Saturday – Midday.
"So, the head doctor told you you could soon be coming home?" Dominic Santini regarded the younger man sitting up in the bed, surrounded by plump white pillows, with undisguised and genuine joy.
"That's what he said …. But, that it would ultimately be down to the medical doctors to make the final decision," Hawke explained as he pushed the food around his plate and glowered at it.
He was quite effectively pinned down, with a trolley rolled up across his midriff where the nurse had placed his lunch, and Dominic Santini perched on one leg on the bed beside him.
The monitors were all gone and the medical staff had taken down the drip and removed the IV from his arm first thing that morning, and his first proper meal, which the nurse had brought in just a few minutes before Dominic arrived to visit, consisted of a colourless congealed glutinous splodge in the middle of a white dish, masquerading as oatmeal, and a small plastic beaker of orange juice with a straw in it.
Dominic Santini watched the younger man and had to fight not to laugh out loud at the disgusted expression on his face.
"Glaring at it won't make it taste any better ya know."
Dominic Santini chuckled as Hawke wrinkled his nose and pushed the plate away, reaching out for the beaker of orange juice instead. He had been allowed to drink what he wanted since yesterday afternoon and had found that the orange juice was at least passable.
"I'm not hungry."
"Hungry or not, you gotta eat. Need to put some meat back on those bones …. Hawke," Dominic hesitated over the name and smiled wryly at the younger man.
The psychiatrist, Donald Walker, had explained to him in a brief telephone call the previous evening, that if that was the name that Stringfellow felt most comfortable with and responded best to, then they should continue to use it.
Although he had now made the first tentative steps toward acceptance of the fact that maybe he was Stringfellow Santini.
That at least he was no longer fighting against the possibility.
"They won't let you out of here if you don't eat," Santini warned. "Gotta build up your strength. Just think of all the wonderful meals Helen can make for you, when you get out of this joint. All of your favourites. You want me to ask her to put something together for you? I could always bring it in? Better yet, she could bring it in for you …."
"Subtle, Dom. Very subtle," Hawke sighed, but the older man continued to grin at him happily and Hawke found that he could not help smiling back at the older man.
"I'm sure she could fix something to tempt your appetite back. Cooks like an angel that one. Her Spaghetti and meatballs …. To die for," Santini kissed his fingertips. "Soon put the hairs back on your chest."
"I'm vegetarian."
"Since when?" Santini caught himself up then and frowned, then smiled apologetically at the younger man. "Oh, Ok. So she could always bring you a bunch of grapes?"
"Even that would be better than this mess," Hawke prodded the offending item with his spoon.
"So I can tell her that she can come see you?" Santini asked hopefully now.
"Yeah, only," Hawke grew solemn then, no longer teasing. "You'd better let her know that," his voice trailed away then.
"She knows, son. It ain't gonna be like old times. At least not right away. She's not expecting miracles. She understands that you need time to get to know her again, and I guess it's the same way for her too. It's been a while since she had you under her feet. We all understand that you need time, but hell, boy, we've waited a long time for this day to dawn, and there ain't nothing gonna spoil it for all of us! She prayed we'd have you home in time for the new baby, and now it looks like she's gonna get her wish. It's good that you'll be there for her."
Hawke's eyes grew wide and he almost choked on the mouthful of orange juice he had been sucking up as Santini spoke.
"She expects me to be there? When the baby comes?" he gasped when the coughing fit stopped.
"What's the big deal, you were there for all the others? Oh, dammit! You don't remember?"
"I don't know the first thing about having a baby."
"Well it's a good thing it ain't you having it then!" Santini roared with laughter. "Why don't you just relax and leave it to the expert, son, it ain't like she hasn't done this before," Santini laughed raucously.
"All you have to do is hold her hand and tell her that she is doing just fine, do a bit of heavy breathing with her," he wiggled his eyebrows suggestively then and Hawke rolled his eyes heavenward in exasperation. "I know you know how to do that. You didn't find the other three under no gooseberry bush, kid!"
Dominic Santini roared with laughter then and all the younger man could do was watch and wait for him to regain his composure a little, scowling and rolling his eyes heavenward as he watched tears of laughter coursing down the older man's face.
"Where was I? Oh, yeah, ignore all the screaming and the threats and the insults, the promises to disembowel you if you ever go near her again. With Dom Junior, she held on to your hand so tight she almost broke four of your fingers!"
Santini continued to roar with laughter at the pained expression on the younger man's face.
"You're a veteran, son. It's like riding a bike, or so you told me, when Lucy was born. It'll come back to ya, and if it don't? Chalk it up to experience."
"Thanks a lot, Dom."
"It's your baby too. Why wouldn't you want to be there to welcome him or her into the world, huh? C'mon …. You'll be just fine, son. It ain't like you haven't seen it all before."
Hawke wanted to set the record straight by reminding Santini that he had never seen a baby born before.
But, instead he kept silent, surprised to find himself enjoying Santini's mirth at his obvious discomfort.
It was good to see the old geezer laughing so easily and naturally, the laughter washing the lines of worry and weariness from his face, the years melting away.
As the tears of mirth, rolled unashamedly down his weather beaten face.
"Glad you find it so amusing."
"You'll be just fine," Santini assured, pulling himself together now. "Lets me off the hook!" he chortled.
"Oh terrific …."
"No, son," Santini grew serious then. "Seeing his children born is something every man should experience."
The smile faded just a little from Santini's countenance then as he grew wistful.
"That's something us old fogies missed out on. In our day, the Papa's weren't encouraged to even be in the same room. We had to wait outside and pace up and down smoking countless cigarettes. Or at least, that's what Steven did the night you and Skyler were born."
"Dad didn't smoke." Hawke observed and then winced.
"No, that's right. He didn't," Santini continued to smile, reassuring Hawke that it was all right. That he understood. "But he ate two packs of Camel that night," Santini chuckled. "Sick as a dog for a week after, mind you!" the chuckle turned into a full blown laugh. "His face was the prettiest shade of green I ever did see. Oh, man, Connie was disgusted with him. Cussed him from here to Nova Scotia, and back again, for turning up to meet his new son and daughter reeking of cigarette smoke. Poor Steven. Never could stand to be in a room filled with cigarette smoke from that day on."
"I know. So that's why."
"Always said that was the best way never to learn to start smoking. Put him off for life. And back in those days, a man wasn't a man unless he was sucking on a smoke."
Again Hawke nodded, smiling softly to himself now. It was good to see that this Dominic Santini still had his good memories of his old buddy, Steven Hawke.
And Hawke couldn't help wondering if he drove his Stringfellow to distraction with the old war stories.
Just like his Dom did.
Trying to keep him alive, in his son's memory.
"Yeah, I'm making a joke about it now," Santini began to pull himself together then. "But we really missed out on something special. Seeing your child come into the world, hearing its first cry, and there's nothing more precious than the first time they put that little screaming bundle into your arms, and you look into their angry, scrunched up little faces for the first time. I'll always be grateful to Connie for allowing me that …. With you …. While Steven took Skyler. I always knew that there was something special between us. I felt it in that very first moment. I love ya, son. And I'm so very glad to have you back."
