Author's Note: Well, this has been sitting on the hard drive for a while. I figured, hey, it's about time I upload it.

I began writing this story in late summer 2020, and finished in early 2021. So, WELL before the film's amazing sequel, Top Gun: Maverick, was FINALLY released. Those delays were hell, let me tell you. I'm quite pleased with this story. I worked hard on it, and it turned out exactly how I wanted it to. I'm immensely grateful for this story and the film that inspired it. It got me through a lot, including, of course, the beginnings of the pandemic.

I hope you enjoy it.

[Content warning: A few uses of a homophobic slur, homophobic behavior/harassment, internalized homophobia. Characters grappling with poor mental health, stress/anxiety, trauma.]

Prologue

Charlie Blackwood had fallen deeply, hopelessly in love.

The love of her life was no man – it was her new home: the suburbs, a benevolent being who had welcomed her with open arms. People always talked about the city being a character in a story, a living breathing creature with a heart that beat for everyone, and she found this was also true of the 'burbs.

Her neighbors – mostly families with 2.5 kids—introduced themselves immediately, with smiles as bright as sunshine and often a delicious plate of food to go with them. Soon enough there were pool parties and barbecues and dinner at my place and how about my place next time for some Italian. They were one big happy family, a perfect portrait of Americana in the twilight of the '80s.

Today, things were as alive as they had ever been. It was summer, and a stunningly perfect summer at that, each day more bright and brilliant than the last. This particular mid-afternoon brought blue, cloudless skies, bright sunshine, and a gentle breeze. Hot enough to swim, but not too hot for any other activity. It was a perfect day for anything.

Charlie stepped out her backdoor to be greeted by the laughter of the neighbor boys and girls, the distant barking of a dog, and the soft "ch-ch" of a sprinkler. Ahh, yes, the symphonies of summer.

She carried a tray filled with chips and salsa and fruit and cheese and probably too much food. She set it down on her white, plastic backyard table. Immediately her three friends descended on it like starving hyenas, eyes big and alight with gluttony. She snorted in amusement. So maybe it wasn't too much food after all.

These three ladies all lived nearby, all single and all happy about it.

Shelby had mousey brown hair and oversized glasses and a lovably smug attitude. Her favorite conversation topics included politics and cupcake baking and her dog, Lewis III, and she'd work in all of these topics, every single time they met up, without fail, even if she had to force it.

Daisy was the blond, take-no-prisoners car mechanic who spoke her mind and didn't give a shit whether you liked it or not.

Lara, a kind and quiet redhead, didn't seem to mind Daisy's brutal honesty nor Shelby carrying on about her dog, Lewis III, for the millionth time.

"Oh, this cheddar is delicious," Daisy mumbled through a mouthful of the stuff.

Shelby's eyebrows popped up. "My dog, you know, Lewis III? He loves cheddar. It's his favorite."

Daisy let out an annoyed groan. "For the last time, stop feeding the dog cheese, it's bad for him."

An argument ensued. Lara listened intently, nodding as each of them made their points in the debate.

Charlie was about to take a seat, at long last. But then she remembered, "Crap, I forgot the lemonade."

Lara looked up at her, which made her the first of the three to acknowledge her presence. "Do you need some help?"

"No, no, that's okay," Charlie insisted quickly. "You just relax! I've got it!"

She jogged into her kitchen and threw open the fridge. The house was a charming post-World War II home. Her parents had complained that it was too small, but she felt it suited her just fine.

With a pained grunt, Charlie brought out the giant pitcher of pink lemonade. She attempted to make her careful way out of the kitchen, pitcher in hand, arm shaking with the effort.

The phone rang, jolting her out of her intense concentration. She couldn't simply ignore the call; it could be work related.

Charlie sighed and plunked the pitcher down on the counter. This better be worth it, or I swear to God—

She hurried over to the phone—which hung on the wall beside the fridge, and picked it up. "Charlie Blackwood."

"Ooh, I like how you answer the phone. Very professional, Miss Blackwood."

Charlie rolled her eyes. She just wanted to have a nice, quiet, relaxing day with her friends, drink some lemonade, maybe eat some salsa that was a little too spicy.

