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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

If it weren’t for the headlights of her car, she would have been in total darkness, the steady rain pounding on the windshield only contributing to her bleak view. Momentarily the wiper blades cleared a path, allowing her eyes to follow the steps up to the gloomy front door and dark windows. The view made her feel alone and unwelcome, as if she didn’t belong.

Why didn’t I leave a light on somewhere inside the house, she wondered, but when she’d rushed out earlier, flipping one on had been the last thing on her mind. Then the thought of sleeping here by herself came, with an anxious feeling she didn’t want to face.

She turned the car off and sat for a good ten minutes, struggling to put what happened in perspective as the rain continued to pelt the metal roof above her head. Her vision trailed down to her hands. They were clenched into fists. She relaxed her grasp and extended her fingers on her left hand, slowly moving it into the light so she could see her wedding ring. She let out a long sigh and laid her head back, her eyes closed briefly in silence. Might as well go in and get it over with, she thought.

As she began to move, her body felt unfamiliar, not her own. She mechanically rose out of the car, into the rain, and put one heavy foot in front of the other, reluctantly making her way up the stairs to the door.

Her hands shook as she fumbled with the key. To her dismay, it wouldn’t turn. A simple task causing her difficulty. Then she remembered earlier, he had jiggled the key slightly, coaxing it to budge, so she tried this with the same success.

The heavy door opened, and she walked into what was their house, but not yet their home. A home is where you know the creak of every stair and floor board, how to open every door that might stick a bit. A home is where you can get up in the middle of the night and walk to the kitchen for a glass of water without ever turning on a light to find your way. Memories of Christmases past, birthdays celebrated, summer picnics, friends for dinner, time with the kids, and sometimes companionable silence between the two of you.

There was a row of light switches to her left. She flipped on and off three of them before she found the right one.

The living area was full of boxes stacked and arranged around the room. To say she felt overwhelmed was an understatement. What was she going to do with them? He was supposed to help her unpack and start this new chapter of their life together. The one where the kids were grown and starting their own lives, getting married and having grandchildren for them. At least that’s what he’d told her.

Maybe she should open a box and start the never ending process of putting things away. Would she really stay and live here? She wanted to turn and run back to their old house, but they’d sold it to a family she was sure already started making it theirs. She had to stay here, at least for now.

How could he have done this to her? How could he! She trusted and believed him when he told her they were going to build a life together here.

The anger came from deep down, like nothing she ever felt before. She wanted to turn back the hands of time so she could ask him.

Maybe this was one of the dreams she’d periodically have. Soon she would wake up and her life would be back as it had been, and they’d both laugh at how silly she was to have dreamed something so impossible.

But her dreams were never like this. They were never this clear. They always took place in a blur, and most of the events were odd and unnatural, short and all in one place.

Then, with a shiver, she remembered how cold and unfeeling he’d looked only an hour ago, not the warm engaging man she slept with every night and cared for every day.

God, how can a woman prepare for something like this? Nobody believes it will happen, but yet it can, and it does.

There was a family picture on top of one of the open boxes, taken a year ago. Everyone with big smiles and no idea what was to come. She thought about how it was supposed to be and shook her head in disbelief.

They’d been fortunate to save enough money to put the kids through college and buy this beach house on St. Simons Island in southern Georgia. She was going to get a job as a nurse at the local hospital, and he would transfer his position with the bank where he’d been working for the past fifteen years. They had thought the beach house would be a great place for the kids to come visit and for them to use as home base when they traveled after they retired. That was the plan.

He told her he made good investments for them so it could be a reality. Then they found this beautiful house, everything falling into place, allowing them to make the big change and move to the island. She assumed they would live here, together, a long time. What a mistake she made believing this.

The kids. What should she do about them? She needed to call them but what would she say? How could she help them understand something she didn’t understand herself? They’d be devastated. She couldn’t deal with telling them right now though. She needed some time to regroup and be strong like they expected her to be.

A slow panic started in the pit of her stomach as it occurred to her she was all alone now. She hadn’t been all alone since… well, ever. Again she shivered, chilled to the bone from the rain.

She needed something dry to change into, so she went upstairs to find the boxes of clothes. After opening two of them, she found a hooded sweatshirt and a pair of long pants. She felt slightly better after she changed into them.

She didn’t know what to do next. After slowly descending the stairs, she stood at the bottom for several seconds, trying to hang on to the tiny amount of control she still possessed, eventually losing it and sliding to a sitting position on the last step, collapsing into sobs.

When at last she raised her head to look around the electricity went out, startling her and leaving her in the dark. What did it matter? The darkness allowed her to not look at the inside of this house, filled with what was to be their new life and dreams. The lack of light mimicked the ache in her heart, growing hopeless, empty, and dim as time moved on.