Fresh tears suddenly sprang up in the older man's eyes then and he dropped his head for a moment, until he regained his composure.
"Helen would never say anything, she ain't that kinda girl, but this time it's been tough on her. Having to go through it all alone, although I've done what I can to support her and love her, and be there for her and the kids," Santini assured.
"I'm sure you have, Dom."
"But it ain't like having you there, son. I just know that this time Helen will be glad when it's all over and this new little one is here, safe and sound. She wants another girl, but my money's on another boy. Got a kick like you wouldn't believe! Strong little sucker. Oh well, so long as it has ten fingers and ten toes and everything where it should be," Santini let out a soft sigh. "He or she will be a most welcome addition to the Santini clan."
Sunday – Mid afternoon.
As she reached out to grasp the door handle in front of her, Helen Santini could not help but notice that her hand was shaking.
She paused for a moment to take a long, slow, calming breath, and told herself to relax.
No easy task.
She had not felt this nervous, or uncertain about the man in the room beyond this closed door, since the first few days after she had met him.
She again wondered if she should have stopped off at the ladies room to check her appearance ….
She hardly felt at her most attractive, at eight months pregnant, belly huge, ankles and fingers swollen, face, now a little flushed from slightly raised blood pressure. At least that was what she had told herself. Everything to do with the running around she had been doing for most of the day, getting the kids ready for Sunday school and herself ready for church, and then cooking a traditional Sunday lunch for herself, the kids and Papa Dominic.
Not her shyness at meeting the man behind this door again.
At least it was better than first thing this morning.
She had looked in the bathroom mirror whilst cleaning her teeth and had been greeted by a washed out face filled with huge, dark green, anxious, red rimmed eyes and framed by limp, lack lustre dark hair, peering back at her.
Her String had always said that she was beautiful when she was pregnant.
He thought she was beautiful all the time.
But ….
This man ….
This man didn't quite believe that he was her String.
He would be looking at her through the eyes of a stranger.
And she could not help wondering what he would see.
What he would think of her.
She was sure of her Stringfellow's love.
They had a good marriage.
A strong marriage, based on a deep and abiding love for each other, and friendship and affection.
But this man had no memory of that.
He had no memory of her.
The more she thought about it, the more her hand began to shake.
Stop that right now, and pull yourself together! She told herself sternly. Get a hold of yourself woman!
It will be all right.
It will be all right.
Just relax and be yourself.
He's your husband and you love him.
That's all that matters.
Give him time.
It's all still there, locked away deep inside his memory.
Together, we can find the key to unlocking all those wonderful memories for him.
After his visit yesterday, Dominic had dropped by to tell her that String had agreed to her visiting him.
Dom had told her that the younger man didn't seem to be quite so adamant that he wasn't the man they all knew and loved.
That since his visit with the psychiatrist he seemed not to be fighting against the possibility anymore, although, he was far from accepting without question that he was indeed Stringfellow Santini.
At least he was a little more open minded.
Dominic had also told her that he had expressed a concern about hurting her.
Building her hopes up.
Disappointing her.
She had been touched when she heard that.
How like String.
To be concerned, over her feelings. Aware that he might somehow trample all over her already delicate emotions by simply not remembering their life together.
It wasn't going to be easy.
For any of them.
But they would deal with it.
They had to, if their marriage had any chance of continuing. Surviving.
But first, she had to take that difficult first step.
And open the damned door!
She drew in another long, calming and cleansing breath and after expelling it slowly, again reached out for the door handle.
Oh well, here goes!
Stringfellow Hawke was reading the morning newspaper when she popped her head around the door, and as soon as he heard the door's soft swish as it opened, he lowered the newspaper to see who was there.
"Hi," Helen Santini smiled shyly at him from the doorway. "May I come in?"
"Sure."
Hawke folded up the newspaper and set it to one side as she entered the room and walked toward him, carrying a wicker basket over her arm, he noted, as she came closer to the bed and sat down somewhat awkwardly in the low, metal framed chair beside the bed.
She looked radiant, he thought, skin glowing, eyes bright and alive and filled with all the love she quite obviously felt, but was unable to voice.
She really was a very attractive young woman.
In a natural, not contrived way, Hawke realised, as he noted the lack of make up.
She had dressed carefully in a pretty floral maternity dress and white cardigan and on her feet, low heeled sensible sandals.
Around her neck she wore a simple silver chain on to which she had slipped her wedding band and another ring.
Both were of a white metal, gold or platinum he wasn't sure, one a plain, narrow band, the other set with a solitaire diamond. An engagement ring, perhaps? The only other item of jewellery she wore was a petite, delicate, silver coloured wristwatch on her left wrist.
Helen Santini set down the wicker basket at her feet and sitting up straight in the metal framed chair turned to look at him properly, for the first time since that first morning.
He looked good.
He looked like her String.
His colour was good and he looked well rested.
Those beautiful, piercing blue eyes regarding her with equal curiosity, and she realised that he was looking at the chain around her neck. Automatically her hand came up to caress the rings that would normally live on the third finger of her left hand, and she smiled softly at him.
"I had to take them off again, because my fingers were getting so swollen," she explained in a soft, low, melodic voice. "I put them back on the chain you gave me when I was pregnant with Dom Junior. So that I could still wear them, have them close to my heart," she lowered her gaze then, feeling heat suffuse her cheeks.
She hadn't made any attempt to touch him, although every instinct in her body had been screaming at her to lean in and give him a kiss, before she sat down, and even now her fingers were burning with the need to push that stray tendril of hair back off of his forehead ….
To stroke his cheek and trace the line of his jaw …..
Just so that she could reassure herself that he was indeed real.
"Happens every time, but, I'll put them back on, once this little one is here, safe and sound," she looked up to find him regarding her with the same steady blue gaze.
"I missed you," this on a whisper, but Hawke still heard quite clearly what she said as he noted the tears welling up in her eyes.
"I'm sorry."
"No, I'm sorry," she swallowed down the lump in her throat and knuckled away the errant tear that was slowly making its way down her soft, pale cheek. "Hormones," she smiled radiantly at him then.
"What's in the basket?" Hawke asked her then, deciding to change the subject and give her something else to think about, and himself time to consider his own thoughts and feelings right at that moment.
"Oh," she leaned down and picked up the basket once more. "Dominic mentioned that you weren't finding the food here to your taste, so I checked with Nurse Monroe that it would ok first, and then I put together a few things for you. Dominic also mentioned that you aren't eating meat at the moment. Poor Dom, that really offended his carnivorous nature! I wasn't sure what that meant exactly. Just meat or did that include fish, eggs, cheese, milk, that kind of thing? So, well, here, you decide."
She began to pull out neatly wrapped packages from the wicker basket and laid them down carefully on the bed beside Hawke.
He watched as she pulled out a wedge of Brie and crusty Italian bread, a large bunch of red grapes and fat peaches and oranges and apples, and she just kept adding to the pile, pulling out plastic containers of cold pasta salad and rice salad, plump ripe tomatoes and an olive oil based dressing, and Stringfellow Hawke found himself grinning, his mouth watering in anticipation, as she just kept pulling out more food, like a magician pulling scarves out of his hat, laying before him a veritable feast fit for a king.
