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Designed Intent
Chapter 52
Saturday Night
That evening, Bobby and Gleason sat together on the sofa. The lights were low and each had a glass of wine; Bobby had put on soft music. They cuddled together.
"I love you, Gleason."
"I love you, too, Dearheart."
"I want us to be happy. I don't want to fight anymore. I want us to be happy."
Gleason took a sip of her wine, reached across him and set the glass on the end table. "We are happy, Love. I am. Are you?"
He set his glass beside hers and put his left hand on the side of her face, turning her to look into her eyes, "Yes, I am the happiest I've been in a long time. I want us to stay this way. This is the way it should be."
She leaned in and they kissed – a soft, gentle kiss, tongues barely touching. Gleason laid her head against his shoulder and asked, "Love, how do you think those pills Dr. Stephens gave you are working? Do they seem to help?"
"I guess," Bobby replied, thought a minute and then continued, "Yes, they must be. I haven't had a surge of anger since I started on them. I feel centered, calm. I feel like I'm in control again. I mean, during the trial, when the defense picked at everything I said, challenged every word, I was getting pissed, but I knew what he was doing. I knew he was doing his job. I didn't get angry, and not even upset. I was just frustrated because we were going over and over the same stuff and I wanted to get to you. But I never lost it. I felt really in control. So, I guess they work."
The couple was quiet for a moment and Gleason said, "I noticed that you seemed calmer. You didn't get upset when I told you that Malcolm stopped by yesterday. I thought you might, but you didn't."
"And I didn't haul him out of his car and beat the shit out of him when I saw him leaving," Bobby said with a smile.
Gleason sat up and looked at him in surprise, "You saw him! And you didn't say anything? Bobby!"
"I know. A few weeks ago, I would have probably attacked him and then screamed at you. Better living through pharmaceuticals."
Again, they sat quietly and then Bobby said, "That whole piece of our lives is over. Malcolm has no place in our lives. Right?"
"Bobby, my heart is full of you. My mind is full of you. I love only you. Malcolm will back off when he knows we are married. I'll see to it."
Bobby hugged her and sighed.
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That night, the couple slept wrapped in each other's arms, as was their way. Gleason fell asleep first and Bobby lay holding her, caressing her, relishing in her warmth, counting her breaths, loving her. Eventually he slept and they both dreamt. A little boy with dark red curls popped into each sleeper's dream.
Gleason saw a little boy, her little boy, walking along the top of a stone wall. "Tian," she called, "Tian, come to Mummy." She watched the child stop, turn and clamber off the wall. He ran to her and she bent with her arms outstretched.
"Mommy!" the child called, "Mommy!" He ran, tripped and fell. Gleason jumped up and rushed to him. Tian lay on his stomach, crying.
Gleason turned him over, pulled him up to sit and held him, shushing him. "Tian, my Tian, are you all right? Let Mummy see your knees." She examined his knees and found minor scrapes. A movement to her left caught her eye and she turned.
Gleason's dream ended right there.
Bobby sighed and shifted. He rarely dreamt, but he did this night. He watched his small son run calling, "Mommy! Mommy!" Then he saw the child fall and watched his wife jump up and rush to the boy. Bobby started toward them.
"Chris! Glea is he ok?" he called. He trotted to them and lifted his son from the ground, putting a hand on the back of the child's head. Christian clung to his father's neck and cried anew. Gleason put a hand on Bobby's waist and the other on her child's back, rubbing and patting gently. "There, there Chris. You're ok. You're ok," Bobby purred softly.
Slowly Christian quieted and rested his head on his daddy's shoulder, looking at his mommy. Bobby put an arm around Gleason and she wrapped one around him. The family stood together, safe in each other's love. Needing nothing, needing no one.
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Sunday Morning
Bobby woke rested and full of peace. He rolled and wrapped around the woman beside him. He slid his arm over her waist and she sighed and snuggled against him. His manhood twitched and began to fill. He sighed deeply, inhaling her scent and his fingers moved to her breast.
The thumb of his right hand dragged back and forth over her nipple and Gleason murmured softly and pushed her bottom against his crotch. Bobby stiffened fully and began to pull up her nightgown, his mouth moving to her shoulder. He kissed, licked and sucked a soft, warm spot. She smelled so nice. His breaths came faster.
The hem of her nightgown exposed her bottom and his hand moved from her breast to her hip, then around to his dick. He placed himself against the space between her cheeks and couldn't help but push gently. Gleason roused and half turned, "Love?"
