The Acts of Forgiveness and Love

Prologue

It snowed in Houston that winter, but nothing too bad. The schools were only closed for a few days. Long enough for the kids to go sledding but not long enough to where everyone got tired of laying around the house. Everyone stayed together during that time and bonded. They played board games late into the night, watched movies all day, and made s'mores around a small fire in the backyard. It reminded him of camping trips he had taken with his wife before they were married, before things became complicated.

No one had intended on things being complicated after they were married. No couple ever thinks about the rough patches they might go through. No, they think of how nice it'll be to finally be together constantly, to sleep in the same bed, to share a room, to share a life. They don't prepare for bends in the road and that's a lethal mistake.

The first years were good. In fact, they were great in his mind. In the first ten years, his wife had given him two beautiful daughters and together, they made wonderful memories that they'd cherish for a lifetime. Within five years, a son was born, and he felt his life become even greater than he ever thought it could. He was a successful dentist with the picture perfect family. All that was seemingly missing was a dog in the backyard and no one really minded that fact much. But when the twenty year mark hit, the mountain he was on top of began to crumble beneath him and her both. They struggled to keep their balance and tighten the ropes that kept them suspended and safe. They fought to survive for seven years. The daughters grew up and moved out, leaving the son and the husband and wife. He thought that maybe that would lighten the stressful load. Not to say his children were stressful and brought him strife, it just meant he could focus on his dwindling marriage and saving it.

He was a physically strong man and if he and his wife were literally about to fall off a mountain, he could save them both, no problem. But this mountain was a symbol and no matter how hard he tried, no matter how big a man he tried to be, he just couldn't do it. He just hoped there would be a miracle before they came crashing down to the rocks below.

xXx

January 2007

The heat was on high and he had three quilts on top of him but Brock was still chilled to the bone. Maybe it was because he was alone on the couch in the living room. Maybe it was because her body wasn't next to his keeping him warm. That was one thing he missed: her being beside him. He hadn't literally slept next to his wife in almost two weeks. He hadn't metaphorically slept with her for six months.

He thought he had insomnia before. Now he was a full-fledged insomniac. He discovered that he couldn't sleep without his wife next to him after his first night on the couch. There was a big argument that evening and when bedtime rolled around, she banished him to the couch with a pillow and nothing else, stating that she was too angry to even look at him. She had slammed the door and the two didn't talk until dinner the next day.

Brock had slept a total of twenty-four hours within the last two weeks, maybe. His sleeplessness was beginning to interfere with his work and he realized that this insanity had to stop. He had to get up and go to work in the morning to support his family and he couldn't do that on ten minutes of sleep.

He sat up on the couch, goose-bumps running up his arms and ran his hands over his face. With a long yawn, he gathered up one of the quilts and his pillow and began the trek up the stairs and to his bedroom where his wife slept.

He stopped when he got to the bedroom door, wondering whether to knock or go in. He found this question ridiculous. It was his house and he could walk into any room at any time he pleased. He nodded, satisfied with his own answer, but found himself not moving. What if she was changing clothes? He didn't want to startle or embarrass her. He shrugged and figured that as late as it was, she was probably sound asleep. When he was done arguing with himself, he pushed the door open with the turn of the knob.

The room was quiet and he winced when the closing of the door made a louder sound that he would have liked. He slowly looked toward the bed and breathed a sigh of relief when he saw no movement coming from under the covers. The last thing he wanted to do was wake her and start another argument.

He tiptoed over to his side of the bed and placed his pillow where his head would go and slowly sat down then slid into a laying position, gently arranging the quilt over himself. He smiled slightly, enjoying the comfortableness of his own bed. He turned his head to his left, hoping to get a glimpse of his wife. She was so beautiful when she slept, he thought.

Maybe it was the darkness or his eyes playing tricks on her but he could have sworn the bed was empty. Stilling his movements for a split second, he sat up and leaned closer to her, trying to detect any body heat or breathing. When there was none, he reached out a hand for her shoulder but touched a pillow instead. He reached behind him to flip on a lamp and when the room was partially illuminated, he pulled back the sheets to discover emptiness.

"What the…?"