"Don't tell me,you have a rabbit in there too?"
Helen paused in the middle of producing a small pot of home made strawberry preserve and looked up at him with steady big green eyes.
"Couldn't fit it in, because of the kitchen sink," she deadpanned.
And suddenly they were both laughing, relaxed and natural, both of their faces wreathed in happy smiles both reaching out to grab at various pots as they started to slide toward the edge of the bed ….
And his hand accidentally brushed against hers as they both made to grab at the same pot of pasta salad.
Instinctively she made to draw her hand away, an uncertain look in her eyes now as she looked up into his face, but, for some reason he could not fully comprehend, Stringfellow Hawke felt compelled to gently take her hand in his own and give it a brief, reassuring squeeze, before letting it go once more.
The smile that she gave to him was a blessing.
Filled with love, and hope and relief.
From that one simple gesture, she had found some reassurance.
He wasn't rejecting her.
They may have a long and rocky road ahead of them to travel, to get back to the relationship that they had previously enjoyed, but at least he hadn't dismissed out of hand completely the need to travel that road.
He wasn't going to shut her out of his life.
It might take time.
It might not be easy.
But at least he was willing to give it a chance.
That smile tore at Hawke's heart, as he found himself hoping that he had not given her false hope.
She was indeed a lovely young woman.
Everything that Dominic Santini had said that she was, and more.
And even though he did not understand it, Hawke had to admit that he felt something.
An affinity.
A closeness.
A pull.
He had no idea how that could be, as he knew for certain that they had never met before today.
But, whatever it was that was going on between them, he decided that it had to make things a little easier.
And they had certainly broken the ice now.
"Eat," she chuckled, offering him a chunk of bread and the pot of strawberry preserve. "Absolutely meat free, guaranteed," she grinned then.
He ate with relish.
Another breakfast of oatmeal, accompanied this time by a slice of toasted white bread that had been like rubber as he chewed on it, had left him feeling far from satisfied, or full.
This bread was delicious, yeasty, fresh, crusty on the outside and soft in the middle and the preserve was sweet and fruity and made his mouth water, and when she produced a thermos flask of freshly brewed coffee that smelt divine, Hawke thought he had died and gone to heaven.
Helen Santini sat there and watched him eat with a contented smile on her face.
Now was not the time for words.
Now all she wanted to do was look at him.
Feast her eyes on him.
Still hardly able to believe that he was awake.
Her heart swollen and fit to burst, with all the love that she felt for him.
And for the first time, she truly began to believe that things might just turn out right after all.
She began to believe that they had a chance.
"Thank you," Hawke's smile was genuinely warm as he finished eating and began to help her to replace all the various pots into the wicker basket. "Do you always produce such sumptuous feasts out of fresh air?"
"You've been talking to Papa Dominic," she blushed in a very natural and very becoming fashion.
"Papa Dominic?" he frowned.
"My pet name for him. After all, he became my father too, on the day we were married." She explained, the blush on her cheeks deepening. "You won't remember, but I was an orphan too. My parents died when I was six years old and I spent my early life moving from one foster home to another. I didn't have any brothers or sisters, and for a very long time, it was just me."
There was no self pity in her voice, Hawke was quick to notice, when she spoke of her childhood, despite the fact that it could not have been very pleasant. Devoid of love, and companionship.
She was simply explaining how it had been.
"And then I met you, and you showed me what it was like to come from a big, happy, loving family, and that family embraced me, and took me into their hearts, long before you accepted that I could care for you and that it was all right for you to love me, and be loved by me in return. They accepted me as a daughter and a sister, long before we got married. So you see, Dominic Santini is the only real father I have known. And Maria …."
He watched as she swallowed down the lump that had suddenly risen into her throat and wrestled with her composure.
"No girl could ask for a more loving and understanding Mother," she continued in a voice made low and hoarse by emotion. "Oh String …. Hawke," she stammered, confusion and embarrassment and frustration on her lovely face now as she struggled to address him in a way that would not offend him. "All the blessings in my life have come from knowing you. From loving you."
Suddenly the tears would not be dammed any longer and she hung her head, burying her face in her hands, as she gave vent to her sorrow, silent tears wracking her body and as he watched her, consumed in pain and grief and sorrow, Stringfellow Hawke felt his heart constrict in his chest
He wanted nothing more than to reach out to her.
To take her into his arms, and fold her against the solid wall of his chest.
To comfort her.
To take away the uncertainty and give her back the security that was the life she had known with the man that she loved.
But he couldn't.
Could he?
What kind of message would that be sending out to her?
He didn't want to give her false hope.
Dammit, he didn't want to allow himself to dream that the cosy, rosy, contented little world that Stringfellow Santini knew could become his own.
And yet, part of him yearned to know the life and the contentment and the love that Stringfellow Santini knew.
Here was the perfect opportunity for him to have a small taste of all the things that he had longed for.
Hadn't he always wondered what it would be like to be in a stable, enduring, loving relationship?
Hadn't he always yearned to know how it would feel to be a father?
How would he live with himself if he let this chance slip away, and these things never became reality for Stringfellow Hawke?
Why not step into Stringfellow Santini's shoes, just for a little while?
What harm could it do?
The people who loved him already believed that he was Santini.
Hell, after yesterday's revelation about the scar on his back, he was halfway to believing that he was Santini too.
It was what everyone expected of him.
So why not?
What if this was his only chance to experience all the things that he really wanted out of life?
Who knew how long it would last?
Perhaps this was just some weird dream, and one day he would wake up, and find that he really was Stringfellow Hawke after all, and all of this had merely been a trick of the mind.
How would he feel on that day?
If he didn't take the opportunity to live it, feel it?
And if this turned out to be some fantastic ruse, some amazing con trick, then maybe by living Santini's life, treading in his footsteps, Hawke would find out who was manipulating him and what it was they really wanted from him.
He was torn between his need to know.
And his need to experience all the joys he knew might be denied him in his real existence.
He was only human, after all.
Why not go along with it?
Why not immerse him self in it completely?
Who knew what he might take away from the experience?
And yet, he could not help wondering what harm, what hurt it might cause to this lovely young woman, to Dominic Santini, to those beautiful children.
"Helen, please," he reached out tentatively and gently laid his hand on her bowed head. "Don't do this to yourself. Please," he spoke softly, allowing his fingers to stroke her silky, soft hair. "This is the last thing I wanted. To hurt you."
He dropped his hand then, as she moved her head up, so that she could look at him once more, face pale and awash with tears.
"Oh, no," she spluttered, her green eyes huge in her pale face. "No love, these are happy tears. Really," she assured him as she sniffed and sobbed and wrestled with a smile. "It's just so good to have you back. I'm sorry."
"Don't be."
"It's just that I love you so much. I've missed you, so much. Oh God, when I first saw you lying there, in that hospital bed in LA, I thought you were dead. Lost to me. Gone. I've always loved to watch you sleep, but these past months, I have come to hate seeing you lying there, so still, eyes closed," she gasped out between fresh sobs, more tears cascading down her face.