"Honey, I want you. Can we? Can we?" he breathed.
Gleason turned over to face him and said softly, "Here, let me get you. Let me make you come." She took his cock and began to stroke.
Bobby groaned and rolled onto his back, eyes closed, "No, don't," he stopped her with a hand on her wrist. "Don't. It's not fair. Don't." He looked at her and pulled up his knees.
"I'll do it, Love. It's not a problem."
Bobby looked at the only woman he would ever love, love for the rest of his life. She was willing to jerk him off because he couldn't control himself when she had had heart surgery and they couldn't make love for ten days. Jesus. Suddenly, he sat up, took her head and kissed her. "I need a cold shower," he said and rolled off the bed and walked into the bathroom, his poker drooping.
Gleason laid back and smiled, she loved him. She stretched and recalled wisps of a dream – a nice dream, about a little boy, with dark red curls – her little boy. Tian. Gleason's eyes filled and she cried softly. She did want him. She did. And now it was too late.
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Bobby stepped behind her at the kitchen sink and nuzzled her neck. He turned her and saw her red eyes and nose, "What's wrong? Are you ok? Honey?" He bent at the waist and looked into her face. "Gleason, what's the matter? Are you upset about what I wanted?"
"No, Love, no." she moved to get the toast from the toaster, but he held onto her.
"Come here and talk to me. Tell me what's wrong." Bobby led her to a kitchen chair and sat beside her. "Baby?"
Gleason's eyes filled again. "I had a dream. About the boy your mum sees. Our son." She dissolved and covered her eyes.
Bobby sat back and his dream drifted back. Oh my God, he thought. "Gleason, tell me what you remember. Tell me about your dream."
She wiped her nose on a napkin and began, "He was on a stone wall, that same stone wall from before. I called to him – Tian, I called him Tian. And he jumped down and came running to me. But he fell and I went to him and he had scratched his knees. He was crying and I tried to comfort him." She looked at Bobby and didn't recognize the look on his face, "What's wrong?"
"I, I had kind of the same dream." Bobby sat forward, elbows on the table, fingers tented in front of his lips.
"What do you mean?"
"I saw you run to him. I called to you and asked if he was all right. I called him 'Chris.' I ran to you and picked him up and held him and told him he was ok. You put your arm around me and rubbed his back. I remember feeling so happy, so safe." He said all of this staring into the living room. Now he looked at her. Their eyes locked.
"We dreamed the same dream?" Gleason asked, "The little boy was in both of our dreams? Bobby, he is our son. He's the baby. Our baby." Gleason was working herself up.
"Honey, Honey, calm down."
Gleason stood up and turned, hands to her face. Bobby stood with her and took her by the arms, turning her to face him. "Gleason, it means nothing. Honey, it's impossible for us to have had the same dream. It's a coincidence. Ok? It's nothing."
Gleason wanted to believe him, she did. But, too many elements were lining up. Bobby's dream followed the action in her dream. The same little boy appeared in each of their dreams and was the same as the child who Mrs. Goren said she talked with. The child looked like a mix of Bobby and she. She knew the baby she had miscarried was a boy. This was that child. Their child. "Bobby, he wants to be born."
Bobby closed his eyes and pulled her close, "No, Sweetheart, there is no baby. This is a coincidence, that's all." He held her and rocked her and fought the urge to believe her.
Gleason considered all that he said, "Are you sure?" she asked.
"Yes, it's just a coincidence. I am sure there are more differences than similarities in the dreams and what Mom sees."
"Can we go see her today?"
It was Sunday; their usual day to make the drive up to Carmel Ridge, Frances would be expecting them. Bobby had not told his mother about Gleason's heart problem and surgery. Now that she was well, they would tell her.
"Ok, but let's follow her lead; let's see if she talks about this little boy. I don't want to bring it up. Ok?"
Gleason wanted to talk with Mrs. Goren about this child; she had a lot she wanted to know. Like, what do he and she talk about; is he there all the time; where does he go; what does he do? And so much more. "All right. We won't mention the wedding; we won't mention the child – what else is there?" Gleason walked into the living room.
He followed her and said, "We'll talk about your surgery, I'll tell her about the trial. We'll tell her about you staying at home for four weeks. We have a lot to talk about. It will be fine." They looked at each other for a moment, neither daring say they were keeping secrets from his mother. Bobby changed the subject with, "Then, maybe we can stop in Churchill on the way home. We can look around a bit. Get some lunch. Ok?"
Gleason nodded.
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