The last thing she wanted was to have a conversation with Pete Mitchell.

"Well, I was expecting a work call," she replied coolly.

"Why's that? Didja get in trouble?"

Charlie let out an exasperated sigh. She didn't think it would be possible to hear his big, goofy grin, but she was wrong. "I'm a bit busy at the moment," she informed him. "I have friends over."

"Daisy and Lara and Shelby?" he guessed.

"Yep," Charlie muttered.

Of course he had been a big hit with her friends. A very, very, very big hit. Those three probably missed him more than she did.

"I think you've filled your phone call quota for the year," Charlie said.

"Quota? Really?" he murmured. "Well, this is the first I'm hearing about it, to be honest. When can I renew it?"

Charlie sighed. He just wouldn't take the hint. She had to put her foot down, once and for all. She'd felt guilty about trying to assert herself before, thinking she was "too harsh." But honestly, the more he annoyed her and tap-danced all over her boundaries, the less she cared, and the more she believed her feelings to be worth defending.

"You need to stop calling here, Pete. I mean it."

He went quiet. She thought maybe he'd hung up.

Then he said, "So…like…forever, or…?"

"Yes, forever," she muttered.

"And ever?"

Charlie bit down on her lip in frustration. "Goodbye, Pete Mitchell." She slammed the phone back onto the receiver. If that didn't get the message across, then nothing would.

Their relationship was enjoyable, fulfilling, rewarding…at least for a while. Sooner rather than later, however, things went south.

Long distance relationships were never easy, Charlie knew that going in. But it was even more difficult than she could have ever imagined. For the whole duration of their relationship, they were physically in the same place maybe…one percent of the time? The rest was phone calls. She couldn't take it. What made it even more frustrating was that it didn't seem to bother her boyfriend in the slightest. Pete Mitchell went on his merry way, and all the while she was miserable. Maybe it was because of his job. The work was intense and all-consuming. Maybe he simply didn't have time to miss her. Maybe the distance simply didn't bother him. She didn't know for sure. She had been too anxious to ever bring up the topic. Early on she felt it like a thorn in the back of her mind: the suspicion that she had made the wrong choice. She tried to push the doubts away.

Charlie made plenty of friends around that time: female friends, guy friends. Some single, some not. Some her age, some a bit older. Pete got to meet all of them. When they were all together, Charlie could no longer deny that things felt a bit…off. Charlie loved hanging out with her friends. She felt understood, she felt at home, she felt that they were equals. She didn't feel that way with her boyfriend. She thought she did, back before she met her friends, but it simply wasn't so.

Pete was the sweetest guy. He was funny and easy-going and just fun to be around. Yet, Charlie felt she was often bringing herself down a level to talk to him.

Hanging out with Pete and all of her friends and all of their wives/husbands, she could see the issue more clearly than ever. She came to the disturbing conclusion that she was basically dating an overgrown teenager.

Charlie didn't know too much about him. He mostly talked about his work. He sometimes dominated the conversation with obsessive details about his plane and every single tiny little microscopic movement he made whilst in the air. It was exhausting. She already knew all about this aircraft shit. It was her job. She didn't need to hear about it every single second during her spare time. She tried to tell him this—politely, of course. Sometimes he heard her, sometimes he didn't, depending on what mood he was in.

She still didn't know much about his family, where he'd grown up, what his childhood had been like. She had asked, right? Why didn't she really know him? What kind of a girlfriend was she?

Pete didn't know much about her family either. She had a brother who was in the marines. Surely he'd love to hear about him. But he didn't know about him. He'd never asked. What kind of a boyfriend was he?

Charlie ended up learning things about him she'd rather not know. Pete's buddies got pretty chatty with her. They were just ecstatic to see an actual woman after so many months at sea. All were very excited to tell her all the Pete Mitchell Stories. Well, all but one. Tom Kazansky stayed quiet and kept to himself. He usually stood leaning against a wall, wearing his shades, arms crossed—just looking unwelcoming in general. He seemed to listen in every now and then, shaking his head in exasperation. Though maybe she was just projecting her own feelings onto him.