"I'm just so happy to see you looking so well," she choked out and Hawke had no trouble believing her.
Oh God ….
How would it feel to be loved that much? He could not help wondering to himself.
What man wouldn't want to feel that kind of love from his life partner?
His wife?
And wasn't he just like any other man?
Curious.
As worthy of love as the next man.
"So pleased, to see you looking so good. I thought that I would never see those beautiful blue eyes of yours, sparkling with life. I thought that I would never see them open again."
Hawke suddenly remembered the comments made to him by both the first nurse and the doctor, when he had awoken.
About his beautiful blue eyes ….
That she had told them that they were the deepest, and most incredibly beautiful blue eyes they would ever see.
And he realised that they must have been Helen's words.
"I'm sorry," she bowed her head once more and started rummaging around in the pocket of her cardigan for a clean tissue. "Pregnant women can get very emotional," she reminded him, smiling valiantly through fresh tears as she produced a tissue and began dabbing at her nose delicately with it.
"Helen …. I," Hawke stammered, not knowing what to say to her, genuinely touched by the obvious love and affection she felt.
No woman had ever cried like that over him before.
"It's all right, String …. Hawke," she faltered once more, a perplexed expression on her face, obviously finding it hard to decide which name to use. "Oh dammit, I can't get used to calling you that."
"Then call me, String," he told her softly. "Helen …."
"String," this time her smile was warm and genuine, as she regarded him with big, soulful green eyes. "I'm fine now. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to embarrass you," she blew her nose gently.
"Look …. Helen …. I don't know what is going to happen," Hawke began on a deep sigh. "But, I promise you, I will keep an open mind. I don't know if I will ever remember, but, I will try."
"That's all anyone could ask, love. It's going to take us both time, to get used to being around each other again. But, if we are both willing to be nice to each other, and to try to find some common ground, keep an open mind …."
She reached out to take his hand carefully in her own then and Stringfellow Hawke found that he liked the tenderness of her touch, the feel of her warm hand against his own.
He liked the way she looked at him, with such love and trust and joy.
He even liked the way she said his name.
String ….
Hawke ….
The way she called him 'love' ….
Oh God.
Maybe it was complete craziness, but he suddenly found himself wanting to know how it would feel to be a husband to this woman and a father to her children.
In every sense.
Suddenly he wanted that, more than he had ever wanted anything in his life before.
Whether it was the right thing to do or not.
It was probably very selfish.
But why not?
Why not give these wonderful people what they wanted?
Their beloved son and much loved husband and father, and at the same time, draw from the experience, all the things that he wanted and needed deep down in his heart ….
"I'm willing to give it a try. If, you are?" Hawke spoke in a low, hoarse voice and watched the light of hope return to her beautiful, tempestuous green eyes.
"Oh yes! Yes. More than anything," she whispered back. "But, no expectations. No pressures. We take each day as it comes and see where it leads," Helen Santini reassured gently. "I know that I love you , String," she gave him a questioning look then and he smiled softly at her.
"I know that I love you …. I will love you until I draw my dying breath," she squeezed his hand gently. "But, I also know that right now, you don't know how that feels. You don't remember, us …. And that must make you feel very awkward. Shy."
"You can say that again," he allowed himself a smile then.
Helen hesitated for a moment, regarding him with large, luminous deep green eyes, which he now noted had the most unusual flecks of gold glinting in the irises, giving the appearance that her eyes were twinkling.
"Dr Walker said that we should all try to make things as normal for you as we could. Just carry on as usual, and let you slip back into things in your own time," she told him softly, but the expression on her face told him all too clearly that she was unsure.
"I guess that makes sense," he reassured her.
"Well yes, except, you don't remember what normal is, and well, it's been a while. I wouldn't want to make you feel uncomfortable …. Or shock you."
She flushed very becomingly then and lowered her eyes briefly, and it became clear to him that she had given considerable thought to what might happen once he was allowed out of the hospital and was thrust back into normal every day life.
"Then maybe you should tell me what is and isn't normal," he coaxed, trying not to smile at her shyness.
"Oh, Ok. Well, this, for a start …."
She rose slowly from her chair, releasing her grip on his hand briefly, and leaning very carefully against the bed, pressed soft, warm lips to his, lingering there just for a moment, and then pulled away again slowly.
"And this …."
She said in a low, husky voice, reaching out with delicate, trembling fingers to brush away the stray lock of hair that had fallen over his brow, and then allowed them to trail gently down his cheek and jaw line before her hand dropped back down on the bed.
"I see," Hawke mumbled gruffly, still reeling from the tenderness of her lips against his own, and the gentleness of her fingers against his cheek. "Guess I can live with that," he let out a soft chuckle. "Seems pretty normal stuff, for married people," he grinned, liking the gleam he suddenly found in her beautiful eyes.
"You're sure?"
"I'm sure I'll get used to it."
"I wouldn't want to shock you, or offend you by getting a little more familiar than you can cope with. But, the doctor said to act as normally as I could around you, so I fully intend to do as he said, and just act naturally," she grinned at him then as she sank back down into the chair beside the bed, and he found it most becoming.
"No need to rush into anything, sweetheart. After all, whilst it might be the most natural thing in the world to show my husband how much I love him, I've kinda gotten out of the habit," she batted her eyelids at him in a most alluring manner and Hawke found himself grinning back at her.
"We have all the time in the world," she whispered, rising slightly from her chair once more to press her lips to his rugged cheek.
"Yeah," Hawke found himself agreeing, mesmerised by those beautiful deep green eyes.
"But I don't want to be afraid to touch you, love. I won't be made to feel afraid to touch you. We touch each other all the time," she told him as she drew away and sat down carefully once more.
"It's second nature. We're always holding hands, or giving each other hugs, or slipping our arms around each other's waists," she told him, blushing furiously. "It's the one thing that people always comment on, when they first meet us. How tactile we are. Always touching each other, reaching out for each other. They find it very refreshing, that we aren't afraid to show our feelings for each other," she explained. "If I forget myself, and start to touch you, I don't want to constantly feel the need to be apologising, to be fretting that I have offended you. Ok?"
"Ok …."
"The kids are used to seeing us touching each other. It would be good for them too, to keep things as normal and as natural as possible. They are used to us behaving in a certain way toward each other. Of course, they know that to begin with, you might not remember everything, but if you just act naturally around them."
"I'll try."
"Then that's ok."
Hawke was glad that she had been the one to set down some ground rules.
"Do you remember anything? Has any of it started to come back to you?"
Hawke shook his head regretfully.
"Oh, well. Never mind. I guess it is still early days."
"Do you know when they're letting me out of here?"
"Dr Coleman said he would see how you were doing on Thursday, and then maybe discharge you on Friday morning, so that we can drive back to LA," she explained, again dabbing away the last of her tears from her cheeks with the damp tissue.
"Dom said he would be happy to take us. We weren't sure if you would feel up to the drive. If, you would be allowed to drive. Or if you would even remember how," she flushed most becomingly again then.
"And I can't drive all the way there. Shouldn't be driving at all really, this late on," she smoothed her hand down over the front of her dress, revealing the swollen belly beneath.
