Chapter 8

Sharon was dying. She’d been dying for almost a year, a little more every day. The cancer was an aggressive one; it was literally eating her alive. She’d hung on for almost four months longer than any of the doctors thought possible. But when I brought her back to the hospital this time, we both knew she was never going to leave it.

Her breath was coming in short gasps. The morphine drip wasn’t enough any longer. She was hurting badly, but fighting hard to stay alive for just another minute to be with me and her two babies. But the suffering ... oh my God, how she was suffering.

I got up from the straight-backed chair the hospital allowed next to her bed and leaned over my wife of only a very few years. I kissed her lips. I didn’t think she was still enough with us to know what I did, but maybe ... Her breathing evened out for a few seconds, then resumed the hoarse gasping, but it was weaker now.

I bent closer to whisper in her ear. “Honey, I’ll always love you. Your son and daughter know you love them, and they love you. We’ll all love you forever, honey. You don’t have to fight any more, baby. It’s time to let go. I’ll take care of Tommy and Judy for you, and they’ll take care of me, darling. Don’t worry anymore, we’ll be okay...” I kissed her forehead and her lips again and stood where I was, leaning over her and stroking her wasted arms and face.

After a few seconds, she exhaled softly and simply never took in another breath. The monitoring instruments began to keen a loud, warbling tone, but they were announcing something I already knew. My Sharon was gone.

Wearily, I stood erect, then bent forward again to kiss her lifeless lips one last time. I patted her hand and backed away from the hospital bed to let the doctor and nurses in.

I bit my lips and turned away to embrace Sharon’s mother and father, first Judy and then Bruce. I slipped to the side so they could step to the side of the bed and say goodbye to their youngest daughter.

I searched for the door through my tears. I went out, on my way to find my son and daughter. I had to find some way to tell a three-year-old girl and her four-year-old brother their mother wasn’t ever going to hold them in her arms ever again—that she was a with the angels now and would watch over them for ever and ever...

I drifted for a time, lost in my grief but trying to be the best father and mother to two small children. That meant I had to help them past their grief while trying to get through mine at the same time, and not letting the grieving overwhelm us.

I found myself hating Anchorage, and by extension, the whole state of Alaska. My in-laws lived there, and I had an amazing relationship with them, but there were just too many memories there—memories of places Sharon and I had gone, and things we’d done together.

Like wounded animals, seeking their burrows to heal from injuries, my children and I moved home to Texas where I wouldn’t be reminded every day of what we had lost. Bruce and Judy, my father and mother-in-law, and my children’s grandparents, weren’t happy with my decision, but they understood. They were wealthy. They could fly to Texas any time they felt the need for a visit.

A trust fund a great-aunt set up for Sharon matured the year after Tommy was born, and the money it represented came to me after Sharon passed. I didn’t want it; I tried to give it back, but my in-laws wouldn’t take it, and the great-aunt was deceased. So I became a multi-millionaire overnight. I put it to good use and established two trusts, one for each of my children for college or whatever they decided to do with their lives. The excess sat in a bank and made more money for my children and me than we’d ever be able to spend.

Back home, Mom and Dad had decided they didn’t need to be driving around the country any longer, searching endlessly for that perfect RV camp site. The current plan seemed to be just doing the vagabond thing during the spring and autumn. Winters and summers were considered seasons where travel was just not fun enough. They welcomed me and their two grandchildren home with open arms. Mom and Dad already had a two-bedroom house on the north side of the city and a getaway cabin up in the hill country. They sold that house and moved to one with four bedrooms, hinting broadly Tommy and Judy might want to come visiting sometime.

Mom and Dad were about as happy as I’d ever seen them. They got to see their grandchildren often and started a campaign to spoil the little ones terribly. They said that was their job—it was what grandparents were supposed to do.

I’d just turned thirty-six. I didn’t worry about my advancing age—I had no feeling that time was passing me by or anything like that. I had my son and daughter and I was working hard at taking care of them.

Thomas Bruce Singletary, was five, and Judith Lea almost four now. Times had been rough just after Sharon passed, but she’d been sick for so very long. The length of her illness was a kind of grieving even before her death. The kids hadn’t comprehended much—how could they?—but they understood their Mom wasn’t hurting any more, and that was a good thing. It didn’t make up for the loss, but it was something.

I owned a business. Well, I was a partner in a business. Sharon’s friend, Teresa Cunningham, and I had performed similar functions in the business world and I flat stole her away from my father-in-law. Together, Teresa and I formed a consulting firm that would essentially inspect every aspect of a business enterprise and prepare a report for the owners or board of directors that identified weaknesses in any part of their enterprise.

Teresa ran most of the day-to-day executive functions, only bringing me in when some problem might mean a shift in policy or direction. I’d seeded most of the startup from the trust fund Sharon left me. I owned fifty-one percent of the company. Teresa and her husband, Carl, owned the remaining forty-nine percent. Eventually, I was going to make it easy for them to buy out my interest because I just didn’t want to work very hard, and I wasn’t going to do much work for the rest of my life. It wasn’t that I was that lazy—I just wanted to spend most of my time raising my two children. And that’s just what I did.

