Hey! For all my readers and fellow writers, just want to let you know that I have created a LJ where I hope to go to discuss all aspects of the writing craft, pose philosophical questions and such, and just generally go on about all things creative. I am specifically inviting all of you to visit me there, and comment, and join in any discussions that might arise. I don't know if there is already a place for ff writers to go to talk about writing, but if there hasn't been, well there is now, if you want to go there! I should have made it a community, but it's amazing that computer-wise I actually know enough to set up a personal LJ, never mind a community, so don't press your luck, lol! Maybe I can change it later, when I get more computer-savvy.

Anyway, if you want to visit, go to my profile page and the link should be there. If you are anonymous and can't find the link, go to Live Journal dot com (Documents Manager won't let me type a computer address, grrrr!) and put in the user name christyleereno. OK, hope to see you there!

In the meantime, here is Chapter 12, from a new POV: Sam. After this, two more chapters to go. Then maybe I can finally get started on my Tudge-fluff!

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I drove all night.

It may not have been the smartest thing to do, but after that argument with Jo, sleep was impossible. I couldn't shake a foreboding feeling that there was something very wrong going on at home. She had been in a snippy mood with me for several months now, but this was different, this was worse. Something told me I needed to get home.

So after two hours of fitful sleep, I packed my bag and left my hotel room at half past one in the morning. I would not stay the extra day for the lunch meeting with the office manager from Apex Chemicals. My boss was going to have something to say about that, I'm sure, but what the hell. I needed to get home.

It had been a long time since I had felt such a strong urge to get home. Nowadays, even when I had been on the road for days at a time, the thought of home did not warm me as much as it used to when I simply walked through the front door at five thirty each evening. Now I knew too well what I was going to find there. Jo with an attitude. Even when she didn't say anything, she had an attitude. She hated my job, she hated my commitment to it. Sometimes I wonder if she had even grown to hate me.

It was not that I loved the job more than I loved her, as she often accused. Sometimes I hated the job as much as she did. The best I could say about the job on a good day was that it didn't "suck eggs," as Matt would put it.

But this was real life. A man has to do what he has to do. Very few of us are lucky enough to get to do exactly what we want to do. And what I wanted to do was so far out there in left field, I had never been able to even verbalize it to anyone, except to Jo, long ago, one perfect evening when Gammy McGuire had taken the kids to her house for a sleepover.

That night, Jo and I had a romantic candlelight dinner at home that included oysters and caviar. Afterwards, we made love in several different areas of the house, employing pieces of furniture and household items which one does not usually associate with lovemaking. What a night that had been! I remembered it now with a smile as I drove down the long, lonesome highway headed home.

And then, after all that crazy stuff, while we were cuddling in the backyard, nestled between two of my favorite garden gnomes, I dared to tell her the silliest dream that was closest to my heart. Gnomes R Us. I wanted to create and distribute a line of Sam McGuire original gnomes for the garden and home. I told her my dream, and she smiled, but she didn't laugh.

But that was back when she loved me, and still believed in me.

Things had changed a lot since then, and lately it seemed I had less and less time to enjoy my hobby, never mind dream about turning it into a business. I had less and less time to enjoy my family, and certainly less time for my wife. We rarely made love in the usual place any more, never mind the creative settings we had dreamed up that night long ago.

And I knew that the sex issue was the worst of our problems, because it was all my fault.

When Jo ragged on me about the job and the long hours, I didn't mind so much, because I knew I was doing it for her and the kids and eventually it would pay off. Eventually, if we had enough patience, the territory would become established, and the money would start rolling in big time, large commissions that would make Jo see that all my hard work had not been in vain.

But when she whined about us not having sex anymore, there was no excuse I could give. Sure, I was stressed, I was tired, my free time was limited. At the end of the day, I wanted to sleep, not engage in any kind of physical activity. During these last months, too, with so many business lunches, I had been packing on a few extra pounds, and to be honest, I didn't feel as energetic as I once did, even when I felt rested. Which I rarely did.

I knew I needed to do something about all this. And I fully intended to. As soon as I had the time to give it some thought.