Her tears stopped, and as her eyes adjusted to the darkness, they were drawn to the panel of tall windows framing the view of the water where she noticed that the rain had finally stopped and the clouds were starting to clear in spots. She could see a silhouette of the winged-back chair and ottoman he placed in front of the huge glass windows earlier when he needed to rest. The sight of the chair and ottoman released a short sob from her chest as she pictured the last time she saw him sitting there. She pushed herself up from the bottom step, drawn to the windows by an increasing brightness.

The full moon was peeking out of the break in the clouds, producing an eerie grayish glow reflecting off the water. The moonbeams accentuated the white line of foam along the incoming tide and seascape.

She dropped down into the chair and put her feet on the ottoman, thinking about how he’d sat there only hours ago. Was it strange that she felt comfort in sitting there?

She sat silently for over an hour, though it felt like only minutes. Outside the waves came in and out, in and out, over and over. She found them calming and hypnotic, as if she had discovered a tiny bit of control as her world unraveled. How could life change so quickly between morning and evening? She knew deep inside that she couldn’t stop what had been put into motion, only deal with what happened the best she could.

Thank God there were no memories attached to this house — she could never live here if there were. It was still a blank canvas waiting to be painted. The only problem was she thought the painting was going to be of the two of them.

Her eyes and thoughts were back at the window when her stomach growled. She realized she hadn’t eaten since this morning, and there was nothing in the house to fix. She started to cry uncontrollably again.

It occurred to her that if she put some distance between herself and this house, she might be able to start sorting through what happened.

She decided to get into her car and drive until she found a restaurant, order something to eat, and think about what she should do. She grabbed her purse and keys and headed for the car, having the same trouble locking the door as she had earlier when she tried to open it.

She sat in the car a few minutes before backing out of the driveway, in an attempt to build up the courage to strike out on her own. Finally, she started the car and began to back out when a deluge of rain started coming down. She cried again, but didn’t allow it to stop her. She was determined.

After driving ten minutes in the torrential rain, a flashing neon OPEN sign caught her eye outside a barbeque restaurant. She parked her car in the gravel lot and forced herself outside, thankful for the steady raindrops on her face — they masked her tears.

The restaurant was not very busy. A middle-aged man in blue jeans and a red and blue plaid shirt stood behind a counter. He gave her a quizzical look but smiled. “Can I take your order, ma’am?”

“You’re not getting ready to close are you?” she asked.

“No, ma’am. Just not a busy night,” he said. “Probably ‘cause it’s rainin’.”

She ordered a barbeque sandwich plate and a glass of sweet tea.

“Go ahead and sit at any table,” he said, as he handed her the tea. “I’ll bring you the sandwich when it’s ready.”

The dining room was nearly empty. She picked a table as far back as possible. She felt the need to be alone.

As she sipped her tea, she went over what had happened. In twenty-four hours her life had changed drastically for the worst. What should she do first? The kids. When she was back at the beach house, she’d call them and explain what had happened. The thought had her crying again.

She looked up to see the man behind the counter studying her, before taking his leave through a swinging door.

She pulled a pack of tissues out of her purse and wiped her eyes and nose, telling herself to stop crying and get in control. What would she do after she called the kids? She had no friends here so, whatever it was, she would have to do it alone.

She wasn’t sure how much time had passed when she saw a figure dressed in white coming toward her. Through her tears, the figure looked like an angel slowly gliding closer.

It was a woman. She sat down opposite from her, silent for a few minutes, then said something she didn’t hear. After that the woman rose from her chair and leaned over to wrap a shawl around her shoulders. The gesture not only made her feel warm but also loved, exactly what she needed at the moment.

She started crying again, and looked down. The woman took her hand, causing her to look up at her.

The man who had taken her order came over and set her sandwich down along with two steaming mugs.

“My name is Betty, and this here’s my husband Jack,” the woman said. “We own this restaurant. Honey, what’s wrong?”

She looked up at the woman. She knew nothing about her, although she felt she could trust her. A calm peace came over as the tears dried up, and she finally found her voice.

“My name is Cynthia, and I’ve had a terrible thing happen to me.”

“Well, why don’t you start at the beginning and tell me everything?” Betty said.

The rhythm of her breath was steady and unlabored as Cynthia Lewis turned the corner onto Glade Valley Lane. She was at the end of her four-mile run, and she lifted her head to the sun, taking in the warm day and feeling grateful that she wasn’t needed at the hospital where she worked. Only in the South do you get the gift of fall days like this, she thought. Cloudless, warm, and no humidity. It made the cool-down walk to her house at the end of the road pleasant.

She started running in high school and kept it up over the years, going once or twice a week when she had the time.

As she approached the house, she saw Christopher’s car turn onto the road. It was too fast — she’d need to have a word with him about it.

Her son, Christopher, was a senior in high school this year. He’d always been a decent student, but last year had decided to “pick up his game,” as he put it, so he could get into a good college. She was happy to hear him say this, but she still needed to encourage him frequently.

