Almost Home

by Macomber, Debbie; Duarte, Judy; Lamb, Cathy; Mary Carter

  I bought cool jeans in my size (bigger than before, but who cares), a reddish, stylish top that clung to my curvy curves, heels, and butterfly earrings and a necklace designed by Christie which I found in a local boutique. I was a new Chalese.

  Almost. I darted into a lingerie shop and filled an entire bag with my lacy, satiny, silky, purple and pink and black purchases.

  Now I was a new Chalese.

  With the gift slung under my arm, I was ready to see Aiden, my very own Flaubert.

  “Aren’t you even going to talk to me about us?”

  I ducked as a fish seller threw a salmon in Aiden’s direction. He caught the flying fish, paid for it, and moved back into the crowded aisles of Seattle’s Pike Street Market.

  Besides the flying fish, we were surrounded by rows of the most lush fruit your mouth could ever want, piles of spices, international food, French desserts, olive oils from around the world, and tapestries, ethnic art, and fabrics so rich and soft I wanted to wrap them around me.

  A street performer enthusiastically played the harmonica nearby, and down a ways a band had the blues going.

  “I appreciate that you were stalking me outside of the newspaper,” Aiden said, “and how much time you must have stood there waiting for me. You’re an excellent stalker, Chalese, truly skilled, but I think we should talk when we’re back at my condominium and I’m not concentrating on catching fish.”

  He had been shocked when he’d seen me lurking outside his building, but I caught the expression right after the shock—he’d been happy. Happy to see me. He did one of those blinking things with his eyes that meant I can’t believe it’s you. I smiled, and he stopped in his tracks and smiled back. Then his face shuttered down, his green eyes went flat, and he looked…stressed, worn out, tired.

  “You are amazingly beautiful, Chalese,” he’d said. Although that bruise…” He automatically raised a hand to touch the bruise on my forehead, then pulled back. “My God, what happened? Are you okay? Where else are you hurt? How come you’re not more careful?”

  “Long story. Let’s say that I have been prone to impulsive behaviors in my life, and the bruise was the result of one of them.” I rubbed the bump on the back of my head, too.

  “You’re all right?”

  How I loved that concern in his eyes, the caring, the stark worry. It gave me hope, and I so needed hope. I assured him several times that I was well and dandy fine. There was a sizzling silence in which we stared at each other, and I drank that man in as if I hadn’t had a drink for twenty years.

  He reached for me, I reached for him on tiptoe, and in the middle of that Seattle sidewalk, I squinched my eyes shut real tight while we hugged so I wouldn’t cry.

  When we pulled away, his voice was gruff and he ran a hand over his own eyes. Aiden and I are such babies. “I was going to the market. Do you want to come along?”

  I threw my hands up. “Aiden, if you invited me to Antarctica to study snow, I would follow you even if you insisted I wear a bathing suit and a gorilla mask at all times. So, yes.”

  “Hang on a sec.” He stared up into space, pondering, pondering more, then grinned. “I got that vision in my head now. You. In a bathing suit in Antarctica with a gorilla mask. Kinky, but sexy. Cold, but hot.”

  I exhaled a wobbly sigh, wiped a tear away when he took my hand, and smiled like an inebriated greyhound when we headed together for the market and the fish thrower.

  Aiden’s condominium in Seattle overlooked the water. It was clearly a guy’s place, with lots of leather furniture and the technology one would expect from a human with excessive testosterone, but it was classy, the view was incredible, and I was in it with Aiden, who made the whole place tasty and perfect.

  We danced around any serious conversation while he barbequed the fish and I tossed the Caesar salad. We both sliced the colorful fruit from the market. Then Aiden lit the candles on the table on his deck, and we settled down as if we were an old married couple still flaming for each other. Sailboats drifted across the water in the distance as a cool breeze ambled through.

  And this is what I thought as those long-lashed green eyes met mine: I wanted to ride our bikes through mud and dirt and watch romance movies with him where we could both sniffle over the sappy, happy ending.

