Through a Stranger's Eyes

by Steven S Walsky

  Chapter Thirteen

  While Donna’s concern about my wellbeing and her safety could not be overlooked, I had not mentioned it to Breen. A few days later when Breen asked me why I thought Donna did not bring Fred to the house, I had to choose my words carefully.

  “I guess she needed alone time to think.”

  “You seem to be guessing a lot, but I’ll not press the issue.”

  The last thing I wanted to do was keep something from Breen, but Donna’s concerns about her personal safety and reputation were not for discussion and, until otherwise, did not involve Breen.

  “Dave, do you think you and I should do something with Donna and Fred? You know...”

  "You know? I thought you know was, you know.”

  “I get the message Dave, and you get the point!”

  Good, I got a point; but knowing Breen, I would be looking at that point advantage for a very short time.

  “You’re right it’s something we need to do, have any suggestions?”

  “Why not a ball game. You want to go and it’s a great no pressure place.”

  Going to farm team games are fun, inexpensive, and the players put everything into the game; which is a lot different from going to an expensive major league games. “Good idea.”

  Since we are at the shopping center I took out my cell phone to call Donna. Breen looks at me, questioning if I intend to stay where I am to talk on the phone, or go with her to look at bras. “No, I’ll let you shop for bras on your own.”

  “Why, danger to your masculinity?”

  “Breen, I have had to buy bras for my wife and for my mother, so my masculinity would not be what would suffer!”

  She gives me a quick hug and smiles as she turns towards the store, then she looks back over her shoulder, “Do you think I would look good in rose blush?” My response was written on my face, no words were necessary. “Tell Donna the answer is yes,” and she makes two imaginary chalk marks in the air.

  “Hi Dave, I have caller ID now. What’s going on?”

  “Your idea of fun! Breen just said to tell you that the answer was yes to the rose blush bra question.”

  “Dave, she’ll look good in rose blush and you would have never said anything.”

  “Presuming I would see her in....never mind. I called to ask you and Fred to eat free hot dogs and such at a ball game with Breen and myself.”

  “I’m not sure if Fred is free, he’s been really busy at work.”

  “BS. It’s about your concerns, and I will not take 'no' for an answer!”

  “Have you told Breen?”

  “No. She asked me a few moments ago why I thought Fred was not at my house and I said you probably needed alone time to think.”

  “Thanks; at least one of us can keep things to themselves.”

  “Wednesday or Thursday night?”

  “What?”

  “The ball game, Wednesday or Thursday, they have late games those nights.”

  “Wednesday, I’ll call Fred; he would agree if it were any night...the poor slunk’s in love with me.”

  “He’s got good taste.”

  “Thanks, and I have good taste in friends.”

  Double dating is normally a no-no. Double dating should not be confused with couples doing things with other couples they know. In the case of the ball game, Fred was an ‘unknown’ to Breen, which made this a one-fourth double date. Dating is a not an academic experience, it is science fiction; and the chance of your Sci-Fi adventure turning into a horror movie is in direct proportion to how many participate in the event. Thus, you should avoid multiple couple dates like the plague. If you cannot avoid a group, stop at four people; two of each sex. Never, never more than four.

  Regardless of the situation, three couples do not ride comfortably in cars. If you find a car with seating for three up front, one pair is either split between front and back, or four people are smashed against each other on the rear seat. More than likely you’ll need two cars and that means convoy coordination and the chance one of the cars will go to the wrong destination. Hopefully a different state, which resolves the next problem, the most important one, six do not fit quant cafe tables for four, or diner booths (like car seats).

  More than four causes conversations to become debates, and totally disregards the rule of quiero algo menos caro; as in ‘Do you have something cheaper than what’s on the dinner menu?’ It just does not work. The rule of four also applies to paying the check at the restaurant; the greater the number of dinners the more confusion and the chance you will be saying ‘how much!!’

  Then, sometimes double dating is useful. As a teenager, the first time I drove the family car on a date, I doubled. I took a girl whose friends introduced us. They had convinced the girl that I would ask her to the Junior Prom. So here the four of us are in the family car parked on a tree grove hill that overlooked the expressway; real romantic no, but secluded yes…it was my friend’s idea, not mine. My concern was not wrecking the car while maneuvering around this local lover’s lane without the lights on; least of which was being the idiot in the movie that misses the edge, and four screaming teenagers go down the embankment into the swamp, wherein lives the 'date killing' monster.