I drove down the dark highway, giving thought. Jo was so impatient, so unreasonable, so lacking in understanding! And yet I still loved her. I loved her so much. Why couldn't she hang on just a little bit longer, and soon we would be on easy street? Then I would have so much more time for her and the kids. And then we wouldn't have to fight like this anymore. Maybe then we could find a way to arrange for a nice weekend getaway. Lizzie was old enough now to babysit Matt. We could leave them on their own. The only think I worried about was that boy Josh…

As I got closer to home, I started to think about Lizzie and Matt, as well as about Jo. I hadn't been there much for them lately, either. Matt was turning into a punk. I hated the blue hair, but I wasn't going to fight him on it. I was saving my battle strength for the day I found him smoking weed, or destroying public property with his pals. Not that I really expected any of that to happen, but with teenagers, you never know. And Matt was such a different kid than Lizzie. With Matt, anything had always been possible, and it still was.

With Lizzie, lately, it just seemed that she was not really happy, and I didn't know why. Sure she had her boyfriend Josh, and more friends than I could keep track of, but I could tell that something was missing in her life. She was missing contentment, she was missing direction, and I didn't know how to help her. How could I help her find something that I myself did not possess at the moment? That would be strictly a case of the blind leading the blind.

Several hours passed, and the lights and the lines ran together, and several times I snapped myself up from a near- doze. I should have slept a few more hours before heading home. At three-thirty, I stopped on the side of the road and caught forty winks. This gave me the strength to make the remaining miles, taking me off the highway and into Hillridge.

As soon as I saw the familiar sights of my own town, my heart felt warmed. I intended to come into the house quietly, climb the stairs, take off my clothes and get into bed next to my wife, wrapping my arms around her. I hoped she would not smack me or throw me off her, after the way I had screamed at her on the phone. If she let me, I would spoon with her until late into the morning. And when we both woke up, that would be a good time to talk.

These were my intentions, but when at last I pulled my car into the driveway shortly after five a.m., I could tell immediately that somebody was awake in the house. Coming in quietly through the front door, I saw Lizzie cautiously peeking out from the kitchen. The moment she saw me her expression changed from one of dread to relief, and she came directly into my arms, saying, "Dad! Oh, Daddy! I'm so glad you're home. You have to so something. Mom is out of control."

Then she started to cry. This really disturbed me, because it had been years since I had seen Lizzie cry. The last time, if I remembered correctly, was two summers ago, when she broke up with Gordo. Then she had cried buckets, but after that, nothing. It was as if her heart, in some way, had been turned to stone. But now it seemed that the stone was crumbling, and it apparently had something to do with Jo.

"Lizzie, where is your mom?" was the first thing I asked, standing in the foyer with my arms around her.

"She's upstairs," Lizzie sniffed. "She's asleep. She's safe at the moment, but I don't know what's going to happen in the morning. I don't know how I can stop her from making the biggest mistake of her life. I can't stop her, Dad. You need to do something! Please! You're the only one who can do something!"

We went into the kitchen. Lizzie calmed down enough to make me a cup of tea. I took off my shoes, and we sat down together in the quiet living room, and then Lizzie began to talk, pouring out her heart.

"It's Gordo," she said straight- out.

I sighed. "Lizzie. Not this again."

"No, Dad! You have to listen to me! Please don't blow me off! You have to hear the whole story."

"Okay," I said patiently, settling back into the softness of the couch cushions. "Tell me the whole story."

I thought at first that as tired as I was I would not be able to concentrate on anything Lizzie said. But I could see she felt it was important that we talk immediately, and so I resolved to make my best effort at staying awake.

However, as she proceeded to detail all her observations with such heartfelt anxiety, I became increasingly disturbed by what she was telling me. Previously I had "blown off" her concerns about Jo's friendship with Gordo, but now Lizzie's intensity, combined with my own sense of foreboding from earlier in the evening, had me at last admitting that perhaps something strange was going on here.

But I didn't want to believe it. It was too unbelieveable, so at first, I tried to explain it away. Lizzie was reading too much into the situation, because she was still sore at Gordo for their breakup. She was mad at her mother for not accepting Josh as readily as some of her other boyfriends. Lizzie always did have a tendency to gather partial information, then fill in the blanks as she saw fit. These same events witnessed by a less emotional person might produce a different conclusion.

She told me about finding Gordo in my bedroom and revealed, with a certain amount of embarrassment, that she had noticed he was "excited." I knew what she meant.

"I wouldn't get too worried about that," I advised. "That happens to guys, sometimes for no apparent reason. Especially young guys," I added with a sigh.

"Okay, maybe," Lizzie allowed. "But I haven't told you yet what happened tonight. It happened again."

Now my mind was truly beginning to feel foggy. "What did? Gordo took a shower at our house again?"

