“What’s wrong, Anne?” I gripped the phone, unaccustomed to the tension in my stepmother’s voice.

“I just got a call from Teresa. Chuck’s in bad shape. Seems his dialysis’s not helping him as it should and – complications are setting in.” The last phrase quivered across the wires.

My big brother swam before my eyes. I blinked back tears. “I’m going to be with him.”

“Me, too.” I heard her relief. Anne and I linked tighter and tighter as years sped by.

“I’m glad they’ve moved into the Greenville area,” Anne said. “We can be with him more. Do you think Kirk and the kids will come with you?”

“Not Kirk. The world would stop if he didn’t occupy that pulpit Sunday. Anyway, everybody’s been down since Moose left. Bet he doesn’t realize how much everyone loves him. So Kirk’s needed here, especially now.” I failed to quip especially by Roxie. Anyway, I felt guilty thinking that way.

I quickly scanned pros and cons of Heather and Toby making the trip.

“They’re out of school and both goofy over their fun-loving Uncle Chuck. Heather can get Dixie to fill in for her at the piano.”

“How about the choir – ”

“I’ll just dispense with choir specials in the face of this family emergency. Charlie Tessner can do a fair job of getting the congregation started on key.” I chuckled. “They’ll appreciate me all the more when I get back.”

Anne laughed. “Don’t you know it?”

Abruptly, humor took flight. “I’ll call you when we leave,” I said.

Heather and Toby packed in record time. Kirk helped us pile luggage into our family Chevrolet sedan trunk.

It was when I turned to hug him that I felt it again. I gazed deeply into green depths. Searching. I found nothing. The shutters were in place. Why? Only when Kirk was troubled did they close. I hugged him again and felt his strong arms tighten around me. His kiss was Kirk. I relaxed.

“You okay?” I asked quietly. Kirk’s initial anger over Moose’s disappearance had – with weeks passing and no leads – leveled into what I read as resignation.

“Do you think he’s okay?” I asked Kirk.

“Probably.” Kirk looked away and shrugged limply. “I hope so, honey.”

So did I. So did Cal. “Hard to believe,” she insisted, “that Moose would voluntarily leave his sweet thang.”

Roxie, too, seemed to accept Moose’s absence. Her gauntness convinced me she’d truly loved Moose. Callie wasn’t as sold on it but at least gave Sweet Thang the benefit of a doubt.

Now, gazing into Kirk’s face, I had a sense of us standing on a bubble that could at any minute go splatttt and send us tumbling into an abyss. Raw fear struck a chord somewhere deep in me. I quickly attributed my angst to our long running trauma with Moose.

And Kirk’s features daily set in marble. I repeated, “You okay?”

My husband’s lips spread slowly into a smile that twinkled his eyes. “Sure I am.” Immediately, the smile fell from a face momentarily unguarded. Dark circles beneath tired eyes revealed worry and strain. “Give Chuck my love and tell him I’m praying for him.”

“I will.” One more tight hug and I climbed in the car.

My last glimpse of him in the rearview mirror was him standing hands in pockets, gazing unseeing into the distance.

My brother’s deteriorated appearance kicked me hard. It jerked me around till I was dizzy and crazy.

Oxygen tubes hooked to his straight, perfect nose, above usually firm Fabian lips. But today, near comatose lethargy made them hang slack. His stillness screamed and cursed at me. The reality of suffering took a momentary stranglehold on my faith in God’s mercy

Then his eyes opened. And beyond blurred blue, past pain and misery, I saw Chuck.

My brother. My playmate. Friend. Foe. Hero.

The slack lips tightened, stretched wide, wider.... “Hey, Sis!” he croaked and his hands trembled toward me. I dissolved into his arms, a heap of weepy mush. Oh God! He was all sharp bones and angles. Where was flesh? I hugged him as tight as I could without crushing his frailness. I hugged him till my lips stopped quivering and could manage a smile. Then and only then did I pull back to look at him.

“You’re beautiful, Chuck,” I said softly. And he was, despite that he huffed a weak little snort of protest.

“Yeah, right.” The words floated as gossamer on a tropical breeze.

Anne’s breath caught on a sob. She sat on the opposite side of the hospital bed. Dad at its foot with Trish next to him. Heather and Toby came into view.

