POSITIVE THINKING - NEGATIVE CONSEQUENCES

My first encounter with the concept of positive thinking was in the story "The Little Engine that Could". The earliest versions of the story were in articles written in the early 1900's. Then of course I learned the story of David and Goliath in church. That was my first introduction to the power of God, as well as positive thinking, or faith.
Much later, when I was in my early twenties, I was given some audio tapes of Napoleon Hill's "Think and Grow Rich", read by Earl Nightingale. That book applied the power of positive thinking to success in business and the accumulation of wealth, as well as other things one may aspire to. Not long after that, I read "The Power of Positive Thinking" by Dr. Norman Vincent Peale, and a somewhat related writing called "The Third Mind" (not to be confused with William S. Burroughs' work). The Third Mind concept is a phenomenon that occurs when two people collaborate on a project or discuss a topic. Each shares his or her thoughts, and each adds those thoughts to his/her own, and new ideas form that appear to come from a third, invisible person in the room. Thoughts that neither would have had alone are stimulated by the sharing of information.
Needless to say at this point, I have been generously drenched in the idea of positive thought and the powers of the mind. In Napoleon Hill's writing, he says, "Whatever the mind of man can conceive and believe, it can achieve.
Many people have used the seemingly limitless (if you believe the writings) power of positive thought to obtain wealth, power, material things, or develop desired relationships or situations such as jobs or the establishment of a business. Being a Christian, I believe that God gave us the amazing power of our mind. I beleive that God answers prayer, but I also beleive that some things we attribute to God are not His doing, but the abilities He gave us to accomplish things for ourselves.
That brings us to the point of this blog post. Not everything that we desire, and apply "positive thinking" to obtain has a positive result. You are familiar with the old saying, "Be careful what you wish for."
Gerald Brom said, "Everything comes with a price. Everything. Some things just cost more than others."
I have said similar things many times myself. Everything we desire requires some price be paid, whether it is at the cost of our time and energy, or a trade-off of something else in our lives. I have known several people, for instance, who had such a desire to accomplish something that the cost included the loss of relationships, or having to part with something else that was dear to them. In order to get one desired job, you often have to give up another, hopefully for better pay, working conditions, or some other benefits. Sometimes the cost is not just to ourselves, but to others as well, and sometimes the cost can be great and painful. In short, positive thinking can have negative consequences, if it's not applied carefully to well considered desires. One man I know almost destroyed his marriage and family by devoting all his time and energy to building a business and obtaining financial success. All the time he thought he was doing it for his family...until it was almost too late. I know another man who actually did lose his family seeking something else which turned out to be folly.
Positive thinking is a very powerful too, but like any tool which is abused or used in the wrong way, it can be dangerous and even deadly.
Be careful - truly - what you wish for and consider the price you're willing to pay for it. Also consider the possible unintended consequences.

How Do I Say Goodbye?

I asked some friends to help me create a character for a story. I took their suggestions and wrote. Here are their contributions, followed by the story that came from them.

1. Answered: male
2. Partly answered: nickname "Mac" still need first name.
3. Answered: Last name McAvoy
4. Answered: 50 years old
5. Answered: Hair turning silver with blue eyes.
6. Answered: Inner city Detroit
7. Answered: Recently widowed with a grandson to look after
8. Answered: Sheriff/Law Enforcement Officer
9. Answered: Good trait- somewhat like Sheriff Andy Taylor (Griffith)
10. Answered: Not-so-good trait - may cross the line if needed (Longmire)
11. Answered: Problem - Lost wife after 27 years of marriage.
12. Answered: How is the character dealing with the problem - Sheriff Mac has not dealt with the death of his wife. However, his 3 year old grandson is forcing the issue. He begins to have flashbacks of his wife and his daughter who also died Together in the car crash. The father of the 3 year old has not been seen since learning of the pregnancy 4 years ago.
When all the questions are answered, my assignment is to write a short story based on the character we have created together.

How Do I Say Goodbye?

By Phil Ruby

Sean “Mac” McAvoy stood looking at his grandson, Jacob, whom he always called Jake. His brow narrowed, his eyes got misty and his jaw clinched as he tried to answer the questions the three-year-old boy had just asked. It had been six months since the death of his Mac’s wife, Marianne, and his daughter, Laura, in the car crash. Jake was Laura’s only child. Mac had not really dealt with the loss. He threw himself into his work and drank himself to sleep most nights after Jake went to bed. Despite the advice of all his men and others in the Sheriff’s office, as well as the department’s counselor, Mac had not allowed himself to go through the grieving process. He was stuck in the anger stage, internalizing it until he had nearly destroyed his health. He moved quickly past the denial stage, having been in law enforcement for thirty years. He had seen plenty of death and knew there was no use in denying that it had ripped apart his own family.

The fifty-year-old Mac’s once reddish-blonde hair had almost all turned to silver. His blue eyes glistened with the forming tears as he took his grandson firmly, but gently by the shoulders.

The boy spoke again, with a quiver in his voice, “Grandpa, are mommy and grandma ever coming home?”

Maybe the young Jake had a lot of his grandfather in him, getting stuck in the denial stage of grief, even though the deaths were explained to him by the counselor months before.

The questions welled up in Mac’s chest and formed a hard lump right in the middle of his gut. The questions were forcing Mac to move on through the stages of grief. He asked himself, “What if I had seen the signs earlier?” and “Why didn’t I react sooner?” He began to ask God to bring them back, knowing that could not happen.

“Jake,” Mac finally spoke, trying to control his voice, “Do you believe in God – in heaven?”

“Mommy told me about them,” Jake said, his eyes lighting up for a moment, “Heaven is a place where nobody gets sick or hurt, and God takes care of them forever!” Then Jake slumped, his eyes fell to the floor. “That’s where mommy and grandma are, isn’t it? They are not coming back. Are they?”

Those seven words in his grandfather’s question were all Jake needed to understand, finally. Only his grandpa could settle the issue, no matter what anyone else had told him. Jake had somehow, through the magic of youth, leaped all the way to acceptance.

Mac, however would still need some processing.

Seven months earlier

Mac McAvoy sat as his desk in the Wayne County Sheriff’s Department in Detroit, Michigan. He was in charge of the Special Response Team (SRT), responsible for the handling of critical incidents and high-risk operations in a manner that reduces the chance of violence, injury, or death. The day was routine so far, with little for the specialized tactical officers except to keep up their continued training on tactical weapons and scenarios, play cards and chew the fat. Routine, that is, until the call came from the Sheriff that there was a hostage situation on the west side of town in a hospital emergency room.

The team rolled quickly, grabbing gear, suiting up with body armor and helmets, and piling into the truck they called the “bread truck” unofficially. When they arrived at the facility, it was surrounded by city police, other Sheriff units, an FBI unit, and a town councilman asking too many questions.

