As Steve and I started to become closer, I found myself dreaming about Chris. He was always trapped in that awful, tiny cell, reaching out his hand and calling to me...but I couldn't get to him in time. Several times a night, I'd wake up shaking all over, with tears streaming down my face. Had I failed him? If I'd tried a little harder, done things a little differently (like made sure we'd stuck together instead of getting separated), could he have been saved? Or would we both have been captured – or killed in the blast?
After a few nights, I really wasn't sleeping anymore and it showed. Steve was on a new assignment and although he was open to hearing anything I might have to say, I didn't feel right talking to him about this. Rudy was still hovering around Los Angeles (since I hadn't been an ex-patient long enough for him to stop worrying), so I gave him a call.
His well-practiced eyes looked me over as I sat down in his office. "You're not sick," he stated. "And you're not hurt – but there's definitely something on your mind."
"Yeah," I told him. (I know, brilliant answer, huh?)
"Is it Steve? Things aren't going so well?"
"Oh no – nothing like that. Things are...wonderful."
Rudy's eyebrows raised up over the tops of his glasses. "And I almost believe you. You aren't sleeping enough, are you?"
"I'm not sleeping at all. It's the best way to avoid dreaming."
"About...?" He just wouldn't let up (and I love him for that).
"Well...about Chris." I told him about the dreams, about how it felt like I could almost save Chris – should've saved him – and didn't.
"Honey, there is absolutely nothing you could have done," Rudy said gently. "If you'd stayed with him, you wouldn't be here right now – and neither would Chris. What happened to him – and to you – was horrible, but there's not a thing you could've done to change or prevent it."
"I just feel so guilty," I finally admitted.
"Maybe this has only a little to do with what happened over there," he suggested, "and a lot more to do with Steve." I must've looked at him rather strangely because he pulled his chair closer and laid a hand on my arm. "You're not being disloyal to Chris," he said very softly. (God, how did he always seem to cut right to the heart of the matter?)
And somehow, even though I hadn't really connected that guilt to my dreams, the twinge that ran through me said that Rudy had hit the nail on the head. I'd braved snakes in the jungle, but I couldn't bear this. I couldn't keep myself from crying. "He hasn't been gone that long," I whispered.
"And it's not like you and Steve have run off and gotten married. Honey, you haven't done anything wrong." Rudy sounded exactly like I'd imagine my Dad would've sounded.
"We...didn't even kiss until a few days ago," I told him.
"Right about when the dreams started," Rudy said flatly. It wasn't a question.
"Yeah."
"Jaime," he began, stuffing his glasses into his shirt pocket, "you've been thrust into a no-win situation. You're mourning the loss of someone you loved, and yet – all of a sudden and through no fault of yours – you've got feelings for someone else."
"I shouldn't let myself feel this way," I argued. It felt so disloyal.
"I don't see that you had much choice. You and Steve were very close, and you never really split up, not in the technical sense of the word. It was circumstances that tore you apart, but the love was still there. For Steve, it never left him. But for you, it went dormant until the time came that another circumstance – also beyond your control – gave you back those feelings and those memories. It would be different if you went out and found someone new so soon after Chris's death -"
"Would it?"
"Yes. This wasn't something you were seeking; it clobbered you over the head." Rudy patted my arm again, and smiled. "I'd say you need to forgive yourself, but you haven't done anything that needs forgiveness. You're living your life – and dealing with everything that's been thrown at you – the best way you know how. And that's exactly what Chris would want you to do."
I nodded and then (finally) I smiled too.
* * * * *
Steve was gone for several more days, and I spent my time redecorating the carriage house, riding the horses while I let what Rudy said really sink in...and catching up on my sleep. I still dreamed about Chris, but the dreams grew warmer, happier – of times we spent together laughing and just enjoying each other. In those dreams, I was able to tell him I loved him...and how very much I missed him. And I started on the long road to letting him go.
* * * * *
November 18, 2009
I'm getting weaker now. Rudy is trying so hard to find a solution, but there is truly nothing he can do. I am so grateful for having been able to live 23 years beyond what fate had originally intended. I was able to marry the man I loved, have three wonderful children and watch them grow into fine, upstanding citizens. I wouldn't trade a moment of it. Rudy is a saint AND a genius, and it is still my mission to ensure that such genius is recognized....somehow.
* * * * *
When I began to let myself truly mourn Chris, I found myself thinking I needed to keep my distance from Steve to do it 'properly'. Big mistake! I sent away that willing ear, water-proof shoulder and comforting set of arms just when I needed them most! But...Steve didn't go far. He knew I was hurting, and I think he knew why. He still called every day, just to check on me (and so did Rudy). But he kept his distance until one day when he just happened to bump into me, up by Lake Casitas, where I was sitting on 'our' log...and crying.
He sat down with a quiet "Hi" and then said nothing more, knowing if I was ready, I'd talk to him. If not, he wasn't about to try and force anything. I appreciated that.
It was a long time before I could find the words – any words. When I did, they came out in a sad, choked little whisper. "I...miss him."
"I know," Steve said simply.
Wordlessly, I picked up a rock and sent it skimming out across the water. It made three or four good skips before sinking to the bottom. Just as silently, Steve found his own rock – and skipped it five times!
"Oh, really?" I said, sniffling a little. My next rock did a neat half-dozen.