“Hey!” Chuck’s blonde head raised a fraction as he fought to focus. “My ol’ bud, Toby. C’mere lil’ feller.” I winced as Toby threw himself at his uncle, harboring none of my frailty fears. After a good wallowing embrace, Toby climbed down to share my chair, a tight arrangement to say the least.

“There’s my sweetheart,” Chuck closed one eye to squint at Heather, who stood uncertainly beside me. “Prettier’n ever.”

I looked up at Heather, nudged her gently. “Go ahead.”

She fell on Chuck, an uncharacteristic mass of tears and affection, hugging and rocking him from side to side. This time, I didn’t flinch. If Chuck survived Toby, he could endure anything. “I love you, Uncle Chuck,” she sobbed. I started to worry that Chuck might get the idea we thought he was dying.

He wouldn’t be wrong.

After Heather pulled a chair up to join the family circle, Chuck struggled into sitting position, tubes dangling from his head. His eyelids remained half-mast over glazed azure irises. His weak body weaved about like a sheet flapping softly in the wind. Anne’s hand slid into his.

“I’m the luckiest guy in the world.” His words slurred but lilted with exuberance. “Just feel the love in this room, would ya.” He wibble-wobbled about, struggling to keep his eyes open. “My loved ones – all here.” He huffed a laugh and nearly fell over before Anne caught hold of him and coaxed him to lie down. He meekly complied, rolled over into fetal position and, holding tightly to Anne’s hand, tumbled into slumber.

Daddy went outside and I followed. I caught up as he turned a corner down the hall. I took hold of his arm and fell into step.

“Daddy, I – ” I saw his wet face. Tears dripped from his cheeks, rolled down his neck.

Daddy weeping...a rare thing, not since Mama’s death had he looked so barren, and I realized my own face was now damp.

We walked silently for perhaps twenty minutes, only sounds being snuffles and hiccuping sobs and once, Daddy’s impassioned, hoarse, “I love him so, Neecy.”

“I know, Daddy.” I squeezed, patted his arm and snuffled. “I know.”

We turned at the elevators and started the trek back. “By the way,” I said, “Where’s Teresa? And Poogie?”

“Went home for something.” Daddy’s voice was flat, noncommittal. “Anne asked Poogie to stay but – ” He shrugged.

“What’s with Teresa?” Anger, a propane torch, blasted through me. “We’re family, for crying out loud. Why couldn’t she let Poogie stay with us for the day?”

Daddy turned to me. Desolation ravaged his features. “Honey, Poogie didn’t want to stay with us.”

I gaped at him, trying to assimilate the fact that Chuck’s daughter chose not to be around us. Granted, we’d seen little of her through the years, due to Chuck’s self-imposed exile. But our rare times together had been warm and affectionate family occasions – times when we’d all stumbled over each other to show our Poogie boundless unconditional love.

“It’s her.” Unannounced, the edict shot from my mouth. Dad’s gray lifeless gaze shifted into agreement, and we proceeded down the corridor.

“I can’t let myself think about it,” Dad said quietly. “I don’t want to get a thing about her.”

“No.” It wouldn’t do. While I could get angry and get over it, Daddy couldn’t. “We’re probably sensing things that aren’t really there, anyway.” I doubted that but right now, it helped to foster good thoughts. Chuck needed peace about him.

Lord only knew what had made my brother abandon all rationale and marry Teresa.

Teresa. Pretty, distant Teresa with her ever wary, assessing raisin-black gaze, who, for reasons known only to herself, did not like her husband’s family. Never, in fact, gave herself a chance to.

For years, I’d sought to melt away her ice husk with warmth, hoping to discover some common ground upon which to build a measure of amiability. Chuck, I quickly learned, was not to be that common ground.

Truth was, she didn’t like Chuck, either.

We entered the hospital room to find Chuck awake again. “I’m hungry,” he said in a slurred near-whisper. “’Bout to starve in here.”

Anne leaped to her feet. “I’ll get them to bring you something, son.” She disappeared out the door in a flash. Again, pure amazement shot through me as I remembered the miraculous transformation of my stepmother years back. Thanks, Lord.