“Get him out of the way!” Mac yelled, pointing at the politician, “Where are the feds?”

Mac knew that if the FBI was involved they would assume control of the situation and be giving out orders. The federal agent met Mac halfway flashing his badge and beginning to tell Mac what to do. Mac, a usually soft-spoken, calm individual who didn’t like to yell at anyone could take on his aggressive side when needed.

“Before you start,” Mac interrupted, “We are the Wayne County SRT. We’re handling this. We’ve been called in the sheriff, and if you have any questions or comments, he’ll be here shortly, I’m sure.”

Mac’s forcefulness took the agent by surprise, as he stepped back for a moment to gather his thoughts. This was obviously a young agent on his first, or one of his first, assignments. Mac moved on toward the city cars, asking the police chief about the details of the situation.

We have two men with semi-automatic handguns, two each, I believe,” said the chief, Robert Donovan, “and loaded down with clips. They entered the ER shortly after noon demanding to remove a gunshot victim from the premises. They thought they were going to get in and out with him before any law enforcement showed up, it seems. They faced resistance from one very tough lady, the head nurse.”

“My wife,” Mac said nodding his head, “Has she…has anyone been hurt?”

“There has been no gunfire so far,” Robert said, “but when we had one of the armed men on the phone earlier I heard some of the staff in the background screaming about the men damaging some of the medical equipment and putting patients’ lives in danger.”

“We have maps of the building and my men are moving in now,” Mac said, “We’ll get this thing over with and do it without anyone getting hurt.” Mac said it with the confidence he always displayed. Whether he truly believed it or not was anyone’s guess.

One month later

“It always makes me nervous when you leave for work,” Marianne said, her arms around Mac’s neck,” she gave him a kiss.

“Things have been quiet for a while now,” Mac said, “ever since…”

“Ever since you and your men came riding on your white horses and rescued me, and everyone else at the hospital?” Marianne said smiling, “You know I never would have imagined you’d be coming to see me at work!” She was trying to joke, but she was afraid.

The two men they took into custody without incident glared at Marianne on their way out. One of them, called “Chalk” by the other, had said to her, “We’ve got friends. They’ll be looking for you.” He was referring to the fact that Marianne had detained them long enough for the police to arrive.

“Look,” Mac said, “I know you’re worried, and I am too. That’s why my friends at DPD have extra patrols in the neighborhood. Some of the guys are even coming by in their off-duty hours to keep an eye on the house. Are you planning to go anywhere today?”

“Laura and I are going to shop for Jacob’s birthday party!” Marianne said excitedly, “He’s turning three this coming Saturday, you know!”

“Let me know where you are. I’ll try to get away and meet you two for lunch,” Mac said with a smile, “Jake’s at Amy’s, I assume?”

“Yes,” Marianne nodded, “He begged me to go. I think your sister would keep him if we let her. He plays so well with Bradley!”

Another kiss, and Mac was out the door. Marianne looked out, up and down the street, and waved at Fred, the off-duty cop that Mac had gotten to follow her if she went anywhere. The two who had held the ER staff and patients hostage a month before were behind bars, but they had ties to a local drug gang, and had threatened Mac’s wife. He wasn’t taking any chances.

On his way up the street, Mac noticed a car moving slowly. He took note, but it was a late-model car and the two men inside were dressed in casual business attire, and going by he saw a laptop and some papers in the back seat. “Probably insurance salesmen or realtors,” he thought to himself. He glanced into his rear-view to make sure Fred was still watching.

Noon

Mac’s phone rang. “That must be the gals telling me where to meet them for lunch,” Mac said to a couple of his team sitting nearby. “Hello!”

“Dad!” the voice on the other end was shaking and he heard sobs.

“Laura!” Mac said, “What’s wrong?!”

“We’ve been in a bad car crash! I’ve called 911!” Laura said, her voice getting weaker as she spoke, “Dad! Mom’s not breathing! I’m bleeding! Trapped in the car!”

Mac could not speak at first. He was gathering his thoughts. Ordinarily he would have quizzed about location and informed the main office about the call immediately. This was not ordinary. This was his daughter, and his wife.

“Dad,” Laura said, her voice trailing, “If I don’t make it,”

“Stop that!” Mac said firmly, “You hang on! They’re coming to help you!”

“Take care of Ja….” Silence

Mac called out over and over, but there was no response. He contacted the 911 center, found out the location of the crash and headed there as quickly as possible. The ambulances, fire department and city police were on the scene. The bodies of Mac’s wife and daughter were being put into separate ambulances, pronounced dead at the crash. Marianne’s car was over a small embankment, piled up against a large concrete pillar that supported the Interstate Highway just overhead. There was no sign of skid marks nor evidence of another vehicle involvement. It looked to the detectives like a single car accident. It was concluded that the driver, Mac’s wife, must have been distracted and ran off the road, killing both the occupants of the vehicle.

Mac could not get the fact out of his head that the perpetrator at the hospital ER had threatened his wife. He spent the next couple of months trying to convince the prosecuting attorney to investigate the possibility that Marianne and Laura had been run off the road by one of “Chalk’s” associates in crime. No evidence was found, and Mac was ordered by a judge to cease and desist any attempts to investigate further, in an official capacity as an officer of the Sheriff’s Department of Wayne County. Mac tendered his resignation immediately upon hearing that judgment, and began an investigation with the help of a private detective. Spending his days talking to the PI and his nights in a drunken stupor, Mac was missing meals, missing sleep, and missing his life.

Six months later

Mac looked at his grandson, kissed him on the forehead, and said, “We’re going to be all right.”

Four nights earlier

Mac had gotten a tip from his private investigator that the one called “Chalk”, nicknamed because of the chalk lines of dead bodies he had been responsible for in the city, was released from jail along with his partner. Mac was also told of their hiding location. He crept out late at night alone, drove to a block away from where the assailants were supposedly hiding, and walked through backyards to the house. He held a tactical flashlight and wore his holstered 9mm pistol at his side. He also had on his bullet proof vest. He crept near the back door of the residence and began making noise, throwing rocks at the back door and yelling.

Noises came from inside the house. Mac stood in the alley, off the premises and waited. The back door flew open, obviously kicked or shoved from inside. Then a face slowly appeared, then another.

“Come on out!” Mac called, shining his light at the back door, nearly blinding the two..

“Who are you? What do you want?” one of them demanded.

“I am…or was, the director of the Wayne County Sheriff’s Strategic Response Team,” Mac shouted.  “I also am…or was, the husband of Marianne McAvoy and the father of Laura McAvoy. Do you know those names?”

“Sorry!” the voice shouted, “I can’t help you.”