It was different when her daughter, Millie, had applied to schools. She was in the top ten of her class and had the whole college thing figured out. She applied to three schools, was accepted at all three, and decided on one. That was it. Christopher was still unsure and had only just started researching.

She thought about how fortunate she and her husband, Philip were to be able to live where they did. Millie and Christopher went to good schools, and the neighborhood was quiet and peaceful, filled with beautifully manicured yards and neatly trimmed bushes. You could tell it was a family neighborhood by the swing sets in the backyards and the occasional bike or toy in the driveway. Atlanta was filled with hundreds of neighborhoods just like this one.

When she reached her house, she headed into the garage and through the door to the kitchen. Christopher was sitting with his back to her at the table, a bottle of Gatorade in one hand and a leftover slice of pizza in the other.

“How was your day?” she asked. He jumped, taken by surprise.

“Oh, hi Mom.” He turned around, pizza in his mouth. “It was okay. You know how it is.”

She wasn’t sure she did and opened her mouth to ask, but he cut her off.

“What else can I eat? When’s dinner? Will Dad be late, or can we eat when we want?”

“There’s a bowl of fruit in the refrigerator, I’m not sure when we’ll have dinner, haven’t heard from Dad.”

“Okay.” He went to refrigerator and opened the door to look.

He was a handsome young man, and reminded her so much of Philip when they’d first met in college. He was taller than his dad at 6'2," but he had the same dark hair, brown eyes, and build. They even walked the same.

“I don’t see the fruit.”

She walked over, pulled the bowl out, and handed it to him. He took a fork out of the drawer and returned to the table. She followed him.

“Listen, I saw Emily’s mom, and she told me about a school dance coming up. I was wondering, are you going take someone to it?” she asked, joining him at the table.

“I didn’t know you were friends with Emily’s mom,” he said.

“Well, I’m not friends with her, but I know her enough to say hi and visit.”

“Where did you see her?” he asked.

“At the grocery store.”

He smiled, changing the subject. “Speaking of the grocery store, I ate the last banana and finished off the deli meat.”

“Put it on the list,” she responded.

“Will do.” He jumped up from the table. “I got to get going. Told a couple guys I would meet them to shoot some hoops.”

“Wait a minute,” she said. She would not be deterred. “The dance. Are you going to ask someone?”

He turned back and gave her a smile so similar to his father’s. “Already did.”

He was out the door before she could start to ask about the girl. That’s okay, she thought. The dance was several weeks away. She’d have plenty of time to find out.

She went upstairs to take a shower, thinking about how much she was going to miss him next year when he went to college.

After her shower, Cynthia headed back to the kitchen to get supper together. She’d taken some chicken out of the freezer earlier in the day to thaw, thinking she’d grill it in a pan with butter, olive oil, onions, and mushrooms, and serve it over pasta with a salad.

Cynthia enjoyed cooking, and learned most of her skills at the side of her Granny and Mom where she grew up in Walden Falls, a small town in Wisconsin. They were both outstanding cooks and had given her much to live up to.

When she was a child, she and her brother Arthur spent summers at her granny’s house on White Lake, about fifteen miles from their home. Cynthia became Granny’s assistant in the kitchen. She even had an apron just her size to wear.

Granny was of German decent, so most of her meals were hearty, stick-to-your-ribs type food. Over the years, Cynthia had adjusted many of those recipes for her family swapping out things like bacon grease, lard, cream, and butter — she didn’t think it was all bad, but just good in moderation. Granny would never approve of the adaptations, but she didn’t have to know.

Cynthia always made an effort on the days she didn’t work to have a family meal together. She remembered how her family shared dinner every evening, but today, it seemed like families were going all different directions and didn’t use mealtime to touch base with each other.

She wondered how much cooking she would do next year after Christopher went away to college. The empty nest would certainly be different.

Christopher and college started her thinking about how she always wanted to get her master’s in nursing but never did. Her career had advanced fine without one, but maybe this would be the time for her to pursue it. It seemed between Philip and life, there was always a reason not to. Babies came, Philip had his career as the major bread winner, the kids got involved in extra-curricular activities — the list went on, and soon her dream was forgotten by everyone, sometimes even herself. She remembered one of the times when she brought it up and Philip’s response, “Don’t you have enough to do without adding school to the mix?”

She bent over to get a pan out of the cupboard and her phone rang. Philip. When he called at this time of day, it only meant one thing. He would be late.

“Hello, sweetheart,” she said. “How’s your day?”

Philip sighed. “The usual. I’ve got a late appointment, so I won’t be home till after seven. Just eat without me, okay?”

Philip was a financial advisor. Most clients could be met during the day, but some had to be seen after hours. She hated how tired he was when he got home.

“Okay.” She tried to sound pleasant. “What has you so busy?” she asked. He didn’t respond. “Philip?”

“What… oh… what’s the problem?” He sounded slightly annoyed.

“No problem, darling. I’ll let you go. Love you,” she said.

No response. “Philip?”