Chuck’s eyelids seemed to work separately, both trying to lift and failing miserably. I impulsively leaned to hug him. “Love you.”

His arms were remarkably strong in their response. “Me, too.”

Within minutes, an orderly delivered a turkey sandwich, arranging it on the bedside pulley-tray. Nearly flat of his back, Chuck tucked into the sandwich.

“Hey, Chuck,” Dad teased, “You not gonna share your food with your ol’ dad?”

“I will if you’ll con me something to drink.” He winked lazily.

“Now, son,” Anne patted his arm gently. “You know they won’t give you but just so many liquids. It’ll hurt you.”

“Aww,” Chuck muttered without real conviction, “A little won’t hurt.”

I wanted to bawl. Chuck, who’d always drank so much of anything – water, tea, coke and later, beer – now sentenced to a mere pittance of daily liquid. But I managed to keep smiling and joshing.

Soon, Chuck was sitting again, for a much longer period. By the end of the day, he was – to my way of thinking – even sounding stronger. At nine-thirty, visiting hours ended and I insisted Anne, Dad and the rest of the family leave and let me spend the night vigil with Chuck.

“You sure you don’t want me to stay, too?” Trish asked, making a comical moue of disappointment.

“I’m sure, honey,” I laughed, then whispered, “No use both our hubbies sleeping alone.” I winked at Gene, who’d been in and out all day, between pastoral obligations.

“‘Night, Mama,” Heather hugged me, then Toby, just before he zipped out the door with Grandma and Papa Whitman.

Chuck, exhausted from all the visitors, crashed. I quietly opened up the folding chair-bed and scrounged a pillow from the night nurse.

Then I dialed my home number on the bedside phone. It rang. And rang.

I looked at my watch. Ten-twenty. Kirk was at some late event. I didn’t realize how tired I was until my head touched the pillow. I sank into instant sleep.

“Sorry I missed you,” Kirk said when I called at seven the next morning. I’d gone to the pay phone for privacy, so Chuck wouldn’t hear himself being commiserated over. “Roxie called. Swore she was having a nervous breakdown. Cal and I went over to see about her. She really did look terrible.” A long sigh. “I had dinner with Kaye and Charlie and sat around and talked ‘til late. How’s Chuck?”

“You know, I think he’s a bit stronger. Pray that it lasts. The infection he got during dialysis attacked his main artery and is causing some heart problems.” I took a deep breath and let it out. “More bad news. His doctor came around this morning and called me outside. Said Chuck’s dialysis isn’t helping like it should. And that he might get better for a while, then get worse. Could go round and round for who knows how long?”

“Oh, no-o-o,” Kirk groaned. “I’m sorry, Neecy. But – he’s getting better for the moment?”

“Not exactly. The doctor said Chuck will probably go suddenly – a major heart attack when the fluid buildup is too great for his heart to – well, you get the pic – ” My voice choked off.

“Neecy? You okay?” Kirk’s voice was honey to my spirit, a calming, comforting force.

I gulped back my fears. “I’m okay.”

“Look – take care of yourself. Please?” A long moment of silence, then a desperate, “And hurry home, honey.”

Hurry home. Chuck needs me. “I will – as soon as Chuck’s out of danger.” Please, Kirk, don’t pick now to be difficult. Territorial.

Another long silence. Static rippled over the wires. “Of course, honey. That’s what I meant. You know I understand and want you to be with him during this time, don’t you?”

“Sure.”

“God – I love you, Neecy.” I let that sink in and flood me as Kirk’s sweet voice continued, “I’ll be praying for him, darling. Tell him that. I’ve got to scoot. Love you.”

“Me, too, Kirk. Bye.”

When I got back to the room, Teresa had arrived. I hugged her profusely and searched her features for signs of the grief I felt. But her face was an empty canvas.

“Since Teresa’s here, Chuck, I’m going to Dad’s to shower and change. I’ll be back probably mid-morning, okay? By the way, Kirk said tell you he’s praying for you.” I leaned to kiss his gaunt cheek. His lips quickly turned to smooch one on my own.

“Love you, Sis,” he murmured. “Thanks for staying last night.” He gave a pitiful parody of a wink.

