Thanks as always to my betas and friends.......you mean so much to me and to this story....more than you will ever know.....and, tuda.....

Chapter 27 What Now?

The young man carefully made his way up the stoop. He checked his watch and the address over the door. He lifted his leg and scooched his body around strangely in an effort to keep his clipboard securely between his arm and his chest. He was barely able to ring the doorbell.

It was an older lady who answered the door.

"Ms. Amy Wainwright," the young man questioned eagerly.

"No. She's busy right now. Can I take that for you," she asked, referring to the rather large object in his hand.

"No, thank you, ma'am. The customer specifically requested that I deliver these into the hands of Ms. Wainwright and no one else."

"I'm sorry, but she's unavailable at the moment. If you would set that down here on the hall table, I'll make sure she sees it later," the lady insisted, raising her voice in impatience at the delivery boy.

"Mrs. Mitchell? Is there a problem?" Patty Wainwright came down the hall, wiping her hands on a kitchen towel. "Oh, my goodness," she exclaimed at the sight of the delivery. "Would you look at that? Those are gorgeous!"

"They are for Miss Amy," Mrs. Mitchell stated imperiously. "I keep telling him that she's busy and just to leave them here on the table, but he insists on giving them directly to her; something about the customer's request." She crossed her arms over her chest and looked at the young man suspiciously.

"I'll get her; it's all right. I'm sure she'd love to receive them herself." Patty graced the young man with a smile, then turned and went back down the hall.

The young man smiled nervously at Mrs. Mitchell and shifted his weight from one foot to the other. His delivery was heavy and his arms were getting tired, but for this particular customer, he would personally see to it that Ms. Wainwright herself accepted the delivery.

The sound of two sets of footsteps caused him to return his attention to the long hallway. He saw a slightly younger woman coming towards the door, with the same woman from earlier right behind her.

"Oh, my God," Amy breathed. "Are these for me," she asked the delivery man.

"Are you Ms. Amy Wainwright?"

She nodded, unable to take her eyes off the very large vase filled to overflowing with red, long-stemmed, Mr. Lincoln roses and just a hint of greenery.

Sighing, the young man asked her where he should put the vase.

"Here on the table," Amy said, pointing to the entry hall table.

Mrs. Mitchell sniffed. "I told him to put them there when I answered the door. He insisted that he could only give them to you and no one else."

Patty gently placed her hand on Mrs. Mitchell's arm. "I'm sure there's a very good reason why," she said gently. "Let's see what the young man has to say and then we'll let Amy enjoy her pretty flowers."

"Thank you, ma'am," he said gratefully. "The customer who placed this order insisted on several things. One, that I give them to no one but Ms. Wainwright; and two, that I deliver them right at four p.m. He's such a loyal customer that we were all too happy to oblige him. Oh, since this was such a big delivery, my boss insists that you sign for it. Here," he said as he handed Amy the clipboard.

Amy signed, then said, "Wait here while I go grab my purse; you deserve a tip for your trouble."

"Oh, no ma'am. That's all been taken care of, too. I'm just supposed to tell you to count them and enjoy them. Good day." The delivery man smiled at the three ladies, then left. Patty grabbed Mrs. Mitchell by the hand and pulled her towards the kitchen; Amy could hear her mother saying something about coffee and cookies as they walked away.

"Count them," Amy questioned, looking at the gorgeous array of flowers before her. "Well, okay." She began to count, her eyes growing wider, and her voice in stunned awe as she concluded, "twenty-five…"

It was then that she noticed the three cards sticking out of the bouquet. Each had a number on the envelope in a handwriting that was unfamiliar.

Amy plucked the envelope with the number one on it off the pick and opened it. The handwriting on the card was also unfamiliar and simply read, "Nothing happened." She stared at the card. Who would send her twenty-five of her favorite roses and this type of note?

Her hands began to shake after she opened the second note. The same unfamiliar handwriting now seemed to mock her, for the words on this card read, "I'm not going anywhere."

Tears began to stream down her cheeks when she fumbled open the third card. The handwriting was now familiar to her; it was the handwriting of someone who had once stirred her soul. The sight of this handwriting once made her heart sing every time it appeared on an envelope in her mailbox all those many years ago. The final message on the card, however, sat heavy on her heart and made her stomach lurch. "It's your call." Included was a phone number. Amy assumed it was Bobby's private cell number; she'd only called him at the squad room.