  I wanted to have spaghetti picnics on the beach and take my boat out to visit the whales together. Our four kids could come with us.

  When I was old and needed a walker to get out of bed, I wanted to wake up every morning with him to read the paper and eat chocolate croissants before going to dinner at the grandkids’ house.

  “Chalese,” he started.

  “Aiden, please let me talk first.” I grabbed his hand across the table even though my fear of rejection was scorching my heart. “I am so sorry for what happened. It’s entirely my fault. I’ve humiliated you personally and professionally…”

  My mouth went on and on until Aiden insisted, “Stop, please, it’s not you, it’s me. I owe you an apology—”

  “One more thing,” I pleaded. “One more.” I pulled out my gift to him, a framed drawing. “I made you something.”

  He unwrapped the gift, slowly, with a smile, and when he saw what I’d drawn him, he had to clear his throat, and he got a wee bit flushed and emotional.

  I had drawn many of my characters, and my real life animals, surrounding Aiden, who I had spent hours drawing in his leather jacket and cool jeans.

  Cassy Cat’s eyes were huge and endearing behind her glasses. Goose was prissy and waving a wing. Herbert Hoove the Horse wore a blue bow tie. The frog with the ballet slippers was sitting on Aiden’s shoulder, the fat cat was waltzing with Fox, my goats were perched on bicycles, and flowered hats decorated the heads of two of my dogs, Mrs. Zebra and Rocky. Troublesome, my three-legged cat, sat on his boot.

  They were framed by the pine trees and ocean view on my property, blue picnic table in the background.

  “Much better, isn’t it?” I asked. “No streetwalkers, no gamblers, no bar scenes.”

  His eyes crinkled at the corners as he studied each animal, then he focused those laughing green eyes on me. “Honey, I think our grandkids are going to find this whole story hilarious.”

  I opened my mouth to speak. This is what came out: “Xwlkjewfr.” And then: “Ckgqedlw.”

  “Thank you. I love it.”

  “You do?” I felt a snatch of sheer joy sneaking into the hollow bleakness that had surrounded my life since Aiden left Whale Island.

  “Yes, I do. It’s the most thoughtful gift I’ve ever received. And, I’m sorry, too, Chalese. I’m sorry that immediately after I met you I didn’t back off the story. I should have. We became friends so quickly followed by my wanting to throw you into bed and not let you leave that bed for years. I didn’t even know what hit me. I should have been loyal to you, to my feelings, to us. It was wrong on so many fronts to even think of writing the article, but I knew that I would write it honestly, and that you would end up coming off as the smart, vulnerable, talented, quirky, daring, funny person that you are.”

  “You flatter me. I’ll bet you’re just saying that so I don’t stalk you anymore or climb on your roof.”

  “You can stalk me anytime you want. Stay off the roof—you could get hurt, and I mean that.” He stared at me pointedly. “When I saw the pictures you drew on the Internet, all I could think of was, ‘You deserved this, Aiden, all of it.’ And, I did. I was out of line, and I am willing to beg you on bended knee for forgiveness. I’ll even gallop up in tights on a charging white horse if it’ll make things better between us.”

  He put the picture down on the table and held both of my hands in the warmth of his. “Chalese, knowing you has been an adventure. You’re an adventure. With you, I can actually see a real life in front of me, the beautiful, crazy mess that life is. I’ve finally found love in you. I’ve found the love I’ve been hoping for my whole life, and almost stopped believing I’d ever have.”

  Did he say he’d fou
nd love?

  “You know how I see us?”

  “Please tell me,” I snuffled.

  “I see us having a great life adventure together. I see us watching sunsets and working here in Seattle and on Whale Island. I see us playing poker in the annual tournament and taking care of the animals. I see us laughing by bonfires and waltzing in the rain and reading the same book so we can discuss it. I see us holding hands as we get older and sitting on rocking chairs in Greece and Italy and New Zealand and wherever else you want to see in the world. I see us making love a lot.” He grinned. “I see a lot of that.”