He looked around the room, puzzled for just a moment before the bedroom door creaked open. Brock turned towards it to find his wife slowly coming in. She was fully dressed and had her coat on. He stayed silent until she turned around.

"Brock!" She gasped and leaned against the door, a hand over her chest. "You scared me."

"I could say the same thing," He shot back, knowing where this conversation was headed. "What are you doing?"

Reba pushed off the door and shrugged her coat off. "I went for a walk," Was her simple response.

"At one in the morning?"

She hung up the coat in the closet, slipping off her shoes as well before going to the dresser and pulling out a t-shirt and pajama bottoms.

"Yes, at one in the morning."

"Tend to do that a lot?"

She entered the master bathroom and closed the door a little too loudly for his liking. She was not happy and he could tell. Did his simple presence make her that angry? He supposed so.

"I do when I can't sleep," She said from the bathroom. He could hear her pick up and set things down on the countertop. He could imagine her actions: first she'd change into pajamas, pants then shirt. Then, she'd pull her hair back into a ponytail before brushing her teeth and washing her face with a mango smelling gel. She'd put her clothes in the hamper and set out a towel for her shower in the morning and then she'd retreat from the bathroom, all ready for bed.

"Well, that makes two of us," He said, staring at the floor. "I can't sleep either. That's why I'm up here."

He heard the door to the bathroom open and he looked up. Her hair was still in a ponytail but she took it down as she flipped the bathroom light off.

"When did you leave?" He asked, not remembering her walking out the door.

"About half an hour ago." She pulled the covers back. "What's with all the questions?"

He shook his head as she folded her arms. He noticed that her cheeks were flushed. "Well, you're my wife and you were outside alone at one a.m. I have a right to be concerned."

"Yes, but that's the only right you have. I'm a big girl, Brock. I'm not eighteen anymore."

He rolled his eyes. "I know that. Do we have to get into this right now?"

She shrugged. "That's up to you. Will you drop it?"

He held up both hands. "I'll drop it."

"Thank you." She sat down and pulled the covers over her lap before lying down completely.

"Are you staying up here?" She asked after a minute.

Brock, who was still sitting up, said, "I was planning on it."

"Then turn out that light."

Brock sighed then shut the lamp off, lying down afterwards. He was careful not to get too close to her. He was treading on dangerous ground already. He didn't want to be the Indian in Cowboy territory. That was a terrifying place to be.

Instead he lay on his back, staring at the ceiling fan, watching it go around and around, wishing his life was like that ceiling fan. It was a bad analogy, he knew, but all that fan did was go around and around. It never changed its cycle, never hurt anything. It stayed the same. That's what he wanted and craved in his life more than anything.

xXx

June 1979

She was seventeen that summer and on top of the world. She had just graduated high school with no intentions of going to college. She just wanted to be free. Carefree. She didn't want anyone telling her what to do. She was sick of rules and regulations and parents and teachers. She was ready to find some sort of adventure and gallivant off somewhere alone.

The first week of the rest of her life, her daddy woke her up at six a.m. as usual. She got dressed in a huff, upset that she couldn't sleep in like she wanted.

I have to get my own place soon. Sooner than soon.

"We're going to the feed store here directly," Her daddy, J.V., told her as he sat down in the kitchen right as the sun was coming up. He ate the same thing for breakfast every morning: fried eggs, bacon, and biscuits. It wasn't very good for his heart, but it was a habit, something he had done since he was a little boy. It was also something him and Reba had in common. She joined her father in breakfast and afterwards, they jumped in the pick-up.

"Are we out of oats or something?" Reba asked, rolling down her window and resting her elbow there. The Oklahoma sun was already beating down on the plains and it wasn't even seven o'clock.

"Yep. Although you wouldn't know. You been slackin' on your chores." J.V. looked straight ahead at the dirt road of his property that led out onto the main road.

"I've had finals, Daddy."

"That's what they tell me."

The truck bumped along the gravel and dirt and finally rolled onto the pavement. The sun was making its way over the top of the trees, giving off a beautiful glow.

"Maybe you and Mama should've had more kids. Some younger than me."

"Well, what for?"

"Ranch hands. I'm pretty much grown up, gon' be leavin' soon."

