me an explanation, but every time we'd been together it felt warm, and this left me feeling bitter. When I got home, I finished off the contents of the picnic basket and fell asleep on the couch. 

Days passed without word from Eric. My phone had become annoyingly silent. I hated what I was feeling. I was upset. I missed him and I couldn't shake it. 

That Wednesday I went back to my support group meeting. For an hour I didn't think of Eric. My thoughts were solely of Robert. I felt guilty. He didn't ask for it to be this way. He'd done nothing. He'd been driving home like he did every night, except that night it was different. It was foggy and he didn't see the truck. It backed out into his lane of traffic and within seconds it was over. They said he didn't feel a thing. I wanted to blame someone, but there was no one, it was purely an accident. Which is why I was sitting here blaming myself, feeling guilty for feeling alive. I listened as the others spoke of their experiences, their feelings of loss, grief, and guilt. 

I made my way down Market Street with Rachel, another woman I'd met from the group. We were consumed in conversation, when I noticed a taller guy crossing the street to the left of me, and I thought for sure it was Eric. I paused in mid sentence and turned as we walked past. It was him, with the same bubbly blonde that was at his house weeks earlier. I felt a sharp pang in my stomach, but I didn't falter in our conversation. She seemed to notice I was distracted, but didn't mention anything. 

Later, at home, I slouched into my couch with a glass of wine and came to the conclusion that I had been picked over. This realization hurt more than I expected it to. I started to cry. I was cursing myself as I did it. I hated the fact that I'd been sucked in. I'd let down that wall, after so much hesitation, and once I did, it didn't matter. I'm not sure how long I sat there, drowning in my own abandon, but when I heard the knock on the front door, Drake and I both nearly had a heart attack. Visitors at this hour were a rarity. I brushed the hair from my face, and peeked out of the front window before opening the door. 

"Oh, for Pete's sake." I grumbled under my breath, feeling elated at the same time. 

His hair was wet and matted against his forehead. Sometime between my first glass of wine and passing out on the couch, it had started to rain. 

"Eric...what are you...?" I couldn't even finish the sentence. I was a bit in shock of him standing on my porch after just seeing him with his flaxen girlfriend hours earlier. 

"Hi Syd." He smiled. I stood there, knowing that I was supposed to invite him in, but afraid to. I wasn't about to stand out on my porch in a torrential down pour, so I waved him inside. I couldn't maintain my secret forever, and I didn't feel that it mattered anymore anyway. 

"Are you ok?" He asked, sincerely. Could he tell or was it just obvious that I'd been crying while sucking down three glasses of Merlot? 

"Um, I'm ok." I garbled. "What are you doing here?"

"I needed to talk to you." 

I looked puzzled. "About?" 

We moved over to the couch, where he eyed my empty bottle of Merlot, before sitting down. Lucky for him, I held my alcohol well. 

"I'm sorry for being distant these last couple weeks. I've had a lot on my mind and I just needed some time to be alone." 

Wow, he had some nerve. I had just seen him with Goldilocks three hours prior. Did I dare mention it? In my wine induced state, the answer seemed to be yes. 

"Alone? I'm sorry if I don't understand Eric, but I just saw you over on Market Street tonight with another woman." The second it was out of my mouth I was regretting it. I didn't want him to feel that I was being possessive. We weren't dating and frankly it was none of my business. He looked at me puzzled. 

"I'm sorry." I apologized. "It's none of my business, and you don't have to explain to me what's going on in your life." I could feel my face turning crimson. 

He chuckled. "That's my sister, Sydney." 

I didn't realize you could go from feeling miserable to angry to stupid in such a short span of time. 

"I'm sorry. I just..." 

"Don't explain, I would have thought that as well, if I'd seen you in the same situation." 

An aura of relief seemed to wash over both of us. 

"I really like you Sydney, and I enjoy spending time with you. I'm just afraid I come with some baggage and I don't want to burden you with that right now." Baggage? Was he kidding? He hadn't seen baggage yet. 

"We all have issues, Eric." I reached across touching his hand. 

"Yes, but some have more than others." 

I bit my lip, savoring the silence between us. Here he was, this big, strong man, who always seemed so much in control, looking in my eyes, sharing this weakness with me. I wanted to kiss him, whisper to him that whatever it was, it'd get better. I wanted to love him. 

Instead, I cried. I was such an idiot, here he was ready to pour his heart out to me and I'd managed, within seconds to turn this back to myself. 

"Whoa honey, what's wrong?" His face immediately turned to concern and he reached for my hands. I wasn't sure what was wrong with me, but I wiped away the tears, sniffling as he took my fingers in his. I had a sudden outpouring of emotion toward him. 