  “Yes, by golly, I see that, too. I see that on the beach, on the picnic table, my truck, your truck, in the studio.” We laughed and kissed again. “Hey! How ’bout here? Your kitchen counter is probably sturdy enough.”

  “I’ll bet it is. So is this table and the couch. We might even be able to swing things on my motorcycle.”

  “Now that would take a lot of flexibility….” I could see he had the same graphic picture in his mind that I did, and our laughter floated around that deck like music.

  “I don’t see us as having a totally perfect life,” Aiden said, serious again. “Life has not been perfect for you or me, but, Chalese, I can predict that when hard things come down the pike, it’s always going to be you I want to be with.”

  “Aiden,” I said, trying not to get too mushy, “if what comes down the pike is good, or hair-raisingly bad, it’s you I want to be with, too. I’ve known it since I met you. When you bent to pet my monster dogs that first day, I felt my heart melt, because a man who loves animals has gentleness. When I saw you chatting so easily with everyone at the police station, my head said you were a respectable man who treated people with respect. When you didn’t run from a woman who has been a part of a few funny schemes, I knew you were a man of humor. When you opened yourself up to actually talking about how you felt, I knew you were a thoughtful, insightful man.”

  I leaned over and kissed him, and that kiss felt like life, like love, like a future. “And when you won third place in the poker tournament, well, I figured if we were both ever unemployed, we could send you to Vegas to pay the light bill.”

  We laughed, and we kissed once again, and our hands went dancing, our arms went hugging, and our bodies went thrumming against each other in perfect rhythm, perfect time. Perfect music for in-love people.

  “I have missed you so much, babe,” he whispered. “So much. I was coming to the island this weekend. I thought you needed space from me, needed time. But I never would have given you up. I love you. I loved you when you were a scratched-up skylight diving wreck, I loved you when you dove into the ocean to rescue Rocky when he got tired of swimming, I loved you when you laughed so hard you spat out your wine, I loved you when I saw you chasing your goats down the street in town, and I loved you when I kissed you the very first time. I will always love you, that I know for sure.”

  “And I love you, Aiden,” I wept out. “I wish I could say it more creatively, but I’m better at drawing pictures of talking alligators.” Why do I say such things?

  “Who wants a talking alligator when I can have you?” He kissed a trailing tear, then whispered in my ear, “How about we try out the kitchen counter?”

  Chapter Twelve

  He hugged me tight, rocking me back and forth. Then his wife embraced us, too, tears rolling down her cheeks.

  His six children crowded around, all with black hair and dark eyes, and in the faces of his grandchildren I saw myself when I was younger. Only they were much happier than I ever was as a kid.

  I couldn’t call him “Dad” yet, as my half brothers and sisters did, and I certainly couldn’t call his sweet wife “Mom,” but when my eyes met his, eyes that were so like mine, I felt the door in my heart swing open to family.

  Takoda Whitefish had never known my mother was pregnant. Even though his letters were unanswered, he still went back to Whale Island when he was on leave, searching for information on her. He was told by an elderly gentleman who owned the bed and breakfast my mother’s family stayed in that my mother had gone back to New York and married.

  Heartbroken, he had returned to the service and then moved to Alaska and worked for an oil company.

  My mother had tearfully given me his name at the hospital, begging forgiveness and understanding. Although I believed I would repair my relationship with her over time, I was struggling. My life would have been so different, so much richer and fuller, filled with not only my father’s love, but the love and friendship of his wife and their children, had I known about him.

  I had been unexpectedly hit with a tsunami of rage, regret, and grief, to name a few of two hundred galloping emotions charging through my body, and I didn’t have much of a life jacket.

  Except for Aiden. Aiden had proved to be a darn good life jacket.

  I found Takoda’s phone number, and Aiden called him at work in Anchorage. I wanted Takoda to be able to answer honestly about whether or not he wanted to meet me, if he wanted his family to know about me, or if he would prefer that I never attempt to speak with him at all. And I thought it would be easier if he didn’t have to speak directly to me about it.