  Anyway, no sooner do I put the car in park, my friend puts his date in parking mode and they are pressing lips. My date slides over and I put my arm around her shoulders, I look into her eyes, move my face closer, then realize I don’t want to do this. Geeze, this is crazy. Sure I want to kiss her, but I do not want to take her to the Junior Prom. I had my heart set on a girl out of my reach, but I still held out hope. My date looks at me, questioning my hesitation, takes the initiative and clings to me like our lips were joined at birth. Damn...this was nice, but...thankfully my friend steps in and saves the day. “OH SHIT, don’t move, Don’t move!”

  In his exuberance of the moment he had slid off the seat to position himself on top of his date, and he had slid his leg under the front bench seat. Now his contortion had wedged his leg straight under the seat, and any movement by his date or us in the front seat was sending pain to his knee and sex-tracked brain. By the time he was free, the moment was lost, at least not his leg, and I was rescued. I never went to the junior prom; the object of my desire went with someone else, and so did the girl I was with that night.

  Back to shopping with Breen, who has returned carrying another bag. “So is it rose blush?”

  Breen takes the bra out of the bag; it’s rose blush and lace, “I thought about keeping it in the bag, but that would be teasing. Did she agree right away, or did you have to convince her?”

  “Who?”

  “Don’t get funny buster, I’m not falling for the old ‘was he talking to another woman while I was shopping’ hints. No points. The way you look at me, you’re lucky you don’t walk into walls.”

  “You noticed?”

  Finally realizing she is still standing there with the bra in her hand, she quickly puts it back in the bag and takes my arm to let me know it’s time to start walking. I tell her, “Wednesday night for the ball game. Donna does have a lot on her mind.”

  “Are you watching out for her,” not a question, but an affirmation of Breen knowing I would.

  “Best I can.”

  “Good, because I read about her in the paper.”

  Looking out for her? Best I can do while being on the sidelines, hoping the game would end in Donna’s favor. The papers were becoming single story tabloids as the trial date drew closer. My contact at State Police reassured me that there was no identifiable physical threat to Donna, but they were not taking chances. I also now had someone on the other end of the line at FBI and Justice because the threats were communicated by mail. I had to keep my activity to myself, and it was hard not to tell Donna as I tried to belay her fears. It was interesting that Breen, like Donna instinctively knew I would do something. Donna had, over the years of our friendship, come to accept the fact I felt obligat
ed to do something, regardless of what she wanted or I said to the contrary.

  Wednesday night arrived as a perfect night for a ball game; the weather was perfect, the women I was with were perfect, and they thought the guys they were with were perfect. If Donna had any reservations, she had checked them back at her apartment before arriving at the game. Even the seats were perfect, and I could say the same for the game, the hot dogs, the hamburgers, and beer. We had a great time and, yes, everyone said the whole affair was perfect.

  Donna needed this, and so did Breen. It was not until that night I finally realized why Breen wanted us to be with Donna and Fred. I saw the answer in Breen’s face when she watched Donna and Fred hold hands and when she saw them steal a kiss thinking no one was watching. Regardless of words to the contrary, Breen needed to see Donna with someone besides me; to see Donna enjoy Fred being in her life. I am not ashamed to admit that Breen’s jealousy gave me a measure of security.

  I confirmed something else at the ball game, actually two things. One, Breen and Donna were truly as much alike as they were different. Physically they were similar in size and build; but Breen’s thick light brown to blond hair and emerald green eyes were in stark contrast to Donna’s silky, straight black hair and dark, mysterious brown eyes. They both dressed well, but their taste in clothes differed. Donna is not hesitant to show off her body. While Breen seems almost self-conscious when she wears something that draws undo attention to herself; not that she dresses demurely.

  The two are definitely not twins; yet an observer would be amazed at how their thought process and actions towards the men in their lives were so alike. Donna teases Fred, as Breen teases me; they both instinctively know when Fred or I have something on our minds but are hesitant in saying it. And they both crave the same verbal and physical forms of affection; a soft kiss, a tender running of fingers across a cheek, saying love with your eyes, and letting her feel safe, wanted, relaxed within your arms, knowing you will not break the spell by turning a ‘her’ moment into sex. As for sex, I have no way of comparison. I am in the dark about Donna, for like Breen, she keeps the physical aspect of sex a private matter between her partner and herself. Donna and I talk about sex in general terms, but we never directly discuss personal likes and dislikes, or the intimacies of our respective relationships.