“I’m sorry. Just preoccupied with work. Yeah, I love you, too, Cynthia. You know that.” He didn’t sound convincing. “Right now work is on my mind.”

“Okay bye, see you later.” She hung up. He hadn’t even acknowledged her goodbye.

His job was high-pressure, but it had never seemed to bother him like it did lately. When she’d suggested that maybe he should take it easier, he would get angry, asking if she didn’t think he could handle it. She was only trying to show she cared.

She heard the front door open — Christopher was back. He came into the kitchen taking a deep breath. “Smells good, Mom. When will we eat? Is Dad going to be home soon?” He was obviously hungry.

“Your dad has to meet a client, so he’ll be home later.”

Cynthia worried about her husband working such a high-stress job. Both his mom and dad had passed away, his mom five years ago and his dad when Philip was only ten. Philip told her the story of how his dad dropped dead before his eyes while they were raking leaves outside in their back yard. He told her that he never wanted his kids to go through the same.

“Why don’t you set the table?” she asked Christopher. “It should be ready in 10 minutes.”

As he set the table, Cynthia thought about her husband. He’d been so tired lately. A physical would be a good idea. She was sure he wouldn’t agree, so she would suggest it to him when the time was right.

After pulling the key from the ignition of his car, Philip Lewis sat in the driveway for several minutes, attempting to get himself together before going inside.

Not only was he stressed out from the pressure of the day, but he was also hungry. He was sure Cynthia had left a plate for him. He started to feel slightly better and decided to go in.

The house was quiet. Christopher was probably upstairs doing homework or watching TV in his room, but he wasn’t sure about Cynthia. She must have gone to bed.

He took a cold beer out of the refrigerator and removed the plastic off the plate of food, not bothering to warm it. He headed into the family room to find Cynthia sound asleep in a recliner. There was half a glass of wine on the end table and an open book in her lap.

She was just as beautiful as the day he met her, he thought, as his eyes went down to his protruding belly. He worked out when he could, but he hadn’t much time lately. Between Millie in college and pursuing her master’s after graduation, Christopher going to college next year, looming retirement, and the general cost of living, he felt as if he were on a treadmill. Too bad that didn’t count as exercise.

Most of his stress wasn’t because of work, but because of a situation he had gotten himself into that he wasn’t sure how to get out of. A mistake he didn’t know how fix.

Cynthia’s voice broke his thoughts. “Hey. How long have you been home? What time is it?”

“About nine forty-five or ten,” he said. “I haven’t been home long. Do you work tomorrow?”

“Yeah, a twelve-hour shift,” Cynthia responded through a yawn. “I was hoping you would’ve been home earlier so I could spend some time with you. Why are you so late? It seems we hardly see you lately.”

He wasn’t sure how to respond and didn’t want to because he would have to lie, so he changed the subject.

“Let me walk you upstairs and tuck you in,” he said with a smile.

As he steered his sleepy wife to their room, he thought about how glad he was this day was over. He was ready for some alone time.

Cynthia sat on the bed and proceeded to undress. He grabbed her nightgown, and when he came back from the closet, she was naked. As she put her arms up, he slid the nightgown over them and thought how great she looked.

He was happy she was going to bed. He had one more phone call to make, a phone call that could put things right again.

“Sweet dreams. The morning will be here before you know it,” he said.

He kissed her on the forehead and went downstairs to make his call.

A few days later the house was quiet, and nobody expected home for hours. Cynthia went to the shelf her cookbooks were on and pulled out the folder containing her notes for the upcoming surprise birthday party she was having for Philip. It was hidden between The Joy of Cooking and Betty Crocker’s Cookbook. No danger of him finding it there.

Philip was turning fifty-five, and if his current mood was any indication, a party could lift his spirits. She asked him what was bothering him several times, and he said nothing, so it had to be the birthday.

She paged through her papers until she found the number of Joe D’s the sports bar, where he frequently met his buddies to watch football.

“Hello, Joe D’s. Joe speaking,” said the friendly voice of Joe.

“Hi, Joe, this is Cynthia Lewis. Are we set for the party?”

“Got it on the calendar,” he said.

“We talked about using the patio, but do you think it will be warm enough?”

“I don’t think it will be a problem. I’ve got outdoor heaters that make it warm as toast for fall. You’ll never know you’re outside when I’m done.”

“Sounds great. Is it possible for me to come over with a cake and some decorations the day of the party? When would be good?”

“Absolutely! Let’s say about three. Let me know a couple days before how you want the tables set up, how many people, and what food and alcohol you want. Can’t wait to see the look on old Phil’s face. Should be one of those priceless moments.”

“I hope so. Say hi to your wife, Joe, and I’ll be in touch.” She hung up.

It was all coming together nicely. She’d sent out the invitations and was having everyone RSVP by email. Because they both grew up in Wisconsin, she and Philip were Packer fans through and through, so she was doing a Packer-themed party. It might be a little tacky, but Philip would love it.