“You ordered one of your boys to run them off the road out under the Interstate,” Mac shouted. “They both died in the crash. Now I’m here to take you in for conspiracy to commit murder.”

“By yourself?” the voice called out. “And you are no longer with the sheriff’s department? I’d say you’re out of luck, pal!”

Shots were fired from the door and window out into the alley. In the next seconds, lights blared from up and down the alley and bullets riddled the back of the house. The SRT had come to back him up under the instructions of the new head. As Mac stood there, never having fired a shot, he was approached by a few of his old crew.

“They fired the first shots, sir,” one of them said.

“You don’t have to call me sir, anymore,” Mac said. “I’m not your boss anymore.”

“You will always have my respect and admiration, sir,” the young man said, “and as far as I’m concerned, you will always be ‘sir’ to me.”

Four days later

Mac looked once more on his young grandson, who had already started to play with his toy cars. He went outside, sat down on the back stoop, and cried. He cried until he had no more tears. Then he looked up, and said, “God, how do I say goodbye?”

Why Is It So Hard to Defeat ISIS and Other Terrorist Groups?

I keep hearing some people saying things like, "We should ban all Muslims from entering the US!" or, "Why don't we just nuke the entire Middle East and turn it into a glass parking lot?!"None of that will solve the problem of violence and terrorism in the world. Why is it so difficult to stop ISIS and other groups who are terrorizing the world? This is probably a clue.

Ephesians 6:12(NIV) "For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms."

What we are facing, what we sometimes call "radical Islam" among other things, is pure evil. Evil comes from the powers of this dark world. Notice the scripture is referring to rulers, not ruler, authorities, not authority, and powers, not power. The one we call satan is just one. He has many other helpers in his army of fallen angels, and it it suggested that he even may have limited powers of creation when it comes to demons and other spiritual creatures.

These evil powers of the dark world are not interested in what happens to our bodies. Killing, torturing, raping, mutilating our flesh is only a means to an end. That goal is our souls. Satan and his forces want to cause us to lose faith, turn from God, and let our fear turn our hearts to evil, adopting his own evil ways. In other words, he wants to turn us to the "dark side." (Yes, George Lucas had it right.)

The reason ISIS and other terrorist groups are so difficult to defeat is that they are not an organized army with a chain of command like our enemies in other wars that we have fought. It is an ideology. It is a thought. It can infiltrate easily and quickly, any group, even our own army...or as some believe, even the White House.

The only way this evil will be defeated is by God, in His time, and in His way. Until then, yes, we must do what we can to defend ourselves, our families, and our nation, but most importantly, we must guard our souls. That is the true treasure that the enemy is after.

Pressing Against the Stone

A young man was pressing against a boulder that had fallen, partially blocking a roadway. He was pushing and pushing, but the rock did not budge.
A wise man came by (I don't know...a monk or something) and asked, "What are you doing?"
"I am keeping this boulder from moving further toward me. It is pressing against me hard!" said the young man, tired out out of breath, about to pass out from exhaustion.
"How long have you been there?" the wise man asked.
"All day yesterday, and all night!" the young man wheezed, still pressing. "It was moving toward me slowly when I passed by so I leaned against it, and it will not let up!"
"Do you not realize that the boulder is only pressing against you because you are pressing against it?" said the wise man, trying to keep from making light of the young man's ignorance.
"But it's pressing really hard!" the young man insisted.
"Do this," said the wise man, "You will not move the boulder, and it's not going to move any further. It is settled in. Let up on your pressure just a little and see if the boulder responds in kind."
"I will try," the young man said. As he lightened his pressure just a bit, he realized the boulder lightened its pressure against him, as well.
"More" the wise man said, "Let up more."
The young man did, and slowly he realized that the less pressure he put on the boulder, the less resistance he felt from it.
"Ah!" Thank you so much!" the young man said, finally completely letting off his pressure and backing away. "You are a very wise man indeed!"
"Many things in life are that way," the wise man said, "Many things cannot be moved by our pressing against them, and the harder we press, the harder they push back! They are only pressing against us because we press against them. Recognize that some boulders will simply be in our lives, and find a way around, or coexist with them."

WORDS

by Phil Ruby

Fairly recently I've been caught up in the Words with Friends game. I had heard of it, but did not realize until talking to someone that it's basically Scrabble in digital form. When I learned that! Well! Scrabble was my mother's favorite game. It was a go-to on our family game night, along with Monopoly, when we felt we had hours  with nothing else to do.
My mother had an extensive vocabulary from reading, mostly the newspaper, doing crossword puzzles, etc. She loved word games of all kinds, which is interesting since she neither fully understood the meanings of, nor the correct pronunciations of many of the words she had learned. She just knew how they were spelled, and that's all that was needed for her to become an excellent Scrabble player. I learned a lot about words from my mother, and developed a love for words and the English language. That love was fed by one of my favorite school teachers, a high school English teacher named Ruth Oliver.
Perhaps those two are mostly responsible for my desire to write. I started writing stories and poems for myself, mostly, with pencil and paper as early as sixth grade. I have always had a vivid imagination, which developed thoughts I felt I needed to put on paper, even if no one ever read them.
Words, phrasing, humor, sarcasm, double-meanings, profundity in language, have always held a deep fascination for me.
Once, in junior high school, I wrote a poem for an English class assignment. I did some research on my own, reading poetry from a book my father had. I got some ideas, and wrote an original poem patterned after some of the works I had read. I got an "F" on that paper because the teacher did not believe I could have written it. She said it was too good for an eighth grader to write, even though she did not even try to find any evidence of plagiarism. Oh, well. Looking back, I can't say I blame her because my imagination sometimes caused me to have problems separating it from reality back then. Some of my imaginings seemed so real to me that I would occasionally tell them as truth. Because of that, I suppose I would have made an excellent politician! A little later in life, reality beat me over the head enough times to break me of that habit.
My father also played a role in developing my interest in words and language. He read everything he could get his hands on. I imagine if he had been and raised in the information age, as I have been, he would have burned up the Internet, and the midnight oil reading things he could never have had access to in our local book stores and libraries.
He read documentaries, fiction, science articles, and often information about other countries and cultures. His time in the Navy, traveling a good portion of the world, gave him an interest in diversity. He often talked about the people he met in other countries, and read about them when he could.
Words - they have been a huge part of my life. More than just communicating what I'm having for lunch or telling a joke.
My favorite author was Samuel "Mark Twain" Clemens when I was young. He did not simply tell a story. He made me live it. Later, J. R. R. Tolkien became one of my favorites. He not only had a command of language, but even invented one! I hope to be able to write in such a way as to draw people into my words, so they are not just reading combinations of letters, but are becoming surrounded and engulfed by the images and feelings they convey.