“Anytime.” I squeezed his hand and turned quickly away, in time to catch something flash between Teresa and Chuck. Her face was almost contorted with distaste just an instant before a curtain lowered over her emotions. “Yeah, Neecy,” she muttered, “thanks.”

She tossed back her long salon-streaked wheat hair and plopped down into a bedside chair. “I had to work.” She gazed steadily at Chuck. “As usual.”

Chuck looked pained. “Why do you – ”

“It’s true.” Teresa shrugged lazily and stretched, then yawned, ignoring Chuck’s injured, beseeching gaze.

“I hate it that you have to work, honey.” Chuck’s words slurred slightly, then quavered. “You don’t know how hard it is for me to see you work when I all I can do is lie here – ”

My heart nearly leaped from my chest, seeing – feeling his castration. My golden, manly brother –

Teresa sat there stone-faced, denimed legs crossed, one foot swinging back and forth. Back and forth. Something in me curled and twisted and agonized for my once proud brother.

An instinctive response tumbled from me. “Chuck, you can’t help being sick. Teresa understands that, don’t you, Teresa?” I pivoted to face her, a mute appeal on my face.

She looked at me, long and steady with those unfeeling onyx eyes. For an eternity.

Please, Teresa, my heart cried out. Throw him a dadgum crumb.

The black orbs blinked. Once. Twice. Slowly.

She’s enjoying this. Help me, Lord, not to strangle her with my bare hands. “Don’t you, Teresa?”

Then I saw it. The glimmer of pure gloating. “Sure, I do, Neecy,” she drawled, then examined the scarlet, chipped nails of one hand. “After all, my ol’ man was laid up for years before he died. Mama had to work two jobs – just like me. Had it hard, my mama. Yeah, I understand.” The foot swung back, forth, back, forth, brisk like the slash of a knife blade.

“By the way,” I hauled her from her vicious angst, “Dr. Paulos came by this morning. Said he’d come back mid-morning and catch you up.”

She frowned, sliding her features into sullen.

I wasn’t about to discuss Chuck’s walking-on-ice condition in front of him. Better to let Teresa wait and talk to the doctor later. So, I left them for the fresh outdoors that let me breathe and exhale my emotions beneath a sky that wept with me during the thirty-five minute drive to Dad and Anne’s house.

There, they were just leaving to go back to the hospital, the whole kabootle of them. I promised to join them as soon as I showered and redressed.

I was back in the Greenville Memorial’s rain dampened parking lot by twelve, having wolfed down a bologna sandwich in Anne’s kitchen. My interrupted night’s rest – hospital noises are the world’s loudest – was beginning to thwart my reflexes. Lordy, I missed Kirk.

Inside, Anne leaped to her feet and met me at the door as I arrived. She steered me out of hearing range. “You won’t believe what Teresa did.” Anne’s periwinkle blues glittered with fury.

“Oh no.” I collapsed against the wall and shut my eyes in dread. Braced myself. “Go ahead. Tell me.”

“Dr. Paulos came by and updated her on Chuck’s condition – all the things you told me on the phone about his heart problem and all. Well, after you left, she told Chuck in detail what the doctor said. That was the first thing Chuck said when we got here – ‘Teresa, tell Anne and Daddy what the doctor said to you.’ And she did, emphasizing ‘he’ll die suddenly of a massive heart attack.’”

My breath came in short gasps, hurt. “After I tried so hard to keep him from having to deal with it.” My voice slumped as low as my heart. How could she? I shot Anne a bleak look. “How’s he handling it?”

Anne raised her eyebrows and gave a dubious shrug. “You know Chuck. Nothing ever seems to really – get to him. You know?”

“Oh, it does. Inside. It gets to him.”

Anne nodded sagely, her face ablaze. “It would have to.”

Trish came scurrying up the corridor, a round, sweet little flurry of winded and apologetic movement. “Sorry I’m late. Gene and I had a funeral at ten and – ” She braked and peered warily at us. “What’s wrong?”

As Anne repeated the latest of the Chuck/Teresa saga, Trish’s eyes rounded to donuts then slitted to mere strips. “Let’s go beat up on her, Sis,” she balled her fists, thumbed her nose and danced a couple of steps back and forth. Trish’s weight gain through the years had spawned revved-up comic improvisations that rarely failed to crack me up.