"I'm alright, can I just lay here with you for a bit?" I didn't wait for him to answer and he didn't object to my blatant lie; I leaned down resting my cheek against his shoulder. Before long we were both fast asleep. I woke at about three a.m., cold and absent of my alcohol buzz. I reached over and pulled a throw blanket over us. By the time the sun had rose, our bodies were warm and pressed against one another. 

My hair was slightly tangled and I snuck away from the couch, without managing to wake him up. I tiptoed upstairs to clean myself up. I was halfway up the staircase when I panicked. I'd completely forgotten the wedding picture hanging above the fireplace. He'd roll over on the couch as he was waking and end up staring straight at it. I turned around, making my way quietly back down to the living room, but it was a futile effort. He was opening his eyes, smiling at my disheveled appearance. "Good morning" I whispered. I'd never seen someone look so perfect at seven a.m. after sleeping on a rigid couch. 

It was useless now, he was going to see the picture. Sooner or later I would have to explain. He groggily sat up on the couch, running his fingers through his hair. 

"I hope I didn't take up too much room?" He questioned. 

"Not at all. Would you like some coffee, Eric?" 

He stood up, adjusting his wrinkled shirt. "I should get home, but thank you." 

There it was again. That conflicted feeling. Was I mistaken in thinking that what we shared last night was special? Or was I looking too far into this? Either way it didn't matter. He was putting on his shoes and I wasn't going to ask any questions. In a matter of minutes he was gone, I don't think he even noticed the picture. 

In the passing days I couldn't help but think about Eric. I wondered what all that meant that night. What was conflicting him so? What made him so warm and affectionate one minute and abrupt and platonic the next? 

I floated through the next couple days, managing to limit my thoughts of Eric. He hadn't even crossed my mind on Wednesday as I rushed up the stairs of the community center for my weekly meeting. I slipped in the door and found a seat in the back of the room. We were hearing from a speaker this meeting, so the room was rearranged in a classroom like setting. I noticed there seemed to be more members, probably due to the author that was giving the presentation. 

Fifteen minutes into it and my mind was starting to wander. I was picking at my fingernails, fumbling in my seat, examining the backs of the heads in front of me. My concentration level was diminishing by the minute and by the time the hour was up I was thankful to be leaving. I fumbled with my bag and squeezed past a crowd of people discussing the presentation. 

"Sydney!"

I heard my name and I recognized the voice. I tried to process why he as at one of these meetings as I turned to face him. Masking as best I could, a confused expression. 

"Hi Eric." I looked into his eyes, and could tell he was as confused as I was. 

He spoke first. 

"What are you doing here?" 

I wasn't sure what to say. There was no point in hiding it any longer considering this was a widow and widower's survivors meeting. 

"I was attending the presentation. What are you doing here?" I asked. 

"I was doing the same thing." 

So there it was. All of the doubt that I had was replaced with empathy. I thought back to the many times I'd cursed him for being so distant. 

"Can we go somewhere and talk?" I questioned. 

He nodded his head. Minutes later we were back at the same coffee shop we had met at. Sitting across from one another, he with his steaming latte, and me with my iced cappuccino. 

"Would you tell me about her?" 

I watched his face and couldn't read his expression. He didn't say anything for a while, but when he spoke, it was quiet. 

"I can still see her. Her long blonde hair draped around her face. She had this smile that could light up a funeral and sometimes when she laughed, she would snort at the end."

He smiled and sipped his coffee. 

"She was going to be a wonderful mother. Some women aspire to be doctors or lawyers, but Ann, all she wanted was to raise our family. I was fine with it; in fact I thought it was great. She bought a basinet even before we knew she was pregnant." He smiled, reminiscing. 

The tears were on the verge of falling. This man never failed to amaze me. 

"Then, just like that, she was gone."

I was afraid to ask. But luckily, I didn't have to. 

"A brain aneurysm. She was only 30."

I wanted to say I was sorry. But I'd heard it from so many people; and to me, it meant nothing. Of course they were sorry. There wasn't anything else they could say. 

So I said nothing. I reached across the table and took his hand. He was looking off toward the wall.

"I loved her so much, Sydney." 

"I know, Eric." 

His face softened. "Tell me about yours." 

I took another drink of my coffee and sighed. 

"Robert was amazing. We had this wonderful relationship that I've missed every day since he's been gone. Sometimes, I still feel like he's there. I'll lie in bed at night and reach across to his side, and the bed feels warm, and I imagine him laying there, breathing softly. I think to myself, I'd give everything to have him back, even for just a few minutes." 

