Chapter 8

I awoke. I was having a terrible nightmare ... dreaming that I had lost Abigail in a blinding snow storm. I kept calling her name desperate to find her, knowing something terrible had happened.

In the darkness I reached for her. Suddenly the reality crashed down on me. I was alone in bed without Abigail and she would never be in bed with me again.

Where was Amelia? As the panic from the dream subsided, I remembered we were at my parent's house and she was sleeping with Taylor. Jack, of course, was there too.

It was early Christmas morning. Disconsolate and alone, I pulled the blankets back up from where I had tossed them in my futile efforts to find Abigail and lay there wracked by the awful pain of loss, saying Abigail's name over and over.

I just didn't know how long I could go on with this hollowness and pain.

Reverend Smith said at times like this I should pray for guidance and try to focus on some happy times with Abigail. Sometimes it worked for a little while as I got lost in the sweet memories of our love, but then it would all collapse knowing we would never have happy times again.

I got out of bed and sat in the big leather chair by the window and watched the rain swept darkness, feeling the ice that gripped my soul. The clock said it was three a.m. I hadn't been asleep more than a few hours. We got back from Christmas Eve services and by the time I got Amelia settled in with Taylor, it was pretty late.

Finally, I gave up and went downstairs. I walked through the quiet house with only the chimes of the hall clock to keep me company and raided my father's liquor cabinet. He was a Jack Daniels man and I helped myself to a goodly amount and headed back to my room. I'd have to buy a new bottle soon.

Yes, back to my room. My mother had kept it pretty much the same as when I left. She had moved a big leather chair up from downstairs thinking I might want someplace to sit and read. I looked around in the darkness. Useless football trophies reflected what little light there was from the street lamp outside and pictures of me stared back from numerous photos, always with a damn football. It was useless junk that meant nothing.

As usual, when I went to bed I had a devil of a time getting to sleep. Finally I had fallen into a fitful sleep which was pretty much the same story each night. I just didn't sleep well without Abigail in the bed beside me. Other than one night she spent in the hospital when she had Amelia, we never slept apart in five years ... not since that Christmas Eve five years ago when she first took me into her bed.

So here I was, on Christmas morning drinking straight Kentucky whiskey and about as low as I had felt in my life.

As I sat in the big leather chair by the window I held the glass of amber liquid and toasted Abigail.

Here's to you my love I whispered.

The heat of the 80 proof started to warm my chilled body. I knew it was false warmth but I took it anyway. The rain suited me, and blotted out all the sounds from outside.

Looking at the foreign bed in the darkness I thought about waking on that Christmas morning five years ago, with naked Abigail pressed hard against me, half laying on top of me as if afraid I would escape. As the dawn came up the dim light from outside showed large flakes of snow. I lay there feeling her smooth skin and smelling us. We smelled like sex, well the aftermath of sex anyway. I smiled as I watched her sleep, feeling like I was where I belonged. She had told me she loved me and I certainly loved her. I just wanted to stay in bed all day and hold her and make love to her.

The night before we had come into the house still holding each other. We had hung our coats in the alcove by the kitchen, as always, but this time we didn't stop at the living room. Abigail took my hand and led me to her bedroom.

Despite the sexual tension from being so close for almost two months, our love-making was languorous as we tried to make this first time last forever.

"Slowly ... my love ... slowly ... I've wanted you for a long time..."

Then she said those wonderful words,

"We've got our whole lives ... to make love..."

We were made for each other, our bodies and minds attuned. Finally exhausted we fell asleep, tangled in the blankets and each other.

Lying there watching her in the dim morning light and feeling her warmth I was content.

I heard Jack clicking his way down the hall. He tentatively approached the bed as if puzzled why I was there. I reached out and stroked his large head. It was damp from the snow. He had been out and was now looking for his breakfast.

Quietly and gently I disentangled myself from Abigail, taking a long look at her wonderful body as I covered her. She barely stirred. Naked, I grabbed my clothes from the floor and walked silently down the hall.

I dressed in the kitchen, setting the thermostat higher and got Jack fed. He followed me outside and like a puppy bounded through the snow. He chased snowballs and a stick I found in the lee of the barn. Tired of that game he followed me inside the barn and while he hunted mice I showered and changed. As I showed, replaying the images from the night before it occurred to me that maybe I should forget about fixing breakfast and just go and wake Abigail. I wondered if she liked to make love in the morning.

Freshly bathed, shaved and changed I went back to the house. Jack got second breakfast. What the hell, I thought ... it's Christmas.

I put the kettle on and warmed the teapot and fixed a tray, two mugs, two spoons, honey and milk. Next I whipped up the griddle cake batter, just like my mother taught me, four dry and four wet; whole wheat flour, baking powder, salt, sugar then milk, eggs, vanilla and cooking oil.

I fixed the tea and took the tray to Abigail.

As I was half way across the living room she came down the hallway dressed in a blue terry robe and moccasins. She looked beautiful even half asleep, dark hair every which way and sleepy-eyed. As always my body warmed when she smiled at me. God how I loved her.

I set the tray down and wrapped my arms around her. She molded herself against me.

"I woke up ... and you weren't there ... I was afraid..."

I looked at her, her eyes glistened.

"Afraid I had second thoughts? Afraid I really didn't love you?"

A tear streaked her cheek.

"Something like that."

She threw herself at me, head buried in my neck.

"I'm sorry Bret ... I'm just being silly."

I felt her hot tears on my neck.

"I love you Abigail ... I will always love you."

I turned her face to me.

"Don't you know that?"

Abigail smiled, and looked at me for a few seconds, studying my face with those wonderful green eyes.

"Yes ... I do know that ... I love you so much Bret ... sometimes that's what makes me insecure ... I never want us apart."

I kissed her and we stood there for a long time holding each other.

Finally I looked at her and smiled and said,

"Your tea's getting cold.

She smiled.

"You were bringing me tea in bed?"

"And breakfast too once the griddle is hot enough."

"Bret Dawson ... no wonder I love you so much ... what woman could resist a man who brings her breakfast in bed on a snowy Christmas morning!"