  I also learned that Fred and I are a lot alike; not so much physically, but personality-wise. Both women seek the same things in a man, and I am sure Fred and I look for the same traits in a woman. I had no reservations about Fred treating Donna the way I demanded a man treat her. Demand is a strong word, but the only word to describe the intense brotherly love, respect and friendship I felt towards her. The first time Donna heard about the Breen in my past life her eyes could not hide the way she felt about someone treating me as a forgotten moment. Because of my love for Breen I always defended her actions regardless of how Donna tried to bolster my self-image by pointing out Breen was not perfect. The day they came face to face, like two old friends with a common interest, me, gave me peace of mind.

  It was late when I said good night to Breen standing in the doorway of her apartment, but she gave me an extra-long hug and kiss nevertheless. Reading my look, she simply said, “That’s for me and for Donna. You did well hiding your concern while at the ball game. For someone who walks into walls when around me, you proved you can steal looks at me while watching the crowd.”

  Watching the crowd had become an important, albeit surreptitious pastime while with Donna. The only reward I wanted for being good at it was Donna’s safety. This was on my mind when I met Donna for lunch a few days later. I felt confident in the State Police. Over the subsequent days after talking to them, I would now and then notice their presence as they hung back and blended in. We were walking out of the courthouse, down those long steep steps that seem to always be bracketed by bystanders, lawyers and clients, trail attendees, the curious, and the ever present press waiting for an opportune moment. As we descended the steps I did my best to scan the scene while maintaining conversation with Donna.

  She was telling me about how her assistant wore a tie that looked as if he spent hours contemplating the correct placement of coffee stains, as to make the design look unintentional, when my eyes noticed a flash of color to the right that did not fit into the tableau. The color became a middle-aged man, and as he emerged from the crowd, I instinctively reacted. “Donna, who’s that woman over there,” pointing with my left arm across her body, causing her to pause and turn to the left, while I watched from the corner of my eye the middle-aged man, now clear of the crowd, advance towards us.

  Within a split second I determined he was on a course to intercept us and I stepped to the right, blocking Donna, and facing the guy. I looked directly at him, I made no pretense of hiding my intentions, nor did I show any indication if I was armed or not. I knew I was not armed, but you do things instinctively, in a trained way.

  The guy takes two steps then, as if his brain realizes what his eyes are seeing, he stops dead, stares at me, glares at me, hates me with intensity, while I just hold his stare and concentrating on only one thing, reacting to an advance.

  All the while, Donna is asking me which woman, then, she stops in mid-sentence. I sense her turn, move closer, and I use my left arm to guide her behind me. I feel her closeness and know I am now firmly between her and the man.

  It was over in a few seconds, from moment of the flash of recognition to end; shorter than the time to write these words. Out of the crowd quickly step two detectives, a man and a woman, and before the middle-aged man realizes it, they have him by the arms. Donna puts her arms around my waist and hides her face in my shoulder, she is now shaking. I turned around and hugged her; to hell with the press. ‘Please let this bullshit end,’ I said to myself as I allowed myself to relax.

  Later Donna and I sit together on her sofa, she wants me to hold her, but this time she asked me first. “You knew things I didn’t...you were keeping things from me...why?”

  “I only knew you had good reason to be concerned.”

  “Don’t BS me Dave, you talked to the police, that’s why they knew your name...thanks.”

  “Talking and knowing something is different.”

  “Did Breen know about the police contact?” She did not have to add ‘but not me.’

  “No, nevertheless she assumed I would be watching, and in so many words said she expected me to. She accepted my sense of loyalty...no, my devotion to you.”

  “Devotion, that’s an interesting word.”

  “Donna you’re the one who said I had you as a friend forever, remember?”

  “Yeah, I also remember saying you give up points too easily. But, I bet you would have jumped up and caught me as I fell off that stool at the Waffle House!”

  “If you were telling the truth, you would have been too engrossed in...what did you call it...smushed facing to even notice.”

  “Yeah, but you would have tried anyway, thanks.”

  Breen took the day’s events just as seriously as Donna and she rewarded me with a promise of cartoon DVD she had seen in the book store, saying, “If I gave you a kiss you would try this stunt every day!”