"I had a fine ranch hand. She left me and started singin'."

"Daddy, I told you. I'd help as much as I could, but I got to focus on my singin'."

"I know, Foxy."

Reba smiled at her Daddy's nickname for her.

"Why do you call me that?" She looked over at him with a smirk.

"Oh, I dunno. You're just everywhere, doin' everything. Like a fox. Plus that big red head of yours."

"Don't make fun of my hair." She reached up to her mane of curls and ran a hand through it.

"I wasn't makin' fun. Just statin' the truth. Ya got hair like a wild woman's."

"You're just jealous 'cause you ain't got no hair." She reached over and snatched his cowboy hat right off the top of his head.

"Come on now. Give it back." He tried to reach over but she held it out the window then brought it back in and placed it on her own head.

"It suits me better," She told him, looking at herself in the side-mirrors.

"What ever happened to your hat?"

"I lost it at the Cheyenne rodeo, remember?"

"That's right." He snatched his hat back and put it on. "We'll get ya another one. Or you will, rather. Bein' a grown woman and all, you should be able to pay for your own hat."

"Daddy!"

"What? You said so yourself." He looked over at her with a wink and Reba forgot all about having to wake up at six a.m. The time she got to spend with her daddy wasn't worth losing by sleeping in till the crack of noon.

They made it to the feed store, laughing and joking the whole way there, and by the time that they pulled in, the sun was resting in its proper place, high atop the trees, shining down to make for a hot work-day.

"It's really beatin' down today," J.V. said as he tilted his hat down to shield his eyes, walking into the feed store, Reba on his heels.

Inside, Reba went off by herself while J.V. went to get the feed order he had called in last week. She went straight to the hats, figuring if her daddy had brought up her getting another one, he meant today, so she wanted to pick one out.

There was an array of hats, both male and female. Pink ones, straw ones, ones with decorative belts and feathers. Reba stood there looking, trying to make a decision when she sensed someone beside her. When she turned a bit, she saw a young man looking as well. He was blonde, tan, and looked a bit older than her.

"Hardly can make a decision, huh?" He asked.

That took Reba off guard but she answered just the same.

"Sure." She snuck a peak at his face. He seemed kind yet mischievous.

"Which one are you getting?" He asked. Reba detected the slightest bit of an accent but she was sure he wasn't from Oklahoma, much less the southeastern part.

"Don't know yet."

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him kind of smiling at her.

"Alright, then. Well, you have a nice day, ma'am." He nodded then picked up the plainest looking hat there before walking down another aisle.

Reba went back to trying to pick out a hat and finally decided on one that looked similar to her daddy's.

"You ready, Foxy?"

Reba jumped at her father's voice and turned around. "Yeah."

"Good. They're loadin' up the truck." He took the hat she held in her hand. "You pick this out?"

"Yep."

"This the one you want?"

She nodded and they both went up to pay for it. They left after the workers had finished loading up the feed in the back of the pick-up.

"What do you think about me barrel-racing again, Daddy?" Reba asked when they got going down the road.

J.V. kind of made a face and went to shake his head. "How about you stay with your singin', alright?"

"Am I that bad?"

"I wouldn't say bad…" "What would you say?"

"I would say you need to stick with singin'."

"Can't I do both? I love both."

"You can but, frankly, I don't think I have the insurance for it."

Reba pretended to be mad but she knew he was just teasing her. She was grateful for the kind of relationship with her father where they could joke and kid and no one got hurt.

"Hey, who is that?" She asked a minute later, sitting up a bit in her seat.

There was somebody walking a ways behind them. She spied him in her side-mirror.

"Looks like Jesse," J.V. said, referring to one of the many cousins in the family.

"No. That ain't Jesse."

J.V. slowed the truck to a crawl and waited for whoever to catch up. When he honked the horn, the hitch-hiker started to jog towards the truck. When he arrived at the window, Reba saw who it was: the man from the feed store.

"Where ya headed?" J.V. asked through Reba's window, which was where the man was.

"Just up the road to my uncle's place," The young man stated. He was wearing the hat he had bought from the feed store.

"Alright. Get in. Scoot over here, Reba."