This is one of my attempts at writing romance:

Lighthouse

By Phil Ruby

Dee Summers was driving. She had not route planned. She just knew she needed to go somewhere to get away from the upside down world that had become her life. Dee was in her mid-forties, had a husband who left her, children who blamed her, friends who had forsaken her, and no one who believed her side of the story. It all had her at her wits end. She had packed a few bags of clothing and personal items that meant something to her, got in the car and never intended to go back. Where would she end up? It did not seem to matter to Dee as long as it was far away. She was going northeast, from her hometown of Plano, Texas in the fall of the year. In the back of her mind she was thinking to go somewhere as different from Texas as she could find. Massachusetts pretty much filled that bill.

Days later Dee found herself near the Northern coast of Massachusetts, on a road that seemed to lead nowhere. It was getting near dusk and she was looking for a motel, or any place to park and sleep a while in her car if she had to. She saw nothing for miles. As the sun set and light grew dim, Dee caught a glimpse of a light through the trees. She drove toward that light and turned down a gravel road toward the coastline. Coming nearer she realized the light was from an old lighthouse. As she drew nearer, she saw a little cottage beside the light tower that she assumed was the light keeper’s residence.

Dee decided she would knock on the door of the cottage and ask where she might find a room for the night. Getting out of her car she felt a strong wind. It nearly took off her coat. She pulled the coat around her tightly and started toward the door. She knocked and waited a minute or two. No answer. She knocked louder. In another few seconds someone opened the door. It was a man who appeared to be in his fifties with greying beard and a few wrinkles on his face. Just as he was opening the door a lightning bolt flashed nearby followed quickly by a loud clap of thunder. Without thinking, Dee jumped forward, startled. She landed right in the man’s arms.

“Well!” the man said, “I wasn’t expecting company at all, let alone a pretty young lady to jump right into my arms like that!”

“I’m sorry…” Dee began

“No!” the man interrupted, “Don’t be sorry at all! Are you lost? No one comes out here unless they’ve lost their way. Never have any visitors!”

“Well, you might say that. I don’t have a destination. Just going,” Dee said hanging her head a little.

“Come inside,” the man said moving aside and motioning toward a big comfortable looking chair by a stone fireplace with a roaring fire in it, “There’s a bad nor’easter comin’ in, and it’s about to be met smack dab over us by another front out of the west. I guess you haven’t been listenin’ to the weather. They’re calling for a nasty blow. From that lightning strike I’d say she’s arrived. When you first knocked I thought it was the wind blowin’ somthin’ around. Wind’s getting’ fierce! So you’re runnin’ away from somethin’ huh? Or maybe someone?”

Dee lowered herself into the chair and answered, “Everything and everyone. It’s a long story.”

“Yeah, most people’s stories are long,” the man said, “but we’re not goin’ anywhere for a while. Let me make us some tea and you can begin wherever you like. My name’s Paul Dunfee, by the way. Yours?”

“Dee…Dee Summers.”

Paul went to the kitchen and put on some water. He opened the jar where he kept his tea bags and then poked his head around the door facing, “Do you like green tea? That’s all I have at the moment,” he said, but looking at her he realized she had already fallen sound asleep in the chair. He moved an ottoman close to her chair, gently raised her feet up onto it, and found a quilt to cover her with. She unconsciously pulled it around her close and fell deeper into her sleep. “Must be exhausted,” Paul said to himself.

Paul finished making his tea and sat in a chair opposite the one Dee was in, where he would eventually fall asleep watching the fire dance and crackle, and listening to the wind and rain, thunder and lightning. He didn’t care much for sleeping in a bed. He had been sleeping in the chair for a few years.

Next Morning

The rain and wind had battered the old lighthouse and cottage all night. Paul had gotten up several times to check for damages, but there was little to be found. The place had weathered storms for decades. The power was out, but Paul had lit some oil lamps and kept the fire stoked. A backup generator kept the beacon in the tower shining brightly.  Looking outside though Paul did discover one very inconvenient occurrence. There was a small bridge just before the main lot of the lighthouse and it had been completely washed away. If storm damage was widespread, it would take perhaps weeks to get to the little lighthouse to make any repairs. Paul was up preparing a breakfast of eggs, bacon, and hotcakes when Dee finally stirred awake. It took her a few minutes to remember where she was and how she got there. Paul came into the room with more of that hot tea and placed a cup by Dee on a small table.

“I don’t have any lemon or sugar,” he said with a smile, “I’ve got some raw honey that I use sometimes if you like.”

“No thank you,” Dee said lifting the cup to her lips, “This will be just fine. I’m sorry to have imposed on you last night. I’ll be on my way as soon as I collect myself a little. If you’ll just let me use the bathroom…”

“I’m sorry, ma’am, but you’re not goin’ anywhere for a while…maybe a long while,” Paul said, “Bridge is washed out.”

“I didn’t even notice a bridge coming in last night,” Dee said surprised.

“It wasn’t very obvious,” Paul explained, “No side rails of any kind and it had been graveled over. It didn’t really look like a bridge, but it spanned a small stream that grew out of bounds last night in the storm. As you can tell the power is out. I’ve got a gas stove for cookin’ and plenty of firewood. I just hope there’s enough fuel for the generator. I don’t use it for the house to save the fuel for the beacon.”

“How long before the bridge is replaced?” Dee asked knowing the answer would not be a matter of days, but probably weeks or more.

They’ll get to us eventually, after every other mud puddle is cleaned up in the state. Could be a month,” Paul said, “But don’t worry. If we really need to get somewhere there’s a high swingin’ bridge for foot traffic only upstream a little ways. Your car will be locked in for a while though. Might as well plan on stayin’ here. No lodgin’ for miles. And I don’t mind the company. I’ve got breakfast started. Just getting’ ready to put the bacon in the pan! I’ll go finish that up. Hungry?”

“Famished!” Dee said, “I can’t really remember the last time I ate. Things have been a blur since I left. I’ll be happy to pay you for my meals while I’m stuck here.”

“Nonsense,” Paul insisted, “Like I said before, I’m glad to have the company.”

Eating breakfast Paul remembered that Dee had a story that he was hoping she would tell him. “So who are you runnin’ from again?” he asked.

Dee sighed, “Everyone and everything, like I said last night. It all started when my husband got a promotion at work. He began working longer hours, sometimes till late at night. He usually left early in the morning without even waking me to say goodbye. After a month or so I began to beg him to slow down and stay home more. He got very angry when I even mentioned it. He told our children I was a “bitch”, if you’ll excuse the language. He said he worked so much to get away from me. They are grown and have families of their own so they couldn’t see what things were really like for us. They believed their dad, and stopped coming to see me. They would ask their dad over for dinner sometimes and not invite me. My husband even told all our friends that he couldn’t bear being around me anymore, blaming me for being “difficult”. I swear I was as kind to him as I ever was.