On a bright, sunny, Texas kind of day, my son and daughter conned me into taking them to one of those places offering a high grade of cardboard that masqueraded as pizza. As compensation, the place offered many, many dinky little games and rides for young children to enjoy. Even at not-quite-four years of age, Judy knew exactly how to fit a game token in the slot and would pause gleefully at the startup routine and clap her hands. Only when that was over, would she climb aboard the ride or begin playing whatever the “game” required. At times, I wasn’t entirely sure what the game wanted a player to do but my two children seemed to have an instinct for those things. Whatever! They had fun and that was what was important.

I sat in one of the semi-circular booths and watched my two children only a few feet away from me on one of the rides, a four-foot wide merry-go-round that rotated at a pace that seemed to me to be excruciatingly slow. I’d have been incredibly bored riding it myself. They seemed to like it though.

I’d helped them climb aboard and then come around the barricade to sit back down for a while. I was armed, of course. My .45 caliber Glock 38 and I took our responsibility to protect the children against any and all bad guys very seriously. I looked all around at the other bored parents and waited for a specially made pizza I’d ordered as a substitute for the buffet table version. I hoped it would taste a little better than the ones set out on the warming tables under those heat lamps.

The kids would join me when the ride ended to help eat the pizza I’d ordered special, or they’d make their choice from the buffet. I was betting they’d want to go to the tables instead of eating one their Daddy had ordered. I watched their happy faces and smiled myself. Sharon was never going to be forgotten, but we were doing our best to work through her absence. It’d been almost a year since she’d died.

“Hey, Cowboy... , “ came a woman’s warm voice, “got room for a couple a’ girls in there?”

I wore a Stetson outdoors—it was sitting beside me on the plastic seat—so the word “cowboy” wasn’t entirely weird. But why in the world would anyone be... ?

Then I half-recognized the soft contralto. I jerked my head around to find a woman, a beautiful woman, and a little girl standing at my shoulder.

“My God... , “ I whispered, “Mercedes... ?” I was abruptly on my feet and facing a lovely, raven-haired woman with crystalline blue eyes. I had no memory of standing.

She smiled tentatively, then with more confidence. I didn’t know whether to take her in my arms or not. I wanted to, but I’d read about her marriage some years ago. True, I’d read in a magazine she was getting a divorce, but I didn’t know if it was correct or not.

“Hi, Matt,” she said softly. She stepped up to me and kissed me gently on the lips, which solved the immediate problem of not knowing what to do next. I almost wrapped my arms around her to return that kiss with interest. My hands cupped her elbows and I inadvertently urged her closer, and she came willingly for another kiss. I wasn’t about to do anything with a married woman, and she surely understood my feelings on the subject from the time we’d spent together. On the other hand, she wasn’t acting married...

There was a tug on the outside knee of my blue jeans.

I backed away from Mercedes a few inches and looked down at the cutest little girl in the known universe—except for my little Judy, of course. I couldn’t help but smile at her. She wasn’t a bit shy; she returned my smile with a cute grin of her own.

“Are you my Mommy’s friend?” she demanded in a sweet, little-girl voice.

I squatted to get down on her level. I’d always thought it rude of adults who talked down to young people, literally, and figuratively.

“I think I must be,” I assured her. She couldn’t have been anyone else in the world except Mercedes’ daughter—well, perhaps her clone.

“Are you MY frien’?” she asked.

“For ever and ever,” I replied. Miniature Mercedes grinned happily, scootched closer, and put her little hands on my shoulders and gave me a kiss on my right cheek. I couldn’t do anything except give her a hug and a kiss right back.

“What’s your name, sweetie?” I asked.

“Mattea,” she answered in her little voice, “ ... but you can call me Mattie...”

I was shocked. It was clearly a feminine version of my first name ... but was it intentional? I shot a glance up at Mercedes.

She smiled and nodded. She’d named her daughter after me. I was a little shaken. Mercedes mouthed the word, “Later... , “ to me. Most assuredly, I was going to need to know how this came about.

“ ... How old are you, Mattie,” I asked, that being the second question all adults ask a child just introduced them.

“Three!” she answered quickly. She knew all the questions too. She had trouble showing me just three fingers on her right hand and finally had to use her left hand to assist holding an errant little finger down.

I stood up and looked around to find my children. It was about time—yes, the ride they were on had eased to a stop and they were clambering off, eying me and the two strangers with me. I turned to face them as they raced up and went down on my haunches again.

“Tommy ... Judy, I want you to meet some really good friends of mine. This is Mercedes ... and her daughter, Mattie.”

The children stood looking at each other for a moment, not quite knowing what to do. I pushed everyone past the awkwardness, suggesting everyone go get some pizza from the buffet’s warming tables, and refresh our soft drinks—stuff like that. Judy wanted to investigate the soft serve ice cream machine immediately, of course, but I gave her a look. She knew better; she’d thought she’d give it a shot—just pushing the envelope like all children do.