Just then, her cell phone rang. It was her best friend from college, Purvell Whitlock.

The women couldn’t have been more different. Purvell was a realtor in New York City. Tall, long blonde hair, blue eyes, single, and always going somewhere. Cynthia was petite, with shoulder-length light brown hair, hazel eyes, married, and involved in raising a family. Both women were happy where their lives had taken them.

They’d become friends their freshman year in college at the University of Wisconsin in Madison. The two had ended up living across the hall from each other both having regretted going potluck on dorm roommates. At the end of the semester, Purvell convinced the other two girls to room together so she and Cynthia could do the same. Even back then, Purvell could sell anything. The young women continued to be roommates all through their college years, developing a strong friendship.

“Purvell, it’s so good to hear from you,” Cynthia said. “What’ve you been up to?”

“You know, the usual. Working hard and going on a few trips here and there. Dating a new guy. He’s five years younger than me. Cute and smart. Does something with computers I don’t really understand.”

Cynthia laughed. “How did you meet him?”

“Was showing him condos. After he found one and the deal was done, he asked me out, and I said yes.” She giggled like a school girl.

Although Cynthia was happy, when she heard Purvell talk about her carefree, unpredictable life, she was on occasion slightly envious.

“So how’s the party planning going? How’s Philip been?” Purvell asked.

“The party’s coming along great. Going with a Packer theme.”

“Oh, that will be so perfect,” Purvell said. “He’s going to love it.”

“I don’t know what his problem is lately. He sure won’t talk to me about it. You know how even-tempered he’s always been. Every time I ask what’s wrong, he gets so worked up. I’m not going to ask anymore. I just hope things will improve after his birthday.”

“He’s probably just having a little mid-life crisis,” Purvell said and chuckled. “It happens to the best of us. I wouldn’t worry too much. By the way, about the party, I won’t be able to come. I just can’t get away, but I want you to start planning a trip here. It’s been years since we did a girls weekend in New York. Christopher starts college in August, so no excuses. Time to do something for you.”

She’s so right, Cynthia thought. She had put a lot on hold over the years and was only now realizing it. “Okay. This fall I’m coming, so be ready.”

“You know me, I’m always ready.” They both laughed.

“Tell Philip happy birthday from me on the big day. I’ve got to run. Love you.”

“Love you, too, Purvell.” She hung up.

A trip to New York would be great. Maybe she could go this spring and not wait until fall.

She went back to her party planning until she heard the garage door open. Philip must have gotten off work early for a change. She put her folder back in its hiding place between the cookbooks.

Philip walked through the door looking exhausted and agitated.

“Sweetheart, what are you doing home so early? Everything okay?” Cynthia asked him.

“I’m not feeling well,” he told her.

She put her arms around him, smelling his cologne and the starch in his shirt as she laid her head on his chest and closed her eyes. It was comforting to her for some reason.

“I just want to take a shower and lay down for awhile,” he said. He wriggled out of her grasp and walked past her and up the stairs.

Later when they were eating supper, Philip was back to his old self, goofing off with Christopher.

When they were done, Christopher took off upstairs to do homework and Philip helped clean up the kitchen, giving them some time together.

“So what had you so worked up when you came home today?” she asked.

“What do you mean?” He responded like he didn’t know what she was talking about.

“Something seemed to be bothering you.”

“Nothing was bothering me,” he said firmly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I work very hard, you know.”

“I know you do, but something seemed to be wrong, and I just want to help. I can’t help if I don’t know what’s wrong.”

“You can help by leaving me alone and letting me relax when I’m home,” he said angrily. “I’m going to watch TV.” He left the room.

What was up? There seemed to be something preoccupying him. How could she help if he wouldn’t tell her what was wrong?

She got two wine glasses down from the cupboard and then immediately put one back. She didn’t want to be around him in his present mood. Philip had always been intense with his job, but lately he seemed agitated, even mean. Eventually it’ll all come out and he’ll get past it, she thought as she went upstairs with her wine to watch TV by herself.

Cynthia was in an abyss of fog and blurriness, alone, wearing her nursing scrubs. There were shapes in the blurriness. She could tell they were people, because she could hear them laugh and mumble.

The fog began to clear, and she saw she was in a room a good fifty feet from the blurred people, and her clothes had somehow changed to a nice pair of black slacks, white satin top, and silver jewelry. She held a glass of white wine in her hand.

She wanted to know what the blurred people were doing, so she started across the expanse when, all of a sudden, she stumbled down a hole she hadn’t seen in the floor. The sensation of falling through air felt good and unburdening, but then suddenly she became panicked and felt the urge to find something to grab onto, to prevent her descent into the unknown. She kept falling, falling, falling.

Somewhere between consciousness and sleep the alarm went off, her hand slowly reaching out from under the covers to feebly push the silence button while her mind slipped into gear.

The sun was shining through the bedroom window, giving the room a warm happy yellow glow.