Leaving the flowers on the hall table, Amy slowly made her way upstairs to her bedroom. Going into her spacious closet, she shoved aside her formal gowns and pulled out a box. Opening the box, she pulled out a scrapbook. "Summer of '83" was embossed in a small, gold, italic font on the bottom right hand corner. She sniffed as she turned the pages. Time seemed to fade away as she returned, through pictures and notes, to her memories.

Earlier that day…..

Bobby was having the time of his life.

After lunch, he and Trey had gone back to Trey's home, where they relieved Christy for the afternoon and waited for Hudson to finish his nap. The two men had talked more, learning that both were big Mets fans and classic car buffs. Bobby promised Trey a visit to Lewis's shop where they could tinker around together on Lewis's latest rebuild and just enjoy spending time together.

Trey and Amy's upcoming trip to Indonesia was also discussed. Bobby requested being allowed to have Hudson on his day off while Trey was away. Schedules were checked and plans were made.

About 3 o'clock Hudson could be heard talking and playing through the baby monitor. Bobby followed Trey upstairs to the little boy's room. Hudson was always eager to see his daddy and showered that same eagerness on Bobby.

As Trey deftly changed the little boy's diaper, he told Hudson they were going to the park.

"Park," Hudson exclaimed.

"Yeah, Buddy. The park," Trey smiled at him. He placed Hudson on the floor and moved to pull some play clothes out of the child's dresser.

Hudson pointed at Bobby. "Boppy," he yelled happily.

"Hi, Hudson," Bobby said, squatting down to his grandson's level.

"Trucks, Daddy," Hudson said next.

"That's right, Hudson," Trey agreed as he sat on the floor and began to dress Hudson, carefully pulling on a shirt around the child's cast. "You played trucks with Bobby yesterday. He's going to the park with us."

"Birz," Hudson chirped excitedly. "Birz!" He began to eagerly move around, waving his arms and hopping from one foot to the other.

"Whoa! Hold still, little guy," Trey exclaimed as he struggled to pull up Hudson's pants. "We have to put shoes on before we can go. Okay, buddy?"

Hudson dropped to the floor and stuck his legs out in front of him, wiggling his little feet. "Shooz!"

Bobby and Trey laughed.

Bobby sat completely down on the floor and crossed his long legs in front of him, thankful he was wearing comfortable jeans. He reached his arm out towards Trey.

"Here, I'll do the socks and shoes," he offered. "You have anything else you need to get ready?"

Trey handed Bobby the socks and shoes. "Yes. I need to check his bag and get his juice and snacks packed."

Bobby and Hudson made short work of putting on socks and shoes while Trey checked the diaper bag. Trey watched in amazement as Bobby talked softly to the little boy about socks and shoes and going to the park.

"He really likes you," Trey commented softly.

Bobby looked up at his son, an eyebrow raised in silent question.

"He doesn't let just anyone put on his socks and shoes," Trey replied, smiling proudly at his young son. Hudson was seriously studying the job Bobby had done putting on his shoes.

"Boppy shooz," Hudson said with a smile, pointing at Bobby.

"I know," Trey said, slipping the diaper bag over his shoulder. He squatted down next to Hudson and ruffled the boy's blonde curls. "You ready to go?"

Hudson scrambled up off the floor and began to dance around the room. "Go! Go! Go," he cried.

Bobby laughed as he pushed himself up off the floor. On impulse, he reached out and scooped up Hudson, flying him around like an airplane and delighting in the small child's shrieks of laughter. Together they led the way out into the hall, Bobby still flying Hudson around like an airplane and Trey following behind. The merry band made its way noisily down the stairs and into the kitchen, pausing long enough to grab juice and snacks for Hudson. Another stop in the back anteroom for the stroller and the three were off to the park, ready to take on the pigeons.

_____________________________________________________________________________________

When the phone rang around 5 p.m., it was Patty who answered it. Trey was surprised his mom hadn't answered, but asked his grandmother to please pass on the message that he was still out with Bobby and Hudson. Hudson had gotten hungry so they were going to take him to McDonald's for dinner on the way back from the cemetery, and would he please let his mom know not to expect them for a while? Patty willingly took the message and was glad to learn the three were having a great time together.

She decided to go pass the message on to Amy, and went in search of her. Patty's search took her upstairs. She called Amy's name; no answer. She made her way down the hall towards her daughter's bedroom. She called Amy's name as she got to the door.