In moments, all three kids were on one side of the booth, stuffing cardboard pizza in their mouths and talking amongst themselves as if they’d known each other all their lives. They started a game of kicking their feet up into the underside of the table just so they could hear the thump.

“ ... I’m pretty sure people who kick tables don’t get ice cream,” I commented at large. The thumps ceased, forthwith, as they say.

In the process of getting plates full of pizza back to the table for three young children and taking possession of the custom pie I’d ordered, Mercedes wound up on the bench seat inside of me on “our” side of the semi-circular booth. There was plenty of room at first, but Mercedes closed the distance almost immediately. She and I were sitting hip to hip, with our elbows and the outside of our upper arms touching. It didn’t bother me one bit. I liked it a lot, but—

“I didn’t get a chance to ask a couple a’ questions,” I remarked, “ ... like ... what’re you doing here and ... stuff like that?” I figured that would get the ball rolling. It didn’t occur to me to be quiet so only Mercedes could hear.

“ ... Hadda fine’ you!” Mattie replied instantly, pointing dramatically at me. Mattie’s reply knifed through all the background noise, loud and clear.

I was taken aback. I don’t THINK my chin dropped to my chest, but it may have.

I shot a glance at Mercedes. Her face was still in the process of turning a dark shade of red; she didn’t look at me.

Mattie was delighted at the impact her comment made on the two adults at the table. She grinned happily and repeated herself a couple of times, dancing on her behind, and making faces at everyone. My two kids joined in, of course.

“Shhhhhhhhhhhh... , “ I told them in a low voice, “ ... eat your pizza ... then we’ll get some ice cream...”

Thank God for the power ice cream has over small children! They shushed immediately and each took a bite from their slice of flavored cardboard.

I looked at a still blushing Mercedes at my side. I was grinning, but it was in appreciation for how cute the two girls and one little boy were.

“Just for the record,” I began, “ ... I’ve been trying to find you too, but my guy couldn’t track you down ... you just disappeared!”

“You were looking for me... ?” she asked, surprised. She looked me in the eye, her blush fading.

“I ... read you were getting a divorce... , “ I told her hesitantly. I didn’t want it to seem like I was stalking her or anything. “I tried getting in touch with you, but couldn’t ever find a phone number or anything, so I hired a private investigator, but he could only go so far ... he lost your trail in ... ahhhh ... Billings, Montana, I think it was.”

She grinned. Well, my Uncle Runs Far ... Great-Uncle Walter Runs Far ... picked me up there and took me to his home down in Wyoming. Mattie and I lived there with him and his girlfriend for a while ‘cause Reggie ... my ex ... was being an ass about everything. We needed to get away to somewhere quiet and ... out of sight!” she explained.

“It worked!” I applauded, grinning. “The investigator I hired said it was like you dropped off the edge of the earth!”

“I’m really glad you came,” I continued. “How long can you stay this time?”

Mercedes studied my face for a moment, searching my eyes for something. She leaned closer. “ ... Until you kick us out... , “ she breathed into my ear.

Instead of answering, I gently kissed her lips, taking my time but not trying for too deep a kiss. Three pairs of bright eyes were observing everything we did.

“What’s that song... ?” I asked, “ ... until the twelfth of never?” I couldn’t stop smiling.

I kissed her again. We turned back to the kids, who’d been watching us the whole time, but hadn’t interrupted. They were busy munching down on the ersatz pizza.

Clearly, they really wanted an ice cream cone and were working hard to be good. Mercedes and I ate the remainder of our pizza one-handed, her left hand was intertwined with my right under the table and neither one of us was about to let go.

“Where are you staying,” I asked. I was going to move the two of them out to the ranch as soon as it could be arranged. I hadn’t debated the issue with myself. Mercedes might have a different view, but I thought I could wear her down if she didn’t want to live with me and my kids.

Mercedes chuckled and shot a look out the window. “We just got here. Mattie and I, and my private investigator ... we were on our way to the hotel when we saw your truck—he knew what it looked like—and I told him to turn in here,” she explained and chuckled again. “He’s in his car out there, with our luggage and everything in the trunk!”

I laughed. Mercedes and I were like two children. It seemed to me rekindling a romance we’d been in before we’d gone our separate paths should be a little more difficult, but things were definitely promising. This felt really good.

“Wanta stay out on the ranch with us?” I asked quietly.

“You still have... ? I thought—”

I nodded. “Sorta—same place, new house,” I explained.

“Can Joe ... his name is Joe Conway ... put our stuff in your truck?” Mercedes asked, not wasting time even appearing to debate the right or wrong of staying at my ranch with herself.

I took out my key remote and pointed it out the big plate glass window. I opened the front and rear doors, and then the tailgate. “I only have two child seats... , “ I warned.

“Got it covered,” Mercedes interjected. “I brought Mattie’s all the way from Cheyenne country!” She disentangled the fingers on her right hand and hauled out her phone.