She didn't really know him, but he was the polar opposite of the other guys, so she supposed she liked him all right. He wasn't the one subjecting her to all the stories of Pete Mitchell's conquests, stories that were ostensibly meant for The Guys and not her.

They told tales of the many girlfriends Pete Mitchell had had in his younger years. They or Pete could very well have been lying. But she tended to believe the stories were true. It would explain a lot about his behavior. His cutesy lines and flirtations had brought him plenty of success in the past, so why stop? A girl had rarely ever said boo to him. If they did, he could only respond by doubling down on his usual antics, because he knew nothing else. It all may have worked out fine among a gaggle of horny teenage girls. But with adults, his methods would probably yield mixed results. He was charming enough, sure, but he'd probably be better off removing the more immature aspects of his personality.

Nothing ever improved, no issues were ever resolved, because neither of them put in the effort.

Charlie let her anger then later her apathy fester, until she began to resent her boyfriend and their relationship. One day she decided she'd finally had enough, and resolved to break up with him. The next time she and Pete were face to face, she laid it all out and told him it was over. The worst part was how utterly blind-sided he was. That reaction only confirmed to her that she had made the right choice.

How could he not have known the writing was on the wall?

Charlie couldn't place all the blame on him, though. She went all in on the relationship, meanwhile she barely knew him. He was cute and charming and loved to fly and apparently that was enough for her. On a whim she turned her whole life upside down for this boy Pete Mitchell, because she just knew he was worth it somehow.

She chastised Pete for being immature and impulsive yet she was just the same. Birds of a feather and all that. No wonder it didn't work out. Pete Mitchell wasn't a bad person. She didn't hate him. She just hadn't known him, then once she did, she lost interest and her feelings for him as well.

Charlie returned to her friends and relayed the contents of the interaction, everything that was said and not said.

Lara sipped her lemonade and nodded attentively.

Shelby kept quiet too, although her pointed frown spoke volumes.

Daisy plunked down her glass of lemonade on the table, hard enough to make the whole thing shake. "Well, ya did the right thing," she declared loudly. "Trust me, I'm pretty smart, Charlotte—above average, actually."

Shelby rolled her eyes. "Says the woman voting for Dukakis."

Daisy grabbed up a handful of crackers and lugged them at her friend. "Don't debate me," she warned with narrowed eyes. "You will lose."

"Massachusetts liberal," Shelby muttered bitterly. She shook her head, as if to clear all thoughts of him from her mind. "But she's right, Charlie. You had to lose that loser."

Daisy gave Charlie's shoulder a comforting squeeze. "We're all just so relieved that you're finally making good life decisions, sweetie! We were kind of worried about you for a while there."

Charlie removed her hand from her and forced a smile. "Well, it's all over now, so…no reason to keep going on about it." She hoped that would put a swift end to the conversation. Thankfully, her efforts proved successful. A moment later, Daisy and Shelby were back to arguing about politics, and Lara went back to listening.

Charlie sat back, relaxing and listening to the sounds of her neighborhood. She tried not to think about the phone call, how right Daisy was, all the choices she regretted.

Oh, well. You couldn't change the past. Time to move forward. It was a new day, and it was a good one, with sunshine as bright as her future.

Bridget rested on her old flower print couch, reading her sci-fi novel, soaking in the quiet and sunny afternoon. No one but a fluffy gray cat kept her company. She closed the book and tossed it onto the coffee table with a sigh. She'd already read through it many times before. The story was a favorite of hers, but it was beginning to grow a bit stale. She stroked her kitty cat companion.

"I think it's time for some new reading material, Madame Fluffy."

The cat gave her nothing more than a quick, apathetic glance.

The phone rang, putting an end to their conversation. Bridget let out a little "ooh!" of excitement and rushed over to the kitchen. She had been waiting hours for this.

"Good afternoon, Tom!" she sang. "Did you hear that? I only let the phone ring twice! That's just how much I wanted to talk to you!"

"Yeah, I heard, Mom," he chuckled a little.

"I've missed you so much, sweetie."

