Note: The long overdue Chapter 6 - (I hope that all of you who have so graciously read and reviewed haven't been kept waiting too long; and that you are "rewarded" for your patience by this, an extra-long chapter. Please, keep letting me know how you're liking it, as this progresses… Your encouragement and support really do inspire me! ) All of the characters, of course, are the intellectual property of Margaret Mitchell.

Chapter 6:

At 5:49 p.m. (according to the computer), Scarlett made a few notes in anticipation of the inevitable moment in which she would emerge from her bedroom door, walk down the staircase, and see if Rhett was ready in actuality, or if it had all been an elaborate joke at her expense. Wade was in his room trying on all of his new purchases, Ella had informed her - a claim which Wade defended against vehemently as he breathlessly appeared behind his sister, his sweatshirt inside out.

Alright, alright, leave me alone, Scarlett remembered muttering. As if they were participants in the mad scheme; they miraculously allowed her the rest of the afternoon to prepare. She gave the list on her laptop a final glance. Shower. Check. Condition hair. Double check. Wax. Done. Although why she needed to wax was beyond her…an old habit, she supposed. Nails. Thank God for Insta-Dri.

She thought that she heard a car door and jumped up with a start. Then silence. Surely if it was Rhett, Wade and Ella and one or both of the pets would make some sort of sound to alert her. It wasn't him. Surely he wouldn't have forgotten.

He would never forget her. What a foolish, romantic sentiment!

He'd forgotten before. Her past was chalk full of memories that involved Rhett not being there, like great gaping holes spattering the bigger picture of her life.

She remembered it like it was yesterday. The miscarriage. The rush of blood and the pain. She called for Rhett. He never came. Oh God, the pain. And Bonnie's funeral. She couldn't bring herself to dwell on that. Rhett was drunk. He was present, but not really there. The divorce lawyer had said that the most traumatic events of married life are divorce and the death of one's child. Check both, Scarlett had said. Trauma, the ultimate killer.

Melly's funeral. Rhett wasn't there for that, either. Melly. Melly's death. She pulled open the bottom drawer of her vanity and pulled out a framed picture, long since relegated to a spot of perpetual darkness. She'd pulled it out once or twice and had even tried to sleep with it by her nightstand. She couldn't look at it for very long without crying. She could tell without looking at the date that it had been taken in the middle of June, on the occasion of Melly's birthday. She had been pregnant with Bonnie then, and looked none too happy about it. Melly was slender as a reed, her long brown hair tied into a thick braid down her back. She was wearing a dress of pale pink, the color of champagne. She was carrying a tray full of watercress sandwiches. Her favorites, all. And she was hugging Scarlett, resting her free hand on Scarlett's swollen belly. Very swollen - Bonnie had been born the following week. A week after Melly. And died just a few months before. She had sent Wade and Ella to stay with her sister while she went to a spa in Marietta. Everybody told her she was going to get to rest and recover, from both Bonnie's death and from the miscarriage she had never had time or permission to recover from when it first happened. Melly had wanted her to go. Melly was fine. She stood on the front porch next to Ashley with her little gingham apron, looking like Suzy Homemaker as Scarlett got into her hired Towncar. Melly waved until they rounded the curve around Ivy Street and she could no longer see her. She was sick, yes, but it was going to be fine in the end. Scarlett had arrived at the Women's Retreat around five that evening - done some yoga and light pilates before turning in for the night. She had reached for her phone to set the alarm for six a.m., only to see it lit up with twenty-two missed calls from Rhett. It was Melly, who, even as Scarlett spoke to him, was undergoing emergency surgery. The pregnancy she had been willing to die for was found to be entopic; there had been a rupture, bleeding, and finally, shock. It had killed her.

Her funeral. Rhett had not been there. He couldn't have stood it, being there.

Damn you, Rhett Butler, Scarlett cursed internally. This is what you do to me.

Did she seriously see it as a loss? As a true separation? After all, he'd been absent more than he had been present during their married life. How much of that was your fault? If you hadn't been so blind in your obsession with Ashley, maybe you and Rhett could have had a chance…

The nagging voice of conscience continued to plague her …but she hadn't the time to think of it. Not now.