The last straw was when I asked him if he was seeing someone else. He hit the roof saying how dare I accuse him of such a thing when he was working his butt off to support me. He packed up and left. I have no idea where he went. I never see the kids, my friends don’t care if I live or die. They all believe him, and think I’m the worst wife since Delilah cut Samson’s hair!”

“What a horrible thing to happen to you!” Paul said.

“I had enough. I had to get out of there. I just packed some things and got in my car and drove.” Dee said, “I didn’t have a clue where I was going. I just knew I couldn’t stay there. Thankfully I have money of my own, not a lot, but enough to go somewhere and start a new life till I get a job.”

“Well, you can stay here as long as you like,” Paul offered, “Or maybe longer than you like, depending on how long it takes to get things back in order around here.”

“The least I can do is clean up the breakfast dishes,” Dee said, “Thank you so much! I was starving!” She started clearing the dishes away while Paul fiddled with the battery operated radio to try and hear some news about the storm damage.

Paul finally found a station with a report which said the governor had declared a state of emergency for the entire state of Massachusetts. Power was out everywhere, trees were across roads, flooding had destroyed many roadways, and lightning had burned some houses. It was going to be a long time before Dee was able to leave. Paul didn’t really mind that, and she didn’t seem to have anywhere in particular that she was headed to.

Paul couldn’t help but keep glancing at Dee as she washed the dishes. Her tight jeans and the sweater she was wearing were very flattering to her hourglass figure, especially from behind. It had been a few years since he had had a woman in the house, and Dee was an attractive lady with brown hair and big, beautiful brown eyes to match. She had a classic beauty and a soft, warm smile, full lips and perfect proportions.

Dee had noticed Paul as well. He was a bit taller than her, broad shoulders and strong arms. He was a little over fighting weight, but just enough to be a bit like a teddy bear. He was ruggedly dressed, hadn’t had a haircut in months, she figured, and had about a week’s worth of beard growth. But he had a nice smile with dark eyes that looked like they were smiling all the time. He had a soft but manly voice, and a gentle manner to him. Dee was attracted, to a degree, but her life was so up in the air at the moment she couldn’t allow herself to think about it much. Not much.

“I’m goin’ out to take a better look around now that the storm’s passed,” Paul said from the bedroom. He was getting a jacket. The storms had left behind some very cold air.

“Be careful!” Dee shouted. Then she smiled to herself, but it was a quickly fading smile. She had said those words to her family many times – people she had cared for and whom she had once trusted. How could they have all turned against her? Her husband had become cold and calloused in his heart, but still managed to seem sweet and persuasive enough to destroy her life with his lies. Suddenly she heard Paul’s footsteps, which stopped at the kitchen door. She turned and he was leaning with an arm propped against the door facing, a grin on his face.

“I haven’t heard anyone say that to me in years!” Paul said, and then chuckled a little. “You sayin’ ‘Be careful’ brought back memories…very distant ones.” Then he kind of shook his head and walked toward the front door. “Kinda nice!” he added on his way out.

After finishing cleaning up from breakfast, Dee decided to turn on the radio for some distraction from her thoughts. It was blasting about another storm warning, very similar to the one they had just experienced. It was expected to hit that night.

“…but the storm surge ahead of this new nor’easter will be very high due to the high winds. People along the coast line should consider evacuating, if they can find a safe place to go. Last night’s storm didn’t leave many options for them, though.”

Dee went to the door and yelled out to Paul, who was removing some debris from around the house.

“There’s another storm coming tonight!” she yelled through the still blustery winds.

“I know!” Paul shouted back, “I heard about it earlier, but didn’t want to make you worry.

“Kindness,” Dee thought to herself, turning back into the house. She hadn’t felt kindness from anyone for at least a year. “If only dad were alive,” she thought, “He was always kind, loving and understanding, no matter what.” Then Dee realized that Paul reminded her a lot of her father. She hadn’t realized it before. That would explain why she jumped into his arms when the lighting struck, and why she felt so comfortable walking right into a stranger’s house and falling asleep in front of his fireplace. She felt safe with him immediately.

Paul walked back in and threw his jacket on the floor beside the door, which Dee walked to and picked up to hang on the coat hook out of habit. “Yeah, that next storm could take out some of our bank. It’s already loose from last night’s rains, and that bluff erodes a little each year. Eventually the lighthouse will be in danger,” he said.

“What will they do then?” Dee asked.

“It’s been on the ‘endangered’ list for about ten years anyway. The shippin’ lanes have changed, and nobody sails near these rocks around here, so they might just let it go. The only reason it’s still here now, and I’m tendin’ it, is because of a historical society in the state fightin’ to keep it. But it’s not a tourist attraction. Too many others around that are bigger, fancier, and closer to restaurants, motels, and souvenir shops. Our lighthouse loses a lot of money every year, and the society takes in less revenue every year. They won’t be able to keep ‘er around much longer…or me.”

A loud sound came from outside just then, like a big diesel engine not far away.

“That’ll be the guys from the local volunteer fire department coming around to check on me,” Paul said, opening the door.

A big red pumper truck was sitting just on the other side of the washed out bridge. A man and woman got out dressed in their fire gear. It was Mac Macdonald and Maggie Brennan. Mac’s real first name was Sean, but there were so many Seans in the area that everyone just called him Mac.

“You doin’ all right over there, Paul?” Mac yelled across the stream.

“Yeah, yeah! Doin’ just fine! Not much damage this time, but that next one might take its toll!” Paul yelled back.

Then Maggie chimed in, seeing Dee a couple of steps behind Paul. “Who’s your girlfriend, Dunfee? I thought I was the woman of your dreams!”

“Oh! This is Dee…ummm…” Paul had forgotten her last name.

“Dee Summers!” Dee jumped in, “I was looking for directions last night and got trapped by the storm. Paul was kind enough to take me in till the repairs are made to the bridge!”

“What bridge?” Maggie said, looking at the stream where there was no longer any sign that one had been there. “Have to build a new one. With all the other roadway repairs around, it may be a while!”

“So I’ve heard,” Dee said hanging her head a little.

“Well we’re goin’, if your sure you don’t need anything,” Mac shouted.

“We’ll be fine for a while,” Paul answered, “Probably need some groceries soon though. I’ll have to tap into the lighthouse generator to keep my refrigerator and freezer foods from all goin’ bad.”

“We’re goin’ on over to the Waston’s place to check on the old man! I’ll get you some goods from the market up near there if they’ve got anything left. There’s still power on that branch of the grid..for now!” Mac looked at the still dark clouds overhead. Then they left.