  Grabbing her around the waist and pulling her to me, “your kisses are not a reward, they are what I live for,” and I kissed her as if tomorrow was only a possibility. She did not object.

  The police determined the man who was approaching Donna was the one who had sent the threats. He was a diligent protester who had not harmed anyone in the past, but scared the daylights out of people by his assertiveness and bullying. I was pleased with myself for being able to be there for Donna, but, as a professional, I recognized I could have endangered the work of the authorities by my active interest. I thanked the detectives for watching Donna so closely.

  Thankfully, the only lasting effect of the incident was a more comfortable relationship between Donna, Fred, Breen and myself. I really did feel
good about Donna and Fred; nevertheless, my mind would not quiet down that evening as I tried to fall asleep. We were friends for ever, having formed a bond the night we met at Rich’s wedding. Donna had told me, a few years later about how she came to be at the wedding and her frame of mind when she met me.

  She said that getting dressed for the wedding was a watershed event. Having looked at the dress hanging on the back of the bathroom door for what had to be the sixth time since she had hung it there at 9:00 AM. “I loved the dress, I hated the dress. I had spent five mind-numbing days going from store to store looking for that stupid dress, and I despised the entire male population for causing undue pressure on my life.” She laughs now, nonetheless at the time, while the dress was in principle fantastic for a wedding, in ‘Donna reality,’ “it was too ‘uppity’ for Nancy’s friends.” Donna smirked, “But who the hell was Nancy anyway. I hardly knew her, so why did I care? It’s was not like I had to dress down to impress anyone. I looked at the dress, steeping back a few feet, and finally, in a more lighthearted voice I told myself ‘Um, uppish, uppishly, or uppishness?’”

  Regardless, she did not fit in with Nancy’s circle of girlfriends. Sure she partied and had fun hitting the bars, but she also had an education and a career. While Nancy, according to family gossip, was content living the life of daddy’s princess; then, daddy was upset that she was marring one of ‘those people.’ Donna disliked that attitude of some members of the family. If you were not a prosperous businessman, or otherwise allowing you to be a member of the ‘right’ country club, then you were one of the ‘others.’ “Thankfully,” Donna said, “I was born into the normal side of the family.”

  “No, the damn dress was just a symbol and I was unwilling to cast it aside. Belittling the dress was, ergo to belittle myself. Besides, I had class and self-esteem.” Her hesitation was brought on by a problem far deeper than not fitting in at the day’s big event. Donna’s indecision grew out of frustration with her stalled love life and questions about her ‘appeal quotient;’ not by the men at the wedding, but men in general. Why was she not meeting the man of her dreams; who would assuredly appreciate the dress? The dress spoke of elegance, of Donna’s desire to be ‘casual elegance.’ The dress was New York City, where the world was normal. She was normal, and damn if she was going to stop being normal because she had to waste her time at some abnormal wedding.

  “Uppiness to Nancy’s friends? I decided to let the idiots wonder who I was; omne ignotum pro magnifico;” in the eyes of the uninformed she would surely be grand. Then, Donna said she reprimanded herself, knowing she was being too sarcastic.

  She did think the wedding ceremony was very nice, “Even if you and the other ushers had stumbled in late and obviously drunk. And the bridesmaids did not appear to be in any better shape. I had pangs of ‘I wish I came down yesterday in time to party.’ I felt ashamed about the comments I had voiced to myself during the morning’s dress debate. Nancy looked very pretty and the groom, Richard, was handsome; but looked as if Death had let him out on probation for the ceremony. As I was scanning the ushers, ‘now he looks interesting, very interesting, but also feeling no pain!’ I asked one of my cousins ‘who’s the guy who brought Richard to the church?’ She thought Nancy said you were a neighbor of Richard. ‘Donald, or Dillerdy, starts with a ‘D’. Another cousin piped in, ‘probably Dimwit!’ I let that comment pass because there was something about mystery man.”

  At the reception Donna found herself seated at a table across the room from the guy who’s name may start with ‘D.’ “I watched you get up and go over to one of the bars, obviously sweet talking the woman to give you a bottle of something for your table. That was just as Nancy’s brother got up and gave his impromptu toast about how some women will be weeping because the father of their children – Richard - was now married to Nancy. It would have been funny, except for Uncle George jumping to his feet and asking about these unwed mothers. What a quiet that stilled the room; an unsettling quiet that a cousin later described as having the aroma of ‘oh shit’ cologne. No one seemed to know what to do. Then there was that horrendous crash, the sound of breaking glass. The entire room turned as one to see a small table lying on its side and the remnants of, who knows, how many shattered glasses now littering the hardwood floor. And all you had to say for yourself was ‘Someone have a broom...and one of those little sweep-it-into-it things?’ I instantly knew why I liked you and why I wanted to whisper sensuous words to you in the middle of the night!”