She heard the car pull up in the drive; this time for sure, and she took a quick, final appraisal of her appearance. Her dress was an iridescent peacock bluish-green. It was a Vera Wang, but she had found it on the half price at Kohl's and had swiped it before anyone else had the chance to notice the solitary size 6 shoved in between the 10's and 12's. That it was a size 6 might have irked her at some point; she had been a 4 for as long as she could remember. But sometime in the period between Melly's death and the finalization of her divorce, Scarlett had found that somehow, someday, she was newly entitled to purchase clothes that fit - regardless of the number in the tag. No one need know that she cut the tags out. They rubbed at her neck anyway.

Her feet were still sore from previous night's stilettos, so she went with the more conservative option, black ballet flats. A sentimental choice, perhaps, born out of the old habit of wearing flats because Rhett preferred her in flats. She always had preferred heels.

She walked to the edge of the staircase and peered down over the banister, if only to catch a glimpse of him just to make certain that she was neither overdressed nor under. The foyer was empty.

It's going to be fine, she reassured herself, after all, we've severed all emotional bonds. Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn. Don't give a damn, don't give a damn.

She rolled her eyes and said loudly. "Well, I don't give a damn, either!"

Scarlett grabbed hold of the handrail and walked through the foyer and across the hallway to kitchen, where she presumed Wade and Ella would be, picking out what they wanted for dinner before she left …

A loud giggle emitted from the great room, then an even louder shriek, and Scarlett followed the sound, expecting to find either Wade or Ella or one of the animals to be into some sort of mess which she would then be obligated to extricate them from, and naturally culminating in the ruination of her outfit. Rhett, in the meantime, would probably leave, and she'd be stuck going over to Ashley's and eating cheap, MSG-infused Chinese … or perhaps not…

Rhett was leaning over the sofa, and the top of Ella's gingery head was peeking out over the top of it and Wade was seated next to her, completely overcome by giggles.

"Get that off," Rhett was saying in a hushed whisper. "Just turn the damned thing off."

"It froze-" Ella was protesting.

"Of course it did," Wade said, then burst out laughing again.

"Did I miss something?" Scarlett asked, raising an eyebrow. Rhett looked completely and utterly guilty.

"Ella wanted to show me something."

"Justin Bieber," Ella informed her, turning around and facing Scarlett. "I was showing Uncle Rhett the inspiration behind Wade's haircut."

"And I told her that I do not look like Justin Bieber!" Wade protested.

"So I showed him," Ella went on.

"And she Google-searched it," Rhett cut in. "And she got some interesting results."

"Yeah, she clicked on 'Justin Bieber girlfriend'," Wade smirked.

"And it sort of went on to 'Justin Bieber girlfriend pregnant'," Ella said, "and Uncle Rhett told me to just click on it."

"As in, just click on it. To show me what she needed to so that we could …" Rhett looked sheepish. "And that led to all sorts of images."

"And my laptop froze," Ella grinned. "Oops."

Scarlett rolled her eyes. "Thank you, Rhett. As always, you're a wonderful role model for the children."

She thought that he wanted to shoot back with a smart-ass retort, but he had none at the moment. He was not shy about undressing her with his eyes, and she could sense his approval. He liked her in "hot-mom" clothes …clothes that looked her age. Not that she did look her age. Again she stole a glance at the nearest mirror. Definitely still would be carded. Please God, let someone card me tonight!

"Well?" she addressed the children, "Will you two be okay for a couple hours if Uncle Rhett and I go out for a drink and dinner?"

Wade nodded. "I'm very responsible."

"Nice try," Scarlett corrected him. "Prissy's on her way."

"Prissy? Why? Mother, I'm so close to thirteen now!"

"I know you are, Wade Hampton - don't remind me." She kissed his cheek and ran a hand through his hair. She wondered if Rhett had noticed his new haircut. Surely he had. She hoped that he'd told him how handsome he looked. One complement from Rhett would have been worth ten of hers. "But Prissy is going to come by just in case you need anything. And you've got all the emergency numbers where?"