  Takoda, which means “friend to everyone,” was stunned speechless that I even existed, and later, after the enormity sank in of our situation, devastated about the years we had lost. He never wavered in his desire to see me, however, or for me to be a part of his family’s life in the future.

  Although I do not believe in any fairy-tale endings, and I still do not believe in castles or princes, I could not deny the warmly exuberant greeting from my father’s family.

  “Welcome home, my daughter, welcome home.”

  Epilogue

  Six months later

  “I think we have a pretty sweet arrangement here,” I mused as Aiden and I sat on our beach, four dogs leaping around us as the sun scooted behind the horizon, leaving blurry pinks and oranges in its wake. “Living in Seattle part-time and here part-time.”

  “I love living on Whale Island,” he said.

  “Yeah, Zeus? List thy ways.”

  “One, because you’re here, Chalese. Two, you’re here. Three, you’re here.” He wrapped both arms around me and pulled me toward his chest. “But we could be living in a cave in a desert mixing our gruel in clay pots and shooting lizards for breakfast, and I’d be happy.”

  I linked an arm around The Skyscraper’s neck and planted a big one on his lips. “Well, it’s me and my gang of poorly behaved dogs and a posse of slinky cats. Not to mention the goats, who escaped again the other day when you were in Seattle.”

  He kissed me back, long and delicious. “As long as you can resist inviting another horse into the dining room, I think I can manage the animals. In fact, I enjoy my new part-time jobs as animal caretaker and jelly maker.”

  I laughed and relaxed into him. “You’re a talented jelly maker. No one handles fruit better than you, and there are a few female dogs who think you’re the head honcho. Love is definitely in the air.” I planted a big one on his lips. “I love you, Mr. Gorgeous.”

  “I love you, too, Annabelle Purples.”

  Aiden had once asked me if I was proud of myself. I hadn’t really “got” the question. I did now, and I had an answer. I was truly proud that I had survived my childhood. I was proud that I wasn’t going to let it define my whole life and that I hadn’t let anger and bitterness swamp me. I was proud of the happy relationships I had with many cool people, and I was proud of how I drew Cassy Cat.

  I was proud of myself for not feeling suffocated one whit around Aiden. As I rolled on top of him, I caught the light in my diamond engagement ring. Man, was it a honker.

  Aiden had asked me to marry him as we sat on top of my barn, the barn that we had, together, completely remodeled. And yes, remodeled was the right word. It was one classy barn now. He’d handed me a hammer, and attached to the hammer by a string was my ring.

  It had been my fifth proposal,
and this time I said yes. Yes, yes, yes.

  I love you, yes.

  We’re going to Greece for our honeymoon.

  When Christie’s husband offered to babysit one night, Brenda and I took it as our chance for one last adventure before Brenda left for Los Angeles with her finished screenplay in hand.

  “It’s the seminaked drive,” Christie drawled as we pulled over to the side of a darkened road, the stars our only witnesses to this sheer stupidity.

  “Yep. Let’s go, girls,” Brenda hooted, yanking off her shirt. “Yowza!”

  I yodeled. “We ladies gotta rebel now and then. Shake things up. Be daring.” I yodeled again. Mrs. Zebra beside me stuck her tongue out, then licked me.

  We sped into the night in Brenda’s zippy sports convertible, the top down.

  The only thing we were wearing on our top halves was the wind.

  It was the beginning scene of her next movie.

  She won an award for that one, too. It was titled The Rebel Ladies and Mrs. Zebra.

  Queen of Hearts

  Judy Duarte

  Chapter One

  Jennifer Kramer studied the computer screen, reading an e-mail addressed to Diana, the advice columnist for the Fairbrook Times.

  Dear Diana,

  I’m dating a man who’s forty-three and still living at home with his parents. My friends think I’m making a big mistake by getting involved with a guy who doesn’t have a place of his own. But I’m in my forties, too, and can’t afford to be picky. He treats me well, but I must admit his closeness to his family, especially his mother, is a bit worrisome.