Today, I sighed heavily. Sickly. “Wish it were so simple, Trish.”

“Then God would get us, too.” Trish hugged me hugely, hooked arms and we went in together to undergird our brother for battle.

This one, I thought, would rank Chuck’s fight with Dad under Romper Room stuff.

Chuck’s fifth hospital day saw him upright, moving haltingly, pulling along his oxygen tank, of course, but walking.

I called Kirk that evening at nine-thirty to rejoice. I missed him with an ache. When there was no answer, I decided to call later.

Chuck’s room buzzed with family noises and laughter. Only Teresa was absent. And Poogie. I’d learned, by now, that this was standard for Chuck, them not being there. His divulgences were never whiny. Nor did they deprecate. Nor were they freely given. I gleaned just that hint of his loneliness overhearing phone calls and one visitor’s conversation with my brother. His disclosures were simply emotionless, cut and dried, this-is-the-way-it-is.

For those not in the know, Teresa and Poogie came out smelling like honeysuckle.

I coped by putting my emotions on hold. Shelving them. By loving Chuck extra.

By praying.

“I want to go to Anne’s tomorrow and eat Sunday dinner with ya’ll,” Chuck declared on Saturday afternoon, clutching his scrawny chest, “I’d die for her macaroni-cheese pie.”

“Your transfer to the Pinehurst Convalescent Home should be completed by five-thirty today,” the nurse signing Chuck out said. “You’re feeling so much better, I see no reason why you can’t go.”

Nursing home. The sister-me screamed in protest. In reality, I held no control over Chuck’s destiny. Teresa had, quote, power of attorney over her husband’s life decisions. Seems in this last life-death episode, my sick brother was coerced to sign away his rights to her, a thing that hit me as screwy, but pitting Chuck against Teresa was like tossing a lamb into a cheetah’s den.

Though I’d always despised the Chuck/Dad explosions, I now found myself wishing back a spark of that spirit for my brother. Thing that made it so difficult was – I knew it would never again be.

“Sis,” Chuck took my hand, seeing my sadness at his relegation to a nursing home. “It’s okay.” His speech remained sluggish and connect-the-dot. “Y’know, if I was home, Poogie might get up one morning, come into my room and find me sprawled out dead. I wouldn’t want that to be her last memory of me – cold and stiff and blue and God only knows what all.” He smiled sadly and squeezed my hand, trying and failing to hold his marvelous blue-gray eyes open. “It’s for the best.”

So I built up his spirit with the promise of a beautiful family day tomorrow at Dad’s and Anne’s. Home. I could see his joy building. I called Kirk later, during the transfer – they allowed Dad and Anne to drive Chuck the short distance to Pinehurst – on the pay phone. Our conversation was brief and I was relieved Kirk didn’t command me home immediately. But then, the next day, Sunday, was his busiest. Saturdays were filled with long hours in the church office, where he studied and finalized his Sabbath message. I felt a bit guilty not rushing home, but Kirk seemed preoccupied with home-front things so I didn’t address the subject of when.

The nursing home was dismal at best. Pine and Lysol disinfectants battled urine and body odors. Most of the residents were older than Chuck, the majority beyond mobility and meaningful dialogue. My less than joyful reaction to the dark ambience had Teresa’s nose rising a notch.

“This is the best I can do,” she snapped without apology. “And it’s close to where I work so I can come more often.” Her current job was waitressing at two restaurants, one a lunch specialty diner, the other a classier dinner restaurant, where, she said, her tips were pretty good.

At least, I consoled myself, she’ll visit Chuck more.

I called Callie, lonesome suddenly, for home territory.

“Would you check on Mama for me, Neecy?” she asked. “Just a teeny-weeny visit is all I ask.”

“Of course, Cal. Hey – thanks for helping Kirk out when Roxie had her nervous breakdown the other night.”

Silence. “When you went with him to her apartment?” I reminded her.

More silence. Then. “Ohh.” Another long silence. Then, “Hug Mama for me.”

Heather and Toby were enjoying leisure with my siblings, Dale, Cole and Lynette. So when I set out to visit Molly Pleasant, they quickly bade me adieu, insisting they didn’t want to tag along. The short solitude became a blessing.