She did as she was told and the man got in. He shut the door and they were off.

"What's your name, son?" J.V. questioned.

"Brock Hart."

"J.V. McKinney. This here's my daughter, Reba."

"I believe we already met," Brock said, looking at Reba. "Didn't we? In the feed store?"

"Somewhat. I don't think you'd call that meeting, though," Reba looked over at him and finally got the whole picture. He had baby blue eyes and the most charming smile. He didn't look older than twenty-five and Lord have mercy was he toned.

"Well, let's meet again." He held out his hand. "Brock Hart."

Reba shook it slowly, mesmerized by his gorgeousness. "Reba McKinney."

"Nice to meet you, Reba. And you, Mr. McKinney. Thanks for the ride. Just turn here." He pointed down a short, dirt road. "Just up here a ways."

"Alright," J.V. said. "Where are you from? You don't sound like you're from around here."

"I'm from Texas, actually. I'm going to school in Houston. I'm just up here for the summer to help my uncle out with his ranch."

"Your uncle's Pete Russell?"

"Yes, sir."

J.V. nodded. "Good man. I've seen him in passing a few times."

"Hardest workin' man you'll ever meet."

"Oh, I believe it. Sun-up to sun-down every day."

Reba tuned the men out and observed Brock for a moment. He sat in the truck so casually. Arm out the window like hers had been, a laugh like he had never been sad a day in his life, his legs slightly spaced, like any man would sit, and a hand on his knee, elbow nearly touching her side.

Before she knew it, though, the truck rolled to a stop and Brock got out and slammed the door.

"Thanks for the ride, sir."

"No problem. Stay out of trouble."

He winked and backed away from the truck with a wave. It wasn't until Reba and her father got home that she realized he had been winking at her. That fact made her blush but it also made her happy knowing that someone in this Podunk town noticed her.

xXx

January 2007

Brock got home at a little after six the next day. He figured that he was in for a good lecture about getting home on time but today certainly wasn't the day for him to get chewed out. He had to deal with several patients who were upset because he couldn't take their insurance. He also had to do an emergency root canal plus pull a ten-year-old's tooth because the kid never brushed or flossed. So many things had gone on today and all he wanted to do was sleep.

He trudged into the house and hung his jacket on the coat-rack by the door, preparing to run upstairs and take a shower but the soft music coming from the kitchen stopped him. He backed up a few steps and peered in the small window to see Reba in the kitchen cooking something. Any other time, he wouldn't have thought anything of it, but this time was different. She was in a black, strapless dress that hit just above the knee with her hair all done up in curls.

Is it our anniversary?

Surely it wasn't. She wouldn't make him dinner and dress up just because it was their anniversary. She hadn't done that in two years. What would be different this year?

Anyway, it was January. They had had a June wedding and Brock knew good and well it was freezing outside, not warm and sunny.

Still, he decided to see what in the heck she was doing. He quietly tip-toed over to the window and crouched down just enough to be out of sight, but not enough to where he couldn't see.

"Grab a bottle of wine from the cabinet over there, would you?"

His heart started to race, thinking she had seen him but almost fell over when a man appeared and walked across his floor to his cabinet and got out a bottle of his wine.

"You sure your husband isn't coming home?" The mysterious man asked as he went and did the favor.

Reba turned around and lowered the volume on the radio that was sitting on the counter and began chopping something.

"I'm positive. He works until eight nowadays and always calls or texts when he's headed home. And if he does catch us, I'll just say you're a client."

The man brought the wine over and came up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist and pushing her hair to the side to kiss her neck. "You thought of everything, didn't you?"

"Of course I did." She turned around to face the man and kissed him firmly on the mouth. The man's grasp around her waist wandered to her backside. He squeezed and Brock heard Reba giggle.

That was it. His wife was not about to disrespect him like that in his own house. He stood up and walked into the kitchen, not caring to be quiet.

"What the hell is this?"

Reba looked over her shoulder from where she stood at the stove. "What the hell is what?"

Brock blinked and saw that she was in her wrinkled work clothes, not a little black dress, and her hair wasn't done up, it was just down and natural. There was no strange man to be found. He ran a hand over his face. "Nothing," He said.

