A/N:  I finished my Brit. Lit. assignment!

Chapter Ten

Gray Morning

She woke to an empty bed.  It didn't surprise her that he had snuck out in the wee hours of the morning to exercise.  She knew that was what he did for he had made it a habit the months following Adam's death.  He would release his bent up frustration and sorrow by jogging, doing push-ups, chin-ups, chopping wood, anything that he could throw himself into and break into a sweat; it was for the same reason she had started making their breakfast: had to get their minds off of their loss.

A hammer took to her head as Marguerite half-crawled half-staggered off the mattress and stumbled into the kitchenette.  Veronica was at her easel demonstrating to James how to properly stroke the brush on the canvas.  The child was covered in splotches of green and violet paint, distracted with trying to give his mother a kiss.  Veronica giggled, pulling away from his paint-covered body.

Jameson George Malone was an even mixture of his attractive parents.  He had his mother's elegant bone structure and sparkling ocean blue eyes.  His sandy brown hair and finely shaped nose was his father's.  He had been quite a welcome surprise, Veronica getting pregnant four months after Marguerite.

Marguerite quietly stood aside, a silent witness to the happy moment between mother and son.  She felt sour, jealous of their relationship and joviality.  Marguerite no longer had her precious little boy to give her sloppy kisses or brilliant smiles.  Adam had had the most enduring, charming grin…it was his father's grin (before he had turned mournful): so open and filled with merriment.

"Good morning, Marguerite," Malone said cheerfully as he swept passed her, his arms brimming with firewood.

Marguerite jolted, her eyes flashing first to Malone then Veronica.  "Good morning," she murmured.  "Have any of you seen John?  I thought he was the one who was going to chop the wood this morning."

James twirled around in his chair, his face splattered with various colors.  "He went down there," he pointed a chubby finger down toward what used to be Challenger's lab.

Marguerite gave James a tight, forced smile and nodded.  "Thank you."  She turned and went down the stairs.  "John?"

Roxton, who was perched on a counter, sighed heavily, clasping his hands in front of him and staring at them as though they held the keys to the universe.  "I was going through some of George's old inventions," he mumbled before turning his entire body in her direction, his eyes begging her to understand.  "This isn't working.  We can't keep going on like this."

Breathe, Marguerite, breath.  "Like what?"

He barked a maniac laugh, hopping off the counter.  "Like what?  Damn it, Marguerite, you know like what.  We walk around on eggshells with each other.  What's the point of this marriage?"

Her throat constricted to the size of a grain of sand.  Her eyes swept across the room until they rested on a family portrait of them they had sent to the Malones weeks before Adam's death.  (It was the same one that was hanging in the "living room".  Both Roxton and Marguerite had sent them one, not knowing that other had.) They had it all figured out then.  Why can't we figure it out now?

She returned her gaze to the man she had once vowed to love through sickness and health…for richer or poorer…through the good times and the hard times…and wondered why it was she had promised all those things.  In the end, it hadn't made a difference.  They were still standing alone in the same room; wallowing in pain.

He waited impatiently until she finally murmured: "I don't know."  She took a deep breath, lowering her eyes to the wooden planks of the tree house and wished she could stop this conversation from happening. 

She was torn from her thoughts when he stepped in front of her and questioned in a small voice: "Do you love me?"

She saw time stand still.  She felt her heart stop beating.  She kept her eyes fixed on the floor, her thoughts jumbled like a string of Christmas tree lights.  Of course she still loved him.  She would always love him.  But she knew that wasn't what he was asking.

Apparently time hadn't stopped like she felt it had because when she finally looked up: he was gone.

End Chapter Ten

Velma-Kelly-online:  That was very generous of you to say I'm you're favorite author. {embarrassed smile} But you really mustn't lie. {awkward chuckle} As usual, you're review was uplifting and rather amusing (the whole bra thing was bizarre, but greatly entertaining).  And I understand what you mean about the "liking sadness" because I feel the same.  I hope you had a good night's sleep over in Germany while I was typing this over here in the US.  SierraSunshine:  It's always a pleasure to hear that I've got a fan.  I wouldn't keep writing if no one enjoyed my work.  So thank you so much for letting me know.  And it's ok that you couldn't review 3-9.  I promise I won't hold it against you. {smile}  And I'm sorry to hear that this "hits close to home".  I can only assume what you must mean and all scenarios are bad ones.  You have my condolences.  Fab:  I agree: my focus isn't the flashbacks so why strain myself over them?  This story isn't necessarily about Adam's death, but the after effects of it and their – as you put it – "struggle to keep the bond between them."  LoveMR:  Hey, if you think it "presents so much reality" then I know I'm accomplishing something here.  Thank you.