Wade rolled his eyes, then looked at Ella, and both of them said in unison: "On the whiteboard. Yours is 770-872-0029 and Uncle Rhett's is 770-282-"

"Wrong," Rhett interrupted, smirking that annoying sardonic smirk of his. "I don't have an Atlanta number anymore, remember?"

Both children looked as though they'd been hit.

"Why did you change your number, Uncle Rhett?" Ella asked, the look on her face truly forlorn.

"Well," he ran a hand through his own thick head of hair. "I don't live in Atlanta anymore, for starters. And when I got my new iPhone I had the option of changing it …so…" his voice trailed off lamely and he looked over at Scarlett, as if he expected her to say something to alleviate the awkwardness.

She would be damned if she bailed him out.

"You guys have your phones on you?" Rhett said, his tone filled with fake pleasantness, "I need to give you the new one anyway and we can just -"

"No thanks," Wade interrupted, "we don't need it now. Come on, Ella. Let's go upstairs."

Ella nodded and hugged Scarlett tightly. "Be careful, Mother."

Scarlett's heart melted in spite of herself. "I won't be gone long, baby."

"Promise? And can we watch a movie when you get home?"

Scarlett nodded. "If it's not too late. School tomorrow, remember? Both of you have homework."

Wade shook his head. "I finished my algebra."

"Well, help Ella with hers. She has like six workbook pages full of word problems."

"Yes ma'am."

"Love you both." Scarlett said, then turned to face Rhett. He had said nothing? Nothing at all? "Ready?"

He shrugged nonchalantly. "Whenever you are. Bye guys."

They waved wordlessly, and filed up the stairs and into their respective rooms as Scarlett retrieved her leather jacket from the closet.

"Ready?" she said as she met him at the door. She looked up into his eyes, hoping to gain some insight into his mood. They were large and melancholy. Not the eyes of a happy man about to be married, if she did say so herself.

He nodded and held the door open for her. "Do we need to wait for Prissy?"

"Nah. She'll be here fifteen minutes late. And even if she gets held up, I've been letting Wade stay home alone a little bit, lately."

"Really?" The tone of disapproval.

"Well, he is almost thirteen. He needs to have some responsibility." There she was defending herself; as though she was still answerable to him.

"I …agree."

"Really?" She was shocked.

"Really." He shut the door behind him and aimed his fancy key fob at the Lamborghini. "You've blocked me, Scarlett."

"What?"

"Your car."

"You just got here," she said stupidly, then realized that he had pulled to the front of their circular drive, behind her car. Prissy had just pulled in behind him. She could hear the music blaring from the stinking clunker of a vehicle.

"Hey Miz Scarlett!" Prissy waved. "Wade and Ella ready to chill?"

Scarlett shrugged. God's nightgown, that girl was a stupid creature. "I'm not sure how much chillin' they're ready for, but they're inside. They're supposed to be doing homework, if you wouldn't mind checking up on them from time to time. Oh and Prissy, if you want to watch TV, just hit the power button one time. When you hit the all on button, it will turn off the cable and I have to reset it manually, okay?"

Dull comprehension seemed to appear somewhere in the girl's deep set eyes. Lord, she was dumber than a rock. If only Dilcey, her Pa's old secretary, hadn't called crying that her Prissy had flunked out of community college and needed a job, she would have never in a million years hired her at Kennedy's. But there was no cheaper babysitter in all of Atlanta, and Scarlett was all about saving a few bucks …

"Hey there, Mist' Rhett!" Prissy had clearly just noticed Rhett.

"How are you, Prissy?" Rhett responded, looking put out.

"Ah's fine, suh. See you later, Miz Scarlett!"

And in she went. No doubt to eat Scarlett's popcorn and vegetate in front of her 52 inch television.

"I'll drive," Scarlett said, annoyed. "Where are we going again?"

"Bacchanalia?" Rhett replied. "Just like old times."