"We could always stay here for a while."
"Dr Walker said that you needed to be back home. Our home," Helen reminded him gently then. "That you need to be around familiar things. Things that might nudge the memories forward so that you can get at them," she explained, gently reaching out to take his hand in her own again, caressing his palm lovingly with her thumb as she spoke.
"There's nothing at the house here that would help you to remember, love. You've never even been there. When the doctors in LA found this place for us, because it had the best facilities and the best reputation, and because it was close to family, Dom found us a small rental a few blocks from his place."
Hawke recalled the psychiatrist telling him the same thing when he had seen him the previous day.
"It's a nice place, but its not home," she let out a heartfelt sigh then.
"How long? Before the baby comes?" He asked gently then, and was rewarded by a look of genuine pleasure on her face, that he was at last showing an interest in his unborn child.
"It's not due for another three weeks, but frankly, love, that doesn't mean a thing. I had a check up with the doctor here in town the other day, and he said that everything is just fine, the head is already engaged, which means we could have blast off any day now."
"Then maybe it isn't such a good idea for you to travel. Maybe it would be better if we stayed here. At least until after the baby is born," Hawke pointed out quietly. "Maybe I could stay with Dominic?" Even as he said the words, he could see the disappointment in her lovely eyes. "If, it would make things easier?"
"It wouldn't," she told him bluntly. "Papa Dominic really doesn't have the room, String. But if, you don't want to come home …."
"I didn't say that," he let out a long exasperated sigh then. "I just thought, that way, Dom would be around. For both of us. If we needed him …."
"I want to go home too, String. Maybe I'm being a bit selfish, but, there are things I need to do. For the baby. The nursery is ready, but there are still little things I want, need, to do to make it right for when I bring the new baby home," she told him then, her expression appealing with him to understand how she was feeling, her thumb drawing lazy circles in his palm as she spoke, driving him to distraction.
"My doctor didn't say I shouldn't travel at all, only that I shouldn't fly or drive," she told him earnestly then. "And if I am honest, I want to be back in the city. I'm willing to endure a couple of days journey in a station wagon with three bored kids and Papa Dominic humming Italian Opera all the way, because I really want this baby to be born in the same hospital as the others, delivered by the doctor who knows us, the doctor I know and trust. Besides, love, I think it would be a good idea for you to have been home, at least for a little while, so you can get familiar with the house again. So that you can get used to being around the kids, and the kids can get used to you, being around again, before we disrupt their world with another new arrival. After all, you'll have to take care of the kids until I get out of the hospital."
Hawke hadn't thought about that.
Helen Santini saw the look on his precious face and felt her heart skip a beat as she realised what he was thinking.
Feeling.
As his grip on her hand tightened, just slightly.
He was afraid to come home.
Afraid to be alone with her and the children.
Because there was so much that he did not remember.
He did not feel confident in his abilities to cope as a husband and a parent.
He was afraid that he might fail her, when she needed him the most.
Afraid, that he might not be up to the tasks ahead.
She drew in a soft breath and expelled it slowly, trying to put herself in his position. Trying to imagine how he must be feeling.
Lost.
Unsure.
Awkward.
Cast adrift in a strange world full of strange people.
Lacking in self confidence.
She realised immediately that she had been expecting far too much from him.
They all had.
It wasn't going to be a simple matter of picking up the pieces and moving on.
Hawke noticed the serious expression on her face then and frowned at her.
"Helen? Look, please …. Let's not fight about this,"he let out a long, ragged sigh.
"Call this a fight?" her features slid into a becoming grin then, as she raised her startlingly green eyes to regard him steadily once more.
"Do we fight?"
"Constantly," she confirmed for him, and immediately hot colour bloomed on her cheeks. "But only because we enjoy making up afterward so much," she giggled and he found it a very pleasant sound.
"Why do you think we have four kids?" she chuckled at the expression that settled on his face then.
"This isn't even a tiff," she assured him. "And now that I think about it, love, you're right. Maybe it would be better if we stayed here. Close to Dom …."
"Do you always give in so easily?"
"Oh, no! Only when I know I can't win," she beamed back at him, then grew serious once more.
"I'm sorry, String, I didn't stop to think how you must be feeling. I'm just so caught up in having this baby, in my feelings and my needs. I didn't think about how you might feel. That you might actually feel out of your depth, and unsure how to deal with things. I'm just so used to you being so confident and accomplished when it comes to dealing with the kids."
"I can't deny that I am feeling a little …."
"Overwhelmed?" she offered for him when he faltered.
"Yeah."
Overwhelmed.
Yes. That was exactly the right word.
"I'm sorry."
"Will you quit saying sorry. None of this is your fault," Hawke gave her hand a reassuring squeeze then.
"None of this is anyone's fault, String," she told him earnestly. "But, it has happened, and we do have to deal with it," she squeezed his hand firmly in return then.
Hawke nodded softly.
"We don't have to do anything that you don't feel comfortable with," she grew coy again and he could not help frowning at her. "Well," she said in response to the look on his face. "It's just that Papa Dominic happened to mention that you were feeling a little, shy. About being there, when the baby comes."
Stringfellow Hawke did not know whether to bless the older man or curse him, as he saw the disappointment reflected in her eyes.
"I …. I'm, er, just not sure I would know what to do," he stammered, feeling the heat of his embarrassment flooding his cheeks now. "I wouldn't want to get in the way."
Hawke watched as Helen Santini struggled not to grin at his obvious discomfort.
"You could never be in the way, lover," she wiggled her eyebrows at him suggestively, but then grew serious again and resumed drawing the slow, lazy circles in the palm of his hand with her thumb. "But, I understand. I can't lie to you, String, I really want you to be there with me when this baby comes. But …."
"If it really means that much to you," Hawke offered, lowering his gaze then, not wanting her to see just how uncomfortable he was with the idea of being involved at the birth of her baby.
When he still felt so much like a stranger.
When she still felt so much like a stranger. No matter how close and good it felt to have her near to him.
However, she was very astute.
"It's not that, love. You were there when the others were born, and I just think that it helps with the bonding between father and child," she explained gently. "I've carried those children inside me, for nine months, getting to know them, love them, feel them move. But, it's different for a man. More detached. Seeing that child come into the world, and holding that child just seconds after it is born. It is a very special moment. Whatever you feel for that child, at that moment, stays with you for the rest of your life, String, helps to shape the relationship you have with that child for the rest of its life."
Perhaps she did not realise it, but she was echoing words that Dominic Santini had said to him not so long ago.
"But, look, why don't we work something out when the time comes?" she suggested with a gentle smile, and he was touched by her tolerance and understanding.
"We really don't have to decide anything right this minute. Let's see how you feel when the moment is upon you, and if you still feel, shy, about it …. Well, then Papa Dominic will just have to stand in for you. It's what we had agreed he was going to do, before you woke up."
"I kinda guessed that that had been the plan, when Dom told me that he was off the hook."
"You guys," Helen sighed expressively, rolling her eyes heavenward in exasperation, but there was a twinkle of amusement and mischief in her lovely eyes when she settled her gaze back on his face.