  “However, I did not approve of the group you were with, so I waited. It was what (?), an hour later when I decided to take action.” She got up and walked outside for some fresh air, purposely walking past my table and smiling a ‘hope this is not a misinterpreted hello!’ She was unaware I had followed her and I stood in the shadows watching her standing by the railing and looking out over the hotel garden. “I felt kind of foolish waiting there for you to get the hint. ‘OK, either he did not get the message or he is gay. Just my luck, the guy is gay!’” Then I spoke to her, “How long would you have waited for me?” Startled, she turned to see me leaning against the door frame. I was not being smart-alecky or vain and my voice was pleasant, as if we had known each other for years. She asks rhetorically, “How long?” I responded with my own question, “Are you asking how long I was watching you stand there waiting or, how long would you have waited until I spoke to you?”

  “I...” she smiled at her foolishness and being caught at her own game, “not much longer. But don’t worry. In about one more minute I would have walked in, grabbed you by the neck, and yanked you out of your seat.” “Somehow, I think you’re capable of doing that.” As I walked over to the railing, “Dave and you are?” “Donna.” “I wanted to compliment you on your dress, but I figured you would think it was just a pick-up line. New York?” “How...”

  All pretensions melted away and we talked, as if old friends, for the rest of the night. We watched the show unfold in the ballroom and, after the hotel kicked the last of us, I walked Donna to her room. At the door we kissed and then, it was Donna who said 'no.' An awkward moment. She looked into my eyes, “Dave...you don’t want to spend the night with me do you?” “I do, but something isn’t right about it...not you, no, you are beautiful and HOT in that dress. Donna, what is it that tells us no? And don’t say maturity, because I have a high degree of lack in that virtue.” She put her arms around my neck and pulled me close to her, “Respect? Do you want to say you respect me and a good romp in the bed would be wrong, en ami?” “En ami, what little French I know. Will you hate me in the morning for not...” She cut me off. Donna kissed me good night; knowing I would call her. Knowing that if we were destined to be lovers, we would be regardless of the night’s hesitation.

  Donna is pragmatic about love. She feels that love is pure emotion of the heart, to be accepted for what it is and supported by the brain. Whereas right away, just the way I had talked to her from the doorway and not immediately coming to her side, she had recognized the romanticism in my personality. “You are a man who wants to love, but needs to read into it. You need prodding to stop thinking about setting the right mood and let your heart do its thing.”

  After the goodnight kiss I had walked away confused; what a complex woman, and still so young! When I finally visited Donna in New York I told her she was right about that night we met at the reception, being with her that night is a pleasure to look back on. “Of course I was right. And, when I turn you down again tonight you’ll feel only half as bad as before!”

  Our mutual war of words began during one of our phone chats, which had progressed from once a month, to supplement letters, to twice a week. It was the one where I professed my view of history and she was too alive to be locked into the past; her 'inner voice was screaming let me out.' “You’re saying my inner voice has become despondent?”

  “No, if I meant despondent I would have sa
id despondent, because despondent denotes giving up. Your inner voice is yelling let’s do something creative!”

  Quiet.

  “Don-na, hello?”

  “That was the first time you have ever vocalized correcting my use of the English language.”

  “Your point?”

  “It took me by surprise. You have endured my...umm.”

  “Rigmarole.”

  “Wait dip-shit, I was thinking of how to compliment you on having the balls to correct me, and what do you do, but infer I profess confused, meaningless talk!”

  “But you are so beautiful when you do!”

  “Dave, if someone could find a way to make fertilizer out of your BS we would all be rich and have green lawns year round!”

  Once, she had told me how nervous she was preparing for an important oral exam on a case study. When she arrived at school, the professor’s secretary informed her that flowers had arrived that morning for her. An arrangement of tulips with a note: Remember you have to cross New York streets with attitude. Love, Dave.

  Now more relaxed, she aced the exam. “The flowers were so pretty; the note, the thought. Dave, what am I going to do with you?”