Old times. As if old times were good times.

"Fine," Scarlett said, pulling her keys out of her clutch and unlocking the door. "I'm quite sorry that I won't get to take a spin in your new car."

"Well, we can always -"

"No, it's fine."

"There's tomorrow, too."

"It doesn't matter, Rhett." She fastened her seatbelt and he did the same.

"I always liked this car," he said.

"Uh-huh," she put the key in the ignition and turned it. The radio was blasting at an ungodly volume. Oh Holy Shit!

She hurriedly turned it down. "Sorry. We were coming home from the mall and having a small dance party while they were on a Sonic high."

Rhett laughed. "What is this you're listening to?" He reached out and turned the volume up slightly.

Now we're standing in the rain ~ And nothing's ever gonna change ~ Until you hear, my dear ~ the seven things I hate about you, the seven things I hate about you, ooooh you!

"Miley Cyrus? Really? Isn't she like, so last year?" he laughed as he pressed the off button.

"I do have an eight-year-old, if you'll recall."

"Yeah, but still …"

"Ella likes her. And you know what, I like her, okay?"

"What about poor Wade?"

Scarlett laughed. "Poor Wade. Ha. He gets to choose the next time. And with him its all the depressing emo kid music, which makes me want to kill myself. Seriously, I had to hide that My Chemical Romance cd. You can only hear about the Black Parade so many times before your eardrums just give out entirely."

"I guess it's payback, huh? For your own hellacious taste in music as a teenager?"

"Hellacious? At least we had taste in the nineties." Take that, Rhett Butler.

"Ah, the nineties. Let me refresh my memory …when Leonardo DiCaprio was the molten ball of light around which the solar system turned."

"Yuck."

"Really, yuck?"

"Yuck."

"Who was your teenidol then? Now I'm really curious."

"I don't know. There were several."

"I'm not talking about Fayetteville Prep, Scarlett. Those crazy twins, I recall well. The illustrious quarterback, Tony Fontaine, now a resident of the Fulton County maximum security prison."

"Poor Tony; don't remind me."

"Rafe Calvert, on welfare."

"Stop."

"Ashley Wilkes. Gainfully employed."

"Stop it, stop!"

He looked momentarily repentant. But not overmuch. "What else about the nineties? …Ah, I remember something. Though on the surface, they are the exact same thing in every conceivable way, whether you liked The Backstreet Boys or N*Sync said more about your character than all of the terrible macaroni art you could ever make for your child psychologist."

She laughed in spite of herself. "I was trying to explain this to Ella yesterday. No really, I was. There's nothing like it today, nothing at all. Of course, there wouldn't have been an N*Sync without Justin."

Rhett laughed. "You even liked him with his terrible, icy-blond mini-fro? Typical. Yes, I suppose that liking the Backstreet Boys gave you a bit more of a cultured palate, as there was no clear Diana in those Supremes."

She was laughing in earnest now. "You know, I went to both of their concerts. It was quite the scandal back then. Sue was madly in love with Nick Carter and it was her birthday, but I made Pa drive me to Atlanta the next week to see N*Sync …"

"Was that before or after I met you?"

"Before. I had a driver's license by the time I met you."

He shuddered. "Don't remind me. I thought you were of age. At least Charles Hamilton made the same mistake I did."

"Oh, he knew." How odd for him to bring up Charlie.

"And he still did it?"

"What? It was a mistake. One gigantic mistake."

"Would you take it back if you could?"

She turned her eyes away from the road for a split second and looked hard at Rhett. He was dead serious.

"Would I take it back?"

"If you had the chance to fix that one mistake, would you?"

She thought for several minutes. No Charlie would have meant no Wade. No Wade? And she would have never have gotten to know Melly as anything other than Ashley's wife …or did he mean… surely he didn't mean…?

"Would you change something?" she asked. "If you could change one thing …?"

"Slow down, Scarlett, we're getting close," he indicated that she should merge into the right lane. "Hmm, change…what would I change..? I'm not sure. Several things, I imagine. I've made many mistakes in my life, Scarlett. After all, as you're so fond of reminding me - I'm an old man." With a penchant for marrying much younger women. "There, over there, see? On the corner?"