"It's all right, String. I think I understand how you must be feeling. You feel like you barely know me …. And having a baby is such an …. intimate thing."
Hawke found himself marvelling at just how understanding she was being with him.
"If you don't feel able to be there when the time comes. It will be all right," she assured him softly. "Really, I do understand. It won't change anything, between us. About how I feel about you, and this baby. Our baby," she assured. "Oh sweetheart, I love you. Right now, that's the only thing that you need to know, and believe."
Hawke could not doubt her sincerity.
She was so open and honest about her feelings.
He doubted that she could have hidden her true feelings, even if she had wanted to.
There was an abundance of love shining from her eyes.
Love for him.
No.
Love for her husband.
The man that she thought that he was.
Stringfellow Santini.
"What if it turns out I'm not the man you think I am?" he found himself asking her in a rough, hoarse voice, his voice trapped behind a lump of emotion that had suddenly risen in his throat. "What if I never remember?"
"Then we will all learn to love and accept you for the man that you are, String. How different could you be? I don't mean different in appearance either. You certainly look like my String, and sound like him, and from what I have seen of you so far, you're acting pretty much like him too. Maybe it's not something that you have to consciously remember, but, maybe it's just the way you are. Just be you, darling. Just be yourself. How could we not love you?"
She rose carefully from her seat and again leaned in to press her lips to his in a reassuring kiss ….
And this time, Hawke found himself reaching out to put his arms around her body, drawing her closer, moving his lips against hers, deepening the kiss, needing to feel her warmth, and the depth and power of her love ….
And it felt like the most natural thing in the world.
Like he had done the same thing, a thousand times over.
Drawing comfort.
Giving comfort.
Giving and receiving love.
Helen Santini automatically relaxed in his arms, responding to his kiss with a passion that amazed Hawke, as her arms wrapped around his upper body and drew him even closer.
Oh God, what was he doing?
And yet, it felt so ….
Right.
It felt so good ….
At that moment he felt that this woman truly belonged in his arms.
That she truly belonged to him.
And that he truly belonged with her.
And he could not wait to savour every precious moment that he could be with her.
They parted at last, needing to draw breath, but the look she gave to him as she withdrew slowly from his embrace, filled his heart with joy.
"What happened to taking things slowly?" she grinned wickedly at him, reaching out to draw delicate fingers down his rough cheek lovingly once more.
"I guess something very strange happens to me, when you do something like that!"
"Oh?"
"Yeah, I forget about everything, except how to do this," he reached out and snaked his hand behind her neck, drawing her face back down to his, kissing her deeply once more. "Is that, ok?" he asked softly against her lips.
"I think I could get used to it," she chuckled softly and kissed him back with such urgency and passion it startled him.
As did his own need and passion as he gathered her even closer.
Dismissing the little voice in his head, that was telling him that this was all wrong. That this was another man's wife …..
Pregnant wife ….
Listening to his own heart instead, which was telling him, why not? Why not act like a husband?
Just for a little while?
When it could turn out to be the one and only chance he might have.
"Easy, tiger," she pulled gently away from him breathless and grinning broadly. "If you carry on like that, this baby will be making an appearance sooner than either of us expects," she chuckled at the look on his precious face. "Now, why don't you move over, just a little. After all, I'm supposed to stay off my feet as much as possible."
"Oh, no! You'd better stay right where you are. If you get any closer, I won't be held responsible for my actions!" Hawke was only half joking. "Take a load off," he pointed to the chair. "And tell me all about how we met. I can guess that the doctors have all told you not to tell me too much, that I should be trying to remember it for myself, but, I need some background information, you never know, something you say might just nudge one of those memories forward to where I can get at it."
"Well," she sat down, somewhat reluctantly, and captured her bottom lip between her teeth, chewing on it thoughtfully, and Hawke knew that he was right about his assumption that the medics had told her not to give away too much information about his life.
And just for an instant, he could not help feeling just the slightest bit suspicious, that if this was some elaborate ruse, whoever was trying to control him did not want him to have too much information about the lie, in case he should try to get corroboration of it, once he was outside the hospital and back in the real world.
"Where to start?" Helen sighed expressively and Hawke found himself grinning at her again.
"I usually find the beginning is a good place," he chuckled.
"Cute," she poked her tongue out at him then and then grinned back. "Would you like me to start with Once Upon a Time?"
"Only if you want me to come over there and sit on your lap," he teased her gently and found that along with coming easily to him, he really liked it.
"Down, boy!" but she was laughing happily now.
"How did we meet?" Hawke asked in a more serious tone of voice now and Helen Santini made a concerted effort to pull herself together.
"Well, ok. Actually, we first met in June of 1969," she grew serious then, and Hawke noted the solemn expression on her face, unable to suppress the feeling that their meeting had not been a pleasant experience for her.
So, maybe it hadn't exactly been love at first sight for them then? He mused.
"That bad, huh?" he arched an eyebrow in enquiry, when she remained silent and lost in thought for several minutes.
"What?" she returned from her reverie with a vague expression on her face.
"I made that good a first impression, huh?" Hawke grinned shyly then and she returned his smile with one of her own, and reached out to pat his hand gently.
"Sorry love, drifted off there for a minute," she told him with a soft, wistful sigh.
"That's ok, take your time. You were saying?" he prompted her now, curious to know more. "We first met in 1969 …."
"Yes," she took in a quick breath. "It was summer, school was almost out."
"School?"
"Yeah. I was fifteen years old," she told him with a soft smile. "About to have my sixteenth birthday actually …. And I had this crazy idea in my head, that I wanted to be a nurse. We all did, my friends in High School and I," she grew wistful for a moment.
"The war in Vietnam was all over the newspapers, TV. Pictures of our guys out there, getting the hell shot out of them. We all wanted to do our bit to serve our country, to honour their sacrifice, "the look that she gave to him tore at Hawke's heart.
"But, my foster mother at the time, a very wise woman, knew that I wasn't cut out for it, and so, in a bid to make me see that I would be making a terrible mistake if I chose to go into medicine, she called in a favour with a friend of hers and arranged for me to work as a volunteer at the VA Hospital," she explained slowly. "I became a Candy Striper," She grinned widely then.
"We got to do all the horrible jobs that the nurses were too busy to do, lots of mopping up and emptying bedpans and cleaning the sluice room and changing bed linens," she wrinkled her nose. "Hardly the glamorous profession I thought it was. I learned more about flower arranging than I did about actual nursing. But, we sometimes got to sit with the patients, especially the younger ones, because we had more in common with them, I guess."
She grew quiet for a moment, trying to put her thoughts in order and Hawke waited patiently for her to continue.
"Most of the boys appreciated having pretty young girls running around after them, fetching them cigarettes and newspapers and magazines and candy. Sneaking in bottles of beer, playing the radio too loud and singing along …. Even dancing, sometimes. Goofing around. We thought we were helping, and it took some of the pressure off the medical staff. We volunteers had more time to sit with the patients and listen to them when they wanted to talk."
"Is that how we met?" Hawke asked in a soft voice.
"Kind of," Helen smiled enigmatically then.
"Was I awful to you?" he asked then, recalling the distant look on her face a few moments before.