Strolling along Church Street was wistfully nostalgic. I’d spent most of my time at the hospital, worrying about Chuck’s outcome. Now, with him on at least a temporary mend, I dwelled on familiar sights I’d once passed unseeing.

I turned in the direction of Molly’s house. I nearly gasped when I saw her. The Molly I knew was gone. Replacing her was a wasted woman with neatly shortened, natural-waved, snow-white hair. Once glowing skin paled against a long ago attractive, bony face. Her tall frame, Callie’s birthright, appeared scarecrowish, as if draped in loose gauze. And then she smiled.

Molly Pleasant shone through that smile. Her arms, still strong and loving, drove away the spooked feeling that had begun accumulating from the moment I saw Chuck near death six days ago. We commenced to talk about things past and things now. Animated, Molly began to restore my sense of balance. Of continuity from girlhood days to now. As she talked, I saw more of Callie than I’d ever glimpsed before. Not just physical similarities. Gestures, mannerisms. Strange – the things Callie had run from in our youth, she now embraced and emulated.

“How’s Kirk?” Molly asked, with a hint of Callie’s exuberant curiosity.

“Great, Molly. Busy – to quote him – as a one-armed-paper-hanger.”

Laughter rolled from her. “Sounds like Kirk. I’m so proud of him – of you.”

As I departed, she gave me one last, huge bear hug. “Pass that on to Callie,” she whispered, moist-eyed.

Later, that evening, I called Kirk, missing him sorely and eaten alive with guilt, knowing I needed to go home, knowing how – though he rarely admitted it – he hated me gone. But Chuck was going to eat Sunday dinner with us. I did so want to be there for the celebration of his remission.

Tomorrow. I promised myself. Tomorrow, I would go home.

Anne and I stayed up late that evening and arose early the next morning and cooked until church time. Daddy departed at ten to pick up Chuck at the nursing home and transport him to the house. Anne sent a warm welcome to Teresa and Poogie to come for lunch, as well. We’d tried calling at Teresa’s residence and got no answer. As usual, the family attended Chapowee Methodist where a new pastor preached. Pastor Cheshire, now retired, still attended there.

“Ahhh, Neecy.” His British clip had softened through the years, but his affectionate hug remained firm. “It’s so good to see you again, my dear girl.” He stepped back to survey Heather, who blushed becomingly at his shameless flattery. Sunlight washed his bald crown shiny. I noticed his little hair strip, which barely topped his ears, was now entirely gray.

His stooped frailty smote me, as had Molly Pleasant’s. Aging was, I decided, a mixed blessing. It destroyed beauty but kept one alive. And as I watched Pastor Cheshire banter with Toby, I wanted more than anything to preserve him alive. And well. All the while aware of my selfish motives – I wanted him around to enrich my family’s lives for years to come. Forever, in fact.

We rushed to the house to finalize food preparations. Dad’s car already occupied its graveled spot in the small driveway. We lined the curb, spilled from cars and dashed inside, everyone vying to be the first to welcome Chuck, our guest of honor.

Daddy sat planted on the den sofa, granite Walter Matthau.

“Where’s Chuck?” Anne asked as we scattered, hunting in bedrooms, nooks....

“He’s not here,” Daddy called out, somewhat sharply, aborting our search.

“What – ?” We asked in unison, flocking to our bearer of news. Not good news, I gathered from Daddy’s pale gravity, from his slightly flared nostrils.

His stony gaze riveted to a far, straight ahead wall. “Teresa left orders that Chuck not be allowed to leave with anybody except her.”

“What?” I heard myself bellow. “What’s her reasoning?”

Now that pulled Daddy’s lip into an ironic one-sided curl, stopping short of a smile. Nothing else moved in his face. “Said she didn’t trust anybody to feed him properly. Afraid it would make him sick after his crisis.”

I clenched my hands and stared into Heaven. “Lord – I can’t believe this!”

For long moments, we stood there, emptied, defeated and infinitely grieved.

“He wanted to come so badly,” Anne moaned.

The clan erupted into murmurings of misery, amid which Trish and Gene arrived, having fudged a bit of time by ending his sermon early. Their church was thirty-five minutes away.

“C’mon, Neecy,” Anne said resolutely, “let’s fix Chuck the biggest plate of food he’s ever seen and take him a picnic.”

