slightly swollen, even now, from his kisses earlier in the day.
Standing out of view of the gazebo, I watched the hurried pace he’d set for himself, my stomach in knots. For whatever reason a memory came to me of the day I’d gotten the news that Paul was missing in action and presumed dead. An army chaplain and officer had come to deliver the news. It had been early—just after six in the morning. I was up and had coffee brewing, getting ready for the office.
Little of our meeting, the actual words spoken, stayed with me. Everything stopped when I heard the words
missing in action—presumed dead.
The shock of it had knocked me so far off balance that I’d started orbiting another world.
What stuck in my mind from that terrible morning was how desperately I needed my mother. I don’t know how long it took me to reach for the phone. It could have been hours or minutes. I was completely numb. I don’t think I said anything more than “Mom.” Reeling, my head spinning at warp speed, I wasn’t emotional or sobbing. Shock had a tight grip on me and yet just the desperate way I cried out her name, my mother knew.
The next thing I remembered was that she was there with me. I didn’t cry until my mother had her arms around me. She held me close as I wailed. I rocked back and forth in a strange effort to absorb the wave upon wave of pain, this body blow of overwhelming grief.
As I stood watching Mark work, I had the strongest desire to reach out to my mother, needing her comfort once more and not knowing how to explain why. I resisted as long as I could before walking into my office and slumping down in the chair. For a full five minutes all I did was stare at my landline. When I found the courage to pick up the receiver I dialed my family home.
It took three rings for Mom to answer. “Jo Marie, what’s up?”
“Hi, Mom. You busy?”
A short pause followed. “What’s wrong?”
“What makes you think anything is wrong?” I asked, already regretting the urge to call her. I should have known my mother would see through my attempt to be casual. She knew me well enough to realize I was upset even before I could tell her.
“Something’s up,” Mom insisted, “so you’d best tell me without pretending this is just a checking-in kind of call. I know otherwise, so cut to the chase.”
Leaning forward, I braced my elbow on the desk and pressed my hand against my forehead. “Mark’s leaving.”
“Ah…so it’s Mark,” Mom said, as if that explained everything. And perhaps it did.
I pinched the bridge of my nose in a futile effort to hold back the tears. “He’s just about finished with the gazebo and then he’s heading out.”
“Yes, you’d said he was moving on,” my ever-practical mother said.
Apparently, she didn’t fully understand the significance. “Yes…he told me that a few weeks ago.”
“Didn’t you believe him?”
“I did, but…”
“So what you’re telling me is now that it’s actually happening, you don’t want him to go?”
That was it in a nutshell. “I don’t,” I admitted. “He’s become important to me. He’s my handyman and builder and my best friend, and now he’s leaving. He hasn’t even left yet and I’m feeling lost and alone.”
“Oh, honey, I’m so sorry.”
“I feel…I don’t know.” It was hard to explain when I hadn’t been able to put it into words, even to myself.
“When Dad and I were at the inn for dinner, your father was convinced then you had a soft spot for Mark, remember?”
“I remember.”
Mom wasn’t one to hold back. “You do have feelings for him, don’t you, sweetie?”
My fingers went back to my mouth and I closed my eyes and remembered the anguished way in which Mark had held and kissed me.
“Jo Marie?”
“Yes,” I admitted, “I guess I do.” It was the first time I’d been willing to say the words aloud. Until he kissed me I’d denied any emotional attachment to Mark. Now I had to ask myself if I’d
Standing out of view of the gazebo, I watched the hurried pace he’d set for himself, my stomach in knots. For whatever reason a memory came to me of the day I’d gotten the news that Paul was missing in action and presumed dead. An army chaplain and officer had come to deliver the news. It had been early—just after six in the morning. I was up and had coffee brewing, getting ready for the office.
Little of our meeting, the actual words spoken, stayed with me. Everything stopped when I heard the words
missing in action—presumed dead.
The shock of it had knocked me so far off balance that I’d started orbiting another world.
What stuck in my mind from that terrible morning was how desperately I needed my mother. I don’t know how long it took me to reach for the phone. It could have been hours or minutes. I was completely numb. I don’t think I said anything more than “Mom.” Reeling, my head spinning at warp speed, I wasn’t emotional or sobbing. Shock had a tight grip on me and yet just the desperate way I cried out her name, my mother knew.
The next thing I remembered was that she was there with me. I didn’t cry until my mother had her arms around me. She held me close as I wailed. I rocked back and forth in a strange effort to absorb the wave upon wave of pain, this body blow of overwhelming grief.
As I stood watching Mark work, I had the strongest desire to reach out to my mother, needing her comfort once more and not knowing how to explain why. I resisted as long as I could before walking into my office and slumping down in the chair. For a full five minutes all I did was stare at my landline. When I found the courage to pick up the receiver I dialed my family home.
It took three rings for Mom to answer. “Jo Marie, what’s up?”
“Hi, Mom. You busy?”
A short pause followed. “What’s wrong?”
“What makes you think anything is wrong?” I asked, already regretting the urge to call her. I should have known my mother would see through my attempt to be casual. She knew me well enough to realize I was upset even before I could tell her.
“Something’s up,” Mom insisted, “so you’d best tell me without pretending this is just a checking-in kind of call. I know otherwise, so cut to the chase.”
Leaning forward, I braced my elbow on the desk and pressed my hand against my forehead. “Mark’s leaving.”
“Ah…so it’s Mark,” Mom said, as if that explained everything. And perhaps it did.
I pinched the bridge of my nose in a futile effort to hold back the tears. “He’s just about finished with the gazebo and then he’s heading out.”
“Yes, you’d said he was moving on,” my ever-practical mother said.
Apparently, she didn’t fully understand the significance. “Yes…he told me that a few weeks ago.”
“Didn’t you believe him?”
“I did, but…”
“So what you’re telling me is now that it’s actually happening, you don’t want him to go?”
That was it in a nutshell. “I don’t,” I admitted. “He’s become important to me. He’s my handyman and builder and my best friend, and now he’s leaving. He hasn’t even left yet and I’m feeling lost and alone.”
“Oh, honey, I’m so sorry.”
“I feel…I don’t know.” It was hard to explain when I hadn’t been able to put it into words, even to myself.
“When Dad and I were at the inn for dinner, your father was convinced then you had a soft spot for Mark, remember?”
“I remember.”
Mom wasn’t one to hold back. “You do have feelings for him, don’t you, sweetie?”
My fingers went back to my mouth and I closed my eyes and remembered the anguished way in which Mark had held and kissed me.
“Jo Marie?”
“Yes,” I admitted, “I guess I do.” It was the first time I’d been willing to say the words aloud. Until he kissed me I’d denied any emotional attachment to Mark. Now I had to ask myself if I’d
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