"Yup!" she told him bluntly, without batting an eyelid.
"Oh boy," he let out a deep, ragged sigh then.
"I understood," she patted his hand once more. "No, really. I did," she assured him when he did not look convinced.
"I was a baby compared to you. Fifteen years old, still so much a child, no matter how grown up I thought I was. You were nineteen, and you'd been to war, fought along side other men. You were grieving for the loss of your brother, feeling helpless, and angry at the idea that you might never walk again. You needed to take it out on someone, I guess you couldn't off load on your family, so, I just happened to be there."
Hawke could well imagine the hard time he had given her.
He could be cruel and unforgiving at times.
And he could relate to her comment about his not wanting to show his true feelings in front of his family.
It was not one of his more endearing traits.
"Was it bad?"
"Sure," she grinned at the pained expression that suddenly clouded his handsome features.
"Ouch …."
"Hmmmm. Ouch," she agreed. "You were the nastiest, vilest, cruellest, most foul mouthed patient on the ward," she told him without preamble. "You were so mean and angry you would throw your food, or your bedpan, even vases of flowers, at anyone who happened to be close," she tried to hide a smile.
"Oh, no," Hawke let out a deep, low groan.
"Everyone was tiptoeing around you, because they knew what you had been through …. What you had to face up to, but, I decided that if you needed someone to rant and rave at, then I could take it, after all, I was going to be the best nurse in the whole damned world, and I had to start somewhere."
"I hurt you?"
"Mmmmm. Yes, you did. Several times, every day for at least a month," she told him, giving his hand a gentle squeeze then.
"But, no matter how vile you were, how cruel or crude or just plain nasty, I just kept coming back for more, trying to be your friend, trying to understand how you felt and to show you that there were people who really did care, not for any other reason than because they could. People who could see beyond the disability, and the wheelchair. I guess you finally got tired of fighting it, of bottling everything up, trying to be strong and brave and a macho man. One day, we got into a fight, a real shouting match, but instead of wading in there to help, the other guys and the nursing staff just got out of our way and watched the sparks fly. Believe me, I gave as good as I got!" she assured him.
"Don't ask me how, but we wound up crying, in each other's arms, and, after that, we became …. Friends. We became close. I guess you stopped thinking of me as a baby, and decided that you could confide in me, talk to me. When you went into surgery that first time, to try to remove the bullet from your spine, you wouldn't let anyone else go with you. It had to be me. I guess you developed some kind of grudging respect, for the way I took everything you dished out, and eventually, you began to trust me. To open up to me about how you were really feeling. I was able to sit with you and we talked. Really talked."
"Then what happened?"
"The surgeons couldn't get to the bullet, or so they said, at least not without causing you permanent damage, so you had to face up to the fact that, you were going to be in a wheelchair for the rest of your life, and that you'd better accept it, and get on with living," she told him gently.
"You started to heal, physically and emotionally and psychologically. You got stronger. Once you made up your mind, you were determined to overcome your limitations. You threw yourself into the physical therapy sessions and learned how to take care of yourself. You got better, String, and, I guess you realised that you didn't need me. I was happy for you. Proud of you," her cheeks began to colour very becomingly once more, then she dropped her head, briefly.
"Then what happened?" he asked her softly, squeezing her hand gently to coax her gaze back to his face.
"Eventually they discharged you," she told him, smiling softly. "You went to live with Dominic and Maria. I went back to my life and carried on in school."
"And then what?"
"We lost touch."
"Oh. But?"
"But, I never forgot you. You were the meanest, nastiest, feistiest, most 'ornery and most beautiful thing that I had ever seen in my life," she confessed, colour and heat creeping into her cheeks once more.
"And I admired and respected your guts and your gumption and your determination so much. I was head over heels in love with you, but, I knew, deep down inside, that to you, I was just that dumb kid who brought you comic books, and laughed at the funnies with you, who sang along to the Beach Boys on the radio, smuggled in the odd bottle of beer for you, just like I did for all the other boys in there. I knew I would never be anything more to you than that. I doubted very much that you would even remember my name after you'd been home for a month."
"What was your name?"
"Helen Maynard."
"Forgive me for interrupting, but obviously you were wrong. You must have meant much more to me than that?"
"Who's telling this, you or me?"
"You," he grinned apologetically then. "So, then what happened?"
"About two years later, in the spring of 1971, I was about to graduate High School that summer, and was busy applying to colleges for a place to do an English degree, some crazy idea in my head about becoming a teacher, because I had decided by then that nursing was definitely not the route I wanted to go. Florence Nightingale I was not. Although, I did still visit the guys, at the VA Hospital. I guess it was the closest I could get to doing my bit, for the war effort."
"And?"
"We ran into each other again at the VA Hospital. I was on spring break from school, cramming for tests, and to stop myself from going crazy, I had gone back to do more voluntary work. Dominic and Maria had saved enough money to hire a really good surgeon to remove the bullet from your spine, and you were admitted to the ward where I was doing my voluntary work. We were both older. I was dating a nice guy from school …. Nothing serious, but," she blushed furiously again then. "But, when I saw you, I forget everything and everybody."
"Was I still a mean sonofa …."
"No, no. You'd grown up. Moved on. You'd come to terms with St John's death, and with the possibility that you might never walk again. You were more contented in your own skin. You actually treated me like a human being, and, well, we renewed our friendship. We grew close. And when you were discharged from the hospital, we agreed to keep in touch. As friends."
"I graduated High School. You even came along. Teased the hell out of me when you saw me in my graduation get up," she chuckled, then, grew serious again.
"Once you were up and about and on your feet again, you decided that you wanted to make flying your life, and so you enrolled in college too and went back to school to do degrees in aeronautical engineering and aero dynamics, and then you had your heart set on becoming a test pilot. We wrote to each other for a while. Saw each other at weekends, when we were both in town, when we had the time. Nothing serious, nothing heavy. Just two friends having dinner now and again, maybe going to a movie. But, pretty soon you were caught up in you career. You were good at it too. The youngest, and best damned test pilot, outside of the military. Too damned good. After Vietnam and everything you'd been through afterward, you seemed to think that you were bullet proof, unbreakable, that nothing could touch you, hurt you, because you'd already been close to death and survived," she paused for a moment and Hawke could see that she was debating with herself just how honest to be with him.
"I tried not to care too much," she said at last, on a deep sigh. "I tried not to worry over you, telling myself that I didn't have the right, that I was nothing to you and you were nothing to me. But, in the end, I had to admit that I loved you. That I cared about you, too much, and I couldn't bear it any more. I couldn't bear the thought that one day, Dominic, or maybe even some stranger, might call and tell me that you'd crashed. Been killed. So, when I got my degree, I went on to secretarial school for a year, told myself to forget you, get over you and move on, that it wasn't my job to care for you. Love you. You had family to do that, and you obviously didn't think of my as anything more than a friend. A surrogate sister. And then, when I graduated from secretarial school, I took a job in New York, with a law firm. By which time, we had lost touch completely," she told him sadly.
"So how did we finally get together?"
"Fate, I guess," she smiled gently at him then.