That lifted the mood and soon, we’d finished our meal, piled into cars and formed a caravan to Pinehurst Convalescent Home.

Chuck lit up like a thousand candles when we all converged to form a protective wall about him. He ate two plates of macaroni-cheese pie and three pieces of Anne’s fried chicken before declaring himself stuffed.

I thanked God for my brother’s rallying spirit.

And I asked Him to increase my mercy-forgiveness index.

I would be needing it in days to come. Fortunately, I didn’t know just how much.

Kirk’s arms felt so wonderful wrapped tightly around me, shifting and squeezing as though hunting more to consume. His cheeks and lips caressed every inch of my face and neck in the first moments of our greeting. This, of course, after the kids scattered to sniff out home turf and phone friends.

We’d left for home immediately after visiting Chuck, arriving late afternoon, near evening church time. Toby immediately hopped on his bike and sped out the white sandy road that wound through the cemetery, private and perfect for him to blow out restlessness accumulated on the four-hour drive.

Kirk had pulled me into our room, kicked the door shut with his heel and sniffed out me, his turf. Now, he gazed into my eyes as though seeing me for the very first time. It took my breath, his passion. Like the young Kirk I’d parked with at Silver Lake. It sent a shiver of excitement over me, mingled with a tinge of apprehension. Of what, I wasn’t certain.

“Honey,” he said huskily, one big hand brushing hair from my cheek, his green gaze roaming desperately over my features, “Please, don’t ever be gone from me like that again...for that long.”

I pressed my face to his and inhaled, absorbed him. “Okay.”

I floated through service that evening, warmed by Kirk’s apparent need. A need that fed the benevolent-me, the one who thrived on giving.

“How was Mama?” Callie asked me immediately following the benediction. We stood in the vestibule, near Kirk, who’d kept me within whispering distance since my return. He was talking with Charlie and Kaye Tessner.

“She was beautiful, Callie.” I enjoyed seeing her chocolate eyes light up at my compliment. A sincere one. I’d discovered, overnight, that beauty goes way beyond skin or color or shape. Or hair texture. Beauty is spiritual essence. Not necessarily religious. Though it can be. I hugged Callie hugely and whispered in her ear, “Your mom said to pass this on to you.”

I saw tears in her eyes when I released her. “I didn’t mean to make you cry,” I said gently.

“It’s not – you didn’t. I just miss Mama. She’s not well. I know you noticed. And things around here haven’t – ” She took a deep breath and rolled her eyes upward to stem tears, but they gathered anyway, forcing her to step to the foyer table and snatch a tissue from the ever present box there.

“What?” I asked, perplexed. “Things haven’t been going right here?”

She took her time wiping away tears and blowing her nose. I noticed the Tessners leaving at the conclusion of Charlie’s hilarious golf joke. Kirk, still chuckling, joined us.

I raised my eyebrows at Callie, who seemed deep in thought, faraway.

Kirk, too, watched her. Curiously – concerned, I was certain, that her face was red from tears.

“Well,” she straightened her shoulders and face, smiled and hugged me again. “Gotta go. Haven’t had dinner.”

I grabbed her sleeve as she turned away. “Come home with me and – ”

Her head already moved decisively from side to side. “Nope. Thanks, anyway, hon. Gonna go curl up with my kitty cat Ginger, eat a banana and peanut butter sandwich and turn in.”

“‘Night, ya’ll,” she tossed over her shoulder on the way out.

“What’s wrong with Cal?” Kirk’s query was low-key, quiet.

“She’s worried about her Mama, is all,” I said, wondering if that was all.

We were silent on the short walk home. After we snacked and retired to our bedroom, we remained so. Our lovemaking swept me back to when we first married. Fresh and thorough and right. A complete giving of ourselves to each other. Afterward, we spooned together, Kirk’s arms encircling me like a warm vise.

Could my being away have triggered this – intensity in Kirk?

As I drifted off, his plaintive plea floated through my mind...Please, don’t ever leave me like that again...not that long.

I won’t, Kirk. I burrowed my hind parts even cozier against him. I promise.

Happiness filled and buoyed me and floated me into twilight. My last conscious thought was a buoyant, fuzzy Kirk needs me.