"You can do better," he told me.
Okay...that was a challenge. I found the best, flattest rock among the ones by our feet, pulled my right arm back – and sent it sailing smoothly, skip-skip-skip, all the way across the lake, then looked at Steve triumphantly.
He nodded. "Told you," was all he said.
I sat back down and took his hand. Once again, he'd found a way to lighten my mood, at least a little. I didn't want to be without him. I needed him – he gave me balance. "Thank you," I told him. "I'd love to make you some dinner...if you don't have any plans."
"Can I help?"
"NO! But you can watch. Fire codes, you know." Suddenly....I had a great idea!
* * * * *
That day, Steve's cooking lessons began. We had a near disaster when I had him start peeling potatoes and carrots to put beside the roast! I had to wrench the peeler from his hand and show him that the proper way was to peel away from your body.
"I think you could burn soup," I told him, laughing.
"I think I probably have," he admitted.
I gave him lettuce to tear up for the salad, and he started looking around for a knife! (Men are so helpless....or was he only faking?) I showed him how to tear it into bite-sized pieces and then he managed to cut up the tomatoes and cucumbers without any further incident. (The pieces were a little thick and misshapen, but they were cute!)
Eventually, everything was peeled, basted and properly placed in the oven. (A minor miracle!) Steve was so proud of himself. "Next time, maybe I'll let you use the oven," I told him.
"I can grill you, know," Steve pointed out as we dug into the food.
I laughed. I couldn't help it. "He-man kill beast, make fire, grill meat!" I said in my best imitation of a caveman. "When rain come, He-man go hungry. Need inside cooking."
"He-man bring soggy, rained-on meat to woman for fixing," he grunted back.
"Oh, woman will fix it, alright. Will fix He-man, too!"
And so I did.
* * * * *
Over the next few weeks, Steve took to cooking like a duck takes to...well...a pile of leaves. It was slow going – a lifetime of bad kitchen habits to overcome, but we sure had fun trying! Oscar (bless him!) figured there was a little more going on between us than cooking lessons and he called on Steve only when he couldn't avoid it. (He'd pretty much stopped calling on me, for which I was so grateful.)
And Oscar was right. Little by little, one recipe at a time, we were growing closer. I learned to lean on Steve when I was feeling down or afraid of all the 'new oldness' in my life, and rejoiced with him when things were going well.
"What would you like to learn to make?" I asked him one day.
Steve shrugged. "How 'bout your Mom's famous chocolate chip/pecan cookies?"
I wrapped my arms around his waist and gazed straight into his eyes, feeling almost like the melted butter in that cookie recipe. "Well....I don't know....that's pretty advanced stuff. Think you can handle it?"
"I know I can," he answered, sealing his determination with a kiss.
"It's Mom's secret recipe," I teased. "I could tell you...but then I'd have to kiss you. Again."
"I can live with that," Steve confirmed.
Eventually, we made the cookies.
* * * * *
That Winter, Jim and Helen began an around-the-world cruise and Steve moved into the ranch house to look after things while they were away. Now if we wanted to see each other, we just had to step out our front doors. (Our front doors had never been so busy!)
I bought a new horse – a white and gray Appaloosa that I named Cotton. She was still wild, but I spent hours each afternoon letting her get to know (and trust) me, while Steve tended to the other horses and pretended he wasn't watching me. When Cotton became a little more docile, I started putting a saddle on her and then returning to our regular routine of talking to her, stroking her (carefully) and hand-feeding her. She tolerated it a little longer each time. It was working. Next, I pulled a crate up beside her and rested my hands on the saddle, with a little more weight each day, just to get her used to it. Steve seemed fascinated.
"What are you doing?" he asked, my first day up on the crate.
I held a hand up so he wouldn't come too close and startle her. "Most horses that start out wild eventually throw their first rider," I explained. "I'm gonna prevent that. I hope. If she gets used to my weight a little at a time, there's a much better chance she'll let me climb all the way on someday."
Steve shook his head and smiled. "I'm glad Mom and Dad bought their horses already broken in."
"You miss half the fun that way," I told him, stroking Cotton's neck. "And the chance to bond."
"I don't think I'd have the patience," he admitted.
"Oh, you'd be surprised," I said, turning back to my horse.
Cotton surprised us both when, after taking so many days to allow weight on her back, she accepted the bridle easily. She seemed to lean into me now when I brushed and petted her. She was mine.
Finally, the day came when I led her outside and climbed onto her back. Steve put down whatever he was doing and followed us. I let Cotton pick her own pace, slowly exploring the boundaries of the corral. She was very calm and content, mostly walking but occasionally picking up the pace a little bit, tossing her mane at the new sense of freedom.
Max couldn't have had worse timing. He'd been gnawing on a bone on the front porch of the ranch and suddenly decided to join us and have himself a little romp. He came running toward us, his tail going a mile a minute as he barked his enthusiasm.
It happened so fast! Cotton startled, and before I could attempt to soothe her, she reared up on her hind legs and I was sailing through the air...straight into Steve's arms. I hadn't even seen him coming, but thank God (and Rudy) for bionic speed. He just reached out and caught me as if it were the easiest, most natural thing on Earth. Then he pulled me close to his body and I wrapped my arms around his neck...and looked into his eyes.
"I will always catch you," he said.
* * * * *