"In here, Momma," she heard faintly as she entered the bedroom.

She found Amy sitting cross-legged on the floor in the closet, an open scrapbook in her lap. Her eyes were red and swollen and dirty tissues littered the floor around her.

Amy looked up at her mom and sniffed, "I know, it's stupid of me to be sitting up here like this." She smiled and laughed through her tears. Grabbing another tissue from the box next to her, she blew her nose and wiped her eyes.

"What are you looking at," asked Patty as she kicked aside several dirty tissues and joined her daughter on the floor.

Amy lifted up the cover of the album so her mom could see it.

"Oh," Patty said with understanding. "And what brought this on?"

Amy said nothing. She sniffed again and handed her mother the three cards that had come with the flowers. Patty read them quietly; her eyes grew larger with each card.

"There were 25 roses, Mom," Amy told her. "Mr. Lincoln's; no Baby's Breath, just a few fern fronds."

"Bobby?"

"Bobby," Amy responded, nodding her head. "Oh, Momma, what am I going to do," she lamented, fresh tears flowing hotly down her face.

Patty gently removed the scrapbook from her lap, closing it and setting it off to the side. She reached across Amy's lap for the tissue box. Removing one, she placed the box in front of her and then reached out to gently wipe Amy's face.

"I don't know, Sweetheart. What do you want to do," Patty asked her softly.

Amy just sat there, her mind roiling with thoughts and "what if's" and "maybe's".

Patty watched the play of emotions over her daughter's face and began to speak softly. "Your father and I never approved of your not telling Bobby. We never questioned you as to why, either. However, I now wish that we'd at least forced you to answer "why" to yourself."

Amy looked down at her hands, fidgeting with a wadded up tissue in her lap. "I couldn't let him hurt me," she said, so softly Patty had to ask her to repeat herself.

"I couldn't let him hurt me," Amy sobbed louder.

Patty stared at her. "Amy," Patty cooed, leaning in to place her arm around her hurting daughter's shoulder. "What made you think Bobby would ever knowingly hurt you?"

Amy shrugged. "It happened before. I got scared, Momma. I know now that it was stupid. I should have told him why I was breaking up with him, but I couldn't. I was scared because….because…" she sobbed and gulped, then continued on. "I was scared because I didn't want him to be disappointed in me. I felt like it was my fault that I got pregnant, that I had pushed myself on him that day; that I was the aggressor. Mom, I know he was as much a part of all that and just as eager," she said, placing her hand on Patty's arm and looking her in the eye. "I'm not that naïve. I just, part of me…well, part of me still feels that way. And when I saw him again…all those feelings came back, the good ones and the bad ones. And now, I wonder what I've missed out on. I have regrets. I hate myself right now. I hate him for still being able to get to me that way after all these years. I saw him, and time just faded away…." Her voice trailed off and she struggled to collect her thoughts again.

"Part of me wants him to just leave me, us, alone. To let us get back on with our lives. We were doing just fine without him knowing, you know?" She smiled feebly at her mom. Taking a deep breath, she continued on, sorting out her thoughts as she spoke. "But part of me wants him here, wants him to get to know his son, to learn about the part of his life he's missed out on. But I don't want to be here when he finds out. I don't want to get hurt again."

Patty had to interrupt, so she shushed Amy and spoke up. "You keep saying 'again', Amy. Why do you keep saying you'll get hurt 'again'? I don't understand."

Amy looked up at her, pleading with her mom to understand. "Because, everybody leaves me," she stated emphatically. Patty was stunned to hear the hurt little girl behind Amy's voice.

"Not everybody, Amy," she said softly. "Your father and I are still here, Trey and Hudson are still here. Even Mrs. Mitchell is still here. Are you still carrying the hurt of your childhood?" When Amy said nothing, but dipped her head, Patty sighed, understanding at last what was at the core of Amy's feelings. "Amy, look at me." Patty reached out and tipped Amy's head upwards, meeting her daughter's blue eyes with her own equally blue ones. She saw sadness there; years of hurt and anguish, a look she thought was long since gone from her beloved daughter's eyes. "Oh, my sweet girl. Do you mean to tell me that all this anger, all this hurt, this emotion, these tears, are out of fear? You're lumping Bobby in with the friends who got mad at you when we had to move, the boyfriends who were threatened by the fear that you would move if they got too involved with you?"