"I missed you too, Mom"

Bridget was more proud of her son than words could ever express. The whole neighborhood, in fact, held him and his parents in high regard. Even now, they still chatted about That Navy Boy Tom Kazansky.

"Are you being safe out there?" she asked. "You're not up to anything too dangerous, are you?" She realized how stupid these questions were, but she couldn't help but ask them. She was his mom, after all, so she had to.

"I mean, Mom, I—" he broke off with a sigh. "I'm as careful as I can be, but, ya know—"

"It's a dangerous job," she finished. "Yes, of course I know that." She rushed to change the subject. "So what's this town like? Is there a beach nearby?"

"Umm, yeah, there's a beach."

His mother chuckled. "Well, perfect! I'm sure you'll have lots of fun there with all your friends."

"Yeah. Probably just end up tagging along with Mitchell. That's what I usually do."

Bridget's face lit up. "Ooh, Pete Mitchell! You sure do like that boy don't you, Tom? You talk about him all the time!"

"Of course I do, he's my friend," he muttered.

Bridget smiled conspiratorially at her cat, as if the two of them were sharing the secret. "What's his cool nickname again, 'The Maverick?'"

Tom chuckled. "Uhh, it's just 'Maverick,' Mom."

"Oh right, I forgot!"

"And it's a call sign, not a nickname."

"Well, whatever his name is, I'm sure you'll have a lovely time together, just the two of you."

"Uhh, so how's Dad?" Tom asked quickly. "Can I talk to him?"

Bridget clicked her tongue. "Oh, nice try, Mister, trying to get me off the phone. He's doing just fine. Work's good. People always need their taxes done, after all! I'm afraid he's not here right now, though. He's off with his bridge buddies."

Her son scoffed. "Thought he didn't hang out with them anymore."

"No, it's only John he doesn't talk to," she corrected. "But I assure you, the rest of them are perfectly nice."

"Yeah, maybe," Tom muttered doubtfully. "Sometimes you don't know for sure, though, who's nice and who isn't. There's a pretty good chance they're all completely—"

"Tom," Bridget sighed, massaging her forehead. She could already feel a migraine coming on. "I know, sweetheart. Please just…try not to worry so much, all right?"

"It's my life, Mom. I kinda have to worry about it."

Bridget stayed silent. How could she possibly argue with that? She tried to move the conversation along. "How is Pete coping with everything?" she asked softly. "I remember you told me he lost his friend—ahh, what was his name?"

"Yeah, Goose—er, Nick Bradshaw. I-I don't know how Mitchell's dealing with it. I donno. He doesn't talk about it."

"And this young man had a wife and child, didn't he? God, it's just…it's unimaginable," Bridget said, her voice breaking. "Tom, all I keep thinking is that it could have been you. You could be gone right now—just that easily." She sniffled and rubbed at her eyes. "Just that…pointlessly."

Silence.

Bridget blinked away a few tears. She hoped she hadn't forced him to hang up. "Tom?" she asked. "Are you still there?"

"Yeah, I'm still here," he replied, his voice low, gravelly, exhausted.

Bridget breathed a sigh. "Listen…I know you don't believe in God anymore, but—"

"Mom, no, I never said—"

"I pray every night. I pray for Him to watch over you. I pray that you'll come back to me."

"I know. Thanks, Mom. Really, I mean it. Thank you."

Bridget frowned. Her son sounded so drained, so far away—not just in a physical sense, but perhaps in a spiritual way as well. She'd always believed she had a knack for knowing these things. "Are you okay, Tom?" she asked quietly. "You sound—well, just a bit off, I suppose."

"I'm fine," he replied calmly. "I just need some rest, that's all."

Bridget groaned doubtfully. "Well, if you're sure…"

"I'm sure. Please try not to worry so much, okay?"

"Oh, sweetheart…I'm your mother. It's my job to worry."

Tom chuckled. "Okay, Mom. Hey, I'll call back later when Dad gets home, all right?"

Bridget always wanted to talk more, but she knew her son had a life to get back to. "Of course," she murmured. "You do that. Now go enjoy yourself, okay? Perk up!"

"I'll try. I love you, Mom."