“Girlfriend?” Dee asked looking at Paul.

“Ha! Nah!” Paul said in a gruff tone, “Maggie flirts with every man in the county! Not the loyal ‘girlfriend’ type. Any man who lets her get her hooks in him will always be lookin’ over his shoulder to see who the next fool in line is.”

Dee wondered why she felt just a little jealousy. She hadn’t known Paul nearly long enough to develop real feelings for him. Still, she felt something.

The day went by quickly, with Paul busy with the generator and running a cord to the refrigerator and freezer. Dee had brought her bags in from the car and was going through them. She had packed so quickly when she decided to leave that she wasn’t really certain what she had put in them. She pulled out a couple of smocks that she usually wore to the clinic where she had been working. Dee was a registered nurse, working at a small family health clinic until a couple of months ago when she quit her job out of depression. The one thing good about her husband’s promotion was that there was enough money to keep them well. Dee had been saving her own paychecks for over a year, thinking her income would go toward a new house. When she left, she emptied her bank account, which also had her husband’s name on it, so she could open a new one of her own somewhere. Her money was all in one of the bags, in cash.

“That really wasn’t smart, Dee,” she said aloud to herself. “But then, in an emergency situation such as this, cash might be the best option.”

Dee took out a pair of pants and then saw two dresses in the bottom of that bag. One was a nice evening dress, for which she had brought no shoes, purse, or any accessories, and the other was a print house dress that she liked to wear for comfort sometimes around the house. Her mother had always worn dresses, and Dee grew up keeping at least one around. She closed the door to the bedroom Paul had offered her, and slipped into the dress. She had one pair of house shoes and put them on, and decided to go back out into the living room. When she stepped through the door, she saw a man standing by the fireplace. At first she didn’t know who it was, then she realized that Paul had shaved and managed to awkwardly trim his hair. It was combed and he was smiling. He was also wearing a wrinkled, but nice shirt.

“Well! Look at you!” Paul said, his eyes taking her in from head to toe. “Pretty!”

“Thank you!” Dee said, whirling around so the skirt of her dress flared out. “You look quite handsome yourself!”

“Well, I haven’t had a lady in the house since…I just thought I could clean up a little so you wouldn’t think I was a total bum,” Paul explained.

Without the beard, Dee could see Paul’s strong jawline and his full lips, and how wide his grin was. She was even more attracted to him.

The evening was coming on and the light was fading. The dark, boiling clouds made it even darker as the new storm threat drew near.

“The report said these storms, the nor’easter, and another front out of the southwest, will be much like last night’s but they’re movin’ more slowly. The system is expected to stay over the coastline for maybe days,” Paul said, “Heavy rains, flash floodin’ and lots of erosion on the coast are expected. Might want to move your cah clos-a to the house so it doesn’t suff-a the same fate as the bridge!”

Dee laughed. She hadn’t noticed any accent before. Now Paul was sounding like a Bostonian.

“Oh! My accent,” Paul said, seeming embarrassed. “I’m not originally from around here. I’m from West Virginia. I worked a long time to get rid of that Appalachian accent, then I started picking up the local one. I try not to have any accent at all that you can place. Sometimes it slips when I’m not on my guard, or when I’m really tired. You may hear one or the other from time to time or both mixed together, like a New England hillbilly! Ha!”

They both laughed.

“I’ve tried my whole life not to develop that Texas drawl, so I know how you feel,” Dee admitted, “But if you hear a ‘y’all’ out of me now and then, I can’t help it.”

“You’re probably hungry!” Paul said, “I’m that way myself! I’ll go get some dinner ready. You like cod?”

“That sounds delicious!” Dee said, “…but why don’t you show me where everything is and I’ll make dinner? You’ve been working hard all day and I want to carry my share of the load.”

“That’s kind of you!” Paul said, “Really, I’m not used to cookin’ for others anyway. My methods may not be the best.”

While Dee was getting out the fish, some potatoes and a can of green beans she could hear the wind picking up outside. Loose cedar shingles on the house were rattling and the wind was whistling under the eaves. It was getting darker, so she lit a nearby oil lamp to finish preparing the meal. Paul was building a fire in the fireplace. When he got it going good he walked back to the door between the kitchen and the living room to stand and watch Dee. She turned to look at him.

“I figured if I watch you I might learn somethin’!” Paul said with a grin. There was a large window directly in front of Dee. He glanced out to see what the weather was doing.  Suddenly he ran toward Dee, shoved her to the floor and fell on top of her.

“What?!” Dee gasped. Before she could say another word there was a loud crash and glass shattered all over Paul’s back and the floor around them. A large piece of sheet metal had dislodged from the lighthouse tower in the wind. Paul saw it coming directly toward the windo and covered Dee’s body to protect her.

They lay there, Paul lying on top of Dee, her arms around him and his hand behind her head. They looked at each other for several moments. Her look of terror slowly turned soft. Paul’s look of fear for Dee’s life slowly turned to another expression. It was a look of longing. Dee wanted to kiss Paul, and was sure he wanted the same. Thinking quickly, she raised her head till her lips met his just briefly then lowered her head again and said, “That was for saving my life.”

Dee wanted more. She wanted to give Paul a long, lingering kiss, but her mind was spinning with many other thoughts. She was just coming out of a horrible relationship. She had only just met Paul. There was so much she didn’t know about him.

Paul started to get up slowly. “Careful! You’ll want to close your eyes just in case some glass falls off my back into your face. As soon as she closed her eyes he leaned in again and kissed her. This time it was lingering. Dee responded. Then Paul raised back up and said, “That’s for the kiss you gave me.” Then he got up, took Dee by the hands and lifted her out of the glass. Then he took off his shirt and shook it over the floor to remove most of the glass shards. Dee stared at his body. He was in good shape except for a little belly flab. She thought he looked magnificent.

The two began to clean up the glass in the floor, on the counter and all over the food Dee was trying to prepare when the rain started and it was blowing into the kitchen.

“I’ve got to get that window boarded up. Be careful finishing here, Dee,” Paul said. Then he went out to a small outbuilding and retrieved a sheet of plywood, nails, and a hammer. He came back and nailed the plywood over the broken window. He came back in drenched. Dee ran to the bathroom and got a towel and began drying his back off.

“Well there’s still the matter of dinner, isn’t there?” Dee said, her stomach rumbling.

“I’m sure neither of us feels like cooking now,” Paul said, “but I’ve got some sandwich stuff in the fridge. Turkey or ham?”

“Turkey sounds good,” Dee answered.

They made their sandwiches and sat in the floor in front of the fireplace.