She vaguely remembered dreaming something before the alarm went off. Parts and pieces still drifted in her mind until they eventually evaporated into the subconscious secret part of her brain.

Her dreams were always the same, starting out with a fog and blurred mumbling people that never made sense to her. She softly laughed to herself.

Very rarely did she share her dreams with anyone but Purvell, who appreciated her vivid imagination.

“You need to go to someone who interprets dreams someday,” Purvell had suggested once. “That could be interesting.”

As she continued to slip into wakefulness, she remembered it was the day of Philip’s birthday and surprise party. The day was finally here after all the planning, and he didn’t know a thing about it. She had until seven that night, and there were so many things yet to do.

The dream was forgotten.

She rolled over to touch Philip, wanting to cuddle with him before starting their day, but he was gone, only a slight indentation where he slept, his side empty, but still a little warm. She was disappointed. She wanted to be the first to wish him happy birthday.

It smelled like someone was making breakfast so she rolled out of bed and padded downstairs to find Philip wearing her ruffled pink apron and standing in front of the stove, going back and forth between two pans. What a sight.

“Hey, birthday boy. What are you doing?”

Philip turned around with a big wide grin from ear to ear. “Making milady breakfast.” He bowed like a knight from medieval times. He only had on running shorts, so when he turned to face her, it looked like he was naked under the apron. At fifty-five he was still a good-looking guy, even in a pink apron. It was nice to see him in a good mood for a change.

“It’s your birthday. I should be cooking for you. What possessed you?” Truth be told, breakfast was the only thing Philip could make. Okay, hot dogs, hamburgers, and frozen pizza could be added to his culinary resume as well.

“I woke up and saw how tranquil you looked and thought I’d surprise you,” he said, a big smile on his face.

Why did he say surprise? Did he know about the party? Impossible! There was no way he knew. She was being paranoid.

“You certainly have surprised me,” she said. “I like surprises, how about you?”

At first she thought he didn’t hear her, but then she realized that the cooking was taking his full concentration

“What?” he asked finally. “Oh, surprises… ah… I don’t know. Don’t get many of them I guess. I never thought about it.”

Did he know, she wondered.

“Cynthia, are you okay?”

“Oh, yes, I’m just fine. I was thinking of… well, nothing, you know, just what a beautiful day it will be for your birthday.” She needed to get a grip on herself, or she was going to ruin it. “Can I help with anything? How about if I get out some plates and silverware?”

“I think I’ve got this cooking thing under control. It’s not so bad, really. Maybe I should try it more often,” he laughed.

“Knock yourself out,” Cynthia said. She remembered the last time he cooked something other than breakfast. It was the biggest mess she’d ever seen. He must have used every utensil, pot, and pan in the kitchen for the very simple dish he’d created.

“Since you cooked for me and it’s your birthday, I’ll clean up the kitchen” she said. It was easier that way, actually.

As she waited for him to finish, she went over the day’s plans in her mind. She was going to run some errands in the morning, get the last of the party arrangements done, head to Joe D’s in the afternoon, and then come home and get ready for the evening.

Christopher was taking his dad go-karting this morning, something they loved doing together, and this afternoon, Philip was going to play golf with some of his buddies who were also invited to the party. This was kind of dangerous because any one of these guys could open their big mouths and spill the beans, especially after a beer or two, but Cynthia had threatened all of them, and she meant it.

“Cynthia? Are you listening to me? You seem to be off somewhere else.”

“Oh, I’m sorry sweetheart. I was just thinking about the errands I need to do. What did you say?”

“I wanted you to know that I might have to be working late more in the future. I’m just trying to get ahead. They keep dumping more and more on us.”

“Sounds like you don’t have much of a choice,” she said. She didn’t like that he had to push himself so hard.

“I don’t, not if I want to get ahead,” he said. “Tada. Here’s your omelet.” He turned around, placing a plate before her, spreading his hands out like a magician.

For a moment, Cynthia was speechless. “Wow, Philip, this is very impressive,” she said. The presentation was beautiful. The omelet rested on one of her soft jade-colored plates, slightly off from the middle, orange slices, blueberries, strawberries and sausage links completing the picture. It looked delicious.

She couldn’t help but lean over to touch his face. She placed her lips on his and let them linger. He set the plate down and wrapped his arms around her.

“What’s that for?” he asked.

“Just because I happen to love you, darling. That’s all,” she said with a smile and laughed. “Happy birthday.”

They sat down together to eat and talk and enjoy a rare thirty minutes of quiet time together. Cynthia suggested he take his shower so he’d be ready for the day while she cleaned up the kitchen. After all, it was his birthday.

But that plan didn’t last. He came over and gave her a passionate kiss, his hand lingering at her breast and then moving down to her behind, holding her tight.

They both took off for the bedroom, closing and locking the door behind them. The kitchen could wait, but they couldn’t.