Bridget brightened, relieved to hear the smile in his voice. "I love you too, sweetie. I'll talk to you later."

The two finally hung up.

Bridget sat back with a sigh, an odd mixture of happiness and worry swirling through her mind. She petted her kitty cat in an attempt to calm her nerves. "He'll be just fine, won't he, Madame Fluffy?"

Her pet replied with a huge, toothy yawn.

Cheryl breathed in the magnificent aroma of frying bacon. There existed no greater food on the face of the Earth. Anyone who said otherwise was a god-damn liar, as far as she was concerned.

She grabbed a spatula and scooped the bacon and fried eggs onto a bright blue plate. She ever so delicately set the food down in front of her partner before bowing melodramatically.

"Your breakfast, Sir Adam," she announced.

"Well, thanks, umm…Madame?" he chuckled. He gripped his fork and shoveled the food into his mouth like a starving madman.

Cheryl rolled her eyes. "Don't wait for me, Mr. Caveman." She gathered up a mountain of food for herself then took a seat beside him at the table.

Adam waved a finger at her plate, a devious glint in his eye. "Oh, so I'm the caveman, huh?" he mumbled through a mouthful of food.

Cheryl shrugged, wholly unaffected by the teasing. "What? I'm hungry."

Adam raised his eyebrows. "Yeah, I can see that."

Cheryl grinned. She couldn't help it. He was too adorable. He smiled shyly back, his eyes darting away from her. He ran a hand through his dark mop of hair, a nervous habit of his.

Cheryl narrowed her eyes and made her best attempt to look serious. "So it's your turn tomorrow," she reminded him. "What've you got planned?"

"Umm…bacon and eggs?"

"Aww, come on! Use your imagination, Adam!" Cheryl nudged his foot with her own. "I have to say I'm disappointed in you."

"Why?" he chuckled. "You love bacon. You told me it's the greatest food on the face of the—"

Cheryl held up a finger to silence him. "Yes, that is true. But I also like variety. How about…blueberry pancakes!"

Adam's smile grew. "So…you want blueberry pancakes, is what you're saying."

"What, am I not allowed to make requests now? I'm hurt. Crushed."

"Well, it was my understanding that we got to choose." Adam gestured to his plate. "You chose bacon and eggs, and I also just so happened to choose bacon and eggs."

Cheryl waved dismissively. "All right, all right, let me just cut to the chase here—You owe me, all right? I have to be subjected to that terrible, terrible mustache every single day." She pointed to the giant, bushy mass of hair.

Adam prodded self-consciously at his upper lip. "I just, I donno…I thought it would be fun to—"

"Yeah, yeah, cut the crap." Cheryl smirked at him with a raised eyebrow. "You lost a bet with the guys, didn't you?"

Adam opened his mouth, but no words came out. His face grew redder and redder by the second. After a little while, he managed to stammer, "W-well, I-I mean, it's, uhh—"

"No, just—just stop," Cheryl laughed. "No need to talk. Your face says it all."

Adam met her gaze, smiling ever so warmly. "Doesn't it always?"

Cheryl smiled back. Her body slowly filled with light and fuzzy feelings.

The phone rang, jolting them out of their romantic moment.

"That's probably him," Adam said cheerfully.

"Oh, it's definitely him," Cheryl grumbled, dragging herself out of her chair. "He's always killing the mood." She meandered over to the phone and picked it up. "Is this my crazy son?"

"Hey, how'd ya know?" he chuckled. "Is this my lovely, amazing mom?"

Cheryl snorted. "Watch the attitude, little man." She lowered the phone a moment and said to her partner, "It's Pete."

"Hi, Pete!" Adam shouted across the room.

Cheryl put the phone to her mouth again. "Adam says hi," she reported.

"Hi, Adam!" he replied.

Cheryl told her partner, "Pete also says hi."

"Tell him I say hi again!" Adam chuckled.

Cheryl shook her head and hissed, "We're not doing that." She barely got the phone back to her ear before Pete started blabbing again.

"What'd he say? Did he say hi? Again?"

"Uh, no," Cheryl muttered. "You two aren't gonna pull that silly crap anymore. We're having a real, adult conversation."

