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Designed Intent

Chapter 23

Saturday Night

Gleason sat on the edge of the bed, facing the wall, palms gripping the edge. Bobby crossed to her, sat beside her and hesitated putting his left hand on the back of her neck. They sat silently. He gently massaged her neck.

"I, I'll never mention it again. I'm sorry."

Gleason sighed and looked at him, "I can't give you what you want, Bobby. I'm sorry, I just can't."

He pulled her toward him and kissed her head. "It's ok." She folded into his arms. "I want to know what happened to you. Why couldn't you breathe? Honey, you nearly passed out." He pushed her up and gently took her face in his right hand. "You have to tell me."

Gleason shut her eyes and pulled away; she tried to stand but he held her, "Tell me what happened."

"It happens sometimes. It's nothing. It never lasts long. It always goes away. Please, don't make this into something." She looked at him and he stared back.

"Please see Dr. Creighton. Promise me. Do that for me. Tell me you'll see her."

She knew he would take no answer but agreement. "I will. Make the appointment," she resigned and then stood, moved past him around the bed and went back into the kitchen. Bobby prepared for bed.

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"Come on, Laddie, you're getting all pruney. Let's get dried off, eh?" Malcolm lifted his son and set him on the towel he had folded on the toilet lid. He picked up another, wrapped Angus and began to dry his son's hair.

Malcolm looked at his son and smiled. Gus had had a wonderful time in the bath and his dad did as well. Father and son had played, splashed, and squealed with joy; and Malcolm noticed that his son had not said a single word. The boy hadn't said anything the weekend he stayed with Malcolm, either.

Maeve wiped her eyes and walked to the bathroom. Malcolm had his back to the door and didn't see her standing there. She watched him tenderly dry their son. She heard him talk with Gus about the fun they had had with the water.

"Where are your jammies, Lad? In your room?" The boy nodded. "All right then, to your room we go." She watched Malcolm wrap the boy in the towel and lift him; he turned with the boy and stopped when he saw Maeve standing there.

"We're off to get on our jammies," he smiled. Maeve nodded and stepped aside. Malcolm passed in front of her and she followed them to their son's room.

Malcolm set the child on the bed and then looked at Maeve; he did not know where the child's pajamas were. She understood and went to the small dresser, opened a drawer and pulled out a pair of blue-footed bottoms and a matching top. She was prepared to dress Angus when Malcolm stepped forward and said, "I'll dress him."

Maeve watched the man fumble, trying to get his son's foot and leg into the pajamas. Gus lay back on the bed, his leg limp, not helping a bit. "Angus, help me here, keep your leg straight, will ya?" The boy turned his head and smiled at his mom.

She winked at him, smiled and then said, "Gussie, stop it now, help your dad." The child complied, held his leg still and stiff and Malcolm slipped the pajama foot over his son's foot and pulled up the leg. Angus dropped that leg and held up the other, Malcolm repeated the task and lifted his son to stand on the bed. Malcolm pulled up the bottoms and reached for the top.

"You do that better than I thought you would have," Maeve said from where she stood.

Malcolm smiled and said, over his shoulder, "I'm as surprised as you are." He gathered up the shirt bottom and pulled it over the boy's head. Angus's head popped through and he smiled up at his dad. Malcolm took his son's hand, threaded it through a sleeve, and then did the other. "There my lad, all dressed and ready for bed. Under the covers you go."

"Gus, did you brush your teeth?" Angus looked at his mom and shook his head. "Then off you go; you know how to do it." The child walked back to the bathroom. Maeve looked at Malcolm. He looked at her steadily. They said nothing. She turned and he took her arm.

"Maevie –" he did not know what to say next. This felt so right. This is what he had always wanted. He wanted this, a wife who loved him and a child who adored him. He had a good job, a nice house, the respect of his peers. What else was there?

She waited, saw his confusion and said, "I need to see what he is doing." She stepped away and he dropped his hand. He followed her, watching her walk, feeling the tingle he always felt when she walked ahead of him. She is beautiful.

"Oh, Gussie, no! What are you doing, Lad? You know better than that. Aw, Gus!" Maeve too

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k the toothbrush and a tissue and removed the glob of toothpaste piled on the bristles. "This is a waste and it will make you sick." She placed a dab the size of a pea on the bristles. "Here," she handed him the small toothbrush.

Angus looked up at his mom and smiled. He knew she would not be angry. He looked over at his dad and saw the man smile. The little boy's heart sang. His dad was going to live here again. He just knew it.

They put their son to bed, each giving and getting a kiss and a hug. "How about if I read you a story, eh, Lad?" The boy's face lit up with a huge smile and he nodded.

Malcolm glanced at Maeve and she smiled and said, "We've been reading a little of this one each night." She handed Malcolm, "The Wee Rabbit and His Friends." Malcolm took it, opened it at the bookmark and then did not know where to sit, what to do. He looked to Maeve and she saw his uncertainty.