She had to pick up the decorations from their friends, Ron and Sandra Benjamin, so she and the kids could transform the patio at Joe D’s into Packerland. She still hadn’t heard from Millie, who was driving home today from Rome, Georgia, where she went to college. Cynthia needed to give her a call to see when she’d arrive.

Millie was a junior at Berry College in the northern part of Georgia. Berry was a small liberal arts school, but at 26,000 acres, it was physically the largest college campus in the world.

Millie looked at several schools, but it was only when they visited the Berry campus that she fell in love. Cynthia would never forget the day they drove onto the property for the first time. After passing through the front gate and touring the school, Millie couldn’t see herself going anywhere else. She was now in the Campbell School of Business working on a degree in accounting. One year to go after this and then on to get her MBA.

Because Millie was so focused and an all-around good kid, Christopher always said she made life hard for him since she never did anything wrong. He over-exaggerated a bit.

Cynthia dialed Millie’s number. She answered on the third ring.

“Hi, Mom. How’s it going? I’m about fifteen minutes away,” Millie said. Cynthia hated it when the kids traveled and always worried until they were home.

“That’s great. Can you meet me at Joe D’s around three to decorate?” Millie was going over to a friend’s house until the party.

“Sure,” Millie said. “I brought a friend along with me from school, is that okay with you?”

“Of course it is. We love your friends, and all of them are always welcome,” Cynthia said. One more at the party would be no big deal. College kids were always looking for a free meal. She could stay in Millie’s room with her, not causing any disruption at home. They’d barely even know she was there.

“I knew you wouldn’t mind. So do you think Dad has any idea about the party?” Millie asked.

“I don’t think he has a clue. It’s been fun to be able to pull one over on him. He’s with Christopher for the morning, then going golfing with some of his buddies in the afternoon. I’m trying to get organized right now but wanted to find out where you were first. I’ll see you at Joe’s later.”

“Okay, Mom. I love you,”

“Love you, too, sweetheart. Drive carefully.” She hung up.

Christopher was in the driveway playing basketball when she arrived home. He helped her carry groceries in.

“So how was go-karting?” she asked.

“It was fun. I let Dad win a few times since it is his birthday,” Christopher said with a cocky look. “I got kind of bored though while he talked to some woman.”

“What woman?” she asked.

“I don’t know. Dad didn’t introduce us,” Christopher said.

“Did he talk to her long?” she asked.

“About fifteen minutes. They were laughing and acting stupid.”

“Maybe it was a client. Acting stupid how?”

“I don’t know. You know how adults act sometimes.”

She didn’t have time for Christopher’s observations on how adults act. It was probably an acquaintance or client.

“Okay, finish up here so we can go to Joe’s and get everything decorated for your dad.”

She spotted Millie’s navy Honda Civic as soon as she pulled into Joe D’s. Millie was out of her car and across the parking lot.

Cynthia watched her 21-year-old daughter walk over to them. She was no longer a girl but a woman — and a beautiful one at that. She was a little taller than Cynthia, with curly medium-brown hair, tan skin and a healthy look. Her eyes were a blue-grey color that sometimes changed depending on what she was wearing. Every time Millie came home for a visit, Cynthia marveled at how much more mature and beautiful she was from the time before.

Millie gave Cynthia and Christopher hugs.

“Where’s your friend, Millie? Cynthia asked.

“At Beth’s house, resting for the party tonight,” she said. “We just had some big exams.”

“Well, okay. We need to get started so we can be back home before your dad finishes golf. Here comes the bakery van with the cake,” Cynthia said as the van pull into the parking lot.

Joe met them all at the door, and they followed him out to the patio. The long table was set up exactly how Cynthia wanted it with a smaller table placed to the side for the cake. She put a green tablecloth on the small table so the delivery man could place the cake there.

Cynthia had to look away as the young man carried the cake in all by himself, until it was safely placed on the table.

The cake was a replica of Lambau football field in Green Bay. What a shame the work of art will be eaten, she thought. She thanked the young man and gave him a check for the balance.

They quickly went to work decorating the patio in Packer green and gold, complete with life-size cut-outs of Vince Lombardi and Bart Star.

“Mom, you’ve done a great job. Dad will love it,” Christopher said.

She looked at her children with their big grins and felt an instant jolt of nostalgia. She could almost see the little kids they once were. Millie, with those eyes of hers always twinkling and changing colors, showing the deep intelligence she possessed like her dad, even at a young age. Christopher, who liked to play the tough guy but was really more like Cynthia, always caring for others. Two individuals coming from the same place, but yet so different and unique. It was amazing.

“Christopher and I are going to head home now, Millie, but we’ll see you back here tonight for the party,” Cynthia said.

“Hey Millie, is your friend cute?” Christopher asked.

Cynthia laughed at Christopher but didn’t say a word. Millie’s friend would be several years older and far more mature than he, but she admired his spunk.

“I think so,” Millie said, smiling.