"Aww, Mom," he sighed lightly. "Such a buzzkill. Never change."

"Never worry. So, hey, listen, I know you're just dying to talk about yourself, but I've got an important announcement to make first." Cheryl smiled down at the ring on her finger. "Guess who's engaged."

"Wow, finally! Congratulations!"

"Yeah, took him long enough." Cheryl smirked at her partner.

Adam smiled and nodded in agreement.

"So how the hell are you?" Cheryl asked her son.

"I'm great!" he replied. "I'm in Cali, right next to the beach."

Cheryl pumped her fist. "Score! Bet you can't wait to swim!"

"You know it!"

Cheryl thought for a moment. She glanced at her watch. "Well, okay, so we're in the same time zone. Any reason it took you so damn long to call me?"

"Uhh, no," Pete said, guilt oozing from his voice.

Cheryl narrowed her eyes. She wished she could give him her patented glare, which never failed to wring the truth out of him. "Did you call someone before me?"

"Umm, just, ya know…" He trailed off a moment, then muttered under his breath, "Just Charlie."

Cheryl's face burned with aggravation. Her suspicion was correct. "Peter Mitchell, you leave that poor woman alone. Or else I'm gonna have to come teach you a lesson."

"Good luck finding me," Pete taunted.

Cheryl couldn't help smiling a bit. "Oh, I'll find you. I'll row out to the middle of the ocean if I have to. Your comrades will have to throw me overboard."

"If you say so!"

Cheryl cleared her throat. "But seriously. Stop bothering this Charlie. I'm happy for her. She dumped a boy and now she's off to find a man."

"Kinda harsh, Mom."

"Well, I'm holding back a lot. Be grateful for that."

"Yeah, umm…Well, don't worry about me bugging her," Pete sighed, suddenly sounding downcast. "I'm not calling her anymore. It's over. I mean it already was anyway, but…even more over, I guess."

Cheryl nodded in satisfaction. She supposed this Charlie woman had finally snapped and told Pete to go screw himself. Cheryl wanted to meet her and express her gratitude. Pete had a tendency to be obnoxious and overly confident. He needed to get knocked down a peg at some point. She could already hear the depression setting in. An attractive woman had finally given him the boot, and now his whole reality had been shattered. Poor guy. Cheryl decided to take it easy on him.

"It'll be all right," she told him. "There's plenty of fish in the sea, Pete." She cast a glance at Adam, who looked at her expectantly. "Adam's got a few minutes before he has to head out. You wanna talk to him?"

Pete sighed. "Ahh, ya know, I'd love to, but I really gotta go. I got a lotta stuff to do today, so…"

Cheryl snorted. "Well, hey, we definitely don't wanna keep you from that 'lotta stuff' ya gotta do. What kinda 'stuff,' exactly?"

"What else? I'm hanging with the guys! Gotta get Kazansky to stop moping first, though. You know how he is."

Cheryl sighed. "Yeah, I know how he is. He's annoyed. By you, probably."

"Pff, no way! He's my buddy!"

Cheryl hummed thoughtfully. "You know, the more I hear about this guy, the more I like him. He has a good attitude, doesn't wanna put up with your bullshit...Maybe I'll just get rid of you and adopt him!" she chuckled.

This talking about Kazansky and the guys reminded her of something. She loved bullshitting with her son, but sometimes there were more pressing matters to discuss.

"How are you doing?" Cheryl asked quietly. "Really…are you all right? I know you've…you've been dealing with a lot, the past few years."

Pete snorted. "Yeah, I'm fine! Like I just told you, I'm doing great! What're you so worried about, huh?"

Cheryl stifled a sigh and chewed at the inside of her lip. She debated just coming right out with it, being more direct. She was desperate. But that would only make things far worse. He would only close himself off even more. She hoped to somehow trick him into talking. He might feel more comfortable, less "weak," if she didn't say the name.

"So everything's okay?" Cheryl tried again. "You're coping all right?" She listened in rapt attention to the silence between them, waiting for him to break it. She could practically hear the hesitation as he began to speak, a sort of strain against the dark feelings.