"No, Dad! I mean, I don't know, maybe he did. Maybe Mom took a shower with him, for all I know! All I know is I walked into the house about eleven o'clock tonight and there was Gordo again, standing in the kitchen with Mom, and all…all excited again, and the two of them blushing and looking so guilty. So guilty. I'm not making this up, Dad. And I'm not exaggerating. I would bet you anything something was going on between them, right before I walked in."

Sleep! My body called. I needed sleep. I could not deal with this right now. It was like a bad dream already, so why not also have the benefit of sleep?

"Lizzie. Lizzie, " I said carefully. "It sounds like you're out-and-out accusing ---"

"I am," she said instantly. "I would bet anything on it. Dad. I'm not saying they're having sex already. Mom swore up and down that they weren't, and I want to believe she wouldn't lie to me. But if they're not now, they will be soon. Unless somebody does something about it."

I sat back, closing my eyes. This couldn't be happening. My daughter was telling me that my wife was having sex with the eighteen year old boy that had been practically a part of our family for years and years. What planet was I on?

"Dad," Lizzie said quietly, "I'm so sorry I had to be the one to tell you all this, but somebody had to do it, and I'm the only one that knows about it. I know you must be tired after traveling all night, and I wish this could have waited till morning, but it can't wait. When she wakes up in the morning, I don't know what she might do. You can't let her leave the house without talking to her first.

"And please…please…talk with her. Don't scream at her, and don't lecture her, and don't just tell her what you're thinking. Please let her talk, and please listen. She's so unhappy, Dad. I hate to say it, but you've really been neglecting her lately. And Gordo is so attentive. I don't think she ever intended to cheat on you, I don't think that was on her mind the first time she picked him up and brought him back home with her. But Gordo…he can really turn on the charm, he can make you forget…if you're not careful, he can almost make you believe any lie he wants to tell you…."

Lizzie stopped for a moment and took a deep breath. I could hear her resentment towards Gordo, but even as I did, I knew now I could not use it as an excuse to avoid the reality of everything else she was saying to me.

"But the fact is," Lizzie went on, "I don't think it matters so much that it was Gordo. I think it could have been anybody, anybody that would pay attention to her right now. I think she's crying out for you to notice her, Dad. I think what she really wants is not Gordo or anybody else, I think she wants you. I mean, I think she still loves you. And I hope you still love her…"

"I do, Lizzie," I said, tiredly. "I do, and I always will."

"And I'm sure she loves you too. So why is this happening? How did everything get so messed up?"

"I don't know," I admitted. "Sometimes life just gets away from us, while we're looking the other way. There's no excuse."

"There's no excuse," Lizzie said, "but there is a solution."

"And what's that?" I asked, too tired to think of it myself. "What do you want me to do?"

"Dad! Just go talk to her! For crying out loud! Why am I the only one in this family who can figure out what needs to be done?"

I laughed a little and held out my arms. "C'mere, Princess."

Lizzie got up immediately and came into my embrace. "Oh, Lizzie!" I said. "It's such a blessing to have a daughter like you, who cares so much about everyone and everything. And who's so smart! What would we do without you?"

"Dad! Don't make fun of me!" Lizzie said, hugging my chest. She tried to sound annoyed, but I could tell she was happy I was playing with her, the way I used to do when she was younger.

"I'm not making fun, Lizzie," I said. "I would never make fun of you."

"Then what are you going to do?" she asked. "About Mom, I mean."

"I guess I have to go talk with her."

"Right away," Lizzie said. "Don't fall asleep first and let her slip out of the house in the morning. Go upstairs and wake her up right now."

"Yes, sir," I saluted.

"Dad!"

A few minutes later, Lizzie said goodnight and went upstairs. The sun was just beginning to rise as I followed her, my old bones aching as I climbed those stairs. Every step was torturous, especially as I thought of what might wait for me at the other end. I was almost afraid to find out what Jo might say. Would she tell me the truth, or deny everything? Would I be able to determine what was true and what was not? Either way, I was in no state to deal with any of this. But there was no getting around it. We needed to talk, and right away.

I opened the bedroom door, then shut it again, closing myself in the room with my wife, who was sleeping alone in our big bed.

She looked up at me, bleary-eyed and said, "Sam! What are you doing here?"

"I have to know," I said straight-out. "And tell me the truth, Jo. Are you cheating on me? Are you cheating on me with…with Gordo?"