  Commenting a year later she said “That episode spoke volumes about you Dave. The longer I know you, the more interesting and complex you become.” Yet there was so much about me she did not know, even after the hundreds of stories I had told her about myself. “Dave you are so open about your life, it’s as if you are setting me up. Once you told me ‘you know so much about me, you would not believe the truth if I told you.’ I have never been sure what you mean by that.”

  Then, one night as she lay in her bed thinking negative thoughts about me for failing to carry her off to my bed, she finally realized what we had sensed that night after the wedding reception, but could not put into words, it was the unmistakable feeling we were a brother-sister relationship. Realization does not bring comfort, but she also realized that her need of my friendship was far more important than sex.

  We all have secrets. Some are personal, like the secret love I had for Breen when she was spoken for. Then, there are secrets that you never wanted to know in the first place. I carry one around with me and my knowledge of it has hunted me for years; it has been a most troubling burden. It was a little over two years after I had met Donna when I received a call from my Mom informing me that she had found a cardboard box with my name on it; one that had sat undisturbed in the basement. When I retrieved the box I had a hard time remembering what most of the junk was about. Old stuff from long forgotten ‘this time or that time.’ Then I saw the VCR tape; an unmarked black plastic tape.

  I sat back in the overstuffed chair and popped the tape in the VCR. It was a home movie of Rich’s wedding. I had no idea who shot it. I only remembered someone sent it to me a few weeks after the wedding and I had never bothered to watch it. There was a shot of the ushers and bridesmaids, Rich and Nancy, and the ceremony. I did not even remember who half the people were because I never knew the families or their friends from outside the Pub. With the ceremony a wrap, the scene shifts to the guests waiting outside the church for the official first appearance of husband and wife.

  The cameraperson was standing in the street behind the guests. Wait. There is Donna, back to the camera. Someone is approaching her from the rear and she turns to see who it is. An old man, must be her uncle. They are talking, but I can not make out what they are saying because of the overall noise and poor sound quality. Playing the voyeur, I plug in my stereo headset and fiddle with the sound controls. Success! No, utter failure! I listened, but felt disgusted with myself; not only was I being a voyeur, but I learned more than I wanted, needed, cared to know and I can never flee from the burden the knowledge brought with it.

  “So talk to him.”

  “Who” playfully? “Don’t play games with me Donnita. The boy you have been staring at all morning.”

  “Oh, him,” putting her arm around her uncle’s waste, and in a voice that spoke of poorly hidden, simmering desire, “I don’t think the family would want another local getting involved with one of their princesses.”

  “Sad but true, but since when have you worried about their opinions, or, for that matter considered yourself a princess? And, may I add, he likes you.”

  “What?” unmistakable happiness.

  “I noticed that he is better than you are at sneaking looks.”

  “He’s, ummm, I don’t know what it is about him.” Her desire was there, but it was far more; a heart in love.

  “Not handsome enough?”

  “Funny,” laying her head on her uncle’s shoulder, “Don’t know, I just do not know.”

  “Will you take some advice from your old uncle?”

  “Even if I said no you would tell me, but you know I value your advice.”

  “Donnita is Monet. She wishes people would see the importance of her total character, not just the overwhelming beauty of the flowers. She does not like Monet, and stands in front of an abstract Picasso, where no one part is more important than the whole. That young man over there is abstract Picasso, which he hates, thus stands in front of the Monet, wishing people would see each of his important qualities, and not a single judgment.”

  “That was deep.”

  “Meant to be.”

  “So how do opposites reconcile?”

  “When you worked for me at the art gallery what did I say made one gallery shine above the others?”

  “Balance of styles.”

  “You were always so damn smart. How do you obtain balance?”

  “You place the two styles next to each other, step back, and let them talk to you.” She looked at her uncle and smiled; the look of determination forming.

  “So go stand next to him Donnita. And don’t worry about me, Aunt Bess and I are going back to the hotel to spend some time catching up on things.”

  Donna gave her uncle a hug and kissed him goodbye, and as she watched him walk away, I could see unrelenting determination.

  She now continued to look at me, even as Rich and Nancy made their appearance and the tape ended. I have never told Donna about the tape, which I immediately destroyed to protect her feelings; least it accidentally come to light. Donna has always tried to hide the love in her eyes when she looks at me. And I have always tried to not mislead her, while reminding her that she is a beautiful Monet.

  —////—