He wondered who would be at his door. Briefly Gil considered ignoring the knock, but Hank continued to bark, indicating that whoever it was, they weren't leaving. Finally, he made his way to the door and opened it. Catherine was standing on the other side.

"Oh…you're back," he said.

"Glad to see you too," she said as she moved past him into his house. She was carrying take out bags and headed for his kitchen. Sliding them onto the counter, she turned to him and smiled. "Figured you'd skip eating so I brought something. And I'm going to sit here until you eat it."

Gil looked frustrated. But he had to admit that he was beginning to feel a little hungry. Shrugging his shoulders he made his way over to the bags. Opening them, he saw that she had brought some of his favorite choices. Almost twenty years of friendship was paying off. Digging out a couple of the containers, he glanced up at her. "There's too much here for just me. Why don't you join me?"

"Thought you'd never ask," she said, licking her lips as she moved toward the counter.

They ended up on his couch, eating out of each other's containers and spilling food in the process. Catherine dropped a bit of eggroll onto his shirt as she dug into his platter and then stabbed it with her fork, lifting it off his chest and into her mouth. Gil looked first at his shirt and then her mouth with surprise. Then Catherine began to giggle. "What?" he asked.

"I wish you could see your face," she laughed." It's priceless."

"Well, I've never had anyone eat off of me before….made me feel like a poo poo platter," he chuckled.

"Wonder who came up with that name for it anyway?" she asked.

"What? Poo poo platter?" He was grinning now.

"Yeah….I mean, who associates poo poo with eating?"

Gil chuckled. "You sound like a three year old when you say it."

"I do? Poo poo," she repeated.

Gil smiled at her and then his face relaxed. "Thanks," he said.

"For what?"

"Coming here….cheering me up. A couple of hours ago I wouldn't have thought laughter was possible."

"Yeah well, I owe you one, or a few. You've always been there for me Gil. I just want to return the favor. And I want you to know that you aren't alone."

"Yeah, I know." Two sets of blue eyes locked together in silent understanding. No words were spoken yet each got the message from the other. Catherine was telling him that she'd be there for him and he was accepting that thanking her.

Finally, she broke the connection. "Well, I'll help you clean up and then get out of your hair. I'm sure you could use some sleep or a shower or something before work. And I need to spend some time with Lindsey."

"Clean up? That's easy," he said as he gathered the empty containers and threw them in his trash can. She walked toward him and did something she knew he would hate; she hugged him. To her surprise he wrapped his arms around her and hugged her back. "Thanks for being a friend," he said calmly.

"Always," she smiled. "I'll see you at work."

After she left, Gil sat down with a new journal. Before he could sink into it, however, he pondered her visit. As much as he hadn't wanted to open the door, he felt better because he had let her in. Maybe he should have learned to open doors long ago, before Sara battered his inner door down. Maybe things would be different now if he had. But….he still had Catherine and his other friends. Somehow that knowledge made him miss Sara a little less.

After reading a couple of articles, he decided a nap was a good idea. He headed for the bedroom and climbed in between the covers of his bed; his bed…no longer their bed. He slid his glasses onto the nightstand, knocking a book onto the floor. When he reached down to pick it up, he saw the paper that had fallen out. It was his letter to her; the one he never mailed.

He read the beginning…

Sara,

Our parting was awkward. I don't know why I find it so difficult to express my feelings for you ... even though we're far apart; I can see you as vividly as if you were here with me ... I said I'll miss you, and I do.

He reflected on his words from a year ago; they were still true. Then he began to wonder why he hadn't mailed the letter; fear, he supposed. Now it was too late. But the emotions behind his words had even greater meaning for him. Rather than reading the sonnet from The Bard, his mind reflected on another author and the title of his work, Paradise Lost.

Their time together, especially the tenderly sweet time after his return from sabbatical, had been paradise. And he'd believed that her return to him from the desert was even more precious. But for her, it had apparently been the continuation of a nightmare; one which she had to escape.

He carefully placed the letter between the pages of the book and set it on the table. Maybe one day he would be able to read it all the way through without pain, but he doubted it. Thinking for a moment, he got up and retrieved her note. Walking to the nightstand, he placed it in the book with the letter. For some reason, it seemed right that they should be kept together.

Climbing back into bed, he pulled the covers over him and settled down, falling to sleep with his new bed partner, Hank, stretched out at the foot. No, I guess I'm not alone, he thought as he drifted off.

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