He started to rub the inside of my palm as the tears welled up in my eyes. I went on to explain about the accident. He listened, never taking his eyes off of me. I talked until I was sure I wasn't making sense any longer. When I was done, I let out a deep sigh and looked down at the table. 

"Some days it's easy. Some days I can really accept what happened and know that she's in a better place, watching over me. But other days, I want to scream. I feel like punching the wall."

I nodded. I knew the feeling all too well. 

"I'm sorry, Sydney. I let you in and pushed you away all at the same time." 

I opened my mouth to respond, but he continued. 

"That day that you came over?" 

I nodded. 

"That would have been our two year anniversary." 

Eric finally made sense to me. I hoped that I made sense to him now. 

I rubbed my thumb over his. A comforting silence surrounded us. I had so many questions, but not the energy to ask them. Eric leaned across the table and softly rubbed his fingertip across my bottom lip. When he graced the part in my lips, I kissed it. At that moment, I was overcome. 

"I haven't touched anyone else like that since." I whispered. 

"Either have I."

We both smiled. My stomach was in knots of fear and anticipation. 

"Can I see that chair in your bedroom?" He asked, grinning. 

For a moment, I didn't say anything. 

"I might let you sit in it."

Not much was said between the coffee house and my bedroom. I felt like an eager teenager, about to make a decision that could change everything. Excited, yet conflicted. He sat down in my chair and my choice was made. Not only did I want Eric, but I needed him. 

I walked towards him and he reached up, putting his hand on my face. He pulled me down to a kiss. His lips were soft and the smell of his cologne was making my knees week. I ran my fingertips down his chest. He pushed his tongue against mine. It was warm and urgent. He sucked me into his mouth, moaning softly. 

I unbuttoned his shirt as his tongue trailed down my neck. I closed my eyes, tilting my head back. My entire body was trembling from just his mouth. I prayed I didn't pass out in the act. He pulled my shirt over my head and tossed it aside. He stood up, his tongue back to dancing with mine as I rubbed my palms over his smooth shoulders. 

"Are you ok?" He whispered. 

I could barely speak. "I'm great." I responded. 

I watched as he traced his finger down my stomach, stopping at the button on my jeans. He looked back into my eyes, as if to get a second approval. I reached out and unbuttoned his pants. That was all the encouragement he needed. Within seconds he stood before me, only in a pair of tight boxer briefs. I thanked God for blessing my sex-deprived body with this beautiful creature. I made a mental note that I wanted to paint him. Naked. 

He laid me down on the bed, and continued to assault my eager mouth with his tongue. I wanted to touch him all over, and I did. His skin was warm and smooth, with speckles of dark blonde hair in all the right places. I felt his hands on my back, unclasping my bra. He pulled it away slowly and tossed it aside. I held my breath as he ran his tongue across my collarbone, down between my breasts, then to each nipple. I let out a deep groan as he softly bit down on one, and then sucked it between his lips. I could feel his hardness pressing into my thigh. Our bodies were grinding together in a slow, rhythmic motion that was bringing me to the edge of insanity. 

He stood up at the edge of the bed and tucked his fingers under the sides of my panties, freeing my body of them. His eyes were locked on mine as he grinned and pulled his underwear off. I moaned, and then smiled as I realized I'd done it out loud at the mere site of his raging manhood. He couldn't help but smile as he crawled over me, and slid his hand between my legs. My body jerked as he probed my depths with his finger. I wrapped my arms around his neck and began to whimper as he rubbed his thumb over my swollen clit. 

He leaned down, invading my mouth with his warm tongue, kissing me harder than any of the times before. I growled into his mouth and he didn't hesitate any longer. He took both my thighs in his hands, just before he plunged his thick erection deep within me. I almost screamed from the pure ecstasy I was experiencing. I wrapped my legs around his lower back, both my hands in his hair as he thrusted in and out. My body was trembling against his. He sucked on my lower lip and trailed his tongue to my ear, flicking my lobe. That put me over the edge and I started to buck against his body. 

His face was close to mine and his grunts were echoing into my entire being. He gripped both of my ass cheeks in his hands and started to pump harder. I could feel my toes beginning to tingle and I screamed as my wet canal gripped Eric's penis. I was pulsing inside and my entire body was hot with passion as he took my nipple between his teeth and thrust deep one last time before he exploded inside me. 

He raised his face to mine, his mouth agape. We were both panting, half smiling. Our bodies slowed, but he stayed inside me. 

"It's been a while." He joked. 

I ran my hand over his cheek, feeling cool sweat beneath my fingers. 

"It was perfect, Eric." 

He gently kissed my lips before laying his head on my chest. I closed my eyes and within minutes we were deep in slumber.