“Your man must have rocks in his head, if you don’t mind my sayin’,” Paul said, “You’re beautiful, intelligent, and from what I’ve seen here, pretty good company...not to mention a great kisser!” They both laughed.

“You’re not a bad kisser yourself, Mr. Dunfee!” Dee added.

They both got quiet and gazed at each other until it became a bit uncomfortable. Then Paul broke the silence. “That storm’s not at its peak just yet,” he said, “It’s going to get a whole lot worse, I feel.”

It did. The storm dumped ten inches of rain in two hours and then settled into a steady rain that didn’t show any signs of letting up. The huge waves were licking at the top of the bluff near the lighthouse, with each one taking a bit of soil, rocks, and sand with it. The stream on the other side was out of its banks and coming near the cottage. The wind was near hurricane force, whipping trees around like they were made of rubber. Paul had never seen it quite this bad. He feared the roof could come off the cottage. Cedar shingles were already peeling off one by one.

Three days later

Dee woke in her bed not remembering lying down in it. She was also in her nightgown, thought she did not remember undressing. She saw Paul’s shadow underneath her door.

“Paul!” She shouted.

Paul cracked the door a little, not looking in, and said, “Yes?”

“Did you…did I…How did I get in this gown and get into the bed. I don’t remember.”

“Ah! The wine. You don’t remember anythin’? Paul asked.

“Wine! Yes! We did open a bottle of wine. That explains the headache, too,” Dee said, pressing her fingers against her temples.

“Yes. We opened a bottle…then another…and another,” Paul explained, “Eventually you said you were going to bed, and started undressing right there in front of the fire.”

“Oh no,” Dee gasped, “Did anything else…”

“If you’re askin’ if I was a gentleman, yes I was!” Paul insisted.

“Well, I was more concerned about what I may have done, since I can’t remember anything after that first glass of wine,” Dee said, embarrassed.

“Like I said,” Paul continued, “I was a gentleman, hard as it was with you leanin’ all over me and pawin’ at me, kissin’ my cheeks and tellin’ me what a wonderful man I was. You went on and on about how I saved your life, then cried about what a miserable life it was, then laughed about gettin’ stuck here. You were a typical drunk. I didn’t stop you from drinkin’ because I figured you needed it. We all do sometimes.”

Dee just sat in the bed listening with her face buried in her hands, shaking her head.

“Oh!” Paul added, “I didn’t let you get undressed completely. I walked you in here, found your night gown in one of your bags there and handed it to you, walked out, and closed the door. Apparently you found your way into the gown, and into the bed. I’ll let you get up and get dressed. I’m going to start breakfast. The storm’s passed now.”

Paul walked away, closing the door behind him, then rolled his eyes as if to say, “I think she bought it.”

Dee started to take the gown off and noticed something different. It was buttoned all the way up to the top. Dee never, ever buttoned the top two buttons, no matter what state of inebriation she was in. She looked at the door and thought about him undressing her and getting her into the gown. She found it to be a stimulating thought. After a few moments she got up, gathered some things and went into the bathroom to shower and get dressed for the day. She climbed in the shower and pulled the translucent curtain and began to let the warm water soak her. What Dee was not aware of was that the bathroom door didn’t latch very well and it had come loose from the catch, slowly swinging outward to a fully open position…just as Paul was walking by. He glanced in and could not force his gaze away. Her form was lovely. Finally he made himself slip to the door and close it, putting a throw rug in front of the bottom so it couldn’t happen again.

While Dee was in the shower many thoughts and feelings raced through her. She had been at the cottage less than a full week and felt she belonged there – with Paul.

Outside, the morning sun coming up in a blue sky looked surreal after the terrible storms. Sea birds flew and called over the water, a few boats were visible out on the now calm sea. But looking down around them, Paul and Dee saw that the storms did actually occur. Many cedar shingles were missing from the cottage, mud was everywhere, debris lay all over the yard and on the roofs. The lighthouse had a window pane broken out, and Dee’s car was dented and scratched from flying debris during the high winds. The bridge was still out, of course, but now the stream bed was wider and trees were down in the driveway on the other side. While they were surveying the area, Mac and Maggie came back, but parked further out because of the trees. Mac was carrying a big box and Maggie was wielding a chainsaw upon the fallen timbers.

“You guys are right were you were when we left you before! You stand there all this time through the storms?” Mac was a joker.

“Yep,” Paul said pointing to the ground, “Been right here! Watched the whole thing from this spot!”

“Well I managed to scrape up some things you’ll probably need. A little food, some batteries for lights and radios and such, toilet paper, paper towels, and so forth.” Mac handed Paul the box.

“Thanks, Mac,” Paul said holding the box on one arm and reaching out to shake hands with the other, “I’ll give you guys some extra next time fire fees come due.”

“You always do anyway, my friend,” Mac smiled.

“Thank Maggie for me for clearin’ those trees, too. Look at those forearms! I’d hate to get into a fight with her!” Paul said, laughing. Then he turned to Dee, “Care package!” he said, “There’s some sweet cakes and cookies in here, too! Nice!”

Two weeks later

Paul had most of the repairs done on the cottage and the lighthouse, and Dee had been taking care of the house inside and doing the cooking and cleaning. She stepped out to help when there was something she could do for Paul. The power had been restored but nothing had been done about the bridge. Examining the bluff, Paul noted that the property had lost about six feet average along the bank to the storms and the sea. It was way more than he had expected, and the edge was getting dangerously close to the lighthouse. There were only about another six feet left before the foundation would be exposed on the ocean side. It was apparent that Paul had a job for no more than a couple more years at best.

“Can’t you get another lighthouse to tend to?” Dee asked rubbing Paul’s shoulder.

“Most of the lighthouses have been made fully automatic, controlled remotely from a central location,” Paul said sadly, “The only thing left will be the guides for the tourists. I don’t want to do that. No, I’ll just go back to doing what I did before.”

“What was that?” Dee asked.

“I was a doctor…a family practitioner,” Paul said gazing out over the ocean.

“You’re kidding!” Dee gasped, “Why would you leave that to tend a lighthouse?”

“Didn’t you tell me you were a nurse? And you left that,” Paul said.

“Well, I was too depressed to carry on and do my job efficiently,” Dee said, “I needed a break from everything.”

“Same here,” Paul said, “My wife died in my arms ten years ago. All my medical trainin’ and books and knowledge, all my skills were useless. I couldn’t save her. None of the specialists with all their knowledge and skills could save her. I just didn’t feel I was worth anythin’ as a doctor anymore. I could barely go into the office. I couldn’t look patients in the eye. I knew eventually I’d run into one I couldn’t help. I could not bear the thought. So I left West Virginia and headed east, not knowin’ what I was lookin’ for…kind of like you did. I found this job in the local newspaper and applied for it. Nobody else would even consider the job but it seemed to suit me fine. Solitary most of the time, a place to sleep, a little money coming in. I didn’t need or want much more.”