Cynthia and Christopher managed to get back home before Philip arrived. Since it was such a nice day outside, she knew he and the guys were probably sitting around talking with a birthday beer out on the patio at the club. They better not let Philip drink too much. He’d come home wanting to take a nap, which could prove disastrous for the evening.

Finally, at about 4:45, Philip was dropped off sober but a little tired from his day.

“So has your birthday been good so far?” Cynthia asked, giving him a kiss and a smile.

“You’re smiling like the Cheshire cat. What’s up?”

She better get under control, or she could blow the whole evening.

“I’m just looking forward to a nice quiet evening at Joe’s with you and the Benjamin’s,” she said.

Philip sat down in a chair with exhaustion and said, “Yeah, I was thinking about that. Why don’t we order pizza and hang out here? It’s just another birthday to me, no big deal. I actually would like to start forgetting them.”

She’d anticipated this and was ready. “We promised Ron and Sandra we’d meet them at Joe D’s for a birthday drink and dinner, remember?”

“But I just spent the afternoon with Ron and had a drink. I’m tired, and I bet Ron is, too.”

She responded quickly. “But Sandra wasn’t there, and we already had this planned. We haven’t gotten together with both of them in awhile. Sandra and I have a lot to get caught up on. Why, they might even have a gift for you.”

After thinking about it a moment, he responded reluctantly, “Okay, okay. I better hit the shower.” He walked by her and smacked her behind ever so slightly and smiled very devilishly, “But promise me we won’t stay too late, okay? You women sometimes get to talking and forget about time.” And with that, he went upstairs.

She was beginning to stress out and went to find Christopher. “Hey I need you to get ready to go in about an hour,” she said. “Nice jeans, shirt and shoes, okay? You have to help Millie greet guests.”

“Okay, Mom. You need to relax. I’ll keep it all under control when I get there.”

She took a deep breath and exhaled as she left the room.

Cynthia took a shower and was dressed and ready to go by six thirty. She came downstairs to find Philip sleeping in his recliner with the TV on.

“Philip, wake up! We need to leave in 5 minutes,” she said, thinking she was going to have a stroke.

Philip came to life, and without saying a word, picked up his car keys, and they were on their way.

They pulled into Joe D’s parking lot at 7:04 by the clock on the car dashboard. Perfect, everyone should be there by now.

Cynthia was getting butterflies in her stomach as they got out of the car and walked in. Ron and Sandra were standing at the bar and waved when they saw them. The plan was for Ron to tell Philip that they already had a table in the back.

“Happy birthday, Philip,” Sandra said, giving Philip a big hug. “I’m so glad we can celebrate with you.”

Philip looked toward Cynthia, and she gave him a, see, I told you so, look.

“It’s so busy tonight, we had to take a table out on the patio. We were just waiting for you to get here, so let’s go sit down,” Ron said as he led the way.

Cynthia’s butterflies did double time.

And then there it all was.

The look on Philip’s face was priceless, but his next words were the ones she wanted to hear. “I had no idea you were planning this. It’s such a surprise,” he said.

Philip immediately got pictures with the life-size Vince Lombardi and Bart Starr cut-outs, but when he saw the cake, he was in awe. “That’s a cake? You mean we can eat it?”

Cynthia smiled to see how happy he was.

Everyone at the party meant something to Cynthia and Philip. She hadn’t realized how many friends they’d made in Atlanta until she’d planned this party.

Where was Millie, she wondered? Christopher was visiting with guests, but her daughter seemed to be missing. She worked her way over to Christopher, saying hi to friends and accepting compliments on the party along the way.

“Hey, where’s your sister?” she asked.

“I don’t know, Mom. I haven’t seen her.”

“She’s not here?” Cynthia was shocked. “Did you try calling her?”

“Yeah, but she didn’t answer.”

She would try calling her, but didn’t want Philip to know her concern until she knew for sure something was wrong. This was so unlike Millie. She was starting to really worry, but as she headed toward the door, she spotted her daughter. Millie looked beautiful, calm, and collected, so everything must be okay.

“Sweetie, where have you been? When I found out you weren’t here, I started to panic. Did you have car trouble or something? You missed the whole surprise. I wish you would have called to let us know.”

Millie had a sheepish look on her face, a very unfamiliar look for her. This was a girl always in charge and always doing the right thing. Just then, Cynthia’s eyes landed on the young man standing next to Millie. Millie took his arm.

“Mom, this is my friend, Jimmy Skidmore. He goes to school with me at Berry.”

She assumed Millie’s friend was a girl, not a guy, as did Christopher.

“Hi, Jimmy. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” She extended her hand. “I’m so glad Millie’s brought you to her dad’s party,” she said, trying to focus on the issue at hand. The boy could wait. She turned to Millie. “Darling, where have you been?” she asked her daughter again.

Jimmy cut in. “You have to blame me for delaying Millie, Mrs. Lewis. But first, might I say that you look lovely tonight in that color?”