"I usually sit beside him on the bed." Then to Angus she said, "You like to cuddle up, don't you, Sweet?" The boy nodded and scooted aside to make room for his dad. "He'll fall asleep after a page or two. Tuck him back under the covers and he'll sleep all night." She smiled at Malcolm and their eyes lingered. "G'night, my Sweet Boy. Sleep well."

Angus watched his mom turn and walk from his room. His dad sat beside him on the bed and Angus snuggled up and wiggled his head under his dad's arm. Dad doesn't know how to do this yet, he thought.

Malcolm hugged his son to him and began to read. He read with animation, making the characters seem alive. Angus Conway had never been happier. Malcolm Conway had never been happier.

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Bobby was in bed on his right side when Gleason returned. She changed into her nightgown and slipped into bed beside him. It was the first time they didn't wrap around each other.

They lay listening to each other breathe. Gleason was exhausted as she always was after an episode.

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"Well, he's asleep," Malcolm said, entering her bedroom after only twenty minutes.

Maeve stopped reading and looked up. She sat stretched out on the bed, fully dressed. They looked at each other. She placed her bookmark, closed the book and set it on the nightstand. She swung her feet off the bed and stood, walking toward the door where Malcolm remained.

She reached the door and he did not move. They stood, not touching. Without looking up at him, Maeve said quietly, "Malcolm, you should go."

He wanted to stay. He wanted to sleep with his wife, make love to her. He wanted to come home.

"Maevie, I, I want to stay tonight."

She had wanted to hear that for so long.

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Very Early Sunday Morning

Bobby woke early and lay on his back feeling her warmth, hearing her breathe. They had not touched each other at all during the night. He felt a shallowness, a fear of what this meant. He did not want to lose her. His mind lingered on what she had said last night, 'maybe you should find someone else anyway,' and he felt sick.

Earlier in the week, Bobby had called Dr. Stephens to make the appointment for the couple's counseling; they would see her the next Saturday Gleason would be home, the week after next. He would do the same with Dr. Creighton. Bobby got up and went to the bathroom.

Gleason rolled onto her back when he returned to the bedroom. Their eyes locked. God he loved her. "Come back to bed," she said.

Bobby crossed to the bed and lay up on his left elbow, looking at her. Gleason turned toward him and put her left hand against his whiskery face, "I love you, I love you, but I cannot do that for you. Please understand," she whispered.

Bobby's right hand went to her arm; he bent and kissed her softly, then said, "That part is over."

Gleason's hand traveled from his whiskers to his neck, down his chest, over his hip and found his penis; she caressed him. Bobby jerked at her touch and she felt him unfold in her hand. He lay back and Gleason crept between his legs. She took him in her mouth and Bobby groaned, opening his legs wider. Gleason sucked and licked until his hands were in her hair, his hips were pushing upward and his grunts were coming faster and deeper.

"Stop, stop," he breathed, "come here." Bobby reached for her and Gleason sat on her heels. "Take that off and come here." She pulled her nightgown over her head and he reached for her. She moved to straddle him, but he said, "No, come here, I want to eat you."

Then she understood. Gleason crept up his body as he slid down in the bed. He pulled her closer with his hands on her bottom as she moved up his chest. They had never done this, she on his face. She knelt over his head, straddling his mouth, holding onto the headboard.

Bobby's thumbs pulled apart her lips and his tongue flicked her clit, teasing her. Gleason stiffened and hissed a deep breath. His tongue was light and quick on her clit, touching nothing but her tiny point. His hands moved to her hips. Gleason's breaths came fast. Oh, good; so good!

Bobby's tongue flicked, he didn't suck her, he touched nothing but her clit; and it drove her wild. "Please, eat me," she breathed. He continued to flick just her tiny tip. "Oh, god, Bobby, eat me, all over." He ignored her and flicked her clit slower. Gleason's juice dripped from her slit and he was tempted to catch it with his tongue. She began to move over his mouth, trying to get his tongue all over. His hands tightened on her hips, holding her still. His left hand slid down, around, under her bottom, between her cheeks and found what he sought; his fingertips brushed over it lightly. Gleason jolted.

"Fuck me, Bobby fuck me. Please." She was going to lose her mind if he didn't put something up inside her, his tongue, finger, dick, anything – she was desperate to come. Bobby's cock seeped and began to twitch. He was rock hard and wanted to fuck her; but this was fun, making her want him. He continued to flick lightly, so lightly, not hard enough to make her come. His fingers were feather light on their spot.

Gleason tried to lower herself onto his mouth, but he held her up. "Oh, god, fuck me. Do it. I need to come. Please, fuck me." Suddenly, Bobby stopped. Gleason moaned, thinking he was going to push his tongue or finger up her. She quivered, waiting.

"What do you want," he asked deeply.

"Fuck me, now," she answered.

"How?"

"I don't care. Make me come. Please!"

"Huh uh, this is fun." And he flicked her clit again.

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