"Huh?" he frowned.
"We ran into each other at JFK airport, in New York, on a snowy Tuesday evening, both trying to get back to LA. November 1974. It was Thanks Giving and Skyler was getting married that same weekend. You were going home for the vacation, and for the wedding. I didn't have any family to go home to, but one of my foster mothers had called and asked me to spend the weekend with her. She was sick, and was trying to catch up with all the kids she had fostered over the years …. To say goodbye. She had been kind to me, and I remembered her with more fondness than some of the others, so …. You and I bumped into each other in the check in line …. Literally …. Angry as hell at being told that the flight was over booked, you spun around and threw your coffee all over me."
"Oops …."
"Not very romantic, I agree …. But, you dried me off, and took me out for dinner, and kept apologizing, and then the next day we turned up at the check in for the last flight out, before the vacation and managed to get seats next to each other. We spent the whole flight back to the West Coast laughing, and teasing each other about the days in the VA Hospital, and when we landed in LA, you finally worked up enough courage to ask me if I would like to go out for dinner, and the rest is history."
"I know there's more to it than that," Hawke eyed her curiously.
"Oh, yeah. Lots more, but you're going to have to remember that for yourself, my love," she smiled charmingly at him.
"Spoil sport. So when did we finally tie the knot?"
"June 21, 1976. My twenty third birthday."
"So we didn't rush into anything then?" He grinned boyishly then.
"Hell, no. I'd loved you forever, Stringfellow Santini, but you had this crazy idea in your head that you didn't deserve my love, that your career was too dangerous, and there was no place in your life for a wife. You came up with every excuse in the damned book, and then made up a few more of your own, but, I wore you down in the end," she chuckled.
"I just kept loving you, and waiting for you to realise that I wasn't going to go away. I knew that in time you would realise that there was more to life than risking your neck in the next generation of military jet, or helo or cargo plane. I knew that you would come to me when you were good and ready, and, finally, when you got tired of being an adrenalin junkie, and you'd gotten all that damned thrill seeking out of your system, you did. But, of course, then you didn't want to wait any longer, and wanted to rush me down the aisle."
"And did I?"
"No. I wanted a proper wedding. You wanted to drive to Las Vegas, and grab someone off the street as a witness, but, I knew that that would kill Papa Dominic and Maria, so I insisted on a proper wedding. Dom's cousin, in Napa, offered us a house on his vineyard for our honeymoon, so we decided to have the wedding there too, after all, most of Dom's relatives were already there. So, we had a beautiful, traditional Italian wedding, on the most beautiful summer's day, June 21, 1976. I couldn't have asked for a better birthday present."
"You'll have to show me the pictures."
"Oh yeah, there are lots of pictures. Lots of pictures, from all the important events in our lives, String. Back home, at the house in LA," she closed her eyes for a moment, and drew in a soft breath. "And you owe me a dinner, Mr Santini."
"I do?"
"Yes, you do. You slept through our …. Eleventh …. wedding anniversary."
"So I did," he reached out for her hand then, drawing her gaze back to his face. "Tell me about the kids," he suddenly grew shamefaced at not being able to remember their names.
"Dom Junior, Christopher and Lucy."
He nodded apologetically.
"Dom Junior is eight, Christopher just turned five, and Lucy is two and a half."
"Any reason why we waited so long?" Hawke asked, after making the mental calculation that they had been married for three years, before their first son had been born.
"No. Not really," she grew shy then and this caused Hawke to frown. "It just didn't happen. Not for the longest time, although the doctors told us that there was nothing to worry about, and then, just when we were on the point of giving up, I fell pregnant at last, but then I lost the baby, at four months. The doctors said we should try again, straight away, but, it still took another year before I got pregnant with Dom Junior," Hawke squeezed her hand, as he heard the pain and the grief in her voice.
"I lost another baby, between Dom Junior and Christopher. This time I went almost five months. It took us both a long time to get over that," the sadness in her voice told Hawke just how hard the loss had been for her to accept.
"But then I had Christopher, and we were happy with our little family, and then, out of the blue, along came Lucy, and now this little one."
"Dom says he thinks it's a boy."
"I know, but he said that when I was carrying Lucy!" she grinned. "I would like another girl," she confided then. "But, whichever it turns out to be, I couldn't love it any more than I do right now," she ran her hand slowly over her swollen abdomen.
"I can't wait to meet him, or her," she smiled shyly again and Hawke felt his heart constrict in his chest. "And I can't wait to have you home."
From the way she said the words, Hawke knew that she was counting on everything going back to the way it was, once he was home.
Back to normal.
That things would soon settle back into their usual routine, and life would go on as usual.
That she was holding onto the notion like a drowning man holding on to a life preserver.
"Anything else you can tell me?"
"Plenty, my love, but, the only thing you really need to know right now, and to accept, and believe, is, we were," she faltered, and then corrected herself quickly. "We are, happy. We are contented. We have a good marriage, a strong marriage, based on love, affection, trust and respect and friendship. We like each other, as well as love each other, and we both want the same things in life. For our children. For ourselves. The rest, well, the rest is waiting for you to discover for yourself, back home."
"Home," but he was thinking about the cabin beside Eagle Lake, not a house in the suburbs of Los Angeles that he had never seen.
"It will all be all right, String. Just you wait and see."
Hawke found himself nodding, unable to find the right words, wishing he felt as confident as she appeared, that things would resolve themselves in a way that would satisfy both of them.
"Well love, I'd better get back, else Papa Dominic will be on the verge of a nervous breakdown by the time I get home. He's wonderful with the kids, but they can be a bit of a handful after a while."
She stood up carefully then and leaned down to plant a warm, soft, sweet, kiss to his lips once more, her fingers gently reaching out to push a stray tendril of hair which had fallen over his brow once more.
"You need a haircut, my love," she was smiling softly when she pulled away from him at last,.
"First order of business, when I get out here," he agreed. "Helen …."
"Yes, love?"
"I'm glad we talked."
"Me too," she smiled happily at him now. "Maybe when you are feeling a bit stronger, I could bring the kids in again?"
"I'd like that."
"I'll have to check with Dr Coleman first," he nodded again. "And I'll try to find out when they plan to let you out of here."
"Thanks. I'd appreciate that. I really need a change of scenery. This place is beginning to creep me out."
"Ok, I don't know if I have any influence, but, I'll try," she smiled gently then, and it occurred to Hawke that he should maybe have said something about wanting to be home with her and the kids, but it was too late now.
She had withdrawn from him, emotionally, and now she was gently pulling her hand out of his grip, as she reached out to pick up the wicker basket of food and deposited it on top of his bedside locker.
"Just in case you feel peckish later," she said, by way of explanation, and then she was walking cross the room toward the door, and Stringfellow Hawke knew that his clumsiness had hurt her, and he felt like kicking himself.
It had been going so well up to that point.
"Helen," his voice stopped her, just as she was reaching out to open the door, and she turned around slowly to regard him with curiosity. "Tell Dr Coleman," he hesitated, for a moment, then added, "Tell him that I really want to go home."
"I'll be sure to do that, String. See you again soon."
And with that she was gone.