"Well…I mean it's stressful, ya know? Gets pretty crazy up there sometimes." Then he added lightly, "But that's the job! That's what I signed up for!"

Cheryl gritted her teeth in frustration. Another failed attempt. At this point, nearly two years on, she'd basically given up hope of ever getting through to him.

"Like I said, Mom, I got a real full day ahead of me so bye!" Pete yelled hurriedly. "Talk to you later!"

"Okay, I'll—" Cheryl broke off with a huff. He'd already hung up. "Yeah, love you too, asshole!" she shouted at the dial-tone. She slammed the phone back onto the receiver. She turned back to Adam, who raised his eyebrows in concern. "It's like pulling teeth."

Adam nodded. "It's hard," he murmured. "It's hard to talk about someone you lost, someone you cared for so deeply." He stared down at the table. "I know you know that."

Cheryl leaned against the counter, arms folded. "Yes, I know," she muttered. She didn't talk too much about her husband—not with Adam, anyway. It didn't feel right. Back when the grief was fresh, it had taken her a long, long time to speak to anyone about what she was going through. After some time had passed, she began to open up, just a little, just to one or two close friends. It didn't heal her, not like she thought it would. She came to the awful realization that absolutely nothing could take that pain away. Nothing. But those closest to her, family and friends, did help to take some of the weight off of her, so to speak. Perhaps the knowledge that they shared the same pain helped lighten the load. It was something they could help each other carry, together. That grief never really subsided, though. Not in the way people always promised it would. Those people had never grieved anyone. They couldn't understand. Things got easier, in a sense. After a while, she resumed normal life. She was no longer in a haze every day. She didn't feel like she was outside of the world, watching but no longer a participant. She no longer cried every night. She poured all of her energy into raising her son.

She still missed her husband. She still loved him—deeply, passionately. The only difference was that she had learned to live with the pain. She had learned tolerance and forgiveness. She had learned to open herself up again—to possibilities, to hope, to love.

Cheryl stared out the window, thinking—about herself, her son, thinking too much once again.

Adam watched her. "Are you okay?" he whispered.

Cheryl cleared her throat. "Uhh, yeah. I'm okay."

"I'm sorry." He knew he'd dredged up some dark things. He hated doing that.

"No, no," Cheryl sighed, wiping at her eye. "Don't be sorry." She hesitated. "Look, I know—I know what you're saying. But it's not just that. Pete, ya know, he's—He's that kinda guy. He doesn't talk about stuff like this."

Adam frowned in confusion. "What, like…feeling sad?"

Cheryl nodded. "Yeah, for a start. Feeling sad, feeling…whatever. He can't talk about the pain, because he can't look weak, and that's the end of it."

Adam shook his head. "No, that's not weakness."

"But that's what he believes. That's what the world taught him. You don't talk about hurting. You bottle it all up, let it build, until it—it explodes out of you in little bursts of anger. That's what you have to do. That's what makes you a 'real man,' that's what makes you strong." She heaved a sigh. "The world is unfair to men."

Adam came to her and wrapped her up in a hug. "Maybe so. But he'll come around at some point. He will. Just needs a little encouragement, that's all."

Cheryl cracked a small smile. "Maybe."

"You want me to try talking to him? Or we can talk to him together…?"

"I'll think about it," Cheryl murmured. She turned herself around so that she was nose to nose with him. "Thank you. You always know what to say."

Adam let out a chuckle. "Oh, if only." He leaned down and kissed her forehead. Then he slowly, reluctantly let go of her. "We'll figure this out together." He gave her hand a quick squeeze. "I love you."

Cheryl grinned. "I love you, too…even with that terrible mustache."

Adam laughed. "Okay, come on, go easy on it. It's not that bad."

Cheryl made a tiny sound of disagreement.

Her partner left the room. The front door opened, then shut.

Cheryl stood there a moment, just thinking in the silence. She checked her watch. If she didn't go now, she'd be late for work. She put everything on the back-burner for the moment. She let Adam's words keep her happy, at least for the moment.

Everything will be okay. We'll be okay. Pete will be okay.