“You could go back now, though,” Dee said half making a statement and half asking.

“I think so,” Paul said, “on a limited basis, maybe a small town with a handful of regular patients. I’d really rather stay here though…with you.”

Dee walked over and put her arms around Paul. His eyes met hers, then their lips met. “I’d like that,” she said, “Let’s open some more of that wine you’re hoarding tonight. This time, don’t be such a gentleman.”

Paul smiled and said, “I couldn’t resist you again if I tried. I’m gonna build a fire and let’s get started on that wine.” He walked inside while Dee watched him disappear into the cottage.

Dee remembered something she hadn’t even thought about during the weeks she’d been at the cottage – her cellphone. She had tossed it into the passenger’s seat when she left Texas. It was turned off and she hadn’t touched it since. She opened the car door on the passenger’s side and began feeling through the papers from snacks, nuts, crackers, and coffee cups from the trip till she found the phone. She tried to turn it on. Dead battery, of course. She fumbled around for the charger. It had fallen down between the seat and the console. She took the phone and charger inside and plugged it into an outlet by her bed. She laid the phone on the pillow. She wondered if anyone back in Plano had even noticed she was gone, or even cared. She was curious who might have left her a message.

Paul and Dee ate an evening meal of mostly snack food and poured wine. They started out making small talk, then touching, holding hands, then kisses as they talked. Soon the kisses got more passionate and the talk less frequent.  Paul began exploring Dee’s body through her clothes with his big firm, but gentle hands. Then he picked her up and carried her to the bedroom where the clothes began coming off. This time they would not be replaced by a nightgown, but by his arms and his body pressed against hers.

Dee lifted her arms above her head to let Paul do what he wished with her. Her arm hit the cellphone on the pillow beside her and pushed the button that turned it on. A few seconds later a barrage of beeps came from the device. There were apparently a lot of messages.

“Um…is that your self-destruct alarm going off?” Paul asked as he tried to focus on the task(s) at hand, “Are you going to explode?”

“God I hope so!” Dee said, turning the phone back off and tossing it to the floor.

The morning after

Paul woke to the smell of bacon and coffee and the sound of humming from the kitchen. He looked at the clock on the radio next to the bed – 9:11 am. He hadn’t slept this late in years. He slipped out from under the covers, put on his underwear and picked up his clothes from the day before. After going to the bathroom, and depositing his clothes in the hamper, he went into his own bedroom and put on a flannel robe and house shoes and made his way to the kitchen where he stood at the door just looking at Dee. After standing there for several moments, he spoke.

“That was amazin’,” he said.

Dee didn’t say anything, just smiled at him and walked over to give him a morning kiss, then went back to preparing breakfast. Then she continued humming.

“What’s that tune?” Paul asked.

“Umm…I’m not sure, really,” Dee said, “Just felt like humming. She smiled at Paul again.

At the breakfast table Paul asked about the phone messages.

“Did you check them out?” he asked.

“No,” Dee answered simply. There were several minutes of awkward silence.

“You know, sweetheart, you’re goin’ to have to deal with it eventually,” Paul said, “My experience says better sooner than later.”

“You’re right, of course,” Dee said, “but I want to enjoy being here with you just a while longer before I get back into that mess.”

Paul took another sip of coffee and got up, walked around behind Dee’s chair and put his arms around her. He leaned down to give her a kiss. “It’s your call,” he said, “You can stay here with me as long as you like. I’m not gonna run you off.”

Dee smiled. “I hope you’re finished with your breakfast,” she said, getting up and putting her arms around his neck, “because I’m not finished with you!” Then she took his hand and led him back to the bedroom.

**

The afternoon sun was bright, but not taking the chill off. There was even a possibility of snow flurries in the weather forecast. Paul had gone out to see about getting the bridge replaced and Dee was wrapped up in the blankets on the bed holding her cell phone in her hand. She looked at it for several minutes before deciding to turn it on. There were twenty-some voice-mails and so many text messages she couldn’t count them. She started at the first ones from right after she left Texas and worked her way forward in time.

“Mom! Where are you?It’s not like you to just run off without telling anyone!”

That one was from her daughter. “Why was she so concerned now, after the way she had treated me?” That was what Dee was thinking. She read messages and listened to voice-mails from former coworkers, her children, bill collectors, to the point she just started getting the gist of them and skipping to the next, until she recognized her husband’s voice. She stopped that one and backed up to the beginning.

“Dee, I don’t know where you’ve gone but you should know I’m filing for divorce.”

That was all he said. There was still no explanation for why he lost interest in her, why that lack of interest grew to bitterness and even hatred. There was no clue as to what happened in their marriage just that it was over. Dee knew it was over many months ago. Now it was official. Moving forward Dee found a voice-mail from an attorney’s office.

“This is the office of Madison and Madison, Attorneys at Law. If this is Dee Summers, please give our office a call at your earliest convenience. Brad Summers, your husband, is suing for divorce. We’ve made several attempts to contact you through letters. I just wanted to inform you that your daughter asked our office to try and locate you and offer you our services. We have reason to believe that your husband has been involved in some felonious activity, which would definitely put the ball in your court during divorce proceedings. Thank you.”

The next message was from Dee’s daughter, Jessica, a few days later:

“Mom, please! I’m sorry for all that’s happened! Dad lied to us all. He told us you had lost your mind as was being cruel to him! I know that’s not the case now! Mom! Please talk to me! I’m so sorry!” There was a long pause, then Jessica’s voice was heard again, this time softer. “Mom…I wanted you to find this out in person, and not through a voice-mail, but since you won’t answer…” another long pause. “Mom…dad is dead. He was involved in something to do with his company that was illegal. The company was raided by some federal agency. One of the high officials in the company pulled a gun out of a desk drawer and shots were fired. Dad was killed in the crossfire. Mom…please come home.”

Dee put down the phone. It was the last message, sent two days earlier. She heard something behind her and turned to look. Paul was standing in the doorway.

“You have to go,” Paul said, “I could go with you, but I’m not so sure that’s a good idea. Look…they’re bringin’ in a temporary bridge. It’s one they use in the military for missions where they have to cross a stream. We can get your car out.

A year later, Plano, Texas

Dee watered flowers, fed the cat, washed up the breakfast dishes and put on her smock. She picked up a small lighthouse souvenir that she had gotten from Massachusetts and held it for a moment. She drove to work, and parked in her usual spot. She sat there for a few minutes just looking at the sign over the door, thinking about all that had happened over the past few years and how it brought her to this point. She smiled. The sign:

Dunfee Family Practice Clinic

Paul Dunfee, MD.