M.J. Rodgers - Baby By Chance

“Tell me how he died.”

“How will that help?”

“I’m not sure that it will. But I’d like you to tell me.”

There was a sincerity in his tone that caught her off guard. He really did sound as though he wanted to know. Yet when she looked up, she found his attention still focused on the dog, his hand stroking Honey’s tummy in a soft, circular motion that was almost hypnotic.

“Paul was a fireman,” she began. “He was a courageous man, dedicated to saving lives. He worked long hours. When he came home that day, he was very tired. But there was a game on TV he wanted to watch, so he decided to stay up for a while.”

The images from the past were clear. She saw Paul as he’d plopped on the couch in his striped boxer shorts, a beer in his hand. He had grinned at her over his bare shoulder, and she’d seen the familiar light stubble on his chin, his blond hair—as always—in need of a trim.

“I put some wash in the dryer, kissed him goodbye and went off to do the grocery shopping,” she continued. “When I got home, I found the block surrounded by fire engines and the house…Paul…everything was gone.”

She didn’t remember much of that part. Probably better that she didn’t.

“How did the fire start?” David asked.

“I’m not sure. Paul had fallen asleep on the couch. They found…him there.”

What was left of him. They had spared her the details—something for which she would always be grateful. She stared down at her walking shoes, concentrated on the gold and white stripes on the sides.

“I didn’t mean to bring it all back,” David said.

She looked up to find him watching her. His face was full of understanding. Strange she had thought his eyes cold. They were looking at her with the same warmth that was in his voice.

“Did you get grief counseling after his death?” he asked.

“I’ve never been one to go to other people for help. I was certain I could handle the grief, and I did. I accepted Paul’s death. I got on with my life. Everything was going well. But, then, a few months ago, the dreams started.”

“What kind of dreams?”

“Vivid,” she said. “I know people are supposed to dream every night. I suppose I must. But I’ve never remembered my dreams before.”

“What happens in these dreams?”

“Paul and I do everyday things together. I bring lemonade out to him while he’s digging the trench for our sprinkler system, and he suddenly tackles me, and we’re rolling in the mud laughing. Or we’re on a scary roller coaster together, and I’m holding on tightly and screaming my head off. Or we’re building sand castles on the beach just like we did on our honeymoon. I see him so clearly that when I wake up, I expect him to be beside me.”

“But he’s not,” David said after a moment of silence.

She stared at one of her favorite photographs—the one of the eagle soaring over the waterfall, powerful wings shimmering with sunlight, proud head rising above all the cares of the world.

“I faced the pain. I faced the grief. I put them both behind me. Only now the dreams have come, and I don’t know why.”

“What did they suggest you do at the seminar?” David asked.

“We were supposed to write a goodbye letter.”

“How far did you get?”

Dearest Paul— Why am I dreaming about you?

“Not very far,” she admitted. “I was staring at those empty white pages while everyone around me was scribbling away. I knew I was getting nowhere. I got up to leave and collided with Todd.”

“He was sitting beside you?”

She shook her head. “He was on the end of the row in the back. I was hurrying up the aisle toward the exit. I didn’t see him getting up to leave, and I ran into him. Literally.”

“And you two left together.”

“He suggested we walk to this bar that was a couple of blocks away, to get a drink. Sounded like a good idea at the time.”

“Do you remember the name of the bar?”

“No, most of the letters on the neon sign were burned out. All I remember clearly is that the waitress was sweet and the music was sad.”

“So you had a drink,” he said in that same soothing voice that had become so easy to respond to.

“I don’t even like alcohol,” she said, sighing in remembrance. “I hate the taste and the stuff kills brain cells. I’ve always figured I needed every one of mine. The last drink I had before that night was a sip of champagne at my wedding.”

“But that night you drank more than a sip.”

“Oh yeah. After four Screwdrivers, I was feeling no pain. Of course, that was the whole idea. I told Todd about losing Paul. He told me about losing his mother. She had died a couple of months before, in a plane crash. They’d been very close. He hadn’t been able to write the goodbye letter to her, either. Hearing that made me feel a lot less like a failure. I really liked him for telling me.”

“Enough to become intimate with him?”

“Hardly. Sex was the last thing on my mind. That only happened because…”

Dear heavens, how could she explain to David what she still didn’t understand herself? Why did she want to? She normally didn’t care what men thought of her. But for some reason, she was beginning to care what David thought.

“Whatever you can tell me will help,” he said.

“He walked me back to the community center sometime after eleven,” she said, doubting any of what she had to say would really help. “The lot was deserted except for my vehicle. Todd told me he’d arrived late for the seminar and had parked on a side street somewhere. Neither of us was in any condition to drive home. He offered to use his cell phone to call me a cab. But I couldn’t leave my vehicle parked there overnight. All my camera equipment was inside. I couldn’t risk someone breaking in and stealing something.”

“So you spent the night in your SUV?”

She nodded. “I always carry a sleeping bag. Part of a nature photographer’s essential equipment. Todd helped me to unroll the bag, and I was out like the proverbial light as soon as I lay my head down. Next thing I knew I was having one of those vivid dreams of Paul. I could feel him beside me. He was snoring away.”

She paused, clasped the wedding band on her finger, stared at it in the room’s soft lamplight.

“You can tell me what happened,” he said.

There was something so soothing and accepting in his voice that she suddenly believed she could.

“When Paul snored, I would kiss his cheek so he’d wake up, roll onto his side and go back to sleep. But when I kissed him that night, he woke up and kissed me back. Then he started to make love to me.”

“But it wasn’t Paul,” David said quietly. “When did you know?”

She wanted to say afterward. She wished she could say afterward. But she had done something for which she was ashamed, and she wasn’t going to make herself feel even more ashamed by lying.

“I was still pretty smashed. But at one point I sensed something was different, opened my eyes and saw Todd’s face. I realized then that he must have passed out beside me. When I kissed him, he must have awakened and thought…”

“That you wanted him,” David supplied when her voice faded.

She gave a long exhale. “Todd kept whispering my name over and over. I closed my eyes and let it happen.”

“And in the morning?”

“When I awoke, Todd was gone, much to my relief. I don’t think I could have faced him. Because the truth is, I don’t know why I slept with him.”

“Hard to know why we do things sometimes.”

She looked up to see he was watching her, that calm acceptance still on his face. He was telling her that he wasn’t judging her. She appreciated that, more than she could say. But she was judging herself.