"This is the prix fixe place, right?" Scarlett asked as she turned into the parking lot. "With the killer mushroom risotto?"

"I thought you'd remember the mushroom risotto, seeing as you ordered an additional three servings of it the last time we dined here."

"Rhett?" She pulled into a parking space. "This is where you took me the night you proposed. The night after Frank's funeral." Less than a week before you're getting married to someone else. "Why here? Why now?"

He heaved a sigh. "Because I needed to see you. You know, really see you. Talk to you. Make sure that you would be alright. And you've - as much as it pains me to admit this - you're doing fine. You've changed, Scarlett. I've never seen Wade and Ella so happy, even when I lived there. And you look good. Happy. And I'm glad."

"That's …it?" She hoped the irritation in her voice wasn't too obvious. "Are you? Happy, I mean?"

He gave her a small smile. "I am content."

"Happier than …with me?"

Again, the sigh. "How do I explain this delicately? Living with you was like living in the blazing sunlight 24/7. Fast-paced. Hot. And I got caught up in it and in you and eventually, I got sun poisoning."

"Thanks."

"No, no, I know that I was no picnic either. And I know that we were at cross purposes ninety percent of our married life. I understand that, Scarlett. But I'm content now, with the way things are. And I would like very much for us to be friends."

"Friends." She felt like she couldn't breathe.

"I mean, I don't expect us to be throwing barbeques for one another anytime soon. It's going to take time. But Wade and Ella -"

"They don't need you. And once Anne has children …"

"That won't be any time soon."

"What do you mean? I'm sure that you'll want more-"

"She doesn't want children. And I don't either, come to think of it. Bonnie was …well, Bonnie was the best of me. And it would seem a betrayal of the highest order to even think of sharing that with someone else. Bonnie was completely ours, you know? The best part of both of us."

"I know."

"Anne understands that, better than any woman I've ever met. She's willing to put off having children for my sake."

"How nice."

"I think so. She's a remarkable woman."

"Ashley thinks she looks like Melly."

"If that's your subtle way of asking me if you're the hotter one, the answer is no." God damn him!

"Don't be ridiculous."

"You're a vain little bitch, Scarlett," he laughed heartily, and put a large hand to her face, which she brushed away. "You always have been, honey."

"You're a bastard."

"I'm sorry. So …do you just want to say hell with dinner? Since we've pretty much covered all of the heavier topics of the evening already - I'd say we can just get shitfaced, eh?"

"Is that what you and Anne do, get shitfaced?"

"Not in the least. She doesn't drink."

"Good luck with that." They won't last a year.

"Let's go to your place."

"What, home?"

"No. Kennedy's. You still have live music Sunday nights?"

She nodded. "I forget who it is. It'll only be a two-piece."

"That's fine. Let's go."

"But your reservation?"

He shrugged. "Not important."

She put the car in reverse and wordlessly backed out of the space and turned back out onto the highway. So much for prix fixe. At least Ashley wouldn't be working tonight. She couldn't handle anything else.

Rhett was looking out the window. His hair was a little grayer at the temples, but he was largely unchanged since the last time she had seen him. He had undone his tie and unbuttoned the top button of his white shirt, which stood out against his tanned face and chest. She wondered if there was an inch of his body that wasn't sun bronzed - probably not!

They pulled into the reserved space at Kennedy's and entered through the side office door. She looked at him for signs that he was impressed with her work, how busy the place was and how happy the patrons were, clearly. It wasn't that Kennedy's was all that special. The floor plan was conventional, center-hall, with shuttered windows painted green against the whitewashed brick. Frank had wanted it to have that "old-house" feel when he had bought it, and Scarlett had silently protested that it was not to her taste (nor to anyone else's, for that matter); but when he had passed, she had done a complete overhaul with the help of Rhett's money. He had called it one of his better investments. She had been a poorer one.