Amy nodded. "I know, Mom. It's stupid, still carrying around all that childhood baggage. But that's pretty heavy baggage in my life. I was afraid Bobby would reject me. I thought it would be easier for me to push him away. I thought it wouldn't hurt as much."

"Did it hurt less? Was it easier?"

"No, Momma. It was the hardest thing I've ever done. And now, I don't know how to undo it."

"Do you want to," Patty asked next.

Amy shrugged. "I don't know. Part of me does. Part of me doesn't. And part of me is scared of what's going to happen no matter what I decide."

"I think it's time you stopped living in fear and faced it. Call him," Patty insisted, holding out the cards to Amy. "He wants you to, or he wouldn't have put his number on here."

"Do you remember my freshman year, when I got so sick?"

Patty nodded. "What does that have to do with this?"

"Well, you remember that I thought I was pregnant, before we found out that stress had messed up my ovulatory and menstrual cycles?" Patty nodded again and Amy continued. "Rodger told me that I had better not be pregnant. That having kids was not a part of "the plan". He had it all mapped out for us that we would both graduate, get jobs and settle down before having kids, IF we had any at all. I was so in love with him at the time -- and in love with love, I know that now -- that I would have followed him to the ends of the earth and jumped off if he wanted me to. He hinted that if I messed things up, he wouldn't want to be with me anymore. I was so insecure and afraid to be left alone that I went along with it. I thought I could make him love me more. Then the whole mess junior year, when I found him in bed with his roommate, Kenneth. I couldn't let that happen to me again. I couldn't mess things up, so when I found out I was pregnant, I decided that if I pushed Bobby away first, then he couldn't hurt me. Instead, I hurt myself.

"Now I'm angry and hurt. And I'm still scared. I'm scared that if I call him, he's going to change his mind and tell me to go away, to leave him alone. I'm scared he's going to want to find out if there's anything left for us besides just being friends, or even worse, acquaintances, and that in so doing, that doesn't work out either and we end up hating each other. I want a happy ending, but I'm afraid there isn't one there for us and I don't know what to do about it." She fell silent, and more hot tears streamed down her face.

Patty handed her a fresh tissue. She took a deep breath and spoke, her words carefully measured. "Well now, I'm glad you got all that in the open. I had been suspecting there was a lot hiding way down inside your heart. And, I'm thinking there's still one more fear that you need to address, isn't there?" She ducked down, meeting Amy's eyes with her own and drawing her head back up, causing Amy to lift hers and face her mother head on, a questioning look in her eyes.

"It's Trey, isn't it," Patty asked gently. "You're afraid Bobby will take Trey away from you."

Amy took a deep breath and shuddered with emotion and tears. A small sob escaped as she sniffed and wiped her face with the tissue. "Mom, is it stupid of me to feel that way?"

"No. But look in your heart; look deep and think hard about your son before you answer me. Do you really think that boy is going to leave you because of knowing who his father is? You've already told me he's forgiven you for not telling him all these years. You do owe him the reason why. Trey needs to hear what you've told me as much as you need to tell him."

"I know," Amy agreed humbly. "I'll tell him. I promise. And I mean it this time." She smiled weakly at her mom. "And, I'm going to call Bobby, too. He needs to hear it as well. Maybe I could tell them at the same time?"

"That's your call to make," Patty said as she rose up from her sitting position. She shook out her legs and stretched. "Oh, I almost forgot. I was coming up here to give you a message from Trey."

Amy looked up at her curiously.

"It seems that Bobby went with Trey and Hudson to the park. Trey said Hudson got hungry, so they were going to take him to McDonald's for some supper on the way back from the cemetery. I'm not sure why they went to a cemetery; I didn't ask, I just told Trey I'd pass on the message." She looked at her watch. "That was about half an hour ago. Your dad's going to come looking for me soon asking about supper plans, I'd better get home. Are you going to be okay?"

Amy stood up and hugged her mom. "Yeah, Mom. I'm going to be okay. Thanks for listening to me. Tell me one more thing before you go, please?"

"What's that, honey?"

"When I talk to Bobby, after I tell him why, where do I start? You know, with telling him what he missed and trying to start over?"

Patty reached down and pulled out a baby blue album from the box on the floor. She handed it to Amy with a smile. "Start here."