"You're really crazy sometimes," She told him, turning back around.

"Long day." He went to the fridge to get a beer and thought for a second before going to his wife and placing a hand on the small of her back. "What are you cooking?"

She reached around with her right hand and removed his hand before backing up a bit to check something in the oven. "Just something I read in a magazine." She shut the oven door, throwing the potholders on the counter. "What are you doing?" She pointed to his beer.

"What?"

She took it from him. "Elizabeth is spending the night tonight." She set it in the sink and wiped her hands on a dishtowel. "You aren't going to drink."

"Why not? She's seen me drink before."

Reba rolled her eyes. "You've been drinking more than usual lately."

"I have not."

"You have, and we both know it. If you won't do it for Elizabeth, do it for the simple fact that I'm asking you not to tonight." She walked over to the table with a stack of plates in hand.

"Is Jake not eating tonight?" Brock asked, noting she only set out three plates.

"He's at Robbie's house." Next she set out silverware and cups.

"Oh. Spending the night?"

"Yes."

Brock grabbed his beer and Reba watched him closely as he put it in the fridge. "For tomorrow," He told her, to which she rolled her eyes.

"Whatever."

"Do we have to fight?"

"I don't know. That's up to you, Brock."

"Alright. I choose not to fight."

"Fantastic."

xXx

Elizabeth was trying her hardest not to fall asleep. It was nine o'clock and she had begged Reba to let her stay up until ten, and Reba had relented, knowing she would fall asleep at nine-thirty at the most.

"Can I have some more ice cream?" Elizabeth asked. Everybody had just finished eating sundaes on the couch while watching Finding Nemo, a movie the seven-year-old could quote line for line, she had seen it so many times.

"You just had a bunch," Reba told her, placing her bowl on the coffee table.

"But I'm hungry."

"We had dinner two hours ago."

"Couldn't you let her have just one more scoop?"

Reba slowly looked to her right. Brock was getting up, taking Elizabeth's bowl to the kitchen to fill it up once more.

"Are you kidding me?"

Brock stopped. "It's not going to hurt."

"It's late. That's way too much sugar to be having this late at night."

"Would you loosen up? Lizzie's at Grandma and Grandpa's. We have to spoil her." He winked at his granddaughter who turned around and sat up on her knees, elbows on the back of the couch.

"Put chocolate syrup on it!" She told him.

"I will."

"And M&M's."

"I don't think we have any."

"Okay. But don't forget the chocolate."

Brock smiled. "I won't forget." He disappeared into the kitchen and Elizabeth turned back around and sat down correctly. The movie became boring for her and she got up after spying a big book underneath the coffee table.

"What's this?" She asked, picking it up and lugging it to the couch.

Reba grabbed it from her and set it on her lap. "Come here," She said, patting the seat next to her. "This is a photo album." She opened to the first page.

"Is that you and Grandpa?" She pointed to Brock and Reba's wedding picture back in 1980.

"It is."

"You look different."

"It was a different time."

Brock came back and sat down with Elizabeth's ice cream. "Here you go, sweetie."

"Thank you." The little girl took it and set it in her lap, eating and looking at the pictures as Reba turned the page.

"Whatcha got there?" Brock asked, leaning over a bit.

"Photo album," Elizabeth told him.

"Oh…"

"Grandma?"

"Hmm?"

"How did you and Grandpa meet?"

Reba glanced at Brock. How they met was something she hadn't thought of in a while. It was a fond memory, though. A sweet one.

"We meet at a feed store," Reba told her.

"What's that?"

"That's a place where you buy food for horses and other animals," Brock explained. "I was in Oklahoma with my uncle one summer and we just happened to meet at the most unsystematic place possible."

"It really was a chance meeting," Reba added. "Who knows what would have happened if I had slept in that day and let my daddy go to the feed store by himself." That was another thing she hadn't thought about in ages.

"How old were you two?" Elizabeth asked.

"I was seventeen, about to turn eighteen and Grandpa was twenty-one."

"Summer of '79," Brock said, looking at his wife. She was just as beautiful today as all those years ago. "Best summer of my life…"

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