"Hey Scarlett!" Hugh Elsing greeted her enthusiastically as they emerged from her office. "And Rhett ..? How's life treatin' you, man?"

Rhett shook Hugh's hand. "Just fine. So, I understand you're number one in Atlanta?"

"Yes sir. Miss Scarlett's really done a number on this place," Hugh gave her a little pat on the shoulder. "Mighty good woman, here."

"I had some help," Scarlett conceded, then said quickly, "Hugh, is the music still going on?"

"I think so. They're almost done for the night though. It's almost nine, you know."

"No, I didn't." Scarlett looked down at her watch. "I guess I just lost track of time…"

"That'll happen," Hugh nodded. "Well, have fun. Scuse me. Rhett, great to see you back in town, man."

"Hugh," Rhett nodded.

They walked through the restaurant and into the darkened music room, and Scarlett led him to the bar.

"No table?" he asked.

"I don't want to take up a table, no."

"But…you own it."

"Exactly. Let someone else have it."

He laughed and took a seat at the bar after he had helped her up to her seat. "Shot of Jamison," he addressed the bartender, shouting to make himself heard over the loud music. "Make it a double. Two of them."

"I don't drink whiskey anymore," Scarlett chided.

"Oh well. It's an occasion."

She shrugged and clinked glasses with him.

"Here's to you," he said.

"Cheers," she replied, then downed her shot. Bitter, hot liquid near scalded her throat.

"Another," Rhett was already summoning the bartender. "This time, let's drink to me…"

Seven shots and an hour and a half later, they were in the car, headed back to Peachtree Street, windows down and Rhett's iPhone blaring out the music of his choice.

"I don't …" Scarlett could feel herself fumbling for words. Surely she hadn't had that much to drink. "I don't get this song."

"What don't you get, my dear?" Rhett was slurring too. Clearly he hadn't been drinking his normal quota since he'd been with Anne.

"She walks these hills in a long black veil - what is she, a nun?"

"Listen - Listen to the words," Rhett fumbled for the repeat button.

"I don't want to hear it again, just tell me."

"It's about a man who has been sentenced to death for a crime he did not commit."

"Where does the long black veil come in?"

"Well, he's been sleeping around, you see. With his best friend's wife. And he was sleeping around with her when this murder happened. But he's not going to reveal her. Even though it would save his life to do so."

"And what does she do? His girlfriend?"

"She says nothing. See, Scarlett, you don't listen to a damn thing. Except -" he heaved a tragic sounding sigh, "for Miley Cyrus."

"What's the point? Why are you listening to such a depressing song?"

"Because it's pure. It's honest. It's a song about love. Or love as I understand love."

"What, that love gets you killed?"

"No, it's about faithfulness. And it's about limitations. The paradox of love."

"True love should be without limits."

"Only Miley and Justin think so. No, these people in the song did the best they could do. Just like you or me or anyone else would do in the same situation. They're broken and they're weak and they're …flawed."

She pulled into the driveway. "Home. Wow. That seemed like a long drive."

"Did it? I didn't notice."

She laughed. "You're drunk, Rhett Butler."

He shook his head. "You think so?"

"So, who does that song we were just listening to?"

"That was Bruce Springsteen and the Seeger Sessions Band."

"Dating yourself much?"

"Classics never age, my dear."

"Yourself included?"

"Care to test me?"

"No thanks." She got out of the car and shut the door. He was standing next to her, hands on both of her shoulders. She leaned back against the car door.

"Is that your final answer?" he said, lingering on each syllable as he bent down to her ear and whispered. "Prissy's gone. She must have given up on us. No lights on in the house…"

"Is that really what you're thinking about right now?" she looked up into his glassy, alcohol-boggled eyes. She probably looked no better.

"Don't tell me you're not thinking the same thing."

She shrugged and brushed against his hard body.

"I'll tell you what I'm thinking, Scarlett O'Hara. I'm thinking that the children are asleep and no one is around to watch me kiss you."

Then, Rhett's lips were on hers, and she couldn't have spoken even if she wanted to.

She didn't want to.